#a thing that was satire until it wasn’t

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

The Final Curse of Ophelia Cray

fun YA adventure

follows a girl who’s seen as cursed because of her recently hanged notorious pirate queen mother, and runs away to the navy where nobody will recognise her

and her half-sister who’s desperate to find her before she’s arrested for using a fake name, to bring her home to their dying father & save the family business

both get on the bad side of some pirates and have to brave storms to find each other

aroace MC, sister relationships

arc from netgalley, out april 9

[starshipsofstarlord]

locked away

summary. whilst hiding out from walkers in a closet, you grow extremely bored. the only thing to do is daryl, but you have to make sure he stays quiet

warnings. smut, handjob, sub!daryl, dom!reader, praising, mentions of gagging, crying

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The aroma of cigarette smoke that clung addictively to his clothes filled your nostrils as you hid in union together, avoiding the stream of deadly walkers that marched in their haphazard staggering through the wide hallway. There had been worse that you survived through, so as long as you didn’t alert the parasites that filled the decayed human bodies of your presence, you would be fine.

Boredom struck you after the first hour of leaning all of your weight against the chipped brick wall, listening without consent to the groans and growls of the dangerous passers-by. If you had a nickel for each time you expressively rolled your eyes that had adjusted to the shadows which conjured a graphite colouring to which you could see, you would be astoundingly rich in a world without cash currency.

You had an impulse to blabber out the most random thoughts that appeared intrusively in your mind, although you were sure if you dared to your beloved Daryl would gag your mouth with that dirty red rag and tell you to shut up; and it wouldn’t be a first time for that. Your shoulders slumped defeatedly as the pressing circumstances of the long and drawn out waiting game refused to come to an end.

How many goddamn walkers were out there? Actually that was an answer you’d rather not find out whilst you were contained in a narrow closet which was consumed with lacklustre silence. Daryl wouldn’t even meet your eyes in the dark space, sternly pent up from your antics during the run that had lead you into being entrapped by your own free will and vigilance to live another day. He was pissed, and worst of all in this circumstance; turned on.

His pools of pitiful blue distinctly avoided your gaze, trying his darnest to focus on the stakes that were against you both. But he was pursued by a cloaking of consuming lust, his shoulders rigid as he thought repeatedly of your earlier words. If you’re a good boy, then maybe we’ll have some fun before we get home. It wasn’t likely to happen now, the bowman thought intuitively, sharply discarding the sweet images of pleasing you from his brain.

These walkers were preying risk to more than just his life, he felt like he could explode from the overbearing desire to feel your hands rake upon his entire body, and he mentally cursed as he felt his cock spring to life at just the the sinful thought. He grunted in solitary longing, pacing with light and feline like steps as much as he could in the limited ground that was cemented in the storage room.

“Something wrong?” You almost inaudibly spoke, cocking your head as the corners of your mouth twitched in mocking amusement, and he would have whined in response if there wasn’t the threat of the passing walkers merely inches away. “Come here, let me help you baby.” His head was lowered in a submissive bow as he followed your command, creeping towards you until your chests were all but touching.

It was something you adored, to see Daryl in such a state, and it made you feel powerful without any limits. The flow of your bloodstream began to pound with revelations with what you could make your obedient man disperse himself to. It was like he was a buffet of possibilities, however his arousal was rubbing against your thigh, making you recall his desperation, and it would be satire and cruel for you to allow him to suffer without your amorous caregiving.

You shuffled, keeping a balance on your body weight so that you didn’t accidentally stagger backwards into the buckets or moulding mops that were leant against the wall to your left, as you lowered your hands to his wide hips, giving him an affectionate squeeze before you turned him in your embrace so that his back was facing your front.

Admittedly there were times where you loved to listen to him beg and cry for lustrous attention, but now was not the time; neither one of you could make so much as a speck of noise, it was going to be difficult as often times Daryl would draw out long and pathetically attractive moans each time you held contact with his cock in any manner, but he would just have to be quiet somehow, and if he couldn’t control himself, you had ideas of how to make him.

“Be a good boy.” You whispered with sultry warning in his ear as you reached further around him, slowly and tantalisingly unweaving his belt, pulling the strip of leather through the flimsy loops which granted you access to undo the button and fly of his trousers. With swift motions you did so, carefully shoving them down his sides as his cock was released from its containment. It was leaking defiantly with precum, and he resorted to calming breaths as he steadied his own self into being relaxed despite the nearby danger.

He inhaled immediately as he felt one of your hands wrap perfectly around his achingly hard length, gliding up and down the taught and erect flesh which made him throw his long locked head back in pleasure. His eyelids twitched as he fought against his desire to let you know how utterly amazing you were making him feel, as he bit his own bottom lip over and over. You dared to increase the pace in which you were stroking him, and a shattered gasp tumbled past his bared teeth.

Without so much as a thought, you smothered his mouth with your hand, pinching his nose a couple of times between your thumb and forefinger to restrain the oxygen he was permitted for a few seconds. A vibration riveted against your palm, as a quiet moan was silenced by your restriction. His whole body was rattling, as he began to rut his hips so that his cock was moving in the grasp of your soft hand.

“Such a good baby.” Your breath hit his ear as you forbade yourself from saying anything else, knowing that it would be obscenely dangerous, and the hoard of vacantly minded walkers were more than capable of pushing through the locked door. Your thumb rubbed expertly against his tip, as tears began to fill Daryl’s eyes, however he continued to jerk into your grip, and soon they fled from his tear ducts. His salt water, pleasure filled tears rolled onto your hand, weaving across your flesh as his tongue rolled pathetically around your palm, losing any grounding to reality that he had.

It drove you on farther, moving your hand at a quicker pace to make him spill over the edge, and with one last tough tug, he expelled his seed from his balls, it shooting directly in the air for a moment, and landing vividly on the ground. Daryl continued to shake like a leaf, breathing a kind kiss to your palm as he held your hand against his mouth for a while longer. This was definitely an interesting tale, however you would never tell anybody else. Everyone else thought Daryl was the being of all dominance in your relationship, and it made you inwardly cackle at how wrong you were.

He was as submissive as a human could come (pun intended), and he stood there idly and cautiously as you aided him in tucking his cock back into his confines. You grappled his belt, pulling it back around into its holding as you pulled it tightly around his waist, your eyes glowing with the satisfaction that you could make him so easily crumble. With one last pat to his sensitive bulge, you waited a while longer, until the coast was clear and it was only a few stragglers of the herd to take out in order to make your unruly escape.

[samubytheocean]

yeah everyone talks about the boys as your first love, but how about the second love?

falling for someone feels so much more intense especially when you know how much love hurts.

friends to lovers? fluff but slight angst if u squint lmao

Imagine lying down at his floor, it’s like some time after midnight, and you can almost taste the aftermaths of rain in summer night wind. It’s hinted with cherry coke and the smell of his ears, already stained a pretty blush whenever you lock eyes. Your head still rings from the party music from some hours ago, but you can’t tell if it’s that or the sight of the handsome boy in those shorts.

God, he is pretty.

He looks at you from his bed, upside down and hair all frizzed up. A little out of breath from a satire joke you’ve just blurted out, and the sound sends chills throughout your body, the strangely familiar kind that wakes you up with the hope of forever. The thought makes you sit up, and breath in the space with content. You move forward, face inches from the lopsided boy who’s looking up at you. You can’t really tell what’s on his face. Your hands feel hot against his cool cheeks, and you can see the blush watercolor against your hands. His eyes never leaves yours.

You’ve been dating for some time, having known each other for years before that. The past couple of months of testing the waters were more than enough for the both of you. You know all of his exes. He’s seen you cry about yours. For a long time, almost too long, you were just friends.

Sure, you’ve held your breath whenever his tall figure leaned down to discuss some tea that you’ve heard the night before. But he always got a girl whenever you broke things off with your boyfriends, and vice versa. There never seemed to be a proper time for feelings to grow, until that drunk night when he fell asleep in your dorm after taking one too many shots at some stupid party.

Woke up next to you, all too similar with the same moles on your shoulders that he has memorized, the same small frame against his that he has cried against, but now under the same covers, without some other person between you and his feelings. He knew you. He cares about you.

And by the way you quietly smiled in your oversized shirt handing him a cold glass of water in the morning.. Luckily all the times he was gritting his teeth at how your horrible ex was acting out; he wasn’t the only one with the hopes. Guess since then, there was this quiet consensus about taking things slow. He knew you. He knew what you’ve cried about. And you did too.

First love. First kiss. First sex. It sounds so much better in the books on your bedside table. You’re no stranger to the rushing of hearts, hell, you could swear your teenage years consisted full of it. Addicted to it even. But seems to it that teenage love isn’t what is just given to everyone. It comes as a slow realization, that maybe some girls aren’t meant to be loved, at least not yet, not then. Sure you have forgiven your exes and their mistakes; they were just boys.

But you were just a girl. Just begging to be loved. In the most primal, desperate, romantic way, you just wanted to be seen. For someone to understand the language you were speaking, in its true irony and references. You wanted to be held, not grabbed. But first times, first love, first sex. It’s not pretty for everyone. So you put that all behind.

Scared? Maybe. A big front, yeah. But right now, some time past midnight, in some messy summer night after some dumb party, smelling like your favorite song that he held you through, he looks up at you. No, he sees up at you. He sees you. In his bed, in his room, with one too many shirt buttons opened, in that familiar shorts riding up his comfortably situated thighs,

And it sends the fucking chills throughout your spine.

“Something on your mind, sweets?” Deep, cheeky voice a hush. His cheeks are warm. He smells like the sparkly drink you’ve had. And he looks so painfully pretty, you can almost look past all of your exes. All of his exes. All of the times you guys sat on the steps, laughing cynically into the night about how you both seemed just so impossible to be loved. The crook of his smirk seems so boyish, you can almost wish a life where all you knew were him. Where you chose him, from the start.

You shake your head, and he rolls over, face still at the edge of the bed looking at you mischievously. He nudges his chin urging you closer. For a second you eye at how his collarbones and shoulder muscles glisten lightly in a layer of sweat. You are so close, you can see his pulse, and how the pink is now spreading with it.

Okay, a boyish look in a man, what Taylor said, you slightly roll your eyes at his clear objectives. Slowly you close the space between. His lips are curled up in that familiar infuriating way, but they are trembling none the less. You see it. You see him. And in the most forbidden, aching way, he whispers your name.

Taking things slow. Taking things slow. Take things slow-

You don’t want to end up regretting him as well. He’s too pretty.

Yeah, but he sees you. And maybe, just maybe that’s all you need.

OSAMU, KITA, SUGA, IWA, fucking KUROO and plz HINATA

hey guys it’s my first time posting here and jeez i’m so nervous

[green-typewriterz]

i would love literally anything sam winchester related the lack of fics r astounding.. maybe something fluffy?? ive had a bad week would so cheer me up

Best fake-real husband

ASKS ARE OPEN

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: You and Sam go undercover in a small town to find out what's been happening to the disappearing couples.

ASK: above

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, awkward moments, mid season sam (in my mind it’s season 5 so its not following canon plot)

Author notes: Thankyou so much for the ask!!! I hope this is good :))) also Sam is the leader of the Sassy man army and if you don’t think so you can leave. Also thank you to @midsummeranderson for helping me plan <3

word count: 4110

You had always hated suburban houses, they just seemed empty, unforgiving. Though you didn’t have much of a choice. Bobby had a case and you two were to go undercover.

”Husband and wife…” Sam began, a glint in his eyes as he moved around the open plan kitchen, opening the windows to salve the heat that bit at their necks.

You smiled in reply, laying out weapons to move to the spare room. “Not awkward at all.” You replied and he laughed, shrugging his usual flannel onto a chair and digging into his bag.

Sam looked up, smiling, holding two rings in his hand. “Nope. I’m going to be the best fake-real husband ever. Dean thinks I can’t and I’m kinda determined to prove him wrong.” You sigh and shake your head, but there’s no annoyance behind it. Trust Dean to make a game out of it.

A piece of hair fell in front of his eyes - it’s so long now that it reaches his shoulders, princelike. “Well then I guess I’ll have to be a good wife.” He hummed in agreement and you tucked his hair back behind his ear and a smile spread across his face. “Looks like I’m off to a good start, Sam Heathcliff.”

