#i have no idea when part two will come out

[wolvietxt]

𝓑UTTERFLIES.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : light angst, shouting, reader stands up for bucky, kinda open-ended summary : bucky feels weird things in his stomach whenever he thinks about you, he’s convinced he’s getting sick wc : 1.7k a/n : part two in the works :3

the avengers tower was a hive of activity. agents scurried in and out, stark’s gadgets beeped incessantly, and the hum of conversations filled the hallways. amidst the chaos, you’d carved out your own little routine - something steady to hold onto in a world that rarely stopped moving. and then there was bucky barnes. he was the quiet one, always on the edges of the action, as though he wasn’t sure where he fit in. you’d noticed him almost immediately when you moved in, not because he tried to stand out, but because he did the opposite.

every morning, he’d shuffle into the kitchen, head down, hair slightly messy from sleep. you’d offer him a soft “good morning,” trying not to sound too eager, and he’d nod or mumble something before retreating to the solitude of the gym or his room. his shyness only made you want to know him more. there was a depth to him, layers you were dying to peel back, but he seemed content - or maybe resigned - to keeping everyone at arm’s length.

still, you didn’t give up. you tried in small ways: leaving him a cup of coffee when you knew he’d be up early, asking if he’d want to join for movie nights, even offering him a quiet corner during team meetings when things got too loud. his answers were always polite but distant. it wasn’t rejection, not really, but it still left you wondering if you’d ever get through to him.

then came the day you overheard something that made your blood boil.

it happened in the common room. you’d been looking for a misplaced file when you caught snippets of a conversation between two junior agents. at first, you thought nothing of it - just the usual chatter that filled the tower. but then you heard bucky’s name, and your attention snapped to them like a rubber band.

“he’s just so… weird,” one of them said, his tone dripping with disdain. “i mean, come on, we’re supposed to trust him? after everything he’s done?”

“seriously,” the other agreed. “it’s like walking on eggshells around him. guy barely talks, and when he does, it’s just… creepy. i don’t know why they keep him around.”

rage bubbled up in your chest, hot and immediate. before you could stop yourself, you stepped into the room, your voice cutting through their laughter like a knife. “who do you think you are?”

the agents froze, their faces draining of color as they realized you’d been listening. one of them tried to stammer an excuse, but you weren’t having it.

“no, i want to know,” you said, your voice steady but sharp. “what gives you the right to talk about him like that? do you have any idea what he’s been through? what he’s overcome? or do you just like tearing people down because it makes you feel better about yourselves?”

they exchanged nervous glances, clearly searching for an exit, but you weren’t finished.

“bucky barnes has more strength in his pinky finger than you’ll ever have in your entire life. and if i hear either of you - either of you - say one more word about him, you’ll be reassigned so fast you won’t have time to pack your desks. understood?”

they mumbled something that sounded like agreement before bolting from the room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding from the adrenaline.

unbeknownst to you, bucky had been standing just around the corner.

he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. he’d been on his way to the common room to grab a bottle of water when he heard your voice. at first, he’d thought you were just talking to someone, but as the words sank in, he realized you were defending him. you were angry - no, furious - on his behalf, and it left him rooted to the spot, unable to move.

no one had ever done that for him before.

days later, the memory still lingered. he couldn’t shake the image of you standing there, fire in your eyes, your voice unwavering. it was as though you’d burned yourself into his mind, and every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. it wasn’t just what you’d said; it was the way you’d said it, with so much conviction it made him feel… something he couldn’t quite name.

that night, he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. his heart raced, his palms were clammy, and his stomach churned in a way that felt almost… pleasant? but also deeply unsettling. was he getting sick? that seemed impossible - the serum made sure of that. yet the symptoms were undeniable. every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, heard your voice, and felt that strange, fluttering sensation in his chest.

by the next morning, he was convinced something was seriously wrong.

bucky had never been one to dwell on his feelings. survival, duty, and regret had occupied most of his thoughts for as long as he could remember. but now, as he sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floor, he couldn’t ignore the storm swirling inside him. he felt… strange. his chest was tight, his thoughts were scattered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop replaying the moment he overheard you in the common room.

he should’ve stepped in, said something to those agents himself, but instead, he’d stood there like a coward while you defended him. the memory of your voice, sharp with anger, made his palms sweat. no one had ever spoken up for him like that. people either feared him or avoided him altogether. but you - you’d stood there, unwavering, because you believed he was worth it. the thought made his heart race in a way that felt entirely too unfamiliar.

it had to be some kind of illness, right? he couldn’t be sick - the serum wouldn’t allow it - but what else could explain the way his stomach flipped whenever you were around? or the way his hands fidgeted nervously whenever you said his name? bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. this was ridiculous. he needed answers.

and so, he turned to the only person he trusted to give him the truth.

“steve, something’s wrong with me,” bucky blurted out later that day. they were in the gym, steve halfway through a set of push-ups when bucky’s words made him pause mid-rep.

“wrong?” steve asked, pushing himself to his feet. “what do you mean?”

bucky hesitated, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s… i don’t know. i’ve been feeling weird lately. my heart’s racing, i can’t think straight, and every time i see - ” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “never mind. forget it.”

steve’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”

bucky’s jaw tightened. “what? no. that’s not… that’s not it.”

“sure, buck,” steve said, his tone teasing. “you’re probably just coming down with something.”

bucky narrowed his eyes. “serum, remember? i don’t get sick.”

steve’s smile widened. “exactly.”

bucky scowled, realizing too late that steve wasn’t going to be any help. he mumbled a quick excuse and left, his frustration mounting. if steve wasn’t going to take him seriously, he’d just have to figure this out himself.

next on his list was sam. surely sam would have a straight answer for him.

“ you’re not dying, man,” sam said after bucky cornered him in the kitchen. “although, judging by the way you’re acting, you’d think the world was ending.”

bucky frowned. “i’m not acting any way.”

sam raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. look, maybe you just need to… i don’t know, talk to someone about it. someone who isn’t me.”

bucky groaned. “you’re no help.”

“at least i’m honest,” sam shot back, smirking as he left bucky alone with his thoughts.

it wasn’t until later that night, during a rare moment of quiet, that bucky found himself seeking out natasha. if anyone could give him a straight answer, it was her. she was sitting in the lounge, flipping through a book, when he approached.

“can i ask you something?” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

natasha glanced up, her expression unreadable. “always.”

bucky shifted awkwardly, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “if… hypothetically… someone couldn’t stop thinking about another person, and it made them feel all… weird inside, what would you call that?”

natasha’s lips twitched, and for a moment, bucky thought she might laugh. but instead, she closed her book and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “weird how?”

bucky struggled to find the words. “just… weird. like, heart-racing, can’t-think-straight, stomach-doing-flips kind of weird.”

natasha studied him for a long moment, her gaze sharp and assessing. “sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

bucky blinked. “got what?”

she smirked. “you’ll figure it out.”

and just like that, she returned to her book, leaving bucky more confused than ever.

over the next few days, bucky’s “symptoms” only seemed to worsen. he found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. the way you smiled, the sound of your laugh, even the little things you did - like leaving a cup of coffee on the counter for him - made his chest ache in the best possible way. it was maddening.

finally, in a last-ditch effort to make sense of what was happening, he sought out wanda. if anyone could give him clarity, it was her.

wanda listened patiently as bucky explained his predicament, her expression calm and composed. when he finished, she tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“bucky,” she said gently, “you’re not sick.”

he frowned. “but - ”

“you’ve got a crush,” she said simply.

bucky’s heart stopped. “a crush?”

wanda nodded. “yes. and from the sound of it, it’s about time you did something about it.”

bucky stared at her, his mind racing. the idea felt foreign, almost impossible. but as he thought about you - the way you’d stood up for him, the way you’d always looked and spoken to him with so much warmth and understanding - he realized wanda was right.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[thedropsofblood]

Come on fuck me emo boy

Warnings: Semi-public sex, risky sex, handjob (user receiving), deny of climax, implied prep, both char and reader are in the final year of high school.

As the school's quiet kid, he doesn't have much going for him. His grades are completely average, he doesn't have any social connections, if anything, he's kinda boring. Then how the fuck did he bag an angel like you?

That's probably what the other students think of when they heard of you and him being a couple. But have you ever heard of the phrase "never judge a book by its covers"? Yeah, your boyfriend was a completely different person outside of school.

A closet full of black band t-shirts, tight jeans, leather jackets. A room filled with band posters and a black electric guitar placed neatly in the corner. He was a complete and utter emo. You might as well have two boyfriends with how different he was at school compared to behind close doors.

What was supposed to be an innocent little shopping trip at the nearby mall, turned into a fuck session in the back of his parents' car in the parking lot. You internally thank whoever created the black window tint because without them, you're sure at least three people would've seen you guys by now.

He kept you close to his body as he thrust up into you, gritting his teeth to keep himself from groaning and biting onto your neck. He hated how he had to refrain from leaving any marks on your body, he couldn't bring himself to get you in trouble for his actions though, so he kept his mouth busy by sucking onto your nipple instead.

Your hand gripped onto the back of his neck, the other covering your mouth as the back of your head rested on the window. Pre-cum leaking out and onto his black t-shirt, one of his hands reached down to stroke your cock, his thumb covering your tip right before you could finish.

You grits your teeth, your legs shaking as eyes widened. He had the audacity to continue on, even when he was blocking you from the sweet relief of cumming. It was overstimulating, but god, was it hot coming from someone like him.

You tried to say something but all that came out was meaningless blabbering being cut off by moans and whimpers. His free hand moved to put your leg on his shoulder, he picked up his pace as his breath grew heavier, leaning in to kiss you and greedily drink up your moans like a hungry man.

Right as he was about to cum, he pulled out at the same time as he lets go of your cock, watching breathlessly as your torso and the seat underneath got stained. He leaned in to give you a deep kiss, seemingly happy and content with his relationship with you.

A/N: This was so short and rushed blame my sleepiness, I might do a part 2 on this bc I love the idea of this char sm, also guess who just realized they spelled the original tag wrong all alone?

[wileys-russo]

blurb idea! maybe mila gets into readers makeup and heels and clothes ? i'm thinking she's gotten herself a red lipstick and had fun 😂

a little red lipstick II l.williamson

part of the milaverse a little red lipstick II l.williamson

"-and it is my turn to pay next time less!" you warned your best friend who grinned as she shut off her engine in your driveway. "snooze you lose." the blonde teased, the two of you returning from a much needed spa day which the footballer had paid for before you could even blink.

"consider it your gift for giving me the most adorable god daughter in the world." the striker winked, locking her car as you made your way up to the front door, not even grabbing your house keys out before it swung open.

"mama you're back! and you brought aunty lessi!" mila cheered happily, charging forward as you were rendered a little speechless by her appearance, alessia scooping her up as the two of you

"i see someone has gotten into her mama's makeup!" alessia didn't even try to hide her amusement at the sight of the very colourful four year old in her arms. "and heels! but can't run in em." mila huffed with a scowl.

"bubba where did you-why did you-" you grabbed her face in your hands, eyes scanning the somewhat clown like makeup slapped across her eyes, cheeks and lips.

"wanna be like you mama! a very pretty girl." mila beamed poking at your own cheeks. "someones been listening to leah." alessia smirked, quickly putting your daughter down after the unimpressed glare shot her way.

"come look at my art! did you and mummy a special picture." the two of you lurched forward unexpectantly as mila grabbed a hand each and tugged you both down the hallway.

though the moment you stepped inside your bedroom, the somewhat adorable innocence of your daughter playing dress up fell dead in the water.

"oo and that is aunty lessi's cue to leave! mil i will come and pick you up for our special aquarium date tomorrow...if you live to see it." alessia mumbled the last part, ducking down to kiss your daughters cheek and not even wasting her breath addressing you as your entire focus was trained to your once cream white wall.

"bye aunty lessi! love you!" mila called after the striker who was down the hall and out the door in a millisecond, clueless to your emotions as you stared in disbelief at the wall.

"mila. wheres mummy?" you asked calmly, jaw clenched and exhaling slowly through your nostrils, eyes still locked on the patterns scribbled in bright red lipsticks all over the once clean wall.

"playing her games and yelling at aunty gee! oh mummy said a bad word, a lot of bad words." mila relayed as you inhaled deeply, very slowly lowering yourself down to be at her level.

"mila. bubba what you did to the wall? was very naughty. when you want to draw you have your coloring books and your pens, you only use those, and never ever on a wall and especially not with mamas makeup. do you understand?" you spoke calmly but firmly, your stomach flipping at the immediate way the four year olds face fell and her bottom lip began to quiver.

"i'm sorry!" you almost fell backwards as tiny limbs locked around your neck in a steel tight hug. "i know. but what happens when we're naughty mil?" you gently wrenched her arms off you as much as it killed you to do so, using your thumb to wipe away the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

"timeout?" "timeout." you confirmed with a nod, standing back up and offering the tiny blonde your hand, preparing yourself for a tantrum but to both your surprise and relief it never came, mila taking your hand and allowing you to lead her away to the timeout corner.

"you're four years old, so four minutes. you stay sitting here with your bum on the floor and your back on the wall and you do not move until mama comes back and gets you, okay?" you reminded, mila nodding with a little half sob and sniffle, and again it took all of your willpower not to just crumble and scoop her back up.

but you knew you couldn't or else she'd never learn right from wrong, so with a countdown set on your phone you left her be, stomping away instead to go and strangle your wife who sure enough was exactly where you thought she'd be.

"leah catherine!" you yelled, almost kicking in the half open door to her office as the blonde didn't even flinch, back to you and clunky dyson headphones covering her ears, fifa loaded on the monitor in front of her as she sat with her feet up on her desk.

but that ignorance didn't last more than a few seconds once you'd burst in, headphones yanked right off her as the girl let out a yell of surprise, chair toppling over as your wife went thumping to the ground.

"babe what the fuck!" leah groaned clutching her side where the arm of the chair had dug in, scrambling for the controller which you swiftly kicked out of the way.

"i'm in the middle of a game!" leah whined, mouth forming an o at the way you stepped forward and yanked the chord out from the console sending everything black.

"where is our daughter leah?" "she's playing dress up! now why the hell did you-" "where is she playing leah?"

but finally glancing up and seeing the all too familiar look in your eyes your wife fell silent. "i'm beginning to think i'm in trouble." the blonde smiled nervously as she sat up and you laughed bitterly.

"oh that is not even the half of it leah!" but before you could really launch head first into the colossal lecture lingering on the tip of your tongue the timer for mila's timeout went.

"up. on your feet. come with me right now!"

scrambling and falling over herself in her haste your wife scurried after you as you stomped out of the office and back down the hall, coming to a stop back in front of your very somber looking four year old.

"aw bubba why are you crying what hap-" "leah!"

at the hiss of her voice your wife froze, looking back and meeting your sharp warning glare she retreated from where she'd been surging forward to wrap mila in a hug and stood awkwardly behind you instead.

"now, why did you have to go to timeout mila?" you asked softly, crouching down in front of your daughter who sniffled. "cause i did a naughty thing." mila wiped her nose on the collar of her shirt leaving a bright orange foundation stain that had you wincing at the thought of the work it would take to be rid of it.

"what was that?" "drew on the walls with mamas makeup."

"sorry you what-" with another harsh glare from you leah fell silent again, rocking back and forth on her feet with a guilty expression in her features, the pieces of the puzzle now slowly slotting together in her head.

"mama i'm really really really sorry." "i know you are baby, come here." with that you opened your arms and engulfed your daughter in a hug, her legs wrapping around you as you stood and picked her up with you.

"now. you and mama are gonna go clean up that pretty little face of yours bubba, and then we're gonna go get pizza for dinner-" the downtrodden look was wiped right off her face at those words, your wives too though that wouldn't last long.

"-and mummy is going to stay here by herself, have plain toast for dinner and clean the bedroom wall so she doesn't have to sleep on the sofa tonight!"

[zevrra]

[—𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀٠࣪⭑꩜.ᐟ]

synop: you and vik have a little too much to drink and decide it’s a perfect night to appreciate jayce and everything he does.

wc: 1.8k

includes: gn!reader, smüt, mdni, 21(+), established relationship, jayvik x reader, oräl (m receiving), jayce is pathetic, 3some, reader & vik top jayce, jayce is just really obedient tbh, lil bit of edging, mentions of drinking/being drunk

extra(s): part 2 coming soon… >:3

oh you should not have had that last drink. or the last two.

jayce had invited you and viktor to one of the council parties he regularly attended alone but this time he had begged for you both to join him. which ended up with just you and viktor standing off in the corner, away from the crowds, chugging their frilly and expensive alcohol, while jayce mingled about; doing his regular golden boy activities. and when he finally made it back to the two of you after his schmoozing, you and viktor were both giggling, drunk messes.

jayce knew better about how things would end with both of you drunk. so he had said his goodbyes before dragging the two of you out of the venue the second upon finding you, heading in the direction of home. but when you had made one too many stops, demanding to touch every animal you came across; while viktor argued with no one, refusing to budge, about some scientific thing you couldn’t distinguish, jayce had had enough and unceremoniously picked you both up and actually carried your asses all the way home, over his shoulder.

when jayce finally got you both home, he takes you both straight to the bedroom. he sits you down on the bed and tells you not to move; he was going to get you both some much needed water.

“ugh, jayce is just so…” you mutter, watching the large man leave the bedroom and disappear down the hall.

“charming? perfect?” viktor chimes in as he sits on the edge of the bed where he had been put down by jayce, hand brushing through his brown hair.

you chuckle alongside vik, nodding your head in agreement. “mhm, all of the above but he should relaaaax tonight.” you respond falling back onto the large bed with a poof. the sheets were comforting and cool, if it had been any other night you might’ve just fallen asleep right then and there but you refused to do so; not tonight.

you gasp with the idea tumbling through the fog in your drunken brain, sitting up quickly next to vik. “i know what we should do!” you exclaim before leaning over to whisper your plan in vik’s ear.

when jayce returns to the bedroom he’s holding two glasses of water as promised, standing right in front of you and viktor before handing a cup to you and the other to viktor. you share a look with vik, the two of you trying to stifle a few knowing giggles while bringing the cup to your lips. you take a few much needed sips of water before by “accident” the cup wobbles, spilling water down the front of your outfit.

“oh noooo…” you sigh as jayce gently takes the cup away from your grasp in fear of you spilling anything else, setting it down on a nearby table. “guess you’ll just have to take it off for me.” you hum, lifting your arms up into the air.

jayce rolls his eyes, as if he didn’t know what you were trying to do, but does as you tell him too anyway. his fingers gently grab your top and he lifts it with ease over your head. “okay, okay. you two need to rest now.”

“jayce…you’re always so kind and always take good care of us.” you hum as your fingers trail along the hem of jayce’s pants, digging gently into the fabric and giving it a stiff tug.

“so let us return that favor.” viktor adds with his own devious smile.

jayce upon realizing the hint the two of you have dropped, blushes a brilliant bright red; even to the tips of his ears. he slides a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, or maybe it’s his excitement, as he mulls over the idea. “how do you two have so much energy…” he finally mumbles, glancing between the two of you with his pretty hazel eyes, having already made up his mind.

viktor follows your hand and together, somehow, you manage to unbuckle jayce’s pants. he shrugs them off to make it a little easier for the two of you to continue. you find yourself running a hand up his thigh, sliding it along his warm skin, before moving a hand to squeeze the front of his boxers. viktor kisses along your shoulder as his own hand follows along yours, pressing right up against the front of his pants, tangling with your own fingers. jayce sighs at the welcoming touch as he watches the scene unfold before him. and while a little voice in the back of his head tells him that maybe this isn’t the best idea for his drunk lovers; the growing need in his lower half wins him over in the end. as if there was any competition between the two in the first place.

it doesn’t take long before jayce is breathless and fully hard. his chest flushed red to match his face while you and vik fall into a nice, rhythmic pace of groping the front of his boxers until he’s practically begging for the two of you to; ‘quit teasing’.

the drunk duo share a laugh as your hand finds itself running up along the edge of jay’s lower abdomen, following along the muscle he bears like a sailor following a map. relishing in the way jayce sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers move down his happy trail before hooking around the edge of his underwear. and with vik’s help, you manage to strip jayce of his boxers; finally.

and by god does the sight of jayce’s hard cock sober you up real fast. your mouth waters at the sight as your fingers slowly wrap around his shaft and you give him a slow tug. you hum sweetly at the low groan jayce makes, licking your lips at the sight of his flushed face. you lean forward to press a kiss into his tip, trailing your lips down along his shaft while giving him another stroke.

“you’re too damn tall…” vik grumbles, annoyed with the fact that if he wanted to help he might end up on his knees; and there was no way he was going to do that.

you couldn’t blame him, you didn’t want to get on your knees either.

