#we pray for shit and they grant it

[aphvanity]

A Picture Of The Cat, With A Special Focus On Its Tiny Little Ear Tufts.

she is agog, aghast, stunned, astounded, dismayed, shocked, staggered, floored, gobsmacked, totally and utterly bamboozled. 

[poisonedapples]

Super heavy vent ahead in the tags

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 2- Awakening

Summary: There was once a time in his life where knocking on your front door was the best part of Frankie's day. Now, the thought of having to ring your doorbell to face you makes him sick to his stomach.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: (the tiniest hint of) smut (18+), illusions to masturbation (m), angst/regret, fluff, awkward adolescent yearning (I have quickly come to learn this is my favorite thing to write whoops), Frankie realizing he's caught a case of the ✨feelings ✨ and doesn't know what to do

A/N: Less than 10K word chapters?!? Posting a series on a schedule?!?! I don't even know who I am anymore?!?! AH, thank you guys for all your sweet words about this series so far. Writing this has sparked such a joy inside me, and it means so much that y'all are willing to read my silly lil story 🥺💛 This chapter is from Frankie's POV- I know the first chapter had both reader and Frankie, but as I've been writing, it seems like it fits the story better if some are both POV's and some are just one!

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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Frankie, Present 

“Bring these next door.” 

His mother doesn’t even ponder the idea of phrasing it as a question when she practically drops the plate of chocolate chip cookies into Frankie’s lap. 

“Ma, it’s 7:30 in the morning.” Frankie looks up at her dumbfounded. 

“And? You’ve never eaten a cookie for breakfast when you’re sad? Go now, they’re still warm.” 

There’s no way he’ll be able to head anywhere but straight out his front door, but Christ, he at least hoped he would have been able to buy himself a little time before having to face you.

“I just got back from a run. I smell like shit. Can I at least shower first, por favor?” 

“Fine,” she groans, reluctant to give in so easily, “but be quick. Don’t think I won’t turn the hot water off, mijo. I don’t want these getting cold.”

She knows her son would take an hour long shower if he could. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’s spent way too long in the bathroom, over analyzing every inch of himself before going to see you. His mom isn’t sure if she should thank you or not for her son’s dedication to hygiene. She could barely get him to shower for the first 10 years of his life, but after you moved in, a few days before the start of 6th grade, bathing had magically no longer become an issue. 

Frankie understands her threat of an ice cold shower is very real, and a very effective way to finally get him four doors down. He lets the hot water wash over his skin, turning it to a temperature that’s almost too painful to stand. He hopes that somehow, it’s hot enough to wash away all the sins he’s prayed you’d forgive him for, that the regret of every poor decision he’s been plagued by washes down the drain, disappearing never to be seen again. 

He wishes it was that easy. That a simple shower would grant him the forgiveness he’s not sure you’ll ever give him. He wouldn’t blame you if you never did. 

He forces himself to put on the first pair of shorts and t-shirt that he pulls out of his suitcase. If he doesn’t, he’ll be stuck in his room for the rest of the day trying to figure out what to wear to bring a plate of cookies to your doorstep. 

“You should apologize, you know.” It’s the first thing his mom has to say to him as he makes his way down the stairs, barely three steps into the kitchen before she’s at his throat again. 

“For bringing them dessert at 7:30 in the morning? I was planning on it.” Frankie huffs, trying to deflect the plan for the real apology he knows he should be making. 

“Dios mio, Francisco, you know what I mean. I hope you’ve thought about how you’re going to explain yourself to her. You owe that girl an apology for the hell you’ve put her through.” 

Frankie can’t blame his mother for the way she’s twisting the knife that’s stuck in his gut. He’s the one who put it there in the first place. 

“I know. I’ve thought about it, believe me.” 

They both know that’s the truth. Frankie’s spent more hours than he can count thinking about what possible combination of words he can string together that won’t make you hate him anymore than you already do. In fact, he’s spent so long thinking about it, replaying the million and one things he could say to you over and over in his head, that he’s convinced there’s nothing he could tell you that would buy him even a shred of forgiveness. 

“Fuck you, Mackenzie. Fuck you for ruining my life. It’ll be better off without you fucking in it.” 

Three years ago, he disappeared out of your life and those were the last words he left you with. He's spent three years of letting the last thing he had to say you haunt him like some sort of ugly ghost he can't forget.

At this point, there's a part of him that's not even sure he's worthy of forgiveness.

“Mom?” Frankie asks, eyes peeled to the ground, trying to keep his voice from breaking, “Am I making a huge fucking mistake coming back here?” 

“Well mijo,” She pauses, gently cradling her son’s face, lifting his chin enough to let his tired, worn eyes meet hers, “That, I cannot tell you. Some things you have to figure out on your own. I think this is one of them. But what I can tell you,” she stops again, ensuring Frankie is listening, really listening to what she has to say, “is that you have never been one to leave things unfinished. I think there are still things left to finish here for you, Francisco.”  

The slow nod of his head in her palm tells her he’s heard every word. He knows he needs to finish what he’s started. 

“You also need to finish bringing these cookies to the Andersons, sí? Don’t think I forgot.”   

“Didn’t think you would.” 

Frankie’s not sure the walk to your house has ever felt this long. Every step against the pavement makes his feet feel heavier, weighing his body down, its final attempt at keeping him from showing up at your front door. It takes every ounce of strength he has left to get him there, but he does. He won’t himself fail you again. He can’t. 

When he knocks on your door, he’s suddenly 11 years old, palms sweating and heart racing as he rings your doorbell for the first time, hoping the cool girl who moved in down the street still wants to play football with him. 

Right now, he’d give anything to be that 11 year old boy again. God, what he’d give to grab little him by the shoulders and shake all of the stupid decisions he plans on making in the years to come right out of him. He’d give anything for someone to come shake the stupid out of him now.

Seconds pass like hours as he waits for someone to answer his knock. Maybe it won’t be you who does. Maybe he’ll get lucky and it'll be your mom. Maybe your dad, who is sitting on his literal deathbed, will be blessed with some divine miracle that grants him the strength to get up and answer the door instead of you. 

“Be right there!” 

He’d recognize your voice anywhere. It’s been three years since he’s heard it. Even with all the time that’s passed, there’s not a doubt in his mind he knows it’s yours. 

Fuck, he’s missed the sound of you more than he’d ever like to admit.  

He braces himself as the lock clicks on the other side of the door. The knot in his stomach tightens as he watches it open. 

His heart wants to burst out of his chest when you finally appear on the other side. 

“F-Frankie?” 

“Hi, Mackenzie.” 

Frankie, Fall of 2002, Age 14

It’s been 3 years, and Frankie still rings your doorbell every time he’s at your front door. Both you and your parents have been more than adamant he’s welcome to let himself in, at this point, they leave the door unlocked just for him. 

As much as he wants to just slip through the front door unannounced to see you, he knows his mom would kill him if he didn’t wait to be let in and make his presence known. 

“Francisco, I do not care how often you are over there, you are a guest in their home. If they are gracious enough to let you over, the least you can do is use your manners and greet them at the door.” 

Frankie’s always been polite, but the world would stop spinning before his mother would let anyone else even have an inkling of thinking otherwise. 

Truth be told, he doesn’t mind. He’d be hard pressed to find any 14 year old who didn’t have some sort of complaint about their parents, but you never really do, and he can see why. 

They’re your parents, and he loves his mamá more than life, but the Anderson’s had taken Frankie under their wing from the moment he had crossed the threshold from their patio to their living room and never looked back. 

It didn’t take long for the three toned chime of your doorbell to become the favorite part of his daily routine. 

“Hi Frankie! Come on in, honey.” 

Mrs. Anderson has that soft kind of sweetness that would make anyone’s day brighter, the kind of gentleness that a gardener has when tending to a field of their favorite flowers. She’s the type of person that would put anyone before herself, to a fault. It’s no wonder that given the circumstances, a house that should be shrouded in sadness is one of the places that Frankie feels the happiest. 

“Thanks Mrs. Anderson. Can I put this in the freezer for Kenz? I figured she may want it when she gets home later.” Frankie gestures down to the chocolate chip cookie dough Blizzard he’s holding, trying to keep it from melting any further. 

It’s become a sacred ritual that every Friday night, you and him ride your bikes to the Dairy Queen two miles down the road. He always gets an Oreo Blizzard, you, a chocolate chip cookie dough one. On the few Friday nights you can’t spend together, it’s an unspoken agreement that a Blizzard will still end up in the other’s freezer for the next day. It’s only happened once that a cookie dough Blizzard hasn’t been found in your residence within 24 hours of the start to your weekend- the one time Frankie was out of town to visit his family, you were pleasantly surprised to find not one, but two Blizzards in your freezer on Monday night upon his return. 

 “Frank the Tank! How’s it going, buddy?” 

It’s always nice to see your dad up and around the house. His cancer has taken a lot of things from him, but his personality certainly isn’t one of them. Some bouts of chemo and treatment are worse than others, but it never ceases to keep Mr. Anderson from being the happiest man Frankie’s ever met. You always tease Frankie that he comes over to your house so often just so he can spend time with your dad. While of course it’s not 100% true that Doug Anderson is the only reason Frankie finds himself at your doorstep nearly every day, he also won’t deny the sense of comfort it brings him that your dad treats him like his own son. 

“Hi Mr. Anderson!” Frankie smiles, shoving your Blizzard in the top left corner of your freezer between the ice packs and frozen vegetables. 

“Another Blizzard for me? Always so generous, Frank. I’m convinced you might start running a Dairy Queen out of our kitchen pretty soon.” Mr. Anderson teases, giving Frankie a light punch to the shoulder. “How’d your algebra test go the other day, bud?” 

“Pretty good, I think.” Frankie shrugs, trying to play off his confidence. 

“Think you got a higher score than Kenzie?” 

“I think so. But don’t tell her that.” 

“Oh believe me, I will. Smart kid like you has gotta put her in her place every once and a while.” 

Frankie blushes. School has never been his strong suit. He’s smart in the way he could fix just about anything from the time he could barely walk, but sitting in a classroom trying to absorb information through reading, taking notes and test taking has always made him feel like an idiot. You, on the other hand, could graduate in your sleep with straight A’s. He’s not sure how you do it, but it’s enough motivation to make him want to at least try. He thanks his lucky stars that this year, math is finally starting to make sense, and he’s got the upper hand on you for now. 

“Is Kenz upstairs? I know she’s got her soccer banquet tonight, I just wanted to hang out for a little before she has to go.” 

Normally he wouldn’t mind staying longer to talk to your dad, but on days he knows he’s working on a limited time table, efficiency is of the essence. 

“Should be. If not, we have a problem on our hands.” 

Frankie scurries from the kitchen and through the living room, up the familiar and well traveled path to your bedroom door. His heart always races a little faster every time he reaches the top step to the second floor. 

Normally, it’s three long strides to cross the threshold into your bedroom before he plops himself on the edge of your bed, but as he takes a left turn at the top of the stairwell, he’s surprised to find your bedroom door is closed, and locked. 

“Kenz! It’s me! Open up!” Frankie raps his fist on the back of your door, knuckles thumping against the wood. 

“Not now, Frankie!” 

He’s taken aback by your protest, scrunching his brow at your response and the distress in your voice through the other end of the door. 

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” He asks, now a little more concerned. 

“It’s just- Ugh! It’s nothing! It’s stupid, okay! I just don’t have time for this right now!” 

You and him both know that’s not enough to get him to leave. Frankie is persistent. He’s not going anywhere until you open that door and he gets an answer as to what’s making you so upset. 

“C’mon, MacKenzie.” 

He only pulls the full name card for serious occasions, because he knows it’ll work. It’ll work every time. That’s why he can’t help but smirk at the click of your door handle unlocking, giving him permission to step inside. 

Except he can’t. 

“Kenz, get off the door and let me in!” 

“I’m not on the door! Ugh, hold on.” 

With the force Frankie was using, he nearly falls flat on his face as the barricade you’d built on your side of the door is removed, stumbling into your room and landing face first in a pile of clothes. As he looks up, he’s greeted with a sight he’s never once seen before in your room, and he has no idea what to make of it. 

“Jesus Christ, dude, what happened in here?!” 

To say a bomb had exploded in your closet would have been a polite way to put it. Every piece of clothing you owned was now a casualty on your bedroom floor, down to every last pair of shoes. You could barely stand to have a singular, stray sock on the ground, your bedroom always the near picture perfect scene of immaculately neat. So to see the disaster your room had become, Frankie knew that something had gone very, very wrong. 

“I don’t have anything to wear for tonight!” 

“Yeah you do, have you seen all the clothes on your floor? I think you have enough clothes for a small village.” 

“Francisco!” 

If she’s already pulling the full name card on him too, it must be serious. 

“Sorry! Is this because of the end of the season soccer party tonight? I thought you said you were just gonna wear like, a skirt or something?” 

Frankie’s never even contemplated the idea of you being upset over an outfit. You’d always been amicable in the wardrobe department- t-shirt, shorts, sneakers, same has him. This is uncharted territory for the both of you. 

“Yeah, but then at lunch today Katie and Morgan said all of the Seniors want to dress up, like, really nice, and now I’m freaking out because I don’t know what to wear and I don’t wanna look like an idiot Freshman who shows up in something dumb.” 

Frankie knows you’re stressed from how intensely you’re picking at the skin around your nails, leg bouncing furiously while your eyes dart around the room at the heaps of clothes stacked around the floor. 

