#the archive ᡣ𐭩 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

osarina · 10 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 TELLING THEM THEY'RE PRETTY!

FEATURING: dazai osamu, fyodor dostoevsky, nikolai gogol

SUMMARY: telling the bsd boys that they're pretty! (wordcount: 3.5k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i had cute dividers but this won't show up in the tags if use them D: ! i had sooo much fun with this! i hope you guys enjoy! :D

DAZAI OSAMU

You can’t seem to drag your gaze away from him.

As a long day of work comes to an end, you rest your head on your arms and lean on your desk. Kunikida is still tapping furiously away at his computer, Tanizaki and Naomi are whispering about something together, Ranpo is sorting through his candy, and Atsushi and Kyouka are looking through files. But your eyes are tracing over Dazai Osamu as he leans back in his chair, lazily spinning and bobbing his head to the music he’s listening to.

The setting sun casts an ethereal glow over him, his lips idly turned up and his lashes brushing his cheeks as rests his eyes waiting for the day to end. Dazai Osamu is pretty—you’ve always acknowledged that—but there’s something about the peace of this moment, the domesticity of the office and the ambience of the lighting that has you utterly enraptured.

He looks so at ease, and Dazai Osamu is never at ease. Even when he throws up that clownlike mask of his and spends his day entertaining under the guise of joy and humor, you can always see the strain in the corner of his eyes and lips. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible really—if you were anyone else, you’d miss it, but you’re not anyone else, much to his displeasure, because you know he hates how easily you can see right through him.

After a few minutes, Dazai peeks his eyes open—and you’re almost breathless, because his eyes are like melted honey beneath the sunset, warm and gentle, glittering with amusement. You think you can stare at him forever and never tire of it.

He rolls his chair closer to you, resting his forearms on your desk so that your arms are brushing and laying his head down on them so that his face is mere inches from yours, matching your position. There's a smile on his lips, soft and teasing as he whispers, "You've been staring at me for five minutes."

"Mhm," you agree, voice just as quiet as if to not disturb the tranquility of the office. You can feel his breath light against your face from the proximity he's laying at and you can smell peppermint on his breath from the candy you’d seen him swipe from Ranpo’s desk earlier when the other man had gone to speak to Fukuzawa.

“Is there something on my face?” he asks playfully, dark eyes glimmering as he waits for your response.

You can tease him back and say yes, as you usually do and is probably what he expects—and you fully intend to do just that but the words that leave your lips are not that.

“You just look really pretty today,” you say softly, watching as his eyes widen just a bit at your words, pink dusting his cheeks.

His lips part to say something but no words leave them. He opens and closes them a few times and you marvel because Dazai must know that he’s pretty from all of the attention he gets from women, so you don’t understand why he’s so thrown off hearing you voice it out loud. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him genuinely speechless before now.

“So you don’t think i’m pretty every other day?” Dazai pushes his bottom lip out into an over-exaggerated pout, recovering swiftly from your words, though you expected nothing less from him. But you can’t help but note that his cheeks are still a bit pink and there’s something indecipherable in his eyes.

“Prettier than usual,” you amend and watch as the flush on his cheeks darkens and he instead resorts to completely burying his face in his arms with a frustrated groan.

“I am supposed to be the flirt, bella,” he complains, voice muffled by his arms as he hides his face from your view. He cannot hide the way his ears have gone bright red, and you have half a mind to reach out and tug at them

You lift your hand to your lips to hide the giggle that rises to your lips, scooching your chair a bit closer so you can knock your shoulder against his.

“I’m not flirting,” you say. “Just stating a fact.”

He turns his head to the side, just enough so that he can give you a heavy side eye—you can only barely see the red hue coating his cheekbone.

“Not mutually exclusive,” he says grumpily, and you lean down to press your lips against his now exposed forehead, smiling softly as his eyes instinctively flutter shut and his body relaxes as the touch.

Then, you receive a pencil to the side of your head. You yelp as your hand flies to where it had made contact with you, scowling at your assailant who is none other than Ranpo, smiling widely as he waves at you and then motions to Kunikida, who is red faced and staring at the two of you. You can’t tell if it’s in embarrassment or anger.

“Not during work hours,” he snaps, and you realize that he’s definitely embarrassed, so you share a short look with Dazai, who has regained that mischievous look in his eyes as he glances over at Kunikida and back at you.

Without saying a word, or giving any other sort of warning, he leans in to press his lips against yours. It’s a short and chaste kiss, but his lips are soft and taste of candy, and you think you might be able to kiss them forever if you get the chance.

Now you’re the one flustered, you can feel heat rising to your cheeks as you stare at Dazai, who is evidently thoroughly pleased to not be the one uncomposed if the unscrupulous grin on his lips has anything to say about it.

He tosses you a wink before rolling his chair back over to his desk, animatedly complaining about Ranpo and Kunikida being lonely and bitter and getting in the way of Dazai’s chance at true love because of it—you only roll your eyes at his dramatics, as you usually do when Dazai goes off on tangents, but it’s with much more fondness this time.

•��•

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

You are not listening to a single word that he’s saying.

It’s a dangerous situation to be in with Fyodor Dostoevsky, you’re sure he’s noticed by now and he will be petty enough to finish his brief about his plans and your involvement and then ask you to repeat what he said, but you just can’t focus.

He tied his hair back, you note, still quite a bit awed by the sight. There are two locks framing his face and his bangs are falling between his eyes, but the rest of his hair, which has grown a bit long in the weeks that he’s been ardently preparing for the final stages of his plan, is pulled back into a lax bun.

He looks so casual, and Fyodor Dostoevsky never looks casual. He’s dressed in a turtleneck and loose pants as he leans back in his chair. There’s a folder resting on his lap that he’s idly flipping through and he keeps glancing up at you occasionally, pale lips flat and violet eyes disapproving, but you just nod along to his words even though you know that he knows that you’re not paying attention.

And you think, distantly, that you probably should be paying attention because he’s talking about your upcoming mission and what you should expect from it but you figure you’ll be fine—it’s a simple infiltration mission, nothing to worry about. And you’d much rather prefer to appreciate Fyodor’s rare repose than to listen him droll on about boring topics.

Sometimes, you think if he just kept his mouth shut all the time, he’d be perfect. But you think you’d miss his sharp-witted comments and the lengthy debates the two of you have after a few glasses of wine.

He looks extra pretty tonight, even beyond the casual hairstyle and clothes and his uncharacteristically relaxed demeanor, and you think it’s because of the way the flames of the fireplace are casting an enchanting orange and red glow over his face. It makes the violets of his eyes burn alive in a way that they usually don’t, you’re far too used to the glacial visage they take whenever he puts his attention on someone. Every time he glances up at you, you swear that you can get lost in them.

“… And you are not listening to a word that I am saying, are you?”

Fyodor is giving you the heaviest side eye as he finally calls you out, expression unamused. His brows are furrowed and his pale skin is taut with thinly veiled irritation.

“Of course, I am,” you dismiss, waving your hand. “Infiltration mission, detective agency, get close to the tiger boy.”

Fyodor looks distinctly unimpressed by your words, brows deepening—you figure you must have spoken wrongly, you probably shouldn’t have been so indifferent, and you bite back a sigh before reaching forward to press two fingers between Fyodor’s eyebrows, as if to forcibly smooth away his annoyance.

He blinks and draws back, out of reach of your arm, and then casts you an even more irritable look.

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he accuses. “This mission will be dangerous, you’ll be at risk of being exposed every moment you are in the agency and if you are exposed-“

“Your plans will be ruined,” you finish, forcing yourself not to roll your eyes. “I kno-“

“You could be killed,” Fyodor corrected, voice cold and sharp, and you look back over to him. He looks unusually intense, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the appearance that the flames of the fireplace are giving him as they flicker dangerously across his face or if it’s because he’s that displeased with you being distracted. Either way, you find your mind drifting again because wow. “Dazai Osamu is not a man to be taken lightly. When he manages to figure out who you are and what you’re doing, we will need an immediate extraction plan.”

