#i will say: the only reason i decided to go for it was bc sugar bby au is getting just as massive

[jackwolfes]

how are you feeling now that the first chapter of AM AU is out?

terrified excited and impatient 😂 i'm really nervous folks won’t like it, i’m SO keen to finally get to talk to people about this idea that's been building in my head for so long, and i'm so!!! desperate to just get to all the good bits so i can see how people take it

[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

invisible string - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x kook!sweetheart!reader word count: 6k chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. 

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. 

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out. 

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch. 

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

��You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[rodolfoparras]

Ough old man price with a probelmatically young s/o who lowkey is obsessed with him. Like, reader literally brightens up at the sight of Price and has probably left in the middle of multiple conversations just to hang out with him.

Like maybe reader is also easy to get jealous and needs price to comfort them and it delves into soft smut as Price rides reader to prove that no one else can get him hard like reader can 😳😳

(can i be 🖼 anon?)

Hello sugar of course you can be 🖼️ anon🫶🏻 and I really really really liked this idea and not bc I have daddy issues or anything also I love doing these spitballs bc I will write them in one short sitting and I never know the direction they’ll take so this is Price and troublemaker reader before they got together

Thinking about Price being known as the captain to pick up strays, always willing to give everyone a second chance, even those that have been deemed the worst, someone very much like you.

No one really knows the reasons as to why you’ve been kicked out of so many squads, all Price knows is that he isn’t having any of it.

He sees potential in you, knows you can make a great soldier, wants you to prove yourself to him and of course you do so. You went from being called the soldier that always get kicked out to being called Price’s boy. However off the field you are an absolute menace, riling everyone up on base til they’re hot on your heal lunging for your neck while you’re doing your best to escape them.

Price had heard some whispers here and there but not thinking they were anything serious he choose to brush them off especially when he couldn’t see any trace of that behavior when he was around. However he’s in for a harsh wake up call when you stir the pot so much he’s called in for an emergency disciplinary meeting, with you sitting next to him looking like a kicked puppy, and as soon as you’re out of the room, you’re hot on his heels apologizing, and promising to never cause such mess again but he won’t speak to you. This goes on for days where Price won’t speak to you, and only giving you looks of disapproval when you try to approach him.

It eats and eats and eats at you until you no longer can take it and decide to speak to 141 about it, trying to find a way to apologize to him. Even though they give you greats tips and tricks on how to soften the harsh exterior he’s put up, bottom line is that you have to learn from the mess you’ve made.

The words sit like a rock in your shoe especially when Price starts spending more time with the new recruit. Sure it is to mentor him, he is new after all but you can almost visibly see yourself being replaced.

“Price’s boy is being replaced” a soldier jokingly says while patting you on the back.

In an attempt to drown your sorrows you drive to the nearest pub on base, only to drink yourself halfway to death and having to rely on the older man drive you back to base. He’s absolutely furious behind the wheel, brows pinched together and spit flying from the harsh words he’s speaking. “Are you out of your mind, boy?? What were you thinking, getting drunk and acting this way?!”

It’s then the floodgates finally open and you find yourself sobbing in the passenger seat telling him how you’re so sorry for acting this way, for embarrassing him like this, to please not be mad at you, to please not replace you with the new recruit.

And Price is taken by surprise quickly stopping the car to the side and gently grabbing you by the shoulder tone ever so soft as he tries to calm you down.

“Hey hey easy easy” he says as he caresses your cheek “deep breathes there we go, good boy” he says still caressing your face “better?” He asks and you just nod your head sobs reduced into sniffles “good let’s take you home yeah?” He says giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze and once again you nod, unable to actually muster up words to respond to him.

He quickly drives you back to base, coaxes you into taking a shower that manages to sober you up and brings you a small snack before he sits down next to you on bed.

“Earlier,” he says swallowing roughly, “you said something about replacing you? What did you mean by that?”

You just shrug in response, feeling too embarrassed to share your thoughts.

“Speak, boy” he says and just the use of the word, the one you haven’t heard him use in so long has you singing like a bird for him “I guess, I guess I just thought you’d kick me out, that you finally had enough of my shit and-“

“That I’d replace you with someone else?” He says, meeting your gaze beneath long black lashes.

You just nod your head before you look away.

“Hey, talk to me, why did you think I was replacing you with the new recruit?”

“Because you wouldn’t patrol with me anymore, you asked soap if he could sparr with me instead and..” you continue stating reasons while flailing your arms in the air, feeling sadness bubbling up in your gut once again along with the alcohol you stomached in one day.

“Sounds like you were jealous” he says in a playful tone, trying to ease the mood while chuckling at his own comment.

However you don’t laugh along with him swallowing nervously while glancing back at him.

“You were jealous?” He says again, voice now low and sounding much more serious.

“Maybe” you croak out and shrug your shoulders watching his eyes widen in surprise before his gaze flicks between your eyes and lips.

Spitball w/ me?

[thebearer]

no but i love your writing! ever since i watched s1 and 2 last weekend because of a youtube ad, i peaked in the carmy tag and was a surprised to see the amount of stories carmy had! would love a scenario where he’s married to a sassy, take no shit type of reader sim to natalie. his wife legit could work with him for all i care. but for whatever reason he does something w/o checking in— he prolly just forgot. she finds out and confronts him hella pissed (could be at family or during restaurant prep idc) and she says “oh, if carmen said it was cool.” not even carmy the full government name bro 😭. p much how natalie articulated it 🤣. can’t remember the ep but in early season 1 when marcus blew the fuse you can also include slick commentary from richie (and fak) if you’d like! tysm in advance 🥰. also if you don’t me me asking, do you have name/alias on this blog? what we can call you? enjoy your week

- 🥣

yes yes yes ahhhhh! he definitely needs someone who keeps him in line but walks that fine line where he can also keep them in line (bc dom!carmy is living in my heart rent free forever lol). also you can call me e if you'd like :) thank you for your sweet words! i hope you have a good week, and hope you enjoy this!

"What's this?" You ask Sydney, looking at the new box being unloaded from the truck- big and bulky in a crate, far too large to be a produce shipment.

"Uh, I think it's the new glassware for the bar." Sydney looked at her clipboard, back at you carefully.

"Glassware? What new glassware. We haven't picked that out yet." You frowned, looking at the crate carefully.

"Oh, well, it was in Carmen's notes for the day, so... I think that's the only shipment we have. Unless the hostess stand came early, which would be amazing, but you-" Sydney stopped her ramblings, seeing your soured expression. "You know what? Never mind, uh, ignore me. I'm just...Carmen's with Sugar and Richie in the back if you want to ask him."

"Thanks, Syd." You muttered, ripping the bell open with a shrill before bounding towards the back. You could hear them before you saw them, a familiar chorus of chatter and rising voices.

"Hey, so what's the delivery out front?" You ask, not bothering to wait for them to acknowledge you. If you did, you'd never talk, they all talked over each other.

"The new glasses for the bars." Sugar turned, smiling softly at you. "How are you doing?"

"Good." You muttered, eyes cutting to Carmen. "We haven't ordered new glasses yet."

"Uh, well, I thought you liked the ones from last week, angel." Carmen's eyes were bulged, clearly flustered.

"I said I liked them for basics, but I needed you to confirm a drink menu." You glared at him, arms crossing over his chest.

"You can't put the drinks in that?" Carmen asked, hand flying out towards the hall.

"Not if you want the specialty, no." You huffed. "Carmen, I told you to wait just a few days and we could get them at the wholesale market. The textured ones for the signature at least."

"Uh-oh," Richie muttered, snickering to Fak.

"Can you not use the glasses I got?" Carmen sighed.

"I can, but did you get enough? And did we decide if the signature is going in a whiskey glass or a cylinder one? Did you order double of those?" You lifted a brow, taking a step towards him. Richie and Nat watched, heads turning from you and Carmen like a tennis match.

Carmen paused, running a hand down his face. "N-No, but-"

"-So what are you going to do when we open and you run out of drinks, huh? When everyone orders the signature and it comes in different glasses? You think those travel groupie influencers won't notice? Won't post about it and make it a big fucking deal?" You countered.

"Then we'll figure it out!" Carmen huffed. "Look I gave the order to Richie, and-"

"-Hey, no fuckin' way cousin. You gave me your order." Richie held his hand up. "Sweetheart, Carmy said it was good so I just placed the order."

"Well, if Carmen said it was good, then it must be, right? He's the fucking boss." You snarl, glaring at Carmen furiously. "Seems like you've got it under control, Carm, so I'll leave it to you." You turn on your heel, furiously stomping away.

Richie and Fak wait until they hear the slam of the office door, to release their cackles. "Oooh! Cousin, you are in the fuckin' dog house now." Richie laughed, Fak's chorus of barks emphasizing his statement.

"Shut up, ok? Just shut the fuck up." Carmen growled, running a hand through his hair.

"Carmy, why wouldn't you ask her before you ordered? She's your mixologist." Nat sighed, shoulders heavy with disappointment.

"Also your girlfriend." Sydney added, poking her head in. "I told you to wait. Just saying."

"Thank you, alright, thank you all for your fuckin' helpful words." Carmen snapped. "Just... Nat, make sure they get all that shit set up right, ok? Make sure the dishwasher fucking works before we're open, please."

The office door was shut, and Carmen hesitated, reaching for the knob anxiously. He wasn't sure if he should knock- I mean, fuck, this is his office but... you were already so mad at him. Knuckles rapping on the door, he didn't wait for the invite in- knowing he'd never get one.

Carmen found you, sniffling in a furious pout in the corner, body angled away from the door. "Baby-" Carmen started with a sigh, shoulders falling gently at your upset state.

"-Don't." You snap, wiping your eyes. "Don't even start with me, Carmen." The way you say his full name sounds so bitter, too formal and full of malice to be from you.

"I-I'm sorry. I thought we agreed on it, and-and Richie was pressuring me and... And you're right. I shouldn't have made that decision without you, and I'm sorry." Carmen said slowly, waiting for your gaze to meet his, angry, wet, waterline.

"Yeah, you shouldn't have." You agreed bitterly, wiping your eyes. "I get this is your restaurant, Carmen, but don't ask for my help if you're just gonna do what you want anyways. That's-That's not nice."

"I know." Carmen nodded slowly, approaching you with the caution he would a wild animal. "I want your help. I do, and-and I like your idea that the house drink goes in the special glass. Makes it stand out."

You lifted your gaze up to his. "Yeah?" You asked, he nodded, sitting next to you. "Did you blow your budget?"

"No," Carmen shook his head, not a total lie. Fak had been able pull some strings with the new stoves, turns out he did have a guy. It left a little over five thousand left over.

"We could go to that place, if you want to. Go look and see if they have the glasses. Get a rough estimate of about how many we'd need." Carmen offered, his hand cupping your thigh gently, thumb rubbing over your leg in soothing circles.

"As long as Sydney or Nat does the numbers and not you." You snorted lightly, rolling your eyes at him.

He laughed, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I'll get Sugar to run 'em, alright? Then we can go. Call it an early night."

You beamed at the idea, letting him slide in next to you, melting into your side. "That sounds good." You hummed, letting your head fall on his shoulder.

"I-I'm real sorry I didn't as you ." Carmen muttered. "That was shitty."

"Yeah." You sighed in agreement. "I just... I want to be included in things." You asked, looking up at him sweetly. "Not everything, but-but at least the things that apply to my area."

"I know." Carmen nodded, his hand catching your cheek softly. "I'll let you handle it next time, alright? I trust your opinion."

"You don't have to do that-"

"-No, you're right, I don't. But-But I want to." Carmen nodded. "I know you're lookin' out for the best in this place just like I am."

[wavypotatochips]

and for the mbappe recognition, can I request kylian's brother ethan feeling upset bc of how media pressures him to be like his older brother but he doesn't want to worry his family so he keeps it a secret, for some reason he feels like he can open up to kylian's gf and she gives him a pep talk saying he's gonna make his own legacy and accidentally kylian overhears it and feels so happy his little brother trusts her and how nice she is to him that he falls in love with her even more. u can give it ur own spin, this is just an idea, thank u in advance 💓

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐛𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: Kylian Mbappe x Female Reader

Word Count : 1.5k

𝘈𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦: SLAAAAAY MORE MBAPPE RECOGNITION!!! Of course I don't mind writing about anyone, but more Neymar and Mbappe please c; teehee Thank you so much for requesting!! I Hope you like how I represent your idea ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚!!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ REQUESTS ARE OPEN, currently covered in college work so as of now uploads will mainly be on weekends. Thank you for your patience c’: ♥

Kylian asked you earlier in the day if you would mind picking up his younger brother from futebal practice because he wouldn't be able to, and of course you didn't mind. When it was time to pick him up from futebal practice, you did so and brought him home. Considering how much Ethan loved to stay to himself, you did not give his abnormally quiet conduct much attention, but you could still sense something was off. Ethan is currently in the living room scrolling through his phone as you are currently preparing dinner.