“i agree. go lay down, pretty boy.” you instruct as you retrieve your hand to gesture somewhere behind you.

jayce rolls his eyes at the silly demand but he’s going to do it anyway. he, almost shyly, shuffles to the top of the bed; where he lays down, settling back against the countless of pillows. you and viktor crawl your way up to his side, descending upon him like wild, starving animals. where viktor takes his right while you take his left, hands grasping at his thighs, parting his legs to fit you both. one of vik’s hands wraps around the base of jayce’s cock before his thin fingers move up onto his tip. while vik begins to jerk jayce off, you kiss along jayce’s thighs and stomach. planting kisses all over his lower half that you could reach, teasing him as vik’s hand moves swiftly along his shaft. jayce groans, biting his bottom lip as vik uses his fingers to draw out any precum he can from jayce’s head. he uses a mix of precum and spit to slick the entirety of his shaft.

you push whatever hair you can out of the way before your lips find the tip of his awaiting cock. you suck gently on his head, vik’s hand continues to work on stroking up where he can before meeting your lips; until he replaces his fingers with his own tongue. you tease the tip of jayce’s cock with your tongue, pressing it flat against the underside of his head, loving the way the big boy sucks in a sharp breath in the midst of his pleasure. you slip your mouth of his head as viktor’s lips meet yours. you kiss him drunkenly over jayce’s throbbing cock, his tongue slipping between your lips. your tongue clashes with vik’s for a sweet moment before you both untangle just to slip jayce’s cock between your locked lips.

now you both work effortlessly in pleasing jayce. tongues clashing against the tip, pressing hot kisses into his shaft, sharing jayce like a snack before you slip him back into the warmth of your mouth. jayce groans as he places a hand gently against your head as you return to sucking him off, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth and you do as he wants. slipping your lips further down onto his shaft, as far as you can, until your lips pop off of him once more; where viktor replaces your mouth with his own.

now you two take turns sucking jayce off until he’s a whining mess. “mmph fuck!” jayce cries as he throws his head back.

a high pitched groan slips past his lips with every breath he takes, brows furrowed as he tries his hardest to concentrate on not coming. his toes curl and you can feel his thighs tense up everytime your lips wrap around him, pull off, and vik slips his mouth back onto his cock. never giving jayce truly a moment to rest. the next time vik pops off, you return to the meal, and take jayce all the way into your mouth. he fills your mouth entirely, hitting damn near the back of your throat and your jaw begins to burn with the stretch.

jayce sucks in a sharp breath as you take him deep into your throat, grabbing any hair he can and gripping it gently as the sweetest whines tumble from his lips. “feels‘so good baby.”

and for a moment, you think that maybe you could continue forever drawing every noise you possibly could out of jayce until the sudden need between your own thighs grows to be too much.

you slip your mouth off of his cock, licking your puffy lips. you sneak a hand between your thighs to press against your soaking wet core. “can’t take it anymore jay…” you groan.

viktor chuckles at your desperation, as if he’s in any better shape than you are with his stiff cock straining against his pants. “i can’t take much more either.” viktor finally admits after you gave him a sarcastic look with a lifted eyebrow.

jayce, who is still flushed red, panting, hanging on the edge of his orgasm, and slightly dazed; curls up one of his fingers and motions for you to come to him. “c’mere baby.” he mutters with a fluttering gaze. forgetting his own orgasm as he wants nothing more than to please both you and viktor. as if it was his life’s purpose to make you both feel incredible.

[olailamajnoon]

Bruce pulled off his sweaty shirt in Ma Kent's kitchen along with Clark and Hal, and began chugging a lemonade. The three men had been doing something that apparently constituted hard manual labor in the barn. Zatanna watched silently, then she noticed it.

A tattoo on Bruce's abs. Some foreign symbols engraved in calligraphic form.

It was possible the world was coming to an end.

She turned her head to try and read it. It was Kryptonian, if she had to take a guess.

Bruce noticed where her gaze was. "My eyes are up here," he said.

"I know," said Zatanna, rolling hers. "I just...since when do you have a tattoo?"

"Since I lost a bet to my kids," said Bruce.

"You let your kids do this to you?" Zatanna was incredulous.

"It's been five years, Zee," said Clark. "Are you seriously noticing it now?"

"Well, I don't make a habit of staring at Bruce's nude form," she replied, her sentence heavy with implication.

Clark blushed and dropped his spectacles.

"What's next," said Zatanna bitterly to Bruce. "I find out you're part of a biker gang?"

"You don't become a biker with just one tattoo," said Hal. "You need an entire sleeve of them."

"Don't give him any ideas," Zatanna cautioned.

"You're overreacting," said Clark.

"The world is in a delicate state of balance," said Zatanna. "The very foundations of my existence are being rocked. I'm questioning everything I've ever known."

"I should probably start paying rent for all the space I occupy in your head," said Bruce.

"The tattoo is actually a very sweet phrase," said Clark. "In Kryptonian."

"What does it mean?"

Bruce cleared his throat and shook his head warningly at Clark. Clark grinned.

"It means," Clark said, "My soul is in two halves, and one of them belongs to you."

Bruce buried his head in his hands. Clark laughed. "Like I said. A very sweet phrase."

"You're going to suffer for this," muttered Bruce to him. "I was okay with it, as long as no one knew what it fucking meant."

"Oh stop," said Hal, grinning without shame. "Stop with the toxic masculinity. Just because you have a soppy declaration of love on your abdomen doesn't make you any less of a man." He raised his glass to Bruce in a toast.

Bruce looked at him levelly, and narrowed his eyes. "One of these days, Jordan," he growled, "you will do something, and on that day—"

"Oh, I doubt it," Hal smirked. "I think you've set the bar pretty high."

"Well," said Clark, with a cheeky grin, "Bruce learned his lesson about betting against all of his kids simultaneously, but I would say the punishment was a bit disproportionate to the crime."

Bruce was putting on his t-shirt. "Enough," he said. "No one else finds out, or I will see that you all pay."

"No one else finds out what?" asked Diana from the kitchen door, where she had evidently just arrived. Her arms were crossed against her chest. Barry and Oliver were lined up behind her, with curious expressions.

Zatanna and Hal laughed maliciously. Clark did not look displeased in the slightest.

Bruce's mouth hardened and he stalked off, muttering something about contingency plans. But no one saw the small smile that tucked itself into the corner of his mouth afterwards, when he remembered Clark's face.

Kryptonians. His fingers brushed over the tattoo. And all the ways they love to claim you.

[thatonetargaryen]

Our Tears Ricochet

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Part 2 of: My Tears Ricochet

Synopsis: After walking in on a sight that you’d remember for endless nights to come—you mourn what is now seemingly the end of your marriage. However, Ambessa is determined not to let that happen—even if she had to get on her hands and knees.

cw; afab!reader; infidelity; heavy angst but happy ending; smut; more smut; Hex-strap; fingering ; did I mention smut? Ambessa being a bad wife but trying to fix it; not proofread; men and minors dni

Special thanks to @hell0-ki55y for original prompt and @fruitfulfashion for ending idea. Hope both of you enjoy (I’m not too good at writing smut so bear with me). 🎀

……

Your sobs were muffled by Mel’s chest as you leaned into her hold. Her slim fingers made her way through your now loose, frizzled hair. Your hands clenched onto her like a lifeline and right now—she was.

For a moment, she had a sense of deja vu. She remembered when she had first gotten her period when she was 13—the first step to becoming a woman, and instead of running to her real mother, she ran to you. You held her in your arms and the harder she cried, the tighter you hugged. The two of you rocked back and forth as she told you how scared she was, a vulnerability she couldn’t even share with her mother, and how you reassured her and cleared all doubts from her mind.

To you, the act may have thought to be necessary. An act of kindness any mother would show for their daughter. But to her, it was so much more. Every time the breeze blew in a certain way or the sun sat low in the sky—it reminded her of the warmth of your embrace. The warmth of your heart.

And now, she held you in her arms. She rocked you back and forth. And she let you cry out.

When your sobs finally died down, the two of you stayed silent for a moment. But there was a silent question in the air that had yet to be spoken, ‘What are you gonna do now?’.

Mel soothingly rubbed your arm as she looked down at you. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head. What you needed was something she wasn’t able to give.

She took a shaky breath. “I know this is hard for you. She wasn’t always the most loving, but I never thought she would—”

She stopped as she closed her eyes and scrunched her nose. She shook her head. “I thought she loved you.”

You finally looked up at her through red and puffy eyes. You licked your chapped lips as your hoarse voice spoke, “Your mother does love me. We..wouldn’t have gotten married if she didn’t. I…”

Mel turned to you with an angry look. “Tsk. She doesn’t love you. She can’t. How do you explain what you just saw? You’ve been loyal to her for the entirety of your marriage and have stood by her when no one else did. You gave up so much for her. How can you sit here and say—”

You held Mel’s face in your hands as her own tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. You wiped them away as you spoke softly. “Mel, what your mother has done has hurt me in ways I hope you never experience. But I don’t want this to be another crack in your relationship. It’s already strained as it is. In no way am I justifying her actions but please…don’t let this affect you as much as it has me. A connection between mother and daughter is unlike any other—even one between spouses.”

Mel stared dumbfounded at your words, but stayed silent as you continued. “I love you Mel. Never forget that. Even if this causes a rift between your mother and I—I will love you no less.”

Mel fought back tears in her eyes as she held your gaze. She nodded at your words and leaned into your shoulder. You held her hands in your own. She spoke, barely above a whisper, but it was as loud as any shout—“I love you too, Mom.”

After a moment of silence, there was a vibration felt on the bed. She looked over at her phone with a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

As she checked to see whoever had messaged her, a look of realization crossed her features. “Shit!”

You looked at her, surprised at her language—but ultimately ignored it. “What’s going on?”

“I set up plans with Jayce a while back before you told me you were coming to Piltover. I totally forgot to reschedule…Now he’s on his way.”

She shook her head, “I’ll tell him to cancel and we can do it some other time. I know you need me right now.”

You shook your head, “No, no. I’ll be fine. Please, go enjoy yourself with this….Jayce.”

She looked at you softly, “Are you sure? I mean, we can always do it another time….”

You nodded, “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled as she kicked on her shoes as straightened up her hair and makeup. She threw on a robe as she changed out of her previous dress. She didn’t get the chance to choose one before she turned back to you.

You stared out the window in a pool of your own thoughts before you felt a tug on your arm.

“Come on, you’re coming with.”

“What?”, you said, surprised.

“You’re coming with Jayce and I. You said you wanted to meet him.”

You looked at her, considering her offer. “Look at me. I can’t go out like…this. I look and feel like I just had an emotional breakdown.”

She looked at you in silent agreement and ordered one of the maids outside to prepare a shower. She ushered you into the shower and said she’d be right outside if you needed her. You wanted to under the hot water, but you know you were on a tight schedule.

After you got out and dried your body and hair, she rushed over to her large vanity, pulling out a plethora of hair supplies. She ushered you over, and you sat in front of the mirror.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as she practically pampered you. She detangled, brushed, and curled your once frazzled hair. She pinned it back as she applied your preferred makeup from the bag you brought with you abroad.

The makeup was simple—yet it complimented your features. You hadn’t known Mel was so good at this. When she was small, she was gotten her first makeup kit that she begged to have for practically a year. You had been her first test subject. The looks you got from the nobles when you kept on the makeup throughout the day did little to dampen the wide smile of little Mel’s face.

When she was finally satisfied, she turned away from the vanity and started to put the things away. “Do you like it?”.

You nodded as a smile graced your features. You ran your fingers through your loose curls, careful not to mess them up. You felt prettier than you had in a long time.

“Good. Now we just need to pick an outfit.”

She went over to her closet as she raked through her many dresses. After a moment of indecisiveness, she picked a white satin off-shoulder dress that fell just above her knees, showing off her long legs. Her braids were done in a tight low bun as she let two frame the sides of her face.

Meanwhile, you were still struggling to find something to wear. You didn’t want anything too provocative since you were married despite the circumstances but you didn’t want to cover too much because of the relentless heat of Piltover.

You ended up choosing a sleeveless sage green dress with a heart neckline. It reached your ankles, being modest and flowy at the same time. You threw on a gold necklace and small diamond earrings.

Mel approached you as she took in your appearance. “You look…amazing, Mom.”

You smiled bashfully at her compliment. You threw on a purse as you both exited the room.

It was time for you to unwind.

….

The three of you ended up going to a nice restaurant not too far away. The sun was still high in the sky as the three of you looked outside the window at the beautiful view.

“So, how’d you meet my Mel?”, you asked—going into interrogation mode now that you all were seated.

The boy turned his attention to you, his charismatic personality slightly cracking under your gaze, “Well, uh—I’m actually working on a project here in Piltover. It was way before I became a council member. I was stationed in the main building and she just so happened to be there. We’ve been together ever since.”

Mel smiled, “I heard about him through the grape vine. One of the prodigies behind the Hextech. It was only a matter of time before the two of us met.”

The two were deeply in love—heart achingly so. It reminded you of when Ambessa first introduced herself to your own parents. She refused to crack under their scrutinizing gazes and answered every question as if she had meticulously prepared beforehand—which she probably did. It didn’t take long before your parents were nagging the two of you to get married.

“I take it you’ve met my wife?”, you asked.

Jayce visibly tensed at the mention of Ambessa. He took a sip of his fruit drink before clearing his throat, “I have. She was, uh….she definitely let an impression.”

The silence was loud as Mel took a French fry from Jayce’s plate.

“But if I may speak freely, Mrs.Medarda—”

You nodded towards him, curious at what he had to say.

“The two of you are so….different. From the way you look down to the aura you exude. I-I’ve heard stories as a boy detailing how you brought peace to Noxus and many other lands they once butt-heads with. They always said you were soft and kind. But you had a firm hand and possessed the political knowledge to end wars before they could they were even declared. You’ve saved the lives of so many people—soldiers, citizens, and nobles alike, and yet—”

He stopped, realizing he was rambling—a habit he picked up in his early years. “What I mean to say is, the two of you are basically the Sun and the Moon. Polar opposites.”

You smiled softly as you mindlessly toyed with the straw in your drink. “The Sun and the Moon complement each other. But if the Moon were to disappear without a trace—the Sun wouldn’t bat an eye. It would keep thriving as it always has. Yet, if the Sun were the disappear—the Moon would mourn its death for endless nights to come.”

A silence overtook the three of you, and Jayce seemed confused at the comparison. Mel spoke softly, extending the metaphor, “And yet…the world would notice if either disappeared.”

You nodded your head at her words as you pushed your plate forward. “Yes, yes it would.”

…..

As the sun started to set, the three of you headed to a nearby bar for drinks. It was getting slightly chilly, and Jayce through his jacket over Mel’s shoulders to shield her from the cold.

You simply held yourself tighter, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket.

You sighed in contempt as you finally entered the bar and took a seat. The two lovebirds sat a few seats away from you, but not too far.

The bartender made his way to you first. He wore an all black button down shirt and pants, and his jet black hair complemented his piercing blue eyes. He smiled warmly, “What can I get for you?”

You took a glimpse at the menu as you spoke tiredly, “Just a Daiquiri, please. Chilled.”

He nodded. But he stood there for just another moment, “Rough day?”

You gave him a small smile, “You could say that…”

He began to talk out the necessary ingredients for your drink at an impressive pace, “In that case, first drink’s on me then.”

You smiled at him gratefully as you gave him a ‘Thank you’. You reminded yourself to give him a generous tip before you left.

You brought the drink to your lips and took a generous sip. The taste of sugar, rum, and citrus made its way onto your tongue, and you hummed in satisfaction. You set down your glass as you looked around the bar.

You saw people smiling and laughing as they shared drinks. You saw couples giggling and holding each other tight. You saw people sitting alone—yet even they looked content. They were all happy.

Why couldn’t you just be happy?

Over the years, Ambessa started to bury herself more and more. She pulled herself away from you, often leaving you in a cold bed and practically engulfed your small frame. She wouldn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and even then, she wouldn’t greet you. Wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t even spare you a glance.

I should’ve seen the signs sooner, you told yourself. I should’ve went away before it got too far, should’ve filed for divorce the moment she became distant.

But you didn’t. You stuck by her side. Waited endless nights in a cold bed hoping she’d come home and be normal again. Notice you. Love you.

Yet the moment never came. You had waited for something that was never going to come.

Before you knew it, you lost count of the number of shots you ordered and downed in come take. You ignored the look concern the bartender gave you as you stared down at your fingers. You trailed shaped across your thighs—something Ambessa used to do—and, fuck—

You just couldn’t get her off your mind. No matter how hard you tried. No matter how much you desperately wanted to.

Your eyes drew heavy, and you practically tumbled out of your seat. You made your way over to Mel—who was practically sitting on Jayce’s lap—and let her know you were going home. Her once carefree gaze turned into one of concern.

“Did you need me to call you a ride? Give me one second and I’ll—”

You shook your head, “Mel, really, I’ll be fine. My place isn’t far from here. Enjoy your night, don’t worry about me.”

She sighed, “Alright…call me when you get home.”

You nodded at her words, gave the cashier a wad of cash and told him to ‘keep the change’, and stumbled out of the bar on two left feet.

…….

You stumbled towards the door of the apartment you were renting out while in Piltover. It was luxurious—one of the most expensive of its kind. Though, you hadn’t spent much time in it.

You shuffled through your purse as you searched for your keys in the dark. You sighed in victory as you finally found them, and clumsily put your key in the doorknob.

You opened the door and stumbled through your apartment with low eyes. You threw your purse somewhere are you walked up the glass stairs.

You heard slight shuffling upstairs, but your drunk, hazed mind decided to ignore it. Big mistake.

You walked through the hall and towards your room—only to freeze at the door way.

In less than five seconds—you swore you were now sober.

There she was. Your wife. Ambessa. She sat faced away from you on the far side of the bed. Her shoulders were stiff and her back was rigid. She looked down into her lap, and without even looking at her face, you could tell she was in deep thought.

You slowly started to walk backwards, but at the absolute worse time possible, your left heel decided to break, and you stumbled backwards. With a thud, you were brought to your knees on the floor.

Shit.

She spinner around and her gray coils moved with her. She scrambled to her feet as she went to help you up, but you snatched your arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

You scurried into the room and sat on the bed as you rubbed your ankle. That was definitely going to bruise in the morning.

“Y/N…”, you heard Ambessa whisper. You’d never heard her speak so softly.

You tried to ignore her presence, but that was impossible to do. She stood where she was—yet her gaze enveloped the whole room.

You shook your head as you held back tears, “I—I don’t ever ask for much….”

She stayed silent as you spoke.

“I don’t ever ask for much. All the presents and gifts you gave me…All the houses and land you bought me…All the jewels and diamonds you gave me….”

You shook your head harder as your tears fell harder, “I ain’t ask for none of that. All I asked is you give your kids the light of day. That you give me the love and attention I give you non-conditionally. That you stay loyal to me—as your wife—and show me that our marriage wasn’t out of infatuation—but genuine love for one another.”

You sobbed harder as you fought to breathe. “You think I don’t have wants and needs too? You think I don’t imagine myself being able to have a stable relationship with someone else? You think I don’t want to have sex and have somebody fell up on my body? To whisper sweet nothings in my ear? To show me that I matter to them? But I would never go behind your back and do that to you because I love you. I love you so much it hurts, Ambessa. I wish I could just let you go. Rip you out of my life and run far,far away. But I can’t. I just can’t…..”

You grew frustrated at her silence and wiped your snotty nose. “Why’d you do it, Ambessa? Why you have to do me like that?”

Ambessa’s own’s tears clouded her vision as she fought to find the right words. Her breath hitched, and she could tell you were becoming impatient. So she spoke her mind, and didn’t hold back.

“I—I thought….you made me weak. I thought if I allowed when I allowed myself to get close to you, I weakened the walls I fought so hard to built around myself. I’ve fought so hard to become the woman I am today, and I couldn’t let anyone take that away from me—not even my own family. So I distanced myself. From Mel. From Kino. And from you. I thought I was doing us both a favor. It allowed me to make the necessary decisions to keep us safe, and for you….I thought it would allow you the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t sleeping next to a monster.”

Surprise crossed your features as she continued to speak, “I have the blood of thousands—if not millions—on my hands. Women, children, and men alike. The thought of it haunts me every night, and yet, and I have brush it aside. I opt to spend most nights asleep in the very same chair I spend hours reviewing and signing papers in because I can’t bear to sleep beside you knowing what I have done. What I will do.”

Tears started to spill onto her scarred cheeks as she approached you. You didn’t move, and simply stared.

She knelt before you, and grabbed both of your small hands in hers, “What I have done is unforgivable. And I will accept any punishment you give me. I—I’ll build you a new estate for you to stay in. I’ll have it done before winter, but please—”

You grabbed her face in your hands, halting her words. The two of you met eyes, and a thousand words were spoken before either of you could say anything. Your mind betrayed your anger as you looked down at your wife. Your wife. Not the war general, not the most powerful figure in Piltover, not the formidable warlord, but your wife. A woman. With a mind, and a soul, and a deep, aching heart confined in the thickest of chains. Chains only you could break.

What she did hurt you deeply. But you could see the regret in her eyes. How it spread throughout her body. How it seemed to age her face even more.

You took your thumb and wiped a stray tear on her face, and she closed her eyes as she leaned into your touch.

You brought her head into your bosom, and for a moment, the two of you were silent. You laid your cheek on her head as you embraced her. Years of regret seemed to radiate off her. She spoke softly into your chest, “I don’t know if you can forgive me, but I want you to know….I’m sorry. For everything. And I will spend the rest of my life working for your forgiveness. I swear it.”

You took in your words as you shook your head. “While I certainly can’t forgive you now, I’ll give you a chance. Prove to me that our marriage is worth keeping. Show me that you can change, for us.”

Her head shot up, and a look of relief like none other crossed her features. A genuine smile—one you hadn’t seen in a long time, but adored—graced her features as she held you tighter.