“Careful, Fyodor,” you drawl, watching as his violet eyes narrow briefly, ��almost sounds like you care.”

Fyodor’s lips twist but he doesn’t respond. You raise your eyebrows, he looks away. Your eyes shoot open.

“You have a bigger role to play,” Fyodor finally says, but he’s no longer looking at you. “You cannot be killed yet.”

“Yet,” you repeat, amused. Fyodor’s jaw tightens, he doesn’t look at you, his eyes are trained on the fireplace to the side of the two of you and you can vaguely see the flames reflecting in his eyes, burning ardently against the familiar violet.

You lean forward again, shifting off of the couch to sit on the coffee table between the two of you so you can reach him. You reach forward to brush your knuckles against his cheek—he doesn’t move away this time, but his eyes cut to the side to watch you carefully.

You don’t say anything for a moment, absently tucking one of the locks of hair framing his face behind his ear. His hair is soft, freshly washed—for once—it smells faintly of lavender and vanilla and you wonder if he stole your conditioner.

“You look very pretty tonight, Fyodor,” you say quietly, and then smile. “It’s hard to focus when you look like this.”

The expression Fyodor directs toward you is extraordinarily blank, except for the faintest specks of pink that glare compared to the pallor of his face.

He shakes his head, looking away from you yet again.

“… You cause me much suffering,” he murmurs, and somehow, you know that might be the closest you might get to an admission of love from Fyodor Dostoevsky.

You smile to yourself. “And you to I,” you say, voice a bit teasing, and then you add, “Now, can you tell me again what to look out for?”

The moment is ruined. Fyodor’s eye twitches and he’s giving you that unamused look again, and you think having him repeat himself might be a mistake because now you’re even more distracted, but Fyodor sighs and starts on his lecture again so you force yourself to listen.

It takes about three minutes for him to release a sigh of utter suffering when he realizes that your eyes have glazed over yet again.

•••

NIKOLAI GOGOL

Nikolai has a wild sort of beauty about him. He’s unpredictable and dangerous, and it’s widely apparent in his frenzied laughter and chaotic behavior. His eye glitters and his teeth gleam sharply beneath the glow of the moonlight as he waves his hands around, animatedly describing to you all of the details of the things he’s been doing while you were away.

Fyodor’s masterplan has involved Nikolai apparently taken upon an infiltration role at the ministry of defense—you think it’s a bold move for Fyodor to use Nikolai for such a tenuous mission, but he’s apparently been having the time of his life with it. Though he thinks his boss is deplorable and one of his coworkers has evidently pissed him off beyond repair, because now he’s telling you about how he’s been ‘pranking’ the man in righteous vengeance.

You think Nikolai’s idea of pranking varies from yours, because you’re pretty sure him using his ability to break into the man’s house constitutes a crime not a prank. But you don’t have it in you to make that distinction when he’s so excitedly telling you about how every day he’s been going into his house to move around all of his stuff and hide some of his belongings to make the man squirm. He’s succeeding outstandingly in his ambition, if the videos he’s waving in front of you have anything to say about it.

You watch as he frantically scrolls to the next video—“this one is the best,” he claims, as he has for every video thus far. You watch with an amused smile as his dark-haired coworker steps into his apartment and nearly starts crying when he realizes that all of his stuff has been moved again, scrambling for his phone to call the police, who have—according to Nikolai—apparently already told him multiple times that there’s nothing they can do about it. The video is shaking wildly, as if the person filming can barely hold the camera straight, and you’re convinced that’s exactly what it is because you can hear Nikolai’s muffled laughter coming from recording.

Nikolai naturally finds it much funnier than you do, half-way keeling over as he wheezes, his laughter shattering the peaceful night. The two of you are sitting at a park near the apartment that Fyodor had leased for you for the duration of the Yokohama operation. The moon is high in the sky, casting a bewitching glow over the lake in front of you and there’s a chill in the air—it’s a nice night all around, you think there will probably some frost dusting the grass in the morning but the cold hardly bothers you now with Nikolai pressed to your side as he laughs himself into a near-coughing fit over his harassment of his coworker.

“Why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai suddenly complains loudly, scowling at you, but even then he keeps having to bite back residual laughter whenever he glances back down at his phone. “It’s funny.”

“It is funny,” you agree. Nikolai gives you a look as if he doesn’t believe you. “It is.”

“Then why aren’t you laughing?” Nikolai accuses doubtfully, and then adds, even more accusatory, “You hate me.”

You’re not sure why you aren’t laughing, honestly. Usually you’d be burying your face into his shoulder trying to smother your snickers, because even though you might not entirely agree with Nikolai’s idea of a prank, you can still find some humor in it. Because it is kind of funny. Kind of.

But then you realize that you’re probably not laughing because you’ve been spending most of the night admiring Nikolai rather than listening to him prattle on about his escapades and watching his poorly recorded videos, so you can’t fully appreciate the humor in the videos. With his cheeks flushed from copious amounts of laughter and his eyes glowing with excitement, you think he’s very pretty tonight—Nikolai is always pretty, but the angle at which he’s sitting leaves the moon haloing behind his head, and maybe it’s just because you’ve missed him the past few weeks when you’ve been abroad dealing with a territory dispute with Tolstoy, but you think there’s something special about tonight.

“I don’t hate you. I guess I’ve been too busy admiring you,” you finally say, a playful smile on your lips as you tilt your head to the side to look at him. “You look pretty tonight.”

Nikolai blinks, eyes wide and owlish as he processes your words. The longer he goes unresponsive, you acknowledge that a quiet Nikolai is far more unnerving than a loud and erratic Nikolai, you’d expected a more… theatrical response to your comment. A swish of his cape, him leaping to his feet with a twirl and an agreement, even just a wild laugh; instead, he looks away abruptly. He doesn’t even just look away, he physically turns his whole body away from you.

You blink.

“Nikolai?” you ask, a bit astonished when he literally ignores you. You lean forward, trying to get a look at his face, but then he swivels around even more and your lips part in shock. “Nikolai.”

You’re only met with a face full of his soft white hair, impeccably braided, as per usual—you have half a mind to tug at it hard to try to get a response from him, but you aren’t in the mood for the lewd comment that would likely spill from his lips after.

“Koly-“

“Poor me, poor me,” Nikolai suddenly cries loudly, “The little koshenya mocks me when all I do is try to make her laugh. Poor me, poor me.”

His hand flies to his face, melodramatic as he bemoans your alleged cruelty. You stare at him, mind trying to piece together what exactly is happening—Nikolai is always hard to predict, but you feel like this is a bit strange even for him, and that’s saying something.

“… What?” you start to ask but Nikolai has thrown himself into a loud and theatrical tirade about how he doesn’t deserve such injustice and how he was only trying to make you laugh, and how it’s so, so cold-hearted of you to taunt him when this is the first time the two of you have seen each other in weeks.

Nikolai is impossible to bargain with when he gets like this, so you only sigh and tilt your head up to the sky, his words flying in one ear and out the other as you wait for him to settle down on his own.

Instead, you swear the world is against you because rather than settling down, he becomes increasingly more noisy and distressed, and his accusations become even more asinine. Now, he’s saying that you’ve always had it out for him and how you weren’t laughing at his jokes because you hate him and want to report him to the police and how he should tell Dostoy about your betrayal, or better yet, he should stuff you in his cloak and leave you there?

You side-eye Nikolai heavily as he continues on, slightly alarmed, but brush off the casual threat as just Nikolai being Nikolai. You don’t know how to shut him up, you think you might be out here all night listening to him, and now you’re the one bemoaning your fate because how did a simple compliment turn into this.

