#this one was tough to wrangle with

[xcziel]

literally the only thing really stopping me from planning a flight is that if i go, i'll want to be there a while and i can't fit enough into only one suitcase

from experience, traveling with two suitcases is a pain, but also i need more space than one suitcase it is a dilemma

[calliopechild]

Me at the concept of the Rise boys being extremely resilient supersoldiers when it comes to fight scenes: awesome, showstopping, extremely badass.

Me at the same concept when it means an utterly criminal lack of sickfics because we’ve all collectively agreed these boys are common cold-proof: fucking goatman, this is absolute horseshit.

[tonycries]

She's My Vitals!

Synopsis. The best part about a séx ban? When they’re broken!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, séx bans, bondagé, PÚSSYDRUNK BOYS, creampíes, CÚMPLAY, spítting, true form! Sukuna, dp, pússy-slappíng, chokíng Nanami, BRÉEDING, markíng, making him whíne, talking to her, jealous Nanami, fínger-súcking, NÉEDY boys, “just the típ”, heinous things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. LAST LEAK DAY HOW ARE WE FEELING BBYGIRLS??

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - 1 week…almost

“Oh god…” he’s rasping out, skimming a thick thumb over where your flimsy panties were the most translucent. Just the sticky sheen of saturated slick makes him salivate, neglected cock throbbing with how much he’s missed you. “Y’really got me begging, huh, naughty girl?”

Now, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t ask for attention - either you come to him with that cute pout of yours, begging him to fuck you full of his long, solid inches or you don’t. Toji Fushiguro doesn’t grovel - he’s never just barely lasted only a measly week since being punished with a sex ban. Banging at your door soon after, strong arms just wrangling his pretty girl to the ground right then and there. 

But here he was. 

“S-so eager.” you’re humming, the hardwood floors of your hallway chafes lightly underneath your arched back. Your nails dig into his muscled shoulders, holding back a giggle at the way he’s already so gone. Eyes droopy, abs flexing, panting. “Affected so much by-”

“-just a week?” Two rough hands knead at your ass, dragging your body forwards to grind his angry cock in a sultry push. “A week of hell, you mean.”

There’s a soft smack! gifted right onto your puffed-up clit, and Toji has the audacity to laugh - laugh, all low and humorless when your needy cunt gushes out in another way of your syrupy sweet juices. 

“Though…” he circles his thick, reddish head over your quivering entrance, gliding over the glistening mess you’ve made. Coating around your puffy teasingly with every ribbon of his thick precum, “-seems like I wasn’t the- hah- only one all desperate n’ shit for you.” That sinful scar positioned on his lips grazes jaggedly against yours in a lazy kiss, “Missed me, woman?”

You’re rolling your eyes, “Real rich coming from-” And Toji can’t do anything but watch when your hand dips down between your two pressed-up bodies to wrap around his fat hilt. He throws his head back, swearing when you just slot his leaky tip between your swollen folds. Sensitive and so swelteringly hot. “-the same man that almost broke down my door at two in the m-morning because he missed me too much, Toji.”

Fuck- fuck, Toji doesn’t think he even heard whatever just came out of your mouth. No, he was way too busy trying not to fucking pass out. Humping you pathetically as if in heat now, gulping at the dripping wet squelches from down below. Shit, his favorite song.

“Say it.” You’re feeling two of his thick palms come up to rest atop your head, lacing those thick fingers of his slowly. “Say my name again.”

It was almost endearing how tough he still tried to sound. Acting like his body wasn’t wracking with a jolting shudder every time you’re grinding your hips up in steady gyrations against his rock-hard cock. 

“Say what now?” you purr, silky sweet. Peppering a lingering kiss against his forehead, his scar, only to have him bite down on your lower lip in warning. “Toji? The same Toji that was so mean to me - ignoring me for some stupid mission? The same big, bad Toji Fushiguro who took less than a week to crack-”

“M’sorry!” And usually you’d love to tease Toji more for the way he was cutting you off so much, but he just sounded like he was in utter wreck. Lips wobbling, a baritone ah! ah! ah! leaving with each sopping glissade of your cunt across his twitchy shaft. “There! I said it. Won’t- won’t miss another one of our hngh! d-dates for a job, m’kay? Fuck this sex ban- I’ll even answer your cute calls in the middle of finishing off a target if I have to just please-”

Ah, there it was.

The heady hallway - fuck, you two hadn’t even made it to the bed, yet - rings out with the soft thwack! of Toji’s heavy, cum-filled balls against your ass. Only increasing in volume with each greedier and greedier little half-thrust into your snug cunt. 

“Ngh! Toji- Toji f-fuck.” you’re keening at the feeling of all the air in your lungs being thoroughly pushed out. “Y-you’re lucky you’re so convincing-”

And he feels so hot, dizzy head being flung back at the heavenly suck of your pussy swallowing him up. Being stretched so gapingly open, it’s like his girth is contorting your velvety walls to his very shape. Stretching you out so much, massaging your sweet spots without even trying, reaching for your very womb-

“Ha-ahh- so tight- fuck- no wonder I almost broke yer damn door down.” he’s breathing out. The words finally registering, “Is it me that’s convincing or is it-” His biceps bulge with effort, rippling as the vice-like restraint above you is pushing you down, down, down to his hold. “-is it this?” 

You can’t even form an answer if you wanted to - because Toji was hunching over his hulking body to bully his fat cock into you in thorough, jagged ruts of his hips. Keeping you stuck in his vice-like hold, fully in the face of all his pressurized thrusts.

“What? Cat got yer- ngh tongue?” Toji smiles, smugly. Obscenely. “I missed your p-pretty voice just as much as this cunt, y’know? Why don’t ya use those words f’me, doll?”

Your entire body just jerks upwards when one of his soft palms plant back down on your clit, giving another simpering smack!

“Yes!” you’re spitting, and there’s such a supple satisfaction in Toji’s movements now. “M-missed this- missed you so much…”

“Tha’s fuckin’ right. Never gonna let ya forget it.” He’s grunting throatily at your answer, the soft, rounded pads of his fingers swirl over your stinging clit, eager to give another playful slap. He stills - and you whine, grinding down pleadingly. Exactly how he wanted it. “So why dontcha fuck back into me n’ show me, you lil’ tease?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 17 days

There’s a slow, syrupy puddle growing on your inner thighs - not between them, no, on top of them. Glossing down your skin in a milky ooze, Nanami’s red, achy cock right in the center of it all. Rubbing and grinding rawly between your thighs, he’s rutting forward like he’s out of control-

“M-my love.” Even those words sound so wrecked, Nanami’s soft baritone cracking, a few octaves higher than usual. “Are you- hah- doing okay?”

Your kiss-bitten pout makes his thick length jolt in interest, surging forwards to kiss them. “I am, Ken. Which is why I r-really want you to break the-”

“No!” he’s gasping, and there’s another harsh glissade of his glisteningly wet cock just across your puffed-up folds. Two firm hands hold your squirming hips still while he fucks your thighs even sloppier. Drowsy, almost. “No no no- we can’t. Don’t wanna overwork my gorgeous wife, sh-she’s already had such a long month at work, no?”

You shake your head stubbornly, pulling on the loosened end of his favorite speckled yellow tie to just drag Nanami even closer. “M’not-”

“But- the project-”

“Told you m’not overworked, okay, Ken?” Within only a few moments, you’ve got your trembly legs hooked around muscled hips, feeling his dick reach every single one of your hidden sweet spots and crannies with just the single inch he’s sinking in. Accidentally - but oh, an accident never felt so good. “Besides…e-even with this annoying new project, the month’s been even hah- longer because of this sex ban. I really, really miss you inside me–”

“Oh…better not have told me that.” He breathes into the crook of your neck, hiding away that rosy blush high on his cheeks. And before you can comfort your dear husband - or maybe make him even more flustered - he’s giving one, solid thrust into the depths of your awaiting cunt. Slowly. “After- after so long. Fuuuck- you shouldn’t have told me that.”

Giving a steady roll of his hips until you were just gasping at the sheer thickness. Nanami’s long girth leaving you spotless, swiveling his fat head easily against your g-spot.

“F-fuck-” he’s still muttering to himself, jaw clenched tight with all the strain of not devouring you whole after so long-

“So do it.” 

Your words make him still in his unforgiving pace, cocking a head in confusion. The sight of him - all disheveled and blushing an innocent red, eyes drooped in pussydrunk pleasure, mouth parted sweetly - has you giggling. “Seriously- aww, Ken, you didn’t even realize you were talking out loud?” Your palms smooth their way over his blue button-up, too impatient to have stripped out of it. “Do it. Dontcha think the best ngh! de-stressor during a long work project would be this-”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence - and you didn’t have to. Because Nanami is doing exactly that. 

“You’re not good f’me-” he draws a greedy thumb over your clit in tight, methodical circles. Pressing sweet peck after peck on your sagging open lips, “You have- no idea- how I- hah- was holdin’ back all this time.”

Each squelching thrust has the pool of cum and your saturated slick expanding ever-wider. Drenching into the once-fresh sheets, your skin, forming a creamy ring around his heft base. It stands out so starkly against the neat patch of blond and his red, red shaft.

“Seein’ you walking around the office in those godforsaken short skirts.” he growls, sharp gaze honing in on the mess of fabric in tatters on the floor. “Havin’ those interns making eyes at you- Meanwhile I couldn’t even fuck my cute wife.” All those frustrations he’s channeling into his hips, fucking you deeper and deeper into the bed, you swear in the morning you’d be able to see the markings of his tight balls against your ass, his v-line against your thighs. “All because of some shitty project I couldn’t give less of a shit about.”

“S’almost- hah-” you’re hiccuping when his thumb strokes even harder, matching his lewd pace. “-s’almost over anyway. And I al-already filed the-”

“My love…” Nanami gently cuts in, just quelling your worried excuses with another jittering ram of his hips. Pressing expertly into where he already knew would make you squeal. “-this cockblocking project is the last thing I wan’ hear about right now-” He’s sucking gently on your lips in a sloppy kiss - his favorite type - “-I’d much prefer to finally hear you cum-”

And this was so unlike your dear husband. 

He was never this rough when throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, not giving you anything but a second to adjust before bending down, down, down to fold you into the meanest mating press possible. Never this hoarse with his words, wrenching out of his shot throat with each bludgeoning push into your cunt. Just ravaging you from the inside out. 

Soon enough, it gets too much.

And Nanami’s pants turn into heaves, his pressurized cadence turn into nothing more than languid, sloppy ruts back and forth back and forth back and-

“K-Ken-” Your fingers find their way to his tie again - pulling so hard that it makes him lightheaded. So tight it cuts a red indent into his golden skin. “M’so close-”

You’d heard about the type of orgasms so sudden that you don’t even realize you’re having them. Because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that you’re cumming. So hard, so aggressive, even that Nanami has to bite back his own groans. 

Head falling backwards at how almost-difficult it was to drive into your snug cunt now, velvety walls constricting with pleasure. Milking him so fucking good- “Yeah- yeah fuck, choke me. Choke me while you cum, darling.”

In a split-second, the pads of Nanami’s fingers on your clit shove themselves between your lips. The honeyed cum and slick pooled thickly in a candied coat that makes you throb. 

“That s’for not hngh! telling me sooner about the project almost being done. And this-” It’s followed by a gentle peck to your forehead, and an absolutely not gentle twitch of his weepy cock inside you. His fingers tighten inside your mouth, yours tighten around his tie, “-is for all the overtime m’gonna hafta make up for.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 8 days

It’s been too long - way too long. A week- fuck, maybe more? 

Geto doesn’t know, can’t even think right now with the way each and every slow, smooth glissade of your puffed-up pussy down his long shaft have him losing his mind let alone his train of thought. Gritting his teeth, he tugs even tighter around the cool leather restrain pinning him down to the plush bed, “Th-this has already gone on for a week- hngh- don’t you think that’s enough teasing, gorgeous?”

Fuck him and his stubborn streak.

“Over a week of you giving me the cold shoulder, Sugu?” Oh your saccharine sweet hum is enough for the curve of his cock to twitch up. Bumping lewdly against your clit, “I think m’being more than generous.”

Your leader’s dark brows knit even deeper in frustration, the need bleeding into those heaving shudders of his. “Aww, c-come on—” And if you didn’t know any better you’d have said that Geto Suguru was whining - whining. The headboard rattles loudly when he pulls, “Y’know I didn’t mean it- was jus’ a lil’ lesson because y’d-didn’t finish your duties as my second-in-command. I already give you ‘nough pretty privilege, don’t I?”

“Oh yeah?” you’re huffing, leaning forward until he gets the perfect view of your perky tits. Geto can’t help the way his tongue lolls out to suckle gently on your nipples. Handsome cheeks hollowing out with each swirling movement. “And I’m gonna give you a muzzle next if you don’t stop running that mean mouth.”

Shit, Geto blames it on not having you for a while now - fuck this sex ban - because he can already feel his weepy cock gush out in a fresh coat of syrupy precum. Steamy and sticky between your thighs, it was almost fucking embarrassing.

“Yes, ma’am.” he gasps out, sounding as disoriented as you looked right now. There’s a candied string of spit between his glossed-over lips and your tits that snaps around his almost leering smile. “Anything for you.”

If you felt his admission was mocking, then you didn’t say anything. And Geto was so fucking thankful, because just then you’re positioning his achy cock right at your slobbering entrance. Coating down his angry, angry shaft in your sweet juices before sinking down - slowly. So, so torturously slow. 

“Fuck!” Geto’s biting his lip when your silky soft walls give an experimental squeeze, tugging the rest of him even deeper into your tight channel. Throwing his head back, lazily - this was heaven. “I’m so- C-can’t you hurry-”

“Nope.” you grin, popping the “p”. Your gyrating hips falter into stillness, until your filthy cunt’s just barely cockwarming him at this point. Hands ghosting up his flexing abs, the plans of his bulging pecs, up, up, up until they wrap so prettily around Geto’s milky throat. “Why dontcha do it yourself since you want it so bad, hm?”

Ah, he’s in love.

“Anything for you.”

Jaw tensing, his eyes are locked on the way your pussy lips part around him. Straddled and sat so prettily on top of him, he’s planting his feet onto the silken sheets without a second thought. Long fingers intertwining deftly with the chain on those cuffs, leveraging you just right and-

Snap!

Both of you gasp in surprised synchronization when those expensive handcuffs - custom-made, mind you - shred easily. Raising your eyes to look at Geto and- oh, fuck. You were fucked. 

“That wasn’t on the plan but…” his dark eyes glint with such a predatory spark, plump lips curling into an easy smirk. He soothes over the stinging red where he’d been held, greedy gaze locked on you. And only you. “...neither was havin’ my cute lil’ assistant tie me up, hm?” 

In all of two seconds, you’re just being slammed down onto the hard ridges of Geto’s defined hipbones. Bruises sure to blossom up on your skin when his two rough palms grab a ravenous handful of your ass. Reeling your pliant body up, up, up till the very tip of his velvety cock kissed teasingly at your hole, and down. 

“O-oh!” Your hands come down to his sculpted chest, skin heated against his soft puffs of breath. And it’s just about all you can manage to get out, mouth salivating at all of the thick inches of him filling you up, so dreadfully bullying with his thrusts.

“Shit- shit shit shit, fuckin’ missed this. Must’ve had a lotttt of fun hngh! playing around with your leader, huh?” Geto lingers in hot pecks at the corners of your eyes, tasting the salty sting of your tears. “Treatin’ me like I was second-in-command. Did it get you wet, gorgeous?”

He’s leaning back to get a better view of the way your pussy was being split open, glistening and winking up at him. “Yeahhh, it sure did- jus’ look at you. You’ve been hating this petty sex ban as much as I have.”

Just the thought is enough to have whatever blood is left in his body to rush even more feverishly into his painful cock. Bulbous tip blushing a rosy red, his ravaged cock gushes sensitively with hot precum after so long, growing even girthier inside you.

You’re whining at the feeling of your already-contracted walls being stretched even more like elastic around him. “I- I did-” 

He fucks out whatever poor cry is on the tip of your tongue with a harsh thrust, arching into a perfect curve of his body against yours. 

“Awww, I know, pretty girl. I know–” Geto soothes, gliding away your glossy pout with his thumb, before pressing such a tauntingly sweet sweet kiss. “N’ we’ve gotta make up for th-those hah! eight days, right?” At your barely-lucid nod, he only grins wider. Fuck yeah, he missed this. And he’s never letting you out of his sight. “And afterward- we can talk about a little ah- promotion, how about that?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 2 days

“Just the tip.” Choso’s hushing hotly against your ear later into the night, eyes double-checking at his locked door before rutting his hot, hefty erection against the globes of your ass. “Just the- hah- tip, baby please. Feels like m’gonna die if I don’t get just a feel of your cute cunt already.”

It’s only been two days visiting his family, and Choso feels like he’s just about ready to burst. All those soft moments babying his little brother, those stupid lil’ jokes from his uncle about adding another Itadori to the family - they were swirling up inside his hazy mind and flowing straight to his achy cock. Rock-hard and leaking saturated precum all over the back of your soft cotton sleep shorts. 

Choso wanted you - and he wanted you now. 

“Baby…” his drowsy kiss drags along your lips. A calloused hand comes up under your leg to slot his achy cock between them, rubbing and grinding in smooth, slow gyrations. Shuddering, “Don’t care if we’re loud I- hah- r-really just wanna fuck a baby into ya.”

“Shh shhh, go ahead, Cho.” you giggle, whirling over your shoulder to teasingly peck at the tip of his nose. “But jus’ the tip, m’kay?”

Your sweet boyfriend’s nodding before you’re even finishing your sentence, not having the patience to even take your pajamas off. Just hooking a long, pale finger along the side of the fabric, throwing his head back against the pillows to take an even close look at the gloss of slick sticking to your inner thighs. 

“O-oh, baby. My baby–” his deep voice cracks. Biting back guttural groans when the very flushed thick tip of his cock dips so perfectly around the corner of your sopping slit. Frantically, he claps a hand over his loud moans, “Just…just the tip. Right?”