You gently slipped the ring onto your finger, the metal slightly too big for you. It was your grandmothers, a mix of silver and sapphire. Sam places his dad’s wedding band on his own hand, fiddling with it gently. It made you smile softly, how the ring was cold against your skin - your grandmother had always wanted you to wear it.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your memories and the two of you looked to each other with confusion, Dean wasn’t meant to be here until later that evening. You opened the door cautiously, flitting into character when you saw a 57 year old woman holding a large pie in her hands.

She grinned cheerily, pushing the dish forward into your hands as she spoke, you didn’t really have another choice but to take it (you’d probably hand it off to Dean later.) “Hi,” the voice sounded fake, satirical. She never met your eyes, she was almost entirely focused on Sam. “I heard there was a new couple in town, thought I’d do the neighbourly thing and say hi.” She began, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a particularly suggestive manner. “We’d love to have you over this weekend, monthly barbeque.”

You looked at Sam, who looked entirely uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving and wrapped your arms around his waist. “We’d love to…” you waited for a name, the woman smiled with annoyance, as if she hated you speaking to her.

“Helen. Watson.”

The two of you introduced yourself and agreed to go, knowing the gathering would be useful to get information. With one last glance at Sam, Helen turned around and left, allowing you to breathe a sigh of relief.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Dean came round that evening, constantly grinning and mocking and (as you had expected) he greeted the pie with open arms. “Look you two,” he began, as if he were an expert on the subject, “You’re practically a couple already, just… act like you’re in your honeymoon phase for the old women.”

He stated this as if it were an obvious fact and you raised your brows at his use of the word ‘honeymoon’. Sam looked away in annoyance (Something Dean found extremely funny). It seemed as though the younger Winchester couldn’t wait to get rid of Dean and so, as soon as he had finished his pie, he was forced out the door and back to the impala. There was a second sigh of relief when the door closed.

Though it had seemed like a smart idea at the time, the two of you were sorely regretting filling the spare room with hunting gear as it had left you with one bedroom. “I’ll take the couch,” Sam said as he gathered some clothes to sleep in, you stood in the doorway, arms folded as you shook your head.

“Not a chance, you’d barely fit on this bed imagine how uncomfortable you'd be downstairs.” You argued and he shook his head, trying to claim that he’d slept worse. Eventually, the two of you came to an agreement. Sam would sleep over the covers, you’d sleep under them (he always got hot at night anyway - especially during the summer).

You excused yourself to the bathroom and by the time you had gotten back Sam was already asleep, long hair falling gently over his eyes. You lay down beside him and got comfortable, though you forgot just how much Sam moved in his sleep. He seemed to subconsciously move closer to you, warm, tan skin flush against yours.

His face was inches from yours, holding a gentle smile as if he were happily dreaming (though that was something that didn’t happen often). You gently moved the hair from his eyes and he moved closer still, broad shoulders brushing against you. You fell asleep in the comfort of his warmth and awoke with his arms wrapped securely around you. He wasn’t awake yet, you always woke up before him.

You eventually found it in yourself to move from his grip and headed downstairs, intending to make breakfast for the two of you. He was downstairs a few moments later, hair a sweet, tousled mess on his head. You smiled sweetly but neither of you spoke - there wasn’t much need to.

The two of you seemed to move around each other as if you had been married for years as you got ready for the barbeque, passing each other what you needed wordlessly. Chalk it up to years of hunting together.

“Todays gonna be entertaining for me.” You stated, a smirk on your face. He tilted his head in confusion as if he were a dog and you smiled, eyes drifting to his shoulders for a moment. “C’mon Sam, it’s a town of 47 year old women who hate their husbands and you’re a - very awkward - 6 '4 man. A handsome one at that.” He blushed and turned away, continuing to get ready.

His hands fiddled with the jacket in front of him. “Yeah, so?” You smiled at him, opening the front door as you spoke again.

“So, it’s gonna be fun watching you squirm.” Your smile turned to a grin and Sam shook his head, following you out the door.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You were right, as expected. Although most were fine, one specific group of women made an exaggerated effort to fan themselves, whispering to each other about Sam. They almost immediately ushered you over. You sent a look to your best friend and headed toward them.

Immediately, they began to gossip, asking you about how you and Sam met and you could barely get a word in edgeways. There were compliments thrown at you too, but you knew they were just to stop you ‘feeling jealous.’

“How did you get so lucky?” One woman, Helen, asked. Her voice was wrought with envy as she stared over at Sam. Part of you understood why they were staring, Sam looked strangely good in the traditional small town husband attire. His white polo had a few buttons undone and the fabric was tight on his arms (Dean had ordered the wrong size) and his long hair was held back from his head by a pair of sunglasses, a few stray pieces falling over his eyes. The only part you weren’t a fan of was the khaki shorts…but it seemed to be the dress code in the town so you brushed it off - you and Dean would probably make fun of him for it later. He felt his gaze on you and turned to meet your eyes, smiling softly and winking. The women around you giggled and you rolled your eyes, to which he laughed.

It turned out that talking to the four women was the best thing for the case, they absolutely adored gossip. “Couples have been going missing, it always starts with the husbands.” Margaret whispered excitedly, “It happened to the couple who were here before you, sweet things.” she continued, sipping on a glass of wine.

You tilted your head, something Sam recognised from a distance, you’d had an idea. “Do they leave anything behind? People can’t just disappear?” You asked, pulling your hand through your hair.

Helen shook her head. “The damn council barely clean out the houses.” You nodded. Bingo. If the house hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned, chances are there’d be evidence. Helen continued to ramble and you were listening intently, until a hand gently slid onto your waist.

You let out a gasp but the strong smell of cedarwood and amber calmed you down. You knew exactly who it was. His grip pulls tighter around you and you lean into him, head resting on his chest. You felt your face flush - something you were praying he didn’t notice.

“How did you two meet?” One woman asked and you looked at each other, making sure without ever even speaking that you had the story right.

Sam leaned his head on yours and sweetly said, “why don’t you take this one, honey.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, he was trying to throw you off and the hand that was massaging your side was proof of that.

You met his eyes with the same excitement, if he wanted to play, you were really going to go for it. “We both worked as government agents, met on the field. Hence all the scars.” The women nodded in realisation, looking at some of the injuries you hadn’t quite managed to hide. “He wasn’t the biggest fan of mine at first but I grew on him, isn’t that right darling?”

Sam nodded, his eyes not leaving yours as he replied, “and now I don’t want to be without her ever again.” He found that sentence to be more true than he thought.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Sam sent an exasperated look your way as he raked a hand through his hair (and sadly took the glasses off his head). “How were the boys?” you asked with a smile and he turned to make sure no one was watching before dropping the facade.

“I’m actually shocked how much I don’t know about football.” He replied and you both laughed, him leaning into you as he smiled. He looked outside at the group of gossipping women before adding on, “they seemed…friendly.”

You laughed, “to you, sure, but I think it’s because they want you in their bed.” The sentence was blunt and Sam’s eyes widened, cheeks blushing a strong red. You, however, continued as if you had never said anything, “I think it could be witches? We’d have to search for hex bags though.” He nodded, not meeting your eyes (he was slightly flustered).

The two of you eventually said your goodbyes and made your way down the street, Sam looked annoyed with himself. “What’s up?”

He sighed, “this one guy, Glenn, roped me into holding a housewarming party…” You stared at him incredulously, did he not try to say no? Sam recognised the look in your eyes and defended himself, “the man was incredibly persuasive!” You shook your head but knew there was no way out of it. You weren’t the best at party planning.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The long stretch of grocery store met you as you and Sam stood in the doorway. You didn’t often do this as hunters so it was a slightly daunting task. You looked at each other with tired eyes and went your separate ways, deciding to cover ground as if it were a hunt…just for nachos.

You rounded a corner only to see Helen stood there. Not wanting to be stuck in conversation again, you instantly turned on your heel, hiding behind a row of sauces. Though, something caught your eye. In Helen’s basket, clearly hidden just not very well, was a large amount of herbs and salt. What got you interested was the extreme amount of basil and sage.

Witches. Had to be.

Sam approached you, smiling gently. Something about the situation made him look so… domestic. You tried to motion to him what you were thinking but he seemed so fixated on you, his reaching out for yours. “Can you do your job?” you spoke, the words sounding harsher than you had intended. He instantly pulled back, face twisting with annoyance.

“What?”

���Take the hint, Sam. Behind me.”

You continued to whisper back and forth in annoyance, alerting Helen who watched in confusion. You quickly turned to look at her and sighed as she approached, hiding the herbs with the rest of her groceries. “Lovers quarrel?” she joked and the two of you laughed in the same way Bobby would when Dean told another of his bad jokes.

Sam made excuses as you looked at her, trying to see if you could spot any witch runes on her. It seemed as though she was trying to do the same to you. “Well isn’t that tattoo…neat!” She said, trying to hide the venom in her voice as she pointed out the anti-possession tattoo on your collarbone. Great.

You looked at Sam in annoyance and turned back to Helen. “Thanks! I saw it in a magazine!” You tried to explain away but you knew you’d been caught, she had spotted you and you her. Though she was very keen to stay in conversation, Sam made a quick excuse and you both left as soon as you could.

“Told you it was witches.”

Sam didn’t reply. The car journey back was completely silent, an unspoken annoyance building in the both of you. Neither of you said a word until the front door closed. “Nice job letting her see the tattoo.” Sam said annoyedly, turning to look at you.

You sighed and turned away, packing away the groceries. “Maybe if you spent less time flirting and more time actually hunting we’d be done by now! This isn’t exactly a hard case, we don't need more bodies to our name.” The reply was sharp and annoyed.

He suddenly grabbed your wrist so you’d look at him. “I’m doing my job just fine.” His eyes were locked with yours. You stepped closer.

“No, you’re not. You’re distracted.” Sam scoffed, his minty breath fanning against your cheek from how close you were. His hand was still firmly on your wrist.

An annoyed smile spread across his face and a muscle in his neck tensed. “Oh yeah? And why would I be distracted?” You stared directly at him, from his long hair that fell over his unreadable gaze to the smoothness of his bronzed skin.

You found yourself stepping closer again. “You tell me.”

There was a crushing silence, the only sound being your sharp breaths. Suddenly, Sam’s grip on your hand moved to your waist and he pulled you into him, his lips colliding with yours. You leaned into him, hands grabbing his hair harshly. He kissed you as if he were hungry, as if he had been waiting for years - maybe he had. He lifted you easily and sat you on the kitchen counter, leaning back from the kiss for a split second. His chest rose quickly in hot breaths as he kissed you again. You bit his bottom lip - letting blood drip as his hands gripped your skin.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The party was loud and irritating, there wasn’t a moment where you had time for yourself, not one point where you weren’t ’y/n Heathcliff’. You and Sam had barely talked after the evening before - you didn’t know what to say.

You knew Helen would be at the party, not only would it be good to keep up appearances but she could get her next victim from it. Sam sent you a look and you nodded once, heading toward the spare bedroom in search of weapons, just in case.

A small, easily hidden knife was being placed into your waistband when Sam opened the door, closing it harshly behind him. “Sorry,” he said quietly, “had to get away from Miriam.”

You laughed gently and went back to preparing, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Helen’s here.”

“I know.”

Silence again. You sighed, “and you just left her out there? Alone?” His brows furrowed and he offered a witty remark, starting another hushed argument between the two of you.

On the other side of the door, Miriam and Margaret pressed their ears to the wood, giggling like school children at how the argument sounded to them. Through the muffled walls, all they could hear was gasps and sharp noises - of course they assumed what they wanted.

Sam’s hands pushed through his hair as he sighed, uncertain of what to do, when suddenly the door started opening. He rushed forward and pushed against it, rushing out a quick, “one moment!” All he heard in reply was laughs.

“What do we do?” He asked nervously and you stood still, nervous, until a thought popped into your head. You held your hands out - asking for permission and, once he nodded, you placed your hands gently in his soft hair, ruffling it. It annoyed you how he still managed to look good.

Then, once he had done the same for you, you looked him up and down, deciding his outfit was far too…tidy. First it was one button undone, then another (you unbuttoned a third for personal reasons). A blush rose on the tips of his ears.