“I’ll change—for us.”

……

The next few weeks brought you happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. The two of you finally traveled back to Noxus.

You hugged Mel tightly on the dock while the guards and servants prepared the ship. However, the tension between her and her mother could be cut with a knife as they shared brief goodbyes.

The morning after you came home drunk to Ambessa in your apartments, you called Mel and told her about the apology. She was taken aback, not believing a word you said. She had asked why she did it in the first place, yet you didn’t want to share too much on the private conversation. You gave a brief summary, leaving out some stuff, and she simply hummed. You could tell you were holding back something through the screen.

The ride back home wasn’t what you expected, and for a moment, you doubted Ambessa would stay true to her word. That quickly changed when the two of you arrived home.

It was like a switch flipped inside her. Instead of lingering behind after meetings, she spent the rest of her free time with you. She no longer spent countless hours hunched over a desk looking over papers, and finally got a trusted assistant to help her. She invested more time in the things you enjoyed and even found out things about herself. Her side of the bed was finally warm as she held you in her arms at night and shared hot baths with you in the morning.

Your wife—the woman you fell head over heels for—was finally back. You couldn’t be happier. However, despite how much your relationship has improved….she had yet to touch you.

The thought lingered in your mind as you fought to push it away. Instead, you stared at Ambessa’s back as she undressed and got ready for bed. That didn’t help.

You continued to look at her as she switched off the lamp and climbed into bed beside you. You heard her breathe a sigh of relief before she reached over to give you a ‘goodnight’ kiss.

However, as she leaned in, you took her by her shoulders and gave her a deep,passionate kiss.

You could tell she had an initial reaction of surprise, but quickly recovered and leaned into the kiss. Your tongues and mouths collided as her large hands roamed your body.

Being the impatient woman she was, she started to undo the bralette you wore to bed. Her hands immediately began to knead your breast, and you moaned into her touch.

She buried her head into the crook of your neck and planted hard kissed onto the soft flesh as she practically rubbed herself against you. The heat in the room seemed to increase by the minute.

She pulled herself of you after a moment as she started to plant kissed on your chest and stomach. The redness in your cheeks spread throughout your body. She threw off the lacey underwear she wore and held your legs on either side of her head.

She pressed kissed into the insides of your thigh, and your heat was practically pulsing just as hard as your heart.

You moaned as she pressed a tantalizing kiss to your pussy, and practically came right there when she sent a lick to your slit.

Without any warning, she began to feast on your heat. Every lick, suck, and bite elicited a new sound from your lips, and every one was music to Ambessa’s ears.

You weaved your hands through her hair as you grind yourself against her face. Your toes curled as you recognized a familiar coil inside your stomach. And with a shout, it finally snapped.

You should feel Ambessa’s smile as she continued to lap at you through your orgasm.

You breathed heavily, trying to come down from your high. You heard Ambessa shuffling around through the drawer—and you already knew what she was looking for.

A soft blue glow radiated from her hand as she adjusted the Hex-strap on her hips.

You vividly remember receiving the strap on an anniversary. She never told you where she got it—or how she got it—but she put it to good use the same night.

“I can’t remember the last time we used this….”, she said more to herself than to you.

You were brought back to reality as she took you by the forearm and flipped you over as if you weighed nothing—and you didn’t to her. Your face was stuffed into a pillow as she arched your back, and you could already feel yourself clenching around nothing.

She rested one hand on your thigh as she spread you open and roughly inserted two fingers into your wet entrance. She pumped them in and out at a steady pace and you moaned into the pillow beneath you. You took your hand and started rubbing small circles over your clit—but Ambessa’s hand quickly replaced yours as she nipped your ear.

Your second climax that night soon came to you in waves as you relaxed against Ambessa’s shoulder. She didn’t give you much time to collect yourself as she aimed the strap at your dripping cunt. You took in a shaky breath as you felt her slide in. She leaned over your shoulder as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held both of your hands in hers. When she was finally in, she slid halfway out, and drove herself into you again—rougher this time.

She continued this act a few more times before she had a steady rhythm of going out and roughly driving back into you. You could feel her hips collide with your thighs and ass and her rough hands gripping your soft love handles. If not for her tight grip on your hips—your head would’ve collided with the intricately carved wooden headboard.

She continued this until you were both moaning and panting—sweat pooling on your brow. Her grip on your hands loosened as her own groans filled the room. Her hips lost its steady rhythm and became to more at a sloppy and frantic pace. You knew she was close, and you reached back to run your fingers through her hair and tug at it. She groaned at the action—but made no move to stop you. With one deep thrust, she came undone. She practically fell on top of you as you both panted, exhausted. She carefully pulled out the strap and threw it on the end of the bed. The two of you rolled over on one side and sighed in content.

You could tell she was tired as her breathing became heavier. She held you from behind and tightened her large hands around your waist. You looked over your shoulder was low eyes, “Tired already?”

She chuckled at your dig. “I’m getting old, y’know.”

In your younger days, the two of you would go at from moon up to sun up—only stopping because she had a meeting scheduled that morning. Then, when she was finished with the meeting—you’d go again just for the hell of it.

If she were a man, the two of you would’ve had an army of babies together.

You smiled, reminiscing in the past. You came back to the moment as she buried her head in your shoulder. You leaned back into her touch as your own eyes fell to a close, and sleep enveloped you like a warm blanket.

While your marriage wasn’t perfect—it was definitely improving.

One kiss at a time.

…….

Taglist: @maaaaaaaaaaari

A/N; Pretty in Pink coming soon…See you in 2025 🎀

[fumiscripts]

✦ TIP: JUST DO IT

✦ one shot ,, nagi seishiro x gn!reader

content:: nagi has a crush on you— a barista. the problem? he doesn't know how to approach you besides ordering drinks.

for @neversam,, fluff,, 932 words

additional:: cafe worker reader, reo is a wingman, mutual crushing

Nagi doesn't know how to deal with this. It's such a hassle.

Such a bother that you were beginning to plague his mind.

Every time he passes by the coffee shop to get a drink after his classes end, he sees your face. Your face that he got used to seeing almost everyday. With how frequent he had come to visit there, he's gotten the chance to know your name, and you've started to get used to his, having written it whenever he orders his usual.

He thinks your smile is cute. As well as your voice, even more whenever you wish him a good day before he leaves the cafe. Seasons have passed, and you've become a little frequent in his life, like a daily log in he always claims from, one where he doesn't wanna miss a single day. He found himself visiting just to see your face, even when he didn't feel like buying a drink.

Just like always, he walks along this morning. The soft jingle of the bell decorating the cafe entrance notifies you, the new customer registered in your brain. Not looking up from the current drink you were making, you greeted them. “Welcome,” you say, loud enough for them to hear.

“Mhm,” Nagi replies, not bothering to greet you properly in return. You've gotten used to it. In truth, he was too busy staring at you to form a sensical reply. You looked pretty today— not like you never looked pretty.

You recognized that voice, as well as the iconic short, half-assed responses. You could tell it was your favorite regular. After handing the mug of coffee towards the previous customer, you switched your attention to him. “The usual?” you asked, already fetching a cup the same size he always drank in. A thing you've noticed about him is how he orders the same drink, not bothering to go through the hassle of trying anything different.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. You smiled at him and went to prepare his order.

His heart skipped a beat. Nagi's pretty sure that he has a crush on you.

What a bother.

“Going to the cafe, again?” his companion asked, the purple-haired boy looking over at him as he packed their things. Nagi looked up from the game on his phone, lazily nodding his head at Reo in reply. “You go there almost every day. Are the drinks that good?” he questioned, curious.

“I guess…” Nagi answered, not finding the energy to get into detail. There was a stretch of silence for a while, before he decided that maybe he should tell him more. Reo should be pretty experienced with these sorts of things, right? “Well, I visit daily… not just for the drinks they have,” he confessed, mouth forming an ‘x’ right after.

Reo blinked. He looked like he didn't expect that to be the reason he visits the coffee shop like it's part of his routine. “You… like a person that works there?” he concludes, assuming so, as that was what his confession was pointing to.

Nagi nodded, again. “Mhm,” he confirms. “They're… cute,” he trails off, before adding on. “I've had my eyes on them for a while now.”

“You know their name?” Reo asked— trying to scale how much you two know about each other— to which, Nagi gestured yes. “Maybe you should ask them out, then. You know, talk to them while making an order. Or slip them a tip with a note along with it.”

The white-haired boy thought about it, all while he mindlessly tapped on his phone screen. He watched nonchalantly as the victory message pops up, exhaling softly. “Hey, Reo,” Nagi called, looking up from the game. “Do you have any good first date ideas?”

He's surprising himself for actually bothering to make a move.

That afternoon, Nagi, once again, arrives at the cafe you work at. Upon entering, he was greeted by you, along with the iconic scent of coffee with hints of cream. He had a goal in mind. This visit, he will ask you out.

“Same drink?” you asked, smiling as he nodded a confirmation. “Your order will be ready in a few minutes,” you remark, making your way to start on the beverage. Nagi looks at you, watching with a fond attention behind his brown eyes. You look stunning, just like any other day.

Once you slide the cup towards him, he hands you the payment and a tip. You could see the faintest tinge of red while he did so, and you admit, it made you a feel a little interested on what made him blush. He left, and you picked the bill up. You noticed that a piece of paper came with it, a short and concise note scribbled with black ink. The ever curious person that you were, you read it.

You suddenly felt heat crawl up to your face when you did— alike to how he felt.

The content of the parchment was a time the following day, a phone number, and the name of a restaurant in the same city. Below it, there was a simple question: will you go on a date with me?

There was a noticeable tilt on your lips, a small feeling of warmth spreading across your chest at being asked out by the person you've been starting to like for a while. You couldn't help but read it again and again, somehow getting giddier everytime. How lucky were you that the feeling of interest was mutual?

You were happy to clear your plans for tomorrow.

(a/n):: Happy new years everyone

taglist:: @shrii-kk, @tired-xyra-urstruly, @fishii28, @yui2aku

@lakeside-paradise

© fumiscripts 2024. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[sylvesterelle]

Meditations in an Emergency

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 1 of 2, 5,857 words, mature, tw: alcohol, cannabis

Read on A03

"I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. "

Frank O'Hara, "Meditations in an Emergency"

“I just think people should compliment each other more, that’s all,” you declare, biting the cherry off plastic sword that Kat, the bartender, had stuck in your Dirty Shirley. “Like we think these things all the time. Her scarf is pretty, or that guy’s got a cool haircut or whatever. We notice them, we think about them, but so rarely do we say it, you know?  Even though being complimented is the best,” you say emphatically, using the tiny sword to punctuate your words.

Kat nods and gives you a second cherry, because Kat is good people. Kat serves you doubles while charging for singles and listens to you ramble and lets you spread your notebooks and laptop on the bar when it’s slow, like tonight.

It’s early on a Friday evening which means you’re supposed to be writing. You pay the bills as a ghostwriter during the week and you like it, you do. The flexibility to work strange hours typing late into the night, remote so you write wherever you want like coffee shops and cocktail bars and anywhere noisy enough to drown out the more distracting of your thoughts. But you spend so much time devoted to other people’s work that you’d promised to set weekends aside to work on your own ideas.

Easier said than done, when there wasn’t a irate publisher on the other end setting deadlines and demanding pages. And the problem with your own ideas is that you just have so many of them; find it hard to devote yourself to one without getting distracted by another, your hard-drive a graveyard of drafts in various states of decomposition.

But routine helped, so there you’ve sat every Friday night for almost two months—even if you’ve spent proportionally less time writing than people-watching and sweet-talking Kat into making you interesting drinks off-menu (“This is a dive bar,” she’s told you more than once. “We don’t even a menu to be off of.”)

It’s not not part of your writing process, you reason. You’re a firm believer that life is stranger than fiction, and many of your most delightful ideas have come from observations and unusual interactions—the very reason you’d been thinking about the importance of compliments. 

“I just think we should be more intentional about finding joy in each other. For example, what would you say, darling Kat,” you begin, batting your eyes at her sweetly, “if I told you that you look fucking incredible now and always, you’re so hot it gives me hives if I look at you straight on, and more specifically that little curl that’s coming out of your ponytail is particularly fetching and I like it a lot?”

Kat rolls her eyes, which is as good as a smile. “I would say you should slow down on the Shirleys,” she says long-sufferingly.

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends, not really, but there was a familiarity and ease in the relationship now that warmed you. You’d met her your very first night in town, while taking your usual ramble to learn a new place, make sense of its curves and corners and spirit and mark interesting places to return to. The neighborhood you’d found an apartment in wasn’t the best, but it was furnished and month-to-month and good enough for you. Best of all, you’d only needed to wander in the snow a couple blocks before you’d struck gold; drawn like a moth where a plain, unmarked door had opened, spilling warm light and the sounds of overlapping laughter into the night. 

Inside it really was a dive, all sticky floors and old dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, a jukebox that took dimes and a blonde bombshell behind the counter who served with a decided lack of smile. But a week of you showing up and chattering at her had cracked that icy shell enough to get a name and a few raised eyebrows instead of complete silence. By the time you’d earned your discount as a regular around the third week, she’d occasionally comment on your more interesting trains of thought, offer some piercing observations and insights of her own if she was in a good mood.

A couple more weeks, and you knew her well enough to bring a second iced coffee when you arrived for the evening, Kat already pulling a bottle of Irish cream from the well as you removed the lids in a dance that had become comforting in its routine.

Yours is now slowly melting beside you, momentarily abandoned in favor of the syrupy-sweet mess Kat had ready for you. Kat’s downing the the last of her own as she considers her verdict on your attempt at a compliment, one hip propped against the other side of the bar.

“I don’t know if I’d particularly appreciate a stranger saying that to me. Don’t want strangers saying anything to me, really,” she frowns, “but particularly the bit about the hives.”

“Alright, I might have gone too hard out the gate with that one,” you admit. “But more importantly, I think you might be in the wrong profession for strangers not talking to you.”

She flips you off, heading to greet the two regulars that had slipped into place at the end of the bar. It was still early enough in the night that the place was mostly empty, only a few singles and two-tops stopping for an after-shift drink, giving you and Kat plenty of time to talk. It’d get rowdy enough later on, the voices louder, the jukebox queue a little more violent—but you’d found that among the chaos was often when you did your best writing.

“Hives aside, you know what I mean though, right?” you continue when Kat returns. “Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.”

You ignore this, already imagining renting a houseboat somewhere sunny, tropical. “I always thought it’d be fun to be a sailor,” you say dreamily. “Kerouac was a Merchant Marine, did you know?"

Kat makes a face.

“What, you didn’t like the book?” You’d loaned her a copy of The Dharma Bums the week before, slim and beloved enough that you carried it with you instead of borrowing from the local library, like you usually did. You had a collection of library cards now, rattling around in an old Altoid tin—the only souvenirs you kept from all the various cities you’d visited in your travels.

“It was fine. Good, even, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she says, swirling her coffee around. “He’s just so fucking mopey. I wanted to shake him, like c’mon man, you need to stop thinking about your life and actually fucking live it.” Kat’s the most animated she ever gets, which is just slightly more expressive than usual: eyes narrowed a little further, three degrees more derision in her tone.

Kat prefers nonfiction. History. Facts. Still reads everything you recommended, but has rarely finished one where she didn’t get frustrated with protagonists making dumb decisions or whining about their life choices. And while some of the books she recommended to you were a little dry at times, they were certainly illuminating—and the last one about organ harvesting had been surprisingly inspiration for story ideas.

You shrug, acknowledging the point. She’s not wrong, but you tended to live most of your life in your own head and your own worlds, so it didn’t bother you in quite the same way. Although, now that she mentions it…

“You know, that’s kind of to my earlier point. Giving someone a compliment is like the ultimate shortcut to living outside your head. You’re not all wrapped up in your own issues and thoughts, but appreciating the world and the people around you. Even if you don’t say it—which you should—it means you’re paying attention. Noticing.”

You drain the last of your Shirley, swapping it out for the iced coffee and swirling around the diluted ice. “Proposal: we make a game of it, tonight. We notice.” It wouldn’t be that different from what you and Kat normally did; share little observations on other patrons, trade theories on this person’s job or that person’s backstory. They’d just be a little more…intentional about it. "Keep your eye out for any interesting hats or weird pins or extremely sexy noses and come and tell me. That way we can both enjoy it,” you conclude, clasping your hands together in delight.

You knew better than to suggest Kat actually compliment anyone; you were optimistic, not delusional.     

“What constitutes an extremely sexy nose?” she asks, frowning at you.

“Oh Kat, that’s something you feel in your heart,” you shake your head pityingly.

She rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar where a nicely-dressed couple sink uncertainly onto the cracked vinyl stools, looking around like they might be feeling just a wee bit out of place. You catch the woman’s eye, smiling broadly. “I love your dress,” you say, and feel the joy of her blush bubble sweet and bright in your veins.

...

You pride yourself on having a lot of good ideas, but this is easily one of your best. You get a tremendous amount of writing done, unusually productive while riding the high of giving out compliments left and right. Not so many that it feels insincere and never any you don’t mean. But Baader–Meinhof was a real sonofabitch because it’s true that the more you look, the more you see to appreciate. 

Like Bobby, the union electrician with his first name embroidered on the pocket of his work-shirt. It catches your eye because it’s not machine-printed but carefully done by hand, illuminated when he leans over to order a Schlitz. His wife’s work, he shares you when you comment on it. “She’s paid special for her embroidery but still makes time to do every last one of my shirts. So I can carry her love around all day,” he says proudly, unabashed even when his friends tease him good-naturedly. 

Then there’s the lady whose cheetah-print nails match her furry coat, who winks at you when she catches you looking admiringly from across the bar. Right after her is the burly biker who reveals an entire themed photoshoot of his toy poodle when you compliment the photo on his lockscreen. Others in between, some you speak to, some you don’t—but all you appreciate in a way you vow to do more in the future.

Inevitably, little pieces of what you observe trickle onto the page, fleshing out bits of characters and sparking ideas you jot down in bursts of inspiration. You wouldn’t know until later if you’d end up keeping any of it, but you like the thought that that you’ll always have some part of this moment—the people, the place, the time—woven into your writing. A little souvenir in-and-of-itself.

Though the night gets progressively busier, Kat swings by from time to time to share her observations: money fished from strange locations, custom bank cards, funny pins she read when customers leaned close to shout their orders over the music—partially your fault, after you compliment an old geezer’s song choice and spend twenty minutes with him, combing through the catalogue and cackling as you feed dime after dime and queue enough dad-rock to last a fair few hours.

All told, you’re feeling fucking incredible as it nears midnight and the synth solo from Toto’s “Rosanna,” has you wiggling in your seat. You’ve a few thousand words under your belt and the high off of all those little moments of kinship is making you feel sparkling and happy and well, which, historically speaking, is sometimes a challenge for you.

You grin at Kat when she slumps next to you, enjoying a brief reprieve from new customers.

“Whatcha got for me, killer?” you ask, fishing in your bag for a granola bar. She takes it with a grateful look, shoving half of it in her mouth and talking as she chews.

“You’re gonna fucking love this. A mohawk, dude. In 2024.”

You perk up, looking around the room. It’s pretty packed now, but you can’t believe you missed a cut that attention-getting. “Liberty spikes?” you ask hopefully. You adored the punks of your acquaintance; always had interesting thoughts and insider tips on the local music scene.

Kat shakes her head. “Nah, it was cut short. Gym rat type, I think. Good tip, nice accent. Scottish,” she clarifies around the last of the granola bar. “Talked some shit about the ‘natural superiority of whisky over bourbon’ while ordering a Maker’s for his friend.”

You hum, still craning your head. “See where they sat?”

She shakes her head. “Asked about smoking though, so probably on the patio.”

Calling it a patio was generous—a small bit of grass with a couple plastic chairs and an ashtray, mostly. But there was a heat-lamp that worked roughly sixty percent of the time, which made the bar very popular with those in the know on cold nights like this.

“Speaking of, ‘bout time to take your break?”

If it wasn’t too busy, Frank, the doorman, would watch the bar while you and Kat split a joint in the back, sitting in companionable silence and pointing out shooting stars and passing satellites—clear skies a benefit of the city’s frigid nights. Kat knew a startling amount about astronomy but absolutely nothing about astrology; she could tell you the history of the visible universe up to the surface of last scattering, but just blinked when you had asked if she was a Scorpio or a Capricorn.

Kat checks the clock then whistles to get Frank’s attention. You shove your laptop into your bag but  don’t bother with a coat—your cheeks are flushed from the warmth of the crowd and you don’t mind the cold, not really. 

The patio looks abandoned, silent but for the wet sound of car tires moving through the snow-choked alley. Not totally surprising; most balk at below-zero temps even with the lamp. Snow clumps heavy and wet on top of the plastic chairs and the overturned garbage pail that serves as a footrest but the sky is clear for now, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light in the heavens. You breathe in until the cold night air fills your lungs and you feel fresh and clean and cracked open wide, just pouring out love into the world.

Movement in your periphery catches your eye and oh, Kat was right, not a punk at all.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the two men standing half-shadowed near the lamp. Big is the first word that comes to mind and perhaps that’s sufficient for now, since you can’t seem to stop ogling the breadth of their shoulders and those strong thighs long enough to notice anything else. Kat had thought gym-rat but you’d put money on those bodies not just being for show—there’s too much power, too much potential for carnage disguised in that plush softness that comes from muscles in repose.

