#and then maybe after you can help clean me up

[sapphire-writes]

Beyond The Play

college!Art x college!Reader

summary: Tashi needs some time alone with her man, which leaves you without a room for the night.

word count: 3.8k

rating: mature/explicit/18+

warnings: alcohol, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex with a condom, light praise, titty sucking, there's only one bed oh no!!

a/n: thanks for all the love on my first Challengers fic! hope you enjoy this one!

“You are so fucked,” Art says, taking another sip of his beer.

“Shut up.”

“He’s right,” Tashi agrees, sighing heavily, glancing at her cards.

You’re all sitting on the floor of your and Tashi’s dorm room, half-empty beer bottles littering the floor between you. You’d been playing poker for the past hour or so, swindling more of Patrick and Art’s money. It’d become a Friday night habit of yours, card games and beer with Patrick and Art. Patrick was always a maybe, he only came to visit his girlfriend a couple times a semester. 

But you, Art, and Tashi were always a solid trio. Tashi and Art had met through tennis of course, and you had met Art through Tashi after rooming with her freshman year of college. You’d become fast friends, and roommates for the next several years. You got along with Patrick well enough, you had to once he and Tashi started dating.

You could tell that had been a sore spot for Art, at least for a while. You’d suspected he’d had a thing for Tashi, and fire and ice hadn’t been the same since. You’d once asked Tashi about it and she’d only shrugged. Even though she was with Patrick for now, you knew Tashi had only one true love. 

Whatever Art felt for Tashi was easily molded into friendship, and the three of you became nearly inseparable. Which was good, even if you may or may not have developed some feelings of your own for the blond tennis player. 

But your friendship was more important. Those feelings could be pushed aside.

“God damn it,” Patrick curses, “I fold.”

Tashi snickers, revealing her cards and Patrick swears once more. 

“I need a smoke,” Patrick says, standing and leaning across Tashi’s bed to the open window.

“Oh no you don’t,” Tashi says, standing at lightning speed, “Outside, we are not getting in trouble for this.”

She grabs Patrick by the shirt collar, dragging him off the bed. He dramatically chokes, but lets her drag him towards the door.

“Art come on,” Patrick insists, reaching for his best friend.

“What? No, I wanna stay,” Art says, sandy hair falling in front of his eyes, “You don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes I do,” Patrick insists, “C’mon five minutes, I swear.”

The boys tumble into the hall and you can hear their voices fading as they make their way outside. You stand from the floor, gathering up some beer bottles, and folding up the empty pizza box.

“Hey, d’you think you could sleep somewhere else tonight?” Tashi asks, brown eyes wide, “It’s Patrick’s last night, and y’know we really haven’t had any alone time.”

Your chest constricts at the thought. You totally get where she’s coming from but, it’s your room too. The thought of sleeping in the common area is less enticing. 

“Or at least just for a couple of hours,” Tashi backtracks, seeing your expression, “Just so we can—”

“Yeah, Tash it’s fine,” you tell her, swallowing your annoyance. Tashi’s been nothing but thoughtful and kind as a roommate, and friend. It’s an inconvenient favor, but nothing crazy. “I’ll get out of your hair for a couple of hours.”

“You’re the best,” she says, kissing your cheek, “Seriously, I owe you one.”

“You sure do,” you tell her, “I expect full payment for this.”

“Do you mean a trip to the movies with slurpees and popcorn?” Tashi asks, raising her eyebrows. 

“With extra butter,” you clarify and point at her, “You’re not cheaping out on me.”

“I’d never,” she insists, feigning seriousness before breaking into a grin. 

You finish helping Tashi clean up and begin your excommunication from your room. Walking down the hallway you bump into Patrick and Art on their way back from Patrick’s smoke break.

“What’re you doing out here? You start smoking?” Art asks as Patrick keeps walking past you, picking up the pace, “Hey where…”

“Party’s over,” you tell him, as Patrick turns the corner, eager to return to Tashi now that she’s alone.

Art frowns, confused.

“But we were—”

“Art,” you cut him off and place your hands on his shoulders, shaking him slightly, “Party’s over. Unless you’re eager to be a third.”

Art’s cheeks flush and he glances away, forcing out a laugh. Something tugs at your heart watching his half-smile appear. 

“Uh yeah ... .no thanks,” he says and you pat his shoulders before releasing them, “Wait but where are you going to go?”

You shrug, “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“You can’t just wander around campus, it’s like 2 am,” Art says, beckoning you with his hand, “Come back to my room, at least till they’re done.”

“Really?” you ask, “Cause if you’re tired I can just—”

“Don’t be silly,” Art says, poking your shoulder, “C’mon.”

Art’s room is in a separate building on campus, about a five-minute walk from you and Tashi’s building. Art is lucky enough to have a single; you’d been there a handful of times before class or practice. He keeps his room neat, aside from some clothes scattered on the floor from quick changes before practice. You smile as he hurriedly picks them up, throwing them into a hamper in his closet.

His bed is unmade, navy sheets messy as though he’d just woken up. 

“Sorry bout the mess,” he says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m not judging, you’re cleaner than most guys I’ve met,” you tell him and he laughs. 

Suddenly, it hits you how late it is, sleepiness hitting you like a train as you yawn. This triggers Art’s yawn and the pair of you stand awkwardly in front of each other. 

“Um,” Art says suddenly, “It’s late.”

“Yeah,” you agree, stomach sinking, “I can just—”

“You should stay.”

You’re silent at that. You stare at him, as he nervously plays with the hem of his t-shirt, waiting for your reaction. You’re not sure what to say. It’s fine, right? Just a friend, helping out another friend.

A friend whom you have a big fat annoying crush on.

“I mean….it’s just late and you’re tired and who knows when they’ll be done.”

“I don’t have anything with me,” you tell him, voice sounding softer, meeker than you’d like.

“Oh, here I got you,” he says, walking to his dresser. He shuffles through the drawer a moment before revealing a shirt and clean boxers, “Just did laundry today. You can….you can change in the bathroom. I even have an extra toothbrush.”

You roll your eyes at that, taking the clothes from him. 

“Okay,” you agree.

“Bathroom’s right there.”

You nod, quickly making your way across the room and into the bathroom. You close the door and quickly change, finding Art’s spare toothbrush unopened in a goodie bag from the dentist shoved into a spare drawer. You quickly wash your face, brush your teeth, and change into his clothes. The shirt is baggy, with Stanford Men’s Tennis written across the front. It smells like him, like his detergent and his cologne and you can’t help but greedily inhale.

When you exit the bathroom, Art dips in, leaving the door open as he brushes his teeth. You place your clothes in a pile on his desk, awkwardly waiting for him. When he emerges, he’s wearing only his boxers and a gray t-shirt.

“I’ll take the floor,” Art says, his face turning beet red, “You can have the bed.”

“Art no,” you insist, “It’s your room. I’ll take the floor, it’s only fair—”

“Yeah that is not happening,” he says, satisfied smirk on his face, “Tashi’d kill me if she found out I made you sleep on the floor.”

“We could…..” you wet your lips, struggling to get the words out, “We could share the bed?”

Art watches you, his eyes wide. You watch his Adam’s apple bobs as he contemplates your question. Suddenly your pulse quickens, and embarrassment floods your body, and your face flushes. You turn away from him, scooting onto the bed.

“I mean only—”

“—if you’re comfortable,” Art finishes and you shut your mouth. You both giggle at the overlapping sentences.

“Yeah, I’m comfortable, Art,” you tell him, patting the space beside you, “Come on.”

Art moves onto the bed and you push closer to the wall. He’s so close when he lies down beside you, stretching his arm above your head. You’ve grown accustomed to the moonlit room and at this distance, you can almost count each eyelash that frames his blue eyes. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, minty breath wafting over your face, making your head spin.

“Mhmm,” is all you can manage as the heat of his body warms you under the covers.

He’s silent then and you lay there for a moment, watching each other, listening to your shared breathing. Art chuckles then.

“What?”

“It’s just…” he trails off, “Nothing, it’s silly.”

“What is it?”

“You’re the first girl I’ve shared a bed with,” he admits, shyly glancing away from your gaze.

“Art Donaldson,” your tone is teasing, “I find that rather hard to believe.”

“It’s true,” he insists, brows furrowing together, “I mean….I’m not saying—wait” he wets his lips nervously, “I’m not a virgin—”

Your eyebrows raise, a smile curling at the corner of your lips. No, you did not doubt that. 

“Not that anything’s wrong with that, I just—wait and not to imply—”

“Art!” you cut him off, reaching forward and pressing your fingers against his lips, “I’m kidding. Don’t freak out.”

“M’not,” he mumbles, lips moving against your fingers.

“I’m fucking with you, Donaldson,” you whisper, taking your hand back, “I know you’re a gentleman.”

“Thank Christ,” he says with an exaggerated exhale causing you to giggle once more. He watches you, a smile on his face, eyes flickering to your lips.

Your face heats up as he wets his lips. Suddenly, nervousness flutters in your belly, and your heart flutters in your chest.

“Goodnight,” you tell him, turning away from him to face the wall.

You wait for his response, hoping he’s not disappointed. Disappointed about what, you’re not sure. 

“Goodnight,” he says softly and you close your eyes.

You wake up early. Birds are chirping outside the window, golden sunlight is beginning to bleed into the room, and Art’s chest is smushed firmly against your back. His arm is curled around your middle, hand splayed under your shirt and on your tummy, face buried in the crook of your neck. He’s so warm, his presence so comforting, you just want to close your eyes and melt back into him. 

Art groans in his sleep, moving his hips slightly and your eyes snap open.

Oh, Art.

He’s pressed firmly against your backside, rock-hard, hips unconsciously grinding against you. Your mouth falls open slightly feeling him against you, the hard outline of his cock bullying against your ass. Art groans again, hand on your stomach pushing you closer to him.

A breathy sigh escapes you and your head falls back against him slightly. 

“Art,” you breathe, answered with another groan, this one edging on a whimper. His hips gyrate, cock pressing against you with need, “Oh God…”

You swallow, breathing becoming more shallow. Your pussy clenches, and you can feel the growing wetness in the boxers Art had lent you, thighs pressing together desperate to relieve some of the pressure.

“Art wake up!” 

Art wakes with a start, head pulled from your shoulder. You can’t see him, but you feel him tense, the warmth of his body ripped from yours as he lurches backward, right off the edge of the bed. He falls with a yelp, hitting the floor with a loud thud. You sit up turning toward him. 

“Fuck!” he says, scrambling to sit and hide his erection, “Shit, I’m so sorry!” His face is red and he grabs a pillow, placing it over his lap, “God–fuck, I’m so sorry I was asleep—” He keeps stuttering, unable to meet your eyes. 

“Art.”

“It’s just biological you know, just morning wood, I would never do anything without your explicit consent–enthusiastic consent!”

“Art…”

“And I would never want to ruin anything between us, ever–”

“Art!”

His head snaps toward you then, eyes meeting yours. His mouth hangs open, eyes watery as he looks up at you. He looks so sad, so embarrassed, and disappointed. And something else as well. Worried, perhaps. 

“Get back up here,” you tell him.

Art’s mouth remains open in shock as he glances at the bed.

“Now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Art scrambles to rejoin you on the bed, lying beside you. He faces you just as he did last night, sandy hair falling across his forehead. You smile softly at his disheveled appearance and his flushed cheeks.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop talking,” you tell him, reaching forward and brushing some hair from his face. You let your hand trail around to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his hair. “You have my consent.”

Art’s eyes widen, lips parting in shock.

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” you tell him, pulling yourself closer. His hand drifts to your hip, anchoring himself to it. “Explicit, enthusiastic, all yours.”

The last word has barely left your lips before he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips against your own. They’re warm and soft, he kisses you with innocent eagerness, the hand on your hip pulling you flush against him. You lift your leg, hitching it around his thigh, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging slightly, earning a moan against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips, “You don’t know how long I’ve thought about this.”

Something deep inside your belly warms at his admission. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” he answers, kissing you again, “Since freshman year.”

“Why didn’t you…..oh fuck..” your question trails off as Art mouths your neck, sucking and biting the tender skin.

“Didn’t want to ruin anything,” he mumbles, kissing your collarbone. 

You hum at his answer, tilting your head to give him better access. His hand moves from your hip bone, up under your shirt—his shirt. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, mouth returning to your lips.

“Yes,” you tell him, “Please touch me.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he does what you ask, fingers grazing the underside of your breast. Pushing against him, his hand cups your breast, squeezing lightly. You pull away from his lips briefly, tugging your shirt over your head and tossing it to the end of the bed. Art’s eyes devour you and he kisses you desperately as he continues to play with your tits. 

“Fuck you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck until he reaches the top of your chest. 

Art’s lips move across the tops of your breasts, as though he’s struggling with choosing which one to lavish with attention. Luckily for you, he decides rather quickly and latches his mouth to your right nipple, thumb, and forefinger, tweaking the opposite. Your back arches as he gently bites down, sucking the hardened peak harshly before releasing it with a pop. 

“Art.”

He simply moans, ignoring your cries as he brings his mouth to your opposite nipple, repeating his previous action. Pleasure winds a current in your lower belly, your thighs clench as he repeats his little torture, alternating back and forth between your breasts. You grab his hair, tugging him not too gently until he glances up at you, cheeks red, lips glossy and puckered. 

He’s too pretty.

You pull him back to your lips, kissing him feverishly while trying to rid yourself of the clothing you have left. Art feels you squirming and assists, hands moving the boxers down your legs until you’re able to kick them off at your ankles. Your hands move to him next, eager to even the playing field. 

You tear his shirt over his head revealing his toned stomach from countless hours on the court. Your mouth waters at the sight before Art is on you once more, lips capturing yours in another heated kiss. His hand returns to your hip, curling against it before he reaches further, squeezing your ass.

You smile against his mouth as he squeezes again. 

“You’re just fucking perfect, aren’t you?” he murmurs, returning your smile.

His hand grazes down the back of your thigh before venturing to the front where your legs meet. Your breathing becomes more labored the closer he gets to your hot center. 

“Can I?” he asks, so softly, you nearly drown out his question with your heavy breath.

“Yes,” you tell him, and that’s all he needs. 

Art slides a curious finger between your wet folds, gently circling your clit. Your mouth falls open as he continues.

“You’re so wet,” he remarks, dipping his finger lower, and finding your entrance. 

He lets his middle finger sink into you, met with little resistance. Your walls greedily accept him as he curls his finger upwards, beginning to pump it in and out. Stars explode behind your eyes and you moan, clutching onto his shoulder.

Art smirks, eyes aglow at the pleasured noises you emit.

“That feel good?”

“Yes—fuck,” you squeak as he presses another finger inside of you, “Oh god.”

“Yeah?” 

Art crooks his fingers against your velvety walls, pressing against that special spot inside of you that has your head lolling against him, moans spilling from your lips. His thumb joins, caressing your sensitive clit in time with the strokes of his fingers. 

“Feels so good,” you moan, “I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You're gonna come for me?” he asks, kissing your neck. Your fingers tangle themselves in his blonde hair, tugging harshly, your orgasm building deep in your belly, “Come on baby, come on my fingers, I wanna feel this pretty pussy come.”

His words send you over the edge and your pussy clenches around his digits as you come, thighs shaking from the intensity as warmth floods through you.

“That was so hot,” Art says, kissing you, still buried to the knuckles inside you, “You’re so hot. Let me fuck you, please.”

You hum against his lips as he carefully removes his fingers from your warmth. He pulls away, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. You watch him awestruck as he moans, eyes closing at the taste of you.

“Get inside me,” you tell him, “Right now.”

