#so this means the lining pieces are going to be too short and I’m almost out of that fabric!!!

[trusweethrt]

╰ . ✶ ┆ MISSING OUT 〃 R. CAMERON.

notes 𓂃 honestly quite proud of this....everyone clap ૮₍ ˃⤙˂ ₎ა — content includes smut, nsfw. 18+ only!

rafe laid on his bed, his head resting comfortably on his pillows with his arm draped lazily over his eyes. he had been listening to you talk about your day for the past hour, just barely listening to bits and pieces. he was really only waiting for you to skip to the lunch date you were supposed to have that afternoon, but you were so stuck on the topic of wanting to try out a new lip combo—whatever that was. so he decided it would just be quicker to just ask you himself.

“what about that date?” he cuts you off mid sentence, moving his arm from his eyes to peer over at you while you leisurely span around in the swivel chair at his desk. “with uhh...what was his name? ayden?” your glossed lips pull into a frown, stopping your spinning “andrew,” you correct, your finger twirling around a loose thread on your shorts. “and it didn't happened. he never came”

rafe's eyes shifted to yours, an annoyed furrow in his eyebrows forming at your admission “you mean that asshole never even showed up?” he scoffed, now fully sitting up against the headboard.

“nope,” your murmur, shifting in your seat “not only that, but he texted me an hour later to tell me he didn't feel like coming.”

“what a pussy,” rafe muttered under his breath, pushing his greasy hair away from his forehead as he tried to suppress an eye roll. he hated it whenever someone wasted your time or let you down. he always thought any guy who you even batted an eye at was incredibly lucky. “he just doesn't deserve you then. n i already told you that you were too good for him. don't know why you don't listen to me. you need to go after guys who would treat you better.”

your lips purse, tilting your head sideways as you toy with the polish on your manicured finger. “uh huh. and who would that be, hm? you?”

“yes.” rafe’s answer is almost immediate and without hesitation. he had no shame, no remorse, no fear. he was straightforward and honest to a fault. “i’d never let you down, you know that. and i'd show you what your date should've done.”

your fingers stop picking at your nail polish, your lips pulling into a thin line. you knew rafe was a good friend, he always had been. but boyfriend material? you weren't so sure. you've seen the way he's run through girls like t-shirts; and you refused to be one of his discards. “rafe—” you started, but he cut you off, waving his hand dismissively.

“nah, nah. don’t ‘rafe’ me. i’m serious. you don't wanna date me? fine. understandable. but at least let me help ya out. y'know, as your friend. i could be uh...setting a standard or...whatever you wanna call it. i could give you a better time than he would've.”

you weren't stupid, you knew what rafe was trying to do. it's how he got all of the island girls to flock over him─manipulation. but was it really manipulation if you wanted it too?

‎ ‎ ─── ✷ ⊹ ࣪

“you taste so fuckin' good. shit — you're drippin for me.” rafe groaned, his eyes trained on drenched folds before they locked on your face, watching the way it contorted in pleasure with every swirl of his tongue against your clit. “feel good, yeah?”

you were only able to force out a few incoherent sounds, the overwhelming pleasure making your brain fuzzy. any guy you've ever slept with never offered or made the slightest effort to eat you out like this. so the new sensation of rafe's tongue had you seeing stars and gasping beneath him. “c'mon, i asked you a question, i want actual words, alright? i want you to tell me how good it feels. and look at me when i'm taking t'you.” rafe spoke against your sex, the vibration of his words making your hips twitch.

“mngh....y-yes.” you breath out, forcing your eyes open to lock to his, “feels good...s'good.” you whimper, glossed lips parting as you stare down at him.

“mmh, there ya go, that's my girl. when i ask something i expect a real answer, yeah?” rafe murmured as two of his long fingers easily slipped into your soaking hole, pulling a mewl from your lips and making your back arch off the mattress slightly. “fuck baby, you're perfect — s'fuckin tight.” he groaned, watching the way your narrow pussy sucked in his fingers, a ring of your slick coating the base of his digits. “y'been giving this pussy to amateurs i bet. don't worry though..i'll stretch ya out real nice.” rafe murmured, wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, your eyes rolling back while his fingers moved in slow, deep strokes, finding the spongy spot that made you cinch around his fingers.

“mgnh...fuck, rafe. i—” you gasp, hands fisting the sheets under you, your words being punctuated by rafe purposely humming around your clit, the vibration making your hips twitch. “mmh yeah i know, pretty girl. gonna cum, yeah? go on baby...make a mess f'me.”

his hands squeeze your thighs as they start to tremble, a loud whine falling from your lips as your orgasm hits, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, glossy eyes squeezing shut. rafe groans against you, lapping your juices as he helps you ride out your orgasm. “yeah, that's it, baby...good girl.”

you felt completely boneless, muscles trembling and skin buzzing all over as you slowly try to come down, catching your breath as he pulled himself up to hover over you, his hand tapping your trembling outer thigh “open up f'me baby.”

your eyes flutter open, thighs shaking as you slowly let them fall open. your eyes half lidded as you stared up at him. rafe groans softly at the sight before him, positioning himself between your legs and slowly slid his leaking tip up and down your glistening lips, teasing your clit slowly.

“fuuuck” rafe groaned as he started to slip his twitching member into your leaking cunt, his eyes fluttering at the sensation of him bottoming out. “shit baby, you're so fuckin' tight...suckin' me in s'good” rafe grunted, his hips starting to snap against yours as he drove his cock in and out, watching your lips part and eyebrows furrow in pleasure.

your head falls back onto the mattress as you mewled beneath him, your lips opening but no words leaving your mouth, already too cock drunk to form any coherent sentences. “bet you needed this, hm? needed this pussy taken care of s'bad, you just had to be fucked by your best friend — you like that, don't you, baby? you like your best friend's cock stretching you out?”

before you could even process what rafe said, the sharp, jarring sound of your phone ringing pierced through the air. the loud and harsh sound causing rafe's eyes to snap up in annoyance, his grip on your hips tightening. “fuckin' christ — who's calling?”

with your brain slowly working to catch up to the situation, the persistent ringing of your phone seemed to finally sink in. your hands fumble around as you search for the phone, eventually finding it. glancing at the caller id, your eyes flutter in surprise, and you let out a whimper, forced to keep your eyes open as rafe's hips continue their relentless rhythm. “w-wait,” you stammer, struggling to catch your breath as you see andrew's name flash across the screen. “i — shit — i need to-”

“answer it.” he ordered, smirking down at you as he watched the name flash on the screen. “let him know your best friend's takin' good care of this pussy.” rafe murmured, noticing the hesitance in your expression.

“wasn't a question.” rafe grunted, taking your phone from your hand without any consent, his thrusts getting rougher as he answered the phone, putting it on speaker. “mmh, y/n's busy. fuck— y'know you're really missin' out though, man. this pussy's a fuckin' dream.” rafe spoke between breathy moans, the sounds of skin slapping and both you and rafe's moans clearly heard on the other end by andrew. “hear that? s'the sound of quality pussy, she’s sucking me in so tightly. bet you wish you were me huh?”

“hey, what is…” andrew's voice comes through the other end of the line, his words trailing off when he realized who he was talking to. “rafe?” rafe's smirk only widens at the sound of the obvious confusion and uneasiness in andrew's voice. “uh huh..” rafe groaned, “fuck man, she's takin' my dick so well; she even makes the prettiest noises f'me wanna hear?” the condescending, almost faux sympathy in rafe's voice was clear, it was obvious he was getting off on this.

he angled the phone closer to your face, making sure the sound of your lewd, almost pornographic moans and whines were clearly heard over the phone. “mmh yeah, all those pretty sounds just for me. but i uh— fuck, she might need to call y'back, man. gonna fill this pussy up soon.”

true to his word, rafe led you through four quivering orgasms after he hung up, letting himself go after your fourth one, his hips stuttering as his cock twitched, his warm liquid spilling inside of you.

“that definitely wasn't our last time...pussy's mine now.” rafe breathed out, collapsing next to you.

taglist 🪽: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl @drewswife @plaidcowboy @missquantic @rafesdiorperfume @minitarayummy @this-one-weeb @akobx @mystianqel @lacebambidoll @dolletebun @milamilkie @ch6rm @rafesprecious

[writeriguess]

So happy to have you back my heart feels complete again. Would you write alpha ghost x omega reader? Lt.Ghost is on base in a meeting with tf141 and they get a call about a break out happening an apocalypse is about to happen and ghost jumps up tells his team how he has a bunker at home but he needs to get home now and they ask follow him home and are surprised to find a shy short curvy American omega

author's note: Glad to be back <3

Beneath the Mask

The tension in the briefing room was thick. Task Force 141 sat around the table, going over the latest intel, the rhythmic tapping of fingers against the wood the only sign of impatience. Ghost sat with his arms crossed, silent as he listened to Price, but his focus was split. Something in his gut itched, an unease clawing at the edges of his mind. He had felt this before—this deep, bone-deep instinct that something was about to go terribly wrong. But this time, it wasn’t just a mission. It was you.

Then the call came.

A prison break. But not just any escape—mass chaos was unfolding. Civilians were fleeing in droves, and every government alert channel blared the same message: An outbreak is happening. The world as they knew it was falling apart.

Ghost shot to his feet so fast his chair nearly toppled.

"I need to go. Now."

"The hell do you mean, mate?" Soap’s brows furrowed. "We need a plan—"

"I have a bunker. At home. Prepped for this kind of thing." His voice was sharp, commanding. "I need to get there."

"Home?" Gaz echoed, exchanging glances with the others. "You actually have a home?"

Ghost ignored the jab and turned to Price. "You lot can come with me or figure your own shit out. But I’m not waiting around for this to get worse."

That was all the convincing they needed. Within minutes, they were in the air, heading straight for Ghost’s home—a place none of them had ever seen or even heard about.

The drive up to the property was tense. The roads were already beginning to empty, the eerie silence only broken by the occasional panicked voice on a radio transmission. The city had been bad, but the countryside was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Ghost barely spoke, gripping the wheel tightly, his entire body locked with urgency. Soap, Gaz, and Price, on the other hand, exchanged silent looks in the back of the vehicle.

They knew Ghost was secretive, but this? A hidden bunker, a home he’d never spoken of? It wasn’t just paranoia—it was preparation. But for what exactly?

And then, they arrived.

Tucked deep into the countryside, the house was unassuming—modest, quiet, surrounded by thick trees that concealed it from view. It looked almost too normal for someone like Ghost, but the moment he stepped out of the car, his posture changed.

The hardened soldier was gone, replaced by something more primal. More urgent.

He strode to the front door and unlocked it, stepping inside as the others followed. The house was warm, cozy even—nothing like what they expected. A fireplace flickered in the corner, the faint scent of home-cooked meals still lingering in the air. The walls were lined with books, photographs, pieces of a life that none of them had imagined Ghost having.

And then, they saw you.

You stood in the middle of the living room, wide-eyed and clutching a thick blanket around your shoulders, your scent blooming in the air—sweet, familiar, uniquely his.

Short. Curvy. Omega.

Ghost exhaled sharply, his instincts settling the moment he saw you safe.

"Simon?" Your voice was soft, tentative, and laced with relief.

He closed the distance between you in two long strides, cupping your face gently, scanning you for any sign of harm. "You okay, love?"

You nodded, eyes flickering behind him to the stunned group of men still standing in the doorway, jaws slack.

"What the fuck…?" Soap muttered under his breath.

Gaz blinked. "You—you have a mate?"

Price let out a breath, rubbing his temple. "Christ, Ghost. You really don’t tell us a damn thing, do you?"

Ghost ignored them, focused solely on you. He ran his thumb along your jaw, his voice softer now. "Pack a bag. We’re going underground. Now."

You didn’t hesitate, nodding as you turned to grab what you needed. The team, however, still looked like they were struggling to process what they were seeing.

Soap let out a low whistle. "An Omega. Your Omega. Bloody hell."

Ghost shot him a warning glare. "Not a word."

Soap held up his hands, smirking. "Didn’t say a thing, mate. But I’ve got questions."

"Not now."

Price sighed, adjusting his vest. "Let’s move before things get worse."

Ghost didn’t let you out of his sight, keeping you tucked close as he led you towards the entrance to the underground bunker. He could already smell your anxiety, the way your body hummed with unease. His arm slipped around your waist, grounding you as he pressed a reassuring kiss to your temple.

"I’ve got you, love."

The entrance to the bunker was hidden beneath a reinforced hatch in the back of the house. Ghost opened it with practiced ease, revealing a well-lit, fully stocked underground shelter—walls lined with supplies, weapons, everything needed to survive for months, even years if necessary.

Soap let out an impressed whistle as he stepped inside. "Damn. You weren’t kidding about being prepared."

"Never am."

You settled onto the bed tucked in the corner, fingers gripping the fabric of Ghost’s sleeve as if to make sure he was really there. He sat beside you, his large frame practically dwarfing you as he pulled you into his arms. He needed to feel you close, to know you were safe.

Above them, the world was descending into chaos. But down here, with you curled against him, Ghost knew one thing for certain—

He would protect you. No matter what it took.

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Highway Heat

Summary: Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and the trucker you flag down offers more than just roadside assistance.

A/N: Lord oh lord… I tried to be good i swear, i really tried to behave. The thing is my sweet beta reader @hautecouture02 requested a little roadside encounter one shot with Joel, specifically asking for FLUFF, and i swear on everything holy I tried my best to keep it PG… but sometimes things don’t go as I planned. So here, take this absolute filth of a one shot that’s little more than PWOP. ENJOY!!!!

Warnings: As previously stated, this is pretty much PWOP, Trucker!Joel i know nothing about trucks lol, maybe some dub!con at first but the internal dialogue shows hella consent, groping, fingering, a bit of praise and a bit of degradation, pet names like so many of them im not gonna list them all almost too many pet names if you believe in such a thing, grinding, oral male receiving, deep throating

Masterlist

You’re a good person—hell, a great person even. You give your spare change to homeless people, you donate to the puppy shelter every once in a while, you hold your friend’s hair back when they’re throwing up in the back of the club. You’re definitely not the type of person who deserves to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, sweating buckets despite wearing nothing but a spaghetti strap tank top and the tiniest pair of shorts you own. This feels like some kind of cosmic punishment.

