#i just say it. on repeat. over. and over. and over again in my head.

[vampiefemme]

On my hands and knees begging for a fic where vi mocks the readers moans and the reader is super into it

bitch you’re fucking sick in the head. i love it. some kindaaaa spicy, borderline bdsm stuff below so read forth with caution! there’s aftercare tho. and 18+ as always.

vi’s trying to commit this version of you to memory: dazed and fucked out, tears streaking down your cheeks, your hands tensed around fistfuls of the bedsheets. your cunt is spread wide and puffy for her, so slick it damn near glistens in the dim bedroom lighting. dark, angry-looking hickeys decorate your complexion, and vi can’t even remember when she sucked bruises into certain parts of you - had she really spent so much time latched to your left hip? the inside of your wrist?

whatever, it’s not important. shes supposed to be focusing on giving you what you want - what you need. what you’ve been begging for since she’d first bit into the flesh where your shoulder and neck connect. it’s been two orgasms since then, and though you’re certainly more delirious now, drool weeping from the corner of your lips, eyes all faraway, you’ve still managed to keep up with the begging.

“please, vi,” you whisper, “please.”

your watery eyes search her frame, something akin to relief washing over your features when you process the fact that vi’s already slipped into her harness. there’s a wrinkle between your brows when you pout like this, and vi wants to lean over and kiss it.

“so needy,” she says instead, shuffling forward on her knees to settle herself between your legs. “can’t stop begging for it, huh?”

she grins when you nod along with what she’s saying, and through your lust-foggy gaze, you think briefly how hot it is when she smiles like that, lip scar stretching just so.

the thought disappears as quickly as it came, though, because now vi’s pushing the tip of her strap through your folds, moving with ease through the wetness spread through your twitching cunt.

“fuuuuck,” she hisses. her gaze is settled on your spread pussy, watching it drool onto the silicon. there’s something else she’d like to commit to memory.

she plays with you a bit more - she’s always liked to play with her food. you’re whimpering and gasping as she curls her hand around her strap, working it upward from your entrance to the puffy bud of your clit. the slick, wet sounds of each movement go right to her own clit, and she’d be lying if she told you she wasn’t leaking through her briefs right now.

“god, vi, i can’t—” you cut yourself off with a high, drawn-out moan, eyes crossing, because vi’s drawing circles over your clit with the strap.

“please,” you say again. and again, and again - a chorus of “please, please, please” until vi’s finally had enough. she pushes her hips into yours, sinking so deep inside of you that you swear you can feel her in your throat.

“that what you need, princess?” vi asks, voice hoarse. battle-rough hands smooth over the soft curves of your hips, and she digs her thumbs into the flesh to steady herself as she pulls out again, only to sheath herself back into you a moment later. all you can manage is a shaky moan in response, front teeth sinking into your lower lip.

“what was that?” vi says as she slams into you again, repeating the motion in quicker succession. “couldn’t hear you.”

you moan again, back arching off the bed, and this time, vi laughs. but as humorous as she finds your inability to answer, it doesn’t keep her from fucking into you faster, rougher. your cunt opens smoothly around her, takes her like it’s made for this.

“try that again,” vi tells you. she waits for that soft, whiny, pathetic moan again, and when the sound tears from your throat, she chuckles again - then, throwing her head back in a melodramatic imitation of you, she makes that same sound herself. she moans like you do, like you are right now - too fucked out to say any real words.

vi’s still fucking you through her mocking imitation, though. “hear that? s’what you sound like, cupcake. fucking needy.”

your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but there’s another flood of warmth elsewhere - your cunt gushes impossibly wetter. you moan again, trying for that over-exaggerated, pornstar-type sound, and whatever you do works, because vi’s red-faced and lust-drunk. she fucks you into the mattress at a dizzying pace, and all you can do is lie there and take it, moaning and gasping her name, your mouth releasing an endless stream of ah, ah, ah…

and vi mocks you at every opportunity, laughing with that self-satisfied grin on her lips, hips snapping forward to pull more of those sounds out of you.

after, when she’s made you cream on her strap at least twice, she smooths a hand through your hair and kisses that wrinkle between your brows.

“that was hot, you know,” you say, nuzzling into her jawline. she smells like sweat and sex and musk, that characteristically vi scent that’s always so intoxicating. “you mocking me, i mean.”

“figured you liked it,” vi says with a poorly-concealed smirk. “guess i’ll have to humiliate you more next time.”

“shut up.” you shove her away, but when she pulls you back in against her naked chest, smothering you in kisses, you can’t help but beam.

[filthyrafe]

just the tip

cw: smut, stepcest, unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it), lmk what i missed..?

a/n: got a bit carried away… this was supposed to be just a thought but!!! not proofread btw

rafe cameron is such a dirty & rotten liar.

“just the tip sis..” he whispers gently.

“wouldn’t it be weird..?” you babble, clearly hesitant, fidgeting nervously.

“weird? he repeats, “no, ‘course not. don’t overthink it. im just trying to be a nice big brother and help you out. whats wrong with that?” he questions, smirking.

he noticed how your body tenses up, how your biting your nails and the skin around it.

“relax sweetheart, would ya? its just the tip.” he reassures you.

you hesitate yet again, his strong arms slide beneath your legs to tug your pants down, noticing the wet patch on your underwear.

you sigh. were you really gonna let your step brother fuck you right now? were you really gonna get your virginity taken by him?

“mmhh.. okay! fine.. but— only the tip…” you end up agreeing with a little nod.

rafe is quick to undo his pants and yank them down, just enough to free his hard on. he's big- thick and long. the tip slightly red and fat, already leaking precum.

he flashes you a dirty smirk, his hand gripping his hard cock while the free one yanks your panties down to your ankles.

keeping eye contact, he slowly slides the fat head of his dick up and down your drenched slit, coating it thoroughly in your wet arousal.

you whimper as the head of his cock eventually meets your puffy clit, the gentle rubbing sending shivers down your spine.

rafe's eyelids close, a low hum of pleasure escaping his throat as he continues to slowly drag the tip up and down your pussy lips with wet noises.

his breathing grows heavier the longer he teasingly rolls it against your slick,

he cannot take this anymore.

with a quick, harsh push- he buries him self completely in your warm and tight cunt, you gasp. locking your eyes onto his, your pupils grow wide with lust.

“r-rafe what are you-“ you moan at the stretch, him splitting your pretty pussy open.

“jesus.. shut the fuck up sis.” he grunts as your cunt starts fluttering around him, hes so — too* thick.

“might just fuckin’ cum like this already- shit.” rafe mutters, panting heavily as he thrusts in and out of you. holding you by your hips.

sweat beads on his brow before he brutally starts slamming into you, grabbing your legs and putting your ankles on his shoulders, allowing himself to go deeper.

you’re whining underneath him, blabbering some bullshit he ignores, you pawn at his arms that are gripping your hips hard. surely its gonna leave bruises later.

he groans, over and over again untill you feel it. his warm sticky cum inside of you—when you didn’t even get to finish.

you’re left wanting more when he slowly pulls out, your pussy stretched out and leaking spurts of his cum. he looks down at you, smirking and tapping his softened tip against your swollen clit.

“so gorgeous with my cum stuffed inside of you.” he whispers, his cock smearing his sticky cum all around your slit- inner thighs and pubic.

“hm, ‘m sorry for lyin’ and for making a huge mess sis, let me clean it up yeah? you’re not mad sweetheart are you?” he says, his voice slightly manipulative but you ignore it.

you shake your head when he lowers his head to your pussy, putting his mouth all over it, his tongue searching through your folds, lapping up his own release.

[wileys-russo]

santa's biggest fan II l.williamson

part of the mila-verse and a little belated christmas fic i never finished in time santa's biggest fan II l.williamson "okay mils, time for bed bubba!" you clapped your hands together when the movie finished, the end credits rolling and your wife heaving a sigh of relief as your daughter groaned.

"another one! i'm not tired." the small blonde demanded, curling even more into leah who smiled in amusement, but that dropped the moment you gave her a hard look of warning.

"bubba if you don't go to sleep, santa won't come!" the footballer whistled with a firm nod as mila looked up to her in shock. "he only comes when everyone is sleeping." you back her up with another nod.

"okay lets all go to bed come on!" mila announced, launching herself off the lounge and sprinting off in the direction of yours and leahs room.

"mila babe, mummy and i don't go to sleep yet. remember how we talked about grown up bedtime is different to kid bedtime?" you called after her, footsteps thundering back down the hall as you were grateful you didn't still live in the tiny upstairs apartment you and leah first moved into together years before mila was even a thought.

"then why can't i stay up with you? its a special night, mummy said so! that should mean special rules." mila huffed, bottom lip jutting out into an adorable pout as she stomped her foot.

"it is already an hour past your bedtime little miss, now go on jump into bed and we'll come in and read you a special story. right?" leah chimed in, mila shaking her head and with a resoundingly stubborn no! was off and racing around the house again as you and leah shared a knowing look.

"my love i have a feeling this is going to be a long night."

and safe to say you weren't a betting woman but you were right on the money with that predication.

"is she..." you whispered to your wife as she ever so slowly tip toed back into the living room with a quick nod and you exhaled in relief. "how many stories?" you asked with a slight smile of amusement, opening your arms as the blonde sank down into them with a huff.

"the same one, over and over, seven bloody times. i might just add in the murder of that hungry hungry caterpillar the next fucking time i read it!" leah grumbled into your neck, your body vibrating beneath her with a quiet laughter.

"its not funny! god why are kids like this? first it was that awful baby shark song, then it was that awful show about fruit and friendship or whatever, now its the same awful book on repeat!" leah whined as you merely smiled, hand slipping up her hoodie to scratch your nails gently up and down her back.

"kids just like repetition baby its safe for them, they know they won't be disappointed. almost like a defender i know who has had the same pregame routine for...what is it now? ten? eleven years?" you chuckled, leahs head whipping up to scowl down at you as her taller body hovered over yours.

"that is not the same thing!" she whisper yelled defensively as your smile widened into a grin.