Art doesn’t need to be told twice, sitting up and pulling his boxers off as you lay on your back. Your eyes drift down his stomach to his cock. It’s pretty, just like the rest of him. Long, girthy, a neat tuft of dark sandy colored hair at the base. The tip flushed red and weeping as he strokes himself. 

“Condom?” you ask, and he nods, walking to his desk and rummaging through the first drawer. 

He comes up successful, ripping the wrapper with his teeth and rolling the condom on his length before crawling on top of you. You spread your legs for him as he lines himself up, rubbing the tip along your soaked slit. 

“Art, please put it in,” you whine, hips lifting.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up,” he says, shaking his head.

Your responding giggle is short-lived as he slowly sinks inside of you, filling you to the brim.

“Oh god,” you whimper, as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You okay?”

“More than okay,” you answer, cupping his cheek. He mirrors your action and you smile, a sudden burst of tenderness exploding in your chest, tears welling in your eyes. 

Art rotates his hips, pulling back and sinking back into your inviting warmth. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, “I’ve dreamt of this for years.”

“Me too,” you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist, “God, Art, I’ve wanted this forever.”

This spurs him on, his thrusts becoming quicker, more eager at your confession. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you whimper as he pounds into you, “Wanted this for so long—used to talk to….to Tashi about it—”

Art moves his hand along your side, reaching your thigh and hooking your leg over his shoulder.

“What’d you tell her?”

The new angle sends him deeper, the head of his cock rubbing perfectly against that spongy section of your walls that has your mouth dropping open in pleasure.

“Wanted you,” you manage as Art holds one of your hands above your head against the pillows, “Wanted this so bad.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Art says, his breath catching, “Fuck—oh god you’re so pretty like this, fuck.”

“Art!” you cry his name as your second orgasm builds, sneaking up on you as he slows his pace, “Why’d you—”

“Wanna savor this,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. His thrusts have slowed, hips moving with leisure. 

The pressure in your belly continues to build as he smirks down at you. Tennis has done wonders to his stamina; he fucks you like he could keep this pace for hours, barely breaking a sweat. You whine, throwing your head back against the pillows as he kisses your neck, your hamstring burning deliciously with the stretch. 

“Please come for me,” he murmurs, right next to your ear, “I’ve got to feel that sweet little pussy come around my cock, please.”

You do as you’re told, spurred on by Art whispering praises and encouragement in your ear and you fall apart, clenching around his cock and milking him for all he’s worth. You feel his hips stutter, cock twitching inside your warmth as he follows your release with his own. Art’s lips find yours then, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you like a drowning man coming up for air. 

You stay like that for several minutes, his cock softening as you kiss one another, before he slowly pulls out. He takes a moment to take off the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the trash before he rejoins you in bed.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you across his chest. 

You lie with your cheek pressed against his pec, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. He strokes your arm with his fingers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Did you mean what you said?” he asks, face buried in your hair, “About wanting me? This?”

“Mhmm,” you answer, putting all your cards on the table, “I may have harbored a small crush on you.”

Art picks up your hand measuring it against his own before lacing your fingers together.

“I wish I knew that earlier,” he admits, still holding your hand, “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

You glance up at him between your lashes and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says with a smile.

“And here I thought Patrick was the only one who owned your heart,” you tease, causing him to playfully bite your wrist, “Hey!”

“Not the only one,” he admits, rolling you over onto your back, “I’m glad you got kicked out of your room last night.”

You lean up, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Me too.”

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[museanddream]

Pretty Please || Laia Codina x reader

Summary: Amid the Conti Cup celebrations, you come up with an idea to wipe the smirk off Laia’s stupid pretty face.

Warnings: 🔞 | face sitting, fingering, light bondage (but the soft and silly kind), top!reader

Word count: 5k

The look on Laia’s face when you push her onto the bed is one that will be etched into your memory for a long time.

Later, if you end up regretting this, you’ll blame the champagne. The thing about Laia is that she’s just so passionate. From the moment she came onto the pitch after half time, right through extra time and the celebrations that lasted into the night, she committed wholly to it all. And maybe you’ve actually fancied her all along, or maybe it’s the bubbles poured down your throat from the open bottles that have gone straight to your head, but you don’t think you can really be blamed for seeing Laia give herself to everything so wholeheartedly and wanting to drag her away so she can give herself completely to you.

Her expression is dazed, her hands helpless at her side as you straddle her hips, like she doesn’t quite believe this is happening.

“That’s it,” you assure her. “Just lie there and look pretty for me.”

She is pretty, blown pupils in eyes that stare up at you like you’re an as yet undiscovered wonder of the world. The confidence that attracted you to her is still there, but there’s a slight hesitancy too, like she’s navigating uncharted waters.

“I don’t … I’m not…”

Her accented voice is a little husky, probably from all the singing since Arsenal lifted the trophy but you allow yourself to believe that just a little bit of it is because of you and this position you’ve put her in.

“What? You’re not used to somebody else calling the shots?” You can’t help but tease her.

Laia gives a little shrug.

“Well, no.”

You lean forwards to cover her body with yours, ghosting your lips over hers as you murmur, “If you don’t want to do this…”

Laia answers by fisting a hand into the material of your jersey and pulling you closer so that your lips have no choice but to crash against hers.

She kisses exactly the way you knew she would - with her entire body. You’re supposed to be taking control but it’s really hard to focus on that when Laia’s teeth nip at your lips, when her tongue swipes into your mouth, when her whole aura is enveloping you. Her hands quickly drop to your hips, then fall even lower until her palms are cupping your ass, her fingers squeezing roughly as she tries to pull you even closer.

“Stop it.” You break the kiss and swat at her hands until she complies and lets them fall back to her sides on the bed, then you add, “Don’t make me tie you up.”

It’s just a joke until it isn’t, Laia’s eyes darkening and her thighs clenching together beneath you. The movement is so minute that you could miss it, if Laia wasn’t the entire purpose of your existence right now.

“Oh?” Your mouth curls up into a smile at the realisation, one eyebrow arched as Laia’s cheeks flush. “You’d like that, would you?” You don’t give Laia time to answer before you’re pulling at the hem of the Arsenal shirt she still wears and telling her, “Take this off.”

You clamber off the bed and cross over to your open suitcase, cursing the fact that you’re in a random hotel in Wolverhampton and not the comfort of your own flat, where you’ve got all kinds of fun things you could use on Laia.

Rummaging around for anything that might be useful, your fingers eventually close around a clean pair of spare football socks rolled-up at the bottom of your bag and in the absence of any actual ties, you decide they’ll have to do. When you turn your attention back to the bed, Laia has taken off her shirt but still wears a sports bra and, for some inexplicable reason, the Conti Cup winner’s medal that hasn’t left her neck since she was presented it after the game earlier. She lounges back against the pillows, the smirk back on her lips. That damn kissable smirk.

“Take those off too,” you instruct her.

Laia maintains eye contact with you the entire time as she lifts the medal from around her neck and leans across to drop it on the nightstand, and yeah, you really need to put her in her place.

You crawl back onto the bed, helping her remove the bra without much care, too fuelled on a high of adrenaline, post-match pizza and champagne. The kiss you give her when the bra is gone is bruising, flattening her into the mattress as you remind her who is in charge, discarding the socks and your idea for them for a second while you focus on more important things - namely getting your hands on Laia’s tits. She gasps into your mouth as your palms brush across her nipples and you take advantage, slipping your tongue past her lips as you devour her mouth, hot and filthy.

“Fuck,” Laia exhales, as your mouth drops to her jaw, tilting her head to the side to give you better access as you descend the column of her neck and litter kisses across her clavicle.

“That’s the idea,” you murmur against hot skin as one of her hands finds the back of your head and weaves through your hair as she tries to guide you lower. You’ll allow it for now, knowing that she won’t have the use of her hands for much longer, and wrap your lips around a dusky nipple.

“Fuck,” Laia repeats, somehow more reverent than before.

“Is that the only word you know?” you ask, lifting your head to grin down at her as you replace your mouth with your hand, pinching her nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

“English is my fourth language,” Laia protests.

You can’t help but lean down and kiss the pout right off her swollen lips.

“Then let me help you,” you say between kisses. “Let me teach you two words that go really well with that one. How about ‘me’ and ‘please’?”

You watch as the cogs work in Laia’s mind. In her defence, it’s probably a lot harder to translate and put the words together while you’re playing with her tits. Still, the look of realisation on her face when she puts it all together is one that brings you a great deal of joy.

“You’re an asshole,” she mutters.

“You’ll be saying it before the end of the night,” you promise her. “Now, do you trust me?”

You let your hands still, serious for a moment as you wait for her unwavering consent.

She nods, face stoic as she answers, “Of course.”

Reaching for the socks you discarded earlier, you unwrap them from their little bundle and gesture at Laia.

“Gimme your hands.”

Laia stares back defiantly for a few seconds, the hard set of her jaw challenging you, before her face slides into the familiar confident smirk as she offers up her hands.

“Is this how you always celebrate winning trophies?” she asks.

Silently, you wrap the length of one of the socks around Laia’s wrists, binding them together with a tight knot. The material is stretchy and she could probably still break free, but it’s the thought behind it that’s what really matters. The power you hold over her as she gives herself to you and lets you render her semi-helpless beneath you.

Even with her wrists bound, she still seems too comfortable, like this is her plan all along and not yours. And you can’t have that.

You answer her with a question of your own.

“What, by putting annoying little shits like you in their place?”

Pleased with the reaction she’s drawing from you, Laia grins up at you.

“I love hearing you talk dirty like that,” she teases you in a low voice.

Satisfied with your work, you lift Laia’s bound hands above her head and respond, “I’ve still got another sock. Don’t make me gag you with it.”

Laia actually laughs, a ripple of joy that bursts from her throat and yeah she’s a bit of a dickhead, but she’s also so fucking pretty when she’s half-naked and grinning up at you.

You silence her in a different way, with your mouth, and there are no complaints now as you kiss her as deeply as before. She kisses you back just as fervently, clinging onto whatever semblance of control she thinks she can take from you, even with her hands useless above her head. She kisses as assuredly as she tackles, the raw passion that emanates from her body just as prevalent now as it was on the pitch this afternoon and if there was a medal for dedication to a cause, it would surely be hanging around Laia’s neck.

She’s still far too dressed for your liking, even with her chest bare, and you don’t even break the kiss as your hands dip down her sides and your thumbs tuck into the elastic waistband of her sweatpants.

Laia lifts her hips from the bed and you don’t need more invitation than that, finally breaking the kiss so that you can pull the rest of her clothes down her legs, tossing them over your shoulder onto the floor.

Unfazed by her own nudity, though really, with her hands already bound together, there’s very little point in being ashamed, Laia scans down your own clothed body and says, “You’re wearing too much.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes flit to Laia’s hands, still stretched above her head with the length of sock binding her wrists together. “And what are you gonna do about that?”

Laia clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, fighting off another grin as she shakes her head from side to side.

“And you call me a shit.”

Apparently, tying Laia up has done nothing to instil some obedience in her.

“Shut the fuck up,” you tell her.

“Make me shut up yourself,” Laia challenges you.

It’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s an excellent idea.

You climb off the bed, leaving Laia still naked on top of the covers, her hands above her head. She brings them down and sits up, the expression on her face one of confusion as to why you’ve moved away.

“Wait!” she calls out. “No, I’ll be good! I promise.”

You lift your own shirt over your head, then step out of your joggers, leaving you in just your underwear. Laia has fallen silent upon realising that you’re not changing your mind, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open as she stares at all the new skin on show.

It’s not the first time she’s seen your body - you share a dressing room literally every day - but it’s the first time she’s been allowed to appreciate it. It’s almost funny how stripping out of your clothes has rendered Laia incapable of doing anything except staring at you, if not for the hunger in her eyes that sets your own body alight, turning you on beyond what you thought was possible.

You slide your underwear down your legs then return to the bed, straddling Laia once again, this time without the barrier of clothes.

“This isn’t fair,” Laia complains, eyes flitting up to the hands bound above her head.

“Why not?”

“I want to touch you.”

Laia makes no attempt to wriggle her hands loose, even though the stretchy material of the sock would make that quite easy for her. It fills you with a little bit of pride to see that she doesn’t do that, that she’s secretly happy with the position you’ve put her in and the freedom of movement that you’ve taken from her.

“I thought you wanted me to shut you up?” you remind her, shuffling your knees forward as you move further up the bed towards Laia’s head.

Laia’s eyes widen in realisation, then that confident grin returns to her face.

“Yeah, that works too.”

You stop with your knees on either side of Laia’s head, pausing for a moment to consider if you should move so that Laia can bring her hands down her body to be more comfortable. But then you catch sight of her between your legs, cheeks tinged pink and black pupils swallowing almost all the brown irises around them, and any thought of Laia’s comfort flies out of your mind. Besides, with her hands caught above her head, you can still see them as you ride her face.

The thought has your cunt pulsing in anticipation.

You get comfortable, one hand reaching out to support your weight against the headboard, then lower yourself onto Laia’s waiting mouth.

As Laia licks through you for the first time, the touch of her tongue snatches the air out of your lungs. She moves slowly, starting at your hole and swirling up to your clit before it goes back again, moving without any real purpose other than to just taste you.

After a few moments, Laia leans back to say, “You are really fucking wet.”

Her words are completely unnecessary and insolent enough for you to thread the fingers of your free hand through her hair and pull her mouth back against your cunt to shut her up properly.

Laia doesn’t seem to have any complaints about that. In fact, she doubles her efforts, humming as her tongue glides through you.

She works with more purpose now, working all kinds of indescribable magic where you’re hot and wet and aching for her. Laia’s lips wrap around your clit, suckling gently, then her tongue dips lower, swirling through your folds until she can push the pointed tip inside you.

You can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips, nor the expletive that follows.

“Fuck.”

Laia can’t talk from the position between your legs but you feel the hot puff of breath from her nose as she half-sniggers. You look down, met with a teasing glint in her eyes, and you roll your own.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you instruct her.

You take the opportunity to roll your hips, grinding your cunt against her mouth with slow movements as Laia applies herself fully to eating you out. You can’t really stay annoyed with her, not when she’s making you feel so good. It crosses your mind that maybe the assuredness, the borderline cockiness that attracted you to Laia in the first place, is justified by the skills that back it up. But then Laia’s tongue flicks over your clit again and you lose the ability to think coherently at all.

“Fuck, Laia,” you groan, leaning forwards to support your bodyweight against the headboard as you pick up speed, riding not just her mouth now, but pretty much the whole lower half of her face. “That feels so good. Gonna come real quick if you keep doing that.”

You say it as a bit of a warning but Laia doesn’t take it that way. In fact, if the way she hums against you, then doubles down against your clit is anything to go by, the idea of getting you off as fast as possible seems to be her end goal.

And yeah, as the coil in your core starts to wind up as your orgasm approaches, it’s an idea you can get behind too.

Your grip in her hair tightens, holding her in place as you ride her tongue as well as your trembling thighs will allow, then you make the mistake of looking down again, catching a glimpse of the hands still bound above her head before your entire world crumbles in earth-shattering pleasure.

Laia’s tongue is the only constant as your orgasm takes control of your body, not that you give her much choice about it as you hold her face against your cunt. You ride it out with jerky movements of your hips, savouring each hum from the girl below you as she cleans up your arousal, until you’re too sensitive and roll to the side, collapsing onto the mattress.

“That was so fucking hot,” Laia’s voice rises up beside you as you try to catch your breath.

You can hear the confident smirk in her voice, but you’re too dazed out from your recent orgasm to even begin to form the words to tell her to get lost.

“Are you gonna untie me now?” Laia asks.

You turn your head to face her and open your eyes. Her hands are still obediently held above her head, the white material around her wrists a contrast against her tanned arms, and she pouts at your pleadingly.