He went to open the door when you realised something was still missing and, in a quick moment of panic, you rushed forward and grabbed his face, kissing him harshly on the lips (you were purposely trying to smudge your lipstick onto him). Sam made a noise in shock but found himself leaning into it, eyes lingering closed for a moment longer after you had pulled away.

Shit. He thought. He definitely liked you.

Eventually, the door was opened and Sam met the two women with an awkward smile. “Oh!’ Margaret began, giggling, “I was going to offer a drink, but I see you’re occupied…” The woman looked at one another, laughed again and walked away, leaving Sam blushing with embarrassment. The door was closed once more and when you were both sure they had walked away, laughter spilt into the room.

He shook his head and smiled, stepping closer to you. “Close one.” You smiled gently, staring into his eyes (the light was hitting them perfectly). There was silence again - neither of you knew what to do.

”Are we ever going to talk about last night?” You asked, thinking about how his hands felt on your skin. His features turned more serious as he sat down on the bed.

He stared at you, lipstick still in a smudge on his face. “I’m not sure what to say about it.” You neared him, hands trailing over his shoulders. Then, slowly, you leaned into him, lifting his chin with your finger as you felt his soft lips against yours. There was something impossibly gentle about it and you weren’t sure anyone had kissed you that softly before.

”Maybe we don’t need to say anything.”

He smiled. You kissed the corner of his grin and headed back downstairs, attempting to fix your hair as you went. You were met with stares as you entered the kitchen - Miriam had most definitely told everyone… at least it sold the cover.

Time passed with an almost excruciating level of slowness and Sam not making a re-entrance back downstairs wasn’t helping either (you had no one to distract you). Eventually, the party cleared out yet Sam was nowhere to be seen - now you began to panic.

You said goodbye to the final few neighbours and headed back upstairs, calling Sam’s name. The lack of response worried you. The first door by the stairs - the one that unfortunately led to your weapons room - was ajar, scratches around the lock. You pulled the dagger from your waistband and slowly opened the door, sighing as you saw the bloodstain on the floor. You had a feeling you knew who had taken him and where he had gone.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You had managed to track him to Helen’s house, hiding around the back to get a good view through the sliding glass doors. Sat, tied to a chair in the middle of the main room, was Sam. His face was bruised and bloody and his expression looked annoyed, chest heaving with sharp breaths. Helen, Miriam and Margaret circled around him, playing with his hair and gathering items they needed for the spell.

”Poor Sam,” Helen began - you assumed she was the leader, “you’d think you’d be able to fight back against three 57 year olds.” Miriam headed into the kitchen as Margaret laughed, they almost reminded you of the witches from Macbeth.

”You’d also think, considering she’s a hunter, that your ‘wife’ would be better at hiding.” Suddenly, a surprisingly strong pair of hands grabbed you, pushing you against the wall.

You struggled against the grip but it was no use, your hands being painfully tied behind your back. Miriam ushered you into the living room, retiring you to a chair beside Sam. You met his eyes with an apologetic gaze and he returned it.

It was your turn to feel the bunt of the witches’ fun now, knives sliced at your skin and hair was cut from your head, you knew they’d done it somewhere visible on purpose. They grabbed at your face, nails digging into flesh and smiling as Sam protested.

Eventually, the three left the room and you and Sam began planning. You shuffled your chair toward him, trying to see if he could reach the dagger you always hid in your shoe. His hand brushed over your shin but he couldn’t reach any further.

With one final attempt, Sam tried to lean on the chair to reach, which ended with him toppling both chairs. He landed on top of you, his chest flush against yours. “Sorry.” He spoke, words hoarse from lack of breath.

Luckily for you, the fall had broken the ropes around your ankles and - though it hurt like hell - you manoeuvred your leg just enough to read the blade. Sam's hair tickled against your face and his lips tickled your neck - but that was something you’d have to think about later.

“Nice try you two.” Helen spoke as she waltzed back in. You hid the blade in your sleeve as your chair was fixed once more and while the three were busy working, you managed to slice through the ropes. you waited patiently, watching with a newfound confidence. Luckily for you, Maragaret was the type of witch to intimidate - her favourite tactic being getting as close as she could.

You took the opportunity and thrust the blade forward, stabbing through her throat. She screamed out and you stood up making your way over to the other two to fight. You took a fair few punches, but it was nothing new and soon enough the two others were on the floor too, holding onto the last of their life.

The large salt circle was immediately broken and Sam was freed, you apolising every time you accidentally touched any of his injuries. “That was badass.” Sam complimented and you laughed, leaning your hair back tiredly.

You turned away, starting to destroy the spell further as you spoke, “Ready to finally stop being husband and wife?” You asked and a small smirk rose on his face, hands snaking back over your waist again.

With sudden passion, he spun you back around, his eyes glinting. “Not really.”

With that, Sam lifted you off the ground, hands securely gripping your thighs as he kissed your neck. You had your back pushed against the wall as he moved to kiss your lips, your hands pulling at the back of his hair. He sighed and went to kiss you again when the front door swung open, revealing a disgusted (but slightly relieved) Bobby and a grinning Dean.

”We can explain?” Sam offered, gently lowering you back to the ground. You couldn’t look at one another.

Dean shook his head, smiling like a madman. “I don’t know Sammy, seems pretty obvious to me.” Then, with the same giddy happiness he turned to Bobby, who had since fished a ten dollar bill out of his pocket.

Typical. You and Sam shared an annoyed look as The other two hunters headed back out the door. ‘“C’mon you lovebirds,” Bobby began, “There’s a vamp nest in Chicago.”

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

Please Please Please - Rafe Cameron Short Story (Part 6 of 6 Final Chapter and Epilogue)

Bonus smut chapter is complete - making final edits now 💕

+18 Minor DNI

Older MobDealer!Rafe x Female Reader

⭐ NEW DROP ⭐

+18 Minor DNI

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

🪄 Warnings contain spoilers: blood, cheating, swearing, name-calling, threats, soft!rafe, mentions of killing partner, kissing, general violence, guns, fighting, ownership kink, mention of drugs, stabbing, murder, major character trauma, pet names.

📖 Loosely based on the song and music video Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter 💕

✨ “You are. You think I’m gonna believe that line of shit. ‘Bout her lyin’ to me? About you beating the livin’ shit out of her to throw me off? ✨

Reader’s POV:

You roll into the parking lot, unable to fight back your smile. The week was long, but the phone conversations with Rafe held you over just enough. The jail in Charleston wasn’t as lax as Kildare County. Understandably, Rafe did not want to push his limits, leaving the phone conversations shorter than you’d hoped they’d be. Until Rafe was out and everything was taken care of, he didn’t want you to leave the penthouse, which meant no face-to-face visits, leaving you craving him even.

Rafe ensured you were taken care of: additional security, groceries sent over, dinner brought by every night, fresh-cut flowers when he thought the old ones had wilted. Rafe had the G-Wagon scrubbed and triple-checked for any additional trackers placed or bugs planted.

He paid a hefty fee to have the cops delete a single recorded call between the two of you. Rafe wanted to know what happened the night he had gotten taken away by the officers. He wanted to know what Tony had said in the voicemail, and what happened between the restaurant and the penthouse. Everything was awful, but the voicemail conjured up the most fury. Rafe dissected each word, dragging Tony; your ex’s vile words just added fuel to the fire, like he needed any more. Rafe was very conscious with his words, careful not to incriminate himself further, emphasizing the importance of the business meeting, and that he was looking forward to it even more now.

Of course, given the situation, you couldn’t ask about Tony. His well-being wasn’t the concern, just curiosity. Where was he? Where did Barry take him? It’s been seven days… He must be well-hidden, or his boys would have found him by now. There’s no way he’s dead… Rafe would never allow Barry to take that pleasure away from him.

A conversation— it’s never a conversation with these men, even more satirical after watching how the first one unfolded. If Tony had been there, this would have been over. Maybe this is how it was supposed to happen. I’m sure Rafe has a few things he wants to say to Tony before he pulls the trigger. There are so many things I want to say to him. I wish I could have been strong enough to take the call at the bar. His words have done nothing but haunt me. But maybe I was meant to hear it too… Any fraction of guilt I had about my choices were eliminated in an instant.

The door of the jail fans open, just like it did the week before; Rafe all smiles once again. He bites his lip as he walks to you, taking you in like it's the very first time. Rafe shakes his head in awe as he looks down at you, clearing the space between as you do the same. You jump into his arms, hugging him tightly, burying yourself in his neck. He kisses wherever he can, mumbling against your soft skin about how you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen and feelings mutual. Seeing the beautiful man before you, paired with all the lovely things he did brings nothing but tears and emotion. “I love you, Rafe. I love you so much,” you snivel.

“Mmm…” He hums happily, taking his turn kissing up the column of your neck to your ear. “I love you, princess.”

You pull back and smile, eyes locked. His ocean eyes shimmer with happy tears as well. Rafe’s gaze falls to your lips, his focus like a magnet pulling you in. Your arms wrap loosely around his neck as he cradles you in his embrace. Rafe backs you against the car, deepening the exchange. Your tongue swirls with his, lips moving in perfect harmony. He smiles along your mouth, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Damn, I missed my girl.”

Rafe grips the steering wheel, the other hand resting on your bare thigh. His gold chain twinkles on his athletic chest, poking slightly out of his black fitted polo. It had taken everything in your power not to pull him into the back seat after watching him change out of the button-down he walked in with, still sprinkled with blood from the club. He looks at you with a smirk, catching you gawking, loving every second of your attention. “It’ll be a short meeting. Aight? Think you can wait?” He teases, making your cheeks warm up as you fight back a dizzy laugh.

“Honestly, I don’t think I can.” You take his hand in yours, lifting it, kissing his fingers one by one. “I still have to thank you, baby.”

Rafe releases a lusty laugh, relaxing in his leather seat a little more. “Trust me, princess. I have not forgotten. I've thought about it every night. But, a ‘thank you’ is not necessary… I love takin’ care of you, and I always will.” The car speeds past the town’s welcome sign, barreling toward the Atlantic.

“Where are we going?” You ask.

“You’re droppin’ me off at the beach house, baby. You can head over to Tanneyhill. I’ll meet you there when I’m done, and we can get out of here. How does that sound?” He smiles. You clear the lump in your throat, trying to focus on the question Rafe is asking, but your mind is fixated on the rest of his words. Rafe wants me to leave? “Baby?” he asks gently. 

“I’m dropping you off…” You question uneasily. “Don’t you want me to come with you? Don’t you need me close by?”

The muscles in Rafe’s arms flex as he tightens his hand around the steering wheel, shaking his head ‘no’ as he narrows his sights on the road. “I don’t want you to see this, princess,” he responds levelly, his eyes landing on yours.

“Couldn’t Barry take care of him?” You invite without thinking. Rafe’s brows knit tightly, a puzzled look pulling on his beautiful face.

“No… Why, baby?” He asks, trying his best to keep his compass on the road ahead.

“I don’t know,” you answer hastily. “I just don’t - I don’t know.” Your stomach sinks, uneasiness setting in. After everything that Tony has done and said, he’s better off dead, but thinking about him dying at the hands of Rafe mere minutes from now had your heart racing. I can't help but think about the fact that he bamboozled Rafe not once but twice. He would have walked into an ambush at the strip club without me there… He had no clue the drugs were planted in the Mercedes. “I don’t know!”

“What don’t you know, exactly?” He asks as he pulls up to the beach house, sailing into the driveway, pulling between a vintage BMW and the white van that Tony got taken away in. Rafe turns toward you, demanding your attention. “Are you having second thoughts about this?” He questions, his words dripping with accusation.

“No!” You gasp. “I - I just. I don’t know, Rafe. I’m just freaking out. Okay?” You whimper as tears start to cloud your vision, your anxiety about the situation making your mind muddled.

“Do you want him to live?” He asks. It’s hard to place his tone; Rafe at the junctions between perplexed and agitated, his frustration with you clear in his body language alone.

“Of course I don’t. I want this to be over with,” you blubber.

”So do I, princess. And we talked about this before. It’s not going to be me and you if he’s here. Do you want it to be me and you-”

”Yes!” You cry out before he can even finish his sentence.

