#[ this girl is such a mess and a disaster in every sense of the word ]

[buckysleftbicep]

the cat's out of the bag 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: teeth rotting fluff

summary: during a storm, you rescue a stray kitten and spend the next week trying to keep her hidden from your boyfriend.

word count: 2k

author's note: i love cats and dogs, genuinely would run a little zoo of my own if i could. enjoy my loves and stay safe out there! please drop a like or a reblog if you enjoyed! <3333 based on this request

i love soft!bucky with my whole heart

It started with a storm and a pair of very, very round blue eyes.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat.

The plan was simple. Boring, even.

Drop off your mission report to Val, grab a too-sweet latte with Yelena while listening to her complain about Walker’s latest disaster, and then spend the evening wrapped in your favourite blanket, bingeing your comfort show for the fifth, okay, seventh time.

That was it. No drama. No interruptions. Definitely no unexpected pets.

But fate, and a suspiciously open cardboard box near the alley dumpsters behind your usual deli—had other plans.

That’s where you found her.

Or rather, that’s where she found you.

You hadn’t even noticed the box at first. You were halfway through texting Yelena about her ridiculous idea for matching leather jackets when a faint sound stopped you cold.

A mewl, soft, reedy, desperate. You turned, heart already twisting, and there she was.

Soaked. Shivering. All fluff and no fight.

Her white fur was a grimy, matted mess, stained gray from the rain and dirt. She couldn’t have been more than a few months old—tiny and fragile, huddled against the crumpled side of the box like it might still protect her.

When your shadow fell over her, she didn’t flinch. She just blinked up at you with those huge, too-wise eyes, let out one pitiful little cry, and tucked her nose into her paw like she was already giving up.

And that was it. You were done for.

You crouched without thinking, hands already moving before logic caught up. She was cold, so cold you swore you could feel it through your fingertips when you scooped her up and tucked her against your chest.

Your jacket came off next, hastily unzipped and wrapped around her as you stood, shielding her from the steady drizzle like instinct had overridden every ounce of your common sense.

She didn’t struggle. Didn’t even try to claw or hiss. Just curled tighter against your chest, her body trembling as a soft, tentative purr vibrated against your sternum.

You looked down. She looked up.

That was the moment.

You didn’t have a name for her yet. You didn’t have a plan. Hell, you didn’t even know if pets were allowed at the compound.

But none of that mattered.

You walked the rest of the way with one arm wrapped around your jacket, cradling a soggy, wide-eyed ball of fur like she was the most precious thing in the world.

You didn’t even make it two steps into the building before Bob spotted you and said, flatly, “You’re keeping it.”

You didn’t argue. Because he was right.

You hadn’t meant to adopt a cat. But it turns out, she’d already adopted you.

"Your name is Alpine," you whispered as you tiptoed into your shared bedroom with Bucky, cradling the tiny fluff ball like a state secret.

She was warm in your arms, damp fur already drying against the softness of your shirt, her little body nestled in like she belonged there. "And you, my girl, are a secret agent."

Alpine blinked up at you with slow, sleepy eyes. Then she let out the tiniest sneeze, her whole body jolting with the force of it.

You smiled, tucking her closer. “We’ll work on stealth.”

Operation Hide-The-Cat was officially underway.

You were surgical in your efforts. Strategic. Diligent. The litter box went in the back of your closet, camouflaged behind a wall of boots and a perfectly draped robe. Her food and water bowls were slipped into a lower drawer you’d emptied and converted into a makeshift dining nook, lined with a towel and everything.

You bought a ridiculous amount of pet wipes and dry shampoo to keep her from smelling too obviously like cat. Her toys were buried between pillows and blankets, and her treats were stashed behind rows of books on your shelves, labeled as "protein bars" in case anyone peeked.

Alpine had more square footage and amenities than some junior agents in the compound.

You even rigged the air vents with dryer sheets to mask the scent, knowing full well Ava liked to crawl through them when she was bored—or looking to scare the shit out of someone. If she found out about Alpine, it would be game over.

Not because Ava would snitch. But because she’d absolutely try to recruit her into the team.

The first few days were a breeze. Alpine slept for hours, nestled in the crook of your arm or burrowed into the soft blankets you arranged like a throne.

She ate delicately, gave you tiny headbutts whenever you reached for your phone, and purred like a small engine when you read aloud at night. It was like living with a warm, sleepy marshmallow who occasionally attacked your socks.