Whether he was asking you or whether he was asking himself you have no idea. Because Choso wasn’t wasting even a millisecond more, he’s rubbing in velvety glides at your swollen folds. So dripping wet that it takes him a few whimpering grinds to bully his fat head at your hole without sliding right across. Slowly. 

“Shit- missed this. J-juuust-” he’s heavily panting, kissing down your spine with each inch after fucking inch massaging inside your gummy walls. Throbbing heavily because shit, it might not have been long - but it’s felt like forever. “-the- the-”

Choso’s blabbering words only slur out even more through the gaps in his fingers, honeyed tone becoming more simpering. And you could count the hitches in his breath, the shake in his thighs when he’s disappearing between your legs. After not having you for a whole two days, he was pussydrunken already.

“Something wrong, baby?” you purr, tugging on his long strands of hair, now damp with sweat. “You look tense.”

“Tense?” Choso gasps, voice pitched up higher than usual with disbelief. “Wh-what are you ah- shit, don’ squeeze me like that- what are you t-talking about, m’not tense.” 

But your smug smirk only tugs wider at the jittery way his free hand locks onto the small of your waist. Pushing and pulling in a sultry pace, massaging your snug channel with the upwards curving divot on the very tip of his cock. Feeling just the very peak of that prominent vein he has down his creamy middle. 

“Are you sure?” you hum, hearing him outwardly gulp. And you know that you should go a little easy on him - your poor boyfriend did just spend the entire weekend being cockblocked by his family, after all. You know you should be mindful of the soft creaking of the bed, the ever-growing groans wrenching from Choso. “I would much rather you just-” Your nails leave ravaged red trails down his milky thighs “-breed me the way you’ve been wanting to these past two days, Cho.”

Oh, Choso could cry, he could moan, he could cum. 

And - tears pricking at his dewy, dark eyes, cheeks burning with embarrassment - that’s exactly what he does. You’re letting out a mewl at the feeling of Choso’s sweltering hot tip just gliding across the spongy bottom of your cervix. Glossing over your insides with a thick coat of his cum, dredge after dredge of creamy white that fill you up so much. Seeping down through the corners of your sloppy hole and forming a milky ring around the tufts of black at his hilt. “Fuck- fuck m’blamin’ being cockblocked from this heavenly pussy f’this.”

“Fuck! Wasn’t even that long, Cho. I can ah- feel you all the way-” Your fingers slide up to about halfway at your stomach, pressing down on that familiar nudging divot, “-here.”

That’s all it takes for his weepy cock to just gush more spurts of seed again. Again and again and again- Immediately, his large hand covers your mouth, fully muffling those pretty moans. 

“F-fuck, pretty- m’y dad is j-just hah- the door over.” he’s almost bawling out, hips uncontrolled with the way he’s rutting up in deep, thorough pushed of his slender hips. “So loud.” But Choso makes no move to quieten either of you. Crashing his lips into yours to let your sweetened moans vibrate away into his mouth, heavy balls smacking against your skin in a heady thwack! thwack! thwack! “So messy.” 

You feel so sluggish being stuffed to the very brim like this, limbs aching with how close Choso was pinning you back against his muscled chest. There’s only so much that your cunt can take before it’s spreading out into a messy puddle below you two, adding to the gripping squelches. Shit, you two were definitely facing hell tomorrow - namely, a too-smug Sukuna. 

“Baby…” Choso drags out, in a way you already knew didn’t bode well. Two of his fingers swipe at the mess beading out, “Since m’being so loud…why don’t I busy my mouth with something else?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 5 hours (but he won’t admit it)

That pretty pout of yours was too irresistible, the way you’d kissed him goodbye too sultry - Sukuna knew your game. 

And here - teeth gritted, thighs bouncing in frustration under the table, anger flaring when his court meeting drags onto around the fifth consecutive hour - he also knew he was playing right into it.

Yeah, fuck that.

Which is why there isn’t even a shred of regret in his smirk when he finally reaches his breaking point - a click of his fingers and he’s no longer in the royal meeting room. Instead, nestling up to your side at his chambers, smothered amongst all the expensive silken sheets. 

Not even the tiniest speck of embarrassment in his next words to you, “On all fours, brat.”

“Kuna- you’re back- fuuuck-” your honeyed moans sound out over the way he had one large hand smushing you deeper and deeper into the cushiony pillows. “-you’re back e-early?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have anything to hngh! do with it, woman.” he spits, and the mattress dips when he’s hiking up a powerful thigh. Using the leverage to pressurize each jarring, determined little half-thrust inside your gaping hole. “Teasing n’ toying with your king. You’re hah- r-real brave for a lil’ human y’know that?”

You’re whining, “A-all it took was f-five hours of a sex ban-”

Another one of his big, beefy arms swipe down your arched spine, dipping down to spread open your puffed-up folds even more. “Silence.”

So what if the king of curses couldn’t last five hours without your pretty pussy? Was that a crime? 

The vice-like grip on your head was forcing your bleary gaze down to where he was feeding your cunt with each of his massive inches. Two absolutely engorged cocks with twin reddish tips, glossing all over your poor entrance with matching gushes of hot precum. Just barely even halfway in - but you could already feel him bulging at your very stomach. “Heh…wouldya look at that. Didn’t even prep her as much as u-usual and she’s already this ready to take me. Are ya always such a slut?”

You can’t stop yourself from bowing even deeper into his hold, the upwards curve of your spine pushing you even closer to his stacked bases. 

“Answer me.” His deep baritone snaps you out of your little haze, and two hands prop you even closer. You could feel every heated gust of his words against the shell of your ear, “Speak, if you don’ wanna displease your king, little human.” 

And oh Sukuna can’t deny that stirring pride in his chest when your jumbled-out words spill out, body trembly, needy - but still so eager to please him. 

“I- I just-” Your breath hitches wetly in your chest when one of his four hulking arms dip downwards, toying with your swollen clit between two thick fingers. It takes a branding smack! to the fat of your ass to remember what you were trying to say again. “-just knew I was gonna miss you at the meeting today, Kuna.”

And if the way he jolted inside you wasn’t an answer - the raw divots of his cocks jostling inside you to crash into your g-spot - Sukuna gasps - gasps. Voice so simperingly silken when he asks, “You missed me?”

You’re nodding - but that isn’t enough for him, fuck it might never be. 

In retaliation, your pussy is being gifted with another few of his long thrusts. Two hands tightening roughly around your waist to keep his pretty girl from escaping.

“Like I said- u-use your hngh- words, doll.” Followed by such a mean bump of both rounded curves of his fat cockheads against your g-spot, making you cry out in your sweetened voice that he loved so much. “Clearly you’ve still got the voice, heh-”

The royal bed is creaking so loudly that Sukuna has half the mind to wonder whether the fools in the meeting room not too far away could hear. Ah, fuck them. Right now he couldn’t care less about anything other than you.

“I did miss you.” you’re mewling, big fat tears pricking at your eyes each time he’s drilling in. “Missed you so much, Kuna.”

There’s a sudden, sloppy squelch! And before you know it, he’s buried all the way in until the sensitive skin of your ass rubbed rawly against those rough patches of pink at his toned pelvis, Sukuna’s heavy balls kissing snugly against your thighs. 

“Ahh–” he’s heaving out, while you can do nothing but scramble towards the headboard, the sheets, anything. Peaking in the thumb rolling over your clit to take a good, long look at how your stuttering pussy was so obscenely stretched and molded around his cocks, all the way down to those ringed tattoos on his thick bases. Gapingly full. Doubly sucking him up. “Fuck the sex ban- beats that stupid fuckin’ meeting tha’s for sure.”

And you didn’t know whether it was possible to forget how big Sukuna truly was in just five hours. Because his every throb only seems to drive him even deeper against your cervix, thickening so maddeningly to stretch out your insides. 

“Yeah yeah- atta girl. Take it all- fuck, take it all f’me.” He croons through your high, squelching movements only speeding up. There’s an element of such raw, primal need in what he does, like he’s just dragging out every dredge of pleasure out of you. You’re just gulping when a hand makes its way into your black-tinged vision, wrapping snugly around your throat to pull you backwards against his every ram. “Now, let’s see if this pretty pussy can squirt before they come around tryna find me for the meeting.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - 15 minutes

“Sweetheart-” Gojo whines, rosy lips downturning into the most perfect pout you’d ever seen. “Sweetheart please- I know I was-”

“Stupid? Impulsive?” you’re rolling your eyes, despite the vice-like hold he had on you. Sitting you down so prettily on his lap, manspread as far as his office chair would allow him. “An absolute idiot?”

Fuck, at that last insult, Gojo’s cock only hardens impossibly inside your gummy walls. Marking out each and every divot and vein down his furious shaft, he throws his head back with a groan at the taut feeling of your clingy walls being stretched all around him. 

“Seriously?” you’re gasping, to which he only curls his lips up into the most unabashed grin. 

Not even a moment later, he’s bouncing his thighs, jostling you precariously on top of his frame. It makes your hips just squeeze downwards in smooth, swiveling gyrations that massage his throbbing cockhead. “Aw come on- I take back what I said about No Nut November can we just-”

“Yeah? After what-” Your eyes dart over your shoulder towards the clock at the very end of the room, “-fifteen minutes? You dragged me all the way out of a meeting after only that? Come on, Toru, you’ve gotta make to at least twenty-”

“Please.” 

You’re pausing in surprise, and that’s the last thing that Gojo wanted right about now. So with a huffed-out groan, he’s back to placing two greedy palms that smooth over the curve of your hips, up and down up and down. Soothing you over for when he just rams you down recklessly on his achy cock. 

He bites up the column of your neck, all the way up to that sweet spot at your earlobe. “Already said the magic word, didn’t I?” Before using all of his inhuman core strength to bounce you all the way down in another thorough thrust. “What? Wan’ me to say pretty please, my girl?”

The strongest was just begging at your feet, because laced with his tease was a very real, nervous tremor. Voice lilting up higher than normal, drunken eyes darting between your own and the very obvious little grind of his pulsing length.

Buried so brandingly inside you, like he wanted to make you memorize him from the inside out. Body bowed into yours like it hurt to be apart more than just a few millimeters, he was stuck against your side. Only pushing deeper and deeper and-

“I’ll- I’ll make it to twenty minutes next time-” he giggles deliriously, already tinged with such smugness. “Maybe even thirty- please- please just’, fuck- need your cute cunt.”

And you were a strong sorcerer in your own right - but seated like this, Gojo definitely had the advantage. He was still so much taller, so much broader, muscles rippling through the thin fabric of his black t-shirt. Biceps bulging out with each stuttering slam into your hips, it’s like he wanted to be as sloppy as possible. 

To have your cunt drooling down every inch of his angry, red cock glistening a sweet sweet coat of juices with every single squelch. It drips down from where your skirt was bunched up, down onto the wooden floors. Shit, you definitely weren’t going back to the meeting like this. 

“So wet, huh?” He smiles, a snowy brow rising at the sight. And Gojo’s tall frame sags even deeper down his steadfast chair to get an even better long, swallowing deeply. “Damn- you’re makin’ me so thirsty, sweetheart.”

You smack his chest, “S-so filthy, Toru.” But you can’t hide the slight moan in your scolding, the way your clit grows even more heated - and he notices, of course. 

“I got you- I got you, girl.” He rolls an eager thumb right over where you wanted him the most, bringing a kiss over towards the underside of your jaw, your cheeks, your mouth. “N’ of course m’ filthy- what’d you expect?” Gojo’s free hand occupies itself with guiding your cunt down at a maddening pace. Squelching so loud that times like this he was thankful for six eyes, for all the amplified sounds of your huffs and cunt clamping down around his girthy cock. His next words are whispered against your tongue, “M’the fucker that couldn’t last fifteen minutes without your pretty pussy, of course.”

He’s not even waiting to ask at this point - he’s already lost, he’s already broken the sex ban but fuck, did defeat feel so sweet. 

There’s a stuttering squelch, your slick glossing down his entire wrist when Gojo’s fingers sped up on your poor clit. Circling and tugging teasingly, his fingers were so deftly making you writhe. 

It simply makes your toes curl, white-hot pleasure sparking behind your eyes with each unwavering clash into your g–spot. And if you were in any better state of mind, you’d be almost embarrassed at how it only takes a few clamoring rummages at your insides, a few steadfast thrusts right into the bullseye of your sweet spots, before you’re cumming and cumming so hard it makes you gasp.

“Fuck-” Your nails dig ferociously into Gojo’s strong wrist, stationed on one side of your waist, fucking downwards to meet his sloppy staccato. “Fuck fuck fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming, Toru–”

“Heh, easy girl.” he jests, dragging his plump lips down the sensitive side of your neck. “Made fun of me f’being so needy but look at you.” Running his pretty mouth a mile a minute, you could tell he’s nearing the end of his sanity, as well. Each sensitive twitch of his long shaft massaging deeper and deeper into your g-spot. “Cum f’me then- fuck- cumming- cum.”

Your velvety walls are just milking each of his gummy thrusts, gripping onto you through each and every wave of pleasure. Bolts of electricity zap through your veins, and Gojo’s flinging his eyes shut, mouth parting to groan out your name with each spurt of his thick, potent cum. Over and over-

“Fuck- fuck, yeah tha’s right.” he slurs, a hand just slamming down on his nearby desk. Like he wanted to break. To ruin. Whispering against your ear, “Now how about we go a few more times to see if I can make twenty minutes without this pretty pussy next time?”

“Thirty.”

“Deal.”

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[mossdenimjacket]

literally the plights of a girlboss are undeniable. I’m girling and bossing out here to the ends of the fucking earth and what do I get? sleeby.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dad!Simon Riley x Fem!reader

Simon Riley: Girl Dad

From the request here ; pic screenshot from this video

“Can I come in now?” you ask, popping your head into the nursery as Simon finishes getting your 3 month old daughter Anna ready for the day. 

She wriggles in his grasp, babbling away as he mutters in a hushed tone to her about keeping still for daddy.

"Ya think this is funny yeah," he teases her, tickling her chubby tummy before trying to wrangle one of her legs in his grasp.

It’s like music to his soul the way the happy talking sounds she makes touches his heart and it only makes him want to do whatever he can so that she will keep making them for him. That’s why it always takes longer than usual to get her dressed when he does it.

You crane your neck trying to sneak a peak, but his voice stops you. “Not yet,” he says and moves his body to block your view. 

He doesn’t want you to see before he’s ready. The outfit is one he picked up the other night on a whim, the moment he saw it he knew Anna had to have it for today, and he wants to get it all on to give the full effect. He finishes straightening her up and tucks her body sitting up in the crook of his arm. She is content as can be being snuggled at the side of his chest, happily clapping her little hands together as they turn to face you. 

“Well?” he asks, brow furrowed and body slightly tense as he waits for your critique. “How'd we do?”

You match your daughter’s vibrant smile as you see the outfit Simon’s bought all on his own: a bright yellow corduroy romper with frill capped sleeves, little socks with suns on them, and a big yellow bow to match. Your heart swells full of emotion at the sight; it’s just an outfit, sure, but it really means so much more than the sum of its parts. You know just how far Simon has come in his journey with her and it truly warms your heart to see him so smitten with the little babe this way.  

When she first came home, there wasn’t a moment when Simon wasn’t on edge around her, nervous that somehow, someway, he would end up hurting her. She seemed so small to him in those first days, so incredibly delicate as she lay sleeping in her bassinet like the most perfect doll, that he was certain that someone as rough around the edges as him would never be able to be near her without breaking her and that was something he was not willing to risk.

She is his gift, his light, a treasure that came from out of all the years of heartache and hardship and he would never let anything bad ever happen to her.

It took some time and a lot of encouragement on your part, but finally Simon found his confidence and never looked back. Any chance now that he can get he is holding her, changing her, feeding her; anything and everything he can do to show her his love by his actions alone. And whether he gives himself the credit for it or not, he is doing a marvelous job.

“How did I know you'd choose something yellow?” you laugh as Simon glares at you, trying not to crack that fake tough facade. 

It is becoming a pattern for him to choose yellow things when it comes to Anna. When she came home from the hospital a few months ago in that yellow onesie, it was like a flip and been switched and that was it; that was her hue from then on. It is strange, Simon never really had a favorite color before that special day and then suddenly yellow was never the same. Now he cannot imagine his life without it.

His face breaks into a smile as he shakes his head, not ready to admit that he is becoming predictable. “Come on, did I do it right or not? Just want to be sure it looks fine on her. We got a big day and I want it ta be perfect.”

Your face brightens as you look her over again. “She looks adorable, Simon,” you reply cheerfully. “You did good, baby. I think you’re really getting the hang of this dad thing.”

Looking down at her in his grasp, he beams with a sense of accomplishment and his tense shoulders ease. Parenting is not something Simon ever thought he could be good at, he never thought he would be the one with the chance at having a family, but each day he is making strides in the right direction to becoming the dad he desperately wants to be.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own today?” you ask as you watch Simon place a delicate kiss to the top of Anna’s small, wispy-haired head. “Cause I can stay if you need me to. All I gotta do is make a call and let them know I can’t go.”

Simon shakes his head and reaches for you with his free arm, pulling you by the wrist until you step close enough that he can wrap his arm around your hip to pull you against him opposite your daughter. “Ya worry too damn much, sweetheart,” he says as his hand finds your cheek, his thumb stroking across the soft skin before he is leaning his face in towards yours. 

His full lips catch you in their tender embrace, a kiss that is full of emotion, and in an instant your eyes flutter closed as you relinquish yourself to him. You let all those worries fall away as the gentle touch of his lips, the heat from his breath, the passion flowing through his kiss calms your mind. He conveys so much without ever speaking a single word and in a flash you are put at ease.

Slowly he breaks away, already missing your taste the moment your lips part. Eyes still shut, he rests his forehead against yours, rocking all three of you back and forth a moment as he enjoys the feeling of having his entire life resting comfortably in his arms. You both open your eyes after a time and look down at Anna babbling away to herself, before looking back at each other. This is all still new and unchartered territory, so the both of you are working to figure it all out, but so far it has been anything except bad. 

“I promise, I got ‘er. We’re gonna be just fine,” he says quietly. “Isn’t that right, princess?”

