#* history ~ they tell me think with my head not that thing in my chest ˎˊ˗

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Question...? The End - “It’s just a question.”

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader Summary - After years of back and forth, years of unknowns, a lifetime of questions, it's time for answers.

Question...? Mini Series List | Steve Rogers Masterlist

"Looking back on it..." Steve can't quite find the words to finish the sentence. He shakes his head, "Jesus."

You slightly tip your glass, "We've been through a lot together."

He knows that you're too nice to say what the reality of it is. Steve put you through a lot.

And sure, you two have been through a lot together. All the awkward phases, the growing pains, romantic mishaps, miscommunications, circumstances.

Looking back on it, you were his constant.

Most of the time, you were his only constant.

Rather than staring at the glass in his hand, he keeps his eyes locked on you. There was so much history there. You were right, there were so many times that he could've done more, tried harder. He could've fought for you.

He swallows the lump in his throat, “I don’t know what to say.” 

You shrug, swirling the lonely ice cube in your glass, “I think that was always part of the problem. It’s why we never worked.”

“I - I’m sorry.”

And just like all those times before, you fight to tamp down those feelings that never fail to arise when Steve is near. You've come to accept this. You know this. You and Steve don't work. Accepting that is so much easier than pushing him out of your life. “It’s not like I told you how I felt.” 

Steve knew it wasn't the whole truth. Sure, you'd never out right said that you had feelings for him, but you'd given him so much more than he gave you. And every single time he was too scared of ruining everything that he ran like a coward. 

"But you were the one that held us together. You gave me so much." 

You snort, "Like your first kiss?" 

"I would've waited a hell of a lot longer if it weren't for you. I didn't kiss a single girl in high school." 

"Bullshit." 

"It's true," Steve insists, tipping his glass in your direction. "Ask Bucky. Besides, I was too hung up on you to even look at another girl." 

You shake your head, rolling your eyes, "That's not true." 

"It is. I was just - I was so damn scared of ruining our friendship." 

"Then why did you kiss me at our college graduation?" 

Steve wasn't sure. To this day, he couldn't decide it is was his ultimate moment of weakness or moment of strength. "Better question: Why do you think I broke that dickhead guy's nose last year?" 

"Male ego?" 

"I was jealous," Steve deadpans. "I was so fucking jealous. I was upset because some asshole that was nowhere near good enough took the girl I wanted my whole life. And worst part, I still wasn't brave enough to tell you how I felt."

You slowly exhale, "I think that maybe things worked out the way that they were supposed to. Maybe we just - we weren't meant to be." 

His eyebrows pull together, "Do you really believe that?" 

"I don't know."

“I just - I wish I would’ve put up a fight. I wish I would’ve told you how I felt - how I feel.”

Your eyes snap up, you heart stuttering. “Feel?”

His heart pounds in his chest. This was likely his last chance. His chance to not be a coward. A chance to finally get the girl. “Feel. Present tense.”

Your eyebrows pull in, demanding and curious, “And what do you feel?”

“I feel like I should’ve gone after you after we kissed the first time. Like I should’ve told you that the reason I got so angry you kissed Bucky in high school was because I wanted to be the only person that you kissed. Like I never should’ve left your house that night in college. I feel like I’ve been in love with you since I saw you that very first time.”

“Steve…” you whisper, too choked up to say anything but his name.

“I’ve looked for that feeling everywhere. I’ve looked for that meteor strike everywhere and the only place I’ve found it is with you. You lit up my life. Everyone else, everything else, is second best compared to you.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard, Steve.”

“Then let me carry us for a while. Let me hold us together. Let it be my turn.” He reaches out, his hand gripping yours from across that empty bar stool. He sucks in a soft breath, clearly warring with himself. In this moment, he feels like he did all those years ago. The best friend that was never good enough for the girl. The girl he watched and wanted more than anything. This was his chance to be brave for once, to finally speak now. “I think I've always known.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, “Known what?” 

“I think I’ve known it since we were kids," he continues. He stands up from his bar stool, closing the distance between you and him. He reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks. "You’re my forever. You’re my endgame. And I’m sorry I didn’t treat you like that. I’m sorry I let things come between us. But I’ve always known that. Even if it scared the shit outta me sometimes. I belong with you. You belong with me. It’s us. That’s how this story ends. It’s us.”

"Steve..." you whisper.

"Can I kiss you?" You suck in a sharp breath as he cups your face, lifting your jaw until your lips ghost over his, "It's just a question."  

You know it's not just a question. Not really. Not anymore. You lick your lips in anticipation, "Is it?" 

"No," he finally admits. "It's an answer." 

Question...? Mini Series List Inspired By Taylor Swift Steve Rogers Masterlist

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[empresskylo]

cod men headcanons in an age gap relationship?

i have such a thing for age gaps...i blame society. also, i’m only including ghost, price, and alejandro because the other men are too young imo. ik some of their ages are debatable, so in my mind, ghost is at least 30.

Ghost

♡ honestly, i don't think my guy really gives a shit if there is an age difference between you two. like his morals are all skewed, and the last thing he'd waste time worrying about would be a *legal* age gap.

♡ being younger than him would just make his nicknames for you that much more adorable. he likes to add the words 'little' and 'tiny' in front of a lot of the things he calls you. "little mouse" "little dove" "tiny girl/boy"

♡ regardless of how much experience you have (with relationships, sex, etc) he will always act like he knows more than you. he can find himself treating you like you’re so innocent and new to everything--even if you do the same line of work as him, i.e. killing people. and it can definitely annoy you.

♡ it doesn’t matter how many people you’ve been with or how many people you’ve killed; no matter what, he knows more than you. and honestly, even tho it can annoy you sometimes, him being so dominant is just super hot.

♡ “simon, i know how to do it” you whined, as he wrapped his arms around you, showing you how to properly use a sniper. you were used to so many other guns, but not snipers. “mhm,” he mocked, stepping away from you. when you shot the gun, you missed your target by quite a few feet. your cheeks warmed and you hesitated before looking back at simon. his arms were crossed over his chest as he eyed you. you could tell he had a smug smile plastered across his face under his mask. he did not need his ego inflated any more than it already was.

Price

♡ price was definitely concerned when he first realized he had feelings for you. he knew you were of age, but that didn't stop the odd feeling he got when he was around you--like he was taking advantage of you.

♡ and his way of flirting was to act like your father… he thought he was being nice, showing you how to do stuff, always having your back. but my god was he appalled when you were frustrated with him one day after he keep hounding you about something.

♡ “Ok, dad! i get it!” “what did you just call me?” You heard the anger in his tone. shit, you were getting too comfortable around your captain, you should not have teased him like that. “S-sorry, captain. I didn’t mean—“ He cut you off, clearly agitated for a different reason than you being smart with him. “is that how you view me, doll? like a father?” if you said yes, price would know he needed to back off. he could take a hint. “No… I… You just wouldn’t get off my back. I was just trying to be funny.” You felt so embarrassed as you explained yourself. Price got into your space and grabbed your chin in his hand, titling your head up to look at him. you gulped. “you wanna call me endearments? go ahead. but don’t ever call me that again.” he looked at you a moment longer before turning away. suddenly fueled with adrenaline, you called after him. “what about daddy?” Price spun around quicker than you could register before he was pushing you backward, his hand tight in your hair as he yanked your head back to look up at him again with a gasp. “fuckin’ brat,” he muttered, a sly smile crossing his lips.

♡ as much as price truly does not care about your sexual history, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on a bit knowing how much more innocent you were than him. you could have slept with a bunch of people for all he cared, but knowing you were that much younger than him, he knew he had more experience than you regardless. and something about that sparked a flame in his chest. he had a thing for wanting to show you the ropes.. but he definitely felt guilty about thinking that way. he wouldn’t have been any less attracted to you knowing you slept with a hundred other people. he knew you being “innocent” shouldn’t turn him on. but it did…

♡ he is very possessive of you. doesn’t like the idea of other men thinking they have a chance with you. but he can get a bit self-conscious whenever a younger man approaches you or checks you out. “you really wanna be with an old man like me?” he’d ask. as confident as he is, in the beginning of your relationship, being so much older than you made him second guess himself. shouldn’t you want to be with someone your own age? “jesus, price. you’re only 37. you act like you’re knocking on hell's door.” he’d start tickling you for your bratty remark, but it definitely placated some of his nerves.

♡ and since he has more experience dating wise, he’d say “i love you” pretty early on. he’s not dating you thinking it’s some fling. he’s serious about you. and he’s lived long enough to know when he’s in love. and he’s not afraid to say it.

♡ you were saying goodbye to price as he went off on a mission. he’d only be gone a few days, but you’d hate every minute of it. he kissed you, his mustache tickling your lip. “i love you,” he murmured when he pulled away. he smirked as he appraised your stunned face. and he’d turn and leave before you had a chance to process his words, knowing you wouldn’t be able to get them out of your head the whole time he was gone.

Alejandro

♡ definitely feels bad at first, like he’s taking advantage of you. he reminds you all the time to tell him if you’re uncomfortable. that you can say no. he just doesn’t want you to feel used.

♡ as he gets more confident in the way you want him, he starts to use it against you. same as ghost, he mocks you as if you’re so innocent and inexperienced. “see, this is what they call a—“ “Yes, Ale. I know. I’m the one who showed you that.” resulting in a cheeky wink from him.

♡ during training, he embarrassed you in front of the others. when you messed up a move, he made a big deal showing you how to execute it properly even though you’ve been in the army for years now and knew how to do it in your sleep. he liked to see the way you’d get flustered with all the other guys around as he teased you.

♡ he definitely exudes a dominant side and it definitely comes out around you. he wants to do everything for you. wants to carry shit that’s too heavy for you. he wants to be your ride. the first person you call when you need help. he wants to be your everything.

♡ he also acts a little more dominant in bed than he would if he was with someone his age. something about you looking up at him with your sweet little doe-eyes sparked a dominating need within him. he takes control. he leads. he tells you what to do. he barks out commands. he punishes you for being bratty. he takes control in every sense of the word. The only time you can really hold anything over him is when he’s getting close to finishing. you’ll be able to get him to say whatever you want him to, his mind lost in a haze, wanting nothing more than to find the release you’re about to give him. “Please,” he begged. you smiled as you hovered above him. you sank back down on him and continued your motions, and he quickly climaxed. his hands squeezed your hips as he groaned. “fuckin’ perfect.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Taglist: @your-favorite-god @cens0r3d @lovelyteenagebeard

Heeding Aemond’s words, you decided that an audience with Cannibal was required. So in the dead of night you slipped out of the red keep through the secrete passages you’ve learned thanks to Aegon, almost undetected had you not almost collided with a rat catcher who was accompanied by the cutest dog you’ve did see, before fleeing into the very same woods upon your first encounter with the behemoth of legend.

Once you got to the cave Helaena’s words had been proven true, Cannibal had been waiting for you as the silhouette of his head could be seen poked out of the dark, just as a pair dark green eyes like Greek fire looking directly at you but you weren’t afraid like last time.

‘Cannibal.’ You greeted as you bowed before the dragon, whom let out an almost purring sound at the sign of respect shown towards him. After all many people who tried to claim him expected him to submit to their will, but Cannibal knew his worth and vowed to never allow a pathetic creature to ride him, but one who’d inevitably catch his eye by accident.

‘I’m going to cut the formalities and be upfront with you and that is because time is limited and I have been so foolishly trying to avoid a predestined fate.’ You tell the dragon who only watched you with curiosity that it made you wonder how many others had been giving the same curtesy, not many you presumed but now wasn’t the time to falter when morning was fast approaching. ‘People, powerful people are going to try and stake claim to you through me in hopes of getting you to yield.’

Cannibal lets out a powerful roar that you felt within your chest, resonating with you in a way that you didn’t think was possible. You could feel his hatred for cowards, weaklings and people who felt the need to claim more than was needed, a spark has been light between the two of you and it was only starting to grow to a fierce but stubborn flame.

‘I had a feeling you would hate that.’ You told the dragon as you moved closer all the while he looked at you, steam puffing from his nostrils, his eyes practically glowing like hellish pits of fire amidst the night. Cannibal was beautiful as he was terrifying and you were growing to like the thrill of having him as your companion, your friend and not just a dragon you simply rode for convince. ‘So here is my proposal, should you accept, you take me as your rider an you shall keep your freedom for I will not clip your wings as you are a dragon through and through, the sky is your domain and I shall not take that from you.’ You added as you watched Cannibal lower his head so that he could meet you eye to eye, interested in what you had to say.

‘Also, there’s just one other thing that I may ask of you cannibal.’ The dragon only huffed as though telling you to go on.

‘Consume any dragon and their rider should their boastfulness overtakes their common sense,’ you told him in seriousness, ‘make them remember to fear the name Cannibal for it is not just a name to take lightly.’ You then took a step back from the dragon and held out of your hand, palm out flat as the nerves within you went wild, this was by far the stupidest and most terrifying thing you have ever done but still you had to see it through. ‘Do we have a deal?’ You finished.

Cannibal studied you for a moment, his eyes looking deep into your own that you felt as though he could see your soul, your true being, before moving his head closer to you and pressing his snout against your hand. It was rough, warm but alive and you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you had just made history.

You had just became Cannibal’s first rider.

[onlyrains]

𝓽𝓲𝓷𝔂 thing | 𝓵𝓱𝓼

relationship is scary; what if your partner is too tall for you to kiss them?

“morning…?” you greeted confusedly at your boyfriend in your kitchen when you just freshly out of a shower.