It is, undoubtedly, the worst possible time for your car to stop working. You’d been putting off the usual checkups on your car for months, knowing full well it was overdue for an oil change, a tire rotation—or whatever men who know anything about cars always say. Your ex used to handle all of that for you, always acting like it was his job to make sure your car ran smoothly. He was the kind of guy who would go out of his way to make your life easier—didn’t mean he was above cheating though.

So now, you’re stuck in your geriatric Honda Civic, the AC busted and the engine refusing to start.

After a few minutes of trying to will it back to life, it’s clear you’re stranded.

You step out of the car, and the heat hits you like a slap on the face. The road’s deserted, no signs of life for miles, and of course, your phone has no signal. Perfect.

You glance down the road, hoping for a miracle, when you spot the rough outline of a truck—a big one, maybe a sixteen-wheeler—coming up in the distance.

Relief washes over you for about two seconds before the rational part of your brain kicks in, running through every horror movie scenario. But you don’t have many options here, so you decide to wave the truck down as it rolls closer.

It’s a beat-up old thing, paint chipped and covered in dirt, but it comes to a slow stop right behind your car. The door creaks open, and out steps a man.

He’s tall, broad, with a face lined with age and tan from long days under the sun. The net cap he wears lets a few of his longer dark curls peek out, the front pieces overpowered by graying hair. His strong arms are covered by a faded plaid shirt, paired up with some worn jeans and boots that kick up dust as he steps toward you. His dark, intense eyes size you up like you’re part of the landscape he’s used to navigating.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” His voice is deep and gravelly, but the drawl is what steals your attention, thick and sweet like honey.

You clear your throat, trying to keep your frustration in check. “Car broke down. Won’t start. No service either.”

He nods slowly, like this is exactly the kind of situation he was expecting to find out here. Like this is the only way he would ever get to talk to a girl like you. “Well, good thing I’m passin’ through then.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes a little at that, but desperation makes you bite your tongue. “Think you could take a look?”

He stares at you for a moment, long enough for you to wonder if he’s going to offer any help at all. But then he lets out a low sigh, scratches the back of his neck, and walks over to your car, popping the hood like it’s second nature.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of him tinkering under the hood, the occasional grunt or muttered curse as he checks things out. You stand there awkwardly, feeling the heat bearing down on you, watching as beads of sweat gather at the back of his neck.

Finally, he steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Shit’s runnin’ on fumes. When’s the last time you had it serviced?”

You shift, feeling stupid. “A while. My ex used to handle it, and, uh… I’ve been busy.”

He gives you a look, something between amusement and pity, before shaking his head. He leans against the car, arms crossed. “I can tow you to a shop next town over, but it’s gonna be a ride.”

You blink up at him, playing the lady in distress card best you can. Anything to get yourself out of here. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah,” he says, with a shrug, “I’m headin’ that way anyway.”

You smile warmly, trying not to look too satisfied at the success rate this specific tactic has with men. It’s not the first time you’ve pulled this trick and it most certainly won’t be the last.

He moves back to his truck, grabbing a few chains and a tow hitch from the back. Within minutes, he’s hooking up your beat-up Honda Civic to the rear of his truck, working with the ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times before.

“You sure this is safe?” you ask, watching him as he tightens the last chain.

“Safe as it’s gon’ get,” he replies with a shrug, brushing the dust from his hands. “Theres no car shop out here, so this’ll do ‘til we get to the next town.”

You hesitate, then eye him. “You’re not gonna, like, chop me up and throw me in a ditch, are you?”

He chuckles at that, a nice gravely sound. “If I was, don’t think I’d tell ya, sugar. But no, I ain’t in the business of chopping people up.”

You look at him for a bit longer before sighing. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

He turns, heading back to his truck, his broad back facing you and making it a hell of a lot harder to concentrate

“Name’s Joel, by the way,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thanks, Joel,” you say, stepping up into the truck’s cab, the cool air from his AC hitting you like a blessing. Maybe your luck hasn’t run out just yet.

You sink back into the seat as he climbs up on his side of the cab, letting the icy air wash over you. There’s something else prickling at your senses though—something that has nothing to do with the temperature. It’s him.

Joel’s glances are obvious, a little too long, lingering like he’s sizing you up. Normally, it’d make you roll your eyes, maybe even tell him off. Old guy like him eyeing you up is nothing you’re unfamiliar with. But today? With the way your body feels sticky and tired, and the way the breakup has left you all out of sorts… you’re almost enjoying it.

You’ve been craving attention and the shitty one night stands with guys from dating apps have done nothing to satiate that need. It’s been months since anyone has properly touched you and the rational part of your brain that would be yelling at you to be weary of this sleazy trucker who just picked you off of the side of the road is sounding real quiet right now.

“So…” His voice pulls you from your thoughts as he shifts in his seat, resting one hand lazily on the wheel. “Where are you headed?”

You hesitate, eyes on the road ahead. “Just… trying to get home.”

He hums, slow and deliberate. “Home, huh? Got anyone waitin’ on you there? Boyfriend?”

The word slices through you, sharper than you expected. You tighten your jaw, glancing out the window. “No. Not anymore.”

Joel makes a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. “Well, that’s a real shame. Pretty thing like you, all alone.”

You should hate the way he says it, the way his eyes flicker toward you like he’s just waiting for an opening. But instead, there’s a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, your pulse picking up in a way you’re not proud of. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs like it’ll somehow tamp down the growing tension in your body, the heat between your thighs. He doesn’t miss it though, his smirk growing a little wider.

“Does that line work on most girls?” you quip, trying to keep things light.

Joel chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Depends on the girl. You look a little… flustered.”

Your cheeks heat up, and it’s not just the sun this time. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure ‘bout that, darlin’?”

You glare at the open road, biting your lower lip as you try to ignore the way his words are messing with your head—and your body. It’s been way too long since anyone’s looked at you this way. Really looked at you.

The silence stretches out as the truck rumbles along the deserted road. You try to focus on anything but the tension in the air and find it’s impossible. His presence feels inescapable, it fills the cab wrapping around you, pressing down on every nerve.

“You never told me,” Joel says after a while, breaking the quiet. “Where’s home?”

“Austin,” you say quietly, your voice a little steadier now. “But I’m not in any rush to get back.”

“Family trouble?” he asks, his eyes flicking toward you again.

“Something like that,” you mutter. “It’s complicated.”

He hums in response. “Don’t I know it.”

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs, catching Joel watching you out of the corner of his eye. His gaze lingers a little too long on your bare thighs, and there’s a flicker of something dark passing over his face, but he says nothing.

You want to ignore it—God, you should ignore it—especially since you’re stuck with him for a while longer. But the rising heat in your body and the quickening pulse beneath your skin make it hard to think straight, harder still to make good decisions.

So you bite.

“You gonna keep staring, or is this part of your charm routine?” You cock a brow, trying to ignore the way warmth crawls up your neck.

A slow smirk curls at his lips, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, he leans in closer, his hand resting just near your leg, making the air between you buzz. “Am I layin’ it on too thick?”

“Little bit,” you quip back, though your voice betrays you with how soft it comes out. You bite your lip, trying to stay sharp, but his eyes flick down to the movement, and the pulsing need low in your stomach tightens. “It’s not working.”

His smirk widens, like he’s enjoying this far too much. “Funny. Seems to me it’s workin’ just fine.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the way your heart races when he shifts closer, his fingers brushing against your leg. The touch is light, almost casual, but it’s enough to send a shiver racing up your spine, your breath catching in your throat.

“You can roll your eyes all you want, doll. It don’t change the fact I can see what you need, clear as day,” he purrs, his voice dropping lower.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you snap back, though your words lack the heat you want them to have.

“Little bit of attention.”

He reads you too well. It drives you insane. “I don’t need anything from you. Just get me where I need to go.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest. “That so? ’Cause the way you’ve been shiftin’ in that seat says otherwise.”

You bristle at his words, but the truth sticks like a thorn. There’s a reason you haven’t told him to stop, a reason you haven’t shut this down. You’re tired, frustrated, and the way his eyes keep grazing over you… you can’t stop wondering how easy it’d be to let him pull you under, to let him take all your worries away.

“You’re losing it, old man,” you shoot back, even though you know it’s a losing game. He sees right through you, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna make it easy.

“Am I?” he purrs, his hand sliding up to rest fully on your thigh. “So, you don’t want me touching you like this, darlin’?”

The way he says it—slow, deliberate, laced with that sweet, thick accent—it’s all innocence, even though everything about it screams otherwise. You know you’ll be hearing that “darlin’” in your head later, when you’re playing with yourself.

You smirk, giving him a little more rope. “I didn’t say that.”

He hums, eyes flicking between the road and your legs. “And I’m guessin’ you wouldn’t say a word if I moved my hand higher, would you?”

Your legs part just slightly, almost like an instinct. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But not to Joel.

“Look at you,” he drawls, a shit-eating smirk spreading across his lips. “Already makin’ it easier for me.”

You’re about to fire back, ready to keep this banter rolling, when his fingers slide higher. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“You ready to stop actin’ up, or we still playin’ cat and mouse, pretty girl?” His eyes lock on yours, dark and unwavering.

Your pulse quickens at the challenge in his voice, your breath catching in your throat. His fingers are still on your thigh, warm and rough, and it’s messing with your head. You know you should stop this now, make him pull his hand back, but you’re not sure if that’s what you want.

“I’m not acting up,” you murmur, trying to hold on to some sense of control, even though his touch is making that damn near impossible.

His grin widens, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “Mhm, sure you ain’t.”

You glare at him, but it’s weak. Pathetic, really, and the worst part is he knows it. He knows how to get under your skin even though he has known you for half an hour, knows exactly what buttons to push to unravel you just enough to keep you hanging on.

“I mean it,” you snap, though your voice wavers. His hand shifts slightly on your thigh, fingers curling just enough to make your stomach twist into knots.

“I wanna believe you,” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that vibrates through you, all the way down to where you’re aching for him to touch you. He leans in a little more, so close now that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell that familiar scent of worn leather and something dark and intoxicating. “But you keep lettin’ me touch you. Kinda sends a different message, don’t you think?”

Your heart’s pounding in your chest, the steady rhythm of it loud in your ears. You don’t know how to answer, don’t know if you want to answer. Every rational thought in your head is telling you to stop, but your body isn’t listening.

Instead, you shift slightly, your leg pressing into his hand, just enough to encourage him to keep going. His eyes darken, and a slow, dangerous smile tugs at his lips.

“Thought so,” he mutters, and then his fingers start to move again, sliding higher, testing the boundaries you haven’t set.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the sigh that’s clawing its way up your throat, but it slips through anyway. He hears it, of course he does, and the satisfied gleam in his eyes makes your face flush with heat.

“You wanna tell me to stop, now’s your chance,” he murmurs, his voice soft but carrying an edge of challenge, like he knows damn well you’re not going to.

His gaze shifts between the road and you and it almost seems like every time those eyes are back on you they become darker.

You glance at him, your heart in your throat, and there’s that flicker of hesitation—you should say something, should stop this before it goes any further—but the way his fingers are brushing higher, dangerously close to the ache between your legs, makes it impossible to think straight.

So you just meet his gaze, and you don’t say a word.

His smirk grows, and his hand drifts even higher. “Good girl.” This time he fully gropes your thigh, groaning like he’s been waiting to unleash this. “You wanna take these off for me, sweetheart? Let me give you as much attention as you want.”

He must have some psychic hold on you because you follow his instructions with no hesitation this time. Your fingers eagerly unbotton your shorts and pull the zipper down, lifting your hips to shimmy them down.

He looks at you for a lot longe than he should taking into account he’s currently driving a beast of a vehicle. “Lord above… you’re a sight and a half, darlin’”

He goes back to massaging your thigh, making circles with his thick fingers, going each time higher. Once he reaches your panties he stops and just rests his hand there, right at the edge of where you want him most. His fingers teasingly brush the fabric, enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t go any further.

“You’re gonna have to ask for it,” he rasps, his voice thick with something darker now. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl.”

His words are like a key turning in a lock, and your resistance crumbles. You can’t deny it anymore, not when his hand is right there, so close to what you need, your entire body burning up under his touch.

“Joel…” you whisper, your voice almost pleading now, barely more than a breath.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand pressing a little more firmly, his fingers tracing along the outline of your heat through the fabric. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

Your breath stutters, and your hips shift on their own, pressing into his hand. You’re barely hanging on, the tension between you two crackling like a live wire, but he’s still holding back, waiting for you to give in completely.

“Please…” you finally manage, the word spilling out before you can stop it. It’s humiliating and liberating all at once.

“Please what?”

You let out the shadow of a moan. “Please touch me.”

Joel’s hand slips under the fabric, his fingers finally finding your core, and the groan that escapes him sends a shockwave of heat straight to your core. “Good girl,” he breathes, his voice like gravel as his fingers start to move in slow, torturous circles.

Your head falls back against the seat, a whimper escaping your lips as he finally gives you what you’ve been craving. “Jesus, Joel…”

“Feels good, huh?” he rasps, his eyes flicking from the road to you, watching the way your body reacts to every touch, every motion of his hand. “Told you I know exactly what you need, baby.”

You’re melting under his touch, your body humming with the pressure of his fingers moving against you, his voice guiding you deeper into the haze of pleasure. You’re not even sure what’s more intoxicating—the way he’s touching you or the way he’s talking to you, that low, commanding tone unraveling you completely.

“That’s it, sweetness, grind on my fingers, make that little pussy feel good” Joel growls, having a harder time keeping his eyes on the road now.

“Fuck… that feels you good da-“ you stop yourself before you’re able to finish the word. Your ex didn’t like you calling him that, so you usually kept that particular kink under wraps, but something about Joel is making it surface back up.

He looks up at you, pupils blown out. “Say it… say wha you wanna say baby.”

You lose all restraint and moan loudly. “It feels so good, daddy.”

“That’s right, babygirl.” He moans “Daddy’s fingers make your pretty cunt fucking drip don’t they?”

His words send a wave of pleasure through your body, a mixture of shame and intense arousal surging in your chest. You’re too far gone to stop now, letting the haze of lust pull you under completely.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping out like a confession. “So fucking wet.”

