#surprise pizza train

[janmamu]

danish phrase of the time i post this “that shall you have law to”

[pancakesaurus]

STEX OC!!!!

She would be a very stereotypical New Yorker.

- Probably has pet rats too

I can’t draw baseball caps

[fushitoru]

i can't stop looking at his d—d—d—d—FACE!

pairings ⸺ (SEPERATE) boy next door!gojo x reader, wrestler!toji x reader, gym trainer!sukuna x reader, pizza delivery boy!choso x reader, husband's boss!nanami x reader, perv on train!geto x reader

summary ⸺ jjk men as overused p0rn/h3ntai plots! inspired by this awesome post by the talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular @/osamucide! pls check it out and the rest of his work :3

warnings ⸺ SMUT (mdni), consent is pre-established in all scenarios (but dub con just in case), everyone is of age (or older), exhibitionism, infidelity in nanami’s, pussy drunk men lol, not edited (as always), cowgirl, missionary, creampies, VERY public sex in toji’s, art by 3-aem, lmk if I’ve missed anything!

a/n lolll i'm ngl this was so fun to write. some of these scenarios are so funnny hELP. this one is also for some of the anons who are so obsessed w choso and sukuna in bridgerton au. wrote them for you 🫡 choso’s is my fav hehe

NEW: part 2 here

general masterlist

SUKUNA RYOMEN ⸺ HOTTIE'S PERSONAL TRAINER HAS A VERY HANDS ON APPROACH!

“Brat!” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Watch your back. You’re supposed to be hinging your hips back, not whatever lazy shit you were doing.”

He steps around to your side, the heavy thud of his boots on the gym floor adding to the oppressive weight of his presence. Squatting down, he sets his hips back in one smooth motion, demonstrating with sharp precision. “Like this. Not whatever the fuck that was.”

You glance at him, your legs trembling under you. Sweat clings to your skin, a thin sheen that feels heavy after the grueling thirty minutes with your personal trainer. Sukuna definitely takes the "tiger mom" approach, every tattoo on his body echoing the sharp, uncompromising authority in his eyes. Right now, those eyes bore into you, narrowed with impatience, his hands on his hips. His scowl is practically carved into his face—stone-hard and unmoving.

Breathing hard, you slump forward, hands gripping your knees as you gasp for air. Your heartbeat drums loudly in your ears. “Sukuna, g-give me a sec. I just—fuck—” You can barely string a sentence together between gulps of air. “I just maxed out. My legs are literally shaking.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment, but his voice softens—just a little. “Fine. Catch your breath. But as you do that, let’s practice proper form.”

You nod exhaustedly, not being able to think very clearly. Wiping the sweat to prevent it from getting into your eyes, you put your legs hip width apart as Sukuna gets behind you to observe your form. You bend down, trying to sit back onto your hips as best as possible, but as soon as your ass grazes Sukuna’s crotch, you lose the form in your back in surprise. “Sorry—”

“That was wrong.” Sukuna’s voice is in your ear as he puts his hands on your hips, and you are dizzy with the contact. “Here.” Both of you squat down, Sukuna’s hard body moving right behind you, and at the lowest position, Sukuna’s thumb roves over the fat of your ass, and they leave your hips to trace up your back. “Your back should be neutral, otherwise you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“O—okay,” you breathily reply, dizzy with the way he was touching you. If you listened closely, it almost sounded as if you were whimpering. Unfortunately for you, it seemed like Sukuna was more observant than you had hoped because he was looking at you in suspicion, eyes raking up and down your figure to observe your appearance. Disheveled, chest rising rapidly, sweat dripping right in the middle of your breasts—

Sukuna, out of nowhere, grabs your hand and begins walking away. “Come with me. You’re not doing them right.”

Soon, you’re led into one of the gym’s stretching rooms—the private ones, the ones meant for Sukuna to help you after the workout. 

“Sukuna, what are we—” you breathlessly ask, but you’re quickly shushed by Sukuna as he hoists himself on the massage table.

“Come here,” he motions to his lap, and you wordlessly follow his directions, sitting directly on top of his lap, gasping as you realize there’s a bulge making contact with your pussy. “We’re going to try an alternative way of doing squats, one that involves a bit more cardio.” He pulls down his sweatpants, blushing, furious cock springing out as he pulls down your yoga pants.

Soon, you’re moaning as you slowly take in his cock, sliding down as his precum and your copious amount of slick mix and drip onto his pelvis. Your feet are on either side of his legs, making you squat every time you lower yourself down on his length.

“Fuck! You’re so tight.” He slaps your ass as you bounce yourself rapidly on his cock. “Pretended to not know how to squat just for me to put this fat cock in you, isn’t that right?”

You didn’t have the capacity to answer, just moan as his cock hits your spot. Unsatisfied with your pace, Sukuna flips you both over until your back is on the table. 

“Oh fuck yea,” Sukuna pants, hips pistoning into you rapidly, effectively fucking you into the table, and his quads are bulging in sheer strength as they clench and unclench in reflection of his pleasure. “Didn’t know my client had such a sweet pussy.”

KAMO CHOSO ⸺ SHE ORDERS BIG SAUSAGE PIZZA AND GETS HER DEEP DICK CRAVINGS FILLED! (the title is so ridiculous im crying)

“Your total’s $14.93. You’re five bucks short.” The delivery boy—an emo looking guy with hair in space buns—responds to the wad of cash and coins you had just given him. He couldn’t look any less bored than he was as he stared down impassively at you, hot, steaming pizza in one hand.

"Wait, but I ordered a small?" You ask him in confusion. "I couldn't possibly finish a large one by myself!"

He pulls out your receipt from where it was tucked into the pizza box. "Your order said a large." Upon glancing on it, you look that he was indeed correct—right next to your pizza, the size LARGE glared at you through the sheen of the reciept's paper.

"Oh," You said, dumbly, blinking in confusion. "Well, I can pay the rest in card if that's okay."

You get an impassive "I don't have a card reader."

"Oh, okay," you laugh nervously, hand going up to scratch the back of your head and fiddle with the rest of your fingers. "Okay, well," you squinted at his nametag, "Choso, let me just check the remaining cash I have. You can come inside if you'd like." 

He comes inside, dropping off the pizza you ordered on your kitchen counter as he makes his way to sit on your couch. You go to your bedroom, checking your desk drawer for any loose cash you may have stored but to no avail. Heart racing and nervous, you frantically search the upper shelf of your room, on your tiptoes as you look for your money jar, praying that there was a 5 dollar piece of cash lying around. Instead, your fingers crash against some book propped on it, tumbling down onto the floor with a large thud!

You hear footsteps coming up to your bedroom door. Choso, standing near the door. "You good?"

"Yea," you strain, still reaching up high to grasp at the jar. "I'm just trying to find somethi—”

The heat of Choso's body surrounds you as he presses closer to you, reaching up effortlessly to grab at the money jar. His groin presses against your backside, acutely aware of his breaths as he passes you the jar. 

Which is empty.

"Fuck!" you curse. You turn, looking at Choso in anxiousness, as you notice he hasn't backed away at all. "I'm sorry, but is there any alternative way to pay for the pizza? Again, I'm really really sorry for the hassle."

"You have to pay for the food in some sort of way," he says with a stony face. Your mind is racing, thinking of ways you could pay but coming up short.

As a result, you end up with your face stuffed against your pillow, the hot delivery boy plowing and drilling his cock into you. 

"Fuck, so irresponsible. Couldn't even pay for the pizza she ordered without a stranger's cock inside of her." At his dirty talk, you whimper and squeeze your pussy, Choso groaning as a result.

"What was that?" He grabs your hair and pulls your face up as his tongue traces the frame of your ear. "What were you trying to say, you cockslut?"

"'M sorry!" You squealed and babbled, eliciting little ah! ah! ah!'s as he continues bumping his cockhead against the gooey spot inside your pussy.

"Yea, you better be. Wasting my fucking time. I'm going to come inside, got it?" Choso growls as he continues pistoning his hips inside.

GETO SUGURU ⸺ ANIME GIRL GETS HER PUSSY FINGERED ON PUBLIC TRAIN!

He pulls you in for a deep kiss while rutting inside you. "Aren't you my good girl? Taking this cock for me like a good girl?" You squeal, blabbering nonsense as he fucks you into next Tuesday…

You read the smut from your favorite author on Tumblr, devouring each word while remaining stony faced as the train rocked underneath your feet. In the corner facing the doors, you made sure that you were angled in such a way that no one would be able to see the filthy things you were reading on your screen. 

However, the metro was slowing down and you looked up quickly—which was painful, considering you were so invested in the story—to make sure it wasn't your stop. As the rush of foot traffic simultaneously populated and vacated the metro, you paid no attention to the people behind you. After all, other people would be too busy on their phones to see what you were reading, right?

"You're going to take this cum, right? I'm going to breed you, my sweet, sweet girl." He laughs.  You take a moment to take in his pretty features. Long hair, beautiful face, all filled with lust for you...

You scan the words, blush evident on your face as your favorite writer has done it yet again. Adjusting, you squeezed your thighs for relief and toyed with the hem of your skirt, failing to notice the soft breaths trailing down the back of your neck just because of how enthralled and taken you were with the plot.

And then, a hand trailed up your thigh, catching you by alarm. You almost drop your phone in your rush to turn and look at the creep that was touching you, ready to beat the shit out of him. 

But when you do turn, you stop and widen your eyes. The man in front of you seems even prettier than the fictional man you were reading about, and you take him in as he rubs circles on your thigh. His sultry eyes rake down your figure, his lips pulled back in a knowing smirk. "That's some filthy shit you're reading."

Looking at him, your heart starts beating faster solely because of the promise of what his hands would do as they were currently softly stroking your thighs, getting closer and closer to going under your shirt. "I—I—uh sorry—I—"

"It's okay, pretty girl." He gives you a kiss on the side of your neck. "Continue reading it. Can you do that, baby?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Coincidentally, you're at the part where the man helps the girl masturbate, rubbing and teasing her pussy up and down. The man behind you does the same, teasing your lips while refusing to delve inside your panties, no matter how badly you want him to do.

"That feel good?"

You whimper. "Yes—ah—it feels good. Please touch me on my pussy directly. Please."

The man behind you chuckles, and your knees buckle at how rich his voice is. You would join a cult for this man. "Since you asked so nicely, I will. Call me Suguru."

His fingers pull your panties aside and enters, soon knuckle deep inside your cunt, and as quietly as you can, you moan his name as he continues fingering you in front of all the strangers on the train. His hips press closer to your ass, and you throb even more at the huge bulge he’s sporting. He’s sloppily licking on the outside of your ear, right where you’re sensitive, and you shiver and lose yourself in the pressure even more.

The pleasure was building in you steadily and Suguru groans. “That’s right, take it all.”

You almost jump when the PA sounds. "The next stop is Shinjuku."

“That’s my stop. You have to cum before then, or you won’t be able to cum,” Suguru whispers in your ear, speeding up and hitting your g-spot with precision. There are tears forming in your eyes as you make an effort to stay quiet, especially with Suguru giving seductive kisses to your sensitive neck. 

“Fuck, you got so tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum?” He uses his thumb to rub fast circles on your clit, and you see stars. 

“I will—I will,” you cry, as the throbbing and pulsing sensation grows faster and faster until finally, you cum with a muffled cry, because Suguru has his fingers in your mouth to ensure you don’t scream out on this very, very public train.  “Squeezing my fingers so much, relax,” Suguru laughs, popping his slick-coated fingers in his mouth. “You gonna do that to my dick next?”

NANAMI KENTO ⸺ BEAUTIFUL WIFE HAS TO FUCK HER HUSBAND'S BOSS! (NTR)

“Mr. Nanami,” you scrape a hand through your hair and clear your throat. “You wanted to see me?” 

For a moment, your husband’s handsome boss eyes you down, catching on the top button of your blouse currently unbuttoned. You mainly did it because of nervousness, the heat of the room escalating with Nanami Kento’s presence. After a long bout of intimidating silence, he finally speaks. “I assume you can guess why you are here?”

You bounce your knee as you sit across from the man, and you suddenly start sweating. Of course you can guess. Your bum of a husband—the one currently under your charge—neglects to do his deliverables, choosing to take comfort in the fact that you were his higher-up to trust that he would not be getting terminated for his lack of responsibility. 

But what he doesn’t know is that you’ve been begging Nanami not to fire him, despite the propelling and clear reasons to do so. And you fear the day he finally chooses to stop listening to you. 

“Team leader, I’m going to need much more convincing. Your team has been decreasing in productivity ever since your husband joined, and it’s hindering the company,” he reminds you stoically. “I’ve seen you working overtime far too frequently to cover up for your spouse’s negligence.”

You wish time would speed up just to get this difficult conversation with. “I—I’m going to be honest, Mr. Nanami. I don’t have much warrant to continue having him on the team, but it would put my family in much…emotional conflict if this were to happen.” The said emotional conflict would really only be from your husband. You’re sure he’s going to take this as an excuse to drink himself silly, blaming you for not being able to keep him employed. Your throat dries as you finally meet eyes with your boss, silently pleading him to come up with a solution.

“I see.” Nanami crosses his arms. “I suppose there is a…favor you could do for me.”

At that, you perk up and nod your head frantically. “Of course. Anything.”

Which is why you find yourself bent over Nanami’s desk, his cock drilling inside you. He’s ripped your stockings, pulled up your miniskirt, and put your panties to the side as he moans about how sweet your pussy feels. “I’ve been waiting for this forever. Tell me, is my cock better than his?”

“It is!” you squeal. “You’re so—so big!”

Nanami moans as he ruts inside you, your walls squeezing him tight. “Darling, I c—can tell he doesn’t treat you right. You are so tight around me, pussy’s been waiting for a while for a real man.” 

You moan and curse, blabbering affirmations while his dick impales you. Even though Nanami is the one who’s owed the favor here, his hands wind their way around your body to rub at your clit, simulating you even more, making you sob. “Please don’t stop!”

“I won’t ever, sweetheart,” he pants. “I’m going to finish inside her, okay? Make sure to keep it in when you go home and greet your husband.”

FUSHIGURO TOJI ⸺ BABE GETS IMMEDIATELY DESTROYED IN NAKED WRESTLING (WITH AN AUDIENCE) (find extended ver here!)

Cheers surround you as you step into the arena. You know who your opponent is—-Fushiguro Toji. Even when you looked at his pictures earlier, you knew you were doomed. No matter what angle the photographer took the photos in, his muscles seemed to be bulging, effectively spelling out the sore defeat you were about to face today.

And there he is. Him in the flesh. He’s leaning against the boxing ring’s outer borders, head tilted back lazily while his manager, Shiu, was informing him quickly (and intensely) about the rules of today.

Nothing crazy. Only fuck when all clothes are off of her.

The way his neck is tilted back, compression shirt showing off his upper physique made you weak in the knees already. Additionally, judging based off of the bulge he seemed to be sporting in his grey sweatpants, you knew you were doubly fucked.

Shiu seems to be done talking, so he steps back and takes a seat. Toji leans his head back, rolling his neck to stretch it out, and in the middle of doing so, catches your eye.

You almost drench your panties.

His eyes darken, giving you a sultry look as he cheekily winks. While his cocky demeanor was warranted (he was much stronger and bigger than you), your cheeks heated up in both arousal and irritation.

The sound of a whistle is heard as music starts to play. The stadium’s screens flashes the cocky image of Toji, who saunters in the middle of the ring, flexing his muscles to his screaming fans.

When your signature theme plays, you do the same, to no shortage of fans yourself. You can feel everyone in the stadium, especially your male fans, rove over your figure. You’re wearing a very low cut top that displays the swell of your boobs and even tighter shorts that squeeze your ass and show off the shape of your pussy. As you walk towards Toji, you can feel his heavy gaze on you as you nervously shake his hand.

“Try to last long, okay?” Toji smirks, patting your shoulder. “I’ll try to drag this out as much as I can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

You glare at him, but there’s not much intensity there. “Yea, yea,” you huff. “For all I know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

And the fucker’s smile widens. “Let the games begin.”

Soon enough, the sound of the whistle draws you towards each other, keeping each other in a lock to tackle the other down in an objective to take off layers of their clothing. Your fans cheer when you have Toji underneath you for a split second, only for female ones to become more riotous as he easily overtakes you, pins your hands down, and wrenches your shorts off of you.

