#i think what he was going for was something along the lines of

[itneverendshere]

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

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

MASTERLIST

Topper prided himself in keeping out of people’s business.

He hadn’t noticed anything was off with you on his own, he wouldn’t have; he didn’t do the whole “emotional radar” thing.

But Rafe had practically cornered him, demanding he figure out what was going on with you.

You were his cousin, after all. 

That didn’t stop the way his stomach twisted from thinking about lying to you, or how every part of him had always silently rooted for you and Rafe. He’d loved seeing you two together. You were a mess most days, for years, sure, but it was the kind of mess that made sense in a way, and Topper couldn’t help but admire it.

You were like fire and gasoline.

But that was before the break-up, before everything got fucked.

Now, you were just… distant. He never knew how to approach you without feeling like he was crossing a line, but the way you’d passed out on Rafe at the beach had him worrying in a way that was more personal than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t a thinker, not really, he liked simple things: good waves, cold beer, and not getting roped into drama.

But there he was, standing outside your door with Korean fried chicken. He didn’t do feelings, and he didn’t do heavy conversations. Rafe owed him big for this. The conversation had been good, even when you started talking about Sarah and Ruthie. 

Topper was all in—laughing along, throwing in a dumb joke here and there, the usual. It felt nice, like when you were kids, sneaking your dad’s beers and pretending you weren’t gonna get caught.

But then he had to go and ruin it by asking if you were okay.

You went all stiff, then weirdly far away, laughing it off like he’d just asked you to explain calculus or something. You mumbled something about being fine and then bolted to the bathroom before he could even follow up with his usual Topper-brand wisdom.

He sat there, feeling uncomfortable, which wasn’t a thing he usually did. You were acting off, and it was messing with him more than he wanted to admit.

Finally, he decided he needed to move, so he got up to grab some water. Except, as he walked past the counter, his hip caught a pile of your mail, and an envelope went sliding to the floor.

“Crap,” he muttered, crouching to grab it. It was just some random envelope, but there was a phone number written on the front in messy blue ink.

Topper didn’t think about it—because thinking wasn’t really his strong suit—he just whipped out his phone and typed it in. Curiosity, man. It got him every time.

He hit call. He wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. It was just one of those things you do on autopilot, right? Call a number just to see who answers? Except this time, someone did answer.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then:

“Women’s Health Center, how can I help you?”

His brain short-circuited, full-on panic mode. He stared at the phone like it had grown a second screen, then frantically hit the hang-up button just as the bathroom door creaked open.

You were back.

Topper, sweating for no reason, slapped the envelope back on the counter like it was about to explode and turned to you with a smile that definitely didn’t match his pounding heart.

He got out of there as soon as possible, as he drove to meet Rafe, the whole thing was still playing on a loop in his head. That phone number, the voice on the other end of the line, the way you’d acted when he’d asked if you were okay—he couldn’t stop trying to force the pieces into place.

Something was going on, he wasn't sure what, and he wasn’t exactly the guy you went to for deep insights, but he felt something was up.

When he pulled into Tanyhill, he spotted Rafe leaning against his truck, scrolling through his phone with that permanent scowl he seemed to have these days. He barely had the car in park before Rafe was pushing off the truck and heading his way.

He climbed out, doing his best to act normal—which, for him, meant cracking the same goofy grin he always did. His mind was still spinning with a dozen half-formed thoughts about that phone call, that clinic, and how the the fuck he might fit into all of it. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that Rafe knowing could be catastrophic. Like, meteor-hits-earth catastrophic.

“You gotta chill,” Topper said, slamming his car door shut and giving Rafe a once-over. “Why do you look like you’re about to punch somebody?”

Rafe just glared, shoving his phone in his pocket. “What’d you find out?”

He blinked, thrown by how fast he cut to the point. “Nice to see you, too. Second, what makes you think I found out anything?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Top. Did you figure it out or not?”

“Yeah, I figured it out,” Topper shot back, crossing his arms. “But why the hell did you make me go through all this work if you already know what’s going on?”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back against the truck like this was all just some casual conversation. “Didn’t think you’d actually get it, to be honest.”

“Bro, I’m not that stupid. How did you get to the bottom of this shit? I’m still confused as fuck over here.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched like he was deciding whether to smirk or yell, hesettled on neither. “She passed out on me, remember?”

“So?” Topper shot back, frowning. “I’ve seen you pass out for, like, way less.”

“It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a hangover or heat stroke, it was different. And she’s been weird lately, avoiding everyone.” Rafe leaned back against his truck, arms crossed, talking fast. “The hospital did blood work.”

Topper, who’d been zoning out halfway through his little doctor act, suddenly perked up.

“Wow,” he mused, dragging the word out. “Okay. So, how’d you take the news? I mean, shit, you look pretty calm for once. Didn’t think that was in your wheelhouse."

Rafe frowned, his sharp blue eyes narrowing, the crease between his brows deepening like it always did when he thought someone was wasting his time. 

"The fuck are you talking about?”

Topper shrugged like this was totally normal. “I just expected you to, like…freak out or somethin'. Throw a punch, maybe.”

“Throw a punch about what?” Rafe snapped.

“About—” Topper paused, squinting at Rafe like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Wait. What are you supposed to do?”

Rafe’s hand twitched toward his jaw, fingers brushing over the stubble there, a telltale sign that he was gearing up to lose patience. He didn’t wait for Topper to answer before shaking his head, the movement quick and irritated. 

“Don’t do that, man,” he added, pointing a finger “I’ll help her figure it out. What else can I do?”

Topper tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “Damn. You really matured, huh? I mean, good for you.”

“Top, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Rafe demanded, his tone sharp now like he was finally catching on to the fact that they weren’t on the same page.

Topper blinked, “I’m just saying you’re handling it better than I thought. Especially since she’s not—uh, showing yet.”

“Not showing what?”

“…The bump?”

He immediately realized he’d said the wrong thing, or maybe the right thing, but in the wrong tone, with the wrong level of context, and—okay, maybe he should just stop talking. 

Abort mission, abort mission. Topper immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Dude, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“What the fuck?” Rafe’s voice cracked; his eyes blazing as he stepped closer. “What bump?!”

His laugh fizzled out under Rafe’s glare, it was starting to feel less like “concerned ex-boyfriend” and more like “interrogating cop.” He felt a bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck. 

Cool. Stay cool.

“Wait,” Topper held his hands up, trying to physically stop the situation from spiraling. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

His brain was spinning in a way it wasn’t built for. He was a simple guy—he liked clear problems and easy fixes. But this? This was a category-five disaster, and he was stuck right in the middle of it.

Rafe let out a sharp breath through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair, the small strands sticking up in every direction.

“I think she’s got a fucking infection! Why the hell would I think she’s pregnant?”

Topper hesitated, glancing toward the house like maybe Sarah or Wheezie might miraculously appear to save him. No such luck.

“Well fucking shit,” Topper blurted, the words tumbling out in a rush. His heart was pounding, and he was pretty sure he’d just signed his death warrant. “I—I didn’t say she’s pregnant, okay? I found this number, and it was for a women’s health center, and—fuck, man, I’m dead. I’m so dead.”

Rafe grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close. “Start talking. Now.”

“I wasn’t snooping, okay? It just—happened. I wasn’t trying to get in her business, but—”

“But what?” Rafe barked. His other hand twitched at his side, curling into a fist before flexing out again, a warning of how close Topper was to eating pavement, but Rafe wasn’t the one he feared right now.

You were going to kill him.

He could already picture the look on your face when you found out—those cold, furious eyes, the way your voice would drop, he was officially dead meat. He gulped, his mouth dry as his brain scrambled for something—anything—that wouldn’t get him killed or disowned.

“You better explain what the fuck you mean by ‘happened,’” Rafe growled, his grip tightening, giving Topper’s collar a shake, just enough to make his point clear.

Topper was done, leaving nothing but pure panic and the faint, distant sound of his voice saying things he definitely shouldn’t. 

“I called the number!” Topper yelped. “I didn’t even mean to, it was—dude, she’s gonna kill me, and I mean that literally. She will.”

“Not if I kill you first,” Rafe shoved him back, his grip finally loosening, his face unreadable now, which was somehow worse than when he’d looked ready to punch him. “You’re telling me you think she’s pregnant? And you didn’t remember to tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t!” Topper said quickly, panic bubbling over. “It’s not like she’s gonna tell me this kind of stuff.”

“Did she say anything to you? Anything about seeing a doctor or being sick?”

Topper shook his head so fast it made him dizzy. “I asked if she was okay, but she just brushed it off and changed the subject.”

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, both of them staring each other down.

“No, no way. She’s probably… I don’t fucking know, changing her pill or something.”

Topper raised an eyebrow. “Changing her pill?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said quickly, “Or—what else do they do there? Those check-up things. Maybe she’s getting one of those.”

“Uh-huh,” Topper replied, not convinced but also not dumb enough to call him out on it outright. “Sure. Just a… routine check-up?”

“Exactly,” Rafe agreed a little too loud, his tone almost defensive as he started circling again, his hands gesturing wildly. “They don’t just deal with… y'know. They do all kinds of shit. Tests, prescriptions, all that stuff. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, his expression caught between agreement and unease. “I mean, yeah, they do other stuff… but don’t you think—”

“I don’t think anything, there’s nothing to think about. She’s fine. She’s—she’s fine.” He stopped pacing, standing rigid with his hands on his hips, glaring at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Topper started, his tone cautious. “I get that you don’t want to jump to conclusions, but—”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions!” Rafe barked, spinning around “You’re the one making it into something it’s not! She’s not—she wouldn’t—she hasn’t told me anything,” He muttered finally, “And if she’s hiding this… from me…”

He’d never seen Rafe like this—angry, yeah, but there was something else there, either way, it wasn’t good. His glare burned into him, but for the first time, there was hesitation behind it. He wasn’t just mad—he was scared. Topper couldn’t decide if that made him feel better or worse. 

“Holy shit,” Rafe muttered, gripping the side of his truck for balance. His vision going fuzzy as his heart raced like he’d just sprinted a mile. “Holy shit, what if—what if she is?”

“Dude, breathe,” Topper said, stepping closer cautiously like Rafe was a live grenade. “You don’t even—”

“Even if—if—she was, how the hell would that even—” He cut himself off, his face twisting like he couldn’t decide whether to finish the thought or abandon it entirely.

Topper didn’t need him to finish, he understood exactly what Rafe was thinking. The timeline, the breakup, the way everything had gone down between you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as he let go of the truck and paced a few steps, his hands on his hips, muttering under his breath. “No. No way. It’s not—she’d tell me, right? She’d fucking tell me.”

Images started flashing through his mind in rapid succession, each one more ridiculous and unhinged than the last. You, standing in some clinic, staring at a test with a blank expression. You, trying to figure out how to tell Rafe.

You, holding a baby—Rafe’s baby—in your arms.

“This doesn’t make any sense. We were careful. She’s just stressed, girls go through shit. Hormones or whatever. Right?”

“You’re asking me? I barely passed bio. I’m not exactly a walking textbook on—” He stopped himself, seeing the look on Rafe’s face. “I don’t know what’s going on with her, okay? But if this is what I think it is, you gotta handle it right. Don’t screw it up more than it already is.”

“And if I don’t handle it right?”

Topper forced a shaky grin, even as his stomach twisted in knots.

“Then I guess I’ll see you in hell, man. Because she’s gonna kill us both.”

Rafe’s hands went to his hips, his thumb brushing the edge of his pocket as he stared past Topper, he was trying to work out an equation that wasn’t adding up.

“She hasn’t said a word to me,” Rafe muttered, “Not at the hospital, not since. And you think…” He trailed off, dragging a hand over his face. 

Topper shifted on his feet, resisting the urge to bolt to the other side of the world.

“I guess, but I swear, it wasn’t on purpose.”

Rafe shot him a look, his brows knitting together, and Topper felt like he was under a microscope. “You called a random number. How does that ‘just happen’?”

He huffed, throwing his hands up. “I was grabbing some water, and her mail fell, and there was this number—I didn’t think! I just… acted.” He groaned, his head falling back as he stared at the sky. “I didn’t mean to put two and two together, but what was I supposed to do? You’re the one who made me go digging in the first place!”

“You really think that’s what’s going on?” Rafe asked finally, his voice quieter.

“You said she’s acting weird, and then there was that number, and…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Do you even understand what this means? If she’s—if there’s a—” He broke off, “I’d have to—Jesus Christ, what would I even do? I’m not—God.”

His hands gripped the edge of the truck bed so hard his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms standing out as he glared at the ground like it had personally offended him.

“If she didn’t tell me—” His voice was low, quiet in a way that made Topper wince because he knew what came next.

“Maybe just... ask her?”

 “Ask her?” he repeated, his voice disbelieving.

“Yeah, you know,” Topper said, gesturing vaguely. “Talk to her? Maybe find out what’s going on instead of losing your shit over worst-case scenarios?”

Rafe shook his head, “No. If she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. She’s... she’s dealing with her own stuff. It’s not my place to push.”

 “Since when do you not push?”

“Since now,” Rafe snapped, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” Rafe interrupted, his voice rising now, the tight restraint unraveling with every word. “If she’s—if she’s going through this, if she’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me?” He let out a bitter chuckle, “What the fuck does that say? About me.”