Joel’s fingers move faster, rough and skilled, coaxing you into a rhythm that has you arching your back against the seat. His other hand grips the wheel tight, knuckles white, and you can tell he’s barely hanging onto his self-control, but that only makes it hotter.

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he growls, voice thick with desire. “Been wantin’ to ruin you since the minute you sat your pretty ass in this truck.”

The vulgarity, the way he talks to you—it should feel wrong, but instead, it’s like gasoline thrown on the fire already burning inside you. You grind down harder on his fingers, chasing the high he’s offering, the tension building fast in your core.

You glance over at him, his jaw tight, eyes darting between the road and you, and there’s something so filthy about the way he’s trying to keep it together while driving, the way his control is slipping. You want to push him, make him lose it completely.

“You’re losing it too,” you pant, breathless, pushing your hips into his hand. “Can’t even keep your eyes on the road, can you?”

His gaze snaps to yours, dark and predatory. “Careful. Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll pull this truck over.”

The threat in his voice makes you shiver, heat pooling low in your belly. You’re right on the edge, your body strung tight as a bow, every nerve lit up under his touch.

“Do it,” you challenge, voice breathless and wrecked.

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his hand gripping your thigh so hard it almost hurts. Without another word, he swerves the truck off the road, gravel crunching under the tires as he pulls into a secluded spot off the highway.

Your heart is pounding, adrenaline mixing with the arousal as he throws the truck into park and turns to face you fully. The look in his eyes is feral, like he’s done holding back, and you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“Such a little attention whore, baby,” he growls, unbuckling his seatbelt with one hand, the other still teasing you between your legs. “I’m all yours now.”

In one swift motion, he pulls you onto his lap, your thighs straddling his hips, the weight of his hard length pressing against you through his jeans. He is big, a lot bigger than you expected and it makes your mouth water,almost like your body is showing you how badly you need him in a million and one ways.

His hands grip your hips possessively, eyes locking with yours as if daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate. You grind down on him, both of you letting out low moans at the contact. The friction sends sparks flying up your spine, and you can already tell this is about to be the kind of reckless, dirty, no-going-back encounter you’ve both been craving.

Joel’s hands slide up your back, fisting in your hair as he pulls you down to feast on your neck. His lips trail down, biting at the sensitive skin there, and it’s too much, too intense. You feel like you’re going to combust right here in his arms.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters against your skin, one hand slipping between you to push your panties aside, his fingers slipping through your slick heat again. “Filthy little slut, letting a stranger put his fingers inside you. Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name, pretty girl.”

Your hips buck against him, the promise of release so close you can taste it. “Fuck, Joel, please…”

“Try again. You know better.” his tone is firm and commanding, all the previous playfulness gone.

“Please daddy, let me come”

“That’s it,” he groans, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, pushing you right to the edge. “Come for me, darlin’. Let me feel this tight little whole clench on my fingers.”

The way he says it with such authority, has you unraveling in his lap, your entire body trembling as you come hard against his hand. Your vision goes white, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

Joel watches you, his eyes hooded and hungry, soaking in every second of your release. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers until you’re shaking from the aftershocks, your body limp and boneless against him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and satisfied as he finally pulls his hand away, bringing his fingers to his lips to taste you. “Tastes even better than I imagined.”

You’re still catching your breath, head buzzing from the intensity, but the way his hardness presses against you makes it clear you’re far from done. It’s not like those other times when finishing a guy felt like an obligation, when the effort barely felt worth it because they didn’t take the time to get you there first. But Joel? Joel made you come so hard you can’t help but want to return the favor. It’s not a chore—it’s something you crave.

“My turn,” you murmur, fingers already working at the button of his jeans.

His grip tightens on your hips, eyes darkening as he watches your hands move, but there’s a flicker of restraint. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. Can’t have this beast of a truck just parked in the middle of the road.”

You shift back onto your own seat, lifting your leg off his lap to give yourself the space you need. The desire to make him feel just as wrecked as you burns in your chest, so you lean down, your gaze steady on his as your fingers trail lower.

“You can drive,” you say, voice low, teasing. “I’m not stopping you.”

Joel’s eyes flash with something dangerous, his jaw ticking like he’s fighting with himself. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you to stop, but then he huffs out a breath, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “You’re trouble.”

You smile up at him as you feel him start the engine again, your hand slipping lower, teasing him through his jeans.

Joel’s breath hitches as your fingers brush against him, a low growl vibrating in his chest. His hand tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road, but you can tell he’s losing the battle.

His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he tries to keep his cool, but you can see right through it. The way his body is responding to your touch, the way he’s barely holding it together, it only spurs you on.

You undo his jeans and pull the zipper down, feeling the heat radiating off him. His breath stutters, and his hand slips to grip the side of the seat, trying to ground himself as you free him from the confines of his jeans.

You wrap your hand around him, feeling how hard he is, how thick, and the groan that escapes his lips sends a thrill through you. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes flicking between the road and you, his control slipping more by the second.

You lower your head, your lips grazing his tip, and Joel’s entire body tenses. His hips buck up, instinctively searching for more, and you can’t help but smirk as you take him deeper into your mouth.

“Holy shit,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, his hand instinctively flying to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. “You’re gonna get us both killed.”

But even as he says it, there’s no hint of him wanting you to stop. He keeps urging you on in slow, measured strokes. The tension in him is palpable, and you can feel the way his control is fraying with every flick of your tongue, every inch you take him deeper.

His breathing grows ragged, and he glances down at you, eyes dark with heat and disbelief. “You’re so pretty with a fat cock stuffed in your mouth baby, look at you ”

You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk again, and the low groan that rips from his throat sends a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through you. He’s unraveling, right in front of you, and you’re loving every second of it.

You pick up the pace, your hand working him in tandem with your mouth, and Joel’s growl turns guttural, his grip on the wheel tightening. “Right there, darlin’ girl, don’t stop…” he hisses, head tipping back slightly as his hips move in time with your rhythm, chasing the release that’s so damn close.

His eyes flick between the road and you, pupils blown, struggling to stay on course even as his focus is being torn apart by you.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last if you keep—” He cuts himself off with a harsh groan, his hips bucking again, muscles taut and trembling as he loses the last shred of his composure. He’s completely at your mercy now, and it’s making him wild, his control slipping fast.

You don’t let up, your hand dropping lower to play with his balls, and he’s right on the edge, teetering dangerously close. His breath comes in ragged bursts, and his body tightens under you, his hips jerking harder, more desperate now.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

Instead of answering you take him deeper down your throat, your nose burrowing in the dark curls at the base of his cock, his smell so musky and intoxicating it makes you dizzy.

“Shit, shit—” Joel’s voice is a strangled growl, and then you feel him pulse in your mouth, a low, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he finally comes undone. He’s barely holding onto the wheel, the truck swerving just enough to make your heart race, but it’s clear he’s past caring. He spills hot and hard into your mouth, the sound of his release drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

You keep going, milking him for every last bit, until he’s trembling beneath you, his breathing ragged and uneven. When you finally pull away, he’s still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, his voice rough and wrecked. His eyes flick down to you, wild and wide, before darting back to the road. He lets out a breathless, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Best hitchhiker I’ve ever picked up, that’s for damn sure.”

As if on cue, the truck finally pulls into the shop, the hum of the engine fading, the weight of what just happened still hung thick between you two. Joel cuts the ignition, his hand lingering on the key for a beat too long, like he wasn’t quite ready to step back into reality. He realizes his now soft cock is still out and starts to zip himself back up.

You try to gather yourself, smoothing your clothes and brushing a hand through your hair as if it’d erase everything that had gone down on that highway. You can tell it’s gonna stick with you for a good while longer though.

Joel clears his throat, glancing over at you with a look that was somehow both satisfied and conflicted. "Well, we’re here," he mutters, but his hand was already fishing in his back pocket for something. "Here." He hands you a crumpled business card, his name scrawled across it with a number underneath. "In case you run into any more car trouble or, y'know... anything else."

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he knows damn well this had nothing to do with the rugged old thing and everything to do with the heat still simmering between you. You take the card, trying to hide the smirk tugging at your lips.

"Thanks," you reply, pocketing it casually, though the way your heart raced gave you away. "For… you know, all of it."

He just gives you that signature look of his—half-smirk, half-smolder—and with that, you slide out of the truck, legs still feeling like jelly as you walked away. You didn't even need to turn around to know his eyes were glued to your retreating figure.

[loveissupernatural]

Hicctooth Rant 🩷

I started watching the How to Train Your Dragon movies again and have even gotten into the series this time around (childhood nostalgia 🩷) and dammit if Toothless and Hiccup’s beautiful relationship doesn’t make me cry like a baby!

I was also reminded of how heartbreaking the ending of THW was and started digging into post-epilogue information. Because my fragile little heart couldn’t take the idea that Hiccup and Toothless didn’t visit post-epilogue.

Besides the fact that all previous HTTYD movies, shorts, and series established how deep and unbreakable their bond was, so it wouldn’t be logical for them to have this emotional reunion and that be “the end” - I mean, why would they introduce their families to one another just to go “Yeah, I know that was amazing - sorry, peace out” - but from a logical standpoint, Toothless’s tail prosthetic is going to need maintenance. They don’t make prosthetics today that last a *human* lifetime, so it wouldn’t make sense to assume that Toothless’s would last potentially hundreds of years with Viking technology. Sure, it’s fireproof now, but there’s still gears, mechanical elements, etc. that will be exposed to all kinds of environments and wear and tear. Hiccup is constantly remaking and improving Toothless’s tail fins throughout the series and movies.

Hiccup even mentions in the epilogue “How’s the tail holding up? Need any oil, some fine-tuning?” If that thing breaks, Toothless, as alpha and protector of not only his family, but the Hidden World, is screwed. A downed dragon is a dead dragon.

I love that with the release of the holiday special “HTTYD: Homecoming”, we see that even a decade after they parted ways, they still miss each other. Toothless drawing Hiccup in the sand, then Berk, then himself, and drawing a line from himself to Hiccup - it was beautiful. And so in-character for their relationship 🩷 And Hiccup building a mechanical Toothless costume that breathes fire and is so hard to function in that he falls off a cliff and Toothless saves him? Oh my heart ATE IT UP!

Toothless never saw bearded Hiccup, but he could hear and smell him, and was licking and cuddling that suit 🥺 Oh the “almost” of it all killed me, but it had to make sense with the epilogue. Toothless seeing Hiccup’s daughter and going goo-goo over her immediately melted my heart. His eyes were shining!

I’m glad that Hiccup saw Toothless and family flying away, and called out, so he knew they were indeed there. Then Astrid saying “maybe it’s our turn to visit them”. Oh I just love all of the implications!

Then “Snoggletog Log” - Toothless and his whole family in Hiccup and Astrid’s house for the holidays? SIGN ME TF UP! I’d like to think this was the Snoggletog after the epilogue. I think there’s evidence for this too, if you look at the size of Toothless’s babies. When Hiccup goes to carry off a sleeping baby, from head to tail, it looks longer than they did in “Homecoming”.

Then comes the newest piece of media - “Dragons: The Nine Realms”. I haven’t watched it because the animation looks horrifically baby-ish, but I did try to see what was mentioned about Hiccup/Toothless/etc. They found a cave painting in the Hidden World of Toothless with Hiccup and his family (inside the cave where the Night Lights, Toothless’s descendants, stay) and they also found Hiccup’s artificial leg, a working desk, books, etc. So at some point, our boys came back together and explored the Hidden World (can we get content on this please??)

There’s even a story in the book that Hiccup wrote about he and Toothless (and likely the other dragon riders, because that cage was huge) working together to build a cage and trap this enormous apex predator Snake-like creature - which was eating dragons whole. Apparently it’s the whole reason dragons are afraid of eels. The lock mechanism could only be unlocked by a fury with retractable teeth. Hiccup even used his mom’s staff to lure it into the cage. I loved this detail. Then the book illustration shows us a close-up of a bearded Hiccup and Toothless touching noses, and then their silhouettes watching the cage from far away. Also, all of Hiccup’s artifacts having a Night Fury on them? My heart!

There are mixed opinions on what’s “canon” and what’s not - in my opinion, if DreamWorks released it and said it’s in the HTTYD universe, then it’s canon (they own the ip). “Homecoming” and the HTTYD 3 epilogue strongly hinted at Hiccup and Toothless returning to each others’ lives in some capacity, even if it’s only occasional visits. It lines up much more with their relationship than the alternative (I’m looking at you, Dean - I fully believe he just wanted everyone to be as sad as humanly possible even though the character behaviors he’d established thus far didn’t align with the ending he was determined to have).

A lot of people feel that way, and it cracks me up that DreamWorks appears to agree. Everything they’ve released after HTTYD 3 is encouraging the idea of a post-epilogue relationship between the families. Then 9 Realms releases and we get official confirmation that Toothless and Hiccup kept having adventures, and being in each others’ lives, and it just made my little heart glow. Because THAT aligns with the “we are stronger together, our love can endure anything” message that all HTTYD content was about (until the end of THW���).

I’m so glad they came back together. It just makes sense for the characters and the strong relationship they built between them. I’d really love a movie or series explaining why Hiccup had to go down to the Hidden World again - did Toothless come ask for his help? How soon was this after the epilogue? How long did they stay down there, who was with them, and what all did they have to do? Did Hiccup and Toothless stay together until the end? I have a headcanon of them exploring Valhalla together 😭

[ducksido]

Hai! It’s ur fav Idia anon😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈 okay hear me out, Idia with a half frank stein half cyborg reader. Like reader has an electric heart and organs but a human brain and is like made out of like ten dead human parts, oil for blood type. So Idia is just like checking up on their vital robot organs on his computer, like using wires to connect to reader’s organs (entry thing on back??) while reader is on his lap, just relaxing and chilling, and u can interpret the rest😝😝😝😝😝

[Yes you are my favourite Idia anon😁]

(Tw: mild body horror mentions, nothing gory, just wires and weird organs. Soft vibes override.)

The room is bathed in a neon-blue glow, flickering slightly as a screen updates line after line of data—pulses, pressure, charge levels, synaptic fire. All of it you.

“Okay, okay… entry port's clean, transmission’s stable…” Idia mutters, fingers dancing across his keyboard, fast as lightning, faster than your own synthetic nerve relays. His hair pulses in hues of cerulean and violet, glowing brighter every time your vitals spike. Which they do. Every time you shift in his lap.