Then she discovered Bucky’s jacket.

It was just hanging there—carelessly draped over the back of your chair, like he always left it when he stayed over in your room.

Dark blue, soft with wear, the kind of thing he grumbled about losing but never actually took back. It smelled like him—pine and clean soap and just a trace of that cologne he insisted he didn’t wear.

The same jacket he’d left behind after that quiet night in, when the two of you had curled up on your bed with takeout and old black-and-white movies. You’d fallen asleep on his chest halfway through Casablanca, and he hadn’t moved a muscle until morning.

You never gave it back.

Apparently, neither could Alpine.

You caught her the first time while brushing your teeth, half-asleep, groggy, and wondering what the soft thump-thump-thump was behind you.

There she was, in all her tiny glory, rolling back and forth on the jacket like she’d claimed it in the name of the feline empire.

You watched in disbelief as she kneaded her little paws into it—making biscuits like it was hers, purring so loud it echoed off the tiles.

From that point on, it was a losing battle.

Every time you turned around, there she was—wrapped in it like a burrito, dragging it off the chair like a victorious hunter, or burrowed into its folds with her head poking out like royalty in a four-poster bed.

You tried to relocate it. Hang it up. Even hide it. Somehow, she always found it.

You started picking fur off it obsessively, lint rolling like your life depended on it—every sleeve, every seam, every goddamn inch of it.

But it was too late.

Because when Bucky walked in three nights later, gaze sharp and mouth already forming some sarcastic comment about your tendency to “hog all the blankets,” he paused mid-step. His eyes dropped to the chair. His brows furrowed.

Then he picked up the jacket.

Held it at arm’s length.

And pulled one long white hair off the collar.

You froze.

Alpine, traitor that she was, chose that exact moment to sneeze again—from under your bed.

Day Seven.

You were in the kitchen reheating leftovers, Alpine nestled warm and content inside Bucky's jacket like a smug little stowaway.

She’d made herself a nest just under the zip, her tiny head poking out beneath your chin, her soft purr vibrating gently against your sternum.

Her paws were tucked against your chest, and her tail flicked lazily beneath the fabric, occasionally brushing your ribs like a mischievous secret waiting to be exposed.

You stirred the pasta one-handed, trying not to disturb her. She’d been sleepy and clingy all morning, refusing to be left alone in the pile of blankets you’d made for her on the bed.

You’d tried sneaking away twice, once for the bathroom, once for food, and both times she’d meowed like you’d abandoned her forever.

So here you were, cooking one-handed with a clingy fur baby zipped into your jacket like the world’s neediest hot water bottle.

That’s when your boyfriend walked in.

Fresh from training. His shirt clinging to him like a second skin, damp with sweat in all the distracting places.

He had that casual, unbothered look about him—like he didn’t even realise how effortlessly distracting he was.

He paused the second he saw you.

His brows drew together, subtle but sharp. “Hey,” he said, voice low as he crossed to the cabinet for a mug.

“Hey,” you echoed, far too casually, heart skipping when Alpine’s tail twitched right as he passed behind you. You subtly shifted your stance to hide the movement.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, frowning faintly. “...You purring?”

You blinked. “What?”

He tilted his head, mug in hand, a smirk just barely beginning to tug at his mouth. “I swear I just heard purring.”

“No you didn’t.”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly, “Are you purring?”

“Why would I purr?” you asked. "That’s not even something people do.”

“Not usually, no,” he said slowly, taking another step forward, eyes dropping briefly to the suspicious lump in your hoodie.

You held your ground. “I’m cold.”

“In June?”

You cursed the climate-controlled compound. Couldn’t they have made it slightly more believable?

And then—of course—Alpine chose that exact moment to stretch.

A soft meow slipped out of her as she extended one paw toward your zipper like she was participating in the worst game of peekaboo. Her little white head pushed through next, blinking sleepily at the sudden light.

There was a long beat of silence.

Bucky just stared.

Alpine blinked up at him, completely unbothered, tail flicking like she was proud of herself.

And Bucky—

He smiled.

Not a smirk. Not one of his usual crooked, knowing grins. A real smile. Slow and soft and a little stunned, like it had crept up on him without warning. Like he hadn’t expected it. Like he hadn’t expected you.

“You adopted a cat,” he said quietly.

“Rescued a cat,” you corrected quickly, your hand already stroking her head out of pure guilt. “I didn’t mean to. She was just... there. In a box. In the rain. She looked at me. And sneezed. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Bucky stepped closer, something unreadable in his eyes. “She yours?”