Topper opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. This felt like a minefield, and if anyone was good at stepping on the wrong spot, it was him.

Rafe pushed off the truck, he couldn’t physically stay still. His eyes were burning as he raked a hand through his buzzed hair.

“I was—fuck. She thinks what? That I wouldn’t show up for this. She didn’t tell me because she doesn’t think I deserve to know.”

“That’s not true,” Topper said quickly, stepping closer, but Rafe’s empty laugh stopped him.

“Isn’t it?” Rafe’s voice was hollow now, all the fire drained out of him, turning his head slightly, just enough for Topper to see his throat working as he swallowed hard. “What the hell have I ever done to make her think I’d be there? That I’d—” He broke off. “Shit. I wouldn’t blame her. I can't even fucking blame her.”

“You still care about her, right?” Topper pressed, knowing he didn’t have to ask to know the answer.

Rafe’s head snapped up, “She’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

He nodded slowly, “Then prove it.”

The envelope sat exactly where you’d left it, the faintest corner of folded. You froze for a second, your pulse quickening.

No. No way.

It was fine. Fine.

The number wasn’t even labeled—just digits scrawled hastily, you hadn’t touched it in days. Still, you couldn’t stop the tiny seed of panic attaching itself to your chest. There was absolutely no way Topper could’ve seen it, let alone put two and two together.

You exhaled slowly, placing it back on the counter.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have seen it.

Then why had he acted so… off? The pale face, the sudden excuse, the jittery energy—it was all so unlike him.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away, a million things could’ve set him off. 

Maybe Ruthie had texted him something awful, or maybe he’d remembered he had to pick up his dry cleaning before the shop closed. Knowing Topper, it was probably something stupid and unrelated to you entirely.

Still, the nagging lingered as you cleaned up the counter and threw away the napkins. You glanced at the envelope one last time, then slid it into a drawer and shut it firmly. Whatever was going on with your cousin, it couldn’t have anything to do with that. It was impossible. And yet…

You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Pregnancy brain,” you muttered to yourself. “Making me paranoid over nothing.”

Of course that didn’t stop your heart from jumping every time the drawer creaked, or when you saw anything even remotely similar to that envelope’s color lying around the house for the entire night. Not that he’d ask, of course—Topper wasn’t the confrontational type, especially not with you. But he noticed things. And when he noticed, he worried.

The next morning you sank onto the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest. Topper was close, but he wasn’t like Sarah. She had been able to look you in the eye and say, You know I’m here, right? and mean it without any strings attached. Topper, though…

Your fingers itched toward your phone, even though it was stupid to call her so early over this. Still, you needed someone to remind you that you weren’t losing it, that Topper’s weirdness had nothing to do with anything serious.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you found Sarah’s number, pressing the call button. She picked up on the second ring, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You could picture her, sitting in her car or probably stretched out somewhere in Poguelandia with her feet propped up on a table, looking concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just…” You trailed off, fiddling with the edge of a pillow. 

“Topper’s been acting strange. And I think I’m just overthinking it, but it’s making me crazy.”

She made a sound between a hum and a laugh. “So the Topper panic spiral. That’s what we’re dealing with?”

“Basically,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light. “But this time… He was here last night, and I thought he saw this random piece of paper I had with, you know. A number on it.” You took a shaky breath, embarrassed for how paranoid you sounded. “But he couldn’t have, right? I mean, it was buried under five other things.”

“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, clearly choosing her words. “First, let’s just say that if he did see anything, which he probably didn’t, he wouldn’t assume the worst. He’s your cousin; he knows you don’t tell him everything, and he respects that. Right?”

“Yeah… I guess.” You chewed your lip, feeling a little stupid for even calling her.  “But what if he does put it together, Sarah? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

“He won’t,” she reassured, like she could see right through your anxiety. “And you don’t need to feel bad for wanting to keep this private. You’re allowed to handle it however you need to. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You exhaled, the knot in your chest loosening a little. She always knew how to talk you down, "Okay,” you murmured, and a shaky laugh slipped out. “Maybe I'm being paranoid.”

“Pregnancy brain,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You hung up feeling marginally better.

Sarah had a way of calming you down, but the uneasiness stayed with you, the way it always did when you couldn’t fully explain something.

But the relief was fleeting, by lunchtime, the nagging voice in your head was back. Topper wasn’t malicious, but he did have a habit of talking without thinking, and the last thing you needed was for this to get out before you were ready. Not only was this a huge scandal, but it was your business.

You busied yourself with small tasks—folding laundry, wiping down the counters, pretending that everything was fine. It wasn’t until almost noon that your phone rang. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen, and your stomach dropped.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Miss Thornton?” the voice on the other end asked politely, too polite for comfort.

“This is she."

“This is Linda from the hospital. I’m calling about your recent bloodwork. We had a bit of an issue with our system, and unfortunately, there was a delay in getting back to you. We also lost some patient information temporarily—”

“Wait, what?” you interrupted, not liking where this was going, “What do you mean you lost information?”

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” Linda said quickly, as if that would make you feel better. “We managed to recover most of it, but in the meantime, we had to rely on emergency contact information to reach out. Dr. Harris called yours last night.”

Your breath caught. “Called... my emergency contact?”

“Yes.”

“Sarah Cameron? She didn’t tell me someone called.”

“She’s not listed as your emergency contact in our system, Rafe Cameron is. It might be an older record?”

Fuck.

Your heart was in your throat. “What... what did he tell him?”

“He only left a generic message asking for you to follow up about your bloodwork. Nothing specific.”

“Nothing specific,” you repeated, more to yourself than to her. Relief and panic warred within you. If Rafe knew, he’d already be there, the night before, demanding answers. Right?

“We need you to come back in. It’s possible you may have an infection, and we need to run a few more tests.”

You didn’t even hear the rest of her explanation.

Your fingers felt numb as you mumbled something that vaguely resembled agreement and hung up.

Infection, that was what she’d said. That was all it was. Not… not anything else. If it were anything else, they wouldn’t have just called—they’d have told Rafe.

“Stop,” you muttered aloud, shaking your head. “Stop spiraling.”

But your brain wouldn’t listen.

“Generic message,” Linda had said, but did it sound generic? What did he think when he got it? Had he laughed it off, or was he running his stupid pristine bedroom, piecing together clues you hadn’t even realized you’d left?

You didn’t want to text Sarah again.

You could imagine her smirking, “I told you, he’s not going to magically grow psychic overnight.” Yeah, sure, but this was Rafe.

He didn’t need magic. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on Sarah’s voice in your head. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Except it didn’t feel like that. You hadn’t thought about Rafe as your emergency contact in months, hadn’t needed to. 

You sank into the couch, hugging your knees to your chest.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered, but your voice didn’t make it feel any less real. You weren’t even sure what you were spiraling over anymore. The envelope? The hospital? The baby?

“Okay,” you said out loud. “Okay, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

The sound of your voice didn’t even convince you. Your brain wouldn’t stop jumping from one thing to the next, spinning every scenario you didn’t want to think about. 

What if he did know? If that was enough to set him off, to make him call someone, pull some strings...Shit, what if he did show up, and you had to explain why you were dodging everyone and keeping things from him and—stop. 

Stop. 

You were doing it again. The spiraling. The pregnancy brain Sarah teased you about like it was some sort of cute quirk, but wasn’t cute.

You sat up straight, squeezing the couch pillow so hard you thought it might burst. Breathe. Just breathe, you’d made it this far without imploding.

You glanced toward the drawer again, the one with the envelope. You should’ve burned it, shredded it first. No, you had to keep it—just in case. But just in case of what? Just in case you needed more reasons to feel like a lunatic.

Oh my god. What if Topper saw the stupid number, and then Rafe got the hospital call, and then—bam—suddenly, they had the whole damn thing figured out?

You could feel it already—the panic. You liked to think they were both too stupid for their own good, but they were also observant. Rafe, that bastard always knew how to put things together faster than anyone. 

What if—what if it’s that simple for them? What if they both saw it, and then they were just sitting there, having some stupid-ass conversation, connecting dots you didn’t even realize were dots?

No. Stop. Stop thinking like that.

You were getting carried away, jumping to conclusions like some manic soap opera character. You weren’t that girl. Not really. But the thought of them talking—Topper with his concern and Rafe with his overbearing intensity.

Your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against the pillow. The idea of him figuring it out? Oh, that made your skin crawl. Not because he’d be cruel—no, that wasn’t his style. He’d just be so… himself.

Overwhelming, determined to “fix” things for you, even when you didn’t ask for it. 

You groaned, dropping the pillow and standing abruptly, like the movement might kill the growing dread. No, you told yourself firmly.

You weren’t spiraling over things that hadn’t even happened yet.

But the voice in your head, the one that always sounded a little too much like Rafe, had other plans: What if it’s already too late?

You paced the living room, arms crossed tightly over your chest. This was ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Nothing had happened, nothing was going to happen. The number wasn’t even that suspicious, it could’ve been anything.

You groaned again, flopping onto the couch like the dramatic mess you were currently embodying. Rafe had probably gotten the hospital call, rolled his eyes without a second thought, too busy with his new precious life.

Your stomach churned, and you pressed your hands against it instinctively. It wasn’t showing yet—thank god—but you couldn’t help the way your mind spiraled back to it, to all the ways this could go wrong.

You grabbed your car keys without thinking, maybe it would clear your head. A drive—that’s what you needed. Get out of the house, and put some distance between you and the stupid envelope, the phone calls, all of it. You turned the knob, yanked the door open—

—and froze.

Rafe’s hand was raised mid-air, clearly about to knock. You didn’t even try to hide the way your breath hitched. 

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Standing there on the porch like he hadn’t just derailed your entire plan. As if it was still perfectly normal for him to show up unannounced, one hand shoved into his pocket and the other gripping his phone, his head tilted in a maddeningly familiar way.

His hand hovered uncertainly on the doorframe as you stepped back, your arms folding protectively over your chest. He didn’t push past you, didn’t move his weight forward—just stood there.

He glanced down at the spare key still in his hand, turning it over like he was considering whether he even had the right to use it. “They called me last night.”

Okay, he was just here because of the hospital, a coincidence, that’s all it was.

“And? You could’ve ignored it.”

His hand flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I thought something might be wrong.”

“It’s not.” Your voice was clipped, cold. “They called the wrong number. End of story.”

He didn’t rise to the bait.

“I thought—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I thought you were sick.”

“Like I said, it was a mix-up.”

His jaw ticked. That tiny muscle in his cheek twitched, the one that always flared when he was suspicious.

“Funny, they didn’t sound mixed up when they said your name,” he drawled, his tone probing. “Wanna try again?”

“Mind your fucking business,” Your voice was defensive, and you hated the crackle of guilt in your chest when he flinched. “I don’t need you to pretend to care. Why are you even here?” you snapped, taking a step back. The space between you felt vulnerable. “Don’t you have someone else to worry about?"

You felt cornered with every second he stood there.

“We need to talk.”

Maybe if you acted calm, like nothing was wrong, he’d stop looking at you like that. Vulnerability wasn’t something you were good at, he’d already taken too much. He always took too much.

“I don’t owe you shit. Not explanations, not answers, nothing. Leave.”

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

Rafe didn’t know how to let shit go, not when it came to you, he didn’t back away.

“You’re right,” he said, surprising you. “You don’t, but I’m not leaving until we talk.”

The way he said, it wasn’t even a threat. It was worse than that. It was calm, resolute, like he’d already decided, and nothing you said or did could change it. 

That scared you more than anything.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you hissed, “Whatever you think you know, you don’t.”

He arched an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to the edge of the couch where your phone still sat, “You sure about that?”

“God, you’re always like this. Always overstepping, always assuming—”

“I know."

All the noise in your head—your spiraling thoughts, your excuses, your endless denials—went silent, except for the way your heart thudded in your chest, so fast, it hurt. He hadn’t raised his voice, but those two words hit you like a kick to your chest.

No, he couldn’t—he didn’t, he was bluffing, he had to be. Air caught in your throat, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on it. He didn’t move, didn’t repeat himself. He couldn’t know.

Your tongue went dry. 

“What are you talking about?” You couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was squeezing your chest. You shook your head again, more violently this time, stepping back, “You don’t know shit.”

“I think I do.” His voice was quiet, and that made it worse, it wasn’t cold or angry; it wasn’t even accusing. He didn’t sound like he wanted to be right, he just sounded tired.

You prayed to come up with something—anything—to deflect, to deny, to keep the truth buried where it belonged. 

“You’re delusional,” you took another step back, putting more space between you and the man who had always known you too well.

He just shook his head, “You don’t have to lie to me, you’re scared, you’re not even trying to hide it.”

It was the way he stared with those stupid blue eyes, he was peeling back your layers. He always did that, made you feel like he could see something in you that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

“Oh, fuck off.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t know shit about what I’m feeling. You’ve got no right to—I’m not lying.”

It still hurt how much you missed him, hurt to even look at him.

“Don’t pull this cryptic bullshit with me, if you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The thing you’d been running from, denying, hiding, you simply stared at him, trying to decide if there was any way to lie your way out of this.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strangled, desperate. “T-That’s insane. You’ve lost your mind.”