“Not sure you’ve earned it yet,” you counter, your voice more gravelly than it was pre-orgasm.

“If you want me to get you off again…” She emphasises this last word, as if making you come once has given her the upper hand here. “… well, I might need my hands for that.”

If Laia really wanted the use of her hands, she’d wriggle them free of their stretchy confinement herself. You take the fact that she doesn’t as further proof that she likes being at your mercy.

Feeling suddenly reinvigorated by that thought, you roll fully onto your side and prop yourself up on one elbow, using the fingers of the other hand to trace barely-there paths against the soft skin of Laia’s chest.

“I thought I told you to just lie there and look pretty for me,” you murmur in a low voice.

“Isn’t that…” Laia trails off with a gasp as your fingertips skate across a hardened nipple, her back arching off the bed for more. Her eyes close as your fingers move away, then she tries again. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing?”

“Yeah but I also said I wanted to hear you beg for it.”

“Please,” Laia is quick to obey. “Untie me.”

She lowers her hands, offering them out to you hopefully, but you have other ideas.

“I could untie you.” Your hand wanders lower, still just barely tracing against her skin and Laia’s breath hitches in her throat as you pass across a ticklish spot near her navel. “Or I could…”

Your hand dips between her legs, pleased that your fingers immediately encounter a copious wetness.

“Yeah,” Laia says, letting her bound hands fall back against the pillow above her head. “Like that.”

“And you had the audacity to say that I was wet,” you tease her as your fingers explore, already coated in Laia’s arousal.

“I just had you coming on my face,” Laia rasps. “Of course I’m wet.”

Your fingers move languidly, with no real purpose other than to get them as wet as possible with Laia’s slick, then you drag your hand up her body and push your fingers past her lips.

“Who tastes better?” You ask, watching in awe as Laia readily accepts your fingers into her mouth, diligently cleaning them of her own arousal. “Me or you?”

Laia slides her tongue between your fingers, before releasing them with a wet pop to answer, “You.”

Your fingers are still wet, now with Laia’s saliva, and you shift to kneel between her legs as you push them back between her lips.

This time, you actually fuck her mouth with your fingers. Before, you were just letting her taste herself, letting her see how wet you managed to get her, but now it’s about control. It’s about reminding her that you’re in charge.

And Laia takes it like a champ. She maintains eye contact with you the entire time, even as you force your fingers deeper into her mouth, her dark eyes challenging you to push further. So you do, and when she’s almost gagging on your fingers, you slide your other hand between her legs and sink inside her there too.

Laia takes one finger so easily that you add another after only a few thrusts, matching the rhythm of the fingers in her mouth. The resulting moan is muffled by your digits, so after one final thrust, you withdraw them messily and put all your focus onto her cunt.

You twist your fingers deeper, the meaty part of your thumb hitting her clit, and when she moans again, the sound fills the room.

“That’s it,” you encourage her. “Let me hear you.”

Laia lets out another wrecked moan as your fingers rock into her. Your thrusts are deep and slow, more interested in the noises you can pull from her than actually getting her close to coming, and you bask in the symphony of little moans and gasps that spill past her lips.

When she starts pleading with you, it feels like you’ve gone to heaven.

“More,” Laia groans. “Add another one.”

Your thrusts become rougher, but you make no move to add the third finger that she so desperately wants.

“That’s not how you ask nicely for things you want.”

Laia responds in Catalan and though you don’t understand it, from her tone you’re pretty sure she’s swearing at you. Your response to that is to curl your fingers on the next thrust, pressing against her front wall until her cursing fades into another moan.

Laia manages to stubbornly hold out for just a few more seconds before she gives in.

“Please. Another one, please.”

Your ego swells at how easy it was to get her to obey. You enjoy very few things more than putting confident girls like Laia in their place, but you never thought that it would be this easy, that all it would take would be a pair of socks around her wrists and a couple of fingers in her cunt to fuck her into submission.

“I had no idea you were so easy, Lai. Just desperate to be fucked, aren’t you?”

Laia curses again, first in Catalan, then in English. Then she begs you again and it’s delightful.

“Please,” she whines. “More. Harder.”

You tuck a third finger alongside the first two and start to work it into her hole, the stretch more apparent now. You watch Laia’s face for any signs of discomfort, eyes briefly lingering on the bound hands that writhe above her head, but she seems to be enjoying this as much as you are. More, even.

“So desperate,” you taunt her, gradually pushing deeper with each thrust until all three of your fingers are nestled inside her. “Bet you still want more, don’t you? My fingers aren’t enough for you?”

You withdraw almost entirely, then thrust back in with much less care than before. Your purpose is clearer now - to ruin Laia. She’s already halfway there, you can tell that from the pretty flush on her cheeks, the way her thighs are tensing and flexing as she bucks her hips into your hands, the slick sounds coming from the thrust of your fingers between her legs.

You know right in this moment that you’re never going to be satisfied with having Laia just the once. That being able to coax orgasm after orgasm from her, hearing these heavenly sounds leave her pretty mouth over and over again, is going to become a need, rather than a want. She takes you so well, everything you’re giving her, like you’re supposed to fit together like this.

And you have no doubt that if you were to give her more, she’d take that just as well.

“What if I had a strap, huh?” Your eyes are fixated between her legs as you ask the question, imagining the press of silicone where your fingers enter her body. The way she’d open up and take that too, strong thighs wrapped around your hips as you filled her. “You’d take that just as well, I bet. What d’ya think, Laia? Would you beg for my cock too?”

“Please,” Laia begs you, arching her back and tilting her head to the side to expose the sharp lines of her jaw. “Feels so good inside. So fucking good.”

You piston your fingers in and out, caring less about how rough you’re being and more about the noises you’re drawing from Laia. You can hear how wet she is where your fingers move, the rustle of the rumpled hotel sheets beneath her body as she writhes, but best of all are the litany of moans and gasps that spill past her lips each time you hit that spot deep inside her with the pads of your fingers.

“Need you … my clit … please,” Laia manages to choke out between groans, and you know she’s getting close.

You indulge her, using your spare hand, the one that was in each mouth earlier, to spread her open further before seeking out the slippery little nub between her legs. The way she jerks into your touch tells you that you’ve found the right place.

“Like that?”

“Need to come. Please let me come!”

You’re torn, half-tempted to draw it out longer because she’s just that fucking pretty when she’s tied up and desperate for you, but the selfish part of you really wants to see how much prettier she can be when she’s actually coming for you.

So you angle your fingers just right, trying to find the spot that was driving her wild a few moments ago, while keeping the light pressure around her clit with your thumb as constant as possible.

“Go on then,” you hum in concession. “Seeing as you asked so nicely. Come for me, Laia. Wanna see you let go for me.”

It takes a few more rough thrusts of your fingers in her cunt, a few more precise circles of your thumb on her clit, and then Laia’s back is arching off the bed as she lets out a fractured cry of pleasure as the orgasm takes over. You can only try to guide her through it, watching in awe as she finally falls apart in front of you.

This might be your favourite part of sleeping with a woman, the moment where she gives in and just lets the pleasure take control of her body. Knowing that you’ve made it happen, simultaneously the one who shattered Laia’s entire world for a brief moment, while also being the only thing still tethering her to reality. You keep your fingers constant, revelling in the way you can feel her clenching around your digits and the fresh wetness that coats your palm, only letting up when the twitch of her hips is away from your touch, telling you that it’s too much.

Laia’s eyes are closed, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, and you savour the little mewl of pleasure she lets out as you slowly withdraw your fingers and wipe the stickiness that coats them on your own bare thigh.

In the sudden stillness of the hotel room, despite the fact that she’s just given you everything you thought you wanted and more, the pride of being the one to make Laia come means you can’t help but tease her one more time.

“You know,” you start, as you kiss up her body, soft kisses with no purpose other than to simply appreciate Laia, “for somebody who says she’s not used to bottoming, you’re pretty fucking good at it.”

Laia opens a lazy eye, her eyelids still heavy with post-orgasmic bliss.

“I …” She starts to speak, then trails off and shakes her head, sniggering softly to herself. “Actually, I won’t even argue. If that’s how you’re going to fuck me, I’d let you do it all again.”

You crawl up her body, sitting astride her hips and reaching for her hands. She willingly brings them down and lets you loosen the sock that binds them. When her hands are freed, you kiss the newly exposed skin, brushing your lips against the pulse on the inside of her wrists.

“Uh huh?” You tease her. “I think you just like being a pillow princess.”

“La teva princesa,” Laia says, catching your jaw with one of her hands as she looks directly at you, then explains in English, “Only for you.”

Her smirk is gone, replaced by an earnest smile and warmth in her brown eyes that you feel like you could tumble into. You don’t want to tease her anymore, you just want to savour the time you get to spend with her alone, before the inevitable chaos of the football season resumes in the morning.

As you lay down and settle against her side, half on top of her, you notice a bruise blooming on the crux of Laia’s jaw that you don’t even remember giving her, one that’s going to be tricky for her to explain away on the team bus back to London tomorrow. You realise that you don’t care.

“So, is this just a one time thing or…?”

Laia’s arms wrap around you from below, fingertips tracing mindless paths across your naked back, and you feel the rumble of her low voice against your chest more than you hear it.

You lift your head slightly to look at her and she somehow seems more vulnerable now as she waits for your answer than she did a few minutes ago when she had legs spread, arms bound, begging you to make her come.

“Let’s win more trophies and maybe you’ll find out.” You roll fully on top of Laia and start kissing down her body, your destination the crux of her thighs. “Though I’m pretty sure I still haven’t properly congratulated you on winning the Nations League…”

The resulting laugh as Laia takes full advantage of the newfound freedom of her hands to thread her fingers through your hair is melodic.

“Don’t forget about the World Cup,” she teases you.

You glance up her body, her toned stomach, her perfect breasts, that damn smirk taunting you once more on her lips.

Rolling your eyes, you only have one final thing to say before you put your mouth on her cunt.

“Don’t be so damn greedy, Laia.”

[cheatsykoopa98]

1 AM ramble but someone just pointed out to me you can see zooble's room in their pin wrapping background

not only do we get to see what their room looks like, we also get an official look of the zooble box, and a mirror for them to look at themself. now I think this might be important. pomni had a scene in ep 1 where she looks at the mirror in disbelief that she looks like that now, and we know zooble changes their parts every day. I think caine did that to "help" zooble with figuring out their gender identity, which maybe or not be helping, considering what I hear of people experiencing gender dysphoria not liking to see themselves in the mirror.

and I do think the mirror is important, we get to see a little bit of the others' bedrooms as well, kaufmo, ragatha and gangle's, and none of them have mirrors from what I can see. maybe caine noticed pomni looking in the mirror and thought pomni might want one in her room just like zooble, not realizing pomni probably hates to look in the mirror and not see herself

also lets look at the other characters bedrooms

ragatha seems to be very tidy (assuming everyone has to clean up their rooms and considering how messy pomni's room is) and not have that much stuff. a box of toys that she might or not play with considering its positioned as a seat for the piano. we dont know if she knows how to play (according to goose she knows the cello, so she could know the piano as well) and having so little fingers in her hand might actually not let her play the piano properly. caine could have just heard she likes music and put a piano in her room. also notice the piano is in the middle of the room taking center stage and we cant see a bed (yet). ragatha has mentioned nobody needs to sleep even though they can. do you think she (tries to) play the piano at night while everyone else assumedly sleeps? there is a song sheet at the piano but I cant read if it has an actual song name written on it.

also she has a shelf full of things that might be of her interest or template things caine put there. like balls of yarn, books, a gloink (how did she have a gloink before ep 1?) and a framed picture, which if it has an actual photo of someone there could open up a lot of theories to who is there. also the gloink being there points to either ragatha having already lived through a gloink adventure and keeping one in her room or keeping one after an adventure where she was hurt by kaufmo and abandoned by pomni. why would she want to keep it if thats the case?

gangle's room is very dark with black walls. we cant see much but I believe she is in a really deeper depression than pomni. I believe to the point where she doesnt have the energy to try to escape, just mask as much as she can before her happy mask is broken again, poor gangle :/

we dont get to see kinger or jax's room, even though I think there is a kinger door in the corridor. maybe kinger is too paranoid to sleep in his room. jax's only shows his door with the void breaking into view. maybe we wont get to see his room until the very end. also I remember there was a theory jax knows where the exit is, but doesnt leave. I dont think its true considering goose said jax deserves to be stuck in the circus, implying he cant leave just like everyone, but since he "has keys to everywhere", what if he has been to the void without caine knowing? pomni never made it through the end but if jax did, maybe what he saw there pushed him to be how he is now. maybe he doesnt see hope in escaping and thats why he turns into such a bad person, he could be a nihilist in that way

anyway sorry for the long post, I just had a bunch of ideas popping up in my head from this little detail I should have noticed when pomni's pin was released

not only do we get to see her room but we also see the blocks spelling CBA, not sure if the B is supposed to count or not but its the second time pomni is associated with C&A, I do believe she was an employee there

[livelaughlovesubs]

How do you think househusband Fyodor would act like? Bc I feel like he’d act similar to a traditional housewife that goes to church every Sunday but is actually a total freak in the sheets almost every night (only almost everyday bc his amnesic body can keep up with his needs😞)

Ik I have a problem but what about him also having a breeding kink?👀 like he subtly hints at it after talking to a couple at church who had recently got the news that they’re expecting. Fyodor later acts pouty and starts suggesting baby names, pointing out cute children clothes when shopping, mumbles about he wished that god would bless us with a child.

(I love Fyofyo, especially if he’s a whiny horny bastard <33)

-🍮 anon

Omg wait… fyodor as a househusband/ traditional wife would be so ahhhhh

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor

He cooks, he cleans, he stays home to take care of the chores and is obedient. He believes that he has to submit to you all the time. Cuz that’s what he got himself into the moment he decided he’ll be your male wife.

Would get on his knees when you come home to greet you. Then help take off your jacket and ask what you’d like to do. Eat first or wash up? Or maybe.. something else?

Sometimes you’d encourage him to go out more, but he said he won’t do it unless it’s with you. A married man shouldn’t go out alone, without their partner.

Wears very conservative clothes, doesn’t show skin, but secretly wears lingers underneath it. It’s preparations for when you want to do it, he has to please you after all.

He’d let you do him anywhere. On the couch, balcony, over the kitchen counter, in the confession rooms of the church or in some suspicious looking alleys

Was never into sex before, until getting married with you. Since then he is so drunk on getting filled and stretched and manhandled and-

He thinks he is a great house husband, which he is, but not perfect enough. A stay at home wife usually takes care of a kid too, so you two doesn’t have one yet…

Despite him knowing he can’t get pregnant, he really wished it was possible!! Praying to his dear lord every Sunday to please bless him with a baby.

During intimacy, when he’s been going at it too long and his brain has been turned into mush, he might start revealing those thoughts

Begging you stay inside him, not wanting to let you pull out. Saying some pretty lewd things like:

“Please breed me.,mhhHmm, ah- I-i want to have your fir-first bornnHgh..!”

Probably would allow you to see other man too, cuz all he has to do it serve you and love you

It is a pretty suffocating lifestyle, that’s what you think. Which is why you never cheat or anything, you try to get him to change his mindset but he’s very stubborn about it

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Perhaps Eddie Munson was someone you could lean on--literally and figuratively. (4.7k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, vandalism, so much yearning, an accidental boner, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter nine: rest for the weary

Destroyed.

That was the only thought fleeting through your mind when you approached Eisen’s shattered door, jagged edges like rows of shark teeth. Your hand faltered, stopping just before the knob, like the whole store would disintegrate at the slightest turn.