You nodded. “Technically, she’s off the books. Like… extremely off the books.”

He crouched slightly, careful and deliberate as he reached out and scratched behind Alpine’s ear.

She melted instantly. Eyes fluttering shut. Purr ramping up like a motor.

You watched, heart thudding.

“Well,” he murmured, not looking away from her, “she’s got good taste.”

“In jackets?” you teased, a little breathless.

“In people,” he said, finally meeting your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Alpine let out a pleased little chirp, completely oblivious to the tension she’d just wandered into.

You exhaled slowly. “Guess the secret’s out.”

Bucky chuckled. “Wasn’t much of a secret. Pretty sure Yelena saw her yesterday licking marinara off the kitchen counter.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the fridge. “Of course she did.”

“She took a video,” Bucky added, laughing now.

You covered your face with your hand. “She’s never letting this go.”

“Relax,” he said, voice warm. “No one’s kicking her out. She’s... kind of perfect. A little menace. Like you.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. His expression was open, easier than you’d seen it in days. Like Alpine’s very presence had cracked something in him.

“You mean that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. She can stay.”

You grinned. “But she has to share the jacket?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean my jacket that you permanently borrowed?”

“You left it here, technically.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple. “Semantics, sweetheart.”

Later that night, when you wandered into the living room with a book in one hand and Alpine’s new toy in the other, you stopped in the doorway.

There they were.

Bucky was stretched out on the couch, hair still damp from his post-shower rinse. One arm tucked behind his head, mouth parted slightly in sleep. And curled right on top of him, nestled into the center of his chest like she’d been born to be there—Alpine. Her tiny paws rose and fell with his breathing, purring so loud you could hear it across the room.

Neither stirred. You didn’t say anything.

Just stood there, smiling softly, heart full and warm in a way you hadn’t expected when this week started.

[unladielike]

What are Vivian's flaws? Is she aware of them? What are her positive traits? Is she proud of any?

          UNPROMPTED ASKS. » always accepting!

As far as flaws are concerned, I'd say she's stubborn, insecure, gullible, inflexible (especially when it comes to deviations in plans and trying out new things), rash, quite mean-spirited when angry which I expanded more upon here, vengeful to the point where she can be petty (ie: lashed out at not being invited to a party by drinking all the alcohol she was asked to bring over), and obsessive/clingy when it comes to those she's romantically/sexually attracted towards.

She also has the tendency to self-sabotage in relationships, use humour to diffuse serious situations, may resort to inappropriate actions around those she's sexually attracted towards as a result of her hypersexuality (with one notable example being when she opted to not wear a bra around Mako), and isn't exactly the nicest when it comes to people she deems a 'normie', which essentially meant she actively avoided the other hosts who weren't Mako.

Naturally, though, Vivian is aware of this, and as a result, acknowledges that she can be quite difficult. Why, if nothing else, she would understand people not wanting to stay friends with her or even entertaining a relationship with her due to the fact she can be... a lot.

When it comes to positive traits, though, she's kind, generous, open-minded (especially when it comes to folks society would normally mistreat), funny, low-maintenance (meaning there's not much she would bring herself to ask for), strong of heart, witty, and thoughtful. But overall, she is someone who consistently stays true to herself. Honestly, regardless of what people might think about her, she pretty much refuses to mask her neurodivergent traits and would approach others from a place of sincerity rather than deception.

Why, rather than opt to play nice in order to win the approval of others, Vivian is just unapologetically... herself. And while she might not like a lot of things about herself, that is at least one thing she remains proud about.

anonymous

[eclipixels]

Clichés

Sae Itoshi x Reader

Content: You and Sae are watching one of those cliché romance TV shows, and he can’t help but cringe.

[1,600 words]

      You should’ve known better than to let Sae sit through one of your guilty pleasure romance dramas.

      It started with him lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone while you curled up beside him, eyes glued to the TV. He never really cared about these shows; he’d always brush them off as overly dramatic and predictable. But tonight, for some reason, he hadn’t moved. His fingers had stopped their lazy scrolling, his sharp gaze fixated on the screen, eyebrows furrowed.

      You tried to ignore it, but every once in a while, you’d hear him scoff or mutter something under his breath.

      “Why is she running away from him? Just talk like a normal person.”

      You rolled your eyes. “It’s called tension, Sae.”

      “It’s called unnecessary drama,” he shot back, his voice laced with disbelief.