You’re leaned back against his chest, legs folded sideways over his, like a puzzle piece slotted in place. Calm. Almost sleepy. Like it’s normal to have a bunch of cables trailing from the base of your spine, connecting your bio-mechanical organs directly into Idia’s rig.

Your heart? Electric. Hums like an engine when you're content. Your lungs? Powered by soft hydraulic pulses that compress with a hiss and expand with a shudder. And Idia? Well, he’s obsessed.

Not in the "science project" kind of way. More like the "I can't believe you're real and I get to be the only one who gets this close to your wiring" kind of way.

"How’re you feeling?" he asks, voice unusually quiet. His hand’s resting over your sternum, right above the casing where your electric heart clicks and pulses like a steady metronome.

"Warm," you murmur. “Even with the oil circulation. Feels… nice.”

That makes him freeze for a nanosecond. Nice. Nice? YOU think it’s nice??? His brain blue-screens. You’re literally half-built from corpses and spare parts—there’s tubing under your skin instead of veins, a synth-liver that processes coolant, and an actual operating system that pings him when your battery’s low. And you're just… on his lap like a cat.

“Uhh… yeah… obviously it’s nice. My setup is, like, peak comfort optimization. Nothing less for my… my um…”

He trails off.

You blink up at him. “Your…?”

"...My favorite test subject." He coughs. Loudly. “N-not in a creepy way!! Just, like, statistically you’re the one I monitor the most, so it’s just accurate, you know?? Purely clinical—"

You tilt your head back a little more so you can look up at him with that half-synthetic eye of yours that flickers softly when you smile.

“Idia.”

He stiffens.

"You don't need to short-circuit over every compliment."

"...I d-don’t short-circuit." (He does.) (He literally does. Your neural link picks up a micro surge in his output whenever you’re too close. Which is always.)

Still, he leans down, brushing his nose against the crown of your head. “Just sayin’. No one else gets to do this. Monitor you, I mean. Tinker. Maintain. You’ve got, like, a whole corpse-Wi-Fi situation going on, and I’m the only one who knows the password.”

You hum again. You like that. The idea of belonging—not as a project, but as a person only he understands.

“Okay, diagnostics are good. All organ-tech’s running smooth. Heartbeat's in the sweet zone. No overheating.” He lets the wires retract with a whirr, but doesn’t move you off his lap. If anything, he wraps his arms a little tighter around your waist. “Guess I’ll just keep you here a little longer. For observation. You know. For science.”

You smile, letting your body rest fully against him, your cold frame soaking in his heat.

“Sure, doc. For science.”

[marvelmusing]

Personal Shopper

from The Darkling Wears Prada AU

Pairing: Aleksander Morozov x Fem!Reader

Summary: In preparation for your honeymoon, you and Aleksander go shopping. Per usual, he has high standards.

Warnings: brief mentions of sex and nudity

My Masterlist

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Disgust curls at the corner of Aleksander’s lips, his nostrils flaring as he surveys the luminous rainbow of swim shorts hanging in front of you. For someone whose wardrobe consists of black and white, the options on display feel like an insulting form of colour exposure therapy.

“You could have told me there were no viable options for me here,” he says.

“If you just ignore the brightly coloured ones-”

“A blind person would struggle to ignore those.”

“There’s a navy blue?”

“When have you ever seen me wear navy blue?”

“Almost every man likes navy blue.”

“No, almost every man wears navy blue because he doesn’t understand the concept of dressing himself and thinks he can’t go wrong with blue.”

The manager of the store hovers at a respectable distance - ready to assist but not too overbearing. A group of younger employees have gathered discretely in a corner, talking quietly amongst themselves while shooting furtive glances in your direction.

“What about dark grey?” you suggest, selecting a pair from the rack and offering them for him to examine.

Aleksander takes a long look at them, and sighs.

“Go on,” you say expectantly.

He raises a brow at you, his expression innocent.

“What?”

“From the look on your face, there’s clearly something wrong with them.”

He pauses, regarding you somewhat sheepishly. Glancing down, he looks at his shoes, then back up at the shorts.

“The drawstrings are white.”

“Aleksander-”

“It looks inexpensive!” he defends. You laugh, shaking your head at him.

He watches you glance down at the shorts, eyes fixating on the drawstrings before you sigh and discard them back on the rack.

“Now you’ve said that, I won’t be able to unsee it.”

Aleksander breathes out a soft laugh, curling his arms around your waist to pull you back against his chest as you browse the other items of clothing nearby. He lowers his head down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs,

“I’m sorry for being so particular.”

A smile spreads over your lips, as you place your hands on his forearms, keeping him close while you lean back into his body.

“No, you’re not.”

He smiles.

“No, I’m not.”

“The worst part is, you always look good, meaning your fussiness is well-founded.”

He tilts his head at you, lips parted in faux shock.

“Fussiness?”

“Don’t sound so astounded. If I tried to tell anyone at work that you aren’t fussy, I’d be laughed out of the building.”

His eyes wander over the items of clothing in the store, a certain area in particular catching his attention.

“I can think of one instance where I’m not fussy,” he remarks. He feels your head turn, looking in the direction of his gaze.

“If you’re talking about my lingerie, I’d have to disagree.”

He stills, looking down at you in concern.

“Have I ever made you feel uncomf-”

“No, Sasha. Never. It’s just that I can usually tell from your reaction what pieces you like more than others. I could probably guess what your favourite set of mine is.” He nods slightly, encouraging you to state your guess. “The black silk set - the one lined with white lace.”

He tilts his head, humming quietly in contemplation.

“I would consider that one of my favourites. But it isn’t my favourite.”

“What is your favourite then?”

His cheeks flush.

“It isn’t even a matching set,” he admits. “The cream cotton bra, with little purple and blue flowers. And the blue cotton panties with white polka dots.”

A small sound of surprise catches in the back of your throat.

At the beginning of your relationship, you had been shy about showing him the less than perfect parts of you. When you’re at work, everything is perfect - just how Aleksander likes it.

He had caught you by surprise, the first time he saw his favourite ensemble, kissing you in the makeshift office created for him during a photoshoot. As always, you had melted in his arms, kissing him back eagerly. Until he reached for the button at the waistband of your trousers. He stopped the moment he felt you stiffen.

“What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?”

He sees the hesitation on your face and removes his hands from you.

“I didn’t think you’d want this today,” you admit, fidgeting nervously with your hands. “I thought you’d be too busy with the shoot.”

His expression softens, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. He lets his knuckles linger there.

“What do you mean?”

He feels your cheeks heat beneath his hand, then you say in a near whisper,

“I’m not wearing my nice underwear. They’re just plain cotton, nothing special.”

To this day, Aleksander disagrees wholeheartedly.

“Really?” you state, turning your head to look at him. “That’s your favourite?”

He nods, shrugging slightly.

“I don’t know what it is, it just feels so domestic, seeing you in them.”

He feels your body grow warm in his arms.

After years of seeing you with only perfect makeup and meticulously picked outfits, the sight of you barefaced, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a zip hoodie is one of his favourite daydreams.

Aleksander kisses your cheek.

“You look beautiful in anything - and nothing.”

“Sasha!” you scold him quietly, glancing around to check that no one is close enough to hear him.

He presses his face into the side of yours, lips brushing delicately against your cheekbone as his nose digs into your temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

He can feel the blood rushing to your face as you smile.

“I love you too.”

Aleksander smiles softly.

“Which ones do you like best?”

“You want me to pick?”

He breathes out a soft laugh at your widened eyes.

“Marriage is about compromise. They are for our honeymoon after all.”

With mischief curling at your lips, your fingers dance over the bright yellow swim shorts.

“Milaya,” he says warningly. “Don’t be cruel.”

You laugh quietly.

“What about these?”

A subtle summery shade of sky blue, embossed with a small grey logo near the hem of the right leg. Aleksander will admit, they are a nice colour, despite being different from his preferred palette. Not to mention that they will pair well with a few of the shirts already in his wardrobe - though he doubts he will be wearing a shirt at all given the expected heat.

Nevertheless, he feigns a sigh as he takes the swim shorts from you.

“Anything for you, milaya.”

He can’t help but smile when he sees you roll your eyes.

When the two of you finally climb into the back of Aleksander’s car, you’re kissing him senseless. From the moment he mentioned your underwear, you’ve been flustered, taking every opportunity to have your hands on him. Now that you’re alone, you cannot suppress your need.

He can feel your lip gloss smearing over his mouth, sticky and sweet. Aleksander cups your jaw, holding you in place as he works on devouring you.

He feels you frown when your phone buzzes, interrupting your moment. When you make no movement to reach for the device, Aleksander tears his lips from yours momentarily as he peers at the screen.

“What is it?” you ask breathlessly.

Being Aleksander’s assistant means you like to stay well informed on what the press is saying about him. The notification is from your news app.

News Alert: Aleksander Morozov sighted with fiancée.

He smiles.

“Nothing.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

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[anghraine]

One of the episodes that I felt sure would be most affected by the gender changes of the femslash Spirk AU is also one of the earliest, "Charlie X." Charlie's ... issues in the original episode are very, very obviously caught up in gender. He admires Kirk as a masculine paternal figure (a role which Kirk is viscerally uncomfortable with, though he'll later joke good-humoredly about being NOMAD's mother). Charlie is threatened by Spock's more distinct form of masculinity, he becomes obsessed with the first adult woman he sets eyes on (Janice Rand), and lashes out at other women.

So for today's writing goal, I wanted to write a bit about how the gender changes of the story affect those particular dynamics:

Charlie wasn’t sure what he thought of Commander S’paak. On the one hand, she was a girl—a woman, rather, with long legs and an interesting sort of face, the sort of person he’d spent years imagining, even if she wasn’t human. But she didn’t have any of the softness of Captain Kirk and Janice Rand; she never smiled, the bones in her face were sharp and long and hard, and her body didn’t curve in anything like the interesting ways that Kirk’s and Janice’s did. Even her hair was cut in short, harsh lines, where the captain’s fell in loose waves above her brow and was gently twisted into a sort of deep gold coil, and Janice's was woven into a brighter, smoother tower of hair. He wasn’t sure Commander S’paak counted as a girl, really, even when Captain Kirk left him alone with her and the chessboard. Charlie watched the captain leave and found himself turning red when he finally bothered looking back at S’paak, who regarded him with a cool, unimpressed gaze that put him even more on edge. He thought about wiping it right off her face. But if not impressed, she didn’t seem hostile or scared like the crew of the Antares had been, and for now, she was nicer to look at with her face than without it. And she was Kirk’s friend. He felt almost sure of it. “You know Captain Kirk really well, don’t you?” he asked her, not bothering to move the chess piece in his hand. Thankfully, nobody else was in the rec room with them. “Better than most,” said the commander. “Do you know her real name?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

Her inhumanly strange, slanted brows rose. He could see the glittery shadows of make-up she wore all the better; most of it was a sort of blueish-purple smeared over her eyelids and up to her brows that shifted color in different spots, but matched her blue science uniform. A lot of other people on the ship wore paint on their faces, too, regardless of gender, unlike the men on the Antares. But he preferred the black lines around Kirk’s and Janice’s eyes. For now, however, he left S’paak’s alone. 

“Captain Kirk’s real name is Captain Kirk,” she told him. “If you mean her full name, that is a matter of public record—Jessica T. Kirk.”

“Jessica,” he said, letting the name linger on his tongue. An ordinary girl’s name, he knew from the microtapes, not unique to the captain. But … Jessica. Janice. There was something so enjoyable and pleasant about saying those sorts of names and bringing the images of their faces and bodies to mind. “That’s why the doctor called her Jess, right? I’m going to do it, too.”

Commander S’paak studied him for a moment, then said, “Dr. McCoy is a senior officer on this ship and has been the captain’s friend for many years. You’ll soon learn that, among your kind, it’s not considered friendly in most cases to address a person of her rank by their given name alone. Rather, it's regarded as extremely disrespectful unless you have special privileges.”

“Don’t I have them?” he returned, thinking again about whether S’paak really needed her nose. She might look pretty nauseating without it. Maybe he’d just break her legs, instead. “Why not?”

“Friendship must be earned,” said Commander S’paak.

Thinking back, he realized that S’paak herself had only referred to the captain—Jess—by her position, at least as far as he’d heard. And she must know all sorts of things about Jess, he was guessing, things she wouldn’t share if he shattered her bones or sent her elsewhere. He decided to put up with her airs for now.

“So I could earn the captain’s friendship,” he said triumphantly. “How? You must know. What did you do?”

[juneblooom]

a scene from when nancy, robin, steve, and eddie are trapped in the upside. kind of like when nancy uses her sweater for steve's bandage, except it's his turn to help her. :-)

(this is from my s4 rewrite so OF COURSE there are some deviations from the plot hehe)

Steve gathers her hair up and out of the neck of her sweater, cold hands brushing against her neck. A shiver tumbles down her body, goosebumps following.

An image of the two of them in the Creel’s house, Nancy pulling cobwebs from his hair, flashes across her mind.

Muttering here we go, Steve begins peeling off the sweater, achingly gentle, lifting it up, up, up, the Upside Down’s chill replacing it, and something flickers through her—but it’s not fear of being hurt.

Nancy falls backwards into memories of the two of them, sense memory gone wild.

The want from earlier in the woods grows teeth, hungry and hungrier and she breathes harshly through her nose, praying something as mundane as this won’t unravel her completely.

Steve pauses, sweater almost entirely off. “This hurt?”

“No,” Nancy bites out, shivering—the skin-prickling sensation intensifying the longer she even thinks of how he’s touching her. “It’s fine.”

“If it’s so fine then why don’t you tell me.”

“Can you just take my word for it?”

“Can you just tell me?” He leans closer, breath fanning across her skin. She can just see him out of her peripheral, that smug ass smile ready to catch her in the act.

Nancy shudders again. Steve will be the death of her, one way or another.

“Nance,” he says again, this time a little more worried. “What is it—”

“Steve. It’s… this is just familiar. Okay?”