Eddie stepped aside and gently opened the door, the bell jingling mockingly, watching to ensure that no more glass fell from the panes. “Careful,” he murmured, fingers ghosting over the middle of your back for just a second while you stepped over the threshold. Goosebumps formed beneath your shirt at his unexpected touch, brief as it was. 

Your heart lurched once more as you entered the store, the normally meticulously organized shelves now coated in spray painted tags and profanities. A crudely drawn phallic symbol, complete with testicles and pubic hair, took up most of the front of the desk. The office door bore another one with a similar resemblance. 

You were definitely surprised by Eddie’s offer to help out at Eisen’s, but nothing compared to the blatant shock on Ben’s face when he saw who accompanied you to the store. Your friend’s jaw clenched instinctively, and you realized he must have thought you brought Eddie here to confess. 

“We came to help clean,” you quickly clarified, hoping Eddie didn’t sense the reasoning behind your explanation. 

Silent tension thickened between the two men, your words your sole weapon to tear into it. “What can we do?” You asked Ben, volunteering yourself and Eddie in hopes of derailing potential conflict.

Ben cleared his throat, eyes swooping over the store that was still very much in disarray. Glass shards glittered across the floor despite his previous claims to have swept up, though you imagined that it was difficult to see clearly through his cloud of exhaustion. When he didn’t answer, you grabbed a broom from beside the door. 

“I just got off the phone with the—” Aunt Tam walked in from the office, pausing mid-sentence when she spotted you. Her lips curled into whatever semblance of a smile she could muster as she shuffled over to wrap you in a hug. Her dark brown curls brushed your cheek. 

When she pulled back, you hardly recognized her. Besides the passage of time carving wrinkles into her forehead and the bridge of her nose, her skin was free of make-up. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw her without at least mascara coating her lashes. 

“We’re here to help with whatever you need.” You swallowed the lump in your throat at the sight of her bare face, the worry now permanently sealed into her eyes. 

At the mention of a we, Aunt Tam glanced at the man beside you. Tepidly, Eddie stepped forward and held out his hand to shake hers. “Eddie Munson,” he said, posture straightening as he braced himself for a reaction. But if Ben truly suspected that Eddie had vandalized the store, he hadn’t shared that theory with his mother, because she shook Eddie’s hand without hesitation. 

“Eddie can help remove the graffiti,” you offered, and Eddie nodded. 

“Just need some WD-40,” he added with a small smile. “Maybe some steel wool if it’s really stubborn.” 

Aunt Tam’s eyes lit up, taking your hand and giving it a squeeze that leaves your bones aching. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion as she turned to face Eddie. “Thank you, Eddie.” She wiped at her nose with one shirt sleeve. “We should have all of that in the back, if you’ll follow me…”

Eddie nodded again, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trailing behind her. “Yes, ma’am.”

When you could be sure that both he and Aunt Tam were out of earshot, you shuffled over to Ben. “It wasn’t him,” you said under your breath. “He was at a concert that night, and even if he wasn’t—he wouldn’t do this.” You gestured at the destruction. 

Not fully convinced of Eddie’s innocence, Ben narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. “How do you know?”

“The first night he stayed at the motel, he was smoking pot in his room. And when I told him not to, he listened.” You thought back to that moment, to his smirk that had you wondering if he would light another joint as soon as you turned your back. “And even though I basically accused him of vandalizing Eisen’s—before I knew where he really was—he still brought my essay to school today.” 

Ben breathed out a defeated sigh. “Okay, fine,” he conceded, scratching at the back of his neck. “Is it bad that I wished it was him, so that we could stop worrying about whoever it was coming back and doing it again?”

You wrinkled your nose. “Kind of, yeah.” He scowled, playfulness stronger than any contempt, and you tapped the broomstick against his arm. “I’m guessing you didn’t share your theory with your parents?”

He shook his head. “My dad’s at the police station right now to see if any other shops caught the person on camera.”

“Yours didn’t?”

“Never installed any. Safe neighborhood, no need, y’know?” He rolled his eyes at his family’s naivety. “Seems like everyone else on the block felt the same way.”

You wanted to say more, to properly convey your sympathy, but your aunt and Eddie returned with the spray paint removal supplies. The broom suddenly became more interesting than ever before, your eyes glued to it as you brushed it against the floor. You didn't dare look at Eddie until he turned his back to you. 

“All right,” he murmured to himself, tossing a rag over his shoulder and placing his hands squarely on his hips. The paint cans that had been sprayed were a lost cause, the veins in his biceps pulsing as he grabbed two at a time and heaved them onto the floor with soft grunts. 

A teasing whisper tickled the shell of your ear. “Wipe your drool.” You could feel Ben’s smile as he spoke but didn’t have time to swat at him before he jogged over to help Eddie. 

You preventatively swiped at your chin, relieved that you weren’t actually drooling. And why would you be? Eddie was your friend; nothing more, and sometimes a whole lot less. The excitement you’d felt when he’d shown up with your paper this afternoon was relief, not some burgeoning crush. Your hope that he would visit the front desk during your shifts could easily be explained as an eagerness for conversation, the ultimate cure for boredom. And the way you felt your heart beating in your stomach when he’d held your hand earlier–

It was only because it had been a long time since anyone had reached for you with an intimate gesture, you told yourself, save for Nora briefly squeezing your hand just before Eddie had taken it. But there was no flutter with Nora. A surge of gratefulness, maybe, but nothing compared to what Eddie’s touch had evoked.

“Heiress?”

Your head swiveled towards the sound of your nickname being called. Eddie looked at you, puzzled and impatient. “You okay? I’ve called your name, like, fifty times.”

“Twice,” Ben said; the clarification could have been a reassurance that you hadn’t spaced out for that long, or just a belated dig at Eddie. Either way, you appreciated it.

“Do you have one of those hair tie things?” Eddie shook his hair, which was already frizzing from perspiration.

You nodded dumbly, fingers fumbling for the elastic shoved deep into the abyss of your purse. Had you been staring at him? Gawking, even, as you silently tried to sort out your feelings? 

“Thanks.” Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t draw your gaze from him as he tied back his mess of curls into a bun at the nape of his neck.

Sweep. Sweep, and stop thinking about how his stubble-coated jawline might feel beneath your lips.

This desire, this lust–it was all temporary. Fleeting. It would swiftly exit once the rush of exhilaration from his rescue fully wore off, and you would once again be content with a platonic friendship.

Your insides backflipped once more when Eddie rubbed the rag over the shelf, wiped away the graffiti, and flashed a million-watt smile in your direction. 

If you had your way, ‘moving on’ would happen sooner rather than later. 

Pristine wasn’t the right word to describe Eisen’s state when you finally left a few hours later, but the clean floor was a definite improvement. The graffiti was still visible on the shelves, but it had faded considerably with Eddie’s hard work. He stood next to Ben now, explaining how often to apply the WD-40 without ruining the finish. 

Were they friends? Not even close. But each had let down their guard an inch more, though you remained unclear of the reason why Eddie’s was up in the first place.

A weighty exhaustion reminded you that you were surviving on pure adrenaline that had been steadily waning and was nearly depleted. A gentle hand rested on your shoulder as you returned the broom to its corner. 

“Go home and rest,” Aunt Tam said kindly. “Ben told me you’ve been working nights and going to school. You need your sleep.”

“I know.” It was easier to agree than to argue, but the shop would be a mess if you had spent the afternoon sleeping. 

Your aunt cocked her head and assessed you; whether you were too tired to properly fib or just her mother’s intuition, she didn’t believe you. “Well,” she sighed, “I told your boyfriend to get you home—”

Heat crept up your neck as she gestured a thumb towards Eddie. “Eddie’s not my boyfriend.” 

Aunt Tam raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I just…he didn’t correct me earlier when I called you his girlfriend…and the looks you were giving each other…I figured…” She stopped, shaking off the notion as ridiculous. 

Because it is ridiculous, you thought. 

“We’re just friends.” That ‘just’ was cumbersome, like there was something inherently wrong with you and Eddie being friends. “We’re friends,” you amended, complete with a tired smile. 

She fixed her composure, swiping her brunette bangs from her line of vision. “Well, we can’t thank you and your friend enough.” 

She said that word like she knew something you didn’t. Worse, like you knew but refused to admit it. 

Grogginess slowed your usual fast pace, and you stepped into the subway car with only a second to spare. 

The adrenaline fully wore off once you sat down; the plastic subway seat might as well have been a plush mattress swathed in Egyptian cotton sheets. It wasn’t until you allowed yourself to sit back and breathe that the achiness crept in. Your lower back twinged; your shoulders and biceps remained tense from sweeping and scrubbing the shelves for so long. If you could feel your feet, they would probably hurt, too.

The yawn you let out stretched the skin on your face and brought reflexive tears to your eyes, and you wiped them away with the back of your hand. 

“Tired?” Eddie asked, the question warped by a heavy yawn of his own. 

You nodded, blinking a few times to keep your eyes open; your head felt like it could loll right off of your neck without warning. 

Eddie shifted slightly and patted his right shoulder with his left hand. “Rest.”

“S’okay,” you mumbled, heaviness tugging at your eyelids even as you spoke. Exhaustion had its grip on you, tight enough that you barely noticed your stomach fluttering at the thought of resting on him. “I’ll just pass out when we get home.”

But he took one look at you, at the fogginess that draped over your body like a weighted cloak, and promptly vetoed that idea. “Rest,” he said again; this time, his words held a commanding air. 

You clocked his concern, so unused to the way you ran yourself ragged until the kettle ran empty, until the match burned out. Another yawn escaped you, bringing a single hot tear with it, and any attempt to convince him that this was normal instantly became obsolete. 

Sparing yourself the argument, you laid your head atop his shoulder. His cotton t-shirt was soft against your ear, somewhat muffling the train’s clanking and other passengers’ conversations. As quiet as the subway could be at seven o’clock in the evening. 

“Our stop is—”

“I know.” The vibrations of his voice, your head so close to his throat, punctuated the reassurance. “You sleep, Heiress.”

The last thing you remembered was your grip loosening on the backpack strategically placed between your feet, your fingers unfurling from the strap as you succumbed to a dreamless sleep. 

A hand on your knee gently shook you awake just as the conductor’s muffled voice announced that the train was approaching Forest Hills, and you felt a yank on your consciousness that pulled you out of your seat and towards the open doors. 

“My backpack—” The icy panic that flooded your veins was enough to jar you awake. When you turned back, you saw that the train had already pulled away from the track. 

“Right here.” Eddie patted the bag now slung over his shoulder. Your heart rate returned to its normal beat as relief washed over your skin, a wave crashing into the surf at high tide. 

The station’s stale air covered you like a quilt, and the conductor had barely announced the grating reminder to stand clear of the closing doors before unconsciousness again hooked its claws into you. 

“There ya go,” Eddie whispered when you rested your head on his shoulder once more. “Comfy?”

“Mhm.” And you were–unnervingly so. You hadn’t been this relaxed in a long time; no moment in recent memory came to mind. The questions you desperately sought answers to–why he hesitated to tell you about the concert, why he let Aunt Tam believe that he was your boyfriend–seemed utterly inconsequential. 

You could vaguely feel Eddie fidgeting as you drifted in and out of consciousness, struggling to adjust his posture and avoid any unwarranted touch. 

Sleep transformed your body into that of a ragdoll, slumped over and limp, moving only as the train car swayed. Your limbs felt disconnected from your torso, which was why you barely registered the urgent grasp around your wrist. 

“Hmm?” You blinked awake, blurred vision sharpening to reveal Eddie’s hand holding yours. No, not holding it; he was moving it. Moving it away from the denim that creased along his inner thigh. 

“Shit, I—” Humiliation stole your words, stabbed at them with its forked tongue and left you scrambling for an explanation. “I didn’t mean to.”

Eddie’s own cheeks turned a rosy pink, as though his fingers had been accidentally creeping towards the inseam of your jeans. “No, I—I know,” he stammered, clocking the horror on your face and offering a sheepish smile. Your fingertips burned where he’d touched them, where you’d touched him.

There was no way you could sleep after that, your body far too alert despite the ever-increasing weight of your eyelids. You sat up straighter; as you did, Eddie placed your backpack on his lap. When you reached for it, he shook his head and pulled back slightly, and your brows furrowed at your misinterpretation.

“I got it,” he said, a hoarseness in his voice that you weren’t able to place. “You can keep resting.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup,” he answered too quickly, wrapping one arm around the bag and tugging it even closer to his chest. “S’all good.”

A strange tension lingered, one that differed from the anger that pulled the conversation taut during your last subway ride home together. Eddie was physically beside you, but his eyes searched the car like he was gearing up for another round of I Spy. 

You needed to speak and move past the embarrassment that tethered you to silence. 

“Eddie?” Your voice was a whisper, barely audible over the train’s clacking and your own internal monologue.

“Hmm?”

You swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me about going to see your old band?” 

Eddie froze, his arm still tight around your bag; for a moment, you wondered if you crossed the line. 

Finally, he spoke. “Didn’t want to.”

An answer and a non-answer simultaneously, telling you to back off. But you’d be damned if you let today’s progress be soured.

“I wouldn’t have judged you.” Slowly, you let your eyes fall on him, noticing his fingers picking at a loose thread on his jeans. “You don’t have to tell me. But just so you know.” 

He nodded, and you prayed he absorbed the reassurance as it traveled from your lips to his ears. His response was not what you expected, although nothing with Eddie has gone to plan thus far.

“Why haven’t you told your parents about school?”

He knocked you off-kilter despite his calm tone; surprisingly, there was no judgment from him, either. “I don’t want to disappoint them.” When Eddie just looked at you, palms open and brows raised, you realized you’d just answered your own question. “How would you seeing Death’s Echo disappoint me?”

“I dunno.” One scuffed sneaker squeaked against the floor. “I talked a big game about how the music industry is all bullshit and how I didn’t care about the band anymore, but…”

“You miss it,” you filled in.

He sucked his lips to his teeth before nodding. “I miss it,” he said with a reluctant chuckle. “I miss it so fuckin’ much.” 

Exhaling a long breath, he continued. “I mean, I really don’t miss being the record label’s bitch. And I hate the thought of being a sellout. But nothing beats that adrenaline rush you get when you walk on stage and the crowd is screaming your name, or when they sing your lyrics back to you. Lyrics you wrote.”

You stayed silent for a minute, letting the heaviness of his statement sink in. Important. He felt important, wanted, needed. Without saying so, it was evident that working at the motel would never give him that same satisfaction. No amount of desecrated wasp nests or perfectly glued wallpaper could ever compare to the cheers of adoring fans. 

“It’s not over, you know. Your chance to have that again.”

Eddie’s eyes locked onto yours, chocolate irises swimming with a juxtaposing combination of hope and defeat. “No one’s exactly lining up to sign me,” he said. 

“They will.” You smiled, lips together. “You’re too talented to slip under the radar.”

He returned the smile, reaching out his pinky and interlocking it with yours as a thank you. You gave it a tiny pulse in recognition. 

“The other night…” Eddie started. He still looked at you, but the twitch of his nose told you that it was harder to hold than before. “I shouldn’t have said that you’d treat your clients badly.”

“It’s fi—”

“It’s not.” Eddie’s voice was stern, unwavering, but not cold. “And I’m sorry.”

Your pinky remained wrapped around his. “We both said some shitty things that we didn’t mean,” you offered.

“Yeah.” The right side of his mouth turned up, not a full smile, but one filled with compassion nonetheless. “Forgive and forget?”

You cocked your head to give him a knowing look. “One other thing to know about New York women,” you said, “we might forgive, but we never forget.”

Eddie’s half-smile turned into a grin, and he leaned in closer to whisper. “Y’know, for a bookworm, you’re kind of a badass.” 