Ethan fiddles with his hair as he lets out another sigh seeing a sports channel talk about his performances and comparing him to his brother once more. Ethan is proud of his brother and will always be his number 1 supporter, but he hates how he always gets compared to Kylian. He especially hates when grown men on the sports channel talk about how he isn't good and he would never be like his brother. He tries his hardest to ignore the harsh criticism, but when you constantly hear about it- it tends to build up until you cannot take it anymore. This has been going on for a while now, and the one time he tried to talk to one of his teammates who he considered a best friend, he told him to just ‘try and brush it off’ as the media will always be negative. Well, he tried to listen to his best friend but as a 16 year old, it's not surprising that it can not simply be ignored when it feels as if the public only likes you because they think they have the potential to see your brother. He felt as if when people look at him, all they think about is Kylian Mbappe, not Ethan Mbappe. He begins to contemplate if he should talk to you or not because he does not want to worry you, but he knew you were someone he could rely on. You and his brother have been dating for 3 years now, and anytime there was a minor convince- you always helped him no matter what. He shuts off his phone, deciding it is best to talk to you and begins to make his way into the kitchen.

You were preparing dinner as he was debating what to do. You put on some music and begin to prep your ingredients, carefully chopping and measuring everything. The kitchen smells amazing as you sauté garlic and onions in olive oil, adding in diced tomatoes and a sprinkle of spices.

Next, you start on the main course. You're making grilled chicken marinated in a savory mixture of soy sauce, honey, and ginger. You pat the chicken dry and place it on the grill, watching as it sizzles and cooks to perfection. While the chicken is cooking, you start on the side dish. You're making roasted sweet potatoes with a hint of cinnamon and brown sugar. You slice the sweet potatoes into thin rounds, toss them in a mixture of spices and oil, and place them in the oven to bake.

You can hear Ethan's footsteps when he enters the kitchen, indicating that the music was not played at an excessive volume. "It smells nice," he says as he takes a seat on the bar stool. You smile hearing his compliment, "I'm making chicken and roasted potatoes with asparagus for us!  Although your brother is supposed to arrive home later than expected, I don't think we should go hungry until then, am I right?," you chuckle. He scratches the side of his head and nods in agreement before saying, "Hey ummm... Can we talk for a moment, Y/N.... ,"  he murmurs the final phrase, "There's been something that just has been bothering me." 

 "Of course," you say, sensing that he wants to open up to you about something personal. 

 "It's just that...I feel like I'm always being compared to Kylian, you know? Everyone's always asking me if I'm going to be as good as him or just the media constantly nagging my every move. If I mess up just once I just get so much hate, and it's like...I don't know if I can live up to that."

 You nod sympathetically. "I can imagine that's a lot of pressure. But you don't have to be Kylian, you know? You can be your own player." 

"But that's the thing," Ethan says, looking frustrated. "I want to be my own player, but it feels like everyone's always talking about how I compare to him. Even I do it to myself sometimes."

 "Well, you're not alone," you say, trying to reassure him. "Lots of people compare themselves to others, but it's not always a helpful way to think. You're talented in your own right, and you don't have to measure up to anyone else's standards.” 

Ethan seems to relax a little, nodding along. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But it's hard not to think about it when it's all people ever talk about."

"I get that," you say as you walk over to grab two plates from the counter. "But you should focus on your own progress and improvement, not what other people think or say.  And even though you're young, you have such a huge opportunity to keep on learning and growing as a player. You have so much potential and you're constantly improving."

"But I keep making mistakes," he says with a sigh as he watches you beginning to prep the plates.

"Mistakes are a part of learning.You're going to make mistakes, but that doesn't mean you're not good enough. It means you're growing and learning. You have so much potential, and I believe in you. Just keep practicing, keep pushing yourself, and don't worry about what anyone else thinks or says. You're doing great." You speak while you put food on both plates, along with a fork and a knife, on each plate. 

 He stays quiet for a moment as he takes in the words that you tell him. A small smile appears on his face, seeming to feel a little better. "Thanks. I guess I just need to work harder."

You take both plates and set them both on the kitchen island, moving one over to Ethan as you explain, "You don't need to work harder, you just need to believe in yourself."

"And if you're really upset about it, you can always talk to Kylian about it," you say as you start chopping the roasted chicken into smaller pieces. " We both know how unfavorable the media can be toward him, and I am not a futebol star like you, so my advice may not be the greatest."

Ethan looks thoughtful. "Yeah, I guess I could talk to him about it. Thanks for listening, though. I feel like I can trust you.” He takes a bite of the asparagus.

 "Of course I'm always here if you need to talk! And even though I'm not the best futebol player, if you ever need someone to talk to or to practice with, I'm here for you. I mean who knows, maybe I'll just cross you up." You both laugh, knowing that you could definitely not do that.

When you two were eating the delicious supper you had prepared, neither of you realized that Kylian had arrived home earlier than intended and had heard all you said.

Kylian quietly opens the front door of his house and makes his way to the kitchen. As he approaches, he can hear the sound of your voice, and his younger brother's voice responding. Curiosity piqued, he peeks around the corner and sees you sitting with his brother, giving him some advice and offering some kind words. He doesn't want to interrupt, so he decides to listen in. As he hears you speak, he can't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for you. You have always been a kind and caring person, but to see you taking the time to give his brother such motivational words is truly inspiring. Kylian takes a step back and leans against the wall, listening in to the conversation. He hears you tell his brother that he's capable of anything he sets his mind to, that he has so much potential, and that he doesn't need to compare himself to anyone else. Kylian can see the look of appreciation on his brother's face, and he can feel his own love for you grow even stronger. He thinks about how lucky he is to have you in his life, and how grateful he is for all the times you have encouraged him and supported him. He thinks about how you have always been there for him, through thick and thin, and how you always believed in him even when he didn't believe in himself.

In that moment, Kylian knows that he's found someone truly special, someone who brings out the best in him and in those around her. He knows that he'll always be grateful for your love and support, and he can't wait to see where your journey together will take you two.

[7-wonders]

The Mixup

Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x Reader

Summary: Matthew goes sticking his beak in places it shouldn't be, and finds what he believes to be some shocking news.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This is a complete and utter crack fic, fight me about it. Based on this post I made. Matthew died right before the pandemic in this, bc it's my fic and I decide the rules :)

As Dream of the Endless’s Official Raven™, Matthew had developed a special set of skills to help him complete the tasks that only he could successfully accomplish. One of these skills, and arguably the most useful one, was the ability to gather evidence from the smallest of clues. He was like the most diligent of spies, and he took his job extremely seriously; James Bond had nothing on him.

Part of being the greatest corvid detective a number of realms had ever seen meant that it was sometimes difficult to turn his investigation mode on and off. After all, he was expected to be at Dream’s beck and call at the moment that he was needed, which could come at any time or any place. What if there was another John Dee-type emergency and he wasn’t on his a-game? That wasn’t an experience that Matthew was willing to repeat, so he was always on the lookout for any potential situation that might require his expertise.

Today, he had just finished an errand tracking a couple of newer dreams as they learned how to walk through dreams. It had been pretty successful, and since he was already out and about, Matthew decided that he would go and drop in to say hi to you. This was solely out of the goodness of his heart and the desire to see a friend, and most definitely not because you kept your kitchen stocked with sour gummy worms and raspberries just for him.

When Matthew arrived at your home, though, swooping in through the window you kept cracked open just enough for a smarter-than-the-average raven to crawl through, you’re nowhere to be found. Not in your kitchen (which is the first place he checks, for obvious reasons), not in your living room, and not in your bedroom. That’s odd. Normally, you’re home at this time and on this day.

After grabbing a second, third, and fourth helping of some very delicious snacks, Matthew remembers that he hasn’t checked your bathroom yet. Though you’re probably not in there, it won’t hurt to check; maybe you’re taking a shower or something?

The lights are on in the bathroom, but as it is everywhere else, nobody’s home. Frustrating, because Matthew had his mind set on coming to say hi to you, and he hates not fully accomplishing his goals. Oh well, that’s just how things go sometimes. Matthew takes a perch on the counter, deciding that while he’s here, he should preen his feathers of the sugar crystals and raspberry juice that his snacking has left on him. When he turns his head to try and smooth a feather near his wing, he sees it.

Two small, boxy tests, each with two lines on them.

While it had been a few years since Matthew had been a human, he very much remembered the basics of a pregnancy test. And those? Pregnancy tests.

His surprised squawk sends him falling off the counter, and he has to furiously flap his wings in order to not land on the floor. When he gets his feathers under him, he takes a second look at the tests, just to make sure that his beady eyes don’t deceive him. They don’t, because he definitely sees two tests, with two dark lines on each of them. Positive.

As Matthew retreats to the Dreaming, he finds himself a little mad. He can’t believe that Dream’s managed to hide this from him! He really thought they were closer than that, or at the very least, that they had a good-enough working relationship where something as life-changing as a pregnancy would be shared as good news.

It really be your own boss sometimes.

Said boss is sitting on the steps leading up to his throne, surrounded by books and stray scraps of paper. It’s been one of his missions, as of late, to read up on popular literature that he missed during his captivity for ideas for new dreams and nightmares. When hearing about this, you had told Dream that if he was looking for nightmare inspiration, all he had to do was watch the news for an afternoon—something that he was less than amused by, even though you were being completely honest.

Matthew landed on the step next to Dream’s leg, affectionately nipping at the outside of his thigh until he looks down with one of his barely-there smiles. 

“How did our new dreams do?” he asks.

“They did good! Got lost a couple of times, which you expected, but after they got the hang of it, it was smooth-sailing from there.” 

Dream nods before going back to the paragraph he was reading, proud of his creations, though Matthew keeps watching him closely for any sign of…something. A glow, a happiness, something that expecting fathers hiding the news from their beloved ravens would carry. Matthew can’t let this stand, and so he attempts to bait Dream into telling him.

“I haven’t seen Y/n around lately,” Matthew begins.

“We have both had our own various tasks keeping us away from each other the past couple of days. I have felt her presence in the Dreaming each night, though, and she knows that she may call for me if she had need of me.”

Hmm, a painfully normal answer. Not what Matthew was hoping for. “Awesome! Yeah, awesome.”

“Matthew,” Dream calls impatiently.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you choose this topic of conversation?”

“Well, I just, y’know…stopped in to say hi earlier. She wasn’t home, but.” Matthew’s not a good talker, and he needs to just rip the bandage off. “When were you gonna tell your old pal Matthew that you two were expecting?”

Dream looks at Matthew again. “Expecting?”

“Yeah.”

A moment. “Expecting what?”

“Uh, a baby?” Matthew wants to add “duh” under his breath, but he restrains himself.

Dream’s fingers, which had been slowly and methodically tapping on the book he was reading, froze. No, that was wrong. Dream, in his entirety, froze. Literally, it was like someone had hit ‘pause’ on a remote. Though Dream didn’t need to, when in his human form, he found himself in the habit of doing human functions like blinking and breathing. Seeing them stop so suddenly is extremely jarring for Matthew, and he’s a little worried that he’s going to have to try and rouse the King of All Night’s Dreaming from a stupor by throwing water on him or something.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to when Dream asks, slowly and as though the air has been punched out of him, “A baby?” Matthew was hoping he’d get more than just a repetition of his own words, but he’ll take it.

“I mean, if the positive pregnancy tests were anything to go by, then yes.” Matthew now feels like the biggest jerk in the world. He had thought that Dream was keeping a secret from him, not that you were keeping a secret from Dream! “I’m sorry, I thought you already knew.”

“No, I knew of no such…development.” 

Uh oh.

“Oh! Well, then I guess she just found out! Heh. Congratulations?” Matthew’s working desperately to try and spin this, even as Dream stands up so unsteadily that Matthew worries he might pass out. “Maybe she’s figuring out a fun way to tell you the news.”

Dream nods, but his mind is already in the Waking as he tries to digest what he’s just been told. “Matthew, please inform Lucienne that I will be in the Waking.”

“I can do that! Do you know how long you’re gonna be there, or–” Matthew’s cut off by Dream disappearing in a swirl of sand. When it’s just him in the throne room, a frantic Dream Lord long since gone, Matthew sighs. “Shit.”

•••

The lights in your bedroom are off in order to combat the pressure in your head, the only source of light coming from the random show that you’ve seen fifty times, turned on so that you can have some sort of background noise. You’re only half paying attention as you scroll through your phone, having just woken from a nap and trying to fully wake up so that you can drag yourself to a shower before you try to go to bed.

You’d like to say that this is why you throw your phone in fright when Morpheus suddenly appears in your bedroom, but the reality is that you’d have been just as caught off-guard if you were completely aware and knew that he was coming.

“Hi!” you greet with a smile, pushing yourself to sit up in bed. “What are you doing here?”

He looks off when he makes eye contact with you, but you can’t tell if he’s actually distressed or if it’s just his normal brand of weirdness. When he runs a hand through his hair, that’s when you realize that he’s actually distressed. Morpheus almost never does any sort of human mannerisms, especially something as visibly anxious as mussing up his own hair.

Finally, he remembers to answer your question. When he does, though, you’re absolutely not expecting him to say, “Why did you not tell me that you are with child?”

“What?”

Morpheus takes a seat next to you on your bed and grabs your hands in his. You just hope he doesn’t realize how clammy they are. “If you were…scared of how I would react, then I must sincerely apologize. Though we have never discussed this topic, you must know that I would be happy and support you in whatever you decide.”

“I mean, that’s great and all, but…” you squeeze his hands, which are as cold as they usually are. “Morpheus, I’m not pregnant.”

He blinks. “You’re not?”

You shake your head slowly, wary of the double vision you’ve been experiencing when you move too fast. “No. One-hundred-percent not pregnant, sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh.” The relief on his face is so palpable that it almost makes you laugh.

“How did you come to the conclusion that I was?”

“When Matthew came by earlier to visit you, he saw what he said were…” he thinks for a moment, “‘pregnancy tests’ on your counter.”