At the sound of his voice Anna turns her face to find his and it lights up as it always does whenever her favorite person talks to her. She even employs her recently-learned skill of giggling happily to punctuate that she agrees with whatever it was she was just asked, even though she doesn’t understand a word of it.  

Simon kisses your forehead to be sure the worry is completely gone. “It’s just a couple hours on base and then we’ll be home the rest of tha day,” he says. “Besides, might be nice to show her off to the guys. She does look real pretty today.” 

“That she does,” you agree as you quickly check the clock on your phone and with a kiss to your baby and one more for Simon you are gone, leaving the pair alone.

Simon gets to work double checking everything in his backpack that he has to bring for her: extra diapers, wipes, bottles, toys, anything he could need while he is out. It’s in his nature, years of military training has come in handy as he is prepared for it all. Satisfied, he turns back to the baby at his side. “Alright princess,” he says, “ready to go see where your dad spends all his time when he ain’t at home?”

The moment he’s walking on base, black backpack filled with essentials strapped to his back, tiny baby girl dressed in bright clothes tucked in his arms, he’s drawing curious stares from everyone he passes. This is the first time she has gone to base with him, so of course people are going to be inquisitive about things. How can they not? Simon looks like… well, Simon: intense, stoic, intimidating. Even in just his black t-shirt and jeans, with his lightweight balaclava on, he is still an imposing figure. Never one to be shy per se, Simon still does not like the attention on him, but since he is with his little angel he doesn’t care. He is proud to show off the best damn thing he has ever helped to create.

The contrast between him and his daughter he knows is jarring and Simon laughs to himself at how absurd this must look for someone like him with such a coarse demeanor to be handling such a precious, sweet thing. Who would have thought that the scary skull-masked military officer would have a family of his own? It is a shock he is sure. 

“Seems we’re gonna be the talk ‘round ‘ere today, princess,” he says as he looks down at Anna, secure in his grasp as they continue on towards his office.

She is too busy looking everywhere her little head can turn to be bothered by anything. Being out and about with her father, seeing things she’s never seen before, which is pretty much everything, has her interested and engaged with the sights around her. Those small brown eyes, the ones that are a carbon copy of his, stare on as she silently takes everything in.

He makes it to his office and gets set up, grabbing everything that he needs in one tight spot as he sits Anna up in his lap with a toy for her to play with. She is content for a while as he goes through paperwork, occasionally he gives her a tickle or readjusts her on his thigh, something to show that he hasn’t forgotten she’s there with him. 

Barely an hour has passed before Anna begins to whine and fuss and Simon knows what that means: she’s hungry. He grabs the prepped bottle out of the bag and walks to the small microwave in the corner of the room, warming it and testing it on his wrist before he moves back to his desk and sits back down in his chair, cradling her in his arms against his chest as he places the nipple of the bottle in her mouth.

“There ya are, luv,” he comforts her until she settles into him, “I gotcha. Daddy didn’t forget.”

Unknown to Simon, there is an unexpected guest that has just appeared near his office door, though before the person can even knock to announce themselves, they are caught by surprise at the sight before them. Johnny, who’s come to deliver something from Price, stops right in his tracks and stares at the scene before him.

He stands there, watching as Simon tenderly holds this little infant in his arms, quietly rocking back and forth as she drinks her bottle. Every now and again he speaks to her softly, the skin around his eyes tightening to indicate there is a smile underneath the mask. There is an ease to his movements as if he knows exactly what he is doing and it genuinely shocks the young sergeant. Who could have ever guessed that this would be something Simon would be such a natural at?

As Anna is finishing the bottle, Simon looks up as he feels a pair of eyes on him to see Johnny standing there, obscured by the doorframe, silently watching. He sets the empty bottle down on his desk and moves Anna to sit upright on his thigh, leaning her against the crook of his arm so that he can pat and rub her back until she burps. 

“Can I help ya, Mactavish?” Simon’s distinct voice calls out, catching Johnny off-guard as he realizes he’s been caught staring.

“Sorry, L.T.” Johnny stutters out as he hurriedly steps inside the office, remembering why he is here in the first place, and sets some papers upon his desk. “Price sent these; says he needs ya to look ‘em over.”

Simon nods in understanding, his hand still rubbing the baby’s back. “Will do,” he agrees, thinking this will be the end of the interaction, but Johnny still lingers. “Anything else?”

“I heard ‘round base that ya had your little one here today. Had to come see if it was true fer myself,” Johnny admits with guilt. 

“Well, ya could meet ‘er if ya like, ‘stead a standin’ there just starin’.”  Simon nods his head down at the baby. “Johnny, this is Anna.”

The sergeant observes her as she begins to coo, her eyes catching the tattoos along Simon’s muscular arm, her petite fingers tapping and poking along the lines and patterns with delight as she loves to do when he holds her like this. She’s so engrossed that she hasn’t realized there is another person in the room yet.

Johnny clears his throat. “Didn’t mean ta stare, ya know. It’s just a surprise ta see she’s actually real, I guess.”

The original members of the 141 know about Anna, it wasn’t something that Simon could hide once she was about to make her way into the world, but it’s a bit jarring for the Scot to see someone that he had previously known to be so toughened by the world change so drastically. Anyone who gets close enough can see it in the lieutenant’s soft gaze: he adores the little girl and that is… interesting, to say the least.

Simon chuckles at the clear surprise in Johnny’s voice as Anna is still playing with his arm. “Bit absurd, innit Johnny?” he questions while watching her with a prideful twinkle in those brown eyes as she giggles. “Me with a kid? Doesn’t seem possible, does it?” 

“Ya seem a natural ta me,” the Scot admits in awe of how easily he makes it seem, as if he was given some secret knowledge that made him know exactly what to do and how to do it. “Then again I don’t know the first thing ‘bout babies. Wouldn’t even know where ta start.”

Simon is reminded about how when he first found out he was going to be a dad he had started reading all the books, researching all the things like a good, capable soldier would, but how all of that prep was nothing in the end as the moment she came into the world everything was turned on its head. It’s not like in the books, it’s so much better and it is days like today that make it worth all the worry and fear and anxiety he had to break through to get here.

“Easier than ya think,” Simon replies with a chuckle as he moves Anna around facing forward now. “Once ya get the hang of it.”

“Don’t tell my girl that,” Johnny laughs back. “Can’t afford one right now.”

Anna’s attention is stirred away from Simon’s tattoos and towards the other man standing in the room with them. She looks up at Johnny in awe, not having much experience with others outside of Simon and you, but Johnny shoots her his classic smile and he has her giggling again in a flash. 

“Well hey there Anna, nice ta meet ya,” he introduces himself before turning back to Simon. “I think she likes me.”

“It's your hair she's eyein’,” Simon points out, following her eye line.

Sure enough as soon as Johnny runs his hands over the mohawk cut into his hair her eyes light up. “Can she touch it?” he asks Simon and he nods in agreement.

Johnny falls to one knee in front of the little girl, leans his head down, and lets her put her hand in it. Her short, chubby fingers pull the strands as she laughs, the short, spiky pieces pricking her fingertips. She pulls away quickly before bringing her hand back in again, a sort of game that she repeats a few more times before Johnny gets back to his feet. 

“He’s a funny one, ain’t he, princess?” Simon questions his little one as he strokes his thumb around the smile that fills her tiny, round cheeks. “Ya like him, yeah?”

She coos, her little lips forming an ‘o’ so that she sounds like a dove. That’s the closest to a yes as they are going to get. 

“I sure ‘ope ya do, seein’ as I’m your dad’s best friend,” Johnny picks, looking to Simon to see his reaction. 

He rolls his eyes at the statement, but stays silent and doesn’t correct him. Instead Simon opts to end the conversation there, needing to get finished here anyway so that he can get back home. As much as Johnny’s company isn’t as grating as it first was, he is ready to spend some alone time with the baby before you get back. “Well, if ya don’t mind, I need to get back to it. Say goodbye Anna.”

Johnny agrees, though his mouth twitches like he wants to ask a question, but ultimately decides not to ask it in the end. He turns to leave, but Simon guesses at what he is wanting and calls out behind him so that he stops. 

“And ya can tell the others they can come see ‘er if they want,” Simon assures, “I know they’re probably itchin’ to get a glimpse of her too. That’s why they sent ya, yeah? See if I was up for company?”

Johnny turns around and nods his head. Fuck, they’ve been caught. “Will do, L.T.” he says. “Can ya blame us though? She’s pretty damn cute.”

And with that he turns back around. As Johnny leaves the office with the sounds of Simon and Anna at his back, he can’t help but smile to himself at seeing his friend finally have a bit of happiness; if anyone deserves it, it is Simon. Wait till the others see just how much things around here are going to change.

[macfrog]

twin flame sex on fire chapter eleven

thank you all for being so patient and kind, and loving this story no matter how terribly long i take with it. anyway, here's wonderwall. (shout out to @bageldaddy who saved this on numerous occasions lmao)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: doing it with a broken heart is harder than it looks.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, reader's a Real Tough Kid she can (not) Handle Her Shit, kale!!!!!!, alcohol consumption, cursing, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 7.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

Five days lasts a year.

So it feels, anyway, when you spot Martha from the corner of your eye – pulling her coat on and hooking her purse over her shoulder. She tucks her peroxide blonde layers behind her ears, gives one last check of her makeup in a compact mirror, and looks up.

“You coming?”

It’s five thirty on Friday. You haven’t said more than two words to Joel since you walked out on him, Monday morning.

She knows by now – Martha. Or at least, she has a pretty good idea.

You haven’t told her, as if you’d even be able to begin explaining it all. But she pieced it together by herself, didn’t she? You’re hardly subtle. She figured you out less than five minutes after you stormed out of his office, fists balled and face tight with rage.

She says your name, and the sound is muffled. Distorted by the sour backwash of that feeling: the hot temper which dissipated so quickly into an ache behind your ribs all day.

You finally look up. “Huh?”

She fixes the collar on her trench coat. Flattens her thin, merlot lips and says, “Let’s go, kid. It’s been a long week.”

And that, you think, might just be the understatement of the fucking year.

She slips her arm through yours in the elevator, and you don’t protest. It’s not like she’d let you go even if you tried to shake her off – but there’s a comfort to it. Something sweet; soft and motherly. Martha’s not often this affectionate.

You want to slot your cheek on her shoulder. Ask her how long her worst heartbreak lasted. Ask if that’s even what this is, if you can give a two-month hurricane of sex and secrets enough power to split you open this badly.

Ask her how long until the gnawing in your chest eases. How long until you’re finally able to look at him again, without wanting to cuss him out – or run into his arms.

But you stare ahead, swaying with the dropping elevator, wrap your arms tight around yourself and swallow shallow breaths of her rosy perfume.

Your reflection splits in two, pulled apart by the rumble of the doors. Something akin to a growl from between Martha’s teeth.

The skeleton of the lobby sears behind your eyes, every surface bleeding gold. Silver arrows of rain pelt against the windows, slicing through the blazing sunlight. Dark figures shake umbrellas open at the doors; others yank their collars over their heads as they run to cars.

A gaggle of square suits separates to let you pass, black material shining and soaked through. Nodding to both of you, your names dripping from their lips as they load into the elevator.

Under the canopy outside, Martha hoists her purse over her head.

“Monday then?” she yells over the drumming rain. And without waiting for an answer – because she isn’t so much asking as she is telling – she totters off through the drizzle towards Alan’s Volvo.

One last glance over her shoulder, a wink as her six-inch heels swing into the car. Like a Bond girl, off to wrangle her preteen into eating his vegetables.

You call a cab, leaning against the building to watch the clouds roll overhead.

Two words. That’s all you’ve managed to force over your tongue.

Sure and okay. Both uttered between teeth, as though your body might be trying to hold them back. Mundane and fucking meaningless; pushing by everything else you want so desperately for Joel to hear. How could you? Why would you? I think I hate you, you know that?

I hate you and I miss you so much that it makes me hate you all over again for it.

He’s doing as you asked, at least. He’s following your rules. No looking, no touching, no talking.

To a point.

He is still talking – saying a little more to you than you are to him. You’re allowing it, given that he is still your boss and they’re only ever boss things to say. Schedule this meeting, look out that old file. Pick up his drycleaning when it’s mid-afternoon and he spots your boredom from across the office.

But he never comes near.

Not anymore.

He doesn’t brush by, stealing a giggle when his elbow nudges your waist. He doesn’t order you lunch, then wait until you’re sat opposite him in his office to eat together.

He doesn’t kiss you as soon as the elevator doors close. He doesn’t perch on the edge of your desk to steal snacks and gossip with you and Martha. He doesn’t play with your hand, he doesn’t hold you by the hips, he doesn’t whisper dirty jokes and sweet nothings in your ear.

He keeps his distance. He acts like your boss again.

And – Jesus. You’ve never wanted to hate him so much in your life.

“Waitin’ for a cab?”

“Shit –” You twirl, rain flicking from the tail of your coat.

Joel takes your arm steady. His grip is so familiar, so safe you feel yourself melting into it already. “Easy, easy,” he says, his voice much the same. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you there.”

“You didn’t, you…Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess you did. What did you say?”

He smiles. It’s weak, humored, but completely unsure. “I just asked if you’re waiting for a cab.

And goddamn it, just the sight of him this close thaws you from the inside out. It’s like warmth against the wound, softening you like the creases by the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” you start, “I just called one. Figure there’s traffic.” You gesture to the bodies scurrying down towards yellow cabs.

Joel tosses his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the sleek Rolls by the curb. The rain bounces off its roof. “Rand can take you, if you like. Save you waitin’.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m good, thanks.”

“I’ll take your cab,” he clarifies. “I’ll take the cab; Rand can take you home.”

“Really, Joel,” you reply, hugging your purse. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

He nods, looking down. There was – there is – nothing he wants more than to look out for you. There’s probably nothing that stings more right now, than the fact you won’t let him.

He makes to leave, then hesitates. Hands in his pockets, he turns back and says, “You ever need anything, just let me know. Alright?”

Your lips flatten. “Mhm.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“Alright,” he says. “Okay. I’ll see you Monday.”

He strides off towards the Rolls. So much cooler than the suits scrambling around him; dipping his head as he slides into the backseat, fixing his tie before he pulls the door closed.

The car doesn’t move until yours arrives. Until he’s seen you run over, settle in the backseat. Rand pulls out behind as your driver sets off; turns in the opposite direction at the first set of traffic lights.

You watch as it shrinks into a speck from the back window, wondering if Joel’s watching you, too.

The driver tuts and shakes his head. He flicks his fingers to the windshield, some comment about this goddamn rain and ain’t let up for five goddamn days.

You fish your phone from your pocket, turning the weight of it over in your hands like turning the dilemma in your mind. Thinking up something like, Hey, I was gonna order food in tonight. Wanna come over?

Something like, Or not, if you don’t feel like it.

Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m –

The screen lights.

Your heart jumps to your throat.

The driver rambles on, “…said it’d dry by Wednesday – well, you can’t trust a damn one of ‘em…”

Your eyes are glued to the name onscreen.

Joel headers the first notification. And the second. A text, then an email.

Your thumbs hover over the messages for a few seconds, vision blurring around his name. Frantic circles while you decide whether or not you actually want to read them. But it gets the better of you – morbid curiosity – and you tap on the text.

As quickly as it leapt, your heart plummets.

Forwarded Jean-Marc’s email, in case you need it. Have a good weekend.

Three, four, five times. You read over it five fucking times before it sinks in. Switch to your emails, where Joel Miller sits proudly at the top of the list.

“Why are you…?” you mumble, blinking at the screen. Salt stings across your waterline. “You – you fucking…”

It boils through your veins, pools in the pit of your stomach. That ache winds again, twisting around your ribcage.

Anger.

Anger, and…something much worse.

You bite hard on your lip, refusing to let the tears spill over. Your heart hammers against your chest. Your fist balls, like tightening around the leash of a misbehaving dog, pulling it back into place.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Steam slowly swallows your silhouette whole. In the mirror, you shake the shell of the office from your shoulders, watching as she disappears entirely behind the heated glass. Relieved just to see her go.

You sob under the scorching stream until your skin prunes and your head throbs. You order in food and burrow deep in your couch to pick at it.

Drowning in the same hoodie he once pulled over himself – his landscape of a body, strong as rock and soft as the earth. The material unwashed, still smelling of mint and men’s cologne.

You thumb through the chick flicks on offer: all perfect grins and power couples; the commercial dream that is a two-tone poster with a quirky, conversational title. And then, worse: the breakup movies.

Women flat-out in bed, picking from a tray of chocolates. Two-day pajamas and three-day bedhead. Slumber parties to burn love letters and gauge out their exes’ eyes in photographs, swear themselves off men and then down heavy cocktails until they puke.

Then – the epiphany. Right before some pop rock track from the noughties sends the heroine off into the sunset. The I’m better off without him, or Maybe he wasn’t so bad moment.

Love truly exists, after all. Roll end credits.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mumble, chewing wetly on popcorn. “You’re all bullshit, anyways.”

Maybe you’re just fucking miserable. You liked the bullshit, two weeks ago.

Blake Carter – he was chocolates in bed and feminist handshakes. He was one night at your mom’s, one night at your best friend’s, then back in your old place before the week was out.

This is different. It’s like a sickness.

Rotting from the inside out. Deep in your chest, a fierce fever spreading from the split, the empty cage of ribs. An anxiety which gathers and festers in the barren corners, like teetering along a wire with no idea how high the drop really is – only that you’re not going to make the landing.

How were you ever going to make the landing, letting go of his hand like that?

You manage three mouthfuls of a greasy hamburger, then shove the bags across the coffee table. Too sick and too unsettled to eat without feeling it roll around your stomach in a furious tide.

You ever need anything, just let me know.

Asking for help is not something you do. Not since you were sixteen, and even before then. There is nothing – nothing, you swore – a man could offer you that you couldn’t go find yourself.

But then – then, you found someone who wasn’t looking for you to ask. Didn’t want or expect you to need him for anything, only wanted you to know that he was around if you ever did. Being near you was all he ever really gave a shit about.

You found someone who was on your tail every time you looked back. All your running, all the times you swore you wouldn’t let him catch you. And there you were – turning to make sure he was still trying.

He was. He was always trying. He’s the closest anyone ever came to proving you wrong.