Trying to ignore the now-familiar tingles that accompanied his tobacco-scented breath on your ear, you resumed your previous position of your head on his shoulder, humming in agreement. There was no hiding how pleased you felt from his praise, his newfound ability to see you beyond a singular dimension.

He peered down at you, his lips brushing your scalp. “Still tired?” 

“Not really.”

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat and stretching out his legs in front of him. “Okay, then,” he murmured, and from the subtle movement in his jaw, you knew he was still smiling as he said it.

Consciousness was a drifting cloud, one that passed overhead quickly to make room for thunderous exhaustion. The storm hit the moment you walked into your room as you flung your backpack and your body onto the bed. 

Your eyes didn’t flutter closed like a fairy tale princess; they snapped shut like an iron gate, impenetrable to any forces. 

Including a clock radio alarm. 

12:09

The digital numbers stared at you, harsh and blinding, as though they also couldn’t believe the time. The alarm you’d set for 9 PM was clearly ineffective, seeing as you were over two hours late to work. 

“Shit!” Whatever spell had enchanted you instantly broke, and you jolted out of bed with such ferocity that you briefly saw stars. 

You smoothed down your T-shirt from where it wrinkled against the starchy comforter. Chalky white deodorant remnants stained the black fabric, right along your ribcage, and you hastily undressed and threw on the nearest clean shirt. 

Sleep tainted your tongue and dried saliva decorated the corner of your mouth, your slumber so deep that you’d drooled. 

“Son of a bitch,” you grumbled, grabbing your toothbrush from its place at the sink and brushing just long enough to chase away the stale taste. 

Was Mom still at the desk? Did Dad have to take over your shift? Had they both assumed you’d show up on time and left the desk unmanned for what they thought would only be a few minutes?

Your blood ran cold. Anyone could have taken a key off of the wall, could have broken into the register and taken what little money you had…

Feet flying, you push open your door and squint to adjust to the harsh hallway lighting. 

Before you did anything else, you needed to apologize profusely to whatever parent had the misfortune of still being behind the desk. Offer to do some extra chores, or take on a few hours of their shift. 

But that plan is stalled when you run into the lobby and see neither your mom nor your dad. Only Eddie, hunched over a stack of scribble-filled papers. 

When he hears your panicked footsteps, he looks up and grins cheekily. “Morning, Sunshine.”

You would have flipped him off if it weren’t for the overwhelming relief that your mistake hadn’t burdened your parents. 

“You know,” he continued, tapping his pen against his teeth, “this gig isn’t half bad. I’m almost finished with these lyrics.”

Your eyes blinked rapidly of their own accord. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Eddie snorted. He put his pen down on the desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Sweet, naive Sleeping Beauty,” he tutted, adopting a playful tone. “I knocked on the door not once, not twice, but thrice to no answer.”

“Thrice?” You raised a brow at his formal word choice. 

“Thrice.” He held up three fingers and wiggled them for emphasis. “But I figured you must really need the sleep, so…” He gestured vaguely as if to say, here I am. 

One foot in front of the other, right arm still crossed over the left and showing off a litter of inked bats, he sauntered over to you. “I believe this is where you thank me for saving your ass.”

He was teasing, though he did deserve your gratitude, but your mind only focused on the reason why. 

“My parents—”

“Adore me,” Eddie cut in with a knowing grin. “Even gave me the whole ‘any friend of our daughter’s is a friend of ours’ spiel.”

There was that word again: friends. It rubbed you raw, salt on an open wound, and it stung even more coming from his mouth. 

Eddie remained oblivious to your inner turmoil, still ranting about his successful encounter. “Maybe I should be thanking you, since this scored me some major points.”

It was a lifeline; something onto which you could latch instead of letting your thoughts spin in never-ending circles. “Well, then, you’re welcome.”

He noticed the hesitation, even without the context of its cause. “Look, you got a few extra hours of sleep and nothing happened. The place didn’t burn down, didn’t spontaneously combust, and I only accepted one bad check.”

“You what?!”

Eddie guffawed at your widened eyes. “Kidding. Besides,” he added, “you wouldn’t even know it bounced until you took it to the bank.”

“Go fuck yourself.” But the corners of your mouth turned up in a smile, betraying the annoyance you’d tried to present. 

“Will do.” He gave a small salute, two fingers to his forehead, and grabbed his papers off of the desk. “But before I get to that, we need to talk about you not going to your graduation.”

For a moment, you forgot about Nora’s comment earlier that day. It seemed like weeks ago, rather than mere hours. “I can’t.”

Eddie quirked a brow. “Can’t talk about it or can’t go?”

“Both.”

He blew out a breath, equal parts frustration and disappointment. Like he was invested in this, perhaps more so than you were. 

It was enough to pull a genuine explanation from you. “I can’t afford the cap and gown,” you said, “and even if I could, the ceremony starts at nine in the morning. That’s when I sleep.”

He nodded, incisors digging into his lower lip while he digested the information. “So…you’re not doing anything to celebrate?”

“Not having to drag my ass to classes anymore is celebration enough.” Until graduate school starts, you thought wryly, the sinking feeling returning to your stomach. 

Eddie wasn’t accepting that answer, shaking his head so his curls were a brunette blur across his face. “No. No.” His tone was insistent, teetering on the brink of stern. “You worked hard, and you should do something fun.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered his options, his brown eyes sparkling as an idea came to him. “Let me take you out for a drink.”

“With what money?”

He scoffed playfully. “I think I can splurge on one drink. No specialty cocktails, though.” He pointed his forefinger in your direction, emphasizing his point. “And house liquor only.”

You wanted to–more than anything, you wanted to. Each weekend, you felt taunted by the sounds of friends traipsing down the street, sharing inside jokes and making memories that would either last a lifetime or be washed away with a few more beers. It was an experience you’d never had, but there was little time for friendship outside of school. 

“I can’t,” you said finally, feeling just as dejected as Eddie looked. “My shifts start at ten.”

“So I’ll get you back by ten,” Eddie said with a shrug, no big deal. “And it’s one drink; ‘s not like you’re gonna be wasted.”

You hesitated before responding, your brain already churning out a thousand excuses to bail. 

I’ll be too tired. 

I don’t want to smell like booze when I’m working. 

I have a cult meeting right before my shift. 

“I…yeah, okay. I can do that.”

Eddie nearly did a double-take at your acceptance; truthfully, you surprised yourself. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure.” He cleared his throat and regained his composure with astonishing speed. “I’ll pick you up at 8 tomorrow?”

You shook your head. “The bars around here always overcharge on weekends. Let’s do Monday.” And maybe by then I’ll conjure up a solid escape plan. 

He grinned, jogging back to the desk and grabbing his pen. “Monday…8 PM…Heiress.” You watched as he wrote the words on his palm, going over the spots where the ink flow weakened. 

Eddie’s hand found yours, left fingers grasping your wrist to keep you steady, his right fingers busy decorating your skin in black ink. His tongue poked out from between his lips as he focused on writing without applying too much pressure, and you tried not to squirm whenever the pen grazed a ticklish spot.  

When he pulled back, your own palm bore a near-identical message to his: 

Monday 8 PM Eddie

Like you could forget. 

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[echobx]

Protective!Rafe

Rafe saves reader when her dad hurts her in public and he drives her home back to his and looks after her, he cleans her cuts and she kisses him. The shower and cuddle together!

Don't hurt her or else... - Rafe Cameron × fem!reader

warnings: angst, hitting, talk about abuse, fluff, spicy talk, making out

word count: 1.2k

author's note: I tried to dabble in the post!season3 Rafe a bit, because I got so much hope for him to get better. (although I don't mind s2!Rafe either)

“That's how you're treating me? You're a brat, y/n!” your dad screams at you, and before you can brace yourself his hand meets your cheek. Your skin burns and tears threaten to stream down your face, but you are trying your best to not falter. To your surprise, he doesn't swing out for a second hit and instead composes himself as if nothing had ever happened. As if he was being watched… “Mr. y/l/n, if you don't take a step away from your daughter I'm gonna call security,” someone says from behind you before you feel a hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin. Your dad takes a step back, clearing his throat. “Mr. Cameron, this is a family matter. So, if you please-” “I don't. Leave. Go, before I start thinking about calling the Sheriff,” Rafe hisses at him and your dad takes his leave, but not without shooting you another glare.

It feels like you're finally able to breathe again once your dad is far enough away from you. But as soon as you stop fearing for your life, the pain kicks in. You take your hand up to touch your cheek, but Rafe stops you, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist and turning you around to face him. “Don't, we gotta clean this first,” he speaks softly, unlike you know him. Well, you don't know him, actually. You never once talked to him, only ever seen him around at the Country Club or at parties. “I'm not gonna hurt you,” he whispers and smiles. “You don't scare me,” you whisper back. Somehow you know he would never do to you what your father did, what your father had started doing and kept doing since you were twelve years old. “Is it okay if I take you home to me? Just to make sure you're alright. Clean that wound, maybe you can call a friend or…” You shake your head. “I don't really have anyone who I could stay with,” you admit and he nods.

The drive up Tannyhill is quiet, and you're somewhat glad about it. You never liked people asking questions. “Oh no, that bruise is just ‘cause I'm clumsy.” “I slipped while using a knife.” You have a thousand lies in your mind, every one as believable as the other. Especially considering how everyone else looks at your dad. The charismatic, wealthy single dad. A guy like him would never hurt his only child, especially his darling daughter that he loves so much. All of it bullshit. None of them have a clue about who he really is, and a part of you is glad they don't, because at least you have enough money to drown your sorrows.

“We're here,” Rafe notes and turns off the engine. He gets out and helps you, guiding you inside and up the stairs into a bathroom. “Fuck,” you hiss while looking in the mirror. Your father's ring has left a sharp cut on your cheekbone. “Might leave a cool scar,” Rafe quips and you snort. “Got more than enough of those.” “Sit up,” he points at the vanity, and you hop up, letting him clean the cut with a warm, damp washcloth. All the time he takes to patch you up you watch him carefully. He's handsome, blue eyes, nice jawline, the way he furrows his brows when he concentrates. His lips look soft, and for someone who is still in severe pain you really shouldn't be thinking about what it might be like to kiss him.

“Everything all right?” Rafe asks, and you snap out of it, shaking your head and collecting your thoughts. “Yes. Yeah. Everything's fine. Thank you,” you mumble and try to get up, but he holds you in place. “Y/n, I need to know. Does he do this often?” Rafe is whispering, and you try to smile. “It's not a big deal. You'd think I learned my lesson by now,” you huff a quiet laugh. “What lesson would that be?” “To not talk back. To do what I'm told and not what I want,” you reply and his face contorts as if he's in pain over your words. “I should drive you home and kill him,” Rafe hisses after turning around, his hands tugging at his hair. “You don't even know me. Why would you risk prison for me?” you ask and he spins around. “One, I do know you, we went to the same school for a while. Two, because you deserve so much better.” He steps closer again, cupping your face in his large hands, gently holding onto you. “I never thought anybody noticed me,” you hush. “I did,” Rafe breathes, his eyes darting down to your lips and a moment later he kisses you. His lips are just as soft as you imagined, and he tastes like lemon cake, which amuses you. “What?” he chuckles and smiles at you. “I like lemon cake too,” you giggle, and he kisses you another time, pulling your legs apart to stand in between them.

The soft kisses quickly turn into a sloppy make out session that leaves you both in nothing less than your underwear, but when Rafe looks down at you, he feels almost sorry again. “Don't look at me like that, please,” you whisper, trying to cover the old bruises and scars with your hands and arms. “Please, don't hide from me,” Rafe begs quietly. “Look,” he takes his arm up and shows you a burning scar. “I got some too. Not so pretty past here either, shortie.” “Hey!” you exclaim at the new nickname, but he just laughs and kisses you again. His lips travel down over your neck and farther down, ghosting over every single bruise on your body. “You didn't have to save me if all you wanted was to fuck me,” you giggle. “Oh, I'm not fucking you today,” he rasps from below before standing back up and whispering in your ear. “I wanna hear you beg for it, and then I'm still not gonna. At least not today.” “Who says I'm gonna beg,” you whisper back at him. You take a few steps towards the shower, dropping first your bra and then your slip before walking inside and turning on the steam shower. Rafe follows shortly after, but instead of trying to get a move on you, he's just holding you close.

“What are you doing?” you ask, because you truly have never met a guy who would rather comfort you than fuck you while both of you are completely naked. “I don't wanna make you feel like I'm using you,” he replies, leaning his head against yours. “Didn't think you'd be a guy like this. Always thought you were more of a frat bro,” you admit, and he pretends to be offended. “Oh, that hurt me deeply. How can you think so low of me, y/n?” “Guess I got that bi-ass,” you giggle, and he kisses the top of your head. “And she can joke. Impressive.”

Later you find yourself cuddled up next to him, your body covered in nothing more than one of his shirts, which looks huge on your figure. While Rafe has turned on some boring comedy movie to distract your mind. Soothing words and soft kisses slowly lull you into a deep sleep, and you wish you had actually met Rafe sooner.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @princessmaybank @kys4-20 @drwstarkeyy @immyowndefender @julczimozart

[bitterchocoo]

Homage

Kabukimono | M. Reader as C!Philza [Minecraft] (Platonic)

----------

"Someone wrote this song before.."

----------

"Father look!"

The hooded man turned around at the sound of someone calling for him, it was a little boy with short indigo hair and indigo eyes, he ran up to him with a huge smile and a couple of apples on his arms. "Oh, you brought some apples, where did you get them?" He asked as he eyed the apples.

"From that nice old lady I help yesterday, she gave it to me!" The boy explains cheerfully. His smile seems to widen with every second. The man can't held but also smiles he let's out a chuckle. "That's nice, did you say 'thank you'?"

"I did!"

Patting the boy's head, the man gave a small smile. "That's good, remember to be kind to people and say thank you when they're kind to you." He stated with a calm and gentle voice, like a father talking to his child. "I will, can we eat these when we get back?" He asked, gesturing to the apples on his arms. "Of course." The other respond with the same smile as before making the younger smile even bigger.

They walked for what felt like hours, until they arrived at a field with a house not far away. The boy always enjoy the open field, he enjoys running through them with the wind flowing through his hair and without fail, the moment he turns around to look at the house, he'll see the man smiling fondly at him with a soft expression. Entering the house, the man immediately closed the door behind him and locking it, lowering the hood of his black cloak, he took it off and hang it on the coat hanger next to the door revealing his [H. Length] [H. Color] hair and black wings.

"Come on, Kabukimono . Let's wash does apples so we can eat it." He said as he walk towards the kitchen with the boy following closely. "Okay!" Kabukimono went to the sink and start washing the apples, before handing them to the winged man to cut. Kabukimono watches the man cutting the apples and peeling some of the skin, turning the apples into cute little rabbits. He watches in awe as the winged man made it look so easy. Maybe he could do that to?

Afterward he cleaned all the messes before bringing the plate of apples to the terrace. Both of them sit next to each other with the plate in between them. Kabukimono swings his leg as he eats the apple happily and admiring the beautiful view of the open field, sneaking a glance or two at the winged man also eating the apples beside him. Once both of them finished eating, the plate was put to the side while both of them sits next to each other with the man's right wing wrapped around the small boy.

Kabukimono smiles fondly at the older, giving him a closed eye smile he said. "Thank you for taking me in, Mister [Name]. I'm really happy to live with you, and I'm sorry for calling you father earlier, it kinda just—"

Turning his head towards Kabukimono [Name] caress his cheek resulting in him to stop talking before making him look up at him. Kabukimono looked at the older confused only for [Name] to give him a smile and said. "There's no need to thank me, and it's alright, you can call me 'father' if you want to, you're my son after all."