“You’re not gonna look dumb, Kenzie. You’re the only Freshman that’s made the Varsity soccer team in like, a million years. Hard to look stupid if you’re that good.” 

It may not be much help, but it’s at least enough to bring you off the brink of tears. 

“I guess,” you pause, too stubborn to admit that he’s right, “It’s just- all the other girls on the team are so pretty. When we’re playing it doesn’t matter ‘cause we’re all sweaty and gross, but- I don’t know, I feel like I’m gonna look so awkward next to everyone.” 

But you are pretty. 

It’s the first thought that pops into Frankie’s brain. He’s not sure how it got there so fast. All of a sudden he feels a hundred degrees hotter, hoping you won’t notice the way he visibly tries to shake the thought out of his head.. 

Where did that come from? She’s your friend, Frankie. Your best friend. She’s not pretty, she’s just MacKenzie. 

“You won’t look awkward, you’re gonna be fine. I promise.” He’s relieved his response doesn’t seem to raise any suspicions, like you would have been able to read his mind and watch his thinking play out in real time. 

“If I um- If I- Never mind, this is stupid! Ugh, this is stupid.” 

You’re pacing now, arms crossed so tightly over your chest, he’s worried you’re going to squeeze your own eyes out like one of those little squishy toys you win from a claw machine. That’s if you don’t burn a hole in your carpet first. 

“What?” 

“If I-” You stammer again, scrunching your face at your own frustration, “If I try on what I think I should wear, will you tell me if it looks dumb or not?” 

You’ve asked Frankie plenty for plenty of favors in the three years you’ve known him- being the one to lead the two of you home on a bike ride in the dark, opening your pudding for you at lunch because it exploded on you once and you’re terrified it will again, catching the giant spider that makes a recurrence in the top right corner of your bedroom and throwing it out the window- He’s not sure why out of all those things, this is the most terrifying favor you’d ever asked of him. 

“Y-yeah. Okay.” 

The two of you quietly nod at each other for a moment, Frankie hoping that he’s not the only one who’s wondering why the air has all of a sudden seemed to have gotten thicker. 

“Okay. Well, um- turn around.” You point for him to take his usual spot on the edge of the bed, ensuring that his back’s to you and eyes only have the choice to roam the floor or the wall above your desk before he hears the shuffling of clothes behind him. 

It’s then that everything starts to move in slow motion, like a flip has suddenly switched in Frankie’s brain as a wave of unsolicited thoughts begin to flood his head, feeling himself drown in the panic and confusion that’s washing over him. 

What if he did turn around? You’re probably taking off your clothes right now. Are you in just your underwear? What color is it? Maybe you’re all the way naked. What would you look like? Why does he all of a sudden want to know so bad? What’s wrong with him? 

In his manic state, his eyes are darting everywhere, trying to find something to lock onto that will shake him from whatever obscene cycle of thought he’s caught himself in. He instantly regrets when he lets his gaze fall to his feet, because peeking out of the pile of clothes beneath him is the better part of a bra. 

Your bra. 

He feels so awful that he can’t stop looking at it. So guilty that he can’t help the fact he’s trying to commit every detail of it to his brain- the teal and green polka dots, the thin lace that covers the shoulder strap, the little bow that sits in between the two cups where your breasts would go. He can’t stop staring. He can’t stop thinking about  what you would look like in it. The only thing that stops him is hearing your voice from over his shoulder. And somehow, your voice only makes his chest feel tighter. 

“You promise you won’t make fun of me if I look stupid?” Your words are so soft, delicate and fragile in a way he’s never heard you use them before. However scared you are, right now, Frankie would be willing to take that feeling and triple it for himself. 

“Promise.” 

His eyes are still closed when he swings his legs over the other edge of the bed. He’s too afraid to open them. 

“You’re gonna have to open your eyes, unless you’ve suddenly obtained x-ray vision that you haven’t told me about in the last thirty seconds.” 

The way you tease him grounds him enough to give in. It doesn’t ground him enough from leaving him speechless the moment he opens his eyes. 

“Kenz… You uh, you- um-” 

He’s stumbling over his words, trying to find them fast enough to stop the disappointment that’s flooding over your face because you think he hates the way you look. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

“I look dumb, don’t I? It’s fine, Frankie, you can just say it.” You’re back to pacing again, storming around your room with a desperate, crazed look in your eye. “Ugh! This sucks! Why is this so hard, I just wanna-” 

“You look really pretty.” 

It stops you dead in your tracks. He can almost hear how hard you gulp, looking back at him like a deer in headlights. 

“W-what?” 

You ask it like you didn’t hear exactly what he said. He knows you did. You always do. It doesn’t stop him from trying to twist his words to help him out of the hole he’s already dug himself into. 

“Your- Your dress. It looks really nice. You should wear it.” 

He’s not sure how much time passes as the two of you finally lock eyes. Thirty seconds? Ten minutes? An hour? The way you’re looking at him right now is enough to make his world stop turning. It only makes it worse that he swears he can see your lips trying to fight the smile that’s slowly curling in the corner of your mouth. 

“MacKenzie! We need to go, sweetie! Dad and I will meet you in the car!” 

Frankie doesn’t know if it’s divine intervention or a devilish curse that your mom is calling for you from the bottom of the stairs. Whatever it is, it’s enough to snap both of you out of the strange spell that had overcome your bedroom and make Frankie feel like the only appropriate response was to race out of your house and hide in embarrassment for the next forty-eight hours. 

“I should um- I should go, too. Santi’s probably waiting for me at his house. Have fun tonight, okay?” 

“Yeah, o-okay. You have fun, too. Tell Ding Dong I say hi. See you tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.” 

Frankie’s in a trance the rest of the night. Physically, he spends the next few hours in Santi’s basement, glued to the couch while his friend yells at him that he’s not using the right combination of moves to max out his points in Tony Hawk Pro Skater 3. Mentally, he’s convinced he no longer exists on the same planet as anyone else around him.

When he gets home, all he can do is stare at his ceiling. If he closes his eyes to try to fall asleep, the only thing he can see is that teal and green bra laying on your bedroom floor.

He wishes the thought of you in it didn’t make his stomach churn. He wishes it wasn’t you he was picturing when he lets his hand creep below the waistband of his sweatpants. He wishes it wasn’t your name he was muttering under his breath as he makes a mess in hand, hips stuttering into his grasp. 

He wishes it wasn’t you. 

At least that’s what he tells himself. Maybe one day, it’ll work. 

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[fallstaticexit]

The Art of Being Seen - a Nancy Landgraab story

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔗𝔴𝔬- 𝔘𝔫𝔦

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

Part II - Uni -After a traumatic outing that tears her away from her first love, 19-year-old Nancy Landgraab turns to her faith and her relationship with Geoffrey as a way to cope with her longing for Vanessa. Just as she starts to put up her walls, she meets five women, each teaching her valuable lessons about herself and about life.

Transcript under the cut

Transcript:

Nancy: Heavenly Father, help me to find peace in Your love and wisdom.

Nancy: Grant me the courage to resist temptation and to stay true to my faith. Help me understand Your will for my life and to trust in your plan. Help me...

Nancy Narrates: [For two years, I prayed until my voice grew weak]

Nancy Narrates: [Until my knees bruised from kneeling]

Nancy Narrates: [Until I forgot the color of her eyes]

Nancy: Ok, we can go now.

Geoffrey: How do you feel?

Nancy: Like I’m going to throw up. I hate crowds.

Geoffrey: You’re going to do great, Nancy.

Nancy: Are you a bettin’ man?

Geoffrey: I am now.

Nancy Narrates: [The tenderness I’ve developed for Geoffrey over the years surprised me]

Nancy Narrates: [When he returned from holiday break, I was suffering from a heartbreak I thought would kill me. All he could do was hold me as I mourned]

Nancy Narrates: [In the end, he was all that I had]

Nancy Narrates: [Loving him was the least I could do]

Becca: Hello! Have you accepted Jesus Christ into your heart? No? Think about joining our bible study group! There’s free pizza every Thursday!

Darling: I don’t know shit about this club if I’m being real with you. Coach is making me do it. Something about building your resume, don’t ask me. You joining or what?

Siobhan: A Landgraab on campus? Now that’s a treat.

Becca: [squeals] I know you! I can’t believe it’s really you!

Nancy: I’m sorry? Do I know you?

Becca: I’m Becca! Becca Clarke? I won the Landgraab Foundation Scholarship! You’re the reason I’m even here!! I am freaking out right now! My Nana will not believe this!! [gasps] Would you be interested in joining my bible study group? Of course you would! Is this your boyfriend? Sooo handsome!

Becca: Can I just say, that the Foundation is a true blessing from God. The opportunities you give to people like me is- [sniffles] sorry, I’m getting emotional.

[muffled voices]

Nancy: I- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I thought you were-

Morgan: It’s cool, I get mistaken for all the other freaky witchy chicks that go here. [smirks] That’s a joke, by the way. I’m the only one. I’m Morgan Fyres. Interested in tarot card reading?

Nancy: Fyres? Is your father the owner of the hotel chains? Dominic Fyres?

Morgan: STEP father, actually.

Siobhan: If you’re looking for real Fyres royalty, then look no further. Siobhan. No need to introduce yourself; I know exactly who you are, Nancy Landgraab.

Morgan: [grumbles] Annnnd cue the cameras.

Siobhan: I’m the president of Theta Omega Pi, the same sorority Queenie Landgraab pledged to. She proudly hangs in our hall of fame, so it would be a privilege to welcome a true legacy into our sisterhood.

Becca: Hey! I found her first!

Morgan: How about you two back off? You’re bringing bad vibes to my stand.

Siobhan: Relax, creature of the night. I was going to discuss Nancy’s future with Theta.

Morgan: Maybe she wants to start tarot reading? This isn’t some business opp, fake Barbie wannabe.

Becca: T-t-tarot!? The devil’s board game!? The Landgraabs are Christians! She wants nothing to do with that, right, Nancy?

Siobhan: [sighs] Find your own Landgraab, Virgin Mary. Grown-ups are talking.

[distant bickering]

Darling: The fuck is a Landgraab?

[rileyslibrary]

Here’s a rose, now piss off.

Summary: Ghost threw out his back, and the medics forbade him from going on a mission. So he’s been assigned by HR to hand out flowers for Women’s Day.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,094

Notes: 

I'll keep putting Mr Riley in the most awkward situations possible until I run out of ideas. When will that be? *fist punches the table* NEVAH!

Platonic fluff. 🌸

Want more?

———————————————————————

There’s a knock on the door. It’s the 10th time someone has asked to see you since this morning, and it’s not even lunchtime yet. Soldiers are coming in and out of the garage. All. The. Time. They want you to modify their equipment, repair their trucks, replace their firearms, and sync their walkie-talkies. And, as if you’re a genie in a bottle, they expect their wishes to be granted “stat.”

“Come in!” you say, turning towards the door to see your subordinate looking like he was asked to solve world hunger. 

“Boss!” he exclaims, looking down at his clipboard. “Have you seen the Humvee that arrived today?” 

“No, soldier,” you mutter. “What about it?” 

“W-well,” he begins, pausing briefly to look at you. “It’s got holes all over it, boss.”

“Holes?” you ask with raised eyebrows. 

"Y-yeah," he stammers. “Like from bullets and stuff.” 

When you hear the words “and stuff,” a smile forms at the corners of your mouth. It’s not one of amusement. Instead, it’s a tired smile that signals the start of something far more sinister that is about to happen if people continue to bother you with such trivial “stuff.” 

“What do we do in situations like these, soldier?” you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, “what did I teach you to do?” 

“Patch’ er up, boss!” He responds with pride. 

“And what happens if that doesn’t work?” 

“Make a pasta strainer with it, boss.”

“But?” 

“But welding always works for patching up holes, boss!” 

“Very well done!” you utter. “Now go and weld the shit out of it,” you shoo him with your hand, “the operators will likely need the car right away for their next mission.” 

He salutes and walks away six feet taller as if he’s figured out how to solve the Collatz conjecture. You must retrain them so they don’t come to you seeking advice for the tiniest “stuff”. 

Another person enters as your subordinate walks out; an American holding an annihilated walkie-talkie. 

“What is it this time, Philip?” you ask, noticeably bored. 

“It got wet,” he says, handing you the equipment piece by piece. “And then it stopped working.” 

“Graves!” you yell, swinging the poor thing by its cables. This one was already dead. Done. Caput. “Is this what you call ‘wet’ in the States?”

He chuckles but then stops when he sees your stunned expression. He gives a shrug. 

You sigh and toss the walkie-talkie on top of a pile of wrecked equipment, wishing your patience was as large as that heap. You choose another that you fixed earlier, synchronise it, and hand it over to him. 

“Please take better care of your belongings,” you beg. “All of you.” 

He nods and leaves the room, waving the small equipment as if to thank you.

As much as you get angry at them, you can’t help but sympathise and understand their situation. They are soldiers. To successfully complete a mission, they must enter dangerous territories and battlefields. They should submerge themselves and everything they hold in water if necessary. They must use that equipment to the best of their capabilities to free prisoners, rescue civilians, and capture terrorists. Your responsibility is to repair and maintain that equipment, so it is always in good working order and ready to use whenever they need them. Your role might not be as critical as that of a medic, but you, too, are required to ensure their missions’ success.