Finally, an idea strikes.

You brace yourself, questioning your sanity and your entire existence before you interrupt him with a loud, “Quiz time!”

Nikolai goes silent instantly, head snapping toward you, eye even wider than before.

You think you’ve hit an all time low as you say, “Was I trying to mock you before?” Nikolai opens his mouth to respond but you cut him off before he can. “What’s that you say? I wasn’t? Ding ding! We’ve gotta winner!”

You think Nikolai might be having an internal crisis. He��s staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time in his life—his lips are parted, his eye void of the usual mischief dancing in it. He looks as if he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what.

You let out a long breath as you go to speak up again, but before you can, his eye is glittering again, sharp and dangerous, and his lips are curving up into a slow smile.

Nikolai inhales and then he takes a complete one-eighty as he bursts into loud cackles and says, “Ahahaha! I knew you loved me!” as if he wasn’t just lamenting your irrational hatred for him moments before.

Your eye twitches. He begins a second tirade, this one far more embarrassing for you than the last.

You regret everything.

3K notes · View notes

28chns · 7 months ago

Text

keep calm and carry on . . .

294 notes · View notes

ohdearlucifer · 3 months ago

Text

⊹.˚ yo estoy enfoca', no presiona na' ఇ‎ᙏ̤̫

ꪆ୧ ◟˖°𓏔 ☁️ acelero mi 𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪 𓏸 🦆 ˚ ⊹🍈 ၇⃪⃖

129 notes · View notes

anqlicrosie · 7 months ago

Text

⣼ moodboard girle . ꤦ🛍️

𐙚. GUIDE : here's a list to all the links of moodboards, gifs and edits i've posted on my page! each section is divided based on grps w/ mb events at the end!

no. of moodboards created : 47

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ㅤ𔘓 ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

꒰ AESPA ⎯⎯ i. ꒱ 🫧

karina 一 001 (🎀), 002 (🧢), 003 (🌌), 004 (🐢), 005 (🥟), 006 (📒), 007 (🏫), 008 (🍄), 009 (🫧), 010 (🍑)

winter 一 001 (🏖️), 002 (🌸), 003 (🥒⚾), 004 (🧸🍪), 005 (🎮), 006 (☀️)

꒰ IVE ⎯⎯ ii. ꒱ 🫧

wonyoung 一 001 (🍊), 002 (🌊), 003 (��)

liz 一 001 (🗃️)

꒰ MISC. ⎯⎯ iii. ꒱ 🫧

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 everglow: yiren 一 001 (😈) aisha 一 001 (😈)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 illit: iroha 一 001 (🟤),

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 babymonster: ruka 一 001 (🛢️)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 skz: hyunjin 一 001 (⛰️)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 le sserafim: chaewon 一 001 (🌸), sakura 一 001 (🫧)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 requests 一 nct wayv: winwin (🫓), yena (🍄), rei (🪷), yuqi (🪨)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 dividers 一 purple, divider masterlist

꒰ EVENTS ⎯⎯ iv. ꒱ 🫧

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 events: mean girls event (🌸), new bunnies event (🥟), triples event (🌊), food event (🍊), snack event (🎸), my bias event (🥥), another dimension event (🏮), nayeon na event (🧺), lovely runner event (🐬), better things event (🍉), pinterest feed: what's in ur house event (🍨), brigerton event (🎹), think pink event (💭👛), txt: the event (🍞)

꒰ MILESTONES ⎯⎯ v. ꒱ 🫧

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 milestones: one month anniversary (🪵), 100 followers (🌲), 200 followers (🤍)

#꩜﹏% ★. . aria's archives !#navigation guide #ׁ ׅ ⊹ ☆ິ aria's milestones #── ⋆˚ ⊹ ᡣ𐭩 inbox requests !#✧ ˙ ˖ spam !

52 notes · View notes

eunimaybe · 6 months ago

Text

guidelines masterlist taglist tags moot duos help palestine

#eunae ᡣ𐭩 !#｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ — archive

3 notes · View notes

archiveofvirtue · 15 days ago

Text

LOVE LOVE LOVE 🎀

EX-CONVICT!BABYDADDY!RAFE x FEM!READER

WARNINGS .ᐟ unprotected p in v, breeding kink if you squint, heavyyyy angst, rafe being an asshole (as per usual), brief mentions of guns/police raid and drugs

NOTES .ᐟ guys, i need him so bad, like actually. based on this concept from my silly little brain. dad!rafe stays in my mind 24/7, but this is me we're talking about, so of course, i had to put a lil spin on it. also this turned out way longer than i meant it to, woah

After almost four years, you were finally starting to feel like you were getting your shit together. You were living in a nice house in a nice neighborhood where everyone knew everyone—the kind of place where people literally asked their neighbors for cups of sugar. You had a stable job that allowed you to live comfortably and provide for yourself and your daughter, and you had a big St. Bernard, lovingly named Moonshine after you'd watched one too many episodes of Moonshiners, that provided a sense of safety and security when the nights were cold and the paranoia started to creep into your mind.

Being a single mom was not easy, and it definitely hadn't been a part of your life plan, but then, you met Rafe Cameron—the ever charming, sweet talking man that he was. He swept you up and made you feel like the only girl in the world, like nothing else mattered as long as you were by his side, so when you found out you were pregnant, you were over the moon at the idea of starting a family with him.

But Rafe Cameron was a liar. He was selfish and manipulative, and he turned your life right on it's head.

You could still remember the day the police kicked in the door of your apartment, bursting in with guns drawn, pointed directly at you. You were eight months pregnant and having a gun pointed at you—at your baby—made you physically ill.

They had raided the apartment and found copious amounts of drugs. Your heart dropped, and you immediately felt like an idiot. How had you not known? You knew he made more money than he realistically should have, but the thought never even crossed your mind that this could be the reason. You were heartbroken and angry. Angry that he had lied. Angry that he put you in this position. And, angry that he was leaving you.

Rafe was arrested, and eventually charged with possession with intent to distribute due to the amount of drugs they found, which resulted in a five year sentence. You were sad and angry, not only because you were losing the man you always thought was the love of your life, but also because now, you were alone, and your daughter wouldn't know her father for the first five years of her life.

This anger and resentment festered, mixing with longing and a deep, aching sadness. You couldn't bring yourself to answer his calls or letters, let alone visit him. You didn't know who he was anymore. The man that you saw sporting handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit at his trial was not the same man you fell in love with, and you wouldn't pretend like he was.

You had known Rafe's release date was approaching, but you were under the impression that you still had a little over a year to plan on what you were going to do when it finally came. That's why you were so unsuspecting when you went to answer the harsh knock at your door.

It was a Thursday night, and you were cuddled up on the couch with Moonshine, who was practically the size of you. A horror movie was playing on the TV before you, one you'd seen practically a million times, and every few minutes, your gaze would flicker to the baby monitor on the coffee table that displayed the feedback from a camera in your daughter, Rhiannon's, room.

You jumped a little at the harsh sound of a knock on your front door, the horror movie already having you on edge. You could be paranoid sometimes, especially being a single mom, so realistically, you knew you shouldn't have been watching it so late at night, but they were your guilty pleasures that you couldn't indulge in the light of day because of your toddler.

Moonshine immediately jumped up, a low growl escaping his throat as his hair stood on end. Your brows furrowed at his odd behavior, pausing the movie and unfurling yourself from your comfortable position. Your steps were soft on the hardwood, your socks cushioning the sound as you padded over to the front door, patting the dog's head comfortingly as you unlocked the door, completely unaware with what would greet you on the other side.

As you opened the door, the cool night air hit you, carrying with it the faint scent of cigarette smoke. You blinked in surprise, expecting to see a neighbor, but instead, you found yourself face to face with Rafe Cameron.