And now…he’s letting you go.

If you had the energy to laugh, you’d laugh. You’d march back into the bathroom and wait for your reflection to clear again, just to point your finger right in her face.

The same woman who walked away from Blake Carter and his heirloom diamond ring; from Sundays forcing down quiche Lorraine at his parents’ house, and pretending to enjoy bouncing his nephew on your knee.

The same woman who left that diamond ring on his bedside table, packed a bag full of clothes, and fled the apartment before he could plead anymore.

The same woman who had seen the entire thing as a bird breaking free from her cage, in the end.

You understand it now.

You spend long enough in that cage, long enough planted on your feet – you forget how to use your wings.

The weekend is slow and sleepless.

Your sheets wind up a twisted mess each night. Kicked to the foot of the bed, cocooned back around your shoulders, then whipped from your body again when you feel too hot, too smothered.

He’s all over your apartment. Dozing in the reflection of the TV screen, bass voice reverberating off each wall, kisses in the clinking of mugs.

Each night, you stare blankly at the ceiling. Sleep becomes a tide you float on the surface of, pooling across your stomach and only ever wetting to your ears. Face skyward, bone dry. Desperately waiting for a wave that never intends on turning.

Come Monday, you’re running on something like four hours sleep and as many coffees.

Martha recognizes it instantly, the way she fawns. She hasn’t let up all day. Not since you walked in this morning, looking like shit and avoiding Joel’s office at all costs. She’s spent more time staring, delivering snacks, making sickly-sweet conversation that hurts your teeth – than she has actually working.

And it was touching. Until ten o’clock.

Joel has two assistants for good fucking reason, it turns out.

“I do not understand a goddamn word I’m reading…” Martha flips the Cosmo she stole from you last week. “The hell is a retrograde?”

Your head tilts. “Do you even know which sign you are?”

Her thin, penciled brows quirk. “Taurus, but I don’t like the way this bull’s lookin’ at me.”

She wiggles her mouse before the monitor switches off, then prods a shard of cucumber with her fork. The rain scatters across the window at her back, dragging golden shadows down her blazer.

“Did you eat today?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you lie, “This morning. Before you came in.”

She chews suspiciously. “Liar.” She offers you the salad bowl. “Eat.”

“Martha,” you push it away, “I’m not –”

“I don’t care whether you’re hungry.”

She thrusts the tub towards you, cherry tomatoes trembling.

“Martha.”

“Eat.”

“I’m not gonna eat your salad, will you stop –?”

“One bite. Just one.”

“I don’t even like –”

She’s holding out a forkful. “Eat the damn –”

“Get a drink with me.”

She halts, greens dangling in front of your face. Her expression twists, loosens, and then twists into bewilderment again. “Pardon me?”

You sigh, deflating into the leather. “Stop tryna force feed me salad, and get a drink with me.”

“On a Monday?” She scoffs. “What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t…I don’t have one,” you groan, pushing to your feet. “At least, not a good one. I just need something a little stronger than kale.”

An all too familiar click over your shoulder plucks her attention. Her eyes flash across the room.

She tracks Joel from his office over to the water cooler, a forced smile when he must glance up. Her eyes snap back to yours at the trickle of water into his mug.

Please? you mouth, and she grumbles.

“Joel?”

His voice is strained; he’s bending at the cooler. “Yep?”

Martha links her arm through yours and forces you to turn. “You mind if we take a long lunch? We were thinking of trying that wine bar up by the golf course.”

Joel lingers on the other side of the office, sipping from his mug. He’s almost unrecognizable: no bear left in him. Declawed, toothless. Dark crescents like the shadows of a bruise beneath his eyes, the ghosts of smile lines on his cheeks.

“Wine bar?” he asks. “Didn’t even know there was one up that way.”

“It’s new,” Martha says, popping the lid back on her salad bowl. “Alan told me about it. Says it costs an arm and a leg, but apparently, it’s worth it.”

He wanders over – hesitant, like approaching the desk of a wild animal. You can feel the heat of his stare on you when he replies, “’s nice up that way. Take the afternoon. You need a ride?”

“All good,” Martha chirps. She squeezes your arm. “I’ll go call a cab.”

She drapes your coat over your shoulders, then twirls off in the direction of the elevator. A girlish little strut, quietly pleased with herself.

She’s deliberately leaving you stranded. Both of you.

Joel steps back when you move. His breath catches in his throat. He slips a hand in one pocket, and says, “Be nice to have a relaxing afternoon.”

“Yep,” you choke, elbow brushing against his. “Nice to have some girl time, I guess.”

“Oh,” he sniffs, “I was talking about me. Empty office, two of you off my ass. Peace and quiet.”

You smile, feeling the weight of him rock gently against your side. “Hilarious,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He stares straight ahead, sunlight catching rare amber in his eyes. Smiling to himself, calm and content, he says, “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and turns back for his office.

Your chest twinges as he closes the door behind him. A tight fist around your vocal cords.

“See you tomorrow, Joel.”

Oasis is a trendy little bar out west, which looks anything but its namesake. All exposed brick and smirk of silver pipework, industrially rustic and injected with the silky scent of wine and wealth.

Exactly the type of place you’d go to get over your millionaire ex.

Martha slinks in like she’s made of the place. Coat loose over her arm, hips swaying and heels clicking. She hops onto a stool at the bar, drums her glossy nails on the varnished wood.

You settle awkwardly into the stool beside her, prodding at what turns out to be a very real cactus. You jump at the sharp prick.

A waiter behind the bar clocks you, and laughs to himself.

“Nice, huh?” Martha asks, scanning the place. The low-hanging lights, the spill of foliage from the rafters. She seems to fit into it a whole lot better than you do.

“Sure,” you mumble around your fingertip, “Are you buying?”

She rolls her eyes. “You asked me out, remember?”

“I was thinking some two-for-one cocktails dive, not the fucking Ritz, Martha.”

“Call it a pick-me-up,” she says, accepting a menu from the waiter. “We’re treating ourselves.”

You pinch your fingertip, watching a scarlet bead bloom from the wound. A satisfying sort of pain, a tender break your hands won’t stay away from. You squeeze until it balloons into a trembling bubble of blood, then swipe the cut clean. Squeeze, then swipe.

Martha orders some vino she says she’s always wanted to try. Two glasses, because when the waiter looks to you to take your order, you’re still staring at your bloody finger.

He slides the drinks over and smiles politely, eyes daring to meet yours only twice. He’s handsome: chiseled jawline and the smudge of a dimple on one cheek. Chin speckled with stubble, shorter and blonder than you’d like.

Your fingertip throbs, and you look down to find it closed in your fist. You take a gulp of wine.

Martha smacks her lips and hums. “Not half bad,” she says, and then slots her glass next to yours. “Alright,” she clasps her hands, “What is it? What’s been goin’ on?”

You spin the base of your glass, staring at the swirl of honeysuckle. “I just needed some air and…wine.”

She buys it about as much as you do.

“Only one thing in the world that makes me need air and wine,” she says. “A man.”

A laugh flutters from your chest, as if by accident. As natural as the sun splitting the clouds. No thinking about it, no forcing it.

Either the expensive alcohol works fast – or Martha does.

She lifts her nose, like sniffing out the truth. “Come on, no bullshit. Why’d you ask me to get a drink?”

It rolls from one shoulder to the other in a tired shrug. You’ve no fucking idea why you asked her to get a drink.

The office was becoming claustrophobic, bursting with the grief of it all. Joel was nowhere to be seen and yet everywhere you looked. Here’s the wall he’d kissed you against, there’s the spot you’d first shaken hands.

Here’s all of it, really: the shame and the anger and the heartbreak all knotted together. Holding yourself back from doodling hearts on his sticky note messages, busying yourself with shredding instead of nosing around his office.

No bullshit, you were about to scream. Martha’s just the first person you laid eyes on.

Her and her fucking kale.

“Because,” you summarize, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing anymore.”

Her eyes are wide, serious. She’s hooked already. “With Joel?” she asks, sipping.

“With any of it,” you reply. And then, hearing her properly: “What do you know about me and Joel?”

She swallows quickly. “He hasn’t told me a word, I swear,” she says, “but I wasn’t born yesterday. Paris was always a solo trip, darling.”

You massage your forehead, grumbling into your palms. “Jesus Christ,” you whisper. There’s a heavy ache blooming behind your eyes.

Martha smiles. “I thought it was sweet. He’s never been serious enough about anyone to take ‘em over there with him. But,” her eyes ladder down your figure, “I’m guessing it didn’t work out.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay,” she squints, reading you, “And are we relieved? Are we hurt? Angry?”

“We are four and a half coffees Monday morning, and a wine bar Monday afternoon.”

“Got it,” she says, face stony. “That little shit. You need me to yell at ‘im?”

You lift your wine, shake your head. “I did enough yelling at him last week,” you admit. “It wasn’t just him, anyways. He fucked up, but it was the both of us.”

Martha nods, and you both take a long drink.

She taps her nails against the swell of her glass. “I thought you two were really great together,” she says – polite, pensive.

The least Martha you’ve ever heard her.

“You did?”

She nods. “You just always had this camaraderie. It was palpable. From the moment he met you, he was different. Better for it. I don’t know when you were…whatever you were, but –” she takes a deep breath, looking off past you, “– I know I liked it when you were.”

It’s not something you ever considered, even in the thick of it. What it might look like from outside, this little love affair: promises whispered into coffee mugs and glances stolen from behind paperwork.

It was never a secret – at least, not one either of you were trying to keep. It was just…yours. You and Joel. Two names etched at the bottom of a birthday card, no room for anyone else’s.

And if anyone did find out – Martha, Rand, Jean-fucking-Marc – they felt more like collateral. Just the landscape, the backdrop for your fated meteoric crash down to Earth.

God, it felt good to fall.

Martha sighs, dabbing a knuckle at the corner of her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says, gently. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you hoped.”

Your eyes drift across the room. The waiter pours a deep red wine for a silver-haired couple over by the window. The man’s thumb surfs back and forth across his wife’s knuckles, dipping to circle the ring on her third finger.

The split in your skin opens again, your nail pressing clumsily into your finger. A tiny wave of pain rocks through the tip.

“Yeah, well,” you sniff, “Shit happens, right?”

“Sure does,” she says, and holds her glass out.

You cheers, the clink piercing the bumbling jazz in the air. The wine thrashes against the side of the glass, and you gulp back a sour mouthful.

“He sent me an offer for a job in Paris,” you confess into your drink. “That’s what our fight was about – the fact he didn’t want me to go. Then on Friday, he sent it anyway.”

“Paris?” Martha straightens in her chair. It’s easy to tell her, easy to pretend it’s some third-floor gossip when she reacts the same way. “That’s big,” she says. “Are you gonna go for it?”

“No,” you admit. “It’s with that guy Jean-Marc.”

Her upper lip curls, a bend of burgundy. “You can do better.”

“I guess,” you frown, “if I were looking.”

“You’re not looking?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

It twists in your throat. A million answers which fizzle into nothing at all on your tongue. Because because because –

“Who would read all of Joel’s boring emails?” It comes with a smirk, which drops as quickly as you realize Martha’s expression isn’t shifting.

“I would. And he’d find a replacement for you eventually. Not half as good, but…”

“Ha,” you stare at her, “Funny.”

“I’m not kidding. “I’m not,” she adds, when you roll your eyes. “It’s about damn time you realized you’re head and shoulders above all this.

“Maybe,” she continues, with an almost bloodthirsty interest, “Joel didn’t let on about Paris because he thinks you’re better than that, too. You don’t think he sees your potential? Hell, I do. You’re too good to be making coffee and taking minutes.”

Tell me something I don’t know, you think.

Joel’s never been quiet about how he feels about you – professionally or otherwise. He said as much in his office last week: I didn’t want to lose you. Those exact words kept you up all weekend, for crying out loud.

Sure, Joel sees something in you. Assistant, colleague, friend, not-friend. It’s not enough to stop the need you have – pinhole pupils hunting, blood jumping in your veins. Like it’d kill you to catch your breath, to shake your hackles and loosen your muscles.

Watch, watch. I can answer your questions before you’ve even come up with them. Watch, watch. I can show up early and leave late, barely pause for breath in between.

Watch, watch. I can break your heart and make it look just like mine.

You squirm under Martha’s glare.

“I don’t…I don’t even know what else I’d do,” you garble, playing with your hands. “I like this job. I’m good at this job. It’s…it’s –”

“– comfortable,” you say together.

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Martha nods, “You’ve outgrown it. You’re nothing but a monster in red bottoms now, baby – too scared to find something that fits you better in case it turns to shit. So what if it does? Is it the end of the world?”

“Feels like it right now,” you reply. She’s cloudy, blurred behind the ocean of tears teetering along your waterline. “And this is barely even a breakup, never mind failing at a career.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You think you’d be the first? The last? People fail at things all the damn time. Better to do it now, young as you are – little elastic band of resilience and nerve.”

“Poetic,” you scoff.

She tilts her glass and her head follows.

“Listen to me,” she says, leaning in. “Do not spend one more second paralyzed by fear. I know you’re scared. You’re supposed to be. One day, you’re going to miss the time you gave enough of a shit to feel this fear.

“It’s like electricity in your veins. Everything’s so intense, everything hurts ten times worse and feels ten times more exhilarating. You think something might bring about the end of the goddamn world, and then the sun comes up the next morning just to prove you wrong.

“And Lord almighty, you are going to get it wrong. You’ll say the wrong thing, trust the wrong feeling. You’ll make the same mistakes over and over again. But Jesus, I’d rather you blew it all to hell and at least learned somethin’, than never did it at all.

“You know what my mom would say? World’s been waitin’ on you, kid. Grab a paddle.”

Another laugh spurts from your lips, tears spilling into your mouth, a crackly, wet sniffle. “What the hell does that even mean?” you giggle.

She smiles and wipes your cheek. “Means dive in. Get your hands dirty. Fall in love, get hurt, grow the hell up. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want. That electricity won’t be there forever – so use it.”

“Use it…” you echo, taking the mascara-stained tissue from her.

“Promise me,” she implores, wrapping her hands around yours, “Promise me that you will.”

It’s not just Martha asking, you know this. She’s the one staring at you like a madwoman, sure – but her plea is echoed by a littler, quieter voice.

She’s nervous, scared. A crumpled math paper in her backpack. Her whole world tipped upside down one Wednesday afternoon, soul cursed forever – or so she thought.

When you reply, it’s not Martha you see. It’s the sixteen-year-old version of yourself.

So you look her dead in the eye, and say –

“I promise.”

The world is hazy by the time you leave the bar. Vignetted, a saffron sunset seeping across the sky. Mingling with the city skyline and losing herself over the horizon.

You totter up the steps to your building and wave Martha and Alan off, twirling inside. The weight of wine heavy in your veins, pulling you from one side to the other, and still – you feel lighter, somehow.

You spent all afternoon giggling, once the heartache thawed and the alcohol kicked in. It felt nice; bubbly and nostalgic, the peachy tint of girlhood.

Swapping stories about your old, ridiculous love lives – Martha’s overall-donned boyfriend in high school, or the guy you went on two dates with last year before realizing he was the same dude one of your girlfriends had ghosted three months prior.

For a few hours on a Monday afternoon, you were fifteen again – and the worst thing that could happen was a pimple sprouting on your chin the night before picture day. All you’d ever know was the shiny film on magazine pages, reading two-week old horoscopes to see if they came true.

You slump against the side of the elevator, head spinning as it carries you home. It’s something like seven. You’re too buzzed to fall asleep, but too tipsy to do much more than roll around your apartment.

And by the time you’re back in your sweats, sunken into the couch, one very final nightcap in hand – you’re too tired to even move.

Promise me, she’d said, wildfire behind her eyes. Martha’s notorious for her talents in convincing anyone of anything, wriggling her own way out of any circumstance.

This felt different.

She’s just your colleague. At best, a passerby. Technically – going by her track record with almost everyone else in the company – she doesn’t have to take any more interest in you than the parking attendants in the basement lot do.

But she took your hand and led you out of that office without thinking, the second she understood. She bought you drink after drink, and slapped your hand away when you tried to pay. She listened to you, dried your tears, and then kicked your ass into gear.

By all standards, she was the best first date you’ve ever had.

And promise me, she’d said.

It starts as a joke. Humoring her, humoring yourself. A dare whispered to you by the tinkling of ice in your glass. Innocent curiosity, mixed with a dash of Martha’s good influence.

The perfect cocktail of chaos.

Your first online search brings up so many results that it dizzies you. Marketing executive and project coordinator, business support manager and production lead. They blur into a gray fog, a taunting swirl on your laptop screen.

“Jesus,” you mutter, mouthful of wine. “What the fuck do I…?”

Business and art. That’s what you know. One you’ve been in long enough that you reckon you could do it with your eyes closed – and the other…your little pipedream.

‘s not stupid, Joel had said, that night by the river. Not a pipedream, either.

And – fuck it, maybe you ought to listen for once. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want, and all that.

You dig your knuckles into your eyes, letting the spatter of stars clear your vision, and start again.

A second search threads together a list which feels a little cleaner. A little more you. Sophisticated websites with sleek designs, smooth wording which makes it feel like you’re being sold something.

And so what, if you are? Maybe you’re looking to buy.

You click through image after image of bright offices and beaming staff, sipping sharply through your straw. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, unsure whether the lightheaded feeling is from the rosé, or the promise of a successful career and competitive salary. Memorizing brand manifestos, learning company values like prayers passing through your hands.

It’s manic. Crazed. Like you’re stood on the brink of an abyss, thick fog kissing your ankles.

You laugh to yourself. This must be the fucking electricity.

Promise me. And what can it hurt, anyway, turning in an application form? Who says it’ll even go anywhere? They might take one look at your resume and laugh you all the way into the trashcan.

Or – they might see what Joel sees. What Martha sees. For the love of God, what you see.

Your resume looks much the same as it did four years ago – still molded into the shape of the kind of girl you thought Joel Miller, CEO might like to meet. And he did, very much so. It’s just – he met all shapes of her. Even the ones she tried to hide.

He found them all out, eventually.