Rafe wasn’t gloating or triumphant—he just looked… resigned, he’d pieced it together before he showed up.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not about this.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him, to do anything that would make him stop looking at you like he cared. Like he knew you. Because if you stopped long enough to think about it, you knew it was over.

He’d already seen it.

“I mean it, Rafe.” Your hand tightened on the door, nails digging into the wood. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

God, this was so fucked. You wanted him gone, but wanted him here, needed him to leave you alone, but at the same time, you hated that he could just leave.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

You thought about what he’d do if he knew—really knew. Not just the vague sense he had now, but the details. Would he try to stop you? 

Your lip quivered, and you hated yourself for it. “You’re wrong.”

You stared at him, at the way his shoulders hunched slightly, his usual confidence worn down. You hated him for being calm for once in his fucking life, for being here, for not letting this slide when it was none of his fucking business.

“Am I?”

Your hands clenched tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Why? Why do you even care? It’s not like you—”

“Because it’s mine.”

Your breath hitched again, and this time, you couldn’t hide it. You wanted to deny it, to throw something—hell, anything—back at him to make him shut the fuck up. But your throat felt like it had shut off entirely, and your mind had gone blank.

“I—” you stammered, shaking your head violently, “No. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re—”

“Hey, hey, just—just stop,” he said, his voice careful, as if he was trying not to spook you. “I’m not—Jesus, I’m not here to fight with you, okay? I’m not here to make this harder.”

Your chest heaved, a bitter laugh escaping before you could stop it. He was too late—late to care, late to help, late to fix anything. Five days, that’s all you had to get through.

Five days until you didn’t have to think about it anymore. 

This is the right choice, you told yourself for the hundredth time. You couldn’t bring a baby into this mess.

“You’re doing a hell of a job at that.”

“I just want to help. If you let me—”

“No,” you interrupted, grabbing the edge of the door. “I’m fixing it.”

“Fixing—?” Rafe’s brow furrowed, his confusion almost comical He started to step forward, but you stopped him with a resentful glare that made him stop. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you can take your fake concern and shove it up your ass.”

His brow furrowed. “It’s not fake—” His face twisted in confusion, mouth opening like he was about to argue, but you didn’t give him the chance, slamming the door in his face, so hard the frame rattled.

“Of course. Of course, it’s mine,” you muttered to yourself, mocking his stupid, self-righteous tone.

You leaned back against the door, sliding to the floor, arms crossed over your knees as your brain whirred like it was trying to kill you.

It wasn’t like you had a choice.

Technically, you did, but what were you supposed to do? Keep it and become a tragic sob story? The words almost felt like you’d ripped them out of someone else’s mouth, right or wrong didn’t even matter anymore. There wasn’t space in your life for this—for him, for a baby, for any of it.

A muffled knock sounded from the front door—tentative, like he was giving you a moment.

“Go away,” you yelled, your voice hoarse.

“Open the door.”

Your thoughts taunted you with memories and possibilities you didn’t want to entertain. The way Rafe had looked at you—like he knew—it was unbearable.

How had he put it together? Maybe you'd slip up in tiny ways, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. You hated yourself for being so careless, despised him even more for being so fucking relentless.

You wiped your cheeks roughly, not realizing you’d started crying until your sleeve came back damp.

“Please, just open the door. We can talk—just talk, okay?

“No,” you muttered to the empty room. “No, I’m not doing this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your head back against the door and pressing your hands over your ears to block him out. 

“Don’t shut me out like this,” he begged. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t stand it when you do this. Just open the door. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”

He had a key. If he wanted to, he could let himself in at any moment, but he didn’t, that wasn’t the Rafe you were used to.

Before, he'd have barged right in, shouted until your ears bled, and demanded answers. He would’ve tried to fix it or destroy it, maybe both. 

You hated that he still acted like he cared, that he was trying to be so fucking reasonable now, when just a few months ago, he would’ve lost it, broken through any barrier to get what he wanted.

This was worse, this Rafe was wearing you down.

Another hushed plea made it through the door, but all you could think was how thin the wood felt, how it barely drowned the sound of his voice. A new door might be better, something heavier, more solid, that could drown out everything—the desperation, the crack in his voice.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you bit hard on the inside of your cheek to keep them from falling. 

“I know you’re scared,” he continued, “And I know you think I’ll screw this up—God knows I probably will. But please don’t keep me in the dark. Just tell me what’s going on.”

You pictured flipping through hardware store catalogs, weighing your options: oak? steel? soundproofing foam?

“Please,” Rafe whispered, and the rawness in his voice scraped against you like nails on a chalkboard. You tilted your head back against the door, willing yourself not to cry again. 

Steel doors don’t warp as easily as wood.

You swallowed hard, your body aching as you fought the sob threatening to escape. He didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve to sound so wrecked over you. He'd done this to himself.

Your fingers twitched against the door handle, the temptation to open it curling around you, but instead, you thought about bolts.

Deadbolts, a second lock could work, something he couldn’t get through even if he had the key.

His voice wavered again, you thought he might start crying, too, yet all you did was glance at the base of the door. A better seal would muffle the noise more. Maybe weatherstripping? That could help.

You pressed your hands tighter over your ears, as though it would help. It didn’t. Nothing would—not until you replaced the lock, the door, the memory of him standing there and breaking himself open for you.

God, you really needed a new door—and a new heart.

One that didn’t twist at the sound of his voice, that didn’t flinch every time he called your name like it was a prayer. A heart that didn’t feel for him, you told yourself, over and over, like a mantra. If you could just stop the way your chest tightened at his pleas, stop the ache in your ribs when he said he couldn’t let this go.

You wanted steel walls, that could keep everything out—his voice, his touch, the memories of all the good parts of him that had kept you hanging on for so long. Because of this heart? It was useless, too soft, too easily swayed, still willing to believe him, even when you knew better.

“Please, just talk to me,” Rafe begged. You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this calmness came from Sofia.

Perhaps she was the reason he’d changed, maybe she had somehow made him different, had softened the sharp edges of the guy you used to know. She was calm, collected—nothing like you. It hurt like a bitch, the thought that someone else could make him this patient. You wondered if she’d taught him how to handle his emotions, how to be this way—he’d learned some secret he never bothered to share with you.

You couldn't let yourself go there, couldn't let the bitterness of that thought settle in your mind for too long.

“Talk to me.”

No. Not this time.

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@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Heyoooo, i just read your say it louder and im in love with that so much like holy, so i was wondering if you could make something kinda similar or something? like maybe logans chasing reader because she stole his cigars and they have a cute moment or something along those lines, maybe end a bit with or with smut? thanks so much babes!

Mine Now | DOFP!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: Primal!Logan, Scent Tracking, Shotgunning His Cigar, Marking, Implied Smut, Reader is a Mutant who has invisibility, Enemies to Lovers because I’m a sucker for pain, Takes place at the very end of DOPF when Logan comes back to the future, Pain Kink, Breathing Play, Choking, Claws come out – I repeat the claws come out,

Rating: R – No Minors

Word Count: 4.5K

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request! This was a blast to write and honestly? It gave me a good excuse to write for DOFP!Logan! I adore you! 😊 Also completely unrelated side note….you did say you wanted smut, right??? Because I may, or may not, have spaced you said cutesy and went right to horny.

To be tagged in any future work of mine, please fill this out.

“Hank, have you seen her?” Logan asks, his voice layered with annoyance. You couldn’t help but silently snicker as you watched his brow crease, his nose twitch with frustration, his finger rapping at his side impatiently. The way his jaw ticked as Hank narrowed his own eyes at him made it impossible to hold your laughter, even when you were currently pressed up against the wall – a clear view of the situation going down. You pulled your lip between your teeth as you homed in on Logan’s features, eyes glimmering with rage. It was such a beautiful sight to see, one you have been dreaming of for months. Though you’d never openly admit it, everyone knew, all except him. You had to make the chase worth his while.

Logan Howlett is a force to be reckoned with, everyone told you that. When Charles and Eric first recruited you to teach with them in New York – you thought it was a joke, a cruel one at that. Living paycheck to paycheck in a hole in the wall Hell’s Kitchen apartment, dealing with constantly screaming and fighting from your neighbors, it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You were a survivor, you could adapt to anything, but after what you had experienced, you needed a fresh start. Working at a local diner, making shit for tips wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to help you save to leave. Where would you go prior to this? You had no idea, but someplace that experiences winter – you always loved the snow. But alas, that dreary November day a few years ago changed everything; It changed you. Meeting Logan on your first day told you everything you needed to know about him – he refuses to get close to anyone, you wanted to break that.

It's been three years since you first met Logan, two since you found yourself thinking he was cute, a year since you felt yourself falling for him, and six months since you started the cat and mouse chase. At first with how standoffish Logan was to you, you started to resent him. A year it took before that all fell to the wayside; Your feelings had shifted when you found him outside one night, crying as he smoked his cigar. Of course, your mutation left you able to turn invisible, able to watch him, without him knowing you were there. Through the heavy rain your smell was masked, he couldn’t tell you were there. But it made you feel closer to him; He wasn’t some robot who didn’t have emotions. He felt them too strong, which is why when he started to slip back into his mind, he pulled away. Being over 200 years old meant he saw some shit, lost people he loved, it took a toll on him after a while. That day forward you stopped keeping your distance, but instead made the effort to be near him, to show him you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly you noticed how Logan started to open up to you, telling you stories of when he was young, his first mission with the X-Men. You got to learn a lot about The Wolverine, and come to find out he wasn’t a hard ass – he was sincere, doting, downright admirable. What he dealt with in his years fucked him up horribly to where he didn’t trust people easily – but it didn’t make him less. He always pushed forward and strove for success, to survive. He wouldn’t classify himself as a hero, but he was to you, and he deserved to know. Logan found himself trusting you easily after a year, his lonely nights stuck in his own head turned into game nights with you, strolls through the garden, getting a drink at the bar downtown. He could still be himself, but not have to carry the baggage by himself all the time. Falling hopelessly in love with him was inevitable, but also impossible. Nothing more could happen between the two of you and you knew that – but there was still a flicker of hope in your mind that wouldn’t quiet down. Especially with how flirty Logan had become with you.

 Usually, he was like this with Jean and Storm, taking it up a notch with them so he could have the last retort. To say he wasn’t a ladies’ man was a lie, he could pull anyone he wanted to. To Logan it was a game, seeing how flustered he could make him teammates – and he loved to win. With you it was different – it wasn’t low growls and light touching on your arms, no, it was more. At first to started off to be resting his chin on your shoulder, letting his breath stroke the column of your neck. Slowly it moved out to touches; Holding your waist from behind, rubbing his large hands over your lower stomach, slipping his hands under your shirt to caress your hip. Over the last few weeks though, he upgraded to holding your face, running his calloused thumb across your bottom lip, stealing forehead and cheek kisses before heading out. Rogue and Kitty that you two were dating, even Bobby got in on it – but when you stated you weren’t everyone looked at you like you had six heads.

“No Logan, I have not.” Hank let his eyes pan to where you were hiding as Logan turned away for a moment, giving you a small wink as he played along. After all, this was his idea – well, his and Xavier’s. You had overheard a conversation about how Logan’s cigar smell had been wafting into their classroom’s lately – distracting everyone as Logan taught. Charles had the bright idea for you to nab them and hold them hostage, until Logan learned his lesson. You on the other hand, were far too gone to do that. Instead you decided to take the cigars, but make a game out of it. Little post it notes with clues on where you were hiding, you stored them all over his bedroom and classroom, thanks to Scott. Ever since Jean told you just how primal Logan could get, how good of a tracker he was, you wanted to test it out for yourself. What better way than take the one thing he cannot live without? “What happened this time?”

Logan huffed as he ran both of his hands down his face, coming dangerously close to propping his hip against your body. You had to shuffle slightly as he leaned into the wall, letting his head bounce off the wood a few good times. “Little shit stole my box of cigars.” He looked exhausted, frustrated, and downright sexy. Seeing how lost and irritable he was without them made you smirk, causing you to bite your lip harder to suppress a whimper. You noticed how Logan’s ear perked up as you gulped, his head turning softly. Hank noticed this almost immediately and replied with a whooping laugh.  “Ha!” You sighed inaudibly as you silently thanked Hank, knowing he used his booming voice to mask your sounds. Holding one of his hands up to Logan, he snickered as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that was cruel of me. What I meant to say is, that’s funny.” Hank let out a small chortle at Logan’s distain, being met with a flash of a middle finger, and claw too.  “Thanks, asshole,” Logan huffed as he pushed himself off of the wall, running his hand through his hair.

You watched him intently, thanking whoever was listening for making you have the power of invisibility. Being able to listen to everything going down, while Logan has no idea you’re here, made you feel powerful. You heard talks about how your power could be useful, but ultimately not threatening; Now, you’d beg to differ. Though you grew tiresome of the chase, being a fly on the wall versus a real player. It was fun the first two hours this started, but encroaching on hour six – the school clearing out and the sun almost set on the horizon, you grew slightly bored. “Have you tried the library? She likes to hide there.” Hank let out without hesitancy, making your eyes grow wide. It was like an aha moment for you, choosing the most likely place for last. Earlier it was too crowded, people would know you were there the second Logan came looking for you. But now with the young mutants either outside or in the city due to the upcoming weekend, you knew it would be vacant.