“morning—you finished already?” his wide back still facing you, unbothered.

yesterday, he called and said he was gonna take you two to have brunch somewhere. but here he was, busy in your kitchen with sleeves rolled up to his firm elbow.

a chopping sound filled the room as you approached him. “aren’t we going somewhere, hee?”

he dropped his knife and spun quickly. “god, ’m sorry, i forgot to tell you. it's just… i watched some recipe videos last night and i think i’m going to try that out today…” his voice disappeared at the end. “is it okay…?”

you gasped. “seriously?” you were genuinely surprised. he was never show an interest in cooking before and preferred to just take a delivery or going out if you both were feeling it.

so today was the first time and you believed it will be written in history.

you glanced at his scattered groceries on the counter. “it is okay, boo. it's even better that you are one who cooks for me. wow.” you give him a wide smile then cupped his face.

he scratched his head, flustered when his favorite pet name came out. “we still could go if this fail, you know. i’m not sure either,”

you chuckled. “have some trust in yourself, can't you?” you tiptoed, tried to give him a peck on the lips but you kissed his chin instead.

you couldn’t reach his lips. that was a new fact for you too. you just realized he was always crouched down or the one who initiate a kiss. you almost hit your own head, couldn’t believe you missed such a crucial thing in your relationship.

he was laughing his ass off when he saw you pout and refused to see his face by hiding it on his chest, embarrassed.

still chuckling, he hugged you and rubbed your back, assuring. “it's okay, baby. it's cute.” actually, he also just noticed how your height just fell around his chest, not even his neck, not even his shoulder.

how could he not noticed his dear girlfriend is so tiny? well, he knew you were smaller than him, but he didn't know that you were basically tiny? even when he hugged you like now, your figure was completely disappear in his body. how could he not noticed that earlier? oh, maybe because he was too busy control his composure everytime he's around you, right?

“don’t mock me.” you mumbled.

“eh? i’m not? why do i have to mock about it? it's so cute, baby, trust me i love it.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “i can't. you can be childish—”

“says a child—AW! baby, your pinches is someth—”

“but i’m not a child!” you sulked.

“okay, okay.” he grabbed both of your hands in his. “from now on, i’m going to love you like my own child, baby.” he kissed top of your head ran around the kitchen as you chased him.

he was glad he canceled the plans for brunch at a fancy restaurant he found a few days ago. otherwise, he wouldn’t been able to enjoy this stupid moment with you after a week of non-stop working. he was thankful your laugh could literally heal his mind and soul to stay sane.

the brunch he promised was still happened tho it would be more realistic to call it a lunch. thanks to him for always bring your height up every chance he got. don’t get it wrong tho, it wasn’t a bad thing. he loved it, he really did.

it gave him an instant ego boost whenever he noticed you need to looking up fully when you look into his eyes. even sometimes, it made him thinking about the other thing that might put him in an advantageous position.

you were still sat in your dining table when he suddenly towering you after doing the dishes.

you tilted your head with anticipation. “what?”

“nothing.” a smug smile appeared on his lips.

“still haven't giving up?” you asked then stood up on your chair. now you were the one towering him. “what now?”

he wrapped his arms in your waist. “it's nothing, really.”

you rested your hand on his shoulder and finally pecked his lips in a sudden move. you felt his arms tensed up in your waist.

“baby, that's dangerous, y'know.” he whined, his voice low.

you smirked. maybe you both have a same thought today.

taglist [open]: @llvrhee

[baby-yongbok]

Only You

Seo Changbin x afab!Reader

✧ Genre - Smut - personal trainer!Changbin ✧ Word Count - 1.1k ✧ Warnings - Unprotected sex (Wrap, wrap, wrap it up) [i think that's it] ✧ a/n - thought of this at 4am & wrote it in my notes half asleep. it's lightly edited. Changbin has just had my heart in a headlock lately..+ reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✧ Masterlist ✧

Leg day is the bane of your existence, well, it used to be. You’ve been going to a new gym for awhile now and the owner of the small spot offers personal training. He’s assigned Thursdays as leg day and at first you dreaded it but now things are a bit different.

"Mm, fix your form. Right leg out a bit more." Changbin pants below you as you dip down into yet another squat.

You learned in the second month of working with Changbin that he can get pretty… hands on when training you. You’ve also noticed that he only gets this involved with you. You’re the only client that he allows to stay late.

 You throw your head back as you struggle to keep yourself stable with the foam roller he’s placed in front of you. 

"Bin, can we please do this another way." He tsks, planting both hands on your waist to guide you down. He only does this with you.

"You've been skipping squats." He taps your right leg in a silent attempt to get you to correct your form again. "What kind of trainer would I be if I let you do that?"

You dip down again, this time it's perfect, you can tell by the way he sighs beneath you. His head lulls back for just a second as you take all of him. You settle into a deep squat in his lap, sheathing the length of his cock in your warmth. 

He only does this with you. 

"Bin, my legs are fucking burning." Your protests are breathy and followed by deep moans that reverberate through the empty gym. The dim lights highlight the sweat forming on your brow and the slick coating his cock. "Please just help me." 

Changbin sighs, feigning annoyance as he runs a hand through his damp locks. His hands find the dip of your waist as he moves you forward just enough for his lower half to hover off of the bench as he leans back into the leather.

"Hold the squat." He positions himself, holding you steady. "Keep your core tight."

Humming, You take a deep breath. "Binnie, seriously, my legs are - ah my god." 

His hips snap into you before you can finish your sentence. He smirks at you through the mirror as he watches your face twist in pleasure. Your eyes snap shut, your teeth sink into your bottom lip and your thighs tremble ever so slightly. You’re so pretty like this.  

"You wanted help." His hips snap up into you again, this time followed by another thrust and then another until he's drilling into you at a relentless pace. 

"I'm helping, aren't I? Think this is easier?" Moans are all that he gets in response. Your nails dig into the foam roller as you try your damn hardest to keep yourself up.

"Breathe, baby." You clench around him, milking a moan from his chest. "Gotta breathe while I fuck you, okay? Hold that position, you're almost done."

Changbin allows himself to indulge in the warmth of you for a second before it ends. He throws his head back with a sigh as he takes in just how perfectly your cunt swallows him. 

He never meant to cross this boundary with you, he had every intention of treating you like a standard client. He’d train you for the amount of time you paid for then you’d leave, but then he started falling for you. 

He started paying extra attention to your cute workout sets and the way you looked while lifting weights. He started noticing the way you’d only look at him when you came for training. He has two other trainers, handsome men who compliment you regularly but you only looked at Changbin. Only him. 

Then he asked you out and when you said yes he tried to take it slow. He tried to wine and dine you but when he caught your eyes wandering down his frame during a late night training session he knew he just had to have you. The rest is history. 

Since then he’s taken a special sort of pride in training you. He does what he has to to make sure that you have a good session even if that means having you bent over or precariously perched on some machinery while he rearranges your guts as he sees fit. 

“Bin, that’s deep that’s so fucking deep, I can’t.” You whine, eyes locking with his through your debauched reflection. 

"You got it, baby. Just hold it like that, just like that.” He moves firmer and deeper into you, dragging against your walls and hitting spots that you could only dream of. “You jus' gotta cum. Cum for me and you're all done baby, c'mon."

Your cunt squeezes him as you fight to keep your core tight. Every contraction and deep breath drives you closer to the edge and aids Changbin as he follows close behind. 

"Fuck, baby please, I'll cum. I'm gonna cum." You're whining, crying into the air as the burn in your legs matches the pending snap deep in your stomach.

"Cum, please. 'M gonna cum. Gonna fill you, please baby, fucking doing it" He whines right back. His voice is thick yet high with need and it snaps the band and breaks the dam that has you gushing all over him. 

Changbin's orgasm promptly follows. He fills you up, ropes of sticky white coating your pulsing walls. 

You collapse mid orgasm and he catches you. He holds you in his arms and lets your cunt milk him dry before he turns you in his lap, cock still plugging your hole, and cuddles you into his chest. 

"That's my baby." He pants, smirking down at you. "Did so well."

"I can't - can't feel my legs." You chuckle breathlessly. "Can we please be done, Bin?"

"We're done, bunny. Let's hit the showers and maybe I can finally take you on that date, yeah?" He lifts you with ease, carrying you over to the men's shower room. The sound of his sneakers padding over the linoleum of the empty space is soothing in your post-fucked state. 

"Baby?" He calls, and you drift out of your haze just a bit. "You can't stand, can you?”

"Nope" You hum a reply, grinning up at him. 

"Hm." He sits you on the counter, leaving you for a second to set up one of the showers. "Can I fuck you against the shower wall?" He calls out to you and you giggle. The sound makes him smile. 

"What about our date?" You call back. He reappears, naked with a wide smile. 

"We might have to reschedule.”

Perm. Tag List:

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@teddy-stay , @baconcupcakes123, @moonchild9350 ,

@krayzieestay, @soulsbbg , @stay-bi , @yzsqu , @gho-ster , @lghtdarling

[utahimeow]

even death will not do us part — satoru gojo

summary — your wedding day with satoru gojo is not exactly conventional.

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — slightly suggestive beginning, pure fluff, established relationship

word count — 3.9k

author’s note — for satoru’s birthday ♡ i put my heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into this and i hope u can tell. it may be the best writing i’ve ever done, so if u read it, thank u and i love u. also it’s like extremely sappy so pls keep that in mind lol

After a seemingly endless night, tendrils of golden sunlight come crawling through the blinds. They dance over your flesh that’s dotted with soft bites from your lover, and warm it like soft kisses until your eyes peel open.

Satoru’s already awake, ocean eyes gazing at you. A wave of memories of how he touched you so ardently the night before comes washing over you. After it, a wave of heat, his lustful poetry echoing in your mind until it pools between your thighs. Finally, the heat subsides into something warm, a gentle glow which settles within your ribs.

“Good morning,” your lover rasps, voice heavy with sleep. 

You reach out to him until your hand finds his face, your fingers grazing over soft pink skin, your thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. He’s slightly puffy, eyes still ever so slightly droopy, but slumber is not the only thing that simmers in them.

“Good morning,” you reply, your words hoarse yet covered in honey.

For a while, neither one of you says anything, instead basking in one another. Satoru drinks in the sight of you laying next to him, gulps and gulps and gulps it down like it’s red wine, until he’s drunk. 

“Marry me,” he says. Time stops moving and your heart stops beating momentarily. Your mouth tries to move, tries to give a response, but every word you’ve ever learned suddenly abandons your memory. 

He laughs, so obnoxiously beautiful, but within his eyes that carry a millennium of history there is only pure sincerity.

It shouldn’t surprise you this much—his question—not when Satoru had long since carved a space inside your heart, and you in his. You’d been together so long that sometimes you both forgot you weren’t married, and Satoru had a habit of casually stating things like “when I make you my wife”, because it was undisputed that he would marry you.

Still, somehow you didn’t see it coming, and not like this. Satoru Gojo was a man of grandeur–always dramatic, always making a scene, always showing off in some shape or form, whether it was you or his cursed technique. The last place you would expect him to propose was in bed at ten a.m. after a night where he made you see God himself. Although, the more you think about it, this is where he is home. Where he bears the deepest parts of his being to you and where he may shed the weight of a society that idolises him as a god. Where he can ask you to marry him as just Satoru.

“Don’t go shy on me,” he says, still amused by your disbelief. 

“I-yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say, sobbing out a laugh, launching yourself into his embrace and burying your face into his bare chest. 

“What if we did it today?” he asks, his voice reverberating through you until it almost puts you back to sleep.

“Did what?” you ask.

“Got married.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes flitting rapidly over each of his nonchalant features. Once more, you don’t find a single hint that he’s kidding. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it,” he says, his face like a mischievous cat’s. “And I can’t spend another minute without you being my wife, so please, elope with me.”

Unlike Satoru, you were never exactly one for grand gestures. He knew you never had dreams of a big fairytale wedding with hundreds of guests or a giant hall, and it’s precisely one of the reasons why he’s asking this of you.

“The higher-ups are going to be pissed,” you say, leaning in close to his face until there’s hardly a hair’s width between your noses. 

“That’s the point,” he tells you. “Is that another yes, then?”

You stare into the depths of his irises, the ones that are swimming with adoration, the ones that have never changed how they stare at you, even after all these years. Not that you had any doubts before, but suddenly you’ve never wanted anything more. The feeling settles into your bloodstream, to your bones, to the very core of your being–certainty.

“Yes, Satoru, I’ll elope with you,” you say, and then your lips are on his. There’s a million words in the way he kisses you, ones that he would never be able to speak even if he tried, so he kisses you and kisses you in hopes that you’ll understand them. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It is.

You part, sorrowfully, heads spinning, but then you remember you have things to do. 

“I need to start getting ready,” you say, and you already know exactly what his response will be–a groan, a whine, and him begging you to stay in his arms for a little while longer. 

He does just that. 

“Satoruuu,” you say, mimicking the way he whines your name. “The sooner I get ready the sooner we’ll be married. Isn’t that what you want?”

He pouts for the sake of pouting, then his arms loosen around your waist and you leave him with a peck upon his lips before tossing yourself out of bed. 

You spend the next hour and something at your vanity, having never imagined that your wedding day would leave you doing your own hair and makeup.

After Satoru brings you a cup of coffee and plants a chaste kiss to your temple, he heads to the bathroom to shower, leaving you to finish getting yourself ready. When he returns twenty minutes later, he finds you standing in your walk-in closet in only your bra and underwear, looking terribly focused. You don’t need to be a mind-reader to know he wants to tell you to go as you are—he refrains, however. It’s a miracle that he’s able to.

“You should wear that white dress you have. The one with the sleeves,” he suggests, flapping his arms and immediately you know which one he’s talking about. A plain white minidress with flared mesh sleeves and sweetheart neckline that you wore to a fancy dinner once. You fish it out, and Satoru approaches you as you step into it and pull it up your hips. Wordlessly, he zips the back up, holding his breath as he does. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see me yet,” you quip, giggling when you turn to face him. 

“Baby, there’s nothing conventional about how we’re getting married,” he grins, giving your ass a tap as you walk past him to pick out your jewellery. 

Of course, he insists on putting your necklace on for you too, a dainty Tiffany chain with a diamond sun pendant that he gifted you for your birthday years back because he liked to call you his sun. Again, the feather-light brush of his fingers over your skin sends bolts of lightning shooting to your fingertips. It’s reminiscent of the way he made you feel a decade ago, before he had even kissed you for the first time, when his cheesy, cat-like smile would send your heart racing and heat rushing to your face. When butterflies would erupt in your belly and you felt like you were floating. For some reason you found it hard to believe that feelings like that would persist, but it is in Satoru’s blood to prove you wrong, and he did, and he does still.