Your thumb pauses, hovering over the mousepad. A slow guilt slithering over your shoulders, coiling deep in your gut. You think of Paris; those streets you walked down with Joel on your arm. Talking, laughing, spilling secrets and keeping them, too.

Your shadows are probably still on those avenues. Your reflections still bobbing in the Seine. Kisses hidden behind steam-coated mirrors, bodies joining in a darkened hotel room.

It twinges some, deep in your chest. A little numbed, what with all the alcohol and – well, Martha. But it’s still there. The same wound you’ve had for twelve years now.

It’s there. It will probably always be there.

So – fuck it.

You’re grabbing a goddamn paddle.

It’s been a quiet, fruitless week. No calls, no emails, no messages written in the stars.

Which is probably a good thing, given you were more than a few glasses of wine deep – and still on some kind of high from Martha’s speech. God only knows what kind of shit you were filling those applications with.

Nothing quite like liquid courage and a broken heart, right?

The light from the Xerox flickers, swiping memories from that afternoon back and forth. Martha’s hand locked around yours, the perfumed wine she kept buying. The waiter with the dimples, Joel’s Have a good night I’ll see you tomorrow, the pine air freshener in Alan’s car.

Things have mellowed, settled in your stomach. The world is back to beige – as plain as it always was before that night of tequila and AC/DC. You’ve made peace with it, this idea of letting go. Letting him go.

Martha – soapbox queen, microphone in one hand and glass of Sauvignon Blanc in the other – has checked in every day since. Expectant eyes from across the room, treasure chest emails full of job ads she’s collected.

Anything? she texted this morning, with six praying emojis. One more since yesterday, two since the day before that.

But no – nothing, for almost eight days now.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe you can swallow back the knot of misplaced disappointment, slip back into your heels and forget any of it ever happened. That fire Martha struck so effortlessly, snuffed by a cruel, cold wind.

His knuckles on the door scatter your thoughts.

“Hey,” Joel says, leant against the frame. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” you reply. “What’s up?”

He looks…frustratingly good. Like he’s pieced himself back together. Sharp and smart, brand new. And yet – warm, homey, in all the places only you know to look.

Your fingers flinch by your side, as though they’re seeking him out. You want to run them through his hair, through his beard. Want to straighten his tie, smooth the shirt over his chest. Breathe him in and feel him melt under your touch.

Feel him change, feel him soften – just for you.

Only for you.

He floats over, hands in his pockets, and perches on the desk by the copier. “Exciting stuff,” he muses, tapping the machine twice.

“Hm,” you nod, “You’re an exciting man.”

“How was the wine bar?”

“It was good,” you reply. “Little above my price range, but – it got us drunk, so.”

“Did the job.”

“Did the job,” you agree.

“Good,” Joel says, crossing his ankles. “I’m glad to see you a little more your old self.”

Your lips flatten into a smile. “Well, Martha has a way with words.”

He snorts. “Don’t I know it.”

He lingers, then. An awkward air about him. He scratches his nose, stuffs his hands back in his pockets. Sucks in a deep breath, swallows what seems to be a soliloquy of sentiment, or secrets, or something else.

Whatever it is, his nerves rub off on you.

You cross your arms, twist your toe into the carpet. Stare at the paper churning out of the machine, stare at your nails, stare at anything that isn’t the man sitting right in front of you.

But then – he murmurs, as though the words splinter from his tongue, “I had an interesting email this morning.”

The copier shudders at his side.

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh, yeah?”

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah. Pertaining to you.”

And you realize.

You look up at him, the tight knit of his brows. His fixed jaw, the way it flexes as he chews on the words.

“Pertaining to me,” you echo – a nudge.

The light from the machine catches a wet glint in his eye. He blinks it away.

“Request for a reference,” he says.

And – shit.

“Shit,” you hiss.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” louder.

His expression sharpens into a perplexed smirk. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” you start, “I mean – no. No, I just – Shit, I didn’t think they’d…I thought they’d talk to me first. Why didn’t they talk to me first?”

He shrugs. “I know of the company, met the CEO once at a gala. From what I know, she runs a pretty tight ship. Probably just wanted to gauge you before reaching out. It’s okay,” his voice is kind, hushed, “Doesn’t mean you won’t still hear.”

“Oh, Jesus, Joel,” you pull on your cheeks, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“Woah, woah,” he pats the air, moves so close you worry he might hear the thud of your heart, “No apologies, alright? That ain’t why I brought it up.”

“I just didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I wanted to be the one to – to tell you.”

He stands, hands finding your elbows. Gentle, a little timid. Barely brushing the sleeves of your shirt, and yet your whole body ignites.

“Darlin’,” his voice is serious, “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit, I promise. I mean…” he shakes his head, “…I give a shit. I give a lotta shits. I’m not – I don’t mean that, I meant –”

“I know what you meant,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “you always do.”

You pick a speck of fluff from his tie. He watches your hand, then takes it in both of his. Two big paws wrapped around one of yours, swallowing it whole.

It’s a familiar feeling, staring at the shape of your fingers tangled in his. Two in the morning at your first sleepover, praying Mom will pick up the phone. The first night alone in a new apartment, the babble of reality television for company right until sunrise.

You’re homesick.

Homesick for a man who’s standing right in front of you.

“I just wanted you to know,” Joel says, “that I sent it off just now. Just in case somethin’ goes wrong with the email, it doesn’t go through, I sent it to the wrong goddamn place – I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that it’s done.”

He holds your hand to his chest, his heartbeat against your knuckles. When you don’t reply, throttled by the threat of tears, he gives your wrist a little shake.

“Okay? You in there?”

“I’m here,” you breathe, and your hand slips from his grasp. “Thank you. I’m still sorry. You musta felt a little blindsided.”

His head bobs, considering. “Was a surprise, but a good one. Junior art director, huh? That sounds pretty damn exciting.”

“Yeah,” you reply, relaxing as he settles back on the desk. “Really exciting. Flex those creative muscles again.”

He grins. “You plan on working your way up?”

“Yup. Earn my stripes.”

“Alright, little tiger,” he says, and your heart leaps. “Proud of you.”

A silly smirk on your lips, you give him a tiny curtsy. “Here’s hoping your reference seals the deal.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t know about that, darlin’. It’s pretty shitty.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah. Talked all about how sarcastic you are, how you forgot the charger for your toothbrush – and then stole mine. Told ‘em about the Bart Simpson socks, force-feeding me Patrick Swayze. The lot.”

“The Bart socks,” you snicker, “They really stuck with you, huh?”

“Sure did.”

You slide onto the desk beside him. “What did you really write?” you ask, leaning in.

Joel glances to you. It should be obvious, with the way he’s looking at you, exactly what he wrote.

“Tell me,” you say, elbowing him.

“I told them…” he sighs, “…I told them not even to think about it, just hire you. They’d be outta their goddamn minds not to. Told them I wouldn’t be anywhere without you – or your Bart socks.

“Told them you’re the best thing that ever happened to this place. The best thing that ever happened to me. And you think – you think you never know what you have until you lose it, whatever that saying is, but I did. I knew from the second I met you. And they will, too. So – I told ‘em.”

The photocopier cuts, huffs, and falls silent. The room is plunged into a suffocating silence. You’re not sure you’re even breathing.

Joel’s arms are crossed protectively over his chest. You want so badly, more than anything, to burrow under them. To wriggle your way into his grasp – because you know he’d let you – cling to his chest, let his heartbeat regulate yours.

Let his entire body become yours; forget which parts are you, and which are him. Crawl into his skin, envelop yourself in him.

You want to cry into him. Hand him back all those mangled shapes of yourself you tried so hard to hoard – realizing now, that he knew what he was doing all along.

He was never trying to break them. He was never trying to hurt them. He only ever wanted to love them.

He only ever wanted to love you.

“Anyway,” Joel says, dusting his thighs, “Why don’t you finish that up, head on home for the day?”

“Uh –” you swipe the tears from your cheeks, “– no, it’s okay. I got a to-do list as long as my arm, and I still owe you, like, three hours from last week.”

Joel watches as you leap back over to the copier, swing the documents under one arm.

“I’m sure the to-do list will keep,” he assures, taking the ream from your clutches. “Go home, clear your head. Wait for that invite to interview to come through.”

“Joel –”

“Look at me,” he towers over you, “Anything urgent is Martha’s job now. She’ll love the drama of it. You want me to email that company back ‘n have them add Doesn’t follow orders to your reference?”

You breathe a laugh. “No.”

“No,” he repeats, brushing by.

All the times you’ve missed him before – landing back home after Paris, sat with some lovestruck financier in a golf club, fighting like kids in his office – and none of them compare to right now. Stood in the copy room, mere inches and yet entire worlds between you.

And Joel seems to know, like he knows everything you’re thinking. He glances over his shoulder, flame in his eyes, and he smiles. All sweet and charming, the real kind that softens him, lightens him.

Everything that makes him yours.

“Go on, git,” he says, heading for the door. “��fore I change my mind.”

“Hey, wait. Joel?”

He turns back.

Your voice trembles. “How are you so calm about all this?”

His jaw flicks uncomfortably. He considers it for a moment, then says, “If you love something, you let it go.”

You repeat his own words back to him, whispered to you while you lay intertwined on his childhood bed. When they leave your mouth, they sound more like a plea. Fight back.

“But then you’d be losing something,” you say.

Joel shrugs. Earnestly. “Can’t lose somethin’ I never had.”

He doesn’t get it. He must get it. He’s twenty years older, twenty years wiser. He must know, by now. Christ, he had you to a tee two weeks ago.

How doesn’t he get it?

Your chest heaves. Your head shakes.

“You had it. You had me the second we walked into that dive bar.”

[spatialwave]

“𝓪 𝓰𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵’𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓹𝓮𝓻”

pairing: cooper howard/the ghoul x fem!reader word count: 1k summary: you’d proven to cooper that you were a tough young thing, a vault dweller with a bit of edge—and a thing for mean-mannered ghouls. you were quick to indulge in being his plaything. warnings: mdni! smut, dom!cooper, sub!reader, rough, degrading, withholding/edging, cooper is mean i’m not sorry! notes: these are getting too good ya’ll hehe, i hope you like it! this scene was inspired by @ghoulphile and their amazing cooper writings! please go check out their blog! 🧡

when you first met cooper howard you had been doused in confusion, why the hell were you attracted to this… thing? not a human, but too handsome and sentient to be labelled as lowly as a ‘creature’. he couldn’t be wrangled into the likes of mutated animals, but you hadn’t met a ghoul before, so you didn’t know what to make of him. nor could you understand the way you’d grown slick between the thighs by only looking at him.

fascination struck when he settled striking eyes on you—soon forcing you along to seek out the information you’d gained through your years as a vault dweller.

and it’s not like you fit anywhere else anyway, even your vault allowed you to make way for the surface without an attempt to hold you back from your curiosity— you were stuck with nothing. not even a bottle of water to your name. so, if it meant having to suck up to a bounty hunting ghoul and beg for your life to stay afloat, then you could manage. you hadn’t any ounce of shame or pride, you were a prisoner to the wastelands.

a lover to a damned, 200-year old ghoul.

your face was shoved against the sandy floorboards of an old, battered saloon—destroyed and flimsy. one harsh rad storm and it would collapse into a corpse of a building that once held a proud number of guests before the war.

“cooper, fuck—“ you groaned, pain mixed with pleasure as your cunt burned.

the ghoul had stripped you completely, your vault jumpsuit tossed behind the broken bar, boots across the room and pip boy a few inches from your face. he left your naked body exposed to the cold night air, easy for him to ravage and indulge.

this was a constant repetition in your life now, when cooper was having a stressful day he took it out on you. the first time was near-frightening, thinking that he might end up snapping you in half while fucking you with his revolver shoved into your mouth like a deathly, make-shift gag.

you loved it—it was fucking disgusting, and you craved it like a lowly whore, a term of endearment that came so lovingly from the ghoul.

“quiet down,” he hissed, gloved hand landing harshly against your ass so a loud smack echoed through the dilapidated building, “i’ll shove your panties in your mouth if you keep this up, whore.”

his cock was buried deep into your pussy, swollen and aching around his hardened length that pushed against the ring of your cervix. the fleshy muscle shooting pain through your hips and thighs with each thrust, uncaring if it was painful. large hands massaged the globes of your ass, covered in reddened marks and bruises that would make sitting down hard—it was rare you had that privilege, though. cooper had made sure you two were always on the move.

“maybe i want that, cowboy,” you giggled sloppily, fucked so dumb you could hardly think as you looked over your shoulder at the ghoul, his hazel eyes piercing into yours just under the brim of his hat. you hated that he kept himself mostly clothed during these rendezvous.

cooper groaned, eyes narrowing as his left hand kept your wrists pinned against your back—face rubbing raw against the floor every time his cock slid through your wet walls. he’d been the biggest you’d ever taken, not like you had much experience.

“you love talkin’ with that filthy, cocksucking mouth of yours, don’t you?” cooper groaned, hands tightening around your wrists as his hips snapped sharply against your ass.

to make sure your needs were taken care of, you bit hard onto your bottom lip to muffle any sounds that may escape your throat. it was difficult when his cock stretched you thin, rubbing raw inside you as tears gathered in your eyes and all you wanted to do was scream his name until your voice cracked and the dry, dusty air stung your throat. you clenched tight around his cock, hardly able to keep yourself up on your knees, and he could feel how close you were to collapsing.

“not yet, darlin’,” cooper mumbled, his free hand latching to your hip and pulling you back to your knees when you’d nearly collapsed. then, the same hand slipped around your hips, so his bare fingers rubbed at your swollen clit that had been neglected.

“coop—“ you whimpered, eyes daring to shut tight as he pounded into you mercilessly, barely hanging onto reality as you had begun to see stars while your eyes rolled back.

he fed off your soft mewls of pleasure as you tried so hard to keep quiet, a smirk tainting his lips as he watched with excited eyes and a newfound sense of vigor.

“you gonna’ cum on my cock, lil’ helper?” he whispered, leaning forward so his clothed chest pressed against your back and locked wrists, “say it and i’ll think about lettin’ you,” he huffed, voice coarse as his warm breath tickled the shell of your ear and his finger pulled away from your clit—pulling you away from the edge you’d nearly fell over.

“i’m gonna’ cum on your cock,” you slurred—whining desperately for more, “can i, cooper? please, i’ve been good,” you pleaded, forcing your eyes to focus so you could look at him. you’d been fighting off the coil of heat tightening in your lower gut, waiting so patiently for your lover to say yes like the darling love you were.

you bit back a gurgled moan, eyes shutting tight as he allowed a few, long seconds to pass before his finger rubbed tight, fast circles on the sensitive bud, “go on then,” he breathed low, lips parted as he waited for your release.

all it took was for you to relax your body, then the pleasure soared through you like an explosive. cooper pulled himself upright and let go of your wrists so you could cover your mouth with your delicate fingers—moaning a saliva-filled mess into your hand while you came. every thrust sent your head swirling, sending your body into flames as his radiated body took one final snap of his hips before he spilled deep inside and felt the stress of the day vanish into thin air.

you were certainly this ghoul’s helper.

[oddlittlestories]

Thinking about Cuddy.

House is a genius. I’ve written about how Wilson is equally talented.

But Cuddy is, too.

One of three(?) female deans of medicine in the country. One of the youngest. And every time the spotlight turns onto her, she does things no one else can do.

She has a kid by herself. Wilson points out that a man in her position would have a wife, two nannies AND two assistants. (She tries to hire an assistant and the job is so demanding they quit regularly.)

She consistently gets things for the hospital no one else can get and is the trump card only she can play. In 5 to 9, she gets (I think) 7%, which is far and away better than her opponent, her board, or anyone else but her thought she could get.

In season 1, iirc it’s implied SHE brings in Vogler, and she’s the only person who can stop him when he starts tearing the entire hospital apart to get at House.

In season 3, she ends the nonsense with Tritter.

She’s also the only person who can and will keep House on her team (no one will hire House or Foreman, other than her). And she’s the only person who can wrangle him, canonically (I disagree with canon, but Cameron does hand the reigns back to Cuddy with this exact statement). Moreover, she makes House an ASSET. In 5 to 9, she explains that PPTH is on the cutting edge, which includes their world famous ddx department.

And! Despite the fact that House routinely accuses her of being an administrator and not a doctor anymore, she still successfully treats patients from time to time. She helps ddx the babies in Maternity. She saves her patient’s baby in Fetal Position. In s5 Joy, she clocks that something is wrong with the mom when no one else does, and pushes until the diagnosis is made and saves both their lives. She figures out the diagnosis in Joy to the World at the same time as House, and is so kind and respectful to the folks caring for the baby, yet still makes sure she gives the baby what she needs.

I have to admit that I don’t remember s7-8 well enough to go through those, but it’s clear to everyone that Cuddy is a great doctor. Much like Wilson, she gets dismissed in part bc she gets too emotionally involved. And it’s also clear that no one really understands her work or how good she is at it. Everyone only sees their part, and she has to see all of it and make it all fit together, making sure everyone gets what they need. Her ability to flip between caring and hardass undermines her ability to seem tough, but it’s also necessary. If she couldn’t care, she wouldn’t take such good care of her people or patients. If she couldn’t toughen up, she’d let people walk all over her. It’s a unique style, and not without its pitfalls, but it’s all hers.

And like Wilson, she doesn’t get seen as a genius. In fact, she barely gets acknowledged as smart at all. A lot of her successes come from charisma and social intelligence. And those things often get dismissed in women, especially women who care as deeply and obviously as Cuddy does. The ability to juggle so many things gets dismissed as “basically being well-organized,” and also, no one really SEES what she does. It sometimes takes her a minute, but she reads people like THAT. She figures out and outwits that sociopathic drug dealer. She sees through most of House’s lies. She often settles with plaintiffs because of guilt, but she also often talks them out of suing the hospital in the first place.

Cuddy is just as good, and just as brilliant, at her job as House and Wilson. But she doesn’t get seen as a genius anymore than Wilson does.