You huff. “Matthew needs to mind his own business. They were covid tests, and that’s probably why I wasn’t here when he was. I scheduled a pickup order at the pharmacy so that I could get meds and other ‘sick person’ stuff before I got too sick.”

“Covid?”

“Coronavirus. It’s the pandemic, people have definitely dreamt of it before.” His gaze goes foggy for a moment, and you can tell that he’s drawing on the knowledge of the Dreaming in order to learn everything about covid in the span of a second. When he comes back to you, he nods.

“Yes, they have.” Then, he gets panicked again. “You are ill, then?”

“Unfortunately. It’ll be okay, though. Just have to rest and hydrate for a few days.” You cough, your body deciding to punctuate your point about being sick and needing rest.

“Is there anything that I may do to help you in your recovery?”

“Yeah, you can call your little sidekick so I can yell at him for going through my stuff.” You won’t actually yell at him, because you’re not actually mad. Still, it’ll be funny to see how he reacts to the knowledge, and you can’t miss out on getting to be the one to tell him how wrong he is.

Morpheus holds his coat open to reveal the starry lining within. Through some link that you haven’t quite been able to figure out yet, Matthew flies out of the galaxies and into your room seconds later. He settles himself on your nightstand, looking about as visibly awkward as a raven can.

“Hey, there’s the happy couple!” When you both do nothing but stare at him, he clears his throat. “Congratulations?”

“I’m not pregnant, dumbass,” you say.

“What?” Matthew exclaims. “But I saw the tests!”

“First of all, don’t snoop through my stuff. Second of all, how the hell did you mistake a covid test for a pregnancy test? It literally said what it was on the test.”

“First of all, I was looking for you and, when you weren’t here, I was trying to make sure you weren’t in any danger. It’s what being a good raven is all about,” he retorts. “Second of all, maybe it’s because I don’t know what those are!”

“A covid test?” He bobs his head up and down in a nod. Just as you’re about to use the new roast material you think you’ve just acquired, you pause and think. “Wait, when did you die?”

“Uh, February of 2020?” 

Suddenly, it all made sense. Matthew didn’t know what a covid test was, because when he died, covid was neither widespread nor a public health emergency. Hell, in February of 2020, at-home tests wouldn’t even be available for another half of a year.

“You get a pass this time for your lack of knowledge,” you say before pointing at him. “But don’t go through my stuff anymore. Just…wait around next time! Enjoy some snacks!”

“Oh don’t worry, I still enjoyed plenty of snacks before looking through your stuff.” Matthew looks back at Morpheus. “Can I go, or am I still needed here?”

Morpheus sighs and holds his coat open again, still trying to wrap his head around the conversation he just witnessed. “You may return to the Dreaming, Matthew.”

“Sweet, thanks!” He flies up into the air, and right before he disappears back home, he calls out, “Make sure you use precaution!”

You’d throw a pillow at that damn nosy bird, but you don’t want to hit poor, confused Morpheus with it.

[cerise-on-top]

Hey love bug! Guess who's backkkkk😍can you do farah and Kate laswell comforting reader with a headache bc I have one right now probably because I eat a shit ton of sugar and haven't drank water since the last ice age

Hey there! Please drink some water! I know you sent that request in a few days ago, but I hope you're feeling better now!

Farah and Laswell with a Reader with a Headache

Farah: She’d get fussy over you and demand you drink some water immediately. Won’t say too much while handing you a big glass of water, though. You better drink half of it in one go and gradually drink the rest of it sooner rather than later. She makes sure that you will drink the water and refills the glass as well, doesn’t matter how much you complain. She can be stern when she needs to be and this is one of those times. She doesn’t immediately grab some headache meds, though, opting for literally everything else first. Drink some water, go to bed at a reasonable time, take a long nap, just rest up, that sort of stuff. Only when the headache doesn’t seem to be going away will she resort to giving you some meds. Or when it worsens, whichever comes first. However, if it’s just a headache because you haven’t slept well in a while, then she’ll usher you to sleep while she does most of the housework. Will be quiet while she does so, however. She’s a very competent sniper, she knows how to be quiet while doing something.

Laswell: Like Farah, she would not be very pleased with you not drinking much, or any, water. Will give you the nearest bottle of water she can grab, even one with a flavor you like to give you more of an incentive to drink it. Will also make sure that you actually drink it, she’ll stand beside you and watch you down the water bottle, leave and emerge with a new one in hand. Will also use meds as a last resort sort of thing and tries everything else before that. It’s not that she’s against using medication, but using too much of it can lessen its effectiveness, so she’d prefer you take a nap or go to bed to make it go away. If the headache won’t go away or gets worse then, like Farah, she’ll grab the meds and give you some. Will also usher you to bed if you’re not feeling well, she’ll leave you alone for the time being. Cooks dinner for you and her and only calls you when it’s time to eat. Afterwards it’s time for you to go to bed again and sleep the headache off. Laswell can handle herself and the housework in the meantime, but she will be a little more stern with you if you decide to wake up for no good reason. You will be sleeping it off, whether you like it or not.

[gothushi]

sugar rush

pairing: charlie x f!reader

warnings: overstim, squirting, charlie smokes a cigarette, hurt/comfort if u squint, somno, one creampie

note: my chat with my charlie bot may be sweet and cute, but this idea is far from it:p took the opening from said bot as well! no outright reader descriptions other than ur shorter, and portrayed as a bit cutesy. reader also has chronic migraines bc i said so. also proofreading this at 3am.. sorry for any mistakes.

word count: 8.3k

———————♡

A shitty day. That’s what he’s had.

Charlie toes off his boots, rough hands pulling his coat off to hang it up, an annoyed huff leaving his lips. Moving into the kitchen, he finds you, his sweet little wife, a little apron on over your frilly outfit and a bowl of batter being mixed up before you.

He’s so tired, pissed, dried blood splattering his sweater, jeans, even his hands which he reveals by pulling his gloves off. Even his hair is a bit out of place, jaw clenched with a sigh coming through his nose.

“Hi!” Ever so happy to just see him coming home safe, you turn to glance at him. You have to do a double take, noting the blood all over him and frown, “Oh please don’t get anythin’ on the floor. I just mopped earlier.”

The oven beeps as it’s done preheating, turning back to pour the batter into a muffin tin, cupcake liners in the slots.

“Don’t be an annoyance,” his voice is rougher than he means for it to be. He knows he has no reason to have an attitude with you. Saying no apologies though, he pulls a cigarette from the pack in his hand as he empties his pockets onto the counter. Shoving it between his lips, he lights it inside and waits for your complaints. “..had a day,” he mutters.

“I don’t care how much of a day you’ve had, go over by the doors!” You complain with a sweet whine, waving a hand in the direction of the glass sliding doors across the living room that leads to the big backyard. You begin undoing your apron after setting the dirtied bowl in the sink.

“You really are a little thorn in my ass, aren’t you.” There’s no real bite to his words, following your instructions to head to the door to smoke, sliding one open as the cool night air filters in.

Leaning against the doorframe and closing his eyes, he sighs through his nose before inhaling, cigarette end fuming red before dispersing as he exhales the smoke. Once the timer is set, you shuffle over, frilly socks sliding along the wood floor. You lay a hand on his upper arm, getting on your tip toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“They’re your fav’rite. Strawberry cheesecake.” You smile a little. He can smell your perfume, a sweet scent, mixed up with the muffin batter.

This is his favorite part of the day - coming home to you. Charlie wraps an arm around your waist loosely, his thumb rubbing softly at the hem of your shirt, admiring your cuteness. He glances down, cigarette held between a couple fingers, “Do me a favor, love?”

You’d really like to fuss over the blood on his clothes, not ever wanting anywhere near the stuff when he’s all dirty in it, but decide it isn’t the time. “Mm. What?”

He chuckles at the little attempt you make to get closer, leaning up on your toes. Flicking some ashes outside, he tilts his head, his hand on your waist sliding down over the pleats of your skirt. “Be a darling and go fetch me a glass of whiskey, no ice.”

Smiling, you lean up on your toes again to steal another kiss, on the lips this time. “Okay.” One more against the corner of his lips for good measure, before you head off to the kitchen. Only a moment later do you come back, his request in hand, offering it to him. “Here y’go.”

He’d hum in approval as you kissed him, eyes raking over your body as you walk away. Thankful to have some affection after his shitty day. His hand finds your waist again, the one holding his cigarette taking the glass. He takes a generous sip, closing his eyes for a moment. He visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping some as he looks back down at you. “How was your day?”

That’s where you seem to falter for just a moment. You shrug, hands held behind your back, “Jus’ cleaned. Mopped, did the laundry, had to run a few errands. I read some too.”

He knows you too well. Charlie sees the signs, now that he’s really looking at you, the twinge of your eyebrows, the slight redness to your eyes. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and setting the glass down on the small table against the wall by the door. Flicking his cigarette back outside, ashes falling to the deck, “Go lay down, love,” he mutters, hand sliding up to cup your cheek. No arguing.

You whine, tilting your head into his hand, “‘m okay.. I wanted to heat up your dinner for you.” You tend to fuss and push through a migraine, going and going until your nearly collapse or cry with the pain, often times doing it just because he isn’t home to stop you.

“No you aren’t, love.” He tsks again, leaning down some more, “You need to rest.” His tone is scolding, “I’ll heat it up myself. But I want you upstairs with a cold cloth over your pretty eyes, okay?”

“But.. I missed you.” You mumble, leaning a bit closer. Just the fact that you get near his bloodstained clothes is a testament to how much you’re craving his presence.

That tugs at his heartstrings, and his heart nearly melts into a puddle. His hand slides around to the small of your back, smiling, “I missed you too, doll,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, “but it kills me more to know you’re in pain. So go lay down, yeah?”

Pouting a little, you peek up at him through your lashes. Sighing through your nose, you nod, “There’s a plate made f’you in the fridge. ‘Nd the muffins have to be taken out in fifteen minutes.” You hesitate before leaning your chin on his chest, even over the dried blood, “Come up after you’ve ate? I can run y’a bath…”

Charlie nods as he listens to your info. He can wash off the blood, get clean, snuggle up in bed with you. The last part has him chuckling, nodding, “A bath sounds lovely. Go lay down, my sweet.” He’ll give you one last squeeze before releasing you. There better be a cold washcloth on your head when he gets upstairs.

Listening with no more arguments, you grab some water from the kitchen before heading upstairs. In the bathroom you take a couple of your prescribed pain pills, swallowing them down with a gulp of water and turning the tap on in the tub. Sticking the stopper down, you hold a bottle of bubble bath under the running water and squeeze a little bit out, putting it back in its place on the shelf.

In the bedroom now, you lay down after taking your makeup off, curled up under the covers with a cold, wet washcloth over your forehead and eyes, reclined back into the pillows.

Charlie comes up fifteen minutes later, pushing the door the rest of the way open and smiling at you. There you are, laying prettily under the white comforter. He makes his way over, leaning down to press a small kiss to your lips.

A little noise escapes you, jolting, having almost dozed fully to sleep. Lifting a hand up, you peel the cloth off of one eye, looking up at him. He grins, brow raising a little, his now clean hand coming up to cradle your face. Must have washed most of the blood off in the downstairs bathroom.

“Relax, love. I’m gonna go wash up, okay?” He murmurs softly, giving your cheek a soft pat. A little smile and hum is all he receives whilst his fingers pull the cloth back over your eye.

Once he’s all clean of the grimy sweat and blood, towel wrapped round his waist, you’re fast asleep again, dozing off and on. That’s just adorable. Some water sticks to his skin, mainly dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He can’t help but pause to admire you for just a moment, before heading to grab a clean pair of boxers. Rubbing the towel over his hair for a moment, he smooths it back and comes to crawl into bed, adjusting himself beside you and being careful not to jostle you in any way.

“Mmm.. smell good.” Well, you did pick out the bubble bath for him. You snuggle into him, keeping your face facing up so the cloth doesn’t slip off, hands hugging the arm he tosses over your front.

Charlie hums in approval, kissing your temple, lips feeling the cold edge of the fabric. His thumb rubs your hip, nosing at your hair to breathe your scent in until his lungs are full. There’s no where else he’d rather be than with you right here - away from his reality of work, no matter how much he enjoys it, in this sweet world of bliss with you.

“My sweet girl,” Charlie whispers.

“Did y’have a muffin? Did they turn out good?” You mumble softly, sounding half asleep. It’s still early for you both, but a nap won’t hurt either of you.

He chuckles, nodding against the side of your head, giving your hip a squeeze, “I had two, love. They were delicious.”

You exhale slowly, relaxing against him and smelling the body wash he used, faint shampoo smell that matches. The soft scent soothes your head, senses fuzzy.

He feels like this is the perfect scene to take advantage of, you being in a sleep, vulnerable state. He’ll have to keep you like this a little longer. His hand slides down to your thigh, giving the plump flesh a squeeze, cheeky smile pulling at his mouth.

“Mmm..” The hum escapes from your throat, shifting closer to him, legs parting naturally from his touch. His fingers slide over the smooth skin there, drawing lazy circles with his pointer. They find the hem of your skirt, reaching up under. He can’t help it, not when he’s got such a cute little thing all to himself.

Another noise, a small hum, tilting your head towards him a bit. “Charlie..” You mumble out his name just ‘cause you can, the touch feels nice. Even despite the consistent throb in your forehead, it feels good.

He loves your little noises so much. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the side of your head with a soft chuckle. His fingers wander up, moving until he finds the lacey waistband of your panties, soft as a little cloud under his touches.