"is too. or should we talk about the rotation of bland beige meals you rotate? our daughter has a more adventurous palette than you, at least she can handle some seasoning and colour!" you teased, poking your tongue out in response to her offended scoff.

"i will have you know-" your hand darted up to cover her mouth with a sharp shut up at her raised tone of voice, peeking your head up to glance over your wifes shoulder, sighing in relief when mila didn't appear.

"you know my girl there is another way you could shut me up thats much more pleasant for both of us." leah smirked once you'd removed your hand, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively as you tried to bite back your smile, her arms planting themselves either side of your head.

"is that mistletoe?" leah frowned looking up at the ceiling but the moment you tried to glance up her mouth connected with yours, your fingers pinching her side. "you're unbelievable." you mumbled against her lips with a slight snicker.

"unbelievably sexy? oh baby, how you flatter me." leah gasped sarcastically, once again kissing you quickly before you could reply, settling herself comfortably on top of you as your tongues fought for dominance of the kiss.

but before anyone could win there was an interruption, leah falling off of you in shock and groaning as her back met the floor with a thump.

"i'm not tired and i can't sleep!" mila repeated, stomping her foot with a scowl that was a near mirror image of your wives from where she sat on the floor muttering about her tailbone.

with a deep sigh you sat up, swinging yourself to push off the sofa and scooping up the tiny blonde, settling her on your hip. "well that's too bad mil, it is way past your bedtime!" you carried her back to her room, protests ringing out the entire time.

"story!" the girl demanded as you tucked her back into bed, sighing again and reaching for the book already sat on the bedside table, making yourself comfortable in the armchair by your daughters bed.

"in the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf..."

~

"-then he nibbled a hole in the cocoon, pushed his way out and-" "-and he was a beautiful butterfly!" your daughter finished excitedly, clapping her hands and nowhere near close to sleep as you exhaled tiredly and snapped the book shut.

"right i've read this three times now and you're a big girl right bubba? well big girls go to sleep when they're supposed to. so you and gunner-" you paused to adjust the little dinosaur plushie held tightly in your daughters grasp.

"-are going to lay here very quietly together, until you fall asleep. or else no santa! you want santa to come visit right mils?" you ran a hand through her mess of blonde hair as she nodded eagerly.

"mama!" her hand grabbed a fistful of your hoodie as you stood and ducked down to kiss her forehead. "yes baby?" you sighed with a small smile.

"cuddles till i fall asleep? pwease?" the four year old pouted, hitting you with the puppy dog eyes she knew worked like a charm on the pair of you most of the time.

"don't do that mil, you know how to do your L's properly." you warned with a look. "please! please, please, please, please-" mila begged as you sighed, seemingly more tired than she was at this rate and knowing the later she stayed up the later you and leah had to stay up to sort out her presents.

"okay! okay okay. but just for a little while, yeah?" you gave in, gently tugging her hands off you and moving to flick the big light in her room off, leaving only the small red arsenal nightlight illuminating a pathway to her door.

"bubba no-" you tried as you laid down beside her, the four year old climbing basically on top of you, her gunnasaurus plushie squished against your cheek as you exhaled, not bothered for the argument.

one hand moving to tangle in her hair your fingers moved rhythmically against her scalp, feeling her limbs ragdoll as her body became that little bit heavier, her breathing evening out against your collarbone.

you waited a few more minutes until you were sure she was properly asleep before very very carefully moving her back into bed, wincing as you struggled to detatch her arms which seemed to be locked around your neck.

though you didn't make it two steps towards the door before she awoke again, tiredly sitting up and wiping her eyes as you exhaled with a shake of your head.

"mama no! more cuddles." "no more cuddles bubba, time to go to sleep. mama will sit by the door for five minutes until you sleep again, okay?" you bargained quietly, your daughter seeming to accept that with a nod as she sank back down in bed right as you sat down on the floor.

five minutes passed though again as you tried to leave her voice rang out for you to stay and you sank back down to the floor with a frustrated sigh, gently encouraging her to lay down and try to sleep.

ten more minutes and you managed to crawl out of the room without interruption, leaving her door open ajar and returning the living room where your wife was still sat up awake, now bundled beneath a blanket.

"come here." the defender smiled knowingly, moving the blanket and adjusting to give you some room to sit between her legs, patting the sofa encouragingly.

though your ass had barely made contact before it sounded again, now both you and leah groaning quietly.

"mama! mummy! i had a bad dream!"

~

"she's down?" you asked hopefully, now sat comfortably beneath the blanket leah once was, your wife tag teaming to go and lay down with your daughter a half an hour ago, only now emerging.

"for the count." leah confirmed with a tired nod, taking a seat beside you and wiggling beneath the blanket, grabbing your legs and moving them to rest on her lap.

"shit its nearly midnight!" leah realised with a huff, tapping her phone and seeing the time as you hummed, your head resting on her shoulder. "she's a night owl like her mummy!" you teased, patting leahs chest who flicked your ear playfully.

"god i love this movie." you hummed happily, the two of you having been watching bits and pieces of the holiday as you took turns popping in and out of your daughters bedroom to try and get her to succumb to sleep so the pair of you could play santa.

and as your movie finished and there'd been no sight of mila for at least forty minutes now, you readied yourself to do just that, the presents all neatly stacked in your bedroom as leah counted quietly to make sure everything was accounted for.

"-so the bike stays here from us, and the new predator boots go out from santa." leah rolled her eyes at that making you grin, alessia having insisted her goddaughter grew up on predators boots instead of phantoms, something which had driven leah up the wall from the very moment the topic was raised, both you and your best friend adidas athletes while she was with nike.

"i'll go check she's asleep and grab the stocking off her bed, mrs claus." you winked, stealing a kiss from the grumpy blonde whose eyes rolled.

you'd grown up doing christmas a little differently from your wife, the stocking always sat on the foot of your bed rather than hung in the living room, a tradition you'd carried on through your daughter much to leahs protests it made everything ten times harder.

and tonight unfortunately, you were about to find out she was very very right.

you ever so carefully pushed open your daughters door, sticking your head in and surveying the room. "santa?" you heard a tired voice call out groggily, quickly pulling your head back and swearing under your breath, waiting by the door for a moment to see if she'd get up.

but it would seem the small blonde was at least half asleep as no footsteps sounded, and you hurried back to the bedroom where leah was nowhere to be seen, found in the living room meticulously organising the presents beneath the tree.

"we've got a problem." you sighed as she looked up with a frown and an eyebrow raised questioningly. "she's awake still? seriously? its nearly two in the morning babe this is ridiculous!" leah whispered as your eyes rolled.

"sort of, she's not quite asleep but she's not fully awake. we could wait a little while longer?" you sighed tiredly, running a hand through your hair as leah pulled a face.

"you and i both know she's not sleeping past five in the morning babe, no matter when she falls asleep, and i need sleep to deal with our families all day!" leah whined, head thumping against the wall.

"what and i don't leah? we'll just wait ten minutes and i'll check again!" you warned, your wife too tired to protest as she nodded, joining you on the lounge a few moments later.

sure enough when you popped your head in a little while later mila appeared to be sleeping, not a peep heard as you waited a few seconds to be sure, though your breath hitched as she tossed and turned suddenly.

"she's restless, i'm worried she'll wake up." you sighed as you returned to your bedroom where leah was waiting. "you're joking yeah? it'll be fine! lets just get it over and done with." the defender scoffed bluntly, trying to stand from the bed as you pushed at her chest and sent her bouncing back down.

"leah. we are not ruining the magic of christmas for our four year old daughter who loves santa." you growled tiredly, giving her a dirty look before disappearing into the en-suite, rummaging around for something.

"well we're also not being held hostage by that four year old for another hour!" your wife growled right back as she popped up in the doorway. "correct. so, time for plan b!" you stood and leahs hardened face fell seeing what you held in your hands.

"oh absolutely the fuck not. i know what you're thinking babe and thats not happening!"

only a few minutes later, it was most definitely happening despite your wives ongoing grumbles and mumbles of protest as you carefully stuck the cotton wool balls to her face.

"this is fucking ridiculous!" leah grunted unhappily, scrunching her nose up as you finished the makeshift beard, the blonde clad in a matching red arsenal tracksuit with a couple of pillows stuffed up her jumper and a white scarf tied around her waist.

"babe i look like a bloody garden gnome not santa!" leah whined as she caught sight of herself in the mirror and winced, a red arsenal beanie with a funnel under it to create somewhat of a makeshift santa hat teetering precariously on her head.

"she won't notice in the dark if she wakes up leah. you'll just crawl in, try not to wake her, get the stocking. we fill it, you crawl in and put it very carefully back, and we're off to bed!" you recounted, shoving her out of your bedroom and toward your daughters.

"go santa go!" you whispered, hand colliding with her ass encouragingly as she jumped in surprise and turned to give you a filthy look.

"oi you better watch it, elf." the blonde pointed menacingly as your eyes rolled, hiding a smile as your wife dropped to her stomach, pushing mila's door open and very carefully commando crawling inside.

you felt as though you couldn't breathe until she returned, a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing as she crawled out again a moment later dragging the stocking with her.

"don't you dare laugh." the older girl muttered, hitting you in the face with the stocking as the air of you hurried to fill it with presents quickly as possible, your breath again stopped as leah began the crawl inside to put it back.

thankfully despite a few tired mumbles and a sleepy roll over that had leah dropping flat to the floor, her mission was successful and a very sudden burst of adrenaline filled her body as she crawled out and ever so carefully pulled the door shut with a soft click.

your own bedroom door closing you squealed as a body hurtled into yours, a few loose cotton balls falling to hit you in the head as your back hit the mattress and your wife hovered over you with a cheeky grin and an all too familiar glint in her eyes.

"now i think santa deserves a little reward for all her hard hard work tonight my darling, don't you?"