…

By the time Nancy realizes what she’s said, she wants to bury her face in her hands and run in any direction—ohmygod, why did she say that? Is she possessed? She must be. That’s the only explanation. That or she’s unraveling by the second, bound to be a pile of goo on the ground, a pile of goo that’ll send Steve running.

The itch was never an itch, Nancy now realizes.

What’s worse is how she feels, she actually feels Steve’s head explode the instant he registers it too, how his body seems to lock in place and this time, it’s his turn to make a strangled sound at the back of his throat and her insides plummet.

He’s going to think I’m insane. Who just… says that to their ex?

Paralyzed with shame, sweater hiked up almost to her shoulders, Nancy figures out of every humiliating moment in her life, of which there are many, thishas to be up there. Top three, at least.

Steve silently slips off the rest of the sweater, the fabric just brushing against her face.

She can’t stop imagining him undressing her.

Nancy shuts her eyes, left with only a stupid piece of cotton people have the nerve to call clothes. She must have hit her head on the way down, really hard, saying shit like that. For all Steve knows, she’s still with Jonathan and crossing that line was like, ten times over uncool. They had been dancing around it for a little while now, the ice broken when she dove into Lover’s Lake but of course Nancy went ahead and blew it—

A sigh.

There goes the ripping of her sweater.

She stiffens.

Here it comes.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna tie this around, now, okay?” A pause. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Squeaking out the most pathetic okay in all human existence, Nancy lifts her arms just enough for Steve to carefully wrap the shreds of fabric around her waist, around and around and around, tight enough that the throbbing lessens, sharpness dulling into something more manageable.

Eyes closed, Nancy is hyper-aware of every time they touch, how Steve has to lean forward and around to bring the sweater across her body, hair tickling her skin—or maybe it’s his mouth, or the stubble that’s dusting his jaw. No matter. All of it drives her crazy.

He didn’t… leave her, though.

That must mean something.

A short eternity later, her pulse practically loud enough to be heard from miles away, Steve ties the bandage—a mirror image to his own, Nancy feels as she touches it gingerly, marveling at how she can move much easier, the pressure comforting.

“All done.”

She doesn’t move. Nancy’s decided she’s a statue, now.

“Nance.”

Maybe if she waits long enough, he’ll leave.

A chuckle. “Not leaving. Nance, open your eyes.”

“Do I have to?” It comes out embarrassingly close to a whine, a smile itching to break free.

“You can keep them shut, and see how far you get. I’m betting you won’t make it three feet. And that’s not being pessimistic. There’s literally a ditch, right there.”

Reluctantly, not her first choice, and certainly against her stomach-roiling will, Nancy blinks them open only to find Steve facing her, only a little pigeon-toed and equally nervous.

He stands there without an ounce of the disgust or confusion she was expecting.

Steve looks… ridiculously fond. Maybe a little intense, but fond. It’s curled up in the proud lines of his face, the palest hint of a smile, the color in his cheeks, the insane and wonderful and perhaps a little bit beautiful crinkling of his eyes. He shouldn’t be looking at her like this—this… this is a look for someone else, anyone but her.

“I remember too,” he says quietly, reaching out to twirl a curl of her hair around his finger.

The next breath hiccups in her lungs, tripping over itself, face planting in the mud.

“I remember it all.”

She stops breathing entirely.

Steve cups her face, palms easily encompassing her cheeks and part of Nancy must pass on to the next life, because there is no way Steve Harrington is standing in front of her with an old denim vest, crazy hair, and big chameleon eyes telling her he remembers everything between them.

“No take-backs,” he says—because that was what they always said to one another. Right when things began and it was as terrifying as it was exciting, Steve saying no take-backs when Nancy finally relented after weeks of him cropping up in every corner of her life, at her desk and her locker and her car and even her house that one time (to the chagrin of her father). Right when things were at their zenith and it was as wonderful as it was intoxicating, Nancy saying no take-backs when Steve would say things that would make her melt, amazed at her writing and her passions and the fact that she was like no girl he’d ever met. Right when things were… were ending. And it was as awful as it was passionate. When Steve would mutter no take-backs when Nancy would cancel a date. When Nancy would hiss no take-backs when Steve didn’t want to talk about Barb. When the two of them forgot how to smile because everything else told them not to.

Nancy opens her mouth to say something—to say Jonathan and I broke up, to say I miss you, to say I’ve been a fool and I was a fool to let you go, to say you mean more to me than you or I know.

And maybe if they were just two normal teenagers on a date, then they’d be smiling and blushing and hiding their mouths as they whispered in one another’s ears but instead they’re here on a life or death mission and what Nancy has to offer is a brain that oscillates between full-on-breakdown and hormones and this is what they’re working with, and sure, the great gloomy cloud of potentially the end of the world at the hands of a deranged wizard might frame the i have a crush on you in a different light but there’s still something so agonizingly painful about admitting your feelings and not even the apocalypse can take away from the delicate nature of it all, to be , the ones who dared, the ones who tried, the ones who watched it burn, the ones who are willing to do it again, so forgive Nancy for the shocking intensity but wasn’t this what she wanted all along?

Something different from her parents?

“This might blow your minds but there is plenty of time to hold each other like long-lost lovers in the real goddamn world,” Eddie hisses, glaring at the two of them with enough ice to freeze hell. “Let’s get moving, assholes.”

Nancy shakes herself out of the hazy reverie Steve seems to put her in, recognizing a little too late that Steve recovered first and is now walking alongside Robin, shaking his head (but still glancing backwards to make sure…) as Robin pokes at his arm, a big teasing grin shining in the flashlight’s glare.

It takes a second for Nancy to regain control of her limbs, catching up to an impatient Eddie with a flush that she feels throughout her whole body, and they all file off towards her not-house silently, mercifully not bringing up what just happened.

[uchihaharlot]

Hi, I hope you're doing well, I don't know if requests are open, but if they are. Can you write an angst about a reader who is pregnant with Shisui during the same period of his death?🥺

Nonny!!! ❤️ my heart is so so so broken for him and you. Also I’m sorry this took forever 😅 work is a drag; and I rarely have enough energy to do anything afterwards.

My grandmothers most famous line, and I’m not bullshitting you; was: to get over one man, you should get under another.

N/SFW; angsty—overtly depressing?; not proof read; and now I’m sad 😔 DESCRIPTIONS OF VERY VERY SAD SHIT; nonny, Shisui is crying in purgatory because of you—he wants to hold his baby!! And sorrynotsorry but I’m definitely blurring the timeline of the show for dramatics, sue me.

But that’s not the case for you, is it? Especially not when the only thing tethering Shisui to your plane of existence grows within the soft swell of your stomach. Too small to show, and to much to bear.

That night will for be engraved in your mind. The way your knees buckled; almost falling face down into the dirt had it not been for Itachi-san. Him too, crouched with you as you both ugly cry. It was hard for him to be that torn, let alone see you shredded. Barring teeth with snot; the most gutteral outcry of pain.

Of course it’s not easy for you, this whole thing will never be easy. You can’t sleep, can’t eat. Hell, half the time it feels like you’re just going through the motions. It’s hard to be grateful for new beginnings when recent endings are so fresh, the wound not even cauterized. It just seeps and oozes into the deepest crevices of your soul, a permanent branding. It’s hard to be grateful for new beginnings when recent endings are so fresh. The cascading tidal wave of emotions is exhausting, and it’s mostly due to your hormones. Grief, anger. Desperation, longing and joy.

Was it really this fair to feel a little bit happy when Shisui is somewhere, nowhere to be found? His corpse endlessly floating— no. Full stop. You don’t even want to go there, how many times have you pictured it? How morbid of you, you think; to wish to see him. Even in that state. That if it were the only way to see him again, you would.

And you get angry, on very bad days, shut the world out. How can live when it’s the end of the world? How can people, Uchiha or not, be so nonchalant. In fact, the only person who really shares your grief is Itachi. And he’s pitted as Shisui’s aggressor, his means to an end. But that’s not the case.

Slowly, you come around. Itachi is there, and both your griefs are endless. Sometimes you feel that his is more vast; and it probably is. Definitely is. So you tell him your secret, hoping it would bring joy. Though it nearly broke him all over again. There, in the midst of chaos and confusion and mayhem. Is still a little piece of Shisui.

But, this is the most inopportune time for happiness. You see, dear old Itachi-san has a secret; one he cannot tell you. The government coercion behind the curtain, his upcoming mission. The happiness he shares with you in this brief moment of reprieve from your darkest days is short lived. The feeling of his presence changes, making you uncomfortable with sharing this news.

Itachi’s final words to you are devoid of emotion and severely cold, ‘if you know what’s good for you, you won’t tell anyone else.’ It’s a threat and a silent plea all at once. You soon find out later about that, and it’ll all make sense.

Pregnancy feels so uneventful to you. After the massacre, you’re one less person to share your grief and it only grows more once the details are revealed. Your life; your baby. Your Shisui. It feels like everything around you won’t ever stand on solid ground. As a good mother you buck up and slowly integrate back into a mundane routine.

First milestones are less than exciting, but still hold weight. Those tiny black images, hung on your fridge. They bring momentary happiness each time you pass them. The first time it’s little heartbeat echoes off the walls in the medical room make your heart feel less empty, but you still cry over the sink eating your lunch like a rat.

Eating is more of a challenge, but eventually the cravings will make sustaining your growing body easier. The vitamins help too, but it’s still difficult to find your stomach from time to time.

I think the only day you aren’t a complete mess is when your water breaks while you’re waiting for a decaf tea. Two weeks early, figures. Nothing goes according to plan, you’ve become accustomed to expecting the unexpected. And this day, this is when the weight of Shisui’s loss is wayfared into the world, and placed in your arms.

Smol, tiny. Itty bitty little hands. Big and soft dark eyes, just as his were. In fact, as time passes by. There’s not a day you don’t think your baby is more Shisui than you. He’s all you’ll ever see in them, and some days you’ll feel a twinge of sadness. But mostly it’s pure unadulterated love.

[weewoowings]

Hi. Can I have a short, depressing and angsty Destiel ficlet, please? What if Dean had 5 more minutes with Cas? What would he do? THANK YOU.

Angst•Hurt/Comfort•Canon Divergence•Confession•Unresolved Feelings•Emotional Hurt/Comfort•Character Death (Implied)•Dean Winchester Needs a Hug•Castiel Loves Dean Winchester•Bittersweet Ending•Desperation

Words: 1,063 | Destiel | AO3

Right Where You Left Me

Dean’s throat tightened as he stared at Castiel, standing there like he’d never left, like the universe hadn’t ripped him away in the cruelest way possible. Five minutes. That’s all they had. Five goddamn minutes.

"You son of a bitch," Dean rasped, the words rough in his throat. "You don’t get to drop something like that on me and just go."

Castiel tilted his head, something almost fond pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I didn’t have a choice."

Dean shook his head, jaw tight. "Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve let me have one." His chest ached, too full of things he’d kept locked down for too long. "You... Damn it, Cas, you mattered. You matter. And I should’ve told you that. You deserved to hear it, but I- " He let out a sharp breath, voice cracking under the weight of it. "I don’t know how to say this stuff. I ain't good at it."

Cas stepped closer, blue eyes locked on him, steady, patient like always, like there was no one else in the world. "Say it now."

Dean swallowed hard, his fists curling tight at his sides until he forced them to unclench. He let out a shaky breath and shook his head like he could force the lump in his throat back down. "You saved me, Cas," he started, voice low and uneven. "More times than I can count. And it wasn’t just when you pulled me outta Hell. It was every time I couldn’t get back up. Every time I wanted to give up and you .. you were just there. Always there."

His voice cracked again, and he ran a trembling hand over his face like he could pull himself together. "It wasn’t the big things. It was the way you looked at me like I was worth something, even when I didn’t believe it. Like I was... enough. Just the way I am." He sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself. "You never gave up on me. Not even when I gave up on myself."

Dean’s jaw worked, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for Cas but didn’t dare. "You made me wanna be better. You made me believe I could be. And I don’t even know what the hell that means, Cas. I don’t know if it was supposed to mean something more, or if it was just…" He broke off, shaking his head, voice growing quieter. "I don’t know. All I know is, I needed you. More than I ever let myself say. And I still do. I need you, Cas."

He forced himself to meet Cas’ eyes then, even though his own were burning, his vision blurring at the edges. His voice dropped, raw and wrecked.

"But you’re not here. And I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to do this without you."

Cas’ expression shifted, softening in a way that made the hunter’s chest ache even more. The sharp edges Dean had come to know so well fell away, leaving only something warm, something heartbreakingly gentle. Like he wanted to take the weight Dean carried and hold it himself.

"You were never alone, Dean," Cas said quietly, the words settling between them like something sacred. His eyes swept over Dean’s face, like he was trying to memorize every detail; the lines, the scars, the freckles, every piece of him. Like Dean Winchester was something holy.

"And you never will be," he added, voice softer now, like he was speaking straight to Dean’s heart. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for him but knew there wasn’t enough time. So instead, he gave Dean something else; he gave him everything once more.

"I have loved you, Dean," Cas said, and this time there was no hesitation, no fear in his voice. Just something vast and aching and true. "For a long time. In every way that matters." His eyes flickered, like the weight of the words might undo him too. "I chose you over Heaven, over duty, over myself, over everything. Again and again."

He took a small step closer, voice dropping to something soft, reverent. "And I would do it again. Every single time."

There was no doubt in his voice. No regret. Just love, laid bare.

Dean’s breath caught hard in his throat, his body fighting to hold everything in, but his walls were already crumbling. He wanted to argue, wanted to push it away, but Cas just kept looking at him like that, like Dean was worth it. Like he always had been.

Dean shook his head, his heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to break free. His hands balled into fists again, like he could hold himself together if he just tried hard enough. "Yeah, well, I ain’t ready to let you go. Not like this. Not when we.." His voice cracked, breath catching on the words he hadn’t said, wouldn’t let himself say.

"Cas, please." The plea broke free before he could stop it, rough and unsteady. "I can’t.. I don’t know how to do this without you. I don’t want to."

He swallowed hard, voice shaking, desperation threading through every word. "If you get a chance... If there’s any way, any way at all, you come back. You find a way. You hear me? You come back to me."

Tears slipped down his face now, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. He took one stumbling step forward, voice dropping to a whisper, wrecked and pleading.

"Please, Cas. Come back."