You decide on a pair of glimmering white Jimmy Choo heels, but before you can even think to put them on, Satoru is on his knees, softly grasping each leg of yours so he can slip the shoes on and carefully tighten the straps one by one. It’s something that never fails to make you giddy–to make you question if you’re even worthy of this man (you know you are, after all he’d spent the last few years doing everything in his power to prove to you that he’s the lucky one between you). Still, you think it’s perfectly valid to wonder what you’ve done to deserve someone like this.

Satoru stands then, a perpetual smile upon his glossy pink lips. He’s in a pair of pressed black slacks that hug his thick, toned legs, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open (because you always tell him you like how good he looks) and nothing to cover his eyes. You’re the only person he’ll be looking at today, after all. He’d die before letting anything obscure his view of you.

He takes your hand and raises it into the air and twirls you around, his eyes drinking in every detail of you, inhaling your sweet, angelic scent, and now it’s his turn to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, as if it doesn’t occupy his mind from the very second he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep. 

He’s still unlearning the idea that he’s alone because it was all that he ever knew from the day that he was born. He’s always had friends and caretakers and people who admired him and who depended on him and who worshipped him, but he was always there at the top, the closest thing to a god that a human could be—by himself. No one could possibly understand him enough to be by his side, not really. Then one day you came along and you slithered your way into the cracks and crevices of his very being and refused to budge, and you showed him that he’s not alone, that there are people who he can trust and depend on and people who he can love. 

He never lets go of your hand, pulling you close to his chest and grinning down at you. His eyes gleam with a mischief that’s all too familiar, one that’s got you instantly suspicious.

“Please don’t hate me,” he says but it’s without any real concern. 

You have an inkling as to what he’s planning, but you don’t even get the chance to open your mouth to question him because one moment you’re standing in the foyer of your home and the next you’re outside of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. 

He predicts the way you smack his chest and whine out a mildly irritated “Satoru!”–it only makes him grin harder, because he knows how much you hate when he teleports you without warning, but right now he just can’t wait another moment (and neither can you) so you don’t have it in you to be genuinely displeased.

As he makes his way to the entrance, you tug on his arm suddenly to stop him after a certain realisation hits you. 

“Satoru, don’t we need a witness?” you ask. 

His eyes narrow in thought and he looks around, cartoon-like, before his face fills with resolution and he’s strolling away from the building with you in tow. 

“Excuse me,” he exclaims, and you follow his gaze to where an older couple are walking by, hands intertwined. They turn to him inquisitively, so he continues. “My gorgeous fiancée here and I are about to be wed. All of our friends were too busy today, so we don’t have any witnesses. Would you spare a moment of time for a young, smitten couple?”

You roll your eyes, but the grin smirk your lips betrays you. “We’re sincerely sorry for interrupting your day. What my insufferable fiancé here means to say is we would appreciate it greatly if you would be our witnesses.”

The couple take a glance at one another, silently communicating before they face you and Satoru once more, nodding their heads.

“It’s our day off, we were just going to walk around the city anyway,” the lady explains, her pale, weathered lips stretching into a gentle smile.

Thus, you waltz into the city hall altogether, and only now does it begin to settle in that you’re about to marry Satoru Gojo. The morning had gone by so quickly– you’d only been awake less than four hours, and during that time you never once stopped to let any of it sink in.

Now, it sinks in. All the way to your core, to the fibres and cells that make up your being. Inside your ribs your heart is swollen, filled to the brim with scarlet red until it overflows and paints everything around it, until every part of you, every seam that holds you together has been altered, touched by something that Satoru gifted you on the first day you met him.

Your lover seems to move in slow motion. Your breath is caught in your throat. It’s a dream, you’re sure of it. Then Satoru squeezes your hand, ever perceptive of your thoughts, and reminds you that it’s not. 

After gathering a pile of documents, a man in a suit takes you to a room that’s a smaller version of a court and begins to lay out the papers, simultaneously explaining each one’s purpose and indicating what you and Satoru must fill out. You provide him with your own documents–birth certificates and proof of residence, and then the two strangers who had offered themselves to you as witnesses give their signatures. 

Your officiant makes his speech in a professional language, far from the flowery words given by priests or family friends in churches or venues adorned with flowers and ribbons along every wall.

Lack of preparation means your vows are a repetition of a script written decades ago: you take Satoru to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

During Satoru’s turn, he hesitates. His eyes shine with a strange epiphany as he stares down at you. 

“...From this day forward, until the end of time. Even death will not do us part.”

There are no words in any language, dead or alive, that are adequate enough to describe the elation you experience. There is no concept, idea, or theory that would truly reveal the way that you are consumed by love for him. It runs through your bloodstream, intrinsic to your very being. 

The officiant announces that you and Satoru are husband and wife. Now you are one flesh and bone. He leans forward, kisses you, and it’s a promise of eternal devotion.

Outside of the city hall, where time no longer stands still but you still feel as though you are not inside of your body, your husband Satoru Gojo bows to the man and woman who made your marriage possible. 

Satoru Gojo does not bow. And while it is easy to attribute it to some god complex, to the product of his upbringing, as many do, those to whom Satoru has shown his soul know that it is rebellion. It is the denial of a convention he refuses to assimilate with, one he does not believe in, one which begs children to be grateful to those who have sown them as though they had the choice to be sown.

When Satoru Gojo does bow, it is not without good reason. Most often it is only when he owes someone his life—so he bows to the two strangers, whose signatures on a piece of paper mean that he is eternally yours.

Beside him, you bow too.

“Thank you,” Satoru says, then both of you straighten up to find the couple smiling before you. There is kindness etched into every line on their face, a fondness simmering in their eyes. Their arms are linked, and all of a sudden you’re looking in a mirror.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” the woman says. “I’m certain you will flourish together.”

“You know, young people are always getting into relationships, but seeing true love like what you have with one another… It’s a rare thing nowadays. Please cherish that,” the man says.

“We’ll be forever grateful for you,” you say. “Thank you.”

The four of you part, but the couple, whose names you do not know, now lives in a part of your mind that can never be erased.

The first thing Satoru does as your husband, as you walk down the streets of Tokyo with your hands laced together, is suddenly disappear into a flower shop as you pass by it, before emerging once more and handing you a bouquet of crimson carnations and white roses with a cheshire cat smile on his face.

“Your wedding bouquet,” he says.

“Oh, Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you muse, allowing your nose to absorb their earthy scent. “Thank you.”

You tug him by the hand that’s woven with yours, pulling him down to plant a kiss upon his cheek.

The next stop is a jewellery store, and you yelp as Satoru pulls you inside with him this time. 

“Pick whatever ring you like, baby,” he tells you as you stand before the glass case where thousands of crystals glimmer back at you, splayed out on a bed of white. “Just to wear until you pick your actual one.”

Blood warms your face. It’s not meant to be a brag. Even if he didn’t have generations of wealth in his bank account, he’d buy you as many rings as you wanted until you found the perfect one. For you, he would find a way.

Your eyes wander over every diamond, over gold and silver and platinum, and it’s not long at all before they all start to look the same. Not wanting to spend your entire wedding day inside a jewellery store, you land on a simple diamond-studded silver band and point it out to Satoru.

“That one?” he asks. 

You nod, a satisfied smile making your lips curl.

Satoru flags down the jeweller, a thin woman with shiny skin, requesting the ring you want. She tells him each of the five diamonds weighs 0.2 carats, making the ring a total of one carat, as if it’ll make a difference to either of you. He doesn’t ask her for the price, but she tells him it’s 550,000 yen—practically theft for someone from the Gojo clan. 

After picking out a matching plain silver band for himself, you and Satoru leave the store and continue strolling through the city. To everyone else, you look like no more than an enamoured couple like the millions of others in Tokyo, and while a part of Satoru feels like he wants to wander up to random strangers to brag to them that you’re his wife, another part cherishes this little secret between you two.

From the day he was born, Satoru Gojo’s wedding was to be a grand affair. Sorcerers from far and wide would gather to witness the expansion of the Gojo clan. It was to be a several day-long event, planned intricately by the higher ups without room for any say from the bride and groom. Satoru did not want that—not for himself, but especially not for you.

Now he laughs as he imagines the higher ups’ faces when they realise he has not only married but eloped behind their backs. Though he thinks he’ll keep his left hand in his pocket the next few times he pays them a visit, at least for a few weeks.

“What?” you ask. His grin spreads from his face to yours.

“Nothing. Are you hungry?” 

“Ugh, yes,” you say. Suddenly your empty stomach becomes even emptier, howling agonisingly loudly.

“Sushi Go?” 

“Please.” 

The nearest one is ten minutes away. When you get there, you sit in a booth next to the conveyor belt, with Satoru insisting on shoving himself into the seat next to you rather than across from you. As soon as his heat radiates into you, however, you feel like melting into him.

After ordering almost the entire menu despite your scolding, Satoru finds the ring boxes and pulls them out of the ribbon-tied bag from the jeweller. He takes your left hand, gently, as though you’re made of glass, and slides the glittering ring onto your fourth finger. He brings it to his lips, then his velvety lips kiss just above where the ring rests.

“Beautiful,” he says. He’s looking at your eyes, not the ring.

You twist it around your finger, lungs empty as it catches every ray of light that comes its way and tosses it back at your eyes. 

“It’s a little big, but I love it.”

“I’ll get you the perfect one, don’t worry,” he says. “To make up for no engagement ring.”

“You make me sound so materialistic,” you quip, taking his hand into yours and slipping the matching silver band onto his bony finger.

“Just spoiled,” he corrects.

You narrow your eyes at him, but it turns into hearts not a moment later. He makes it impossible.

“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” you say, holding up your hands as you lace your fingers together with his.

“I love you,” he says, and the smug, cocky front vanishes, and he bares himself, his true self, to you. “More than anything in this world. I’m gonna prove it to you every single day from now on.”

Your giggle is drenched in fondness. “You already do that.”

“Then I’ll do it even better. This is a promise of that,” he says, thumb stroking over the ring he put on your finger.

His eyes don’t hold an ounce of hesitation, of questioning, of doubt. Only truth.

Your food arrives, and you wish you could say you feel bad about how overtly gross you and Satoru are being, feeding sushi rolls to each other with twinkling eyes, but everything inside you is screaming with euphoria that you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You wipe a drop of soy sauce from the corner of his lips, and he stares at you like you put the sun and the stars and the moon in the sky.

Not to your surprise, you and Satoru don’t finish all of the food he ordered. One of the waiters offers to box up the leftovers, then returns with two paper bags and hands them to your husband, whose unoccupied hand takes yours once more.

He decides he wants to take you to the park. He’s not sure why. It just feels right, and all you want is to spend time with him, so you tell him the park sounds perfect. It’s only another fifteen minute walk, anyway.

When you get there, the emerald lawns are teeming with families, couples, friends. Children run as if they can fly, dogs chase after tennis balls like it is their life mission. Satoru whisks you away from it all however, taking you into the trees.

Nestled amongst the Japanese chinquapin and zelkovas, a cherry blossom spreads its branches out like arms, its blossoms like pink fingertips that flutter as the wind swims through them. Satoru sinks into the cushion of grass at the base of the tree, leaning his broad back against the trunk. Like a cat, you find your way into his lap and rest your head upon his chest, next to his heart. The way his arms wrap around you is instinct.

Sparrows and finches flit about the branches, dancing as they move from one tree to another. Two turtle doves perch together, huddling into the other even though the air is warm.

Even if you and Satoru do not stay bound together in this life, if death takes you or him early, one thing you know for certain—you’ll find him again in another life. Right now, however, you have him in this life, and nothing else matters.

dedicated to @ushiwhacka and @tetsuskei <3 i love u both

[eddiesghxst]

finishing some human geography notes and thinking about eddie fucking himself into you as you lay on your back or tummy and he tells you to read the textbook or your notes out loud because he likes to hear your breath stop in between sentences. plus he gets to hear how smart u r. and then he finally just rolls over and tells u to shut ur big smart brain off and go dumb for once

i am a comm major with a psych minor for public relations but i love my history stuff!!! any of those subjects works for me 😖😵‍💫🐱✊

stink….im feeling things🥴

he’s got you on your tummy, a pillow folded under your chest so you can be comfortable as you read over your notes. his knees are pressed into the mattress on either side of your hips, warm fingertips pressed into the soft flesh of your hips and ass.

your cute little skirt is flipped up so your ass is on full display and eddie’s core twists with pleasure when he smooths his hands over your ass to spread your cheeks, groaning at the sight of your wet cunt gripping his cock with every slow thrust he gives you.

he’s hardly paying attention to what you’re saying now— he was at first, but now he’s too close to cumming, and when eddie’s close to cumming his brain is shot to shit.

it’s your hitching breath that causes him to snap out of the daze your pretty cunt has put him in.

he presses in deep, cock twitching at the sound of your small whine as you stumble over your words. he squeezes his eyes shut, gathering the little strength he has to force himself to pull out, softly patting your hip as he strokes his wet cock once, “alright, smarty pants,” you whine as he spreads your sticky folds apart, “sit up i want you to ride me.” he breathlessly says, giving you a gentle pat to your cheek before shuffling over to sit against your headboard. fluffy pillows and the dizzying scent of your perfume surrounds him and he has to squeeze at his sensitive tip to reel himself in as you clumsily turn over.

you’re fucked out and dazed when you settle over eddie’s thighs, a tiny ghost of a pout taking over your lips, “but… i didn’t finish the chapter.” you point out. your eyes are so glossed over from arousal and pleasure that eddie coos as he reaches out to drag you over his cock, fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you slide your cunt up and down the slippery length of his dick, his ruddy tip catching your clit every now and then, and eddie thinks your noises are the cutest thing each time it happens so he keeps doing it.