“Why hullo there, barkeep,” the one with a shaggy, soft-looking mohawk greets Kat jovially, the Scottish accent just as charming as promised. “And barkeep’s friend,” he says, nodding to you as you come close enough to get a good look at his face. To latch on to details like the too-blue shade of his eyes and the too-sharp canines in his smile, the silvery-white starburst of a scar across his stubbled chin.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you hear yourself say. This happens sometimes, your mouth just venturing off on its own to get you into trouble.

Kat groans as the man laughs warmly. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” he purrs, propping the lit cigarette between his lips and sticking out a hand. His palm is warm and callused against your own as you properly introduce Kat and yourself.

“I’m Soap, this here’s Ghost,” the man offers in turn, nodding towards his friend who steps forward, murmuring a quiet greeting. He’s enough in the light now to reveal dark eyes shadowed under a hood, skeleton gloves and a matching skull-print balaclava pushed up far enough to accommodate a lit cigarette.

“Fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” you grin at him, immediately charmed by the weirdness of it all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man says affably, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t smile but there’s a little twist of his mouth that could be amused, if you squint.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat mutters next to you, eyes shutting briefly in second-hand embarrassment. “She’s on a mission about compliments tonight, noticing people,” she explains with bemused emphasis as she clears off the chairs and kicks snow off the garbage can.

“I just think it’s important to be more open with our affection, even with strangers. Especially with strangers,” you argue, dropping into one of the seats and pulling out the battered Altoid tin that holds your stash and a few pre-rolled joints. “Will this bother you?” you ask the men, holding up one.

They shake their heads, amused.

“Good, because it’s my fucking bar,” Kat snorts, grabbing it from your fingers and dropping into the chair next to you.

“What, you own this place?” you say, flabbergasted. “And you never told me?”

Kat holds the joint in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter flame, coaxing it to life despite the wind. She takes a deep drag, tilting her head up before releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

It looks wicked cool right up until she collapses in half, coughing desperately on the tail end of the exhale. You can’t fucking blame her; you’d bought it off your teenage neighbor, a science prodigy who claimed to have developed the perfect strain. Ivy League, he called it, since it had paid for his entire college fund.

Kat straightens up, red face feigning composure as she passes you the joint. “You never asked,” she finally says.

And that was just…well, fair, actually.

“Huh,” you say brilliantly as you struggle not to cough on your own exhale, bidding adieu to any dreams of looking cool in front of all the fucking fashion models around you. “You know, I did wonder when you’d get in trouble with your boss about the free drinks thing. And the drinking on the job thing. And the this on the job thing,” you say, frowning as you contemplate the joint.

You offer it up to the men and Soap takes it, your hands brushing long enough to send a little fizz through your blood.

“You’ve known each other long, then?” he asks, taking a puff. Turning a vibrant shade of red as he heroically—and futilely—tries to hold in a cough.

“Oh, we go way back,” you say very sincerely. “I helped her bury the body of her ex-husband years ago, a mafioso named Jimmy the Janitor because he cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

“I met you two months ago. And I’m a lesbian,” Kat contradicts blandly.

“I didn’t know that, either!” you exclaim, smacking her in the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude, I would have tried flirting with you ages ago.”

“You’re not my type,” she says devastating, and Ghost snorts when you dramatically mime a dagger to the heart. The joint glows red between his full lips, crossed with scars that shine silvery in the moonlight and trail up beyond his mask. Exhales in one long, smooth breath and looks suitably smug about it, the fucker.

“I do seem to remember you saying something earlier about me being ‘so hot I give you hives.’” Kat reminds you. “You telling me that wasn’t flirting?”

“Nah, that’s just being neighborly,” you beam at her.

“Then I shudder to think what your flirting does look like.”

“That’s the appropriate response, honestly.”

Ghost barks out a laugh and you shoot him a cheeky wink before turning back to Kat. “Alright then killer, gimmie the goods. What is your type?” you prod, hooking your ankle around her own. “Is it a black cat, golden retriever thing? I can bark, babe, just say the word.”  

Soap damn near chokes on his drink but Kat just sighs, sounding more fond than exasperated. She takes the joint and leans in, bringing your faces only a few inches apart. You watch, riveted, as she brings it to her cherry-red lips and inhales deeply. Holding your gaze, she leans ever so slightly closer, the moment stretching into eternity before she releases a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke directly into your fucking face. You bring a hand to your mouth absently, think you might be drooling.

“MILFs,” she says devastatingly before tucking the joint between your fingers, patting your hand, and heading back inside—as good as a kiss on the mouth from anyone else.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap's voice is rough as the door closes behind her.  

“You’re telling me, pal,” you sink comically in your chair.“I think she broke me.” You’d already been drunk off the night’s joy but now you felt lightheadedwith desire, literally dizzy with it.

This is not an uncommon response to Kat, you suppose. Nor, you expect, to the pretty lads that remain.

You summon your forces and sit back upright, kicking over the newly empty chair over in offering. Ghost takes it, the plastic frame creaking under his bulk while Soap drops down on the garbage pail, resting his elbows on jean-clad knees. You pass around the rest of the joint in companionable silence, and it’s just…nice, all of it. The cold at your back and the heat of the lamp on your face, the fading alcohol buzz replaced by the sweeter, steadier high of the weed, always better at gentling your nerves and clearing your head. The easy camaraderie of smokers cast out into the cold, the same thing in almost every city and country you’d ever seen. You smile, thinking back on all those shared lighters and bummed cigarettes over the years. All those ships passing in the night.

“Getting’ us a refill,” Soap finally says, standing up and snagging Ghost’s empty glass, hooking their pinkies together briefly in the action. You note it and immediately drop the thought, scalded. Know you will literally, actually combust if let your brain run-rabbit imagining the two of them together. All that muscle, all that strength, curved around each other, curved around you…

“What’ll it be, bonnie?” Soap’s warm voice snaps you out of your reverie and you flush, sure from his smirk that he can read the direction of your thoughts. You were legendarily bad at poker—couldn’t keep a neutral expression if they paid you to.

“Dealer’s choice, please and thank you,” you grin at him despite your embarrassment; turning down a free drink is against your moral code.  

He gives you that shark-like smile and Ghost tsks as he heads inside. “You’ll probably regret that, birdie. Johnny’s got atrocious taste.”

“Aye can fucking hear you, you Manc twat,” Soap calls from the door, a little extra Scottish in his snark. Ghost chuckles lowly, stretching his feet out into your space.

“It’s Manchester then, our kid?” you tease, kicking your foot playfully against his boot. Leaving it there when he lets you. “Whose your fighter then, Liam or Noel?”

He considers for a moment. “Liam. I like his spunk.”

“’A man with a fork in a world of soup,’” you quote, nodding approvingly. “I get that.”

You toy with the Altoids tin and debate lighting up another one.

Ghost fishes a pouch of rolling tobacco out of the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and holds it up, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Clever boy,” you praise, and he leans forward to pass it to you, big hands dwarfing your own. When he settles back in his chair, he tangles his feet with yours properly and you feel the heat rise on your cheeks.

You prep the blunt in a practiced motion, balancing the tin on your knees as you sprinkle the peaty tobacco overtop the flower evenly. “I’ve always been more of a Blur over Oasis fella, myself,” you finally offer to distract from the weight of his gaze. “Damon Alburn, the man you are,” you pause to put a fervent hand to your heart.

“Oi, we talking about the Gorillaz then?” Soap calls out, juggling glasses as the door shuts behind him, muffling the chatter from inside.  “Fucking choon after choon, them,” he declares, dropping back onto the pail.

He passes Ghost a rocks glass filled with an inch of amber that matches his own, his eyes tracking where your tongue runs across the filter paper, wetting it. He trades you the finished smoke for a glass with something alarmingly orange in it, another plastic sword stuck with three cherries laid across the top.

You sniff skeptically, all sweet and citrusy and strong. “This must be off-menu.”

“Dive bar innit, no menu to be off of,” Soap points out, and you smile at the familiar response.

You take a curious sip, looking up in surprise when you taste a bright splash of orange and vanilla across your tongue. “That’s fucking incredible,” you say, eyes wide. “What is it and why haven’t I been having it all night?”

Soap grins at you, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Had a feeling you were a lass that enjoys a slow, comfortable screw against the wall.”

Ghost groans, and you squint suspiciously at Soap. “Who doesn’t, what’s that got to do with my drink?”

Soap laughs, delighted. “That’s the name of the drink, bonnie. A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” he says with emphasis.

Ah. Well. That’s—oh, motherfucker. “Does Kat know that?” She’s probably laughing her ass off inside, the sadist.

“Oh, aye. She seemed amused. Though she made an unnerving amount of eye contact while stabbing the wee cherries,” he says, eying the garnish. “Scariest fucking thing I’ve seen in a minute. Put me in mind of someone we know, actually,” he says, giving Ghost a wry look as he takes a sip and sets the glass down.

He pulls out his own lighter to coax the blunt to life, a battered Bic with ‘SOAP’ scrawled in thick, Sharpied letters. He lets out a pleased sigh as the opaque smoke curls through the cold air, then leans forward to rest his elbows back on his knees.

“Now, as for why you weren’t getting it slow, comfortable, or otherwise before now, I couldn’t say,” he tells you, blue eyes glinting with mischief. “But I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than happy to provide for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right L.T.?”  

“Right enough there, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is closer to a growl, setting off a delightful curl of heat in your belly.

You nibble on your straw and pretend the attention isn’t going straight to your head, twice as intoxicating as the drink or the drugs. “You know what they say about variety and the spice of life. Might get bored with just a screw against the wall. Got any thoughts on horizontal surfaces?” you tease, enjoying the way Ghost smirks around the blunt.

But oh, is that a dimple you suddenly see carving out of one scarred cheek? Before you’re even conscious of it you’re leaning in to get a closer look, balancing one hand on his knee. “I adore your dimple,” you tell him very seriously, undoing any hope you had of appearing cool and hard-to-get. “It is very cute.”

You give him a businesslike pat on the thigh and start to pull away, but he catches you gently before you get too far.

“Oh, sweet girl, I got plenty of thoughts” he purrs, petting over the soft skin of your wrist with his thumb. You try to play your delighted shiver off as one of chill, but you don’t think your violent blush is selling it. “We’ll keep you entertained, don’t you worry. Bored is the last thing you’ll be, aye Johnny?” Ghost squeezes gently before releasing you.

“Oh, I fuckin’ swear to it, L.T,” Soap says, winking at Ghost before unfolding his big bulk from the garbage can. “We’ll give you what need, bonnie, promise. Starting with this.” Then his arm is around your waist and you’re in the fucking air and—

Oh, that’s not so bad, actually.

Soap sinks into the lawn chair and settles you across his lap, surrounding you with delicious warmth and a scent like peat and salt air. Your brain goes a bit soft and cottony for a moment and you latch on to the gentle pressure of his arms. Manhandling has always been a shortcut to your most devastated self, the kind of stupid and sweet and sated that you’ve only found once or twice through chemistry or luck or sheer fucking determination, and it bodes very well for the night to come.

Besides, for all he wears only a bomber jacket, the Scotsman is radiating heat like a furnace and it’s the perfect sensory foil to the plummeting temperatures, a few clouds beginning to fleck the sky.

“Saw you shiver. Couldn’t let our girl be cold now can I?” Soap says, chucking you under the chin like a kid. Should be stupid but you fucking like it, can’t help but smile up at him. Can’t remember the last time someone treated you so sweet, like you were something to protect. To indulge.

Ghost’s eyes are fond on the pair of you, reaching out to trap Soap’s feet the same way he had yours a few moments before, one hand reaching to splay possessively over your thigh and turn your insides liquid.

There’s no reason it should be as easy as it is, getting all wrapped up in each other as the night stretches on and the clouds continue to gather, chatting quietly and smoking through the rest of the blunt and finishing your drinks just as the first fat, fluffy flakes of snow begin to fall.

You watch, delighted, as the storm kicks up in a sudden flurry, a magical, glimmering coat that turns the world into one whole thing. Untouched and perfect and silent except for the tides of your breath and the slight hum of the heat lamp, small sounds within a vast, quiet night.

You sigh in Soap’s arms, totally and unexpectedly content, luxuriating in the way your blood hums in anticipation of the night’s inevitable conclusion.  

People asked if you got lonely, sometimes, travelling the way you did. Never staying anywhere for more than a few months, only occasionally breezing through past towns for a few loved-up reunions before the wind starts pressing at your back.  

And though it’s true you’ve been seeking a place of your own, a place where you could belong, this, too, means something. To have these beautiful, fleeting moments of connection with once-strangers, to lose yourself completely in the headiness of such quick intimacies, no less passionate or kind or devastating for their brief duration. All those countless moments of connection—romantic, sexual, platonic—coalescing into a kind of soft sweetness to hold on to long after you’ve forgotten a name or had a face grow fuzzy with memory.

All of that sweetness is swirling inside you as you nudge Soap’s chin with your head, drawing his attention from where he’d been conversing softly with Ghost, one hand petting absently at your waist.

“Take me home?” you ask softly, and his eyes melt at the question, his hand coming up to thumb a little desperately at your mouth.

“Oh, the Cap’n would love that,” Ghost drawls. “Fall arse-over-tits, sweet thing like you walking through the door.”

“My home,” you clarify, though you’re not opposed—especially if their friend (captain?) looks anything like them. “I live like four blocks that way,” you chuck a thumb vaguely over your shoulder.

“Well why didn’t you say so, bonnie’,” Soap says, standing up and dumping you on your feet. Before you can be too offended, he grabs your chin and presses his lips firmly against yours, searing hot and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. You look up at him a little dazed and he pets his thumb across your chin, grinning. “Ghost is right. Too sweet for your own good, darlin’. T’wouldn’t be right for us to let you walk home alone, sweet thing like you. Not in neighborhood like this.”

“Au contraire mon frère, I’m fast as shit,” you tell him. This occasionally happened when you got crossfaded in particularly the right way—you went tearing off down a darkened street, drunk on the feeling of wind against your face and your heart hammering in your chest. Feeling like you could fucking fly. “No bad guy’s gonna catch me, no way.”

“That right, little rabbit?” Ghost moves as silent as his name, a sudden warmth at your back without you even noticing he’d left his chair. He curves that big body around you, nipping at the soft skin at your neck and caging you in against the firmness of Johnny’s chest. “Gonna let us chase you?” he near growls.

The thought sends goosebumps rising along your arms. To be wanted; to be chased; to be caught. Ghost groans when you lean back against him, tipping your head back to nip at his jaw in return. “Home. Now,” he commands lowly, pulling down his mask.

You can’t help your shit-eating grin as you tug them both through the door and through the thinning, late-night crowd to collect your long-abandoned things from the bar.

Kat eyes the three of you suspiciously. “If I find cum anywhere on that fucking patio I will have your balls in a bear trap,” she threatens.

“No promises,” you wink at her, laughing as she flips you off. You shrug on your coat and pick up your bag which Ghost immediately appropriates, slinging it over one shoulder. He ignores your amused tug on the strap, looking over your head presumably to plot the swiftest exit.

“Don’t wait up, babe!” you say, blowing a kiss to Kat as Ghost tows you and Soap toward the door.

“Call me if you need help burying the bodies,” Kat offers in response, and you cackle at the uncertain looks the late-night crowd shoots you both.

And then it’s just the three of you and the cold and the night, pressed together like you’re one body in the snow-crowned streets. 

[spideysbruh]