Castiel’s lips curled into the smallest smile, soft and devastated all at once. "If I can, I will."

Dean’s heart felt like it was breaking in slow motion, seconds slipping away too fast. His pulse thundered in his ears, panic rising in his throat as he realized this was it.

"Cas, I-" He choked on the words, voice cracking open.

But Castiel was already fading, and then just gone. Swallowed up nothingness again.

And Dean was left standing there, empty and aching, five minutes too short of a time.

His voice barely made it past the knot in his throat.

"-love you, too.”

.oOo.

But I'm right where you left me

Matches burn after the other

Pages turn and stick to each other

Wages earned and lessons learned

But I, I'm right where you left me

[lunarsworld]

hi! do you write for ethan nakamura? if so, can I please request something cute where he’s the readers (female) first kiss? please and thank you!

hope u likey!

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━━━━ ⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

you and ethan were inseparable. everywhere he was, you were right by his side. although you both claimed you were just friends, it didn’t take a genius to know that you both had feelings for each other. i mean he never let anybody get close to him, but yet you clung to him like the plague.

after a long day of strenuous activity around camp, you plopped onto his couch. you swung your legs over and onto his lap and he instinctively rested his hand on your calf. the contact gave you butterflies and made a rosy red rise to your cheeks, but you turned away before he could see it. “why do you always do that?” he asked calmly. “do what?” you said confused, quirking an eyebrow. he began to run his fingers up and down your shin, taking note of how you glanced away again. “that. you refuse to make eye contact every time i touch you.” he grumbled. his straight forwardness made you pull your legs to your cheat, closing the comfortable space. “hey, don’t shut down.” he said, resting a hand on your knee and rubbing light circles into it. “tell me what you’re thinking.” you rolled your eyes and tucked your face under your crossed arms, making it obvious you dont want to continue the conversation.

in turn, he used his other hand to tilt your chin back up, forcing eye contact. “you gotta talk if you wanna sort this out, sunshine.” he muttered as he leaned in closer to you. “i- i dunno,” you stuttered. “you just make me nervous i guess and i don’t wanna ruin anything…” he chuckled at your statement. “you could never ruin anything,” he said with a smirk as he leaned in closer, making you lean back. “i’m sorry, e. i just- i’ve never done that before.” you hesitated. “and my brain goes blank whenever i’m around you and you touch me and-“ you tried to finish your sentence, but it was interrupted by soft lips on yours. it was slow and steady, he wasn’t push too far but he wasn’t going to cut it short. his lips delicately rested on yours, fitting almost perfectly like a missing puzzle piece.

as you two pulled away, he rested his forehead on yours, holding the eye contact. “wasn’t too bad, was it sunshine?” he mumbled. you shook your head in response, making him chuckle as he saw the blush rising on yours cheeks. “so since i’m the first, how about i be the second,” he said as he pressed another a kiss to your lips. “and the third.” and another. “and the fourth.” and it continued on like that for a while. but nevertheless, you were glad he broke that fine line between friends and romance. and let’s just say you never held back with him anymore.

[htelover24]

Curse Breaker pt 3

WARNINGS: mentions of suicide, depression, and self harm (please let me know if there’s anything I missed I don’t want to trigger people)

A/N:……..hey PLEASE DONT LEAVE I JUST HAVENT BEEN MOTIVATED but I’m back….I think😬(sorry this one’s a little short) Id also like to add that Billie is still 23 in this she just still has blonde hair.

Reader is immortal and struggling to be completely blunt. Billie moves in next door. Can she help reader feel something again? Is it fate?

“What the hell are you talking about” she says still looking at me in disbelief.

My skin started to sting just as it had in that day. My tongue going numb as my pupils go blown. Realization hitting me.

Panicked sobs rip past my lips as fear settles in to my veins, cold and fast. Just as if the doctors injected me with it. My nails grip at the skin of my thighs leaving them bloody, only adding to my terrified state.

She’s gonna put in a mental asylum…��.. I can’t go back. She can’t take me back there. I WONT go. She can’t make me. RIGHT?! Nobody can. I WONT LET THEM. THEY CANT DO THAT TO ME AGAIN. THEY JUST CANT. NO FUCKING WAY……. not again.

I didn’t even realize the tears falling from her eyes. I had scared her? Maybe I said too much. But this is what she wanted right?! My thoughts start their crescendo. She WANTED to see me like this. SHE ASKED FOR THE STORY. SHE SAID IT, I HEARD IT WITH MY OWN EARS-

……There it goes again, my crippling dread of being to blame. I can’t even take accountability for my mistake. I’m too caught up in my fears to even consider how I’m making her feel. But it’s too late now huh? I’ve already made her uncomfortable. There’s no going back now huh? I have to live with this guilt too huh?! I HAVE TO LIVE HUH?!

“Please look at me” she says gently.

My head still drapes low in frustration and mortification. She’s talking to me like I’m 5. Like I’m the same little girl that couldn’t except her family’s death. Well let me tell you death itself can’t even accept mine.

I look up with eyes glazed over like a pottery piece straight out the kiln. It’s safe to say I look withered and pathetic. It’s impossible to mistake it. You can tell I’m sorry, I don’t have to say it, she can tell right? I mean she made a mistake too so that just means we’re even now…. I have to say it.

“I’m sorry.” It came out in a sigh. The release of breath was to conceal my shaken voice, but also to give myself a grounding end to my panic.

She palms her tears away as she speaks

“No. Don’t apologize I just don���t understand how you’re holding up”

I squint my eyes at her and then look down at the tube in my arm, respiratory system, and heart monitor then back at her eyes still squinted as if to say ‘are you dumb’.

“No yeah I’m actually holding up great” I say as I secretly tug the wire of my heart monitor causing a flat line. I slowly fall backwards onto my hospital bed shutting my eyes ever so slightly.

I watch as alarm chills her bones. Her face takes on a horrified expression and she rushes to get up for a doctor.

I released my grip on the monitor and sit up laughing hysterically. She chuckles too.

“Dude you should’ve seen your face!” I say through wheezes

“Holy shit I almost pissed myself…. Again” she says the last part so just I could hear.

“YOU PISSED YOURSELF THE FIRST TIME?!” I’m practically tearing up at this point.

“We’re gonna be great friends” she says with her most ravishing smile. That’s one I’ll never forget.

Wait she said friends? No we can’t be.

You see the difference between me and her is that she can die and I can’t. The whole friend thing will never work out.

But how could I say no to that face. Fuck, this one is gonna hurt

“Yeah…we are.”

[darksigns-exe]

nothing's in our way - noah x laurie (ofc) x nick

warnings: none

word count: 2k

note: a little belated birthday fic for the favourite boy nicky <3

masterlist | to know you're mine/what if | taglist sign-up

Laurie’s the first of them that shows up. Somehow he’d expected Noah to be the first, he usually is. But then again he’s by no means unhappy to see Laurie. 

She pushes open the door with her elbow and Nick knows better than to try and help her. 

She sets the paper bag and ceramic to-go cup down on the counter, before she wraps him into the tightest hug. 

“Happy birthday Nicky.” Laurie presses a kiss to his cheek and he’s sure that her lipstick has stained his skin.

“Thanks, Laurie.” 

She presses another kiss to his cheek before she finally lets go of him. 

“I got you a piece of the carrot cake and a hot chocolate from the cafe.” She motions towards the things she’d placed on the counter a moment ago, “Don’t worry you’ll get a real present later.”

“You’re — the best.”

He wants to say so much more but it would all be out of line.

How he feels about Laurie is his business and his business only. No one else needs to know that he’s still crushing on his best friend’s girlfriend. Although he’s sure that it’s a little more than a crush at this point. 

“Tonight still stands?” She asks then. 

They’ve bullied him into a small get together. Just their friends. 

It’ll be nice. 

“What time did you say?”

“7.30.” She replies with a smile, “Has Noah texted you yet?”

Nick shakes his head and Laurie’s smile turns into a brief frown. 

“I’m going to shake him up a little when I get home.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll see him later.”

“Nope.” Laurie says firmly, “He will text you.”

She stays for a moment longer, chatting with him while he gets the shop ready for the one client he has today. 

Emergency cover up. The before looked nasty and Nick really couldn’t say no to that challenge. 

“I’ll see you later Nicky.” Laurie gives him another hug. 

She lingers for a moment and Nick briefly lets himself believe that she’s going to say something else. But she doesn’t and Nick shoves the thought away again. 

It is a little cruel, he thinks, that the two people he’s developed feelings for are so happy with each other. 

Noah does text him eventually. It’s a sweet message that makes his heart ache just a little bit. Sometimes he wonders how things could be if Noah was interested in him or if he’d had the guts to talk to Laurie first. During especially bad nights he lets himself think about the possibility of all three of them. 

But that’s utopian. 

Can’t happen. 

Things don’t align like that for him. 

Nick lets himself into their building just before 7.30. They gave him a key a while back and it makes him feel a little more like he’s a part of their lives. 

He climbs the stairs up to the fourth floor. The closer he gets to their door, the more laughter and music reach him. 

“NICKY!” He’s just coming up to their floor when Noah comes barrelling down the stairs towards him, “Happy birthday.”

He’s wrapped into a tight hug that almost makes him fall back down the stairs. Noah presses a too wet kiss against his cheek — evidence that he’s already had something to drink. 

“Come on. Everyone’s here.”

The mention of everyone does make him a little anxious. He doesn’t think that it’s too many people. Noah and Laurie know that he doesn’t love when these things get too big.  

Everyone turns out to be just their friends. Jolly and the girl he’s seeing at the moment, Folio, their newest apprentice at the shop and some of the girls Laurie works with. 

He likes their little circle. It’s a comfortable group. 

The room explodes with cheers when Noah tugs him through the door. 

A very off-key happy birthday later, Nick finds himself squished in between Folio and Noah on the short side of the sofa. 

Nick isn’t sure if he’s imagining it but Noah seems touchier tonight. Maybe it’s the drinks, maybe he’s just like that tonight. But he’s always touching him in some way. Nick can’t complain about it, but he does wonder why Noah’s suddenly comfortable with sneakily placing his hand on his back. 

Laurie comes with new drinks for both of them. She finds a comfortable spot on the armrest of the sofa with one leg draped over Noah’s. 

Nick can’t deny how good being around all of his friends is. He’s glad that they’ve set this little party up for him. 

There’s a full cake with a candle for every year of his life. They’ve all put money together to get him a fancy special edition of a Bloodbourne art book and it genuinely warms his heart. And while that would be more than enough, they’ve also gotten him a framed photo of the whole group for his corner in the shop. The card that everyone had signed almost makes him cry. 

Almost. 

Nick manages to keep himself together though. 

The evening continues with laughter and good conversations, although people slowly start to trickle out of the door after midnight. And by 2 it’s just the three of them. 

Nick is sandwiched between them and while he loves being around them he suddenly feels a little like an intruder. 

“I think I’m going to head home too.” He says eventually.

Noah’s face falls immediately, “I thought you were staying over?”

“I didn’t want to assume.”

“Nicky.” Laurie scolds, “Don't be silly. You know you can always sleep here.”

She tugs him back down onto the sofa, forcing him to sit between them again. 

“Also we still have something for you.” Noah adds quickly. 

“Another thing?” Nick protests, “You've already gotten me so much.”

“Well that was from everyone. We have something for you.” Laurie takes his hand into hers. 

This should be alarming. 

First Noah being so touchy, then Laurie holding his hand. Isolated he wouldn’t think too much of it but in combination something smells off. 

He doesn’t know what is up but something is most definitely up. 

“Nicky.” Noah places a shy hand on his knee. 

Nick can feel him trembling. 

Whatever they have planned must be big. 

“I’m gonna get us something to drink okay.” Laurie says softly.

She gives Nick’s hand another squeeze before she releases it. Her hand trails through Noah’s hair as she passes by him and it makes Nick just a little bit jealous. 

Noah’s hand twitches on his knee. 

“Did you like the party?” Noah asks hesitantly. 

Nick nods, “It was nice. Was good to see everyone.”

“I’m glad you liked it. Laurie and I spent the whole day making your cake.”

He smiles, “I really appreciate it. It was good.”

“I did the frosting.” Noah sounds so very proud of himself. 

“Thank Noah. For all of this.” 

He takes Noah’s hand into his. 

It feels like the right thing to do. He can’t stop the feelings he has for Noah from bubbling up. 

“You know we don’t just do this because you’re our friend, right?” Noah says turning their joined hands over, “We do this because we love you.”

“I know you do.”

“No Nicky. I don’t think you understand. I thought how I felt about you was normal for friends. I thought that’s how everyone feels about their best friend. But — this is more than friendship.”

It hits him out of nowhere. 

This is the last thing he expected out of this day. 

Nick doesn’t know how he missed this, how Noah had been able to hide his feelings so well. Or maybe Nick had just been so willing to assume that Noah’s not into guys that he ignored any sign of his affection.

“Nick?” Noah sounds so awfully shy then, “Can you look at me?”

Nick forces himself to look over to him. 

The softness on Noah’s face rattles him to the core. 

“Nick, I love you and —”

“What about Laurie?” 

“Laurie was a crucial part in me figuring out that what I feel is more than just friendship and that I can feel like this for more than one person without having to feel bad about it.” He replies, “She knows how I feel and she’s more than okay with it.”

“Noah I — I thought you weren’t —”

“I don’t know if I’m into guys. But I know that I’m into you.” 

The smile on his face is dazzling. Nick doesn’t think that he’s ever looked prettier. 

“I’m gonna kiss you Nick. Is that okay?”

“That’s — yea that’s okay.”

Noah leans in so slowly that Nick swears that he can hear the seconds ticking by. He lets his eyes fall shut as he feels Noah’s lips brushing against his. It’s just a soft little thing, a barely there brush of lips but it’s a kiss. 

Noah stays close after they part again and Nick thinks that he could kiss him a thousand times again. 

“I never thought that — I’ve been trying to push it away for so long.” He stammers, “I didn’t think that you’d ever — feel that way for me.”

“Well I do. Don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

The smile on his face makes his insides heat up. 

“How’s this all going to work?”

“Be patient okay? This wasn’t everything yet.” Noah cranes his head towards the open door, “Laurie? You can come back now.”

“She was never going to get drinks, right?” 