A cough behind you causes you to throw your hands to your sides and lift your head as if praying to God to end this ordeal. 

“What is it n-” you pause and turn to look at Ghost, holding a covered bucket in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. 

“Let me guess,” you say. “There’s a dead drone in there,” you say, pointing to the bucket, “and you managed to save some of its parts in that cup.” 

But he gives you a threatening stare. He appears to be as fed up as you are. 

He sets the bucket down and lifts up the cover. There is no drone in it. It’s filled with vibrant roses wrapped in pretty paper, standing upright.

“I’m a mechanic, not a botanist, Ghost.” 

“It’s for Women’s Day,” he says, his face as expressionless as when he first entered the room. “I have to distribute these to all the women-” 

You burst out laughing, and he immediately gets angry. He was anticipating that reaction. 

“This isn’t funny, you little shit,” he spits. “I threw my back out, and now HR is making me hand out flowers like I’m fucking Zorro instead of going on the mission.” 

You hold back your laughter and wipe the tears of joy from your cheeks. “At least you have the mask, Lt.,” you try to comfort him, and he turns away in embarrassment. 

“Well, Lt., I’m afraid I’m not a flower person-” 

“I don’t care; you have to choose one.” He says, motioning to the bucket. “And hurry up; I have to go to the ladies at the registrations as well.” 

“No.” You refuse and smirk as you lean against the shelf. “You choose one for me.” 

“Listen up, you motherf-” 

“Hey now, it’s Women’s Day.” You remind him, looking at your nails. 

He sighs as he kneels down with difficulty, shuffling through roses. His hand first grasps a red one, then a pink one, before finally deciding on a yellow rose with red wrapping paper. 

He stands up, supporting his weight on his thigh, that cup still in his hands, and offers you the flower.

“Why yellow?” You ask as you accept the rose. 

“I’m saving the pretty ones for those who actually like flowers,” he explains. 

You widen your eyes and tilt your head to the side. “Is that so, Mr Riley?” You ask.

But he doesn’t give in to your trap. He reaches out his other arm and hands you the cup he held. “Here,” he says, “I know you like coffee.” 

This is far too entertaining for you to give up on. 

“You got me coffee?” You ask with a smile. “You’re such a sweetheart, Simon.” 

He mutters something under his breath, picks up the bucket and begins his way to the ‘registration ladies’.

“Do you need help with that, Lt.?” You ask, and he extends his middle finger without turning around. 

“Thanks for the coffee!” you shout, and you notice his middle finger tucking into his palm, giving way to his thumb as if to say, “you’re welcome.”

———————————————————————

[drewsbraziliangf]

there'll be happiness after you | Drew Starkey x black!reader

summary: what can you do when you're back in the same place where you had your heart broken for the last time? Is there any way to move past all the hurt and longing?

a/n: ok so I'm sorry for the long wait for this... This will be the last part of this story :'( I want to thank you guys for the love shown in this because this is my first time writing for anything other than House of the Dragon in a loooong time. I hugely suggest listening to "No Goodbyes" by Dua Lipa, "Funeral" by Zara Larsson or "happiness" by Taylor Swift during this read. I hope y'all enjoy it!

dividers: @/saradika

warnings: some cuss words, angst.

The morning after a was never my favorite. Always waking up with a pounding headache and lips as dry as a desert is not the best way to start a day. But there was something about today that made it all worse, for some reason, my brain decided to remember most of the events of the previous night─ touches, kisses, promises, apologies─ everything.

A part of me prayed that I'd forget about it and be able to sneak out without him noticing, but seemed like he was expecting that already and gotten up before I was even awake. The only thing that made it clear that he was indeed at home, was the soft sounds coming from the kitchen.

Okay... I know this apartment like the back of my mind, so since the kitchen door wasn't a direct line for the main door, maybe if I'm quiet enough I'd be able to leave without him noticing, right?

Dwelling on it would only make it worse, so I got up, picked up my clothes from the day before, and quickly got dressed again, this time feeling much more exposed than I did last night. I looked around for my phone, but it wasn't anywhere to be seen. Cursing myself, I remembered that I left it in the living room. Great, a detour.

Thankfully I didn't have to worry too much about how my hair looked as the braids did half the work in keeping it presentable. With a sigh, I walked out of the room with my heels in hand and kept quietly praying to the gods above to grant me this one wish. I just needed my phone and then I'm able to leave.

As I reached the main hall, I could see the bathroom door closed and the lights on. Great, this would be even easier. I quickly walked towards the living room looking for my phone, thankfully it was exactly where I remembered leaving it. It took me no time to grab the device and turn toward the door, only to have one of the biggest jump scares of my life.

"HOLY SHIT!" My left hand instinctively went to my chest as my heart rate increased.

Yeah, there goes my prayers. Drew was leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a black tank top and a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair was messy and there was still a small air of sleepiness around him. He cleared his throat as he stared at me.

"Yeah, I knew you'd try to do that," he said with a shrug.

"Well, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid," I snap back after I'm calmer.

I could feel my hands getting sweaty and the weight of his gaze upon me was making me feel so uncomfortable. Like there was this white elephant in the room getting bigger by the second.

"Uhm, I kinda have to go-"

"Come on, let's talk over breakfast."

Without giving me a chance to answer he walked back towards the kitchen and I had no choice but to follow him. With a bit of reluctance, I dragged my bare feet after him. The cold tiles on the floor were not even bothering me as they were five minutes ago.

The worst kind of deja vu bathed me as I stood by the counter. The last time I was here was the worst day of my life, so I wasn't feeling great watching him move so effortlessly.

He filled two glasses with black coffee and the toaster with white bread before picking up some jam and cottage cream cheese.

I sat on one of the benches and quietly accepted the plate he handed me once it was all done, he then proceeded to sit by my side and we began to eat in silence, more like me watching him eat as I sipped my coffee.

"So you were just going to sneak out?" He asked casually after a few minutes as he coated his toast with jam.

"What did you expect me to do? I shouldn't even come here in the first place," I bite back and he places his mug down.

"Well, I thought you would at least grant me the chance to talk. We have a lot to talk about."

"No, we don't. We fucked and that's it. It shouldn't have happened and it won't happen again. It can't happen again." I confess, with the instinct of avoiding to meet his eyes.

"What do you mean? We have to talk this through and fix what happened. I know that I fucked up but you just left. As if it all meant nothing to you. We were getting married, for fucks sake." He says, throwing his hands in the air in annoyance.

At that, I stand up and begin walking back toward the living room. I had to leave. This could escalate and both of us leave even more hurt than before.

"I'm not doing this again. I didn't just leave. You pushed me away. You didn't give me a reason to stay. That's what happened."

"I love you! How can you say that?"

"Yeah, you might. But do you like me?" The words leave my mouth before a second to think them over.

He watches me for a second before running a hand over his face. All the traces of sleep were gone from his features now.

"Because I did. And I was so in love with you too," I continue, as my eyes begin to sting. "I was so ready to have the rest of my life by your side. So, how could you do that to me? When did I stop being enough?"

The questions kept flowing out and I couldn't filter my feelings or my words. I just wanted this to end once and for all. My brain couldn't stop reminiscing on last night's events. His touches, his kisses, him.

But being sober now and knowing it all was killing me. How could I be such a fool? After I tried so hard to erase him from my mind...

"No, baby, please listen to me, okay? Just let me talk," he pleaded taking a step closer.

"No, Drew. There is nothing to talk about. I shouldn't have come here and this shouldn't even be happening."

My voice is slightly pitchier than I'd like but I couldn't help it.

"Do you have any idea of how hard it was for me?" I ask looking at his glossy eyes. "I don't get to travel all around the world and the country so I can simply put what happened aside. I had to deal with pitying looks for weeks. I had to walk around the city remembering a life we planned together but wouldn't have anymore. I have to keep on living knowing that that the man I loved didn't choose me when I really fucking needed him to."

At this point, I wasn't trying to keep track of my tears or my words. I just needed that out of my chest so I could be free. I was so tired of carrying these in my heart that even if it hurt, it was freeing.

"So it would be so fucking unfair to me if I just walked back into this," I say as I wipe my face with the back of my hand. "I can't do this to myself again. No matter how much a big part of me still cares about you. I deserve better. I have to choose myself because you clearly didn't."

He didn't say anything at that because there wasn't anything that could be said. Both of us knew that I was right.

Seeing him cry was like picking at an open wound, it made me feel even worse. But, what else could I do? I could feel this eating me up inside and I couldn't look past all the suffering I went through just because he showed up again.

"Loving someone isn't enough to keep a relationship going. You have a lot to do and you didn't, you really didn't. So I'm sorry if I can't just pretend to be okay with everything after a few hours spent together after a few months."

"You think you're the only one suffering in this? I lost you and I had to wake up in our bed every day. I had to be in this apartment knowing that the person who made it a home wasn't going to return. And that no matter what I did or who came by, it was never going to be the same."

His confession made my heart clench but he brought this upon himself. It wasn't me who gave up on it.

"And who's to blame for that?" I say looking into his eyes.

"I know. Don't you think I've blamed myself enough for that?  Because I did, for all the days that you have not been here. This is the first time in seven months when I have felt a sense of normalcy and that's because you're here. Don't you see that?"

Now that the bandaid was ripped once again, the both of us were in tears standing in the middle of the living room. The walls felt like they were getting closer and closer each second that passed.

"Did you know that Frankie came by on the third month? She gave me the TED talk of my life."

That caught your attention, Frankie has never mentioned that. At all.

"She told me that she knew that I wasn't good enough for you from the start, but that she had never expected me to be a shitty partner too. That she had never seen someone disrespect their girlfriend as much as I did without even knowing and that now that I was single the reason for my breakup pushed me aside for someone more interesting. So that not only was I trash for  how I treated you but I was also dumb for not seeing it."

His words come as a shock to you. With shaking hands and deep breaths, you look around the room trying to focus on something that isn't his red face.

"And she's not wrong, you know? And I was also a coward for never coming to you and watching your life on the sidelines."

At this point, I was feeling the huge urge to sob. My hands were sweaty, my tears were not even drying in my face as new ones came down.

"So I'm sorry, okay? I'm so fucking sorry for it. But please, don't say that I didn't care enough about you. Because I did."

His words keep ringing in my ear for a while as I try to place my thoughts correctly. Seven months ago I thought that it would be the last time I would see him and then I'd be able to heal and move on, but now seeing him and hearing everything was bringing a new wave of unaddressed feelings that I have not dealt with yet.

"I can't." A whisper comes out of my lips after a while. "And you have to understand why I can't do this again. I can't ignore everything."

He looks at me with his lips trembling as his tears keep on falling down his face. In the walls of this apartment now the only sound that rang was defeat. This was a lost cause and no matter what happened, both of us would be losing today. 

"I'm sorry, Drew. I really am, but there's nothing that can be done anymore. " I declare as I finally feel like he might let me go. "I hope you find someone who's ready and brave enough to love you through it all, you deserve to be loved and the times that I felt genuinely loved by you were the greatest. That person just won't be me."

Like the first time, months ago, I turned towards the front door and walked out.  Knowing that he would not follow me and that whatever had remained seven months and thirteen days ago, was completely over this time. Even if a huge part of me kept screaming at me to forgive him, I knew I couldn't. Not only it wouldn't be fair to me but I knew what would happen. Of course she wasn't as present in his life anymore, she completely isolated him from any potential significant other he could have. And if we got back together, the cycle would repeat itself and I would never put myself in a situation where I had to fight for someone's attention just to be tossed aside as if I was nothing. 

In this story, there was ever only one winner and it wasn't either Drew or I. 

💖taglist💖: @emmaafinchh @rafecamerons-national-anthem @bvleeeeeee @a-j-stuffs @maybankslover @lovelylove268 @cooper8224 @esquivelbianca @dreamybabbyy @lulubabii @idiotussupremus @drewsphswife @ietss @noneofyabuisnezs @chenslucy @yvbe99 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @theeternaloptimistt @roselibrary @daddydraco0 @iheartcats444 @allopathi

[snorlaxlovesme]

alright everybody, it's time we talked about Hostage. (buckle up because this is going to be long, but it'll be worth it)

season 2 episode 8 of Link Click was one of the most confounding episodes in the entire season while airing. starting with Lu Guang's insane boat crash/martial arts smackdown rescue of Cheng Xiaoshi and ending with Cheng Xiaoshi diving into a photo to possess Lu Guang to get answers for his actions, from start to finish it was a wild ass ride where we, the fandom, AND the characters spent the whole time questioning Lu Guang and his motives

and...puzzlingly... didn't really get an answers by the end of the season

Lu Guang wasn't granted any post-climax time to explain what happened that day from his perspective, and while Cheng Xiaoshi was possessing him he didn't get any answers because he literally WAS Lu Guang, just doing whatever the hell he thought he needed to do.

the thing about Hostage that has always felt extremely off to me, is that we DO get explanations for Lu Guang's actions during the episode, but they're from people wholly unqualified to be giving them.