“Toji is currently in the lead!” The announcer’s voice in the stadium echoes of your defeat as you flail around, now bottoms only covered by your panties. Deciding to pull out your signature move, you maneuver so your thighs surround Toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. This momentarily distracts and weakens Toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. You quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. The whole stadium, in fact, can his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

Your attention is back to Toji as he chuckles darkly. “You’re going to regret that. I was going to drag this out, princess, but I gotta fuck the brat out of you.” With that, he puts his whole body weight on you and strips you down one by one.

The arena cheers as your lace bra is uncovered, your sweat shining on the screen as your breasts are displayed. Toji then unhooks your bra, and the roars get even louder as your tits pop out. He takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “What a sensitive girl,” he coos. “Too bad she was too weak. Now she’s going through to have to take my cock.

With that, he finally unveils your glistening pussy for all eyes to see and the crowd goes wild, chanting for Toji to finish inside you. Toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees and pulls down his pants.

You don’t look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Fuck.” And Toji’s slowly entering you, the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “The fuck this pussy’s so tight for? Thought you were a slut?”

You’re tearing up, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “You’re not turning me on, small dick.”

He did not like that very much.

Toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “Yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? Why is she dripping? Just for that, I’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.”

The crowd chants cum, cum, cum! and Toji just does that. Ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear Toji declared as winner.

GOJO SATORU ⸺ GIRL GETS FUCKED BY PEEPING TOM NEXT DOOR!

You sigh, extending your back and un clipping your bra, letting your tits bounce free after a long, long week of college. It was finally Friday night, and with no one in the house due to a party the rest of your family was attending, you could finally enjoy your time home on the holidays, starting with a solo session.

You clench your thighs in anticipation as you scrolled your phone, seeking an audio you could masturbate to. And you were close to finding one, until you felt eyes on you.

These eyes were nothing new. The boy next door, Gojo Satoru, has also been your crush since middle school. Even though neither of you have ever made a move, you’ve made bold moves since starting college, stripping with the blinds open to give him a show. You had kind of had a sixth sense as to when the fucker would start watching you, and it flared as you slowly dragged your hands down. Bending over and shaking your ass, you slipped your skimpy shorts down your legs, giving him a clear view of your wet pussy.

But masturbating wasn’t enough for today. None of the college frat bros could make you cum, no matter how much they boasted about their fuckin roster, and you were tired of Satoru just watching. Just seeing him work out shirtless in his lawn, sun shining his sweat to give him a golden halo, was enough to make you sick, hungry for his dick. The way he was so shy and the mannerisms he had (as a loser) let you know he had a big fucking dick.

Needless, to say, you were tired of just fantasizing and speculating about his dick. Turning around, the moonlight allowed you to see the silhouette of his wrist moving up and down his length, even if he had tried to make his best effort to darken his rooms. Putting on your best show of an angry face, you grab your phone aggressively and dial his number.

The line rings, and he picks up. “Hey,” and you can tell he’s a little breathless. “long time no see. What’s up?”

“Cut the fucking act out,” you spit. “I know you’ve been fucking watching me, perv.”

Satoru’s panic is comically obvious over the phone as he rushes his words. “Wait, wait—listen, I—I can explain.”

“On how you’re being a peeping tom?” You glare at his window. “Come over, Gojo. Then I’ll listen to your fucking explanation.”

One thing leads to another, and now you’re spread out on your childhood bed, Gojo whimpering and whining as he plows his dick into your pussy. “You feel so—so good. M’ sorry—sorry for doing that. Your pussy is too good for me to look at.”

You laugh meanly and grab his chin. “You feel sorry yet, you pervert?” And Satoru can only cry out as you yank his head. “Remember, this is the only fucking thing you’re good at. Being my glorified dildo. Got it? Now, you’re going to fill me up only after you make me cum at least two times.”

a/n yea this was depraved….lmk what yall think tho 😭

comment and reblog I’d love to hear your thoughts! (also, requests are open heheh)

NEW: part 2 here!

[libraford]

It is possible to interact with people whom share opposing views and no this is not about pineapple on pizza. In fact, it is imperative that you learn how to be civil with some people who you may find difficult to agree with.

At work, Youngin would often tell me that the guy that trained him (Ginger) was a misogynist. I had never met Ginger, and I had very little to say on this matter. But I would ask Youngin some questions about him because I like to know the other seasonal workers a little. I ask about Ginger- first words from Youngin's mouth 'he's a misogynist.'

I asked him why he thought that. (There are many misogynists at this location, as someone that is woman-shaped I see it often, I am comparing notes.)

"We were on our way to a location and a driver was going really slowly. When he got around her he said 'fucking women drivers.' Like he was going out of his way to prove that the driver was a woman."

The last month or so, Youngin worked exclusively with me because I knew that it was a matter of time before he said something that pissed off one of the guys. He was not going to get along with people here, it just wasn't happening.

When he left, everyone wanted to know what he was like to work with. And I finally got to have a conversation with Ginger.

"I'd like to ask you something a little strange- he said that on his first day there was an issue with a driver going slowly. Can you tell me about that?"

"Oh yeah! She was going super slow and when I got around her I said 'yup- little old lady driving.' And he was like 'what's that supposed to mean?' And I just kind of dropped it, but I hear he was saying I was a misogynist over it?"

So I give Youngin some grace because he's young, he's got a social bubble that's very liberal, he has not met very many people that weren't part of that kind of scene. But he often talked about how every person here has said something that pissed him off and he seemed really surprised that I (woman-shaped queer liberal) would be okay working with all these sexist homophobes.

And I give grace to Ginger because he had no reason to think that his words would be interpreted like that. What he was saying was normal to him. This is... somewhat the culture of landscaping jobs. And its not even close to the worst thing I've heard out of these dudes mouths. (Literally had one of the dudes comment that he would like to 'motorboat' one of the pedestrians.)

It was weird for Youngin to carry that with him for the whole two months that he worked here, over a very... small comment.

Every single person I've worked with here has said something that has given me pause and I tuck it away to rant about later and then I let it go. If it gets out of hand, I talk to one of the bosses about it. I know how to contact HR. I came into this place knowing that I was going to disagree politically with most of the people that I work with because I'm coming in to a culture that is fundamentally different from my own.

If I am being frank, I find the overt bigotry somewhat better than the corporate bullshit of 'we value your contributions, but won't be granting your accommodations request out of fairness to other workers' or the glass cliff or literally being fired for my sexual orientation but phrased with 'oh you just weren't a good fit for the culture here.' I at least know what I'm getting into when I come to work. I know what not to talk about. Last time I thought I was safe to talk about something queer with my boss she blindsided me with some transphobic garbage.

Its admirable to stick up for the marginalized people in your life, but part of changing minds is knowing the time and the place to comment. I think I've changed more minds at this warehouse by being a visibly out lesbian at work than I have by making carefully crafted speeches.

That is fine. It is fine to disagree. Sometimes you have to work with racists, homophobes, and assholes. That is part of being an adult. You talk about things like... sports or TV or weather or some cool bug you saw. Finding common ground with people who are different from you in many ways is an important part of socialization and it sucks to think you have anything in common with a jackass but look- you're spending 7-ish hours with these people and at some point some of them are going to say stupid shit. You are going to say stupid shit also. I have said my fair share of stupid shit. Deal with the fact that you're all stupid shits.

And for fuck's sake, wear your hardhat.

[electricea]

( Ryuji's Love Bingo - Accepting! )

From @unapologeticapaathy

Ryuji Bingo

a couple close calls but no bingos

[t-horn-n]

— cucumber cool

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader (female)

genre: fluff 

summary: simon carries a picture of you in his wallet from your school days.

word count: 1 106

On the day you graduated from secondary school, you lightly punched Simon Riley on the shoulder and said, “Don’t be a stranger.” 

He remembers how you looked then.  Your hair was down and curled, for once, and you had on a dusting of makeup because you promised your grandmother a nice photo from the event.  It was a rather temperate June late morning and now, when he thinks back to that day, he remarks upon how young you both were.  

You were going out to lunch with your parents to celebrate going to uni and he was taking his kid brother out to grab a greasy slice of pizza somewhere before he went off to basic training.  

He knew that it was more likely than not that he’d never see you again.  All he really wanted to do was to be a grunt in the military and fade away.  He was sure that you would get your degree and do something meaningful.  Or if not meaningful, interesting, at least.  

The two of you started off as friends of circumstance: you were in the same film photography class because he needed another art credit to graduate and you needed a class to fill up your schedule.  He liked the soft ratcheting sound the camera made as it moved the roll of film, too.  

“Hey, nice boots,” you told him on the first day of the class and the rest is history.  

Now, he has a picture of you in his wallet that he’s been carrying for at least a decade.  Its edges are frayed and discolored from years of rubbing against loose bills and coins.  You’re a little awkward looking in it.  You still had your baby face.  

The only reason why he has the silly thing is because you goaded him into putting one of the extra prints you had from a portrait assignment into his wallet thinking there was absolutely no way he would follow through.  What kind of sixteen-year-old boy walks around carrying a photo of his friend next to his student card?

He just shrugged in that way he often did—a kid of action rather than words—and slid your photo into his uncle’s hand-me-down wallet.  Done and done, cool as a cucumber.  

You laughed to conceal your surprise.  Whatever you felt in that moment was wedged between embarrassment and excitement.  What person doesn’t delight in being liked?  It made something in your chest puff up.  

By now, though, whatever has kept your image with him all these years later is between Simon and his own affections.  Every time he opens his wallet to retrieve cash, he almost surprises himself.  On some occasions, usually after particularly punishing missions, he’ll pull the picture out and look at the way your lips stretched into a smile.  He’ll follow the lines of your facial features and wonder how much they’ve changed since then.

On a snowy Tuesday in December, you meet by chance at a deli.  He’s off duty for the next two weeks and you’re on your lunch break picking up sandwiches for yourself and a friend at work.  You approach him first, from behind, but he knows you’re there even before you greet him.  The air around you smells the same way it did in school.  Now, it feels like walking nostalgia.

“Simon!” you say happily.

He knows that he isn’t all that similar looking to his sixteen-year-old self, so he wonders how you recognize him.  Funnily enough, you were actually planning to go down the street for takeaway salads, but you spotted him in the deli’s front window.  Well, you saw his back and found a persistent sense of familiarity in the curve of his shoulders.  It was awkward really: you stopped in the middle of the path and waited until you figured out who was standing on the other side of the glass.

Time is very strange.  A long time has passed since he last saw you.  He knows that.  Everything that has happened in the past decades has moved him consistently further from his adolescent self.  That, and he can see the ways you’ve changed.  You look older, certainly.  But there’s also evidence of the passage of time that’s intangible.  Maturity.  Experience.  

“Hello,” he replies.  Then, “How are you?”

You’ve grown out of your awkwardness, he notices.  You chat with him easily as if you hadn’t realized that it’s been years since you last saw him, not just a weekend.  You’ve heeded your own advice: “Don’t be a stranger.”  And he tries his best, too, but you don’t mind that he struggles to make eye contact or that he’s slow to respond with as much enthusiasm that you seem to have.  After you’ve both received your sandwiches, you part ways with your cell number in his phone and a promise to meet up for lunch late next week.

He has a vague sense of whiplash as he chews his lunch.  It feels sort of like the time that’s passed has been condensed.  

You find the picture when you two meet up the next week at this restaurant that has you hooked on its dipping sauces.  You’re sitting by the window and he’s sitting next to you in the booth.  It reminds you of how you used to sit in the cafeteria.  He was already rather large for his age back then so he would sit at the end of the bench so he could angle his knees out from under the table.  

You trick him into letting you out to pay by claiming you have to use the restroom.  But when he catches on to your plans, he throws his wallet at you.  

“You’re trusting me with this?” you joke.  “I could take it and run.”

“You’ve had too many fries to make it very far,” he quips softly. 

Laughing, you say, “Well, thank you for lunch.”

Your laugh hasn’t changed a bit.  

At first, you think that the little white card tucked in the pocket of his wallet is a coupon or a picture of a cat or something.  

“Oh my God,” you say as you make your way back to the table where Simon is picking the rest of your fries off the plate.  “You still have it.”

“Hm?” he grunts.              

You wave the little rectangular photo between your fingers.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, a little shyly.  “Never had a reason to take it out, I guess.”

“Damn, I don’t think I have any of my old photos from that class anymore,” you lament while leaning over to grab a fry.

“Hey, you’re getting grease all over it,” he grumbles. 

— tags

@thecursebreaker

— m. list

[starkeynation]

I love you, I’m sorry

A letter from reader to Rafe

Content: Angst, like PURE sad, the lamp looks weird, based on the song I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams (may or may not be accurate)

A/N: about that cliffhanger and happy ending, I changed my mind… also ignore any writing mistakes if there’s any and this was kinda rushed so I hope it still turns out good

Masterlist

dividers from @anitalenia

Rafe,

It is Saturday night. I should be out doing something, partying or whatever to enjoy myself, yet here i am, pen in hand, finding myself writing to you again. I know this letter will never reach you- it’ll end up crumpled at the bottom of my drawer or burned to ashes. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

It has been exactly two august ago since everything fell apart. I remember the way I laid it all out, raw, I wanted to be real, hoping that honesty would mend us. We weren’t perfect. Hell, we were far from it. We fought like fire and gasoline, burning everything we touched. Jealousy leads us to mistrust each other but even then, I didn’t think it would end the way it did. I never thought that fight would be the last..the final, devastating blow before you ghosted me and blocked me everywhere.

I swear it wasn’t my intention to break up with you, I thought by exposing the cracks, we could patch them together. Instead, the truth just ended up pushing you away. When you drove off in your Benz and left me standing at my gate, it felt like everything had stopped. The time, the world, my heart…everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop you, beg you to stay, to tell you that we could still save us but you didn’t look back, and i was too late.

Now, i watch you from a distance as you become successful, helping your dad doing business, running Cameron’s development like you were born to do it. I heard your name whispered in admiration at the club where I work, how you charm people the way you trained for. And you know what? I’m so so proud of you Rafe. I always knew you had it in you. I’ll be rooting for you always, even from the shadows.

Maybe two summers from now we’ll be talking again at some point, exchange smiles, our lives untangled and we’re cool again. I can picture you’ll be in your family’s jet, travelling, and me, on my boat moving on with our own lives. By then, i hope..im actually ready to move on. I know you’ve already moved on- I mean, why wouldn’t you? Still, there’s part of me wish that you wouldn’t yet, and maybe, just maybe, you would take me back.

But that’s just selfish isn’t it? I was selfish when we were together too. I made everything about me, i was inconsiderate, I turn something small into raging battles. I didn’t listen, didn’t see you for who you were. I’m ashamed of the person I was, of the mistakes I made. After everything i did, I’m surprised you haven’t send someone to kill me yet.

Lately I find myself sitting on the porch, watching sunsets like we used to, with a glass of something strong in my hand. I laugh at myself, at the crash I made, because what else can I do? It’s a twisted kind of coping—laughing at my own heartbreak. It doesn’t feel real and it’s really hard to let go but i guess that’s just the way life goes.

I know i was a dick, Rafe. I had too many flaws to count but as sick as it sounds, I loved you first. You’ll always be my first love. You were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, a storm that left me shattered but alive. Your love had impact me deeply, it is carved in my soul. No matter where we are, i want you to know that I’ll carry the past and the weight of my mistakes with me. Trust me, it will always, haunt me.

I regret every second for not treating you well, for not being the person you needed. Lastly, i want you to know that I still, truly, deeply, love you, I’m sorry.

*Ding* you heard the bell rings. You rush downstairs to answer the door.

“Pizza delivery”, says the delivery boy standing in front of you. You almost forgot you ordered one, an hour ago. You take your prepaid alfredo chicken pizza and thank him. It was Rafe’s favourite pizza, you’re not sure if it’s still his favourite though. After shutting the door, you walk to your kitchen.

Just two seconds later, *ding* the bell rings again. Did the delivery boy forget anything? You thought.

You open the door, “yes-“ you pause. You couldn’t believe it, standing right in front of you,

“Topper?”

“Topper what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion.

He then steps aside and reveals a man behind him, lying on the steps of your porch- a man whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere. “Rafe,” you whisper.