[whorelaud]

omfg i was literally on the edge of my seat throughout the whole thing hello i remember reading some of this ch before i started the series and i eas so curious so im glad im finally catching uo 🙏

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

I LOVE HER

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

fuck rafe inref cleo so bad

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

ILL CRY IM TEARING UP TOODTAWP

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

defending her ohhuhhhfuuh hes fucjing sick

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

stood up and applauded

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

NO ONE SOEAK TO ME

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?” 

im actually going crazy theyre so dear to me

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

keeping my mouth shut 🤐

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

i fucj ing

omg

idkodid didjfjf WHSTST HES GONAN FIBD OHT

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

WHATATTTTT

im

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it. 

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat. 

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you. 

Whatever that meant. 

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas. 

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill. 

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh. 

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, ��this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better. 

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself. 

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard? 

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms. 

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately. 

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear. 

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you. 

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire. 

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you. 

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug. 

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away. 

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea. 

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft. 

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier. 

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?” 

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief. 

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential. 

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message. 

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?” 

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. 

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened. 

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting.  “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[solxamber]

Diasomnia, 6, comedy! :D

Lessons in Love || Malleus Draconia

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "Say that again" ; Genre: Comedy

Malleus Draconia, the powerful and enigmatic prince of the Briar Valley, was pacing in your living room.

You sat on the couch, watching him like he was a particularly skittish cat, teetering on the edge of saying something dramatic. Eventually, you sighed and crossed your arms. “Malleus, if you’ve done something like declare war on RSA, just tell me now.”

He stopped mid-step, his shoulders stiff. “It is not about a declaration of war. I have a confession to make.”

“Good. Now spit it out.”

His lips pursed, and his cheeks took on a suspiciously pink tinge. You tilted your head, curiosity bubbling. Malleus rarely got flustered, but when he did, it was comedy gold.

“I—” he began, then stopped, his voice barely above a whisper.

“...Huh?”

“I… may have…” he mumbled again, too low for your magicless ears to catch.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“I may have…” He turned away, mumbling even quieter this time.

You blinked. “Malleus, I can’t hear you if you’re talking to the floor. Use your dragon voice.”

He shot you a betrayed look but finally sighed. “I may have accidentally…” Another mumble.

“I… sought assistance before we began courting,” he said, voice softer than a whisper.

Your curiosity peaked. “From who?”

He turned his head to the side, avoiding your gaze. “...Ace Trappola.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Then, as the words sank in, you leaned forward. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I do not wish to repeat myself,” he said firmly, his pointed ears flushing.

“Oh, you’re definitely repeating yourself,” you said, biting back a grin. “You, Malleus Draconia, went to Ace Trappola for dating advice?”

He looked at you like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. “I had heard rumors he had an… ‘ex-girlfriend,’ as humans call it. I sought his knowledge on how to properly court you.”

You smacked a hand over your mouth to suppress the laugh threatening to escape. “Malleus, please, you didn’t…”

“He told me to ‘play it cool’ and to call you ‘bro,’” Malleus admitted, looking deeply offended. “It was terrible advice.”

That did it. You doubled over with laughter, clutching your stomach. “He—he told you to call me bro? And you actually listened?”

“Of course not!” Malleus said, affronted. “Even I know better than to address my beloved with such disrespect.”

��Oh my god, I can’t breathe,” you wheezed, tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

He pouted, crossing his arms. “I should have sought advice elsewhere, but I was… desperate. You have a unique way of rendering me uncertain.”

He looked like he might throw himself dramatically out the window. So you did the only reasonable thing: you hugged him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist.

He froze for a moment, his sharp edges softening under your touch. “...You mock me,” he grumbled, though he leaned into your embrace.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, resting your cheek against his back. “But you’re also incredibly sweet for caring this much. Asking Ace of all people? That’s love.”

“But can you say that again?” you teased, grinning. “You went to Ace Trappola for help.”

“You are incorrigible,” he huffed.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, softening the pout on his face. “And you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed. Now come here, ‘bro.’”

He groaned. “If you call me that again, I will turn Ace into a toad.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Masterlist

[beansprean]

tfw u realize he has changed but he still wants you, and every time he has changed that has stayed the same and maybe it's time to shoot your shot, actually

My Familiar’s Ghost part 89

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Shoulders up of a green-tinged Guillermo from the back, hand raised to hover over his mouth; a flashback to him watching the recording of the Panera fight on his phone. The screen of his phone currently shows the very end, after feral Guillermo passed out over a supine Nandor. In the background, further red-tinged flashbacks of the fight and Nandor's monologue bleed into view. Guillermo's voice breaks in from the present: 'You...had a lot to say to me.' At the bottom of the panel, facing the opposite direction of the Guillermo flashback, is a shoulder's up shot of present Nandor in profile. He looks uncertain and a little shy as he idly fingers the side of his throat. He replies hesitantly, 'Yes.... It is...very hard for me to say things the way I am meaning them.' 1b. Shoulders up of present Guillermo, smiling softly at Nandor with bright eyes and an aching fondness. Offscreen, Nandor continues, 'Thank you...for listening.' 1c. Repeat. Guillermo turns his head forward again, smile turning equal parts shy and teasing as he says 'We should both probably do more of that...if we want to make this work.'

2a. Reverse shot, large, shoulders up of Nandor as he turns to face Guillermo, surprised and hopeful as he murmurs 'Guillermo...' Guillermo continues from offscreen: 'Everything I said...everything I wanted...none of that has changed.' 2b. Knees up of Guillermo sitting on the cot, blushing and fidgeting nervously with his hands clenched into fists on his thighs. He avoids looking at Nandor as he stutters out 'I don't want you to think...that being a vampire was the only thing I wanted from you-' Nandor interrupts, right hand coming into frame to rest on top of Guillermo's left, 'Guillermo. I understand.' 2c. Close up of their hands as Guillermo loosens his fist to allow Nandor's fingers to tuck into his palm, just like they used to every day when helping Nandor to and from his coffin. Nandor declares, 'I see you.'

3a. Close up of Nandor's eyes, bright and shining over flushed cheeks as he gazes at Guillermo in a brand new way. He continues, 'You are still...' 3b. Waist up of Guillermo from Nandor's POV, staring up at Nandor with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. Behind him, multiple other versions of Guillermo fan out in descending timeline order, colors washed out in teal and grey but shot through with full color across the eyes. Feral vampire Guillermo, snarling and blood-covered; ghost Guillermo, anxious and transient and hooded by creeping black ooze; human familiar/bodyguard Guillermo, steady and smiling and smartly dressed; and young Panera Guillermo, shy and pimple-faced and unprepared for all that lay before him. Looking at every version of Guillermo he has known, seeing them all at once coalesce into the man sitting beside him, Nandor finishes his thought: '...my Guillermo, after all.' /end ID

[bladeux]

⟡ ゛couch conversations ‧ ° ⟡

just silly, random conversations with your s/o :P | fluff

pairings : acheron, aventurine, black swan, sunday, dr. ratio x gn! reader (separate)

⏾ Acheron

You and Acheron were sitting on the couch in the warmly lit room. Your head rests on her lap, and though her face carries its usual sharp, composed expression, there’s a gentle way her fingers play with your hair that speaks volumes. “You know,” you begin, looking up at her with a sly grin, “for someone who’s supposed to be intimidating, you’re really bad at it when we’re alone.” Her eyes flick down to meet yours, one brow arching. “Oh? Should I try harder?” “Not with me,” you reply, your voice teasing. “You’ve got a reputation to uphold, Galaxy Ranger.” Acheron hums. “If you keep talking like that, I might need to remind you why people find me intimidating.” “Oh no, what are you gonna do?” you mock-gasp, holding a hand to your chest. “Glare at me? Scold me? Tickle me?” The last suggestion earns a rare, genuine smirk from her, and you realize too late that you’ve just set yourself up. Before you can react, her hands dart to your sides, and you burst into uncontrollable laughter as she tickles you mercilessly. “Stop! Stop! I take it back!” you wheeze, tears pricking at your eyes. She finally surrenders, her smirk softening into something almost tender as she brushes a stray strand of hair from your face. “That’s what I thought,” she says, though there’s no bite in her tone. You catch your breath, still smiling, and reach up to touch her cheek. “You’re terrible, you know that?” “Mhm. And yet, you’re still here.” She leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, and your heart felt like it might burst.

⏾ Aventurine

You and Aventurine sit side by side on the bed. He’s fiddling with one of his rings, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief as he watches you struggle with a small puzzle cube you picked up earlier. “Still stuck?” he asks, his tone laced with amusement. You glare at him without looking up. “No. I’m… just strategizing.” “Strategizing,” he repeats, leaning back against the headboard. “That’s one way to put it.” “Do you mind?” you snap playfully, turning the cube in frustration. “Your commentary isn’t helping. Aventurine grins, clearly enjoying your struggle. “You know, I solved one of those in under a minute once. Maybe you should take notes.” “Oh, please,” you scoff, finally looking up at him. “You probably just smashed it and put it back together piece by piece.” He gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “How dare you insult my intelligence?” “Don’t even try to argue.” He narrows his eyes, sitting up straighter. Before you can even react, he snatches the cube from your hands with speed. “Let me show you how a real genius does it.” You watch as he starts turning the pieces with precision, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. You’re not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. “Are you actually good at this?” you ask, leaning over his shoulder. “Better than you,” he replies smugly. A few moments later, the cube is solved, and Aventurine holds it up triumphantly. “And that, my dear, is how it’s done.” You gape at him, torn between disbelief and admiration. “Okay, fine. You’re not just entirely muscles.” He smirks, setting the cube aside and leaning closer to you. “Was that a compliment? From you? I should savor this moment.” “Don’t let it go to your head,” you mutter, though your smile betrays you. Aventurine chuckles, his voice softening as he cups your cheek. “Admit it. You love that I keep surprising you.” “Maybe I do,” you whisper, and he returns a smile.