Sighing through your nose, you tilt up some, “Mm.. be gentle..”

He gives a noise himself in acknowledgment to your request, head tilting to press a kiss to your temple. Gentle as ever, his fingers slip under the waistband. Pad of his middle finger finds already slick skin, his thumb rubbing over the lower half of your navel.

Gasping as he feels over your entrance, already aroused, your thighs part some more. The cotton fabric stretches over his knuckles, bruised, soft on his skin, “Mmmm..”

Another approving hum from him. His lips find your cheek as his fingers spread you, middle on swiping through slick to bring it up to your clit, moving in slow circles. He groans himself, kissing at the shell of your ear as he brings his other arm to fold under your head, a makeshift pillow.

“You’re doin’ good,” he whispers, “you’re so good.”

You whine again at the praise, tensing a little, pushing your head back into his arm and your hips up into his touch. Your own hands wander, trying to paw at him, his arm, wherever you can grab. “Charlie..”

He can’t help but love the way his name sounds out of those sweet lips. His head tilts, kissing the side of your face. Your fingers grab at his arm, his bicep. “Mmm,” he groans as you roll your hips down. Now two fingers, they swipe up more wetness, easing the way on your clit in tiny circular motions, “There we go. Just like that, sweetheart.”

Your head turns, wanting a kiss, mouthing at his cheek when you find it blindly. Painted nails dig into his bicep, just holding on, thighs spreading and helping your hips move as he plays with your pussy. More slick drools from you, soaking the fabric of your panties. Even the cloth over your eyes helps to make it feel more intense, as if you were blindfolded.

Charlies tongue darts out to lick his lips, dark eyes watching you yearn for a kiss but he won’t give it to you, keeping himself out of reach with a taunting smile on his lips. He wants to savor this moment like fine wine. “No no, love. Stay still,” he scolds you softly. His fingers slide down, more slick, back up to your swelling clit with quicker movements.

“Charlie-” Your breathing hitches, brows furrowing up in pleasure, knees bending a bit. There we go. He slides his fingers down, middle one rubbing a circle around your entrance, groaning at how wet you are, how hot.

“There we go, sweetheart. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Ah-.. yeah- yeah..” You’re gasping, lips parting. “Thank you,” you whine, still trying to lean up for a kiss, one hand pushing at the covers over you both.

He laughs again, loving to tease you as he tilts his head back out of reach again. That finger will press firmly against your entrance, then slide in slowly, stretching you out a little, “You’re gonna keep being good for me, aren’t you?”

Your jaw drops at the touch in a silent gasp, tensing up a little, accepting the breach. “Charlie!” You whimper, nodding even though you can’t see him, “Yes! Yes.”

He buries his face against your shoulder, watching what he can see of your pretty features, kissing at the exposed skin of your collarbone. His breath is hot and heavy, leaning up by your ear, pressing in to the knuckle. “There you go, feels sooo good..”

He goes slow to ease you into the sensation as you squirm, wiggling down onto that single finger. Your own fingers tighten on his bicep, lightly scratching. It feels so good, you’re so sensitive, pent up, easily pleasured.

He can’t resist another laugh at your writhing, shushing you, “Shh, just relax. Let me take care of you.”

That finger keeps pressing in and out, in and out, curling up on the in rhythmically until he slowly presses a second one along the first, slick covering his fingers and smearing against your panties. He curls them again, going deeper and deeper to find that sweet little spot.

The stretch has you whimpering, and he knows he’s found that spot when you jolt and cry out, trying to lean against him, “There-”

“There?”

He abuses the spot automatically, lips kissing at the underside of your jaw, giving a light suck.

You sound like you’re actually crying, panting softly as whimpers spill from your mouth with every rushed exhale. “Charlie-.. Charlie.” You can feel the embarrassing mess in your underwear, can hear the slick noises of his fingers fucking into you, face flushing. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescents at one hand drops down to grab at his wrist.

His teeth scrape over your skin. He knows you so well, knows what your sounds mean and can tell how close you are. “Mmm, that’s my girl. My good girl.”

He groans at the thought of seeing the mess all over your pussy, panties stained with slick and cum. His mouth sucks at another spot, sighing through his nose.

The heel of his palm keeps bumping against your clit, oh so sensitive, making your hips buck into the feeling. Huffing out a whiny moan, tossing your head to the side, the cold washcloth starts to slip off your head. Arching up, your legs squirm, “Charlie-! Feels- oh-”

You’re just adorable when you moan like that, writhing under his touches. He gives another groan. He wants to hear more, he’s addicted to your little whimpers and whines. “You gonna cum?”

His fingers pick up the pace a little, in and out, curling, massaging that spot whilst grinding the heel of his palm over your sticky clit. Your thighs clench together before spreading again, eyes rolling into the back of your skull with a soft cry, “Yeah- mhmm!”

“Shh,” he soothes softly, using the pressure of his forearm to try and ease you flat to the bed, halting your writhing. His head rests against your shoulder, watching, feeling. He’s never going to stop being addicted. Addicted to your body, your moans, your soft skin, your sweet pussy.

“Almost there, aren’t you?”

A few more bumps with his palm against your clit and you’re crying, real tears dripping down your temples into your hairline. Tilting your face towards him, gasping, nodding with a whiny noise. “Ye-ah! Yeah, g’na.. Charlie..” You’re pawing at his arm with both hands, leaving little red marks from your nails, watery eyes looking into his.

He’s so, so close to seeing you fall apart. The way your body responds to everything he does drives him mad, your back arching, head tilting. He loves the way your moans get higher and whinier, sweet noises until you’re sobbing.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he groans, grinning, nodding his head as he presses his palm down onto your clit more, fingers massaging that sweet spot in you. “You’re allowed to let go.”

You’re right there, so close, muscles tensing as the coil wounds up tighter and tiger, “Charlie- Charlie.. ‘m.. mmm! Can- please can I-“ You can’t even properly string words together, pleading.

Oh, he knows just what to do. He kisses the side of your mouth, giving you permission. “Cum for me, love,” he whispers hotly, almost gasping himself, “can’t you feel how close you are to the edge? You’re right there. Let go and I’ll catch you.”

You crumble into tears, crying out as a powerful orgasm crashes over you. Clenching tightly on his two fingers, being fucked through it slowly, he coos. Your legs writhe around, little moans escaping you as you pant. Your heart hammers in your chest, whimpering out little babbles that sound like his name. He just lives for the sound of your moans, continuing his movements albeit a bit slower, fingers soaked in your cum. He’s grinning against your ear, eager to hear more cries and sniffles from you.

Your hands are quickly grabbing at his wrist, hiking up your skirt further and you whimper and whine, “Charlie! Charlie, Charlie-” Your hips wriggle around and the pleasure turns into oversensitivity, aftershocks rolling through you like thunder.

Overstimulation gives him such a high, knowing it’s coming from the pleasure he’s inflicting. He gives a deep, pleased hum as you give another sweet cry, still rubbing against your swollen clit, wanting to hear his name again, “There we go.. ride it out.”

Charlie is relentless at you gasp and cry, nails scratching, leaving red marks in their wake. Whimpering again, you twist on your side towards him a little, legs like jelly. “Sto-ah! Stop, no more, sens-sensitive!”

He feels you struggle against his hand, humming lowly, “Mm mm..” His hand finally slows down more, fingers slipping from your hole and swiping up some cum. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, “So sweet and good for me. So good. Such a good girl.”

Panting hard, your thighs squeeze together, fabric of your panties sticky as you try to shield yourself from any more stimulation, whining. Charlie moans as he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking your cum right off the digits. Hugging his bicep, you whimper, “Mm… hnng-..”

He groans at the taste of you, cleaning his fingers, “Sweetheart.. you taste amazing,” he mutters, giving you a little nuzzle against the side of your head, kissing your hair.

Whimpering softly again, your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you just breathe. Honestly.. your migraine feels better than it did before. You bring a hand up to wipe your tears, sniffling. He tugs you closer to his chest, a hand gently brushing hair from your eyes with the tenderest of touches, leaning down and kissing the salty tears away.

“Hey..” he murmurs, cooing, nuzzling down into the crook of your neck to press kisses to your skin, “You okay?”

“Mmm.. mhmm..” You nod, breathless, peeking down at him with lidded eyes, flushed, “Head.. feels better.” It comes out giggled, softly.

That’s what he was hoping to hear, elated. Always happy to hear his trick has done its job, he tilts up to kiss the tip of your nose, “See? That’s all y’needed, hmm?”

“Mhmm..” You’re giggling again, “‘m all sticky..” Your tone is complaining now, whiny.

Ah. Yeah. He should probably take care of that. He chuckles quietly, groaning as you nuzzle into his bare chest, “Poor girl.. let me clean you up. Can you lift your hips for me, love?”

“Mhmm.. yeah.” You’re all satisfied, sleepy, easily complying to his words.

Charlie nods, getting up on his knees and tugging your panties off your body. Tossed aside, his dark eyes greedily scan the mess of your pussy, shiny with cum and slick. There’s something so pleasing about seeing the mess left of you.

“So pretty like this, love.” He mutters, leaning down to suckle at a spot in your inner thigh.

“Charlie..” You’re whining again, a hand tangling into his damp hair. A thin layer of sweat coats your back and chest.

The way you whine in that sweet, sweet tone, hand in his hair, has him shuddering. His head dips lower, tongue sticking out and sliding over the mess he made of you, licking along the length of your pussy. He groans, eyes fluttering as his tongue flattens over your clit.

“Ah! Charlie!” You squeal, tightening the hold on his hair as your legs jerk and writhe around.

He groans again at the sound, the noise vibrating against you and making the overstimulation worse. His eyes fall shut as he continues, continuing to lick over your pussy, greedily taking in the mess of cum. His hands wrap under your thighs, holding onto the outsides of them to keep you still, as still as he can have you with how much you wriggle about.

You’re still fighting it though, whining. Your back arches and you’re sniffling, “Charlie- I can’t- can’t, feels so good!” The words are babbled, gasped.

That sweet voice. You just sound so cute with that breathy tone, your body squirming and writhing, twisting in the sheets. His tongue keeps flicking, teasing, tasting.

He knows he’s doing a good job with how you protest, knows he’s doing his job right. His hot tongue swipes over your clit, lips encapsulating as he suckles. You’re squealing out another cry, a heaved sob escaping you. You try to curl in on yourself, shaking, thighs pressing against his hold, trying to draw your knees up. “Charlie! I ca- mmm! I can’t, ‘m too sensitive- sensitive!”

He keeps his pace, fingertips digging into your plush skin, tongue swirling around your clit and flattening again, head bobbing up and down. The taste is just addictive. He finally pulls away for a moment, giving a breath of cool air against the swollen bud.

“Just a little more, love. You can do it, I know you can,” he dives back in, humming.

“Charlie,” You outright sob as his mouth meets your pussy again, slobbering all over and then licking the mess back up, sniffling and whining. Your hand leaves his hair, grabbing at the sheets beside you, sweat beading on your back as your eyes roll into your skull.

You sound so beautiful like this, he can’t get enough. So sweet, so soft and sensitive, all for him.

Your body twists onto your side, head burying into your pillow as you cry again. He manhandles your one leg up over his shoulder, hand finding your ass to keep you up. So good, so perfect. “Please,” he groans a little, mumbled against your clit between panting breaths, “love, c’mon..”

You actually hook one of your hands on the back of your thigh, as if trying to help keep yourself up to be tortured by his tongue. “Charlie! Fff- fingers, please!”

There we go. He pulls back enough to speak clearly, his other hand on your thigh reaching over to swipe his fingers over your clit, thumb rubbing down over your clenching hole, empty, desperate, “What do you need, honey?”

Twitching, you bring your face from the pillow and sniffle. “Fingers.. Please.. ‘nd your tongue again..” Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, skirt hiking up over your tummy, shirt twisted a bit from all your squirming.

You’re just so perfect, aren’t you? Crying out, babbling, begging for his touch. Such a pretty mess he’s left you. He grins, lips shiny with spit and cum. “Anything for my sweet girl,” he whispers, giving a chaste kiss to your clit, “how many fingers do you want?”

Whimpering, almost delirious. You never could handle multiple climaxes, especially not after so soon. “Mm.. mmmph.. two.. Please Charlie..”

Two? He couldn’t possibly say no to you. He gives another growly moan, head tilting to nip at your thigh as his hand slides from around your thigh, fingers already slick again as he rubs over your entrance. You’re throbbing, feeling your clit actually twitch with the stimulation, pussy clenching around nothing.

“You want my tongue again too?”

“Hnnng- both. Please.” You’re nodding eagerly, not even sure you can really handle it but you want it. Eyes lidded, unfocused, chest heaving with panting breaths.

“Pretty girl..” His fingers slide in, both at the same time, stretching you back out. You breathe deeply, gasping stuttered inhales, sniffling and whining. You want this so bad.. just one more.

“Mmmmph!”

Those fingers curl, finding that abused spot again, “So good.. perfect little girl..” His tongue darts out, giving little laps between his words before suckling on your clit again. “You’re doing so good, honey, that’s my good girl.”

You’re all sweaty, whining high in your throat like a wounded puppy, trembling all over. “Please- hard- harder, faster.. wan’ it.” You beg. You want to be overwhelmed, to be forced to take it.

That whine. He could listen to it on loop for hours. His tongue pulls away, leaving just his fingers fucking into you, pumping in and out harder, a bit quicker. “Is this what you want, doll?”