Kabukimono smile widened, he was so luck to have this kind, and caring man to be his father figure. He then places his hand on top of [Name]'s larger one and lean his head towards his hand.

'I'm so luck.'

'I'm so luck to have met this man."

'This man that I could consider as my own father.'

----------

A small boy woke up in the middle of nowhere and was surrounded by a bunch of snow and trees.

He was abandoned...

Abandoned by the person that's supposed to love and care for them more than anything...

His creator...

.....His mother...

The boy hugged his legs close to his chest as an attempt to muffled his cries. Suddenly, the sounds of rustling leaves alerted the boy of another presence. Someone's here.

He quickly looked up and saw...

A tall man with [H. Length] [H. Color] hair and...

....Black wings.

"Are you lost? I can help you find your parents." He said with a voice as soft and gentle as the snow. His voice was warm and comforting, like a father talking to his child. The boy stayed quiet, averting his eyes from the man and lowering his head. He doesn't what the man to see him in such a state, plus...

He wouldn't understand...

He wouldn't understand that he--

"Were you abandoned?"

He turned his head as fast as he could to the man with widened eyes, giving the winged man a full view of his tear-stained face and red puffy eyes. "I know what it's like being all alone like that... being abandoned by someone..." He said weakly, his voice going quieter on every word he uttered.

With that, the man was suddenly by his side wrapping both of his wings around him, trapping the boy in. He then caress his tear-stained cheek and gave him a warm and soft smile, a smile that a loving family member would give. "But it's alright, you don't have to go through that pain... you don't have to go through what I went through... You don't have to cry anymore... as of today, I'll be your father, and you're my son."

He then pressed his forehead against the younger with a closed eye smile, the same smile he gave earlier. The tears in the boy's eyes streams down the moment he utters those words. The man immediately pulls him into a hug while his wings wrapped both of them gently and keeping them warm.

"I'll give you a world filled with joy and laugher."

"All you need to do is just open up your heart to me."

"There's no need to worry, I'm here after all."

"Father's here.."

[3xiles]

Sweet lies part two

Pairing •Toji x gn!reader

Warnings• Angst!, Cheating, suggestive (they like lowkey make out), manipulation, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!, Cursing. Lmk if i forgot any!

Word count • 1079 words

A/n • I had this pre written ever since i put out the first part but was so hesitant on posting it LMAO! Enjoy! Masterlist is pinned!

You knew life after the honeymoon phase was rough but nothing could’ve prepared you for the drastic switch in you and Toji’s relationship. About two months the after you guys got married is when you realized the mistake you made. Your days went from him coming home from work and showering you with affection to him coming in with an inaudible hello. You were confused on what you could be doing wrong. He was coming home to a clean house with food on the table, a bath prepared and you all dolled up for him, just how he liked it. This went on for months and throughout those months he’s just been coming home later and later. The man who was once coming home every day at five now walking through the front door as late as ten at night. It didn’t bother you until your 26th birthday.

You woke up excited to celebrate your first birthday as a married woman. For your birthday last year Toji went all out so you couldn’t help but let your expectations be high! Toji wasn’t there when you woke up, which was normal because he usually leaves extremely early in the morning. You spent your day pampering yourself to the max, expecting to maybe go out later. Soon enough five o clock rolls around. You sit pretty and patient on the couch, telling yourself he’s just running a little late. You wait… and you wait.. sending text after text to your husband every hour.

Hubby💍❤️

5:30pm

Y/n: Hey babe coming home soon?

6:15

Y/n: Toj idk what you have planned but i’m super excited! see you soon❤️

7:23

Y/n: Hey is everything okay??

8:54

Y/n: Hello?

9:46

Y/n: Toji it’s almost 10 where are you?

10:27

Y/n: Toji?

You send your last text with tears falling from your eyes. You hate to think he forgot your birthday. It can’t be. He just got caught up in something. It has to be. You check the time one last time. 11:03. You then tell yourself you need to go to bed. As you stand up from the couch the door opens and the man you’ve been waiting for finally shows. You do nothing but stare at him, tears mixed with mascara running down your puffy cheeks. “The hell happened to you?” he says, taking off his shoes, tie, and blazer. He begins to unbutton his shirt, purple marks adorning his chest. That was in that moment when something in you just… snapped.

“Toji, what is today?” you slowly walk towards him. He shrugs, scratching the back of his head. “Look doll, i’m beat. Can we talk tomorrow?” he begins to walk towards the stairs that lead to your shared bedroom “No. Absolutely the fuck not.” oh crap. did you just say that? he stops in his tracks and turns to you. “Excuse me?” Shitshitshitshitshit what do you say? why did u say that? “Toji i asked you a question. What. Is. Today.” you keep up the tough girl act, too deep to back out now. “Y/n.” he walks closer to you but you back away “Toji today is my fucking birthday. Today is my birthday and i’ve been home all day thinking my ‘husband’ was going to at least come home on time but you were out fucking some bitch!” You begin to yell, crying harder than you were before. “The fuck are you talking about?” You weren’t stupid, you knew he was cheating but who were you to say anything. You were nothing without him. You didn’t want to ruin things. You can’t lose him. “Toji, i know you’re seeing someone else but i at least thought you would have some type of respect or decency to not do this to me on my fucking birthday.”You’re falling apart in front of him.

The silence is strong. He walks towards you and wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “Things just haven’t been right with me, i don’t know why i do the things i do. You know how much you mean to me baby, i never want to hurt you.” i never want to hurt you. Those words replay in your mind. He brings his hands to hold your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs. “You know I love you and only you, right?” you wanted to yell at him. You wanted to kick and scream but something in you made you believe every word he was saying. Instead of doing any of those things you just nodded. Shame rose in you but it all started to fade away when his lips connect with yours. You know this isn’t right, this isn’t healthy but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his neck and letting his hands wander. “I’m so sorry baby.” his lips travel to your neck. You try to hold back sounds but he knows just what to do to get it out if you. “Gonna let me show my girl how sorry i am?” you just started at him. not wanting to say yes but you didn’t want to disappoint him by saying no either.

You have to draw a line somewhere. “I think i just wanna go to sleep…” Removing your hands from him and stepping back. His looks confused but he doesn’t press further. Is it bad that part of you wishes he did? You wished he would’ve showed some kind of kind want, not just wanting to fuck out of pity. You know why he didn’t tho, he already got his fix of pussy for the night and it didn’t come from you. What a shame.

That night you couldn’t sleep, you were up all night silently crying. Is this really what your life was? You had lost yourself in this relationship. Your 26th birthday was a wake up call. The next few days were rough, he was just coming home later and later. Not to mention he wasn’t even trying to hide his affairs, He started to be careless. Not bothering to cover the scratches or hickeys that covered his body, leaving his phone open when you could see messages from the multiple girls and having panties and various other items in his car that didn’t belong to you. It’s like he was trying to hurt you, but isn’t that what he said he never wanted to do?

[teamblck]

NSFW Alphabet : Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

nsfw content below the cut

minors DNI!!

kept this mostly gender neutral!!

divider by kithsune!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Soo attentive after sex. Will help his partner get cleaned up and then make sure they drink tons of water. Usually will grab them something to eat and watch a movie if they aren’t sleepy. If they are he will still help with cleaning up but just cuddle and hold them until they both pass out.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For Kyle I feel like his favorite body part on him would be his back and shoulders. It’s not secret that he’s fit but he does take pride in how muscular his shoulders and back are.

As for his partner, He is a thighs man all the way. He is constantly putting his hand on his partners thigh not even in a sexual way, like when they sit next to him he will rest his hand on their thigh or when driving. However sexually he loves squeezing and gripping them and ESPECIALLY when they are wrapped around his head.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Usually will wear a condom but sometimes (mostly when his partner begs for him not to use one) he will pull out and finish on their thighs or stomach. But he does find it hot when his partner begs for him to cum inside them, which leads me to my next point-

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Has a secret breeding kink!! It doesn’t come out until like midway through sex and has his partner in the mating press, and is whispering in their ear. “fuck- you’re driving me crazy, want me to fill ya’ up? yeah that’s what i thought”

he knows that with his job it wouldn’t be smart to have a kid or act on these fantasies but that doesn’t make them any less tempting

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very experienced. Have you seen him? he’s the prettiest man on the planet. When he first started the army and him and some mates would go out it wasn’t hard to come by one night stands.

As he gets older he isn’t a big fan of one night stands anymore and would prefer to have a genuine connection with someone.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything to were he can see his partners face. Loves to watch their face scrunch up in the woes of pleasure.

or

doggy since man is obsessed with his partners thighs, and this goes without saying ass. so he can grip and smack as he’s pounding into them from behind

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood. Did he just come back home from deployment and hadn’t seen his partner in 2 months and just wants to be near them? Or you guys had a few too many drinks are are all tipsy and giggly and can’t keep your hands off each other?

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

I feel like Gaz keeps everything tidy, which is just a personal preference for him. But for his partner he doesn’t mind body hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is the the most romantic guy ever are you kidding?? He loves making his partner feel like they are the only person in the world. Constantly telling them how beautiful they are and how good they are being for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Jacks off the normal amount? Like when he’s off on deployment obviously not so when he is home and finally gets to act on his urges he would rather just have sex with his partner, but obviously would never force or coerce them into it. So whenever they are not feeling up to it or whatever the case maybe, only then would he excuse himself or sneak to the bathroom and relieve himself.

However if he does get the rare phone call while he’s on a job or something and his partner is up to it, Big fan of guided masturbation. He likes knowing his partner is on the other end doing exactly what he’s telling them and still bringing them pleasure even though he’s hundreds of miles away

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Big fan of marking, but in places no one but him would know about. On the inside of his partners thighs and hips, on his stomach. Places that no one else but him can see or know about.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Would prefer to make his partner as comfortable as possible so usually opts for places like the couch or the bed, but when all that’s out the window I say he’s a big fan of against the wall sex. Not be able to make it to the bed or couch and just picking his partner up and holding them by the thighs while their back is against a wall or the door.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When his partner pulls him by the hem or his shirt or belt. It makes his blood run south so fast it almost makes him dizzy. ( also ya know the basics like teasing and touching)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don’t think he would be into hurting his partner, besides like small smacks on the ass. Even if they asked for him to smack them harder or leave bruises on them I don’t think he’d be up to it or would feel extremely guilty about it.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both? Both

I’ve said it once i’ll say it 1000 times, this man is a munch.

when he is giving he doesn’t stop until he partner has came at least twice from his mouth and fingers. he’s the type of guys that eats pussy for his pleasure

however he’s not gonna object to him receiving head

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again depends on the mood. If it’s needy depraved sex? it’s fast and rough. If he’s been away for months because of work and just needs to be intimate with his partner? slow and sensual.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

While I do think he would like to have proper sex and take his time with his partner, i just having a feeling he’s a fan of quickies. they don’t happen a lot, mostly right before he’s about to leave for deployment or when friends or family is over and you have to sneak to the bathroom and he has to hold his hand over his partners mouth so the people outside don’t hear them moaning.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He will try anything once but usually just sticks to what he knows works for him and his partner.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

As long as there is a small break for water and food in between he can go all night, if his partner wanted. It all depends on how much foreplay is involved but he tries his best to cum after his partner has. if for whatever reason he can’t hold out it doesn’t stop him from still fucking them until they do cum.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has no problem with toys but it’s not just something he already owns. It would have to be something him and his partner talked about or his partner already owned. Like I said earlier he’s down to try anything at least once.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is a tease. Just going off his voice lines he likes to take the piss and joke around sometimes. I think he would like to tease out in public a lot, coming up behind his partner and pressing himself against their ass pretending to be reaching for something or moving past them, and then grinning at them like nothing happened. Or at dinner inching his hand up their thigh.

When it actually comes to having sex and him withholding orgasms or anything, he’s usually pretty fair because he loves watching his partner come undone, but when he’s in a particular mood he will pull away right before they reach peak and just smirk at them.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

In the privacy of his own place? This man is loud lmao he doesn’t care to moan and tell his partner how good they feel, and how good he feels. But if it’s at a party or dinner or something like that he tries to make as little noise as possible

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Hates car sex. It makes him tense because the space is so cramped and there’s always the possibility of someone stumbling upon the vehicle. He can really enjoy himself because he’s always on the look out or trying not to hit something like the horn or his head on the roof of the vehicle.

Also I feel like he would buy lingerie for his partner but not tell them and it would randomly be delivered, and leave it so his partner opens the package and he’s like ‘That’s so crazy, I have no idea where that came from. Well.. I mean it’s here why don’t you go try it on’

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Around 7 inches, cut, and again he usually keeps pretty trim. Curves upward and slightly to the left. Slightly more girth than usual but nothing that’s gonna take excessive effort to make fit.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Average sex drive. Obviously when he first gets home it’s turned up to a thousand but if he has a prolonged period of time at home, him and his partner maybe have sex like 3 times a week sometimes more sometimes less.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I am firm believer he wouldn’t just pass out after. he has to make sure his partner is okay and everything is cleaned up. Then after he has made sure everything is okay then he can sleep.

this was one of my first time doing one of these! as always i appreciate any feedback!

[siriuslysmoking]

Stupid

Summary: An unlikely friendship leads into the battlefield together and somehow still stays strong. After Seven years of a full friendship something slips, and it will never be the same.

Warnings: None? Parental issues ig but nothing major.

-Then afterwards we drop into a quiet little place And have a drink or two And then I go and spoil it all By saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"-

Growing up living next to the Harringtons was different than you expected, between the ages of zero to fifteen you heard parties next door every weekend. Then one weekend they stopped. You couldn't help but notice the lack of cars in the driveway. But Steve was still at school, his parents though, his parents were nowhere to be found.

Four weekends after the parties stopped you decided to confront Steve, you'd barely talked to him before, brief hello's after school, small waves through your bedroom windows, maybe a head nod of acknowledgement in the school hallways.

When you got home from school you saw the lights of a TV flickering in the window, you decided to finally talk to him. Knocking on the door you heard some shuffling from the otherside of the door. You watched as Fifteen year old Steve opened the door lazily.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm coming in." You said with a smile.

"You can't just come in." He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes. I can." You wait until he moves to the side, granting you access to the house.

You tried not to notice the mess, but you couldn't help looking around the house you've never been in before.

"What do you need?"

"I don't need anything." You turn to him in the entryway.

"Then why are you here, bothering me."

"Oh, I'm a joy to be around, I'm not a bother."

"Alright, sunshine, What do you not need?" He rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe.

"I think you need something, actually, not me."

"Okay, Genie, what do I need?" He jokes sarcastically.

"A friend."

"I have friends."

"Not those types of friends, friends that don't care about what you're actually thinking." You smile softly.

"If you came here just to make me feel bad about myself, feel free to leave-"

"Where are your parents Steve?" You interrupt him, cutting to the chase.

"What?"

"Where are you parents? Every Night for the past four weeks your driveway has been empty, The shrubs are overgrown and your mother always took care of those. The house has been silent every weekend. What I'm asking is, where are you parents."

"I uh..." he pauses, something seems to be caught in his throat that he just is not willing to let go.

"You don't have to tell me, but it has to get lonely in here, if you want some company, I'm just next door." You leave a smile and turn to leave.

The next time you see Steve is two nights later, you spot him while you're laying in bed with a book. He opens his window and motions for you to do the same, you learn outside the window and give him a questioning gaze.

"Wanna watch a movie?"

"Yeah, I'll bring popcorn." You smile, you didn't expect him to accept your offer of being friends, but you're happy he did.

"Thanks Sunshine."

Seven years later Steve and you have been through thick and thin, from teenage breakups, parent issues, and interdimensional creatures. Still your friendship was somehow still growing bigger.

