#is it obscene enough to warrant that

[platinum-roulette]

My hand slipped

[princessbrunette]

I have been doing ballet rehearsals alllll day and I’m so soreeee!! just thinking about John b n his magical massage skills + dick like ugh he would make EVERYTHING better

this is so relatable bc after ballet john b n his firm hands n gentle ways is always who im craving <3

⤷ ‧₊˚ 🐶🩰🎀 ⋅ ˚⭑

john b can always trust that when you come home from ballet you’re going to be in a mood. it’s one of the more graceful forms of dance, so it always catches him off guard to see the comparison of your body language when you arrive back to the chateau, slumped and sore with a pouty attitude and permanent frown.

luckily for you, your boyfriend is a problem fixer. always has been, and dating you means he understands the formula behind getting you to do certain things. in this case, he wanted to rid of your attitude — and whilst you weren’t necessarily being mean or doing anything that warranted punishment, the only other option was that you needed your brain turned off for a little while. he knew just how to sink you into that soft subspace in the clouds.

he’s got you sat on his lap with his dick inside you to the hilt. yes, to the hilt. john b was big, obscenely so — which meant sometimes having him in all the way would be just enough to have you speechless, unable to form a coherent thought. having your tight walls warming his length wasn’t enough to get you to fully switch off though, not like this anyway. for special occasions like this, he reserved his magic combination. dick in your guts, and a little pink vibrator held to your clit.

your mouth is open but sound rarely leaves you, just small squeaks and little sobs of overstimulation. he’d already had you cum on his cock from just this, wincing and letting out bass-y hums from his chest as your soaked walls squeeze and flutter around him incessantly, your own release squelching and dripping down to collect beneath the two of you. he doesn’t relent with the vibrator, your body frail and trembling in his arms as he continues his magic on your clit.

“okay, bug. let it out. i knooow.” he cooes, voice deep and warm and comforting — the only thing grounding you. with the pleasure and sensitivity coursing through your body, you can no longer feel the ache in your back or the fresh bruises on your feet. “would i ever just let my puppy be in pain? must’ve known i’d fix you right up, sweetheart. daddies always got you, huh?”

his free hand slides up the centre of your body, fingers splayed and palm coarse. it makes you shudder, clenching around him hard as it continues its descent until his thumb is tapping at your lips, the rest of his fingers curling beneath your chin. “you might want something to suck on, sweet girl. gonna make you cum another couple’a times. you know, gotta make sure i really hit your off switch.”

⤷ ‧₊˚ 🐶🩰🎀 ⋅ ˚⭑

[eraenaa]

Casual

Inspired by the song "Casual" by Chappell Roan

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Synopsis: You would settle for causality as long as you had Rafe by your side. 

Warnings: ¿Angst?, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (F receiving), Fingering, Choking, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 2,126

A little break from Aemond fics because I just recently watched an obscene amount of Rafe edits, and now I'm obsessed.

“Rafe… fuck, Rafe,” you called— cried as he was stated between your legs. Your lusted eyes warily scanned the outside, mortified by the idea of you two being caught in such a state. “Shh… I’m doing my best work here,” He hummed and nipped the inside of your thigh, making you whimper. Your hands tangled in his hair, your lips were in between your teeth as his fingers slipped in and out of you, his ring adding a sense of coolness that only aided you in pleasure. “We—we might get caught!”You shirked as his lips sucked on your nubbin. “I really don’t fucking care, baby,” Rafe growled and nuzzled his face closer to your cunt. 

You gasped and took hold of the grab handle of his truck as his fingers curled at the familiar sensation of you peaking was about to break. “Rafe!” You cried, and he just chucked and continued to draw circles on your clit, waiting for you to come undone on his lips. “Fuck you always taste so good,” he groaned as he lapped your cunt, and you tried to catch your breath. You slumped on the passenger seat, your back resting on the door and your head leaning against the fogged window. You sighed as his lips met yours, tasting yourself on his tongue while his hand went to cup your breast under your shirt. “We could have gotten caught,” You say against his lips when both of you parted for air. “So what? Let them see how great I am at eating you out,” he said with a sly smirk, enjoying the way your cheeks would flush and your gaze would bashfully go downward. 

Rafe chuckled and kissed your cheek before settling himself in his seat and starting the engine of his truck. “Come on, let’s get you home,” he said, resting his large hand on your thigh. “Or would you rather go back to mine?” He asked, and you shook your head at his teasing tone. “I can’t. My parents are expecting me for dinner,” You said and stared at his hand on your thigh; it was odd that you found that part of his so attractive. Rafe hummed and squeezed the plump flesh of your thigh. “That reminds me, Rose told me to tell you you’re invited for dinner tomorrow.” He said as he turned a street. You slightly frown at his words. “Why?” You ask. It was unexpected— maybe even inappropriate because, though having known him and his family for a couple of years, you and Rafe were not on a level of social intimacy that warranted you joining him and his family for Sunday night dinner. 

He had made it perfectly clear to his friends what the two of you were. That you two were just casual— just simply going about and fucking each other. “Nothing but a pastime— purely physical,” were his words. You would admit that it stung greatly. But you could not hold it against him because you perfectly knew that Rafe was not the committal type. He wanted something less serious and where there would be no strings attached. And you, who grew up with the idea of relationships stuck in your brain— being labeled as a hopeless romantic by your friends, settled for a casual fling with Rafe because… you wanted him— the whole of him. Even though he only wanted your body, that was enough for you to settle because you’d rather have him want you in a physical sense than not have him want you in any sense at all.

Rafe simply shrugged at your question. “Want me to pick you up?” He asked as he was pulling up to the driveway of your family’s estate. “Uh… no, I’ll just ask our driver,” you say because the act of him going out of his way to pick you up and drive you to dinner with his family was an act of intimacy that you would surely misinterpret and lead you to grow fonder of him whilst he still wants the casualty that did not come easily to you. “You sure?” He asked as his car stopped in the curve of your driveway. “Yeah, wouldn’t wanna impose,” You smile and remove your seatbelt. Rafe nodded and moved to kiss you again. And though you enjoyed kissing him, there was uncertainty on your lips. 

“His step-mom invited me to dinner,” you told your friend through the phone. “Why?” They asked in the same confused tone you heard earlier. “I don’t know, too,” You say as you raid your closet for something to wear for the dinner that is fast approaching. “I thought you two were casual?” They asked—their tone hinting distaste. “We are,” You say and stare at yourself in the mirror, deciding which dress suits you best. Strategic in what to wear. You wanted your clothes to be casual but not come off as uncaring. 

“Then why would she…?” Your friend trialed, and you debated if you should tell them the thought that pestered in the back of your head. If you should utter the hopefulness and optimism that you harbored. “What if… what if Rafe changed his mind? Maybe he doesn’t want casual anymore, and inviting me to their family dinner is a sign of formality— of exclusiveness.” You said, waiting for their reply. Your friend was silent, trying to find words that would not offend your ludicrous thoughts. They had only met Rafe twice during the summer, but they had the accurate image of him being noncommittal and just one to play around with girls. 

“Am I reading too much into this?” You sighed as you were met with stony silence. “A bit, yes,” they finally spoke, making you sigh heavily. “I told you this was not your brightest idea,” they said, and you shook your head. “Just… be cautious. I don’t want you to get hurt. You gave him a lot of your firsts… it’s just— I, for one, know the regret and pain in tying your firsts to someone unworthy of it.” You bit your lip and nodded. Saying goodbye to your friend and promising to visit them in New York once spring break comes.  

“You’re here! She’s here!” Weezy exclaimed as she abruptly opened the door of Cameron’s estate. Rafe’s younger sister practically bouncing around and beaming up at you. “Hey,” Race greeted as he descended down the steps, “What’d you bring?” He asked and took the box in your hands; his stepmom Rose coming to greet you in the foyer. “Oh… I brought cupcakes,” you smiled as Rose greeted you with a hug. “Oh, you shouldn’t have gone through the bother, but thank you. Come on, dinner is ready,” Rose smiled, and Weezy took the box and followed her mom. Rafe guiding you to their dinning room with hand placed on the low of your back, edging towards your ass and you had to elbow him in fear of being seen. His reply was only an amused chuckle. 

The night proceeded with his parents getting to know you better. Interested in you because your family was one of the wealthiest— if not, the wealthiest on the island. Yet, unsociable because your parents had no want to participate and spend their off time in the country club nor attend the parties thrown by the island’s elite. You, however, were introduced to Rafe through his sister, Sarah, who was notably missing from the dinner table. 

You were discussing something with Weezy when Rafe leaned closer to you and whispered something in your ear. “Meet me in the bathroom in two minutes.” He stood up, excusing himself, saying he had a call to take. You battled with yourself if you should do as he asked. It was completely inappropriate to have sex in the washroom whilst his parents and sister were at the dinner table. But the thought of Rafe pushing you against the bathroom counter, you watching him as he fucked you through the mirror… it was enough for wetness to come to your cunt, and you quickly excused yourself from the table. 

You looked behind you before taking hold of the bathroom doorknob. The door swung open, and Rafe pulled you in, quickly smashing your lips and moving you to sit on the cool marble counter of the sink. “Thank god you’re wearing a dress,” He practically growled as his fingers were quick to be met with your cunt and your lips continued to dance. “They might get suspicious,” you breathed out as his fingers worked their way into you, and his lips moved to your neck. Rafe groaned as your hand cupped his length through his trousers. “Again, baby, I don’t fucking care.” You gasped as Rafe abruptly pulled you off the counter, turning you to face the mirror and bundling your hair in his hand. His other hand was frantically hiking up your dress and pulling down your underwear. “Such a perfect ass,” He mused and harshly gripped the flesh, making a wince. 

You bit your lip and rolled your eyes in pleasure as his cock plunged deep into you. Rafe hissing in pleasure and gripping your hair tighter. “So fucking tight— if I weren’t the one to take your virginity, your cunt would have me believe you’ve never been fucked before… but we both know that’s not the truth, huh baby?” Rafe taunted as he rested your head on his chest, your back arched as he pounded into you. You let out a stifled moan as he removed his grip from your hair and instead placed it around your neck; his other hand, the one with his ring, found its way to the bundle of nerves on your cunt, determined to make you cry out in pleasure— for his family to hear your actions. 

“Rafe— please… I—“ You rasped as you felt the need for release. “Aw… not yet, baby… you don’t get to come yet,” Rafe taunted and gripped your neck tighter, enjoying the way tears spilled from your eyes and the way your cunt clenched tighter around him. “Watch me fuck you, pretty girl. I want you to watch how pleasured you are by my cock.” You obeyed his order and watched at the pleasured state both of you were enveloped in, your eyes locking with blue ones through the mirror. You plead with him for release, which only spurs a deeper desire in Rafe. When his thrusts became sloppier, and his grip on your neck grew tighter to the point he was truly close to obstructing your breathing, that was when he finally let you come undone. 

It had been a week since the family dinner at Rafe’s. Your parents were away on business, giving you and Rafe the opportunity to play house. The lines of casualness blurred when you had Rafe holding you close in sleep every night when he would wake you with his kisses and his lips on your cunt. The lines of casualness faded away when you cooked for him at dinner, and he served you breakfast in bed. 

You started to wonder if being casual meant that you would take showers together, that you would be in each other’s arms as you watched hours of movies. Was it still casual when he handed you his phone because his sister wanted to talk to you? It’s hard to say you two were just casual when he went through the piles of your baby albums and forced you to tell the story behind each photo, making you recall your childhood with such interest that it made your heart flutter. It was far from casual when he lay on your lap and started to open up about his torn relationship with his dad and mum; your hand soothingly brushed his hair whilst the other was intertwined with his. 

Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart that perhaps you two were starting to be more than casual. The actions shown led that way. You only had to muster up the courage to ask Rafe for more, to establish something stable between the two of you. So you went to his party with hopes that you two would be something more. Idealistic and idiotic because the moment you stepped foot in his house, with the crowds of people and the music blasting, all you could see was him in the corner, making out with another girl.  Holding her in the way he held you, kissing her in the way he kissed you. Your heart pitted, and your mind scolded you for being stupid enough to hope. You hated yourself because you made yourself believe that Rafe Cameron would ever want something more than casual. 

Part 2

[seeingivy]

deja vu

phd!eren x f!reader

**part of my canary mate fic

previous part linked here

--

[busstopbilly]: You’re quiet today. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: ruminating. 

[busstopbilly]: About? 

[lizontopoftheworld]: marriage. 

[busstopbilly]: ??? 

[busstopbilly]: About the institution of marriage or of your marriage? Or someone else’s marriage? 

[busstopbilly]: Or your marriage to me. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: so inquisitive today. 

[busstopbilly]: We should make one of those deals where once we turn thirty and we’re both not married, we should just bite the bullet and marry each other. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: deal! 

[busstopbilly]: How far away are you from thirty? 

[busstopbilly]: :D 

[lizontopoftheworld]: you’re funny 

[busstopbilly]: You seem low energy today. Marriage really has you that down? 

[lizontopoftheworld]: sorry. i’ve just been rotting since last night. in the mental space if that makes sense. 

[busstopbilly]: It makes sense. 

[busstopbilly]: Any catalyst to said rotting? 

[lizontopoftheworld]: overbearing mother 

[busstopbilly]: Classic. She should meet my dad. 

[lizonotopoftheworld]: they’d have a joint meltdown. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: i just don't understand where people find people. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: like how is that PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE 

[lizontopoftheworld]: like what are the odds that you like someone at the the same time that they like you 

[lizontopoftheworld]: liking someone that you stay together for like…for like years. since highschool. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: so many people cheat on other people. or stop liking them. hell, people just get bored of each other! 

[lizontopoftheworld]: i do not understand how it happens for other people. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: it’s just not fair. 

[lizontopoftheworld]: i get that it happens for other people but why doesn’t it happen for me? every person i know has been romantically involved with someone and i…i’ve never even gotten close to that 

[lizontopoftheworld]: the only person that flirts with me is you. you don’t even know what i look like. and you know. weird guys with small dicks do too but that raerely counts.

[busstopbilly]: I think chemistry is a big part of it. There are certain people that you just tend to feel close and connected to. Sometimes from the first time that you talk. While it does feel rare to you right now, because you’ve never felt it, think of it as a sampling issue. 

[busstopbilly]: You just haven’t been around someone who has warranted that out of you yet. But it is physically possible and it will happen for you. I know how annoying it sounds, but it sneaks up under your nose when you’re least expecting it.

[busstopbilly]: People cheat. But people also don’t cheat. I’ve been talking to you for nine months and have yet to get bored. It’s less likely to happen to you - speaking from experience – because talking to you is my favorite part of the day. 

[busstopbilly]: Take a breath. It’ll be okay. 

[busstopbilly]: If it makes you feel any better, I have the romantic capabilities of a teaspoon. The last time I took a girl on a date was in the sixth grade. 

--

eren calls your name three times. three times before he comes up with the only thing that he can think of, which is poking the side of your temple to get your attention. 

but he can’t help it. he takes the few seconds to observe you in full, from so close, because he’s never really gotten the chance. he counts four glittering earrings hanging from your lobe, perfectly matched to your outfit.  

eren wonders if that many piercings are uncomfortable. if you matched them on purpose. but retracts the need to ask you that. 

eren also observes that you’re particularly tense. that you’re slouching and scrunching up your shoulders up to your neck, that you frown while you’re typing, and that at the very least, you have eyebags that you’re not bothered enough to cover up. 

the music blaring through your headphones is obscenely loud. if he’s hearing right, you have an eerily similar music taste to his little sister's favorite pop artists, which he decides is entirely on brand for you. 

eren reaches forward, lightly tapping on the side of your temple to get your attention. 

he notes that you seem extremely disoriented by the gesture, the loud music blaring through your earphones – which he was positive was going to give you premature tinnitus – ceasing as you pull them out and glare at him. 

he also can’t help but notice that you’re looking at him with an insane amount of disdain. granted, almost every time you did look at him you were looking with disdain, but it was…almost amplified today. 

he can’t help but notice that he’s too observant when it comes to looking at you. that there’s so much to notice, mainly because he feels like there’s an absence of information that he’s working with as a baseline. 

eren’s final conclusion was that you were too reserved. or too reserved when it came to him. 

increasingly so, he’s reminded that this is how he had always felt around you. that more apparently, he keeps being reminded it with all the time he’s spending you and it’s irritating to him. 

“can i help you?” you ask. 

“lab lunch. i just picked it up.” eren offers. 

you bite at the side of your lip. 