“Don’t think about it then, Aight? Let me handle business. This is why I don’t want you in there. I don’t want this on your conscience. I want to handle this for you. And we will never talk about this again. Okay?” You nod in silent agreement, but he shakes his head ‘no’. “Words, baby.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

Rafe leans in, kissing you softly. You cup his cheeks in your hands, running your thumbs along the stubble that’s grown on his face since confinement. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Rafe, but things keep goin’ wrong. Tony keeps getting in the way. I don’t want him to hurt you. I don’t wanna lose you.”

He melts into your touch, looking at you with adoring eyes. “You’re not gonna lose me. And he’s not gonna hurt me. All right? He’s strapped to a chair. He has been for a week. This is just a matter of me lookin’ him in the eyes and letting him know that he will never get to hurt you again. Yeah?”

“Okay, baby,” you breathe as Rafe catches your tears with his thumbs.

“I love you, y/n. It’s all going to be okay.”

“Okay… I love you too, baby.”

“I know you do,” he whispers. “Once I close this door, I want you to drive. Understand?” He asks as he opens up the navigation on your phone, pulling up the address to his home in Figure Eight. “Remember what happened last time I told you to leave but you stayed an extra two minutes. You gotta listen to me,” he asserts.

“I’ll listen.”

“Promise?”

“I swear,” you whisper.

Rafe grabs the handle of the driver’s side door, pushing it open before walking around the front, helping you to your feet. His arm wraps around your waist, leading you to the other side. He hugs you tightly, pressing kisses on your forehead and cheeks before landing on your lips, kissing you one last time.

“Just a conversation,” you whisper.

“Nah,” he breathes. “Not this time. I love you, princess.”

“I love you too, Rafe.”

Your hand holds his as he steps away until your fingers lose contact. Rafe reaches behind his back just as he did the night you walked into the club, checking the pistol tucked into his waistband before falling out of sight. You step into the driver’s seat, wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, still warm from Rafe. You grab the shifter, putting it in reverse, fighting against the impulse to wait in the wings ‘til he handles business, just in case he needs to flee. This man gives and gives. He has barely asked me for anything in return. Just leave. You roll out of the drive, pressing down on the gas.

Rafe’s POV:

“Barry?” I bark, my voice bouncing off the walls of the beach house. Rap music swells from the basement, the dank smell of weed hazing the place. My aggravation starts to mount; a SOLO cup crushes under the heel of my dress boot, just one of many. Empty liquor bottles and beer cans litter the counter, takeout food strewn across the tables, thongs, stripper heels, and a few stray lines of coke left cut on the counter. “I’m gonna kill him,” I curse his name under my breath as I bound toward the basement door.

I tug it open, my heart plunging as I see a pool of blood gathered on the floor. Shit. I catch my gun, heart banging as I race down the flight. “Oh, fuck… No. Sh-Shit. Barry?” I stutter as I run toward him, his white tank top drenched crimson red. His dark eyes lift momentarily, falling heavy the next. I catch his shallow breathing, leaning in close as he tries to mumble out a few words, quelled in blood.

“Tony?” I ask, watching as he gives me the slightest nod. This blood is fresh. He’s here.

BANG.

I draw my gun again as the door at the top of the stairs bangs shut. Here we go… I sprint toward the wall, half-hidden, listening to his heavy steps as they move closer and closer.

“You hidin’ from me, Cameron?” Tony’s voice cuts through the hush. “That was an awful lotta coke. You come to pay up? Or, did you just come to take somethin’ else from me?” He booms as he steps out, footing right past me.

He looks like shit. His white button-down shirt tattered and bloodied on his large body; Tony’s donning the same worn-in beard as me after his week of imprisonment in the basement. The fucker got the shorter end of the stick apparently, beaten to the edge of death, Barry doing all but killing the bitch.

I check his hands, breathing a sigh of relief; no gun. I adjust my mine as I see a weapon, however, a large kitchen knife clutched in his massive hand. End this. I find his head in my crosshairs, aiming my pistol at his skull, gritting my teeth, battling with the rational part of my brain that’s tellin’ me to fire. The irrational part of my mind yearning to feed my pride and tell him everything I wanna say for her… Tony bends around, smiling with blood-stained teeth. Shit.

“You gonna shoot, Cameron? Or you gonna just stand there like a pussy,” Tony spits.

“We got some shit we need to talk about first. Hmm?”

“You wanna talk about my girl-“

“My girl,” I stop him as I step a little closer, making him shake his head in disbelief, snickering cruelly as he looks back at me.

“Yours? Your girl? Since when exactly. ‘Cause she never said shit to me. Do you honestly think that she loves you? Are you that fuckin’ stupid?” He asks as he rolls up his sleeves, preparing for a fight.

“I know she loves me,” I grunt as I square up with him.

“You think she’d leave me? It was our plan for you to die at the club. She knew it. I knew it. You were just supposed to walk in.”

”You’re lyin’,” I spit.

“Am I?” He smiles again— that same wicked and crazed smile; punch-drunk after a week of torture. “You know I’m not, Rafe.”

“You are. You think I’m gonna believe that line of shit. ‘Bout her lyin’ to me? About you beating the livin’ shit out of her to throw me off? You think I believe you you’d actually let me fuck-”

”ENOUGH!” He thunders, his loud, deep voice making my muscle tense up. “Don’t finish that FUCKING sentence. Because how hard you make this is how hard she's gonna get it after I KILL you. You understand?”

“You can't even let me finish the sentence, Marietta. You can’t even let the words leave my lips,” I chuckle. “Ya know, about fuckin’ “your” girl, on the couch of your club? That same couch you fucked some stripper on. You think I believe that you’d actually let that happen? She ain’t in on this, Tony. This is you losin’ her and settin’ me up.” He steps closer and so do I, the pair of us level-eyed.

“I’m not lyin’. That women would do anything for me. And, at the end of the day, even if I am lyin’, she’d only want you for your money, Cameron. I’m man enough to admit you got more than me— new money and old money in your pocket. She saw an opportunity and took it. She’s either in on this or in it for the cash.”

“She’s not after my money,” I mumble as I try to keep my emotions at bay. “She’s not in on shit.”

“‘Course she is… Your head is just too far up your ass to see what’s really goin’ on around you. N’let’s just say my baby isn’t in on this with me and she just after your money and she finds someone else with more, buddy, you’re fucked. ‘Cause if you get what you came here for and you kill me, everything in my name goes to her: all of the hard earned money that I made that she loves to spend, the club, the law firm, my cars, my jewelry, my homes. Everything that I have she takes from me. And she knows that. You gotta see what’s goin’ on here. Right?” He asks as he looks back at me like I'm stupid.

“You’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?” He chuckles. “You know before your boys picked me up, I was on the way to fuck my girlfriend in that pretty little penthouse you bought her. She even sent me a few pictures in that pretty pink lingerie. You know, the one she was describin’ for you on the phone? Fuck, Rafe. You should see it on her. My princess doesn’t just talk a big game. She knows how to fuck,” he sneers as he catches me battling my emotions. “Why don’t you go look at my phone. Pretty sure it’s in his pocket. You can see for yourself.”

My stomach falls as I hear the door crack at the top of the stairs—one step then another, as the person at the top creeps down. No. No. Tony hears it as well, the man looking over my shoulder with a smile. “Guess who’s here, Cameron,” he whispers. “Princess?” Tony softens his tone with her, the sound of y/n’s slight feet stopping in a flash.

Was this her plan all along?

I scrunch my nose; eyes burning with tears of deceit and rage. There’s no way the story he’s spinning is true. If he kills me, and he’s lying, what will happen to her? I can’t take that risk.

I shove him hard, making him stumble back, kicking him with the heel of my dress shoe square in the chest before he can rise back up to his feet, sending him and the knife to the ground. I hear her soft gasp; her feet quickly clearing the rest of the steps. “Don’t move, y/n,” I bark back at her.

“Rafe?” She whimpers, making me look over my shoulder. The second I do the air flees my lungs, Tony’s big body tackling me to the floor. My skull ricochetes off the hardwood floor; eyes slamming shut in pain, losing my gun in the process. I overpower him, rolling him to his back, grabbing his shoulders I lift him slightly, bashing his head against the ground again and again making him scream out in pain.

He scratches and claws at my face and shirt as I wrap my hands around his throat, squeezing with all my might. "Not so easy to fight a man. Huh?" I hiss.

"F-Fuck you," he stammers as he throws a rough punch, meeting my jaw. I respond with four of my own. The connections, direct and brutal, the dried blood on his face replaced with fresh blood as his body starts to go limp.

Finally.

I stare down at him, lifeless, one with the floor, his breathing almost nonexistent. I draw my hand back, slapping him across the face, his head snapping to the side; body unresponsive to the pain. I drag myself to my feet, stumbling across the living room for my gun. An execution. This ends right here. Right now.

My chin trembles with adrenaline and emotion as I try to get his words out of my head. There’s no way she was in on this all along. Everything she shared with me, the things she said to me, the things we did… That was real. She's here ‘cause she was worried. She's here ‘cause her intuition was right. She's here for me.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. My heart sinks, the rapid bounding of Tony’s feet stopped almost as soon as it start. It’s quiet, wet gurgling and a soft whimpers are all that remains. I turn around, facing Tony but his eyes aren’t on me. He looks down at his chest, the bloodied tip of carboned steel poking out from his chest. He falls to his knees before me, y/n standing behind him in shock, watching as he tumbles face-first on the floor.

She looks up at me, eyes filled to the brim with tears. I run to her, pulling her into my arms, holding her body close as she clings to me for dear life.

I haven't let her go since. It wouldn't feel right. I hold her, watching as the sun sets in the east; a blood-red sky, painted across the Atlantic. The last sliver of the golden sun dips below the horizon. I kiss her gently on her cheek, down the soft flesh on her neck to the dip on her shoulder before resting my chin on top. “Are you okay, baby,” she whispers. I rest my hands on the top of hers, pressing my chest against her back as we both look over the edge of the yatch, watching the black water swell below.

“M’perfect, princess,” I whisper as I nuzzle into her neck. “Are you okay.”

“I am,” she whispers, “because of you. Thank you...”

“Thank you,” I mumble as she melts into me. “I needed you. I can't believe you did that for me.”

“I’d do anything for you,” she whispers as she turns, resting her hands against my chest, looking up at me with pleading eyes. “I know him. I know Tony probably filled your head with lies but I promise, none of it’s true.”

“I know,” I assure as I cup her cheeks in my hands, guiding her soft lips to mine. “This is almost over and from here on out it’s just you and I.”

“You and I,” she echoes. I kiss her forehead and her lips before pulling away.

“Stay here. M’serious.” She nods submissively, falling back as I move foward. I shuffle across the main deck, grabbing the rail, walking down the small flight of stairs to the carport before raising the hatch. I reach behind my back, pulling out my 9mm, opening the trunk.

There he lies, Tony Marietta. I smile as he lifts his eyes, matching mine; the bloodied knife already laying by his side. I take the gun, pressing it against his temple, tilting my head slightly to keep his eyes on me. “M’so glad you’re alive for this… I could make this fast,” I whisper. “But after all the shit you did, I’m gonna have you dyin’ nice and slow. Too bad I don't get to watch.” He goes to speak but all that comes out is a thick trail of blood. “I know what you're gonna say… Don’t worry. I’m gonna do what you couldn’t. I’m gonna take care of her. And that's a promise.” I toss my gun inside before slamming the trunk.

Moving to the front I step inside, firing up the engine before shifting it into neutral. I give the vintage ride a little push, the pull of the yacht sending the tires rolling. I follow the car as it plunges into the deep, dark waters, the depth snuffing out the headlights ‘til all that’s left is blackness.

Goodbye, Tony.

Epilogue

One year later…

Reader’s POV:

You roll up to Tanneyhill, flooding the big driveway with light after a late night shift at the Country Club. It’s mine now and business is booming; a new staff with increased security. Rafe took it upon himself to turn it from the dive it once was to a luxury experience, all for me. Of course I clean his money, the perfect front. Anything for my man. Stepping out of the car you make your way up the cobblestone walk to the front door, passing the bay window, watching as Rafe shuffles by in a black button down, resting two plates of food down on the table.

“Knock. Knock,” you sing as you open the door with a smile, matching Rafe’s beautiful blue eyes making him return the same.

“Babygirl,” he croons as he walks closer, helping you out of your jacket before, swathing his strong arms around you waist, looking down at you lovingly.