[favefandomimagines]

Back in the Saddle (t.o)

Request: @glenxjesse “I was wondering if I could request a Tyler Owen/reader. Where reader fell off her horse and got pretty badly injured with a concussion and a shattered heel bone and needed surgery and Tyler takes time off of wrangling to take care of her while she’s laid up, making sure she has everything she needs and carrying her around to different rooms because she hates her crutches and he’s worried about her falling again, also comforting her at night when the pain is really bad and she can’t sleep. Last year I fell off my horse with those exact injuries and I just feel like Tyler would be the most attentive, comforting boyfriend. Thank you! Please feel free to change whatever you want! And if you don’t want to write it I understand as well! Hope you’re doing well! Love your writing by the way!”

AN: I am SO SORRY this took me so long!!! Life got in the way and I totally forgot! I hope you all enjoy some Tyler Owens fluff!

Summary: Tyler puts his storm chasing on hold to take care of Y/N after a horse riding accident and there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Tyler’s boots scuffed the dirt as he moved slowly across the ranch, his broad hat shielding him from the unforgiving late afternoon sun. The sky stretched vast and blue, with a hint of dark clouds building on the horizon, the kind that usually sent him chasing after the storms in his beat-up red truck.

But today wasn’t like most days. He wasn’t tracking any storms or watching the sky for funnels with Boone. Today, he was watching over Y/N.

Y/N sat on the porch, her right leg elevated and wrapped in a thick cast. Her face, normally flushed with color from riding her horse under the big sky, was pale. The pain was evident in her tight grip on the armrest of the chair. A concussion and a shattered heel—the doctor had said it could’ve been worse when she fell off her horse, but to Tyler, it already felt like a nightmare.

She had to have surgery to repair her foot and her recovery time is 3-4 months. Which for Tyler felt like an eternity. Afraid something else could wrong while she wasn’t mobile enough to protect herself.

He walked up to her, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. "You need anything?" His voice was soft, like a breeze passing through the fields, but beneath it was a current of concern.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes heavy with the exhaustion of pain and sleepless nights. "I’m fine, really. Just... tired of these stupid crutches. My arms are killing me."

Tyler crouched beside her, his face level with hers. "I know it’s hard, darlin’. But you gotta take it easy for a bit. The crutches are a pain, but they’re helping you heal."

She let out a huff, frustrated. "I hate being stuck here. You should be out chasing storms, Tyler. Not babysitting me."

"Hey," Tyler said firmly, but his smile softened the edge in his voice. "This ain’t babysitting. This is takin’ care of you. And I wouldn’t be anywhere else."

Her lips quirked into a small smile, though she tried to hide it. "I don’t want to hold you back."

"You ain’t holdin’ me back, baby. I’d miss a hundred storms if it meant bein’ here with you. Don’t you know that by now?"

Y/N’s eyes flickered, a mixture of relief and guilt dancing in their depths. She reached out and took his hand. "I’m sorry, Ty. I just... I hate being this helpless."

Tyler stood and pulled her into a gentle hug, mindful of her injuries. "Ain’t nothin’ helpless about you. You’re one of the toughest women I’ve ever known. But right now, tough means lettin’ yourself heal. And I’m here to help with that. It’s what I want to do."

For the first time all day, Y/N’s shoulders relaxed. She rested her head against his chest, letting his steady heartbeat calm her restless mind. "Thank you."

They stayed like that for a few minutes, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the porch. Tyler finally pulled back, a playful grin on his face. "Now, how ‘bout we get you inside? Doc said you need to rest."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. "I’ve been resting all day."

"Yeah, but you haven’t had my world-famous chicken noodle soup yet," Tyler teased.

"Oh really? World-famous, huh?"

"In at least three counties," he said with a wink.

Tyler scooped her up in his arms and carried her towards the front door. “You know you’re supposed to do this when you get married, right?” Y/N questioned. “Hey, it’s good practice.” He replied.

||

That night, Tyler sat beside the bed, his boots kicked off and his legs stretched out in front of him. Y/N lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her face contorted in pain she was trying hard to hide. But Tyler noticed. He always noticed.

He leaned over, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "You okay?"

Y/N blinked, her eyes glistening. "It’s just... the pain. It’s worse at night. I feel like I can’t get away from it."

Without hesitation, Tyler slipped into bed beside her, carefully wrapping his arms around her without putting pressure on her leg. He pulled her close, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"I’m right here, darlin’," he whispered. "I ain’t goin’ nowhere."

Y/N took a shaky breath. "I know. But I don’t want to keep you up all night."

Tyler kissed the top of her head, his lips warm and comforting. "Don’t worry ‘bout that. Sleep or no sleep, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone."

She buried her face into his chest, the familiar scent of him—earth and leather, storm clouds and fresh hay—giving her a sense of peace she hadn’t felt all day. "Ty... what if this takes longer than 4 months to heal? What if I’m not the same afterward?"

Tyler’s grip tightened just a little, enough to reassure her without hurting her. "Then it takes longer. And if you ain’t the same, we’ll figure it out together. You think I’m here just for the ridin’ and the fun days? No. I’m here for all of it. The good, the bad, and whatever comes next."

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes closing as the pain seemed to lessen, just a bit, with his words. "I don’t deserve you."

"Now, that’s where you’re wrong," Tyler said, his voice soft but firm. "You deserve the world, Y/N. And if I can give you even a piece of it, I will. You’re my whole world."

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say something so raw, so vulnerable. "You mean that?"

Tyler chuckled softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. "More than you know."

Y/N snuggled closer, her body relaxing into his. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp, not when she was wrapped in the safety of his arms. "I love you, Tyler."

"I love you too, darlin’," he murmured, his lips pressing softly against her forehead. "And I’m here for the long haul. Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be."

The night stretched on, the sky outside dark and the stars shining. Tyler stayed awake, his arms around Y/N, listening to her breathing slowly even out as she finally drifted into sleep. He didn’t mind missing the storms. There would always be another tornado, another season. But there was only one Y/N, and she was worth every missed chase, every long night spent by her side.

As he lay there in the dark, the distant rumble of thunder echoed from far-off storms, but Tyler didn’t stir. His focus was here, on the woman he loved.

And as long as she needed him, that’s exactly where he’d be.

[corroded-hellfire]

I just realized it's them. Eddie, the Reader, and my kids.

It would be funny if they were watching the movie and Eddie teases them that they look like kittens and some say it's actually them as a family.

I needed to write this. Was very compelled to write about Eliza making everyone watch this movie lol. I hope you like what my crazy brain came up with!

Previously talked about on this ask too 😻

Words: 1.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Family movie nights have become rarer as the boys have gotten older, but the tradition hasn’t been altogether lost. Once in a while you can wrangle the boys down for an evening of snacks and family bonding. 

Luke is laid out on the floor as per usual, on his stomach and pounding down Doritos and Mountain Dew like a man starved, not a 14-year-old boy who just had three large helpings of baked ziti not an hour ago. Ryan occupies the La-Z-Boy lounger that is effectively known as Wayne’s chair, it being the older man’s favorite spot in the household. The older Munson brother’s attention is currently half on the movie and half on the girl he likes at school. 

Eliza is sitting cozy on the couch between you and Eddie. At some point during the movie, she’ll end up snuggled against either you or her father, but right now she’s content enough to sit on her own, her pink unicorn blanket spread out over her lap and little legs. 

Eddie is slouched against an arm of the couch but has his arm draped along top, the tips of his fingers just barely able to brush over the back of your neck. So, of course, that’s what he’s been doing since the movie started. You sit hip to hip with your daughter, a bowl of popcorn balanced on your thigh that she and you keep taking kernels from.

As the song Everybody Wants to Be a Cat ends, Eddie smiles to himself. He sees his children in all three of the troublemaking kittens that were just singing and dancing around on screen. 

Ryan notices and raises an eyebrow at his father. “The singing cartoon cats making ya happy, Dad?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and flicks a pretzel in his eldest child’s direction.

“No, smartass. I was just thinking how they remind me of you guys.”

Luke rolls on his side so he can look at his dad over his shoulder.

“Did I grow a tail I wasn’t aware of? I’d like to think you’d keep me updated on that kind of thing, Dad.”

“You’re the little wiseass cat,” Eddie says, gesturing to the screen with his chin. “The orange one that tries to act all tough.”

“Toulouse,” Eliza says, as if her father should’ve known his name and it offends her that he didn’t.

“And he’s the one who’s most like the dad,” you point out with a shrug. It’s no secret that Luke is basically Eddie’s twin.

“He’s not their dad!” Eliza says with a small huff. Her parents are disappointing her with their Disney knowledge tonight. 

“My point still stands,” you say before pressing a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head.

Luke shoves another handful of Doritos in his mouth and goes back to looking at the screen.

“I’m not a ginger,” Luke says, though with his mouth being full it sounded more like, “M’not a jinjuh.”

“Who’s he?” Eliza asks as she points to the black and white cat on the screen.

“I thought you knew all the names,” Eddie says. Eliza rolls her eyes, looking identical to her father as she does it.

“No. Luke is Toulouse so who Berlioz?”

“Oh, okay,” Eddie says now that his daughter has cleared up his confusion. “Definitely Ryan. He’s the quietest one but he can still be mischievous.”

“Silent but deadly,” Ryan says.

“Like his farts,” Luke adds, making Eliza giggle.

“Who me?” Eliza asks, looking up at her father with the same big brown eyes that she inherited from him. 

“Marie, of course,” Eddie says as he musses her curls. That name he knows by now. “You’re the spoiled, pampered, sweet girl of the gang.”

The word “sweet” doesn’t seem to matter to Eliza, only focusing on the first two. Her little round face pinches up in a frown; her brows coming together over her dark eyes and her lips forming into a puckering pout. You try, and almost fail, to contain your laughter as your daughter stares at your husband with the cutest menacing look you’ve ever seen. 

“What?” Eddie asks when she doesn’t look away.

“Not a spoiled kitty,” she says. 

“You asked!” Eddie scrunches up his face and sticks his tongue out at her. She does the same in return, proving that your husband is as mature as a three-year-old. 

Luke finishes the Doritos in his mouth and wipes his cheesy hands off on his White Sox shirt.

“You know, I think our whole family is like theirs,” he muses.

“What?” Ryan asks. By the tone of his voice it sounds like he’s over everyone talking and just wants to watch the movie in silence again.

“Yeah,” Luke says and gestures to the screen in front of him. “Stray, scruffy alley cat gets the pretty, sophisticated girl that’s out of his league?”

As unsubtly as possible, Luke jerks his head back towards you and Eddie on the couch.

“Hey!” you pout. “That’s not true.”

“Pretty much is,” Eddie admits with a laugh. 

You move to scoot closer to your husband, little Eliza getting caught in the middle. The small girl hisses like a cat when she gets squished between her parents.

“Jesus,” Ryan groans as he rubs a hand over his eyes. Any form of overt affection between you and your husband has been annoying the teen boy lately. Eddie finds it amusing and whenever the two of you are alone your husband quietly surmises to you that your son is more annoyed by the fact that he can’t express the same sort of affections to the girl he likes. It makes sense since Ryan has always been one to express his love physically with hugs and such.

Now, Eddie presses a smacking kiss to the side of your head—almost to spite Ryan’s attitude— 

before looking down at your daughter squeezed between the two of you.

“I think you even look like a kitty!” he tells her.

Eliza pushes her way to her feet on the couch with a huff. Watching her trying to stand in the cramped space has you tucking in your lips to avoid laughing. Once up, Eliza shoves at her dad’s shoulder as she’s seen her brothers do to one another many times.

“My little kitty!” Eddie teases, finding her reaction comical. He snatches Eliza and holds her in his lap as he tries to press kisses all over her face. Stubble scratches and rubs against Eliza’s soft skin, making her squeal and wiggle around in Eddie’s grip.

“If we’re all cats, do you think another family will adopt me?” Ryan asks in a sullen adolescent tone.

“No,” Luke answers simply. Thank God he hasn’t become a brooding, moody teenager—yet, anyway.

Eliza manages to slip free from her father’s grip and runs over to jump on Ryan’s lap.

“Save me!” she wails.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” Ryan says as she snuggles into his lap, tucking her head beneath her eldest brother’s chin.

Eddie takes advantage of the newly empty space between you, and he pulls you flush up against his side. You give Eddie a soft kiss before laying your head on his shoulder.

“Ick,” Eliza complains, looking over at you on the couch.

“Yeah, ick,” Ryan echoes.

“Wasn’t he the one who wanted us to have a baby practically as soon as we got together? Now he thinks it’s gross that I kiss you,” Eddie says softly to you, but not soft enough that Luke didn’t hear.

“Yeah, but now we got what we wanted,” Luke says with a shrug. 

“Maybe now you guys can get fixed,” Ryan says with a smirk. 

Eddie opens his mouth to retort but Eliza holds her arms in the air, an immediate call for silence.

“Shhhh! This good part!”

She snuggles back against her big brother, who sticks his tongue out at his dad.

Casually, Eddie wraps his arm around your back so he can flip his oldest son the bird without Eliza seeing. Ryan just laughs and goes back to watching the movie, curious to see what’s so special about this part. The sixteen-year-old’s laughter brings a smile to your face. You haven’t heard it as often as you’d like to lately.

After Eddie situates his arm around your shoulders, you snuggle up to him and drape Eliza’s unicorn blanket over your lap. The Disney movie is not as enticing to you as your husband is, so you press a kiss just below Eddie’s ear before whispering to him.

“I love our kittens. No matter how ferocious they like to pretend they are.”

Eddie chuckles his agreement.

“The cutest little feral monsters around.”

[nahoney22]

I have a request! Works been rough lately, can I get a fem reader/Crosshair with “let me distract you” when he visits her during a tough shift? Love your work, thank you!

-dumfanting

The Perfect Distraction*** 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Crosshair X Female!Reader

word count: 2.6k

Prompts:

• “Let me distract you.”

Plot: When work is non-stop, you feel yourself overwhelmed and in need of a break. Luckily for you, your other half came at the right time.

Authors note: sorry that work has been tough lately @dumfanting 🩵 hopefully things have gotten better. If not, here’s some soft Crosshair to make your day better. (Sorry for the wait)

warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit Sexual Content and Language. Female Reader, Work Stress, Light Angst, Established Relationship, Massage, Soft Smut, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Aftercare, Comfort, Kissing, Neck Kissing and Sucking.

A neon sign by the door flickers, glowing with a dim "OPEN" that buzzes faintly in the background. It’s barely holding on, much like you are at this point.

Your shop that you owned for a few years is - to be blunt - a mess. A current maze of half-disassembled speeders and crates of mismatched parts, with wires and hydro spanners scattered across every available surface. The usual hum of machinery sounded through the space, barely masking your own frustrated grunts as you try to wrangle yet another malfunctioning power converter back into shape. But no matter how hard you work, it feels like the pile of jobs only grows larger, while your supply of critical parts dwindles.

Then, you hear the familiar irritating buzz of the door, followed by heavy footsteps. You grit your teeth, already bracing yourself for what’s coming.

A burly customer storms in, his face flushed with anger. “This is ridiculous!” he snaps. “You said my speeder would be ready days ago! What kind of operation are you running here? I’ve been waiting long enough!” He throws his arms up in frustration, knocking over a pile of circuit boards in the process.

You open your mouth to respond, trying to keep your tone steady despite the stress bubbling under the surface. “Look, I’ve got a shortage of parts. I’m doing everything I can—”

He cuts you off, voice rising. “I don’t want excuses! You’re supposed to be a mechanic, not some scrap peddler! If you can’t get it done, I’ll take it somewhere that can.”

Before you can get another word in, a cold, measured voice slices through the tension. “I think you’ve said enough.”

The customer whips around to see Crosshair leaning against the wall, twirling a familiar toothpick between his lips. But there’s nothing casual about the deadly look in his eyes. He straightens up, moving to stand between you and the customer, his hand resting near his blaster as if daring the guy to push his luck. “Back off and leave the lady alone,” he snarls, tone voice dipped with venom as he flicks the pick at the customer's chest.

Their bravado is quick to vanish. He stammers, trying to recover some of his bluster, but it’s clear he’s rattled. “I—I just want my speeder fixed…” He takes a step back, bumping into a tool cart and nearly knocking it over in his haste to retreat.

“Then take it somewhere else,” Crosshair replies coolly, his eyes never leaving the man. The customer mutters something under his breath and stumbles out of the shop.

For a moment, all you can do is exhale, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. You shoot Crosshair a look—half-irritation, half-gratitude. “Well, there goes another job. Not that I’m upset about it,” you mutter, rubbing your temple. “But still, I don’t need to be losing more credits.”

Crosshair simply shrugs, clearly unconcerned. “Credits won’t matter much if you’re burnt out.”

You huff, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you. “Burnt out is putting it lightly. It’s been one thing after another all day. Parts shortages, broken motivators, customers demanding miracles. I’m running myself crazy, and no one seems to care that I can’t fix what I don’t have.” Your voice wavers slightly as the frustration spills over. “I’m one person, Crosshair. I can’t keep this up.”

He listens quietly, his sharp gaze softening as he takes in the stress etched on your face. Without a word, he steps over to the door and flips the neon “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED.”

When he turns back to you, he’s closer now, his tone gentler. “What can I do?”

You look up at him, feeling a lump in your throat at the kindness in his voice. Before you can answer, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a secure embrace. You really needed this.

The warmth of him, combined with the rare tenderness in the way he holds you, makes your chest tighten with relief. You let yourself sink into him, closing your eyes as you take in the steady rhythm of his breathing. For a moment, the clutter of the shop and the never-ending to-do list fades into the background.

“Just this,” you whisper, feeling the weight of the day lift ever so slightly. “This is enough.”

Crosshair’s hand moves in slow circles on your back, offering a silent comfort that says more than words could. His eyes then move toward your cluttered office tucked in the back of the shop. “Why don’t we head to your office? You could use a break.”

You nod, feeling a wave of fatigue wash over you. The office is far from tidy—tools, spare parts, and datapads are scattered all over—but there’s a worn couch in the corner that’s always offered a bit of comfort when you need a breather. Crosshair leads the way, and you follow.

You sigh heavily as you begin pacing in your cluttered office, not being able to help but continue venting your frustrations. “It’s like everything’s falling apart at once. Staff keep canceling their shifts, leaving me to pick up the slack. I’m drowning in work with no one to help, and my orders for parts are delayed again! I can’t catch a break, and I’m starting to think I’ll never dig myself out of this mess.”