“i love to eat my food cold. i’ll eat it in an hour.” you respond. 

eren leans forward, resting his arms on the top of your cubicle as he peers over to the screen of your laptop. he notes that you have three tabs open – two of which were abstracts that you were writing for the upcoming conference – and the last being facebook. 

eren wants to observe more. only because he’d rather do that than hear sasha prattle on for the entire lunch. 

“you know, levi’s going to come up here to get you anyways.” eren states. 

you flare your nostrils, before looking back up at him and glaring.

“well, he can spare himself the trouble. i’m not hungry. and i’m not in the mood for whatever the hell you’re trying to do either.” 

eren rolls his eyes. 

“did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” eren asks. 

you seethe. 

“no. i was having a particularly great day before you showed up, actually.” 

“it’s my week to pick up the food. meaning, that when you don’t come down, they’re going to blame me and send me back up here. how about you spare me the trouble and just come?” eren asks. 

you roll your eyes, slamming the computer shut and giving him an exasperated gesture, and stand up. eren gives you an agreeable smile, the two of you walking in tandem down the steps. 

the lunch room is pleasantly quiet, something that you know won’t last for long – and something that wouldn’t help the pulsating feeling that’s been thrumming in your forehead – as you walk over to the table. 

you settle for the seat in between levi and gabi, and unfortunately, the one that’s annoyingly across from eren. but today was the day to make that type of sacrifice, because there was no way you would be able to stand the conversation you were positive was going to happen at the end of the table. 

“hi y/n.” gabi states. 

you give her a halfhearted smile. 

“hi gabs. how are you doing?” you ask. 

“good, good. how are you? i heard you very intensely smacking on your computer earlier.” 

you laugh. 

“i’ve just been trying to finish up the grant and abstract submissions for the conference. it’s not that i necessarily hate it, but…writing is the most difficult part of the whole research process for me.” you respond. 

gabi gives you a nod, carefully peeling through the wrapping on her sandwich as you follow her suit. eren notes that she shoots falco a look across the way and he shakes his head in response to whatever he’s referring to. 

it’s hard enough to keep up when they speak in their weird slang and tongues. now eren had to read their facial expressions too? 

“i hate writing too.” falco states. 

“no one asked you, falco. i was talking to y/n.” gabi scolds. 

falco shoots her an irritated look, one that she returns right back, as you demolish the paper that’s wrapping your sandwich. it tears easily, into small slivers of paper that you fumble with in your fingers. 

“you know. you should ask eren for help with that. he’s really good at that type of thing.” gabi offers. 

you and eren shoot each other a cautionary look, before the two of you shake your heads. 

“i wouldn’t want to impose.”  you state. 

“i’m very busy, gabi. with all the extra analysis that you asked me to do. stop offering up my time like it’s your own.” eren mutters. 

gabi gives him a peachy smile. 

“what if i say please?” gabi jokes. 

eren glares at her. but you can tell that deep down, he’s amused by her antics. you wonder what she sees in him as a mentor. especially when he does such little mentoring. 

“no.” eren responds. 

“you might need the help, you know.” falco murmurs. 

you pinch your eyes at him. 

“you might need it too, sweetheart. you misspell brain as brian every time you write it in your proposal.” 

gabi snickers at your side. 

“and you misspelled your own name on your application. you’re not one to laugh.” levi murmurs. 

eren wonders how much falco and levi must know about you. that naturally, you had to be the type of person to share with those that you actually liked, because most people were, and that they were both probably sitting on stories and stories of information. 

like the fact that you misspelled your name in your application. 

“you know, that might actually be a good idea.” levi states. 

“what? hanging falco at the stake?” you ask. 

“i second that.” gabi adds. 

“i mean, your writing could use a second pair of eyes. eren’s good at that type of thing to my understanding. and i’ve heard, maybe more times than i’ve liked, that eren’s machine learning algorithm could use some help too, so you two should just get together and work it out.” levi clarifies. 

you pinch your lips into a straight line. 

“some classical teamwork. what a great idea, levi!” hange states. 

“don’t kiss up.” levi responds. 

“i really don’t think that’s necessary, levi. i’m sure i can figure it out on my own.” 

levi narrows his eyes.

“well, i’m fairly positive you can figure it out on your own. i just don’t see the point of flailing uselessly when there is someone who can help you.” levi asks. 

the criticism stings. and it’s one that he offers to you often – that you’re chronically incapable of asking those around you for help. it was a natural state of mind, for you to reason through the thing on your own than rely on other people. 

you hate group projects. you prefer when you can control the entire thing from the get go to make sure that it’s up to your standards. and it’s difficult to reconcile with people when you’re not that good at being a people’s person. 

in hindsight, your choice of career feels rather ironic. 

“i mean, yes but…” 

“then you should do it. it’s pretty competitive, especially when you apply under applied neuroscience. it gives you a better chancel.” levi offers. 

you sigh, sinking into the divot of your chair, as you look over at eren. 

“do you have time on wednesdays?” you ask. 

eren pinches his lips into a line. 

“sure. we can do the morning.” eren responds, tone gritting through his teeth. 

it’s right at that moment that you want to sink into the hole for real and crawl back upstairs to the safety of your cubicle. that you’d have to work with him again, that he’d rip every last typo that you made to shred, and your project in shambles. 

it gets worse. because it’s right when sasha, mikasa, and connie prance in, excited voices ringing out into the previous almost silent ambiance of the room.

“maybe we’ll get married in the fall. i’ve always loved fall weddings.” sasha states. 

“that would be beautiful. especially with the leaves changing colors and everything.” mikasa responds. 

“you always pegged me for a summer wedding type of person. like full open bar, open buffet type situation.” connie offers. 

sasha shoots him a glare, his alternate intentions apparently obvious, as she takes the seat four down from you. it’s not far enough because you can still see the sparkling, glittering diamond that’s decorating her ring finger – and at the current moment – it feels like it’s mocking you. 

“sasha. congratulations on your engagement. niccolo is a lucky man!” 

“thank you so much, erwin. i can’t wait for all of you to meet him at the fall social.” 

erwin gives her a polite smile. 

“we’ll all be looking forward to it.” 

maybe everyone except for you. 

in theory, the fall social was a mix of everything that you liked. free food, time to network with people in other departments of the phd programs, and brownie points for making levi look good in front of all of the department heads. 

but on paper, it was the worst. because the food was always horrible, the people in the other departments were there looking for casual hookups, and brownie points simply weren’t the trouble. 

it also didn’t help that everyone who did have a partner brought them to the event. and all that did was make you think of the seven texts that were lingering in your phone from your mom – a barrage of texts about potential guys who she wanted you talk to, serious questions about when you were going to stop fooling around and settle down. 

it was unbearable. you were planning to miraculously get food poisoning the weekend that it was happening. 

“i personally hate the fall social.” eren states. 

“well, you’ll still be expected to go, eren.” hange retorts. 

“so i can make you look good?” eren asks. 

hange gives him a full smile. 

“preciesly. you can suck it to that idiot in the psychology department.” 

“you know. there’s significant overlap between psychology and neuroscience. you would do well to get alone with the people in that department, hange.” erwin states. 

hange glares at erwin. 

“there’s significant overlap between my irritation and all the people in their department. they’re insufferable. they compromise their data quality all the time.” 

“while i’m less inclined to feel murderous at the sight of their presence, i would have to agree. they’re particularly dismissive when valid criticism to their research design and the papers that they publish. i would love to have a word with the peer reviewers.” 

eren smiles right back at hange. 

“so you want me to go there and brag?” eren asks. 

“precisely.” hange responds. 

“have you guys ever been to a wedding?” sasha asks. 

there goes your three seconds of distraction. 

there’s a mixed set of answers. erwin’s been too far too many, levi’s only been to his own. it’s one of the three facts that you’ve been able to categorize about his personal life – that he’s married, that he has two kids, and that he likes to try different brews of tea in his free time. he was the private sort. 

connie only attends weddings that have free bars, mikasa’s dreamed about going to one her entire life, and jean, instead of offering the question, chose to make a dig at mikasa and told her that they could go get married right now if she wanted to go that bad. 

“have you ever been to a wedding, y/n?” 

you nod. 

“my brother. he got married a few years back.” 

“how much older is he than you?” connie asks. 

you shake your head. 

“he’s younger.” you respond. 

“and he got married before you?” sasha asks. 

she was a little traditional in that sense. traditional was a nice word for blunt. because she could rarely stop herself from asking the questions that came to her head and, most of the time, it felt like she never even considered how the other person might feel. 

though you suppose she wouldn’t be able to understand, because she was the exact same as porco. 

“he’s like you and niccolo, sash. he’s been with his girlfriend since highschool.” 

“aw. that’s so sweet. when did they get married?” 

“spring. the weather was just right.” you offer. 

the last person left to answer is eren. you all turn your heads to him expectantly and he shrugs in response.

“i don’t know anyone who’s gotten married.” eren states. 

“you haven’t even gone as someone’s date?” hange asks. 

eren shakes his head. 

“the last time i went on a date with someone was when i was in the sixth grade.” 

--

“do you think that i could get into the program this time around?” mikasa asks. 

“i don’t see why not.” eren offers. 

eren thinks about the turn of events often. it’s something that always sticks with him, especially when he’s feeling particularly self destructive and stuck on what’s happening in the present. 

the butterfly effect. the timeline. where things went wrong.

everything that lead him to having a painfully awkward conversation with mikasa about whether or not she would be able to get accepted in this round of phd students. 

it’s simple. last year, seven students applied and six got in. at the last hour, levi decided that he’s going to reject mikasa and accept you.

at the very least, that’s what eren suspects. there was a preference for students who wer ein the bridge program. five of the students from the bridge program made up the program and there was only one person who was an outsider.

you.

sometimes eren thinks that he’s the only one who realizes that. that even in your honesty, you felt bad for mikasa, but hadn’t done the math to realize that you were the reason that she didn’t get it. 

“have you talked to levi about why you weren’t accepted the first time?” eren asks. 

mikasa shakes her head. 

“it’s an awkward position. to ask him why he didn’t accept me in this round, especially since we interviewed together and all.” 

“take it as constructive criticism. he’s only going to give you advice to help you the second time around. and you already meet with him on the project that you’re doing with sasha, so i don’t see why you couldn’t ask.” 

mikasa sighs. 

“eren. do you think i’m cut out to do this type of thing?” mikasa asks. 

“do you even want to do this type of thing?” eren asks. 

“what do you mean?”

eren sighs. 

“there’s a lot to consider when you decide you’re going to jump into this thing. do you really like your field – enough to be doing it…basically forever? to some extent, you should like the people, especially in a field like ours. research is great, but at the same time, there’s only five to six people on…on the planet who are interested in what you are and adding to what you do.” 

that’s precisely what eren hated about it. that it was so limiting, so restrictive when it came to the amount of people he touched. 

eren could understand that knowledge touched people. that tangibly, his dad’s name would be in a textbook somewhere forever. but that’s as far as it went. a name that some irritated undergrad would have to memorize for a midterm but that was it. 

it might not be something legendary, for years to come. but if he got to do what he wanted, he would at least make a difference where it mattered. 

right now.  

“do you think that i’m not cut out to do this?” mikasa asks. 

“no, i do. i just want you to think about why you want to do it. that’ll help you a lot with what you’re struggling with right now.” 

mikasa’s eye twitches. 

“so you do think that i’m struggling somewhere?” 

eren curses his penchant for being blunt all the time. it seemed that it was often something that got him in trouble, and most cases, it ended up being his downfall. 

there were too many things that eren could count that were wrong with him. that he resorted to anger too fast, that he was so observant to the point that it was weird, that he could never bring himself to do what it was that he really wanted. 

mikasa didn’t get into the program and he did, he had to ask levi why. his answer was plain in simple. 

out of everything that miaksa submitted, levi was still unclear why it was that she wanted to do a phd. if he wasn’t sure of her intentions, he couldn’t be sure of her passion for research. 

espeically compared to you.

“i’m giving you generic advice. it’s good to recenter yourself to think about why you’re doing this.” 

“i…i don’t know what answer you want from me when you say that. i’m sure this stuff just came to you naturally with your dad and stuff, but i just don’t get what else i could have said.” 

the only thing that came naturally to eren when it came to research was how much he hated it.  

“look mikasa. i’m going to send you my application. you can read it over, okay?” 

mikasa gives him a relieved smile. 

“you’d do that?”

“of course. i’ll send it over right now, okay? just go focus on working on your project.” 

eren notes that she’s increasingly appreciative of his offer, only because she jumps up and runs away the second he states it. eren reaches for his email, only to be distracted by the messages in the notification bar. 

[karina]: oh my fucking god dad is being SO ANNOYING 

[eren]: What now?

[karina]: he’s been telling me to do some neuroscience summer camp. i applied for the orchestra program that’s in marley but they overlap so he’s not telling me to do the orchestra thing. 

[eren]: 1000%, you’re doing the orchestra camp. 

[karina]: bro 

[karina]: he’s being so serious about it. and you know how mom gets when he suggests stuff like this. 

[eren]: Ignore that. How many days of the neuroscience camp would you miss? 

[karina]: two 

[eren]: Email them and ask how they treat absences. Worst case, we can make something up and get you out of there so you can finish the orchestra camp and then go. 

[karina]: that’s so dramatic eren. 

[karina]: i don’t even feel like it’s worth the hassle anymore. i just don’t like to fight with him when he gets like this. 

[eren]: I will talk to him. Worst case, I’ll pay for you to go to that orchestra camp myself. 

[karina]: eren, that’s just going to cause a bigger fight 

[karina]: you know how he feels when we “gang up on him” 

[eren]: You should still go if you want to go.

[karina]: dude why are you making such a big deal out of this? it's not that deep

[karina]: sometimes it’s nice to just rant things out. you don’t have to fix everything, you know? 

[eren]: I just want to make sure that you go to your orchestra camp. I know that you really care about it. 

[karina]: i know eren. i love you, okay? we can talk later. 

eren can tell that karina’s being dismissive. that ever since she turned sixteen, karina had gotten more dismissive, only because his dad was getting more strict. 

that she hated it when eren told her what to do. that eren couldn't help but tell her what to do.

eren’s too far away to do anything. he’s watching the same thing happen for a second time. mikasa’s bending backwards and forwards for something that she’s unsure about, but the two of them are running as far away from it as he possibly could. 

eren can’t help but sink into his chair. 

--

focus group is particularly tame today. only because it seems that this particular round of magnetic stimulations seemed to tire them out more than the last. colt’s still sensitive from the headache that he got following, marco a little quieter than usual. 

you reckon that it would take something serious to put a damper on nanaba or shadis’s spirit. 

“are you having an existential crisis, eren?” shadis asked. 

you look up from your score sheet on your laptop, marked with colt’s signatures, and wait for eren’s response. your sudden interest doesn’t go unnoticed, as both nanaba and marco look right at you, before giving each other a look. 

“why would i be having an existential crisis?” eren asks.

“you’re three weeks away from having a manbun. we need to do something about this.” nanaba deadpans. 

you tune out the conversation, entirely distracted by the email that’s just popped into your inbox. 

Re: Consulting Gabi Braun  Hi Y/N,  I would love to consult on your friend's case. Let’s schedule a preliminary Zoom session just so I can get an idea of what we’re starting with and get to know Gabi.  Also, are you still planning on coming down to Marley in a few weeks for that small conference? If so, we would love to see you while you’re here. Best,  Pieck 

you can’t help but be irritated. feel patronized. and if you were having a better day, you wouldn’t take it out on her. 

Re: Consulting Gabi Braun  Thank you. I’ll send you her email so that you can schedule a session with her. Please be gentle, I know this type of stuff stresses her out.  Yes, I’m still planning on coming to Marley. I will obviously be stopping to see you guys. How could I come home without doing that?  I’ll see you and Porco then. Stay warm over there.  Best,  Y/N 

the swishing sound of the email being sent sends a feeling of dread through your stomach. because you were harsh, because pieck was sensitive to these type of things, and she was going to tell porco. 

he was going to tell your mom, your parents were going to worry that you were taking too much on, that you weren’t cut out for the whole phd thing, and just ask you to come back home. 

deep down, you knew that most of it stemmed from ignorance. that they just weren’t able to understand exactly what it was that you were doing, so it made it difficult for them to support it fully. 

it didn’t make your job any easier. 

you slam your laptop shut, reaching for the manilla folders underneath and shuffling through the paperwork for the day. 

“if you slam it any harder, you might as well just throw it out the window.” shadis states. 

you give him a halfhearted smile. 

“i’m very close to reaching that point.” you state. 

shadis gives you wide eyes, before barking out into a laugh. 