“Shit I’m sorry to bother you but this dumbass got into an accident for driving while he’s high,” Topper blurts out, panickly.

Your brow furrowing and your confusion deepens. You walk closer to Rafe and spot the blood dripping from his head, “Accident? What? Then why do you bring him here instead of the hospital?” You ask, your voice sharp, slicing through the chaos of the moment.

“He won’t let me. He insisted I bring him here to see you,” Topper explains.

“Y/n,” Rafe speaks up, his voice low and strained.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s like the universe has stopped spinning again. This is the first time you hear him calling your name after two whole years.

“Hey Rafe, you’re bleeding,” you say, your voice mix with feelings.

“I’m fine,” he says, giving a soft, disarming smile while trying to sit up.

You instruct Topper to go find some cloth to stop the bleeding. As he dissapears, you sit on your knees facing to Rafe, “Rafe, what happened? Why are you here?” you ask, still have no clue of what’s going on here.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies, putting on that damn smile again, the one that’s always managed to unravel you. “I miss you, y/n.”

Your face goes pale, your eyes widens, the words hang in the hair, heavy and unexpected. “Rafe, you’re drunk,” you accuse, trying to make sense of what’s happening right now.

“No, I’m not, i swear I’m very conscious right now,” he insists, his voice firm. You’re still not sure if he’s telling the truth or not. “I really miss you, y/n,” he continues, his voice low but still clear for you to hear it.

Your heart aches, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull of his words. “How hard did you hit your head? God, you’re still bleeding. We need to see a doctor,” you say, trying to stand up, but he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Stop it, I’m fine i swear…this is nothing,” he says waving off the concern. Just then, Topper returns with a towel in his hand. He hands the towel to you and says, “dude, are you sure you’re okay? When i saw your car there were smokes everywhere. Looks like you hit that tree pretty hard,” his voice fill with concern.

“I’m fine Top, just go. I need to talk to y/n,” Rafe says with a dismissive wave. Topper hesitates, he looks at you for confirmation as if you’re the one in charge here. You nod at him, signalling an approval, “s’okay Top i can handle this.”

“Okay, just call me if anything happens,” he says. “Thank you,” you mutter softly to Topper as he’s leaving towards his car.

With Topper gone, you shift your focus back to Rafe. You take the towel and start dabbing on the blood on his forehead, “we still need to get this stitched up,” you say. Rafe then grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, “look at me,” he demands.

You look at him straight in the eyes, drowning in his blue eyes. It’s overwhelming- staring at the man that you love but no longer yours.

“I do mean what i said, i miss you y/n and i wanted to see you,” he says, his tone steady and sure.

“But why now?” You ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

“Sar..Sarah told me tonight that you’ve been writing letters about me. She found them stashed under your bed,” he says, hesitantly.

Your stomach drops and you shake your head in disbelief, “God…i knew it there was something wrong. She was acting so weird when she left this morning,” you mutter.

“So it’s true? You’ve been writing about me?”

Your face is turning red, you’re struggling to find the words. “I- yes…I’ve been writing letters. Pretending like I’m gonna send it to you but i never do,” you stutter.

“Why didn’t you just send them?” He presses, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You know why Rafe…you’ve moved on. You blocked me few months after we broke up. You’re thriving now with your job, you got your whole life together, and I- I was the reason why we broke up. I can’t just crawl my way back into your life like nothing happened,” you shatter, your voice breaking as you’re struggling to control your tears.

Rafe shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses it. “You’re wrong y/n, you’re absolutely wrong. I’ve been doing nothing over the past two years except than trying to forget about you. That’s why I’ve been doing all these jobs, thinking it could distract me, but no,” he shakes his head again. “Nothing could make me stop thinking about you.”

His confession leaves you breathless, your tears streaming down your face as he continues. “About the blocking and disappearing, I’m really sorry, I was a coward. The truth is, that day i came to your house to apologize. Then, as I stood outside, i saw you were laughing with jj through your window. I knew you guys were not together cause after jj left, I may or may not have confronted him…” he then mouthed sorry. “But then, I remember the way you looked so happy when you’re with him. At that time, I knew I had to let you go cause you deserve someone better and you deserve to be happy so that’s why I blocked you..as if that makes any difference.”

You idiot,” you scoff. “I never wanted anyone else, only you Rafe, only you. You’re the only one who could truly make me happy.”

His eyes glisten, his smile soft and hesitant. “Please forgive me y/n, I swear I’m a better person now and I love- I love you, so much. I still do.”

You reach up, caress his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too Rafe,” you whisper. He cups your face and returns the kiss. The kiss is passionate, slow and tender. His lip is so soft and only god knows how much you miss this. The world fades around you, leaving only the two of you, two broken pieces finding their way back to each other.

You pull away from his face and let out a giggle. “Why are you laughing?” He asks, can’t help but let out a soft giggle too.

“Before you came I was actually writing another letter for you,” you admit, a shy smile appears on your face.

“Oh really? Tell me about it baby,” he smirks. Your smile widens at the sound of the nickname that rolls out from his mouth. “Mm I miss that. You, calling me baby. Anyways, it’s in my room, wanna come in?” You ask.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer as he leans back against the stairs railing. “Hmm in a bit sweetheart, you can tell me here while we stargaze. I missed your porch- and mostly you, of course,” he replies with a faint smile.

So you do. You talk to him about the letter while your head rest on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined. “Lastly I wrote, I love you, I’m sorry,” you say, explaining the last content of the letter. But then, you realise he has gone quiet. His stillness unsettling. You glance up to him, “Rafe?” He’s not responding. You check his pulse but there is none. Panic sets in as you shake him, calling his name.

“Rafe”

“Rafe, wake up”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

“Y/n”

“Y/n”

“Y/n, wake up”

You gasp, your heart is pounding like a drum. You’re sweating all over your body as reality crashes down. It was a nightmare.

“Hey..baby you okay?” You turn your head to your right and realise it’s Rafe. He’s okay, he’s alive and he’s sitting on the bed next to you. Relief floods through you like a tidal wave.

“Is it the nightmare again?” He asks. You nod, signalling him that he’s right.

“It’s okay baby I got you. Here, come back to sleep,” he says, gently pulling you into his arms. You smile and cuddle him, clinging to the illusion of safety his embrace provides. You close your eyes again trying to fall back to sleep till your alarm suddenly rings.

You wake up with a tear running down your cheek. You hit the snooze button and realise that was a dream and this time, it’s the true reality. You look to the other side of your bed, it’s empty. It always has been for quite a while now. The truth is, that night after Rafe collapsed, you called for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, they try everything to make his heart beat again, but nothing works. It was too late. He had lost too many blood before that you weren’t aware of and that same night, Rafe had died in your arms.

It’s been 3 years since the tragic. You keep having the same dream almost every night. Part of you is grateful that you and Rafe had ended in good terms but another part of you knows that the truth is you’ll never get the chance to redeem yourself and be a better partner. There’s nothing remaining other than the memories that will haunt you forever.

Rafe, if you’re hearing this, I love you, I’m sorry.

Like and reblog if you want to kys after reading this😇☺️

[anathemaspeaks]

fluff 1 with bakugou?? :3

“can i borrow your sweater?”

check out my prompt list and request stuff!

katsuki bakugou was a force to be reckoned with. he was a talented man of tact, analysis, and pure skill.

so why he was so painfully oblivious to your flirting was beyond you.

you talked his ear off at any given opportunity, never passing up a chance for a bad pick up line.

...

"hey katsu, is your name google?" you asked, hope in your voice. this one would work for sure, you thought.

"no, shitty woman. y'just said my name," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. there goes your line. you sighed.

it was a good one, too.

...

you'd compliment him every moment you could, trying to get closer to him.

...

"you have a really cute laugh, y'know" you thought out loud, moving near him so that your shoulders would touch as you walked to training.

you had just tripped on air, the scene making the ash blonde crack up.

he rolled his eyes and turned away, a barely noticeable smile still on his face, and a light pink dusting his cheeks.

...

he tolerated you more than those shitty extras. he thought that alone was enough of a sign that he liked you. he was never good at expressing his feelings.

but turns out he wasn't good at perceiving them either.

you're so sure you could confess your undying love for him, and he would still pretend like you just hit him with a casual 'hey!'

it was the middle of spring, the cold air nipping at your skin as you walked with him to your dorms. you had just come back from grabbing a pizza together. the two of you. alone.

but no, it wasn't a date.

of course it wasn't.

but while walking, with you talking his ear off and him nodding along, you felt a little bold.

(you weren't even sure if he was listening. he was hooked onto every word.)

so maybe it was the chilly winds brushing past you gently, or maybe it was the intoxication you felt from being with katsuki alone, but you decided to try something new.

"can i borrow your sweater?" you asked, voice hesitant and soft.

his breath caught in his throat, ears now red. you wanted his sweater? he rolled his eyes, "tch, told you it'd be cold, dumbass."

but to your surprise, he took it off and gave it to you. you grinned up at him, eyes glinting with a mix of joy and disbelief, and wore it.

he swore lightly under his breath. you with your pretty smile, in his sweater - it made his heart beat faster, butterflies in his stomach. you were so gorgeous.

but then he did something you really didn't expect.

"looks good on ya, shitty woman" he grumbled, taking your hand into his own, a giddy smile on your face.

katsuki bakugou was a force to be reckoned with. he might not be the best with words or with feelings, but he'd treat you better than any of those other shitty extras. that was for sure.

i hope you liked it, anon <3

[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

The itch

An: so I’ve never written for TUA, I think, I haven’t written anything in like a long time cause my brain is made of worms most days, but the new season and mostly five in his new attitude? Personality? His almost soft tired of it all way, gives me the feelings. As a 28 year old women it’s odd that a 68 year old trapped in a 18 year old body works for me like it does but hey, I’ve liked weirder (cough I was in the Hamilton fandom cough) so enjoy this sort of bonding with Lila over the new mundane life and the exhausting reality of having to live it, because I love Lila and hate what they did to her and fives characters with the whole 7 year time line romance. Like why make her a mum of 3 and married to Fives brother just to ruin it like that. But anyway enjoy this weird fic.

Readers power: molecular manipulation, think piper from charmed, overhaul from my hero, uhhh it’s hard to explain but basically it means you can make things explode, freeze people and things by fucking with the molecular structure of said thing.

——————————————————————-

You wanted to scream, to smash things, to burn yours and fives apartment down, it had been six years of calm, six years of learning to enjoy ‘normal’. Six years of working at dead end jobs because you didn’t pass the god damn psych evaluation for the CIA, somehow you are far more ‘unhinged’ than your husband.

You and five spent 30 years together, a decade in an apocalyptic wasteland when you ended up teleported there by mistake, and then 20 years at the commission becoming trained and ruthless assassins. Now, now Five worked doing CIA investigations and you got stuck working at a grocery store gas station. It was calm, it was normal, it was absolute hell on earth and made your skin itch.

So sitting in the parking lot of the play place for your nieces 6th birthday, you didn’t know why you couldn’t make yourself leave your car, five was already here, he had texted you as much, everyone else minus Viktor who was in Canada, and Allison who hasn’t shown her face irl to any of her siblings in the 6 years, you just needed to get out of the car and walk in with the gift you signed from both you and five for Gracie. It was a set of toy weapons, knives like her dads old ones, and a few other random ‘play pretend’ things.

Closing your eyes you leaned your head back against the head rest, taking a deep breath. Almost hitting the gas when the passenger side door opened and slammed closed. Turning eyes wide you saw Lila, the exhausted mothers face blank staring forward

“I just needed a minute, just needed” you nodded

“Take all the minutes you need. I assume it’s like pulling teeth in there with Diego?” Lila nodded sighing loudly

“Fives the same way, just on other stuff, like deciding if he wants to go out to dinner or stay in and order pizza, or if he needs new underwear because the ones he has have so many holes in surprised they still count as underwear, or just simple things like the dishes, like how hard is it to wash a cup, it shouldn’t be as hard as it is, how hard is it to just tell me when you need a quiet night cause work was stressful, and you are exhausted from stupid people all day, i work retail, he acts like I don’t understand being tired of idiots…I just…” you paused looking back out the windshield

“It’s like your skin is on fire and nothing stops the itch of being a once highly skilled assassin who could fuck with peoples molecules and freeze them in time or make them explode?” You nodded looking at her

“I find myself flicking my hands out and remembering I can’t just blow up or freeze people anymore, it’s like an itch and anytime I explain it to five he just…”

“Doesn’t listen? Or doesn’t understand that you are used to how your life was and now that it’s different, it’s not bad but it’s eye burning mundane clock ticking by slower then ever reality?”

Nodding you sighed

“Diego, he wants to listen, he just, from what five always told me he had a hard time understanding others because his brain is just, frazzled and he feels inadequate, how they grew up I guess shaped them in every timeline. Five is just used to being alone he was alone for 30 years before we met, then I popped up and it’s just. I don’t think he gets that sometimes I just need him to..”

“Let you Help with the itching”

You nodded smiling at her

“He just, it’s been a lot, and we haven’t quite got the ‘normal life’ down just yet.” Lila nodded

“It’s not easy in normal marriage land either, 3 kids and a chunky husband who, doesn’t make it easier is….”

“Not helping the itching. Well how about me and you, when the itch gets too bad, we help each other? Maybe find a way to do something, go to a rage room? Do a fighting class something to feel the….rush? Of what we did before. Have Klaus or someone babysit the kids, be me and you and just….”

“Fighting each other like the before days?” You laughed nodding

“Yeah…I miss getting to kick your ass and having you kick mine…”

Lila laughed looking around

“We could start a fight club, you, me, Ben when he gets out of prison. Just….maybe we’ll get used to normal eventually….” You frowned nodding

“You know if you ever need anything, help with the kids, a friend to vent to when Diego is being Diego…I’m not to far from your guys place. I can always swing by, let the munchkin tornados beat up on auntie Y/N.” You smiled at her for all the mess you and her had been in against each other, she had become one of your closest friends and family members through it all.

Soon enough you finally made your way into the building, the screams of children everywhere, the smell of sugar and something faintly child everywhere. You spotted five by the ball pit, speaking with Ben, walking over you hugged five from behind sighing as you rested your forehead against his back

“Hello, love.” You squeezed him in response before looking up and over to Ben

“Ahh Benjamin, free from jail, good to see you didn’t die, love that you still look like you want to murder us all” Ben didn’t laugh, just glared at you before sighing

“Not in the snark mood got it.” You felt five squeeze your arm a bit pulling away from you, making you groan

Turning to fully look at you, he looked you over smiling softly

“How was work?” You looked at him blinking slowly before sighing and planting your forehead on his chest, groaning

“Ahh I see” his hand rubbed your back softly, his other lifting the beer to his lips.

“People are stupid. How hard is it to put a gas nozzle in a car….”

“Apparently impossible if what you tell me says anything” you looked at him nodding before turning to look around

“10 bucks says Diego forgets to put up the piñata like Lila asked him” five laughed slightly

“Nah 20 says Lila has a mental breakdown before cake is served” you looked over to where Lila stood with Gracie helping the young girl fix her party hat,

“Nah I think she has a breakdown after presents when she sees what we got Gracie” five laughed looking down at you, brushing the stray hair from your face, smiling at him you sighed softly again,

it seemed even if you wanted to rip your hair out from the new ‘normal’ reality you all had to live in, even if your skin itched from the need to return back to what life was before somehow, it was nice that you still had small moments, where normal wasn’t so bad, normal birthday parties for your nieces and nephews, seemingly normal holidays, and normal, non murder happy work. As much as you loathed admitting it, sometimes it was nice. Like now, now was nice.

[risuola]

YOU CRYIN'? pt. 2 — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

So... it happened, you and your frenemy of ten years fucked and now, you have to deal with his shenanigans, idiotic pet-names and so. much. touching. The man took teasing you straight to his heart.

cw: smut, little to no plot, unprotected sex, Satoru being his usual teasing self, reader discretion is advised — 1,6k words

» PART ONE

"Fuck you, Gojo."

"Oh my, your mouth is so filthy," the man laughed quietly, squeezing your hip and pressing his hard, muscular body against your back under the guise of reaching for a can of soda that he could have easily grabbed without gluing his dick to your ass. His lips brushed against your ear as he added, "should I punish you for that?"