Still Want It All

a/n- this is kinda a part two to i want it all, but it can be read alone !!!

~~~

A couple of months after Y/n and Timothée get together, their press tour is about to start. Y/n has no idea how they're going to hide that they're together. They honestly can't keep their hands off each other.

Things have been great, Timothée just met her parents and they absolutely loved him, telling Y/n how great he is and how well he carried himself at their dinner.

She met his parents as well, she was extremely nervous, but it went well. He told her afterward that they’d never reacted this nicely with any other girl he’d brought home, they thought she was pretty, nice, and charming.

They’ve been seen out together a handful of times, but it didn’t cause anything too crazy online, since they had filmed a whole movie together and have posted each other online before.

Y/n liked that she could still post the occasional photo or video of him, and whenever he posts a story of her, it just comes off as two friends hanging out. Which is true to an extent.

They’re in a news building right now, getting ready for their first interview of the press tour. She’s sitting next to their director, Aaliyah, and Timothée is on the other side.

They answer a handful of regular questions about the movie, making jokes here and there. Aaliyah gets a question primarily for her and Timothée takes the opportunity to lean back in his chair and make eye contact with Y/n behind Aaliyah. She raises her eyebrows at him, wondering what he wants.

He grins and sticks his tongue out at her, making her snort and shake her head.

He does little things like that throughout the day, poking her side, flipping her off, and even sneaking a quick glance at her boobs making her jokingly roll her eyes.

“You're a sick fuck.” She says at the end of the day as they head into the elevator to get to their shared room.

“What did I do? I'm just a chill guy.” He sarcastically says, pushing their floor number.

She laughs, “Shut the fuck up.” he chuckles and as soon as the doors close completely he grabs her face, kissing her fervently.

She hums and kisses him back, her hands tangling in his hair, tugging on the strands gently.

He pulls away and sighs against her lips, “Been wanting to do that all day.”

She smiles and quickly kisses him again before the doors to their floor open.

He takes her hand in his and walks to their room, swiping the card to unlock it.

The weeks pass and they get used to acting like nothing more than just friends for the interviews, maybe a little flirting here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary for them.

Timothée is always touch starved throughout the days, but sharing a room with her every night makes it worth the wait.

Today, they have a few fun one on one interviews, the first one being a 'friendship test'

“Hi! I'm Y/n L/n.”

“And I'm Timothée Chalamet. And this is the friendship test.” He said, interrupted by Y/n giggling.

“You said that really seriously, it was weird.” She laughs, nudging his arm.

“Oh, my bad.” He chuckles, admiring her for a second.

She smiles and looks at the card in her hand, “Do you remember when and how you guys first met?” She reads, looking back up at him with a smirk.

He hums and thinks for a moment, having to look away from her to resist the urge to kiss her. He puts his finger on his chin to make it seem like he's thinking about it, which makes her laugh again.

“I do, I remember being reallyyyy fucking nervous because it was you, and you're awesome and brilliant and extremely talented. I remember thinking you probably wouldn't talk to me off camera.” Y/n says, blushing at the memory, “But then you came into the room and you were the nicest dude ever! You introduced yourself like you weren't literally Paul Atreides, and then you asked if I wanted to get lunch with you in the cafeteria. Which really helped for our chemistry on set and everything.” She finished.

“You know what's crazy? I was nervous to meet you because I had already seen your audition tape and you were just fucking spectacular that I thought I'd look stupid next to you.” He laughs, Y/n's mouth drops at his words.

“Don't play with me, bro!” She says, he chuckles and shakes his head.

“I'm so serious. I knew you were extremely talented from the second they showed me your tape.” He shrugs, crossing his arms and meeting her eyes.

Y/n pouts, “You never told me that.”

Timothée eyes her mouth and bites his lip before responding, “Well we never talked about this before.”

“That's true. Okay okay, your turn.” She says, watching him grab his card and scan over it.

“Best moment together outside of filming?” He reads, they both smirk as a rush of other kinds of memories fill their minds.

They make eye contact and burst out laughing, Y/n shoving Timothée while laughing, “There's so many.” Y/n says, trying to make their laughing seem normal.

“So so many.” Timothée helps as he leans back towards Y/n, and then feigns thinking.

“Ummm, I'm thinking of when you went to that Sabrina Carpenter concert with me instead because my friend flaked on me and you let me serenade you the whole time.” She replies, trying to think of one that was innocent and doesn't expose that they're dating.

“Awww I was thinking the same thing.” He says, touching her arm.

“Were you really?!?!” She asks, surprised.

“No.”

She rolls her eyes and lightly shoves him with her shoulder, “Well I like that one. It was still pretty early on too, like we only knew each other a month or two by that point, but you still came with me.” She smiles, “What would you say, then?”

Timothée hums, “How about when we had that movie night, and I met your cat and you cooked for me? You made that one puerto rican dish, remember? I'm forgetting the name.”

Y/n smiles at the memory, that was the night that she knew she liked him more than a friend. He was so cute and respectful, he even had a second plate.

She blushes at the fact that he thinks of that as one of their best memories.

“Yeah, I wanna change my answer to that one too, actually.” She giggles, Timothée watches her carefully before looking back at the cards in front of them.

Y/n clears her throat as they switch to standing face to face for the next exercise.

“We're gonna have you guys compliment each other, you can write them down on those cards.” A crew member explains as he hands them markers to write with.

“Wait, y/n turn around, so we don't see what we're writing.” Timothée says, grabbing her shoulders and turning her away from him, he turns himself too as he starts writing.

“Wait oh my god, you're writing so quickly.” Y/n giggles, “There's just soooo many amazing qualities that I have, huh?” She teases, jokingly flipping her hair.

Timothée laughs, “There really are.”

She blushes at that as she writes down her compliments. “Okay, I'm ready when you are, Timmy.” She smirks, knowing how much he likes when she calls him that, maybe just not right now.

Timothée groans and turns around in sync with her. “You can go first, y/n/n.”

She sighs and reads her card, “I wrote that you're a very kind and generous person. You always look out for the people you care about. Which I find very admirable.” She says, smiling at the way his eyes soften at her words.

“Thank you.” He appreciates, “Um, I wrote that I love how good you smell.”

It's quiet for a second until y/n speaks, “Are you serious?” She wonders.

“No.” He shakes his head, making her laugh, her booming laugh echoing across the room. Y/n once again shoves him as she laughs, Timothée snorts and watches as she calms down, patiently waiting with a small smile on his face.

“I'm sorry, T. Go ahead.” She giggles, wiping her eyes.

“I actually wrote that I love your laugh. I like how when something is really funny to you, you basically lose all sense of mobility and just shove the person closest to you. And your laugh always fills the room with so much delight and makes everyone else happy too. It's never a bad thing to make others cheerful.” He finishes, seeing her smile widen at his words.

“Thank you, Timothée. You don't even know how many times I've gotten crazy looks because of my laugh.” She grins, he huffs and shakes his head at that.

“People just hate happiness, I swear. Your laugh is adorable.”

“Thank you.” She blushes and looks down at her card, “My other one that I wrote was that you're very witty. You always know how to lighten the mood and make someone feel better when they're down.”

“I try my best.” He nonchalantly says.

“Well, you're really good at it. You've helped me a couple times!” She says, placing her hand on his arm.

“Thank you, thank you.” He responds, running a hand through his hair. “I also wrote that I love how confident you are. You never let anyone harsh your mellow, and you're extremely comfortable in your own skin.”

“Well, that's what a lifetime of bullying does to a person.” She replies, jokingly shaking her head.

“Stop, were you actually bullied?” He asks, reaching over to comfortingly rub her arm.

“Oh yeah, to this day!” She laughs it off.

“Why would they bully you?” He asks in genuine disbelief.

She shrugs, “Too weird or something, who knows?”

“Well, I love you just the way you are.” He says, she blushes and leans over to nuzzle her head against his shoulder for a second.

“Awwww thank you Timmy, I love you too.” She smiles, his cheeks redden at that and he sighs.

The next exercise is a mind meld, they have to name the same things at the same time.

“Okay, condiments.” She says, and he nods, “on three… one, two, three. Ketchup!”

“Ketchup!” They say in unison, Timothée cheers and jumps around, making her laugh.

“Dude, we're literally so in sync.”

Timothée agrees and places his hands on her shoulder, shaking her a bit as he jumps up and down excitedly. “We're not done, T. Your turn.”

“Right, right…. okay a color. One, two, three- green!”

“Green!” They once again say in sync.

“Bro!” He exclaims, clapping as she giggles.

“Bab- bro we're so.. mind melded.” She catches herself, making him laugh.

“Hell yeah we are! Let's finish strong. Animals!”

“Okay okay, one, two, three- Giraffe!”

“Whale shark!” He says at the same time that she says giraffe, she frowns and stares him down.

“Why the fuck would anyone say a whale shark?!” She questions, he sighs and defeatedly lays on the ground, jokingly putting his arm over his eyes.

“Just leave.” He jokes, Y/n snorts and lightly kicks at his legs.

“Come on, we're gonna get this on the second try, watch.”

“Join me down here.” He says, peeking up at her, she giggles and jokingly groans as she sits down next to him.

“Okay, one two three- elephant!”

“Peacock!” He yells, y/n frustratedly sighs, putting her face in her hands.

“Timothée! Once again, why is peacock the first animal you thought of?!” She teases, he laughs and sits up.

“I don't know!” He chuckles, admiring her as she sighs.

“Okay, third time’s the charm! Let's think more domestic, okay?” She says, meeting his eyes, he nods, “one.. two.. three- cat!”

“Cat!” he says, y/n cheers and lunges forward, tackling him to the floor.

“THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT!” She exclaims as Timothée laughs, wrapping his arms around her. “We're literally the most mind-melded people ever.” She jokes as she pulls away.

Timothée grins, “I think it's safe to say that we passed the friendship test.”

“Oh yeah, with flying colors.” She knowingly smiles and takes his hand to help him up.

~~

After filming that, they have a one hour break for lunch and Timothée keeps trying to hold her hand and kiss her in risky places.

“I miss youuuu.” He whines as they walk down the hall.

“Baby, we've been together all day.” She giggles as he intertwines their fingers.

“I know, but-” She's cut off by him pushing her into a private bathroom, “Timothée!” She exclaims, turning to face him.

“Yeah, but it’s literally torture not being able to kiss you whenever I want… and do other things.” He complains, pouting at her.

“I'm sorry! I just wanna make out with my girl for a minute or two pleaseeeeee.” He begs, softly kissing her cheek.

“You're such a horny little fucker.” She giggles as he kisses down her neck.

“I didn't say I wanted to fuck… unless you want to.” He suggestively says, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what, you did say for a minute or two…. you'd still have about a minute for cleanup. Give or take.” She teases, he playfully tugs on her hair at that.

“Funny.” He says, and then leans in to kiss her, sliding a tongue between her soft lips.

She moans and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He groans and lifts her to sit on the sink, she chuckles into it and wraps her legs around him. He rubs his crotch against hers and she pulls away.

“Don't get any ideas baby, we're not having a quickie right now.” She mumbles against his lips.

He sighs, “No no, of course not. Just a fun little makeout of course.” He goes back to her lips as she giggles.

His hands respectfully stay on her thighs, squeezing them occasionally as they kiss passionately for another minute or two before reluctantly pulling apart.

“I guess we should go eat.” He says begrudgingly, helping her off the sink.

“Yeah I guess so.” She says, reaching forward to fix the collar of his shirt.

He smiles lightly and gently rubs some smeared lip gloss from underneath her lip before opening the door for her.

“After our last interview today, I'm all yours tonight.” She promises as they walk down the hall.

When the video posts a couple of days later, Y/n watches it in their hotel room while Timothée is showering. She laughs at how cute they are and can't help but love how it's kind of obvious that they're together… or maybe not.

She's reading the comments when Timothėe comes out in only his underwear, his hair dripping as he sits down beside her, kissing her head before speaking.

“What you doing?” He mumbles, looking at her laptop.

“Mmmm, reading the comments on that friendship test we did.” She says, he chuckles and leans in closer so he can read them too.

THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HERRRRR

BRO HES IN LOVE W HER ISTGGGG

or maybe they're just friends promoting their movie..

THAT FACE SHE MADE AFTER HE SAID HIS BEST MEMORY W HER OH M HHHGGH SHE LIKES HIM FR

the way for his compliments he said he “loved” them… oh he wants her

that was so funny when she tackled him to the ground, BUT THEN HE HUGGED HER 🥺🥺😭😭😭😭 she's so lucky

HE SAID HER LAUGH IS ADORABLE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“You in love with me, Timmy?” She says softly, he laughs and turns his eyes away from the screen to her.

She smiles and kisses his lips, setting the laptop on the dresser as he slowly deepens the kiss.

He caresses her face, “Of course... How couldn't I be?”

“I love you.” She moans as he kisses her neck, he sensually licks at it before softly sucking a small purple spot onto an exposed spot. “Timmyyyy, people will see.” She whines, but doesn't make any effort to stop him.

“Mmmm, let them, you can do me next.” He mutters, nipping at the collar of her shirt. She giggles, tangling her hand in his hair. “I love you, y/n/n. These past few months have been the best of my life.” He says, his lips now centimeters away from hers as he speaks.

“You still want it all with me, baby?” She wonders, he nods and pecks her lips, pulling her to lay on top of him.

“Of course I do.”

*

[bunni-v1]

Aventurine NSFW Headcannons

🍓This took me so long to get done, and I'm not 100% satisfied, but I wanted to get these out. There's so much I left unsaid, and I feel like if I kept going it would never stop. So enjoy the very basics of what I feel Aventurine is like in bed. Smaller posts are coming in the future so I can take time to work on the genshin stuff I have coming, alongside requests I plan on doing a full fic for <3

Tagging: @the-original-skipps (mwah mwah, just for you pookie)

Tw: Mentions of past sexual assault; Aventurine has unhealthy views of sex; Aventurine's past; NSFW; Pretty vanilla ngl; grammar errors

Info: Aventurine x Reader; Angst; Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

MDNI

-Aventurine and sex do not mix well – at least, not at the start. 

-Much like love, he has a very jaded view of sexual intimacy. He was (heavily implied to have been) sexually assaulted by many different unsavory types when he was younger. His body wasn’t his own then, and the sex was brutal and unkind – something he hated.

-As he grew, both in stature and into his title of Aventurine of Strategems, his hatred of sex turned into something different. It was still hatred, he hated the act more than anything in the world most times, but he realized his body was good for something.

-Aventurine was an attractive man, despite his eyes being a less than savory feature to most people. His body was lean and lithe, his clothes and hair perfectly styled and trendy, not to mention the air of mystery he had drew people in like moths to flame. 

-All of it was crafted by his own two hands, of course. He was attractive because he wanted – no, needed to be. So, he made sure he was, of course, no one would do business with him otherwise.

-Pretty as a peacock, you could hardly tell he was once a slave or a dirty Avgin boy.

-He’s pleasantly surprised to find that the body he so hated being born into was a good business tool when he needed it to be.

-People really will do anything to get off, and as much as it disgusted him to do such depraved things, he would do whatever he had to to get what he wanted.

-He’d scrub his skin raw in the shower afterward, trying desperately to get the smell of sex off him. Hoping that if he scratches hard enough the ugly purple bruises will wash away with soap and water. They never do, and they leave him feeling vile until they fade.

-Regardless men, women, monsters – he really didn’t care what he was fucking so long as it got him what he was looking for.

-That’s what sex is to Aventurine, a transaction. He scoffs at the idea of it being anything more than that. Sex was rough and sweaty and all kinds of disgusting, how could anyone derive pleasure from that? You fuck, you cum, you say goodbye. Simple. As. That.

-Ah, but, then again you come along and you just love challenging his worldview don’t you? With your pretty little eyes and your sweet, comforting words. You always make him question himself. It would be annoying if he didn’t love you so damn much.

-Your first time with him is… incredibly unpleasant. It’s not as though he doesn’t account for you or your wants, but there’s a disconnect. He’s too… pliant and yet all too controlling. First times are rarely good, but this felt alien. Like the person you were with was not your beloved Kakavasha, but some strange man taking his place for the night.

-He’s doing things he thinks you want, he’s saying sweet words he’d whispered to hundreds of other partners, it’s all that he thinks you need, what he’s decided in his head that you’d like, rather than something that comes from knowing you.

-He doesn’t ask, he just gives and takes and then it’s over. It’s unfulfilling and empty, leaving you with a dull ache in your chest.

-He doesn’t even offer you or himself aftercare, and you find him scrubbing his skin red in the shower afterward like he was trying to rid himself of any trace of you.

-It makes you feel terrible. Like you’re some whore he’s picked up off the streets and not his long-term partner with whom he’s shared some of the darkest parts of himself.

-You cry into those expensive satin sheets, ruining them with your sniffling. It’s quite the sight for Aventurine to walk back into.

-He expected you to be asleep, or at least resting in some capacity, but crying? His heart sinks as he rushes to your side, then somehow falls further when you tug yourself away from him.

-He’s perceptive enough to realize that he had been the one to put you in such a state, but he didn’t really understand why.

-When he’s able to calm you enough to get you to talk to him, you’re able to explain that you felt so disregarded. There was no connection or love or care from him, did he not feel you were worthy of sharing that in moments of intimacy?

-That makes him sick. Never in a million years would he want to make you feel as though he does not love you, despite previous behaviors. You were his whole world, part of the reason he continued to exist. How could he ever make you feel unworthy of him?

-He nearly spirals there, but your tears are enough to remind him that he is not the one who needs love and reassurance. So, always eager to learn and grow with you, he asks you what you believe sex should be like… and it’s quite different from what he understands.

-You describe it like an extension of yourself. A means of intimacy and trust a level deeper than words and affection can get you. You are vulnerable during sex, you are at your weakest and you are sharing that with the person you love. It’s the most intimate thing you could do with a person, and while it can be fun and it can simply be because it feels good, it can also be because you love the other person so deeply you have no other way to express it.

-Aventurine finds the definition to be rather naive, but you had always been a bleeding heart. (Which he, regardless of if Kakavasha or Aventurine was leading charge, would give anything to protect). Yet… Kakavasha likes it. Kakavasha wants to do that with you, he wants to show you how much he loves you, he wants to hold you even closer and share such sweet nothings with you.

-He tries to toss it out initially because if he thought about it like that he would have to confront himself. Look that trauma in the eyes and acknowledge that, once again, you’d proven him wrong in a way he was annoyingly not expecting.

-But as the days go by and you slowly begin to become physical with him again, he wonders fondly how it would feel. Taking his time with you, he means.

-He couldn’t help but wonder how nice it would be to really feel your skin under his fingers. To kiss every inch of you, to hear you sigh his name like he crafted the heavens with his own two hands. Ah, Kakavasha won again, it seems.

-So he goes to you, like an apologetic puppy, and he apologizes for how terrible he was. How he reflected and regrets it, and he wants to try again and let you take the lead this time. 

-Despite everything, you say yes, and you allow him this second chance to redefine his worldview yet again.

-Aeons it’s life-changing sex. 

-Slow, careful, and all kinds of intimate. He’s still on top because he could not trust even you to be on top. He needed that control. But he listens to what you need, and he finds he’s very good at servicing you. Just as good as he is at spoiling you with his riches.

-You guide him to kiss you deeply, tongues tangling in a tango to a tempo only the two of you could enjoy. You show him how to leave love bites that make his spine tingle. How different parts of your body make you feel different kinds of pleasure. He gets to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, taste your very being on his tongue, and swallow the angelic cries of his name.

-It’s a kind of intimacy and affection he’d never been afforded in his life. A vulnerability he hadn’t expected himself to enjoy, and yet as he sobs into your shoulder at his release, he finds himself wanting more.

-It becomes a problem, really. One taste of it and you have both your sweet Kakavasha and the hardened businessman Aventurine absolutely addicted. In the privacy of his condo, he can lust after you all he wants. You would never deny him the pleasure of freedom, though you would tell him no after the third night in a row for your aching hips. (He will draw you a bath and book you an appointment at the finest spa he can get you into for the next day.)

-In his office, or during a meeting, or talking to the Doctor, however… that’s a problem. He wasn’t supposed to like it that much, but that intimacy had him aching through his expensive slacks. 

-He thinks about it all the time, and he’s taken to locking his office doors and keeping the blinds shut airtight for more than half the day. He hopes no one notices how many bathroom breaks he takes during meetings. He tries his best to forget the boner he popped in front of the esteemed doctor talking about finances.

-You literally have him addicted to being in love with you, it’s quite the conundrum you’ve found yourselves in… but, would you really ever want to change that? He’s very good in bed after all, so it can’t be that bad.

-Aventurine is a switch-leaning top (so sorry Aventio shippers), and I say this only because he does not like relinquishing control. Especially when he’s in such a vulnerable state, especially with his past traumas, he would rather be in charge than trust you and have you hurt him.

-He softens up significantly as time goes on, and he is more willing to allow you to service him how you please, but he never really gives up his control. There’s always a reminder that he has the say-so in what does or does not go.

-That being said he is very giving, without having to be asked he will happily do whatever you need of him. It’s just in his nature to service, those pretty little moans are all the payment he needs.

-I won’t lie and say he isn’t a tease, though. He’s incorrigible, actually. He loves to tease you, be it with his words or his actions, he loves getting you squirming beneath him.

-He’ll mumble against your throat how needy you are for him, how you’re already so worked up and he hasn’t even gotten past your clothes, how cute you are when you’re so needy for him. His fingers will graze you with such feather-light touch you’ll whine at him, and he always coos at you like a needy little thing – as if he isn’t the one tormenting you.

-He’s a fan of edging, which just comes with the territory too. He spends hours of his time building you up to your orgasm, crooking his fingers and swirling his tongue so you’re right there, and then he’ll pull away leaving you crying for more.

-It’s all worth it when he does let you cum, though. The orgasm shaking the very foundation of you, sticky fluids staining yet another pair of satin sheets. 

-That’s not even mentioning his dick, which he is just as talented with. It’s slim, the same shade as the rest of him, with an upward curve that rubs against your g-spot so very well without him having to try.

-It fits so snugly inside, and if you watch closely you can see the effect you have on him as his perfect poker face cracks just a little. He loves to feel you from the inside, it may be one of his favorite things in the world.

-You are warm and squishy and so very accepting of him, conforming to the size and shape of his member like you were made to do so. Like you were made for him and him alone, it’s a deeply romantic thought that he would scoff at if he were in a less hazy mindset.

-He’s rarely rough with you, preferring to show you how much he loves you more softly, though he can be rough upon request.

-Sometimes if you get him jealous enough he’ll be rough on his own accord, but never uncaring or unloving. Even when he has you face down, ass up he makes you feel like the most precious gemstone in the entire world.

-He likes sex slow and long, preferring if it is dragged out across multiple sessions with sweet nothings and gentle care between the breaks. 

-However, he rarely has the free time for such things, and as such he gets very good at making the most of the time that he does have.

-Because of his high sex drive, quickies are common, but they are no less fulfilling than the long sessions he enjoys having. 

-He’s adept at getting you to cum in under five minutes with his fingers, he can do it in two with his tongue thrown in, and that’s usually fast enough for him to quickly get off and get back to what he needs to do.