“maybe they’ll admit you here after they do that. for being distressed or something.” shadis states. 

“oh, how fun would that be! you could meet my kids when they come visit on a friday.” nanaba states. 

you set your pen down. 

“if you want me to come visit you on a friday, i can come visit you on a friday, nanaba. i don’t need to have a violent break to do that.” you offer. 

her eyes light up. 

“really?” 

“don’t impose on her free day off, nanaba.” marco responds, his tone almost quiet. 

“oh no, i would hate to do that. no no, please don’t come.” 

“i don’t do much on my free day off anyways.” you offer. 

shadis narrows his eyes at you. 

“you know, you have been quiet today. are you fighting with one of your little friends or something?” shadis asks. 

“no. my overbearing mother.” you respond. 

eren’s ears perk up. 

“disgusting.” marco states. 

“tell me about it.” you respond.

you shoot eren a polite smile, handing him the stack of papers that you finished processing, as you take the open seat by colt at the bay window. the two of you had exiled gabi and falco to processing appointments down the hall for the time being, which afforded colt the time to be honest without falco’s judgements. 

“how are you today?” you ask. 

colt shrugs. 

“me too.” 

“what’s going on with you? besides the overbearing mother?” 

“i’m just having one of those days. i can’t find myself in the space to be in a good mood. which happens to me a lot, but it’s just difficult to kind of…maintain energy to act normal.” you respond. 

colt sighs. 

“tell me about it.” 

“are you finding yourself making friends here?” you ask. 

“yeah. i like marco.” colt responds. 

you smile. 

“i like marco too. he’s sweet.” you respond. 

“i think you’re my friend. and eren. he stops by on fridays to come see how im doing. always brings me a new book to read.” 

you pause. 

“really?” 

“yeah. he thinsk that it solves two problems with one stone. if i have read it before, it’ll jog my memory. and if i haven’t, i’m slowly building up my repertoire of classic literature. his words, not mine.” 

you curl your nose. 

“he always uses such pretentious words.” 

“you know. you don’t really seem to be too fond of him.” colt observes. 

“do you spend most of your focus group observing me?” 

“well, it’s the only stimulating thign i do all week. it makes me hypervigilant.” 

“he’s not very fond of me either.” you retort. 

colt shakes his head. 

“i don’t know about that. i’d say that it’s a very strong disdain.” 

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. 

colt shrugs. 

“i often find that when you feel particularly strong about someone like that, there’s something else that’s lingering in the background.” 

“i suppose. maybe i bring up some childhood memories of little girls pulling his hair in elementary school. now he’s retracting and taking out all his anger on me.” you respond. 

eren taps on your shoulder. 

“ready to go?” eren asks. 

you shoot him a nod, before giving colt’s shoulder one last squeeze and bidding farewell. 

“i’m going to check out with forester. can you bring the car around?” eren asks. 

“my pleasure.” 

--

eren finds that you’re sitting in the empty cul de sac of the waiting area, with your forehead resting on the steering wheel of the car. the music is blasting from the car again, something instrumental this time, and your eyes are pinched shut in frustration. 

eren opens the door of the car and slides into the front street, noting the song that’s playing from the display. 

Harry & Hermione - Nicholas Hooper 

you immediately reach for your phone, aiming to change the playlist. 

“sorry. i was closing my eyes for a second. we’ll be right out.” 

“you listen to movie scores?” eren asks. 

“hm?” 

“the song. it’s part of the half blood prince movie score.” 

“oh. yeah, i do. been a big fan of composing since i was a kid. i used to play the violin.” 

eren smiles. 

“cello.” 

you pull out of the cul de sac. 

“maybe we can listen to it when we work on the algorithm and the grant later.” you offer. 

“sure. i would really like that. but i’m the one who’s going to play the music.” eren states. 

you roll your eyes. 

“so pushy.”

eren pauses.

"what's your favorite?" eren asks.

"score or individual song?" you retort.

eren pauses.

"score."

"the imitation game."

eren smiles.

"because he's also a scientist?" eren asks.

"it helps. i feel like i'm making groundbreaking moves when i listen to it while working."

"fair enough."

"what's yours?"

"the perks of being a wallflower." eren responds.

the thought that the chosen nickname that ended up being designated for you was wallflower. but he ignores it for the time being.

"we can take turns playing each other scores. i'm not going to let you control the aux in my car every time."

eren snorts.

"pushy. but deal. it's your day, today."

--

next part linked here

an: idk what's going on. let me live.

taglist: @invisible-mori @multiplefandomthings @chericos @wheredidmycrowngo @chaoticpxnda @aizzon @stuffeddeer @butterfly-skinnylegend @najaemism @hellokitty-doll @constanciandrea @iblamesusy @jaegersdiary @f4irygard3n @misadear @fell-4-u @coyloves @sobbangchan @you-always-made-me-blush @th0tformikasa @yell0wdreams @itzmeme @elliesbabygirl @miniaturemartian @differentrunawayperson @k0z3me @stroberiz @stillnotherapy @cherryredribbons

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Terzo's hands are always cold. I...I put angst in it. Sorry ?

"Your hands are cold, Cardinal," Omega remarks as he helps the man down from a ladder in the Ministry's library. Terzo, gloveless for once, a heavy tome tucked under his arm, glances up at Omega in surprise, then down at where his hand rests in the ghoul's much larger one.

"Ah, yes, poor circulation and all that. I apologize if it bothers you ; I forgot my gloves in my room."

Terzo makes a move to retreat his hand, but Omega holds fast to it. Bother him ? How could the man's touch ever bother him ?

"Not at all, Cardinal. It was merely unexpected."

Terzo's lips quirk up in his trademark insolent grin.

"I am full of surprises. And I told you, it's Terzo."

"Terzo," Omega corrects himself with a hint of smile in his voice.

Though the man cannot see his face behind the mask and hood, he seems to catch Omega's amusement, mismatched eyes glistening with glee at being responsible for the ghoul's pleasant mood.

His hand squeezes Omega's, coolness seeping under the ghoul's skin like a brand.

"I am going to melt my way back into the Pit," Alpha complains, collar obscenely wide open, almost down to his belt, mask long since discarted. Practice is running late, and the suffocating weather is getting to everyone.

Omega can feel his uniform stick uncomfortably to him, even with a few buttons left open - far less than Alpha still. The quint's mask, though, remains on.

"You sure you don't wanna lose the head cooker, 'Megs ? If you get brain-fried, no one's strong enough to carry you back to your room, princess."

Omega huffs and half-heartedly growls at the mouthy fire ghoul.

"I'm fine. And you've carried me before, asshat."

With a snort, Alpha petulantly crosses his arms.

"Yeah, no, not lifting anything in that weather."

Their banter is interrupted by a mildly entertained Papa.

"Enough, enough you two. You do look a bit hot, dear Omega. Are you positive you are feeling alright ?"

There is concern under Terzo's amusement as he steps closer, brow furrowed under the papal paint. He looks majestic, embracing his still relatively new role like this, easily slipping into the authority of his title.

"I promise I am fine, Papa, it is simply a bit warm."

With a sceptical hum, Terzo reaches out to press a bare hand on the side of the quint's clamy neck, gloves forgone in such a weather.

Omega ever so slightly sags into the touch, hoping that his fellow ghouls won't pick up on it. It isn't only the blissful coolness of the man's palm that warrant such a reaction from Omega, but the ghoul is not ready to look too much into it.

"I've been told my hands are cold," Terzo smirks, sparkling eyes crinkling in the corners. "Is it helping ?"

Omega's voice catches in his throat.

"Yes, Papa."

It certainly does send a pleasant shiver down his spine.

"Good. And it's Terzo, for Lucifer's sake," the man huffs, ignoring Delta's grumble about also being cold to the touch.

When Terzo pulls away, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Omega mourns the contact, eyes straying to the man's hands longingly.

Terzo tastes divine, and Omega is nothing if not a creature of indulgence, licking into the man's mouth like a beast starved for more of this addictive flavor that is so intimately Terzo.

Omega wants to devour him whole.

He paws at the man, blindly gropping his hips, his waist, his shoulders, growling when Terzo is forced to pull away to take a shuddering breath in.

"I've been...wanting to do this...for so long," he pants, paint smudged around his mouth. Omega groans, enamored with the pink the confession brings to Terzo's ears.

If he's being honest, Omega saw it coming. Ever since he started losing the mask in front of him, Terzo had seemed incapable of not staring at the ghoul, eyes lingering on his lips any chance he got.

"Me too," the quint sighs, promptly molding their mouths together again. His tail wags helplessy when Terzo's hands start to roam, deftly unbuttoning his uniform after a pause to ensure Omega would let him. The ghoul burries his nose in Terzo's neck, inhaling his scent, grazing his teeth against the delicate skin.

Terzo pushes the uniform off his shoulders, eager. Omega yelps, back hitting the closed bedroom door.

"Shit, fuck, sorry, are you okay ?" Terzo mumbles, eyes searching, hands stilling where they're splayed over his chest.

"Yes, fine. Hands. Cold. Surprised me," Omega chuckles, pressing a soft kiss under Terzo's ear. The man hums.

"Do you want me to stop ?" he teases, still tortuously unmoving. Omega grunts, letting his lips peal back in a playful snarl, thick fangs scraping more insistantly against Terzo's neck.

"If you stop, I might bite, Terzo Emeritus," he warns. Unbothered, the man tangles his hand in Omega's hair.

"Oof, the governement name. Please do, my dear Omega, I fear that sounded more arousing than you planed it to."

Groaning, Omega presses his forehead to Terzo's.

"You're impossible."

A sparkling, hungry grin as hands start to explore once again.

"That I am."

It's late, and there isn't enough light in Terzo's bedroom to see much more than vague shapes, yet he still traces Omega's scars and tattoos with perfect accuracy, raising goosebumps on his skin.

"Ah, I forget," Terzo whispers in the dark, head resting on Omega's chest, "cold hands. You're shivering, my love."

The quint grabs Terzo's wrist before he can withdraw his hand.

"I don't mind, Terzo, you know it."

With a content sound, Terzo keeps going, fingers skimming over the burn on his side, the latin sentence on his hip, the stretch marks on his belly, touch light and reverent. Omega exhales a pleased sigh, tugging Terzo closer until he can kiss him slow and soft, gasping when another cool palm comes to hold his face with a tenderness that could make his ghoulish heart burst.

"How did I get so lucky ?" the quint whispers in what very little space he finds between the both of them. "You are a dream come true, love."

Terzo huffs, white eye stark against the general darkness.

"I'd argue I'm the lucky one, my dear Omega."

Those careful fingers glide over his features, leaving cold trails of worship, and Omega closes his eyes.

"Not like this. Not like this, please," Omega whispers, voice hoarse, clutching Terzo's hand. Even through the leather of the glove covering it, it's so cold.

With a sob, Omega bows his head, forehead thumping against marble.

"Please, Terzo, don't do this to me, please."

But there is no answer, and the hand in his is cold in a way that means something far too catastrophic for Omega's brain to wrap around it.

See, this is nowhere near the usual chill of Terzo's perpetually cool fingers, the gentle coldness of his palm teasing aginst Omega's skin. No, this is a frigidity that speaks of absence.

Absence of life.

On his knees before his lover's body, Omega finally understands that he never knew real cold before this moment.

[narumi-gens]

From the Ashes | Part One

Mei Mei x f!Reader

summary: Mei Mei arrives at your uncle's estate as a con woman. She leaves it as your savior.

warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, angst with a happy ending, historical (1920s) au, gothic romance, total rip-off of park chan-wook's masterpiece the handmaiden, con woman!mei mei, sexually and emotionally repressed reader, reader seems to be losing it a little at times, mentioned suicide, minor references to early 20th century japanese politics and colonization (for the history nerds)

words: 3k

notes: after two years, we're finally here! go watch the handmaiden if you've never seen it. it's maybe one of the most romantic movies of all time.

series masterlist

Before deciding to take on a job, Mei Mei always makes sure that she knows everything she possibly can about a potential mark. She learns their history, their routines, their likes and dislikes, as well as what skeletons are hidden away in their closets.

She bribes maids and chauffeurs and everyone else working in service who are treated as if they’re invisible. She digs into every record she can access through any means necessary. Whatever it takes to uncover every dirty secret the mark in question is hiding, she does. 

It’s only when she’s sure that she’s left no stone unturned that she decides whether or not to go through with the job.

So, when word reaches her about the pretty little heiress sitting on top of a massive fortune, she finds herself intrigued and begins her discovery process. The picture that begins to form as she does so isn’t anything that she finds all that surprising or interesting. 

You were orphaned at a young age and put in the care of your aunt and uncle. Your aunt died only a few years later, leaving your uncle behind as your sole guardian. From what she can gather, your life has been a sheltered one, as is usual for a woman of your status. You don’t seem to have many — if any — friends. The only people you spend any significant amount of time with are the staff working on your uncle’s estate and the man himself. 

She’s almost certain that the remote location of the estate, which is nestled deep in the countryside, only contributes to the isolation. But it leaves her with a problem. With so few people who interact with you on a regular basis, she’s left with fewer sources of information than she would like. 

However, what she is able to do is intimately familiarize herself with the terms of your inheritance. To inherit, you must marry and until you do, your entire fortune is locked away in a trust. The only funds accessible are the generous annual allowance provided to your guardian — your uncle. 

Your inheritance is large enough that she decides to move forward with her con despite the gaps in her research on you. After all, big risks warrant big rewards.

So, she turns her time and energy into crafting her plan: under the guise of a lesser noblewoman, she’ll earn your uncle’s attention and an invitation to his lavish estate. Once she’s there, she’ll prey on your innocence and naivete, seducing you until she can sneak you away in the middle of the night and marry you, only to then cash out your inheritance and do away with you. 

And then she’ll laugh without looking back as she makes off with your entire fortune. 

When the time comes to put her plan into action, the first part goes as smoothly as she anticipated. Your uncle makes regular trips to Tokyo for business and Mei Mei ensures that when he does, they cross paths. Japan’s imperial ambitions in the region and colonization of Korea have only benefited the man’s financial status over the years, yet he’s still always looking for ways to grow his obscene amount of wealth. 

All it takes are a few vague allusions to her being interested in both a new investment opportunity and a new husband for him to take the bait and she’s secured herself an open invitation to his estate to stay for as long as she desires.

She arrives in the countryside and at your uncle’s manor a week later and finds herself thankful that the car that was sent for her has a small glass window that separates the backseat from the driver. The partition allows her a moment to herself to scoff at the sight of the large house, which consists of two massive wings — one in the traditional Japanese style of wood and paper, and the other a Western-style multistory building of brick and stone. 

The house reflects the country’s vast and hurried ambitions to Westernize over the past fifty years. Mei Mei has no fondness for tradition. But likewise, she looks equally down upon the uncritical admirers of the West. Everything she detests about the men who have led this country through the past two eras can be represented by this monstrosity of a house.

Of course, when the car comes to a stop in front of the entrance, she makes sure that it’s the awed noblewoman who greets your uncle and not the derisive criminal. The staff are lined up in two neat rows to welcome her, and standing right in front of them is you. And you’re everything that she’s pictured. 

You’re prim and proper, your posture perfectly straight and your head respectfully tilted down. Your outfit is fashionable and undoubtedly expensive, but also much more conservative than what’s being worn in Tokyo. Yet when your uncle introduces the two of you and you lift your chin, it’s all she can do to keep a delicate eyebrow from quirking. 

Because where she’s expecting to find a shy, innocent, and naive flower that's ripe for picking, she instead finds a cold, sharp ice princess looking back at her in return.

All you offer is a polite bow and a courteous, “It’s nice to meet you, Mei-san.” 

However, it’s more than enough to pique her interest, leaving her curious about what lies hidden beneath your thick, hardened exterior.

And just as she’s planned, Mei Mei has ample time to find out. While she does have to spend her evenings with your uncle, entertaining his pathetic flirtations and dreams of acquiring her fictional fortune, business occupies his days, meaning that she can fill hers with you. 

The two of you share tea in the sitting room and afternoon walks through the estate’s sprawling grounds. You sit alongside one another and read in the library. She watches as you sketch in a book beneath the towering sakura tree in the garden, although she hasn’t been able to catch a glimpse of what fills its pages.

As she spends more time with you, she begins to take notice of how your hands are always clothed in a pair of gloves that never extend past your wrists. The gloves are rarely ever the same set — sometimes they’re silk with a lace cuff, sometimes a rich leather that creaks with every absent movement of a finger, sometimes they’re the same shade as your skin tone and don’t stand out at all. 