      The episode played on, and his reactions only grew more dramatic than the show itself. You were deep into Love Island, the latest reality drama unfolding as the new couple tried to navigate their sizzling chemistry while another islander plotted to steal one of them away. When the male islander grabbed the female islander’s wrist, spinning her around for a forced confession, Sae let out a noise of pure disdain.

      “Ugh.” He ran a hand down his face, looking absolutely exhausted. “If I ever did that to you, you’d probably kill me.”

      “You’re right,” you deadpanned.

      He gave you a knowing look, clearly proud of himself for being so observant. But his horror didn’t end there. When the dramatic love triangle reached its peak, and the female islander started crying over her two potential lovers, Sae turned to you with a serious expression, clearly trying to make sense of the mess unfolding on the screen.

      “Are we supposed to feel bad for her?” he asked, like he was solving a complex puzzle.

      “Yes, Sae,” you groaned, nudging him with your elbow. “She’s torn between them.”

      “She’s also an idiot,” he said flatly. “Imagine having the perfect guy and still being confused.”

      You snorted, trying to suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “It’s not that simple. People have feelings, you know.”

      “I don’t know,” Sae muttered, eyes narrowed as he watched the drama unfold. “Seems like they’re just making bad decisions for the sake of ratings.”

      You rolled your eyes again, leaning back on the couch and crossing your arms. “You’re such a cynic.”

      He shot you a look that said, this is a disaster, but continued watching. As another islander tried to make a dramatic declaration of love while standing on a balcony, Sae groaned loudly, rubbing his temples.

      “Honestly, these people need to get a grip. Who says things like that?”

      “You sound kinda invested,” you teased, grinning up at him.

      His brows twitched, and he looked away, clearly caught off guard. “I’m not,” he muttered, his voice low as he attempted to hide his growing interest.

      You hummed in amusement, the playful glint in your eyes betraying your knowledge of the truth. You didn’t press the point further, though, knowing full well that Sae had gotten pulled into the drama. Instead, you turned your attention back to the screen, where the mess of emotions unfolding on Love Island continued to escalate.

      "That's just no way to treat a lady," Sae sighed, clearly fed up with the nonsense coming from the guys on the island.

      "Oh, really? What's your idea of proper?" You raised an eyebrow.

      "Well, for one, I believe the guy should pay for the first date if they decide to eat out. None of this fifty-fifty crap. Don't bring that European nonsense into this ethnic household. Guys today don't put in the effort anymore. They think they can stop doing all that once they've got the girl. And what's with these 'situationships'? They make no sense."

      "Sae, we were in a situationship," you said.

      "What? No, we weren't."

     "We had a talking stage for like four months and then you just started telling people I was your girlfriend."

      Sae’s face turned pink, matching his hair.

      "What?"

      "I thought we were together from the first date," he muttered, his voice almost a whisper.

      "Really?"

      "Yes!" Sae nearly shouted, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment.

      "That's adorable," you teased.

      "No, that's embarrassing."

      "We're together now," you reassured him, trying to ease his discomfort, but he stayed silent. After a long pause, he peeked up at the TV screen again, still red-faced.

      he male islander drenched in rain dramatically kissing the female islander as the storm raged around them, Sae looked like he had physically aged from the stress of witnessing it. His fingers tightened slightly around the armrest of the couch, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain.

      “Who actually does that?” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “That’s how you get sick.”

      You grinned, a spark of amusement lighting up your face. “It’s romantic.”

      “Romantic?” Sae echoed, his voice rising slightly as if the very idea offended him. “It’s stupid. Who’s actually gonna kiss someone in the middle of a torrential downpour like that? What happened to common sense?”

      You raised an eyebrow. “You’re just mad because you’ve never done it.”

      Sae scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not mad, I’m just realistic. You don’t kiss someone in the rain, you take them inside and offer them a towel, then maybe a hot drink after they’re done drying off.” He gave you a pointed look. “And if it was you, I’d have you wrapped in blankets, not standing out there in the freezing cold.”

      You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re no fun.”

      Sae’s frown deepened as he continued to watch the rain-soaked drama play out. He shifted on the couch, visibly uncomfortable with the way the scene unfolded. The intense music swelled in the background, making the kiss seem even more important than it probably was. You couldn’t help but enjoy the way Sae’s discomfort was so obvious, especially since he’d spent the last few weeks teasing you for watching these shows.