Your eyes widened, the air knocked from your lungs as you took him in. He was changed, broader and more imposing, his muscles flexing under his tight black t-shirt as he crossed his arms. His hair was buzzed, his chiseled jawline sporting stubble that made him look older, more mature.

He looked so different, but still, somehow, the same. You were hit by a wave of emotions—longing, love, sadness, but most presently, anger. Who did he think he was showing up unannounced in the middle of the night after all these years, especially looking so unapologetic and devastatingly handsome.

His piercing blue eyes bore into yours, captivating and dangerous like a wave pulling you under when you least expected it. "Hey, baby," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping off his tongue. The term of endearment fell from his lips without any semblance of warmth as he stared at you with an intensity that made you want to shrink in on yourself.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, your jaw clenching and grip on the door's edge tightening. You shivered a little as the cold air bit at your bare skin, barely registering the low growls of Moonshine behind you due to your tunnel vision on the man standing before you.

He smirked confidently, knowing the effect he had on you—the effect he always had on you. His eyebrow arched as he took in your appearance, his eyes lingering on your bare thighs, courtesy of your pajama shorts. "Aren't you going to invite me in, sweetheart? It's been a long time." He took a step forward, his broad frame filling the doorway intimidatingly.

You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to step back and let him intimidate you into getting what he wanted. You craned your neck to look up at him, his close proximity looming over you, making him seem even taller and more imposing than he already was. "And whose fault is that?" You managed to say, despite the pit in your stomach—a mix of dread, anxiety, and strangely, desire.

Rafe's gaze sharpened, his eyes glinting dangerously. He uncrossed his arms and braced one hand on the doorframe beside your head, leaning in closer. It made your breath catch in your throat, but you held firm. You couldn't let him see that he was getting to you. "Let me in," he clenched his jaw. His anger at you for abandoning him in there had been bubbling up, and your defiance was bringing it to the surface.

A light flickering on in the house across the street caught your eye. Old lady Flanigan had a habit of making everyone else's business, her business, and she was a nasty gossip. Unless you wanted people talking, you either had to let him in or get him to leave, and one of those would be a nearly impossible feat. "Rafe, you can't be here. You can't just barge back into my life after all this time," you told him firmly, your own eyes blazing with a fiery intensity.

"And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His body was practically vibrating with pent-up anger, his muscles taut as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning across your face. "Did you ever think about me? Did you ever think about what you did to us?"

"What I did?" You scoffed, anger bubbling up inside you at his accusation, blaming you as if he wasn't the one that went to prison and left you alone. "Are you fucking kidding me?" The old woman across the street was now shamelessly watching through her window, and you knew you had no choice but to let him in before her nosey ass called the cops on the strange, clearly out of place man lurking in the neighborhood.

He followed your eyes, looking over his shoulder to the nosy neighbor, his expression darkening. Without another word, he pushed past you, entering the house and forcing you to step back.

Your jaw clenched at his blatant disregard or respect for your wishes as you gently closed the door behind you. Moonshine barked, baring his teeth at the intruder, clearly sensing the tension and jumping into action to protect his family. "Moonshine, stop," you told him firmly. You were proud of him, but you didn't want his barking to wake Rhiannon. The last thing you could deal with right now was Rafe and a crying toddler. You could only focus on one temper tantrum at a time.

Rafe's eyes narrowed as he watched you control your dog, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His gaze then swept the interior of your home, taking in every detail as if memorizing it. "Nice place," he commented flatly, turning back to face you. "Where's my kid?"

You took a deep breath, your gaze hard at him calling your daughter his kid, like he had any right. He didn't even know her name or that she was a girl. "She's asleep," you told him, crossing your arms over your chest.

His piercing eyes bore into yours, unyielding. "Her name." he demanded gruffly.

"Rhiannon," you informed him hesitantly, your gaze darting to the monitor on the coffee table, making sure she was still asleep.

His expression flickered briefly, a flash of something softer, almost vulnerable, in his eyes before it was quickly concealed. He nodded once. "I want to see her." It wasn't a request. His posture remained tense and coiled, ready to react to your response.

You huffed, running a hand through your hair and heading to the kitchen with him hot on your heels. Maybe you wanted to busy yourself. Maybe you wanted an excuse not to have to look at him. Maybe you just wanted to walk away from him, to assert some kind of power. Either way, your next words were spoken with your back to him. "I told you. She's asleep. It's the middle of the fucking night, Rafe, what did you expect?"

He followed you into the kitchen, his presence overwhelming in the small space. The air felt charged, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension. "I don't give a fuck what time it is," he growled, his voice low and intense. "I've missed four years of her life already."

You rounded the kitchen island, planting your hands on it as you turned to face him, feeling more comfortable with the counter between you. Not because you were scared of him but because, despite yourself and despite your anger, you longed to touch him and have him touch you. "And whose fucking fault is that, huh?" You asked angrily, echoing your earlier words that he had ignored.

Rafe's expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together, trying to rein in his anger. "Yours," he bit out. "You left me in there," he accused.

"You left me out here!" Your voice raised slightly before you caught yourself, letting out a hard breath. The only way you could keep yourself from getting sad, from crying over the loss of the only man you'd ever truly loved, was getting angry at him.

"You think I wanted to go to prison?" He hissed, rounding the island and backing you against the counter. "You think I had a fucking choice?"

"You did have a choice," you said sharply, bracing your hands on the counter behind you as you stared up at him. "You chose to deal drugs, and you chose to keep dealing even after you found out I was pregnant. Prison was just the consequence of all your shitty choices."

His hand came up, slamming on the cabinet beside your head, the sound making you jump slightly. "And what about you?" He seethed, his chest heaving as his breath came in short, angry bursts. "What about your choices, huh? You could've waited for me."

"I did what I had to do," you said, glaring at him. You weren't quite sure what else to say. You had to protect yourself, your own feelings, and your child. You couldn't have stayed in touch, sick with worry every night while you soothed a colicky baby all by yourself. You had to forget him; it was better that way, easier.

"What you had to do," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm and the faintest hint of hurt. "You moved on pretty quick, didn't you? Found some new dick to warm your bed, is that it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, the words stabbing you like a knife to the heart. You hadn't been able to bring yourself to even look at another man since he went away. You told yourself it was just because of Rhiannon, that you were focusing on raising her and being the best mother you could be, but deep down, you knew it was because your heart would always belong to Rafe.

"Is that it?" he repeated, his face inches from yours. His voice was low, his eyes searching yours for something. "You found some other man to replace me?"

"Maybe I have," you said stubbornly. You knew you were being petty, wanting him to hurt like you hurt, but you also knew you were a shit liar, so there was no way in hell he would actually believe you. "Maybe I have moved on."

His other hand shot out, gripping your chin roughly as he forced you to look at him. "Bullshit," he growled, looking down at you, his blue eyes darkened. "I can see it in your eyes. You haven't moved on to shit."

You stared up at him defiantly, your chest heaving with anger, which only intensified when you felt the wetness between your thighs. Even after all this time, all it took was a look and a simple touch to get you so wet, and as much as you hated it, you couldn't deny that something about his post-prison appearance—how rugged and large he was—made your knees week.

His hand tightened on your chin as he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a brutal, demanding kiss. It was clear he was angry, punishing you for the words you'd spoken, and you knew you should've pushed him away—yelled at him and told him to get the fuck out of your house—but you didn't.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him with an intensity that matched the war going on within you—the jumbled mess of love and hate that he had brought up within you.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping your face roughly as he devoured your mouth. He pushed you further back against the counter that was now digging into your lower back, his body pinning you in place. You could feel his anger, his frustration, his desperation, and it only fueled your own emotions.

The kiss was raw and charged with a passionate mix of need, longing, and pure, unbridled anger, both of you trying to show the other that this wasn't a surrender of power or giving into the other and accepting blame. The kiss itself was an argument, a fight all of its own that didn't require words.