⏾ Black Swan

The night was quiet. Black Swan sits on the couch, a book balanced on her knees. You lie beside her, your head resting against her thigh, staring up at her in a way that you know will get a reaction. “You’re ignoring me again,” you say, your tone light and teasing. “I’m reading,” she replies without looking away from her book. Her voice is calm, with slight amusement in it. “You know, most people would put their books down when their partner’s trying to talk to them,” you continue, undeterred. She turns a page. “Most people wouldn’t interrupt someone who’s clearly reading.” You grin, sitting up just enough to poke her cheek. “You’re such a workaholic. I bet even your dreams are about solving mysteries or something revolutionary. Black swan lets out a small giggle, and she finally sets the book aside, her dark eyes meeting yours. “Do you ever stop talking?” “Do you ever stop pretending you don’t like it?” you counter, leaning closer. Black Swan stares at you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, a small, rare smile graces her lips. “You’re insufferable,” she murmurs, her hand brushing against your cheek. “Only for you,” you reply, your voice softening. She shakes her head, but her fingers linger, tracing the curve of your jaw. “I suppose I can… tolerate it,” she says, her tone light, but the way she leans down to press her lips to yours tells you everything you need to know.

⏾ Sunday

You and Sunday lie side by side on the bed, sharing a blanket. He’s propped up on one elbow, watching you intently as you scroll through your phone. You glance at him and smirk. “You know, it’s kind of creepy how you just stare at me sometimes,” you tease, putting your phone down. He raises an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on in that chaotic brain of yours.” “Good luck with that,” you reply, laughing. “Even I don’t know half the time.” Sunday shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That explains a lot.” You narrow your eyes at him, shifting to face him fully. “Alright, since you’re apparently so curious about my brain, let’s play a game. I’ll ask you a question, and you have to answer honestly.” He leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms. “Go ahead. Try me.” “Okay,” you say, grinning mischievously. “What’s something you secretly like that you’d never admit to anyone else?” Sunday tilts his head slightly, as if considering his answer carefully. “I enjoy watching those ridiculous, corny, romantic dramas. The ones where the plot is absolutely predictable with unrealistic scenes.” Your eyes widen in surprise. “Wait, seriously? You always act like you’re not paying attention!” He shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Doesn’t mean I’m not listening. It’s… entertaining, in its own chaotic way.” You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. “Oh! I can’t believe you secretly love watching those shows with me.” “I didn’t say I love them,” he corrects, with a faint blush painted on his cheeks “You totally do!” you exclaim, sitting up and pointing at him. “Next time I put one on, don’t even pretend to be busy. You’re watching with me, and that’s final.” Sunday shakes his head, but his small smile gives him away. You lean closer to him. “Admit it. You love this chaotic brain of mine.” He sighs, his gaze softening as he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I do,” he murmurs, his voice low. “Even when you drive me crazy.” Your teasing fades as you take in the rare tenderness in his expression. You lean in, resting your forehead against his. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, Mr. Sunday.”

⏾ Dr. Ratio

The room was quiet and dimly lit as you lie on the bed beside Dr. Ratio. He has one arm draped over his eyes, clearly trying to relax, but you’re determined to disrupt his peace. “Ratio,” you call out, poking his side lightly. “Hmm?” he responds, his voice calm. “Ratio,” you repeat, poking him again. “What do you want?” he asks, still not moving the arm shielding his eyes. “You’re such a nerd,” you tease, unable to hold back a grin. “I mean, who even talks about… molecular structures during dinner?” His arm shifts slightly, revealing one eye. He arches an eyebrow at you. “Someone who likes to have deep intelligent conversations, perhaps?” “Oh, is that what you call it?” you counter, laughing. “You’re practically a walking textbook. Should I call you an encyclopedia from now on?” He lets out a small huff of laughter and shakes his head, clearly amused. “You know, for someone who claims to love me, you’re awfully critical of my intelligence.” “Love you? Who said anything about love?” you joke, leaning closer. “I’m only here because you’re entertaining.” Ratio finally turns to face you fully, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Entertaining? That’s an interesting way of telling me that I am ‘irresistibly charming and brilliant.’ You chuckle. “Charming? Maybe when you’re not going on about thermodynamics or trying to explain the law of relativity.” “You’re the one who asked about it,” he points out, his smirk widening. “Admit it—you find it endearing.” “Endearing? No way. I just like seeing you get all excited when you talk about that stuff,” you say, grinning. For a moment, Ratio doesn’t respond. Instead, he moves quickly, rolling over to pin you beneath him. His face is close to yours now, his expression a mix of smugness and affection. “Careful,” he murmurs, “or I might start thinking you actually enjoy my so-called ‘nerdy’ side.” “Maybe I do,” you admit softly, your smile turning sincere. “It’s kind of adorable, actually, seeing you light up when you talk about things.” He blinks, caught off guard, and his teasing expression falters. Then, his smirk returns, softer now. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And you’re lucky you’re a nerd,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around him. “Because I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

a/n: i really wanted to make a fic for acheswan and i kinda got carried away with ratio’s LOL but ya i hope u like this one i just love having silly talks with my friends or whatever 🙂‍↕️

[inmyheaddd]

✦ steered your way — leo valdez x reader

wc: 2.0k summary: you and your friends have just finished a little quest and are heading back to camp, and you and leo are the only ones awake in the dark of the night. a/n: first leo fic... my baby he's so cute

you weren’t sure how you’d ended up alone with leo. again. not that you minded, but it was becoming something you couldn’t not take notice of. every time the group split up, it always seemed to be you and him. you didn’t think too much of it—at least, not until now.

yes, you'd come best friends as a result of just always being around each other, but now that its been a few months, you started to feel more than just platonic feelings.

now, you two were the only ones on your little quest with your friends taking the night watch. it was the freezing months of winter, but leo being leo, barely even felt the cold. 

you had suggested setting up a fire because your fingertips felt like they were literally about to fall off, and his brows furrowed momentarily like he was confused on why you would suggest that, then realisation hit him. 

“oh,” he said, his hand scratching the back of his neck, “right, yeah, of course— the cold, you're cold. i'll get a fire started!” he grinned, and 5 seconds later, there was a little campfire that you and leo were sitting by, your friends in their tents just a few feet away. 

“we’re heading home tomorrow, right?” you hated being away from camp for so long— it had become a home for you quicker than any place ever has. you finished your quest, but everyone was just so tired, you needed a few hours to just rest.

''yeah,'' he muttered lowly. he was tinkering with some scrap metal he brought with him that he'd been working on every moment of his free time, his knee bouncing as he worked. ''we'll head back first thing tomorrow, maybe get some food along the way.'' his voice was steady, clearly having all his focus on whatever he was doing with that object in his hands.

you liked moments like this with him, the oddly calm and quiet ones, where you could simply just admire him being him, doing the things he loved.

it was a new moon, so the sky was fully dark, save for a few stars and smaller constellations. the campfire cast a soft orange glow on his face, and for a second, you forgot what you were even planning to say.

“you okay over there?” he asked, not even looking up, the teasing back in his voice like he suddenly remembered how he had once declared it was his 'official job to annoy you at all times' a few months ago.

“yeah,” you said quickly, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. you took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way your heart raced. “actually, uh, i wanted to talk to you about something.”

that got his attention. his hands stilled, the little gadget he was working on shoved into his jackets' pocket carefully as he finally looked up. “what’s up?”

you hesitated, your pulse thrumming in your ears. this was fine. it was leo. it was just leo. except it wasn’t just leo, and that was kind of the problem.

“okay, so, um,” you started, stumbling over your words. “i like you.”

silence.

he blinked at you, his head tilting slightly. "what?"

"i like you," you repeated, your voice softer now, but the words felt no less terrifying.

his brow furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between confused and wary. 

"i don't understand," he said slowly, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle.

you frowned, your confidence slipping.

"what’s there to understand? i just said i like you, leo." you tried to act casual about it, but your heart seemed to have missed the message and was beating like you had just sprinted at speed of a million miles per hour. 

for a second, he didn’t say anything. he just blinked at you, his expression unreadable. and then he laughed—a quick, nervous sound, like he didn’t quite believe you. “what, like, as a friend?”

“no, leo,” you said, your voice wavering slightly, looking him straight in the eyes for a moment. “like, like-like you.”

his mouth opened, then closed, like he didn’t know what to say. 

his eyes darted away from yours, and he shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. “i mean, a—are you sure?” he asked, and for all his usual cockiness, his voice sounded uncertain now. 

you frowned, leaning forward slightly. “yeah, leo. i’d say i’m pretty sure,” you said with a small chuckle, ”why wouldn’t i be sure?”

he let out a shaky laugh, his gaze still fixed on the gadget in his hands. “i don’t know, ‘cause like, you— we—” he started, then cut himself off with a sigh, “never mind mind, forget it.” 

you noticed the tension in his brows, the way his fingers kept tapping against his thigh, like he would do when he had a million thoughts running through his mind.

“leo,” you said, wanting to do nothing more than kiss the slight frown off his face. why was this so hard for him to believe?

"you're the guy who makes me laugh even when i don't want to. you’re the guy who makes up weird nicknames for me that i pretend to hate, you’re the guy who pretends to be annoyed when i break something, but then spends the whole day fixing it without me even asking. and you’re the guy who..." you trailed off, biting the inside of your cheek to stop your smile. "the guy who's way too hard not to like." 

he finally looked up at you, his brown eyes narrow and searching, like he was trying to figure out if you were messing with him. “you really mean that?”

you couldn’t even hide the stupid smile on your face, “of course i do.” 

for a moment, he just stared at you, his expression soft. then, slowly, that grin that you loved started to spread across his face. “well, uh,” he said, his voice lighter now, “good, ’cause, y’know, i kinda like you too.” he said, “like-like you.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting away. “yeah?” you laughed, “that’s good to know, valdez.”

“yeah, well,” he said, his grin turning into a smirk, and you noticed his hands were no longer fidgeting around. “don’t go getting all mushy on me now. i’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“right, your reputation as a total dork?”

“exactly,” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer. “but, uh, thanks. for, y’know, liking me anyway.”

you rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “sure,” you giggled, “anytime.”

he stared at you for a second, then broke into a wide, lopsided grin that made your stomach do another stupid flip. he cocked his head his head to the side beckoning you closer. you happily obliged, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around you.

he was unusually silent, so you leaned back from his hold and looked up at him, in question.