Captain Xiao finds Lu Guang's phone, hidden in a folded towel, and concludes that Lu Guang had left them clues. Qiao Ling, after seeing that Lu Guang had taken a photo that night, came to the conclusion that Cheng Xiaoshi must have been the one possessing Lu Guang during his deranged rescue plan at the pier, seeing as Lu Guang wasn't an adept fighter at the dojo and he was acting extremely impulsive. She even goes so far to say, later in the episode, that Cheng Xiaoshi HAS to dive into the photo, because it's already happened, and needs to follow Lu Guang's words to not change the timeline.

all of these assumptions, to me, are horseshit

I refuse to listen to ANYTHING Captain Xiao says. one, because he simply does not know these kids and should not be making assumptions about them, and two he is in fact the worst cop in the world. and Qiao Ling, bless her heart, has only found out how their powers work mere DAYS ago and doesn't understand the nuances of them at all

so I'm gonna debunk all that nonsense and explain to you what Lu Guang's REAL actions were that night, and what was up with that cryptic photo he took

now you might be thinking, Kelly, you're not even starting in the right place, because those weren't Lu Guang's actions, they were always Cheng Xiaoshi's, just in Lu Guang's body!

FALSE. on two counts! we have evidence of Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi performing the act of escaping the hospital differently. Lu Guang does not use the kettle to break the window to distract the cops. we're not sure what he uses, but that kettle is still there.

Lu Guang also places his phone face down in the towel

while Cheng Xiaoshi places it faceup

so by the end of the episode we have literal, physical evidence that these two performed this timeline differently, and therefore it was not "Cheng Xiaoshi the whole time" like Qiao Ling tried to misinform us to believe. i also have another Big Brain post [x] that explains why Lu Guang being an impulsive, supposedly "good" fighter during that pier rescue scene are both in-character for him.

(and if we wanna get really nitpicky about how an injured Lu Guang could have raced across town in his condition, i simply believe that Lu Guang was smarter about it that Cheng Xiaoshi, and probably took a bus or cab. Cheng Xiaoshi, pure of heart and dumb of ass, ran because HE physically could while inhabiting Lu Guang's body. our injured catboy did not sprint across town while holding his organs in place)

so if we already have all this cold, hard evidence stating that Lu Guang really is THAT bitch and did all that shit on his own, what the hell is my problem? why can I not let this episode go?

BECAUSE I WANNA KNOW WHY LU GUANG TOOK THAT PHOTO

Captain Useless seems to think that Lu Guang took that photo as some sort of helpful clue left behind for the gang

but what, pray tell, was this photo supposed to tell us without someone with Lu Guang's powers there to interpret it? without Lu Guang to tell him what to do, Cheng Xiaoshi left to his own devices knows just as much as himself as he does possessing Lu Guang

and, the bigger question, is if this was supposed to be some sort of almighty clue for the gang, why did he not text this photo to either Qiao Ling or Cheng Xiaoshi before escaping the hospital? he took the time to text Qiao Ling the location of the boat, did he not? why not the photo too? seems like a crappy way to clue someone in, to take a photo and save it on your password protected phone that you just went out of your way to hide from plain sight

because that's the thing! after the season finale we discover that Lu Guang's password is literally a reminder of his dive, or even more specifically, a reminder of his trauma. we KNOW that he didn't share his password with Cheng Xiaoshi, he just just happened to figure it out on his own

so tell me how Lu Guang expected this trauma-password protected phone, with it's one singular picture, to get in the hands of Cheng Xiaoshi, hmm? riddle me THAT

so we've established by now that 1. Lu Guang's actions in the beginning of episode 8 were indeed his own and 2. that photo was never meant to be seen by Cheng Xiaoshi, who shouldn't have known Lu Guang's passcode

given the trauma-passcode, we have to believe that the only person ever meant to see this photo was Lu Guang. i've made ANOTHER post previously [x] stating that Lu Guang might have used his powers in a way we haven't known possible, by taking a photo and using his Blue Eyes White Dragon powers to see 12 hours into the immediate future

plausible, but not what i'm about to propose now.

because I think Lu Guang took that photo as a contingency plan

listen, the only person who had ANY credentials to theorize what Lu Guang was up to that night was his trusted partner. while Qiao Ling and Captain Xiao spouted their nonsense theories, Cheng Xiaoshi said the only smart thing that entire brainstorming session

and I think Cheng Xiaoshi was right. he wasn't wrong in assuming this photo was a Save Point of sorts, the only thing he was wrong about was who would be using it

the only other person in this show capable of diving into a photo, we find out during the finale, is Lu Guang

we also find out in the finale that powers are transferrable, and it looks like they transfer when the owner of that power dies in someone else's arms

Lu Guang took that photo that night NOT for Cheng Xiaoshi to find and use, but for LU GUANG himself to use. i believe Lu Guang firmly believed that Cheng Xiaoshi was to die that night, and he would do everything in his power to make sure he had a chance to change it again if he needed to.

that meant:

1.taking a photo on his phone as a Save Point.

2. hiding his phone in the hospital bathroom so it could not be taken from him or busted later in the night. and

3. racing to where he knew Cheng Xiaoshi would be, so he could either

4. a.) rescue him, or b.) ensure that during CXS's death, the diving power was transferred back to him so he could do the night over again.

Lu Guang took that photo as contingency plan to save Cheng Xiaoshi's life should he get killed that night.

but that plan was botched when Cheng Xiaoshi used it instead to possess Lu Guang, because each photo can only be used once.

which might also explain why Lu Guang was SO DISTRAUGHT when Cheng Xiaoshi was shot

they had deleted all their photos earlier that week to prevent the twins from possessing them remotely

that was the last photo Lu Guang had taken. the ONLY photo on his phone. if Cheng Xiaoshi died that night, there would have been no Save Point to return to

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hello! I love your writing, especially that mad dog Drabble! Could you maybe do something similar for Oikawa? Noncon if you’re comfortable with that too. Thank you so much!

I wrote this awhile ago and then I never got around to publishing it and now I refuse to reread it because i cringe at my old writing but i remember spending a shit ton of time on this so here's my three year old trash fic. enjoy.

(Warnings: dark content, non-con touching, rape, non-con/sexual harassment, verbal degradation, forced orgasms, public-sex, overstimulation) 

18+ content 

 Tutoring Sessions 

You knew Spanish. 

Not an expert by any means, but you could probably get by if you were stranded in a Spanish-speaking country. You were good at it. Decent. 

You just weren’t the teaching type. You could barely learn, let alone, pass your skills on to someone else. Teaching required patience and diligence. That wasn’t you. 

But, really, what could you say when the Captain of the volleyball team himself asked you to tutor him? He looked so desperate too, looking down at you with pleading eyes. He asked for an hour-no-just thirty minutes. All you had to do was correct his grammar, jot a few vocabulary words for him, and maybe teach him extra conjugations. 

Looking back, you should have declined. You should have made any bullshit excuse you could think of. You should have laughed nervously, apologized- have done anything to get out of his attention. 

You shouldn’t have let him coax you into the fourth floor of the library, trapping you with his tall body in an isolated booth. 

At least then his hand wouldn’t be currently rubbing your thigh.

His movements were slow, casual, as his fingers made lazy circles up and down your leg. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional if he was touching you on purpose or mindlessly moving his hands. His face betrayed nothing, solely staring forward at the sheets of paper. 

“So, I just replace the ‘ar’ with ‘aron’?” He asked, his hand slowly moving higher and higher, “Why can’t I use ‘aban’?” 

You bit your lip, “Because it has a definite ending. The-the sentence is ‘they spoke with me yesterday’. The action ended yesterday, that’s-that’s why we use the preterit form.” 

Your breath hitched when his hand trailed underneath your skirt, skimming across your panties. Your hand balled into a shaking fist. 

You wanted to tell him to move, you wanted to shove his hand off you, but you weren’t confrontational. Instead, you elected to push down the feeling of unease in your chest, trying your best to ignore his ministrations, praying that he’d drop his hand by himself.

He didn’t.

“Right, you use preterit form for a definite ending,” He’s murmuring now, a sultry rumble that sends shivers down your spine, “I keep forgetting that." His laugh twinkles through the air. It's a jarring contrast to his warm hands.

“So ‘Hablaron me ayer’?” 

He took that moment to slide past your panties, lightly rocking on your heat. You sucked in a short breath, gritting your teeth. You couldn’t pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing, not when his fingers were sinking deeper and deeper-

A finger tapped on your inner thigh. Play along.

“It’s-it’s ‘me habl-ah-hablaron ayer’. The object comes first-” You flinched when his pointer finger stroked over your hot skin, “And-and then the subject.” 

You wished he’d stop making you talk. You wished you could just push him off you. You wished so many things, things Oikawa wouldn’t grant you. 

“Okay,” He’s grinning now, a little less put together. His breathing is a little ragged, hitching whenever you uncomfortably shift. Though he’s still resolutely staring at the pages before him, his eyes are shining. Eager, “-makes sense,” 

You just realized how empty the library is. 

You can feel his calloused fingers crawling under you, searching for something. His middle finger curls a little, softly brushing over your sensitive clit. 

You stumble forward. He says something, but you’re not listening. Not when his fingers are hovering over your hot button, delving down to push and prod. 

Your reached up to cover your mouth, instantly silencing any noises you knew would come spilling out. He laughs at that, finally finally breaking the act of playing innocent. 

Or maybe it wasn’t such a good thing. He’s looking at you now, a knowing smirk on his pretty face. 

Repulsion burns through you. It’s quickly replaced by humiliation as a wet squelch erupts from the place he’s touching you, making you lurch. 

“I wasn’t expecting that,” He hums in satisfaction, “You already dripping? You must really want this, huh?” 

He stares at you, daring you to reply, knowing fully well you won’t. No, you wouldn’t say anything, you wouldn’t do anything either. You would just sit there and take it. 

Exactly what he wants. 

He’s moving at a rhythm now, rubbing your clit with his thumb as his fingers inch down your folds. Your nails are digging into your trembling palm, but you don’t tell him to stop. You don’t say a word. No, that would be acknowledging what he’s doing. It would make it real-

your thoughts vanish as a slender finger sinks into your pussy. Your sigh is muffled by your clammy hand, digging further into your mouth as he starts fucking you in earnest. He’s going too fast; your mind is spinning. You can’t keep up with the waves of pleasure coming in and out and in and out and in again. 

Your hand slips and the moan that escapes your mouth surprise you. It was loud and so dirty, you couldn’t believe it was your voice-it was you who made that noise. 

His finger curls, bending in your tight walls and you feel like wailing. Oikawa strokes against a spot deep inside you that has you seeing stars. 

You unconsciously lean against him. Oikawa draws you in closer, forcing you to rest against his shoulder as a second finger sinks into your heat. You whine as it pushes through your sopping walls, completely stretching you out. 

You think you hear him snarl a quiet fuck but you’re not paying attention. Your head is pounding, matching the brutal thrusts of his fingers. It’s devouring you it’s too much and you want to stop, you want to breathe. Oikawa isn’t keen on helping, not when he’s rubbing fast circles on your clit, stretching his fingers inside you when he feels you’re not making enough noise. He wants something from you. 

And you’re forced to give it to him. 

There’s a hitch in your breath, the tiniest pause, before you clench around his fingers with a muffled scream. He hushes you, allowing you to bury your face into his shoulder as he keeps fucking your pussy until you collapse in his chest. 

You’re panting when he finally removes his fingers, wiping the slick haphazardly on your inner thigh. You shift uncomfortably when he pulls away, feeling your hole clench again. The orgasm fades away and all you’re left with is the shock of what you’ve done and utter humiliation. 

He lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His brown eyes were dark, coated in lust. He’s sneering at you. 

The kiss surprises you. You weren’t expecting his lips to be soft as he gently melts into yours. It’s so tender, a stark contrast to what he was like before. Maybe it was because you didn’t really put up a fight, your lips falling open when he stroked his thumb on your sensitive skin. 

It’s still intense and when he pulls away, you take your first real breath. 

“See?” He hums, a hand settling on yours, “That wasn’t so bad, right?” 

“Oikawa-” 

He’s pulling you out of your seat before you can finish your sentence, dragging you away from the abandoned table filled with unused highlighters. Your legs are still weak, you stumble around a little. Oikawa doesn’t mind, towing you like he’s carrying nothing but air. 

He slips into an empty storage closet, with you reluctantly trailing behind him. The door closes behind you with a dull thud, and you’re forced to stand with him in the darkness. 

When the light comes back on, he’s towering above you. His chest presses against yours, pinning you against the wall. His smile is manic, filled with a hunger that you know won’t be satisfied with just one taste. 

No, he wants to devour you whole. 

It’s the realization, that he will ruin you, that make your eyes sting. Hot tears creep down your cheeks as your lips waver. 

He coos at that, “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll be okay. I took care of you, right? I made you feel so good?” He shuffles closer and you can feel something hard and stiff press against your thigh. 

“Now you gotta’ do the same for me. It’s a fair trade, right?” 

He’s kissing you again. It’s rough, this time, as he bites on your bottom lip, hard enough to tear skin. Your yelp is muffled as he shoves his tongue into your drooling mouth. You taste the smallest hint of something metallic. 

His lips move down, covering your jaw with soft butterfly kisses that made your head spin. When they find your neck, he clamps down on your soft flesh, licking at biting at everything he could taste. Your breath hitches, a sound that’s in between a gasp and a moan. The sensation of his teeth against your neck causes you to lean your head against the wall, reluctantly giving him room. He purrs at that.

“Good girl.”

His hands are fiddling with your buttons. You barely have time to speak before he impatiently rips your shirt, sending the round objects scattering.

A half-hearted apology is mumbled into your skin. His fingers skitter over your bra, you cry out when his cold hands push the material up to feel your tits.