" Get lost," you snapped, pushing him away with your hips and he chuckled.

"I think I should," his grin widened. "You've been acting like such a brat lately. I wonder why would that be?"

God, how you hated him and his stupid smile. Ten years of knowing each other and still all you could think of when he opened his mouth was to break his damn nose. You thought he couldn't possibly get any more annoying than he already was, but he proved you wrong every time. It's been four months since the two of you had sex for the first time, and somehow that triggered another level of madness that you had to deal with while working with him. Endless supply of idiotic pet names, never-ending sexual innuendos, and so much touching now created the new veil around the usual bickering that has been going on for a decade.

"It's not me acting like a brat. It's you straight-up being an idiot," you scoffed, glancing around the crowded gymnasium at Jujutsu school. It was a special night; students and some teachers from Kyoto were visiting Tokyo, and the only reasonable thing to do was to throw a party to create bonds between the youths and just relax a little without the need for training and fighting. There was a little bit of that, as some of the students just communicate through their fists, but other than that it was almost an ordinary high school party, with dozens of ordered pizzas and fried chicken, snacks and sweets, plastic cups filled with various non-alcoholic drinks, and music blaring through the speakers. There was also a corner where teachers could sit and enjoy some chitchat, but most of the adults were responsible for keeping an eye on things. You were one of those supervisors, and so was Gojo, but of course, the idiot takes everything so lightly.

"So mean," Satoru chuckled again and took a sip of the melon soda straight from the can. "You know, there are other ways to get into my pants than acting up. You could just ask."

There he goes.

"Not everything is about you and your dick," you were that close to growling at him, but forced your composure back in line and your voice down. You wouldn’t want anyone to know about your little affair with him, or whatever the fuck that was. Yea, you fucked him... few times after the first one on his desk, but in your book few quickies wasn't enough to call it a romance. If anything, you felt like you were the teenager in this school, hiding in the various corners only to have some tension off, but damn, Satoru was good at releasing it. There was this thing where he bragged he was good at everything he did and you figured that sex was clearly one of those things.

"No, but since that thought is already in that pretty head of yours, shall we sneak out of here?" he purred, way too close to your ear and his large hand smoothed over the curve of your hip. You took a grip of his wrist, squeezing it with enough force to make him hum with a slight surprise that quickly switched back to his signature grin once you pulled him out of the hall and into the teacher's dormitory. Your door was first, and you unlocked it swiftly with a key, pulling him inside.

"Oh, so we're meeting at your place now?" he teased, but you shoved him against the nearest wall with no delicacy whatsoever.

"Shut up," you muttered, already working on the buttons of his light blue shirt.

"Eager, aren't we?" a chuckle rumbled inside his chest, but his hand betrayed that he wasn't so chill either, with how quickly he began to undress you.

And then, there you were again. Underneath him, in your own bed, leaving scratch marks across his back and shoulders as he's slammed his hips into yours, kissing every sweet and sensitive spot inside of you, burying his cock deep into the velvety heaven time after time. His mouth never parted from your skin, smearing hungry, wet kisses all over it, and you let your hand tangle in his hair as he sucked a spot onto your neck. A low, breathy moan escaped your throat as his movements became sharper, harder, driving you absolutely crazy with every push and pull of his hips.

"You're not gonna cry this time, are you?" he teased; his teeth nipping at the shell of your ear, but you couldn't care less about his taunting when he rolled his hips with such delicious finesse, reaching so deep inside you that your vision was filled with stars.

“Oh, shut up, Gojo,” you mumbled. Heat filled your entire system, every touch of his hands stinging with pleasure and lust, and the temperature rose rapidly as Satoru shattered his own composure.

The intimacy of your apartment unleashed even more wildness in him, he was less cautious about the surroundings, much more playful. All his attention was buried in you, he was vocal, moaning low and purring against your skin and lips. He gave into the surge of ecstasy that pulsed through his veins and the rhythm he set made him lose his mind as your pussy swallowed him whole. So lost in bliss, he didn't care about the bruises his grip on your hip will leave and the marks he sucked into your flesh. The subtle pain it caused only made your head reeling even more into the heated state of euphoria.

Satoru's hand fell between your bodies, quickly finding your clit and massaging circles into it, forcing a moan of his name from your throat. The sound was music to his ears, he wanted it on repeat. Your whole body tensed, pleasure began overtaking you and your orgasm was threatening to explode. You squeezed his bicep, clawing at the hard muscle and your breath stuttered. Gojo knew you were close, with the way your pussy throbbed around him, it was a clear cue and he picked up the pace, determined to bring you over the edge. Your trembling thighs and the desperate hold you had on his shoulders only added fuel to his fire and when your warmth exploded on his cock, leaving creamy white around the base as he pumped you through your orgasm, he felt himself close as well. His name slipped off your tongue like a prayer, whispered so beautifully.

"Look at you, such a good girl," he praised, licking your throat and chasing his own release with ferocity. The searing kisses he planted all over your chest and neck became sloppy and wet, and you felt the curve of his dick hitting your sensitive spots all over again as his thrusts became hurried, rough, and frantic. He collapsed onto his forearm, your plush walls squeezing him hard, and he moaned your name as the final string snapped, releasing the warmth of his load that slicked your insides, filling you so completely to the brim, and the sensation only untangled another knot of ecstasy in your stomach. Second orgasm washed over you, although weaker than the first one, but still overtaking your entire, hypersensitive mind and soul. It was too much, he was too much, too intense, overwhelming.

A satisfied smile stretched his lips, a light laugh escaped them as he rode the high out with slow and languid rolls of his hips. Satoru pulled away and then dropped onto the bed, barely making it to the spot next to you. He found himself lost in a haze of afterglow, but the excitement still surged through his veins. He was still hungry, unsatiated. All of this felt so good, it was almost frightening. And then you went again. And again, giving into the primal impulses and the intoxicating haze of desire and lust. The world outside your room faded into nothingness and only you two mattered. Nothing more than two bodies colliding, breaths intertwining and lips crashing onto one another.

As you lay down, facing each other, both sticky and messy in the aftermath of your adventure, you could feel the adrenaline wearing off, leaving your body sore and exhausted. His grasp remained at your waist, keeping you close to him. It was odd, it felt foreign and wrong to stay in the tender embrace of his arms, to share kisses so soft and intimate, and yet it felt right to be there with him. You let your fingers brush his cheek. Gojo in a state of post-bliss was a blessing to witness. His eyes heavy and hooded but still so blue and beautiful; his hair disheveled with some strands stuck to his forehead and his lips swollen and parted as he breathed slowly through them. His pale complexion still bearing the marks of flush, and there was none of his usual arrogant facade. Gorgeous.

"We're gonna get in so much trouble for leaving the party," you whispered against his lips, and he chuckled lightly. "That old Kyoto prick is gonna get pissed."

"He has no power over me," Satoru responded, stealing another kiss. All his focus was directed on your lips, you were the only thing on his mind right now.

"No one has power over you, Satoru," you smiled, biting his lower lip gently, and he could swear that his nervous system twitched in excitement at the way you spoke his name.

"You seem to have some," he admitted, giving you another peck and with a firm grip, he rose from the mattress with you in his grasp. "Shower. We're disgusting," he joked and you laughed, holding on tight as he made his way to your bathroom.

"Oh yeah, we are."

[n0cturn4]

Restlessness

Character: Jason Todd x Reader Summary:Despite several attempts—on a rooftop, in a secret base, and in the car—their fear always holds them back. Word Count:1039 Music: falling for u (feat. mxmtoon)

“Jason, I…” The words were a whisper in the night air, light, almost swallowed by the wind.

The first time you tried to confess was on a quiet night, with the cold wind cutting through Gotham’s streets, but Jason’s presence beside you warming everything. The two of you were standing atop a building, watching the city below, while the moon hung lonely in the sky. You looked at him, his profile traced by the silver light, and your heart raced, pounding hard, like a storm about to break.

He turned to you, his expression concerned but gentle. “What is it?”

For a moment, you were sure it was the right time. Everything seemed to align — the silence, the city, his gaze. But the fear... the fear was like an invisible hand squeezing your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs. And then, what should have been a confession turned into an empty sigh.

“I… nothing,” you lied, diverting your gaze to the city lights. “I was just thinking how things never change around here.”

And once again, you swallowed the truth, suffocated by the fear of losing what you already had.

The second attempt was even harder. At the secret base, you were taking a break, Jason cleaning his weapons with an almost meticulous focus. The soft sound of the cloth sliding over the metal echoed in the room, while you watched him from a distance. The words were there, so close to the surface, ready to explode.

You took a deep breath, walking towards him. “Jason, I… I need to tell you something.”

He looked up, surprised by your sudden seriousness. “Tell me.”

You wanted to say he was everything. That every look from him disarmed you, that every smile, as rare as it was, lit up your world. But the fear of losing everything you already had was like a constant shadow.

“I… was thinking of ordering pizza. Do you want some?”

Jason shrugged, and you felt the crushing weight of another missed opportunity, once again. The silence that followed was no longer comfortable; it was a bitter reminder of what you didn’t have the courage to say.

The third time was during a training session. You were both exhausted, sweat dripping down your faces, breathing heavily. But in the middle of that physical exhaustion, there was a closeness that made your heart beat even faster. Jason always had an overwhelming presence, but in the moments when he looked at you, unguarded and sincere, you could almost feel the world stop.

Between laughs and exchanged blows, you saw the opportunity. “Jason, I think that…”

He raised an eyebrow, the playful smile he rarely showed lighting up his face. “Are you going to tell me you’re in love with me?” he teased, not knowing how close the joke was to the truth.

Your laugh came out forced, almost painful. “Of course not.” You hid what you felt with another laugh.

Once again, the chance slipped away, like sand through your fingers.

The fourth attempt came on a quiet night, on the way back from patrol. Jason’s car cut through Gotham’s empty streets, the lights flashing quickly past the window, but your mind was racing, thinking of how to say what your heart had been screaming for so long. The sound of the tires on the asphalt, the low hum of the engine, everything seemed to conspire for a perfect moment.

“Jason, I…” The words came, hesitant but with a quiet urgency.

He glanced at you, his eyes attentive but relaxed. “Hm? You hungry? Want to stop for food?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting the sense of impending failure. Once again, fear spoke louder. “No, just�� I’m tired.”

And the rest of the ride was made in silence, as you wondered if you would ever have the courage.

The fifth time was the most painful. Jason was lying in a hospital bed, still recovering from a battle that had almost taken him away from you forever. You were by his side, holding his hand, and at that moment, with him so vulnerable, you knew you couldn’t wait any longer. The fear of losing him had become too real, and the weight of everything you felt was about to explode.

When he opened his eyes, weak but conscious, your heart almost stopped. “You stayed here the whole time?” he asked, his voice hoarse but full of gratitude.

“Yes,” you said, without hesitation. “Jason, I… I need to tell you something I’ve been trying for so long. And after all this… I can’t hide anymore.”

You felt tears threatening to fall, but before you could continue, the doctor entered the room, interrupting the moment. You let go of his hand, and all that remained was the heavy silence, like a door closing in slow motion.

 .

.

.

It was a strange night, after another mission. There was something in the air, something you couldn’t explain. Jason was quieter than usual, as if carrying an invisible burden. You were walking together down a deserted street, the silence between you different, almost charged with something unsaid.

Suddenly, he stopped, removed his mask, and ran a hand through his hair, seeming unsure for the first time in a long time. His gaze, usually so firm and confident, was lost.

“I… need to tell you something,” he began, his voice lower than usual, as if each word was a struggle.

Your heart leaped in your chest, but you stayed silent, waiting, the fear present once again, but now mixed with expectation.

“I’m not good at talking about this,” he continued, looking away to the ground. “But… I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it. I… I think I’m in love with you.”

His words were like a shock, a truth you had wanted to hear for so long, but that still took you by surprise. He was vulnerable, more than you had ever seen him. Jason Todd, the man who never showed weakness, was standing there, unarmed before you.

“I know I’m not the right guy for you,” he murmured, almost as if he were apologizing. “But I can’t hide it anymore.”

You felt the world stop, the words you had rehearsed so many times disappearing from your mind. And there, in the charged silence of that unexpected confession, the two of you stood, two broken hearts trying to find a way to fit together.

[jolalibrary]

a debt to pay

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: you surprise frankie by coming home earlier than planned, answering the door a-la-fake-porn like, making him drag you to your bedroom.

warnings: smut. established relationship. praise kink. minor (and I mean brief) hand necklace. dirty talk. okay, frankie likes to talk kink. cowgirl riding for iwd. and the pizza goes cold (felt it needed a warning) wordcount: 4.8k an: to the wonderful, amazing @morallyinept - happy international women's day! i hope frankie treating you right is what you had on your bucket list for the day. but if not, just know you inspire me, and i'm grateful for your friendship every day. and ily.

Nothing should surprise him.

He’s seen a lot. A thing some could argue is far too much. In some ways, they’re right.

Frankie isn’t sure people who weren’t doctors should know the exact hue of red that blood is—shouldn’t know the pain from a bullet grazing his shoulder, catching flesh and ruining cloth.

Still, he found himself continually surprised—especially the night he met you.

Falling into him, into his life. Disrupting his days from bleeding into the next, knocking things off their axis. Change should be scary, but it was all welcomed, just not in a way he’d ever thought he’d earned.

Somehow, amidst the chaos you brought with you, you also handed him harmony. You made the corners of his world slot together. Slowly, he even found himself anchoring down to brick and mortar, and calling it ‘home’ for the first time since he’d originally left his for battles and fighting.

In time, even as months became a year, your things found their way to be with his, Frankie had assumed he’d seen everything. Happy to accept it, the routine, the complacency. He looked forward to lazy Sunday mornings with his fingers inside yours, toes curling; Thursday nights in a bar, watching a line appear on your brow as you scoured your brain for an answer to the trivia question.

He liked it, adored it.

And then you opened the front door for him.

Flooding him in golden light that makes him squint, before he finds himself reminded, quickly, he hasn’t seen it all. Not even by a margin.

Because you're not supposed to be here, due back tomorrow.

Your voice on the phone earlier muted, low, "I miss you, Morales," as he stares at your untouched, clean mug on the kitchen counter.

Yet, here you stand. All veiled in barely anything except bits of lace and sheer, a sight his eyes aren't able to tear away from even if he tries. Not even the dryness in his throat or the warmth emanating from the pizza box he's holding (attempting to sear his skin to his palm) is bothering him.

"Bab—"

His words are cut short, ended.

"Oh," you gasp. “Let me take that; and how much do I owe you?”

On registering your words, his eyes narrow, staring.

Doing so from one eye to the next. It taking a while, brain firing, ticking over, taking precious seconds as he remains out in the cold and you stand in the warmth in barely fucking anything, before it dawns on him. Crawls up over him as realises what it is you’re pretending to do, what you're reenacting.

Lips lifting, curling into one of his cheeks he steps in through the doorway. Almost over the threshold, easily able to take another step and close the door behind him.

But he waits.

Fingers twitch at his side, Frankie swallows, eyes dropping, tracing up the bare backs of your thighs as you bend over. Because fuck, you're something beautiful. A thing he always thinks, but finds himself reminded in waves as they crash into him.

Raising his hand, he itches across his chin, scratching along the wiry hair there as his gaze drops to the thin fabric protecting the last bit of your modesty as you and the bits of lace spread across your ass—

“I only have card—unless, I can pay you in another way?”

This shouldn’t be real.

You, like this. Him, standing like this. Not even as he steps inside, eyes trained on you—forgetting what words even mean—as you bend over.

A low exhale escapes, lips remaining parted as he fights to place his palm on the back of your thigh—stops himself from hooking a finger in the band of your underwear and dragging it down your thighs, bending you over the sofa, and burying his—

“I would really like to pay you in some way.”

Your words are almost lost due to the way his pulse has quickened in his ears, thundering, pounding. Feeling nothing but discomfort as his cock hardens against the zip of his pants as you bite down on your lip.

Brain quiet, no thoughts, all rendered silent by your appearance. Only able to shift enough to discard his cap, his jacket—folding it over the back of the sofa, eyes drawing out over you as he takes a step closer. Fingers finding his wrist, pinching, making sure this isn't some dream he hasn't woken up from.