Noah shakes his head with a smile, “Thought a little privacy would be nice. Didn’t want to overwhelm you too much.”

“I appreciate that. I can’t believe that I didn’t realise.”

“I got really good at hiding it.” 

Nick squeezes his hands again, “I spent so much time trying not to be in love with you and now — feels a little unreal.”

He doesn’t like the knowing look on Noah’s face. Before he can investigate it further, Laurie comes back into the living room. 

“Looks like that went well. You got room for one more?”

Nick blinks up at her. The sofa is mostly empty there’s —

“Nicky — sweetheart — someone could stand in front of you with a painted banner and you wouldn’t realise huh?” Laurie’s hand comes to rest against his cheek, “Do you think that I got you an extra piece of cake before work because you’re such a good friend?”

“Honestly yes.” He admits quietly. 

Her brows turn down in the sweetest way “Oh honey.”

It really clicks then. 

“Wait.”

Beside him Noah lets out a soft laugh. 

“Wait.”

“We’ll really have to shower him in affection, hm?” Her thumb drifts across his cheek, “Did you think that I didn’t notice how you look at me? You boys are so oblivious. No wonder that you spent months sleeping in the same bed and didn’t notice.” 

Nick turns to look at Noah who in turn looks as if he’s about to protest her words just to realise that she was somewhat right. 

“Do you still want to go home?”

Nick shakes his head. 

“Good. Because I feel like having both of my boys around me tonight.”

Nick wakes up to the scent of freshly brewed coffee. The bed is empty but the spot next to him is still warm and he can hear them talking in the distance. 

It doesn’t feel real at all. 

How had he missed all of this? 

How had he not realised that both of them felt this way? 

The laughter quiets down and steps approach the bedroom door. 

A gentle knock sounds at the door before it’s opened so carefully. Noah pokes his head through the opening. 

“Oh good you’re up.”

Noah pushes into the room and sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. He laces their fingers together so easily. 

“How’re you feeling?”

“This happened right? I didn’t imagine it?”

“If you mean us telling you that we love you, yes that happened.” 

“Good.” 

Nick looks down at their joined hands. 

“You wanna get up? Coffee’s done and I think Laurie is itching to get a kiss too.”

It’ll take a whole lot of getting used to, but his heart has never been fuller. 

They’re his and more importantly he’s theirs. 

Nick knows that there’ll be talks to negotiate how this will work but for now he’s just going to enjoy this new thing. 

And he’s sure that nothing will be able to top this birthday for a good while. 

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken @poisongirl616 @mysticdoodlez @agravemisstake @th4t-em0-k1d

@thisbicc @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @mrsnoahsebastian @blackveilomens @sorrowsofsilence

@fadingangelwisp @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @thisisntablogspost @tintadecirco

@rumoured-whispers @cheyyyyr @mathfairchild1 @thewrstinme @Follow-me-down-to-wonderland

[havenscribes]

Only Warriors - Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Wakandan!Regent!Reader - Chapter Four

Word Count: 1800 words

Warnings: some big feelings from reader, backstory is a little more fleshed out

“This is insane.” I state, jumping from my seat with an expression on my face that’s nothing short of scandalized. The Winter Soldier, a man who is literally credited with over two dozen assassinations is supposed to keep me safe? And who knows when the Black Panther will have this situation rectified. She will never give Namor the surface world, and he only seems to get more passionate with each of their encounters. For the first time in my life, I think M’Baku may be onto something. My eyes search wildly around the room for someone to poke me or something and tell me Just kidding, we’re gonna let you off with a warning. No one does.

General Ayo is still seated, gripping her spear like it’s a snake that might wriggle away at any moment.

 “I mean, does anyone not realize that? I’m being turned over to a weapon of mass destruction, not to mention, one that has crossed treasonous lines in Wakanda multiple times? Have we forgotten that he is not to be trusted?”

M’Kathu’s wife stands slowly leaning on her staff, the deep lines in her face getting more pronounced as she frowns at my outspoken-ness. “Child, I hope you aren’t so proud as to challenge the opinion of the Queen of Wakanda.” Her staff was more of a less intimidating than a spear but held the same austerity because of its masterful craftsmanship. Carved from sturdy baobab and stained a deep, almost black brown, the staff displayed Wakandan proverbs and affirmations in gold winding around its surface. At the top, about six inches taller than her six foot stature, a sparkling blue-green tourmaline rests in the wood. 

I can hear the displeasure in her voice and it just sends me over the limit. “I hope you’re not voting on matters in which you don’t have a say,” I reply with a snarl. “Elder M’Kathu is the council member. Not you.”

Gasps fly around the room at my insolence, and I’m starting to understand why General Ayo called it a temper tantrum, but this whole situation has gotten way out of hand. One little attack from Namor and I have to be babysat by a serial killer?

“Y/n! Remember your place.” M’Baku barks a warning at me, widening his eyes as if to scold a child. I am really getting tired of that. I stare at him, refusing to look away until my Kimoyo beads buzz on my wrist. I lift them and tap on the middle bead that pulses with light, and a diaphanous, shimmering image shows.

The Queen is not in the best shape. Her hair is mussed and matted, and her face is gaunt, cheekbones sticking out like she hasn’t eaten for days. I don’t see any injuries, though, so I try to relax despite the fear that the worst is yet to come.  Her voice wavers a little before the signal is straightened out: “—Y/n? Can you— hear— Can you hear me?”

“Yes! Yes! Cousin, I can hear you! Are you alright?” A weight is lifted off of my shoulders with every word that comes through. She still has her jaw set in that determined way but her head’s on a swivel. The dark shadows on the walls behind her make me nervous. “Are you unharmed? Where is he keeping you?”

“I’m fine, Y/n. Namor’s military is keeping me in some kind of temple, and I haven’t seen anyone in hours.” 

Now that I see she’s in one piece, the anger that was bubbling up in me returns. “But you could contact the Dora, right? Not me?”

Shuri has the absolute nerve to roll her eyes at me, sighing in exasperation as if my anger is unfair. “I had specific instructions for the Dora were this situation to arise—” 

“We agreed that last night would be a solo mission. No Doras on the premises, only back up off-site. You promised me.” My lip trembles as my eyebrows harden into a tough line.

She purses her lips and I can tell she’s thinking hard about what to say to make this better. “General Ayo has seen too many ‘simple missions’ go south to let things get too far out of her reach. It wasn’t my first choice at all, Y/n. I was outvoted.” The council all bow their heads to avoid any more scrutiny from me. The sight makes my stomach curdle in bitterness.

“Did they also vote for me to be babysat by the Winter Soldier?” I spit. Just saying his name disgusts me.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. I made sure of that.” She replies self-assuredly, knowing that there aren’t many things I trust, but her genius is one of them. “He may not run around during all hours of the night brutally murdering anyone he sees, but he will always have that blood on his hands. The Winter Soldier’s title was earned.”

The room is silenced at this defiance because they’ve never seen us without the layers of custom and cordiality. Ever since we were girls we’d disagree and bicker about everything, but only now it’s become an apparent problem. Council members avery their eyes and hush, and General Ayo stands, driving her staff into the ground twice. The other Dora do it once, and turn on dimes to leave the hall. I walk behind them like a dog with its tail between its legs, Shuri’s hologram still hovering over my arm. As they turn the corner, I slip into one of the other rite rooms. 

This one is for marriages: Clean off-white walls, draped with purple linens and ferns hanging from high in the ceiling. Gold accents are interspersed throughout the room, and the morning sunlight glinting off them almost brightens my sour mood. I remember it like it was yesterday: this was the room in which my parents were married. Traditionally, children come after marriages in Wakanda, but the tribes never scrutinized my parents for their child. I was just regarded as a blessing that came a little early. Just like a wedding present or a pair of engagement rings, I was a physical manifestation of their love, and the flower girl. It was one of the happiest days of my life, and my favorite memories of them. 

Their silent joy that filled the spaces in their vows, my father’s tears as he looked upon his bride for the first time, and the slow dance with what felt like the whole world watching and smiling on them, these were the signs of love that I looked forward to. As years passed, they left to be with the ancestors, but that love never left. I feel it everytime I look in the mirror, and see the unique mixture of their features or when I stay in their old house and find letters to each other in the margins of textbooks and magazines. Sometimes I want that for myself, but who could give me love that was bigger than two people, but at the same time, so small that it could sit with each and every one of my cells?  And how could I love at all when I’m there for my country at all times?

“It’s just as beautiful as I remember.” Shuri’s slightly warped voice shakes me out of my memories. She was there at the wedding with me: I’d led her down the aisle, grateful for the attention to be mostly on the young princess.

“I haven’t come back in so long.” I replied, feeling a little guilty, like I‘d let my parents down. They could never stop raving about their wedding, and as soon as I lost them, I’d acted like it never happened at all. 

“You don’t have to do anything.” Shuri tries to reassure me, but this shame will take a little longer to get rid of. “Your parents loved you, Y/n. They would want you to be happy, and looking forward, not fearing the past, burying yourself in your work.”

I am happy, I think, as long as I keep moving. As much as they loved each other, they loved Wakanda even more, and they’d want me to protect its legacy. 

“I love them too, Shuri, and I am happy. I’m completely content with everything I have. But they loved Wakanda even more, and you saw how ecstatic they were when I started the ambassador’s course.”

Shuri rolls her eyes again, and I know this time it's because I’m missing her point. She sighs for what must be the millionth time before she starts: “They were excited because you’re brilliant, and you’ll do well at anything you choose. You could’ve been a footrest maker and still made them happy because you are their daughter. You are what they loved most in the world, and their love for your home was a product of that.” As much as I hate to admit it, she struck the right tones for the rest of my anger to melt. All that remained was the dull ache of missing someone who you can’t just call.

I sniff, suddenly regaining all of my bearings. “So you understand why my job is so important, yes? Why I need all the freedom in the world to do it and to not be held on a leash by some brute?”

“This is about keeping you safe. End of story.” I’m sure I’m working her nerves, running round in circles because I just can’t fathom it. There’s no way the Winter Soldier is taking me on as a charge. “Y/n, I trust that you are entirely capable of doing your job, but just imagine what could've happened if Bucky wasn’t there.” Eww, I hate that they’re on a first name basis. “If I’m accepting help, know that it’s truly needed and coming from a qualified source.”

I’m still not convinced. More and more, people from the council slide past the arched entrance to the hall, giving me a look before awkwardly running past. I give my cousin a look. She’s a thousand leagues under the sea, captured by some god with a lust for vengeance, and only thinking about the safety of her loved ones. Not only that, but pleading with me to let my guard down just a little, so that someone else can hold it up. It suddenly dawns on me that my choices also affect my loved ones, and I owe it to them to take good care of myself.

My lips twist to the corners in thought. What’s the worst that could happen? If he tries anything, the Dora will rip him to pieces. “Okay. I’ll meet with him.”

She smiles weakly, and I wince at her visible tiredness. “Thank Bast. You’re so stubborn I thought you’d lock him out of your suite as soon as you saw him.”

“He’s in my suite?”

[possibly-evil]

some Hatchetfield short stories because im a little delusional about them

In order: Trans Richie, Workin' Girls Ruth, Aromantic Grace, Ex-Paulkins, Claugerman/Male

(@highschoolsquid)

Max and his friends gathered around the scrawny kid with an anime shirt, just out of sight of their fourth grade teacher.

“Awww, you gonna cry? Gonna go home and read your manga books, shit-lips?” Max chuckled.

“Gonna go cry to your mommy? Can’t do that, can you?” The boy next to Max teased. Max grimaced at that joke. It was a little too close to home. What was his name, Kash?

“Guys… can you- um- leave me… uh… alone?” The shaking girl stuttered.

“Oh, is the little girl scared of some-”

“I’m not a girl.” She murmured, just loud enough that Max could hear. Max raised an eyebrow. He could’ve sworn she’d been introduced with a girl’s name- and she certainly looked like a girl.

“I’m… uh… a boy. I’m not a girl anymore. My name- my name’s Richard.” That settled in Max’s mind. Alright, this kid was a boy. He was still a nerd.

“Well, Richard, don’t think that because you’re a guy now that you’re not still a nerd. Anime and shit? That’s for dorks like Spankoffski. And you don’t wanna end up like him, do you?” He snickered. The boys behind him laughed.

“I mean, seriously,” Kash said, walking closer to Richard. Max was pretty sure his name was Kash. “You already had the weirdo anime stuff, but now thinking you’re a guy? Come on, she’s fucking delusional!” He said. 

What the fuck did he just say?

Before anybody behind him could get in another word, Max slammed his fist across Kash’s face. The boy fell to the ground, blood dripping from his nose. He looked up at Max with shock.

“What the hell, man?” Kash yelped. Max crouched down, his gaze cold.

“Listen, you piece of human garbage.” Max said, spit flying into Kash’s face. “Richie here may be a nerd, a dork, and a disgrace to this town, but he is NOT a girl.” Max stood and glanced at the people behind him, all huddled together and staring wide eyed at the boy on the ground.

“Richie here isn’t a nerd ‘cause he’s a guy.” He turned to look at Richard, whose expression was a mixture of fear and joy.

“He’s a nerd because I said he was. I said he was a nerd long before this day. And he will remain a nerd until the moment I die.” He turned to the crowd of frightened faces.

“You got that?” He asked. They all murmured their agreement.

Max made a point to step on Kash’s hand as he walked away.

-

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!” Ruth screeched as she threw open the door to Richie’s apartment. His uncle Paul jumped, almost dropping the book he was reading. “Uh- Richie’s upstairs.” Ruth gave him a quick thumbs up before bolting up. Richie had already opened his door by the time she had bolted up the stairs.

“Oh my god, is this about-” Ruth nodded enthusiastically. They both rushed into his room, where Peter was putting a bookmark in his science textbook. They sat down on the floor in a triangle formation. Ruth flapped her hands up and down, almost bursting with joy.

“I’m in the show!” She screeched. Richie didn’t waste a moment, and immediately tackled her into a hug. 

“OH my GOD! You’re in the show!”

“What role did you get?” Peter asked, grinning wide.

“Secretary #4” she said, pushing Richie off of her. “It’s not a big role, I only have one line, but like… I’M IN!” She said, She laid down on the carpeted floor.