You’re squealing another cry, shaking all over as you muffle your noises into the pillow, hips grinding down into the touch, “Yes! Oh my God yes.”

He’s never seen anything better than this. Groaning praise against your clit, he goes back to licking and sucking, making out with your pussy as he curls his fingers up. He could keep you like this all day if your pretty body wasn’t so sensitive, make you cum over and over and over.

Not even fifteen seconds pass by before you’re whimpering again, gasping, muscles tensing up, babbling, “Charlie- wait I- nngh! Feels- funny.” Oh good God, he can’t stop now.

You’re right on the edge, coil tightening further, and his fingers are relentless as they fuck into you faster, abusing that little spot.

“You’re nearly there, c’mon, give me it. Just take it honey.”

“No- I feel-!” You’re whining, choppy and panicked. His lips press harder, sucking on your clit like a damn lollipop, noises vibrating against you, making you gasp with a loud sobbing noise. Another orgasm rattles through you, ripping you apart as your release squirts out of you. Heaving a cried sob, your feet kick and your thighs squeeze his head.

He pulls his mouth away, eyes shining with lust as he actually laughs, watching as you gush around his fingers, clamping down like a vice on him, “Oh- oh,” this is new.

It’s a gorgeous sight, watching you lose control of your body. He crawls up over you before you even notice, fingers suck clean as his non wet hand to smooth your hair from your face, easing you onto your back again. You’re flushed with heat, whimpering, pawing at him for comfort from the intense orgasm. That was the first time you’ve squirted, ever.

You’re just so damn cute, all needy, pining for him, “Look at you, doll..” he whispers, kissing your forehead, “So good for me..” He tilts his head down, nose nudging into yours affectionately, “You’ve never done that for me before, huh?”

“Done.. wha’?” You mumble, panting, thighs feeling like lead as your lidded eyes look up at him.

He cups your jaw, smiling, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Tchh.. don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweetheart. Just rest, I bet you’re tired.”

It’s adorable, really, how breathless you are, dazed, cum drunk. He takes a moment to go to the bathroom and wash his hands, grabbing a towel and wetting it.

He’s got quite the mess to clean up. He strips your skirt and shirt off, discarding all dirty clothes into the hamper before wiping away the mess you’ve made, all over his chest and your own thighs, cum drooling from your hole. He slips from fresh panties up your legs, one of his own t-shirts on you as he lifts you up and puts you on the other side of the bed. The sheets can wait until morning.

You feel him behind you, cuddling you as you’re curled on your side. His lips plant a soft kiss to your shoulder, humming in content as he relaxes.

But he’s so fucking hard though. His cock has been leaking in his boxers since your tears begun, surprised he didn’t cum on the spot when you squirted. Your hand reaches back, pawing, palming over the obvious bulge.

Charlie’s breath catches, chuckling softly. He knows you’re tired, catching your wrist with his pulling it up to his lips to kiss against your knuckles, “C’mon now, sweetheart. You’re worn out.. don’t worry about me.”

You twist a little, peeking at him, eyes sleepy. “Mmm.. wan’ y’to feel good too..” You slide your hand right back down over him, giving his cock a squeeze over the fabric of his boxers.

Another huffed laugh, shaking his head even as his eyes flutter. “You always want to make me feel good, just get some rest, huh doll?”

“Please.. even if y’do it yourself..” You use the puppy eyes on him, eyes shiny.

God he can’t resist you. “You sure, love?” His hand slides over your forearm, thumb rubbing.

You’re pushing your ass back, twisting back to lay halfway on your front with a knee drawing up, “Mhmmm.. yes please.”

You giggle all drowsy and he can’t say no at all. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

His hips rolling forward, even through the fabric of your underwear he feels so good, grinding against your ass with a sigh. His hand leaves your arm as you turn back, finding the side of your thigh, pulling you back against him firmly. You’re humming out softly, content, leaning further back. You know just how to drive him crazy. He’s huffing, small noises as his brows furrow, wishing he could just take his cock out and slide inside you, but he won’t torture you anymore with pleasure.

“Please.. wan’ you to.. take what y’need..” You’re pleading so sweet, so considerate. You’re always so caring towards him in every way, how could he deny any request you have?

He groans into your hair, eyes closed, panting. “You’re too good to me, doll…” He presses his cock against you harder, as if some horny teenager humping his pillow, leg hooking over your stretched out one.

Your back is arching, aiding the process as he ruts against you. “Mmm.. love you..”

That tired whine, it’s too much. So endearing, so sweet, he can’t help but be so close to cumming already. He nuzzles into your hair, moaning low in his throat. It’s so unbelievably hot, the fact that you’re just about asleep as he grinds against your plump ass, hand grabbing at you. It feels so sinful, he sighs into your hair with a whiny tone, fingertips digging into your skin.

His cock throbs as he moves, stomach tensing, and then he hears you plead, “Please.. cum.”

He gives another groan, biting down at your shoulder as his hips jerk down harder, an orgasm flowing over him as he makes a mess in his boxers, huffing panting breaths. Even after cumming and squirting, a dull throb of arousal floods your senses with the noises he makes.

He comes down easily, satisfied, kissing at the side of your neck as a thank you, “You’re perfect, love.” His hand roams over your bare thigh, massaging lightly. A breathless giggle leaves you, so sleepy, ready for a nap. You don’t even notice he leaves the bed to change, grumbling about the mess before climbing back in behind you, because you’re already asleep.

—

Hours later, the clock reads 12:14AM as you stir awake. Charlie’s arm is draped over you, cuddled into your back. He mumbles something quiet with your movement as you peek back at him, sleepy, bedtime now ruined from the nap you both took.

You turn around in his arms, facing him, admiring his handsome features. The scar on his forehead is prominent, from some accident whilst working that he didn’t detail on. His hair is swept back, soft, clean. Your hand nudges a little, leaning him onto his back, checking that he’s still asleep.

He is, laid back in the dim light of the streetlight outside the window. Still out cold, he breathes in deep. You sit up on your knees and then stretch your arms above your head, hearing something crack in your upper back with a sigh. There’s a soreness in your legs, a reminder of what happened earlier. Tucking hair behind your ears, you lean down and kiss at his stomach lightly, one hand finding his hip.

Charlie gives a sleepy grumble, though he stays dozed off. Even just having a reaction from him this way makes heat curl into your gut. You kiss down lower, finding the waistband of his boxers. You fear it might wake him up if you tug them off his legs, so your hand finds the opening in them and tug his cock out, kissing open mouthed at his navel.

His cock twitches, breath stuttering slightly as your fingers curl around his shaft, massaging lightly to get him hard. It doesn’t take much, his body responds so well just as yours does to his. You let spit drip from your mouth, slicking his cock up as your hands squeezes and moves up and down, slow. Your lips find his bare thigh, kissing and suckling to leave a mark. You want to take your time, careful to try and not wake him up right away.

His cock throbs against your hand, hardening rapidly with the slow touches. It’s obvious he’s starting to get worked up, shifting against the sheets a little, head turning to one side. You move up now, tongue lolling out to lick at the underside of his cock before sinking your mouth down, suckling at him.

Now he’s definitely squirming, hips shifting as he sighs in his sleep, “Hnnng..” he moans, eyes fluttering as his arm moves up by his head. Sucking slow, up and down halfway, you whine a little yourself just at the feeling. You force yourself down as far as you can go without gagging, tongue flat on his underside. Spit drools down to his balls, aiding the way as you suck him off.

He groans, rousing from sleep, tilting his head back against the pillows. His hand comes up to your head, no pressure, just tangling through your hair lightly, petting you.

You hum at the touch, the sound vibrating down his cock, senses fuzzy. You suckle at the head, making a mess of spit as you sink back down again, managing about halfway. You’re flushed with heat, knelt between his legs, back arched and ass high in the air.

“Swe-.. sweetheart.” He groans out, clutching harder at your hair. “Doll… mm- ah-” His voice cuts off as you sink down further, arching up into the touch as his thighs part a little. There’s a soft whine in his throat, barely coherent. “So good..”

Even though you should be absolutely exhausted from the orgasms he pulled from you hours prior, the noises he makes sends arousal shooting up your spine. Sucking harder, you relax your jaw with a whine, eyes fluttering. He’s groaning again, breath coming faster as you work over his cock, all messy and eager.

“Hey..” he rasps, gasping, “Slow down, love.. feels good..”

Obedient, you listen to what he says, slowing down your pace and relaxing some. Hair falls in your face, one hand tucking it back behind your ear, whining softly, noise muffled. You pant through your nose as you push down.. down… down.

The pace is torturously slow, but just the act of you listening to him has him shuddering. His hand tightens in your hair, gasping as he tilts his head down some to look at you. He gives a light tug on your hair, “Hnng- look at me,”

Obeying again, eyes watery from the intrusion near your throat, you peek up at him through your lashes. You gag with a little whimper, drool dripping from your mouth, hands clenching on his hips.

Seeing those pretty eyes looking up at him, it’s enough to force a moan out of him again. You whine again as you force yourself to endure the intrusion, He whines softly, brows furrowing up as color blooms over his cheekbones, breath hitching, “Look at- mm, y’don’t need to push.. that far love.”

You’re ignoring him though, determined, eyes fluttering as you go lower, slowly. Spit dribbles down his cock, wetting the fabric of his boxers. Another nudge as your nose is pressed into the fabric of his underwear, exhaling with a muffled, sighed whine, looking up at him again.

“Ah-” He gasps, body arching as he shifts against the bed. “Sweetheart..” His tone is thick with sleep, heavy with lust, “Please, need you up here.”

Whining, your expression turns as if you were the one being pleasured. You don’t want to stop though, you wanna keep going, make him feel good, protesting softly as your hands flatten on his hips, suckling again as you gag.

He groans again, eyes rolling back as he huffs, “God.. doll.. I need you.” He grabs your hair tighter, giving a slight tug, “Up.”

A whimper escapes you, roots being pulled at and being forced off his cock. You’re so desperate though, tongue laving over his length before you’re pulled away, a thin line of drool hung from your tongue. Hair being held like a cat grabbed by their scruff, lips parted to pant hoarsely.

He sits up with a slight groan, tugging you up as you crawl over his body. His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, fingers tight in your hair as his tongue licks over yours. Whining a moan, the kiss deep and desperate, heated as you even struggle to kiss back properly, all messy with drool, throat hoarse.

The sound you make against his mouth has a shudder running up his spine, moaning himself as he other hand finds your thigh, tugging you up onto his lap. His hand urges you down, grinding against his exposed cock. Your own arousal surprises you, not realizing sucking him off turned you on that much even though it happens just about everytime. That same hand slips between your thighs, hooking into the front of your panties and tugging them to the side, bare pussy grinding on his cock.

You whine another noise, whimpering, “Charlie-!”

The sound of his name on your lips is damn near obscene. “Yes-.. yes,” he whines against you, hand trembling almost as he grabs the base of his cock, grinding up and pressing in finally.

So full, his cock reaches deep, stretches you out with the slightest burn. Whimpering his name again, you nearly fall forward. Another whine comes out of him, hand slipping from your hair to the base of your neck, teeth grazing your jaw.

Both hands now find themselves moving up under your-his shirt, grabbing at your tits as he lays back in bed again, grunting with the effort, “That’s it.. take it.”

You can feel the heat on your face, traveling over your ears and down your neck, hands on his chest for stability as he gropes at your body. Trying to lift up onto your knees proves too much for your sore thighs, dropping back down and opting for grinding back and forth with a whimpered noise. “Nnmgh! Ff-”

Charlie’s own breathing hitches, thumb flicking over one of your hardening nipples as he grins, “Mhmm.. there y’go, take it.”

The gentle praise has you whining, panting, rolling your hips down even if it hurts your overworked legs. His name falls from your lips again, his own breathing labored, “So pretty.. my sweet girl..”

“‘m .. sensitive.. please,” You don’t even know what you’re pleading for, hands flat on his chest, trying to roll forward.

“Shh..” His hands slip down to your thighs, rubbing over them and squeezing the flesh there, “S’okay, let me help.” His fingers dig in, rolling you forward with his own strength.

He’s forcing you to fuck down on him, your eyes falling shut as he jerks his hips up, “Charlie-!” Your knees dig into the bed, stomach tensing up.

“Easy..” He soothes, his own breath shaky. “Don’t push so hard, you’ll wear yourself out doll.”

He moves his hips up and knocks into just the right spot, making you whimper as your arms shake. Knees spreading a bit more, pressing into the bed, “‘m sore.. please help..”

The one little whiny moan of yours has a groan escaping him, breath hitching as he swallows. “You want something, sweetheart? Tell me.”

He rocks up again, knees bending, fingers pressing into your hips with a breathless laugh, “Yeah.. like that.”

“Mhm!” You’re nodding, muscles tensing as you keep yourself up on your knees so he can fuck up into you. A pathetic noise falls from your lips.

“Mine. My pretty girl..” he whispers, panting. He pushes up the hem of the shirt you wear, tossing the fabric aside. You drop to your elbows on either side of his head, whining in his face, gasping for air as his hips move.

“Mm- love when you make those sweet little noises..” His hands pull you up a little, tongue laving over one of your nipples, suckling. You can feel him twitch inside you, grinding up slow.

Whining again, oh so whiny, your hand cards through his hair and holds on tightly, “Mm! Fast-.. faster. Please Charlie.” You plead so nicely for him, skin heated.