As the party died down you walked your guests out, thanking them for coming, and the housewarming gifts.

Once everyone leaves it's just you and Steve, the two of you clean up together and once you both are done you pour a glass of wine for the both of you. You hand Steve his as you both settle onto the couch. "Thanks, Sunny."

"Wanna watch a movie?"

"I'll get some popcorn." Steve says sitting up and moving to the kitchen, "Pick out a movie, just nothing too geeky."

"Hey! My movie picks are far superior than yours."

"Don't insult my movie preferences, I worked at Family Video for a year!" He shouts from the kitchen.

"Yeah until the government paid us off for our silence."

He returns with a bag of popcorn.

"Did you burn it again?" It wasn't even a question at this point.

"I take offense to that! I am fully capable of making popcorn."

"You may be able to make a beautiful fettuccine but popcorn is not your forte." He scoffs as he opens the bag and then the smell comes... "Steve, I swear."

"I didn't mean to!" He yells, you grab the bag as you rush to the trash to throw it out and open up a window.

"You are forever off popcorn duty." You shout behind you, throwing in a new bag. "The fact that you do it every time astounds me."

Once a fresh bag is made, you snuggle up with a blanket on the couch.

Halfway through the movie Steve lays his head down on your lap, you slowly run your fingers through his hair, you hear his breathing start to grow smoother and slower. You let him sleep through the movie so he'll not be so tired for his drive home. But looking at the time he should probably just stay the night

Once the movie is over you shake Steve awake, since it's so late you tell him to stay the night, he holds no argument and just follows you back to your room, once he's changed and you've both brushed your teeth.

"Night Stevie."

"I love you, Sunny." He's said it a million times over the past seven years, but this time... this time I just felt different. His heavy eyes held something that's never been aimed in your direction before. You can't get yourself to let words out, His throat sounds tight when he whispers shakily, "I'm so in love with you, it's almost painful to see you knowing that you don't know that I am utterly enamored with you. You are my universe, my star, my sky, my Sunny. And I'm sorry, I'm ruining the best thing I've ever had saying this, but I can't go another day without knowing your feelings."

You just stare at him for what feels like hours, days, years. You only escape your mind when Steve suddenly sits up, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

He says it over and over that it doesn't even sound like a word anymore. "I shouldn't have- I'm sorry."

"Steve," You murmur, standing up and rounding the bed to try to stop him from getting dressed.

"I'm so sorry, Sunny-" He's buttoning his jeans when you place your hands on his cheek, you only realize then that he let the clawing tears escape his eyes.

"Stop." You look at him softly, "Steve, I need you to breathe."

You hear him take a deep shaky breath, "I didn't want to ruin this-"

"Steve, you didn't ruin anything." You say with a soft smile.

"I- I didn't?"

You shake your head slowly, "I love you so much Steve that it consumes me, sometimes it's all I am, the love I have for you, and it's only grown over the years now that I know you."

"No..." He looks relieved, "Really?"

"Yes, Steve." You move one of your hands into his hair, it's the best way to soothe him. "So much that Robin considered calling a doctor."

He smiles into your hands, "Can I kiss you now?"

"You don't need to ask, you never need to ask." Then his lips meet your and it was like coming up for air after being stuck underwater for a lifetime.

"I love you, I love you, I love you." He repeats into your lips with a smile. Once you separate he rests his forehead on yours, "I love how you know me, I love how you love me."

Because to be loved is to be known.

-

-

Likes and Reblogs are appreciated <3

[ecoterrorist-katara]

“Katara deserves a quiet life after the war, so becoming a healer (who made no contributions to the field) is actually a good arc!”

It is already bizarre to me that in ATLA, Katara is this confident & combative & ambitious girl who LOVED to fight and wanted nothing more than to help as many people as possible…then comics!Katara and TLOK!Katara showed neither her previous personality traits nor a career commensurate with those traits…

but it’s even more bizarre to me that ATLA fans would defend her trajectory as if it were some kind of progressive story of recovering from war trauma.

I’ve seen multiple takes like this. “Katara is not a YA heroine, she’s not a bloodthirsty girlboss who loves fighting so it’s actually a good thing that she doesn’t have to fight anymore” “after everything she’s been through she deserves a quiet life and a loving family”

For Katara, fighting in the war was actually empowering. It didn’t burn her out. It didn’t disillusion her. It didn’t take more out of her than she can give. Katara is not Katniss Everdeen, who needed to step back and discover her own agency and a sense of peace after fighting in a war she never chose to start. Katara’s war trauma largely happened before she took an active part in it. After she chose to be a part of the war, she became a waterbending master, made close friends, found her father again, got closure for her mother’s murder, defeated the Fire Lord, and met the love of her life. If Katara were a real person, maybe she’d be traumatized, but nowhere in the text of ATLA does she exhibit the sign that she’s tired of fighting on behalf of the world. If anything, she just got started.

If you take her post-ATLA arc at face value (vs as bad writing), it’s a tragedy of a woman who has learned to minimize her own relevance and her own power. In The Promise, she begins deferring serious decisions to Aang. She doesn’t even express a strong opinion about the fate of the entire colony of Yu Dao, or the fate of her friend Zuko. In North and South, she accepts Northern encroachment of the South in the name of progress. In TLOK we see her not as a politician or a chief, but rather as “the best healer” — albeit one who apparently never established a hospital, or trained acolytes of her own, or done anything to help people at scale, which she has always wanted to do. It’s even more egregious when you remember that in Jang Hui, she was not satisfied to simply heal the sick as the Painted Lady. She wanted to solve the root of the problem, so she cleaned the river and committed full-on ecoterrorism. Just because the war is over doesn’t mean she wants to stop helping people. In fact, the problem she addressed in Jang Hui is exactly the type of problem that would become more prevalent after the war ends, judging by the rapid industrialization between ATLA and LOK.

In the original ATLA, I think Katara is about as close to a power fantasy as you can get for a teenage girl, because she gets to be messy and goofy and powerful, even though she also had to perform a whole lot of emotional and domestic labour. But post-ATLA, she doesn’t get power and she doesn’t get to make a change. She gets love and a family. That’s it. And her grandkids don’t even remember her. Her friends and peers, on the other hand, were shown doing all sorts of super cool things like, you know, running the world they saved.

It’s not feminist to say that a female character deserves “rest” when she’s shown zero inclination that she wants a quiet life. Women who want a quiet life deserve to get it — I think Katniss’ arc is perfect — but women who want power deserve to get it too, especially when they’re motivated by compassion and a keen sense of justice. There’s nothing feminist about defending the early 2010s writing decisions of two men. Like just admit that they fucked up! It’s fine! Maybe they’ll do better in the future!

[gumnut-logic]

J Protocol

The Protocols

This one is a long time coming and I've been staring at it for hours, so have no idea if it is good enough and it hasn't been read through by anyone but me, so I'm going in blind.

This is for @onereyofstarlight who has waited long enough ::hugs::

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

John liked to be alone.

It allowed him to rest, to think, and to be himself. There were no demands on how he needed to act, what he was wearing or what he felt like saying.

Alone he could serenade the stars, karaoke dance to his ABBA collection, read without anyone commenting on what he was reading, and, hell, leave the bathroom door open if he wanted to. Being alone had its advantages.

But it also had its disadvantages.

Today had been an unpleasant one.

The fish brother in the back of his head cried foul and described it in much more colourful terms, in several different languages - did Gordon actually know how to speak Greek? All of the above would have had Grandma threatening to clean his mouth out with soap, but really, John couldn’t help but agree with the description.

Even the thought of his little brother had him smiling just a little as Thunderbird Five slowly grew larger.

He had been out in his exosuit, something he usually enjoyed when a rescue was close by. This had involved a couple of idiots in orbit who had done something very, very stupid.

And it cost them everything.

John had been fast, but space was faster and it took their lives.

Scott had been on comms at the time. His eldest brother had all the kind words amongst the command decisions, but a mission failure was still a failure and after the long shift before it, John was just tired and sad.

Returning home to Five was a relief, but there was part of him, a very small part of him, who missed the loud of home.

He liked being alone.

But he loved his family.

And today sucked all the ass.

Gordon, watch your language.

Talkin’ to yourself, bro.

Solitude also tended to promote conversations with himself.

“John, which airlock will you be using?”

But then, was he truly alone?

“The rear ‘lock, Eos. The suit needs some repairs and a good clean.”

“Should I alert Virgil?”

“No, I can manage.” But that would be an excuse to see his big brother. Virgil wasn’t a fan of space, but he would drop by at any hint of John needing help.

A glance in the direction of Tracy Island, in midnight darkness just like the whole half a planet beneath him.

John sighed as he slowed, firing reverse thrusters to kill off his velocity, to a smooth pacing of Five. Splattering himself across her solar panels would certainly be an undesirable end to an already shitty day.

Eos had the airlock open and waiting, enabling John to slip in quietly. Five crept around him with her protection. Being out in space was a raw experience. Beautiful, but raw. His ‘bird provided a sense of security with cahelium between him and the harsh environment.

The airlock sealed and the air pressure welled up, familiar in its reassuring caress. The inner door slipped open and he pushed off gently into the module he had left in such a hurry several hours earlier.

He ran through the disassembly routine for his exosuit, robotic arms pulling it gently from his body. For some reason he found himself leaning into that metallic touch.

Damn, maybe he had been away from Tracy Island for too long.

He would have to schedule some leave.

But he had that experiment running…and Auckland University were waiting for his write up on his comet. He could do the writing on Tracy Island - would his brothers give him the space?

The pun was ignored.

His brothers tried. He knew they tried. They respected his wishes as much as they could. Didn’t understand them, but respected them. They knew social interaction took energy he felt better spent elsewhere. They knew that what worked for them didn’t necessarily work for him.

They tried.

Hard.

But he also knew they missed him.

And he loved them for it.

Returning to Earth added him to their lives in three dimensions and they often wanted to take advantage of that. Hell, he wanted to take advantage.

But there was transition time from space to Earth, and all the stuff he had up here, and…

God, he was tired.

The mechanics finished up, leaving him floating free in the centre of the module.

He let himself drift just a little.

“John?”

Eos didn’t ask if he was okay, but the question was there anyway.

He sighed. “Stash the exosuit, I’ll do the repairs tomorrow.”

“Yes, John.” How did she put so much emotional inflection into those two words?

He refused to sigh again, simply reaching out to touch the wall and nudge himself towards the airlock leading into the central hub of Five.

The room lit up as he entered, the familiar map of the planet below spreading out across the spherical walls. The rescue indicators were clear for once in his life and he was quite happy to pass by the map and head for the gravity ring, aiming for his bathroom and the chance to clean off the sweat under his uniform.

“Hey.”

The sudden appearance of a body blocking his path confused his exhausted brain and he was slow to connect the dots of green, blue and heavy lifting brother.

“Whoa, Johnny, take a breath.”

A hand steadied him where his reaction had sent him spinning just a little.

“Virgil? What? Eos, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Virgil asked me not to. You said I should listen to Virgil, so I did.”

John deflated, and sighed in exasperation. “Virgil, why? You scared the shit out of me.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow.

Okay, so plain, old boring swear words weren’t usually his thing, but he was tired.

That eyebrow twitched in his direction.

Oh.

“Just dropping in for a home visit. That last situation was a rough one.”

“I’m fine, Virgil.” He pushed past his brother. “Just need some sleep.”

“Uh-huh.”

John rolled his eyes as he pushed himself out into the ring, his feet lightly landing in the low gravity environment. He strode across cahelium reinforced glass. “If you’re going to order me back to Tracy Island, I rather you didn’t.”

Virgil was obviously following him, the soft squeak of his specialised boots on the glass a not unfamiliar sound. “Haven’t even thought about it. Just wanted to drop by and see how you were going.”

“At two in the morning.”

“I’m a night owl.” He could feel his brother’s smile bounce off the back of his head.

John grunted as he reached the doors to his rooms. He turned to his brother standing behind him. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Back shortly.”

“Scott says debrief in the morning, but I would like to check you over before bed.”

“Really?” It was whiney and childish, and he earned that extra eyebrow arch, but damnit, he was tired.

“Really.” And there was just that touch of steel in Virgil’s voice. Not quite the same as Scott’s commander tone, but just as final. “Don’t make me come in there after you.”

“Fine.” He threw open the door and wished he could slam it behind him with all the petulance he felt right now.

Virgil didn’t answer, nor did he follow him.

It only took a moment or two for the guilt to sink in and John was faced with the fact that Virgil was worried about him. He climbed up into orbit, into space which he didn’t enjoy, to check on his little brother, only to encounter …John.

He let his head drop against the glass of his bedroom wall. Because of the lower gravity, his forehead did not hit with any of the thump he needed it to.

A sigh. He would apologise, but first he needed to get clean.

-o-o-o-

It was a bit longer than he had expected when he finally emerged from his rooms, but he felt just a little bit more human for the clean and new spacesuit.

Time also helped. His head had been caught up in rescue gone bad. Those few extra minutes helped him step back and breathe.

Virgil wasn’t outside his door, which, considering he’d likely left him with the impression he might have to hogtie John to get the readings he needed, was a surprise.

“Eos, where is Virgil?”

“In the infirmary. John, do you like pineapple?”

He frowned, heading in the direction of the small room set aside for medical needs on the gravity ring. “Yes, why?”

“Even if it is on pizza?”

“Uh, no. Pineapple should never be put on pizza.” He frowned as he slipped into the infirmary. “Have you been talking to Gordon?”

“Yes, and he is most emphatic that pizza should include pineapple in its toppings.”

“Gordon has issues.”

Virgil snorted. “That he does.” His brother looked up as John entered. Apparently, he was doing a medical supply inventory.

He had removed his baldric and harness, and was standing in his overalls-styled uniform without his usual green. It wasn’t right.

As if sensing John’s affronted senses, Virgil frowned. “You okay?”

John shrugged and sat down quietly, and obediently, on the small bed. “You need the green.”

Virgil looked down at himself, wrinkling his nose. “I do feel kind of naked.”

“So why did you take it off?”

“Didn’t need it. Need the suit for safety, but didn’t want to clink every time I moved.” He pulled the medscanner out of it protective sleeve on the bulkhead.

John held up a hand. “Sorry about before. I-“

Virgil put a hand on his arm. “Nothing. Been there, it’s not fun. Understandable.” And that was the end of that.

Virgil gently pushed John’s arm down to his side and began waving the scanner over John’s body.

Ten seconds later he turned off the scanner. “You’re good. Could do with some food, drink and sleep, but everything else is fine. You don’t even have any bruises.” A gentle smile. “You’re good, John.”

“Thank you.” There was a double meaning there, good in health and a compliment on a good job done. “And thank you for coming all the way up here. I could have saved you the trip.” He did know how to use the medscanner, after all.

“There is more to your health than what that scanner can tell me.” Virgil eyed him as he put the device away. “Besides, I like to see my all my brothers from time to time.”

“The time, Virgil. You should be in bed.”

Then as if to throw John completely out of whatever universe he was currently in, Alan bounded through the door. “Virg, it’s working. All ready to go.” His littlest brother looked up. “Oh, hey, John.” And he darted out as fast as he had entered.

“What?” The word burst out of his mouth. “How-?” He glared at Virgil. “What’s going on?”

But Virgil just straightened and smiled. “J Protocol.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Virgil strode past him and pushed open the door. “Come with.”

John found his mouth open and had to shut it. “Virgil-“

“Nope.” His brother waved an arm towards the door. “C’mon.”

Instinctively, John knew that if he didn’t move, Virgil would start on more drastic transport options. After all, John had seen his heavy lifting brother throw Scott over his shoulder in exasperation.

Virgil always got his way eventually.

John let his shoulders drop and walked through the door.