“I know her all too well, Hank. That’s the first place I looked.” Hearing Logan say that made your heart flutter, made you feel special that he knew you so well. A strong sigh left your lips as Hank coughed, dreamily staring at Logan as you started to walk backwards. Losing your invisibility for a moment, you stood a few feet behind Logan, walking towards the grand staircase that took you to the library. Waving at Hank, you motioned for it as you smirked, causing Hank to laugh. “You sure?” He asked, nodding behind Logan. As you stood closer to the staircase, you noticed how Logan was sniffing the air – his body growing tense as he spun around. It’s when he laid his eyes upon you that you knew he was fed up. It wasn’t the primal growl and heavy breathing that got to you, but the way his hazel eyes went from green to black in a split section, his chest heaving as he stared at you. “Oh shit,” was all you managed to let out as you turned invisible again, running up the stairs.

Everything was a blur to you, running as fast as your body could take you. Three flights to get where you needed to go seemed like forever, when you were being chased by The Wolverine. He had super human speed, a great nose for sniffing things out, he was at the advantage whilst you were at a disadvantage. Even with scent masking, now that you started to sweat it would make you more obvious, especially when the library was empty. Huffing and puffing as you managed two steps at a time, you refused to look back. But you could hear the stomps of Logan’s boots, clearly taking three steps to match you. Silently you prayed to whoever was listening, to get you to the library safe and sound before Logan got you. The last thing you wanted was for him to pin you to the stairs so everyone could see, that was too on the nose.

Reaching the top step of the library, you managed to sway your way through the wooden chairs and tables, giggling to yourself as you were halfway across the room. Due to the grand nature of the library, especially being two floors, it gave you so many good hiding spots. A circular room to see everything, yet hide in plain sight. As you made it over to the spiral staircase for the second level, you had noticed Logan standing at the entrance of the library, huffing and puffing. It made you snort, seeing how riled up he was. You had to admit, it was sexy to see how pissed off he was, causing a fresh wave of your arousal to coat your panties. Logan seemed to have taken note as he sniffed the air, his eyes cutting across the room straight to yours. “Come on out princess,” he growled, flexing his hands at his side. Slowly you crept up the metal staircase for the second level, taking one step at a time to not elicit any sounds. You let your breathing relax, slowing your heart rate as you kept calm, not needing to give yourself away. But Logan could sense you, eyeing the staircase with every move you made. “I got you now.”

A devilish grin fought to claim his mouth as he pounced over the tables, running on all fours as he landed right at the bottom of the staircase. You managed to get all the way up and around, leaving to the right. Multiple aisles of books covered upstairs, as well as the walls, each window let in the dusk light – showing dust particles roaming the air. Your tell-tale shimmer of invisibility was caught in the light a few times, but Logan was too lost to notice. Finding your perfect hiding spot away from prying eyes, you slotted yourself against the endcap of Psychology of Mutants, knowing no one reads these. You could feel the stagnant beating of your heart at times, wondering if it was due to fear or the thrill of the chase. Maybe it was the aspect of it being bittersweet as well; A years long chase with Logan finally reaching its peak. You knew there would never be going back from this, and that was okay. Stealing his cigars wasn’t the endgame, it was only the beginning.

“You can’t hide forever you know,” Logan snarled as he reached the top of the landing, huffing as he eyed every shelf. You could see him, nor did you want to, hoping to God he chose to head left instead of right. Alas you were sorely mistaken as his heavy steps started to echo right, causing you to curse under your breath. SNIKT, you heard the metallic sound echoing through the room, but also your mind, causing you to whimper. Logan had unsheathed his claws, holding them out. The idea of him using the claws on you, pinning you down with them, holding them against your neck made your body run hot, your arousal heightening as the thoughts ran rampant through your mind. “I will catch you.” It was not a threat but a fact, Logan was not kidding anymore. The animal inside of him was taking over, leaving the Logan you knew behind. This was all caused because you pushed him to the point of no return, and you fucking loved it. The reverberation of his claws against the wooden shelves made you shudder, knowing how close he was getting now.

Biting down hard on your lip, you placed your hand over your mouth, trying to regain control of your breathing. Being right across from the last window on the right didn’t do you any good, especially with the beam of light falling through. If you moved even a millimeter, you were going to be made. It’s then when you opened your eyes to pan to your left that you saw his shadow encroaching on you, his stance wide as his claws were pointed at the ground. Each gruff huff he let out made your eyes roll back, finding it harder and harder to keep yourself hidden. You couldn’t look away from him either, you needed to watch him; How the sweat beaded at his hairline, how his little tufts of hair were wild from pulling at them, how his snarl got more animalistic the longer he tried to look for you. “Where did you go?” You couldn’t describe how Logan sounded in that moment; Primal and animalistic do not even begin to crest.

You focused too much on his tone, completely forgetting your watchful eye on him. When you glanced back after trying to calm yourself, you noticed the 6’2 Wolverine was no longer walking his way towards the aisles but vanished into thin air. Not knowing where he was, made your heart rate skyrocket – panic ensuing all over your body. Goosebumps arose across your skin as you pondered where he could be, afraid to move in case he was lurking close to you. Maybe he went off to the left instead, leaving you by yourself to escape. It would make sense, considering how you heard the creaking of the floorboards on the opposite side now. Letting out a concealed breath, you slowly moved away from the end cap of the shelf, leaving your back exposed. You knew it was a mistake when the hot, stifling air of the closed space became ice cold, a shiver falling down your spine. The sun shifted away in that moment, blanketing the area in darkness, complete with only a sliver of light, not even to cast shadows. The second your back was exposed; All hell broke loose.

Two strong hands grabbed hold of your hips, pulling you back into a solid form. The yelp you let out was loud enough to echo, but not loud enough to raise suspicion. The strain on your powers had gotten to be too much, slowly slipping back into being visible. You huffed out as your back connected with his chest, your hands finding purchase on his muscular forearms. “There you are little mouse.” He snickered in your ear, pressing his nose to the pulse point of your neck. Logan deeply inhaled at the vein, his teeth barring to nip at your exposed shoulder. It felt good to have his mouth on you, to have him seemingly obsessed with your scent. After all, it is what gave you away. Whimpering out, you dug your nails into Logan’s arm, feeling the reverberation of his snarl through your body. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move – you were a lost cause. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Logan was mocking you at this point, purposely being a little shit to mimic how you have been with him. When it came to his cigars, he wasn’t fucking around. But when he knew it was you who took them, well he wasn’t going to let you live this down. Logan moved from behind you, but kept his hands grasping your flesh. Moving to the side, he pressed your back against the end cap again, bringing you back to your original position. His right hand remained on your hip as his left grasped your neck, pressing against your pulse point, feeling the thrum of blood on your veins. The edges of your vision began to go fuzzy due to the restricted blood flow, but you didn’t care. Logan was putting you right in your place, and you were obeying so well for him. “I believe you have something of mine,” he murmured; His prominent nose pressing harshly against your cheek. The warmth of his breath on your skin, mixed with the cold drag of his claws against your skin made you shiver, loving how it felt too much. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laughed out, clearly laced with thrill.

Logan didn’t take too kindly to you playing dumb, the tick in his jaw spoke measures. His grip on your neck was heavier than before, using his full weight to restrict your blood flow quicker, your vision developing black dots. “Oh, you don’t?” The challenged in his voice said all you needed to know – he was fucking desperate. There was no hiding it now, he needed you – not his cigars, but you. Gulping down against his large hand, you felt the press of his claws against the back of your neck, pushing through the wood of the bookshelf to lock you in place. He would never intentionally draw blood, or hurt you, but he knew this was your deepest fantasy, all thanks to Jean relaying it. His lips were inches from your ear as he chuckled darkly, groaning out against the flesh. “Do I need to jog your memory?” You shouldn’t have been as turned on by that as you were. Your knees buckled slightly as you almost fell, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Logan took advantage of your eyes being closed to pull his hand away from your hip. The loss of touch made you whine, but quickly you were quieted by his roughened tugs. Grabbing at the edge of your tank top, Logan ran his claws through the fabric to create slits, ripping them open just as easily. Looking down at your jeans, he could see the bulge in your pocket – where you had hidden a few of his cigars. A huff of relief fell from his parted lips as she cut your pocket open, letting them fall right into his hand. He mimicked your hiding and shoved them into his own pocket, moving on to the next. The cool breeze against your exposed skin made you quickly heat up; Logan using his claws on you made you lose your fucking mind. He repeated his efforts with your other side, making matching holes in his jeans and shirt, not caring anymore.

It was as the last few cigars rolled out of your pocket that Logan pulled back, his heavy body heat no longer suffocating you. The contact was missed, causing you to pout slightly. “Boo hoo hoo,” Logan mocked as he watched you, walking backwards to push his back against the window. The sill right below it was begging him to sit, so he took advantage of it. Reaching into his left pocket, Logan pulled out his Zippo lighter – flicking it against his pants to ignite the flame. It was intoxicating watching him, how effortlessly fluid his motions were. Biting your cheek, you watched him intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled out the precut cigar from his pocket and pushed it between his lips, favoring his left side for it to rest between his teeth. Lighting the end until the cherry burned bright, he took a few quick puffs, blowing the smoke out in a cloud around him.

Your eyes could not pull away from him even if you tried, it was nearly impossible. The way he moved was like silk through the wind, so effortless and elegant; He knew he was hot like this. Taking another quick drag, Logan let the smoke fall from his lips as he tucked the cigar back in between his teeth, putting away his lighter. Reaching forward with his claws still extended, he hooked two of the blades into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you forward. There was about a person’s space between the bookshelf and the window, making it easy for him to grab at you. Of course, your body obeyed his silent command, tripping slightly as you tried to regain your footing. Placing both of your hands on his thick, warm thighs, you licked your lips. The smoke being released from both the cigar and his mouth captured your attention, making it difficult to focus on what he was saying. The way his motions flowed were so smooth, it was impossible to say anything else to him.

Taking a rather large drag of his cigar, he puffed his cheeks out a bit to hold it all in. It took you by surprise, why he was holding it all in his mouth. Retracting his claws on his right hand, Logan grabbed at your jaw like a man possessed, pushing his meaty fingertips into your flesh. The slight ache of his possessiveness made your mouth part, a pained look on your face that you were lost in. Logan got close to you, his lips only mere inches away from your mouth as you whimpered. With your lips parted, Logan mimicked your motions as he breathed out. The soft, heady tendrils of smoke wafted from his mouth into yours, causing you to let them stir. Tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the wrap caused your eyes to dilate, boring into Logan with pure unadulterated lust. There was no mistaking it as he shotgunned his cigar with you, his smirk prevalent. “That’s my good girl.” He crooned, taking in your big eyes, the heat of your skin – basking in your glory.

You blew the smoke right back at Logan while he chuckled, licking his lips to wet them as he took another puff. There was something so intoxicating about how you reacted, it was like watching a painting come to life. From the first day he met you, he knew you were something else – he had to challenge you. Almost four years later and you’re still trying to get with him, he admired it. Finally, the silent love he had for you could be shown, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for you. You made him work to catch you, now you had to work to get what you wanted. “Get on your knees.” The command fell off of Logan’s lips so naturally you almost didn’t catch it at first. Your eyes glossy as you watched him, your brain not keeping up. Narrowing his eyes at you, he cocked his brow as he laid the cigar to the side, watching to see your reaction. “I’m sorry?” You questioned without realizing, your face slack with lust.

Reaching forward towards you, Logan grabbed your neck once more, this time yanking you so close to his face that you felt his breath waft over your features. “Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.” There was no hesitation in Logan’s voice as he stated his command, letting his face go rigid to show he was getting pissed off. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You wanted to, every fiber of your being wanted to disobey him, make him angry so he was rough with you – at the same time you didn’t want to make him mad, not yet anyway. Nodding to him against his hand, you slipped down to your knees easily with a moan, pressing out your wet bottom lip as you gazed up at him.

Logan rolled his eyes as he grabbed the cigar again, pressing it against your lips. It’s when you take a drag of it that he pulls out, putting it in his own mouth once more. With his hand now free from holding his cigar, he quickly flicked open his belt buckle, undoing the top button on his jeans as you took the silent command to pull his zipper down. His erection was stiff against his jeans and left nothing to the imagination. He was big, he was hot, and he was fucking turned on. Watching you with a lustful glow in his eyes, Logan groaned as he watched you, never letting you have the last word: “You may have started the game princess, but I am going to finish it.”