It’s still not enough. His body is feverish, you feel so hot against him, so pliant, so beautiful. You’re crying, whimpering, softly whispering for him to stop but do you even know how desperate you sound? Your voice sounds so needy, it’s hard to be sated from just touching.

Oikawa yanks down your skirt, letting them pool at your ankles. Your thighs are still glistening from his previous ministrations and your panties are wet, still soaked.

He feels pure euphoria watching them slide down your legs, landing on the ground next to the other piles of clothing.

You’re standing before him, barely clothed, shivering. He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek, mumbling a soft ‘be good for me, okay’, before he reaches down to his pants.

He doesn’t pull it down all the way, just enough to reach inside and pull out his throbbing cock. It’s already an angry red, a single drop of precum leaking at the tip.

He gives it a few cursory pumps, before he stills.

“I really wanted to see you cum, bet you looked so pretty. Do you mind doing that again, just for me pretty please?”

He grinned when you didn’t reply. You can’t understand how someone so beautiful could hide so much cruelty. 

“No? That’s okay, I’ll just make you. Again.”

In one single movement, he hikes your leg against his hip and thrusts his cock inside you.

You wail as he pushes himself inside, already starting to set a rough pace. It hurts, much bigger than two fingers. Whatever he did before clearly didn’t help make it feel any less painful. You give a choked scream, hot tears clouding your vision.

He’s not quiet either, leaning his forehead against the wall behind you, moaning shamelessly. He’s saying your name like a prayer, repeating it over and over again until it sounds like that’s the only thing he can say.

“You have to relax, baby-fuck you’re so tight.” Oikawa hisses, hiking your leg higher to fuck you deeper.

The pain fades. You wish it stayed, keeping you sober while he pushes you against the wall, greedily palming your tits, sucking on your neck.

But it disappears and a loud moan leaves your lips, too breathy to be made from anything but pleasure.

You instinctively cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds your traitorous body is making.

“Nope, not this time,” He cheerily says, ripping your hand away, “I wanna hear you scream.” 

He angles his hips, his cock sinking into that spot and you do scream.

The pleasure that waves up and down your body blinds you. Your body isn’t listening to you, anymore. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in with each thrust. You can feel beads of precum roll down your thigh. Oikawa’s head is resting on your shoulder now. His weight makes your shaky legs buckle, digging your back further into the hard concrete.

He kisses your hand, encouraging you to drape it on his shoulder. It limply falls beside his neck, barely brushing against his hair.

You shift your hips and his cock stutters almost stopping his rhythm before Oikawa’s cooing something dirty into your ear, reaching down to rub your clit until you’re crying out again.

It’s addicting, he realizes, having your cunt flutter around him like this, leaking out his precum. It’s a feeling that makes him piston himself into you over and over again, relishing in the way your pussy tries to suck him in, like you were begging for more.

“O-oikawa,” You finally gasp when you finally regain the ability to speak, “Slow down please please slow-slow down.”

His laugh is breathy, “You want me to slow down, angel? What, are you close again?”

You don’t respond, but it’s enough to make him go faster, ignoring your pleas in search of your gradually rising voice.

He hisses when his knee hits the wall, grimacing.

“-Wanted to do this at a bed, you know,” He grunted, “Somewhere soft. But-but I didn’t wanna-hah-scare you, you’re so anxious it was so-fuck- hard choosing a place-place you’d actually show up in.” 

He rubs your clit, feeling your walls grow tighter and tighter. He pulls back to look at you, eyes shut, your lip caught between your teeth, your face filled with lustful pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how perfect you are.”

You follow his orders, your orgasm making you cry in ecstasy. It makes you go limp and you almost sink to the floor before Oikawa catches you, keeping you upright as he chases his own end.

He doesn’t stop, not even when you beg him to slow down that it’s too much. No, he just hushes you again, stumbling over a tensed ‘Just a little more’, before he’s going faster and faster until you feel something warm, wet, and sobering fill your cunt. 

He’s slows down then, his eyes shut in bliss as he rocks his hips forward, milking as much as he could. When he finally pulls out, he does it with a hiss, making you flinch as his skin hits your sensitive clit. 

He doesn’t catch you this time, letting you drop to the floor. You tumble to the ground, your hands barely catching your fall. The tile is so cool against your sensitive skin, it almost makes you forget the milky liquid spread on your legs, the finger-print shaped bruises on your thigh. 

You don’t think you have anymore tears left, but they still fall, running down your cheeks. 

He’s instantly over you, brushing a hand down your face. 

“Oh, don’t cry, baby, you did such a good job,” Oikawa cooed, wiping your tears away. 

He’s not comforting you. His smile is too satisfied to make you think he had any semblance of pity. You briefly wonder what he’s seeing. You, exhaustedly crumpled against the wall, your legs curled, cum seeping out, your neck and chest littered with teeth marks. No wonder he looks so pleased.  

He pets your hair, shifting it back in place and it’s so domestic-so loving that it makes you sick. 

Oikawa grins, showing teeth. “How about next time we study at my place.”

[queeranarchism]

Society is usually kind of hard on people who suffer without having this easily understood and accepted reason. Things like compassion and recognition and support are often hard to come by and they're even harder to come by when people can't categorize you into the 'groups I have decided deserve compassion' box.

And so you get a tendency to take every suffering and squish it into a label that is a little bit understood and accepted.

Sometimes this medicalizes us. Having a hard time has to be either depression or trauma or some other diagnosable label, it can not just 'be'. It has to be assigned to a specific category of hard time to access even the minimum amount of support or compassion. And so if you don't fit one of those labels easily, you try and try to squeeze your hard time into the label that seems like the nearest fit and you try to ignore the parts that don't fit. And you pray that no one finds out that you're not being entirely truthful.

Sometimes this colonizes us, because the recognized labels are almost always invented by white people in Europe or the US. Experiencing your identity differently from the dominant concepts of 'man' and woman' can not just 'be'. It has to be labelled as trans or nonbinary or gendernonconforming. Recognition of your oppression is inaccessible unless you fit this white category that we sometimes grant the minimum amount of recognition. And so you try and try to sqeeuze your gender into the label that seems like the nearest fit and you try to ignore the parts that don't fit.

And when you address this, there's often a tendency to pretend that this forced assimilation is purely benevolent. "Trans isn't white or US/European, it's an umbrella term for everyone!", while ignoring who gets to define the dominant cultural narrative of what trans means. "We all deserve to be able to get diagnosed and/or self-diagnose! It gives you access to tools and medications!", while ignoring the destroyed possibilities of exploring our hard times through a non-medical lens. And of course in both cases: while ignoring that the assimilation isn't a choice, it's a necessity to be treated like someone who is going through shit.

We're often quite good at recognizing the causes of these problems: gender roles, gatekeeping of transition care, capitalism forcing us to prove that we're really too sick to work, etc. But what we need to get better at is being generous with our compassion and recognition and support towards people who don't fit our recognized categories of 'oppressed', especially those who are caught misrepresenting parts of themselves to fit into a category so that they might access compassion and recognition and support.

[st4rbwrry]

SMITTEN ☆ eren yeager.

★ 𖥻 synopsis. being cuffed to the bed was the last thing eren expected on your date night home.

‍     ‍ ☆. warnings — 3.5k nsfw, pwp, lowercase intended, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, black coded, girly girl reader, mechanic!eren, bondage, established relationship, riding, switch!reader, switch!eren, eren’s sensitive, chubby!reader, readers needy, male oral, finger sucking, eren is fussy, unprotected penetrative sex, creampie, kissing, mutual praise, voice kink, vulgar language, edging, pet names ex. mamas. baby. princess. daddy. minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated! <3

“baby. . . you're in so much fuckin’ trouble when i get outta these.”

eren knows how much you love him. how much you appreciate him, care for him, wanna be with him for the rest of your life. the matching ‘till death’ tattoos imprinted on the inner corner of your ring fingers proving so. he makes sure you're always taken care of financially, mentally, and even physically. works from sunrise to sunset, praises you with kisses all over your precious face for making him a meal every day. buys you whatever your heart desires. runs you bubble baths when you aren't feeling well. gives you full body massages which usually leads to him burying his face between your plush thighs. eren loves you. eren needs you. without you he isn't sane. you complete him. so because he treats you like a queen, it's only right that he receives king treatment.

while eren made his way home to you, the only person he wanted to see after a tiring, stressful day with customers who complained about their cars to him and loud-mouthed, gossipy employees at his auto shop . . . he was surprised to see that you set up a romantic atmosphere. eren is greeted with a soft, neat kiss to his pouty lips. his biceps tensing as he wraps both arms around your body in a tight bear-hug, giggling as he lifts you off the ground.

you've got scented candles lit around the loft with ceiling high windows, a bottle of stella rose black and a classic meal of creamy mafaldine tuscan chicken pasta prepared. strawberry cheesecake in the fridge for desert. eren’s eyes soften, picking you up and carrying you to the dining table to eat your meal, not before showering you with more kisses and a hundred thank you's.

you enjoy your meal under the moonlight, sipping wine and having deep conversations which you envied because there's always something the two of you can talk about without getting fussy. debates, political topics, wellness, issues with each other. remaining mature since you have the best communication. you wanted to let him know that he's been so understanding, so attentive to your needs and you felt like you needed to do more to show him you want him to feel secure. that this is a forever love and you don't take him for-granted, not for a second.

“baby, never think that you don't do enough for me. i make the decision to cater to you and i have no issue in doing so. you deserve this lifestyle. being in my presence is all i could ever ask of you. i pray everyday that i don't fuck up what we have. you're my girl.”

and immediately, you're taking the air from his lungs when you pull him close with your arms lazily thrown over his shoulders while you kiss him deeply. madly in love. it's a scary thing sometimes. and it's crazy how such a sweet moment turned into a salacious act like this. after finishing a film in the living room cuddled up with your pets, a cat for you and a dog for him, you tell eren you have one more surprise. standing to your feet with a cheeky smile, holding both hands out for him to grab. eren is curious, raising his brows before standing to his full height, towering over your figure and it never fails to make your skin heat up.

“don't pull no scary shit,” eren runs a tatted hand through his long hair before holding yours.

“shush, i promise it's not that.”

eren can't see you biting your sanrio themed acrylics with excitement, too busy staring at your bare ass underneath that slutty slip you have on. he recognizes it, in fact. an old piece by victoria's secret you've been searching on depop for like a madwoman. it's a mesh coquette cherry colored slip dress with a ruffled trim tulle skirt and damn did you wear it so good, the slip hugging your curves just right. his mouth waters, instinctively smacking your ass as you step into your shared bedroom.

before you could speak, as you turn to him he's already pulling you in by your waist, using his foot to kick the door closed so the kids wouldn't interrupt. they liked to jump on the bed mid-fuck a lot. you try not to melt in his hold, his lips gliding with yours, molding your ass in his hand, moaning from your taste.

“er—”

“who said you could look this fuckin’ good, unh?” swatting your ass again, the force knocks you closer into his chest, face burning when you feel his dick thickening in his jeans against your tummy. print evident.

“it's all for you, ‘ren,” chewing your lips with a smile, you give him a quick peck before releasing his hands from your ass. “but first, i need you to take your clothes off.”

“ooo,” he sings. “you feed me some good ass food, get all touchy and cuddly, and now you tryna fuck me?” eren tongues his inner cheek with a smirk. “nasty.”

“shut up and strip.”

“yes ma'am,” eren hums, still giving you those flirty green eyes as he stretches his arms behind himself to tug at his stained white tshirt, usually getting his clothes dirty when working. he still manages to smell so good though. a mix of musk with his daily cologne and body wash. you'll never forget the time when he came home one day, car grease on his hands nearly turning them black. hair messy and a dangerous look in his eye when he caught you in the kitchen with an apron baking a pie. bending you over the sink, hiking your pink sundress up on your waist and holding you still as he fucked you hard. rough hands groping every inch of your aching body. keeping you balanced by your forearms he held back while he ground his cock deep into you, expletives spewing, sweat coating his forehead, and nutting copious amounts of cum. point is, you love when he's fresh off of work. makes the thrill all the more inviting.

jeans come next. and that's when he takes his time, eyeing you as he torturously drags the zipper down before dragging the black fabric down his muscular thighs, dick bulging in his tommy hilfiger briefs. commentary ensues. “gonna kiss it for me?”

you shake your finger at him, a tiny tsk following. “don't ruin the surprise, keep going. wanna see you.”

“i feel like i'm being filmed, there better not be a camera,” he rolls his eyes, finally discarding every clothing piece on his body, your legs clenching tighter together where you stood as he moans when his dick hits his tummy. the tip is drenching precum it's almost inhumane. you needed to lick that up real soon.

“you wanna be?” you question, serious.

eren deadpans. “be for real.”

“you can wear a mask!” you protest, actually enjoying the idea. “mhm, you'd look so good with a balaclava on.”

“no.”

sucking your teeth, you continue with your plan, walking towards the closet to find a little box with his gift inside. holding the black and red compartment, you face him with a cheshire cat grin. “get on the bed and lay on your back.”

eren’s too horny to argue right now, still anxious about what you're planning, but does what you say nonetheless. naked, heavy, tall figure dipping the bed with black satin sheets and pillows as he sits up against the headboard, tucking some strands of hair behind his ear, wrinkling his pierced nose. “i don't like you.”