      "Are you sure this is supposed to be a romance?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because to me, it feels more like a horror show."

      You snickered at his reaction, but couldn't deny the accuracy of his point. The male islander’s actions were intense, almost suffocating at times, and his possessiveness was borderline unsettling. But to you, it was all part of the fun. The over-the-top emotions, the drama-filled relationships—it was an escape from the mundane.

      His face twisted some more as the plot thickened and the your favorite female character behaved in even stranger, more obsessive ways. Sae shifted again, running a hand through his hair in frustration, clearly disturbed by what he was witnessing. The tension between the two islanders, paired with the high-stakes drama, was something he clearly didn’t understand, and you could tell that he was struggling to make sense of it all.

      "Hey, it's scripted for a reason," you countered, a small laugh escaping you. You tried to brush off his concern, knowing full well that he’d never fully appreciate the kind of drama you enjoyed.

      Sae narrowed his eyes at the screen, then glanced back at you with a half-smile, clearly unconvinced. “You say that, but I swear, I actually know a guy like this in real life on Re Al.”

      You tilted your head in curiosity. “Really?”

      Sae nodded, leaning back into the couch, a slight shudder running through him as if just mentioning this person triggered a deep sense of discomfort. “Yeah. You should see him whenever our team goes out for drinks—he is beyond weird. No sense of boundaries, no idea how to read a room.”

      “Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes widening as you pictured the awkwardness. "What did he do?"

      “The most bizarre things,” Sae continued, a bitter edge creeping into his voice as the memory clearly rattled him. “Like, one time, he tried to ‘confess his feelings’ in the middle of a bar with all of us watching. Didn’t even try to make it subtle, just straight-up told this girl he loved her after talking to her for, like, five minutes. I swear, he’d be perfect for one of these shows.”

      You stared at him in disbelief, equal parts horrified and intrigued by the story.

      "Thank god our relationship isn’t anything like that." He gestured towards the screen. “This whole thing is just… so far off from anything real. I can’t imagine this show yielding a happy relationship."

      You leaned back into the couch, propping your feet up next to him as the characters on-screen faced yet another heart-wrenching dilemma. The drama was escalating by the minute—misunderstandings, love triangles, betrayals. It was the perfect storm of emotions, and for once, Sae seemed to be paying attention.

      A beat passed, and you could feel his tension ease, though his frustration hadn’t completely faded. He let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. His fingers, warm and absentminded, found the hem of your sleeve and began to idly toy with it, a quiet gesture of comfort in the middle of the chaotic drama.

      “I don’t think I could handle the constant stress these people go through,” You admitted softly, almost to yourself.

      “It’s exhausting watching them make such stupid decisions all the time.”

      “Yeah, I agree. I like our relationship better.” You smiled softly, poking his face with your index finger before leaning in for a proper kiss.

      Sae met your eyes, and his expression was calm. "Yeah," he said softly, with a small but genuine smile, returning your kiss.

[777heavengirl]

eggs

sirius black x reader one-shot ! warnings: no warnings, no war AU! word count: 917 masterlist a/n: idk if I like this but alas. idk I've stared at it for too long... bless the telephone chapter soon tho for @dadadaismo I hope its sort of what you wanted MWAH

Sirius had always loved to cook. 

He liked the heat of the stove, the ease with which his knife slid through vegetables, and the sizzle of the pan. Euphemia had been the one to teach him, every summer since he started going over to the Potter’s house, she’d teach him. Dish after dish, she’d sit with him and show him. 

James was a lost cause in the kitchen; he had never seen anyone burn everything he put his hands on the way he did. Absolute disaster that boy. 

“Cooking is kind of like saying I care about you,” Euphemia cut through carrots as Sirius diced some potatoes. “It's saying you love them without the words.”

“Why do you think that?” Sirius mumbled back, focused on the movements of his hands. At sixteen, he was still clumsy and scared of the knife. But he hadn’t refused when Euphemia handed him the cutting board and the bag of potatoes. 

He could never say no to her.

“Because you are taking care of the person, Sirius,” The older woman smiled at him, soft and close-lipped. “You’re replenishing their bodies, their souls.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement, mulling over her words. Love = Making food. 

Easy enough to understand. 

He felt loved from the moment she put a bowl in front of him and encouraged him to eat after he had run away. It made sense.

“Besides, it's an awfully good skill to impress the girls.” She smiled even wider with a cheeky wink that caused Sirius to groan in protest. 