Crosshair moves towards the couch, slouching back in his usual relaxed manner and his sharp eyes follow your every move. He doesn’t interrupt, just lets you get it all out. When you finally pause to catch your breath, he speaks, his voice calm and steady. “Come here.”

You look at him, still frazzled, but the calm assurance in his tone pulls you toward him. You sit beside him, and he wastes no time, guiding you against his chest as he wraps his arm around you. You lean your head back against his shoulder, trying to let go of the day’s weight.

Crosshair’s fingers trail lightly along your arm, his presence grounding you. He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “Let me distract you.”

You hum softly in response, your lips curling into a faint smile at the suggestion. “You think you can really take my mind off all this?” you ask. Oh you definitely know he can.

Instead of answering, he starts massaging your shoulders, his touch firm and soothing. His skilled hands work out the tension, moving slowly, melting away the stress you’ve been carrying. As his fingers glide over your muscles, your body begins to relax, the tension easing with every pass. His thumbs press into the knots with just the right amount of pressure, and you let out a quiet, contented sigh.

“See?” he murmurs against your neck, “You’re already feeling better.”

His hands continue their path down your back, trailing lower before slipping back up along your sides. His touch is tender, coaxing you into a calm state that contrasts with his usual intensity. Crosshair is rarely gentle, but right now, it’s exactly what you need.

The atmosphere shifts, the tension turning into something else entirely. He pauses, and you feel his lips brush the shell of your ear as he whispers, “Is this how you wanted to be distracted?”

The teasing lilt in his voice makes you bite your lip, your pulse quickening. “Maybe… but I think you know what I really need,” you reply, your voice breathy as your desire begins to build.

Crosshair chuckles, clearly pleased with your response. His hands drift lower, sliding over your hips and down your thighs before slipping back up. You feel his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants, tugging them down just enough to grant him access. Your breath hitches as his hand dips beneath the fabric of your dampened panties, his fingers brushing against your already slick folds.

“Is this what you had in mind?” he asks, his voice a low rumble against your ear as he begins to tease you, his touch feather-light and maddeningly slow.

A quiet whimper escapes you as his fingers trace gentle circles over your clit, his touch skilled and precise. “Crosshair…” you breathe, a plea hidden in your tone.

He smirks against your neck, enjoying the way you’re beginning to unravel in his arms. “I thought you needed a distraction,” he murmurs, sliding a finger inside you, teasingly slow. He works you with agonising precision, each movement calculated to draw out your need.

You arch against him, gasping softly as his fingers press deeper, his thumb maintaining a steady rhythm against your clit. “This what you wanted?” he taunts, slowly adding a finger inside you, curling them just right and hitting that perfect spot.

Your body answers for you, a shuddering moan escaping your lips as you grip his arm, your hips moving in time with his touch. The stress, the tension, everything melts away under his skilled hands, leaving only the building pleasure that threatens to tip you over the edge.

Crosshair’s free hand wraps around your waist, holding you steady as he continues to work you with an almost unbearable precision. “Let it go,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice velvet and commanding all at once.

And you do, falling apart in his arms. The pleasure crashes over you in waves as his fingers carry you through your release. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, spent and breathless against him.

For a moment, the world narrows down to just the sound of your breathing and the warmth of his arms around you. Eventually, Crosshair withdraws his hand, holding you close as you come down from the high, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

“Feeling better?” he asks, his voice smug but laced with genuine concern.

You manage a tired, satisfied smile, still basking in the afterglow. “A little, yeah,” you whisper, sinking deeper into his embrace.

“Only a little?” He asks with a raised brow. He shifts positions, taking your waist and gently lifting and then laying you flat across the couch, crawling over the top of you. “That’s not good enough, is it?” His breath is warm against your skin, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips.

You find yourself grinning, completely obsessed with your boyfriend. “I suppose it isn’t,” you gasp the second the words leave your lips, his mouth on yours with a tender, slow and sensual kiss.

“Let’s fix that,” Crosshair’s lips press a final kiss to your neck before he slides lower, his gaze never leaving yours as he settles between your legs. You’re already breathless, anticipation tingling through your veins. His movements are deliberate but unhurried, as if savoring the effect he has on you.

He hooks a finger around the side of your panties, pulling them aside with a casual ease that sends a shiver up your spine. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the affection in his gaze.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp as he leans in closer. The word is both a command and a promise. Then, without breaking eye contact, he dips his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh before his mouth finds exactly where you need him.

His touch is slow, precise, completely different from his usual rough and demanding approach. The contrast sends waves of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but melt into the couch, your body responding eagerly to his attention. He takes his time, his tongue moving in smooth, deliberate strokes that drive you wild while keeping you tethered.

You gasp softly, arching into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continues to work you with a patience that’s almost agonising. “So, beautiful.” He moans into your clit.

He seems completely focused on drawing out every bit of tension, coaxing your pleasure higher and higher with each careful movement. Every kiss, every flick of his tongue is calculated, designed to make you feel like you’re the center of his world.

Unable to resist the pull, you reach for the hem of your top and tug it off, tossing it aside. Crosshair doesn’t miss a beat—his hands are quick to slide up your torso, fingers grazing your sensitive skin as he cups your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending electric sparks of pleasure through you as his mouth continues its unhurried rhythm below.

You moan his name, your voice laced with both need and admiration. He hums against you in response, the vibration adding another layer of sensation that has you clutching the couch cushions, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you.

After what feels like an eternity of bliss, he finally shifts, moving back up your body with slow, languid kisses, each one lingering as if he’s savoring your taste. He presses his lips to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue before he whispers against your mouth, “I told you, I’m not done yet.”

Your breath hitches as he pulls back just enough to reach down and free himself. He takes his time, positioning himself between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs to hold you steady as he aligns himself with you. But before he moves, he locks eyes with you, his gaze filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.

“I’m going to take all that tension away,” he promises, his voice rough with desire, but there’s a softness there too—a genuine care that makes you feel cherished, not just desired. “Just let me take care of you.”

As he slowly enters you, every inch deliberate and controlled, you feel the world narrow down to just this moment—the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the way he fills you completely. His movements are slow but powerful, every thrust purposeful, designed to make you feel every bit of him. It’s intimate, soothing, and completely overwhelming in the best way.

He keeps whispering soft praises, his voice a rough murmur in your ear. “That’s it… just like that… you’re doing so good for me.” His hands roam your body, caressing your skin as if he’s grounding you in the here and now, making sure you stay connected and completely focused on him.

His pace is steady, as if he has all the time in the galaxy to show you exactly how much he cares. The dirty talk flows naturally, his words laced with affection. “You’re perfect like this… so beautiful when you let go.”

The way he moves, the way he speaks—it’s all meant to draw you further into this shared moment, making you forget about the stress and exhaustion from earlier. The tension in your muscles, the weight on your mind, all dissolve under the weight of his attention.

As the pleasure builds, you can feel yourself falling apart in the best way, and he’s right there with you, guiding you through it with whispered reassurances and gentle touches. When you finally reach your peak, he’s watching you with a look that’s both possessive and full of awe, like he’s proud of how you’ve given yourself over to him completely.

“C—Crosshair…mmm, I’m goin’ to cum.” You rasp, your back arching into him as stars begin to blur your vision.

He doesn’t stop until you do. Letting you ride out your orgasm on his cock until you’re fully sated. He reaches his own high, panting your name softly before he pulls out and spurts his velvet white seed all over your stomach and breasts.

As your body relaxes and becomes loose in his embrace, he leans over you and places a tender kiss to your lips as he holds you close, letting you bask in the aftermath.

When you finally catch your breath, he gives you that familiar smirk, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. “Now… how’s that for taking the tension away?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, feeling lighter than you have in days. “More than enough,” you whisper, still wrapped in his arms, grateful for the way he always knows exactly how to care for you.

That is the distraction you definitely needed today.

Tags: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @lulalovez

@tentakelspektakel @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @mysticalgalaxysalad @yunggoblin @photogirl894

[callooopie]

Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon headcannons (pt. 1)

Yeah my boyfriend’s pretty cool, but he’s not as cool as me — Brooklyn Baby // Lana Del Rey

I look away from my TV for one second only to look back and see Jacaerys mewing at me while a deadly and violent war is being discussed

You meet at a college party. Definitely. He looks like a party girl. Jace Targaryen(?) (Targaryen? or perhaps Strong in this modern world? Certainly not Velaryon, as I would assume Rhaenyra would have a choice of who she married in this world) gives off either reliable fratboy energy, or kind and quiet student you sit by in your class (He shows you his notes if you missed something. He gives you his number too—just in case you had questions!) Is the type to silently sneak glances at you during lectures. Maybe you even catch him staring once?

Meeting his family is.. overwhelming. On one hand it’s big. Like really big, a little confusing sometimes. On the other hand? Why’s everyone so hot? What are these genes?! His mom, his dad, his half-family members, his friends?!?! You’re sitting there at the family function like ?!?!

Speaking of family—he’s a big family guy. He loves his mom and his dad, he adores his brothers, he tolerates his half-uncles and whatnot. Jacaerys shows you to his mother in her office, and to his father doing work around the house. I believe he would be the type to wrangle and line up his brothers for you and go down the line introducing them. “This here’s Luke, aaand little Joffrey. They shouldn’t give you any trouble—Joffrey’s a little brat though..”

(Joffrey runs up to you and tells you to say skibidi gyat rizz before running off in a fit of giggles—) “…yeah—sorry ‘bout that. He’s in a phase right now..”

When you first meet his mom and dad as only “Jace’s friend” (Rhaenyra and Harwin.. </3) they are ecstatic to meet you. They think you’re lovely! Hip!—is that what the kids are saying these days? Rhaenyra has a knowing look on her face as Jacaerys reminds her that you’re only a “friend” and Harwin goes along like “Oh yeahhh… Jace’s friend.. riiiight” (the label of friend was gone in a week at most. Instead of “Jace’s friend” you were now “Jace’s girlfriend/boyfriend”) his parents saw it coming a mile or two away they weren’t surprised. And they hope you come around more often for dinners and things.

Jace is in a band (with Davos OOP) and Cregan (this dude.. graduated like a year or two before them and they all still hang out?), along with a few others. What? Oh yeah—they do little gigs and stuff. He plays bass, kinda the glue of the team if you catch his drift.. it’s tough work but anything to pursue musical passion right? (“Band practice” consists of smoking weed and watching shitty YouTube videos in a garage. They can and do play though so.. you guess it works?)

If you tag along with that merry bunch.. please know you’re babysitting now (mainly Jace and Davos. Cregan disappears but reappears when needed most—“kinda his thing”) think of the most stupidest thing two college-age guys could do… and go stupider. Breaking into abandoned buildings, arson, meeting the most suspicious plugs in the pitch black woods or sewers. Not how you’d imagine your Friday night to be spent but here you are. “This guy said he had something CRAZY.. and only for $20–that’s a deal in today’s economy.”

That’s his silly side. Normal every Jacaerys is serious. It’s almost a little off-putting. He’s very reserved as well, although with you there’s some cracks in that stoic facade. He’s the type to have a smile tug on his lips if you take a “sneaky” video or photo of him. Maybe while you both are in a study room and you just need something for a Snapstreak or insta story. Who else should be caught on camera than Jace as he’s deep into a textbook, twirling a pen between his fingers while swiveling side to side in a chair. “Hm? ..what’re you looking at girly? ..me? Pfft—shut up..”

I believe Jace would be the type to have a wide range of music he listens to. Only him. From alternative indie to folk to heavy metal to edm. He’s got range, he’s got tastes. He totally has a vinyl collection (yes it’s by a window and yes there’s plants near it)

Outrageous closet. Not in a bad way, in a really really good way. Probably the best dressed man you’ve ever seen. Things that shouldn’t work together for an outfit, work on him and only him (It’s like the Rhianna effect—an outfit looks ugly on someone else, but on Rhianna? It looks amazing. Iconic) the other way to describe his fashion sense is he dresses like a character from JoJo’s bizarre adventure. If there was an enemy stand user—it’d be Jacaerys.

His bedroom makes you believe in men again. It’s so nice, so cozy and smells so good. Blankets are always cooled, there’s just a sense of security around. HOWEVER. His pillows fucking suck. He’s the type to not replace anything like that unless absolutely necessary. They’re flat, dead, and make your hair slightly oily. He has a mountain of pillows but what good is that if they’re all lacking in support?! “I can open a window if y’want—it gets pretty hot in here sometimes. Hm? What’s up? My pillows? …it’s fine- they’re fine, look at them. You know how expensive-“

Everything bad about Davos’s car? Forget about it! Jace puts pride into his car. He cleans it regularly (Saturdays are for car deep cleaning, no exceptions) His parents did buy it for him for his 16th birthday. However he’s kept it in a very good condition so. Some stickers will be on the back, but it’s usually like “her body her choice” or “go for green energy” ..based Jace. (If perhaps Rhaenyra is a political figure in this modern world.. you bet your ass Jace is gonna have a campaign sticker for his mom on his car) “Just right over here is my car—lemme get your door. It’s okay if you get it dirty, I’ll just clean it… —although be careful—“

Speaking of cleaning his car—he will ask you to help him sometimes. Mainly in the summer, when you’re more likely to be wearing an outfit consisting of the smallest and tightest jean shorts and either a tank top or a bikini top. It’s a little hard to wash a car when he’s gripping the sponge tightly and letting his eyes rake down your body—what? No he wasn’t staring. He was looking at something past you. What’s that in his pants? See now you’re just being mean about it—

While Jacaerys partakes in a cigarette now and then, he’s more partial to alcohol. I feel he wouldn’t like the idea of smoking (It’s just things with lungs y’know? ..plus I don’t wanna die before that fucker Davos—“). Jace is a fiend with how he hoards bottles or drinks. Beers, hard alcohols, etc. Dude knows how to throw a whole bottle back like it’s nothing. He keeps a collection of empty bottles for fun (in his closet so his parents don’t find it) or if he lives alone they’re just freely out and around (or maybe still in the closet). “Whaaat? Slow down? Pfft—please, I’m good. Nah this is like water to me now. Have you ever had this?”

[kifkay]

How do Winx react to injuries

Bloom: her fighting style means she gets injured A LOT. sometimes, by her own powers. she doesn’t notice the wounds during a battle; adrenaline and pure stubbornness warding off the pain. the moment fighting ceases, however, Bloom is fainting, shaking and/or throwing up at the mere sight of blood. her and gore don’t mix well.

(Winx had come to expect that reaction and have their own little routine of taking care of Bloom post-battle. Flora starts lifting weights at some point, to be strong enough to catch Bloom whenever she faints in the sky — they’ve had too many accidents…)

Stella: so dramatic about it. i imagine her clutching Musa’s hand and honest-to-goodness whining, while Flora holds her down to disinfect a shallow cut on her leg (all the while Musa is probably sporting a mild concussion and broken ribs). and throughout all of that, Stella never stops talking, flinching and exuding a general aura of clinginess. needless to say, the winx are very annoyed with her and her dramatics — although they are grateful for the levity she brings.

after a tough battle, when one of the girls gets hurt so bad they’re not sure she’ll make it, Stella changes. it’s like a switch is flipped: she finally realises that survival is not a guarantee for any of them, and that — that scares her like you wouldn’t believe. she no longer draws attention to her wounds; instead, she helps Flora check in on everybody first and patiently waits her turn. doesn’t talk much either. just hovers around the girls, pale-faced and slightly shaking, until one of them wrangles the fairy in a bear hug and tells her: “i’m okay.”

Aisha: is the most likely to hide her injuries from the girls. she tries to take care of it on her own, or slip away to the nurse in a middle of the night; all to not burden others with it.

(the winx eventually learn about that little habit (when Aisha literally faints at a ball Alfea hosts). they go on to assure her how much she means to them, “taking care of me is rotten work//not to me, not if it’s you”-style.)

Flora: has an unusually high pain tolerance. insists on treating other people’s injuries first, no matter how minor, before she even begins to worry about her own. usually, very calm and professional about the whole ordeal; doesn’t feel comfortable being fussed about.

Musa: doesn’t react to pain very well. gets snippy and short-tempered with the rest of the girls, to her own chagrin and guilt. gets angry when others fuss over her. sleeps a lot when injured.

(but Musa IS a good emotional support when the other girls get injured and need to clutch onto someone to pacify their nerves.)

Tecna: due to the culture on Zenith, Tecna views her body as a mere tool. she is not gentle with it, doesn’t like the work that takes to maintain its health. whenever there is a choice between, say, cauterising a wound and proceeding with the mission, or taking an hour to heal it with magic — Tecna would choose cauterising it despite the pain. Flora and her get in countless arguments over it.

[totaly-obsessed]

Falling

Mackenzie Arnold x reader

-> Reader and Macca's daughter watch her win 8-0, even if it is way too early

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Watching your wife play for her country would never bore you, not even when it was an 8 – 0 win and you barely get to see her on the screen. Your daughter, however, was bored. Isla had woken up bright and early as it was a Sunday. 

While you would travel the world for Mackenzie and her games, pulling Isla out of school was difficult, so you stayed home for the Asian Olympic Qualifiers – watching from home as well as you could. Kick-off was at 07:10 in the morning for the two of you in the UK, but the small blonde in your lap was Macca's good luck charm, so a short phone call before was mandatory. 

It was six in the morning when Isla started jumping on your bed. “Wake up! Wake up! Game time! Mo- Ahhh!” you had snatched her out of the air, cuddling her close to you. “Game time later baby, give your mommy some cuddles.” With all her might the brunette girl wrangled herself out of your hold, sitting herself down on your chest. “Call Mama?” With a defeated sigh you grabbed your phone from the bedside table, knowing that your daughter would not give in until she had talked to her mom. “Here baby, you call her.” 

The five-year-old knew just enough about phones, to know where she could call your wife and put it on speaker. Today the young girl decides to go for a Facetime tough at six in the morning – how nice. Especially when you had barely gotten any sleep, worrying about your wife. 

It rang a couple of times before Mackenzie picked up, being greeted by her daughter’s face, way too close to the camera. “Good morning Bubba! How’d ya sleep?” Excited noises left Isla’s lips as she saw her mom on a dark bus, she had pulled the curtains by her seat close, trying to concentrate. “Good Mama! You?” 