''what?'' you asked, and he was biting back a smile like he always did when he was debating if he should saying something stupid. “nothing, i just knew the valdez charm would come through one day.”

you pushed his shoulder, “oh my gods, leo” you stifled a laugh, “nevermind, i take it all back.” 

“wait, wait, wait, i was just kidding!” he reached his arms back out, and it took a lot of self control you didn’t even realize you had to not fall back right into them.

“please come back, i’m sorry.” he said, his voice low and half teasing, and you shook your head as you laughed a little yourself.

“you’re so not funny.”  you mumbled into his chest, the cold air not being a problem anymore.

''yeah, yeah.'' you heard the smile in his voice as his arm moved up and down your shoulder. ''you say that a lot.''

''wait, but,'' he narrowed his eyes and tilted his head as he leant back a little, his arm sliding off. “didn’t you just say that i make you laugh even when you don’t want to? i'd say that means i'm pretty funny. "

''i lied.''

''right. did you lie about the rest too?'' he said sarcastically.

you huffed, biting back a smile as you thought back on that ramble-confession of yours.

''... no.'' you murmured quietly, not even bothering to make a remark as you looked at your hands.

when you looked up, leo had that one grin on his face that was more sweet than teasing. ''would you look at that?'' he said, ''you being all nice and sappy, seriously, i don't deserve it.''

''seriously, stop it,'' you grumbled, and he put his arm back around you. it wasn't unusual because even when you were simply friends, being physical wasn't a rare occurrence.

what was a new occurrence, though, was leo pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

you pressed your lips together to hide your smile, but you couldn't do anything to stop the reddening of your face.

''you know, uh, speaking of charm...'' leo suddenly said, removing his arm from around you and digging into his pocket. ''this was what i was working on earlier, its uh, its a charm.'' he started, ''i made you a bracelet to go with, but its back at camp, so...''

he pulled out a tiny object and held it in between his thumb and pointer fingers. you looked up from his hands to his face, ''can i?" you whispered, like anything louder would ruin the moment.

he mumbled a small, low, ''of course,'' his eyes trained on you as he placed the tiny object in your hands, his fingers brushing over your palm slightly.

he had made you a charm.

despite all of the weaponry and larger scale items he forged, he managed to design the daintiest little thing, about the size of your thumbnail. it was a bronze circular compass, gold edges, with a tiny ruby in the centre.

he watched your reaction, silently hoping that you'd love it. he'd been aiming to finish it before the quest, and give it to you just before you all left to start it off on a good note, but of course, with his luck, he accidentally broke a piece when it was halfway done, and had to restart the whole thing. he really hoped it was worth the wait.

''oh my gods, leo, its so beautiful. i can't believe you made this,'' you muttered, rambling other words of affection in awe as you fully took in the compass and turned it over in your hands.

''yeah, uh the pointer thing, it always points you to wherever you believe home is.''

he mentioned that fact so casually, as if the items importance didn't just increase a million times more in your mind. you looked at him in awe this time, amazement written over your features. he smiled a little awkwardly, and it was the cutest thing you'd ever seen.

with this new fact about the compass, you looked back down at it once more.

you wondered if it was pointing at camp, and you thought about all the times you had, midnight group rendezvous— meeting by the beach and laughing all night, leo persuading you to do karaoke with him which slowly turned into the whole group singing (and almost getting caught), and successfully sneaking back into your cabin and going to bed with a smile on your face.

the pointer seemed to flicker between your friends tents, which made you smile, because your friends really were your home. then you realised, home wasn't the place, but it was rather the people who took up that place.

you really hoped he didn't notice the way the pointer pointed directly at him now.

''i love it, thank you so much,'' you told leo, eyes flickering between his features, before carefully hooking the charm onto your camp necklace temporarily to keep it safe.

''i'm actually... i'm at a loss for words, leo.'' you said with a half hearted chuckle, shaking your head slightly.

he smiled sheepishly, like he didn't know how to respond to the compliment. his eyes flickered down to the charm for a moment, and his face seemed to flush.

''hey, its no problem.'' he grinned at you, ''i can talk enough for the both of us.'' he nudged your shoulder, then held his arm out once again, inviting you in for a side hug.

you nuzzled a little closer into leo's side, and you thought: maybe sitting by this fire, leo's arms around you while all your friends slept was worth the loss of sleep before your journey back home. you snuck another look at the compass, and you smiled a little. yeah— still pointing right at leo.

taglist: @lovethornes @littlemissmentallyunstable @midiosaamor @maybxlle @imaseabear @sheisntyou @off-to-the-r4ces @anintellectualintellectual @wish-i-were-heather @hxress23 @hermesenthusiast @that-daughter-of-hephaestus

[bingbongsupremacy]

Surprise Boyfriend

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Plus size reader

Warning: Cursing, mentions that reader is plus size but doesn't emphasises, insecurities

Summary: You're in love with Eddie but he doesn't like you back. Right? You're just friends. That's why it's so surprising when he asks to meet your parents.

*Not Proof Read*

□□□□□□□□

I’m not sure when things started to change between Eddie and me. We've been friends for a while, hanging out after school, talking about everything from Dungeons & Dragons to heavy metal. We joke around, complain about the crazy world around us, and escape to our own little bubble where things just make sense. But lately? It feels different.

Eddie’s always been a little flirty with me. It's just his nature. He’s got that sarcastic charm that comes with being an all-around badass—a wild, untamed guy that everyone notices. His long, messy hair, the leather jacket he always wears, his constant rock ‘n’ roll vibe, and, of course, the undeniable smirk that’s always on his face. I never really thought much of it. We’re friends. He’s just Eddie being Eddie. But now? I’m starting to wonder if there’s more to it.

The way he looks at me sometimes. The way his arm casually drapes around my shoulders when we sit close. The way he holds my hand, like it’s something natural, like we’ve been doing it forever.

But then I remember—Eddie’s the kind of guy who’s into wild, pretty girls. Not… well, not me. I’m not thin, I’m not what everyone expects. I’ve got extra weight, and I always feel like I’m the last person someone like Eddie would ever want to date. He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all, and I’m just his friend. Nothing more.

It’s a Saturday, and we’re lying on Eddie’s bed again, watching one of those cheesy 80s slasher flicks. We’ve been here for hours, the room filled with the scent of old pizza and the faint smell of smoke from the joint we shared earlier. Eddie’s strumming his guitar quietly in the corner, the soft music blending with the sounds of the TV. He’s so comfortable here, and for the first time in a long while, I feel relaxed too.

"So..." Eddie glances over at me, his eyes mischievous. “When am I gonna meet your parents?”

My heart skips a beat, and I turn to face him, unsure of what he’s getting at. “What?” I ask, the word coming out a little more confused than I intended.

“You know,” he says, still grinning. “I feel like I’ve spent enough time with you, your friends, and your—well, your extended family. What about the folks? When do I get to meet them?”

I blink, unsure if he’s joking or being serious. “Eddie, what the hell? Why would you need to meet my parents?”

He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair, his expression turning slightly more serious, but there’s still a playful edge to it. “Because, Y/N, I’m your boyfriend.”

I laugh a little, but then I catch the look in his eyes. He’s not joking. Or at least, he doesn’t seem to think he’s joking. My breath catches in my throat. “Boyfriend?” I repeat, barely able to hide the confusion in my voice.

Eddie chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Y/N, come on. We’ve been going on dates for months. I even took you to that picnic last weekend, remember? We smoked a little weed, and I bought you dinner afterward. That’s a date, sweetheart. Plus I invite you to my shows and then dinner afterward. I consider that a date.”

I swallow hard. Oh god. I didn’t realize that’s what that was. I thought we were just hanging out, just… being us. I mean, Eddie’s invited people to see his band before, so I just assumed this was another one of those things. He’s always friendly to everyone. And yeah, we’ve shared some quiet moments together, but I never thought it meant what he clearly thinks it does.

“But you invite everyone to your shows, Eddie,” I say, trying to explain myself, my voice trembling a little. “I thought you were just being nice, like you always are. Like, friendly Eddie.”

He narrows his eyes at me, leaning in a little closer. “I’m always nice, sure. But I don't pay for everyone's dinner. Being nice isn't the same thing as asking someone on a date, is it?” He gives me a pointed look, clearly a little frustrated.

I chew on my lip, still unsure of what I’m missing. “I don’t know, Eddie,” I say quietly. “I just thought… we were friends.”

He grins, his usual cocky charm returning. “I thought we were more than that. I mean, come on. We’ve been holding hands, sharing this bed, watching movies together. You’re practically my girlfriend without all the labels.”

I feel a warmth spread across my cheeks as I glance down at my hands. He’s right—we’ve been close. Really close. But I never thought of it in those terms. I’m not used to being the girl who gets that kind of attention. Especially not from someone like Eddie.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. “I didn’t realize you felt that way. I didn’t think you wanted to be with me.”

Eddie gently takes my hand, squeezing it softly. “Why wouldn’t I want to be with you? You’re incredible. You’ve been there for me, Y/N. You come to all my shows, you cheer me on like you’re my biggest fan. You support me—like a girlfriend would. I thought you knew.”

I feel my heart pounding in my chest. Does he really feel that way about me?

The weight of his words settles on me, and I begin to understand. He’s been there for me too, in his own way. He’s always included me, always been there to make me laugh, always made sure I felt important. I start to realize that maybe I’ve been blind to what’s been right in front of me this whole time.

“We’ve been hanging out so much,” I say, a little embarrassed, “I just thought it was normal. I mean, I never thought you were asking me out. I thought you were just… being Eddie.”

Eddie smiles, the tenderness in his eyes making my chest tighten. “I get it,” he says. “But I’ve been asking you out, Y/N. We’ve been going on dates. I don’t do this with anyone else, you know. It’s always been you.”

I nod, trying to process everything. The hand-holding, the moments when he pulls me closer when we’re sitting next to each other, the way he makes sure I’m always part of whatever he’s doing. He’s been showing me, in his own way, that he cares.