He hands went to your hips, lifting you onto the counter and stepping between your parted legs. Tearing his mouth from yours, he began kissing along your jawline and down the column of your throat. His lips were hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your skin as he continued to mark you.

You panted, your chest heaving for an entirely different reason now as you let out soft gasps and breathy sounds of approval, your head falling back against the cabinet behind your head. You had forgotten how good he was with his mouth, always knowing exactly how to drive you wild.

He took advantage of the exposed column of your throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the counter. You let out a low moan, your nails raking against his buzzed scalp. As sexy as he looked with a buzzcut, you wished you could run your fingers through his hair, tugging on it slightly everytime he touched you just right.

"Mmm," he hummed against your skin, his voice a low vibration that seemed to go straight to your core. He kissed his way back up to your mouth, his hips pushing forward to press his hardness against your core. "Did you forget how good I am, baby?"

You internally rolled your eyes at his cocky tone, like he had won. "God, do you ever shut up?" You asked, sounding less annoyed and effective since you were still breathless from his kisses.

His hips thrust forward again, making an involuntary whine fall from your lips at the feeling. "Not when I'm right." He smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His smirk was as frustratingly handsome as it had always been, and it made you want to smack him and kiss him all at once. "And I am."

"Don't be a dickhead," you glared at him, his arrogance and your own unyielding need for him only heightening your frustration. You were desperate and aching for him, but you refused to give in and beg him like you wanted to.

"Then quit acting like you're not soaking wet for me." His grip on your thighs tightened, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh. "I bet if I slipped my hand into your shorts, I'd find you drenched and ready for me, wouldn't I?"

His smug tone infuriated you and turned you on all at once. "Shut up, Rafe," you demanded, balling your fist into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer, so you could press your lips to his, forcing him to shut up and quit pissing you off.

Your grip on his shirt loosened, hand sliding down his hard, muscular chest to his waistband. You had always seen the trope of guys working out their frustrations in prison movies, but you didn't know that was actually a thing. Your fingers fumbled with his belt as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, sliding it along yours in a way that had you moaning against his lips

He groaned low in his throat as you finally worked the belt buckle open, sliding the leather through the loops and dropping it to the floor with a clank. His hands immediately slid up your thighs, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs—with the help of you awkwardly shifting to lift your ass enough to do so.

He discarded the garments to the floor with his belt, his palms running along your bare thighs as he parted your legs wider, opening you to him. His calloused fingertips brushed against your center, feeling your slick folds, making you gasp into his mouth. "Told you," he grinned against your lips, finding it in himself to be a complete dick, even when he was about to be inside you.

"Asshole," you mumbled, fingers deftly popping open the button of his jeans and unzipping them. You hooked your fingers in his waistband, shoving his pants and underwear down as he had done to you.

He kicked his pants and boxers off the rest of the way, stepping between your thighs again. His hard cock was flushed, the tip glistening with precum. He gripped himself at the base, rubbing the head through your slick folds teasingly. "What was that, baby?"

Your breath caught in your throat. "Just put your dick inside me before I kill you," you threatened him, though you both knew you wouldn't do anything, not really.

He chuckled lowly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You want it so bad, don't you?" He teased, his tip nudging against your entrance but not pushing inside. "Beg for it, baby. Let me hear how much you need my cock." He didn't need to be angry when he could punish you like this. He knew begging was the last thing you wanted to do, but he also knew that you'd do it.

"Don't piss me off right now, Rafe," you gritted your teeth, the feeling of him against your entrance making you dizzy with desire.

"Or what, baby? You'll what?" He pressed against you again, the tip of his cock pushing inside just slightly before pulling back out. "Tell me what you'll do if I don't give you what you want." He was pushing your buttons, knowing exactly how to make you snap.

You practically whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out. "Fuck- fine, please, Rafe," you panted, furious with yourself and him that you were giving into him. "Please just fuck me already."

The confident, victorious smirk that instantly appeared on his face had you wanting to slap him. "Now was that so hard?" He condescend. Your annoyed retort died in your throat as he finally pushed into you, making you moan, your head falling back against the cupboard at the feeling of him inside you after so long.

He groaned as your tight heat enveloped him, his fingers digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise as he started to move. His body tensed, using every ounce of his self control not to cum on the spot. Four years of fucking himself in his hand was nothing compared to the way you were squeezing him right now.

One hand moved up to your mouth, muffling your growing moans and whines. "Shh," he cooed. You were thankful for it. You knew you had to be quiet, but the way he was pounding into you made it nearly impossible.

"Did you miss me, baby?" He leaned down, breathing hotly against your neck as he nipped at your throat. "Did you lay awake at night thinking about me stretching you like this?" He flexed his hips, driving deep inside you.

You nodded, letting out a muffled "mhm" against his palm as your back arched into him. He felt so good, better than you'd remembered, and you hadn't had sex in four years, so you were so worked up.

"Good," he purred, his teeth scraping against your skin as he continued to pound into you relentlessly. "Because I missed you too, baby. Missed this tight little cunt wrapped around my dick." The hand on your thigh dipped down between your legs, his calloused thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

You gasped against his palm, your eyes rolling back at the mix of sensations. You were already so pathetically close, feeling that familiar aching deep within you.

He could feel your weepy cunt starting to flutter around him, and he was more than glad that you were so close so quickly because he didn't know how much longer he could hold back. "Gonna cum inside this pretty little pussy, baby. Gonna get you pregnant again, and this time I'm not gonna miss a damn thing"

His words turned you on more than they should have, snapping that coil inside you and sending you over the edge. You tensed around his dick, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you cried out his name.

"Shit, baby," he groaned, burying his face into your neck, his facial hair tickling your skin as he pushed himself deep inside you, painting your insides white with his release. His breath was hot against your already heated skin, a thin layer of sweat coating both your bodies as he slowly softened inside you.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to catch your breath, his hand falling from your mouth to brace himself on the counter. You couldn't believe that after all these years of promising yourself you wouldn't let him back into your life, you had so easily opened your legs and even let him cum inside you—because clearly that worked out so well for you last time.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of finally being home where he belonged. He eventually pulled out, his softening dick slipping from your tender cunt.

You had to tell him that he couldn't stay, that it would confuse Rhiannon to wake up to a strange man in the house, but you didn't know how, not after what just happened.

He stepped back, allowing you to get down from the counter. A silence fell over both of you as you got dressed, neither one knowing what happens now. He finished buttoning up his jeans, his eyes flicking up to you as he ran a hand over his buzzed head. "So... what now?" He asked gruffly, breaking the silence.

"You can't- you have to go," you told him, pulling your shorts back up and crossing your arms. It seemed unfair to say such a thing after sharing such an intimate moment, but you needed to think of your daughter. She didn't even know who Rafe was.

"You're kicking me out?" He echoed, as if he couldn't believe it. "After... that?" He gestured vaguely, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, both of you finding yourselves right back where you started. "You cant just... be here. Rhiannon doesn't even know who you are." The words seemed cruel as soon as they left your lips, but they were true. You wished they weren't, but they were.

"I know. Fuck, I know that. Don't you think I know that?" He was frustrated, your words like a slap to the face. "But goddamn it, I want to know her. I want to be a part of her life."

"I'm not saying you can't be, but... she's four, Rafe. She's old enough that you can't just walk in and call yourself her father," you told him firmly. "It's going to take time. I don't want to overwhelm her."

"Time?" He asked incredulously. Deep down, he knew you were right, that you were doing what was best, but he was so angry at himself, and instead of facing that anger and acknowledging that this was his own doing, he was taking it out on you. "I've already missed four fucking years. First steps, first words, first everythings."

"I can't keep going in circles with you, Rafe," you ran your hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. "You do this my way, or you don't do this at all." It hurt you to be so cold. You wanted Rhiannon to know her father, but she was just a kid. She wouldn't understand why her dad just showed up out of the blue, and you didn't know how to explain it to her.