“we’ll finish later, baby. need you to cum on my cock right now, can you do that for me?” he presses your hair back and thumbs the warm skin below your eye and you hum with a nod of your head.

he hums in approval and nods down to where your your crotches meet, “sit on it, sweetheart, take me all the way down.”

he’s gently guiding your hips as you lift up to line him with your entrance, softly caressing the skin beneath your skirt as you sink down, taking him inch by inch until your clit is pressed flush against the coarse hair on his pelvis.

eddie thinks you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever set his eyes upon, and he can’t help it when he reaches up to push your flimsy cropped shirt up over the hills of your chest, palming at the soft and warm flesh of your tits and moaning when you wriggle against his hips.

“my baby’s so fuckin’ smart. gonna ace your exam, aren’t you, honey?” he coos. your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you nod, lifting your hips just to sink back down. he sighs, head resting against your soft pillows as he squeezes your hips. he curses before clearing his throat, “how about this,” he starts, “why don’t you shut off that pretty little smart brain of yours for a little while and let me make you feel good, yeah?”

god, you’ve never agreed to something so quickly in your life.

[eternalxvenus]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 3 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain.

wc: 1.4k

notes: part three out in less than 24hrs?!? who would've thought

previous chapters: part 1 | part 2

Topper: hey we need to talk, it's about Rafe.

Your heartbeat started to pick up, but you weren't sure why. Topper didn't say it was anything bad, but you knew realistically he wouldn't be texting you unless it was.

You: hey Top, what's going on?

Topper: are you busy? can I swing by?

You: i'm on the mainland right now, can you tell me over text? i'm worried

Topper: yeah... so I don't know if you know but Rafe went to Kelce's party a couple days ago.

You: yeah I know

The sinking feeling in your chest lifts a little. You figured Topper was going to tell you Rafe had been doing coke since he knew Rafe was supposed to quit.

Topper: while he was there he started doing lines off the table. then a little later he started making out with Sofia. i'm not sure how far it went

You stared at the message for what felt like forever. Then a video pops up in the chat, so you click play.

There are some random people doing lines, but then in the back corner, you can see Rafe and his ex-girlfriend Sofia practically trying to eat each other's faces. You couldn't seem to find the energy to be sad about it. You felt almost indifferent but shocked at the same time.

You: thanks for letting me know Top

Topper: of course and just know you don't deserve that.

You click out of your messages and before you can think twice, your phone is ringing, waiting for your call to be picked up.

"Hello?" Rafe's voice came in through the speakers. He sounded tired but not like he had been asleep.

"Rafe. I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth." 

"Okay... what is it?"

There was silence as you took a deep breath. Your voice was smooth and calm as you asked, "Did you cheat on me?"

You heard shuffling on the other end of the line. "What?"

"Did you cheat on me, Rafe?"

"No, I didn't cheat on you. What is going on?" He sounded baffled by your question.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Rafe! I saw the video," You tried to keep your voice low since your parents were probably asleep.

"Baby what are you talking about I'm not lying! I didn't cheat on you. You know what, I'm coming to the mainland. I'll be over there soon." 

He ended the call before you could tell him not to bother. The last thing you wanted to see was his stupid face, knowing his lips were all over Sofia's, and God knows what else they did. 

At the beginning of your relationship you were really insecure because of his history with Sofia but Rafe always assured you that he wasn’t interested in her anymore. You laid in bed staring at the ceiling while the video played over and over in your head. All you could wonder was what made your relationship with Rafe go left so quickly. You felt like crying and punching Rafe all at once. He made you feel so much at one time it could be so overwhelming.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱✩•̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Your phone chimed a while later with a text from Rafe saying 'I'm here. Please let me in so we can talk.’

With a sigh you begrudgingly made your way downstairs and to the front door. When you opened it Rafe was standing there with a tired yet worried look on his face.

"Can I please-"

You put a finger up to your lips. "Shh. You'll wake up my parents." You let him inside and signaled him to follow you into your room. Before you can close the door fully, Rafe starts asking questions. "Why do you think I cheated on you? What video are you talking about?"

"Rafe, I saw a video of you sucking face with Sofia at Kelce's party. Did you fuck her too? Is that why you didn't text me all day?"

Rafe was looking at you like you'd grown two heads. "I am so fucking lost right now. I don't even think I saw Sofia at the party!"

You pull up the video and show it to Rafe. He watches it a few times before sitting on your bed with a sigh, dragging his hands over his face. You watch him with your arms crossed, waiting to see what he'll say. Rafe then pulls his phone out of his pocket, pulling something up.

"Look, this is a picture taken the day of the party." He shows you a random photo that was taken of him and Kelce, also displaying the date on it.

"So what?"

Rafe grabs your phone going back to the video and zooming in on the spot where he is seen kissing Sofia. "My outfit isn't the same in the video. It's an old video from when we were together."

Looking at both the phones you realize that he's right. "Oh... well why would Topper send me this if it's old?" You question out loud

"Wait a minute, Topper sent you this?"

"Yeah he texted me earlier saying we needed to talk but I told him I was on the mainland." You show Rafe the texts from Topper and he's seething.

"I could kill that son of bitch!" He shouted, and you had to cover his mouth, reminding him your parents were asleep. You sat on the bed looking at him, now you were the one who was confused so you decided to flat-out ask him what was going on.

"When you weren't talking to me I had told Kelce and Topper what was going on and he was the one who convinced me you didn't wanna be with me anymore. You were ignoring my calls and everything so he said I should just forget about you and not make things worse." Suddenly Rafe was on his knees with his hands on your hips.

"Baby listen, I know that I can be a major fuck up sometimes and that I don't have the best way of dealing with stress and everything but I would never cheat on you. I'm sorry about y'know, the coke and your birthday and everything else that I've ever done wrong, but I hope you realize that I love you so fucking much. You mean the world to me, and I don't wanna lose you." You stared at him with wide eyes as tears started to fall down his cheeks and brought up your hand to gently wipe them away. "So if you still want space, I'll give it to you. But I know I'm ready to change and make everything up to you."

You leaned down to place a soft kiss on his lips. You definitely weren't expecting him to pour everything out like that. "I love you too, and I don't want you to think I'm ever judging you or being a hardass. I just worry about you. If something ever happened to you..." you sighed, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"I promise not to make you worry." Rafe stood up and kissed you hard while cradling your face. He tried to leave to give you space, but you insisted he'd stay and said you'd head back to the OBX tomorrow. Rafe wanted to talk to Topper in person, which you didn't see going well, but you'd worry about it tomorrow.

You gave him plenty of blankets and pillows since he didn't want to take up so much space in your twin bed and chose to sleep on the floor. Once you'd gotten under your blankets, sleep whisked you away. 

Rafe, on the other hand, could barely get his mind to calm down. He was fucking enraged with Topper for trying to pull some bullshit like that. Rafe should've known he was a snake. He noticed the way Topper's eyes would linger on you or how his hugs went on for a little too long. But Rafe didn't think Topper was stupid enough to try and break you two up.

Now that he had finally cleared everything up with you, he wasn't worried. Rafe was going to take care of Topper as soon as he got back to OBX. He'll make sure to get the point across that nobody fucks with his girl and his relationship.

part 4

likes, comments, and blogs are greatly appreciated!

taglist: @readingsmuts @1aarii1 @bingbongbum @stargirlsturniololover @babygirl229 @poisonedsultana @rafescamshoe @devils-blackrose @spiderflunk @quicksilversg1rl

[cosmicpearlz]

can you open up the door?

summary: you guys hated each other, so why does your heart feel broken when you see him with another girl?

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

a/n: i feel like i'm running out of ideas to write, please request anything! i absolutely love writing for jude and would love to hear what you wanna see/read :) anywho, enjoy my loves!

jude felt like he was on a high. winning the final cup with real madrid had been a dream come true. now, he gets to go home and relax before playing in the euro 2024 competition. although, going home also meant seeing the one person he dislikes. you and jude had a long history of hating/disliking each other. it was hard because of how much time you guys spend together, being that you not only shared the same friend group but the same best friend as well.

"you know jude is coming home, right?" trent says to you, while you rolled your eyes.

"yes yes, i know already. i promise to be on my best behavior," you attempted to give him your best smile. it only made the boy laugh at how you tried to hide your annoyance.

"why don't you guys like each other again? i feel like the two of you would be perfect together. a proper power couple if you ask me."

"never say that again. i wouldn't be caught-" before you could even finish your thought, jude comes through trent's door.

"daddy's home," you groaned at jude's crude language. upon hearing the groan, jude locks eyes with you. have you always been this pretty? somehow prettier than the last time he saw you. jude rids the thought out of his head and turns his attention to trent. they shared a hug before jude takes his seat right across from you on the other couch.

"you didn't tell me that you invited the yapper."

"and he didn't tell that the dickhead was coming. so i guess we're in the same boat," you crossed your arms to your chest and glared at jude.

"guys can we not start?"

"he literally started it first! i was here way before he came in and interrupted things."

"well guess who was in trent's life first? oh right, it was me. you're just some outsider that thinks she fits in but you don't."

you weren't sure why that hurt your feelings as much as it did. maybe because deep down, you felt like he was right. you moved from america to england for college as an exchange student and landed a job working for england's football team as their photographer. it's where you met trent and jude.

"you're such an asshole jude," you tried to ignore the stinging in your chest, as you packed up your stuff and getting ready walk to your apartment.

Jude began to feel guilty for obviously hurting your feelings. he doesn't know why he says what he says. it just comes out but he thinks that this time it was too far. trent had told him about how you felt a bit lonely sometimes being that you weren't from england, and here he had used it against you.

"dude," trent looks to jude with disappointment, as the door slams closed behind you.

"i know, i'm sorry. i don't know why i said it."

"why don't you guys get along?"

"i'm not even sure anymore. we just continue to hurt one another."

-

it's been weeks since you had last spoken to jude or trent. avoiding the both of them like the plague, pretending that you won't be leaving with them to germany in exactly two days. today, jobe had texted you that he was throwing a going away party for the three of you. you tried desperately tried to get out of going but the younger boy wasn't having it.

so you went, unfortunately. dressing in a black mini dress with the black red bottoms you saved up to purchase for graduation. finishing the look off with a red handbag. the loud music from the club greeted you, while you walked in.

"you made it!" jobe yells over the music, after seeing you walk in. you smiled and gave him a hug. it never made sense to you that jude's brother was nicer to you than he was.

"did i actually have a choice?"

"no."

"exactly," the two of you burst out into laughter, which caught jude's ears. he won't admit it to anyone but he knew your laugh like the back of his hand. it was one of things he liked about you.

"are you excited to leave for germany?"

"honestly, yes and no."

"why the no?" jobe leaned in closer to whisper, "anything to do with my brother?"

"no."

"i know when you're lying. it definitely has something to do with jude! why don't you guys just kiss and make up," you gasp at jobe and slapped his shoulder.

"news flash, we don't like each other. plus, i would never kiss him nor date him," you replied, causing the younger boy to roll his eyes.

jude overhead everything. would it really be so bad if you were to date him? he wasn't sure why that left a sour note in body but he was determined to not let it bother him. instead, deciding to occupy his time with the first pretty girl he saw. just to further deny those hidden feelings. to get over someone, might as well get under someone new.

-

"you've been avoiding me," you looked to find trent taking the seat next to you on the couch.

"i've simply been busy."

"doing what? moping?"

"hey, i don't mope."

"so what are you doing right now?"

"people watching." trent followed your line of vision, finding that you were looking at jude engaged in a conversation with a pretty girl. you watched as he moved closer to her, causing her to giggle and place a hand on his arm.

"you have feelings for jude." you quickly shake your head in defense.

"no i don't."

"stop lying to yourself. you guys are both attracted to each other but don't know how to act on it. you guys spent at least two years pretending to hate one another, why?"

"i don't know."

"but you do. just tell me why. i'm your best friend." somehow, your heartbeat felt as if it were louder than the music. you do remember why you originally started to dislike him but you've never said anything.

"it's because i overheard a conversation between the two of you. we were already friends but it was the day you were going to introduce me to jude. i heard him say 'she will never be on my level or in my league'." you felt your eyes water as you brought up the same awful feelings you felt back then.

"y/n that's not what he meant. you didn't hear the rest of conversation."

"whatever, i don't care." you pick up your handbag and stand to leave. the saltiness of the tears falling onto your cheeks, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. trent stands up with you, trying to offer some sort of comfort that you didn't want. it was embarrassing enough to cry over someone that wouldn't even give you a second thought.

"i think i'm going to go home."

"y/n."

"i'm fine trent. please let me go," you whisper, not being able to look up from your heels. he nods at you and you take that cue to leave. rushing out of the loud atmosphere to the quiet outside air. jude's eyes follow your figure as you rushed out. immediately, he ignores the girl he was flirting with to follow you outside. you notice a tug on your arm, turning around you see the last person you wanna see.

"jude, i'm not in the mood."

"what's wrong?"

"why would i tell you? go flirt with the girl you were just with."

"well something is wrong with you and i want to make sure you're okay."

"why do you even care? i'm just an outsider trying desperately to fit in, right?" you watched as jude's mouth opens and closes, with furrowed brows, you scoffed.

"exactly. goodnight jude," you took one more look at him before getting into your uber that happened to show up at the right time.

jude walks back into the club with an angry expression on his face. he was more mad at himself rather than anyone in specific. he walks to trent, who was sitting in the same spot, nursing the same drink.

"please tell me what happened. i knew she was okay and then i seen her walk out."

"i totally knew it. you guys have feelings for each other!"

"trent."

"she was looking at you with the girl at the bar and finally told me why you guys don't like each other. turns out, it was complete miscommunication. y/n overheard you say 'she'll never be on my level or in my league'. i tried telling her that you didn't mean it like that but she didn't want to hear it."

the realization dawned on Jude as he thought back to that day. trent showed him one picture and he swore that he could have fallen in love right there. you had mixed his words up to rejection rather than realizing he meant that you were too good for him. maybe he could have worded it differently. you guys certainly wouldn't be in this mess now. would you guys be wrapped up in the same bed sheets whispering to each other? would you be at his football matches in madrid? would you visit him and let him show you around? a whole year he's played on the team and a whole year you could have already been his.