----

Tagging: @livelaughl0ve3 @mehjustalasshere @allen-444 @begaytotallygay @tezooks @hughj1d @mami-veracruz @salemslostwitch @karencaribou @princesstarble @dirtylittlefairytales @hbwrelic @mosscrissfemmefatale @pinkanonwriting @craziersarah98 @actuallybridgetjones @silversprings-mp3 @lokidovahkiin

[chobunz]

Who in enha mtl enjoy giving head/who you think would be the best at eating 🐱

ngl this one was kinda hard cs i feel like all of them would rlly enjoy giving/receiving head but i (tried) my best nonnie !! >_<

pair: legal line ㅊ f!reader | warnings: smut, oral (f. rec), d/s dynamics, fingering, overstim, edging.. i might’ve missed smth but its 2 am and i’m hella sleepy soooo

eating you out is heeseung’s favorite pastime. that boy practically lives between your legs in his free time. he could be having a bad day and he swears that giving you head is the remedy to cure everything. i think sometimes, he’d bring you to his studio and ask to eat you out when he’s having trouble with his creative flow/when he needs some motivation, idk he’s just kinda silly like that lol. plus he’d look all cute while he’s begging to and looking up at you with the most precious doe eyes, asking for one (1) single orgasm to get his brain going. just really loves knowing that he can always please you with his mouth, often getting hard to the thought of the view you’ll bless him with while he’s down there. proudly obsessed with your pussy and would do anything to get to taste you on his tongue <3

jake is theee pleasure dom. eating your pussy just makes him feel good along with you, getting a sense of accomplishment after making you cum a few times with his tongue only. often has wet dreams of like.. just eating you out. wakes up and makes it his mission to make you cum as many times as he can using his mouth. i think he’d be very strategic (?) with how he eats you out, wanting to figure out a way to make you feel the best you can which leads to many sessions of him just experimenting and observing the way you react to him ?? results in jake ‘accidentally’ teasing and edging you for what feels like hours, feeling mean when you whimper and deciding to reward you with anything you ask for. you’ll have to speak up though or he’ll just continue his teasing ! ><

jay is just very sexy idk, i feel like he’d love giving you head a lot. the feeling of being sandwiched between your plushy thighs turns him on badly, loving all the praise he gets while he licks and sucks you to your liking. i think he’d also very much love when you use his mouth to get off.. like hips pushed up against his face when you get whiny and desperate. or maybe he’s in a different mood and would lightly tap your clit with three fingers when you squirm below him as a warning— it depends tbh. i put him here because i think he’d like using his cock the most to pleasure you, often getting up from your cunt to fuck you because he’s also very desperate….. T-T

sunghoon mainly uses his hands to get you off. prefers being hands on with you. like he loves to taste you but i think he’d definitely also enjoy fingering you more because it’s more intimate in a way (?) like he gets to kiss you and feel your hands all over him while you moan into his mouth.. it’s heaven for him he thinks. he just loves how you feel cumming around his fingers, kissing the temple of your head when you cum for the nth time that night despite you constantly begging for his cock that’s pressed painfully against your side. he gets you to quiet down with his other hand, covering your mouth because only he’s allowed to hear you like this. sunghoon’s main goal is to make you squirt with his fingers so he’s determined…

jungwon’s the type to get pussy drunk, then would try to manipulate you into believing you’re the one who’s needy when he’s literally the one acting like a starved man. his tongue lapping at your pussy and moaning into you with his arms locked around your thighs to keep you in place. i think that eating pussy isn’t something he does as often because of the way he loses self control, which is why i put him here on the list. but even when he’s pussy drunk, jungwon is pushing your limits by making you cum over and over despite your pleas to get him off your overstimulated clit.

sunoo will give you anything you want. i can picture him with a very spoiled, bratty sub, whining about wanting to be eaten out and complaining when he gets up from being buried in between your legs after generously giving you orgasm after orgasm. he’s always eager to please and doesn’t waste a second to give his princess whatever she wants !! like he wouldn’t even punish you for being super bratty, just listening to what you ask of him and allowing your hand to push him into his place <33

๑ ๑ ๑

i have a lot asks like these in my inbox so i’m gonna try n get thru them all as quickly as i can + i like doing short stuff like this to help me ease back into writing again ! also, if you wanna send me a short request like this feel free to ^_^

[dykedvonte]

I think a big misunderstanding is the power people give Curly to actually change things about the way the pony express operates or could’ve done things on the Tulpar.

We are talking about a company that docks pay for bad synergy despite mandated psych evals that should tell which staff members would work well together, only allots for 5 hours of sleep despite having literally no other tasks to truly do and locks all resources behind the access of one person. The last one is likely to manage resources and make it easier to justify collective punishment and blaming one person for it; someone needs something in “excess” or the captain gives in? It’s all on them your pay is docked. Instant resentment.

It’s insidious how the company works, it’s by design to distract you from coming after them, to force tensions to line their own pockets. With all the restrictions and forced interactions, altercations are bound to happen. 5 hours of sleep a day, limited sources of entertainment, no real tasks… the monotony alone would cause bad cabin fever, mix that with just only one absolute mediator and you get the exact environment that allows shit like in the game to happen.

The idea he could just complain and try to throw his weight around to get them to dig into their pocket for the crews comfort is laughable and misses the predatory and dehumanizing aspect of capitalism the Pony Express represents. Curly was and is still just another asset to them. Being a top show pony doesn’t mean he’s anywhere close to the actual top. He is the top of the working ladder, not whoever’s in corporate, he wouldn’t even be on the bottom step unlike what Jimmy perceives. The resounding recommendations he would get are almost mocking as they throw him out like nothing just like the rest. Being a shitty fucking company, how much do you bet they’d mean anything anyways, especially since he wanted to leave the field all together.

He made a fuss and they didn’t listen, he says he should’ve done more but you can tell he knows it wouldn’t have changed anything. Jobs like this are willing to make a sacrifice if it means even a penny more. Curly makes a bigger fuss they likely would’ve just found an “unrelated” reason to fire him, hired a more pliable guy or, terrifyingly, promoted Jimmy. The company was failing, going to shut down whether anything happened on the ship or not. But knowing that they were shutting down and that everyone, including him, would be out of a job with this being their last paycheck, he had to factor in not destroying the last bit of their financial stabilities combined with every other issue on the vessel and his own. He gets another cryopod or locks and then he has to break to them that they are not only fired but there will be substantial cuts to their paychecks due to the “upgrades” (things that already should’ve been in place on their part) on top of anything else that could be docked along the way.

You can blame him for saying it so early into the trip but then again, if he mentioned it later who’s to say it wouldn’t have been worse? On the capitalism side alone how would people in a galaxy away from home, out of a job and already stir crazy react? Don’t get me started on how Jimmy would have reacted if he realized he only had two days left to fix what would be a very hard to miss “problem” in his head…

I can’t even consider explaining this as devils advocate because it’s just facts of the world we and they live in and factors that heavily affected the situation. People are just so quick to make claims on the ease of the choices when P.E literally makes it hard to choose to do anything but suck it up.

[emchante]

Angst idea coming up!!

I imagine there would be a school event let’s say and Daniel would go with his children of course, possibly want to take you with him, but his ex wife would insist that it’s a family event and you’re not family in any way or shape, no matter how much you take care of Daniel’s kids, this just isn’t a place for you and this could make Daniel uneasy because he’d see the logical part in his ex wife’s reasoning yet feel bad because you are his new partner and his kids like you and I imagine this uneasiness and perhaps indecisiveness from Daniel would spark uncertainty in you as well and that just hits right in the heart

~🫠

🫠 nonnie always pulling through.. i know that’s right!! but GOD?? the thought of this?? it pulls my heartstrings. the angst potential LORDDD.

you know the usual, drabble under the cut<3

“she’s not family, daniel,” is spat across the line, daniel wincing at the harshness in his ex-wife’s voice. “she looks after the kids— great. that doesn’t make her family all of a sudden.”

daniel’s fingers drum against the kitchen counter anxiously as she rambles on, adding more reasons why you shouldn’t be at the kids’ charity evening. parents were invited along of course, running stalls with their children. it was a great idea, the kids were so excited to tell you, daniel and their mother.

but they didn’t know themselves that their mother wasn’t onboard with it.

“it’s— it’s not fair to leave her out,” he interrupts, screwing his eyes shut in preparation for another shout down the phone. thankfully, it’s only a deep sigh so he can continue. “the kids love her, they were so excited to tell her,” he explains, a soft smile appearing on his face as he recalled the memory.

“i don’t care, daniel,” she tells him, and she definitely isn’t lying— he had never heard her sound so bored, apart from the times daniel had tried to organise date nights that were more.. him. not a good memory. “remind me what the first line of the handout says?”

daniel frowns out of confusion at the question, but obliges anyways. he grabs the sheet of paper from in front of him, opening it up and reading it out. “dear parents of—”

“there!” she shouts, daniel flinching at the sudden loudness. “parents, daniel. she is not their parent. never has been, never will be.”

daniel exhales deeply from his nose. fuck. he should’ve seen that coming. what happened to letters saying ‘parents or guardians’? he shakes his head, trying to think of a response.

but he doesn’t need to, as she speaks up again. “we aren’t discussing this any more now, daniel. break the news— although it really isn’t much of a newsflash— and then start organising your outfit,”

and then the line fell flat.

daniel places his phone on the counter, before allowing his head to fall into his hands with a heavy sigh. he was feeling many emotions. confusion— about the whole thing. upset— he wasn’t able to get his side in. anger— over the newsflash comment. you had come a long way with his kids, and be had a controversial opinion on who was a better mother figure to the two.

————————————

“you can’t come tomorrow.”

the words feel like a stab in the heart when you hear them. daniel had sat you down in the living room after the kids had gone upstairs to play, and told you that he needed to talk to you.

you assumed it was serious, but you didn’t think it was this.

“what?” is all that falls from your lips, as you’re too shocked to form a proper sentence. daniel isn’t even looking at you, he’s more focused on picking his the nail of his index finger.

“you can’t— you can’t come tomorrow. i’m sorry, i know it’s quite late to tell you, but.. yeah,” he trails off, voice low. he still isn’t looking at you, hasn’t done since he asked you to sit with him. it feels dismissive, it feels wrong. it feels like a completely different person in front of you.

“have i done something? we were so excited to bake with the kids and sell their cakes,” you plead, reminding him that just yesterday, you were both so happy about the event.

“look— it’s.. it’s a parent event, yeah?” daniel lets out, cringing at his words. he hates that he’s listening to her, he doesn’t even agree with the decision, but something is telling him he has to.

then again maybe he shouldn’t, because the moment he finally looks up, he sees the saddened look on your face. he couldn’t read every emotion you seemed to portray— you looked upset, hurt and maybe.. betrayed? fuck.

“and— and please believe me when i say you do such a great job looking after them,” he starts, raising his hands as he goes to ramble out something to save his ass.

but you interrupt him with a dry laugh, shutting your eyes as you take a deep breath in. your head falls, and you stare down at your trembling hands that lay atop your thighs. suddenly your vision gets blurry and— oh, the tears have started.

daniel’s heart breaks as he sees the tears welling in your eyes, and he reaches out to comfort you. he wasn’t expecting it to be reciprocated well, but he wasn’t expecting you to completely pull away from him.

“sweetheart—” “don’t sweetheart me, daniel,” you snap, licking your suddenly dry lips. “i thought— i thought that maybe..” you started, daniel’s heart cracking even more at the wobble in your voice. “fuck— i really thought things were moving into a new chapter. i thought that the kids were seeing me as something more than just.. a babysitter. i thought you were starting to see me as something more than a fuck every now and then, like it was in the beginning.”

daniel gapes at your words, and shit. he hadn’t even thought about how the whole situation would have looked without context. but then again, would it have been better with it? it was too late to find out now, anyways.

“no— no, you know it’s not like that,” he tells you firmly, going to reach a hand out for you to comfort you, but he was taken aback when you abruptly stood up.

“i think i’m going to go,” you told him, not allowing nor wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say. as soon as you walked out the living room, he could only stare at the floor in disbelief.

he was trying so hard to obey to his ex, that he was completely disregarding you— his current partner’s— feelings. what the fuck was wrong with him?

he was brought back to reality when you had shouted upstairs to the kids, telling them you had to head back to your own house tonight— that there was some leftover work you had to do. daniel turned his head to the side, watching as his kids ran downstairs to give you a big hug, whining about how they wanted you to stay.

you didn’t even spare him a glance as you said your goodbyes, and he felt like the slammed front door was the only goodbye he’d be getting.

he had really fucked it.

okay honestly i did NOT expect it to get to 1k words.. LOL. angst just really draws me in and i get carried away!! thank you 🫠 nonnie again for this wonderful idea, you’re a godsend<3<3

part 2, perhaps? 👀

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 1

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5])

It's episode 4 If I Can't Reach You / Let My Song Teach You, time for two of my favorite things: glam rock and homosexuals. which are basically the same thing if you think about it.

she's like damn, billy, that was ruthless. honestly this is going to make her care about billy even more, not only he's powerful, not only he reminds her of nicky. now he's a murderer too?? perfect son is perfect. I love how she's studying sharon's body with her detective Agnes face, her mind is going a million miles a minute

her third-wall-break winks destroy me. and that poor hairdo. all gone expect for the giant turd on top.

alice being truly and genuinely sorry about sharon. lilia and jen being gossiping hags

agatha honey you're so dainty and feminine, look at you. and that's an interesting and not at all painful tree shape you picked. (I would have never noticed any of this without brightening the scene, it's outrageous. everyone involved in this show is amazing except the lighting department. shame on you lighting department)

whatever alice does openly and sincerely, agatha does secretly or as a joke. parallels, parallels

jen is like, can you believe this bitch

without being asked, alice goes to help digging the grave

that is the idiot I fell in love with and I'm way past regretting my choices at this point!! I know how rio feels now

"coven two" is one of those lines that make you laugh on first view and shred your heart in a million tiny pieces at every following rewatch. this show HAS to be watched at least twice, don't ever trust reviews or complaints by ppl who didn't, because they missed at least half of what makes it great.

a clown running from the tragic truth that her son wrote the Ballad, making sad clown noises all over the Road

when alice is called to referee as the Resident Ballad Expert and agatha looks at her expectantly hands in pockets, somehow extremely obnoxious, extremely gay and extremely sad at the same time

alice is SO above bickering. jen is being a baby because she's mad at agatha, lilia is being a baby cause she's grumpy and a contrarian, billy is sixteen, agatha is, well, agatha. alice is the only adult in the building

just one, huh? that's fine. that's fine. who needs a heart anyway.

the common gypsophila or baby's breath symbolizes sincerity, purity, innocence. does it symbolizes sharon? or is billy leaving it on her grave a metaphor for his naivety and good intentions gone wrong?

billy's romantic ideals of what it means to be in a coven have just been shattered. he set out, consciously or not, to teach something to these witches and of course it didn't work. he is the one who needs guidance, he is the one who's making a mess of things. he's just a kid.

agatha going !! when billy says he wishes he could go home. agatha covertly pointing out that he has a replacement body and she would really like to know how. she's observing him so closely, trying to puzzle out the mystery. exactly like she did with wanda inside the Hex. not revealing her cards just yet, testing and manipulating him. when that strategy blew up in her face so spectacularly the first time! she's so smart and so reckless it makes her practically an idiot

case in point: she's making up stupid rules trying to manipulate billy into shaping the Road the way she wants. that's right, agatha. let's summon another poor victim you can siphon, wonder who's gonna show up! (and she KNEW sharon was laying dead ten feet away and SOMEONE was bound to be in the neighborhood. dumbass.)

aww he's so proud of himself for having brought the spellbook. he's being helpful! he's made his four moms happy!

check, debatable, check

debatable and debatable

I'm gonna give that one a BIG check

yes I know advil spells "vidal", thank you tumblr for letting me know that one. also same, alice.