This time he felt like stomping instead of slamming, but the same emotion was behind both.

“Virgil, I’m fine.”

His brother nudged him forward as he shut the door behind them. “Good. Keep it that way.”

“But-“

A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. “John, you need this.”

“I-“

But his brother herded him through the airlock into the central hub of Thunderbird Five.

The sphere was full of brothers.

And pizza boxes.

Scott was sitting cross-legged like some kind of suspended Buddha, poking at his phone. Gordon was upside down chattering non-stop to Alan who was the right way up - there was no ‘up’ in space, but there definitely was an ‘up’ on Thunderbird Five, despite the lack of gravity in her central hub - and conversing with an ease that spoke of extensive space experience.

An irrational sense of pride of his littlest brother swelled John’s heart.

All at once the three brothers realised John was in the room.

“Johnny! Welcome to the party!”

Alan flipped midair in an obvious over-the-top move to land right next to John. “Hey, John, way until you see what we’ve done.”

John frowned. “What have you done?” They better not have messed with his ‘bird.

But Scott had unfolded and was narrowing in on John with a frown. He didn’t say anything, just glanced a question at Virgil who gave him a nod.

His two eldest brothers were irritating when they did that, especially when the non-verbal conversation was obviously about him.

Scott reached out and gently clasped John’s arm. “Good job out there today.”

Yesterday, technically. “What are you all doing up here?”

“Pizza party!” Gordon’s eyes were glowing with glee.

“At 2.30 in the morning?”

Scott shrugged. “Sometimes pizza is just needed.” And there was something in his big brother’s eyes.

Goddamnit, he was fine.

But then Scott gently pulled him into a hug. It wasn’t tight, just a wrap of his arms around John, his head resting, just touching John’s shoulder.

The room was oddly silent.

And John found himself leaning into the hug. His brother’s caring touch etching into his skin, drawing him in deeper, feeding a need he hadn’t realised he had.

His head fell quietly onto Scott’s shoulder. The moment it touched, his brother’s grip tightened just a fraction before loosening again…so, so gentle.

Oh god.

But then Scott was equally as gently pulling away, blue eyes eyeing him as if unsure how he would react. Perhaps gauging his next move.

A big hand landed on his back and its partner wrapped around Scott’s shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” Virgil nudged himself between them, aiming for the huge pile of floating boxes.

The moment snapped and the world started moving again. Gordon and Alan joined Virgil with the boxes, happily discussing toppings…which ultimately led to the ongoing war between yes-pineapple and no-pineapple on pizza.

Gordon was never going to win that one, outvoted four to one, but he was a determined fish and kept up the battle at every chance.

It was a familiar sound of home.

Blue eyes were still staring at him. Saying so much unsaid.

“Hey, Johnny, me and Virg set up something cool for you.” Alan was bouncing as much as he could in a zero-g environment.

It forced John to look away from Scott. “What have you done?”

“Virgil said he wanted to set you free, but keep you safe, so we did this.” Alan poked at his wrist control.

And the hub walls disappeared.

What?

All his brothers, the stack of pizza, the random slice of pepperoni that chose that moment to drift through his eyeline - all of it, and them, was floating above the night side of Earth with nothing around them.

Thunderbird Five was gone.

His breath caught in his throat. “How?”

Virgil was smiling as he gazed at the view, pizza slice in hand. “A few more sensors on her hull, improved communication with the holoprojectors, and a little bit of programming by Alan, and you have your own space-themed holodeck.”

He stared at the lights of Auckland and Sydney. “You built me a holodeck?”

“Isn’t it cool?!” Alan was definitely bouncing.

John nodded. “Yeah, it’s cool.”

“This is the default view. It draws directly from Five’s exterior sensors. What you see here is what you’d see if we were outside. But I did add a few of my favourites for you and tweaked the input from your telescopes.”

Alan poked at his wrist control and Earth vanished.

It was replaced with a view of the Andromeda Galaxy. They were staring down at a sea of swirling stars surrounded by the deepest darkness.

“It’s not interactive, though. The processing power required for this resolution is huge and Five does have a much larger program it needs to keep safe.” He looked up for a moment, but when there was no response, Alan warily turned his attention back to John. “If you want to add more views, we’ll need to up Five’s storage. We should probably do that anyway. Never hurts to have more storage.”

“Says the video game addict.” Gordon snorted.

“Hey, your holos of fish take up more room than my games.”

“Are you kidding? Zombie death 16 pushed me onto external storage.”

“That was an accident.”

“How?”

“I may have put it on the house servers twice.”

“What? Did you delete it?”

“Of course I did.”

“Guys?” Virgil’s voice was ever so tolerant.

Gordon and Alan glanced at John. “Sorry.” It was a chorus of the both of them.

No, this was fine. It really was.

Andromeda glowed beneath them.

His family was…being his family.

And there was pizza.

He let himself float and closed his eyes.

The smell of toasted cheese and tomato sauce, peppers, that unique pizza smell.

His brothers talking quietly - Gordon and Alan still at it, but desperately trying to be quiet about it. John would look at digital storage options both for Tracy Island and Thunderbird Five tomorrow.

At the moment…

A soft touch to his shoulder and Virgil was offering him a slice of cheeseburger pizza, his favourite.

Scott had gone back to being aTracy Industries Buddha…until Virgil coasted past, snatched his phone out of his hand, and smoothly replaced it with a slice of pepperoni and cheese.

Scott’s protest was muffled by Virgil’s glare.

John bit into his pizza slice surrounded by his family and an amazing projection of his second favourite galaxy.

Yes, he liked to be alone.

But he also loved his family.

And they loved him enough to follow him.

-o-o-o-

[saphronethaleph]

Visiting Time

The front door opened with a crash.

“Sonic!” a voice shouted. “You’re not getting away this time!”

Tails lifted his welding mask, and turned off the torch. Then he hopped out of his garage, and into the main living area of their house.

“Hi, Silver,” he said.

“Tails!” Silver replied, waving. “Great to see you again. Where’s Sonic? I’m here to pay him back for what he did!”

“He’s out at the moment, not sure where,” Tails replied, shrugging. “What did he do, exactly? There’s a lot of stuff it could be…”

“You mean he’s been doing a lot of stuff he needs to pay for?” Silver asked, going over to one of the sofas and sitting down.

Tails shrugged. “No, not really, but he’s done a lot of stuff, and a lot of that could get misinterpreted! That’s the way it usually works, like with the Iblis Trigger or when Shadow got mistaken for him.”

Silver frowned. “Iblis Trigger?”

“I don’t actually know myself, but my research turned up a note from myself!” Tails replied. “It was back last time we broke time… no, maybe the time before last time?”

He scratched his head, then shook it. “Anyway, Sonic isn’t the Iblis Trigger, I’m supposed to tell you that. How’s the future, by the way?”

“You know, same old, same old,” Silver said. “Hey, can I get a mug of cocoa?”

Tails blurred into the kitchen and began mixing some up. “So… post apocalypse?”

“That’s same old, same old, for you,” Silver concurred readily. “This time I guess it’s global warming?”

“Huh,” Tails frowned. “I was pretty sure my Ring Energy Generators would prevent that, by using clean energy instead of fossil fuels. Any specifics?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing to do with fossil fuels,” Silver shrugged. “When I said warming, I meant literally. Volcanic eruptions and lava and stuff.”

“Oh!” Tails said. “I guess we might need to talk to Chip and see if he knows what’s going on… so what do you think Sonic has done, exactly?”

Silver floated over the cocoa and took a sip. “Man, you’re good at that… anyway, he built a giant robot and was using it to attack people.”

Tails gave him a perplexed look.

“Okay, look,” Silver began. “I know that realistically speaking it was probably actually Eggman who did it. But you know Sonic, the best way to get him to help out is to challenge him to a battle and then work from there.”

“I have trouble arguing with that,” Tails said, flicking both his tails, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, hold on a minute! I have something I’ve been working on to try and help with this kind of thing!”

He scampered off into his workshop, and Silver shrugged before drinking some cocoa.

A minute or so later, Tails came back with an odd-looking contraption.

“This is a recent project!” Tails explained, flicking some switches, and a little generator thingummy began to spin faster and faster with an ascending whiiiiir sound. “Aaand… there we go!”

Silver leaned in to see what was going on.

“...so, what does it do, exactly?” he asked.

“It detects inconsistencies in the fabric of space and time!” Tails explained, both his namesake tails flicking back and forth. “I got the idea after Sonic told me about this one time where I never met him and I ended up making myself cyborg tails. And this other time where I was a pirate. And, well, all the other times we’ve messed with that kind of thing… anyway, it detects where parallel lines of time are resonating with our own timeline, and identifies the points where our own history is being driven off course, because a different world is leaking into our own through a micro-hole to a universe only a few picometres in the ana or kata direction.”

Silver frowned.

“I’m not exactly an expert on temporal mechanics, but that sounds extremely specific,” he said. “How could you possibly identify those?”

“Well, it was easy enough once I had a big enough sample set,” Tails shrugged. “Which took about a month. Anyway, uh… okay… there we go!”

He pointed to the screen. “See here? Your personal timeline intersects with Sonic’s timeline in about a week, and you’re carrying one of the Chaos Emeralds at the time. The… yellow one, I think.”

Silver rummaged in his quills, and brought out a blue Chaos Emerald. “The blue one, actually.”

“That must be it!” Tails declared. “You need to bring the yellow one instead, because otherwise you and Sonic are going to be trying to go Super with two blue Emeralds and no yellow one. Once you’ve done that, that should fix the timeline until the next time it breaks.”

“Huh,” Silver mused, draining the last of his cocoa. “I guess that makes sense… I’d better go and find the yellow one instead. And work out what to do with the few weeks I’ll get to enjoy being in a non post apocalypse.”

Tails gave him a thumbs-up. “No problem! This just shows the value of my P.L.O.T. hole detector!”

[saschax]

Hello ! Would it be possible some nsfw-fluff an Valeria and female reader?, maybe something ab how reader got home and she was tired decided to take a bath and vale followed her? 🤭

gruß (greetings), and of course. ill shall do this.

not entirely sure what fluff means, but it means happy ending (according to the internet)? so, mmm... hope this is good...

sorry for late response. and im terribly sorry if this is bad; im not used to female reader x female (and since im not a female myself, i have no absolutely fucking idea on how they say things amongst themselves)

people aged less than 18+ please skip this as this is not for you. please do not read this. i beg of you, do not.

i am not responsible if your child is reading this, as a parent- it is you who is responsible for your child's media consumption.

if you are 18 or above, feel free to read!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: nsfw, two females are in a romantic relationship

ding.

the door opens for reader, vale stands in front of her with narrowed eyes.

"where you've been, hm??" valeria hums, crossing her arms.

valeria is a bit frustrated reader came home later than planned. they were going to watch a movie when she gets home, but its too late to watch a movie. looking behind reader, it is night time.

getting no response, valeria opens her mouth- brows furrowing in anger, then- as her eyes looks up and down at reader's figure. she freezes.

reader's eyes was slightly droopy, her back hunched over a bit like she was very tired.

tired from work.

valeria softens when reader hugs her. although, valeria didn't quite like the smell of other perfumes on her.

debe haber otras mujeres alrededor de mi chica.. estúpido trabajo..

reader seems to pick up on this, so she lets go.

"am sorry- just- just work caught up to me, thats all." reader finally replies to vale's question.

it is vale's time to be quiet for a moment, reader sees vale's eyes looking her up and down.

"poor baby, you tired?" valeria said with a condescending tone. reader nods her head, "hm, why don't we go to bed? we can..." she tilts her head back at the tv. "watch the movie later."

"sounds okay," reader agrees, moving past valeria to walk to their shared bedroom.

when reader opens the door, realizing her partner isn't following her. she looks over her shoulder, only to see valeria having her arms crossed, and her foot tapping the ground expectingly.

reader's face flashes a goofy tired grin, walking back to valeria and taking her hand- valeria smiles back- and she drags her loving partner into the bedroom.

as they enter the bedroom, reader gently tugs valeria onto the bed and valeria allows the motion, laying on the bed (of course she took her shoes off).

expecting reader to sleep next to her, what she did next surprises her.

reader went into the bathroom.

valeria arches one of her eyebrows, and the next second, she hears water running.

oh? is she taking a bath?

without ME?

not a chance, valeria huffs as she thinks.

letting the water run for a moment, she swings her legs to the side and starts to walk into the bathroom, looks like reader was quick to get into the bathtub as she sees her there- well, she isn't laying in the bathrub- reader is standing, preparing to lay down.

reader eyes is wide, bug eyed. trying to cover herself with her hands (she's completely naked) while keeping her balance on the slippery bathtub.

reader feels nervous, but it looks like valeria is enjoying this- her smirk says it all.

"well, it seems like you need some help getting clean," vale said playfully, stepping closer to the tub and reaching out to turn off the faucet.

reader's face is red as a tomato at this point, still covering herself as much as possible. this is embarrassing!

valeria tries to move her hands away, only to met with resistance. with a tsk, she pulls harder, and reader relents.

"sit down." she says, humming after.

reader lets out an audible gulp, sitting. of course, when valeria wants her to move in a certain spot- she moved.

now, valeria is currently behind her- with reader showing her back to valeria.

reader's heart races as vale's touch sent shivers down her spine. they had been together for quite some time now and shared everything else - why not share a shower too?

as much as her mind scream she likes this- her body is stiffening. she's not used to this sort of touches on her body.

as vale begins running a soap-covered hand over her shoulders, gently massaging away any tension or stress from work or life in general, reader couldn't help but let out a soft moan of pleasure at the sensation coursing through her body.

after a moment of doing this, vale's hands trails lower down reader's body, slowly gliding over her soft curves and sensitive areas. she feels the heat emanating from reader's skin as she presses closer against her, their wet bodies molding together like two halves of a whole.

reader gasps when she felt vale's fingers dip beneath the water and brush against her most intimate place.

her hips buckle slightly in response to the unexpected touch but vale holds onto her tightly, keeping them both upright in the tub.

"you like that?" vale whispers huskily into reader's ear before moving lower to kiss along her neck and collarbone.

the sensation sent shivers up and down reader's spine as she moans softly at this newfound pleasure.

feeling embarrassed of her moans and soft little gasps- sounds vale happens to like so much, vale sees a hand sneaking their way up to reader's mouth- effectively almost drowning, if not, all their sweet little noises.

"no, no, carino, i want to hear you.." she tsks, using a free hand to moves reader's hand away, although slowly and gently, away from her mouth.

the noises continues, and every now and then- she hears a whimper.

god, it sounded beautiful. she'd kill to hear that sound forever.

vale's mouth moves upward, pausing her little attacks on reader's neck and instead, begins to bite reader's earlobe.

even reader's ears seems to be blushing red, and this only seems to make reader's cuter in vale's eyes.

"vale- ngh- i'm going to- ngh- cum-!" reader whimpers, the last word being said in a higher pitched when vale sped up her movements.

"si, si, come on my fingers mi amor." valeria eggs her on, and the last two words were reader's undone.

seeing white, she lets out a silent scream. the springy coil in her snaps..

vale however, did not relent. even after reader came down from her high, she kept going.

whimpers and pleads of stop is encouraging for valeria, only making her go faster and faster.

i think reader made valeria addicted to her sounds and wants to hear more...

XD....

after, with reader passing out, thanks to valeria's strength. she cleans reader, of course she had to renew the water, dressed reader, and places reader gently in bed.

all the while, reader was snoring happily away. into dreamlands.

and as valeria settles into the bed, last thing she says was..

"love you, mi amor." and with that, settles her head into reader's neck and sleeps.

what did i write

[futureghost97]

.

[lilgynt]

moms WILL make sure you cry once a day at least