“Welcome home. Happy Anniversary,” you coo as you rise on your tippy toes, pressing a kiss on his lips. “I didn’t think you’d be home ‘til next week.”

He smiles against your lips, recalling his initial plan, the pair of you knowing there was no way he was gonna miss this day, even if it meant flying home from Morocco for one night only. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, you know that, princess,” he mumbles against your mouth between kisses. “I got your favorite.”

Rafe takes your hand, leading you to the dining room, pulling out your chair, directing you to sit. You look across the table seeing all of your favorite things; the meal, the flowers, wine. Little candles glint in the middle of the table, adding to the ambiance as he runs you a glass of Chateau Lafite Rothschild, the first bottle of wine you shared on your very first night together.

"You look stunning," Rafe praises, lifting his glass to his lips, sipping slowly as his eyes drink you in.

"And you look very handsome, Rafe Cameron," you hum, resting your hand on the thigh of his Armani suit.

"You know baby, you’ve been working too hard. Are you free this week?” He asks, knowing the answer is ‘no’, but that’s not the reply he’ll get. If he’s asking you to go somewhere he’s already worked everything out for you.

"I’m always free for you, baby."

"Mhmm… Barry and his girl are gonna watch the club so you can come to Morocco with me. How does that sound?”

“So nice… You’re so good to me,” you sigh blissfully as you grab him by the collar of his jacket, pulling him to your lips. “Fuck, I love you.”

"Mmm… Yeah? Wanna sit on my lap and tell me how much you love me? We can see what happens next,” he chuckles warmly.

“Don’t tempt me, baby. You know I have no problem taking you right here,” you smile, the blonde smirking as he recalls what happened the morning before he left.

“You are so good to me,” he corrects you. "Y/n, I'm so happy you're mine. I hope you feel that.”

"I'm so happy I'm yours," you smile, spreading a little wider. “Of course, I feel that.”

"You deserve to have the very best, sweetheart. You deserve to be happy, and safe, and loved.” He leans in closer to you, his eyes meeting yours.

"I do… You’re perfect, Rafe.”

“I’m not, princess. But I wanna be for you,” he whispers, swallowing thickly. Your brows rumple as his mood shifts from flirty and light-hearted to serious. His eyes always look bluer when he’s on the verge of tears, yet, his smile contradicts it all. "I got you something."

"Yeah?"

“Mhmm,” he hums and nods as he reaches into his suit jacket pocket, pulling out a blue box.

"Oh my gosh! Rafe Cameron,” you gasp. “It's too much.”

"It's not, princess," he smiles softly. You reach for the box, but he keeps it in his hand, using the other to brush the tears out of his eyes.

"Rafe... Are you okay?" You whisper as you cup his cheek in your hand. He shuts his eyes, relishing in your touch, leaning into you slightly. He takes a few deep breaths before opening his eyes again.

"I’m perfect, baby.” He whispers weakly. "Umm... I'm not sure how I'm this in love with you, baby. But I am. And, at this point, I genuinely can't remember a time when I wasn't. Every night since I saw you I fall asleep with you on my mind, and I wonder if you're doing the same. I can't even comprehend losing you, or someone hurting you. I’ve said this once and I’ll say it a million times I don’t trust anyone to protect you but me and that includes your heart too. It's you, princess. It's fucking you. I can't describe it any more than that. You are the only person I want and will ever want. You make me feel safe. You make me feel loved. And since I've met you, sweetheart, you've always been that person. My girl. I can't love anyone else. And, I don't want to. So, with that being said. Y/n, will you marry me?" Rafe moves from the chair, dropping down to one knee, pulling open the box, the Tiffany engagement ring, resting in the center.

Your eyes widen, hand covering your bright, ecstatic smile. "Yes!" You squeal in delight, making Rafe let out a happy chuckle as he glides the jewelry on your finger.

"Yes?"

"Yes! Yes, Rafe! Oh my gosh. I thought it was a necklace," you gasp as you eye the ring on your finger.

"I figured, when you tried to take it from me. I got nervous," he laughs warmly, guiding you to his lips. You smile against his kiss, Rafe doing the same.

"I love you, Princess."

"I love you too, Rafe Cameron.”

Bonus smut chapter 💕

Thank you so much for reading my short story! I hoped you enjoyed it 💕🩷

Miski 🩷

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[a-humble-bagel]

 i’ve seen some people saying that morticia and gomez would be wary of enid at first because of her pastel colour scheme but, as someone who’s parents really like The Addams Family and The Addams Family Values and therefore watched those a lot when they were younger, i think Morticia and Gomez would accept her right at the start and here’s why:

So, i think people might be thinking about the part in “Addams Family Values” where Morticia says this to Debbie:

but, this doesn’t show that Moriticia and the rest of the Addams’ would shame someone for liking pastels. Sure, it might not be their favourite colours, but this is the one and only time when someone who a member of the family cares for is shamed for liking pastels/colour.

Even when Debbie originally joined the family as a nanny, her pastel colour scheme was never criticized by the Addams’. They never talked about her behind her back. Morticia and Gomez completely accepted Debbie when she and Fester went on a double date with them:

and when Debbie and Fester got married and the entire Addams clan showed up and celebrated with her:

It was only when Debbie forced Fester to stay away from his family and stopped showing him any care or affection and, you know, tried to kill him, that they began to dislike her. (also, I think Morticia might’ve said the pastels thing just to annoy Debbie).

And keep in mind, even when Debbie was about to kill them, the Addams’ didn’t hate her. They still felt compassionate for her and genuinely cared about her, and definitely did not hate her because of her love of pastels and jewelry and shopping. 

Also, there’s another person that proves that Addams’ wouldn’t shame someone for their love of colour: Margaret

True, they did prank her and intentionally spook her a lot, but they never shamed her. It wasn’t because they didn’t like her bright colours, it was more just for fun. But, when she joined the family by marrying Cousin It, no one ever shunned her for her love of pink.

Now, some people might say, what about the campers like Amanda in Addams Family Values? (or maybe no one would say this but i just want to talk about it).

True, the Addams’ didn’t like the summer camp, but remember, even though they didn’t personally like it, Morticia and Gomez still let their kids do the things they wanted to do (or what they believed their kids wanted to do because of what Debbie said but that’s besides the point). And it’s true that they didn’t like Amanda, but that wasn’t because she was blonde and liked pastels, Amanda was just a little bitch. 

Right off the bat, she was rude and condescending to Wednesday. Amanda’s pastels, like Debbie’s, are just to add to the irony/satire of the Addams Family. In the majority of TV and movies, the blonde, pastel-coloured girls are the perfect, generous heroines, and the Addams Family Values takes these tropes and satirizes them. It makes them into the villains, but this does not mean that the Addams’ inherently hate pastels. 

The Addams’ are a satirical inversion of the ideal American nuclear family, and they are constantly proven to be loving and caring people who accept everyone that needs them. They wouldn’t hate someone for their aesthetic, just disprove of them if they were a terrible person.

When Wednesday met Enid, Enid enthusiastically welcomed Wednesday, and then respected Wednesday’s boundaries when she didn’t go in for a hug. Enid proved herself to be a good person from the start. (Also I think Enid can be considered to be a foil to Amanda but that’s a whole other thing that i don’t have time to get into right now - Edit: I wrote another post about this)

And that is why the Addams’ wouldn’t be wary of Enid because of her colour scheme. She’s proven herself to be a genuinely nice and respectful person, and the Addams’ don’t actually hate people for liking bright colours. They’ve always taken a stance of “innocent until proven guilty” and always give people a shot. 

tldr: Morticia and Gomez don’t dislike people for liking pastels, they dislike them for being terrible people, and even then they’re still kind and generous towards these people and are always willing to welcome and accept them. Therefore, they would absolutely love Enid. 

[lxmelle]

JJK0: Gojo’s secret words and Chapter 236: A Satirical translation Geto’s “……”

Gojo: "I love everyone, so I'm not lonely anymore..."

Geto: ........... (Another love confession? Srsly - translations in edit were my own, lol)

Give him a break Gege 😂 how many times does he have to witness people telling him that they love someone else?

Yuta: From here onwards, let’s really be together forever. I love you Rika. (愛してる used; a more traditional “embarrassing” way to profess a romantic love).

Rika: “daidaidaidaidaidaidai daisuki da yo!!” (Uh, it’s like “so so so so so so so- I love you SO much!!!")

Riko: Kuroi, I love you! From now, and until forever!

Kuroi: me too...!! I love you...

No wonder love is like a curse - people seem to die if they get confessed to.

People loved Geto and I think it's not a stretch to imagine that when love was directed to him, it might not have been voiced out. Geto witnessed confessions made to other people. If they loved him, he probably never got told because this isn't really a part of the Japanese culture.

The twins: love, love, love.

It is interesting to note that they don’t actually say they love him. Just 「大好き」 which literally translates to “big liking/affection”. It is implied through.

But the panels above and below refers to Gojo (above, Geto: “my best friend” in the past tense, “there was a fight and that was that.” And below, MimiNana: “we couldn’t forgive the Gojo Satoru who killed our Geto-sama, but we were willing to let it be...” it is cut off in my screenshot, but it goes onto say because Gojo was Geto’s one and only best friend).

One could also stretch the interpretation and say that because they recognised the love Geto has for Gojo, they were be willing to let it be. Just like Yuta recognised the love Gojo has for Geto and sought to slay Kenjaku so he didn’t have to do it again.

Larue and Miguel again noting in their exchange that they all loved Geto, and they cared for each other like family. There was another time where they referred to being familial, but loving wasn’t mentioned, so I left it out on purpose. But it was implied. Geto had a set of scrolls hanging behind him at the temple that said, “Death to the foolish, Punishment for the weak, Love for the strong.” I guess he felt all those things were true. But when it was his end, he only wanted Gojo Satoru there. I’m glad he got to choose who killed him I guess. And his family escaped.

So with Gege’s love for foreshadowing, maybe all of those scenes of confession-witnessing and love implications parallel with this moment:

Ha.

It really would make so much more sense if Gojo’s last words were, in fact, 「大好きだよ、僕の親友」 (“I love you, my best friend.” - in fact, it makes more sense than simply, “you’re my one and only best friend.” It is pure headcanon though (´∀｀)

As I mentioned earlier: The phrase 「大好き」 and usage of it doesn’t necessarily mean romantic love, but rather “to like a lot”. I’ll hold my hand up and say I’m not native speaker though, so please accept my apologies if I’m wrong and please correct me if I am! My understanding is that the context matters a lot. The English VA said it was three words in the English language - “my best friend” sounds weird conversationally. “You did well” seems oddly placed and may not illicit a blushing smile. “I love you” seems more apt. Personally, anyway.

I don’t think the same word-limit is imposed in the Japanese version. So again, I think it’s a phrase like “I love you my best friend”. Because it was also apparently embarrassing and said before within jjk0 (could be anyone’s words) but never between them.

So the criteria is met as Gojo is likely to use Rika’s version of “I love you” (daisuki da yo) over Yuta’s “I love you” (aishiteru). Not likely said between them in their friendship.

Also, because he has used it in chapter 236 to refer to the students - so! It is not a stretch for him to say that to Geto. It also explains why Geto goes, “…..” as the phrase of affection may have been familiar to him. He may be thinking about how Gojo has grown and reflected on how distant they felt - when the line was drawn. He notices that Gojo recognised the shift in him. Or, it could be that he “overthinked” that he was replaced.

And then the clincher is, ofc, where as soon as Geto thinks he can conclude that Gojo has been fulfilled by his students cuz he said he is no longer lonely and he had an all-out brawl with another man that he (Geto) never managed to give the Strongest, he is told: his presence would have likely made Gojo satisfied. Bahahaha!! Yes, you shed those tears... you’re loved, you dumbo. (I say that lovingly.)

Gojo Satoru as the Strongest may have needed something you can’t give, but Gojo Satoru as himself was only satisfied with you. Can you be honest now?!? Gojo, is it really enough for him to be by your side and waiting for you at the airport, huh??? Or was it enough for you to see the millennia-old Kenjaku be shocked silly by Geto’s body proving his undying love for you by moving when you called out his first name?? lol. These boys make me feel like a giddy schoolgirl at times; yeah, if only this story wasn’t so dark.