But he can smell the present. The glorious cheese and several toppings, even if devouring the pizza are long forgotten. Because his eyes are raking over you, because how could he not—especially now as you straighten up, softly wiggling your hips.

"Is that so?” his voice rough, words catching. Letters clagging at the back of his teeth as though they attempted to glue to his mouth.

He's aware the three words are stained with want—a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips as you turn to face him, knowing it too.

But then, you always do know. Having long figured him out.

Like always, your eyes meet his in a way he can never explain, no words to articulate, to explain—just shared understanding dancing between the two of you.

“It’s only right,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your fingers reaching out to trace his wire-stubbled jawline. “It’s bad of me to order food and not have the money to pay.”

He catches your wrist, gently but firmly. Pulling you close, steadying you with the other at your waist. Hearing it, the gasp, the briefest of indications you'd been caught by surprise, as he brushes his fingers against the fabric, all unable to stop themself. Half-needing to know what it feels like, as his thumb smooths out, taking his time—forcing the tension to buzz in the air as he leans closer. The distance you small, minimal—almost non-existent—as his breath hitches in his throat.

“You know what you’re getting into?” his voice a low growl, strained.

His gaze locked on you, watching you bite on your lower lip. “I really don’t like being in debt.”

It’s low, the way he replies. Short, two words: okay baby, before he’s leading, guiding, pecking kisses on your lips that likely leave you disorientated. It thrumming in his veins, the fact he gets to undo you, peel off the thin fabric you’ve likely had stuffed at the back of the closet—or even purchased with him in mind on your trip, thighs pressed together, wondering, finger and thumb stroking it as you imagine if he'd rip it off or slowly slide it from you.

He's not sure himself.

A part of him wishes to snap it from your frame in front of open blinds and undrawn curtains. To place his palm on your ass and taste your gasp on his tongue.

But another, the part which has missed you, wishes to wait. Make you wait. Wants to drag it out as long as humanly possible, have you soaked, wet, needy and desperate.

Because Frankie wonders if you've imagined this. Or, if you plotted it or it came to you randomly.

He gets an answer to it when the two of you are behind another door—one more private, intimate.

And it feels different in the bedroom than it did out in the living room.

The lighting being one of the reasons.

In here, you had opted for a darker shade when you’d both redecorated. Told him you preferred it, and had given him a shrug and a smile as you did. It had been a while later when he’d learned it was for him. For his eyes, for the sleep he struggled to grasp. It’ll help, I think? Saying it to him as though it wasn’t the kindest fucking thing someone had done for him.

But then, you are a waking dream.

A thing which has shaped itself and made itself real right before his eyes. Sculpted yourself from wishes and wants, shaping until you’re nothing but tangible and real.

He’s not afraid to tell you that either. Spends hours whispering it into your skin, pressing it close to your ear, repeating it over and over what perfection you are as you look at him with lust-blown eyes and lips parted around his name.

Frankie doubts it’s enough.

Least of all now, when you’re painted in soft white light, all gentle in how it rolls over you, as it becomes clear you’ve been home for a while.

You've drawn the blackout curtains—keeping out the evening—and you'd flicked the little bedside lamp on, doing its best to illuminate the room.

Swallowing, he traces his teeth over his tongue, wondering if you watched him reverse off the drive as you waited to make your move. Wondering if you're snuck in, trying not to disturb—dress yourself up, even if you never need to.

Because you’re a vision always.

The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even angry because he's left his tools out or with disappointment etched into your eyes because he’s forgotten something, you’re radiant, a goddess on earth.

A thing he finds himself reminded of as he steps closer to you. Fingers fiddling at his side as begins to close the small gap.

If not for the way he’s looking at you, he might have missed the shiver running through you from anticipation—and he knows it because of his action, due to the hungry look he's sure he's sporting as he raises his hands to remove his outer shirt. Balling it up, throwing it, a thing already unremembered before it even leaves his fingers.

"Frankie..."

"I know, just keep your eyes on me."

And you do, ever obedient. A thing no one would believe him off outside of these four walls. Not when you hold yourself strong and are quick to bite back, all wit and quick-thinking in addition to your brains and beauty.

He hooks a finger under the edge of his t-shirt, dragging it up over his head as he hears it—that little hiss, that slight gasp you do as though you’ve not seen him topless a thousand times.

It feels good. Makes heat rise up his neck and flood his ears. For a moment, he forgets he’s not all that. Because he’s soft, a little thicker around the middle, it feels like a lifetime ago he was trained in combat. But the way you look at him makes him feel like that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Fuck, you make him hard. Make him want. Have done since the moment you’d given him half a chance.

It’s why he's quick to pull you close, desperate to slant his mouth over yours. All fiery, hungry. Aiming to claim and write out all the ways he’s thought of you in the days since you’d been away. How the hours of you being gone and the amount he’s missed you have all balled up into a thing that is now fuelling him—sketching his wishes and desires across your lips, against your tongue, burying them past your teeth so they sit in your throat.

He grasps. Likely leaves marks of it on the perfect skin that covers your waist—because his palm is calloused and worn. Reminders of holding things not half as soft as you. A flicker of guilt almost bubbles in his, as he moves to rest it on your cheek, cradling your jaw and ear in one hand, as he slides the other up your back.

You whimper against his teeth before fingers find the clasp—finger and thumb, pinging it open before he feels fabric scrape against him—then you moan.

His chest being greeted with nothing but warm, smooth bare skin—nipples pebbling in the cooler air before being pressed against him, before he cups the swell of one, thumb stroking, playing a pattern.

“Do this for all the deliveries you get?”

You snort, it blowing out in a breath. “Only the ones with packages I like.”

In the time you’ve been together, you’ve said worse, but this time makes cock harden more than it already is. It's almost uncomfortable, in how it presses against his zipper, wishing to be released, as his index and thumb stroke over your skin. Taking it on how warm you are, how impossibly soft—distantly feeling the tremors from your heart hammering into your ribs.

"Too good for me, you are." You hum, as he seals his mouth back over yours. “But, I don’t take card.”

Purposefully, he drops his hand, fingers dipping, tracing across the lace that covers your slit—finding damp fabric as his ears take in the note of a quiet escape leaving your lips. It trying to bury itself between your two mouths open, breathing it in.

“Guess you’ll have to swipe something else.”

He snorts, and buries it into your neck, teeth grazing your skin—nose catching the scent of your perfume. And the scent almost makes him dizzy from how his blood rushes south. How the moment he’d dropped you off for your flight, it had lingered in the cabin of his truck. Remaining there for the first few days you were gone, before slowly fading. Leaving.

Just there on the coat you'd hung near the door and the pillows he slept beside.

The ones he rested his head against when he’d heard your voice down the phone, tell me to touch myself, Frankie, I need you. His own hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as you moaned his name, all those miles away, dripping instructions into your ear.

“You're such a dirty girl.”

You grin in response, fingers tugging at his curls—urging his mouth back to yours.

But, he instead traces his tongue over your pulse, circling it, all defiant in bowing to you as his teeth trace over his path. Instead, his finger dips, traces the crease of your thigh with his gaze never leaving yours.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

His hand slides between your thighs, cupping you—feeling the discernible wetness soaked through.

“Can feel it.”

You scoff, but he kisses it away.

Doing so in a similar way to how he makes you forget, how he pulls you from your mind and brings you to the present. It’s also swallowed by another gasp, one made because of his fingers finding the edge of the lace, hooking a finger underneath, sliding the pad of his thumb against your swollen nerves and slick entrance.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the whine you emit. “Feelin’ needy, querida?”

And he can’t take his eyes off you.

Practically locked in, watching as your lips part, and your hips try to shift for more friction. He’s too fearful he’ll miss it, all of it—a slight curve of a brow or a shimmer on your eyes. All things he thinks over when he dreams, when he wishes for replays of moments until the next day when he makes another that easily replaces a good one.

He likes how you say his name when he slips another finger inside you—how it falls all soft, breathless. So much intention in such a low sound. Even as you squirm, mouth pausing over his; little mewls and moans falling as he drags them in and out, all languorous, teasing.

“Want you.”

His thumb brushes over your swollen clit, a hiss escaping. “I know.”

You gasp his name, stifle a moan, teeth biting down on the underside of your lower lip as your lashes flutter. It’s your nails digging into his scalp that keeps him rooted, that keeps him focused—precise touches and strokes that have you rocking against him and keep him tuned in to you.

“Missed how you sound, baby. You're doing so well.”

You’re close. His words make your perfect pussy clench around him. A chorus of moans escaping as he curls them inside of you, finds that spot, the one which makes you babble and turns your muscles into liquid.

He likes that he can do this.

That he can read you and undo you. That it’s a thing he’s mastered when he’d thought he was far from learning. But then, he’d taken great pride in spending hours studying—in alternating between being on his back and on his knees.

And because of that, he knows when he halt you over the edge. Let you linger, not tipping.

Normally, he’d never tease, never make you want—but, today is a different kind of day as he stops. As he retracts his fingers and allows the fabric to lightly snap back into place.

It’s a different whine that cuts into the room then. It pours out from your lips as your eyes dig daggers into him—but, he knows you.

Knows it’s momentary and nothing he can’t fix. Able to hold his ground against it, digging heels into the floor—all refusing to be swayed by the storm rising inside of you, creeping across the formerly tranquil sea. Instead, his hands move to his belt—undoing it, metal clanging and zip sliding down as your eyes break from glaring to stare hungrily at the outline of his cock.

Watching as you walk backwards, the back of your knees hitting the bed before you’re perching—eyes holding his, tip of your tongue sweeping, tracing, as you move further up the bed. The one you’d picked—chosen.

He’s in a trance.

Under a spell when you hook a thumb on either side of your underwear.

It’s not smooth, it doesn’t glide or remove with ease—there’s even a slight kick out of your legs before it flings from your ankle. But, it makes him tighten the hold on his cock. Because it may not be a thing people ever see on TV or in movies, but then they never feel like this.

They don’t feel real, no rawness, no tangling of his trousers he has to step out of as he strokes himself, eyes flicking down to where you’re bare—where you’re glistening—

“Wanna ride you, Frank.”

He sucks in a shuddering breath, hands gripping the base of his cock.

It’s slow, the way he grazes his teeth over his lower lip. “S’that how you wanna pay me, yeah?”

“All I’ve thought about,” you reply, a soft smile greeting him. “Lemme ride you—wanna look at you, wanna watch you come, baby.”

Fuck. He doesn’t fight it.

Instead, letting you guide him, allowing you to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw when he kneels on the bed and groans—because it’s been a long day, querida; he’s not as young as he once was.

“Still know how to be good, though. Don’t you?” you smirk, open mouth leaving a trail down his neck, eyes flicking up when you leave one in the space above his heart.

Hands behind his head, admiring, doing nothing but watching you place your thighs on either side of his as your fingers wrap around his wrists. You pin him, pressing down—aching cock ignored, left to leak against his hip as your lips press to his, over and over, and over until he’s chasing for the feel of them when you pull back.

You only offer a gentle, "I missed you," against the air before you're lining him up, bearing down, sinking, taking him in as he paints a groan against your collarbone.

There’s a beat, maybe two.

Stillness, enveloped entirely by your walls as his mouth wraps itself around your breast, leaving it wet, coated in spit as he groans when you begin to move. Setting a rhythm, slow.

“Not rushing this, Frankie.”

He never wishes you to.

His hands gripping your hips, guiding you. Head falling back onto the sheets as his breath hitches, the sight of you atop him, breasts bouncing—owning him—is a sight he could never grow tired of. One he also never feels worthy of—but he won’t squander, won’t ruin.

Because you’re perfect, head to toe—pussy made for him as it strokes up and down and breaths leave your mouth in short pants.

“Y’so good to me, Frankie. So handsome.”

And he wants to tell you that it's you who is so good—who is nothing but colour in an otherwise grey world. That you’re sunshine and stars, moon and so much more goodness than he can list buried inside of you.

“Go on, querida,” he grunts through clenched teeth, hands squeezing your hips a little tighter as you move a little faster.

As you take a little more. It makes your eyes flutter, parts your lips—watching in nothing short of awe as you use him, as you lose yourself in the moment.

"That's it, just let go. Make yourself feel good.”

It’s something majestic when he sees you nearing release—when he feels you clench and flutter.

“Feels good, y’feel good inside me baby.”

“You need more?”

And you nod.

The green light—the sign—and he doesn’t wait a moment.

Just canting his hips up, making a rush of pleasure spread up his spine. He’s lightheaded, hot—practically dizzy with how good you feel enveloped around him.

The noises filling the air, your slick walls taking him and the sound of skin slapping against skin. It’s drowned by the noises he pulls from you, making a mess of you as your lust-blown eyes land on him.

It almost steals his breath. Thieves it.

Because you’re so pretty, wild—a fucking dream on top of him. All soft and shimmering with perspiration from how good you ride him as he’s bathed in whines, moans and cries of his name.

“You're perfect,” he says, hand clamping on your hip as he shifts, and angles himself before thrusting up into you—watching your eyes squeeze shut. “From your smile to your tight pussy. You know that?”

Studying you as you try to keep the same rhythm. But, you’re nearing your climax—nails digging into his shoulder and neck, half-moons etched there, and he hopes they take hours to disappear.

“Thought about you all week—”

You moan, eyes meeting his. “Thought about you too—missed you. Missed how good you make me feel.”

“Fucked my fist to the thought of you like this. Never thought—fuck—I’d come home to this, baby. Y’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your chin lifts, neck elongating as he spreads his palm across your side, fingers pressing, grasping.

“Love hearing how much you missed me,” he smirks, watching you—thinking nothing but revolving thoughts as to how pretty you look, what a picture you are on top of him—

Then he hears a slam. Heavy boots. A voice he'd rather not hear at all:

“Fish? You home?”

He stops, realisation slamming into him.

A hand drops to the bedsheets, grasping them so hard his knuckles pale, and throb—the bones in his hand aching as he fights shouting and blowing his load right there and then.

The plans he’d made—the ones he’d put into place because you weren’t supposed to be home—all coming back to bite him. How he hadn’t wanted to spend another night alone, another evening in front of the television until you could call and tell him about your day—when he should have. He really fucking should have.

And you’re frozen, hips halted in place—his other hand remaining on your waist, fingers digging in as you both tense, keeping movements paused.

He considers it, the two choices he has and decides.

Leaning more against you—half-grinning, whispering shh as you look at him full of alarm—suddenly aware of the impending actuality that you could be caught like this.

And, then you clench around him. He feels it. Head tilting and eyes narrowing as he takes you in.

"Dirty girl," he mouths, and you look bashful, shy—a look he rarely sees when you’re split open on his cock and the base of him is covered in your slick.

“Fish, where the fuck are you?”

“Getting changed Ben, be a min.”

Your pussy flutters around him at your shout, as he moves to not shout the words towards your ear—feeling you clamp down, muffling a whimper. Another falls as he lifts up further onto his palm, dragging his nose down the valley between your breasts.

He knows you’re close—teetering, a few more thrusts and you’d have unravelled.

Dropping his voice, low—barely above a whisper, “Shh, baby. Or, I won’t let you finish.”

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Can‘t, Frankie—I can’t.”

He nods, finger and thumb holding your chin because he knows you can. Seen you do so much, and been witness to what you’re capable of—before his hand guides your hips to begin moving, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hips.

“Touch yourself for me, querida. Be good for me.”

And you whimper, something akin to his name.

But he’s guiding his mouth away, shouting, “Beers in the fridge, Ben.”

His mouth presses to your chest, hearing the shout from his friend back, but it’s the sound of your fingers on your slick and swollen clit that he tunes into. That he wants to flood his ears. Watching you shiver, shake, tremble from it as you tighten around him, choking his cock as he begins to thrust in and out.

He could keep you here. Should do too.

One week has already been too long. A need to make up for it—to have you pay for all the times you ask him those questions you wait until the lights are usually out for and he’s about to tip over to sleep; have you press yourself against him, nudging your ass into him as you cuddle, but really you want his mouth between your thighs. He should edge you, hang you over the edge of pleasure and watch your eyes dig into him until your lips whisper the word beginning with P.

But he won’t.

Couldn’t.

He likes knowing he pleases you too much.