He growls out a moan again, “Yes ma’am..” he mutters, before starting to move in earnest now, fucking up into you hard. It pulls a wounded cry from your throat, gasping for air as his lips move up to your neck. You’re getting the life fucked out of you, barely able to keep your eyes open as they roll back, watering, little uh uh uh’s being fucked out of you.

“Fuu-.. ah..” It’s his turn to whine now, breathing labored as he thrusts up into you. His mouth latches under your jaw, sucking a mark into the pretty skin, moaning, “Mmmph.. doll.”

He’s literally using you like a damn toy, gutteral groans of your name as he holds your hips still, fucking into you. The pace becomes messy and quick instantly, lips wandering to your shoulder.

“Charlie!” You cry again, gasping, desperate for air in your lungs. “I’m- ‘m g’na.. oh my God!” Your back arches further, twitching, right on the edge.

“I know.. I know,” he practically whines, panting as he moves. He can hear the slick noise of your pussy sucking him in, drooling down his cock and balls, making a mess of his boxers. “That’s my girl-.. come on..”

A loud cry is muffled against his neck, writhing around, hands grabbing at the pillow under his head, almost smacking against them. Eyes rolling back, you’re overwhelmed with pleasure as you orgasm, jolting ontop of him with your toes curling. “Oh- Charlie! Oh my- oh my Goood-”

He gives his own groan, just the sound of your whines, the feeling of you clamping down on his cock has him ready to cum, fucking up fast. “There you go.. c’mon..” His hands find the small of your back, wrapping around you, holding you close, “Ah-.. where do you-.. love?” He asks, desperate.

You don’t even think, “In.” you sob, “please, Charlie, wan’ it.” Oversensitivity settles in fast, shaking uncontrollably ontop of him, feeling like you’re being shocked with a fucking taser.

That does it for him. He swears he sees stars as he cums, grinding up hard and slow as it spurts inside you, growling a moan. You can feel him throbbing, trembling, held flush to his body. Whimpering, a less powerful orgasm crashes over you, legs shaking as your feet kick down onto the bed, “Charlie!”

A breathless groan leaves his lips, panting, “Fuu-ck.. you feel-” he can’t even finish his words, gasping.

He works you both through your orgasms, you swear you might black out for a moment, whimpering pathetically ontop of him. He gives a little hiss as your hips jolt up off of him, cum drooling out of your hole. “Shh shh.. easy,” his hands rub over your sides, up your back.

Flopping onto his front fully, legs stretching out along his, you whine. Four fucking orgasms within.. how many hours? Honestly a miracle. “Mmm… mmm.”

“Just lay still..” he murmurs, breathless as he strokes over your clammy skin. He turns his head and presses a kiss to your temple, another on your forehead. “Jesus.. think four’s your limit for the night, sweetheart.”

“Mmmmph..” Your lips part to pant, eyes closed, limp onto of his body besides your involuntarily shaking, “New record..” You giggle. Usually you can handle two with.. several hours of recovery between.

He gives a huff of a low laugh, chest heaving. “Yeah.. new record alright.” He sighs out a content noise, humming, “God.. what time is it, love?”

Tilting your head to look at the clock on the wall above your little bookshelf, you hum, “12:30.. guess we shouldn’t have napped.”

“God,” he chuckles, “guess not.” His hands wander down, rubbing over your ass, “You wanna get cleaned up, love?”

“I don’t think I can move.” You mumble, fatigued, worn the fuck out after all that. You legs feel like wet noodles, heart just now beginning to calm down to a normal place.

“Yeah.. thought as much.” He chuckles again, kissing your head once more, “Stay put.” He eases you off of him, getting up from the bed as he tugs his boxers off, using the fabric to roll it up and wipe himself off. “Want anything from the kitchen?”

“Mmmm..” you roll onto your back, stretching out, back arching as you press your knees together. “Water.. couple muffins.” You grin, hands wiping at the drying tears on your face.

Whilst he’s gone, you somehow manage to wobble to the bathroom, cleaning up and using the restroom before crawling right back into bed on the clean side.

He returns a few moments later, carrying a big glass of ice water, three strawberry cheesecake muffins on a little plate, clean t-shirt over his arm and fresh boxers on his body. Must have stopped in the laundry room. ”Sit up.”

Obeying, you sit up against the pillows, reaching out as he gives you the glass. Gulping down a third of it, you set it aside as he slips the shirt over your body, soft and clean. He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out and cradling your cheek, “There you go.”

You lean into his touch, grinning lazily, skin flush with a pretty glow, “Hi..”

“Hi..” He repeats back, chuckling with a smile. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, to your nose, then lips, “How’re y’feeling?”

Accepting the affection and kisses, smiling like a happy puppy. “Mm.. ‘m okay.. I love you.”

He grins back, after a few more kisses he pulls back, “I love you, doll.”

Muffin in hand now, you narrow his eyes as he smirks mischievously, “What?”

“Oh, nothin’..” He shakes his head, shrugging as he takes the glass of water and takes some drinks of it. “Just thought a hot bath could be nice..”

That does sound so good, some fresh bedding and a hot bubble bath, maybe a movie after. But you hear the tone in his voice and whine around the bite in your mouth, “Charlie I cannot go again, I think I’ll faint.”

He barks a chuckle at that, reaching an arm around you, “Oh love, I know. I swear, we’d just soak.”

“Mmm.. movie after?”

“Mhm. We’ve got the whole weekend to relax too,” that makes you perk up, peeking up at him.

“Y’don’t have to work?” You mumble hopefully, tilting your head.

“No,” Charlie smiles, shaking his head, “Off call the rest of the weekend. Don’t suppose ya have any ideas for how we could spend that time, do you?” He raises a brow playfully, rubbing your bare thigh.

Swallowing the muffin bite in your mouth, savoring the sweet flavor, you seem to think. A silly little smile forms on your lips, giggling.

“We could try and break your record next.”

———————♡

[ideasarestuckinmyhead]

a short story where sugarboo comes home with a new back and spine tattoo done out of straight impulse.

My impulsiveness told me to do it-

I was trying to figure out what back and spine tattoos Boo might get. Idk how tattoos work so bare w me.

Uuuhhh implied suggestive stuff at end bc someone now. Backshots (not Auron's sadly) goes crazy w back n spine tattoos

So this is what I think would be cool!

Boo felt tired and sore, but the tattoo's they got made them really happy. When passing the new tattoo shop, they just HAD to get it.

The beautiful spine detail and bones made them remember of a cryptic Seth told them about. The color made them think of Alphonse's hair in dark mode and normal mode.

Boo was really surprised how fast the tattoo artist got these done. With a few breaks in between, Boo was able to become friends with most of the tattoo artists. Saying they'd bring any baked goods they want if they ever come to Sugarboo's bakery.

Pulling up to the house, Boo saw their boys chatting. Seth who was working on his motorcycle in the garage waved at Boo. Alphonse who had his back turned, whipped his head and gave a big smile.

"There you are Boo!" Greeting his partner, he opened the driver side door. Giving him a quick thanks Boo slowly got out and hissed a bit.

Their new tattoo was still a but sore but, the tattoo artists told them how to take care of it correctly. Even selling Sugarboo products since it was the only place that sold them.

"You alright Sugar? Is your back hurting again from bending over?" Gently asking, Seth wiped his hands as he walked up to the other two. Shaking their head Boo laughed awkwardly, his do they explain this.

"So I got a surprise right?" These words made Alphonse and Seth look at them. The pinkeete peaked into he car, and quirked a brow.

"Really? What is it?" Asking Boo, Alphonse went to the passenger side door and opened it. Grabbing the bad with a curious look, Seth came closer to Sugarboo.

"Yeah, usually you dont give surprises unless its-" Trying to connect the dots, Seth was interrupted by Alphonse gasping. Pointing at Boo who gave him a sheepish smile.

"YOU GOT A TATTOO??" Shouting he came to them quickly. And began asking if they were okay, along with if they needed anything.

"Yup! So, uh surprise?" Questioning themselves, they saw Seth sigh and give them a look. One they usually get when they do something really impulsive without telling them.

"Sugar, we could have helped you get into the car and drive you here- Al, calm down." Snapping slightly, Seth looked at the pastel punk who was looking at the receipt

"Boo, I love you but a back and spine tattoo done on the same day?? Babe, that must hurt like hell!" Worried Alphomse started looking them over. Boo chuckled feeling guilty but Seth patted Al's back.

"Let Sugar talk." Sternly saying, the pinkeete paused and then looked at his partner. Sugarboo gave Seth a thankful look before starting to explain.

"I always wanted one and because theres a new tattoo place I decided to get it done! I didnt work today and I thought why not?" Telling the truth, both men nodded listening. It was true Boo was sad they'd have to take like a long time off since the closes tattoo artist was in the city. But now since people are coming here theres different shops now.

"Okay, we understand. But still, ya could have told one of us or gotten someone to help ya get home." Chiding Seth came forward helping Boo to the house. Alphonse followed carring the bag and would help but ask.

"What does it look like?" Asking his partner, who smirked and giggled a bit. This caught both of the attentions.

"You'll see soon once its healed~" Implying something dirty, Al snorted and Seth shook his head. Sugarboo wanted to say that was able a reason why they wanted it. Since their backshots were gonna go wild now-

[frances-and-the-moon]

Why "Beyond Evil" is an enemies-to-partners-to-lovers story❤️, a (very) brief timeline (for those who haven't watched the show):

In the first episode, Han Joo-Won (our main lead + sweetest flower in the entire Korean police force + son prince of Deputy Commissioner to-be) goes to the little merry town of Manyang, hellbent on arresting Lee Dong-Sik (our other Main Lead), local dilf and renowned lunatic, whom he believes to be the serial killer from a string of murders that started 20 years prior;

Our Joo-Won (who also coincidentally happens to be a collector of stylish coats and has hair softer🌷than any woman in the show) is obsessed with said dilf already before the start of the series but we don't get to see that (but the obsession was definitely there much earlier than when he moved to Manyang);

Once he is in the merry town of Manyang (where everyone seems kinda sus and in need of therapy tbh) he breaks inside Dong-Sik's house multiple times, uninvited and casually making himself at home. DS is often annoyed at him but never throws him out, which says a lot about DS's already compromised + whipped state of mind™️;

In the course of the first episodes, Han Joo-Won (our boytoy) keeps accusing Dong-Sik (our crazy dilf) of having murdered his own sister (ffs Joo-Won) and other various women (without any evidence whatsoever). As he repeatedly accuses DS without rhyme nor reason he ofc thinks he's being such a clever officer - because telling the person you believe to be a serial killer he's a psycho the first time you meet him and repeatedly grabbing him by the colllar and shaking him is how investigating murders works in his seasoned police officer mind;

As JW fulfills his need for approval (stemming from Daddy Issues™️) and sense of justice, Dong-Sik taunts, manipulates and messes w/ his head and has him wrapped around his little finger, making Joo-Won think he's the killer;

Joo-Won ofc falls for that bc he has tunnel vision and can't connect shit.

BONUS:

Romantic drama tropes (x 2): (1) Han Joo-Won staring at DS under the rain (1st appearance of the Rain Trope™️) as the man whom he believes to be the serial killer smiles sweetly and shields a boy who has lost his way with his umbrella - cue longing, lustful stare from JW and the moment he falls in love w/ his partner (which he doesn't realize yet bc he's clueless); (2) Han Joo-Won disobeying DS's orders not to get involved and protecting him from a local band of thugs, potentially sabotaging his career and his relationship w/ his father - start of Protective Boyfriend Arc™️.

SECOND PART OF THE SERIES:

At some point Han Joo-Won (our clueless flower inspector who's oblivious to his feelings for DS) slowly slowly starts connecting the dots (finally) and realizes that the dilf he's been repeatedly accusing of murder is - in fact - not a serial killer (in spite of his dubious morals, his tendency to tamper w/ evidence and move amputated fingers & cellphones around town), and learns to slowly slowly trust him;

JW & DS finally pair up and arrest the killer together - beginning of Partner Arc™️.

Han Joo-Won goes berserk when Jin-Mook (local full-time supermarket guy, part-time serial killer) tries to strangle Dong-Sik in the interrogation room bc he's the only one who is allowed to manhandle his sugar daddy and wrinkle his coats;

He then decides to take a vacation (as he often does bc he's a delicate flower 🌸 who needs lots of time off) and comes back with stylish clothes and a newfound bratty attitude, flirts with Dong-Sik more than once and uses Dong-Sik's methods to manipulate him back because he has learnt from the best teacher and he is such a good student;

THIRD PART OF THE SERIES:

Joo-Won (who has now officially been adopted by the local, dysfunctional Manyang family) discovers that his bad abooji is the one who killed his boyfriend's sister 20 yrs prior; he then proceeds to drop on his knees in front of said boyfriend, whispering: "I will go to hell for you" (cue 2nd instance of Proverbial Rain Trope™️ + tears + sad puppy eyes);

He and his soon-to-be husband make a plan to ruin Han Gi-Hwan's (JW's bad abooji) career and they end up exchanging wedding vows on national television at his father's hearing to spite him (and also to take the spotlight bc they are such a power couple);

JW willingly goes into the trap his dad later sets for Dong-Sik in order to protect him and to take the blame in his stead (cue boyfriend's angry reaction "How dare you put yourself in danger for me" etc.) - continuation of Protective Boyfriend Arc™️;

In the final episode - after Joo-Won has arrested his father and Dong-Sik asks him to arrest him too (which is the main reason why JW went to Manyang in the first place, as he's been continuously reminding Dong-Sik since the start of the series) - he starts stuttering and saying "H-how could I??", all while crying like a little baby.