James had probably blabbed about the growing interest in him amongst the female population at Hogwarts. 

Sirius would sneak off to cook with the house elves during the school year, it was a fun hobby for him, learning new dishes to bring back home for the summer. To show the Potters he loved them.

-

“I don’t know how to cook that,” he said as he stared at the haphazardly written scribble of the dish you had said was your favourite. He had written it down under the table as you talked. At eighteen, he had acquired many skills, but clearly, blind writing wasn't one of them. “It’s freaking me out.”

You had been dating for a few months by then, freshly graduated, and still bright-eyed and stupid. But Godric, was he in love with you. He had been in love with you since he had first asked you to dinner, since his hand touched yours, since he asked if he could kiss you.

He wanted to make sure you knew. 

“Oh Sirius, it's just a dish, don't be silly,” Euphemia walked over to look at the scribble. “What we do need to work on is that penmanship, good Godric Sirius,” 

“It isn’t just a dish, though, I need it to tell her.”

“Tell her what?” 

“That I love her, mum.”

It had been years since Sirius made your favourite meal, the first of many he’d cook, but nothing had changed. He loved you, and he loved to cook. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He’d often wake up earlier than you, eggs already sizzling on the stove by the time you trudged over to him. Your face digging into his back, eyes still stuck together from sleep. 

“What are you making?” Your voice hummed through his shirt and into his skin, your added presence warming his back. 

“My special eggs,” He said as you yawned, pressing your face further into him. “Do you want to help?”

“I can make us tea.” 

“Thank you, my love,” Sirius smiled as he saw you wobble around your shared kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, soft socks on your feet that let you shuffle lazily around the room. Your hair was still a mess, and you hummed silently while the water boiled.

You had learned very quickly that Sirius preferred to cook on his own, no other hands interrupting his rhythm. He’d let you chop up ingredients along with him, maybe help him take out the stuff he needed, but past those steps, he preferred to do it on his own. 

Even though he often asked if you wanted to help, he didn’t really want it. He liked doing it by himself. 

To show you, he’d say. 

And you knew what he meant. To show you he loved you. He confessed it in a whisper one night, when he thought you were asleep. 

So you’d let him. With a soft smile and pressing kisses into his back whenever you passed behind him.

You’d do the dishes because he hated them, and you’d often sit on the counter to keep him company. Talking about one thing or the other while snacking on ingredients. He’d steal a kiss as the pan heated up, and another when he walked past you to grab the salt. 

He’d steal a few more on his way to get plates, and you would make sure to press your lips against his one more time after he plated the food.

You loved to watch him cook, too. The lights that poured in from your windows draped him in golden rays; they went through his hair, and warmed the pale of his skin. And when he’d turn to look at you, in laughter, in awe, or pure love, you’d remember that life with Sirius was a blissful one. 

Full stomachs and jokes every other sentence. 

Warm bedsheets that were difficult to peel off and mismatching mugs. Sirius loved nothing more than good food and being in your arms.

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

let me know if you want to be on the permanent tag list or if I accidentally didn't tag you

[writerunnamed]

note: This is something I've wanted to write for a while but I am well aware that not everyone will be into it. There are a few stories I want to tell that aren't the norm so I decided to start this nameless blog to tell them. I am not tagging anyone, if you find it then you find it. xo Joel(stepdad), significant age gap, female reader. 18+ legal, reader is 20 (warnings: pov sex, Joel spits on the 😸, boobie play, really inappropriate dirty talk, an unused sex toy [will make an appearance in another chapter], female masturbation, daddy kink, unfit parent) 5.6k word count masterlist • series masterlist • part 2

He takes up so much space, and it wasn’t just physically. He took up space emotionally, mentally. Mentally most of all. Your thoughts always drifted back to him. Cyclical. An elliptical pattern making him the top of every list you’d go through in your head. He seemed to know it too, in a stoic, quiet, largely unsettling way. Older, attractive men tended to do that. 

It started during that in-between time, when summer, losing your job, and having to move back home pushed you to figure out what the fuck you actually wanted to do with your life seemed to come together like the planets aligning. The precipice of a turning point, a ticking clock counting down the days until your childhood bedroom would be turned into a gym, or an office, or a guest bedroom. The lukewarm welcome from your mother would ice over and you’d really have to get your shit together. 

Your mother was what people who didn’t know her would call ‘a free spirit’, what you called her, was a fucking mess. 