“You’re right,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I just… I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.”

Eddie brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle, and I can’t help but melt into it. “Well, now you do,” he says softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

I smile, feeling something shift between us. Maybe I’ve been blind to it all along. Maybe I was the one who didn’t see what was right there in front of me. But now I do. And somehow, knowing that Eddie really does want to be with me makes everything feel right.

As Eddie leans back, his arm sliding across my shoulders, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m finally seeing things clearly. And I can’t help but wonder what the next step for us is.

[supernaturalfreewill]

"Dean! Can you come in here?!" Your voice echoed up the hallway and reached Dean in his bedroom. He immediately stopped in the middle of folding his shirt, discarding it on the bed, and went to the doorway of his room.

"Is everything okay?" he yelled back.

"Yeah, I just—I need your help with something!"

"On my way!" His steps echoed down the tiled hallway and he followed the orange glow of light into one of the storage areas. He found you just inside standing over a table, various items spread out in front of you on the table. "What's all this?" he asked, his deep voice gritty.

"Can you open this jar for me? I can't get the damn thing open."

He gave you a boyish half-smile and accepted it from you.

"What are you smirking about?" you asked him, fiddling with a bronze bowl.

"I don't know. I find it satisfying when you actually need help with something I guess," he teased you. He gripped the metal top and attempted to turn it. His hand slid. "Dammit," he growled, trying again. He readjusted his hold on the jar, squeezed as hard as he could, and twisted. The fucking thing wouldn't budge. Letting out another small noise of frustration he tried again. "Damn thing seems like its rusted sh—OW! What the hell?!"

The bite of your little silver knife was sharp and cold, quickly replaced by a heat and burning across the length of the little cut you'd just inflicted on his forearm. Dean looked down with wide-eyes as a few drops of his blood trickled into the little bronze bowl you'd sneakily arranged underneath him.

His jaw clenched. "What the hell?" he repeated, staring you down. "Why are you cutting me?!"

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the sterile gauze you'd already unwrapped and quickly smoothed it over his wound. "Don't be such a baby," you scolded him. "It was just a little nick!"

"Explain. Now." he demanded.

You were already throwing the rest of the ingredients into the bowl before he could stop you and there was quickly a flash of blue light and a puff of sage green smoke. You casually fanned it away with your hand. " Relax. It's just a protection spell. Considering you have a legion of demons after you."

Dean frowned, but sighed, and much of the tension left him. "Just so you know, people usually at least ask if they can use their blood in rituals and shit."

"Couldn't risk it. You might have said no."

"Why would I have said no to a protection spell?"

"Because some of the ingredients are rare and/or expensive and I didn't want to argue with you about your worth," you said, shooting him a pointed look.

He shifted a little and shook his head. "Fine. Whatever." He paused and watched as you turned back to the ingredients. "Do you even need this jar open?" he asked.

You turned and shot him a smile. "I super-glued it," you admitted. "It's just gravel from outside. I needed a distraction for you."

Dean let out a low laugh Your smile was irresistible. "Well, I am glad you're on my side. I'll say that." And he set the jar down with a clack and returned to his laundry.

Prompt: "Just so you know, people usually at least ask other people if they can use their blood in rituals and shit." / "Couldn't risk it. You might have said no."

[revelboo]

💌

Hello 👋 new anon here! Just a Blitzwing appreciator here to tell you my thoughts 💭

How pent up is this mech? Tied between wanting to hunt the reader down, or just keeping them pinned beneath him.

The way Blitzwing reacts to the reader touching him- (GOD DAMN) I could feel the tension through the screen. He seemed almost addicted to them towards the end 🧐 (I want him to bite me)

And how he just decided “you 𝐚𝐫𝐞 coming with me.” (PLEASE-)

I have much to say- but that can wait.

Merry Christmas! 🎄

Thank you for your hard work <3 Always a treat to read your works!

Hi and thank you! Getting to this one a bit late- but he’s very pent up 🤣 constantly struggling with himself at this point.

Hello Helicopter Pt 3

Blitzwing x Reader

• Heart hammering in your chest so hard you’re wondering if you might actually have a heart attack. You draw your knees up against your body in the seat you’d found yourself in when the giant alien robot has come apart around you and reformed into some sort of aircraft. An experience you never want to repeat. Aware that you’re still naked and dirty, that his excess is currently making a mess in his seat, and that he’s humming what sounds suspiciously like Three Blind Mice. He’d called you mouse more than once, you remember. “Where are you taking me?” Voice wavering more than you like, because you’d done what he’d wanted. And sure, he’d never said he’d let you go, but you’d sort of assumed he would when he was done.

• “Home,” he says, feeling you flinch at his voice like you hadn’t really expected an answer. “You’re making a mess.” Shuddering, he can feel the wetness in his seat. Hears your sullen protest of, ‘it’s your mess.’ And then he’s cackling and seething at the same time that you’d dare talk back, wobbling in the air. Hating and loving it. “Our mess,” he adds, laughing. Remembering the desperate way he’d claimed you again and again. Lost in the feel of you and the sounds you’d made.

• Slapping a hand against the console in front of you as the aircraft shudders around you, nosing up then drifting sideways, you close your eyes. “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to be sick,” you mutter as he levels out at the threat. Home. Where is home for a giant, psychotic alien? “You can’t just keep me like a pet.” Or, more likely a toy. His own personal sex toy. Shuddering, you try to breathe through the incoming panic. Because you’re not just going to lay down and take it. Well, not again. Giving him what he’d wanted was what had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

• “I believe I can do whatever I want,” he retorts. Dares to argue with me? Comes the angry thought, the one that wants to pin you. And he’s humming again, unable to stop. Struggling to get himself together as he loses altitude, expecting the screaming this time when he transforms and catches you. “Little, tasty mouse.” Shuddering, as his personalities fight for control again, he heads into the base. By some miracle, no one’s about to see him with you. It’s not like he cares, but he’s eager to get you to his quarters. Find someplace to put you and get some space between you and himself so he can think. Frag you senseless for that attitude. A little taste of you. No. Not until he figures this obsession out.

• Dangling from his servos as he enters what you assume are his quarters, your breath catches at the chaos of the room. It looks like a wild animal has been loose inside. The walls gouged and dented. Broken furniture. Odds and ends everywhere. A tire, a pile of street signs, a very sad and possibly dead young palm tree in a planter. There’s alien glyphs all over the walls. Whatever it says, seems to be repeated over every wall. Your alien fuck buddy is definitely not okay in the head. Turning, he sets you on a flat metal surface. And rocks slightly staring down at you, face blurring as his servos flex into big fists and relax again. Not daring to move in case he pounces you thinking you’re running again, you watch as he finally settles on the calm face. The cold one.

• Staring down at you sitting on your hip on his berth, there’s an unsettled feeling that twists through him. Torn between wanting to reach for you and to put space between you. Because he’d thought you’d calmed him, but the chaos is worse now. Those other thoughts struggling to take over. Wants to turn away. Leave you so he can think, but finds himself lunging for a dirty cleaning rag on the floor and dropping it on you as you flinch. “Don’t try to escape. Please, do. Run,” he growls, rocking and bracing a palm on the berth as you lean away, but don’t bolt. And there’s something that might be disappointment about that spilling through him. Realizing he’d wanted to catch you again, claim you again. Hand trembling, he reaches and strokes his servo over your hair as you try to duck before reaching up to push at his servo. And the chaos stills again for a second, spark thrumming as his lips part at the blessed quiet as you stare up at him with frightened, upset eyes, you hand on him. Chaining the madness with a touch. Still there, but not at odds with him. Those other voices united with the thought that you’re his.

Previous

Well, it's kill or be killed

And one day we'll get the best of them

Hello helicopter, are you listening?

Nobody seems to care

Nobody ever learns

Are we ever gonna get it right?

Are we ever gonna start making sense

And stop pretending that we care?

[fluentmoviequoter]

Between the Holidays

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!neighbor!reader

Summary: Tim drops by the day after Christmas, and your family leads you to make an unplanned confession.

Warnings: fluff, meddling family members, OOC Tim

Word Count: 1.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“How?” you mumble as you pull wrapping paper shreds from your kitchen cabinets. “This is what I get for hosting.”

Your family is slowly waking on the morning after Christmas, the younger ones still enamored with their gifts, and the older members looking for something to keep them awake for another day of festivities. Everyone gathers in the living room to drink coffee and cocoa before the doorbell rings.

“Who is that?” your cousin closest in age to you asks.

“No idea. Breakfast is almost ready; I’ll be right back,” you reply.

Opening the door, you don’t expect to see your neighbor Tim.

“Good morning!” you greet with a smile. “How was your Christmas?”

“It was alright. Had to work, but we all went out for Chinese last night. How was yours?”

“Good, good. Nice to have everyone together again.”

“I brought you this,” Tim says, lifting a brown pie box from the bench beside your door. “Someone delivered over a hundred to the station, and I thought it was your favorite.”

Smiling, you read the flavor label. “It is my favorite. How did you remember that?”

“Who’s at the door?” your father calls.

You mouth an apology to Tim before asking, “We’re about to have breakfast, do you want to join us? At least let me send some home-cooked food home with you.”

“How can I argue with that?”

“Come on in.”

Tim steps into your doorway, and you close the door before leading him toward the kitchen.

“Who is this?” someone inquires. “Your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?!” your father repeats incredulously.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend!” your cousin says. She moves closer to whisper, “Good job.”

“No,” you try to interrupt but get cut off by several family members simultaneously.

“How did you meet?” your grandparents wonder.

“Why weren’t you at Christmas yesterday?” someone else asks Tim.

“He probably has his own family,” your cousin suggests. “He could’ve brought them, though, we have room.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were seeing someone?”

“How long have you been together? Have you discussed marriage, kids?”

“Is that pie?”

“What do you see in each other?”

“Stop!” you yell. “This is Tim. He is my neighbor, and if he was my boyfriend, you would have successfully scared him away already, so thank you all for that. Now, if you will please let me get him some food, I would appreciate it.”