He stared at you, his face unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, he spoke, his voice low. "Alright. Fine. Your way. But you better not shut me out again. I'm not gonna miss anymore. Understand?"

You nodded, thankful that he was going to stop fighting you on this. "Do you have a-a number or something?" You asked, unsure how long he'd been out, if he got his phone back and was able to pay the bill or if he bought a burner. You didn't even know where he was staying.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's the same as my old one," he said gruffly, clearly annoyed by your previous ultimatum.

"Right, okay," you nodded, your fingers drumming against your upper arm. You two stood in silence for a long moment. Rafe didn't want to leave, and you didn't want to tell him to.

Rafe's gaze fell to the floor, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. "Can I see her before I go?" He asked softly. "Just... just to see her."

There was a shift in his demeanor, a vulnerability about him that told you he really did care about Rhiannon, even if he'd never met her. "Yeah," you found yourself nodding, turning to lead him to her room. As you entered the living room, you could've sworn Moonshine was giving a disapproving side eye. "Don't judge me," you mumbled.

He followed you down the hallway, his heavy boots thudding on the floor. He paused in the doorway of Rhiannon's room, looking in on her sleeping form. She was curled up on her side in a princess toddler bed, her little arms wrapped around a stuffed cat. Rafe's expression softened as he took her in.

His eyes swept over the room, the nightlight plugged into the wall illuminating the space. The walls were painted a light shade of pink, toys strewn about. A small bookshelf sat tucked in the corner, various children's books inside, some sitting on the floor in front of it.

He stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. He crouched down, his eyes fixed on Rhiannon's sleeping face as he reached out, his large hand gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "She's so little," he murmured softly, almost reverently.

You leaned on the doorway, a small, sad smile pulling at your lips as you watched the exchange. You found yourself wondering what life would have been like if Rafe never got locked up, your heart aching as you thought about sharing all of Rhiannon's firsts with someone, bickering over whether she would've said mommy or daddy first. The wobbly first steps, the soothing and band-aid applications after she scraped her knees. What would it have been like to share those moments with him?

Rafe's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "She's beautiful." He turned his head to look at you, and you saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. He blinked it away quickly, clearing his throat as he stood, masking his emotions as he always had. "I should go."

You hesitated, for a moment wanting to throw everything you'd said out the window and tell him to stay, but you knew you couldn't. You just nodded, letting him push past you. You didn't move from your spot, even after you heard the front door open and shut. You simply closed your eyes, leaning your head against the doorframe as a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

#archive gems ᡣ𐭩 #babydaddy!rafe #rafe cameron

2K notes · View notes

ssongsboo · 17 days ago

Note

AND 02:39 THIS IS CRAZY

WTF?????? I AM SO NOT OKAY

#☆ ; hey listen ?#hes so gorgeous #im losing my mind #☆ ; my 🧸 ᡣ𐭩 #☆ ; the archives ?#matthew #seok matthew #seok woohyun #matthew zb1 #matthew zerobaseone #zb1 #zerobaseone

0 notes

osarina · 9 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 SNEAKIN' A PIC (ATTEMPT: FAILED)!

FEATURING: fyodor dostoevsky

SUMMARY: you never get to see him like this. is it really so awful that you want to capture the moment eternally? evidently to him, it is. (wordcount: 1.4k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i'll never not make fun of that one panel of him sitting at his computers with his greasy ass hair even if he does look like a pretty princess in every other panel he has. my obsession with naps is being translated into my fics, i already posted a nikolai one posted and also have a dazai one in the drafts HAHA

When you wake up, you feel a weight on your bicep. Your brows furrow a bit in confusion, glancing to your right to where your arm is extended across the bed, but then your eyes fall upon Fyodor, fast asleep and using your arm as a pillow, and you can barely stop the small smile that rises to your lips.

Your arm is numb, but you don’t dare move in fear of waking him up—the clock on your nightstand reads nearly eight am, and you wonder when he finally came to bed last night. You know that he’s been pushing himself day and night to finalize the last parts of his plans, denying himself both sleep and food as he sits at his computers dealing with meetings and preparations 24/7.

He hadn’t even changed into a pair of pajamas before falling into bed with you, nor had he bothered to get beneath the covers. a part of you wonders if he even meant to sleep, or if he’d just pushed his body too far and only barely made it to the bed before it gave out on him.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

You bite back a sigh as your gaze traces over the stubborn man—he always looks delicate in his sleep, in a way that he never does when he’s awake with his eyes shut and his long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. His expression is the picture of serenity rather than the cold and unapproachable face he wears when he’s awake.

You think that he’s pretty all the time, but there’s something special about being able to witness Fyodor Dostoevsky in his most vulnerable moments, knowing that you’re the only one he allows to be with him in them.

You’re half-tempted to reach over to your nightstand with your free hand to try to grab your phone and snap a picture of him. You look over, wondering if you can reach it without jostling your other arm around, but before you can even consider your chances, you hear: “Do not.”

Fyodor’s voice is still thick with sleep. you glance over at him, surprised, but his eyes are still shut, and he hasn’t budged an inch. You wonder if you imagined it, but then his eyes crack open, thin slivers of purple glaring at you.

“Just one for me?” you ask quietly. “No one else will see.”

“No.”

You pout softly but roll back to look at him. He still looks exhausted, the bags beneath his eyes are dark and heavy, and he can barely even hold his eyes open. You reach out, cupping his cheek gently and watching as his eyes slide back shut, a soft exhale spilling from his lips as he lets the side of his face sink back into your arm, dozing back off.

You smile lightly, shifting forward a bit to press your lips to his forehead, stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb.

“I need to get up,” he murmurs, but his eyes are still shut and his voice is thick with sleep. “I need to finish-“

“You will not finish anything adequately in this state,” you chide gently. “If you get proper sleep, you’ll be much more efficient and effective.”

Fyodor looks as if he wants to argue, brows furrowing at your words even with his eyes shut. You only jostle him a bit closer, watching as he shoots you an irate look, but then settles down when he realizes you’re only dragging him closer so that he can rest his head on your chest—a place far more comfortable than your arm.

“Wake me up in an hour,” he finally orders, and you agree absently, knowing that you absolutely will not.

You think, as Fyodor lets himself doze off on your chest, that it’s hard to remember he’s quite literally one of the most dangerous men on this planet. That if he so pleased, he could activate his ability and kill you without a moment’s warning. That he’s a man who is so terrifyingly intelligent that it sometimes comes across as prophetic, and you can’t help but wonder if he speaks the truth when he claims to be led by the Hand of God.

Your hand smoothes across his back in steady circles, tilting your face down to press your lips to the top of his head. His hair is a bit oily, as he usually lets it get when he deprives himself of basic necessities while he works. You’ll have to convince him to take a bath with you when he wakes up, but you figure it’ll be a battle because you already convinced him to sleep in a little longer, he’ll not want to waste any more time.

You almost want to pinch him, wondering why everything with him has to be a war when it comes to taking proper care of himself. He rarely even remembers to take his iron supplements on the daily without your prompting, and he knows if he doesn’t take them, he’ll be prone to dizziness and fatigue. For all of his intelligence, you feel like sometimes that you’re a mother dealing with a stubborn child, not your lover.

“Stop that,” Fyodor sighs, shifting a bit to get comfortable. “Dim your thoughts, dusha moya. I can feel you getting yourself wound up.”

You scowl. “You know, Fedya, maybe you should just drop the whole terrorist plot and become one of those preachers on the radio who pretend to be prophets. Build yourself a cult, make some money. You already seem to know everything, wouldn't be too hard."

Fyodor tilts his head up to look at you, expression so deadpan and unamused that it nearly makes you snort, but you only dip your head down to kiss between his eyes.

"Sleep,” you say, voice softer. “You need it.”