“you will in a minute. close your eyes. no peaking or i'm going to bed and your gonna have to fuck your hand instead.”

flaring his nostrils, he closes his eyes. you try your best to be silent with your present, removing the lid to take out the baby pink fuzzy handcuffs you ordered a few days ago. thinking this would be the perfect time to put them to use. he's quiet, leaning his head back when he feels you climb on top of him, stifling a breath when the mesh from your slip grazes the head of his dick. beyond sensitive. taking one of his wrists, you unclasp one cuff and chain him to it, eren’s eyes shooting open before you restrain him to the headboard completely.

“no fuckin’ way,” eren licks his lips as he shakes his head, a menacing glare in his eyes as you sit on his abdomen and keen in achievement. “baby. . . you're in so much fuckin’ trouble when i get outta these.”

“why? scared i'll slut you the fuck out, baby?” a sadistic smile casts your face, eren nearly trembling from your words. what exactly did you have in mind? he had no idea. but he's kind of . . . amused? aroused mostly. it's rare when you tap into your dominant side. loving to be his pretty little submissive.

“if you wanted to bounce on my dick so bad you could've been straightforward.”

“mhm, this is more fun. i get you all to myself. i can do whatever i want. promise it's all for you. just wanna make you feel good, daddy,” you suck on your lip and press your weight down on him, trailing your hands up his chest to his tatted neck, eyes drifting low and moaning from how good the view was. he's truly an ethereal man.

“g’na fuck me empty, princess?” his voice drops an octave, knowing what that does to you. the way his voice summons you to do things will never make sense.

“till your shooting blanks,” you grin.

“well, if that's the case,” eren ponders, inching his face closer to yours, accepting his fate and playing your fantasy. "then put that pussy where it belongs, princess.”

it's not in his position to make orders, so ignoring him, you scoot backwards so his angry dick is in your face and your ass is arched into the air for presentation. “wanna suck it first,” you mumble, delicately wrapping both of your soft hands around the vein protruding, throbbing weapon. just the right thickness to make it impossible to fully engulf it in your throat.

eren spreads his legs, and the act is so sexy yet desperate. hissing as you watched you intently through his long lashes, your lips hovering over the leaking tip before taking it gently into the warmth of your mouth. suckling it like your favorite flavored lollipop.

“goddamn, baby,” he stretches out his arms as a force of habit, ready to hold either side of your face so he can work his pretty cock in nice and easy. but he's irked the minute the chains clink on his wrist, remembering he's bound. he sighs out, fixing to say something until you remove one hand off his cock and massage his balls while taking him further down your mouth. working both hands simultaneously. saliva building, bubbles forming the quicker you bob your head and stroke his dick.

“yea, stroke it while you suck it. mm,” eren's eyes are scrolling back, thighs twitching as he lightly moves his hips as you gag and suck. releasing him with a wet pop, maintaining eye contact as you slick your puffy lips along the sides of his cock, darting your tongue out and moaning deeply. your ass moves in the air as if you're getting fucked from the back, rolling and rocking back. pussy sluice in your thin thong, needing him now more than ever. one more thing though, and it's his damn favorite.

“wait, baby. don't . . .” a gasp flees from his agape mouth as you nudge his balls with your tongue before sucking one of them into your mouth, keeping your rhythm stroking mostly the tip, spreading your fingers languidly, sticky with his precum and your spit. you know that's his sensitive area, the breaths leaving him frantic. you can feel the blood rushing in his cock, rotating your hand and sucking the heavy sack as the whimpers that vibrate in your throat travel to him.

“f-fuck, { name }. g’na cum. keep goin’.” the chains clank along the headboard as he struggles, spreading his legs even wider, his tummy sinking in as he buried his head into the pillow behind him. the ball in his neck protruding and you watch him, so in love, so intrigued . . . you stop. and he whines, which is the last thing you expected to hear from him. it's so needy that it makes your clit throb even harder.

“fuck!” he curses angrily, groaning with pain and pleasure stirring inside. his dick jumping for attention. “don't fuckin’ tease me baby, or i swear to god i'll fuck you sore.”

“yea, whatever,” you giggle, purposely pissing him off further. “you mad, daddy?” you pout, tone teasing. reclaiming your position previously as you hover above him, his jaw clenching, black painted nails balling into fists.

“you know i'm fuckin’ mad. stop playing, { name }.”

he's got a lot to say but he shuts up the instant you tug your lace thong to the side and reach behind yourself to sink slowly onto the tip. both hands lay flat on his stomach as you ease down, eren mumbling ‘slow, slow’ as you sink halfway down before riding back up. your nails dig into his skin briefly, the relief you receive maddening. it's such an easy fix when he's available. eyelids squeezed shut as you accommodate his size, the fire in your chest blazing.

“oh my god,” you suck on your lips, face screwed once you pick your pace, rising and dropping your ass effortlessly, like a mystical creature. your hips move like waves, grinding slow to feel him reach that spot within you, moaning and tossing your head to the side.

“so fuckin’ wet, baby. listen to you. listen,” eren’s eyebrows are knitted, jaw unlocked, completely entranced by the way you move, the two of you panting heavily, listening to your slick coat his dick lewdly. ass clapping onto his thighs you lean back to grab onto with one hand to balance yourself. cupping a handful of your tits and whimpering as you fuck him quicker.

“unh, if you could see what i see, baby,” eren chokes, rocking his waist with yours to heighten your pleasure. it felt so good to take control. “you look s’ good when you fuck me.”

“love how you feel inside me,” your juices drip down his balls and onto the sheets, squealing as you lean forward to angle your faces together, his hands reaching far enough to graze your hair and cheekbone. focusing on the look in your eyes as you steady yourself on the tips of your toes before slamming your ass down harder, the two of you gasping in sync. “fill me so fuckin’ good, baby.”

eren thinks it's so ironic how your lettered necklace dangles over his face, making a noise he's never made before, focusing on the silver swaying. now he gets how you feel when his chain swings over your face when he fucks a dent into the mattress shaping your silhouette. he's succumbing to you willingly, breath hitching from the euphoric roll and dip of your thick hips, wishing so badly he had access to grip and grind you down on his dick harder.

this position weakens you both, your knees buckling and his waist twitching. your voice quakes and you cum without warning him, flopping onto his chest as your hips stirred lazily. eren’s close yet again, can feel it but can't get to where he needs to be without you. he needed you to move.

“c’mon, princess. fuck me, lemme cum,” he sounds incredibly submissive, that whiny tone partaking his usual asshole demeanor. it was such a turn on seeing his face switching from grumpy to ‘please baby fuck me’. eyes low and seductive. begging sounded good on him.

you sit up, cupping either side of his face before kissing him. eren rushing the kiss meaning he's extra greedy for it. gliding his lips over your chin, groaning in your mouth and sliding his fat tongue over yours, a sloppy french kiss. your mind goes blank when you feel his tongue on your neck next, wishing it was between your legs right now. that thing is a demon. the way he fucks you with it makes your soul leave your body every time. he's a gift from the gods, truly.

“not yet.”

“not playing fair, baby,” eren clicks his teeth, bushy brows entwined to showcase his frustration. he's so cute when he's upset. “all i wanna do is touch you. why's that such an issue? if you're gonna fuck me, do it right.

you huff, knowing he's saying anything just so you'll unlock the cuffs. “talking too much, ‘ren.”

a dark glint is in his eyes, those jade irises no longer it's stunning bright shade. his voice becomes gravely as he says, “am i? that's cause i wanna lick your fuckin’ clit. n i can't do that properly without touching you. she's soakin’ all on me.”

“mmm, wanna put your mouth on my pussy?” your voice softens tauntingly, trailing your hand down your stomach to slowly roll your fingers over your engorged clit. eren’s mouth waters.

“yes,” he clenched his jaw. you're so goddamn infuriating.

“she needs more. i wanna stay full while you eat it.”

“i’ll put my fingers in it. you like those, baby, right?” his eyes go all big like a puppy. “taste you while i fuck you open. jus’ like you like it?”

as tempting as that sounded, again, he’s in no position to make demands. ignoring the way your tummy flutters from the delicious thought, you're back to fucking him nice and slow. overstimulating yourself and edging him. it's so painful he just wants to cum. he wouldn't necessarily consider this a gift. you've just gotten in your head and took advantage of the situation. but that's okay, ‘cause he's gonna fuck you sore like he said. your necklace hits his forehead, chest in his face as you clap back on his pulsating dick. sucking his fingers and squeaking unexpectedly, eyes widening as eren plants his feet into the bed and pistons his cock up into you, knocking the wind from your lungs.

“eren, wait. . .”

“shut the fuck up,” eren growls into your neck, fucking you as best he could with his restraint. your screams fill the air, unable to hold him still. there was no point. he was pissed off now and wanted nothing more than to fill you deep with his cum as punishment.

and for some reason you underestimate eren's strength, because in a matter of seconds he's yanking his right arm forward and breaking the cuff with just a blink of your eye. you can't even comprehend what the hell he just did because he's grabbing your neck and pining you beneath him to fuck you deeper. nothings processing in your brain but the sound of his thighs clapping with yours, the grunts from eren and your second orgasm shooting through you. arching your back into him, his hand constricting some air in your esophagus which only intensifies your pleasure.

“i hear you, mamas,” eren releases his grip on your neck just a little, pressing his nose to yours with a clenched jaw, his one arm hanging above you since it's still chained up. eren shifts his body slightly down yours to put your legs over his broad shoulders, slipping his dick back in and folding you in a mating press.

“this is what you get for fuckin’ with me,” the way he's fucking you has your toes cramping and your voice disappearing. you can't scream anymore, sounds of pleasure dying down to cries and whimpers, tiny figure compared to his jolting beneath him. eren’s whines are muffled by the pillow he buried his face into as he shoots his cum into you, filling you up warmly. his orgasm so overpowering he can't help but still fuck through it. wheezes and ragged breathing is all you could hear since you had zero energy to open your eyes.

throwing your arms around him to claw at his backside. eren’s still moving inside of you, your legs shaking the further he pins them down with his one hand after sitting up on his knees, looking down at you, long hair sticking to his fucked out face. he takes two of his slender fingers to tug down your bralette to retrieve the key you stored in there. freeing himself and tossing the cuffs somewhere in the room.

“cheap ass cuffs,” eren says, spanking the outside of your thigh. “gotta give it to you, i enjoyed that.”

you perch up on your elbows, happiness shadowing you. “really?!”

“just don't try that shit again. now lay on your stomach and lemme eat your pussy.”

© 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖑𝖊. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life <3

[maxiemclaren]

Comforting Logan after the Miami Gp

Comforting Logan

Logan Sargent x reader

a/n First Fic

After placing last for his home race to say he was on edge the night before was an understatement. Returning to your hotel room you tried to reassure him that race day would be better, “Logan I’m telling you it's not your fa-” you falter what you're about to say when he looks at you like someone just accused him of murder, a rage filled energy falling over the hotel room. “Not my fault? NOT MY FAULT!? ARE YOU BLIND!? This is my home race and I couldn’t even have a good qualifying. Seriously y/n, P20 is not where I wanted to be.” You looked at him with sympathy slowly moving towards him, he took a step back and apprehension flickers across his eyes. “I’m not saying that you WANTED to start at P20 but sometimes we have shit qualifyings Logan '' Using his full name to hopefully knock some sense into the boy. He looks down feeling regret that he lashed out at you for just trying to help. “Want to head to bed? I’ll give you extra cuddles” You say while walking towards the room.

Watching the race was nerve-racking. You knew that no matter how hard he would fight for a points position he would still be a little grumpy. So here you were in the garage watching him navigate his way through, your eyes were practically glued to the screen until lap 28 when you needed to go to the bathroom from all the water you drank because of the heat and humidity. When all of a sudden you hear that contact was made between two cars, praying whoever it was is okay. You felt your heart drop when you saw that it was Kevin and Logan, a bubble of anger started to rise within you. You started yelling “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND KEVIN!?” Everyone in the garage turned to look at you with a look of ‘is she okay’ You looked at the replay and it seemed to look like Kevin was pushing past and Logan didn’t see him, granted there was not enough space for two cars in that corner. You know he's going to be so upset that he wasn’t able to continue the race so you head to the drivers room and wait.

He opens the door and sees you and immediately approaches and engulfed you into a hug, quite sobs escape him. You squeeze him tighter and let him release all his emotion, you reassure him “You did what you could my love, you made me so proud today. Hell, you make me proud everyday when you step out of the car unharmed and I get to go home with you.” His sobs just grew louder as he kept murmuring “I just wanted to show them I deserve a spot and chance here, my home race my family is going to be so upset with me. I’m a fucking disappointment” He spits out. Grabbing him by the face your eyes bore into his “You listen to me Logan Hunter Sargent, you are by far not a disappointment. What happened was unfair and frankly not right, Kevin has been all over the place this weekend. You are not to blame for his mistakes” He sniffles and nods his head “I guess so, Kevin has been pretty wild” he manages to chuckle out, slowly calming down. Giving him one last hug before media duties and debriefs, you smack his ass to make him laugh. “Ouch y/n my ass” You laugh “I’m serious though, you making it through a race or anytime you just step in the car, I’m proud of you and will continue to be proud of you even if you have to retire the car.” Heat rising to the back of his neck and ears he looks at you with admiration and love. “Thank you my love, that means the world to me. We will get them next time”

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au future

a/n: i had this idea and needed to write it. it's a bit into the future, much past where i currently am, so feel free to skip. i'm still posting the next part later this evening, but i just needed to get this out of my head and figured i'd share lol

*gif courtesy of google*

words: 1.6k // warnings: solana is sad, roman is pissed, and their families ain't shit

taglist: @fearlesschimera @sayyestoheav3nn @annfg8 @cyberdejos2 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @trentybenty @empressdede @tshepisho @southerngirl41 @callmekayd

Solana should have listened to Roman. 