Your moan bringing him back to it. Seeing how your eyes are clenched shut, trying to keep it behind your teeth. Failing, expletives dropping in breaths before he raises his hand, pressing it to your mouth, muffling it, the moans you have to release before you shake your head and fold into him.

Suddenly, he wants to move the dresser and lock the two of you in here. Wants to let them watch whatever fucking sports they want out there, and him just watch you in here.

You’re his favourite sight, after all. Especially like this. Free, not overthinking or worrying, just present, feeling as good as you should—as good as he always wants you to feel.

And you deserve this.

Hearing the low please fall before he plants his feet down, angling his cock up into you as you let out a muffled gasp. His palm flat to your shoulder, steadying you, as he feels your fingers slide it to your collarbone, resting it, fingers an inch away from the base of your neck.

You flick your eyes open—smothering him in permission, in radiant sunshine and lust, before the softest fucking smirk graces your lips—as his own mouth chokes out your name.

“Not tonight.”

It’s less words, and more a noise.

Because he’s close too—it having risen close to the top. Toes clenched around the sheets, digging in.

But he wants to feel you come first. And it’s there—that familiar sign. Lashes fluttering, gorgeous mouth going tight, slack as you tighten around him, locking up, clamping down as your hips move sloppily and out of rhythm.

You’re so fucking close.

“Shh, be good for me.”

Fingers, trembling and weak, slide around the base of his neck, tugging on his curls that are likely slick with sweat.

“N‘gonna last—let go for me baby.”

“Please.”

“Come for me.”

Spearing up into you with more vigour as you rasp, groan, and hiss—spit coating his fingers as he slides them out, dropping his hand from you as his knuckles press to the mattress as he fucks up into you.

Your body bucks, a cry you bury into his neck—a drag of nails against his scalp—as you come undone around him. Convulsing. Muffled cries vibrating against his pulse.

Frankie is barely able to contain the low growl as his hips stutter—heat raging through him, joined by rabid electricity. It sparking, ripping through, making him both ache and feel alive.

The sight of you and the feel of you drives him to the edge—and then over. A grip on your hip all tight as he thrusts into you one final time, unable to contain the growl. His chest heaves as he spills inside of you, and you tremble against him—panting, all messy and boneless as he pulls you with him as he rolls onto his back.

"You're incredible," he breathes into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

You let out a small laugh, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips. "So are you."

He smiles against your skin, his heart swelling with affection. He may have assumed he'd seen everything, but you—you continue to surprise him, to captivate him in ways he never thought possible. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Pulling his mouth from yours, feeling you ease him out of you, his hand lightly slaps you on the back of your bare ass.

"I missed you, querida," he murmurs, heart still racing in his chest.

Meeting his gaze, your lips purse. "I know," you whisper, leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "I'm here now."

“Shame you’ll have to sneak out the back and come in through the front door. Otherwise, you’ll be in here all night—”

His words trail off, a sly grin tugging at his lips as it dawns, rises up over your face and makes your mouth fall open. “Francisco….”

“Shoulda' told me you were coming home. It's boys night.”

Narrowing your eyes, you tick your jaw—spine straightening. “Well, I could stay in here—like this…”

Smirking, he kisses your nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.”

Your mouth opens, a smirk gracing his lips in response as he raises a finger to his mouth, moving and pressing a kiss to your knee. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

[misfit0789]

Miserable

Alessia Russo x Reader

Summary: R is tired of being left out at work so they talk to Alessia about it.

Word count: ~ 1k words

Warnings: Shitty bosses, other than that none

Just a short one while I work on a couple longer fics.

Y/n POV

"Y/n, I'll see you at the party tomorrow, right? The one we got for finishing that training?" I look up from the report I'm working on to see my supervisor leaning on my desk. I push back my chair and lean back in my seat looking at him.

"I never knew there was a party even happening. I knew there was a possibility of one but not that one was happening," I say confused. He looks at me surprised.

"Really? I'll forward you the invite," He stands and returns to his desk. I roll my chair back to face my computer and open my email waiting for the invite to arrive in my inbox. I refresh the page and open the email once it loads. I scoff lightly when I see the invite was originally sent two weeks ago.

Seriously? This is the third time I've been left off something in two weeks!

"Thanks for sending it over. I was one of the first done with the training I'm confused how I was missed on the invite." I call back to him as my desk cube is in front of him only separated by the divider.

"I'm not sure, but at least you have it now," he says going back to what he was doing. I sigh and go back to the report.

Later that afternoon…

I sat in the last meeting of the day with my supervisor and other team members who are in the office and not remote today. I open my OneNote to capture the notes from today's meeting before looking up as the lead for the meeting begins to speak.

"So, in out meeting from the other day we discussed-" I immediately stop listening when the other meeting is mentioned the notes long forgotten.

I was never in another meeting with these people. I thought this was the first one.

This is getting ridiculous. I have been fere for over a year and I have been left out of almost everything that has to do with this project and yet they expect me to know what is going on. I'm over it.

I sit quietly and patiently wait for the end of the day so I can go home.

Time Skip

"Babe! You're home!" I smile hearing the voice of my girlfriend of five years.

"Hi, my love," I set my computer bag down on the bench by the door and open my arms to catch her as she runs to me from the kitchen. I wrap my arms around her body tucking my head into her neck, as her arms wrap around my neck holding me close to her. I let out a sigh of relief in her arms tightening my hold on her waist. She holds me having a sense that I need this.

"Rough day?" She whispers into the quiet between us. I nod, she turns her head pressing a kiss to my head. "Why don’t you go freshen up, we'll order take out and spend the night in bed. I nod again and reluctantly release her from my hold before moving towards our ensuite to shower and change.

Once I was showered and changed into an old college t shirt and basketball shorts. I walk into our room to see Alessia in an old jersey of mine from when I played softball in high school and a pair of underwear. She is sat leaning against the headboard, bags from my favorite takeout place in front of her, Law and Order SVU queued up on the TV in our room. I slowly move towards my side of the bed before flopping face down into the mattress.

"What happened today, baby? I've never seen you this bad after work," Alessia asks running her fingers through my hair. I take a minute before I turn onto my side, propping my head up on my arm to look up at her.

"Remember how a few weeks ago I told you that the team was told if we completed all the training before the other teams, they'd give us a pizza party?" She nods, "Well apparently we did that and were given the party, which is tomorrow but they sent the original invite two weeks ago. And now there was other meetings besides the one they sent me to today about the project that they have not included me on. I was lost the entire meeting on what they were talking about because it was a continuation of the previous meetings. I have been with this company for over a year, and they have been excluding me from the start! My supervisor is an ass and won't tell me anything, and he seems to be avoiding me at all costs. Anytime I ask anyone on the team a question they act as if talking to me or helping me is some big inconvenience for them. I just can't take it anymore." I proclaim, dropping onto my back. I lay my arms over my eyes and release a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry baby," I feel the shift in the bed as she moves closer before feeling her hand splay across my chest. "This job was only temporary until you had everything together to be able to open the café. It's all about done now, so tomorrow call them and tell them you quit. We have enough savings to work with until we have money coming in from the café. The girls and I will help in any way that we can. There is no sense in you staying somewhere you are miserable," I remove my arms from my face to look at Alessia. When we make eye contact, she offers me a reassuring smile before she leans down to capture my lips in a kiss. I place my hands on her waist and maneuver her to be straddling my hips.

"What would I ever do without you in my life?" I whisper into the air between us once we part. She chuckles and presses another kiss to my lips before answering.

"Probably live a miserable life," I chuckle and nod before wrapping my arms around her, holding her to me as she buries her head in my neck pressing light kisses there. I let out a sigh knowing that things are going to change for the better.

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 17

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst (so much angst I made myself cry), panic attack, drinking, sadness, reference to divorce, kids breaking your heart, references to babies, swearing, references to the military, fighting and marital strife, PPD, references to sex (but nothing explicit)

Seresin Residence, Miramar, 12 years ago

Jake sighed as he pulled his truck into the driveway of the little beach bungalow he had scrimped and saved to buy for his family. Normally, he was excited to get home after a long day of training, but lately? Lately, it seemed like all they did was fight. Some days, it was him fighting and Buttercup sitting there, taking it. Others, it was all out warfare, each of them screaming at each other. And after the fight they had had that morning, Jake wasn’t too pleased to be home.

The fight had worn on him all day. He had been absolute shit in the cockpit because of it, and he’d already had a verbal dressing down by just about everyone. Cyclone and Warlock had ripped into him pretty good. Rooster and Phoenix had taken pleasure in seeing him knocked down a peg or five. Maverick had only shaken his head at him in disappointment, and that had probably hurt the most.

With a groan, Jake got out of his truck and grabbed his duffle, heading to the front door. Three months ago, he would have kicked his boots off with a playful, “Honey, I’m home!” before racing to snuggle his daughters, pecking his wife on the lips as he went. But not today. Today, he toed his boots off and tossed his duffle into the laundry room.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe they were all asleep. He wouldn’t be mad about it if they were. Maybe if Buttercup got some quality sleep, she’d be in a better mood.

Jake sighed and flipped on the light in the living room, startled when he spotted Buttercup sitting in her preferred armchair.

“Hey,” he drawled. “You surprised me. I thought you were asleep. Where are the girls?”

“Asleep,” she murmured, eyes tracking him as he grabbed a beer from the kitchen.

“Good. They eat okay today?”

“Charlie doesn’t like not breastfeeding, but she’s getting used to it. Abby’s still not eating enough.”

Jake ignored her cold, indifferent tone. “She’ll get there.” He flopped onto the couch and reached for the remote.

“Jake…”

“Buttercup, it’s been a long day,” he groaned. “I really don’t want to fight tonight. The girls are asleep. Go have a bath or something, let me watch TV, and I’ll order us a pizza for dinner. Okay?”

“So, that’s it then?” Finally, her voice had a touch of a bite to it. “No comment, no nothing from you? You said no and that’s that? Your word is law?”

Jake groaned and let his hand flop back onto the sofa. “I don’t know what else you expected me to say. I’m part of the U.S. Navy. Meaning I have to be in the United States. I can’t move to England just because you got a job interview for a publishing job. There are dozens of publishers that are stateside. Why not go for one of them? I’m sure they’d let you work remotely. I don’t see why you want to move to a different continent.”

“They’re the only ones who have offered to take a look at my writing on top of my publishing responsibilities,” she hissed. “Which you would know if you paid any attention to me.”

“Okay, so you can do your whole writing thing from anywhere, can’t you? Skip the whole publisher thing and focus on writing! When you’re done writing or whatever, you can send it to a publisher! You’d at least get to stay with me that way!”

“How am I supposed to focus on my writing, Jake? I barely get a chance to breathe, let alone sit down at a computer and write!” Buttercup’s voice was weak and desperate, and grating on Jake’s nerves. He hated it when she sounded like that, and she’d been sounding like it more and more. He would’ve done anything to make it better, but he was too tired to try. “You’re not around during the day, so you don’t know what its like! One of them always needs me, and Charlie is fussy, and Abby’s not eating enough, and I can barely breathe! And you want me to what? Follow you around from base to base, taking care of our daughters on my own while you’re on deployment after deployment?”

“That is what you signed up for when you married me!” Jake shouted, his frustration and exhaustion finally bubbling over. “I thought you would’ve known that based on how often your brother gets to go home! This is what it means to be in a military family! This is what you signed up for!”

“I signed up for you!” she shouted. “I signed up for a man who loves me, who is home to share the load with me! Not a man who has his head shoved so far up Uncle Sam’s ass that he can’t see the sun!”

“Don’t you dare!” Jake stood. “Everything I do is for the safety of this country and for you and our daughters. Don’t you want our girls to grow up in a country that is safe?”

“I would rather our daughters grow up knowing their father! They barely see you anymore! And it’s only going to get worse as they get older!”

“I’ll be promoted by the time that they’re older! That means less time deployed!”

Buttercup was shaking her head, shrinking back in her seat. “You’ll never give up flying, Jake. You wouldn’t take a promotion that meant you were grounded. It’s not who you are.” Buttercup’s voice shook. “Just like sitting at home, waiting for my husband to come back while I take care of our home and children isn’t who I am. I need more.”

Jake scoffed, red creeping into the edges of his vision. He felt like he was running on autopilot, unable to stop himself or control his anger. “So, what? We’re not enough for you?”

“Don’t do that!” Buttercup snapped. “Our family is everything to me, but I need more! I need something outside of just being a mom and your wife!”

“Okay, so London is that then? Will London be enough for you?” Jake was wrangling every ounce of his strength to pull himself back, to not do this. They were both tired, both stressed. She hadn’t been herself since the babies were born, and it didn’t help that he had been deployed when they had sworn to him that he would be grounded for his first few months of fatherhood. If they could just get on the same page again, everything would be okay. But that would only happen if he could get Hangman to take a backseat and let Jake handle this.

Buttercup’s eyes flooded at his mocking tone. “Fuck you, Jake.”

Loud cries echoed through the house and Jake huffed before heading down the hall. “Go take a bath, Buttercup. I’ll take care of the girls.”

In the nursery, Jake pulled Charlie into his arms and sighed, rocking his red-faced baby girl in his arms. It would all be okay. The first year was always going to be the hardest. If they could make it through that, they would be stronger than ever.

It didn’t hit Jake that it was too late until a few days later, when he came home to find a teary-eyed Buttercup standing in the kitchen, handing him a pile of divorce papers.

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

Early morning sunshine danced across her eyelids, and she tried to bury her face in the pillow beside her. It was way too freaking early to be conscious after the night she’d had, she was bone tired, and she was sore in a deeply satisfying way. The dull ache in her muscles and the muted throbbing between her thighs were better than any soreness she had ever gotten from an extended workout. It was an ache that she hadn’t felt in years.

Stretching like a cat, Buttercup slowly sat up against the headboard and blinked against the sun streaming through the grey curtains, and three things hit her in quick succession.

She was not in her bedroom. Her curtains were not grey, and her window did not face east.

She was naked. Her usual t-shirt and shorts were absent as the cool cotton sheets kissed her skin.

The soreness she was feeling was accompanied by a series of hickies and bruises that decorated her body like confetti. Her neck, her chest, her breasts, her stomach, and her inner thighs were littered with the dark purple marks, leaving her feeling like a teenager the night after prom.

Buttercup felt her stomach roil as the memories from the previous night washed over her like a tidal wave. The barbecue, fighting with Jake, dancing with Jake, having 3 a.m. grilled cheese with Jake and splitting a beer with him before giving him permission to kiss her…Jake carrying her to his bedroom and making love to her sweetly and gently, then rolling her over and fucking her hard, then taking her again in the softest, tenderest way as the sun slowly began to rise.

What had she done? What had she done? This wasn’t who she was. She had never been the type of person who just fell into bed with a guy, and certainly not when that guy was her ex-husband. But then, she had always been helpless against him. Back before things had soured between them, she had been almost as good as Maverick at keeping all of the Daggers in line, but one flash of those bright green eyes and those dimples, and she was basically Jello. She had never been able to tell him ‘no’, except for once.

Buttercup pulled her legs up tight against her chest and pressed the heels of her palms into her closed eyes until she saw stars. She was so stupid. So weak. She had put in over a decade of work to make herself stronger, strong enough to withstand being alone, strong enough to be a single mother, strong enough to hold her ground against him. And yet, like a teenage girl, she caved at the sight of gleaming abs and a cocky grin, and the sound of sweet nothings he had whispered in her ear.

What would the girls think if they found out? Would they think they were getting back together? Of course they would, that had been their plan since the beginning. But a one-night stand did not a relationship make, and neither did attraction. Attraction and chemistry had never been their problem. Communication had been, and, though they had clearly gotten better at it over the past decade, it didn’t solve all the problems that still remained between them. Past hurts and past histories and words that had been said that couldn’t be taken back.

God, how she wished she could take them back. She had been sick in the head and sick in the heart when she had uttered those poisoned words to him, wanting him to feel like she did in the most toxic way. She was toxic to him, not the other way around like so many had thought would happen. Her own brother had warned her away from Jake Seresin the minute they met, cautioning her that he would ruin her life, but he hadn’t. He had given her the greatest year and a half of her life and two daughters that she wouldn’t trade for the world. She was the one who ruined him. Just like her nickname, she was a poison, and she would only destroy him more if she stuck around.