Fyodor doesn’t respond, and when you tilt your head to the side to look at him again, you find that he already dozed back off again, shoulders rising and falling steadily underneath the arm you have wrapped around him.

You smile lightly and you tighten your arms a bit as Fyodor lets out a puff of air in his sleep, turning his head to lay the side of his face on your chest. In this position, you can see the way his eyes flit beneath his eyelids rapidly, his brain still running rampant even in sleep.

You bring your fingers to his hair to card them through the dark locks, slow and soothing in the way you know he likes, watching as his eye movements slow and his body relaxes into yours.

Your smile widens a bit before it abruptly falls, laying your head back against the pillow as you finally begin your next challenge: drawing out a battle plan for convincing Fyodor to take a bath with you when he wakes up.

You sigh to yourself heavily, knowing well that you're about to be facing the most difficult argument of your life with the most stubborn man alive. You can already feel the headache, and you think that you deserve a new picture for your lock screen from how much trouble Fyodor gives you on the daily, but as you side eye your nightstand again and try to calculate whether or not you can reach your phone without waking him up, you feel fingers wrap around your free hand.

You gape in disbelief as you look down to see Fyodor grab your hand in his sleep, as if he knew what you were planning even when not conscious.

Unbelievable, you think bitterly, plan entirely thwarted, but your gaze softens at the sight of him fast asleep on your chest, clutching your hand with one of his.

Maybe you don't need a picture, you realize, because you think there's no way you'd ever allow this image to fade away from your mind.

Still, you think he should severely reconsider his line of work.

Even more so now, in fact, because there is something entirely abnormal about his seemingly perfect foresight, evidently flawless even in his sleep too.

#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives #fyodor x reader #fyodor fluff #fyodor x you #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fluff #bungo stray dogs x you #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x you #fyodor dostoevsky fluff

1K notes · View notes

28chns · 6 months ago

Text

𝇋♡︎𝇌 ׂ ׅ ☣️ 𓈒 ☆ i'm like some kind of supernova.

358 notes · View notes

archiveofvirtue · 1 month ago

Text

this one kept me so intrigued 🎀 love me some toxic rafe!! go read rn!!

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ when a heated argument between rafe and bitchy!kook!reader leads to the cops knocking at their door when they’re already.. ‘making up’

warnings: toxic!rafe, toxic!reader, nothing about this is romantic, cheating accusations, arguing, lots of yelling, physical violence, angst, lots of throwing and breaking things, banter (?), making up, the cops show up, unprotected sex, rafe gets slapped and choked during sex too..

a/n: this has been in the vault for a while now lolll. huge thanks to my bb @nemesyaaa for giving me this idea <3

wc: 2.8k

“you’re acting fucking crazy right now!” you walked through the front door, rafe following closely behind as you slipped your heels off. “i’m acting crazy?” you spun around, rafe eyeing the shoe in your hand. “i hear this bitch talking about how you and her fucked while we were on a break, and you expect me to be calm?” you scoffed, “don’t tell me i’m acting crazy when you haven’t even tried to start explaining to me what the fuck she’s talking about!” you threw your shoe just like rafe suspected you would.

missing him by a few inches, rafe lunged at you, grabbing the other heel out of your hand. “what the fuck did i tell you about throwing shit at me!” you rolled your eyes, shoving him away as you walked past him to the kitchen. “start talking rafe.” your boyfriend pinched the bridge of his nose, his nostrils flaring as you took a water bottle out of the fridge. “she’s obviously lying! why would i go have sex with someone when me and you were still fucking? blocked contacts and all?” you narrowed your eyes at his form.

“i swear to you, i don’t even know who that girl is!” he walked around the kitchen island, a groan rumbling from his throat when you moved away. “then why would she say that? why would she be talking to her friends about it in a pathetic little circle if it wasn’t true?” you shot back. “hello?! so that we could argue exactly how we’re arguing right now. are you really gonna give her the satisfaction by doing what she wants you to do?” he slammed his fist down on the marble slab separating you two.

arching a brow, your gaze flickered to his phone in his pocket. “give me it.” rafe scoffed. “give you what?” he sneered, his heart dropping when you pointed to the cellular device tucked away in his pants. “do you seriously wanna act stupid right now? i said give me your fucking phone.” rafe cursed under his breath, not even wanting to imagine what you’d do if you saw him hesitating. sliding the damned thing across the island, you picked it up and unlocked it. “if you take one step i’m shattering this shit.”

the first thing you did was go to his text messages, scrolling through every thread for any sign of whatever her name is. you didn’t find anything after a few minutes of searching, ‘recently deleted’ messages included. his social medias were next, a lot of them clean for the most part. you bit the inside of your cheek when you opened his photos. golfing selfies with topper, loads of offguards of you at your vanity, even more photos of you and him while you were out running errands.. amongst other things..

despite not finding anything, you noticed rafe still had this worried look on his face. biting your lip, you followed your gut feeling and opened his notes app. sure enough, there at the top was a phone number with the initial ‘s’ next to it. tapping the number, you put it on speaker before muting yourself. “who the fuck is ‘s’?” rafe’s eyes widened in realization. “don’t-” he stepped forward, making you raise a finger. the phone rung twice before a sultry voice picked up. “hey, handsome, i was waiting for you to call me..”

eyes flickering over to his, you smiled in disbelief. “rafe? hello?” you hung up, your heart beating in your ears as white hot anger blinded your vision. “i can explain that!” he knew to keep his distance from you, your fingers clutching his phone even tighter. “i don’t want to hear shit. you’re a liar, rafe. you always have been.” now you were calm, and to rafe that was worse. what made you so angry wasn’t the fact that he slept with someone else, but acting like you were the crazy one and flipping all of tonight’s arguments on you.

rafe still continued talking. “we didn’t have sex! i never even called her or anything! did you not hear her say she was waiting for me to call?!” you turned, your eyes burning into his skull. “it’s the principle! you still had this bitch’s phone number saved! that’s the fucking problem, idiot!” without thinking, you chucked the phone across the room, shattering a picture frame of you and rafe. following the line of damage, rafe’s jaw clenched. he really liked that picture of you two. “we’re breaking each other’s shit now? bet.”

you rolled your eyes as he stomped up the stairs, a bottle of perfume flying from the railing and into the wall where a hole now resided. “i could always buy a new one, asshole!” you taunted him, “with your credit card, too!” the next thing that came hurling from upstairs was a glass jewelry box where you kept all the jewelry rafe specifically bought for you. that one did in fact hurt a little. you took a breath before he really took the cake with the next item, or items. as if moving in slow motion, you watched as rafe threw over various makeup products over the spiral staircase.

eyeshadow palettes, foundation bottles, tubes of lipgloss and concealer also amongst the mess, all came to a booming crash smack in the center of the foyer. there was glass absolutely everywhere. and you were barefoot, great. you stared at the space around you, tears pricking your eyes at the scene. you and rafe stood in silence, thinking about why this continuously keeps happening. you didn’t care if he saw you crying, the sound of your sniffle making his demeanor change. “i’m sorry, baby.”

you shook your head, not wanting to hear anything. “no, you’re not.” your voice shook as you tiptoed to the couch, trying your best not to step on any glass. going inside your shared bedroom, rafe came back out with some shoes for you before making his way downstairs, the glass crunching underneath his feet. “please, i’m begging you to just let me explain all of this.” he plopped down next to you, in which you moved over all the way to the other side. petty.

“me and topper were at the golf course, kickin’ it the way we always do when this bev cart girl came up to us,” you looked over at him, your teary eyes making his stomach churn, “she was telling us that she had just started there and that she lived on the other side of the island and long story short she started flirting with me, okay?” he held his hands up defensively. “i told her that i have a girlfriend and i wasn’t interested by a long shot.” he started, “she got a little irritated and then topper, being the instigating asshole he is, invited her to the party tonight—” you cut him off.