Anyway, it’s an overdone analysis, I know. The common consensus is that Gojo tells Geto he is his best friend. But to me, it makes the most sense for his last, most sincere words to Geto, to be a confession of his feelings for him. It aligns well with Gojo saying he needed him to feel fulfilled in chapter 236 and his tearful / heartfelt chuckle. It aligns well with the love is a curse theme, and love following Geto everywhere, and him witnessing people professing their love too. He just never really knew that he was loved, or if he did, the one that mattered the most was Gojo and if he had known, it may have helped him receive love (be happier) in this world.

I mentioned earlier that love was seen to be a curse by Gojo. And through what Geto knows about cursing and what he has witnessed through the deaths and burdens carried by those who have loved and lost... could this be a reason for why Geto doesn't say it back to Gojo?

We will never know. Nanami chose his words to Yuji as well. So saying something like, 'I deserve to be cussed out at the end' is vague and as much as an apology.

I've said in a previous post too, that I personally feel his heartfelt smile was like a thanks and a nod to how he could smile sincerely - recognising the same bond they shared over their blue spring.

Like the hidden words kept between them, I hope his way of communicating was something also understood just between them.

That’s it from me on this topic - thanks for reading if you did.

Sorry if some of it is repetitive.

[sizzleissues]

Look, do I think the writer’s should have sacrificed Adrien’s character arc in order to do the Bug Noir fusion? No of course not. There were probably better ways to do that. Or better ways to execute it. For example, not make him so gosh darn pivotal to the emotional centre of the conflict.

They tried, i think, to pull it off. That’s probably why we got so many ‘Identity reveal = Hawkmoth confrontation = Adrien loses control’, maybe even why he’s a senti in the first place. Adrien’s lack of self control makes it so he can’t battle Hawkmoth without meeting some particular circumstance. He;

A. Somehow not figure out Hawkmoth’s identity until after his defeat

B. Gabriel can’t learn his identity at any point

C. Can’t be made aware of anything anyway until after its all over and even then - might never actually be told anything

Not good odds.

It’s so obvious that they wanted their cake and to eat it too. They wanted to make Adrien interesting and important but only as it reflected on Marinette. If it were a different show, for a different age, made it would get to be a blatant satire of how female character’s are often ‘fridged’ but gender swapped. Adrien has the sad story, has all the emotional weight to motivate Marinette to over come her anxiety and kick the bad guy in the face. Because she can’t have the true baggage.

Like what if Hawkmoth were Marinette’s dad. What if she had Adrien’s story. She remained the protagonist, Adrien had his own simpler bullying storyline going on. Bullied to passiveness as a civilian so as Chat Noir he’s bombastic. Marinette got to still be badass and cool and girlboss like they want. She overcomes not only her abuse but also the villain in that finale. She combines the miraculous, double beats her dad, her enemy and gets the boy.

If you want to tell the girl power story, give the power to the girl. Because when Adrien has his story, you want him to defeat Hawkmoth. You want him to triumph over Gabriel. It’s the Marinette show but they made Adrien have the emotional stake in the finale.

I love these character’s so I wanted to see it. BUT I can see so clearly what they wanted. It probably wasn’t as simple as seeing Bug noir but without the full emotional stake, that’s what it seems like.

I still think that Adrien will have a role in the next season in dismantle Gabriel’s image. I hope he gets to do that in whatever cute outfit the team wants him to wear.

I have more thoughts but I’ll leave it at that (and I liked the finale as a independent thing where I watch my favourite person (Marinette) be badass and just forget about Adrien being boxed and then remembered and didn’t like it so much)

[tojisun]

sun u should explain the ghost band lore bc i’m interested but no nothing about them

oki oki so ani this might take a while bc i went crazy explaining and it might be too long so uhm find the tl;dr at the end 😭

i swooned when i saw u ask this bc!!! mwah mwah <333 idk it made me so giddy teehee <33 also! this is what i know so far so there might be lapses in my explanation hhh

the band ghost or ghost (or ‘ghost bc’)

- they are are theatrical rock band mostly known for their satirical approach to organized religion (roman catholicism); they have a parody of the ministry (from the papacy down to the clergymen [dubbed as brothers/sisters of sins]). there are criticism that they are satanic and, well, that is their lore.

the current singer is called papa emeritus iv

- papa iv is endearingly called popia because before being papa, he was known as cardinal copia. he succeeded the previous three papa emeritus (primo, secondo, terzo) after the three have been killed. he also inherited the ghouls (specifically terzo’s ghouls).

- primo, secondo, terzo, copia are all acted by the same guy (tobias forge)! the lore is that they’re all brothers, fathered by papa nihil, but that copia wasn’t recognized as his son until later on when the three papas were killed. the ones who organized the deaths of the previous papas is sister imperator, copia’s mom.

- the papas, in order: primo, secondo, terzo, copia (cardinal), copia (papa)

nameless ghouls

- they are the people that tobias forge (papa) hires to play live! theyre not a concrete band since these instrumentalists could be/had been replaceable :((

- when ghost debuted, there were only four ghouls: fire, water, earth, quintessence. these titles are reflections of the instruments they play! fire (lead guitar). water (bass guitar). earth (drums). quintessence (rhythm guitar). later a keyboard instrumentalist was added and they were dubbed as the air ghoul.

- as the band grew more popular and more instrumentalists came and went, the fans began naming them. at the top of my head; notable old members include: alpha (fire). omega (quintessence). mist (water). ifrit (fire). zephyr (air).

- i think it was in 2019 when the ghouls were established and no one left (until, that is, june 2023). they were: dewdrop (fire; previously water so he replaced ifrit as lead guitarist). rain (water; bass guitar). aether (quintessence; rhythm guitar). mountain (earth; drums). swiss (multi ghoul - means he is a backup vocals, acoustic guitarist, tambourine). cumulus (air; keyboard and backup vocals). cirrus (air - keyboard and keystar). sunshine (multi; backup vocals).

- nameless ghouls as of july 2023: dewdrop (fire). rain (water). phantom (quintessence - he replaced aether). mountain (earth). swiss (multi). cumulus (air). cirrus (air). aurora (multi - she replaced sunshine).

- fave: nameless ghouls aren’t all just men!! cirrus, cumulus, sunshine, and aurora are ghoulettes

- i finally know who is who when they don’t have their instruments 😭

- they all wear the same thing for anonymity, although fans know who they are unmasked!

other fun info

- a ghost concert is called ‘ritual’

- they have this episodes (??) of more lore called ‘chapters’

- there are talks that copia will be replaced by a new papa but copia’s goodbye had been too quiet and peaceful so fans speculate that tobias forge is gonna do smthn else?

- papa nihil plays the saxophone!

tl;dr - tobias forge is a huge fucking nerd who made a whole satanic ministry and band for flare!

[cheezbites]

Ghost x König Headcanons

✎: there might be more of this ship… stay turned !!

♡Summary: Get a sneak-peek into Ghost and König’s relationship!!

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They take turns doing anything and everything. When it comes to cooking dinner, cleaning, taking care of the house, who’s spooning who, they just know when it’s their turn; it’s like an unspoken rule.

If you were to see them together for even five minutes, you’d definitely think they’re two friends with benefits who comically despise each other. But they’re just naturally the most most loving, flirtatious relationship you’ll ever witness.

König satirically uses Simon’s British slang, mostly just to see his reaction whenever he whips out a ‘bruv’ or ‘innit’ mid convo. There’s a high chance he gets laughed at when he does as it’s just ‘Simon’s thing’.

Their quarrelling would be so silly and stupid, but they’ll always come back stronger than ever. It’s usually König making the first subtle move to talk to Simon again - try getting him to open up. They’re both nonverbal when upset, (mostly Simon). Whenever they’re moody, their lips and throat are sealed shut and they suddenly forget how to coherently express their feelings.

Or they both forget about it, leave it in the past, and move on.

This one time they were both sulking over something, this made the atmosphere increase in weight from how ‘off’ everything felt.

“‘You okay?” König asked, wanting and trying to sound as genuine as possible - be there for who he loves most.

“Mhm.” Simon dryly hummed in response, only focusing his gaze on a wall like an artificial distraction. His replies were always curt and when he’s not feeling it and it’s never disdainful or personal. König knew that.

They ended up snuggling and communicating with one another through cuddles, leading to them eventually talking with one another. They’d wrap their arms around each other as König held Simon close as they fell asleep.

König teaches Simon some German only to laugh at his gruff Manchester accent that makes some words sound off. The taunting always ends in wholesome play fighting and Simon moping in some corner because he always loses the play fights. König laughs at him and tells him atleast he tried his best as he comforted him, still shamelessly laughing.

The only person who they can both be completely vulnerable with is each other. They see their true colours, personalities and through each other in a sense. What they had was exclusive in a way - nobody else has seen this side of them, the good and bad.

The teasing in this relationship is top tier. König wore baggy grey sweatpants as he walked around the house shirtless, leaving Ghost to feel helpless - his gaze would unceasingly divert to König’s evident bulge. I mean… it wouldn’t hurt to steal occasional glances when he wasn’t looking, right?

“Eyes up here, Schatz.” König scoffed, clicking his fingers and redirecting Simon’s gaze to his, like Simon was his disobedient dog.

“Sod off,” Simon replied, clearing his throat to mask his apprehension - all just from grey sweatpants…

There’s a constant battle for dominance, especially when they kiss. Their kisses are so intimate; their tongues clashed like chaotically serene tidal waves, König cupped the back of Simon’s head to hold onto him and pull him in closer. The kissing is so electric and sultry - so deep.

(Bonus points for Simon kissing König to shut him up because he was yapping too much, or vice verca).

König gets an advantage in this so-called ‘dominance field’ because of his height. Don’t get me wrong - Simon still puts him in his place every one in a while.

König was exhausted after a long day, the same day that Simon decided to ‘have a go at him’. He put something on the TV to pass time until Simon came in to scold him for something he wasn’t even paying attention to. König already being sat down may have slightly boosted Simon’s ego - every once in a while he gets to actually look down at König, but all König had to do to shut him up was just stand up - tower over him. He crossed his arms, cockily glared down at him and cleared his throat, indirectly telling him to shush or might have to make him.

None of them ever want to back down. Simon continued glaring up at him whilst trying not to lift his head up to try minimise the height difference, making König scoff at his poor attempt. (Awwhdhdw)

Simon gives König nicknames like ‘mate’ and whatnot, but what they get up to behind closed doors is quite the opposite to what you’d do with your ‘mates’…

The only nice nickname König’s received from Simon is ‘sugar’, which is cute until you know why.

König accidentally dropped some sugar in the kitchen, and Simon just had to be there - earning endless teases from him before it slowly transitioned into a nickname. He admittedly hated it at first, but ‘sugar’ grew onto him.

Simon is constantly being pulled onto König’s lap, and no matter how much he squirms about or glares at him he’s staying there. König never fails to retort with a “You love it, Schatz” and warmly smile at him - heavily opposing Simon’s deadly expression.

Working out in the gym together is so motivating and fun for the both of them. They’re both glistening in sweat - making their thin, white tops turn see through, they have that post-workout rush, and they’re both messily chugging water. They enjoy training each other; especially within the competitive sparring sessions.

Simon was feeling rather ‘cheeky’ this one day, so he made König say his name between each push-up. König was unfamiliar with this ‘training technique’ but Simon guaranteed him it was efficient for… building muscle and whatnot. He started off doing them all quite easily, it went on like this for a few minutes, given that König is literally a tank of a man who’s endured strict training for the military. It slowly transitioned into low, breathless grunts of him saying ‘Simon’ whilst beads of sweat trickled down his body. What a sight for sore eyes… Simon’s eyes, more specifically.

“Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Simon muttered, taking a long sip of his water, still savouring König’s exasperated state in which he was practically moaning his name now.

“Yeah,” König panted, “It kind of is,” he breathlessly grunted his name yet again between another push-up.

It took König a while to catch onto Simon’s game. After they both showered, ate and changed, his little scheme abruptly crossed his mind, making his eyes widen in surprise before chuckling to himself because of how long it took him.

They kiss and fuck like they hate each other but the aftercare is so loving and gentle. They supply one another with infinite blankets and snacks or with a, “you sure you don’t need anything else?” even though they have practically every single snug and cosy necessity in their bedroom. They’re both capable army-men that still deserve affection reassurance every now and then, they’re completely aware of this.