“In my day, we didn’t cook for someone unless we intended to do it for the rest of our lives,” an older relative mumbles.

You lead Tim into the kitchen and out of their invasive sight. After you set the pie down, you drop your head against the fridge and sigh.

“I am so sorry,” you tell Tim. “Help yourself to whatever you want and feel free to go out the back door and jump the fence.”

“So, you’re telling me you don’t want to cook for me for the rest of our lives?” Tim asks.

You groan, and Tim lays his hand on your back. You lean into his touch, getting closer to him without thinking.

“Sweetheart!” someone calls. “We found your boy- your neighbor’s gifts under the tree!”

“Why are there so many- oh.” Your cousin walks into the kitchen with several presents in her arms but stops when she sees you standing close to Tim. “Maybe I’ll just leave these here.”

She sets them beside the pie and then returns to the living room, where their muffled conversation is still clearly about you and your handsome neighbor.

“You know, I was thinking about having them over next Christmas, but I think I’m done hosting for the rest of my life,” you tell Tim. “There are your presents, and I’ll pack up some food.”

“Why are there so many?” Tim asks, moving with you.

You shrug and answer, “I saw things that made me think of you, and I wanted you to know that you’re cared about, that you’re loved.”

Slowing your movements, you realize what you just said. Your family seems to fade away as you turn toward Tim. His brows are raised as if he expects you to say more.

“I didn’t tell them you were my boyfriend or that I have feelings for you,” you explain. “But I’m not going to lie to you and say I don’t.”

“I was expecting to just drop off the pie and go home,�� Tim says.

“Yeah, well my family should have a shared PhD in making things awkward and ruining things.”

“Awkward, yes. Do you think anything is ruined?”

You put a lid on the glass storage bowl containing Tim’s breakfast before you face him. “I don’t think that’s my decision, considering I’m the one who essentially just admitted I’m in love with you.”

“Is breakfast ready?” your dad yells before saying something suspiciously like, “Ow! I was only asking.”

“How long is your family here?” Tim asks.

“They leave tomorrow afternoon. Please don’t tell me you can hear them at your place.”

“No, no, at least I don’t think so. But maybe you should come over after they leave, and we can make some plans for New Year’s Eve.”

You hesitate, then ask, “Are you saying you feel the same?”

“I’m saying that I’d rather show you.”

“I’ll be there. Enjoy your gifts and your breakfast and wish me luck.”

“You’ll be fine.”

You put Tim’s gifts and breakfast plate in a bag before you lead him back toward the door.

“I don’t buy that they’re neighbors,” your mom murmurs.

Tim stops and turns toward your family, who are all staring at him.

“Respectfully, she already told you that we’re neighbors and she doesn’t want to talk about it,” Tim reminds them. “When there is something to tell, it’s her decision about when and how to let you know. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.”

Hiding your smile, you close the door behind Tim. Your family drops the subject of Tim Bradford, at least in front of you, as you serve breakfast. Your holiday looks brighter, however, because Tim Bradford said you would call the shots when there was something between you. Not if, when. And starting tomorrow night, he has plans to show you what that means.

[thef1diary]

dirtbag!daniel taking ur virginity? pretty please? 😔

— I’m going to add a spin on this idea, you weren’t a virgin when you met him but the thought of pretending that you’ve never been touched before and want him to take your virginity… now that’s hot af. 18+ content below

The air in the room was thick, charged with heat as your lips met his in a kiss that felt desperate, almost frantic. Daniel’s hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you flush against him. Every movement of your hips moving against his sent sparks shooting through your body, and the low groan in his throat only made you more desperate for him.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, your lips tingling and swollen. His dark eyes bored into yours, his hair mussed from your hands. “You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of need.

Your heart raced, your hands trembling slightly as you rested them on his chest. “Danny,” you started, your voice soft and shy, “I… I want you to be my first.”

His movements stilled for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in your words. “What did you just say?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning under his intense gaze. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted, shifting nervously in his lap. “And I want it to be you.”

The way his lips parted, the slow, deliberate rise of his eyebrow—it sent a thrill straight through you. “Darling,” he said, his tone now laced with something darker, something teasing, “you’re telling me no one’s ever touched you before? Never had a man show you what it feels like to be properly fucked?”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “No. Never.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the couch as his grip on your hips tightened. “You’re telling me I get to ruin you? Make you mine?”

The words alone made you clench, your breath hitching as you nodded. “Yes,” you whispered.

Daniel let out a low chuckle, the sound filled with dark satisfaction. He leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper, as if savouring every second.

He guided you gently onto the bed, his hands exploring every inch of your body with reverence, teasing you until you were writhing beneath him. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. Make sure your first time is something you’ll never forget.”

His words made you shiver, your body arching into his touch. “Please,” you begged, your voice shaky. “I want you.”

Daniel’s smirk was wicked as he kissed down your neck, his hands sliding beneath your shirt to pull it over your head. “I’m gonna show you exactly how good it can feel,” he said, his voice rough.

His hands slid down your sides, tracing over the curves of your body like he was memorizing you. “You’re trembling,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. “Nervous?”

You nodded, a shaky exhale escaping you. “A little,” you admitted, your voice small.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes heavy with heat, but there was a flicker of something gentler underneath. “That’s cute,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “But you don’t have to be nervous. I’ll take care of you.”

Daniel leaned down, brushing his lips against yours, slow and coaxing, as though he had all the time in the world. His hand slid between your thighs, teasing over the thin fabric of your panties, making you gasp. “You’re so fucking wet already,” he murmured, his tone laced with admiration. “You like the idea of me being your first that much?”

Your cheeks burned, and you whimpered, squirming beneath him. “Yes,” you whispered, barely audible.

“Say it louder,” he demanded, his voice firm, his fingers stilling.

“I like it,” you repeated, your voice trembling but clearer this time. “I want it to be you, Danny.”

His low chuckle rumbled against your chest as he slid your panties down your legs, tossing them aside. “That’s a good girl,” he said, his fingers spreading you open.

You bit your lip as his gaze roamed over you, his dark eyes filled with unfiltered hunger. “You’re so pretty down here,” he murmured, running a single finger through your slick folds. “All untouched, waiting for me.”

You whimpered again as he pressed one finger into you, slow and deliberate, watching your reaction intently. His other hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice almost soft but still dripping with command.

The stretch was new, foreign, but he was careful. He worked you open slowly, adding another finger, curling them just right to draw shaky gasps from your lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, watching you squirm under him. “You’re so tight. I’m not even sure you’ll take me.” His smirk returned as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “But I guess we’ll make it fit.”

Your breath hitched, and you clung to his shoulders as he moved, coaxing pleasure from you until you were trembling beneath him. “Daniel,” you whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand.

He grinned, nipping at your jaw. “Patience, darling. I want you nice and ready for me. Gotta make sure you can take all of me without crying.”

You shuddered, your nails digging into his skin as he finally pulled his fingers away. He sat back, undoing his belt and pulling down his jeans, his cock hard and impossibly thick.

Your eyes widened, and he smirked at your reaction. “Don’t look so scared,” he teased. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

He pressed the head of his cock against your cunt, teasing your folds with slow slides. You gasped, your hands fisting the sheets as he pushed inside, the stretch stealing your breath. “Danny,” you whimpered, overwhelmed.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Take me. You can handle it, can’t you?”

Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned, his head falling back. “Fuck, you feel good. So fucking tight, like you were made for me.”

He moved slowly, letting you feel every inch of him. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he thrust into you, each movement careful but still commanding.

“Such a good girl,” he muttered, his voice filled with praise and mockery all at once. “Taking me so well for your first time. You’re doing so good for me.”

The pressure built inside you with every thrust, and he grinned down at you, his pace quickening just slightly. “You’re already close, aren’t you?” he said, his voice smug. “I can feel it. Go on, sweetheart. Cum for me.”

It didn’t take long before your body obeyed, pleasure crashing over you as you cried out his name, trembling beneath him. He groaned, pulling out just in time to match your orgasm, white ropes of his cum landing on your skin, his hand stroking himself as he watched you fall apart.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough. “So fucking pretty when you cum. You’ll remember this, won’t you? Your first time, just like you wanted.”

You nodded weakly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Daniel leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that felt almost tender. As you reached up to cup his cheeks in your palms, deepening the kiss, a thought struck you: you’d play this role with him again in a heartbeat.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[quitesins]

Pro Hero!Bakugou x Criminal!Reader 2

Masterlist | Part One

Tags: Sfw, Drabble?, Pro Hero!Bakugou, Criminal!Reader, Female!reader, Reader has short hair, reader’s hair can be carded through, Mentions of dried blood [in hair], this is kinda gross 😭

Another scenario in the same universe as this drabble, not chronologically linked but better to read the first one, since I forwent adding the contextualising details on this one…

“Can I take these?”

You’re in his office, twirling around some scissors he’s told you multiple times to put down already.

“So you can go out and gut someone in the street? Piss off.” Dynamight takes the scissors from you himself, setting them back on his desk like you won’t just grab it again.

“No.” You of course do reach out for the scissors. You’re hesitant to say why, the words coming out in murmur. “…wanna cut my hair.”

“What?” Dynamight prods.

You repeat yourself, sinking further into your clothes.

Dynamight stills where he’d been typing away, his head turns to give you a look over. He’d seen you so often in the past months, the growth of your hair snuck up on him too. But it is distinctly longer. Enough so that it pushes out your hoodie and curls around your cheeks. He could probably tuck it behind your ears if he wanted.

“It grew.” Dynamight says plainly.

“Yeah no shit.” You snatch the scissors quickly. Dynamight notes how visceral your reaction is. “So can I take them?”

“You just gonna hack at it?” His eyes don’t leave how tightly you hold onto the scissors, like it means something more than just a tool to get the hair out your face.

“Yeah, so?”

Dynamight presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek in thought. He sighs, having already made his decision.