“that still doesn’t explain why her number was in your phone, and why she was talking about you being the ‘best fuck of her life’ while i was sitting right there.” rafe rested his head in his hands for a moment. “can i finish?” you waved him off as you settled back in your corner. “things got awkward so i gave topper my phone before going inside and getting a drink. when i came back out, she had winked at me all weird and topper showed me that he had saved her number in my notes for me to send to him later because his phone was dead. that’s it, i swear.”

you didn’t say anything, a part of you hating yourself for wanting to believe him. “explain to me why she was talking crazy with her friends then.” rafe tapped the side of his head, “because she obviously knew it was you that i’m with!” he shouted, making you glare in his direction. “how would she know me?” you crossed your arms. “y/n.. besides the fact that we were all over each other, who the fuck doesn’t know you?” rafe asked incredulously. fair point. “is that all?” you looked up at him as he scooted closer.

“no.” his tone switched to that gentle lilt, your breathing slowing when he took your hand in his. with the last bit of resolve you had left, you pulled away from him. “well make it good, because i’m on the verge of leaving your ass.” rafe scoffed. “you said that last time..” he shot back, “and the time before that..” you shot him a glare. “and who broke in when i changed the locks?” you reminded him of the time you woke up to a busted door in the middle of the night. “you got me.” he shrugged, in which you looked away.

“whatever.” you felt exhausted, all of tonight’s activities were starting to catch up to you. who knew overthinking, arguing on the way home, breaking stuff, and yelling and crying could make someone so tired? “no— i mean like, you got me.” rafe closed the space between you two, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you still avoided his gaze. “hey,” he thumbed your chin, “there has never been, and never will be, another girl. i’ll die on that hill.” your eyelids fluttered when you felt his fingers creep up on your thigh.

“i know you could see right through me, does it look like i’m lying?” the expression on his face was clear as day. he was telling the truth. you let out a shaky breath, your arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled you on top of his lap. “oh, baby, we have to do better.” he squeezed you tight, inhaling your scent as his palms ran up and down your back. you sniffled into his neck, pressing a kiss to the skin there. “i’m sorry for breaking your phone.” rafe shushed you, eyeing the broken device in the corner.

“don’t be. i’m the one who broke like half of your shit.” you didn’t even care, mostly because you knew rafe was going to replace everything anyways. you pulled back, cupping his face in your hands. “i love you.” you whispered, those three words making rafe’s heart clench. giving you a small smile, rafe replied with a ‘i love you too,’ followed by ‘give me some sugar..’ of course, you leaned in, rafe’s lips meeting yours halfway as he groaned at the taste of your lipgloss on his tongue. this was just how things went, you two have been here plenty of times before.

his hands snaked down to the globes of your ass, hiking your dress up as he kneaded your flesh between his fingers. your kisses became more feverish, a muffled moan sounding from you when rafe slipped his tongue inside your mouth. he dragged your hips against his clothed erection, both of you hissing at the much needed friction. “how bad do you want it?” rafe panted, nipping the skin of your neck. you almost laughed at his words. “how bad do i want it?” you repeated, “how bad do you want to take it from me?” rafe groaned when you wrapped a hand around his throat, pushing his head back against the couch.

he should’ve known taking the reigns wasn’t going to be that easy. with one of your hands restricing his intake of air, he blinked up at the ceiling, his eyes fluttering shut as you pressed kisses to his chest. you were so sexy like this, he let you grind against him until he couldn’t stand to not be inside of you for another second. you let rafe remove your grip on his neck, a small gasp leaving your lips as he took both of your hands and tucked them behind your back. your head was resting on his shoulder as he pulled himself out of his pants, his fingers moving your underwears to the side before forcing you to sink down onto his length.

you were so slick and ready for him, rafe couldn’t refrain from cursing in your ear. “you’ve been soaked this whole time, huh? fighting turns you on, is that it?” you met his eyes. “mhmm,” you leaned down, “you make me so wet when you’re mad..” rafe grunted, landing a harsh smack to your ass. he knew that already, but hearing you say that while he’s both angry and sexually frustrated just ticked him off even more.

soon, you were the one bouncing on top of him, making him watch in awe as his cock disappeared inside of your greedy cunt. wanting to watch you unravel, he started stroking your clit, making you double over. “you wanna cum? you have to earn that shit.” without a word, you reached up, slapping him across the cheek. the action made him twitch inside of you. “you only cum if i get to.” you kissed him roughly, biting his bottom lip as you pulled away. you were so serious too.

rubbing your clit in harder circles, you nearly screamed when the tip of his cock began pressing that sweet spot inside of you. “fuck—” your thighs began trembling, your orgasm just right there in arms reach when there was a loud bang at the front door. both of you jumped, the fire in your loins melting away into nothing as both of you froze. “what the fuck?” rafe held onto you tighter before the banging continued. “who the fuck is that?” you got up, pulling off of him with a hiss. “outer banks sheriff deputies, open up!” you and rafe looked at each other with wide eyes.

rafe cursed under his breath, adjusting your dress and his pants before stepping in front of you to answer the door. “can i help you?” he peeked out, two other cops standing at his side. “are you the owner of this home?” rafe squeezed your hand, responding to the officer with a ‘yes, sir.’ opening the door a little more, the cop continued to explain why him and his team were there. “we received a few calls reporting a domestic dispute at this address, ‘said that they heard yelling and a lot of ruckus.” you shut your eyes for a moment. you should’ve assumed the whole island was able to hear you and rafe going at each other’s throats.

“uh, no sir, nothing domestic going on around here.” rafe joked. no one laughed. “no? so the four separate calls we received were all lying?” four separate calls? damn, people couldn’t mind their business around here. “well, uh.. yes, me and my girlfriend had a little disagreement but we’re okay now—” immediately, the sheriff demanded to see some kind of identification. taking his id out of the wallet in his pocket, rafe cooperated as the older man had him confirm his information. “so you said you and the woman are ‘good’ now?” officer shoupe, as rafe had learned, asked with concern.

“yes, sir, she’s right here.” before you could protest, rafe dragged you to the front, an awkward smile adorning your lips as you were pretty sure they could see the smudged lipgloss all over your mouth. “hello, sweetheart. can you confirm that you are safe and in not any immediate danger with this man?” you looked back at rafe, having never been questioned by the police before. “yes, i’m safe,” you answered, “we just had a little fight, but we’re making up now..” one of the female officers cleared her throat awkwardly.

“i see..” shoupe nodded, gaze flickering back at rafe. “well i guess we’ll leave you two alone then. next time, can you please keep your volume low? you two had some people pretty spooked there.” you mumbled a ‘yes, sir.’ before rafe pulled you back inside and shut the door. it was silent for a moment, both of you seemingly looking around at the aftermath of everything. “i can’t believe people called the cops..” you walked over to the kitchen and grabbed the broom. rafe watched with a confused expression as you started sweeping up glass.

“so, uh— we aren’t going to pick up where we left off?” you looked up at him with a look that said ‘seriously?’. “no. how about we ‘pick up where we left off’ after you help me clean all of this up, and replace everything you destroyed?” rafe groaned. he could always count on you to leave him with blue balls. deciding to help you, it wasn’t long before everything was cleaned up, no sign of any earlier events except for the new hole in the wall. after you two showered and settled in bed, rafe held you flush against his chest while he kissed up your back,

“are you sure you don’t want to finish?” rafe sounded pained, like he needed to be inside of you immediately. turning around in his embrace, you pecked his lips before swinging a leg over his hips. “make it fast.” you pretended like you didn’t want the same thing, a smile gracing your lips when you heard rafe mutter a ‘thank god.’ before slipping off of your nightgown.

#toxic rafe will be the death of me #archive gems ᡣ𐭩 #soooo obsessed

3K notes · View notes