There’s something about the way that she never sees you without them that makes her think they’re more than a mere fashion accessory, but she can’t say for certain what the reason could be. 

Your uncle encourages her to get to know you better, telling her that he hopes she can soften you with a woman’s touch. One night, with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a cigarette perched between two fingers, he mentions that it’s something that you’ve been without since you were young and your aunt tragically took her own life. 

“There’s a touch of madness that runs in that family. My late wife suffered from it and I’ve spent all these years wondering whether my niece escaped it,” he says with a sigh of pity. “At times, I find myself unsure if she has.”

The man demurs to provide any more details, insisting that doing so would be too ghastly for the sensitive ears of a woman, particularly a pair as fine as hers. 

His refusal to speak further on the matter to protect her propriety is one of the many things he gets wrong as she’s not only heard much worse, but she’s seen much worse. She’s done much worse. 

None of it matters though as she’s already aware through her research into the family that your aunt’s body was found one morning hanging in the garden from the same sakura tree where you spend so many of your afternoons. What your uncle does let slip is that you were the one to find the body. 

Finally, Mei Mei has at least one piece of the puzzle that is you. 

Another piece is quick to come as it doesn’t take long for her to realize that for all of her scheming and plotting, you’ll never fall prey to whatever trap she manages to set. You’re much too sharp and distrusting for that, keeping her at a distance no matter how much she tries to close it. For all of the hours that you’ve spent together, you’ve never offered her more than cool formalities. 

As she contemplates how to adjust her plan in light of this, the seeds of an idea are planted one day as she strolls around the house’s exterior, committing to memory every entrance and exit and window under the guise of appreciating the building’s unique architecture. Just as she rounds a corner of part of the Japanese-styled wing, she stops at the scene that she stumbles upon.

Three housemaids stand in a row facing her, although with their heads shamefully tilted down and gazes fixed firmly upon the gravel path, her sudden presence goes unnoticed. She takes a few steps back, peeking out from the side of the building to watch you as you go down the line, striking each of them harshly across the cheek one by one. 

Despite the distance, she can hear the crack of your gloved palm meeting each of their faces and the cries they let out in return. However, she misses whatever scathing words you spit that have the maids looking so fearful. Suddenly, your hand darts out to grab the braid of the girl standing on the right, yanking it so hard that Mei Mei can hear her pained yelp clearly as you force her to the ground. 

When you look down at the cowering girl at your feet, continuing to direct your vitriol at her, she’s finally able to catch a glimpse of your face. Across your pretty features, she finds the same coldness that she’s spent the last weeks becoming familiar with since she arrived. You then turn back to the other maids who flinch despite your hands remaining at your sides.

As much as she wants to stay and watch the rest of the situation unfold, Mei Mei decides to make her retreat. She can’t risk being discovered. This new piece of information is something to be tucked away for use when it serves her best.

Knowing that every set of eyes and ears on this estate belongs to your uncle, she wonders what the man’s reaction will be when word inevitably reaches him about your treatment of the staff. 

However, dinner passes as it always does without any incident. Your uncle discusses his business in an attempt to impress Mei Mei. Mei Mei acts coy in return. And you speak only when spoken to — which is rarely. 

The only proof that anything happened at all that afternoon is the red and slightly swollen cheek of the maid who fills your water glass and the line of tension in her frame as she does so. Mei Mei sees the way your uncle’s eyes barely pass over the maid’s face and realizes that the man already knows about this streak of cruelty in you, this hint of madness in you. He just doesn’t care.

As she watches you eat one grain of rice at a time, bringing your chopsticks back and forth to your plush lips in a delicate motion, she begins to recognize the darkness she sees in you. It’s similar to the darkness she sees in herself.

The next afternoon, she decides to confront you about the incident over tea, curious to see how you’ll respond.

“Why were you disciplining the maids yesterday?” she asks. She hopes to catch you off guard by both the knowledge that there was another party present for the maids’ punishment and by how suddenly she’s broached the subject.

However, you continue to defy her expectations. 

“They were gossiping,” you answer simply, your temperament calm and undisturbed as you continue to lightly stir your tea before setting down the small spoon.

“Is that enough of an offense to warrant a slap to the face?” There’s no judgment or criticism in her tone, only pure curiosity. But the question is enough to have you lifting your gaze to meet hers, a cold look in your eyes as you do.

“I want them to be miserable,” you tell her indifferently as you lift your teacup to take a small, ladylike sip. It’s Mei Mei who now finds herself slightly surprised by your blunt response. “It makes life just a bit more bearable.” 

She knows how to read people. And she can see what it is that you’re not saying. It’s not just that you want them to be miserable. It’s that you want them to be as miserable as you. 

It’s the final piece she needs to solve the puzzle and she hides her satisfaction behind the teacup she brings to her own red-painted lips. A con woman’s greatest asset is her ability to improvise and she has always prided herself on her ability to think quickly, so the solution to her problem comes quickly.

Despite the risks, she’ll include you in her plan and turn you from unknowing target to willing accomplice.

The next afternoon when you both are alone on a stroll deep in the gardens and away from any unwanted ears, she makes her move.

“The terms of your inheritance are rather strict,” she casually remarks and there’s a slightest pause in your step that betrays your surprise at the deviation in perfunctory small talk and she can’t help but feel satisfied with how she’s finally caught you unawares. “You need to marry in order to inherit.”

It’s not posed as a question but as the statement of fact that it is. You remain silent by her side, seemingly unsure of where this topic of conversation will lead.

“Would you like to marry me?” she asks, a coy smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. It’s a question that provokes an immediate reaction from you.

“I have no plans to marry. Ever,” you’re quick to tell her. There’s a forcefulness in your tone that leaves little room for doubt and Mei Mei can feel the urge to giggle threatening to bubble up. It reminds her of the way spoiled children refuse to eat what’s been put before them at dinner.

“Yes, for us, marriage is just another cage,” she muses, settling for a thoughtful hum instead of outright laughter. Any lingering humor dissipates as she poses her next question, knowing how important it is that you don’t misread her or her intentions. “But what if I said that this one would set you free?”

You come to a stop so suddenly that it takes her a few steps before she realizes that you’re no longer beside her. When she turns around, she finds you watching her with a guarded expression. Your posture is perfectly straight, but she can see that it’s due to the line of tension in your shoulders rather than the etiquette lessons she knows were drilled into you as a child.

“I arrived here with a plan: to seduce you, steal your fortune, and then get rid of you.” With each word, she takes a step towards you until only a few feet separate you. 

Your gaze remains locked on hers despite how you bristle with the visible urge to put a respectable distance between you once more. Mei Mei can’t help but smirk yet again, despite knowing that doing so will only feed into your distrust.

“But as soon as I met you, I knew that you would never fall for such a ploy.” She then takes on an air that’s only slightly more serious. “So, I’ll make a proposal of a different kind. I’ll spirit you away from your dull life in this country estate and give you your freedom. In return, we’ll split your inheritance right down the middle.”

While she doesn’t expect you to leap at her offer, she at least hoped for a hint of awe in your eyes at the idea of a life without the restrictions placed on you by both your status and society. Instead, you continue to give her nothing. 

As the silence stretches on, she prepares herself to mention that fifty percent is more than what she would normally offer an accomplice. But before the words can even form on her tongue, you turn your back to her and begin to walk back in the direction of the house. 

Part of Mei Mei expects to be hauled away by the police in the next few hours, but there’s something about your demeanor that keeps her from cutting her losses and running. For how unreceptive you seemed to be towards her proposal, it was your reaction to being offered your freedom that gives her pause.

The tension you carried didn’t stem from outrage, but from self-restraint.

That evening at dinner, you act as if nothing happened. You give your uncle the same perfunctory greeting, you bow lightly to her, and then you take your seat at the table. 

She wonders if you just haven’t had a chance to be alone with your uncle and reveal her treachery, but when breakfast proceeds the same way, she realizes that you don’t intend to do anything with this new information. You’ll keep her nefarious secret to yourself, which gives her time to adapt.

Since her plan requires you to be a willing accomplice, there’s a fine line that needs to be walked so as not to scare you off. So, she decides to default to part of her original plan – she'll seduce you.

[unhonest-iago]

[Tw/cw; abuse/implied abuse, corporal punishment]

Whumpee who isn't aware that they're a whumpee. As in they've blocked all the memories from that time. But there's small signs such as the fact they're very people-pleasing and try to avoid conflict like the plague. Always playing the mediator role, always the first to deescalate.

One such memory being of the time they lived with two roommates; whumper and caretaker. Caretaker in the midst of being busy with their night classes isn't aware that whumper has started to inflict pain onto whumpee. They only realize when they walk into the three-bedroom apartment and witness whumper chasing whumpee with a belt raised, yelling obscenities. 'What the fuck!?' Caretaker yells at whumper, getting in the middle as to take the belt away from them.

'Really!? You're gonna stand up for that wimp, after what they've done?' The answer was an obvious yes, as they had no clue what whumper was referring to. As far as caretaker was aware, whumpee had been a model roommate. Someone they liked hanging out with. That and even if they had done someone outrageous, it couldn't have possibly warranted such a response.

Whumpee's locked themself away in their room, hyperventilating through sobs. Protesting that they hadn't done anything wrong. Once caretaker had wrangled the belt away from whumper's hands, they growled out how they'll deal with them later. The outcome in which they'd be kicked out and forced by caretaker to break the lease. Currently focused more on consoling whumpee as he couldn't stand hearing someone so distraught.

'Hey honey,' caretaker starts, voice exponentially softer than the one they had used originally with whumper. 'I don't know what's happened but I'd like to find out. Thing is we need to get your breathing under control so you don't faint. Can you let me in, sweetheart?' Acting like they were dealing with a hurt and confused kid rather than an adult.

Caretaker never gets the full story of what had happened all the times they were left alone with whumper but they get enough to know that they never want to see whumper's face again. Fearful of what they'd do.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello I loooove your metas. I was wondering your thoughts on the fanon idea that Dumbledore treated Tom Riddle unfairly at Hogwarts?

Hello 👋

Thank you so much! 💖

Well, it's canon that Dumbledore treated Tom differently than other teachers if we take Tom's words from CoS at face value:

“Only the Transfiguration teacher, Dumbledore, seemed to think Hagrid was innocent. He persuaded Dippet to keep Hagrid and train him as gamekeeper. Yes, I think Dumbledore might have guessed. . . . Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did. . . .”

(CoS, Ch17)

From the above, I assume Dumbledore did treat Tom differently. How different is unclear so there's some leeway. I can't imagine Dumbledore would be as obvious as Snape in his dislike of Tom, but I'm sure Tom could feel the dislike.

Dumbledore definitely has favorites when it comes to students. You see it with how he treats Harry and the Mauraders (who gets awarded an obscene amount of house points because Dumbles wants him to win, in Harry's case, or who don't get punished for things they definitely should've, in the Mauraders' case). So, it's not out of character for him to have students he dislikes and treat them noticeably differently.

But again, I don't think he'd be like Snape is toward Harry, Dumbledore isn't like that. It would be much subtler.

Like, Dumbledore is aware Tom is brilliant, and he probably gave Tom fair grades at school (the way Snape grades Hermione fairly). I think he was stringy with house points when it came to Tom and watched him more closely because he expected Tom to do something suspicious (which he was right about, just without any evidence). Like, I don't think Dumbledore ever succeeded in catching Tom in something that would warrant a detention.

So, basically, he didn't outright bully Tom. He was just colder toward him than the other teachers were (Slughorn, for example, clearly fawned over Tom). And I think, Tom shared this dislike. Tom was probably colder and less charming towards Dumbledore when it was just them and no one else, which would've made Dumbledore's distrust grow.

So, like, I don't think Dumbledore ever really caught Tom red-handed enough to give him detention, but they both didn't like each other and they both knew it even when they acted more or less cordial. Like, I imagine it was mostly very cold and Tom avoided interacting with Dumbledore if he could while Dumbledore tried to keep on eye on Tom for any Dark Lord shenanigans.

[dani-says-stuff]

heyyy

Okay so .... You have a massive crush on Nate and nobody knows but Nate somehow finds out so you, Nate ,colby and sam are all sitting watching a movie, but colby and sam go out to get food which just leaves you and ethan alone. You tell ethan your gonna take a quick shower. He then asks if he can ask you something, he starts to back you up into a corner and starts to say stuff like "i heard you have a crush on me " ( all that flirty stuff, glides his hand up your hip trying to touch you ) he says it almost wispering he starts to kiss your jaw like ever so slightly .but you deny the whole thing ( stunned inside of what you have just heard) sam and colby come back with food and you have had your shower you sit next to Nate he starts to trail his fingers up and down your back ( kinda sexually)

-----------------------

the next day Nate teases you when you two are alone or when nobody is looking ( sexually) ( rubbin your thigh and rubbing himself against you breathing down your neck , jaw kisses ) about it all day.

Disasters to Desires

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

❥ Back to the Control Center

❥ Nate Hardy Masterlist

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

Light smut, 18+, be aware of what you read

Nate Hardy x fem!reader

request!

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: extreme awkwardness, shower mishaps, light smut, shower smut(?), fingering, probably bad writing, possible inconsistent capitalization, an absolutely obscene water bill incoming for y/n, so she should probably be on the look out for that.

this literally took me so long because i never felt like it was good- but whatever. this as good as its going to get i fear. i hope this is what you were looking for, i didnt end up doing everything bc it didn’t fit with the direction i was going, sorry for the wait tho! this is also my first smut/semi smut guys so... be gentle pls

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

It was later in the afternoon, the plan for the day had originally been to go to this old abandoned house in the woods behind your house. You could barley see it through the trees when standing on the back porch. Faint glimpses of discolored wood and chipping paint just visible through the thick branches if you turned the right way. 

The boys had been trying to convince you to let them take a look at it ever since you moved in a couple months ago. That it would be a cool way to do a call back on their channel. You, the boys, and Nate hopping over fences and creeping around abandoned places like you had years ago. 

An intro and a couple failed attempts at scaling your back fence rather than going through the gate—“for old times sake!” Colby had called briefly, soon falling flat on his face, his ankle catching the top of the fence—was about as far as the group got before the video became an obvious bust. 

It wasn’t a house after all, in reality, it was just someone’s old dilapidated tool shed. Only one level with a thrown together attic space where one may store spare buckets or trays. It wasn’t enough to warrant a video, maybe the more interesting clips would make their way onto xplore club later, but that was as far as the footage would go. 

But the energy was running high, the group was back together, and no one was quite ready to leave just yet.

So, the three boys—with your permission of course—decided to crash at your place, a movie night and popcorn provided by yours truly as long as the boys got the food. 

It was some trilogy that Sam and Colby had been raving about, offended that neither you nor Nate had any clue what they meant when referencing it earlier that day. They forced the two of you onto the couch, insistant on finding the movies on Netflix and binge watching them all that night. 

One movie out of the three down and you could say with absolute certainty, you had no clue what was going on. Hell, you weren’t even sure what the title was. It wasn’t that it was a bad movie either, in fact, you were sure it had to be good, Colby had never steered you wrong before in his recommendations and Nate seemed to be enjoying it… but that was the issue, Nate. 

He was seated next to you on your dingy couch. You’d never realized just how small the piece of furniture was until he plopped down next to you, thigh pressed against your own and an arm slung across the top of the cushions behind you. 

You could hardly breathe, let alone focus on the stupid movie, with your long time crush and the love of your life squishing himself up next to you.

Unintentionally, you were sure. He’d never shown real interest in you in the past and you’d like to think you’d made your feelings clear enough over the years, but nope. Everytime you tried subtly bringing up relationship status around him, he began raving about this mystery girl. His eyes would shine and cheeks would strain under the bright smile when he spoke of her. You couldn’t tell him how you felt when he loved her so strongly. 

So you stayed silent, bottling up the love you harbored for him, forcing yourself to be as platonic with him as you could. 

You thought you had it under control, but you were quickly proven wrong at the heat which flooded your cheeks when his hand fell down, twirling the strands of your hair between his fingers during the more plot-heavy scenes. Running his fingers through your hair and leaning closer and closer to your side through the movie. 

Your daze finally broke during the end credits, Sam slumping forward off his chair with an over exaggerated groan, “I’m starving” he whined, “I totally forgot how long that first one is man” 

“Hey!” Colby cut in, immediately defensive, “You’ve gotta introduce all the main shit dude!” 

The blonde snorts, picking himself up from the ground and opening his phone to an ordering app, “I’m not complaining man, just hungry.” 