“Sit down.” Up from his seat he ushers you to the one across his desk. You don’t listen, confused and wary. “I ain’t gonna get you, sit.”

You take seat, disliking that he now stands behind you. Your fingers are still harsh around the scissors so when he reaches out, he has to practically pry them before you remember to let go.

“Take your hood off.”

You turn and give him a scowl, but pull the hood down anyways. Your hair feels a mess and you’re scared it’s matted in the places you’ve let it grow too long. You wonder if Dynamight thinks you’re disgusting for it.

“Gonna touch your hair, aight?” Dynamight doesn’t sound anymore pissed than he normally does, the familiar gruffness comforting.

When his hands touch your hair, you sense it instantly. It’s uncomfortable and vulnerable and you feel stupid for even sitting down. Still, you let him inspect it, trying your best to show no weakness.

“You’ve got blood in it.”

“What?” You flip round too fast, before he can let go, so it tugs when you turn. You frown.

“Dumbass.” He snorts, showing you the dried blood that scratched off onto his fingers. “The fuck do you have blood in your hair for.”

Dynamight watches as your eyes shift in thought and worry.

“It’s not yours.” If it was, he’d drag you to the infirmary himself. Dynamight might not like you, but he is still a hero.

“I’m not sure.” You really aren’t. It could be anyone’s at this point. You just want it off. “Cut it.”

Dynamight scoffs and pushes the scissors so it slides further down his desk. You’ll have to get up if you want it. “Just wash it out. M’not ruining your hair over a little blood.”

“Stop touching it!” It’s a childish shriek when he pulls more from your hair. “It’s gross!”

“It’s in your hair.” Dynamight continues to comb it out, letting it fall to his office floor. You’ve seen him covered in blood and grime, soaked in it, but for some reason you feel embarrassed to let him touch the dirt form you. “Fucking nasty.”

You try to pull away but his large hand is on your shoulder. There’s something terrifying about how easily he keeps you in place.

It mildly hurts when Dynamight tugs at your hair, untangling the knots that you can hear come apart. You can tell he’s being gentle though, which makes you worry a little more.

It takes a few minutes for his fingers to be able to card through your hair. Not fully as you hiss when the smaller knots get caught, but his hands no longer pull your entire head when they move.

Dynamight lets out a contented hum, a weird sound that feels quietly smug, and pulls away to reach for some wipes on his desk. He throws you one and when it lands on your face he doesn’t hide his amusement.

“It’s a shower.” With his hands occupied, he uses his chin to nod to the second door in his office. “Get that shit out your hair.” He’s already walking over to the cupboard where he keeps his towels, not giving you chance to disagree. “I’ll cut it for you.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up, you’re curious when you look up at him. “You know how to cut hair?” You look over his own. Through all his chaotic blonde spikes, it does somehow look uniform.

“Let someone else touch my shit? Fuck no.” Dynamight huffs like it’s something obvious and throws you the towel. He points to the bathroom door a final time. “Now, go.”

———

When you leave through the fire escape, dropping down to the shaded street below, your hair is much shorter, almost buzzed. It’s cold. But this time the biting air of winter feels like a blessing on your skin.

Was this mildly inspired by the fact I got a tiny bit of nail polish in my hair and it was a fucking chore to get out? No, of course not.

[bugsrawesomesauce]

Here’s my opinion on song three, Odysseus, of Epic the Musical.

There are multiple references to earlier songs whether it be instruments used or language. The strumming on the guitar or harp are references to the first song of the series, and it flat out says Troy. It also uses some of Zeus and Poseidons key instruments, Zeus’s keys for thunderbringer and poseidons constant drumming.

The suitors voices are absolutely awesome because they show the pure terror of Odys might. The fact that they’ve been in the palace for twenty years and think that they know it better than it’s own ruler is preposterous. It shows just how much guidance and how much more intelligent Ody is than the suitors.

The serpents head line is awesome because it references the battle with Scylla discreetly, atleast that’s what I believe it’s portraying. The suitor who says that particular line has the rough voice of someone as evil as Poseidon, and it’s awesome that the voice of antagonism in the story seems more rough and boyish than the usual more female voice of evil.

The suitor who sounds ironically like Poseidon also has the lines about peace, which are also really interesting because it’s almost as if the table has flipped and they are begging the person who wanted peace in the past for their own lives. Also, this suitor has the same background noise as Survive I think, when they are running around. The drumming sounds very similar to it. This can be referencing how Ody says

“600 lives at stake, it’s just one life to take, and when we kill him our journeys over.”

Kind of cool because all the suitors have to do is kill an impossible foe, quite like Ody and his crew had to in the past.

ALSO HOW THIS SUITOR REPEATS ONE OF POLITES KEY LINES,

‘let’s have open arms instead’

and

‘Greet the world with open arms’?

AWESOME. The fact that Ody must have felt a moment of either pure rage or sadness would be awesome. And the fact that he instantly killed the guy really cements this iconic moment.

The background music of Legendary playing and then Telsmachus showing up. Awesome. Then Athena’s main chords showing up as the suitors try to make a move on Telemachus could be seen as almost a protective move, like she was either worried or right there with the prince, trying to make him safe again in his own home. She showed up even as she knew Ody was in the same vicinity of her. Also; this means that she actually ISNT just rotting on Olympus, and she is going to help the royal family.

I believe there is also some subtle references to the song Mutiny left in here, Telemachus asking to be freed. And the men counting on the suitor to kill him, kind of like how Odys crew rooted on Eurylochus. It’s an awesome tie to the song where it all starts to really go to hell.

Ody kind of turns into a Mini-Poseidon. I think this could be something interesting because he’s only in this state of darkness because the suitors decided to threaten Telemachus with crippling injuries, just like how Ody did to the Cyclops. He feels a fatherly rage I think, and the line where he says his mercy is gone is a discreet tie in to Get In The Water, where Ody tries to convince Poseidon to chill, but Poseidon goes basically berserk.

The background music in the final moments along with the tiny, almost mute screams of the suitors tie into the Underworld Saga the most. The tune is also sounding like one of the moment from the cyclops saga in survive. It might mean how the men failed, unlike Ody, to beat the ‘insurmountable foe’. they had the numbers but still couldn’t go up against one man.

OK WOW I WROTE A LOT BUT THIS SONG IS SO FIRE IT DOESNT MATTER

Ps. Sorry for any spelling mistakes, I wrote this AS I was first listening to the song, and it was really rushed.

[thefemmefatalexo]

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 11 - Dinner and Disdain

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: how we doing…? SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 10} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The dining room was tense, the air thick with unsaid words and resentments. Toji sat across the table from you, his head tilted slightly, eyes cast downward, focusing intently on the food on his plate. The clinking of silverware was the only noise cutting through the silence between you both. Your parents and his adoptive parents chatted away like old friends, their laughter and warm tones only emphasizing the heavy wall between you and him.

“Y/N, you barely touched your food,” your mom said, her voice cutting through your quiet frustration.

“I’m fine, Mom,” you said quickly, stabbing at a piece of broccoli just to stop her from asking again.

Toji’s mother, a kind woman with a perpetual smile, glanced at him. “And Toji, you’ve barely said two words all evening.”

Toji grunted, his usual noncommittal response, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

The parents exchanged looks but didn’t push. Soon enough, they excused themselves to enjoy the garden, leaving you and Toji to clean up the aftermath.

You immediately got up, stacking plates in silence. Toji did the same, moving with the kind of deliberate awkwardness that came when two people who desperately didn’t want to be near each other had no choice.

The sound of water running in the sink filled the void as you scrubbed at the dishes, refusing to look at him. Toji stood a few feet away, drying off a plate. He kept glancing at you, opening his mouth once, then shutting it again.

Finally, he sighed. “Look, I…”

You stiffened but didn’t turn around. “What?”

“I, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably, gripping the towel tighter. “I just wanted to say… I shouldn’t have said some of the stuff I said. At my place. It came out wrong.”

You froze for a moment before finally turning to face him. “Came out wrong?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone defensive already. “Like, I didn’t mean all of it. Just some of it.”

“Just some of it?” you repeated, your voice rising as anger bubbled to the surface. You put the plate down, turning fully toward him. “Do you even hear yourself, Toji? Do you even care about what you said or did? Or is this just you trying to get rid of your guilt?”

His jaw clenched. “I ain’t tryin’ to get rid of nothin’. I just—”

“You just what?” you interrupted, your voice cracking. “You think you can say sorry, and it magically undoes all the years of hurt? All the shit you put me through? You think I’m just going to forget the way you humiliated me, ignored me, and treated me like I was nothing?”

Toji’s face hardened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of guilt. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what, Toji? Didn’t mean to make me feel like I was less than human? Because congratulations, you did that perfectly.”

His fists clenched at his sides. “I wasn’t tryna make you feel like that. I just—look, I didn’t ask for you to be in my business when we were kids, okay? You were always actin’ like you could fix me or somethin’, like I was some damn charity case. That shit got under my skin!”

Your chest tightened as tears welled up in your eyes. “You think I was treating you like a charity case?” you asked quietly. “I just wanted to be your friend, Toji. I just wanted to help.”

“Well, I didn’t need it,” he snapped, his voice harsher than intended.

You let out a shaky breath, the tears falling freely now. “You know what? You’re right. You didn’t need it. And I didn’t need to spend years of my life caring about someone who couldn’t care less about me.”

Toji’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. He stood there, frozen, as you wiped at your face.

“I’m sorry for being pushy and overbearing back then,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ll keep my distance from now on. You can have your space. Just stay out of mine, and maybe we can finally move past this.”

With that, you turned back to the sink, your hands trembling as you finished washing the last dish. Toji stood there, silent and motionless, as if struggling to find something—anything—to say.

But nothing came.

You placed the clean dishes on the rack, brushed past him without looking, and walked out into the garden to join your parents. Toji stayed in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, the weight of your words settling heavily on his shoulders.

When you reached the garden, you plastered on a smile, though your cheeks were still damp. Your parents took the cue to wrap things up quickly, and soon enough, you were leaving.

Toji didn’t come out to say goodbye.