-

you were relaxed in your bed, having criminal minds in the background. the only sort of comfort you could find. stupid feelings and stupid jude. you wanted the floor to swallow you whole and then maybe you wouldn't have to deal with this.

a knock on the door draws your attention. who would be knocking at two o'clock in the morning? you get up from your bed, walking into the living room towards the door. you opened the door, finding Jude standing there with a small smile.

"what do you want?"

"to talk."

"no," you closed the door before the boy could say anything else. jude takes this sign to keep knocking, instead of just leaving.

"open the door. please, just hear me out and I'll leave you alone afterwards." you leaned your head on the door debating on letting him in.

"open up the door. i'm not leaving until you do." you finally open the door after two minutes, afraid that the knocking was going to bother your apartment neighbors. you pulled him inside and closed the door once again.

"what do you-"

"you have it all wrong. what you overheard was wrong. i meant that you looked like you were too good for me. that i didn't even deserve to try and win you over. how could you ever think differently? you are the prettiest girl i've ever known-"

"jude."

"i was only rude to you because that's what you did to me when we first met. there are so many things i wish i did differently. i could be the one kissing your tears away and not causing them. you're not an outsider, far from it actually-"

"jude!" you finally got the boys attention, locking eyes with him. you couldn't believe that your feelings were returned. all the time that was wasted. without a second thought, you pulled his shirt collar and kissed him. your lips molded together perfectly. a sudden eagerness that made the kiss more intense. jude's hand slipping under your pajama top, to touch your bare skin trying feel closer to you. you pulled away first, feeling overwhelmed with emotions.

"i'm so sorry sweetheart. i didn't mean of it." jude swipes away the tears that fell from your eyes.

"i'm sorry too."

"you have nothing to apologize for. it's my fault."

"it takes two to tango jude. i've said some pretty awful stuff too and i'm sorry."

"where do we go from here? what do you truly want y/n? if you want to pretend this never happened, i'll comply." his eyes trailing your face for some sort of sign.

"i just want you."

"you have me baby. you always have," jude whispers, before connecting your lips together once more.

[renecdote]

rebirth

Bi Buck cured my writers block, please have this short little episode coda for 7x04. [Read on AO3]

It’s after one a.m. when the light, bubbly excitement in his stomach sours, fear creeping in. Buck’s next breath sticks in his chest, his heart races, his fingers start tingling, and it’s so much like what kissing Tommy did to him, but for all the wrong reasons this time. His phone screen is suddenly too bright in the darkness, his search history a towering mess of questions, and Reddit threads, and quizzes he clicked into then out of before he could finish taking them.

The problem, he thinks, is that it felt so right. Tommy tilted his chin up and pressed their lips together and it felt like—himself, for the first time in… forever, maybe. Buck doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with that. Go out on Saturday night, maybe (hopefully) kiss Tommy again (and again and again and again), but then… But then?

He wants to call Eddie because he always wants to call Eddie. He wants to blurt out all the things he kept under his tongue when he apologised earlier. He wants to hear Eddie say his name, soft and warm and knowing, because if anyone can make him feel seen and heard and at home in his own skin, it’s Eddie. He wants so hard it’s almost painful.

But it’s the middle of the night, he can’t call Eddie.

He can’t call Maddie either. She would answer, he knows, and she’d have just the right words for the spiralling anxiety that’s sucking him in, but he’s not going to scare her with the phone ringing in the middle of the night. There have been too many calls like that that have only been bad news.

He won’t worry Hen or Bobby with a call like that either.

And as much as Buck wants to confide in them, wants to crack his chest open and show his family what has been inside the whole time, there’s another part of him that doesn’t want to share. Not yet. He feels like the newborn calves he saw at the ranch in Montana, young and fragile and unsteady as he tries to find his feet. The world suddenly feels bigger. Brighter. And it’s exciting, it’s freeing, but he can’t help feeling daunted, like he might get lost if he’s not careful.

“Bisexual,” he says aloud, just to hear himself say it, to taste the way it feels on his tongue not just as a word but as an identity. It feels like an exhalation, trembling at the edges but not just with fear, or excitement, but with relief. He thinks of that first breath of air when his head came above water in the tsunami, he thinks of being struck by lightning, he thinks of stepping into Station 118 for the first time, he thinks of catching the Jeep keys Maddie tossed him in the dark of a Hershey street all those years ago. Buck knows what it is like to be reborn, but he has never had a kiss make him feel like this before.

Did the first time you kissed a girl feel like this? he wants to ask Hen. Does it feel like this every time?

Is this the magic you were talking about when you first met Shannon? he wants to ask Eddie.

I figured it out, he wants to tell Bobby. I figured out what being at ease with myself feels like.

He has a shift in six and a half hours, but sleep feels as impossible as it did when he first climbed into bed. Buck lifts a hand to trace his lips in his dark, reliving the memory of Tommy there. He imagines Tommy everywhere else too, trailing his hand down his body, fitting Tommy into all the places a few dozen women have touched before. He feels like a teenager, giddy at just the thought of sex—of everything—and he exhales a laugh in the dark.

Buck opens his phone again and sends a text to the one person he knows is on shift and might already be awake: when you said you’d pick me up on Saturday, you meant in the chopper right?

Tommy replies instantly: those things are a bitch to park

And a second later: maybe on the third date

There it is again: breath stuttering, heart racing, fingers tingling. Buck wonders if this is what it feels like to get behind the controls and fly. He grins at his phone. He can’t wait to find out.

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

okay unhinged essay about ragatha probably #1 idk i don't think this is all of my thoughts but here's what i could actually put down

i think the most surprising thing for me Personally is getting a lot of my interpretations of ragatha correct ? like . the thing that almost destroyed my motivation for this blog is the fear that my unhinged overanalyzation of her mannerisms in the pilot were Wrong - i actually thought about canceling everything when i was off from canon - but now ... yeah i'm not doing that

i guess it's just that we had so little of her in the first episode that i thought i was Manifesting her issues but Nope she really is this much of a Loser

first of all ! i suspected that she has low self-esteem but Goodness Gracious !! i didn't expect it to be Actually almost non-existent ?? like i thought i was Exaggerating for this blog but no , no person with a normal amount of self-esteem would Warp an incident so much in their head that they somehow believe something going wrong is Their Fault .

like she's so focused on pomni the entire episode because she Genuinely believes that the fiasco in the first day was her fault ( even though IT WASN'T , but she's really that used to quickly blaming herself ) and wants to make it up to her . but of course pomni is still adjusting and is Overwhelmed by everything ( which is understandable ) so she's not really in the mood for ragatha's bullshit

but with how ragatha reacts and what she subsequently tells kinger - she read those more as ' i do not like you ' than ' i am too fatigued to care about anything right now ' which is such a Large leap , but considering she was the one who Apologized to pomni for giving her a stressful first day ( which was COMPLETELY out of her control , ) it makes sense that she assumes that pomni has something against her - which was not helped by how none of ragatha's attempts of starting a friendship were reciprocated

i do understand why she would Think it's her fault - as pomni's a newcomer and More Stress is the last thing she needs , especially in her first day - but ' oh she doesn't like me ' is still Such a hasty conclusion that someone who already ... Doesn't Like Themself would jump to .

of course i can't not talk about the potential history between her and kinger . through their dialogue you can tell that ragatha's one of those people that took a batshit long time to truly adjust to the circus - which has a lot of interesting implications . with how she seems to understand the process of finding an exit in episode 1 , it explains a lot . my girl was so Not well when she entered the circus .

honestly it's just nice seeing that ragatha at least has Some support despite her being the one who holds everything together - it makes the ending impactful in my opinion ; they do really care for each other and will be saddened if one of them is gone .

also of course she asked if everyone's alright despite having a cleaver to the head ...

something that also has been nagging me for a long time is how much she always gets the short end of the stick . like , literally every time she's on screen , she Has To Get Harmed in some way . i would brush this off as slapstick when her official pin doesn't have her HAVING A KNIFE TO THE CHEST ???

Maybe it's just slapstick . maybe with her having parallels to kaufmo considering how he's said to be a goofy toxic positivity type guy like ragatha and is the one that has abstracted thus far is just a coincidence and doesn't speak levels to what might become inevitable as the series goes on ,

[woso-dreamzzz]

Wingwomen

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of the Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The Wingman episode

"We are your wingwomen for today," Morsa says to the camera attached to the car," This is Pernille Harder. She plays for Denmark. She plays for Chelsea." She smiles at Momma. "I know you pretty well, I can tell you that."

"You do," Momma says," I can introduce you too. Magdalena Eriksson, captain for Chelsea FC. Playing for the Swedish national team, making a lot of tackles on the football pitch but, also, at home sometimes."

Morsa laughs awkwardly. "Oh, okay."

You laugh too and Morsa reaches back to wiggle your leg. "And our little baby," She says," y/n. The future of Sweden."

Momma rolls her eyes as she pulls out of the spot. "Denmark."

"Sweden."

"Denmark."

You giggle again. "I like Arsenal!"

Momma and Morsa both groan and you beam a sunny smile.

"We started off as just friends, playing together for the same team in Sweden," Morsa says during the drive," Pernille asked me if I wanted to take a math course with her and then we studied math. And yeah, the rest is history."

"Momma doesn't like math!" You say from your seat as you make your girl-swan and girl-moose kiss.

"I like math, princesse!"

"Don't teach me math," You say back, sticking out your tongue.

Morsa laughs. "Now the producer wants to hear about the photo."

"The photo."

"The photo, yeah."

Momma smiles. "Which one? The one with us or Princesse? Because both of them kind of blew up."

"Our one first."

"It was taken at the world cup.. Yeah, after the game I kissed you. The picture was taken and we suddenly just had twenty-thousand more followers on Instagram and Twitter. I didn't get it, like, what happened?"

"After that picture," Morsa says," We really became role models. A lot of people were looking at us and were happy to be able to see that people can be open. If you're two girls in love or a girl and a boy or two boys, it doesn't matter, whatever you are. That's the message we wanted to share. It was a complete coincidence that the picture was taken but it ended up becoming a really beautiful thing."

"And the medal picture?"

"The medal picture," Morsa says softly. She turns her head to look at you. "What's the medal picture, princesse?"

"When I was wearing your medal!" You reply with a silly grin," I was very little but you still gave it to me."

"She did," Momma says," We've got that picture framed somewhere in the house. It was very cute."

"I was just making sure she understood how heavy it was," Morsa laughs," For when she wins her own."

"I'm gonna win a World Cup medal!" You insist.

"Of course you are." Morsa presses her finger to her ear to listen to the producer man before turning to Momma again. "Who or what convinced you to join Chelsea? Anyone in particular?"

Momma laughs. "Morsa thinks she's the reason we moved to Chelsea, princesse."

"She is," You say, stubbornly crossing your arms over your chest," Could've stayed at Wolfsburg."

Momma rolls her eyes. "I just think it was just the perfect timing and obviously you were playing on the team."

"It's a little bit of a bonus."

"That's a bonus, yeah. No more bath time duties, no more having to play all the time. You definitely have your uses."

"Morsa plays with me a lot," You cut in," And she does my hair in the morning. It's not always good but she tries."

Morsa turns to look at you in betrayal. "What do you mean it's not always good?!"

You shrug. "Sometimes you tug too hard."

Morsa still looks at you, mouth open wide before she reaches back to tickle your sides. You shriek and try to wiggle away but you're still strapped into your seat so you can't go anywhere.

"Do you have a funny story about the party?" Morsa asks," After winning the league?"

Momma's face lights up. "Ugh, yes!"

Morsa hides in her hands. "Are we really sharing this?"

"Morsa got excited," You say," Because she had a party with the team and forgot that she's too old to party."

"I'm not old!"

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not!"

"You're a Morsa. All Morsa's are old! You're too old to party! You went blergh everywhere!"

Morsa rolls her eyes and looks at the camera. "Because of Covid, because of everything, I hadn't been able to party in over a year. I didn't really know how much I could handle in that evening and..."

"And Morsa threw up in the toilet!"

"And I was taking care of her," Momma says," Like the good girlfriend that I am."

Morsa smiles weakly as you giggle. "Yeah, you had to do girlfriend duties."

"And Millie had to take over babysitting the princesse."

Momma pulls up to the restaurant and you eagerly look out the window, kicking your little legs. It's not often that you get KFC.

"Okay, Pernille," Morsa says," It's time. It's called The Colonel's Quiz." She pulls out a little KFC bucket.. "You can start."

"I'll take the first one."

"And just so you know before we start, Princesse gets to choose a forfeit for the loser so there's a lot at stake, okay?"

"Okay," Momma says," What is my favourite food?"

"I would say..." Morsa thinks for a moment. "Like sushi or Japanese food."

Momma nods. "It's Japanese slash Mexican."

"That's what we had yesterday!" You giggle.

"That's right, princesse. I got one correct answer!"

"Okay, so the next one," Momma says," What is my worst habit?"

"It's you sometimes ask too many questions," Morsa replies.

You think for a moment. "Er...You make me speak English at home!"

Morsa and Momma laugh.

"I said I ask questions before I try to figure it out myself."

"Two points for Morsa!" You announce. You like this game. It's fun.

"How many times did I win player of the year in Denmark? I mean, if you were a really good girlfriend, you actually should know."

"Five times?" Morsa asks, not looking too sure.

"Is that your final answer?"

"No, six times?"

You frown. That doesn't sound right either.

"Is that your final answer?"

"That's my final answer. Is it correct?"

"Yes?"

"Is it correct?"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh my god!" Morsa celebrates

You shake your head. "No," You say," Morsa's wrong. It's seven, I counted all of them at home."

Morsa laughs. "Pernille, the producer says she's right. It's actually seven."

Momma's eyes go wide. "Oh, is it? I thought it was six!"

"Momma's won too many," You say earnestly," 'Cause she can't keep up with how many she has." You shake your head almost in disappointment. When you win prizes when you're older, you're never going to forget how many you've got.

"Two out of three is not bad," Morsa says.

"No."

"Not let's see how well you know me." She picks up the slip of paper. "Who is my favourite music artist slash band?"