“Was I too harsh?” König asked, his tone mildly exhausted and out of breath.

Simon weakly shook his head in response before leaning in to plant a kiss on his lips.

When it comes to sleeping they’re polar opposites. Simon, a light sleeper who’s as still as a plank and as for König who encompasses his body in his arms like a clingy and loving teddy bear who slightly writhes about in his sleep - but not too much to be a nuisance. The first thing he does when he wakes up being the worried, giant boyfriend that he is instead of saying good morning he asks if Simon got squished in the midst of his sleeping.

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Headcanons of dating… (x f!reader)

Dating Ghost

Dating König

Masterlist

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

Pwease elaborate on the following points, I beg this of you:

UltraHeroes Paperinika is best Paperinika?!?

Martina's Duckburg is closer to Barks' than Rosa's is?

DT17 leaked documents about Cimino? :O (Is there a way to read them?)

Sincerely thanks from a lurking lurker who lurks.

Omg no thank you i love elaborating about ducks lol

• Paperinika in Martina’s first few stories was great satire, but the character has since been stuck like that. (We’ll ignore Martina’s subsequent attempt to move away from this by making her fight the evil queen from Snow White and beheading robot clones of herself) Most writers kept her ridiculously ‘feminist’ attitude and personality, or changed her hating men into hating PK specifically. And they generally kept a lot of her negative character traits. So the character became a bit hateful. (Now that i think of it i haven’t read enough Brazilian stories so this is like from what i’ve gathered from Italian and Danish stuff) I’m personally not that much a fan of a hero who’s most defining quality is that she’s a narcissistic prick.

Paperinik moved away from a lot of his own negative character traits (he was a bit of a villain at first after all). But Paperinika did not. Probably a lot of writers still deemed all of those things as ‘funny’ because haha woman mad. On the other hand, Paperinika also fell out of use in Italy, so maybe they didn’t think it was that funny. But they never thought to like, y know change her character.

UNTIL ULTRAHEROES HELL YEAH. So like yeah Ultraheroes wasn’t good or something (though i gotta say i’m personally quite fond of it) but they did reinvent Paperinika’s character. Decided that she’s actually likable now! Moved away from all the sexism and gave her a fun personality that fit modern day Daisy and created one of the most fun love triangles between Daisy, Donald, PK and PKA. Too bad that it didn’t really stick outside of Ultraheroes. So it remains one of, if not the best version of the character for me. The end of the chapter where they go against Spectrus and Zafira is just a fav of mine.

• Rosa’s Duckburg is really un-Barksian. It might all add up in continuity and references, but tonally it’s a whole different universe.

The entire thing is too serious. I might even say it all makes too much sense. Barks never cared much about making sense. Scrooge had a different bin every other story.

Guido Martina was always the king of not making sense. He probably contradicted his own stories more than anyone else. Both hik and Barks never cared about continuity. It’s about the story. Duckburg could change into whatever they wanted, as long as it served the story they wished to tell.

Martina’s Duckburg is pretty different from Barks’. It’s a more cynical, one could say almost parodic version of it, where everything and everyone is terrible. But with that it goes way further in those satirical elements of Barks. Something Rosa rarely did, who told more straightforward consumer friendly epic Hollywood stories.

Like uhh we could take a look at Scrooge. Rosa Scrooge is ultimately a good man. He doesn’t even actually care about money, but about the way he got it! It’s about earning the money and the adventures! And secretly he’s a good person who does give money away.

Martina Scrooge is a bad man. Oh oh oh so bad. Scrooge is used to critique and make fun of the rich that Martina saw around him. He has a comically long list of debts that other people owe him. He got rich by lots of illegal manners, and can get others to do whatever he wants, simply because he has money.

Barks Scrooge is in the middle, but I’d say it leans more to Martina. Scrooge is just a person. Does bad things and good things. He’s full of human contradictions and complexities. But more often than not, even when he’s more neutral, Scrooge is used to make fun off. The stories he tells about how he got rich are ridiculous. They are meant to be laughed at. It’s this difference in tone which is prevalent in most of their writing.

Rosa simply doesn’t use the characters that way. That’s it kinda. Hope this explains my imo a bit lol

• okay shhhh but dont tell anyone

(Sorey, removed the link. Just to stay safe. If anyone still wants it don’t be scared to dm :))

(Kind of scared of getting banned so excuse me if i remove the link in a few days. I recommend you download it to read later. I wrote the longest wall of text to hide it under but the drive i downloaded it from is gone because of disney so like yeah tad bit scared)

And just want to say wow. Thank you for the ask. Like the idea that there are people lurking around reading my posts, like i used to do (and still do) by so many others is insane honestly. Hope you’ve had fun reading my ramblings here, anon :)

[whineandcheese24]

so @erch0maii said in a post that i didn’t want to hijack that the reason that both screen adaptations of tmi didn’t feel quite right is because they were these dark gritty adaptations while the books are, at heart, campy and silly and comical. and i was thinking about this and how it relates to the other series in the tsc canon. when i first read tsc i thought that the reason they felt tmi felt different from tid, tda, and tlh is because they were her first books but it really all comes down to the character’s sense of humor and genre awareness. because all the other tsc series (and i’m betting twp too) take themselves so seriously, but timi doesn’t do that. 

with genre awareness, the characters are put in this dark edgy fantasy war series but they act like their in a satire or a comedy. my favorite parts of qoaad were when jace and clary were in these dangerous situations and were acting so nonchalant about it. and it wasn’t even like a fake confidence or something, they genuinely just are Like That. like at the war council they walked in casually with normal clothes and people didn’t even notice them until lily called them out. like, they could have changed, they could have made a big entrance, but no, why bother. and later in brocelind when manuel rips out the tent and they’re playing tic tac toe. they don’t acknowledge him at all, not even to make a joke about him ruining the tents they borrowed. they just sit there playing tic tac toe. and again on the imperishable fields, jace has a knife to manuel’s back and clary is holding the stanchion but emma describes them as walking as if they’re out for a morning stroll.

and like look at the parallels between the series. the tlh crew met one and a half princes of hell and barely made it out with their sanity. the tmi gang has collectively met 3 princes of hell and in literally every situation they’re on the same level. when emma and julian went to thule it was this dark scary traumatizing thing, this actual hell that wasn’t quite hell. and when james, matthew, lucie, and cordelia went to edom it was this terrible experience that both lucie and matthew spent literally dying. but when the tmi gang went to hell, what ever. yeah it was serious and traumatic and scarring but not in the same way. izzy and simon hooked up. clary and jace had sex. and alec made fun of all four of them for it after. jace got caught by a demon and clary scolded him like he left the fridge open. they literally snuck into sebastian’s elite fortress with a plan from simon’s dnd campaign. and diyu?  even when simon was having a mental breakdown he managed to flirt with izzy it took the tlh gang 3 long-ass books to defeat belial and christopher died in the process. the tmi gang beat sammael in a f*cking side book. if you go to the shadowhunter wiki and go to azazel’s history he’s said as being a part of team good. imagine how casual you have to be to get a prince of hell to join ‘team good’

and then there’s the angels. tessa’s contact with ithuriel almost killed her. emma and julian’s whole nephilim thing also almost killed them. and yeah, clary’s first encounter with raziel was very somber and serious. but in cols simon literally blackmailed raziel into giving him a magical sword. and with faerie, every encounter that the tda gang have with faeries or in faerie is this dangerous quest that could get everybody killed. the tmi gang don’t hesitaste to insult the seelie queen to her face

the thing that sets tmi apart from the rest of tsc is the characters’ refusal to take anything, themselves and everyone around them, seriously for very long

[totally-california]

The World’s Issues (and What Californians can Do)

For once this isn’t satire, so please actually pay attention. This is about the situation with Israel and Palestine.

ISRAEL AND PALESTINE SITUATION: This is a big one. It’s a huge issue that needs to be addressed; almost everyone knows that it’s happening. For those that don’t know, Hamas, a terrorist organization, took Israeli hostages into the Gaza Strip.

Israel’s response was initially viewed as acceptable before immediately doing a 180 into violence. They began to bomb the Gaza Strip, displacing millions of innocent Palestinians from their homes. This already happened prior when Israel took over Palestine in 1948, but now the bombing has led to the people that remain are close to dying, potentially starving, or have been killed. Many people need donations and funding to stay on their feet to pay for things like medical aid, and one of the only ways to get out had been Egypt, until Hamas made the border into Egypt to dangerous to cross.

THE US’S CONNECTIONS: The truth of the matter is it’s actually very hard for the US to immediately cut ties with Israel. While it may seem like a good idea, and in many ways it is, it’s actually a bit more difficult than just placing an economic sanction. This is mostly because so many people in the government were pro-Israel in the past, and it’s hard to instantly break off when something bad happens. However, this issue has been happening for months, surely they’d have changed, right? This is because something so totally ingrained into people takes a long time to change (such as being raised to be racist or homophobic), and let’s be honest, most of America’s politicians are old. While that doesn’t justify their behavior, the fact that many politicians are politically calling for a ceasefire is a step in the right directions. We need to make sure they keep going in that right direction, however. All they need is a little push. Which brings us to…

WHAT CALIFORNIANS (AND OTHERS) CAN DO: What can you do to help these people? For starters, vote for Kamala Harris in the 2024 election. Donald Trump has repeatedly stated he would help Israel “finish them off”. You can read this in his Agenda 47 or just watch one of his interviews. And if you’re thinking of voting third party… um… the third party candidate is a little out of it as well. Like, actually kind of insane. (Look up the dead bear/roadkill situation for more information) Kamala, meanwhile, has vocally stated she wants a ceasefire twice (so has Tim Walz). While this isn’t directly cutting ties with Israel, it’s better than what the other candidates are doing. Push her. When you vote, say you’re on the fence about what candidate to pick but that helping Palestine would definitely help persuade you. The next thing you can do is donate to help them. Many of the donations I DO know about are from the UK, so you may have to look up an exchange rate, but I’ll search for some more. Here are some that I’ve found:

One warning I have for you: if you do decide to actively protest, DON’T protest and interrupt someone for 40 minutes in a rally. You’re just going to worsen the situation for ALL parties involved. The whole thing where the protests interrupted an already established rally is NOT a protest- it’s public interference. I know it may be tempting to interrupt a rally for protesting, but DON’T DO IT. Michigan is a great example of what NOT to do. (Kamala’s reaction wasn’t the best either, but for a spur of the moment response, most people probably couldn’t have done much better). And don’t automatically assume someone is a Zionist just because they don’t have ‘save Palestine’ written all over their blog. Edit: Something else that does not help is immediately considering anyone who is Jewish pro-Israel. That’s not how it works, and it’s not true.

Now, Gaza and Israel, unfortunately, isn’t the only conflict going on around the word. (Especially with North Korea, and the war between Russia and Ukraine) It’s just one of the only ones being talked about, sadly. Now there’s also protesting in Bangladesh, due to its corrupt government, and several hundreds of other human rights violations around the world (price of Healthcare in Pakistan is one that comes to mind, as I recently did a school report on it) I can’t even list them all. (I’ll be back with more, I hope. School is starting soon and I might not have time). For now, we need to help who we can- but we also need to fix our economy. That means we can’t always be Team America World Police. We can’t let people get hurt. But we can’t ignore ourselves either.

Help Palestine. To truly make America great again, we need to help those that need it. It even brings up the question of if America was ever great in the first place. But right now? Everyone needs help. So we need to make sure we are capable of helping others, as well as ourselves. Stay safe, vote, and spread the message.

[theragnarokd]

[i deny anything to do with this. dirk writing fanfiction, modern no sburb au, rated T so far, lots of self loathing and judginess]

It was the end of the evening shift. He did a lot of closing nowadays, night blurring into dawn: there wasn’t anyone to drag him out. Not anymore. On the counter, there was a finished drink, the customer’s name written on it in sharpie. His coworker must have ducked out just before calling out their name. He picks it up. It’s not until he calls out the name that it registers: “Enkidu!” From the back of the coffee shop, a familiar figure approaches, and Gilgamesh’s heart clenched. For a desperate moment, he dared to hope.