“I slept well babe, where is mommy?” Your child threw the phone at you before she slipped under the blanket, joining you in the warmth of it. “Oh, now you wanna cuddle, hmm?” Mackenzie watched with a fond smile as her carbon copy cuddled into your chest, with you holding the phone now, being able to see everything. 

“Hi, beautiful.” She would never get tired of how blushy you got, whenever she complimented you in such a vulnerable state – even after six years of marriage and a child. “Hi, baby. How are you?” 

With Isla nearly falling asleep on you, Macca and you quietly talked until the bus arrived at the stadium “Isla? Baby? I have to go now. Mama loves you, have fun!” A tired wave at the camera was all that she got, blowing you a kiss as well.  

After making coffee and cleaning up a little you pulled Isla to the couch, wrapping both of you in blankets and handing her a breakfast sandwich. “Is Mama going to play?” Just seconds later they showed the Tillies in the tunnel, Mackenzie in pink, a little girl holding her hand. 

“Oi! That’s my Mama!” You could not help but burst with laughter, the little girl appalled to see someone else holding her mother’s hand. “That is her Mascot baby. You were one as well, do you remember?” 

Isla had been a mascot plenty of times, for her mother, Sam, Steph, Caitlin, Alanna, and even Courtney when she had joined Leicester City. 

After the two of you had marveled at the dress the singer of the Philippines national anthem was wearing, it was time for the Australian anthem. As fast as she could Isla was out of the blankets, standing with a hand on her heart, belting the anthem with the singer on the TV. Sneakily you took a video of it, immediately sending it to Mackenzie who was laughing next to Sam, behind the singer. 

“Look there’s Auntie Lani! Oh and Stephy, And Cait!” The young girl could not help herself, stopping her singing and waving at her aunties instead. 

The stadium was filled, and your eyes could not help but tear up a little, seeing your wife stand there, making her country and family proud in front of so many people. “Where’s Mama?” Isla was now back at your side as she tried to find her mother’s pink kit in the colorful mix. But Mackenzie was nowhere to be seen as the rest of the Matilda’s tried to take the team picture, looking for her as well. The commentator explained that she had gone to warm up in goal, forgetting the picture - but she sprinted back just in time. 

Seconds before kick-off Isla sprinted off to her room, returning with bright blue hair ribbons and a hairbrush, wordlessly gesturing you to style her hair just like Raso’s. Once you were done you also sent a picture of that to your wife, knowing that she would show the girls everything that Isla did. 

Caitlin’s first shot on goal was saved by the keeper, Isla next to you restless in her seat. And just a few minutes later the Philippines had a long shot at goal, your daughter jumping up and down. “Get up Mama!” Mackenzie had fallen on her way to save the ball, but luckily it did not meet the back of the net. 

It was Mary Fowler who put the Matilda’s in front with a gorgeous goal in the 14th minute. That first goal set off a series of goals and by the end of the first half, the Matilda’s were leading with five goals. 

Isla however had dozed off as her excitement had lessened during the game. While she loved all of her aunties with all her heart, she was only watching for one person. Her Mama. But with such a lead and the Philippines’ not being a real threat Mackenzie was barely seen. Once or twice, she collected a loose ball, sending it back but otherwise, it was an entirely calm game for the goalkeeper. The second half brought three more goals and a hat trick for both Sam and Caitlin. 

With nothing else to do in the day you decided, to let the young girl sleep until Macca called, which was three hours later. She was back in the Team hotel, freshly showered and alone in her room. “There she is! My beautiful wife!” As expected, you blushed, hiding your face in a blanket on the couch. 

Isla apparently heard your phone ring, as she burst into the room, now fully awake. “Mama, you won!” Your wife could barely contain herself at the cute smile her daughter gave her – a smile that reminded her so much of you it was scary. “I did, Baby! Did you watch me?” 

Isla’s hair was a mess, the ribbon had nearly fallen out by this point. She had always been an aggressive sleeper. “I did, but I got bored.” Mackenzie could not help but laugh at the carelessness in her daughter’s voice. “Little Miss was asleep before halftime, huh?” 

“Huh! How mean of you! Such a mean Mommy didn’t even wake you up.” The small brunette that was jumping in her seat rolled her little eyes at her mother’s sarcasm, well accustomed to it by now. 

“You fell when the ball got to you, Mama.” Mackenzie was flabbergasted “So you fall asleep but that’s what you see?” The two of them bantered back and forth in true mother-daughter fashion, but you couldn’t help but admire them. 

And you were so happy to have them, so much fun in a home that you loved.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Sit down, Solace, you pain in the ass, I’ll get it.”

Will huffs moodily, trying in vain to continue hobbling towards the cupboards against the infirmary wall. Nico has to physically wrestle him back to his cot, which in theory should be way harder, but luckily he’s weak enough from the pain meds that once Nico manages to shove him against the cushions, he can’t get back up.

Ha. Karma.

“You can’t get it,” says the most dramatic drama queen alive, dramatically, “on account of you not know what ‘it’ is.”

Nico smiles patiently. It resembles, to the outside eye and perhaps the inner one also, the bared teeth of a grinning shark. “Tell me, then.”

“No.”

“Then tough shit for you.”

“I’m just gonna wait until you’re turned away again,” Will calls against his retreating back. Nico flips him the bird. “So this was futile, really.”

He’s stubborn, but he’s not an idiot, Nico reassures himself. Surely, the many years — formative years — he’s spent as head medic have made him smart. Surely, Mr. Nagging Nag shall heed his own advice, lest the entire camp descend upon him in swathes of shrieking, not quite righteous fury, intolerant or hypocrisy. Surely.

He hears the creak of a rickety bed, a thunk of something hitting the wooden floorboards, and a soft oof.

He closes his eyes and exhales deeply.

For fuck’s sake.

When he turns around, he sees William Andrew Solace, Best Healer in Generations, Paraded Progeny of Apollo, Also Notably Naomi Solace’s Son, That’s Kinda Sick, Isn’t It, sprawled on the floor, ridiculously long limbs outstretched, attempting to wiggle across the floor to the cupboards.

“Solace, I am going to kill you.”

“Some healer you are,” Will mutters, as if Nico is not playing healer right now purely because he is the only one in the entire camp with a half a chance of wrangling the dumbass head medic himself. He continues to wiggle.

Wrapping a hand around his uninjured ankle, Nico drags him bodily back to his cot, ignoring the shrieking.

“One day on bedrest, you dipshit. One. Day. That is all anyone is asking if you.”

“My binder!” he insists, because he is difficult. “I don’t need to sit down and do nothing, I need to run my infirmary!”

“You need to sit the fuck down and heal your body before it schedules healing for you,” Nico snaps. “For fuck’s sake, Will, does it matter to you at all that other people would like to see you safe and healthy, even if you couldn’t give a shit?”

For a glorifying moment, Will stares at him, eyes wide, face frozen. Nico meets his gaze, glaring, his own chest heaving where Will appears to have held his breath.

Then, Will bursts out laughing.

“That!” he says, wheezing. “That is what I have been trying to nail through your thick skull! Karma, you little turd!”

Mouth opening, and closing again, it’s Nico’s turn to freeze.

“Oh, gods.”

The horror in his voice is tangible. Will laughs harder.

“Oh, gods, I’m becoming you.”

He stumbles to the closest cot, sitting down quickly before he gets any dizzier than he already is. Nausea builds up his throat.

Gods, that was a direct quote.

“Not so fuckin’ easy to wrangle you clumsy shitheads, is it!”

Nico cradles his head in agony. No. No! It can’t be! He refuses to lend any credibility to Will’s mother-henning! He is obnoxious, and overbearing, and hell-bent on restricting Nico’s freedom; there is no way Nico is emulating him right now, because that would mean he has a point when he’s bossing Nico around, and — no. Cannot be.

“I told you,” Will says, smug as a godsdamn rooster in a hen house. (Oh, gods, now his stupid cowboy idioms are ringing in his head? He needs to spend less time with Will. Better yet, he should take another dip in the Lethe — willingly, this time. Anything is better than this.) “You clumsy fucks are the sole reason I am going to die from stress-induced heart failure at twenty-two, and then I am going to resurrect myself as a ghost through sheer stubborn will alone to haunt each and every one of you for eternity.”

Nico chooses to focus on the part of the sentence that he can conveniently argue with. “You don’t get to call anyone a clumsy fuck, on account of you shattering three bones in your ankle because you stomped your foot too hard when you were trying to make a point.”

“What was the point I was trying to make, again?”

Nico keeps his mouth shut.

“Something something reanimating entire dragons to scare the shit out of Cecil is going to drain you to dangerous levels of energy and make me have to drag you from the brink of death yet again something something.” He pauses. “Even if it was really funny and he nearly actually pissed himself.”

“Well, whatever,” Nico says, elegantly changing the subject. “You’re an idiot, and if you don’t let yourself heal than you’re worse than the rest of us and can never lecture us ever again. So. And I’ll rat you out, too, they’ll believe me.”

Will glares at him. Nico glares back.

“Get some rest,” Nico orders, still glaring. Will pulls a face and repeats his words back to him, mockingly.

“There’s a difference between me and the rest of you idiots,” he grumbles, petulantly ripping loose the blankets and shoving himself under them. Nico smacks his hands away, tucking them around him for him, checking his pillow, and then his forehead for good measure, just in case his stupid ass somehow gave himself a fever. Will squirms, just to make things difficult, so Nico, as acting healer in the room, has to smack him. “I can feel my limits.”

“And yet you pirouette right on over them. I think that makes you worse, actually.”

Will, son of the god of truth, has nothing to say to that.

“Stupid,” Nico says, fondly, squeezing a gentle hand in his cheek. “Sleep, okay? You can go back to being dictator of the infirmary when you’re healed.”

“Tomorrow,” he insists.

Nico rolls his eyes, smiling, and pulls his hand away. Will darts out and snatches his wrist before he goes far, eyes pleading, and Nico caves immediately. Will’s skin is warm, and smooth.

“If you’re healed by then.”

He traces his thumb across Will’s freckled cheekbone, shivering slightly as his long eyelashes tickle the tip of his fingerprint.

“Mhm.”

He’s already puffing out small, quiet snores, head lolling against Nico’s hand, body exhausted from working overtime to try and heal.

Shaking his head, Nico ducks down, pressing a kiss to the space between his eyes before pulling away. He watches him for a moment, peaceful, face smooth and un-creased, delicate cupid’s bow pink and poised, skin spattered with paintbrush freckles. Heart skipping, he can’t resist another quick peck, lingering, at the top of his nose, the middle of his cheek; again at the dip of his brow. It furrows, briefly, under his touch, before relaxing again.

“Goodnight, Will.” He brushes a knuckle over his cheek. “Thank you, you dork ass.”

[itsmeatballworld]

| it ends in heartbreak |

pairing | daryl dixon x f!reader

summary | you both knew he would break your heart. he couldn't help himself.

wc | 1400

warnings | cursing, sadness/heartbreak [aka the title]

a/n | I've had this in my drafts forever lol I forgot about this one! Also this is the first time I've ever written pure angst so go easy on me <3

continue... [ part 2 ] - [ part 3 ]

You always knew this day would come.

There were signs pointing to the downfall of your relationship, signs you chose to ignore to enjoy the moments of happiness.

But the signs couldn’t be any clearer–it would never last. It couldn't.

It was the end of the world, for starters. Life was always in shambles. The group never stayed in one spot long enough. Even the prison wasn’t safe. With everything unstable, it should’ve been obvious this would happen, but you were naive to think you’d would be any different.

Because the reality was: this was always how it was supposed to end.

He was built on a fractured foundation. He set up walls and built his life around a broken base, worn down by his past that he couldn't escape. First, parents had cracked and hardened his outlook on life. Then his brother taught him he meant little to others by leaving him behind. Not once did he ever learn how to fix the ache in his heart.

Yet when he met you, things changed.

It was gradual. Pieces of him started to align and heal. The tough outer shell wasn't as indestructible as he first imagined. After some time he opened up and let you in.

But you both knew he would break your heart.

He couldn't help himself. It was in his nature to push back, to fight and wrangle away from anything that became too real. Too good.

But for the time being, you enjoyed the blissful moments of his affection.

When he kissed you goodnight it was over.

He lingered, almost as if he was allowing his lips to memorize the feeling of your skin on his. His fingers fell against your curves as you pressed into the cellblock’s cool cement wall. It was in these seconds of quiet where you both had a chance to breathe.

Pulling back, Daryl rested one arm above your head. He leaned in close, gazing sweetly down at you. His other hand slowly traveled to your face and Daryl’s thumb brushed against your bottom lip.

Without hesitating you whispered the words he never imagined hearing from you.

Love you.

There. Right there. You saw the spark in his bright blue eyes dim. The crystalline color washed away into a deep ocean blue. Rocky and turbulent. Daryl’s eyes were no longer filled with love, but rather, fear.

You lost him, right there, pressed against the concrete wall of Cellblock D.

This was destined to fail.

“Please don’t do this.”

“Have to.”

“No…no you don’t have to, Daryl.” Your chest tightened. It was like the air was on fire. No matter how deeply you breathed in and out, pain still resided in your chest. He was crippling you.

“Daryl–”

“Ain’t up for debate.” He stepped back, snatching his crossbow from the watchtower’s metal flooring.

Your hands fumbled to find your shirt, hating how he sprung this on you in the middle of the night. He didn't have patience to wait, apparently. Just break your heart and go, like it was nothing.

“I’m not trying to…I just…” you groaned. “What happened? Was it me? Did I do something?”

His eyes went wide. That scared, fearful expression washed over him once again.

Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut. That was it. That look. It was just like the other night. When those stupid words stumbled out of your mouth, falling to the ground at Daryl’s feet. Just before he crushed them with his silence.

“Was it something I said?”

He didn't answer and his silence (unlike most nights) wasn't good enough. You needed answers.

“So that’s it then. You say ‘I’m done’ and leave before sunrise?”

The broody man fought to glance in your direction. Instead, he focused out towards the tree-line. He grabbed onto the windowsill and squeezed so tightly that the white of his knuckles appeared. But his tactics to avoid the conversation at hand weren’t getting past you tonight.

You shot up from the floor. “Daryl.”

“I ain’t got time for this.”

“You fuck me, say we’re done, and leave? Like this was all nothing? Like we mean nothing to each other?”

Daryl paused. He turned to you with lips curled into a tight frown. Even in the darkness of the watchtower, through the bright white moonlight, his frustration was clear.

“I said ‘I love you’, Daryl.” There was a desperation behind your words. Your voice was so deeply distressing it made your chest ache. It was heavy and exhausting to display your feelings out to him in the middle of the night. But you wanted more–deserved more–than a shitty ending to whatever you had with him.

“You think this is love?”

You gawked, “yes!”

He paced the small room like a caged animal ready to pounce.

You love this man.

“This ain’t love.”

You love this man. This jerk.

“Then what the fuck is this, Daryl? Tell me.” You paused, tears welling in your eyes but you refused to let them fall. “Fucking tell me!”

The shirt in your hands balled up tight around your closed fist. You were hurt. Everything about him was trouble and you let him in.

“I said ‘I love you’. I said it and now you’re pulling away.”

As he watched you, just for a moment, his eyes didn’t fill with fear or confusion. There was something there. Between the declarations, he looked apologetic. His blue eyes softened, letting the emotions he desperately tried to conceal slip past those walls he built back up.

“Well, shit! I’m sorry I said it. I fucked this up, didn’t I?” The gravel in your voice scratched your throat. Everything burned.

The apologetic stare turned pitiful. A deep scowl crossed his face and your heart sank. “Can’t mess it up when there was nothin’ here, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. It was so condescending as his drawl pulls at the syllables. That tightness in your chest balled into a pit of rage. Fire that burned you before ignited an anger inside.

You moved closer towards him. “You sleep with me every night. You kiss me before leaving on runs. When you think nobody’s looking, you hold my hand. We talk about our past. Our future. This is real, Daryl.”

“Nah.” He grabbed his belt, twisting it through the loops. “This ain’t real.”

Your fingers tightened on the fabric as you tugged the shirt on. “That’s not true—“

He huffed, staring out into the cloudy night sky. “You’re better off without me anyway.”

“Don’t. Don't say that. I’m not better off without you. I’d be worse.”

Daryl paused.

But the hurt and anger fueling your body didn’t stop. “So don’t make me feel crazy for falling in love with you. Like it was a choice? If I was fucking smart, I would’ve ran far away from you the second we met. But I didn’t. Because I saw you for more than the asshole you pretend to be. So excuse me for feeling blindsided by your decision to leave me.”

“Leave you?” He spat. “Get it through your head, girl. You ain’t mine! You’re just some bitch I screwed.”

The frogs croaking down by the creeks ceased to exist. Trees stopped rustling in the breeze. Crickets no longer sang under the stars. The world froze as his words were thrown at you with such haste. Like he didn’t think twice.

Your arms wrapped around your waist, tugging at the fabric clinging to your body.

He didn’t look back at you. His eyes seemed to drift anywhere but you like he couldn't face the fact that he said it out loud.

No, no. He doesn’t really think that…

Your voice cracked as the tears from earlier were not going to wait much longer. “Daryl–”

He turned on his heels and was out the door. Down the ladder, each step was louder than the last. You paused, bawling your fists as the tears finally spilled across your cheeks. Loud and heaving gasps, muddled together with hot tears.

He broke you down within seconds. The tears and sobs continued on for what felt like forever until you finally had a moment of rest. The tightness in your chest subsided, thankfully, but this was the easier part. Tomorrow will be harder when you’ll have to put on a fake smile, wipe away tears in the dark prison hallways, and avoid him.

Forget him. Forget him…right like it would be easy. It’ll be fucking impossible to forget him.

You wished you could hate him. But you don’t.

So for tonight, you let yourself feel the heartbreak and planned to stand taller tomorrow. Because in the end you knew it would never last.

But it didn't matter.

You loved that man.

Yet after everything, he might have been right. You weren't truly with him.

And maybe he never really cared for you at all.

-xx-

-xx-

a/n 2.0 | daryl PLEASEE {as if I didn't write him to act this way}