Nate nods eagerly, moving forward to the edge of the seat, out of his previous lounged position. His arm slipping down off the couch completely, falling to rest around your shoulders. You tried your best not to jump at the action, your muscles tightening and straining under the pressure to remain unphased.

The words this is normal. act cool. an endless mantra, repeating over and over in your head as you struggled to breathe properly. 

“Yeah!” he spoke, gaze flicking between the two boys, “can we get the food now?” he looks down at you, your heart seizing in your chest, “You cool with that? A brief intermission before we continue the saga?” 

You looked up at him, heart beating so erratically you could feel it in your skull and your breath catching in your lungs under the intensity of his gaze. All you could give him, and in turn the other two boys as well, was a jerky nod of your head.

God, why is this so much more awkward than usual. 

Before long, Sam and Colby had left, going to pick up some order from some restaurant. If your brain had been working properly and not hyper focused on Nate’s fingers brushing up and down your arm, you may actually know what it was you had agreed to ordering. Welp, a surprise it is, you’d been best friends with the boys for long enough that you all knew each other's orders by heart— so at least you knew it wouldn't be something gross. 

The two of you remained on the couch after the boys left, Nate soon becoming occupied by something on his phone to pass the time and you remaining awkwardly stiff under his arm.

You shifted, stretching your body to the side table and grabbing your own phone—maybe that would help you get your mind off of his warm skin pressing against your own. The movement however, brought the brunette out of his doom scroll, warm brown eyes now stuck gazing at your side profile with such an intensity you could swear you felt it burning your skin.  

You tried to ignore it at first, assuming he was only curious at what you were doing and would soon return to his own phone. After three strange instagram reels, you found that would not be the case. You spoke, eyes still trained on your screen, knowing the words would fail you if you met his gaze, “Can I help you with something?”

Rather than answer, he quickly shoots back his own question, his voice lost and far away as he speaks, “Can I ask you something?” 

Your brows furrowed and lips purse together in confusion, “Yeah,” you answer almost immediately, clicking off your phone to give him your full attention now, “of course, what’s up?”

You weren’t quite sure what the question was going to be, maybe something about filming or some weird article he just saw, but you knew you were definitely not expecting this. 

His body moved, inching even closer to you than before, now able to feel his breath tickling your eyelashes as he spoke. Your heart beating faster and faster at every inch evaporating between you. 

“I heard,” he trailed off, the tension so thick that it forced his voice to a hoarse whisper, his gaze switching steadily between your eyes, ready to back off at any signs of discomfort, “I heard so I just had to ask… do you have feelings for me?” 

Your eyes widened comically large, fear seizing your body and throwing you into overdrive. You were imaging things, you had to be. There was no way this was happening right now. “W-what?” 

He moved closer, leaning entirely over you now, your back pressed into the arm rest, “Do you have feelings for me?” 

Yep. It was happening. 

You didn’t know who told him that or how he found out, but his words gave no indication that he was into you as well. Or at least that's what you thought in your panicked state despite the fact Nate was currently hovering over you, eyes trailing down to your lips every once in a while despite his attempts to keep them from doing so. 

You laughed nervously, squirming out from underneath him and fumbling to the floor, “Y-you know what?” you rushed, stuttering over your words and completely ignoring his question, “Sam and Colby are probably going to be a little bit, so I’m gonna go. I’m just gonna run upstairs and take a shower real fast. I can, uh, I can practically still feel the cobwebs on my skin from earlier.”

That was half true. You walked straight into the biggest spider web you’d ever seen at the stupid shed and made the boys pick through your hair for at least fifteen minutes just to make sure there weren't any bugs or spiders hiding in there. The shower would also get you out of this complete and utter nightmare. 

You quickly stood, stumbling over your own limbs as you did, “So, yeah. Um, help yourself to whatever I guess, I’ll be back.” You rushed up the stairs, leaving Nate completely stunned and alone in the livingroom.

━─━────༺✧༻────━─━

You were not looking forward to your water bill at the end of this month.

In an attempt to save yourself from further humiliation and awkwardness, you’d decided to camp out in the shower until Sam and Colby came back. Your phone propped up on the back of the toilet so you could check the status of the order and gauge how long it would take them to get back. 

You reached out from the curtain, checking for the fourth time since you finished actually cleaning yourself off. They were still at the place and the order was yet to be completed.

You groaned, throwing your head back “What the hell did we order? Why is it taking so long?” you whined, slumping down on the floor of the tub, warm water cascading over your body. 

Your fingers were beginning to prune. You didn’t know exactly how long it had been, but it had to be at least thirty minutes by now. 

You’d begun to disassociate slightly, watching blindly as the drops raced down the wall before you, the flow of water massaging your back further numbing your mind. 

At least until a light knock sounded from the bathroom door. “N/N?” Nate called out through the wood, concern resting on his words despite the playful tone he always seemed to carry around you, “N/N you alright in there?”

“Y-yeah” you squeak, “All good!” startled by the sudden person, you shoot to stand up, forgetting about the slippery soap residue coating the tub and slipping back down with a loud crash. Several bottles—soaps, conditioner, and shampoo—falling down with you.

Could this get any worse?

Yes. Yes it could.

And it did get worse. 

So. Much. Worse.

You didn’t fully realize he had entered the bathroom, the sound of the door slamming open deaf on your ears as the bottles came crashing down, until he ripped open the shower curtain with wide concerned eyes. 

“Are you ok?” 

“What the fuck!”

Both of your words reached a similar pitch, his tone taking on more concerned while yours remained completely horrified. 

Nate, bless his soul, too preoccupied by the loud, painful sounding fall to completely register how insane his actions were. Especially not as he reached down, hands already pulling you up. He was more focused on injury than your embarrassment, his hands finding purchase on your hips, firmly keeping you in place so you didn’t slip again. 

You tried to push his hands off, shrinking back and ripping the curtain back in place but his grip remained strong. 

“Hey hey hey, stop” he spoke, soft and concerned as his gaze trailed over your face, one hand moving to inspect the back of your head, “Are you ok?” he pressed softly, fingers searching for any sore areas from smacking it against the hard ground.

“M’ fine.” you squeaked, eyes trailing to the floor, completely mortified while your arms wrapped around yourself, “Can you go now?” 

He stopped, brows crinkling and head tilting to the side, “Why?”

Your eyes snap up to his, your jaw opening and closing repeatedly like a gaping fish, “Wha– I’m in the shower?” 

“I know? You just took a fall in the shower,” he winced, resuming his inspection of your scalp, “a pretty nasty one from what it sounded like.”

“Can we do this later?”

“And risk overlooking a concussion?” he scoffed, "No. Are you insane?"

“Nate,” you spoke, voice stern despite the heat flooding into your cheeks and neck, “I’m naked.”

For some reason, that’s what got him. All his movement stopped, “Oh.” he whispered, voice breathless and eyes wide as his gaze swept over your bare body. 

The seconds seemed to last centuries, Nate stunlocked as he looked over your form, and you too embarrassed to do anything but stay completely frozen, eyes anywhere but on him. 

“Do I have to?” he finally speaks, breaking the silence. You look at him, mortification and confusion washing over your face. Or at least you were mortified until you caught his eyes, pupils blown and gaze soft as it roamed your skin. 

That's when you finally realized his question wasn’t meant to pick on you earlier. He was being genuine, and he has feelings for you too, very deep ones if his current actions are anything to go by. 

“Do you have to what?” 

His eyes finally make their way back up to yours, locking steadily in place and searching for any sign you want him to back off, “Do I have to leave?” 

You melt, you were certain you’d be a puddle under his intense heated gaze if not for his hands keeping you steady. You allow your eyes to trail down to his lips, “No.” 

That’s all it takes for him to lunge forward, lips eagerly rushing to find yours. He’s uncaring of his clothes, still on and becoming soaked from the steady stream of water. All that matters, is after years he’s finally able to kiss you. 

He pushes you backwards, your body quickly coming in contact with the cool tile behind you, the temperature a delicious contrast to the warmth of his touch trailing over your body. Hands trailing up and down, massaging over any skin he can. Your arms, waist, hips, chest, no part of you is forgotten by him as he continues to kiss you. Your own hands clinging to his quickly dampening hair and across the back of his neck, holding on tight as he continues to explore your body with fervor.

Your lungs begin to burn, the need for air overwhelming, but neither of you want to give up this moment. Reluctantly you pull away, head resting back against the wall, chest rapidly moving up and down, quick shallow breaths escaping your mouth. 

It didn't seem Nate was as ready to quit as you were though, his lips— much like his hands, now moving to capture more of your skin. Kisses moving from the corner of your mouth, down your chin, across your jaw, anywhere he could reach. 

His arms moved, spurred on by the choked wimpers leaving your lips at the alternation of kisses and small bruises he was peppering on the tender parts of your neck. One hand resting firmly against your hip and pressing you securely against the wall while the other trailed between your thighs. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.” he breathes against your skin quickly before returning to his previous actions. Any moment he spent talking rather than have his lips on you, was a moment wasted. 

You moaned, gripping tight to his hair at a particularly harsh pull, him biting softly upon your skin, “I think I have an idea.” 

He only muffled a small laugh, refusing to abandon the warm smooth skin he was currently painting in a swath of dark purple and red bruises. 

His hand moved, lithe finger exploring the inviting velvet folds of your center. Stroking up and down, exploring you, gauging what you liked and didn’t like by the soft sounds escaping your swollen lips. He finally found a smooth rhythm, stroking the pearl at the apex with his thumb while his fingers prodded around your center, pumping in and out at a methodical pace. 

You clung to his hair, his ministrations refusing to let up even as your legs began to quake, unable to support your weight fully anymore. Rather than slow, he simply pushed you further into the wall, moving closer to take more of your weight on himself, keeping you steady and upright as he continued. Moving faster and faster as your pleasured moans grew louder and louder, echoing off the walls of the small bathroom.

Your skin felt as if it was on fire, as if you were burning alive, consumed by the fires of passion held back behind his gaze, and you wished it would never stop. If you could pause this moment and live here forever you would. 

A coil pulled tighter and tighter in your gut, legs shaking beneath you as it did. Tighter at each drag of his fingers over your skin, tighter at each suck and kiss he placed upon your collarbone, until it finally snapped. Moaning his name loud and unrestrained at the release, a tremor ran through his own body at the beautiful sound, before falling limp against him, clinging desperately to his shoulders as the aftershocks racked your frame. 

He traced his fingers up and down your back now, loving kisses placed against your temple while you regain your composure. 

He was about to ask if you’d like to take it to the bedroom, some flirty remark passing through his lips once you finally found the strength to pick up your head and meet his gaze. But then the front door opened, followed by the loud calls of Sam and Colby back with the food. 

He shook his head, a slight smile on his lips, before leaning down. Placing a soft, loving kiss against your lips.

“I guess we’ll just have to finish this later, huh?” 

“Oh absolutely.”

once again, sorry for the wait @serendipity432 ! hope it's what you were thinking! :)

[wannab-urs]

Burn Slowly/I Love You | Chapter 1

Warnings/Content/Summary: As always I live in a fantasy world where no one gets pregnant or gets STDs and no one uses a condom. This is fiction. Wear a fucking condom. Sex while intoxicated but like it’s two maybe three beers y’all they aren’t drunk. Alternating POV kind of? Reader has burn scars on her left arm, wrapping over her shoulder and a bit onto her chest. No other physical descriptors. Remember that Frankie is strong as hell so it doesn’t matter if you’re petite or amazonian, this man can toss you around all he wants to. Fuck first feelings later type beat. Eventual descriptions of PTSD, trauma, minor character death, panic attacks, flashbacks, etc.

Word Count - 2.2k

Your Chest is Heavy

You’re sitting at the worn oak counter of a dive bar just a few blocks from your apartment with a cheap beer and a copy of The Secret History. Reading at the bar is a good way to scare off most men who would normally approach you. The rest usually fuck off when you don’t even look up from the book, muttering “not interested” in their direction. It’s really hard to focus on this book, though. The plot is a little meandering, for one, but there’s also a lot of people here tonight making it loud. 

A sudden burst of laughter draws your attention. A group of guys stand around a hightop table on the far side of the room. At first glance, none are particularly appealing to you. Rowdy, obscenely muscular, clean shaven, close cropped hair. Not your type at all. You’re just about to go back to your book when one of the guys catches your eye. He doesn’t look quite like the others. Unruly dark curls stick out of a ballcap, a scruffy beard clings to his cheeks. He’s got broad shoulders and big arms like the others, but his face is softer around the edges. His eyes are still caught in the crinkles of his laughter when he meets your stare. Shit you’re staring. 

You quickly look back down at your book, curling in on yourself, hoping he doesn’t come over. You’ve basically used universal bar sign language for come talk to me and that is not what you want. Even if he’s really cute. 

“Dude, she was practically eating you with her eyes. Go over there!” Benny playfully nudges Frankie on the shoulder. 

“You haven’t had any action in ages, Catfish. Go,” Pope teases. 

Frankie scrubs a hand over his neck. “I don’t know. She was probably looking at you, Benny.” 

“She was definitely looking at you, Fish,” Will seems genuine, tone softer and less like he’s setting Frankie up to fail. 

Frankie sighs, lifting his cap and running a hand through his curls before stuffing it back on his head. “Fine. I’ll go talk to her.” The boys cheer like his love life is a fucking football game and he just scored a touchdown. 

Frankie slips into a bar stool beside you. “Uh… hi,” he says sheepishly. He feels like an idiot for doing this. 

“Not interested,” you mutter, barely even looking up from your book. Frankie’s face grows hot with shame. The boys will never let this go. Not a shot in hell. He sits there for a second, caught between facing your wrath if he doesn’t leave and facing the humiliation if he does. But just as he makes the decision to go, you look up at him. “Wait! I’m sorry. Habit.” 

Frankie cocks an eyebrow, but settles back into his seat. “I’m Frankie. Can I buy you a beer?”

“Yeah, Frankie. I’d like that.”

It wouldn’t have been right to send the man away without at least talking to him. That’s how you justify it to yourself. It certainly didn’t hurt that he was absolutely gorgeous up close. In that first quick glance you’d caught the curve of his aquiline nose, the pout of his plump lips, and the blush creeping over his golden cheeks. That was enough to warrant at least a conversation. 

And fuck it was a good conversation. He asked about your book, which led to a rant about all the reasons you didn’t like it and all the reasons you were still reading it anyway, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he grinned at you. “What?” 

“It’s cute when you ramble,” he’d said, scratching the back of his neck. 

You talked about your job at the library and he told you he’s an ambulance driver. He jerked a thumb toward the guys still nursing their beers behind him, “Firefighters. Buncha pendejos,” he’d said a little too loudly, winking at you. 

You had fully intended on letting him down gently. You didn’t come here to find someone to go home with, you came here to have a beer. And yet you had asked him if he wanted to head out of the bar. And now you’re sitting in  his truck, rolling down the highway.

“Can you turn the AC on?” You’re sweating through your long sleeve black shirt from the heat and your own nervousness. 

“Uh… It’s broken. I’m sorry,” Frankie kind of winces, like it physically hurts him to admit. “Not far from the house though.” 

“It’s fine! Just a little warm,” you play with the sleeve of your shirt and take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a little heat. You’ll be okay. Breathe. “Actually, can I roll the window down?” 

Frankie chuckles and hits the button to roll all the windows in the truck down. Your heart rate evens out as the night air hits your face. 

The truck rolls to a stop in front of a small white house. You pick at your fingers, seriously questioning if you made the right choice. He seems so sweet. You feel… safe with him. But-

“Cariño? We’re here,” Frankie speaks low, like he’s worried you’ll spook and take off. He slowly reaches over the console and takes your hand, stopping your fidgeting. He rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” you say too quickly, too loudly in the stillness of the truck cab. “It’s just, uh… It’s been a while. I’m nervous.” Frankie pulls your hand up to his lips and kisses it before laying it gently back down on the console. 

“It’s been a while for me too. I’ll take care of you, though. Promise.” He winks at you and it’s so dorky and cute that it calms you down a little. 

Frankie barely gets you through the door before he gently presses you into the wall and his soft, plush lips find yours. You melt into the kiss, bringing your hands up to cradle his face. You knock his trucker hat to the floor and bury your hands in his hair, deepening the kiss with a swipe of your tongue. He tastes like cheap beer and his beard scrapes against the soft skin of your face. He smells like citrus and sandalwood. Your senses are gently overpowered by him, a soft wash of Frankie covering you and settling what remains of your nerves. 