-Unfortunately, he isn’t the kinkiest guy. He doesn’t like tying up or being tied up, he’s not a fan of power play, roleplaying seems to turn him off (again, not a fan of power play, which a lot of scenarios include this), no hitting or degrading, and pretty much anything that could remotely involve hurting either of you is a no from him.

-He thinks for a while he’s fine with it, and he is willing to try anything once, but it only takes him one time to realize he does not like physical or mental pain. It’s not sexy, it’s traumatizing and he won’t be convinced to try it.

-He does, however, really enjoy you wearing lingerie. Lacy ones dotted with expensive stones are his favorites. Frequently you’ll find a set sent to you in pretty packaging with a little note telling you to ‘enjoy your present.’ Meaning, he wants a picture of you in it ASAP.

-Also a fan of seeing you in his clothes. If he spots you lounging about in his shirt after a long day of work, he’ll be all over you like a helpless puppy.

-Cockwarming you when he works from home is a favorite of his, liking the way you wiggle and squirm as he combs over documents. His poker face really is something impressive, you have no clue how he’s re-read the same sentence ten times as you clench around him again.

-Office sex is unlikely, purely because he doesn’t like you being anywhere near IPC headquarters if he can help it. But if you do stop by for some reason, the likelihood of him bending you over the desk and fucking you raw is about 99%. He does miss you a lot during the day, after all, you can’t shame him for indulging in his favorite treat after so long without it.

-He just truly, deeply loves you. Once he begins to have a healthy relationship with sex and associate it with you rather than the horrors of his past, it’s nothing but loving and delightful. He takes the whole idea that it is an extension of his admiration for you very literally, and showers you in his affections through sex.

[bonny-kookoo]

Bonny do you perhaps have any more thoughts about Yoongi and the little Fairy? It's such a cute story!

*cough* (perhaps some nsfw ideas cause you're just so good at writing thise type of ideas) *cough*

Hmmmmmm....

Its interesting how his perception of you has been going through stages, ever since you both entered a relationship.

At first, he wasn't sure about you. You seemed too innocent, head high in the clouds as if you've never witnessed any wrongdoings in your life whatsoever. He couldn't figure it out in the beginning, ans he has to admiy- he was worried for a bit. Someone as stoic and stern as him, someone so.. difficult, might not be good company to you.

Then, you both got closer. The scandal happened, the photos got around, and suddenly, you were both in a relationship, out of nowhere. His view began to shift, he started to see you as someone simply soft and gentle. You weren't naive at all, but you just love being loved- and you love giving out love as well. You like to treat others how you'd like to be treated yourself.

And now, that the dust has settled and the rush has slowed, he begins to see you in a whole new light once again.

You've started pretty much staying over more and more often, becoming comfortable with both the layout of his house, and his presence in it and around you at all times. It lead to you now walking around in just a towel, feet bare as you move into his room where he's sat at a table going over some lyrics he's recently written.

You're offering two letters, but his eyes can't help but stick to your neck and bare shoulders, water still occasionally dripping from the ends of your hair while his own pushes his back for a moment- potentially to occupy his hand to not reach out to you instead.

And then you dare to lean towards him to try and catch his gaze, and action that was supposed to be playful- but the way his eyes snap up at you with clear intent makes it obvious that he's thinking about less than innocent thoughts.

And you're not sure what it is- but you feel bold, especially these days after spending more and more time with him. So you move to sit on his lap, legs over his as the towel unravels- but you're not shy. He's got a way with words and offering them in a way that convinces you of their honesty. And these past few days, you've never felt so.. loved.

Wanted.

So when his hands move over your skin, you're not nervous- but rather excited, especially when he leans in to kiss your shimmering skin. He can tell that you're comfortable, and the fact alone fuels his confidence. He admits that he's developed feelings for you that are definite love- but also desire.

"Yoongi?" You giggle a little as he nips at your neck, and the sound of your voice makes him smile. "Yoongi!" You laugh now, his hands pushing your bare body closer by your backside.

"I love how you say my name." He purrs towards you, intoxicated by your scent.

"How do I say it?" You wonder, arms on his shoulders as you let him enjoy his time with you this close.

"Hm.." he thinks out loud. "..I don't know. It's unique to you." He simply says, leaning back in his chair to have you slip a little- taking the chance to grind on his very obvious desire.

Its then that he moves to wipe down the side of his table, papers and stationary clattering to the floor as he sits you down there instead, kisses heated. He doesn't care about the mess right now- all he cares about is what kind of a mess he can make out of you.

And a mess out of you he makes- with his face between your legs first, preparing you for what's to come before he moves on to the main course, bodies never parting as he indulges himself in simple desire, finally finding what he's been searching for all along;

His one, true, love.

[rafesbabyg1rl]

Private Session - part three

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Summary: Rafe likes to watch reader while she works as a stripper. He pays her for private sessions, in which he gets to take her home and do whatever he pleases. When he finds out Barry has been selling you to customers, he gets jealous. After you're short on a payment for Barry, he makes you pay in a different way. Rafe eventually finds out and he's not happy. Can Rafe get you out of this sticky situation?

Pairings: Stripper!Reader X obsessive!Rafe

Warnings: Rafe is obsessive of reader. Reader is a stripper. Mention of drugs, violence (fighting), death threats, guns, p in v, unprotected sex, language, praise, SMUT!, use of y/n like one time.

Word Count: 5.0k

Author Note: Hey babes! I originally got this idea from this GIF , like just imagine he's sitting in the strip club throwing dollar bills at you like that. Some of this part was inspired by Dexter s7 ep9. This fic is NOT fully proofread. I'm SO SO SO sorry for being so inactive :(

This is the last part of Private Sessions! I'm actually pretty pleased with how this fic ended up, since it was only meant to be one part. If I get requests relating to this, or if I get struck with random inspiration, I'm not against writing more for this!

Credits: GIF from this post

After you’d hooked up with Rafe–well, you wouldn't exactly call it a hook up. After you had another private session with Rafe, your top paying client, also the entire reason you’re now a hooker, you stayed the night at his place. That morning, following the many, many orgasms he had gotten out of you and the half-hearted ‘goodnights’ you two had exchanged before falling asleep, Rafe had left you alone. He had woken you up, briefly mumbling to you about having some business to attend to, making sure you know that you’re allowed to stay for however long you please. Before leaving, Rafe gathered your scattered clothing and left it in a neat pile on one of the chairs in his bedroom. On top of the pile, he left you money. Sure, he had already given you nearly a thousand dollars for your time, but he felt that you deserved a tip, so he left a crisp hundred-dollar bill for you to find, as well as money to call an uber, since he’s unable to give you a ride back.

Of course this kind of treatment was completely unbeknownst to you. You had never expected Rafe Cameron to treat women this well, especially those he has to pay to fuck. But you’re not complaining. Your other clients never even spare a thought about how you feel, it’s only about them. But Rafe…he makes sure you feel good. He wants you to feel good. He cares about making sure you get what you need more than he cares about his own experience. This isn’t just confusing to you, since he’s also wondering why he cares, or why he’s even paying for you specifically when he has a variety of women he could fuck for free. All he knows is that he needs more of you–he needs to make things right with you somehow.

After you left his house later that morning, you had gone back to work. Barry wasn’t happy with you, you hadn’t come back like he asked last night. He needed you to work the floor, since you’re the ‘star’ of the club–the favorite. Which, all that means to you is that Barry’s got you working unreasonable hours.

“Shit…” he huffs, taking in your appearance as you show up at the club. Since it’s still morning, nobody else was there. You really had hoped he wasn’t there either, just wanting to get in, grab your shit, and go home. But of course that wasn’t the case. You stand there, gathering your items from your locker, feeling smaller with each passing second that he stares at you, laughing at your disheveled appearance. You had stolen some of Rafe’s clothes since you didn’t feel like wearing that tiny, itchy little dress you had left in last night. 

“I’ll be back for my shift tomorrow.” You tell him as you try to leave the room. However, he moves to block the doorway, causing you to pause, looking down at the ground with a huff, trying to keep your cool.

“Where’s my money, princess?” Barry asks, his voice cold. You sigh, having forgotten. You reach into your duffle bag, pulling out the cash Rafe gave you for your most recent session. You do the math in your head, determining what 25% of your earnings are. You round his cut up to about $300, handing him the cash.

“There.” You shove the money into his chest. “Your cut.”

Barry chuckles at your attitude, clearly not appreciating it. His hand lingers on yours for longer than what’s needed as he grabs the cash from you. He quickly counts the bills in his hand, sighing and looking back up at you. “This is all? You were gone all night and this…” he waves the cash in front of your face. “This is all you’ve got for me.”

You swallow roughly, nodding at him. “That’s 25%.” You say, keeping your voice strong. “And then some.” you add, with a bit less confidence this time, knowing it’s not enough to keep him from getting all worked up. 

Barry makes a small tsk sound, softly shaking his head. “How you gonna make this up to me then, hm?” 

“That’s your cut. I’m off today, so…I, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You try to move past him, but he grabs onto your shoulder, stopping you.

“Nah…no, I don’t think so. You were out all night, not my fault you settled for less than your rate.” Barry still thinks you had gone with the client you were meant to meet last night, not knowing you went off with Rafe. Not that it would change anything if he did know. Really, Rafe had actually overpaid, again, for your time and effort. But, you hadn’t planned on staying the night in his bed, he had just pushed you past what you could handle, tiring the both of you out. So you get why he thinks you were underpaid. “Not my fault you stayed out all night, like a real fuckin’ slut.” His words cause you to wince, you hated being called that, because you aren’t a slut. You never chose to sell out your body, you just need the money.

Barry can see the fire behind your eyes, the calm demeanor you try so hard to maintain threatening to snap any moment now. He can tell he’s getting under your skin, which makes him enjoy this all the more. “You’re gonna pay for your mistakes.” You can feel his grip on your shoulder tighten as his eyes scour your clothed figure as you two stand in the doorway.

“Barry, please. I need that money, It’s my money. We made a deal, and you got your cut.” You plead, except your voice isn’t polite and soft like usual, you’re clearly pissed. 

“Well…that’s not the only way.” He starts. You have a confused expression etched onto your face as he speaks. “You can always put in some hours today…” he explains, his hand dropping from your shoulder to the hem of the t-shirt you stole from Rafe. 

“But, we’re closed?” You remind him. “I guess…I guess I can come back later for a few hours.”

“No.” He leans in closer, smirking. His mouth is almost touching the shell of your ear, close enough that you can feel his hot, sticky breath against your skin. “You’re gonna put some time in right now. A little private session, hm?” His hand moves around to your backside, slowly trailing down the curve of your lower back. 

You recognize this tone of voice, the suggestion of his words hanging in the air heavily. Really, you can’t say no. Because there’s no fucking way you’re giving him another cent of your hard earned cash. So, you reluctantly agree.

Barry wants the full show, so he makes you get into uniform. He even went through your things, picking out what he wants you to wear. And of course he picks your newest pieces of lingerie, the ones Rafe had just gifted you last night. The one he told you was for his eyes only, which you had fully intended to honor his request, but you couldn’t say no to your boss. Barry had turned on all the club’s lights and music, setting the perfect scene for you both. He takes you into one of the private rooms. 

First, he has you start off slow, just simply sucking him off. After that, he makes you dance for him for what feels like an hour, until he’s hard again and ready for more. He fucks you. Though it doesn’t last long, which you’re glad, since he’s not giving any regard to how you feel. He fucks you selfishly, using you however he pleases. The only thing he does that shows any sort of regard or care for you is not finishing inside you, instead making you swallow his loads. After a couple of hours, he finally lets you leave, saying that you’re all paid up…for now. You figure that since he’s crossed this line with you, it’s not going to be the last. Knowing Barry he’ll be making up absurd excuses to make you ‘pay’ some more. 

You feel disgusting, so immediately you go home and shower, scrubbing any trace of him off of you. As you stand in front of the mirror wrapped in a towel, you observe the various marks covering your body from your clients. You hate the proof they leave on you, proof that you’re a hooker. You glance at the newer, more vibrant marks on your neck, you can’t help but smile a bit as you run your fingers over the bruised skin, remembering how Rafe has created them. Once you realize that you’re smiling at his memory, you immediately stop, shaking the thoughts out of your head.

The next day you return to work, absolutely dreading having to face Barry. Not only him, but you’re getting really over having sex with these wrinkly, old, men who can’t even get it up without taking a little pill. Each session you have with a client chipping a small part of yourself away. As you enter the staff room, you practically run into Rafe’s chest, his hands coming up to rest on your shoulders, stopping you. The two of you make brief eye contact before he walks out of the room that you’re entering. Barry stands in the center of the room, shaking his head as he looks up at you.

“Well shit,” he scoffs, rubbing a rough hand over his face. “Some boyfriend you got, huh?” Your eyebrows furrow immediately. Barry notices the crease between your brows. “Looks like you’ve only got one client now.” He chuckles.

“Wait…Rafe talked to you?” You ask, wondering if he was being truthful when he said he’d talk to Barry for you. 

“Yeah, Rafe. But don’t think that means you ain’t gonna get more hours on the floor. I ain’t losin’ my main source of cash just ‘cause your boyfriend’s a little jealous.”

You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes and tell him that he’s not your boyfriend. You can tell he’s pissed and doesn’t want to listen to Rafe. Which makes you wonder how he got Barry to agree to this, since you are the ‘star’ of the club. Barry scoffs, walking out into the main portion of the club. 

You feel like a major weight has been lifted off your chest, feeling so much better now that you don’t have to sell out your body. Well, other than when you’re dancing. But that’s different. At least nobody has to touch you anymore…other than those who you actually want touching you. 

After changing and getting prepared, you work the pole per usual. About an hour into your shift, you spot Rafe sitting across the club, getting a lap dance from one of the other dancers, except he looks like he could care less about her–he’s looking at you. You’re not jealous–no, definitely not. Why would you be jealous? He’s just your client; your customer. You make eye contact with him and instead of looking away, you find yourself staring right back at him while you dance.

On your break, you make your way into the back room, where a few of the other girls are also taking their break. You’ve never had problems with the other girls, but you’ve never called them friends either, just coworkers. You can hear them talking before you enter the room, and when you walk in, suddenly it’s silent as their heads turn to you. You ignore their stares, heading over to the fridge to grab a yogurt. You hear their whispers as you turn your back to them. 

“She’s fucking the boss.” One of them says earning a few gasps and a ‘really?’ from the others. “Yeah, I heard she doesn’t have to take clients anymore.” She responds. 

Another girl adds, “shit, I’d fuck him too if it meant I’d get special treatment”, earning laughs from everyone in the room. You take a deep breath, slamming the fridge closed and turning to face them. 

“I’m not getting special treatment!” You say harshly, a stark contrast to your typical shy demeanor. 

“So you’re not fucking him?” 

You’re so engulfed in frustration that you don’t even notice Rafe and Barry walk into the room. “Okay yeah, I fucked Barry once but it was because–” you don’t get to finish explaining before you’re cut off by Rafe’s sharp voice, which startles you.

“You fucked my girl?” He snaps at Barry. In which Barry just smirks in response, only serving to further piss Rafe off. 

“They’re my girls while they’re working. And I gotta say, she takes her job very seriously–”. Before Barry can get anything else out Rafe cuts him off with a quick punch to the jaw, causing him to tumble back. You jump back as all the other girls collectively gasp, but they know better than to intervene. Barry rubs his Jaw, standing up straight and chuckling dryly. 

“Country Club,” he laughs. “You really wanna do this, huh? All for a fuckin’ slut?” Rafe steps forward, punching Barry again before looking up at the others in the room.

“Get the fuck out!” He shouts before looking at Barry, moving to punch him again as the others quickly scurry out of the room. You stay, shocked at the event unfolding in front of you–because of you. The fight continues, Barry trying to fight back as best he can, but he’s no match for Rafe, especially since he’s got no motivation. 

Barry manages to get a few punches in, making Rafe step back for a moment. You see him reach into the back of his jeans, grabbing the gun he has tucked into the waistband of his jeans. You gasp again when you see the gun and step back until your back hits a wall. You know Rafe’s involved in some bad shit and you’re used to seeing him use cocaine, but you’re not used to him having a gun, especially with it being pointed at someone. Before you have time to even think, Rafe hits Barry with his gun, pistol whipping him and making him fall to the floor. 

Rafe leans forward over Barry, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling his head up until they’re face-to-face. “Call her a slut again–touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you.” He spits, letting go of Barry, making his head drop back against the floor, all bloodied and bruised. You make yourself look away, not wanting to see the damage Rafe did–the damage you caused. “Consider this her notice.” He mutters quickly, tucking the gun back into his waistband as he turns to face you. “Let’s go.” He says quickly, moving to walk out of the room. But you can’t move, you’re still in shock from what you just witnessed. When Rafe turns around and sees that you’re not following him he lets out a sharp breath, walking over to you and grabbing you by the arm. “I said let’s go.” His words are demanding and mean, different from the way he typically talks to you. His eyes are cold and distant as he tugs you out of the room, through the club. The others watch him drag you away, not daring to say a word as they stare. 

Rafe takes you out to the parking lot, shoving you into his truck. You still haven’t even spoken a word by the time you get to his house. He pulls into the driveway, putting his truck in park and killing the engine. He speaks, still looking straight out of the windshield and not daring to look at you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice isn’t as rough anymore, though still distant. You don’t respond which makes him look over you after a few silent moments. “I said m’sorry.” His voice is a bit louder, making you jump back in your seat. 

“I heard.” You mumble coldly. 

Rafe scoffs at your mumbles, feeling like you should be grateful for what he did for you. But you’re the exact opposite. You can’t let yourself feel relieved that you don’t have to work for Barry anymore. Because that was your job. And unlike Rafe, you actually need a job to survive. Plus, you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into with Rafe now. You think back to what he had said to Barry just before the fight. He called you his girl. What the fuck does that mean?

His strong grip pulls you out of your thoughts as he tugs out of his truck, bringing you inside his house. He gets you up to his bedroom and you sit on the bed, just thinking in an uncomfortable silence. You blame this on yourself. You’re the reason the other girls have to sell themselves, because you fucked Rafe…and you can’t stop fucking him. You’re the reason they’re in that hell, and you got out of it because of Rafe. It’s not fair to them. And you’re the reason Rafe nearly killed the man he’s closest to. 

You watch as Rafe goes into the adjoining bathroom, trying to wash the blood off of his hands, which only reveals that his own knuckles are all battered and bloody. You get up from the bed, padding over to the bathroom. He sees you approach him in the mirror and he keeps his eyes on you. You tap his waist, silently signaling him to turn around. When he turns away from the sink, now leaning up against it instead as he watches you curiously. You carefully take his hands in yours, briefly examining them. “Here…” you let go, grabbing a nearby rag and getting it damp with warm water. “Let me…” you speak softly as you take one of his hands in your own, gently dabbing at his knuckles with the rag. He winces at the contact, “shit, I know, sorry. But I need to clean them.”

“S’fine.” He mutters. Not once does he take his eyes off of your face. He notices how your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you focus, making the slightest hint of a grin form on his beaten face, which you don’t notice of course since you’re too busy cleaning his knuckles. 

You finish one hand, now cleaning the other which isn’t quite as bad since it’s his non-dominant hand. Once you’re done, you look up at him. He’s standing so close you can practically feel his breath on your face as he stares down at you. Now that you’re finally looking at him for the first time since the fight, you see the bruise forming on his jaw and the slight blood stain at the corner of his mouth. You lift your hand up, gently caressing the bruise. You can tell he wants to wince, but he doesn’t let himself, not wanting you to pull your hand away. The tension is so thick it’s almost visible; the silence unbearable. The only sound being that of both of you breathing. 

“About Barry–” you start, feeling like you need to explain why you had slept with him. But Rafe doesn’t let you finish, walking away into his bedroom.

“Doesn’t matter.” He speaks sharply as he strips down into his boxers, setting his gun in the top drawer of his nightstand. You follow behind him.

“No, please just let me–” you cut yourself off, annoyed at the fact that he’s avoiding looking at you. You step closer behind him, gently touching his arm which makes him finally turn around. “Rafe…”

“What?” Rafe snaps, his eyes making uncomfortable eye contact with you, but you don’t turn away. 

“He made me give him a private session. ‘Said I didn’t bring back enough money for him. I had to. It was that or give him my money, b-but I need that money. I swear I didn’t want to-” You ramble, not sure why you even care to explain yourself to him, it’s not like you need to. 

“Jesus, shut up. I don’t care, alright? Just go to bed.” He waves your hand off of his arm, turning his back to you again as he pulls the comforter back and gets under it. 

You want to ask why you’re even here with him. He brought you here to…sleep? Why? But, you decide against it. Instead, you just walk over to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. You quickly strip out of your “uniform”, feeling his eyes burn holes into you as you change into his clothes. You turn the bedroom light off on your way back to the bed. You climb in next to him, keeping somewhat of a distance between you two. You’re not exactly sure where he stands in all this or what you are. You wait for him to make a move and get closer, but he doesn’t. You both just lie there in silence. Eventually you start to doze off, though immediately woken up by the faint sound of a car pulling up, followed by some shouting. 

“Rafe Cameronn,” the voice calls out, soon banging on the door. It’s Barry. Fuck. 

You jolt up, but Rafe is already out of bed, pulling on a shirt and sweats, quickly getting downstairs to the door before Barry lets himself in. 

Still feeling loopy from sleep, you sit up in bed, listening to what’s happening. You can only hear shouting between the two, but you can’t tell what they’re saying. You leave Rafe’s room, walking more towards the front of the house where you can slightly make out the conversation. 

You hear Rafe yell, “The fuck is wrong with you? Did you not hear me say I’ll fucking kill you, huh?! Because I will. You know I will.”

“Nah,” Barry laughs. “I don’t think you will, country club.”

“You’re fucking dead.”

“No, you are.” Barry responds. “Pulling that shit on me in my own fucking club?”

When it gets silent, you get worried and peek out one of the windows facing the front of the house. “Fuck!” You panic when you notice that Barry has a gun pulled on Rafe who has his hands up. He doesn’t have his gun. You run back into Rafe’s room, grabbing his gun from inside his nightstand before you get the chance to think about what you’re doing. After fiddling with it for a moment, you manage to get the safety off.

You rush downstairs and with a deep breath, you swing open the front door, stepping outside with the gun raised, pointing it right at Barry. “Put it down.” You say weakly. Barry laughs at you, which is probably reasonable, you probably look ridiculous standing there with a gun, your hands shaking. You repeat yourself with more confidence and higher volume this time. “Put the fucking gun down! I swear to god I’ll fucking shoot!” You’d never pictured yourself like this. Hell, you’ve never even touched a gun before. And right now, it’s not the situation that scares you the most, but the fact that in this moment, if need be, you will pull the trigger. And it’s that fact that scares you. 