"Er..." Momma looks a bit worried. "Leonard Cohen or something."

"It's Lana Del Rey."

"Are you sure?"

"Momma," You say," I think Morsa knows who her favourites are."

Morsa laughs. "Thanks, princesse. Next question, what is my party trick?"

"I know! I know!"

"Let Momma answer."

"Er..." Momma doesn't look like she knows. "You get drunk and you throw up."

"Shut up!"

"Those are bad words, Morsa! You have to put money in the swear jar when we get home!"

"Yeah, I don't know."

"Princesse?"

"Morsa can open a bottle of beer with her teeth!" You say," She's going to teach me when I get all my big teeth!"

"Magda!"

Morsa tries to change the subject quickly. "Zero points for you, Pernille. We already have a winner but let's do the last question just to see if you know me a little bit. Which team did I make my international debut against?"

Momma blows out all of her and you giggle.

Morsa sighs in disappointment. "Oh, okay well...I'm gonna get out of this car now. This is not good."

"I think it is..." Momma thinks for a while. "Ukraine?"

"No."

"Hungary?"

"No. It's France."

Momma sighs.

"The forfeit is yours. Princesse?"

"Er..." You hadn't actually thought of one in advance. "Er...You...You have to order the food in an English accent!"

Momma looks stricken and Morsa laughs, leaning back to give you a high five.

"Princesse..."

"You have to!" You wave a finger at her," 'Cause you got the forfeit! Forfeits aren't meant to be fun!"

"Are you ready to practice your accent?" Morsa teases.

"You have to say please and thank you a lot," You say helpfully.

Momma pulls up to the window and in a shockingly bad accent speaks," I'd like a Twister Wrap and I'd also like a salad, please."

"Is there anything else?"

"Princesse, what do you want?"

"Popcorn chicken! And er...Fruitshoot!"

"What flavour?"

"Apple and blackcurrent!"

"And a kid's popcorn chicken and an apple and blackcurrent fruitshoot," Momma says in her bad accent.

As you pull away from the machine, the car is filled with laughter.

"Yeah," Morsa laughs," I don't know what the hell that was but it was great. It's so funny that you're like a farmer girl from Denmark doing a posh accent."

The laughter keeps going when Momma drives past the window and then tries to take the tray with her.

"If you're going to eat in the car," Morsa says as she passes you your food and drink," Then you can't spill anything."

"I won't!"

"Okay," Morsa says as you start the drive through," We've got another question here. Which of the players from our team would you want to see doing a Wingmen episode?"

"Well," Momma says," The first one I was thinking about is Sam and Erin."

You giggle. "Sam and Erin are very silly. Like clowns!"

"What about Emma Hayes doing an episode?" Morsa offers.

"Yeah that...that wouldn't be quiet," Momma replies.

"Coach Emma talks a lot," You say," She talks and talks and talks-"

"Where are we?"

"-And talks and talks and talks-"

"This is Harry Potter's World."

"-And talks and talks-"

"I don't know. I've never seen it."

You stop your repetition to gasp. "Momma! But we live in England now! That's...That's really bad!"

Momma laughs. "Sorry, princesse. I didn't realise you were this passionate about it. Who even showed you them?"

"Millie did," You say," She's fun. I like Millie."

"Is she your best friend?"

You think for a moment. "Erin and Sam are my friends too and Guro but they're not my best friends."

"Who's your best friend?"

"Jessie! I like Jessie!"

Morsa laughs. "You and Jessie are two peas in a pod. Best friends forever!"

"Jessie's my bestest friend."

Momma unlocks the car and hoists you out. "Home sweet home. I think we've been some good Wingwomen. "

"I mean this was great fun." Morsa gets out too, pressing a kiss to your cheek before smiling at Moma. "I loved you English accent, that's the best thing for me today."

"I liked the food!" You say, stuffing some chips into your mouth.

"We're never going to get her to eat healthy again," Momma laments.

"Enjoy it while you can, princesse," Morsa says," Because you've not getting anymore fast food for a while."

You stick your tongue out at them. "My bestest friend Jessie will buy me some!"

[vaaaaaiolet]

Good thing your doctor's always on speed dial for your health scares, but can he help you out of this one?

gn / m, fluff, romance, hypochondriac reader, leon is your teledoc LMAO, denial of feelings / obliviousness, slightly ooc?? phone call transcript format in lowercase

word count: 1.2k // read on ao3

a/n: for @idyllcy + @hiya-itsamber :3

just a silly scenario i wrote in 2023 when those corny tiktok dual pov slideshows were a thing 😭 leon's dialogue is indented + in blue and nothing is proofread i fear

RINGING… [0:01]

[line connects.]

hi doc, I just wanted to call and tell you that I need to schedule an appointment tomorrow.

     that’s awfully soon, I just saw you last week. what’s wrong?

what’s wrong? more like what isn’t wrong. honestly, I think I’d rather just schedule the appointment and not waste more of your time. are you free at 4 tomorrow?

     my job is to ask you what’s wrong so I can fix it. cut out the middle man and tell me how you’ve been feeling. the poor receptionist needs a break anyway, flu season has her answering calls from her bathroom.

[nervous laughter.]

     are you in the bathroom?

…

     never mind that. do you have any new symptoms or have your old ones worsened?

this has to be against HIPAA or something, doc. I’m telling you, I’ll just call later.

[loud flushing sounds and tap water running.]

     I’m still waiting.

have it your way then.

     mhm.

I have so many symptoms, I don’t even know where to start. you know how I am about cleaning things and staying on top of my health. my chart last appointment was perfect!

     minus the minor cold you had, yes. has your cold not improved?

I’m not sure. the congestion and coughing’s all disappeared, but now I have really bad headaches. and hot flashes.

     headaches?

uh huh.

     what are they like?

they’re…weird. they start in my head, but they spread, like, everywhere.

     I see.

     can you tell me more about how they spread? is it one big headache or a bunch of little ones at a time?

they start in my temples and if I don’t take medicine for them fast enough, they move down to the bridge of my nose and into my cheeks. I swear I can feel these headaches in my chest.

and that’s when I get these hot flashes. like someone’s microwaving me on high, and I get dizzy, and out of breath, and-

     you get headaches in your chest?

in my chest! headaches aren’t supposed to do that right? it feels like my heart jumps. that’s not right, is it?

     [sounds of pen scratching on paper.]

but the curious thing is that I’ve had these symptoms before. they’re not new.

     huh? I thought they started right after your cold.

no no, it’s just that they go away when I have my appointments. I’ve been doing some research online and I think that right at the time you prescribe me my new medicine, they go away. it all lines up with the release time of the inhibi-

     you worry too much. I’m sure it’s not that; none of the medicine I’ve ever given you lines up with your symptoms.

oh.

     why didn’t you tell me this when you first started coming to our office? this is important information that needs to be added to your file.

but it really wasn’t that important-

     you don’t understand. I need your entire medical history to assign you the right medicine.

     I could have triggered some autoimmune disease, or, or, flared up more symptoms.

     god, I should have done the bare minimum and checked with your nurse. Florence, is that her name? I need to make some calls. I’ll call you right back.

hey doc? you’re starting to sound like me. don’t worry, I’m coming in for my appointment anyway tomorrow. you don’t have to get all military about it.

     you’re one of my first patients. I worry about you.

you do?

     it’s my job to worry about you. i quite like my job.

that felt nice to hear.

     it’s the truth.

the reason I didn’t tell you about it earlier is because I got a second opinion and I felt guilty about it. I felt like I was cheating on you, somehow.

     [laughter.]

     what part of your research gave you that idea? you don’t believe I can handle you seeing another healthcare professional?

it’s embarrassing! it wasn’t even a healthcare professional. it was my mom.

     your mom counts as a second opinion?

she’s licensed in all matters of life.

     I see.

…and the heart.

     that so?

she told me it was mmmfmmf [unintelligible].

     hm. I still need to hear about this incredibly important second opinion.

she told me I just had a silly crush. can you believe her?

     and she might have a point, you know. how did she come to that conclusion?

she totally dismissed my hot flashes and told me that it was normal. same with my headaches and what i’m definitely sure is a developing heart arrhythmia.

     that’s…interesting.

I get it, I thought the same thing you’re thinking right now. except she predicted a symptom I didn’t even have when I asked her.

     and what symptom would that be?

insomnia! I can’t even sleep anymore. I stay up all night in bed, thinking.

     and what do you think about?

to be honest, going back to the doctor’s office.

your office.

     my office?

yeah. whenever I go to your appointments, my symptoms go away. it would be stupid to bring up my mom’s theory during checkups, so I’ve never said anything.

     you’ve got to be kidding me.

     your master plan is to keep getting sick and showing up to my office for 20 minutes a month?

well, it sounds stupid when you say it!

     how long did you think this was going to last?

I don’t have a choice. it’s either this or nothing. 20 minutes with you taking my vitals is worth the aches and pains leading up to it because i feel so much better afterwards.

it just feels nice seeing you. i think it’s an environment trigger.

hey doc, you still there?

     tell you what, I think you’re going to have to get that second opinion.

why would I do that? didn’t I just explain to you why I can’t? you’re the only one that makes my mysterious disease go away, and besides, there’s no such thing as a second second opinion.

     listen to me. I can’t continue your current treatment anymore. it'd be breaking HIPAA to treat you like I need to because of the type of disease you have.

     and to be honest, I don’t think it has a cure yet.

are you serious? how much do I need to pay for treatment? what’s my prognosis?

[clattering of pens on desk and line breaks up briefly from movement.]

[quietly.] doc, am I going to live?

     [laughs.] you’ll live. I have no doubts about that.

well then, why can’t you treat me?

     I can treat you. it’s just that I can’t as your doctor.

you’re not making any sense.

     you’re still going to need to schedule that appointment for tomorrow, but it’ll have to be using a different phone number. call XXX-XXX-XXXX.

[furious pen scratching on paper.]

alright, and who am I asking for on the line?

     ask for Leon. and dress nice.

that’s required for the appointment?

     he has special conditions. it’s a quality of service thing.

…and you’ll be there with the doctor at the appointment?

     [light laughter.]

     I will.

okay, see you soon.

     take care.

[line disconnects.]

CALL ENDED WITH: DR. L. KENNEDY M.D. [14:45]

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[toournextadventure]

a novel life pt.1

Summary: You're a Lit professor at Blackmoor University when you meet Samantha Carpenter. Life becomes... a lot more exciting with her around.

Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: swearing, bullying, sister arguments Pairing: Sam Carpenter x GN!Reader (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) (pt.5)

You liked Sam.

No, that was quite the understatement. You would almost - almost - go so far as to say you loved her! Not quite yet, obviously, you still weren’t completely, absolutely positive. But you were pretty certain that the things you felt for her could be classified as love. At least that’s what your dad said love was, and he had been happily married for 41 years at that time, so how could you possibly argue with that kind of experience?

It wasn’t like you had meant to fall in love with her. Not that you actively avoided it, you just… hadn’t been looking for her. Both you and Sam had a habit of lying when people asked how you met; they always assumed it was some kind of meet-cute. Her friend Mindy was determined it was something adorable, like meeting at a coffee shop or running into each other at the library.

The truth, the cold hard truth, was much more ridiculous.

“Why are you watching me?”

You blinked hard and looked up at the… woman (?) standing in front of you. She was all blurry and all you could really make out was dark hair and beautifully brown skin. If you really squinted, you could see just enough of her posture that, when coupled with the tone, was indicative of frustration. Maybe even anger, if you pushed it.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t know I was.”

“How could you not know?” She asked, her tone staying incredibly not happy.

“I, uh-” you cleared your throat, “-I couldn’t see you.”

Her laugh was condescending. And pretty. “You were looking right at me.” Her blurry frame shifted. “Come up with a better excuse.”

This strange woman was rather mean, wasn’t she? You kind of liked it.

“It’s not an excuse,” you said once her frame had officially stopped moving.

“Then how did you not see me?” She asked. “What are you, blind?”

You smiled to yourself and set your bagel down. “Kind of,” you said as you lifted your head to face her. Or at least you hoped you were. “I forgot my glasses at my office.”

“Fuck,” she said softly. Her tense tone had disappeared rather quickly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “Sounds like you’re used to being watched.”

“You have no idea,” she said quickly.

Wait. That was an opening. You hadn’t talked to a woman outside of work in ages. This was your chance!

“Want to sit down over coffee some time and talk about it?”

You really really wished you hadn’t forgotten your glasses. Without them, you couldn’t see the look on her face. Did she think your question was rather rash? Rude, even? Or perhaps she thought it was a welcome idea, even just to get something off her chest. From the sound of it, she had a lot on her mind.

“Sure,” she said eventually. “I’d like that.”

The rest, as they say, was history. You had both gotten your coffee and you hadn’t forgotten your glasses again. Which made the coffee date a little awkward because then you could see just how truly beautiful she was, and you had not been prepared for it. She had watched you become a stuttering fool who could only spout random, unwarranted facts about things.

By some miracle, she had asked you on a dinner date.

The singular benefit of the entire situation was that you had met at the very beginning of summer break. You had decided not to teach a summer class that year, instead opting to use the hotter months to find more material that you could bring to the fall semester. There had to be a wider range of literature from the Romantic Period outside of what the school had already been teaching when you joined the staff. The literature classes at the moment were so… basic.

Because of this, work never came up. Sam never asked, and you never even thought to tell simply because… well, you just hadn’t thought of it. You hadn’t been hiding your profession, you hadn’t even tried to be sneaky about it. After all, your entire apartment was filled with tomes and first editions of novels and the closest thing you could get to original manuscripts of the ancients. And Sam had very certainly seen the inside of your apartment more than once.

The thought had  never occurred to you to bring up what you did for a living. After all, you finally had a girl…friend? You weren’t quite sure if that term could be used officially, but you were going to use it in your internal monologue. Regardless, this was the first time in years, how were you supposed to remember everything she might want to know? Besides, it wasn’t like she had asked yet.