He finally arrests his boyfriend on charges of obstruction of justice, cries with his handcuffed hands in his hands, and they meet a year later and smile at each other and DS says goodbye with the words: "eat well, sleep well, poop well" (which is, as it is widely known, the Korean version of "I love you").

[thesmpisonfire]

Q! Brazilians Background, Lore and Summary, as I could gather from Day One

Backstory:

Felps is at fault for crashing the boat, he didn't had a license for controlling the ship since he thought it was just like riding a bike

Pac, Mike and Cellbit already have a story together, Pac and Mike have been previously betrayed and saw friends die due to Cellbit's fault

Pac and Mike are a Duo, Do Not Separate

Cellbit and Felps have been friends for ages

Pac and Mike have a backstory when dealing with Herobrine, coming from an old rp series called "Herobrine: The Legend", where they started getting haunted by Herobrine at age 14, managed to banish it around their 17s, and then it came back to haunt them when they were 19, and its still around

Forever had a lover, Brunim, that looks eerily similar to Phil and it's the reason Forever is obsessed with Phil and took such a hit when Phil kept pushing him away

Q!Characters server lore and summary:

Forever has brought weed with him in the boat, and made a deal with Quackity to create a prison, lock up everyone, and get rich with a drug empire

Later, all Brazilians agreed to make a mafia without anyone else knowing

When Richarlyson was adopted, first thing they all did was teach him how to steal quick and then how to kill. That diamond sword of his is crazy

Forever didn't care much for Richarlyson at first, leaving him with the other 4

He went after Philza, finding him with Tallulah, Chayenne, Dapper and BBH. He and Phil fought when Phil offered to help him build a home, when Forever wanted to live with him

Forever then said he didn't want Philza as his sugar daddy anymore, and left their place crying

He then decided he'd build a prison and lock up Phil to force Phil to love him

Forever got tricked by Quackity at first into believing Tallulah was Q's child and that Phil had kidnapped her and vowed to help

Later, when Cellbit went find Forever, Quackity tried to convince him of the same. Cellbit talked to BBH and made a deal to get some itens or else he'd help Quackity get Tallulah, BBH payed him

Quackity and Cellbit fought, Quackity started berating all the eggs, and Cellbit stepped in when Quackity talked about Richas, saying Q only hated the eggs because he had none

Quackity jumped off the wall, and so Cellbit felt guilty and offered 1% of Richas' paternity to Q, who accepted

Meanwhile, Pac, Mike and Felps were almost dying to a LOT of mobs while trying to find a place to settle. Richas was honestly the MVP here bc he defended all 3 of them when they barely had armor and weapons

(Between these two things happening, Forever was trying to find Pac, Mike and Felps)

They regrouped and everyone grumpily accepted Q as one of Richarlyson's dad, they had settles over a couple of mounts and decided they'd build a big house complex on the hillside (A favela)

Suddenly, they saw a white man walking around and Richarlyson had disappeared. Out Of Character, what happened was that the mod Richas' admin was using crashed and he stopped looking like an egg, but Quackity managed to save it lore wise by saying it was Osito Bimbo/Cucurucho that had kidnapped Richas so everyone went with that as well

Richarlyson showed up fine couple mins later

While everyone went out to gather wood and food, Cellbit went with Richas to mine

As they were digging down, Richas fell into a cave, with Cellbit immediately jumping for him and managing to kill some mobs and get Richas out of there

He told Richas to not tell his other dads that they fell into the cave, but else they went down carefully

Cellbit met Felps building, and got him to go down with him and Richarlyson to the cave

This is when Richas died

Cellbit immediately held Felps to make up a lie to make up for their failure. They settled in saying a "Cloaked figure with white eyes, probably a Necromancer, invoked tens of Skeletons that killed them and Richas", hoping to take advantage of Pac and Mike's trauma with Herobrine to be believed

Cellbit's plan worked when Pac immediately asked if it was Herobrine who took Richas' life, but when Q overheard the talk he said it was probably Cucurucho again who killed the egg

After this, things became more chill with Richas. He stayed with Mike building their favela while Pac and Cellbit went down to mine

Here is when the things get a bit more freaky, Pac and Cellbit went all the way down to bedrock and found a weird, man-made cave system, lightened up with torches. It didn't seem like strip mining, since there were literally no holes in the walls that would indicate that an ore was mined out

They kept exploring and ended up lost and had to dig their way up

All the time they joked it was Cucurucho's tunnels and he was going to be upset with them

Meanwhile, Forever got back worried for Richas' death, and so he stuck around to help protect him

Felps, Mike and Forever made a farm, and also a bed for Richarlyson, plus Mike had made a canvas and painted Richas a nice painting of him :)

Someone trapped a chest they had next to the farm, someone they just saw a glimpse of, and when Felps opened the chest, it exploded and killed him

Time passed and soon BBH came by to see how they were, he then noticed Osito Bimbo watching them and Forever and Cellbit chased him down, since he started running. Cellbit got distracted by BBH calling him and Forever kept chasing

BBH warned that Richas was too vulnerable by sleeping in the living room since people could just kill him when they weren't looking

So, naturally, they build a secret room behind a wall and locked Richarlyson in there with stone since they had no means to build a fancy door

Cellbit then talked to BBH in private, since BBH had similar characteristics as the Necromancer Cellbit had made up (white eyes, cloak) and asked BBH to pretend to be the Necromancer to help him out

BBH agreed

They finally managed to build a security door, locking Richarlyson in there (it's NOT a captivity room) and then covering the door with a painting

They all logged out after that

Richarlyson got his life back since it was his first day

[x-liv25-jamieswife]

Xander and Gigi head cannons pls?

xander and gigi head canons

of course<3. they will literally be the best duo imaginable. i can feel it. not proof read so i apologize if anything doesn't make sense. hope you like them <3. @catapparently helped a bit with this one.

they will literally prank everyone all the damn time. they have a white board filled with prank ideas. (they once replaced jamie's alcohol with disgusting juice mixes they made. jamie ended up barfing for an entire day)

gigi is into robotics and stuff but doesn't know much about it. xander will sit with her for hours a day trying to explain everything to her.

they love playing twister for some odd reason. they're always trying to beat each other's scores.

xander is one of the only people (if not the only person) who gives her coffee voluntarily.

gigi loves lemon flavored scones and xander loves the blueberry ones, so they're always debating and fighting over who is right. (their debates get so intense. once, xander ended up in the pool naked (don't ask me how))

they comment on each other's posts saying things like "omg slay girl boss you ate that up" and stuff like that

when they gossip, they literally hold nothing back. gigi will be talking about a hookup (if she has any), and she'll be like 'and then he pulled out and he said "*****" to me whilst touching my **** and i literally almost came'. xander just sits there half traumatized and half really invested.

gigi writes fanfic on ao3 and will dedicate her fics to xander

speaking of fanfics, xander is also her beta reader sometimes

they cause arguments wherever they go. they'll be having dinner with skye, zara, and the others, and they'll purposely say smth like "omg did you hear that skye hooked up with zara's husband". everyone starts screaming, and they just sit in the back eating popcorn

they listen to cupcakke (the girl with the really dirty songs) together and scream the lyrics.

gigi once walked in on xander getting dressed (he was completely naked). she was so shocked she couldn't move, and xander just stood there staring at her. gigi managed to walk away (disgusted bc she just saw one of her closest friends naked), and xander was blushing profusely cause he was embarrassed.

they have the weirdest nicknames for each other. they call each other things like 'my little sugar plum sprinkled with pickles' or stuff like that.

xander flirts with gigi around grayson just to piss him off and gigi does the same (grayson gets weirded out cause although xander and gigi aren't related, he's related to both of them)

when they facetime, they literally bring each other everywhere. xander will literally go to the toilet with her on the phone. they have no shame.

they have an insta account together where they post the craziest shit ever (they sort of post videos like the sturniolo triplets. i don't watch them, but from what i've seen they remind me of gigi and xander)

xander and gigi make edits of gigi's cats and post them on tiktok.

they both decided to get a helix piercing. (they have matching earrings).

xander and gigi go to sex shops and laugh at the toys. they'll see lingerie or smth and gigi will go 'it's so coquette it turns me off'

gigi and xander cannot spell properly when they text. they'll be trying to say 'yoo wanna come over for a sleepover' but it comes out as 'yu wsna cime ocer for a skeepkowr' or smth like that

they were once at the park pushing each other down slides, but gigi pushed xander too hard and he fell face first into the grass.

after this event, she changed his contact name to 'grass eating cow'

gigi is a little too comfortable around xander. she asks him things like 'do you think one of my boobs is bigger than the other' or 'do you think my ass is slapable'. xander usually just stays quiet unless gigi insists he responds, and then he panics and says something random.

they go to stores to just touch all of the blankets until they find the softest ones, and then they buy them. in their opinion, you will not get a good night's sleep if you don't have a good blanket.

they get really cold easily so they're always huddled up together in a corner.

gigi is the grumpiest person you could ever imagine when she's on her period. xander runs around getting her everything she asks for when she has cramps and stuff freaking out because he doesn't want her to kill him.

gigi and xander vent to each other a lot. they're really similar and so they get each other like no one else does. they cry in each others arms regularly but always end up laughing bc some of their problems are just so stupid.

gigi helps him draw his missing eyebrow back on for events with an eyebrow pencil. she's gotten quite good at it.

at the end of the year, they organize this event where they talk about their fav fanfics and crown one as their absolute fav (they have different categories like smut, romance, au, etc)

for halloween one year, gigi dressed up as a dildo and xander as a pocket p*ssy (gigi dared him to)...

(don't mind that last one, my sister dared me to add it)

[obsessedwrhys]

Okay hi!! How are you doing? I suppose that you have a lot of requests to write rn (ngl I understand bc you write SO GODAMN GOOD) Ahem, take your time to do this request, but can you do relationship headcanons with Walker (afk journey)?

Thank you!!<33

|| WALKER DATING HEADCANONS ||

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ just loooots of fluff, reader is gn!!! (Also tysm for complimenting my work LIKE ILYSM ❤)

You must be something special if you happened to even get his attention

I feel like the only way he'd be drawn towards you would be your way of resolving any tough situation you're thrown in

That's because he admires that in a person, someone who knows how to deal with things to survive no matter how hard it can be

Once you two are acquainted, you would bump into him all of the time and you always brushed it off as a coincidence but little did you know, he was actually following you around to see what you were up to

He's no fool so he would know if he started to grow feelings for you. When he did, he would definitely try to make it known to you while also being subtle about it

For example when you managed to catch a bunch of bandits and had tied them up to a tree for the Heroic Order to deal with. He would be seen standing near you as he watches you tie a knot.

"You know, I like someone who's not afraid to get their hands dirty while also looking stunning in the process... "

"Oh?"

It wasn't that hard for you to figure out whether if he liked you or not. He can be very bold with his words and actions.

That's why when you guys had the talk. It was easily decided to make the relationship official.

And boy oh boy were you in for a ride.

Not only do you get a boyfriend but you also earn yourself a sugar daddy.

I'm not even kidding when I say he spends all of his dimes on whatever you want. If you even blink at an item that's on display, he's gonna buy it for you.

He wants to spoil you so he can't help it.

Besides he can just pick up more bounties to earn back the money he spent on you. He doesn't mind as long as you're satisfied.

Apart from that, he'll take you anywhere you want. He doesn't care if it's far or whatever.

If it means a lot to you then he'll do it.

He's also VERY possessive. It's the truth no matter how much you deny it.

Like if anyone goes up to you and starts to flirt, he'll either be glaring at the person from across the room or just start to get all up on the person's face until they finally leave you alone.

Sometimes he can go overboard so you'll have to step in to stop him.

But the second you two are alone after the whole mess, he would just hold you as he rests his head on your shoulder. Not a word spoken but just the sound of his breathing.

It's little moments like this you see how soft he becomes.

"I can't lose you... you have to understand that..." He'd say, excusing his behaviour from earlier.

When it comes to cuddling, he prefers being big spoon. He just enjoys feeling his hands on you when he falls asleep. It makes him feel reassured you'll be there with him in the morning.

Another reason is because he has better access to your hair and he loveslovesloves sniffing your hair or just nuzzling his face into it. Just the scent of you has him easily relaxed.

For PDA, I think he's not afraid to show how much he loves you. It just depends on what kind of people he's around. If it's people he respects then he'll tone it down a bit.

His kisses are definitely romantic, he doesn't like pecks because he wants to savour the moment. Every time you two kiss feels like the first to him. He 100% enjoys bitting your bottom lip to tease you sometimes.

Speaking of teasing, he's average when it comes to that. He would tease you if you ever happen to make a mistake or be clumsy but if its something you're insecure with or trying to get better at, his lips are sealed.

That's why he comes naturally as your big supporter. He may not look like it but he'll always be there to give you a boost if you need it.

He showers you with praises always and forever!! Because to him, there's nothing better than seeing you thrive.

"What do you mean that was okay? You did awesome, give yourself some credit will ya?"

His pet names include peach, angel and his most used being sugar. It's nothing too deep, it's just he finds you sweet so he likes to call you that.

One more thing I'd like to add, he would let you wear his hat if you ever happen to be tired. It's oddly cozy since its bigger on your head so it kinda becomes your personal sleep mask.

Just imagine yourself sitting against a tree, clearly exhausted as your eyes slowly fluttered close, but just before you could drift off to sleep, you'd suddenly feel a hat place on your head. You would then look up to see Walker grinning down at you.