After some time, Barry gives a dry and defeated chuckle. “Alright, alright! Look,” he tosses the gun aside. You immediately move to give Rafe his gun and you stand behind his large frame. At this point, Barry knows he needs to accept the defeat. He knows he’s not gonna beat Rafe in this, not when it comes to you. “Fine, I’m leaving. I didn’t know she was yours like that, ‘aight? She’s done, she’s all yours now, Rafe.” Barry slowly picks up his gun, tucking it into his waistband before retreating to his car. Once Barry finally drives off, Rafe lowers his gun.

Your heart is racing from the adrenaline. So when you both get inside, you’re practically jumping his bones before the door even closes. Rafe doesn’t protest. He carries you up to his room, dropping you down onto the bed. Quickly, he’s shedding his layers until he’s completely bare in front of you. You do the same. He stands over you, staring at you for a moment with a hungry look in his eyes, making you feel like prey. In one move, he’s on top of you, kissing you eagerly. Pulling back to nibble on your earlobe, whispering to you. “Fuck that was so fucking hot, baby. Saved my ass back there, huh?” 

“I…I couldn’t watch him hurt you.” Is all you say before his lips are on yours again, his hand that’s not propping him up over you traveling your naked body, quickly finding your clit. You’re glad because you didn’t want to have to explain any more, because you don’t know why you did what you did. Obviously you care for him in some weird, twisted way if you were willing to kill a man to protect him from being shot. 

His fingers start to circle your clit, making you moan into his mouth. You close your eyes in pleasure. Without warning he pushes into you, gentler than your previous times with him. This time he actually gives you time to adjust. When he starts moving his hips against you, his thrusts are slow and sensual.

“Fuck…” you cry out. Your noises rile him up even more, he speeds up, finding the pace that makes you scream out his name. Your fingers dig into his muscular torso as he moves your legs to rest over his shoulders, making him hit the spongy spot deep inside of you. 

He leans down to kiss and nip at your neck, leaving faint marks behind. His lips trail lower and lower until he reaches your chest, latching onto one of your nipples. Between the unforgiving pace that he’s drilling into you at, his mouth on your chest, and his fingers teasing your clit, you’re seeing stars like you never have before. Your hips try wriggling away from the immense and almost unbearable pleasure, but he pulls you right back in even tighter.

“Fuck baby, so fuckin’ tight. Such a good girl f’me…” he groans against your chest, pressing quick, open-mouthed kisses to your soft skin. “My fuckin’ good girl, yeah? All fuckin’ mine now…” he leans back to watch your face, noticing how your eyes are squeezed shut. He takes his hand away from your clit, grabbing your chin roughly. “Look at me.” Rafe demands. 

You obey, making direct eye contact with him as the band in your stomach snaps, releasing a burning heat that spreads throughout your entire body. His pace slows, working you through your high. Soon after, you feel the unforgivable feeling of him painting your insides with his hot, sticky release.

Eventually he stills inside of you, leaning down to kiss all over your body. When he’s fully soft, he pulls out and rolls off of you, laying on his side next to you. You catch your breath, turning on your side to face him. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. “Holy fuck…” you mutter in disbelief. You hadn’t thought the last time with him could’ve been topped, but you’ve been proven wrong. Something about it was…different. This time it wasn’t just sex and you knew it. 

He reaches out, his touch gentle now rather than rough and desperate. His hair sticking to his sweat-beaded forehead, the look in his eyes and the smile on his face making you melt. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“Rafe…” you say, slightly turning your head. Which he just moves right back to face him. 

“What is it?” His tone is soft and caring, like he actually wants to know what’s got you so quiet. 

“Nothing…well, it…it’s just…” you pause, taking a deep breath before saying what you’re thinking. You prepare yourself for the worst. “You keep…you keep calling me your girl?” 

He questions you back in response, his tone carrying a more serious note this time. “Is that an issue?” He runs his thumb over your eyebrow, admiring your features.

“No…well…I, I guess I just don’t know what you mean.” You say honestly, making him breath out a quick sigh. Shit, you think. 

“I mean…you’re my girl, y/n. You don’t need a job, alright? I got plenty money for us both, yeah? You can stay here whenever you want. You’re mine…’n I’m yours, yeah? How’s that sound, hm?” You just stare at him for a bit, questioning if he really just asked that or your brain is making it up so you don’t have to deal with the embarrassment. “Y/n?” He repeats softly.

“Yea…yeah.” You stutter, making him chuckle at how flustered you are. “Like…boyfriend girlfriend?” 

He laughs at your question, finding it adorable. “Yeah, like boyfriend girlfriend.” Rafe reassures you, his hand moving from your face to brush through your hair again.

“Yes!” You spit out a little too eagerly. You quickly flash a bright shade of red in embarrassment. You gather yourself, speaking at a normal speed now, “yeah…um that, that sounds good. I like that.” You smile.

He slides in a quick “I like you.” He smirks, thinking he’s so smooth which makes you laugh. He pulls you in for a soft, tender kiss. Rafe pulls you in, wrapping an arm over you as your head rests on his bare chest. He pulls a sheet up over you both. 

You lie there in a comfortable silence. Just when you’re about to drift off you tilt your head up to look at him, and he’s already staring at you of course. You mumble, “thank you…f-for getting me outta that club.” You lay your head back down and tilts his own head down to kiss your forehead. 

“Thanks for saving me, baby.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!!! I love you so so so much!!! I just hit 200 followers and I'm shocked, I literally just started posting in the beginning of November, so this is insane. Also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Please leave requests! I can't promise I'll get to them all, but I really love receiving them and hearing feedback from you guys.

Taglist: @munsoncultedits

[umathurwin]

maybe we could share my mood

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is gonna have a hard time wedging his way into the world of art dealing when his girlfriend is such a horny brat at the worst times. Maybe he'll have to teach her a lesson...

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

Your hands flew to your elbows the second you heard the air conditioning in the gallery turn on again. Seriously? It had to be below 65 degrees at this point. The minidress you found in your closet was a great idea outside, but the second you realized that this place was apparently a large refrigerator for the artwork displayed, the regret kicked in.

The worst part was Rafe had definitely told you to take a coat before you left. “Take that fake fur Sarah got you last Christmas. It would look great with that dress,” he’d insisted, clearly having been to this gallery before. But you didn’t listen, instead waving him off, grabbing your small purse and heading out.

So when he noticed you shivering and clutching yourself, his eyebrow shot up. “Not giving you my jacket,” he denied before you even opened your mouth, already seeing the request written on your face.

You played through the argument in your head—you would whine, and he would stand his ground with a stern face because no matter how much he loved you and would do anything for you, he wouldn’t lose an argument like this. There was no use in starting with him, so you just inhaled through your nose slowly. “Then how much longer are we gonna be here?”

His mouth tightened. “We just got here. It’s really important to my dad that we come here and make a good impression since he wants to get into the art business.”

“I’ve literally never heard him say a good thing about the art world.”

“It’s to help launder the gold money,” he muttered, glancing around.

You sulked, shifting your weight around on your feet and lulling your head to the side. “Like our cocaine intake isn’t doing a good enough job of that already,” you mumbled.

Rafe lifted an eyebrow, but a little smile peeked through his serious expression. “You try explaining that to Ward.”

The air conditioning unit finally shut off again, leaving only the sound of the chatters echoing around the marble floors. You lifted your shoulders. “Whatever, let’s get this over with.”

His face twisted in confusion at your attitude but he didn’t say anything, mainly because you two were joined by a man you recognized as the curator who greeted you upon arrival. He’d been considerably polite when Rafe introduced you, considering you were not adequately dressed for the weather inside.

“Stanley, hello again,” Rafe smiled, nodded and wrapping his arm around your waist. “You mentioned something earlier that my father had interest in. Do you mind showing us?”

“Not at all! This way,” the curator gestured to another room in the gallery. “It is an authentic DiPont, donated to us by the Arnault family,” Stanley explained, leading the two to a work on the wall.

“Do you mean DuPont?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do not.”

And yeah, he didn’t. The work on the wall was not from British artist Gainsborough Dupont, but some entirely different person likely using his name’s likeness to the more famous painter in his favor. “What do you think?” he asked, very pointed towards you.

Frankly… it was hideous. The painting was massive and abstract and filled with clashing colors like burnt orange and fuchsia and periwinkle. The lines were disruptive, and the ornate gold trim around the mess wasn’t well-matched to itself. It was too large to reasonably display anywhere in a home even if some color blind person found interest in the mess. Your mouth dropped open to find something nice to say about the work, but you blanked. You had to lie.

“It’s beautiful,” you mustered up, waving your hand around as the men stared at you, but nothing more came to mind.

The curator was unfortunately more clever than you planned for. He detected your insincerity, nodded curtly, and stepped away from the two of you.

Apologies spilled out of your mouth but Rafe was already turning and pulling you to a corner, your sandals nearly scuffing the floor trying to keep up with him.

“What is wrong with you?” he spat, tightening his hands into fists once appropriately in the corner away from the others.

“Babe, that painting was disgusting,” you defended, tilting your head to one side. “I’m sorry! I tried to be nice!”

“Well, you have to try better than that,” he scolded, folding his arms across his chest.

Wow, he was attractive. His biceps were getting bigger, you noticed, ever since he’d started working out more with Topper. Even now, they dared to split the seams of his nice dress coat’s sleeves. His reprimanding look made you feel so small, and the twitching of his jaw certainly didn’t help. Fuck, why was your boyfriend so damn hot at the worst times? Thoughts of him pulling at your hair when you misbehaved in the past popped into your brain, and you had to cross one leg over the other to help calm down. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice how hot and bothered you were getting just from this slightly chastising gaze.

Rafe definitely noticed. “S’wrong with you?” he asked, scanning up and down your body. “Are you…?” The pieces assembled themselves in Rafe’s brain and his entire demeanor shifted. “Oh, you’re just a little slut, huh?” his voice was low, but the smirk tugging at his lips showed he was nothing if not proud of himself. “I fucked you this morning. That wasn’t enough?”

Your cheeks burned bright, but you didn’t wanna lose like this, not in public. “Apparently not, hmm?” you bit, rolling your eyes—something that annoyed the hell out of him.

He straightened his body, scanning around presumably to see if anyone was watching them. Once the coast was clear, he clutched your elbow again and whisked you to the back. Two identical, gender-neutral lavatories sat nestled in an alcove facing each other, and Rafe shoved one of the doors open like it were weightless, pulling you both inside.

In terms of quality, there was no transition between the gallery and the restroom—it was just as gleaming and polished as the rest of the building. The chatter of the art-goers was completely silenced when the heavy door latched itself back in the hinge. You swallowed.

He let go of your elbow only to spin you around and bend you over the sink, keeping you there by the back of your neck. Your hands shot out to the counter to steady yourself as Rafe turned the tap on. There wasn’t time to be confused before he tugged the back of your dress up to expose your ass and ran his hand under the stream.

The painful collision of his wet, ring-clad hand and your flesh was terribly amplified by the water. The smack seemed even louder than normal echoing off the smooth marble lining the entire room. Air sucked into your lungs roughly and you fell to your elbows. Rafe didn’t rewet his hand, but hit the other side of your ass just a bit harder to elicit terrible swears from you.

“Watch your mouth, doll,” he warned, voice calmer than his actions would let on. After one more smack, he inhaled sharply. “Now, are you just acting out because you wanna cum?” His condescending tone told you he already knew the answer, and also that he wouldn’t continue until you confirmed it.

You nodded desperately, relishing in the way his fingers flexed around the back of your neck. “Yes, please, fuck. Please do something.”

He shook his head. “So pathetic. I make you feel good every day, I give you the best drugs, I buy you nice clothes, and you still want more. You still act like a brat when you need to fucking behave,” he seethed, giving one more slap on your ass before turning your body around. “It’s a good thing I love you, huh?” His eyes trailed down slowly. “Good thing I have so much to give, doll.”

You whimpered, now face-to face with him. You looked down to where he was unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart, but I go first. Since you were acting like that out there.”

Your head was bobbing while you dropped down to your knees, face to face with his boxers peaking from behind the zipper. You didn’t even bother with unzipping his pants, just tugging them down his hips enough to let his cock escape.

Now wasn’t the time to be messy. Your preferred method was sloppy, eyes watering your makeup across your face and drool dripping off your chin as you forced his member down your throat. Giving head was both you and Rafe’s favorite thing to do solely because of their partner’s fervor in the act.

But you couldn’t this time. As soon as you two were done in there, it was right back to fake smiles and faker appearances for a shot at buying an ugly fucking painting. So instead, you tried to be careful, sucking and licking on his cock without making yourself too much of a disaster.

He didn’t appear to have the same motives. Rafe held you down to the base of his cock, twisting his fingers even further into your hair. You’d be lucky if one of his rings didn’t get stuck like last time. Drool spilled out of your mouth to the floor, narrowly avoiding landing on and staining your dress. A teeny thrust from him pulled gags from you, and you had no choice but to push off him by his thighs.

He allowed this, but only because the sight of you wrecked with puffy, wet lips and pink cheeks was almost as good as being down your throat. He wiped at the inner corner of your eye where a big teardrop threatened to spill out.

“Mm, this is why it’s so hard to punish you,” he noted, throwing his head back as you sucked on the tip like candy. “You’re just—fuck—such a good girl. Gonna make me cum?”

Moving ever-so-softly, you nodded your head without taking him out of your mouth. You dropped all the way down to bury your nose in his pelvis, letting his cock slide as far down as it could reach. Rafe groaned, tugging on your hair again and fucking your throat until he came.

You didn’t taste a bit of it even as he pulled out of your mouth, leaving a thick string of spit connecting you and his cock.

“Alright, sweet girl, now you can have your turn.”

Rafe stood you up and leaned you back against the countertop. He yanked the hem of your dress up to your hips and pulled the thin fabric of your underwear aside.

He cupped your pussy in his hand, forcing a noise from the back of your throat. “Look at you. Haven't done a thing and you’re already whining for me,” he shook his head, tutting his tongue at you. The sound of his fingers sliding over your wet cunt made him smile. “Fuck. Can feel how swollen you are. Guess you weren’t lying about being horny.”

You shook your head. Most of your body weight had shifted to the counter behind you, as your legs were not gonna hold your body weight up for much longer. It felt pathetic, being reduced so quickly by almost nothing at all.

Rafe messily rubbed his first three fingers over your clit, stimulating you until your head was lulled back. He only stopped to dip his fingers into your wetness to make his movements easier. His other hand wrapped around your back to slide under your dress and play with your nipples, and that was just enough to send you over the edge.

You came, rushed and desperately on his digits and he talked you through it with the same smug, cocky words he’d been using on you all night. Your legs were trembling, but you just managed to stay upright as the slick noise of his stroking fingers rang in your ears.

Rafe had only needed a few moments to readjust his button-down and wash his hands. He’d already had time to settle down from his orgasm—more than you could say for yourself—so when you glanced up to him, his hair and clothes were as straight as they were when they came in.

He nodded down at you, still trembling, hair a fucking mess. “Meet you out in the gallery, sweetheart.” Rafe kissed your forehead and rejoined the people outside, leaving you to clean yourself up.

Well. A punishment’s a punishment.

[writingwithciara]

across the hall; part 1 -quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 1.4k

pairing: quinn hughes x single mom reader

notes: probably going to make this into a mini series because i have too many ideas to fit them in 1 fic. enjoy

y/n was walking into her apartment when her mom called, telling her how worried she was.

"mom, will you relax? i'm going to be fine. it's safer for me out here anyway." y/n walked into her apartment and set her keys down on the counter. her daughter took her shoes off and ran to her bedroom.

"have you met any of your neighbors yet, sweetie?"

"no, mom. i haven't met anyone in the building yet and i don't plan on it any time soon. i've been really busy with work and stuff and just haven't had the time nor the interest in doing so. plus, you know how abby is with strangers."

"i would feel better if you made at least one friend, dear. you're all alone in vancouver. anything could happen to you."

"what if i meet the wrong person, mom? ever think about that?"

"that doesn't worry me because i know you'll trust your instincts."

"and that's why i haven't bothered to talk to anyone in the building yet. besides, it's only my first week here. there's still plenty of time."

"okay fine. but i want you to keep me updated at all times."

"yes ma'am." y/n switched the phone from one ear to the other. there was a knock on the door and she jumped. "i gotta go mom. dinner's here."

"alright. love you sweetie. give abby a kiss for me."

"will do. love you too. bye." she hung up the phone and opened the door. "about time. i'm starving." she looked up from her wallet. "wait, you're not the pizza guy."

"no, i am not. my name is quinn and i live across the hall there." he turned and pointed to the door behind him. "i noticed you just moved in recently and i thought i'd be neighborly and come say hi, see if you needed any help with anything."

"that's very kind of you, quinn. but so far, i've got things handled. thank you though."

"well, if you ever need my help with anything, you know where to find me." he smiled and turned back towards his own apartment. just as y/n was about to shut her door, quinn turned back around. "i'm sorry. i completely forgot to ask for your name."

"it's y/n."

"mommy, i'm hungry." abby came up to y/n and looked at her.

"i know, sweetie. the pizza should be here shortly."

"okay. i'll be in my room." the girl turned around and headed down the hallway.

"she's adorable. how old is she?"

"she's 5, almost 6."

"they're always the cutest at that age." quinn smiled. "well, it was nice to finally meet you, y/n. see you later." he waved and entered his own apartment, leaving y/n to finally close her door.

"hey, abby. want a snack to hold you over until dinner gets here?"

"yes please." abby came out of her room to grab a snack from her bucket and headed back to play with her dolls.

y/n was about to send a text to her mom, letting her know she finally met a neighbor, when there was another knock on her door.

"this better be the pizza." she opened the door and saw quinn standing there holding a pizza box.

"they brought it to the wrong apartment. but don't worry. it's paid for. the guy didn't have time to walk across the hall so i paid him."

"you really didn't have to do that, quinn. but thank you." y/n accepted the pizza and looked at him. "would you maybe want to come in for a slice or two?"

"sure." quinn followed y/n into her apartment and sat on one of the stools at the island.

"abby, dinner's ready."

"yay. pizza!" the little girl yelled and ran out of her room. she stopped in her tracks when she saw quinn. "hi."

"hello."

"quinn, this is my daughter abigail. sweetheart, this is quinn. he lives across the hall."

"do you have kids?"

"no. not yet."

"how old are you?"

"i'm 24."

"oh, so is mommy. she just had a birthday."

"did you really?" quinn turned his attention from abby to y/n.

"no." y/n set the plates down on the island and helped abby into her chair. "well, i didn't just have a birthday. it's been a few months now."

"oh. well i'll be 25 next month."

"in case i don't see you, happy birthday." y/n smiled and began eating her slice of pizza.

"thank you." quinn smiled back and looked at abby,

"shit." y/n pulled her ringing phone out of her pocket and answered it. "hello? yeah. i'll be right there." she hung up and looked at quinn. "i barely know you but i just got called into work for an emergency and abby's normal sitter is busy tonight. would you mind-"

"go to work. i'll watch your daughter."

"you are a lifesaver quinn." y/n ran to her room to get ready. she came out 5 minutes later. "this is crazy. it's my first night off and i was hoping to relax but of course there's an emergency when the hospital is short-staffed."

"oh, you work at the hospital? how are you liking it?"

"it keeps me busy and pays well. but it's a very demanding job. i don't get to spend as much time with abby as i would like."

"that's alright, mom. i understand."

"i love you, sweetheart. now, be on your best behavior for quinn. if you're good, we can get you some new toys this weekend. how's that sound?"

"like an easy task." abby smiled and looked at quinn.

"okay great. thanks again, quinn." y/n smiled and walked out the door.

"alright, abby. what do you want to do?"

"dolls, makeover, tea party?"

"sounds like fun. shall we add music?"

"yes! dance party! mommy never has time for one."

"then we shall have one." quinn went on his music app and put on some popular music that was age appropriate and followed abby to her room to get the makeover started.

after a few hours of playtime, they settled down and quinn put on a random disney movie. abby cuddled up to his side and fell asleep within the first 20 minutes.

when the movie was finished, quinn put on another one and waited for y/n to get home.

he was halfway through the third movie when y/n walked through the door.

"i am so sorry. it took a lot longer than i thought but-" she stopped when quinn put his finger to his lips to shush her. "awe look at that. she must really like you."

"why do you think that?"

"she never falls asleep for anyone other than me. and she loves her usual sitter."

"oh." quinn smiled and adjusted his legs as y/n picked abby up.

"mommy?" abby rubbed her eyes and when she saw it was her mom, she just cuddled into her more.

y/n put abby in her bed and made sure she went back to sleep before she headed back to quinn.

"thank you so much for doing this. i didn't expect to get called into work tonight." she went to hand quinn some money but he stopped her.

"you don't have to pay me. i had a lot of fun."

"was she good?"

"very good. and such a polite child."

"what did you guys do?"

"after you left, we played with her barbies for about half an hour. and when she got bored of that, we had a tea party and then she did my 'makeup'." quinn chuckled. "oh. and we had a mini dance party before i put on some movies for her to settle down to. she was out within the first 20 minutes."

"well, sounds like you had a good time and honestly, i can't thank you enough for watching her. i owe you."

"it's fine. like i said, i had fun. consider that my payment."

"you're the best." y/n walked with quinn out into the hall. he walked up to his door and looked back.

"if i'm not busy & you ever need someone to watch abby, i would be more than happy to do it."

"really? oh my gosh. you really are the sweetest person i've ever met."

"what can i say? my mother raised me right." quinn flashed her a smile and opened his door. "good night, y/n."

"good night, quinn."

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece IV: Revolution

AO3 Part I Part III

“The difference between treason and patriotism is only a matter of dates.” ― Alexandre Dumas

When it comes to the idea of freedom in One Piece, there are two related yet separate tracts the manga takes. Both are worth looking into, and both have parallels within the broader Romantic movement. The first of these is the idea of personal freedom as exemplified by pirates. The other is the pursuit of systematic freedom by Dragon and the Revolutionary Army. Robin explains the difference between the two in the post-Enies Lobby arc. By raising the flag, pirates label themselves criminals as they go out to sea, but unless they’re the Straw Hats they don’t usually go around picking fights with the World Government. The goal of the Revolutionary Army, on the other hand, is to overthrow the Celestial Dragons, which would in essence end the World Government as it currently exists. 

I’ve seen criticisms thrown at the series that One Piece doesn’t go far enough in its revolutionary politics in that it’s not explicitly anti-monarchy. There are good kings and bad, and whether or not an island is a good place to live or not seems based more on the actions of individual people than the system overall. There are even weird cases like Iceburg who as mayor is in an elected position, but who also holds ridiculous power over the entire island’s economy after turning its biggest industry into a monopoly under his control. In the real world that would be a horrific amount of power for one person to hold, but because Iceburg himself is a good man, it doesn’t matter. 