Your earliest memories consist of having to remind her to buy milk or to pay the bill because the electricity had turned off while watching cartoons in front of the tiny, living room tv. You’d had to remind her, in not so many words, that she was the mother, and you were the child. 

To your friends, she was the cool mom. The party mom. Your house was the place to be because she didn’t ask questions, she left her cigarettes unattended and didn’t mind if a few went missing. She kept the bar cart stocked, even if there was nothing but flies in the cupboard and nothing but half-empty condiment bottles in the fridge. Your friends loved it. 

She flirted with the boys your age, she gave sex tips to the girls. 

You smiled when they congratulated you on having the cool mom, and when they all went home, you retreated and pretended to be happy. 

Joel settled her down. Met her in a bar and moved in quick. He came into the picture when you were fifteen and you were almost sure he’d be just like the rest of the lovers she’d taken over the years. You’d given the whole thing six months. Half a year for him to see what a fucking disaster she was. Six months to be a fucking creep, to cheat or get cheated on. 

The only differences you could clock at first were that he was self-employed, and marginally better looking than his predecessors.

He was firmer though, less malleable than the others she’d brought around, he seemed immune to her charms and that only inflamed her. It made her desperate for his approval and his attention. She would throw a tantrum, or play one of her mind games but he’d never rise to her bait. He was patient for the most part, until he hit his breaking point and his temper reared its head. A temper only she seemed to bring out in him. 

To you, it was pathetic. 

He didn’t try with you though, there was no flattery or strong hand, only a silent respect. In a sense, he treated you as the adult, and her as the child. It worked for you, if he’d expected you to call him dad he would have been laughed at mercilessly and he seemed to know this. 

The disturbing part was his respect and his healthy avoidance of you worked its own kind of magic. It made him an enigma, made you curious as to what he got out of the whole thing. A home, sure. A woman who was obsessed with him, yes. Sex–yes. You heard it enough for it to turn your stomach. By the sounds of it, he knew what he was doing.

The thought sickened the healthy part of your brain. The other part though, the part flooding your body with hormones, making it come to life with curiously intense sexual feelings, that part wanted to know what it was he was so good at. How could he pull those sounds out of anyone? It was easier to imagine him with some faceless woman. 

It was shameful to imagine yourself. 

The thought–although enough to fuel a desperate journey of self-exploration–always filled you with an insurmountable guilt. 

For those first few years you could barely look at him. Your mother took it as a healthy dose of teenage rebellion. That only aggravated you more. She never asked questions, never dug to see what the cause of your obvious distaste for her partner was about and so again, you retreated. He, however, kept to the outs of your path. He followed your lead, he let you control any and every part of all of your interactions. He didn’t ask questions. He kept the lights on. He kept the fridge full. 

He burrowed his way in, whether you liked it or not. 

When you turned eighteen, you moved out. He helped, did his ‘fatherly’ duties and moved you into the apartment, he urged your mother to take you on an extensive grocery trip, spoke to your landlord about the safety of the building. You supposed you should have been grateful, you should have said thank you, given him some sort of acknowledgement that you appreciated his help but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Instead you said your mumbling goodbyes, and promptly closed the door on them. Neither of them complained. 

The euphoria of venturing out on your own had lost its shine depressingly quick. A string of chronically unserious boyfriends came and went, the rent climbed higher than you could keep up with, and while already living paycheck to paycheck, you lost your job. Your cellphone had taken the brunt of your frustration at having to call your mother, begging her to let you come back home while you got back on your feet a little more than two years after you’d left. 

Your teeth gnawed at your lips, your fingernails dug into the skin around your cuticles in the attempt to keep your voice sweet and pleading, in the end it was his voice that you’d heard in the background, telling–no, commanding her to say yes. That he would be your champion twisted at your insides. Maybe a small, healthy part of you hoped he’d put up a fight, tell you that you were too old to be coming back home and that you had to figure it out on your own like an adult. 

A healthy part of you hoped that he’d save you again, only from yourself. Hanging up with a heavy, resigned sigh, you set about starting the trek home, ignoring the swirling mess of annoyance, confusion, and perverse glee in your stomach. 

-

The first few days were spent in a depressive episode, a seemingly inescapable loop of sleeping in late, leaving your room only when the house was empty to raid the kitchen for something to eat, scrolling mindlessly–blindly–on your phone and then staying up way too late only to do it all over again. 