Tears began to well in her eyes, but Buttercup quickly dashed them away as she scrambled from Jake’s bed and began searching for her clothes, which she found neatly folded on the antique wingback chair in the corner of the room. Her heart ached at the sweetness of this man, who had opened his home to her for a week so they could both get quality time with their daughters, who had ended his engagement because his fiancée had been cruel to their girls. He didn’t deserve this. Maybe the old Hangman had been cocky and brash and bold, maybe Hangman had left a trail of broken hearts behind him, but her Jake didn’t deserve to have his heart broken because she was so weak and selfish. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving him, of only seeing him at events for the girls, of eventually seeing him engaged to a woman who did deserve him. But she didn’t deserve him. She wasn’t strong enough to be his reason for living once the girls graduated.

The realization had her slowly pulling her clothes on, choking back sobs and dashing her tears away. He needed more than her. He needed someone who was strong enough to hold him up while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life once the girls had moved on. He needed someone who wouldn’t panic at the very suggestion of him going back to the Navy. She needed to walk away so that he could find that person. Despite the pain lancing through her heart and the heaviness in her limbs, she had to. She wouldn’t poison him anymore. Not when she…

More tears streamed down her face as she stumbled into his ensuite and desperately tried to make herself look like less of a heartbroken mess. He would be okay and, eventually, so would she. The girls would struggle, but she would fight like hell to make sure her girls still had so much love and support from both of their parents, even if they lived on opposite sides of the globe. They wouldn’t suffer just because their mother was toxic.

A deep wash of her face and multiple splashes of cool water later, Buttercup, resolved and heartbroken, strolled out of the bedroom and made her way back to the kitchen, finding her daughters sitting at the island while Jake flipped pancakes.

“Morning, Mom!”

“Morning, Mum!”

“Hey, darlin’,” Jake followed up the sweet chorus of their daughters’ voices with a shy grin, so unlike him but still so fitting that it made the ache in her chest deepen. “Did you sleep okay?”

Buttercup fought to keep her face straight as she regarded him with as much cool indifference as she could muster. “Yes, thank you. And good thing too. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

Plates clattered as Charlie set the island for breakfast. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

Buttercup fought the pain and panic rising in her throat as she looked at the smiling figures of her broken family. “A-Abby and I are going home tomorrow,” she croaked out. “Our flight leaves at 9 p.m.”

Silence fell like a heavy, suffocating fog over the kitchen. Abby had frozen in her seat, a juicy red grape dangling almost comically from her fingers halfway between the bowl and her mouth. Charlie wasn’t doing much better, a plate suspended in midair while her face flushed. And Jake? She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to see the anger or pity or fury that was undoubtedly marring his handsome features.

It was Charlie who broke the silence first. “What?”

The question was so simple, but Buttercup had to brace herself before answering. “We promised you a week together, and it’s been a week. Our flight has always been leaving tomorrow.” She managed a weak smile at her daughters. “I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun.”

“Mum…” Buttercup’s heart nearly shattered at the broken, pleading sound of her baby’s voice. “Couldn’t we stay? Please?”

For the time being, Buttercup was winning the losing battle against the tears that were clogging her throat and flooding her eyes. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we can’t. You start school next week and I have deadlines to meet. Uncle Bob and Auntie Nat have to go back to work too. But your dad and I have figured out a good schedule for visiting. You get more school vacation than Charlie does, so you’ll get to come here for a few breaks, and Charlie will get to come visit us when she has breaks, and then we’re going to split the summer in half, okay? I—” Buttercup’s voice cracked, and she turned her eyes skyward to prevent the tears from falling again. “I know it’s not what you want, but it’s the best we can do.”

“That’s BULLSHIT!” Charlie’s cry was loud and harsh. “That’s complete bullshit! You could both stay! Everyone should stay!”

Buttercup’s breath stuttered in her chest as she looked at her daughter, so full of pain and anger. “I know that you wish we could, sweetheart, but we can’t. I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry?” Charlie was crying now, hot tears running down her red cheeks. “I only get two weeks with you after 12 years and now you’re leaving and you’re sorry? That’s bullshit!”

“Charlie…” Jake’s voice was a soft warning.

“What?” She whirled on her dad. “It is! She could stay here if she really wanted to! But she doesn’t! She doesn’t care. Not about you or me or anyone! If she cared, she wouldn’t have left us in the first place!”

“Charlie…” Buttercup couldn’t stand the way her voice crackled with tears. “Charlie, I—”

“I hate you!” Charlie turned on her, green eyes full of anguish. “I hate you!”

“That’s enough!” Jake didn’t yell, but his voice held that military tone that immediately silenced everyone in the kitchen, save for Charlie’s ragged breathing and Abby’s soft sniffles. “You do not get to talk to your mother that way. You can be angry all you want, but this is a joint decision between your mother and I, so if you hate her then you hate me too. And no matter how you feel about us, I know that I taught you respect. We do not lash out at other people because of the way we are feeling in this family. We talk it out, and if we can’t manage how we’re feeling then we take a beat before we have a calm conversation. So, go take a beat. Take a lap of the ranch and cool off, Charlie.” Jake’s tone was no-nonsense and left no room for argument. Chest heaving, Charlie stomped away and let the door slam behind her. Jake sighed and looked at his oldest daughter, sniffling quietly in her seat. “Why don’t you go with her, Abby?” His voice was gentler now. “I think maybe some fresh air and a walk will do you both some good.”

Not saying anything, Abby nodded meekly and shuffled out of the kitchen, the front door barely clicking shut in comparison to the slam that had rocked everyone to their very foundations.

Buttercup stood stock still in the kitchen doorway, hand wrapped around her throat as she fought the tears that were falling slowly.

“Buttercup…” She flinched violently away from Jake’s gentle hand on her elbow, and he held his hands up. “Buttercup, it’s alright. It’s all gonna be alright.”

She shook her head, clutching at her throat to get the words out. “She’s right. It’s all my fault.”

“Now, I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear any of that anymore,” Jake said, gently but with a hint of stern resolve. “Now, why don’t we sit down and talk about this?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about, Jake.” Buttercup’s sigh was bone-weary as she sank into one of the island stools. “We have to go home. Abby’s got school, Bob and Nat have work, I have deadlines that I’m already behind on and signings I promised to do months ago and they want me to do edits for a script for one of my novels…We promised them a week together, and that’s what they got.” She shrugged helplessly. “There’s nothing we can do to change that.”

“I get where you’re coming from, darlin’, I do…” Jake leaned against the island across from her. “But…it wouldn’t be too difficult to get Abby signed up for school here, and Bob and Phoenix are grown ups, they don’t need you to take them home. And you…” He sighed heavily. “You can write from anywhere, so why can’t you write here with us?”

Buttercup’s heart cracked wide open, years of heartbreak and loneliness and anger pouring out of her like hot lava. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that again! What about the life I’ve built for myself? My professional reputation? My friends? Abby’s friends? I have a life in London! I like my life in London!”

“I know that.” Jake kept his voice even and calm, even as he wanted to reach out and calm her. “I know I fucked it up the first time. I know I didn’t get it the first time, how much the job and the move and everything meant to you back then. But you’re an award-winning author now, Buttercup. You’re like…number one draft pick in the NFL. You would have dozens of publishers falling all over themselves and each other to publish your stories now. Hell, with the way technology has improved in the last decade, nothing would stop you from keeping your publisher in London and Zooming into meetings with them from here. Isn’t it at least an option?”

Everything he was saying made perfect sense. It was all logical and well thought out, and, for a moment, she could picture it. Staying in Clifton, on the ranch. Turning the guest bedroom into an office for her to write out of while staring out at the pretty scenery, waking every morning in the cradle of Jake’s arms and cuddling with him until their daughters dragged them from bed. Giving them a real shot.

But a real shot meant the possibility of real pain. Pain that she had barely healed from the first time. Pain that she had put him through. Pain that he didn’t deserve. He didn’t deserve any of it, but to protect him, she would have to hurt him.

“I can’t just give up my job, my life because of a one-night stand.” Her voice was cold, belying the white-hot pain that was shooting through her heart, her very soul.

“I thought I meant more to you than that?”

She could hear the pain in his voice and ducked her head, refusing to meet his eyes. “You do…” she whispered, so quiet that he wouldn’t be able to hear her. The words “You did” came at a louder volume. “But I worked too hard to get to where I am now, and so did you.” She gulped down air, feeling like the walls were closing in on her. “I…I finally healed from everything we put each other through, and we can’t just fall back together again because it’s easy.”

Jake scrubbed a hand over his face. He knew what she was talking about. They had put each other through a lot, and it had taken over a decade to even start to heal from that, but they had healed. Wasn’t he worth giving it another go? Weren’t the girls worth trying for? He tamped down the anger he felt growing in his gut and asked, “When have we ever been easy?”

“You know what I mean, Jake.” Her sigh was heavy, bowing her shoulders like she was carrying the weight of the world. “We’re familiar. We’ve been living in the same house for a week, and, in a moment of weakness, we let ourselves fall back into old habits. And it felt good. But we’ve been down this road before. We know what lies at the end of it.” Tears pricked her eyes again and she blinked them back. “Besides, you were just engaged to another woman. You were planning on going back to the Navy. I…I can’t be the thing you hold onto just because you’re afraid of what your life will look like in six years.”

Jake felt the anger within him rise, and he relied on every ounce of his military training to remain composed, to not let the anger seep into his voice. “I don’t think I’m the one who is afraid here. You’re running.”

“Jake—”

Despite the way she was shaking her head, hands covering her face, Jake moved around the island and gently put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “I know you felt something last night. I felt it too. Just because we didn’t work out the first time, doesn’t mean we won’t work out this time. You don’t have to be afraid of what might happen either, sweetheart.” His voice was filled with so much warmth and passion that Buttercup felt the tears fall faster and harder down her cheeks. This sweet man. She had never deserved him. His hands stroked her upper arms as he continued. “You’ve done such a good job on your own. Abby is incredible and your books…” Jake shook his head in amazement. “You’re incredible. But you don’t have to be strong and do it all on your own anymore. I know you can, but you don’t have to. Let me help. Just stay and let me help.” He was begging and he knew it, but he couldn’t help the tightness in his chest that told him that he had to convince her to stay. That he couldn’t lose her again. “I know you felt it last night,” he ended in a murmur.

Buttercup buried her head in her hands and sobbed. He was saying all the right words and she could feel the warmth and kindness pouring out of him, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she would ruin it all again. “I…I can’t,” she cried. “We have to be the adults here. I can’t just leave my life behind and stay with you. Not again. We tried that once and it didn’t work, and we owe it to our girls to be better this time. We have to be better this time. For them. What we want doesn’t matter.”

Breath whooshed out of Jake’s lungs as he took her in. His Buttercup looked so small and broken, sobbing at his kitchen island. He had done that to her. He had broken his strong, independent, fiercely loyal and kind woman. No matter how badly he wanted to keep her, he couldn’t hold her back again. “This…this is really what you want?”

With doubt clogging her throat, she murmured, “It is.”

Jake’s shoulders bowed, and he grunted to clear the tingling in his throat and in the bridge of his nose. “Then…as you wish, I guess.”

Buttercup nearly ran down the path towards the dude ranch cabins. After a tense breakfast, one where no one said anything to each other, Buttercup got changed and got out of the ranch house as quickly as she possibly could. She felt like she couldn’t breathe with the weight of Jake’s disappointed gaze upon her and Charlie’s hate-filled words hanging in the air around them. Not even her sweet Abby had been able to look her in the eye, so she fled the moment it was acceptable to do so.

Now, she was marching to her brother’s cabin to talk to him and his best friend, to get some sort of reassurance that she was doing the right thing. She quickly climbed the two steps up and came up short when the door swung open, Javy emerging in his jeans, carrying his shirt from last night.

“Oh…” They both froze and stared at each other. “Hey Buttercup.”

“Hey Javy…”

“You, uh…” Javy shuffled his feet. “You good?”

“Not really,” she admitted, staring down at her toes. “Is Nat in there? Or Bob?”

“Bob spent the night in Mickey’s cabin with him and Yale. But Nat…” A shy smile pulled at Javy’s lips as he shrugged. “She’s asleep upstairs. I’ve gotta run to practice though. Can you tell her I said goodbye? And that I’ll see her for dinner tonight?”

Despite her own broken heart, Buttercup found herself smiling. “I’m glad you two were able to work it out. I’ll let her know.”

“Thanks, Buttercup.” He grinned and placed a light jab against her shoulder as he passed. “And hey? I’m sure whatever’s bugging you will work itself out in the end.”

“I don’t think so, Javy. But thanks.”

Buttercup let herself into the quaint little cabin and headed straight for the bedroom, where her friend was just waking up. Buttercup thanked whatever not-completely-evil god that was out there that her friend was wearing a t-shirt. After the morning she’d had, the last thing she wanted was to have her friend flash her by accident.

“Hey…” Natasha yawned as she stretched her arms over her head. “What’re you doin’ here? Where’s—” Natasha cut herself off, looking away from Buttercup.

“Javy had football practice. He says he’ll see you for dinner.” That was all Buttercup managed to get out before flopping onto the bed and sobbing.

“Jesus Christ, B!” Natasha scrambled up and pulled her crying friend into her lap. “What the hell?” A gentle hand ran up and down the length of Buttercup’s spine. “You’re alright, girl. C’mon.”

“J-Jake and I hooked up last night,” Buttercup blubbered, burying her face into the plaid comforter that covered her friend’s lap.

“And…was it…not good?” Try as she might, Natasha was struggling to see the problem.

“It was great!”

Both ladies were surprised at the strength of Buttercup’s sobs. It was unlike her to cry so much, but clearly, she had to exorcise some demons, and crying seemed to be the best way to get them out.

Natasha sighed and patted her friend on the back. “Then I am confused.”

“Join the fucking club…” Buttercup muttered, wiping her face on the bedspread before sitting up, her tear ducts seemingly empty. “We…we’re going home tomorrow. I can’t believe I was so stupid as to hook up with my ex-husband right before we’re going back home.”

“Not gonna lie, lady, but you were basically eye-fucking him all night. I’m not surprised that you two fell into bed together. The sexual tension was too great.” Natasha propped herself up against the oak headboard and stared at her friend. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. Lots of couples do one last fuck fest after a breakup or divorce.”

“Is that what you and Javy were doing last night?” Buttercup bit out, no malice in her voice, only exhaustion.

Natasha bit her lip. “Actually…it was more of a ‘lets try this thing again’ than a ‘lets get this thing out of our systems’.”

Buttercup blinked her bloodshot eyes. “How are you two going to try it again when our flight leaves tomorrow?”

One of Natasha’s calloused fingers gently traced the scar that ran over her eye, something that she only did on the rare occasion that she was nervous. “That’s the thing…I’m not getting on that flight. Bob said that he could get me a refund with the airline since it’s, y’know, his airline.”

“You’re staying?” Of all the things she expected her best friend to say, it certainly wasn’t that. “What about your classes? Your friends?”

Natasha shrugged. “One of the other instructors can take over until they hire someone else. And there’s a gym in town that needs a new female personal trainer. Javy’s pretty sure they’d take me on the spot. And honestly, B? What friends? I had work friends that I only hung out with occasionally off the clock, and I had you and Bob. I lived in your home, ate your food, and hung out with you. No offence, because you know I love you, but not going back isn’t that big of a deal to me.”

Buttercup nodded as she looked at her friend. “I hate that you’re leaving me,” she mumbled, pulling Natasha into a fierce hug. “But I’m proud of you for giving him another shot. You just make sure he knows that if he hurts you, I’m only one transatlantic flight away from kicking his ass.”

“Or…you could always stay too and be just a walk down the road away from kicking his ass.” Natasha’s voice was gentle and kind, but Buttercup was already shaking her head. “Why not?”

“Because we tried, and we failed.”

“So did me and Javy,” Natasha nudged her.

“But you don’t have kids who will suffer if you try again and it still falls apart.”

“Fair point…” Natasha hummed and turned towards her. “What if it doesn’t fall apart?”

“I can’t risk it, Nat,” Buttercup murmured, tears welling in her eyes again. “I can’t hurt Abby and Charlie like that. They have to come first.”