Should have known better than to ever think this was a good idea.

To think that they could have both of their families in the same vicinity and everything would go fine. Granted, the type of division she was expecting has been relatively tame. There hasn’t been any violence, largely due and thanks to the weapon deposit bins by the entrance.

Weapon free establishment and all. 

Yet, she’s not naive enough to think that the lack of guns, knives, and other unmentionables could stop her or Roman’s family from throwing down if they wanted. But, they haven’t. No punches have been thrown nor bones broken. It’s been more of a clear separation. Roman’s family only interacts with each other, and her family interacts with each other.

Not the kind of cohesion she was hoping for but a much better alternative than what it could be.

But, while conflict and violence between the in-laws has, so far, been avoided. There’s still another major issue that has Solana locked in one of the back rooms, sitting on a random chair, crying her eyes out.

The bullying. 

Towards her. 

Towards Roman.

Towards their baby.

It started out light, Solana having to politely shut down a near fight between her brother and Roman.

Wes lifted the beer to his lips, eyeing Roman. “So, how many people have you killed today, Reigns?”

“Wesley!” Solana’s sharp use of his name was conjoined with a disapproving expression. He’s too old for the petty jabs.

Roman, however, simply smiled coldly, scratching his beard as he delivered a chilling warning. “So far none, but you keep fucking talking, and I can change that real fast.”

Thankfully, Solana was able to de-escalate, her sister-in-law, Hazel, prying Wes away before any violence could commence. 

Then there was the conversation Solana unintentionally walked into while conversing with two of her older cousins she’s not as close with.

For good reasons.

“Aren’t you at all worried?”

Solana frowned. “About?”

Her cousin leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Roman as a dad. I mean, he’s not capable of love. Do you really expect him to be a good father?”

There’s no words to describe how much hearing such a thing about the man she loves hurt Solana. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her other cousin, however, simply rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, everyone knows that man is a sociopath. You’re better off cutting your losses now, taking the kid to Mexico with your mom’s side of the family, and praying he doesn’t turn out like his psycho dad.”

Solana had to excuse herself for that one. She had nothing nice to say in that moment, but beyond that, she just needed to get a few tears out.

And she did, hoping that would be the last of it, but no, that was just too good of a hope to be true. 

It was the comments overheard by some of Roman’s relatives, however, that did her in.

“I just can’t believe out of all the women, the respectable options who come from more established families, he chose her.”

The other woman snorted, shaking her head. “Right? It’s obvious she was looking for a sugar daddy. What is she, like 25?”

“I heard her father’s not doing well financially and told her to seek out Roman.”

“Makes sense. Look how easy she was. Didn’t waste any time opening up her legs and trapping him with a baby.” The woman rolled her eyes, adding, “at the very least, he could have found a Samoan woman. It’s bad enough he’s afakasi, but this child of theirs? The girl is Mexican and Black. He’ll hardly have any Samoan blood running through his veins. Our Bloodline could die out because of her.”

The first woman to speak snorted, smirking almost as she suggested, “that’s assuming it’s his baby. Roman’s smart though. I’m sure he’ll have a paternity test done as soon as she pushes out that bastard.”

“Assuming ICE doesn’t deport her first.”

The two women fell out in laughter at the same time Solana darted off, desperate to get away and have a safe space to cry. 

It’s all just been too much. Too much hatred spewed for something that should be filled with love and excitement. 

It’s been anything but, and it hurts. 

It hurts a ton. 

The knocking on the door is loud and borderline erratic, Solana quickly wiping her eyes and clearing her throat to inform that she’ll be out in a minute. But, a deep, familiar voice beats her to it.

“Solana.” It’s Roman, and he doesn’t sound happy. “Open the door.”

She blows out a deep breath and does her best to feign a ‘normal’ voice. “Just—just a second.”

“Now, Solana.” Before she can ask why, he adds in a calmer voice,“I know you’re crying.” Damn. 

“So you either let me in or I’ll break this goddamn door down.”

He’ll do it. She knows he will. There’s nothing ever stopping Roman from comforting or being there for her when he knows she’s upset. 

And this would definitely be one of those times. 

Solana sniffles, trying to gather herself as she carefully stands up from the toilet seat. Wiping at her eyes, she flips the lock and is barely able to turn the knob when Roman is opening the door. Stepping back, he closes it behind him and moves his hands to her face, gaze locking with hers.

“What’s wrong?”

So many things, but this isn’t the time or place, so she shakes her head. “N–nothing. I’m just—baby hormones.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs, voice still surprisingly gentle. “Baby, talk to me. What happened?”

Solana looks away, hating how just that question, coming from him, tone so understanding and soft almost, is enough to pull the truth out of her.

And it does.

“You were right. This was a bad idea. I should have never—” She stops herself, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I just wanted…..I thought….I thought they’d be happy for us.”

“Sol, you know it’s not that simple.” Though his words could be seen as insensitive, the way he says it is anything but. “Who said what?”

She closes her eyes, grasping onto his white button-up shirt. “It wasn’t just…..one person….it’s everybody.” He wipes at her tears, as she continues to feel the emotional weight of it all. “My family saying cruel things about you—”

“Sola—”

“Your family saying things about me, about our baby—”

At that, all gentleness drops and is replaced with something else. Something she knows Roman knows well. 

Anger.

“Who?” It’s one word. One single word that means a multitude of things and none of them good.

Solana shifts her weight, shrugging, “I—I don’t know who they are. Some….some cousins of yours. But, it doesn’t—it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does fucking matter.” Roman drops his hands from her face to instead take her right hand in his, holding it firmly. “And we gonna address this shit right now.”

Solana's eyes widen a bit. That’s….that’s not what she wanted. “Wait, Roman—”

He’s not listening though. His stride is purposeful and determined, as he leads them out the bathroom, down the hall, and into the main section of the venue where most of their families are gathered. 

Roman guides them over to where the DJ has his setup, Solana gasping as Roman uses his free hand to yank a set of chords out the wall, effectively stopping the music. 

The DJ looks just as confused as most of the guests but cowers away in fear when Roman ‘iffs’ at him, like he’s going to hit him, before snatching the microphone. 

The abrupt ending of the music has attracted most gazes to where Roman and Solana stand, him moving them to the middle where all can see and hear.

He never once releases her hand. 

“Imma say this one time, and one time only.” She swallows, her eyes landing on her parents. Her mom looks confused, while her dad wears the same expression he’s worn since the moment Solana finally came clean about her relationship with Roman.

Disappointed. 

“Cause if I have to address this shit again, it’s not gonna be verbally.” Chills move up and down her spine. There’s not an ounce of her that questions if he’s bluffing or not. Roman doesn’t bluff. If he says it, he means it. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. That includes her family and mine, but I’ll be damned if I let any of ya’ll disrespect her or our child.” Solana’s hand naturally moves to her belly, her bump that’s pronounced and especially visible in her white bodycon dress. “We’re together. We’re having a baby. However way any of you feel about it, keep it to your fucking selves, because there’s no reason Solana should be crying at something that’s supposed to be a happy occasion.”

She swallows, noticing how the entire room has gone silent under the deep voice of Roman’s address. There’s not a person who looks uninterested or annoyed. It’s just a sea of various scared and nervous expressions. 

“So, the next time you find yourselves talking shit about her, and especially our baby, understand it will absolutely be the last thing you ever fucking do.” Solana watches Roman begin to hand the microphone to the flabbergasted DJ before he snatches it back, turning once again toward the onlookers. “And one more thing……when you address her, make sure you do it properly.”

Solana’s throat goes dry.  She shakes her head. He can’t be doing what she thinks he’s about to do. “Roman—”

“It’s not Solana Miller.” Oh my God. “It’s Solana Reigns.”

The sea of silence quickly morphs into an ocean of various gasps, exclamations, and even shouts. 

Meanwhile, Roman simply smirks as he sticks the nail in the coffin before dropping the mic on the ground. “—we’re married.”

[machveil]

another age headcanon because I like digging shit up on CoD operatives, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is next

so, interesting, Kyle does have a ‘given’ birth year… the only issue is that it’s listed as “1993 or before”. before? let’s nail this down

Kyle is supposedly born in 1993 or before (grinding my teeth)

Kyle also has two years given for enlisting, 2008 and 2014 (pulling my hair out)

Kyle spent 4 years doing test fights before passing as an SAS. Kyle, starting in his 6th year, is currently a Sergeant

Oct 25, 2019 Kyle works on a job dealing with terrorists

Task Force 141 began activity in 2019-present day, Kyle is recruited in 2019

now, because I don’t hate myself, we’ll work with the year we have given and piece together stuff so it sounds reasonable. that “1993 or before” is making me cry

so, Call of Duty, I’m already sensing an inconsistency (pray for me): if Kyle was born in 1993 and enlisted in 2008 that means he was 15 years old. you have to be at least 16 to enlist in Britain, so we know that 1993 is out and we’re focusing on the before

at the latest, Kyle could have been born in 1992 - assuming that he enlisted as soon as possible. now, Kyle was given two years for enlisting: 2008 and 2014 [explodes]

Kyle either, with the latest birth year being 1992:

enlists in the British Army at 16 in 2008

enlists in the British Army at 22 in 2014

we know Kyle spent 4 years training, and 2 years later he became a Sergeant in the SAS. according to Google, the average age of military personal is 31-33

I’m personally inclined to believe Kyle enlisted in 2014 then - being (22 + 6) 28 puts him closer on average to what would be an average personal age

but, let’s consider TF141. Kyle was recruited in 2019 - the year it started activity. if Kyle was born in 1992, that would make him 27.

here’s where the headcanon begins because Kyle being 27 in 2019 feels okay to me. I’ve done this same type of post with Simon “Ghost” Riley and König, and, respectively, in 2019 they would be 34-35 and 31

Kyle having a 7-8 year age difference compared to Simon feels alright, Kyle feels younger to me than Simon does. so, in my opinion, Kyle being born in 1992 makes sense

present day (2024), that would make Kyle 32

granted, he could still be older, but 1992 sounds like a cozy, safe answer

[ultimateissuessimp]

Hellu, thanks for the opportunity c: I was wondering If I could request some Astarion x Male!rogue!reader, post-game where they decide to travel together and find a way for astarion to Walk in the sun again. (+Points for some Batstarion hehe)

ASTARION REQUEST, LET'S GOOO! I love this so much! Thank you! Always wanted to write some comfort for Astarion and let him be happy, the man deserves it! 😭🙏

Feel the sun again

Astarion x Male!Rogue!Reader

Word count: 2,702

Warnings: Gale jumpscare, some despresso and mentions of a dark past, but we dealing with it, call it homemade therapy!

It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be able to live a good, comfortable life after the horrors they've been through. Why then do they have to hide in the shadows of the night? Why can only one of them feel the warmth that is the morning sun?

Life wasn't fair. Especially for Astarion. He had freed himself from his tormentor, broke the circle of abuse and yet he still couldn't start enjoying his life the way he wished. That's why Y/N intended on changing that. He would not stand by and simply observe when his lover was going through the same shit that he went through before the tadpoles, now just without the addition of Cazador. No matter how many times Astarion could tell him that he was happy where he was and maybe that was partially true, but Y/N knew him so well at this point that even the spawn's amazing deception skills do not work on him anymore as he can see right through by just one look into the man's eyes.

Of course they had an alternative. An enchanted cloak with a shadow effect put onto it that would grant the wearer protection from the sun, but the more Astarion wore it, the more tired he got, which was surprising for someone who's not meant to by tired. They came to a conclusion that Y/N would wear the cloak while Astarion rested underneath in the makeshift pocket that Y/N has made out of leather in his bat form.

Bat form was also something that they found out only recently when Astarion was so angry at the fact that his pray flew away that in the middle of his small tantrum, he transformed into a bat, scaring himself shirtless when he noticed that his point of view completely changed. When he realised he was a bat, he screeched bloody murder making Y/N cover his ears at the noise. They figured it out fairly quickly and it allowed them to use that to their advantage in many situations. Travel was one of them.

It was one of those days when Y/N was wearing the cloak, Batstarion (as Y/N grew to affectionately call him) underneath it, resting. He didn't tell his lover, but on one of the escapades he found some information about a magical artifact that could grant anyone affected by it an immunity to sun. The Ring of the Child of the Sun. Not only would it allow the wearer to be able to walk during the day, it would also protect them from any harsh heat like being near an explosion, so no more burnt clothes and scorched skin.

He knew where to look, finding clues as to its whereabouts and already planning out where to go first, keeping the map with circled places close on his hip. In fact some of those places already crossed out, leaving only two I quite close proximity, so he decided to go to the nearest one to them.

As he walked, careful not to disturb the white, fluffy Batstarion, he kept looking around for anything in sight that would tell him that this was the place and kept listening in closely for any sounds that could be potential danger. If any enemy appeared, he would have to not only defend himself, but also fiercely protect his, at the moment, vulnerable partner.