'esse viridis non es facile' IT'S NOT EASY BEING GREEN?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! oh I knew my high school latin was bound to come in handy at least once in my life

(by the way the set + costumes combo is giving me such hocus pocus vibes, but you could never tell because the SCENE IS SO FUCKING DARK) (NO I WON'T SHUT UP ABOUT IT)

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH

I mean girls, you chose to follow the head clown, you have to travel in the clown car. that's on you.

WHY IS THE PRINT SO SMALL???? I LOVE YOU PATTI LUPONE

admit it we all wished it was sharon for a moment

oh?? is that mayhaps someone you know, agatha???

and that's a wrap, see you guys tomorrow!

no, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm doing another one tonight. I need to shove all the rio scenes in my eyeballs NOW

go to episode 4 part 2

[lunaforyou]

Primes Reborn AU spoilers below the cut, if you want to wait until the fanfic is done don't read.

WARNINGS miscarriage scare, violence, a little angst for the soul.

(everything turns out okay don't worry)

Sooooo, after kid number three, Optimus is already getting used to this. Hey, why fight the Matrix when he can work with it?

Besides, it's vindicative to be able to un-do most of Sentinel's damage, after giving the miners cogs that is. His frag up doesn't have to haunt their entire species forever.

Nevermind that the Matrix takes bits and pieces out of him in lieu of transfluid, since, well, the sparklings have to come from somewhere.

If undoing the damage Sentinel did entails energon, sweat and tears every time, so be it.

So he decides to find a spot he feels safe in and build a nest!

His unfortunate ass only feels safe in the cave of the primes though.

No biggie! He just has to make a comfortable spot.

In a cave full of corpses.

Great.

By the time he is finally done he is so wiped out that he falls asleep in the nest immediately.

And then he wakes up to the sound of a fusion canon. Being aimed at his face.

Oh right, Megatron.

So they start to fight, Optimus is always trying to diffuse it and keep his shit together, like, invading a nest is extremely distressing for the carrier. It's not like Megatron knows he is invading a nest, because even he wouldn't go that low goddamnit.

And then Megatron taunts him with something along the lines of;

"Look at yourself, Prime. You have gone soft with time, literally." (I'm still working on what he says, don't be too rude)

And Optimus, the fool that he is, looks down at himself. He really shouldn't have done that because that gives Megatron an opening to hit him.

In the gut.

He immediately falls to the floor in pain. And Megatron goes "I won't have mercy on you because you feel a little pain, Prime"

He can't even finish the sentence though, Optimus interjects with "She isn't moving"

It takes a second for Megatron to realize what he means.

He immediately scrambles to help, however he can. He lifts Optimus up and places him in the nest, and really he can't do much but it's better than doing nothing!

The blow triggered the emergence, and little Solus is born unconscious. This time, the other primes' spirits are mysteriously absent.

When he has her in his arms, Megatron shakes her up a little bit, to see if she wakes up. To which Optimus tells him that it's useless, her body is weak without a sire bond, and that she'll die.

And without thinking, this other fool just.

Opens his spark chamber.

You see, to form a sire bond, the spark of the carrier acts as a bridge between the sparkling and the sire's spark.

Want to guess where this is going?

.

.

.

.

.

That's right! Megatron and Optimus spark bond to save little Solus, you get nothing for guessing correctly <3

They coax her spark chamber open and the three of them bond. After the bond takes, Solus starts crying, and thank Primus she is crying, Megatron doesn't think he could have lived with the guilt if his little one died because of him.

And then Optimus takes her in his arms and Megatron's world expands by five.

They look so, so beautiful. And suddenly everything that's right in the world is in that cave, in the nest that his love made.

Because yes, that's his love now (never stopped being his love) and that's his sparkling. And Primus damn it he is not going to let go of them.

And then he looks at little Solus, and cries a little and says something along the lines of "She's perfect"

And then Optimus hits him with the "You say that because you haven't seen the other three"

Megatron cries a little more.

And the name of the AU is STILL Primes Reborn. :)

[wundergeek]

Excerpt from a 4K word fic of me being Very Normal About G'raha along these lines - - -

THEN

I returned, dazed, to the bottom of the lift.

Alisaie gave me a too-innocent smile. "How was your talk with the Exarch?"

Shit. She knew. Of course she knew.

I fought down a surge of panic. We'd never made what we had official - in fact, Alisaie had shut me down every time I'd tried to mention my burgeoning feelings. But she still deserved to know that I'd kissed someone else. "Alisaie, I..."

"You want to fuck the Exarch," she said, smirking.

My cheeks burned. "It's complicated," I mumbled.

Which it was. I'd kissed the Exarch, but I wasn't sure I wanted to fuck him. On the other hand, I'd wanted to fuck G'raha, but never got a chance to kiss him.

"I don't know how I feel about fucking the Exarch, but I did kiss him. And I'd like to do it again. But. I won't if you don't want me to."

To my relief, Alisaie shook her head. "No promises, remember? We could all die tomorrow, so why not chase what happiness you can today?" She rolled her eyes and punched me fondly in the arm. "Besides. Do I look foolish enough to think I can put a fence around a heart big enough to love the entire world?"

For the second time that day, profound, unutterable relief. She understood. "Thank you."

Alisaie waved her hand airily. "If you want to thank me, go get your boy."

I laughed.

- - -

NOW

The soul vessel is pulsing slowly, but G'raha is still unconscious. My magical senses tell me something seems to be happening, but it's happening a lot slower than it did with the Scions.

"Gods damn it, G'raha." I snap. "I had to watch you die, so if you haven't somehow managed to pull this rabbit out of your hat, I'm going to be... very cross with you." My voice breaks as the last comes out as a sob.

I put my head on my knees and weep.

I've cried myself out and am sitting there, trembling miserably, when G'raha finally stirs and opens his eyes. I see recognition, followed by confusion reflected in his red eyes. "Savvel?"

"G'raha!" I manage to give him a watery smile, but my heart is still in my throat. "How much do you remember?"

He blinks as he searches his memories. "I remember Elidibus," he says slowly. "And climbing the Crystal Tower and... Gods. Oh Gods, I remember turning--" I shush him as I pull him into my arms and stroke his back. He sobs and buries his face in my neck.

"I've got you, G'raha. We're in the Source. You're okay." My voice breaks, and I realize that I'm grinning like a fool and crying at the same time. "Everybody is okay."

"Everybody? ...really?"

"You're the last to wake up, on account of all the pesky security systems you've got around here."

G'raha laughs weakly, and it hits me all at once that somehow we did it. We won, and he's okay - better than okay! - he's alive, awake, and seems to have all his memories intact. My arms tighten convulsively around him and I nuzzle into his hair. "You're an idiot and I forbid you from sacrificing yourself again," I choke out. "Do you hear me?"

G'raha laughs again, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "sometimes sacrifices have to be made."

"No." My voice is firm, the most firm, and I am definitely not giggling. "I don't accept that."

"You wouldn't."

And then G'raha's mouth is on mine. We kiss in a delicious frenzy of mouths and hands and moaning, so much moaning, and I realize that Alisaie was correct. I do want to fuck the Exarch.

Read the whole fic on AO3

G'raha, I would die for you

Okay. Replaying Shadowbringers rn and G'raha just got abducted by Emet-Selch, and this whole scene hits just as hard on the fourth play-through as it did on the first. Look at this fuckin face. This is the face of a man who loved you from a distance for A HUNDRED YEARS assuming you didn't even remember his fucking name, until you call out to him just as he's about to sacrifice his life for yours.

He's about to teleport himself into the Rift and fuckin' die, and still, that proof that you remember him, that you matter to him makes him so fucking happy.

And. Like. Take a minute to think about that.

Not only did he come up with this insane scheme to rewrite history, then actually have the brilliance to pull it off, but... he has lived MULTIPLE LIFETIMES for you, and walked into this situation anyway, fully thinking that he was going to die, and totally prepared to sacrifice more than anyone could possibly comprehend. Like - imagine living long enough to see the small community of refugees you harbored to grow into a vibrant city. Imagine being part of their lives as the first residents of the Crystarium have children, grow old, and die, even as their children are having children of their own.

Imagine an attack that happens during that second generation that kills a couple with a young child and taking her in because she has no one to care for her. Imagine taking time, despite all of your responsibilities and literally being on the clock to save the world, to raise her to be strong, loyal, and unfailingly excellent at what she does. She isn't your blood, but she's the closest thing you'll ever have to a daughter, and still you don't hesitate to leave when it's time to see your scheme through to its ultimate end - your ultimate end.

Imagine what it would have been like making those final preparations without being able to tell anyone that you were saying goodbye.

Imagine having tea with Chessamile and agreeing with her that you need to do this more often.

Imagine discussing improvements to the Crystarium with Katliss that you know you'll never see.

Imagine gossiping with Bragi and knowing you'll never get to hear how things turned out.

Imagine visiting Moren to give him a book and saying nothing as he insists that he'll return it to you when he's finished.

Imagine having lunch with Lyna, your daughter, who will find herself in charge when you're gone, and having to give her instructions about what to do in the event of your death.

Imagine having that much love in your life - an entire city that you built from the ground up, and whose residents you loved with all your heart, and who loved you just as strongly. And calmly bidding that entire life farewell as you take an amaro to Kholusia to rewrite history by saving the life of the person you love, thinking that you were nothing more than a minor footnote in their previous adventures. Then imagine finding out at the literal last second that they not only remember, but cared deeply about you the entire time, and still having the strength of will to sacrifice yourself anyway.

What an icon. What an absolute fucking legend.

[blushing-concubus]

Majors and Minors

Request: Yes

Info: Everyone is 18 or older. NRC, RSA, and, NBC are all actual collages. Litteraly just what majors and minors the I think twst cast would have.

Tw: None(?)

I will warn you; this is really long and these might get changed over time. I'm also treating NRC as a catch-all school that can easily clear the way for more advanced courses in specific fields later, weather that be on campus or out sourced.

Heartslabyul:

Riddle was going for a medical degree, but after his overblot and some consideration he made the switch to a general law degree, for now, but is considering where he wants his future to go along that path. He is going to keep himself CPR and first aid certified though. 

Trey, in high school, was part of a dentistry vocational for a year, but had to leave for personal reasons. He's now studying Dentistry full time. He plants on becoming a dental nurse, rather than a dentist.

Cater has changed his degree once, in his first year he was going for a liberal arts degree, before switching to a Marketing major, and Broadcasting minor. He's pretty stuck on what he actually wants to do and feels like it's too late to follow any dreams he had when he was younger.

Ace, as of now, is undecided. I have made jokes about him dropping out and becoming a magician before, and I can genuinely see him doing that. So as of right now I don't actually have one for him.

Deuce is also undecided. There's a ton of options and it's pretty overwhelming for him, especially because he struggles academically. Despite that, I think he'd either end up with an Education or Engineering degree.

Savannaclaw:

Leona, for the longest time, did not pick a major and it was going to get him kicked out. He could've gone for a liberal arts degree, but decided to go for Humanities instead. He's really well suited to it in all honesty.

Ruggie is going for an Economics degree for a multitude of reasons (most of which are monetary), but I can definitely see him with something else, like a culinary arts degree, too. He's got a job lined up with Leona after graduation, but going more in depth on money management never hurts, right?

Jack is going for Sports Science, he's had a plan for years now and he isn't going to let anything stop him.