“I get that.” Natasha reached out and squeezed her friend’s hand comfortingly. “But you have spent over a decade putting Abby first. You have been an amazing mother to that girl. Maybe it’s time to start putting yourself first instead.”

Buttercup squeezed back, snuggling down in her friend’s bed and sighing. If only it was that easy.

The next 24 hours passed in a blur of emotion. Charlie still wasn’t speaking to Buttercup, despite Jake’s private talk with her when she returned to the ranch house after her walk. Abby wasn’t faring much better, quiet but not angry the way her sister was. More…resigned. And Jake…well, Jake did what Jake always did. He walled up everything he was feeling behind thick, military issue shields and pretended. It was what he was trained to do. Compartmentalize and prioritize. His priority was making sure that his girls didn’t leave the ranch sad.

Buttercup’s eyes remained bloodshot for the rest of the day, and it broke Jake’s heart to see his girl so distraught. Part of him wanted to ask her to reconsider, to ask if her decision to leave was what was making her so miserable, but he didn’t. His Buttercup had only made one rash decision in her entire life: staying with him in Miramar. Every other decision had been meticulously thought out, including going to London to start over. He couldn’t blame her for that, and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to return to her life abroad, no matter how much it felt like it was killing him to let her go again.

So, Jake pushed it all down and tried to make it the best 24 hours he possibly could. He took his three girls on a trail ride after having a small goodbye lunch for their remaining guests. Fanboy, Yale, Payback and his family all enjoyed a small gathering despite the tense atmosphere. That atmosphere remained throughout the trail ride, though Jake had hoped it would help cool Charlie down. Dinner was similarly quiet, the five of them eating their spaghetti and meatballs in relative silence, though it seemed that both Rooster and Charlie were cheered to hear that Phoenix would be staying. Jake couldn’t help the glance he spared at Buttercup when that news was shared before Javy swept Phoenix out the door to keep their dinner reservation in town. He knew he couldn’t question why Phoenix was brave enough to stay and try to work things out, not when he knew why Buttercup was doing the brave thing by leaving. She was doing it so that the girls wouldn’t suffer from the fallout if they couldn’t keep their shit together a second time, and Jake couldn’t blame her. He would do anything to make sure Charlie was happy. Problem was that this decision didn’t seem to be making anyone happy.

Nobody got much sleep that night, the tension growing over the house like a big black storm cloud, what ifs and maybes swirling like a tornado. Day dawned without sun; the metaphorical storm having grown into a real one that had rain lashing at the windows. Breakfast was a silent affair, and Jake could barely choke down any lunch, one final meal before he had to say goodbye to his girls.

Bags were piled at the front door, waiting for the airport limo Bob had called for, complimentary because of his position with the airline. Six adults and two children stood in the doorway of the ranch house, waiting for the telltale sound of tire on gravel to signal the end. When Jake caught sight of headlights bouncing through the darkened sky, he sighed and gathered Abby into his arms.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured into her hair, and his heart broke as she clutched him tighter. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, okay?”

“I love you too, daddy.”

Jake opened his eyes and saw Buttercup ringing her hands as she approached Charlie, who had her arms crossed stiffly across her chest.

“I…I’m sorry, Charlie,” he heard her soft words and his chest ached for her. For both of them. His two girls were so strong and so stubborn, and they were both in so much pain. “I love you, sweet girl. I hope you remember that.” When it became clear that Charlie was not going to embrace her mother, Buttercup sighed and pressed a kiss to her hair instead. “I love you, darling.”

Buttercup turned to Rooster, who wrapped her in a tight hug. “You take care of yourself, alright, Buttercup?” he gravelled.

“I will. You take care of them for me, okay?”

“You know I will.”

A similar exchange happened with Javy, though Jake was sure that it included some sort of threat about treating Phoenix well, based on the slight grimace on Javy’s face as Buttercup turned and hugged her friend.

It was at that point that the car pulled up to the front door and Jake forced himself to release his daughter.

“Go say goodbye to everyone while I take your bags out,” he whispered to her, trying his best not to crumble at her tear-stained face.

She nodded and ran over to Phoenix, almost knocking her over. “I love you, Auntie Nat.”

“I love you too, kid.”

She squeezed Rooster next, the two of them having a whispered conversation as Jake passed, taking the bags out to the limo. He didn’t care that his white t-shirt was becoming see-through. He didn’t much care for anything at the moment. He was completely numb, just like he had been when he watched Buttercup and Abby walk out his front door the first time. He took his time loading the bags into the trunk before heading back into the house, feeling like he was walking to his execution.

When he stepped into the foyer, his eyes went straight to Abby and Charlie, embracing by the stairs. He sighed and turned to Bob, shaking his ex-brother-in-law’s hand before turning to Buttercup, who was watching her daughters with a sad sort of smile.

A gentle hand on her shoulder pulled her attention to him right as he pulled her into a hug. She folded into him the same way she always had, like she belonged there. Jake told himself that her trembling was because he was soaked to the bone, and if he felt moisture soaking into the front of his shirt, he told himself that was just the rain too.

She pulled away a few moments later, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes as she murmured, “It’s time to go, Abby.” She met his eyes for a fleeting second. “Thank you, Jake.”

“As you wish, sweetheart,” he murmured and escorted them onto the covered porch, where he gave Abby one more hug before pulling Charlie into his arms as they watched Bob, Buttercup and Abby make a run for the limo.

Bob held the door open as Abby slid in. Buttercup glanced over her shoulder at Jake and Charlie, standing like statues on the porch. She waved a sad goodbye before sliding in beside her daughter. Bob gave him an understanding nod before joining them and slamming the door shut. The limo roared to life and started down the dirt drive, rain and wind whipping at the windshield as they went. Abby and Buttercup huddled together on the leather seats as Bob gave instructions to the driver, and then they were silent.

Jake’s chest heaved as he watched them go, watched two-thirds of his heart walk away from him again.

“Wait!” Charlie cried, throwing off his hold and taking off down the wet and muddy driveway. “Mom, wait!” Jake lunged after her, grabbing her up in a hug as the limo disappeared between the trees, the falling rain too loud for them to hear her pleas.

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[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I came back from the movie theaters (Fnaf Movie) My lord I FREAKING LOVED IT THE WHOLE THING IDC AHHH Ahem-

I saw that requests are open, SO a Platonic Headcanon Request if you don't mind, Fnaf (Movie) Animatronics with Gender-Neutral (17-soon to be 18) Reader as the new security guard? or maybe tags with Mike and possibly Abby? (Reader ain't tall just-idk 5'2 maybe I am projecting-)

(I know this request doesn't make sense because of the tiredness due to staying up late because of excitement. Feel free to delete this ask if its too complicated)

bonus: If you want to, You can also Include Chica's Cupcake

Have a nice day/night, From 📞 ☕ (PhoneCoffee) Anon

Oh I can definitely work with this ^^

......

When you started working at Freddy's overnight, you hoped this would be your last summer job ever before you turned 18.

"Steve" said it was all pretty straightforward: watch the cameras and make sure nobody broke in.

Easy as pizza pie, right?

Well, when you realized one of the animatronics very subtly moved from their usual spot, you wanted to check them out for yourself.

Plus, sitting in the office for six hours every night would def get boring as hell.

So you head to the main stage area, finding the whole gang mysteriously gone--Foxy included.

Then you get surprised by them emerging from different places in the pizzeria, eyes glowing a sinister yellow as they surround you, wary of your intentions.

"O-Oh hey..um..Fazgang?" You try your best not to look so terrified.

Surely someone was controlling them, right? They couldn't possibly hurt you.

Yet they stop and collectively realize "wait, isn't this a teenager? And why are they working this job??"

But since you're not wrecking anything in the pizzeria (or screaming bloody murder unlike the last guard), they spare you and are just very chill overall.

You now start to believe all the rumors of them being haunted by little children.....although not even that scares you.

On the second night, you learn that they can understand simple drawings--and that's how you pretty much communicate with them and build up trust.

While Bonnie is regarded as the "most aggressive", he was a real sweetheart who let you shine his guitar and hugged you tightly to express his thanks.

Alas you haven't found a way to stop it from constantly short-circuiting when he strums it...but you vow to figure something out.

Chica was equally as sweet, although for some reason Carl the Cupcake made you feel nervous.

The way he can be on the plate one moment and then disappear the next makes you worried that he'll sneak up on you and bite your ankles off.

But as long as Chica's around, that won't ever happen.

Although Foxy looks quite dangerous, you try your best to patch up the hole in his chest using some spare parts from backstage while being oblivious to the deadly Freddy mask saw trap in the corner, something he's grateful for.

He even sang you a little sea shanty as thanks!

Freddy was the first to be suspicious of you, but after seeing a drawing you made of him, he grows to like your presence, too. Especially after how nice you've been to his bandmates.

So you definitely survived more than five nights at this place--longer than anyone so far.

When Mike gets hired and comes in for his first shift with you, he's surprised that a teen is training him.

He suspects this was some lousy summer job you were forced to get and thinks you're gonna act miserable the entire time you work together and not actually teach him shit.

But as it turns out, you love your job!

You show him the Fazgang during their "showtime" performance and assure him that while they may look creepy, they're not bad at all.

And while you're not getting paid extra to do simple maintenance on them, you still enjoy trying to keep them in tip-top shape (especially Foxy, who needs repairs the most).

Mike seriously thinks you shouldn't be doing that as it's not in the job description AND it could be dangerous.

Even if you have expertise in robotics, he still thinks it's not worth losing a limb or finger to those complex contraptions.

Like he almost did after getting near a springlock suit.

But you just teasingly remind him who the trainer is..and he goes quiet.

Foxy overhears this, and you see him snickering from behind the Pirate's Cove curtain, amused by you basically schooling this 25-27 year old man.

Unfortunately he startled poor Mike, who looks over quickly.....only to find the fox standing in his usual position, acting completely normal.

"Was he just laughing at us...?"

"Nope." You play dumb, shrugging. "Must be his voice box malfunctioning....c'mon. Let's see if we can fix that."

Least to say, you're not gonna let him sleep on the job anytime soon.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Rival V

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Gooner to Gunner

Arsenal coming calling for you a few weeks after your seventeenth birthday. You've been playing professionally for Linköping since you were fifteen, following the under-seventeen Euros, as their second choice goalkeeper.

You always knew, much like your mothers, that you didn't want to stay in Sweden your whole career. It's off the back of completing your final matches as the Under-seventeen team's captain in a round of friendlies that you get the email.

You're mucking around on your laptop, aimlessly typing something out for one of your classes when you switch tabs to your Momma's emails.

It had been terribly easy to crack the password (your and Morsa's birthdays put together) and you made sure that she didn't know you were logged in. It's not like you had been planning anything malicious but it was Momma's email that was connected to the Amazon account and you were just too impatient to wait to see what surprise she had ordered to celebrate your tenure as captain for the youth team.

You had been tracking the package for days now and just so happened to spy this new email at the top of the list.

You frown. It's got your name on it. You're not eighteen yet so all of your professional stuff comes through either Momma and Morsa and-yes, Morsa was cc'ed into the email too.

You click on it. There's nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself, because it's about you anyway. There's no harm in finding out what it was a bit early.

Your eyes skim through the email, your heart stuttering in your chest.

It was a contract proposal.

The same position, second goalkeeper, but for a hell of a lot more money.

At Arsenal.

You glance behind you.

Everywhere you've ever moved, your framed Leah Williamson shirt ends up over your bed.

Always.

Even when you gained so many more world class player's jerseys (Tia Tana, Alexia, Keira Walsh, just to name a few), Leah's one always ended up over your bed.

Your door swings open and your hurriedly close the tab, writing more nonsense for your schoolwork.

"Morsa!" You exclaim," Knock!"

Morsa laughs. "Sorry, princesse, I don't realise I was raising such a moody teenager."

"I could have been naked," You scoff.

"This early? No chance. I just came up here to say that dinner's ready."

"Dinners ready or it's nearly ready and you're using me to set the table?" You're wise to Morsa's tricks.

"We ordered in. Dinner is actually ready."

By the time that you've washed your hands and made it downstairs, Momma and Morsa have made space for you to slot between them.

You try to keep quiet for a little bit but the email you've just read makes you antsy and anxious.

"So..." You say finally as the show you're watching finishes and your Morsa starts flicking through the channels to find something new. "How was work?"

Momma frowns at you suspiciously. "Good. Why?"

You try to be casual. "No reason. So...no funny email chains? Nothing interesting?"

Momma turns to look at you fully. "What's going on with you? What have you heard?"

You shrug. "Me? Nothing."

She watches you with narrowed eyes. "Magda, what have you told her?"

"Me?" Morsa's got a slice of pizza hanging from her mouth. "Why do you think I've told her something?"

"She's acting suspicious. Just like you do when you know something you shouldn't."

"I haven't told her anything. I've barely seen her all day. She came straight home from training and shacked up in her room to do schoolwork."

Momma is still staring at you as she fishes her phone out of her pocket and flicks through her emails. Like you, it doesn't take her long to find it.

She sighs - long and drawn out and she rubs her temple with her fingers. "I don't know how you found out about this before me but-"

"Please! Please! Please! Please, Momma!" You're kneeling on the ground in front of her, hands clasped together. "I'm nearly out of the contract with Linköping. Please! It'd be such a good opportunity!"

"Whoa, whoa," Morsa says quickly," Slow down. What's going on? Pernille, huh?"

Momma sighs again, turning her phone over to Morsa. "Arsenal is interested in her."

Morsa skims through the email, her eye twitching slightly. She looks at you and says," No. If you want to go to England, we can see if Chelsea will take you."

You sigh just like Momma did. "Morsa, please! I don't even like Not-Wolfsburg! I'll play so good at Arsenal, I promise!"

"First of all," Morsa says," You're seventeen. You have got to stop calling Chelsea Not-Wolfsburg. Second of all, you're seventeen. In what world is moving to England a good idea at the moment?"

"For football!" You exclaim, standing on your feet and grabbing at her hands. You know Momma will support you in anything you want to do, including this. So it's just Morsa (who would probably prefer it if you joined fucking Spurs than Arsenal) that you have to convince. "Morsa, please! I...I'll give it my all! Please! Arsenal's the goal!"

"I thought Wolfsburg was the goal."

"It is!" You say," But that's the long term goal! Wolfsburg will be sure to watch me if I play in the WSL!"

"Wolfsburg was watching your Momma when she was still at Linköping," Morsa points out," Why can't you stay at Linköping?"

"Morsa!" You're getting a bit annoyed now. "Wolfsburg the club I want to retire at! Arsenal for Leah and Aunt Lina and Aunt Stina. Barcelona or Lyon, maybe, for Tia Tana or Daan. And then Wolfsburg!"

That causes a small smile to tug at Morsa's lips. "No Bayern on your list?"

"It's in the maybe category like Barca and Lyon! Don't change the subject! Who knows when an opportunity like this will come up again? The national teams will be sure to watch me properly too, if I'm playing in England!"

Momma laughs. "Magda," She says," Just put her out of her misery, already."

You look between them. "Huh?"

Morsa stands up, drawing you up into a hug. "Of course you can sign for Arsenal, princesse."

"Really?"

"Yes."

●～●～●～●～

You end up back in London for the first time in years within the month.

A picture goes up on social media on the day you come in to officially sign. You shake hands with the manager and pose for the photo, holding onto your new jersey.

It's probably your most prized possession now with your favourite number on the back - you're challenging yourself to clinch the first keeper position within two years.

At Linköping, your last name was on your shirt.

At Arsenal, it's your first name.

Abruptly, you're brought back to a blurry memory of sitting on the floor of your house before the move to Bayern, when you ran your fingers over Alexia's name, when your Momma explained that some of the best had only their first names on their jerseys.

"There she is."

You look up and then back down bashfully.

Leah Williamson walks up to you. She's older now, than when you first met her all those years ago. She's retired from football - just like your mothers - but she still works in the sector, one of the coaches for the women's team.

"Hi."

"You look good in an Arsenal shirt," She says," Even better now that it's not mine."

You don't know why you say it but you do," I still have the first shirt you gave me. Momma and Morsa got it framed for me."

She grins at you, clapping you on the back. "I had you pegged for a Gunner the moment you wandered into our dressing room." She breathes in deeply. "Let me just take a moment. This is a nice full circle moment for me."

You laugh. "Me too."