Every fear you had comes rushing back as he slips his fingertips under the hem of your shirt. You freeze before grabbing his wrist and placing a palm on his chest, pushing him away gently. “Shirt stays on and hands stay outside of it, okay? I’m sorry…” Your body tenses in anticipation of the rejection you know is coming. He’ll kick you out. Or disregard your wishes. 

Frankie’s hands find your cheeks, drawing your face up to look at him. “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses you gently, reassuringly. It hits you again that you trust this stranger you just met in a bar. You deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He hitches his hands under your thighs and pulls them up around his waist, settling you against his very prominent arousal. You roll yourself against him and he groans into your mouth. His hands wrap tightly around your body and he carries you down the hallway. 

He lays you gently on the bed and immediately goes for the button of your jeans, making sure to stay clear of your shirt. He tosses your jeans and underwear on the floor and drops to his knees beside the bed. 

“Oh, Frankie, you don’t have to-” your sentence is cut off by the low moan erupting from your throat as Frankie pulls your legs over his broad shoulders and buries his face in your cunt. His hooked nose grinds against your clit as he licks into you. Your hands find purchase in his curls and you roll your hips into him, grinding on his face. Frankie eats it up… literally. He groans into your pussy and you feel it reverberate through your entire body. Your head is thrown back in absolute ecstasy as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it rhythmically. You clench around nothing, pleasure curling up in your core. “Please, fuck, don’t stop. So close,” you cry out. Your voice is desperate, wrecked, and your hips are thrusting involuntarily against his face. 

You come with a near pained shout, hands tightening in Frankie’s hair and pulling him into you even harder as you grind on his nose. Frankie licks a trail from your entrance up to your mound, then presses kisses all the way up your clothed stomach and chest. He nips at your jaw as he unbuttons his pants and clumsily shoves them off with one hand, like he can’t bear to take his mouth away from you. 

“Taste so fucking sweet, hermosa,” he rumbles in your ear. “Could eat you out all night, if you’d let me.” 

You think you would let him, if you couldn’t feel his hardness pressed against your thigh. “Another time, Frankie.” You push your thigh against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

Frankie doesn’t need to be told twice. He stands up and pulls you further to the edge of the bed. He looks down at you, unconsciously licking his lips. “Fucking gorgeous…” he says under his breath. You could say the same about him. Half his curls are stuck to his forehead with sweat and half are standing wild from your fingers raking through them. His big brown eyes are wide, almost in awe. His upper half is wrapped in a tight white t-shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders and strong chest. 

He grips his thick, uncut cock in his fist and lines it up with your entrance before grabbing your hips. He pulls your hips into him, splitting you wide open without moving his hips an inch. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt so full in your fucking life. Your hands fly to his muscular forearms, hanging on for dear life as he sheathes himself inside your tight heat. “Holy fuck, Frankie.” 

“I know, baby, I know,” Frankie whispers as he bends to cover your body with his. He drags his cock out a couple of inches and rolls his hips in a fluid motion, sinking back into you and grinding against your clit on every stroke. Moans spill from your lips unchecked. You don’t care if you sound sexy or if the words you’re babbling make any sense because he feels so fucking good. 

Frankie sits up and wedges his knees under your thighs, kneeling on the edge of the bed. He grips your hips in his strong hands and easily pulls you into him, hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your arms fly above your head, grasping onto the sheets. Your shirt rides up a little with the motion and you almost panic, but Frankie tangles his fingers into the fabric and holds the hem tight against your torso. Safe. You trust him.

Frankie grips you so hard you know you’ll bruise and slams his hips into yours, driving you closer and closer to coming. “You feel… so good, cariño. So. Fucking. Tight,” Frankie bites out between thrusts. You babble incoherently, the head of his cock is slamming into your cervix and it’s making you feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing matters except Frankie’s cock buried inside you and the coil of pleasure building in your gut. He’s fucking you like a rag doll, now. Your body has gone boneless with the intensity of him inside you.

Your orgasm rips through you like a flame, burning you up from the inside out. You scream his name as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body goes taut with pleasure. Frankie steadily, brutally, fucks you through it. When your cunt finally stops convulsing around him, he drops your hips and leans over your limp, fucked out body. 

Frankie kisses you with a tenderness that seems at odds with the way he just fucked you, stuttering his hips into you one, two, three more times before pulling out and nestling his cock into the crease between your thigh and your torso. His cum splatters across your shirt in long spurts, coating you in his release. 

His forehead drops to yours and your heaving breaths mingle in the space between you. You meet his gaze and there’s something in his eyes… something like adoration. Affection. He shakes his head slightly and stands up. 

“I’ll get you a shirt to wear,” his voice comes out hoarse, rough with the after effects of his orgasm. He disappears into his closet and comes back with a big, long-sleeve t-shirt. You sit up slowly and take the shirt from him. 

“Thank you, Frankie,” you whisper. 

Frankie wakes up in his bed alone. His brow furrows in disappointment. He usually likes to make his hookups breakfast and drive them back to their car. He knows it’s a little weird, but it’s important to him that he takes care of you. He flops onto his side and catches a glimpse of a piece of  paper on his nightstand. It’s your number, your name signed with a heart and a note promising to return the shirt. 

Frankie smiles, feeling something dangerously close to hope for the first time in a long time.

A/N: This fic has been in the works for a while now. The initial idea was pitched in a chat with @beskarandblasters and she supported me every step of the way <3. Thanks to the Whorehomies for hyping me and this idea up! I appreciate y'all more than you'll ever know. And thanks to @str84pedro for the beta/grammar edit I love you!

Let me know if you want to be tagged <3

Tag List: @beskarandblasters, @cutesyscreenname, @atinylittlepain, @harriedandharassed, @jksprincess10, @fishingforpike, @dreamingofdaddydin, @sad-bitch-disorder

[humanityinahandbag]

Steddie: Sticker Fic (Part 1)

“Hey, Munson?” Eddie turned and Steve was there, in his space, leaning forward until Eddie was pressed back into the kitchen island. He could smell Steve’s cologne, could see the moles and freckles across his face, could taste the air around him, like honey and butter and frosting. And then Steve reached out and pressed his fingers to Eddie’s chest, drawing back just as quickly, leaving Eddie’s skin warm and tingling. He’d also left something else on Eddie’s shirt. He barely registered what had happened until he was sitting back down, and Dustin's eyes were on him along with the rest of the kids. "No fair!" Dustin pointed, scowling at Eddie's shirt. "How come you got that one!" "Uh," said Eddie and looked down. I Did an Amooooozing Job Today! said a cow in a cowboy hat.

Eddie Munson was doing his best to push down his absolutely tragic crush on Steve Harrington. He'd been doing a pretty good job of it, too.

And then Steve brought out the goddamn stickers.

(or: Steve flirts using stickers. The kids go feral for them. Puns are everywhere and they are terrible. And Eddie is losing his goddamned mind.)

-

The first sticker appeared on a Tuesday.

Hellfire Club had been tentatively invited back into the school as a sort of withering olive branch, most of the school officials and adults shamefaced about the whole almost killing a kid in a jock-led Satanic Panic Mob thing. They’d put on their best faces and tried to appeal to Eddie’s mercy (even Principal Higgins had swallowed down his repulsion to say mistakes were made). 

But in the end it hadn't made much of a difference, and Eddie Munson got to watch each and every one of their faces fall deeper into sticky guilt when he said “no thank you”. 

It wasn't easy. Hellfire had been held in the back of the theater room since he'd started the club. Through bullies, black eyes, and the burning stares of teachers, that room had given Hawkins High at least one space he could be himself without apology. Without danger of being called a fag. Of being too slow to dodge a punch.

It was him, his friends, the stories they crafted.

And giving it up was like leaving a piece of himself behind.

But the fumbled apologies from adults (who should have known better, who'd never liked him, who'd been completely okay throwing words and stones and demanding his head, who suddenly looked to him to absolve their sins) made him feel skeevy. The guilt was warranted, but as his Uncle firmly told him it wasn’t his job to make a bunch of no-good-kid-hunting adults feel better.

"You ain't their priest, son. If they can hunt my boy so easily, then they shouldn't have any problems hunting down someone to listen to their goddamn confession, too."

Eddie had the scars along his body, a chunk of flesh eaten from his thigh, and a missing left nipple to show for their mistake . He had nightmares and flashbacks and nights where he woke up in a cold sweat expecting to see a mob outside his window shouting vile, obscene words to cut him deep or vines crawling across his ceiling to cut him even deeper. 

So he’d said no, even if it meant he might have needed to give up one of his most sacred spaces in the world. 

And then Steve Harrington (with his perfect smile and whiskey eyes and warm touch) had stepped in and said, “why don’t you just have Hellfire at my house?” and that was that. 

Steve Harrington's house provided safety, a giant ass dining room table, from-scratch cookies and cakes that Steve insisted on baking each and every time they met. 

It also provided Steve, who was wonderful and sweet and kind and-

And.

And.

And whatever the reason (that Eddie was definitely not avoiding, not at all), it was enough for Eddie to wind up at the head of Steve's dining room table, leering at the small group from behind his screen.

It was snickerdoodle that day; Jeff's favorite. Eddie had already put back two and was happily considering a third. The rest of Hellfire looked like they were regretting eating any as Eddie hunched forward in the ridiculous oak dining chair. Dustin was green in the face, staring down at his miniature like he might as well have dug a tiny grave right then and there.

"You arrive at a door." Eddie steepled his fingers, resting his chin against the points. "Ancient symbols are carved throughout. Runes from another time, another place." 

"Shit," Gareth murmured. "God, not another fucking door."

"Your only other escape is through the tunnels where you came, but you can already hear the Orc armies clashing their way through. What do you do, oh mighty heroes?"

"We're fucked." Dustin threw up his hands, pressing the heels against his eyes. "Oh Jesus we're so fucked."

"We're not fucked!" Lucas said, even if his face said otherwise. "We need- shit, we need a strategy! Will-?"

"I'm barely hanging on!" Will stared down at his character sheet, scribbling notes down furiously. "We could do an observation check-"

Dustin groaned. "We don't have time for that!" 

"Well then what are we supposed to do, Genius," Erica snapped. "Sit here and die?"

The table erupted into an argument, insults and strategies twisting together through the fray, Eddie watching it all delighted. 

From the corner of his eye he could see Steve leaving the kitchen with a fresh plate of what looked like carrot sticks. He walked carefully and silently through, mostly ignored by the still bickering group as he began to collect the empty cookie plates and gather napkins, stepping from spot to spot to curiously look over shoulders. 

"Enjoying the peace and quiet, Harrington?"

Steve snorted, dropping the plate of carrots by Eddie's elbow. "Oh yeah. Getting in a quick meditation." 

Eddie laughed, glancing back down at his notes to hide the blush already crawling up his collar, scribbling out a quick direction on the paper.

And then-

“What the hell is that?”

-the table fell silent. 

There could have been a million reasons for those words to be said by any one of the Hellfire Club, and so Eddie wasn't much phased by the squawk from the other side of the table beyond the sea of miniatures and D20s. It was only when the other kids began to grumble that he looked up from behind his screen. 

What he found was a scene that didn’t fully belong at the table of dark cloth and menacing figurines and leather clad nerds who were all now staring at Mike Wheeler holding up his character sheet, staring at Steve who had been coming over to grab empty plates from the middle of the miniature battle. 

The character sheet, which was now adorned with a circle just bigger than a quarter. 

Eddie squinted. The circle was a bright, neon green with a star in the middle. And the star was wearing- Huh. He squinted again, and, yup. The star was wearing sunglasses. 

Steve turned back, empty stack of plates in one hand. “It’s a sticker.” 

“No shit, Steve,” said Mike. “What’s it doing here though.” 

Steve shrugged. “I thought your little dude was cool. So.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and held up a roll of stickers. Eddie could see more sunglass wearing stars scattered in between a small galaxy of suns giving them the thumbs up and a moon with a backwards hat.

"We're not babies, Steve."

Steve rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to be a dick about it. Just say thank you.” 

“Whatever,” said Mike, which was as close to thanks as he ever got. “I’m throwing it away.”

“Do what you want,” said Steve. He rolled his eyes and looked down at Eddie. “So ungrateful,” he said, as if Eddie was meant to commiserate somehow with a freshman. 

Then again, Eddie was always happy to play along. “Oh yeah. Kid doesn’t know how good he’s got it. Crowning achievement, that prize.”

“You jealous, Munson?” 

Eddie snorted. “Sure, Harrignton. Whatever you want to tell yourself. Now stop distracting my sheepies. We’ve got stuff to- to…”

He trailed off when Steve leaned closer. His cologne was woodsy and dark and from the angle where he leaned, Eddie could see chest hair poking from the open neck of his polo shirt. He reached out and pressed his fingers against Eddie’s shoulder. His touch was firm and sure and Eddie wanted to sink against it. “Well,” he said, “I’d hate to be a distraction.” And then he leaned back like nothing had happened, getting the kids’ attention with a sharp whistle and a call for pizza orders. 

When Eddie looked down, there was a sticker on his shoulder. 

Eyes on the Prize said a festive looking potato. 

Eddie did his best to scoff, swallowing back the thrumming in his chest. 

.

.

.

Though if he put the stupid thing inside his binder afterwards. Well. That was no one else's business but his own. 

-

Want to read the rest of this fic? This is only a part of chapter 1! The rest of it (as well as the next three chapters) can be found on AO3!

If you want to watch Steve Harrington woo Eddie Munson with stickers, then this might be the right story for you.

Warning: (Slaps story) This baby can hold so many bad puns.

[chaifootsteps]

How on earth would Viv ever get arrested for that drawing of nearly underage fox boy character anyways? I keep seeing that float around of people saying what she did was illegal and she will go to jail or what not.

though I believe that’s now how the law states how that works. I mean if it was then I’m sure we’d have a shit ton more people in jail since there’s a whole community of people who draw that nasty shit to get their rocks off.

So wanted to know if you’ve got any more info on the laws in America.

She wouldn't, and she shouldn't. I can think of a number of things Viv's done that warrant her being arrested more than her decade old art of her dumb nebulously legal fox boy biting his lip in a bath tub with nothing showing.

In America, sexualized art of fictional minors is legal unless they determine that it's "obscene" -- they have a test for this -- in which case the charge for that is usually obscenity. Realistically, the Department of Justice has more pressing things to worry about than someone's gross art of a 5,000 year old fox girl who looks like she's barely old enough to start trying on bras.

If Viv had drawn a graphic depiction of a four-year-old being blown by a snake, that might have gotten someone's attention. As is, zero chance.

[anonymouslymadebydesign]

Nocturna

Fandom : Welcome Home

Ship : Wally Darling x Male ! Novelist Reader

Word Count, Chapter 1- : 2324

Content Warnings, Chapter 1 : N/A

Synopsis : You, a well published author, have just moved to The Neighborhood, a cozy little place in a tiny town that barely made the map. As you settle in and begin your latest novel, you learn more about the residents that already reside within the Neighborhood. Everyone is very nice and polite, you fit in perfectly !

The only difference between you and your new neighbors is your fine touch of heavenly temper. But they know you’re the nicest neighbor a puppet could ask for, right ?

✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂

You stretched your arms high above your head as you watched the trees wizz by from your window seat. The train you sat in was currently slowly but surely slowing down, signaling your upcoming arrival. You had moved to a small town with an even smaller population with the help of your most recent selling novel. The extra cash you got from the novel was just enough to break your lease and get out of the city. Moving from a crowded townhouse to an actual stand alone home was exciting, but also daunting. You didn’t know anyone here, hell, you hardly even knew the town you were going to, only from sleight of mouth or when used as a landmark when traveling to further locations.

A voice from the front of the train announced that you had finally come to a full stop and were free to grab what items you had brought on. Unsure of how long they’d stay, seeing as you were the only one getting off at this stop, you quickly thanked the train attendant as you snatched your little luggage bag off the top rack before jogging off the train.

Things hadn’t worked out quite how you wanted them to, schedules didn’t like up, and people were unwilling to compromise, which ended up with you having to send all your stuff ahead and hopefully all arrive accounted for. Not being able to supervise your items, leaving them in the hands of complete strangers, made you nervous. Not only had you just bought a new typewriter, but all your manuscripts, outlines for various projects, and an obscene collection of books were in the hands of people you don’t know. Oh god, even thinking about finding your brand new typewriter with even a dent made you restless.

As the train began to pull away from the stop, you took in a deep breath as you squared your shoulders. “No time like the present. Besides, if the movers were kind, all our items should be in our new home.” You said to yourself aloud.