Octavinelle:

Azul is going for a Business degree, shocker. I don't feel like I really need to elaborate on that (but I will anyway), but I can see him with an economics degree instead. He's also minoring in food science. He's actively running a cafe on campus and his family has a restaurant back home that he will likely take over, and expand, when his mother and step-father retire.

Jade also is going for a business degree, again i don't feel like i need to elaborate on that. He's studying for a biology (Mycology) Minor. His family has something going on, but no one wants to acknowledge what. Out of the two of them Jade is likely to take over the actual business side of things and if not, bothering Azul forever is an option. 

Floyd has changed his degree six times in two years, currently he's undecided. I can kinda see him going for a business/fine arts degree focused on fashion (specifically shoes). He doesn't struggle academically, but does struggle to focus and make long-term decisions. Jade and Azul are doing their best to.. encourage (?) guide (?) Him to a path he could stick to.

Scarabia:

Kalim is studying Business Management as a major and Linguistics as a minor. His family are pretty well-known merchants, and he is going to inherit that business, so equipping himself with those skills is a good decision. Even if most of the time he does find it extremely boring. 

Jamil is also majoring in Business Management, mostly because of his position with Kalim. It's not something he particularly wants, so it's really out of obligation. He's taking Food Science and Fine Arts [Dance] as minors, which he actually enjoys. 

Pomefiore:

Vil has a tight schedule both in and out of school. The degrees he's going for reflect that. He's double majoring in Marketing and Acting, and minoring in Business, Alchemy, and Cosmetology. His career as an actor is very important to him, but he knows that putting all his eggs in one basket isn't the smartest idea, thus his expanded options.

Rook is going for a Biology major, no one is shocked number two. He is also minoring in fine arts (poetry), and has an Archery scholarship that's paying for a good chunk of his tuition. He hasn't told anyone what he's going to do after graduation and most people are too afraid to ask.

Epel is majoring in Agriculture. When college is over he plans on maintaining and improving his family's farm. He currently doesn't have any minors in mind, but I can definitely see him with a fine arts (sculpture) minor.

Ignihyde:

Idia is double majoring in Engineering and computer operations. He doesn't have any minors, but dabbles in other subjects as a personal hobby. He also has an Esports scholarship, not that he needed it.

Ortho is also double majoring, but is going for cyber security and data analytics. He doesn't have any minors right now, either, and he's not officially part of any clubs or curriculars yet. He's trying to figure out his place, but also believes what ge was “made” for is all he can be.

Diasomnia:

Malleus is studying Magic theory and Application & Architecture, he also is taking magic history and world history as minors. He doesn't really need to be studying anything, so this is more of a desire to learn than anything. 

Lilia is going for Magic history and World history. He should be getting a doctorate by this point, but we're not going to talk about that. He thinks it's good to refresh and gain new knowledge every now and again. 

Silver is majoring in World History and minoring in Equine studies. Lilia has told him stories about the world as he grew up and he wants to learn more, even if he will likely spend all of his life in Briar Valley. 

Sebek is undecided as of now, but I can see him majoring in Home Economics later, as odd as it sounds. He already takes pride in what is essentially home making, believing it to be what a knight should do, so taking it to the next step would make sense for him.

Ramshackle:

As a base like for Yuu [Reader] they’re going for a photography major (unless requested otherwise) and Grim is going for Magic theory and Application. Because they count as one whole student this counts as a double major. They are required to take remedial classes, because both of them lnow fuck all about this world apparently, and additional classes that focus on familiar training and care. Grim doesn't like that.

Crowley has “gifted” them a “full ride scholarship” as long as they world as his “errand boy.” In reality this is a deal NRC has always had, if a student is chosen by the mirror and cannot pay tuition at all then they are given the option to work for the school until graduation to pay for their place. 

Royal Sword Academy 

Niege I imagine takes his job as an actor just as seriously as Vil, but in a different way. He also has been shown to be a singer in some capacity. So he's double majoring in Acting and Music theory. 

Che'nya… I don't know much about him, I don't know much about Niege either but I can at least guess with him. All I really have to go off of from Che'nya is his appearance and personality, and from that alone I think he'd be going for a Graphic Design degree with a minor in fashion design. I don't know why, but something about him makes me think he would make clothes. 

Noble Bell College 

Rollo is studying Magic Theory and Application, not because he likes it, but because he feels it'll further his goals to eradicate magic (he's a lunatic, someone punch him). He's also taking religious studies as a required course, but he's taking it seriously and made that his minor.

[allthemeniveloved]

Little Rat

Summary: Arthur Morgan saves you from an uncomfortable encounter with Micah.

-

The fire crackled low in the center of camp, casting flickering shadows against the trees surrounding Clemens Point. Most of the gang had turned in for the night, save for a few stragglers nursing drinks by the embers. You were tidying up your things near your tent, the quiet hum of the crickets offering a small sense of peace—until you heard the unmistakable drawl.

“Well, look who’s all alone in the dark,” Micah Bell said, stepping into your line of sight with that irritating smirk plastered across his face. His eyes glinted in the dim light, and you instantly felt your guard go up.

“Micah,” you said tersely, keeping your tone neutral. “What do you want?”

He feigned offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Now, that’s no way to greet someone, is it? Just tryin’ to be sociable, sweetheart. Seems like you could use the company.”

You shot him a cold glare. “I don’t need anything, least of all from you.”

Micah chuckled low, ignoring your clear discomfort as he took another step closer, his presence pressing in on you. “Now, now. Don’t be like that. I think you and me, we could get along real well if you’d just stop actin’ so high and mighty. Ain’t nobody else around, anyway. What’s the harm?”

You stepped back instinctively, your pulse quickening. “Back off, Micah,” you warned, trying to keep your voice steady.

He didn’t listen. Instead, he reached out, his hand gripping your arm as he leaned in closer. “Aw, c’mon, darlin’. Don’t be like that. I don’t bite.”

Before you could push him away, a deep voice growled from the shadows. “Touch her again, Micah, and you won’t have a hand left to use.”

Both of you turned toward the source of the voice, and there he was—Arthur Morgan, standing at the edge of the firelight. His hat was pulled low, his jaw set tight, and his hand rested casually on the butt of his pistol.

Micah straightened, sneering. “Well, if it ain’t Arthur Morgan,” he spat. “You always gotta stick your nose where it don’t belong cowpoke?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze locked on Micah with a look that could freeze the blood in your veins. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried an unmistakable weight. “Ain’t no need to explain yourself, Micah. Just walk away.”

Micah raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I was only paying her a compliment, that’s all.”

“You keep your compliments - and yourself - far away from her, or you’ll be eating the dirt under my boots. Got it?”

Micah hesitated, his eyes darting between you and Arthur. He opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur’s hand moved slightly on his pistol, and that was enough to send Micah scowling back toward his tent with a muttered curse.

Once Micah disappeared into the darkness, Arthur turned to you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You nodded, though your heart was still pounding. “I am now. Thank you.”

Arthur grunted, his hand falling away from his holster as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to get involved, but… couldn’t just stand there watchin’ him bother you like that.”

You offered a small, grateful smile. “I’m glad you did. He’s… persistent.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened again, and he glanced toward where Micah had gone. “He tries it again, you let me know,” he said, his tone sharp with barely restrained anger. “I’ll make sure he don’t forget his place.”

There was something in his gaze when he looked at you—something fierce and protective, but also hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should let you see it. You didn’t know what to say, caught off guard by how much safer you felt just standing near him.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you said again, softer this time. “I mean it.”

He looked away, his cheeks tinged red beneath his scruffy beard. “Don’t gotta thank me,” he muttered, almost embarrassed. “Just… don’t like seein’ you get hurt, is all.”

As he started to walk away, you caught yourself staring after him, wondering why your heart felt a little lighter, even after what had just happened. Arthur, on the other hand, kept his back to you, his fists clenched as he cursed himself for not saying more—for not telling you the truth about why he couldn’t stand the thought of Micah or anyone else getting too close to you.

-

a/n: I’m feeling so unbelievably productive & creative this week and the thoughts are just flowing but I just know I’m going to crash this weekend or next week and not write again for another 7 years

[frannyzooey]

Sun Drenched

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E

a/n: a little something I wrote after the premiere of the trailer — enjoy while I work on some other things! ❤️

—

Marcus’s fingers drum on the table, his eyes drifting over the wood. His gaze is unfocused, every color and fine line blending together, his mind distant from the talk of battle around the room. 

The whorls remind him of your curves, the ones he left draped in his sheets. 

The slow rise and fall of your breathing, your bare chest on display. He plays with the curve of your breast, reveling in the petal soft skin: fingertips circling your peaked nipple, his thumb skating over the plump weight. Bending to give it a kiss, the skin feels like velvet under his lips. A butterfly’s wings, delicate and achingly soft. 

Your fingers run through his curls on a soothing loop, his scruffed cheek resting over your heart. His touch dancing along the inside of your thigh, the bend of your knee, the sloped indent of your waist. 

Sated and spent, every sense satisfied. 

Touch, taste, smell, all nourished for the time being. 

You hum, and he listens, closing his eyes. 

“General Acacius?”

His name brings him back to the present, a table of men staring at him. 

“Hm?”

Some chuckle, some barely hide their impatience. 

“Looks like his mind is elsewhere.”

“Between his lover’s legs, more like.”

“Can you blame the man? He’s been away for almost a year.”

His smile is tired, but good natured. He holds his hand up, silencing their comments.  

“My apologies. Please, continue.”

They do, Marcus trying his hardest to focus on the plans they have laid before him, the training suggestions, the maps. Everything plotted, everyone with an opinion to voice. They fight across the table; old men and young.

“Do you have to go?”

He turns, thumbing at a mark you’ve left on his bare chest while riding him this morning. 

“I can’t neglect my duty to Rome,” he says, drinking deeply from a cup of wine. 

“And what about your duty to me?” you tease, pulling your naked leg out from under the sheets. Your hand drifts down along the inside of your thigh, and he stops his search for a tunic, watching. You skim it higher, and then higher still and his eyes darken when you slip it under the sheets between your legs, just out of sight. 

“I think I’ve more than satisfied that,” he replies, abandoning his search for clothing. Climbing up onto the bed to join you, he takes your ankle in his hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. His lips drift higher, his grin pressing into your leg at the giggle you let out when he tugs the sheet from your body. 

Settling heavy and warm on top of you, his mouth immediately seeks your own. 

His voice is heard above the rest in the end. Plans settled for the day, he stands from the table, rubbing at the stiffness in his lower back from years spent in the training yard, sitting in a saddle, sleeping on the ground. The men shake his hand one at a time as they file out of the room, and he follows, walking out into the courtyard. 

The sun shines down on his face, and he tilts it upwards, soaking in all he can before he’s summoned again. A council with the emperors is next, the future of Rome to be decided. More old men sitting around on their pompous asses to decide the fates of both himself, and the men that fight beside him. 

Passing the training yard, the men shout their greetings to him as he passes. He molded so many of them, took them from their cradles into manhood, taught them how to be worthy of protecting one of the greatest cities in the world.  He pauses, watching, the clang of swords melting into the background. 

You buck underneath him, your bare skin flush with his own, your hands splayed across his chest with a shove. As hard as you can, you try to budge him, and he grins above you. 

“You can do better than that, my love,” he teases. Still, he lets up a fraction and you use your weight to roll him onto his back, your thighs straddling his hips. Your breasts bounce with the movement, and his mouth waters. 

“It’s not fair,” you complain, slightly breathless, your pretty pout making him thicken underneath you. “You’re so much stronger than me.” A mischievous glint dances in your eyes. “Maybe I should wander down to the training yard. See if grappling with those men makes me any better.”

Your fingers entwine with his, and he takes advantage of your momentary distraction to let you catch your breath – and then he lunges. Sitting up with a cinch, he pins your hands behind your back and tips you backwards into the bedding, trapping your arms. You laugh and fight back, trying hard to ignore the stiff weight of his cock as it brushes between your legs. 

“Why, when you have the best one in your bed already?”

You try to dodge him, rolling to the side to see if you can escape the bed, and he snatches you back into place, his strong arm banding across your stomach. Faster than you can react, he’s pinned you face down into the sheets, and his knees force your legs open, his hand wrapping firmly around your plush hips to jerk them up. 

Breathless and hard won, he lines up and shoves himself forward, fucking his victory into you.  

Stuck longer than he would have liked in councils this afternoon, he feared they would turn into a dinner invitation. The emperors were fond of drawn out, elaborate affairs, tables of food and wine, pleasantries exchanged with the secret intents hidden beneath smiles. 

He walks with a purposeful stride and a stern expression, one he’s practiced among the years. It’s a commanding gait he hopes will deter anyone from stopping him for an idle chat. He’s had enough of Rome’s business for today. 

“General Acacius.”

A guard greets him as he passes, the man snapping into a rigid stance.

“Is she in there?” Marcus asks. 

“She hasn’t left all day, sir. Just like you asked.”

Marcus nods, rounding the corner to his private chambers. Opening the door, he’s greeted with silence. 

It’s a peaceful silence, the room drenched in the sunlight of the late afternoon, the lingering smell of the rich oil you use on your skin in the air, the curtains to his balcony billowing in the breeze. It’s there where he finds you, fast asleep on a chaise. A book open and laid flat across your chest, he admires the softness of your profile for a moment. 