He reached some ruins and he decided to look around. Before that he took out the map carefully from underneath the cloak and looked at where he was at. When he saw the magical pointer at the place he wanted to get to, he bit his bottom lip in excitement. He knew he couldn't get too hopeful or otherwise he would only crash down to the ground with disappointment when he doesn't find anything, but he couldn't help it. He felt good about this place.

He crossed the threshold of the ruins and immediately scanned his surroundings for any danger. He found it weird that a place like this wasn't filled with monsters or booby traps or even scavengers looking for some gold and artifacts to sell. That's why he became suspicious and got even more careful.

Y/N silently walked around the grassy ground, hand at his sword, ready to swing it out the moment it would be needed as he peaked around the corners. Another peak rewarded him with the sight of a broken down bookshelf with multiple trinkets laying on it. His eyes immediately drawn to a little wooden box and they gained a little glint to them before he once more had to look around, sensing a booby trap somewhere and noticing a little shine in one of the walls. Found it.

He went up to it from the side while carefully scanning for triggers and finding none on the way. With the way it was pointing towards the shelf, there was no doubt taking one of the things off of it would activate the trap. That's why he skilfully and carefully disarmed it with his small dagger before tucking it back behind into belt holster. When Y/N was sure that nothing bad would happen, any trap would get triggered, he moved towards the shelf and took the box that his eyes fell upon again into his hands, carefully opening it, away from himself. Too many bad memories that occurred because of him carelessly opening up suspicious boxes or chests like this came back, sending a shiver down his spine.

When he saw only a slight, very soft glow to the ring that he was so diligently looking for. The solution to both his and his lover's problems. He let out a loud 'yippee' on the inside to not wake up the sleeping bat under the cloak he was wearing. He opened up the box a bit more and the shine it got with the sun hitting it nearly blinded him when it hit his eyes. Guess that was one of the side effects.

He quickly took out the ring and held it tightly in his hand, wanting to revel in it for a tad bit longer, leaving the box behind before leaving the ruins. Of course it would be too good of a day if they didn't run into some sort of trouble. Out of all things and people they just HAD to run into Gale.

-Hello Gale - Y/N said with a forced smile, having to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he saw that goofy smile from miles away.

-Hello Y/N! Is Astarion anywhere near or are you on a solo adventure? Wait, what's that glow in your hand? Is that a magical artifact? Can I have a look? - Gale began asking multiple questions at once.

-No, no, no. You can look from far away - Y/N said, putting his hand stretched out in front of himself as a little stop sign for the wizard. That man was a kleptomaniac for magical artifacts that he could inhale and he was not about to lose something so important to not only him, but also Astarion. Even if the man had no idea about it yet.

-I sense a quite powerful aura coming from it. What is it? - the man said, not really taking into consideration what Y/N had said and took a step towards him, which made the other take one back.

-It's a ring. No, you can't have it and no, I won't tell you what it's for. How about we just... Go our ways and act as we didn't see each other in this place? - Y/N proposed with an obviously overly sweet smile, but Gale didn't seem to catch it out.

-Well... Alright, but promise that we will have a chat soon! We haven't seen each other for such a long time! - Gale said, jokingly threatening Y/N with his Index finger and a large smile on his face.

-Not long enough... - Y/N muttered under his breath before reluctantly nodding his head. - Fine, yeah. Why not. Buh-bye now - he added before quickly walking away, waving his hand without looking g back when he heard the wizard yell "bye" after him. He was glad that Astarion, even though in his bat form, was too tired to give a fuck enough to hear the man's loud yapping.

When they got far away enough, the night already reaching them and the cloak not being needed anymore, he took it off and hid the ring in his pocket an idea popping into his head as to how to surprise his vampire lover.

Astarion opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times before stretching out his wings. His point of view reminding him that he was still in his bat form. He looked around, seeing that he was wrapped, cocooned even, in the cloak, his lover not too far away fiddling with something in his hand.

He changed back into his human form, assuming that since it was night already, apparently quite late into it judging on how dark it was outside. He stood up, letting the cloak fall onto the ground from around his body as he stretched out again, this time his bones popping much more since he had been in his bat form for quite a long time since a very early dusk, summer hitting them like a sudden sand storm in the desert. The vampire walked over to his lover, wrapping his arms around the man's waist and resting his forehead against his shoulder.

-Why didn't you wake me up earlier? And why are we still in the woods? You said it would only be a day trip and we would be back home before the night? - he asked, his voice slightly raspy as he had in fact recently woke up.

-I wanted to let you get a bit more rest, we both know you need it, my darling. Also, plans changed. There's something that I need to show you, but that will come later. Now come on, there's a lake not too far from here, we can take a swim - Y/N said with a smile, quickly pocketing the ring he had finally found into his trousers before catching Astarion's hand into his own and tugging him towards the lake.

They spent some time in the water, swimming, holding one another, splashing and kissing. Both men got out when they felt the time slipping through their fingers and the sky started to get brighter with each passing minute. They dried off thanks to a magical scroll that contained warm wind and dressed back into their clothes.

Astarion was ready to change back into a bat and hide underneath the cloak, but he was stopped by a hand on his wrist, making his head turn back to look at his lover, expecting to see him face to face but confusion showed in his expression when he had to look down at Y/N, kneeling before him.

-My love, what are you doing? The day is approaching really fast. I love your sentimental side, but I would prefer to enjoy it more while still being my beautiful self and not ashes on the ground - Astarion said with a slight nervous chuckle at the first oranges took over the sky. He gasped when he saw Y/N take out a nice gold ring with a very bright, nearly completely white stone as a gem on top.

-Then your answer will have to come quick. I thought about the perfect moment and I'm not sure if another one would be better than this one. So... Astarion Ancunin, the love of my life, the sassiest person I have ever met... Will you marry me? - Y/N asked, his eyes started to sting a little bit as they filled up with tears that made his vision blurry.

-I... Darling-... What-... - He started stuttering, his eyes frantically going from his lover to the first rays of sun peaking over the tree crowns and started to approach the both of them. - Yes! Yes, okay? Now, let's go into the shadows! - he said, trying to tug on Y/N's hand, but the man remained strongly glued to the ground, smiling like an idiot before sliding the ring over Astarion's finger and letting it sit there, making it look like it was always supposed to be his.

-Just... Please wait here, with me. Trust me - Y/N said softly before finally standing up and wrapping his arms around Astarion, pulling the man into an embrace. The vampire immediately glued himself to his lover, scared out of his mind because of the oncoming sun. He felt terrified and he couldn't understand why would Y/N do this out here like this? At such a moment? And to stay here when he knew what would happen to Astarion?

-Why?... Why... - he asked meekly, afraid to feel the pain, face hidden in the man's chest as his arms remained tightly wrapped around Y/N. His eyes squeezed shut as his body started to tremble in fear. Y/N wished he could take away his partner's fears, his terrors and he hoped this would be what does it.

Astarion winced when he saw the light despite his closed eyes. That brightness was impossible to miss. He expected to feel excruciating pain, the feeling of scorching. Yet nothing came. He carefully opened his eyes, eyelids fluttering as he looked around, checking on himself first and not seeing anything weird or painful happening to him. But how? The ring...

-I've been looking for a solution that would finally let you walk in the sun. I found some information, clues for locations as to where it could be. I had hope, time and determination. The trip we made today? Yeah, it was because of he fact that only two spots remained and the spot we visited today, luckily held the ring that is now on your finger - he explained, slightly pulling away to kiss the hand that held the ring on Astarion's finger.

-You... You went through all of this hassle... For me? - Astarion asked, his voice shaky as he looked at ring in shock, eyes wide that slowly started to fill with tears as his bottom lip trembled. He promised himself that no matter what, he would never cry in front of Y/N again after the moment he had killed Cazador. Yet here he was. At the best moment of his life. Not only was he free, with the love of his life, but he was finally able to have a somewhat normal life like the one he wished for since the moment his tormentor destroyed all of his hopes and dreams.

-For who else would I do that? You're the reason why I wake up in the morning, the reason why I go to sleep with a smile, the reason why my heart skips a beat every now and then, the reason why I would go to hell and back if it meant you would be safe. I love you, Star. You're worth every sacrifice and I would like to prove it for the rest of our lives as your husband - Y/N explained once again, cupping his now fiancé's cheeks with his hands and wiping away stray tears with his thumbs before pressing a kiss to his forehead.  - From the moment you stole my heart, I knew my goal wasn't to stay alive and get rid of the tadpole inside me and everyone else. It was to let you have the possibility to feel the sun again - he added with a large grin as he looked at his lover.

Astarion let out an incredulous chuckle, one that could sound a little crazy for an outsider, but he was... Shocked. Simply and honestly shocked. That's why when he came to his senses, he threw himself into Y/N's body, wrapping his arms around the man's neck and sending them botch tumbling to the soft grass as they laid there, laughing with joy. The sun felt nice on his skin again, but he already had his sun in his arms. He didn't need anything else.

[bqstqnbruin]

Mat Barzal Teacher AU

@nicohischier listen I will crtl f if I want to but I didn't do it for this one

But this is the 9th one I've written and posted since Monday so that's gotta be something, right?

Teacher AU Series

Warnings: swearing

WC: 813

______________________________

“What are you doing?” Thea asks, walking into Orla’s room. 

“Looking at my glassware.”

“Is it nice to look at?”

Orla sighs, closing her cabinets. “I have to replace like half of what I bought brand new last year because the students broke everything.” 

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, oh, shit.”

Orla gets her computer out of her bag, where it had been sitting since she arrived in her classroom for the first time since the last school year ended, pulling up the Flinn website and praying that they had some sort of sale going on. Not that it was likely for the stuff she needed, but she could still have hope. “How much will it cost you?”

“The smallest beakers I need are five dollars, the largest are twenty three.”

“Each?”

“Each,” she groans, drawing the end of the word out. 

“Oh, shit.”

Orla laughs. “I think we found our new catchphrase for the year.”

“A downgrade from last years, ‘oh, fuck,’ if I do say so,” Thea laughs. 

Orla stares at the screen, adding everything she needed to buy new into the cart and watching the total cost increase by the second. “Why don’t we work at a school that pays for everything?”

“Because I don’t think those schools exist.” The two of them sit there for a second, Orla staring at her computer trying to figure out how she was going to pay for everything she needed for the school year. “Oh, do you know who your new humanities partner is?”

Orla shrugs. “Whoever that new French teacher is, I haven’t met him yet.” 

Thea sighs. “I got paired with Richard,” she grimaces. “Why do we have to do this again?”

Orla sits up straight, folding her hands in front of her on her desk and tilting her head back so her nose was pointed into the air. Thea burst out laughing, knowing that she was imitating the vice principal they both hated. “To ensure that we are providing the most extensive cross-curricular education to our students.”

“More like to ensure that we have more busy work we don’t want to do. I mean, what cross-curriculum stuff can we do between biology and English?”

Thea looks at her friend as she puts her feet up on the top of the desk she had commandeered. “You teach AP Bio.”

“And?”

“Don’t they have to read and comprehend long passages just to write essays about them?”

“And?”

“Babe, that’s English. Richard is the perfect person to pair you with.” 

“He’s a dick.”

“In more ways than one.”

Thea laughs, getting up to head back to her classroom to do some work before they had to head to the auditorium for their first week back meetings. She turns back to Orla “Don’t you know French?”

“Not really, no.”

Thea, with her hand on the door, stares out the window in the center. “One of your ex’s did, though, right?”

“Two; blue eyes and nostril boy.”

Thea nods, a smirk on her face that told Orla she wasn’t going to like whatever her friend was about to do next. 

Orla sat back in her chair as Thea finally left, the door closing behind her. Why would she mention Orla’s exes? It wasn’t like either of them would be a teacher. Blue eyes moved away a while ago, Orla losing track of him after he ended up somewhere in Canada. Nostrils, however, was still somewhere on the island, which she knew because she ran into him way too often for her liking. They broke up because Orla thought he was way too self-involved; stopping just short of an actual temper tantrum when he didn’t get his way. 

Granted, they were younger and much more immature when they dated, but it was still enough that Orla knew she didn’t want that.

She shrugs it off, going back to the Flinn website to see if she could pull any of their free resources that could be useful in order to make her feel better about the nearly one thousand dollar glassware purchase she was about to make.

She’s interrupted by a knock at her door while she’s reading about a nuclear decay inquiry lab, not looking up to see who walks in when she calls for them to enter.

“Orla?” she hears a familiar voice, her head snapping from her computer to see the one person she didn’t want in her classroom.

“Mat?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I teach here,” she says, hoping he can’t hear the shaking in her voice. Having a short conversation with him when they randomly happened to see each other was fine, but this? “What are you doing here?”

“I work here.”

The realization of what Thea’s facial expression meant finally dawned on her. You could see who was coming into the building from the hallway outside Orla’s classroom thanks to the weird design of the building. Thea had to have seen Mat coming in. “You’re the new French teacher.”

“You’re my curriculum partner.” 

“Oh, shit.”

[ithinkdogshouldvote2]

Castle Ravenloft in the Nick Close timeline:

"Shit sucks so bad, we miss our dads, and we're all experiencing life changing trama, but at least we're together."

Castle Ravenloft in the Nicholas Foster timeline:

*loud crashing, the sounds of glass breaking and Nicholas screaming in the distance as Lark and Sparrow try to set him on fire*

Terry jr: "Grant, are you praying?"

Grant, halfway to the fetal postion, hands clasped in prayer with tears in his eyes: "get me the fuck out of here."