Other than the inhabitants of the forest around you, you were completely alone. Seemed like this place didn’t get enough stops in town to warrant anyone supervising the train stop. Briefly wondering how those who live here come and go, you began walking on the only path available. An old sign, easily twenty years your senior, said the Neighborhood was just up ahead, an easy half mile right up the street.

With just your carry-on bag that contained your previous day's clothes, you had to stay in a little motel the night before your train departed, the walk to the main part of the town wasn’t so bad. The forest that surrounded it was lush with life, beautifully captivating, and it was enough to think about how hardly anyone lived here despite its wondrous surrounding life.

As more and more buildings came into view you realized suddenly you weren’t sure which was yours. You had remembered the address for it but upon entering the town you realized you weren’t quite sure where it exactly was.

“Oh, a little shop!” You perked up upon seeing the bodega just ahead. “I’m sure the shopkeeper knows the way.”

The building was a vibrant shade of blue, large red and white striped awnings that draped over the entire front, cutely named “Howdy’s Place” in nice green lettering. One of the massive windows that shown toward you displayed a variety of items, some household objects and other things, while the window adjacent had multiple types of produce neatly stacked in their respective bins.

‘This must be the town's bodega, like the one back home.’ You thought as you stepped inside. The air inside was still, soft music from the overhead radio crackled in and out, and distant sweeping could be heard from across the aisles.

“Excuse me?” You called out, cupping one hand around your mouth to carry your voice. “Sorry to bother you, but I need a bit of help.”

“Be right there!” A man's voice replied to you, the audible smack of the broom he had been using hitting the wall, and footsteps clicking on the linoleum floor all sounded within seconds of each other.

“Oh!” He paused upon rounding the corner and locking eyes with you. “You must be the new resident!” He smiled widely and his eye shown with excitement.

‘Ah, dammit all.’ You thought the minute he greeted you. Irritability crept up your throat and you felt your eyebrows twitch, nearly feeling inclined to scowl at this man. So word of your arrival had been passed around, no big deal, a new resident probably was exciting for them, only god knows when the last person came and left. ‘Swallow it.’ You followed your own command while putting on your best face.

“Yes, that would be me!” You matched his cheery disposition, walked towards him, and stuck out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, I’m (F/N) (L/N). Thank you for having me.”

“I’m Howdy Pillar, a pleasure to meet you as well!” He chuckled as he shook your hand. “How can I help you, young man?”

“If it’s not trouble to you, see, I just got off my train and don’t seem to know the layout of your town very well.” You rubbed the back of your neck feeling slightly guilty. “I’m lookin’ for 1904 Cherry Street, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is, would you?”

“You’re in luck, cause that’s exactly the street right behind here. Cmon, I’ll show you how to get there.” Howdy gestured to you to follow him as he left the shop, opening the door open for you with one of his many arms.

“Don’t…you need someone to watch the shop while we’re gone?” You asked, looking around the empty store. It seemed like Howdy was the sole person who worked and operated the place.

“Don’t you worry about that, neighbor. I've got the keys right here.” He patted his bright orange apron pockets.

Letting out a knowing ‘ahh’ you thanked him as you exited the bodega and he locked the door behind you.

As he began walking you to your new home, he pointed to the various houses that surrounded the Neighborhood. “You’ll see the town is more in a circle shape than anything else. Although, this street that connects to the train station makes it look like a tree from a map's view. The bodega is two floors, upstairs bein’ my house and downstairs bein’ the shop. We’re all pretty spread out around here so you’ll have plenty of space to yourself.” Howdy explained as he took you along a smaller path of stones and pressed grass.

‘People will always carve out a desired path, even with one already present.’ You mused internally as the two of you strayed off the main path and to the adjacent street.

“Those two houses we just passed back there belong to Sally and Poppy’s, both who I’m sure you’ll run into soon enough.

“Who’s was that in the center? The one a bit further from here, near your shop?” You asked feeling curious.

“That’s Home! Wally lives there, Wally Darling.”

“Wally Darling,” You parroted back tasting the new name on your tongue. It was nice. “What a charming name.”

Howdy laughed a deep hearty laugh at this. “He lives up to his name too, although he can be a bit rambunctious. He’s my main customer when it comes to apples, I’ll tell you what, for such a little guy he can sure pack em away.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his description of the man. At first, especially upon arrival, you were anxious to meet those who lived here. But now, chatting away with Howdy, you felt at ease. How he spoke of his neighbors and friends made the knot in your stomach unravel.

“Ah! Here we are,” Howdy stopped suddenly, two arms on his hips and the others pointed at your new home. “1904 Cherry Street.”

It was a simple house, really. Unlike the houses you had passed before, many which seemed to be two stories like Howdys own, this sat at a single floor. What it lacked in height, though, it made up for in length. It was exactly like your realtor had shown you before you moved, and within the house you could see dozens upon dozens of cardboard boxes, hopefully, containing every single one of your belongings.

“Thank you for walkin me to my new home. You have a very lovely neighborhood.” You nodded in thanks as you pulled the house keys out of your bag.

“It’s no problem,” Howdy said while putting a pair of hands on his hips. The other arms fiddled with the hem of his apron seemingly anxious. You quickly looked from his hands to his face, seeing a familiar expression.

“You got a question?”

Howdy chuckled. “I don’t mean to sound intrusive but, ah, what made you move to our little town? I mean, what do you do for work?”

“Oh, I’m a writer. I’ve been writing books for a couple of years now, and uh, my latest novel gave me enough push to move outta the big city.” You explained, jerking a thumb back to the mountain of boxes shoved against the living room windows. “Those boxes there will hopefully have my typewriter and scripts in em.”

Howdys expression changed from that of anxiety to curiosity. “An author!” He exclaimed. “That must be a lotta fun.”

His boyish like happiness made you laugh. “Yeah, it can be. Although,” You turned your body slightly towards your house to glare at the unsuspecting boxes. “I’m about to find out if those jackasses were able to keep all my shit together and not loose anything.” Your voice dropped flat, sounding upset.

You had heard stories of people moving and somehow between point A and B, boxes seemed to vanish into thin air. The idea alone of movers loosing your items, even a single box, was enough to cause that familiar feeling of anger and irritability crawl its way back up your throat. How could someone be so careless with your items, anyone for that matter, to loose a few items between moving? Isn’t that their job, moving you and your things from one place to another? You could feel yourself getting heated.

‘Don’t loose your temper, (Y/N).’

“O-Oh…” Was all you heard from Howdy.

You had to remember where you were quickly. Who you were, when you were, and what you were doing. “Ah- Sorry! Sorry, gosh, lost myself a little there.” You returned back to facing him once more. “I’ve, uh, got a bit of a temper that I’m working on. Also, I’ve got a lot of important and expensive stuff in there. If anything’s lost, I’d be awfully upset.” You found yourself apologizing and trying not to vomit too many words while backtracking.

Howdys body seemed to relax at this, and it wasn’t until he loosened up visibly, that you realized you were holding yourself just as tense. “I see,” He nodded understandingly. “I wouldn’t move outta here, but if I absolutely had to and found my things had up and gone, well, I wouldn’t blame ya for getting upset.”

“Sorry about that..”

“It’s okay,” Howdy placed a hand on your shoulder before patting it. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

The two of you said your goodbyes before you waved him off and back into the main section of the town.

“Alright. Let’s check if we got all our stuff.” You mumbled, watching the caterpillars silhouette disappear over the hill. Turning around and fiddling with your keys, finding the main house key, you finally let yourself inside to get to work.

✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂

Unbeknownst to you, your simple arrival in town had gotten everyone excited. You were quite literally the talk of the town.

“You spoke to them!” Sally had cried out, sprawling herself dramatically against Howdy's front counter. “What were they like? What’s their name? How old are they? What do they like to do?”

“Hold on, hold on!” Howdy held up his hands defensively. “I only helped him find his house is all! I didn’t pry like a nosey Nancy, now.”

“Learn anything neat?” Sally asked, peeping out from her shirts puffy sleeves, her eyes full of fake unshed tears. The theatrics never stop.

“Well, he’s a writer. An author! He didn’t say what kind of books he writes, other than that whatever his latest novel gave him enough money to move here.” Howdy said. “He mentioned he’s got a bit of a temper that he’s working on. Maybe livin’ in the city was no good for him, ya know, bad for his mental health.”

“That’s so cool, being from the city!” Julie pipped up. “Now I really REALLY wanna meet him.”

“Everyone does,” Barnaby agreed. “But it’s best not to crowd him all at the same time. Everyone trying to get to know him on his first might scare him into never comin’ out. And if he’s workin on not being so snippish, then crowding him might make him worse.”

Julie and Sally groaned at this, but they knew Barnaby was right. Everyone in town trying to clammer for your attention might freak you out, and who’s to say if they make a good impression or not. Howdy made a good one, that’s for sure, but the rest of the Neighborhood all at once?

“What do you think, Wally?” Barnaby asked.

“Hmm..” Wally hummed thoughtfully looking out the window in the general direction of your house. “I think Barnaby is right…what if he’s nervous? It is his first day home afterall.”

Howdy clapped his hands bringing everyone’s attention towars him. “Alright everyone, we’ll introduce ourselves slowly, over time, ease him into it.”

✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂

[fyodior]

I'm just OBSESSED with the idea of shoving Toji down to his knees and forcing him to suck your strap. It doesn't make you feel good or give you any kind of satisfaction, but getting to see him on his knees like that with drool slipping from his puffy lips stretched so wide around the huge silicone cock is worth the lack of physical satisfaction.

Hearing every single one of his gasps and gags at each thrust you make into his tight mouth is enough to make you aroused anyway. You keep him like that until you're satisfied - until his scalp is sore from you tugging him by the hair onto the cock again and again and until he's sure his throat is bruised - that the strap is finally wet enough and you can reward him like the good boy he is for you <3

Until you position him onto his hands and knees and see the little slut has already prepared himself for you, hole gaping and twitched, begging for your strap. He's turning to face you, grinning the whole time, a slow "wanted to save time so you could dive straight in..." and it's up to you whether that warrants a punishment or a reward <3

- ❄️

YESSSSS OH MY GODDDDD he looks so pathetic but fucking beautiful on his knees with his lips wrapped around your cock (silicone or real you choose), drooling and gagging but trying his best to still be good for you even though his throat is bulging every time you fuck into his mouth. FUCKING HIS THROAT IS SO SEXYYYYY HELLO using his mouth as a fleshlight to shove your cock down and yanking his hair god nonnie ur driving me CRAZY with this

i’m literally gonna cry thinking of him on his hands and knees waiting for you to fuck his tight hole, one he already has prepared !?!?!!!!? HELLOOOOOOOO THAT’S SO HOT……… i honestly can’t decide if id punish him or not for that tho, for being such a greedy and impatient little slut who couldn’t wait to get your cock inside him…………. either way you grip his hips and drill into him like no other, and he makes the most fucking obscene grunts and moans and whimpers as you fill him up. despite prepping himself he’s still so so tight and squeezes your dick, not to mention the way he clenches so hard. even in the scenario you can’t feel it, he wants to put on a show and act such a fucking slut OH MYGODDDDD im literally panting running in circles over this holy shit

but i also love the concept of a reluctant toji who’s never done it before and is only spreading his legs for you because you asked him to…… he’s so much more used to fucking you that the other way around is mind boggling and he doesn’t know how to act but all he knows is that he loves it. ALSO A GREAT CONCEPT

[randomfoggytiger]

"I Think He's a Hard Kid to Love"

(Fictober, Day 23)

Inspired by these prompts and sketches (shoutout to my family members.)

*****

Scully was sitting outside her motel room, half-awake, trying to warm up in the weak, wavering sun and shockingly cold morning air. 

It wasn’t working. 

Mulder’s door opened and he dodged out, awkwardly fiddling with his phone while juggling his luggage. She watched disinterestedly, still glazed with sleep, as he strode across the parking lot, waiting for the call to go through. Then he was chattering, trying to place his luggage in the trunk of their rental, failing, and forcefully shoving them in with his second, impatient attempt. Scully noticed he was shocking a squirrel half to death but decided not to interfere: she didn't feel like wrangling the locals while still mentally in bed. More importantly, her coffee hadn't kicked in.

At this rate, she doubted it ever would. 

She was only aware her eyes were closed because Mulder was back and nudging her shoulder, voice startlingly close as he said, “Looks like we’re still going on a little road trip, Scully.” He walked away, humming something under his breath.

Whoopee. 

*****

It’s not that Scully disliked road trips in the fall-- they were gorgeous drives, made her feel grateful to be human-- but she vastly preferred them in casual clothes in her own car on her own time at home. Which was the opposite of where they were heading. 

A few gorgeous red trees meandered their way past the windshield, so slowly it was easy to mistake them for friends holding hands and loping soundlessly through the woods. Now that she thought of it, the entire forest came alive through a few perfected squints and an imagination fueled by groggy awareness and pre-caffeine boredom.

“Killer trees”, their boss had said. Flat. Tell me I’m wrong, he’d meant. 

“That’s what Agent Mulder… suggested, Sir. And I’m at a loss to explain the corroborating witnesses' testimony without… some degree of credit to his story.” 

There had been a long, disappointed sigh. “Agent Scully, might I have a word with him?” 

And they’d been promptly assigned a case close enough to drive to. Mulder had dodged all inquiries on how or why Skinner forced them away from rather than toward home; but he’d gotten her thinly veiled hints and called up Boss Man again while they packed, doing his best to wiggle them out of the obligation.

No dice. 

*****

“Gorgeous,” she murmured, willing to give Nature its due now that she was a little more awake. 

“Hm. What?” Mulder stopped humming briefly to shoot her a side-glance; then scanned the road to find what she was talking about.

“The scenery-- the sky and the trees and the grass. Rich reds and yellows and oranges. The blue isn’t too blue.” 

He nodded as she braced herself further upright against the door. “Mm. Tranquil.” 

A bluster of leaves swirled across the road, smacked the hood of the car, and whooshed away. 

Is that irony, tragedy, or comedy? Scully flicked away the thought like an unwanted fuzz of lint on her skirt. She was not going to be bogged down with useless thought trails that warranted an obscene amount of energy this early in the morning. 

*****

“I think I’d enjoy it more if my eyes weren’t…” Mulder made a vague handwave, drawing her attention to-- not away from-- his attention-seeking smile. 

Fine. Here we go. “Mulder, you are not red-green colorblind.”

“Ah, au contraire, Scully-- my paperwork would prove you wrong.” He was enjoying this: probably had been bored out of his mind simply sitting and staring, probably waited until she could wake up enough to verbally spar before opening a topic between them, probably chose one that would annoy her even more awake. 

Touche. 

“Your paperwork is nonexistent because you never bothered to get tested, Mulder.”

“There’s a very big difference between Salmon and Dusty Salmon, Scully; and I’m one of the unlucky few that can’t tell that all-important difference.” 

She blinked at him, enjoyed watching the swirling swaths of autumnal colors blend behind his profile. “I’d wager a lot of people can’t tell the difference between Salmon and Other Salmon. And whatever you think you have, it most certainly didn’t affect your recruitment.” 

“Or it could mean the higher ups wanted my abilities so badly they were willing to fudge a bit of paperwork.” He was modest, immodest, self-deprecating, and proud all at once. How Mulder. 

“Mulder, you see normal human blood and acidic green blood. You see these trees. You see my hair. Proof.” Scully formed her words precisely, smugly. “Scientific evidence.” 

His hands were already diving into a sunflower seed bag, his rhythmic cracking a routine that keyed him up and settled him down simultaneously. Mulder's queue that he was meditating an interesting little comeback.

“Yeah, well, I coulda sworn your hair’s changed color over the years, Scully.” 

She was crisp and professional, the very model of dignity as she sniffed at the assertion. “Lighting, Mulder-- more precisely, bad lighting. I’ll never forget the day I changed the bulbs in the office and you walked in, stood there, and stared like you’d woken up in some weird alternate universe.” 

Scully preferred to refer to their workspace as the office or the office down there and not the basement or the den of iniquity like her partner did. It kept things above board-- above reproach, above criticism, above scrutiny. Above the low bar of Mulder's jokes.

Crunch, crack. “Yeah, well…”

“And my hair hasn’t changed since, has it?”

Crack, crunch, genuine smile. “You never know, Scully-- it might spring something on you yet.” 

“Until it does, I’m going to soak up what’s left of this drive.” 

They both swiveled towards their respective views, Scully leaning against the car window and Mulder picking up his humming in between spits and chews.

***** 

It was a sleepy old town they arrived in; and a sleepy old gas station they pulled up to. 