Long lashes, plump lips, beautiful, soft skin – and completely naked, underneath your thin robe. 

He carefully takes a seat and you stir at the shadow that overtakes you, giving him a gentle, lazy smile in greeting. 

“You’re back.”

“Finally,” he says, lifting the book from your chest. He gives it a glance, flipping through the pages for a moment before setting it down. “Is this how you spent the day?” he teases warmly. “Lazing in the sun?”

You roll onto your side, your robe sliding open with the movement. His eyes drop to the exposed juncture between your thighs before slowly drifting upwards: the soft curve of your belly peeking through the folds of fabric, the plane of your chest awash in sunlight. Your skin looks freshly oiled and warm, and he longs to press his face against it. 

Instead, he leans in for a kiss. 

“You told me not to leave, sir.” You murmur the words against his lips, your hand slipping over the curve of his bare thigh, sliding up underneath the hem of his tunic. “So I didn’t.”

He hums, pulling back with a lick of his lips. His eyes make a hooded, dark circuit down your naked body only to slowly crawl back up. 

“Did you have a good day, my pet?”

The endearment is one that he knows you like, the implication that you exist only for his leisure and pleasure. If only you knew it was actually the other way around, that you held the leash of the world’s most feared general. 

“I did. I’d hoped you’d join me for dinner,” you smile, bringing his attention back to your face. 

“And what’s for dinner?” he asks, his voice dropping into a low, raspy tone. His hand slides up the inside of your thigh, cupping you wholly between your legs. “This?”

His fingers press against your damp curls, searching, exploring. His hold tightens, and you suck in a breath before melting into the chaise. 

“If you wish,” you sigh, letting your legs fall open. 

He does. He’s been waiting all day to settle between your plush thighs, to be wrapped in the warm embrace of your body. So much softness, after a life spent so hard. The way he stirs for you makes him feel like a young man again; it’s constant, his wanting. He shifts to his knees, the stone digging into his skin. 

The sun catches the chestnut hidden in his curls when he bends for a taste of your sweet cunt, and you brush through the soft locks, twirling them around your finger. Every lap of his tongue makes you lazy and warm with arousal, until his nicked hand splays across the inside of your thigh to open you wider – and then the heat that he’s been stoking turns into a bright flame, his tongue flicking faster and faster. 

“Marcus,” you moan, your thighs tensing around his scruffed cheeks. 

With a suck, he pushes you over the edge. And when he pulls back, another flame licks hot through you at the sight of his glistening chin. 

Status and wealth, lands and glory. Respected and feared, a place of honor in the Roman Empire. 

All of it at your feet, lapping at your cunt. 

He stands, stripping himself of his tunic, his sandals. Your own robe discarded on the ground, he kneels on the chaise and the body that he’s molded over the years both in the training yard and in battle is bare and firm, your fingers stretching out to brush through the dark hair that collects beneath his navel. His stomach is a soft curve, his cock heavy between his thighs, and you drift your touch down, wrapping your hold around it and giving it a tug. Hard and aching just for you, he groans as you explore the velvet skin, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. 

Stopping, you pull him down to join you and he lines up, pushing himself inside. 

He fucks like he’ll never be able to stop. 

Like he didn’t know if he’d ever have the chance again. 

Like every push inside is a claim, like every kiss is a mark he’s branding on your skin. 

The silver at his temples and that dusts the corners of his jaw are indicators of his age, and he fucks with the same experience it would imply. 

He fucks like he fights; ruthless and hard. With his hand wrapped around the curve of your shoulder, to keep you underneath him. With your leg hitched high over his hip to force himself deeper.

He’s insatiable; your cunt sore, and yet begging for more. 

Sweat slicks across his back, the sun of the fading day beating down upon it. He sits back on his heels, and brings you with him, and then you’re both drenched in the light. Your arms wound tight around his broad shoulders, his arms keeping you in place on his lap. 

His mouth lingers against your own, labored breathing passed between the two of you and he fucks until you cry out his name into the sky, your own on his lips shortly after. 

Then he lays with you, entwined, until dusk dims the sky. 

The warm breeze skims across your flushed skin, and he stands, walking back into his room. 

Admiring his bare ass and strong back, you watch him call to a guard for dinner – and then close your eyes, stretching with content.

[jaime-has-shifted]

Omg omg ok: I‘m not gonna say his name cause for some reason that feels too personal but I LOVE HIMMMM. He has curly hair and dark eyes and he is a bit taller than me and he looks kinda intimidating but he so isn’t. He‘s actually the sweetest like he has such a beautiful soul. And he’s really funny but in an awkward sort of way and it’s so cute everytime he makes one of his dumb joke even if it wasnt funny I still giggle like crazy BECAUSE HE IS SO SWEET. He really listens to what I have to say, and thats hard to do sometimes since I‘m a yapper first and foremost, like one time before we dated I was showing him my perfume collection and was going through one of the discovery sets I have and while talking about every scent I held one up that has a very strong natural watermelon scent as a top note and I said something along the lines of ‚this smells like a summer romance, like imagine you’re single and at a beach bar and this guy offers you a drink.. I wouldn’t say no.. i think id say yes, enthusiastically“ next day he shows up smelling like that perfume… i mean i didnt mind the cologne he used before that but that was just.. so cute, like babe i literally traveled the multiverse for our, you dont need to try to impress me.

Our relationship is the literal embodiment of: „you‘re a part time lover and a full time friend“

If I‘d have to describe his vibe: he is the Color of sand at a beach when the evening sun hits, he’s like walking through an aquarium just to see the jellyfish, a wildflower field on a foggy spring morning, the nostalgia of playing an old video game and it still hitting the same way it used to, fresh cold orange juice on a hot day, the way blue and orange look together,,, he’s just sugar spice and everything nice tbh

I need someone to yap about their s/o

[signedaiko]

Can I please request some romantic and fluff headcanons of TFP Knockout comforting a human reader who has Schizoaffective disorder or something along those lines?

Knockout X Reader [Prime]

In which Knockout's human companion has Schizoaffective disorder.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Human | Decepticon.

You're his first genuine human experience, so unless you tell him straightforwardly, he would assume anything you do is the baseline for human behavior.

Of course, he does a great deal of research on you, especially medical, because if anything happens to you, it'd fall on him.

Or he'd have to get you in and out of a hospital without the Autobots or his own boss intervening, which was far more troublesome than doing it himself

That is when he learns the bulk of your symptoms and what behaviors are caused by your diagnosis

Knockouts working for a warlord after millions of years of war, a human with a few unexpected kinks isn't going to be of much concern for him, personally

He will do whatever he can to get you some kind of medication to help you, should you let him, because he is truthfully worried that his presence won't be able to help you as much as you deserve

The diva attitude he has is a great mix for you, though!

Feeling a bit manic? He will outdo you; he'll reverse engineer your own motives to work in your favor!

More depressed than usual? Nothing a little joyride won't help when he starts revving that engine and getting the blood racing to your head

The adrenaline alone is enough to give you a fix, so at the very least you can get something done or focus on something else

Psychosis starting to act up? Actually, that's the one thing he struggles with

His audio receptors are very sensitive, so he can help with auditory hallucinations

But any other varieties?

What is that, my beloved? You saw something down the hall? Lock the door; I'm scared too

Paranoid? Suddenly he is too

Silent for hours without so much as a hum? He thinks you're giving him the silent treatment, and he's giving it back in a sassy kind of way

Overall, he isn't the best at diminishing all your symptoms, but the medic hopes he makes them a little less troublesome to live with

Author's Note - Written by someone who does not have Schizoaffective disorder! I am studying psychopathology, though, so this was pretty convenient with my DSM 5 next to me.

I hope this is what you were looking for, and that it was at least somewhat accurate!

[robbyykeene]

also shannon keene........

Not sure what exactly you were referring to with this anon but I’ll take this as an opportunity to go on a rant about Shannon and her place in this story because man, I have so many feelings about her. They introduce us to her as a deeply flawed mother, an addict who abandons her son for long periods of time without any means to care for himself, who parades strings of sleazy men through the house where her child sleeps, who lets her son drop out of school and turn to a life a crime just to pay the bills. And I’m not absolving her of her responsibility for these things. But when she was introduced in this show, to me more than anything else this all felt like a condemnation of Johnny’s absence. Like, look at what happened to Shannon. Look at how Robby was forced to grow up. How different things could have been if Johnny had been there, for either of them, at all.

But then season 5 comes along and we have Shannon apologize to Johnny. He says he’s sorry for not being there and Shannon brushes him off, says she’s sorry too, they were both young and dumb and didn’t know any better. Except Johnny was 35 years old when Robby was born, and Shannon was what…19? 20? 23 at the very oldest. And she didn’t get to be young and dumb. She didn’t have the choice to walk away, to just not be there at all.

And I think all the time about that line Robby says to Tory, how his mom used to be a dancer. Like, when do we think Shannon stopped dancing? When she met Johnny? When she got pregnant? When she gave birth? When Robby was a kid? Was she an addict before Johnny came into her life, or did that only come after? Did Johnny know from the outset what kind of person he was abandoning his son with, or was it something he discovered over the years and just did nothing about? When did she start engaging in survival sex—because that’s what that was—to pay the bills?

And even more than that—what was their relationship like to begin with? Was it a one night stand? A casual on and off hookup? A serious relationship? How did they meet? When she found out she was pregnant, what was Johnny’s reaction? What was hers? Did she want an abortion, and Johnny convinced her not to? Did he want an abortion, and Shannon refused? Was it too late for that by the time she found out? Did Johnny promise to be there, to be involved? Did Shannon think she was giving birth to a kid who would have two loving parents, or did she already know he was doomed from the minute she saw the positive test? How did she feel about all of it?

And ultimately none of these questions will be answered or even matter, because it’s not her story it’s Johnny’s. And I guess that was always the point. She was an object to him then, an object to him now, and nothing but an object to the narrative. But still. I think about her.

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #210

1. hi there! hope you're doing well:) I was hoping you could please help me find a fic that was posted definitely before s2 and possibly before s1. I think the premise had something to do with Adam Young meeting Eve; I remember reading the very beginning where he had a dream about her. Sorry if that's not enough to go on. Thanks for your time & have a lovely day/night🧡 - @garnetcapricorn

2. Hello! This may seem an odd request but there's a specific fic I can't find and I remember some lines: "that damned hand on his back" "He focused on worshipping the angel in front of him" or something similar. The summary had an excerpt from the fic, and the line "What if Aziraphale kissed back?" It was written within a few months of s2 being released I think. Im fairly certain it was rated g, but I'm not quite sure. I understand if you can't help, (it's a weird, specific request) I just thought I'd ask, but thank you anyway! - @ineffable-ezra

3. Hi! I'm looking for a fic I read on AO3 where Anathema and Aziraphale were main characters and Newt was Anathema's cat. I can't seem to find it no matter what search terms I use. (I have AO3 history turned off unfortunately.) Can you help? - @acorn-squash-writes

4. Helo!! Thank you for everything you mods do, you're amazing! Looking for a lost fic. Human AU, I unfortunately can't remember any details except the reason Crowley didn't eat much was because he was vegan. Not a big part of the plot, but it was a great read and looking to reread it. Thank you!! - @kaelia

5. hello everyone :) thank you so much for all the work you do finding all these fics. I have scoured all of the tags and on AO3, but can't seem to find this fic unfortunately. I remember that Aziraphale, possibly going by Ezra, moves to this small town. Crowley is out in his yard (I think lounging on a chair?) and aziraphale is like 😍 lol. I believe Crowley helps Azi with his plants. the summary was in italics and said something along the lines of "he didn't mean to fall, ..." something like that, potentially something about them kissing?? thanks again for your help :) - @19daysofmd

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Hello! So sorry to bother, but i have another ask, as this is a concept i have been thinking about for a while and i wanna see what others think about it!

How do you think Killer would act if Dream Sans instead of Nightmare took him in? Would Killer act the same or would he be different? How would his and Dream’s dynamic be like?

Hope ur having an awesome day/night! 🩵

I think I answered something like these lines here, but if you mean if Dream had found and taken Killer in long before Nightmare did, i think Dream would’ve just taken him to the Omega Timeline and found him somewhere to stay and that would be that. Which means without adequate support, Killer would probably kill himself, let himself die, and/or kill others.

It’s more complicated than that, but Dream doesn’t have the means to ensure that Killer stays alive or attend to him personally—he has a purpose too, and very important one, a war to fight. A balance to protect. A brother to stop or save.

His world doesn’t change because Killer entered it, and i believe he’d often struggle to juggle his “work” and Killer—both of which require extensive time, attention, and care.

Killer may have more opportunity to rehabilitate and heal, especially if he never met Nightmare, but I don’t see Dream and him getting close in this scenario unless Dream is willing to take the risk of allowing a programmed killer to join him in his fight of protecting the balance, on the chance that Killer could resist or “be good.”

Assuming Killer doesn’t just assume Dream is trying to push his beliefs on him and change him, or is holding him captive and intending to use and control him.

In which case, could trigger him into Stage 2 where he’d pretend to agree with and go along with Dream, either because he thinks that’s the only way Dream would stay (and he thinks he needs Dream around for whatever reason) or because he’s going to take the first opportunity to escape.