And neither had her sister! Who, unfortunately, you were starting to think didn’t like you. She had never said it out loud, so you couldn’t be sure, but she made sure to give you a, uh, look whenever you would come over. Sam had told you that Tara loved movies - horror movies to be precise - and you had even managed to find a rare copy of a “famous” B-list movie for her!

It still didn’t work.

“Do I need to try and cook dinner for her one night?” You asked, looking up from your book. Sam was still doing her own studying for her night classes.

“If you cook for Tara, she will eat you alive,” Sam said without missing a beat. “She had to cook for herself for years, she will tear you apart.”

“She’s so scary,” you whispered to yourself before looking back down at your lecture notes. “What if I found the original script of her favourite movie?”

At that, Sam put her pen down. Your stomach fluttered; had you said something wrong? Oh of course you had, you absolute fool. You don’t question someone about how to win over their siblings! Well… did you? Maybe you needed to do some research on the topic.

“Your efforts are sweet,” she said with a soft smile, “but you can’t push Tara. She’ll come around when she’s ready.”

You frowned. “How will she be ready if I don’t try?”

“Trust the process,” she said. She leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips before going back to her studying, and you were left stewing in your own thoughts.

The process didn’t make any sense.

—---

“Do you have to go?” Sam asked in a raspy voice.

You looked up from tying your shoes. Sam had rolled over to her other side on the bed, giving you the perfect view of her. Her hair was a mess and her eyes could barely stay open, but she looked just as beautiful as always. The sun had barely started to peek through the curtains to hit her skin at just the right angle. It looked like she was glowing.

Maybe you didn’t have to go.

No, you had students waiting, of course you had to go.

“I’ll be back after work,” you said quietly. Her eyes were still mostly closed, and you didn’t want to jolt her awake; she deserved her beauty rest.

“Be safe,” she said.

You finished tying your shoe and stood up, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the lips. She sighed softly. “I’ll be safe.” You placed one more kiss on her forehead before pulling back. She quickly fell back into bed, already fast asleep.

Thankfully, all of your stuff was outside the bedroom. It made it easier to stay quiet, tip-toeing your way out of the room and easing the door open and shut with as little noise as possible. You waited a moment, listening through the door to see if she had woken up, but nodded to yourself in confirmation before turning back around.

And facing Tara.

“Your nerd shit is by the door,” Tara said a little louder than you would have liked. She was going to wake up Sam if she didn’t quiet down a bit.

“Thank you,” you said. Because of course that was something normal people said in that situation. “Are you, uh, headed to class?”

You gestured your head toward her backpack. Which was clearly filled with school books. Which you were more than aware meant that yes, of course she was heading to school. Where else would she be going? You weren’t doing a very good job at winning her over, now she was going to think you were stupid.

“No, I’m running away,” Tara said with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh,” you said sadly. Then, her words clicked in your mind and you perked up. “Oh.” Okay, she wasn’t going to think you were stupid, she was simply going to bully you.

Jokes on her, you had been bullied all your life, you were practically a professional.

“I’m heading that way too,” you said as you ungraciously shoved your arms through your jacket. “Want to go together?”

Tara looked you up and down for only a fraction of a second. “Absolutely not.”

You watched, dejected, as she exited the apartment without another word. Although you weren’t entirely surprised, you weren’t exactly happy about the situation. Well, there went one of your chances at winning her over. You would have to try again next time. And maybe not be so… what did you hear Tara call you the other day… pathetic in your attempts.

Which was going to be rather hard to do when you couldn’t even catch your bus, leading to you having to walk the long distance to the university. It led to you shedding your jacket before getting halfway to your destination, and blisters on the backs of your heels from your shoes. Maybe you didn’t need to dress quite the same if you were leaving Sam's apartment; clearly it wasn’t a safe choice.

You were nine minutes and 27 seconds late to your class.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you said the moment you stepped into the classroom. Everyone was still talking, but they quieted down slowly. “I missed my bus.” You tossed your briefcase onto the desk and started digging for your papers. “Which means, lucky for you, we can skip icebreakers and get right to it.”

There was a mix of mumbled approval and sighs of relief at the release from icebreakers. You would admit, you weren’t too upset about it either. Even though it did help everyone learn names - ahem, it helped you learn their names - it was rather intimidating. No one knew what to say, it put everyone on the spot, and more often than not ended up with no one talking the entire semester. This was better for everyone, and at least you had an excuse.

“Alright,” you huffed, finally pulling the stack of papers out of your briefcase, “pass these around while I tell you about the changes in readings.” Groans quickly followed. “You won’t be buying more textbooks, I’ve got PDFs to share.”

You quickly handed the stack of papers to the student closest to the front, giving them a smile and a mouthed “thank you.” She smiled back and nodded before handing them back. Even as you reached back to grab your own notes, you finally, finally looked out at the class.

And froze when you met a pair of familiar brown eyes.

Tara had a look that you would have classified as “furious.” Although her nose scrunched up like Sam’s, and you could truly see the family resemblance in their anger. That was… well, it sure was something. You hoped you could grow to get used to all of this enough to keep a professional demeanour in class. It wouldn’t do you any good to lose it now simply because your girlfriend’s (?) sister was in your class.

Admittedly, class went on without a hitch. Eventually, after nearly the entire hour had passed, Tara had managed to relax enough to look over the syllabus and even give her input on a few of the readings you had changed up. She was smart. You hadn’t heard much from her, but she was incredibly smart. It was going to be a delight to hear her opinions throughout the semester.

“Alright everyone, I’ll let you out a few minutes early,” you said once you had thoroughly exhausted everything on the syllabus. Had you really needed to take as long as you had? No, but you weren’t going to miss a single piece of information. The point of teaching was to prepare everyone for success, not to throw information out at them and hope they could comprehend it well enough on their own.

The class quickly started packing up, talking about nothing that you had told them about. Which was as expected. You hadn’t been teaching for too long, but you weren’t naive; you knew students usually only cared during class and gave up as soon as they were free.

“Oh, Miss Carpenter,” you said quickly, catching Tara right before she left. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Your heart beat loudly in your chest as Tara sighed, but otherwise nodded and trudged back into class. She didn’t sit, but stayed standing on the other side of the desk. A defence mechanism if ever you saw once. Though, judging by the scar you could see on her hand, you assumed it was for good reason.

“I want to check in with you that my presence won’t negatively impact your time in this class,” you said once everyone had finished filing out of the room.

“Will my presence negatively impact your time with my sister?” She shot back quickly. Why was she so fast? You didn’t answer. She sighed and shook her head. “I’m a big girl, I can handle you as my professor for one semester.” 

“Good,” you said with repetitive nods. “Please inform me if you change your mind.” Tara rolled her eyes, but you weren’t phased. “I do not mean to impede upon your success.”

“Shut up,” she said softly, “you sound like such a parent.”

“I mean it, Tara,” you continued. “You don’t have to like Sam and me, but I don’t want it to impact your life-”

“-Oh my god, I get it,” she interrupted quickly. Her weight shifted between her feet. “Just shut up already, I have another class to get to.”

“Okay,” you said with a gesture toward the door. “Stay safe.”

Tara didn’t bother answering before practically sprinting out the door. You hoped she was being serious about not being too influenced with you as her professor. It was against every part of your being to create a barrier between her and her academics. If she didn’t like you, that was one thing, but if it caused a problem? You would have to talk to Sam about it.

Oh god, you did sound like a parent.

By the time all your classes had ended and you could finally head back to Sam’s apartment, you had nearly forgotten all about Tara being in your class. Now, it certainly didn’t help that you were so focused on getting back to Sam so you could crawl into bed with her and rest. You clearly had better things to think about than a potential, unconfirmed incident at school.

Well, you thought you had better things to think about. When you approached Sam’s apartment door, you could hear elevated voices inside. Elevated voices that were related to each other. And that were surely unhappy about something. Oh gosh. You debated walking away, but what if they were in trouble?

You would not have been the one to save them, but by golly if you weren’t going to try.

“They’re one of my professors, Sam,” Tara shouted while you walked into the apartment.

Oh jeez. You should not have tried to save anyone. Sam was standing near the couch with her arms crossed defensively across her chest. Across from her, Tara was near the kitchen, her backpack and books strewn along the table as if she had thrown it there. Which, judging by her apparent anger, was likely.

“You can’t just date one of my professors,” she continued. “That’s so wrong.”

“You’re an adult, Tara,” Sam said, “you can handle one semester of this.”

You debated stepping in, but couldn’t decide if that would make things better or worse. Clearly Tara had an issue, and you didn’t want to throw it back in her face. That certainly wouldn’t help you win her over. You decided to stay put for the moment.

“I don’t trust them, Sam,” Tara practically shouted. Not quite, but she was building it up. “They just want to show up, worm their way into every part of our lives, and I’m not supposed to be suspicious?” She asked. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“This isn’t-” Sam stopped when she met your eyes.

Tara turned around at Sam’s sudden halt, groaning when she saw you standing there. You lifted your shaky hand slowly, giving a half-hearted wave. Sam’s eyes softened as she watched you, but Tara’s only hardened. And, you supposed you couldn’t fully blame her. She… made a good point.

“I can head out,” you said softly.

“Good-”

“-Don’t.” Tara and Sam said at the same time. Sam glared at the younger Carpenter. “You don’t have to go.”

“I don’t mean to intrude,” you said with a slight shake of your head. “I can come back another time.”

“I’ll walk you out,” she said.

“Seriously?” Tara asked. “We’re talking.”

“And we can talk when I get back,” Sam said quickly. She practically pushed you out the door. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You didn’t get to see Tara’s face at Sam’s order. No doubt it was… not happy. It made you… sad to see them arguing, especially about something as insignificant as you. There was absolutely no reason they should be arguing about you.

Perhaps there was also a small bit of relief at being an only sibling.

Sam leaned against the door and closed her eyes before letting out a drawn out sigh. Your inexperience got the better of you; you didn’t know what to do. Not only had you not had a girlfriend for *ahem* a little while, you also didn’t have siblings. Was this normal behaviour for siblings? For sisters? Surely it was.

No, you needed to think, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Sam was clearly upset in some form, and you needed to do something to comfort her. What was comforting? Ah, you knew. You reached forward carefully and grabbed Sam’s hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. They linked together perfectly, like they were meant to be.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked down at your hands. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips before she looked back up at you. There was a slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes; the main indication of her smile that she was holding back. You loved that crinkle.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Don’t be,” you said with your own smile as you pulled her closer to you. “I don’t blame her for being cautious.”

“I guess it’s my own fault,” Sam said. You both started slowly making your way down the stairs. “I openly disapproved of her partner, so.”

“Payback,” you said with a nod.

“I didn’t know you were a professor,” she said shyly.

You chuckled. “I didn’t know you didn’t know.”

“Tell me about it?” She asked.

You both stepped onto the ground floor in tandem. As much as you wanted to stand there with her all night, you knew she needed to have a talk with Tara. If any of you wanted this to work, you would have to put in the effort and do the things you didn’t want to. At the moment, it was Sam and Tara hashing it out.

“Over dinner?” You suggested. “Next Thursday?” She smiled. “I don’t have class Friday morning and a co-worker suggested this delightful little bistro.”

“That sounds great,” she said. “But you’re paying.”

“It’s only fair,” you said with a shrug. “I suppose this mess is my fault.”

“100%,” she said, biting her bottom lip immediately after.

You didn’t have to be experienced to know what to do next. Her arms instinctively wrapped around your neck as she pulled you closer. Your hands fell to her hips, holding her securely against you. You didn’t have to move very far to kiss her. She tasted lovely; the taste of chocolate, a splash of wine, and the ever-present hint of cigarettes.

She tasted like love

—---

The countdown to your date with Sam had seemed to drag on endlessly. The days seemed to go by too slowly, you only got to talk to her on occasion, and you had been thrown back into the swing of things with… far too many classes to preside over. It was your own fault, of course, but that didn’t make it any more tolerable.

Add to that the fact that Tara, while behaving herself, was keen on giving you some rather distasteful looks during class? It was a rather long week.

But the day had finally arrived! You had finished your class and practically sprinted - to the best of your ability - to the bus stop to get back to your apartment. A simple shower to freshen up, a new change of clothes, and you were all set to go. You stopped by the little bodega on the way, purchasing a small bouquet of flowers, and then you were on your way once again.

Sam had texted you earlier in the day, telling you to stay in the lobby and let her know when you were there. You assumed, rightfully, that it was because Tara was up in the apartment. Things might have been resolved, but that didn’t mean she had to like you yet. It was a fair compromise for the moment.

You texted her as soon as you stepped into the lobby, and she said she would be down momentarily. That was alright, at least the lobby was cool compared to the hot post-summer air outside. It wasn’t miserable, but it was enough that you weren’t too keen on being stuck outside.

“Nice shoes,” a voice said. “They look clean, where’d you get ‘em?”

You looked up from the hole you were staring into the floor to meet the eyes of a youngster coming into the lobby. They had rather kind eyes and a smile that, though accentuated by scars on both sides, was one of the most genuine you believed you had ever seen.

“Thank you,” you said as you rolled your shoulders back. “They’re from, ah, Allen Edmonds? Rockefeller Plaza?”

“I think I know that place, yeah,” the person said. “You’d recommend them?”

“Of course,” you said with a nod. “They’ve been the finest quality shoes I own.”

“I’ll have to check ‘em out,” the person continued. They nodded at the flowers in your hand. “For a girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you said, “she’s on her way down.”

“She’ll love ‘em,” they said kindly. “I’m on my way up to see my girlfriend, so I’ll leave ya alone.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “You two have a wonderful evening.”

“You too,” they said with a crooked half-smile and a small wave before jogging up the stairs two at a time.

It only took another moment or two before Sam came down, looking as stunning as always. Her dress hugged her curves in all the right places - which was every place - and complimented her eyes beautifully. Paired with a simple bracelet and necklace, and you were one lucky person.

“You look gorgeous,” you said softly, pulling her into a quick kiss but being careful not to smear her makeup. “These are for you.”

Her smile was small, a smile that almost gave you more butterflies than her bigger one. This one was almost reserved for you exclusively, and you would have done anything to see it more often.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, leaning up again to press a kiss to your cheek. You hoped it left a lipstick stain.