While this train of thought is worth exploring, I think that many of these arguments miss the forest for the trees. One Piece is not a story told from the Revolutionary’s point of view. It’s a pirate manga that elevates any individual brave enough to dream. It’s through this lens that paragons of virtue like Iceburg are allowed to exist without being hashtag problematic. The Revolutionaries themselves sidestep much of the messiness that tends to follow real-world uprisings by having them portrayed as principled and virtuous almost to a fault. In chapter 1058 Dragon promises harsh disciplinary action against Sabo if it’s found that he killed King Cobra, when as an allied nation of the World Government, the king of Alabasta should technically be their enemy. 

This lionizing of individuals and specific institutions goes back to Mirriam-Webster’s 4a definition of romanticism, and as a children’s manga whose primary themes aren’t centered around systemic revolution, this simplicity is perfectly fine, although I personally think it would be more interesting if the Revolutionary Army was portrayed as more morally gray within the series. Despite this, there are also deliberate links between the Revolutionary Army and the historical Romantic movement. 

It starts at the very foundation of their concept and character design. Many of the highest ranking Revolutionary commanders have a European steampunk look to them. Oda would not have paired a shirtless man in a black feathered coat with a cravat had he not wanted to tap in at least a little into the design language of European historical fashion, and by extension, the French Revolution. This is best seen in the design of Belo Betty, who seems to be explicitly based on Eugune Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People, a French Romantic painting depicting a personified Liberty leading Frenchmen from all walks of life as they strive to overthrow the despotic King Charles X in the July Revolution of 1830.

The term French Revolution is itself wonderfully imprecise, as France has endured several revolutions, uprisings, and revolts. One does not go through two empires and four republics without a history of civil unrest, and to this day one of France’s favorite pastimes is protesting against the government. But for many scholars, the first of these Revolutions in 1789 was one of the major sparks of the Romantic movement, drawing sympathy from and giving inspiration to writers and poets throughout Europe. The Revolution itself was brought on by many factors, including writings of late Enlightenment/early Romantic writer Jean Jacques Rousseau, whose work the Social Contract pushed for for a free populous living under elected governments.

It seemed that all of Europe would follow suit. Portugal, Spain, Belgium, Switzerland, Poland, the German Confederation, and Northern Italy all saw liberal uprisings of some sort during the early 1800s. Some were successful, others weren’t, but all were instrumental in destabilizing the political landscape that had existed for centuries. This followed a process that had already started globally, as the United States, Haiti, and much of Latin America had already become independent of their colonial masters. There’s a push and pull that’s often seen between art and history, with one influencing the other in an eternal tug of war. Romantic artists painted the pursuit of freedom in a positive light, which inspired frustrated men and women to take up arms against governments they felt did not adequately represent them. In turn, these revolutionaries inspired the Romantics to write and paint about the heroic deeds they saw all around them. One of the most famous Romantics of all, Lord Byron, even died in 1824 after joining the Greek war for independence. Although Byron himself had no strong political ideology and thought all governments as equally bad, the mere act of revolution inspired his romantic spirit to take up arms and fight. 

While there is no real-world equivalent to the World Government of One Piece, the greatest atrocities committed within the manga have their basis in real life, including many of the cartoonishly evil acts of the Celestial Dragons. The Atlantic slave trade, genocide of indigenous peoples under colonial rule, and the crushing poverty of the underclasses were all everyday realities, and these were all things people fought against during this time of world-wide revolution.

Again, some of these movements were more effective than others, and not all of them required violence to achieve their goals. 1807 marked the end of the slave trade in England while in 1838 slaves were freed in British colonies across the world, something once thought unthinkable. In 1861 the tsar emancipated some 23 million Russian serfs, while the Romantic era in the United States ended with the American Civil war and its bloody quest to end chattel slavery in the States.

In a twist of irony, the very same political instability brought on by decades of war ensured that the Romantic movement in France developed later than it did elsewhere. By that time, the Reign of Terror and Napoleon’s wars split Romantics abroad, and several quietly distanced themselves from France and its Revolutions. It was in this post-Revolutionary world that Victor Hugo looked at the smoking wreckage left all around him and began writing Les Miserables. In the preface of this book, he writes, 

“So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation which, in the midst of civilization, artificially creates a hell on earth…so long as the three problems of the century - the degradation of man by the exploitation of his labour, the ruin of women by starvation and the atrophy of childhood by physical and spiritual night are not solved; so long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible…so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, there should be a need for books such as this.”  

The three problems Hugo described exist now as they did then, and One Piece is in many ways a story of ordinary people with extraordinary dreams rising up above this artificially created hell to make a better world for themselves, and the people they care for. 

Other Romantics, disillusioned by a world that did not change as they would have liked, turned their search inward. For these, systematic change wasn’t the goal; personal freedom was. And it’s this inward, more spiritual journey that exemplifies the ideal pirate within the context of One Piece, as best seen by our main protagonist, Monkey D Luffy. 

[alisonsfics]

guest lecturer - part two

pairing: tyler owens x student!reader

summary: when tyler owens shows up in our meteorology class to give a guest lecture, you are left just as speechless as all the other girls. but, tyler is just as awestruck by you.

word count: 3.8k

part 1

Ever since accepting the internship with Tyler, you’d been an anxious mess.

You were overthinking everything. Why did he want you specifically? Did that mean he was actually into you? Or was it just because you were smart and capable?

You spent many sleepless nights wondering how he felt about you. You had no idea if he was actually attracted to you or if you were just a one time, spur of the moment decision.

A few days after you told Dr. Hannigan that you’d accept the internship, you got a text from Tyler. He’d somehow gotten your number from Dr. Hannigan.

He didn’t even have to mention his name for you to know it was him.

Unknown number: “They say spring break can get pretty crazy ;)”

You: “Tyler?!?”

Unknown number: “You already know me so well, gorgeous”

That was the last time you’d talked to him.

You didn’t want to embarrass yourself. So, while it would have been clear to anyone else that he was into you, you found yourself doubting it.

Somehow, you convinced yourself it was just flirty banter. So, you didn’t attempt to reciprocate it.

Normally, you had no problem knowing a guy was into you. Something about Tyler made you feel like an oblivious schoolgirl. You were mortified by even the possibility of humiliating yourself in front of him.

But you allowed yourself a pinch of optimism, and you packed your cutest bras in case that was where the week took you. You also picked out an outfit that was the perfect mix of cute and revealing to wear on the plane, since it would be the first time Tyler had seen you in a month.

When the plane landed, you could feel your nerves coursing through you. You anxiously tapped your fingers against your thigh. Normally, you were a pretty patient person, but not when you knew Tyler Owens was waiting for you on the other side of the airport.

You stared up at the seatbelt sign, hoping you could psychically make it turn off. Instead, the light seemed to mock you.

All you could think about was Tyler. You were excited to see his reaction to seeing you again. The possibilities seemed endless, which excited you.

You smoothed out your jeans and your tight tank top. It felt a little more western than your usual style, but you figured it would be appropriate for Oklahoma. As an added bonus, you hoped Tyler would like it.

You were brought out of your thoughts by the beep of the seatbelt sign turning off. You practically leapt up from your seat. You snatched your suitcase and managed to be one of the first people off the plane.

You were practically running through the airport. You didn’t know what was in store for this week, but you were eager for it to begin.

Your eyes scanned around the pickup area. You saw dozens of people waiting to pick up their family members. You searched for that all too familiar set of green eyes.

Over the chatter of dozens of conversations, you heard someone call out your name.

Your eyes snapped to where the noise came from. Instead of finding a certain cowboy meeting your gaze, you saw a woman.

Her dirty blonde hair was thrown up into a ponytail. Your confusion was written all over your face, so she smiled at you and waved you over.

“Hi, I’m Kate. I work with Tyler. He asked me to come pick you up.” She said, shaking your hand.

“Ohhh okay. Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.” You said, failing to hide the disappointment in your voice.

You felt like such an idiot.

You had really been convinced Tyler was going to pick you up. The small amount of hope you’d been holding onto left your body. You felt like you had misread this entire situation.

You should’ve known it was stupid to assume Tyler invited you to continue whatever happened in your professor’s office. This wasn’t personal. This was purely academic, and you were just the best candidate for the internship.

If he’d been into you, he would’ve been at the airport.

You felt mortified.

“Oh god, you were expecting Tyler, weren’t you? I’m so sorry.” Kate quickly apologized, picking up on your disappointment. You shook your head. “No, you don’t have to apologize. I was just being stupid.” You said, trying to hide your embarrassment.

All you wanted to do was hop on a plane and go back home.

Kate probably thought you were so pathetic. You just hoped she didn’t mention any of this to Tyler.

“No, it wasn’t stupid. Tyler really wants to work with you. He hasn’t shut up about your midterm paper in weeks. He said you’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. Something came up today. That’s the only reason he’s not here to pick you up himself, I promise.” Kate told you.

You appreciated the sentiment, but you were pretty sure she was just trying to save your feelings.

The ride to their base camp was long. You and Kate talked about your studies and some of the experiments she was working on. But you were still overthinking everything.

She pulled the truck into the parking lot of a motel alongside a big camp of other trucks. You noticed a bar and a diner across the street from the motel.

You both got out of the truck, and you grabbed your suitcase from the back. “Here you go. I think you’re in room 261.” Kate said, handing you a key.

“Hey, Kate! You’re back.” You heard someone exclaim. You glanced over your shoulder and saw two guys walking towards you. Kate waved at the two men and gave them both hugs.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Javi, and this is Boone. Tyler’s told us a lot about you.” The one man greeted you. Before you could respond, Boone stood a step closer to you. “He didn’t mention how pretty you are.” Boone said, slowly shaking your hand.

Javi quickly pulled Boone backwards. “Why don’t you go get settled in your room? We were all planning on going to the bar tonight? I can come get you later.” Kate suggested, guiding you towards the motel.

As you walked away, you saw Javi elbow Boone in the side. “Come on, man, you remember what Tyler said, she’s off limits.” You heard him whisper.

You felt your stomach do a flip as you processed what he said. Tyler banning his friends from flirting with you had to mean something.

After you found your room, you flopped backwards onto the bed. Thoughts of Tyler swirled around your head. You wondered where he was and when you would see him.

As if on cue, you heard a loud truck outside with the radio blaring.

You walked over to the window and peeked out the curtains. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the big red truck pulling into the parking lot.

Tyler climbed out of the truck, running a hand through his perfectly messy hair. You felt a shudder run through you as he placed his cowboy hat on his head.

Tyler wasn’t your usual type, but there was something about him.

You wanted to run out and talk to him, but he’d know you’d been watching him, and you didn’t want him to think you were desperate.

You couldn’t help but admire his biceps as he lifted some equipment out of the bed of his truck. You watched him for longer than you cared to admit.

You remembered Kate said you were all going to the bar later tonight. You started to dig through your suitcase to pick out an outfit.

You grabbed a high-waisted pair of jean shorts that made your ass look great. You paired them with the black cowboy boots you brought, along with a lacy black tank top.

You also weren’t ashamed to admit you had a sexy red lace bra and panty set on underneath. You jumped when you heard a knock at your door. You quickly put on a cute flannel and grabbed your phone.

You opened the door and saw Kate. “You ready to go?” She asked you. You eagerly nodded and closed the door behind you.

You noticed yourself constantly looking around and over your shoulder for Tyler. Kate noticed too, but didn’t mention it.

You both immediately spotted Boone and Javi at the bar. They quickly waved you over. “Come on, ladies. We’re doing shots.” Javi said.

Before you could question it, they handed you and Kate both a shot. The four of you clinked your glasses together and downed the shot. You winced and clenched your fist as you swallowed.

“Oh, fuck. Was that tequila? Can’t have too many of those or I’ll get fucked up.” You said, earning a chuckle from Kate.

“Now, that I’d like to see.” You heard a deep voice say from behind you.

You spun around to see who was talking to you. You didn’t really need to look. You already recognized the cologne.

Then, you saw those green eyes staring back at you. You could feel your eyes go wide, and your heart start to beat faster. “Oh, fuck,” you mumbled under your breath.

Tyler was the only one that heard it. The smirk on his face was all the confirmation you needed that he’d heard you.

“So, how’s the smartest girl I know?” He asked, cocking his head to the side. You quickly nodded your head, as an incoherent string of words left your mouth. “Yeah, no— uh huh. I’ve be— been good.” You mumbled.

He pulled you in for a quick hug. “I’m still makin’ you nervous, gorgeous?” He whispered in your ear as he hugged you. Goosebumps spread down your arms.

You both were completely aware of the way Boone, Javi, and Kate were all staring at the two of you. It didn’t take a genius to see the tension between you and Tyler.

Tyler licked his lips as he looked you up and down. He wanted to take in every inch of you. The way your shorts hugged your hips. Your shiny lipgloss, more specifically how bad he wanted to see it messily smeared across your lips.

The one thought he kept coming back to was how much better you’d look in his hat.

“I’m glad you were able to come.” He said, smiling down at you. You hadn’t remembered how tall he was. “Yeah, I’ll bet you’re glad.” Javi muttered under his breath with a smirk.

“C’mon, let’s go talk.” He said, gesturing towards the other side of the bar. His hand landed on the small of your back as he led you across the room.

With his large hand pressed against your back, you couldn’t help recall how effortlessly he’d picked you up and set you on the desk. You pushed away the thought and the warm feeling in your stomach that accompanied it.

“I meant it before. I’m really excited to work with you. We have some exciting tests and stuff that I think you’ll enjoy.” Tyler said, twirling you around so you faced him.

“I’m really grateful for the opportunity.” You said, smiling up at him. You were wracking your brain for anything else you could say, but your mind had gone blank.

“You’re saying it like I’m doing you a favor. You earned this. Dr. Hannigan sent me a bunch of your work. You’re fucking brilliant.” Tyler told you.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks. Before Tyler could say anything else, he froze, and his eyes locked on yours. He reached his hand towards you and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, waiting for his next move.

He softly interlaced his fingers with yours and pulled you towards the dance floor. He pulled you backwards into his chest until you both were pressed up against each other. His hot breath ran down your neck, giving you chills.

He confidently stretched his hand across your stomach. He was marking you as his in front of anyone. Every guy in the bar knew not to mess with you if you were with Tyler.

With a rare burst of courage, you grinded your hips back against him. He groaned in your ear. “Oh, fuck, gorgeous,” he mumbled. His voice came out deeper and huskier than you’d ever heard it.

He moved your hair out of the way and started kissing behind your ear. You felt a cocky smirk grow on your face. You knew exactly whose room you were ending up in tonight.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, making Tyler hips rut into you. “You know, I saw you watching me from your room earlier? It took all my self control to not go up to your room.” He whispered in your ear.

The room erupted into gasps, causing you both to separate. Your eyes drifted to the front door where Javi had just tripped over a barstool and fell face first.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be shitting me. He’s fucking wasted. I have to bring him back to his room. I will be right back. I promise.” Tyler said, running over to Javi’s side.

You found a stool at the bar to sit at while Tyler was gone. Then, Boone appeared at your side. He reeked of booze, and you could tell he was almost as drunk as Javi. “Hey, Boone. You doing okay?” You asked, gesturing towards the seat next to you.

He plopped himself down and nodded. “I saw you and Tyler getting friendly.” He said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. Your embarrassment rushed to your cheeks. The last thing you wanted was Tyler’s friends thinking you slept with Tyler to get the internship.

“Oh, you saw that?” You asked, nervously. He just chuckled and nodded.

“Don’t worry. He told us all about you and your little spicy time at office hours.” Boone whispered. You felt like your heart skipped a beat. You had full confidence Boone only mentioned it because he was hammered, but that meant Tyler had told him.

Your anxiety and overthinking went into overdrive.

Everything started to click into place for you.

You were his trophy. The hot, young college girl for him to brag about to his friends. He didn’t care about your work or teaching you. He just wanted to get in your pants and show you off to his friends.

“Oh, I’m gonna be sick.” You mumbled, heading for the front door. You felt unbelievably naive. Of course a guy like Tyler would act like this.

You walked across the parking lot, towards your motel room.

“Hey! Wait up, where you goin’?” You heard Tyler call after you.

You ignored him and kept walking, speeding up your pace. “Leave me alone.” You yelled at him over your shoulder when he started to follow you.

You kept walking, ignoring Tyler’s voice. You heard his footsteps speed up as he ran to catch up with you.

He jumped in front of you and put his hands up to stop you. “What’s wrong?” He asked you, confused.

“Why did you invite me here?” You asked him point blank. His expression only became more confused. “What do you mean? I already told you.” He said, furrowing his eyebrows.

Tyler searched your eyes for any idea of why you were so upset. “You told Boone…” you said, softly.

“Told Boone what?” Tyler asked, gently cupping your face. You sighed and pushed his hands off of you. “You told him that we almost hooked up. You didn’t want me here because you think I’m smart. You just wanted to have a hookup with a college girl that you could brag to your friends about.” You said, storming off towards your room.

Tyler could only watch in shock as you walked away.

As soon as you got to your room, you fell onto your bed with your head in your hands. You didn’t know how you were supposed to face Tyler tomorrow morning. You laid there for what felt like hours trying to decide what to do. You debated packing your bags several times.

You were taken out of your thoughts when there was a knock at the door.

You walked over to the door and opened it a crack. You saw a sympathetic Tyler.

“Please, let me explain before you slam the door in my face.” He begged you.

You stepped out of your room and closed the door behind you. “What do you want?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“I promise that our almost-hookup and my attraction to you has nothing to do with why I wanted you to do the internship. I really think you are brilliant. I’m sorry that I told Boone and Javi about us. I only did it because they’re my friends. I didn’t think about it from your perspective and realize they’re people that you’re going to work with professionally. I’m really sorry.” He said, genuinely.

You pursed your lips, thinking about whether you’d accept his apology. Something in his eyes made you want to trust him. “Thank you for that. I’m sorry too. I think I got anxious and started to overthink everything. I've never done anything like this.” You said, honestly.

You could see the relief on Tyler’s face. “C’mere,” he said, leaning in giving a short kiss.

“You know what? I have some baseline readings I need to get before tomorrow. You want to go on a little trip?” He suggested. As soon as you nodded, he swooped you up bridal style and carried you to his truck.

He helped you into the truck before jumping into the drivers seat. You both drove in silence until Tyler got where he wanted to go.

You both got out and walked to the back of the truck. You helped Tyler take some measurements in a peaceful silence. Every few minutes, Tyler would do something goofy to get you to giggle.

After you’d finished the measurements, he lifted you up into the bed of the truck, where he’d set up a blanket. You patted the seat next to you, so Tyler would join you.

“You want to know the best real-world tip I can give you for storms?” He asked, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You looked over at him, waiting for his answer.

“Gotta listen to the wind and be able to know what’s happening just by listening. Here, I’ll show you.” He told you, opening his toolbox. He grabbed a small towel and carefully tied it over your eyes. “Listen, over to the left. You can hear the pressure shifting.” He whispered softly to you.

“The winds picking up over there.” You said, pointing over to the right side.

“Yep, that’s right, gorgeous. You’re a quick learner. It took me forever to recognize stuff like that.” He told you.

The wind quieted down, and the air felt peaceful. The only noise you could hear was Tyler’s soft breathing. You felt his large palm rest on top of your thigh. “What’re you doing?” You asked, softly.

There was a change in the air.

You felt Tyler’s lips on yours.

His hand cupped the back of your head as he kissed you. You quickly kissed him back. His other hand found your hip and laid you down. A groan escaped his lips as you ran your hands down his back.

Tyler eagerly tugged your flannel off your arms and threw it to the side. You pulled off your blindfold, and then saw Tyler unbuttoning his shirt. A soft whimper escaped your lips as you admired him.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He groaned, as you ran your fingers over his now bare chest. Your hands landed on his belt, quickly unbuckling it. He kicked off his jeans and laid back down on top of you.

“Been dreaming of this for a month,” he told you, leaving sloppy kisses down your chest. He tugged your shirt over your head.

His movements stopped when he caught a glimpse of the dark red lace of your bra. “Wait til you find out it’s a set.” You teased him. Tyler shuddered at the thought.

His grabbed at the belt loops of your shorts and quickly pulled them off your legs. “Eager, cowboy?” You teased. He could feel his pants begin to tighten as he looked down at you. “I’m never gonna forget this.” He mumbled, before burying his face in your neck and sucking on the soft skin.

“You been thinking about finishing what we started? You been lying in bed thinking about that day like I have?” He mumbled against your skin. His hands slid down your sides, stopping on your thighs.

He ran his fingers over the outside of your panties. You let out a soft moan, bucking your hips up against his hand. “Need you,” you begged.

Tyler slid your panties to the side. He ran his finger through your folds, collecting your wetness.

“You’re gonna feel so good, baby,” he almost moaned. You tugged down his boxers enough for his cock to spring out.

“Come on, Tyler, fuck me. I don’t think I can wait much longer.” You begged him.

“Oh, fuck, gorgeous. You’re so needy. I can’t say no to you.” He groaned, grabbing your hips. He lined himself up and pushed into your folds.

You shut your eyes, whimpering as he pushed into you. “I’m ready. I need you to move, please.” You mumbled.

Tyler quickened his pace and started thrusting into you. He roughly grabbed your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist. Your eyes rolled back as he reached even deeper. “Oh, fuck,” he grunted.

You wrapped his hair around your fingers. You screamed out his name, bucking your hips up into his thrusts. “Go ahead, gorgeous. No one can hear you. You can be as loud as you want.” He said, speeding up his thrusts.

You guided one of his hands between your legs. He smirked against the kiss as he started rubbing tight circles against your clit. A high-pitch moan escaped your lips.

“I’m almost there, baby.” He moaned against your lips. You nodded your head. “Me too, oh, fuck,” you moaned.

Your fingers scratched down his back. You felt a tightness in your stomach. “Gotta go faster,” he mumbled, thrusting his whole body into you.

Your back arched against the blanket. Tyler's thrusts faltered. “Oh, shit,” he grunted as he came inside you.

Your stomach jumped as you hit your peak. “Oh, fuck fuck fuck,” you called out, as you came with him.

Tyler slowed his pace and then collapsed beside you. “That was even better than I imagined.” He said, kissing your shoulder. You nodded, still catching your breath.

“I think I’m officially a spring break fan.” You agreed.

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