Dirk exhales, rereading the paragraphs for typos. Then he saves it into the folder titled Oubliette, and opens a different text file. His SBaHJ reverse-mpreg vore isn’t going to write itself, and Dirk can’t disappoint his readership.

Even as the thought forms, his inbox dings. His heart speeds up at the view of the sweetest words known to man or machine:

[AO3] Comment on SBaHJ: the Romeomance

Of course he immediately opens the notification.

centaursTesticle left the following comment:

My admiration, as always, is yours. I would be happy to read more in this GRIPPING tale

Dirk permits himself a small smile. This guy has been commenting on Dirk’s fics, first in a binge and now on every new installment he updated. Dirk mentally fist-bumps him before opening his WIP folder, where the relevant fic document lives. It’s a good day.

It is not a good night.

Dirk should go the fuck to sleep. Or at least to shower. He washed the dishes earlier and his shirt has more unmentionable fluids on it than his latest fic update, which is saying something.

Instead, he goes to Romeomance’s page and hits refresh.

Not even a tick on the visit count.

This is stupid. Dirk is being a useless idiot. If people can’t appreciate his subtle satire and how it corresponds with the tone of the original comics and movies, that’s on them, and not on him.

There’s a newer fanfic than his with twice the hitcount, not even looking at kudos.

Well, so what? People like what they like. As long as Dirk is happy with the stuff he writes – and while he’s always aware of places he could improve, he rather is happy with it – what does it matter what response some other person’s fic gets?

The title is a lower-case quote from a song that was in the top 40s ten years ago. The tags include Enemies to Lovers, Only One Bed, and Slow Burn. (The fic isn’t even 10K, and it’s marked as complete, so Dirk is a teensy bit skeptical of how slow that burn is.)

Dirk clicks in. Maybe he can learn a thing or two.

The first two paragraphs make a fairly clever allusion to the famous stairs monologue. It’s a surprisingly fresh outlook on a piece of canon that’s been worn to palimpsest and back by fanon. It could be a good fic. Dirk might enjoy it. Better, Dirk might learn how to write something that isn’t worthless drivel–

He closes the tab.

This would be an excellent time to go shower.

He opens the tab again. He reads through the story grimly, marking how the dialogue sounds lively and not like two finger puppets squeaking at one another. Yes, okay, it’s a stylistic choice for Dirk. That, and he can’t fucking write dialogue to save his life.

By the time Dirk reaches the author’s notes at the end, the only argument he can make against deleting all his own fic is that it can serve as a cautionary tale.

The end notes thank two beta readers. Dirk runs his fics past Roxy when he can swing it, but for the most part, he hasn’t managed to attract a beta reader in years. Maybe that’s why everything he writes gargles balls.

There’s also a link to the author’s entry in the Every Little Bid Helps fanfic auction. Dirk clicks on the link mostly out of self preservation: if he rereads this fic, he really will orphan his account. That would be sad for that centaursTesticle guy, wouldn’t it? Think of the testicles. The centaur ones.

[trashytoastboi]

Day of Justice - Raphael

~Karaoke Bite~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

> Karaoke Bite: The characters at Karaoke

> Song: Hand of the Almighty by John R. Butler

🦔 He’d do it, but Raphael is just there because Diavolo insisted on him joining. He didn’t have a particular interest for karaoke but since everyone was waiting for him to take his turn. Raphael wasn’t really aware of things like satire or parody songs. So he wouldn’t have noticed that an innocent title wouldn’t at all be what he expected. Much like what happened to Simeon, you’d think he’d maybe check what he was about to sing. 

🦔 Raphael wasn’t expressive, he didn’t even want to stand up but reluctantly did so in the front of his seat. His voice still sounded lovely even without him trying to sing with any effort although it didn’t dampen his natural talent for it. The start of the song had a cautionary tale to it- until it took the unexpected twist and {Name} had to try not to spit out the sip they had just taken. 

🦔 The song even elicited a small chuckle from Barbatos who laughed behind his hand, Luke and Simeon seemed so shocked but in contrast- Raphael was inspired, motivated by the content of the song and invigorated by it. By the second verse Raphael was singing with more vigor and even had a little rhythm to his bare movement. 

Oh, sinner, do not stray

From the straight and narrow way

For the Lord is surely watching what you do

If you approach the Devil's den

Turn 'round don't enter in

Lest the hand of the Almighty fall on you

He'll fuck you up (he'll fuck you up)

Yes, God will fuck you up

If you dare to disobey his stern command

He'll fuck you up (he'll fuck you up)

Don't you know he'll fuck you up

So you better do some prayin' while you can

Taglist: @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @roninfromtheops

[booksforevermore13]

Late night cravings

Summary: Midnights are the ideal time for Ginny to realize she loves brownies. And bananas. And the need for Harry to make her some. Pure fluff.

A/N: A short something I wrote after a highly stressful week. Plotline suggested by the all-wonderful @chef-hagrid.

...

“Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in.”

...

This was the second night in a row, she couldn’t sleep. Midnights, she decided, were positively more tiresome than the mornings.

Ginny turned around again, careful not to roll over on her belly. She huffed, frowning as she felt the cold absence of her husband beside her on the bed.

She was hungry, she realised. Which was odd. It hadn’t been even three whole hours since she had eaten. 

Ginny wasn’t even really hungry, she realised. She just…she was just hungry for brownies. And bananas. Especially bananas. Ginny groaned, then got up, her back cracking as she sat up on the bed. 

“Fuck it,” she cursed, as she put on her slippers and headed towards the kitchen. She hated it when Harry was off on his night missions, leaving her all alone in the house. Especially now, when she was so satirically lonely.  And hungry.

Come to think of it now, Harry really had been going on quite a few night missions lately. This week alone, he had not been home at all during the nights.

Ginny brought out a pan, turned on the oven, then left everything on the counter and gazed at the clock. Four more hours and he’d be back home. Before he’d have to leave again.

She huffed, then set to work. While she didn’t know, per say, how to make brownies, Ginny figured….it wouldn’t be that hard. Flour, eggs, cocoa, milk, how hard could it really be?

She had never even cracked eggs before though. Something about a glob of slimy things coming out of a cracked shell irked her. She’d seen Harry make eggs before, seen her mum too. Last time she was at Hermione and Ron’s, she’d helped Hermione make dinner, and Hermione had made eggs too. Eggs weren’t hard.

Obviously.

One and a half hours later, Ginny rethought her statement. 

Eggs were hard. So was flour, cocoa, and the weird bitter tasting powder that Ginny had measured up in a small bowl and left aside. 

She stepped back, her clothes lathered in egg whites and flour, frustration clouding all rational thoughts in her head.

“When the hell is he going to come back?” she muttered angrily, throwing her apron aside, as she switched off the now hot oven. In a fit of rage, she scooped up some cocoa into her mouth and then grabbed a banana, biting into it to lighten the bitter feeling in her mouth.

“Brownies can go to hell,” she muttered, stomping back into the bedroom, flinging the banana peel into the bin. 

And as Ginny got back into the bed again, she glanced once again at the clock, noting the time until he’d be back beside her.

It wasn’t even something she tried to hide, but she missed him.

Terribly.

…

…

As luck would have it, as would the sun, when Ginny woke up, she was tucked against his side. 

Even without opening her eyes, his mere scent comforted her, nearly lulling her back to sleep. 

Ginny opened her eyes, looking up to see the sleeping form of her husband. 

His hair lay messily on his forehead, his eyes crinkling once in a while as he slept. Ginny smiled, all her frustration towards him the previous night vanished in a trace. 

“Staring’s considered rude, you know,” Harry said softly, and Ginny smiled, lightly brushing her hand through his hair.

“Well, excuse me for staring at my husband,” she quipped and Harry opened his eyes, gazing down at her with those bright green eyes.

“Three years and I still can’t believe it sometimes,” he softly said.

“Believe what?”

“That you call me husband.”

Ginny laughed, her laugh echoing through the room, the sunlight trickling in through the gap in the curtains. She placed her hand on her belly as if by instinct, then looked up at Harry, a smile on her face.

“So..” Harry smirked, “you want to tell me what happened in the kitchen last night?”

The smile vanished. Ginny made a face, and then frowned up at him. “I was hungry -”

“I figured.”

“- for brownies.” 

Harry lightly chuckled, then grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, putting them on before turning to face his wife.  

“It isn’t even just brownies,” she went on. “Bananas. I have an inhuman, unexplainable craving for bananas, and old me would just be.. borderline revolted, but I can’t stop thinking about banana puddings, and banana chips, and -”

“- bananas in general,” Harry finished. “You know there could be a dozen more interpretations of that,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow suggestively, laughing as Ginny lightly smacked him on the arm.

“Anyway,” Ginny rolled her eyes, “I, yes I, was trying to make banana brownies last night, but as you already saw, that went exactly as I wanted it to.”

Harry laughed, bringing Ginny closer to his face, before kissing her gently on the forehead. Then, as if deep in thought, he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. 

“You want me to whip up a fresh batch?” he said, his voice muffled by her hair. 

“Really?” Ginny grinned, her eyes lighting up almost immediately, “you up for that?”

“Always, madame,” Harry smiled, rolling out of bed, and bowing gallantly, smiling at Ginny’s laughing figure. 

In the morning, she realised, all was well.

…

...

It clearly wasn’t, she thought, as she waddled over to the kitchen. 

Harry hadn’t left for work. Which was odd. He hadn’t even jumped at the chance of getting in some more sleep, which was even odder. Yes, it was very Harry-like to get up in the morning and get to making brownies at Ginny’s request, but after a long night of work, she’d thought he’d at least get in a few extra hours in the morning.

In fact, she’d be the one to tell him to stay in bed, because even under the smiling face, and bright green eyes, Ginny knew that he was, to an extent, exhausted.

Except, he wasn’t now. Heck, he was even whistling some distinct tune she could swear she’d heard somewhere before.

Unlike her frenzied self last night, Harry held a natural control of the kitchen, whipping batter into bowls, mixing in the eggs, and also, weirdly using the bitter powder she’d left aside last night.

He stopped momentarily, looking up as Ginny entered the kitchen. 

“You want them to be extra chocolatey, or just bananas and plain chocolate?” he asked.

“Umm.. just bananas and chocolate please,” Ginny said as she carefully sat herself beside the counter. She observed Harry manoeuvring swiftly around the kitchen, a little envious about the ease with which he was doing things she was struggling with last night, before she cleared her throat. 

“You don’t have to go to work?” she asked hesitantly. 

“I was wondering when you were going to ask that.” Harry turned around, a wide smile on his face. 

Ginny wondered what was going to come next.

“Well,” Harry kept aside the bowl, wiping his hands on his shirt, “I’m taking a break.” 

“What?” Ginny frowned.

“Not a break, saying, I’ll not go to work, not like that,” he said. “A break meaning, there will be no more night missions, no staying at work too late; I hope, even more days off. At least, until the baby comes.”

Ginny stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?” she said, voice full of hesitation. “I mean, it’s just been four months and -”

“I know, Gin. But, you might think I haven’t noticed, but I know I’m gone more than I should be.”

And it was true, he was. And she worried about him. Especially nowadays, as he left for his missions, it was as if she held in her breath before he returned again. So, she simply nodded at him, as Harry tucked in a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“I mean, you’re pregnant,” he smiled. “In a few months, we’re going to be parents, and I have absolutely no idea how we’ll do that, but we’ll do that together too.”

He put his arms around her chair, pressing his lips on her forehead. “I know I’ve not been home much the last few months, but I will now. I promise.”

“I’m glad,” Ginny said, resting her forehead against Harry’s chest. “I really have been missing you tremendously the past few weeks.”

“I’ll make you banana brownies to cover up for it,” he whispered back. 

“You better.”

Harry chuckled, bending down to kiss her. Then, he lightly placed his hand on her belly, looking up at her as she placed her hand over his. 

Ginny gazed into his eyes, the warmth in them comforting her, in the same way she had always been comforted when she looked at him.

“I’ve been thinking of names,” she said.

“That’s dangerous,” Harry quipped, “the last time you named something, you named it after a pig.”

“I did not,” Ginny said indignantly. 

And it was the little tell-tale signs that made her realise as they argued that everything was really going to be okay, even if she developed an unflinching love for brownies, even if they named their first child after something horrendous, everything was really going to be alright.