“Has law enforcement been alerted we’re coming?” Scully asked, stretching her limbs while trying to sidestep the wind.

Mulder didn’t answer. Avoiding, again. 

“Mulder--”

“They, uh, aren’t going to be involved. In this case.” His eyes were fixed on the gas nozzle, swiping a finger back and forth as if studying its dimensions for the first time. 

“Mulder. Why not?” 

“Because this assignment is a bit… unofficial,” Mulder smirked, meeting her eyes hesitantly. 

Scully straightened her shoulders, trying to pick apart his vague answers. “Skinner gave us an unofficial case?” 

“He gave us an unofficial assignment.” 

Visions of home and hearth and comfy clothes danced behind her eyes. “There isn’t a case?” 

“There could be. We’re here to make sure it doesn’t happen.” Mulder looked from her eyes to her eyebrows to her stance, shrugged, and pretended to focus his gaze elsewhere. Again. This time it was on the leaf sticking to the roof of their car.  

She sighed, let her shoulders drop, and almost, almost smiled.  

*****

A man named Ernesto had a friend named Bernie. Bernie was very popular in the town, made friends with everyone, was thought of as the town’s mascot almost-- 

“Mulder, you make it sound like this town made an attraction out of a human being.”

--And be that as it may, everyone got along, swept up in brotherly love one toward another. However, every fall Bernie got a bit… uncontrollable, wouldn't listen to reason, and broke into peoples’ properties to get his hands on food. 

“He doesn’t have enough to eat?”

He did-- does-- as it happens; but was never convinced it was enough. So, every fall the townsfolk got-- get-- antsy and tried to reason with Ernesto to keep a tighter leash on his friend. But Ernesto wouldn't-- won’t-- listen to reason. 

“So we’re… what? Deployed by the FBI to be a brute force reminder?” 

“I don’t think that’s quite what Skinner had in mind when he said to have a chat with Ernesto; but if you’re that bloodthirsty, G-woman, I’ll rustle us up another bad guy you can shoot at.” 

“I already have two I’d like to take a potshot at; so why don’t we get this over with before my trigger happy finger gets a mind of its own?” 

*****

Bernie was a bear. 

Scully didn’t know if she was more appalled or amused at the sight of a full-grown black bear swamped in fall sweaters charging full speed at her; but humor won out as Mulder lunged from her periphery and knocked them both safely out of its path. 

“BERNIE, GET BACK HEREEEEEEEEE!” Ernesto screeched, shrimp-thin leash flailing uselessly above his head. “BERNIE, YOU JUST GOT A HUGE MEAL ONE HOUR AGO! BERNIE--!”  

Scully had a split second to process the unfolding madness before Mulder leaped to his feet and dashed for the door. She scrambled after him, wondering how in the world Skinner would know a man that owned a bear; and decided she didn’t want to know. 

“BERNIEEEEEEEEEE--” echoed behind her in the town hall. How was Ernesto allowed to bring a domesticated bear into Town Hall? 

“BEAR!” echoed in front of her down the front steps of town hall. How did Mulder think yelling 'Bear' would help them at all?

Her partner was pointing ahead of him at-- 

“That’s a werewolf lawn ornament, Mulder!” she yelled, still trying to sort through the cacophony of thoughts and strategies flitting through her mind. 

He took off down the steps, looking wildly left and right. “Bernie!” Mulder veered a few paces left, changed his mind, veered right. “Bernie!” 

Ernesto ran after him, sniffling back tears. “BERNIE, THIS IS THE TENTH TIME THIS WEEK-- WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME--”

Stopping to lean against the stairs' right-side wall support, Scully watched the two men circle the front lawn, regroup, and take off in opposite directions-- Mulder straight for a tempting garden they’d passed on their walk here and Ernesto weaving off to one possibly like it. 

*****

A snuffling caught her attention. 

Scully looked over the wall and froze, her blue eyes meeting wide, black ones. 

Bear and woman stared at each other for a long, long time, his mouth wrapped halfway around a mangled pumpkin and hers flapping open and shut as she tried to emit sound of any kind. 

It was only a minute-- less than-- before the bear lost interest and began chewing on his make-do snack again. 

“B…ernie?” she whispered, and watched his ears swivel in her direction. “Bernie? You need to come back inside. Come back inside, wait for Ernesto.” 

Bernie looked at her begrudgingly, and it was such a spitting image of her nephew that all fear vanished in a gust of wind. “Bernie. Come inside. And bring your snack with you.” Might as well let him finish and save everyone the hassle of cleaning up. 

Bernie must have sensed her compromise: he rose and lumbered back over to and up the steps, taking great care to wipe all four of his muddy paws on the mat before going back inside. 

*****

Before she could decide how to proceed, a loud yelp pierced the air and Scully knew, immediately, it was her partner. 

“MULDER?” She turned and chased after the phantom of Mulder's footsteps-- past the werewolf decoration, stacks of raked autumn leaves, half the town, and a few more shocked squirrels.

She vaguely hoped Bernie would stay where he was. 

*****

“A possum party,” Mulder explained to Ernesto, trying to clean his muddy fingers on his muddy coat. “I think I found your culprits, though some blame can still be placed on Bernie’s inadequate leash.” 

Ernesto was half-listening, squeezing his pet in the biggest, most awkward hug Scully had ever seen.

She’d only witnessed the tail end of Mulder’s newest drama-- as usual-- more specifically, the many tail ends of a troop of fleeing possums, some ravaged vegetables, and her partner face-planted, business end up, in front of a very slick patch of mud. They’d have to rent another motel room in order to get cleaned up for the trip home. 

Whoopee. 

“Mr. Ernesto, I’m going to have to reiterate what my partner said. Your leash is inadequate to prevent Bernie from running off however he wants or chooses; and even if, as you say, he is not a menace to anyone else he is, at the very least, liable to get injured or killed if he startles someone with a firearm or runs into traffic. This is a final warning; otherwise, we’ll have to get the proper authorities involved.”

Mulder, she noticed, was highly amused-- and something else-- that Scully had taken the bad cop approach; and even more so when Ernesto hung on every word she said with beseeching eyes. 

“Agent Mulder will go with you to pick out a suitable collar while I make a few final calls, Ernesto. Consider this your lucky day.”  

She didn’t even care that her partner wasn’t so amused anymore. 

*****

Scully hung up the call with Skinner mildly appeased, having stressed the precious time she and Agent Mulder had wasted; that Ernesto was unlikely to heed their warnings, regardless; and that they (meaning she) had gone above and beyond the call of duty and saw no reason, Sir, to do these sorts of assignments any time soon in the near future. 

Their boss wasn’t concerned enough, she mused, when he thanked her for the call and hung up. 

She lugged Mulder’s carryon into the nearest motel she could find, deciding that putting his essential items into piles would keep this pit stop as short as possible. While unpacking some of his shirts, the tune he was humming in the car popped into her mind; and Scully tried to place it as she unrolled a few of her partner's tank tops. Then she stopped, deeply sighed, and tossed his shirts down in annoyance before stomping back to the car. 

He had had the gall to sing The Bare Necessities the entire drive.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

[just-a-girl-who-wrytes]

Part 5 💕

Nikki kept her new beau to herself, mostly because she didn’t work with anyone she was close enough to tell her personal business to, but it wasn’t kept a secret much longer when she was again floating in the ER on a 16 hour shift that night and took a patient that EMS was bringing into her with the assistance of SWAT members.

The patient was yet another victim of a warrant bust, however, he was found violent and high on God only knows what stimulants. EMS had attempted to sedate him with no success. It was the first time Nikki got to see Deacon in uniform, at work when he walked in at the head of the stretcher with the EMS providers.

My god, she thought, THIS is the man that wants me! He looks so damn good.

Nikki took a moment to take the sight of him in - black tactical pants, black shirt, ballistic vest, holsters hooked around each thigh…

It appeared to Nikki as if Deacon had broken a sweat on this one, which made her chuckle. He was so fit that she didn’t think much made his skin glistening red like that. Her trail of thoughts was broken as EMS stepped into the room good with the restrained man on the stretcher. The patient was yelling obscenities at everyone in the room, attempting to free himself from his restraints. Nikki took caution not to stand too closely to the enraged man, but it only took a split second for him to free one foot and throw it towards Nikki’s face with all his strength. Hondo managed to catch it and slam the man’s leg down on the stretcher as Nikki stepped to the side just quickly enough. She didn’t speak, she only continued to watch the scene unfold in front of her when she heard the man yell her name that he had seen on her badge. She instantly knew whatever followed wouldn’t be good if he was aware enough to hone in on any single person in the room.

“You stupid bitch!”

“Watch your mouth, prick!” Deacon stepped closer to the man’s side and spoke loudly and firmly, his voice nearly an octave deeper than what he normally spoke in.

Deacon’s voice didn’t phase the man.

“You motherfucking, cunt, what are you looking at?! I ought to gut you like the animal you are!”

Nikki had dealt with enough psychiatric, drug addicted patients that the man’s statement didn’t phase her, but she knew it had struck a nerve with Deacon as she noticed his attention key into the man - more than it was. Deacon’s eyes became encompassed with immediate rage. When the man then spit in Nikki’s direction, Deacon took the palm of his hand and snapped the man’s face to the side, slamming his head down against the stretcher and holding it there. Nikki flinched when she heard the pop that came from the man’s jaw when Deacon’s hand made contact and pinned him down, but she immediately decided that he would roll through the door with that injury according to her chart.

The story of her past marriage must have really stuck with Deacon to elicit such a reaction from him.

The man welped in pain before yelling obscenities towards Deacon.

At that point, another nurse had returned with ketamine to sedate the patient. Once the man was sedated, Deacon and Hondo assisted security with restraining his extremities. Nikki started hooking him up to get his vital signs.

Deacon and Hondo stood outside of the ER room talking to hospital security about how they found the man as Nikki continued starting IVs and getting bloodwork, and starting the patient on more sedating medications when she noticed one the other nurses approach Deacon and Hondo. The nurse started smiling flirtatiously, frequently putting her hand on Deacon’s shoulder as she inquired about the job of SWAT and how brave it was.

A feeling of envy crept up Nikki’s neck as she paused to watch the moment. This nurse was pretty by most men’s standards, but not to Nikki. Her marriage was on the rocks and she made it no secret that she regularly saw another nurse outside of work. Rumor had it they had even been caught hooking up in the parking lot on break.

Nikki took note of the fact that Deacon never stopped to look her way to notice if she was watching her coworker flirt with him when he stepped out of the woman’s reach. He looked unamused and repeatedly ignored her not-so-subtle advances. When the girl turned her attention to Hondo, Hondo told the group to have a good day and let Deacon know that he was going to head outside to wait on the rest of the team to come pick them up. Deacon nodded and told Hondo he would be out momentarily.

The room was empty of everyone except for Nikki, who had returned to charting, and her unconscious patient.

“Have I told you just how beautiful you are today?” Deacon asked as he approached and leaned against the entryway to the room.

Nikki stopped typing and looked Deacon’s way as she smiled and blushed, knowing fully well she had only showered and brushed her hair before she left for work.

“I’ve never seen you in uniform, on duty before.” She said, her gaze giving Deacon all of the thanks that he needed. She made sure that he saw her eye him from head to boot.

“Looks good, don’t it?” Deacon chuckled and winked. He loved seeing her look at him with the same physical attraction to him as he had to her in her eyes. It made him feel good to know he still had it too - even as he neared 50. He knew she still felt cautious emotionally, but there was no denying she thought he was attractive as hell. “No, but really, it feels so good to be back with the guys. I really did miss this. And it’s all thanks to you that I’m standing here today, doing it again.”

“I didn’t do any of the hard work, Deac.”

“Nikki, your voice in my ear that day gave me the will to live. The will to keep going, the hope that everything would be okay again.” Deacon kept his tone low, but that didn’t suppress the passion and truth in his voice when he spoke to her. He stepped over to be by her side at the computer and gently squeezed her bicep. “And, sweetheart, I cannot wait to keep showing you just how much you and your soul mean to me.” This time his voice was sensual and Nikki couldn’t deny it.

Deacon took note of the chill bumps the tone in his voice gave this girl and he knew if he could see his own eyes, his pupils would have dilated at the shaky breath that hitched in her throat. There was a brief silence between them before she asked him about the details of how they found her patient before EMS arrived so she could appropriately chart. Once Deacon was finished, another nurse came to relieve Nikki for lunch and she walked her beau out to the SWAT truck that had just pulled into the ambulance bay to pick the two men up.

“Hey, everyone!” Nikki greeted as the back doors opened for Hondo and Deacon to step inside. “It’s good to see you guys.”

“Hey, girl. Still working on Deac, huh?” Luca asked.

“More like he’s working on me… or for me at least.” Nikki laugh, “I’ve got to figure out how to make it look like this guy rolled through the doors with the broken jaw Deacon just gave him in the room.”

“No shit, man.” Street chimed in.

Deacon shrugged, “He’ll keep his mouth shut, now.”

Nikki gave him a playful condescending look.

“I’ve gotta grab my food so I can get back to my patient. You guys be safe today.”

Deacon caught Nikki’s attention and he winked at her, “Have a good day. I’ll text you, later.”

Nikki went back inside and stopped in the bathroom on her way to the cafeteria. She held her phone at just the right angle for a selfie in her scrubs. She had seen Deacon looking at her in her scrubs the same way she had looked at him in his gear. Nearly as soon as she sent it with the kissing heart emoji, Deacon reacted with a “love.”

“How did I get to be so blessed to be the one you send selfies to?”

“💕 you’re too kind, Deacon Kay.”

Nikki returned her phone to her pocket as she made her way to get her food.

Deacon worked the day and was on call for the night. That meant that he would be staying at the station. Nikki wanted to take him supper, but ended up getting tied up at work and had to stay over and Deacon got called out to assist the sheriff’s department with a man barricaded in his house. She was exhausted when she got home, but wasn’t too tired to change into her favorite nightie - a comfortable, but sleek, sexy tank top. Nikki felt a little awkward preparing to take a picture that didn’t bare all but was sensual enough that she knew it would drive the older man crazy. She hadn’t done this in as long as she could remember and the rational part of her brain questioned whether it was too soon for a man that she had only seen seriously a handful of times, but her heart reminded her how secure she felt with David Kay, how beautiful he made her feel, how easily he seemed to dismiss her co-workers advances earlier in the day, and she knew she would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t like knowing how crazy she could drive him with her body. She didn’t plan on having sex with him in the immediate future, but she had always been a tease and she knew “pre-gaming” would make it that much better when she finally allowed him to have her for the first time.

She propped herself up on one arm on her bathroom counter, finding the right camera angle with the other. She took several and decided on one that she felt the most confident in - messy hair, good boobs, and the nightie at just the right length to tell she wasn’t wearing any pants, but revealing nothing more than her upper thigh.

She sent the photo and when it was left unread, she knew Deacon was still tied up.

“I hope you guys are safe. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow night. Have a wonderful night, handsome. 😘”

Nikki closed her applications, plugged in her phone and went to bed. She had the following few days off and she planned on using them to do nothing other than rest.

When Deacon returned to the station in the early morning hours, he was relieved to find his phone lying on his bed where he had forgotten it when he got dressed to run the call. He knew he had probably missed telling Nikki good night. She had had a long day and while still as beautiful as ever, Deacon could tell she was tired. He supposed health care could do that to you, the same as law enforcement. He picked his phone up, saw a message from Nikki and immediately opened it.

He was smitten when he saw the photo tease. Nikki was so damn beautiful. God. Her hair, her eyes, her arms, her legs, her - …. was that nipple piercings he could make out underneath the fabric of her shirt? He immediately felt his boxer briefs and tactical pants tighten around his groin as he started to become engorged.

“Oh my god…. Breathtaking doesn’t even do you justice. I don’t want to do anything you aren’t ready to do, but holy hell, baby, you’re not going to make it easy. Such a tease… i love it. I can’t wait to have you in my arms tomorrow.”

He sent his text and took another long look at the picture. He reacted to it with a heart and saved it to his phone. He went to the showers and took a cold one. As turned on as Nikki had definitely just made him, he wasn’t allowing himself any release that didn’t involve her immediate touch. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease back.

Once clean and cooled off, Deacon wrapped a towel around his waist. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror in his station, flexing in such a way that defined his muscular torso even more and returned the favor for Nikki’s picture. As he sent it, the scar on his chest caught his eye. He had healed very well, but he couldn’t help remember all of the times he watched Nikki’s face as she concentrated on assessing the wound that was once there and putting clean bandages on it. He had been just as smitten with her beauty then as he was now.