Things were gonna get better for her. She knew it.

-

“Hey Grace!” Max said, running up to her locker. Grace frantically looked around for an excuse to leave, but found nothing.

“Hi Max,” she said as he stopped next to her. “Nice to see you.” Max laughed nervously. He’d been like this for almost two weeks now, ever since the Waylon Place. After their prank, he’d been so happy that they cared about him. Grace was glad that he was being nicer to the nerds. But he was still adamant about… hitting on Grace.

“So, uh, that dance is coming up soon, right? Homecoming? Are you- uh- planning on going with anybody?” He asked, fidgeting nervously. 

“Oh, uhm, Max…” she said. She didn’t have anybody to go to HOCO with, but she really didn’t want to go with Max. She didn’t want to go with anybody.

“I dunno. I was thinking of going with that choir kid. As friends, of course.”

“Well, I mean, he’s kinda lame. And, you know, I actually don’t have anybody to go with yet…” He said, leaning closer to her.

“I- uh…” She looked around, panicking. She couldn’t go to HOCO with Max! What would her family think? Going out with a boy who had made… sexual advances on her? It was unthinkable. She spotted her ticket out.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” She announced, a little louder than was necessary. She bolted to the door and slammed it closed.

“Grace?” Steph asked, looking up from the mirror. Grace slid down onto the dirty floor, leaning against the graffitied wall.

“Hey, Grace? What's going on?” Steph sat down next to her, leaving her makeup at the sink.

“Max asked me to HOCO.”

“Nice! Uh- Do you want to go with him?”

Grace shook her head.

“Then just say no.”

“It’s not- it’s not just that.” Grace sighed. “My parents have been hoping that I'll go with a boy from church or something. They think I'm old enough to maybe start thinking about dating. And taking boys to dances. But- I mean- I'm not, right? I’m still too young to think about that stuff! I haven’t started to feel that way about guys yet!” Steph laughed, but she quieted down as Grace wiped her eyes and curled up tighter.

“Grace, most people start thinking about stuff like that in middle school.” She thought for a moment. “Do you think you ever want to date someone?” She asked.

“Well, everybody falls in love eventually, right?” Grace responded. “I mean- I have to get married. It’s not a choice, is it?” Steph pulled out her phone and googled something, leaving Grace to keep talking herself into circles.

“I mean, if I could pick, I wouldn’t want to get married. But everyone does, so I will! I think I’ll fall in love eventually. My mom and dad act similar to how I feel! They’re like best friends who happen to have a kid!”

Steph looked up. “Grace are your parents…” She trailed off and shook her head. “That’s a conversation for another time. Listen to this. ‘Aromantic; having little or no romantic attraction to others.’” She looked at Grace. “Does that sound like how you feel?”

Grace hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Maybe. Yeah. But, uhm…” she looked around. God, this was a stupid idea. She shouldn’t be telling anybody about this. “Before the Waylon Place, I had… bad thoughts.” Steph raised an eyebrow. “About me and Max.” She still looked confused. “In a bathtub.”

“Ohhhhhh,” Steph said, smirking.

“So, I have to… love him, right? I'm only supposed to have those thoughts once I'm married. I can’t just think that kind of stuff about random people!” Steph shook her head.

“First off, your whole family’s sexuality thing is fucked up. You need to unlearn a bunch of stuff. You can wanna have sex and shit without being married. Second, it's fine to feel that way without romantic feelings to go with it. It’s not your fault. Ok?” Grace reluctantly nodded. 

This was weird. Really weird. She still didn’t fully think Steph was right. Why should Grace be taking advice from… her? What did she know about what was right and wrong? But another part of her really, truly believed what Steph was saying. She’d been raised with her family’s beliefs. She’d never really… considered that they could be wrong. And honestly? Not falling in love? That felt a lot better than getting married.

“I don’t know. I still need… some time. To think.”

“You have all the time in the world.”

-

Emma and Ziggs got out of the car, grabbing a bundle of flyers as they did.

“Perkys is gonna get a lot more business with these lovely ladies advertising it!” Ziggs admired their art on the poster.

“It’s pretty great”, Emma confirmed. She looked down the street. “That way?” she asked.

“Better there than nowhere.”

 They made their way around town, sticking the flyers everywhere they could. Emma was happy. She loved this life she lived now. It had always been her dream. Except… Emma couldn’t help but think about Paul. She hadn’t seen him in months. Though, that was mostly Emma’s fault. She’d moved onto the farm, away from town. And besides, it wasn’t like she wanted to see him. And it wasn’t like he wanted to see her. She still couldn’t believe he’d decided to be with Mellisa. Stupid, cat obsessed Mellisa. She didn’t care if she never saw him again. She really didn’t.

“Should we put up posters at CCRP?” Ziggs asked, pulling Emma along as they passed the homeless man.

“Ziggs, you know why I don’t want to go there.”

“Emma, office guys would kill for some Perky’s Buds.” Emma shrugged.

“Fine. I guess. Let’s just be quick.” Ziggs pumped their fist in celebration. They both shuffled their way into the building and-

Emma ran straight into someone and dropped her pile flyers. She knelt down and quickly began to gather them up. “Watch where you’re going next time, you-” She looked up. Oh.

“Hey, Melissa.” Emma spat. Melissa smiled, and helped Emma pick up her papers.

“Emma Perkins! I haven’t seen you in so long! Ever since Paul and I got together you’ve been so distant, out on that farm.” Emma gritted her teeth into a smile.

“I’m sure he’s happy with you.” She hissed.

“Oh, he certainly is.” Melissa looked her up and down. “I see you’ve become a lesbian.”

“Wha-” Emma looked at herself. 

Oh. To be honest, Melissa… wasn’t wrong. She did look like a lesbian. And she hadn’t had any feelings for guys since Paul. If she was being honest, Paul was the only guy she’d ever liked. Ziggs snickered.

“I guess,” Emma sighed. “I see you’re still a crazy cat lady.” Mellisa smiled.

“I certainly am.” She laughed. “Crazy cat lady. That fits.”

-

“This is so stupid.” Max murmured. He glanced around his dark room. He could hear his dad watching TV, probably asleep. He looked back at his phone, swiped over to incognito mode, and typed in the dreaded words.

‘Am I Gay Quiz’

He cringed at himself and closed the tab. No way was he doing that. No way. Because he wasn’t gay. He liked Grace, right? Right. But there was that dumbass voice in the back of his head again, making him doubt himself. Telling him that there might be someone else.

He dug his fingernails into his palms. He needed a distraction, something to make him forget, something to steer him away from-

His phone buzzed. A text from Kyle. “Fuck,” Max murmured, clicking on it and being moved to the app.

Hey, you seemed a little weird after the party last night. R u good??

Max sighed. The game had gone great, and the after party was going fine until… well, until Kyle made a move on Brenda. They’d been talking the whole night, and Kyle had finally gotten the guts to ask her out. Max could still remember the unusual feeling of his stomach dropping as Kyle awkwardly talked to the cheerleader. He was just worried for his friend, right? Just didn’t want him dating anyone weird? After the Waylon House and Max’s near death experience, he’d been a lot nicer to his friends. That meant Kyle was allowed to date. He was now regretting that decision. The last time Kyle had a girlfriend, Max was… well, it wasn’t the best experience for Max. He just wanted to keep his best friend safe. Brenda was too risky. He didn’t want Kyle getting hurt. He just wanted to protect him. That’s what this feeling was.

Max? I know you’re not asleep. U ok??

Max quickly typed out a reply.

Srry, I was busy for a second. I'm good. Be careful w/ bread, she’s untrustworthy.

*bread

*brenda

He sighed. He didn’t like doing this to Brenda. Who was he kidding, Brenda was one of the nicest people he knew. She would be perfect for Kyle. Stupid, nice Kyle. Stupid, kind hearted, sweet, caring Kyle.

Kyle read the text from Max and frowned. Brenda? Untrustworthy? Max had always been weird about him and Brenda. Did Max want her for himself?

Did Max want him for himself?

No, that was stupid. Max clearly either wanted to protect Kyle or date Brenda. Max wouldn’t ever like Kyle. Max was straight. Kyle was straight.

Kyle glanced at the posters on his wall. Unlike some of his other friends, Kyle had never grown out of superhero posters. While the other football players had posters of hot celebrity girls, Kyle had superman. He really liked superman. Really liked him.

Ok, so maybe Kyle was into superman. Maybe Kyle was bisexual. But still, he didn’t like Max. Not like that. Or did he? He buried his head in his hands. He didn’t like crushes. Too complicated.

“Oh Superman, we’re really in it now,” he mumbled as his phone buzzed. A text from Max!

Hey Kyle so like theoretically if I had a crush (theoretically) on my friend (theoretically) what should I do (theoretically).

Who could Max be talking about? Brenda seemed the most obvious. Maybe Stacy? It wouldn’t be Kyle. Besides, Kyle didn’t want Max to have a crush on him, right? He liked Max as a friend. Right?

Idk. Need more information. Tell me about this (theoretical) crush.

Max grimaced. He had hoped Kyle wouldn't ask any more questions. This was embarrassing enough as it was. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, though. Because Max didn’t have a crush. This was just a what-if. Right?

He thought about Kyle some more.

“Goddamnit.” He mumbled. Why did his mind always drift back to Kyle? Why was Kyle always his first thought? Why did he hate Brenda for interesting Kyle? Why did he want Kyle for himself?

Why did he… what? Want Kyle for himself? Did he really just think that?

“Oh,” Max whispered to himself, the pieces finally clicking.

“Oh. What the fuck.”

He rolled onto his side and tapped out a reply.

The theoretical crush is a boy. What do i do (theoretically)

Kyle stared at his phone. A boy? So Max was… huh. Kyle found himself involuntarily smiling. Why was he doing that? Why was he smiling? Why was he hoping that Max was talking about him?

“I like Max,” He realized aloud. He looked up, checking the hallway. Hopefully nobody had heard that. Oh. That made a lot of sense. He looked at his phone again. What if Max wasn’t talking about Kyle? Now that he’d gotten his hopes up, he wasn’t ready to find out Max liked Jason or whatever. How was he supposed to respond?

I think you should tell him immediately so that he doesn’t have to freak out.

Kyle stared at his phone while the three dots indicated that Max was typing.

Max reread the sentence he’d typed, finger lingering over the send button. This was crazy. This was batshit crazy. If his dad found out about any of this Max would be done for.

“Fuck it.”

Max pressed send.

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Sonny Carisi: Part 2 

This wasn’t requested but I had to write another part to this. Part 1 Claddagh Ring. 

Sonny's world had been a haze of pain and anger since the passing of his father. His brain had been in a fog. He hadn’t been able to stop it from swallowing him and forcing its way out. Its target had been you. He knew it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t fair. But he couldn’t completely wrap his brain around the severity of what he was doing. He didn’t see what he was doing that night- picking a fight and yelling about he couldn’t even remember what. He was stuck in his own bubble of misery.  

But when he watched you flip that ring...  

“Don’t flip unless you're sure. It means something-something you can’t take back.” You told him when he had gone to turn it when he made his intentions for you clear.    

It echoed in his ears now. The bubble popped. The world shifted beneath his feet. He could barely feel the counter holding him up. The anger and frustration that had blurred his days disappeared in a flash. It was replaced with a suffocating shock followed by an anguishing pain. A pain radiated from the center of his chest up to his fingertips and down to his toes. 

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. 

He doesn’t realize he isn’t just thinking it but saying it out loud until he hears his voice fill with more and more desperation, his voice cracking. You don’t look at him, instead looking up at the ceiling, trying to blink back tears. To dissociate with what your life has become. Sonny walks the few steps over to you on numb legs. You shake your head still refusing to make eye contact with him. Even as his hands reach out to cup your cheeks you turn your face away from him holding your hands up to stop him from touching you.  

Sonny’s heart shatters to pieces and falls to the floor like he does. He sinks to his knees, unable to keep himself upright. “Please, don’t do this. I can fix it. I’m sorry. God, I’m so fucking sorry.” His arms wrap around your waist as he buries his face into your stomach. He keeps repeating those words over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” His accent is thick, and sobs start wrecking through his body. You can feel them vibrate through your body, the pain behind them cutting deep into your heart. 

You never saw Sonny cry when his father passed. Everyone else in his family- his mother, his sisters, his grandmother- all were in a semi-permanent state of tears. But not Dominick Carisi Jr. He seemed to be making up for that now. He was holding you so tightly it was almost painful. You hesitated but couldn’t ignore the compelling need to comfort the man that you loved. One of your hands slowly found its way to his head stroking his hair and the other to his shoulder. For the first time in so long, he leaned into your touch. Taking comfort in your support instead of spurring it.  

Sonny was a stream of thought. Telling you how much he loved you, begging you not to leave him, and repeatedly telling you how sorry he was. He holds you so long that you eventually you sit down with him. He panics misperceiving your movements trying to stop you from leaving. He is distraught. You soothe him as you kneel in front of him. Soon the two of you are both on the floor with silent tears. Sonny is leaning against you completely exhausted from his onslaught of emotions and crying. His eyes are red and swollen and his breathing is shaky.  

You are emotionally wrecked from the night, but your mind is spinning at all that has happened in just a few hours. It’s late, almost two in the morning, and both of you are supposed to work in just a few short hours. You stroke his back, “Hey, let's get you in bed, okay?”  

His bloodshot eyes go to yours and his accent is thicker than ever with exhaustion, “You coming too?” You press your lips together in a firm line. You consider him for a second, then nod. You help him to his feet and into the bedroom. He barely takes his pants and button-up off before he collapses in bed numbly. You walk into the closet to change into sweatpants and hesitate in your reach for Sonny’s Fordham sweatshirt that you had taken over. You eventually reach for one of your own instead.  

When you walk out Sonny's eyes are a dead stare at the closet. You slowly walk around to climb into your side of the bed. There had been distinct sides in the last few months. Sonny breaks that now. His arm wrapped around you spooning you. You wish the touch didn’t feel so damn good because despite it all you are still hurt. Unsure he could repair the wounds that he had inflicted.  “I’m gonna fix this, I swear.” He whispers against your hair. “I love you.” 

You can’t find it in yourself to say it back. Not now. 

Taglist @polkadotpenguin16  @pulparindos