You grabbed her hand and led her out of the building, hailing a taxi and ushering her in before following behind. In the privacy of the cab, she let her head fall onto your shoulder as she played with your fingers. You didn’t look down, but you felt her twisting your class ring round and round, almost nervously.

“You know,” you said as the cab pulled to a stop at a light, “I met the most delightful young fellow in the lobby before you came down.”

“Oh really?” Sam asked. She had stopped fidgeting with your ring and had started running her fingers over your clothed thigh.

“They asked about my shoes,” you said with a nod, “and said you would love the flowers.”

Her fingers stopped moving.

“What did this “young fellow” look like?” She asked. Her head lifted from your shoulder; you instantly missed the sensation.

“About yea high,” you said, indicating vaguely how tall they were. “Crooked smile.”

“Scars on their cheeks?”

“That’s the one,” you said with a nod. “I liked them.”

“That’s Tara’s partner,” Sam said with a huff.

“Oh?” You asked, intrigued. Well, you certainly wouldn’t have guessed that.

“The one I don’t exactly approve of,” she continued.

“Oh,” you said with far less excitement. “Well, I thought they were lovely.”

“I’m sure you did,” she said. Her tone indicated annoyance, but you glanced down in time to catch the small smile on her face that gave her away.

You pulled her back into your side and kissed the top of her head as the cab continued its route to the bistro. Maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult to get all four of you to get along. You loved Sam, even if you weren’t quite ready to admit it yet. After all, with her hand in yours and your lips pressed to her skin? What was the worst that could happen?

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 99

Years ago, a young viscount had his heart stolen from him, locked away in a vault deep beneath his family's estate. The teenaged boy flirted around too much, which worried his parents, for if the boy were to fall in love and be loved in return, their plans at marrying him off for more land and more riches could all be for naught. But the good thing about stealing away his heart, was that he could surely love no more, and even better, nobody could possibly love a heartless man. Years later, the boy grows into a man, who becomes a bard, who becomes The Bard. Jaskier has a history of being a bit of a manwhore. He's been told he "falls in love with everyone he meets." That isn't it, though. Jaskier loves a good dance under the sheets, but it can't be love. His heart is locked away. He knows when he holds a hand to his chest, and feels the painful magical scar marking where a heart should be, and no pulse underneath. Jaskier has worried for years and years if he's truly apathetic and only does good things to save face, but he does things when he's alone and nobody watches, so he thinks he must be doing it just to do it, right? He likes doing nice things, he likes helping, he likes liking... But surely if his heart is gone, he can't, right? And then there was the issue known as Geralt. Surely a heartless man cannot fall in love. And yet... Jaskier can't help but fall head over heels in love with the witcher. Even if it hurts every time he gets butterflies in his stomach. His chest burning and aching every time he feels something for the man. But his parents had told him that nobody could love him now that he had his heart taken away. It must've been part of the spell, along with the pain. So he loves Geralt from afar, knowing that Geralt could never love him back. So when Geralt confesses he's in love with Jaskier, Jaskier is very confused. "How? I'm heartless." "What? You're the kindest man I've ever met, Jaskier-" "No, seriously. My heart is gone. They said nobody could fall in love with me with it gone." Jaskier then realizes that it wasn't part of the spell at all, they had just assumed! Jaskier eagerly tells Geralt all about it, only to be surprised by Geralt's haunted, horrified expression. Geralt RIPS Jaskier's shirt off with his bare hands (Hot! Jaskier likey!) and inspects his scar, thoroughly. "We're going to lettenhove." "What? Why?" "We're getting your heart back."

[inklore]

put on a show

premise: you like people watching you turn into a pitiful mess of need and desire, and hobie likes being the cause and effect of it.

pairing: hobie brown x (f)reader

word count: 2.3k

contents: established relationship, they’re both camstars, badly written british talk probably, unprotected p in v, coming inside, dirty talk, light choking, hobie has tongue and nipple rings because i said so, oh and tattoos, praise.

note: finally putting this out into the world instead of in my head, enjoy, eat it up, and thank my bby sil for sending in this request that made my brain short circuit.

You had seen Hobie first. 

Or rather, that’s the story he insists be told when your friends ask how you two met.

That it was you who was bored after your own stream one night and scrolled through the lives and found him. Stumbled upon him by luck, and your tongue heavy and dry in your mouth when you saw his tattooed chest, body leaning back against a deep purple sofa. The sheer-ish look of the velvet made his body look ethereal with him perched on it—knees spread as his fist lazily stroked himself. 

As if it were nothing. As if the piercings on his face and nipples, his thick hair, and the black studded collar around his neck didn’t make him look like a fallen angel. Like the users commenting on how hot he looked or how beautiful his cock was, it meant nothing over the comments of people cracking jokes with him and making the corner of his lips pull up in a smirk as he held a teasing conversation with them. 

A conversation you would have with a friend. Fully clothed. Maybe around a slice of pizza.

Not completely nude with your hand around your cock. 

And maybe that’s when you first fell in love with him. 

When you stayed for his quick quips and banter with his fans rather than watching him get off.

Of course, until you actually watched him get off. 

Watched the way his bottom lip hung open, brows furrowed, heels digging into the cushions of the couch as his hips bucked up into his fist. As his breath and words became heavier, more incoherent, and harder to understand with his accent, the closer he got. The harder he fucked up into his hand. 

The noise he made when he came, spurts of his come decorating his tattooed skin, was all you needed to see to know Hobie had pushed his way to the top of your—possible—favorite things to get off to list; your fingers typing out the only word you could think of into the chat: beautiful. 

“Looks like we've gotta celebrity in the room with us.” He smirked while reading your username. Thanking his tippers before giving everyone a salute and signing off. 

His words indicated that Hobie had seen you first.

That the story you tell is missing the prelude of it where Hobie tells them how he’d watched your streams before you’d ever watched his. Something he keeps between the two of you when he’s between your legs murmuring against your thighs about how he loved watching the men in your chat section be at your mercy from even a flash of your pretty pussy. 

And while you remember vividly the first time your eyes set on Hobie, it’s harder for you to fully comprehend how the two of you got here. 

Together. 

Streaming together. 

A couple. 

Who fucks for all to see on the internet. 

Strangers begging Hobie to leave his teeth marks in the globes of your ass, and within those same seconds, others are begging you to edge him with your mouth until he’s a swearing, groaning mess. 

You’d never tell your friends the nitty gritty details of it all. A simple “yeah, I found his stream first and the rest is history” is better than “yeah, I found his stream first and now he fucks me into the mattress of our shared bed and turns my ass towards the camera to show everyone his come dripping from my pussy”. 

So you keep it simple if anyone asks.

And give the rest away to strangers. 

To people who want both you and Hobie equally. 

Who send in tip after tip that one would think is the reason the two of you do this. Why you keep coming back and giving them what they want. 

You’d asked Hobie once why he likes to stream, among his other decently paid jobs—modeling, gigs with his band—that he could be doing steadily rather than this. He had told you that some scout manager for some big modeling agency tried to sign him after a show he did. Talked a big game about money and getting him in the clothes of real designers, the ones that mattered, only to end the conversation by saying how ‘his body, his rules’ only worked when you were with an agency that mattered. 

So Hobie, being Hobie, proved him wrong. 

Stuck it to every fake body positive agency out there by putting himself—his full self—on display on the internet, only for sales of the upcoming designers he was modeling for to be trending worldwide before the clock struck midnight. 

It made your reason for streaming a little less proactive. 

“You like it when people watch you make a total mess out of ya self don’t you, love?” He asks, his accent thick and deeper when you have his cock in your mouth like this. With your back splayed across the bed, your head hangs from the edge as Hobie uses your throat. As his hips create a pattern of thrusting slowly, then hard. The slow strokes move the underside of his dick against your tongue in a languid way that makes you moan around him as you savor its weight. The hard strokes burn your throat and make tears stream down into your hairline as spit and precome mix at the sides of your mouth and chin. 

All you can do is nod around him. Eyes blurry and doe like as you look up at him from upside down. See the lopsided grin he’s giving you. See his stomach muscles tighten and move each time he hits deeper in your throat than the last, your throat constricting around him, unwilling to take him any further until he repeats the stroke and it grows accustomed to him being there, welcoming him with a whimper and your hips canting down against the bedspread. 

And he was right. 

You loved people watching you look totally consumed. Fucked out and raw with pleasure and need. 

It was your favorite part of it all—before Hobie.

Watching the chat come alive with praises and degradations, from how you fucked yourself into exhaustion and delirium with a vibrator or the slow grind you would do against your pillow that always turned you into a whimpering mess. 

You wanted people to see you in that weakened state. To be in awe of how badly you wanted to come or be fucked. 

And Hobie loved watching you almost as much as he loved being the one to make you enter that state of delirium with just a swipe of his thumb across your bottom lip or a bite of your nipples. He loved doing the little things that would work you up to the point of your pretty eyes begging him for more—to be rougher, to go faster. 

It’s why the two of you made the perfect team. 

The perfect show. 

He loved someone who was addicted to what he had to give, and you loved everyone watching you take whatever he was willing to give you. 

And you both loved how heady the sight of each other's pleasure made you. How good Hobie looked with his head back between his shoulders, a hard swallow making his throat bob, groans slipping from his wet lips as you sucked on the tip of his cock as he pulled it out of your throat. Your tongue laced with the taste of his precome. 

Hobie's eyes light up as he runs his thumb along your wet bottom lip, leaving a trail of your mixed saliva down your chin and up to your neck, where his fingers splay across the column of it. His rings warm against your heated skin. The involuntary intake of breath your lungs make when he adds the slightest bit of pressure makes his cock twitch. 

Makes him want to fuck your throat with his hands right here so he can feel himself, feel how you fight back your body's survival need to struggle with something being that deep past your tongue. How you ignore it and do the opposite by moaning around him. 

You look messy, dazed, and all his.

As much as he craves to paint your tongue with his come tonight, with one sidelong glance at the screen, he can see that your fans want to see his come somewhere else. Somewhere that’s already wet and making you squirm when he reaches over your body and cups your pussy against his palm. 

Two fingers slip past your lips, making you mewl and squirm as your thighs clamp around his wrist. Your clit swollen and sensitive from his earlier abuse of it; his mouth attached to your pussy, the metal in his mouth aids in the friction of your hips to get him to where you were greedy to have him, and the metal nicking your clit in just the right way to make your back bow. 

“Should we show’em how soaked this pretty pussy is?” He hums against your chest as his pierced tongue runs along the mounds of your boobs before rolling against a nipple. Your body contorting against him; a whine the only answer you can give. Hobie grins against your skin, “thought so.” 

The embarrassment someone might feel to be now on their knees, chest to the bed, ass in the air, and Hobie’s fingers running through their wetness, has long since left your body. Embarrassment didn’t belong in this line of work or in your relationship with him. The two of you were like open books read and reread, pages torn out and dogged eared. He knew your dark parts just as well as you knew his light parts. 

So with the squelch of his fingers fucking into you, your entire bottom half facing the camera and giving everyone the perfect view and show of your arousal, of just how wet you had gotten from Hobie down your throat, makes you moan into the bed. Makes you beg him to fuck you. 

“Has she earned it, do ya think? Should we fuck this desperate pussy?” Hobie laughs at something, something you can’t see or even be jealous of not seeing because you’re too busy pushing back on his fingers. Too busy looking just as desperate as he describes. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” You feel his lips press against one of your cheeks before his teeth bite into the muscle, making you squeal. 

And with one quick movement, you're pulled in the other direction, your ass flush against his pelvis as he thrusts into you. 

The noise you make sounds more like a wounded animal meeting its end than something graphically sexy. But you know they’re eating it up. That Hobie loves it. If the way he starts out at a hardened pace is any indication of the matter. His fingers and rings dig into your hips as he fucks you; he doesn’t even have to pull your hips to him because your body is doing the work for him. Pushing back on him. Meeting him halfway and making his cock drive harder and deeper into your pussy. 

“Sounds so fuckin pretty, doesn’she?” Hobie leans over your ass and presses a few kisses to your spine before reaching up to grip your shoulder. One of his legs bent up at the knee, giving him more leverage as he pounds into you. “She feels fuckin’ amazing, mates.” He groans, “god. The way she grips my cock like her pussy is tryna pull me in further, and further,” his thrusts accentuate his words as his hips snap harder and at a new angle now. Making you sob into the bed. Your fingers are messing up the fabric of Hobie’s comforter. “Such a greedy pussy.” An airy laugh falls against your skin as his mouth bites at your shoulder.

Making your stomach flutter and your body hang at that precipice. 

It only takes a few more strokes and his thumb against your clit and you’re coming. Crying out as your body finally crashes down from that pleasurable high. That need finally being sedated and brought to a place of calming satisfaction. Like a wound being licked clean. Taken care of by the one thing, the one person, who could make the ache bearable. 

“Good girl,” Hobie grunts into your ear. “S’fuckin good,” he says in that deep octave that makes your body swoon. Makes those sparks of arousal hang on longer and longer as he continues to fuck you. As his hips snap and fingers pull you back onto his cock until he’s coming undone. Until curses are mixed with your name and he’s praising you and your pretty pussy for taking him.

And when he turns you around again, your ass back in view of your fans—the people you’re sure are going crazy in the chat right now. Their praises, their jealousy, and their tips all ping ponging through the chat. 

God she’s such a good little slut isn’t she

Fuck you filled her up nice 

Make her choke on it next time 

$100 pounds if you eat it out of her mate 

Ya’ll are amazing!

Your body shudders when you feel Hobie’s fingers run through your sensitive lips, the squelch of his pointer and index pushing into you—the smallest hisses breathed out from your lungs from the sting of your swollen hole—gathering the remnants of his come on his fingers.

“Look at the camera, love.” Hobie says softly, soothes a hand at the back of your neck to give your head a more comfortable position as you move yourself, but keep your ass in the air. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open your mouth for him; no need for silent orders. You just do it. Happily. His fingers press down onto your tongue as you wrap your lips around them and suck off his come.