"Go ahead and take a nap sugar. The hat will block the sunshine for you"

He's very caring towards you, there's only a few amount of people who get that treatment from him so consider yourself lucky.

He never told you and he's most likely never intending to, but he actually sings very well. He just thinks he was born with it but never paid any mind to it. That's why whenever he's on one of his bounty hunts, he would make up some song lyrics dedicated to you, he's more of a humming person because he doesn't want to risk anyone hearing him sing.

You'll never know, maybe one day he'll be able to put together a song and sing it to you.

Honestly? 10/10 HUSBAND MATERIAL

[whoslaurapalmer]

post canon extended baudelaire family - how much does baby bea know about her namesake? what stories have she been told about her? from whom does she learned specific details, etc.

(also hope your doctor visit go well!! )

GASP............oh what a question. oh boy oh boy

well. i think babybea knows A Lot about beatrice. she's read asoue, she knows what lemony said about her as Beatrice, as the baudelaire's mother, she knows that she was incredible and a Presence and a real person, and fancy and sophisticated and a mother who could sing and dance and cook and do all kinds of things!! and that. uh. she committed murder. but let's not pretend babybea has an average view of morality here. she has access to a great deal of information that other people haven't, and has been IN vfd, and has also had a great deal of time alone to consider what makes people do things. she knows violet and klaus and sunny contemplated murder, too. so i don't think she's bothered by that.

(would babybea have committed murder? if she had stayed in vfd, yes. i think so. bc if she stayed in vfd -- if lemony hadn't finally decided to meet her -- then babybea would not have broken the cycle. and that's one of the points of babybea's character, that she can do that. but if she hadn't been able to walk out of vfd herself, on purpose, she wouldn't have been able to break the cycle.)

related: i think, despite sharing her name, babybea is 100% successfully her own person -- i think she's had a few moments of like, feeling the weight of the idea of beatrice (when she was in vfd, when she meets lemony for the first time and he has to explain why he didn't meet her sooner, just introducing herself as beatrice baudelaire), but also, that's all she ever really knows, that Idea of beatrice. she never gets to meet beatrice. she's just babybea, trying to exist with her own problems. so i don't think she feels a sense of competition, or like people overwhelmingly compare her to beatrice. (i think i worry about it more than she might!! bc of like, the stress on baticeer in the beatrice letters, which is only to keep the mystery of who it is until the end, and the end of the end. i think she doesn't actually care for bats. they are Average to her. which speaks to more distancing herself from vfd trauma re: dealing with them in my fic, than distancing herself from beatrice.)

i think she loves hearing about her, though!! in the way you love hearing stories about your family, about people in your family, especially learning more about the family members telling you the stories.but when she hears about beatrice is, difficult. when she first meets lemony, i think he's more involved with the sbts crew than the remains of the sugar bowl gen at that point, so she doesn't get brought up a great deal, and lemony's still going through a lot. when they reunite with the baudelaires, it's not that violet and klaus and sunny don't want to talk about their parents, or have an aversion to it, but it's the sense of, sometimes talking about someone you miss is just kind of loaded. in the actual act of saying the words out loud, for yourself to hear, for other people to hear. it might make you upset, it might make other people upset, and you don't know what's going to happen until you say it, because grief is weird like that, even after all that time, sometimes especially when the loss isn't so fresh anymore. so i think the three of them are just. going through complicated emotions.

so i think, not just babybea, but also violet and klaus and sunny, start to not only hear more about beatrice, but talk more about beatrice, when they (plus lemony) meet up with the denouements. there's definitely things about beatrice that frank and ernest and lemony know, that violet and klaus and sunny would not know. (and some unmentionable things. for, private, reasons.......) god i wish i could come up with like. a series of fun memories for them to talk about but regretfully all i have managed to offer is this one minor one, that i still think is cute --

-frank, despite having seen beatrice do this, many times, brings up the near impossibility of whistling with crackers in your mouth. lemony brings up a number of outings where beatrice did just that, and whistled more than just mozart. sunny makes a series of crackers and all of them try whistling while eating the crackers. klaus is moderately successful, beatrice almost spits out her crackers on accident bc, horror of horrors, her mother could not whistle.

violet: mother made it look very easy. lemony: your mother made a great many things look very easy. 

but i also want to bring up!! i feel like babybea knows so much about beatrice -- and rightfully so -- but, in comparison, she honestly knows so little about her own mother, about her own parents. violet, klaus, and sunny knew kit and dewey for a very brief period of time, so her information about them is very limited. so i think a lot of beatrice stories are also stories that involve kit. babybea is very starry-eyed during these. she sees a lot of boundless determination in stories about kit that she also sees in herself.

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

i would like to be in and foster an online environment in which discussions abt controversial topics can be handled civilly without ppl ganging up and sending an influx of anon hate. i think internet in general is a space where ppl love to be outraged and i want to challenge that. that's partially why i wrote this fic. i am tired of purity culture and of fandom/online hivemind. in a fandom where a lot of ppl clearly enjoy age gap ships, i say, what makes one better and more "morally correct" than another? what makes a sugar mommy au better than a college student x teacher fic? so many fics featuring dark themes are popular in this fandom (don't wanna name any names bc i don't wanna get anyone involved), but THIS is the one ppl are upset about?

i wanna ask a question -- is it possible to write a fic where ppl are NOT morally pure but still somehow manage to live and find happiness? why is it forbidden to explore those themes in fiction? when you look at ppl in real life and how weirdly their lives shape up, and how ppl are flawed and make mistakes and live unconventionally or sometimes immorally or unhealthily, doesn't that interest you? in a sense that you would like to read about it? explore what goes on in the minds of these ppl/characters?

ppl forget exploring a theme in fiction doesn't equate to condoning it in real life. each individual has to use their own best judgement when consuming a piece of fiction. i assume everyone reading my fic is an adult (as i write fics intended for adult audiences) and can form their own opinion.

i would like it if people could use their reading comprehension and critical thinking skills when reading my fiction, without me having to put up exact and specific 1826372929392 word disclaimers, so ppl's fragile feelings wouldn't get hurt. would it really be okay if i wrote in all caps before the story WEDNESDAY IS 22? you could have read the first paragraph and figured that out. i tagged it as teacher-student bc it's playing with the concept, even if they are not a student/teacher in the timeline of the story. i use implied underage sex as a tag bc in the 2nd chapter, and repeatedly throughout the story i reference larissa and morticia's relationship, that has occurred when they were underage. i mention that they engaged in sex. it is only mentioned, and not explicitly described. do you need me to write all of that out under the title in order not to send anon hate and clutch your pearls in disgust? or can you just read the story and decide if it's for you or not?

i implore you to read all of my works as a story, without attaching a moral judgement to characters' actions. if and when you do attach a moral judgement and form an opinion, pls remember those are fictional characters, and i am an author exploring certain themes bc i can and it interests me to do so. i want to write unconventional stories, controversial stories, romantic stories, funny stories, horror stories, i want to explore everything. everybody who reads is invited to look at them as a piece of fiction they can enjoy or not enjoy, and nothing more. i hope to take you on a journey that leaves you with something to remember, good or bad, but impactful.

from now on, i will probably write longer works and venture into darker themes (next thing i'm planning is murder mystery/thriller). there will still be fluffy pieces, but i just want to push myself out of my comfort zone. i would like to associate with fandom ppl who are open-minded and can read a piece of fiction without going ballistic. if you look at things black and white, you likely won't like my fiction -- and that's okay.

however, if for any reason you want to send me hate, you will absolutely be blocked. i am a person, and i do not deserve insults and rudeness in my inbox. it's easy to feel empowered and feel like you're fighting for A Cause (TM) and attach the Bad Guy etiquette to a single person. that can feel like you're solving something. esp when ppl accuse me of promoting actual p3dophilia -- that's a cause everyone can get behind. banish the evil p3do apologist!

i am a victim of child sexual abuse, that went on all throughout my formative years, and into my adult age, simply because i thought that's how it must be. that experience has scarred me beyond belief. i don't want to share the details. it's not smth i'm sharing for pity points, nor do i need anyone's sympathy. however, it is an experience that has shaped who i am, and perhaps for that reason, combined with other things, is why i'm drawn to certain themes in fiction. i don't owe anybody an explanation as to why i choose certain topics, but since there have been idiots in my inbox who have accused me of harming victims of minor sexual abuse, i feel compelled to say something. fuck you for using a group of suffering ppl to support your own flimsy arguments born out of puritanism and inability to cope with heavy themes in fiction.

you are absolutely welcome to CIVILLY discuss your opinions about the fic with me -- off anon, exclusively. but i know nobody will, bc this isn't about the actual contents of my fic, this is about the delicious morally righteous thrill of a witch hunt.

enjoy the fic. i will post next wednesday.

[campingwiththecharmings]

Hi 👋 Can i request 43. “Frost the damn cupcakes.” with Santi or Nathan please? Thx 🙏

Sugar

AN: Thanks so much for your request, nonnie (and also for your patience, ugh, I'm so sorry this took so long). Apparently it is a HC for me that Santi makes great arepas bc this is the second time I’ve mentioned it lol (also, apologies again if the Spanish is terrible/wrong. I tried but I am regrettably not a native speaker).

(Un-beta'd)

Rated: T Words: 894 Pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN!Reader Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, kissing, butt pinching, playful teasing, Santi being bad at something, possibly terrible writing. AO3

——————

Santiago Garcia is a fantastic cook. You’ve watched him make the most difficult dishes with ease, throwing ingredients together in a way that looks like a chaotic, unintelligible mess only to result in some of the most deliciously beautiful food you’ve ever had in your life. Plus, his arepas? To die for. The man can even bake, the heavenly scent of his cookies and pies permeating every square inch of your home and making your mouth water.

Unfortunately, he can’t decorate cupcakes to save his life.

It’s not like he hasn’t tried, hasn’t spent hours tediously piping and spreading frosting. He even watched a video on YouTube once but, for whatever reason, he just can’t get the technique down. He spent years in the service being one of the best in his field, and it kills him that he can’t figure out how to do something that should be so simple.

Naturally, you tease him for it. Mercilessly. Helps keep him humble.

“Querida,” he calls from the kitchen, frustration evident in his tone.

You bite back a smile, putting down the book you’ve been pretending to read. “Yeah?”

There’s a loud clang as he drops something on the counter, followed by a muttered curse. “Can you come in here, please.”

You smile, rising to your feet with a stretch. “Coming.”

His aggravation is palpable when you enter, rolling off him in waves. You say nothing as you fall into place beside him, shoulder pressing against his.

“Go ahead, say it.”

“Say what?” 

He shoots you a sour look, raising an eyebrow as he braces his hands on the countertop.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.”

You smother a smile, studying the batch of half-frosted cupcakes sitting on the counter before you. They are, to put it mildly, a trainwreck.

“Wow, babe,” you say, cringing as you shoot him a sideways glance. “What exactly were you going for here?”

Six of the twelve cupcakes are slathered with just a little too much pale pink frosting with uneven globs of green, white, and yellow.

“Are these supposed to be flowers?” you continue, leaning in to inspect the cupcake closest to you.

“They’re daisies,” Santiago grumbles. “Thought Frankie’s kid would like ‘em.”

Something in your chest warms at his words and you decide to throw him a bone.

“Hey, this one’s not…terrible,” you offer, pointing at one of the cupcakes.

He shoots you a look. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.”

He stares at you in silence for a moment, and you try to look innocent, but you know he can probably tell how amused you are by this.

He sighs, holding a spatula out to you. “Can you please just fix them?”

You take the spatula, leaning your hip against the counter as you turn to face him. “Maybe. For a price.”

He scoffs, looking at you in mild exasperation. “What price?”

You pretend to consider your options for a moment before tapping your lips with a playful smile. “Gimme some sugar.”

There is a pause as he looks at you, his gaze softening a little as it roves your face. He snorts, taking a step into your space and pressing you back against the counter with his body. A giddiness swells in your chest when his hands come up to cradle your face, his lips brushing yours teasingly as he hovers.

“I don’t have all day, Garcia,” you whisper, raising a challenging eyebrow at him.

He sniffs, amusement in his eyes as he leans in to press his mouth to yours. When he does, you sigh, hands twisting in the fabric of his shirt in an effort to somehow bring him closer. He smiles against your lips, angling your head as he languidly licks into your mouth, his tongue hot as it slides against yours. He pulls away after a moment, smile widening when you chase his lips. 

“We square?” he asks, hands falling to rest on your hips.

“Hmm, you know,” you begin airily, snaking your arms around his waist. “I think I’m gonna need a little more, I mean, there are twelve cupcakes here, baby.”

His chuckle is low and warm as it vibrates against your chest. “How many then? One for every cupcake? Because that could take a while.”

You smile, chewing your bottom lip as you consider. “Give me one more now and I’ll collect the rest later.”

“Deal,” he hums, leaning in to press his lips to yours again.

The warm, soft slide of his lips makes your chest ache, and you whine when he pulls away far sooner than you’d like. He rests his forehead against yours, breath fanning against your skin in light puffs as you allow yourselves a moment to just enjoy being close to each other.

“Te amo, cariño” he mumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours.

You smile at him sweetly, leaning in to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

“Yo también,” you breathe, pulling back a little to meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Mi pastelito.”

He rolls his eyes, releasing you from his hold. “Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retort, your brows raising challengingly at him as you turn back to the counter.

He grunts, pinching your ass in retaliation, your surprised yelp making him smirk. 

“Just frost the damn cupcakes.”

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