They didn’t bother you, but if the annoyed sighs and narrowed eyes from your mother were anything to go by, the talk was coming soon. After the third day of the cycle, you circumvent it and wake up early-ish to shower and dress in something other than ratty old sweats long forgotten by an ex you couldn’t quite remember. 

You came down to find Joel sitting at the kitchen table. His eyes tracked the lines of you, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

Your heart leapt. He should have been at work by now. 

“Good morning.” It came out croaky, your voice almost reluctant to come out. 

“Mornin’.” His hair was slicked back, the gray almost sparkling in the golden light. You fiddled with the hem of your shirt. His eyes were so intense, you found yourself stuck in place, like a deer in headlights and that ever present, deep-seeded anger reared its head. It was irrational that he should frustrate you so much with his calm presence. 

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want some.” He jut his chin out to the pot, lowering his eyes to his paper once more. Once his gaze had shifted, you found you could breathe again. You mumbled a thanks and moved to pour yourself a cup, thankful, if unsure why, to focus on something concrete instead of abstract self-reflection.

“Your mama’s gon’ be late tonight. I thought I could pick up a pizza on the way home.” He says it offhand and again, your heart races. 

“Whatever.” You scrunch your face up in annoyance, it sounded like such a bullshit, teen response. He doesn’t comment on it, and that somehow makes it worse. You beat yourself about it as you root around in the fridge for the milk. The cereal you liked was in the top cupboard, and you’re not quite tall enough to reach it. 

You heard his chair scoot back and then suddenly he’s there, beside you, pressed up tight. You follow the long line of his throat as he stares up, reaching the box with ease while one big, warm hand lands on your lower back. He smells like the laundry detergent your mother insists on buying mixed with something else. Manly, smoky, with coffee laced through. Your cunt clenches nonconsensually as he stands there and stares down at you, his whole front pressed against your side, his hand still holding your lower back. Your mouth hangs open, stupidly, and he raises an eyebrow again forcing something to kickstart deep in your gut. 

“You okay there babygirl?” The endearment feels unwholesome.

It triggers something strange, strengthening the underlying conflict for him. There’s a lilt in his tone you don’t like, maybe because deep down you like it too much. Maybe you don’t want to admit that, or analyze anything about what the fuck is happening in your body. In your psyche. 

“Yeah.” You step out of his bubble, barely managing not to trip over yourself in your haste to get away and put a healthy distance between you. 

“Yes. Thank you.” You take a deep breath, pressing your lips together tight in what you hope to God is a neutral expression. 

He lets out a bemused huff through his nose, a mischief in his eyes shining out at you that you’ve never seen directed at you. You’ve seen it used on your mom. You’ve seen her go giggly and flirty whenever he looked at her like that. A half-formed escape plan starts to form but he saves you from the need, he puts his things in the dishwasher, and nods his head in goodbye. 

You practically hold your breath until you hear his truck rumble out of the driveway, and down the street. 

-

You manage to avoid him for a few days, staying out late catching up with friends, or feigning a need for rest. You’ve convinced your mother that your days are now spent job hunting, and for the most part they are. You leave in the morning, avoiding any and all contact and you get home late, creeping up the stairs much like you did in your teens even though you’d really never needed to. Your mother never enforced a curfew, and when Joel joined the picture, he didn’t pry. 

The luck didn’t last though, you got over-confident. He was sprawled out on the sofa, up uncharacteristically late one night when you padded through the house. 

“You’re up late.” You quickly check the accusatory tone, “Don’t you have to get up early?” Better, it comes out more concerned than annoyed and he nods. He wore a threadbare t-shirt, the fabric of it having been through the wash too many times to keep its shape. Light, gray sweats were stretched almost obscenely tight over his spread thighs, pooling at his crotch from being shoved up by the couch. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Come sit, we can watch some tv.” He pats the seat next to him and despite the deep desire to retreat into the Joel-free haven of your bedroom, you cannot seem to disobey him. 

You settle beside him on the couch, a little further away than was necessary. He chuckles softly. 

“I ain’t gonna bite you, girl. Not unless you ask nicely.” 

You pretend you don’t hear it, choosing instead to compartmentalize whatever game he’s playing and stare at the screen. He flips through the channels, settling on one thing for a few minutes before moving to something else until he finds a movie that’s already close to midway. There’s an electricity in the air, something about him galvanizing the space between you, charging it enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end. You frown to yourself, barely paying attention while fighting an increasingly confusing mental battle. Why is it so hard to be around him? Why does he inspire such scorn? Is it scorn at all?

You rub at your eyes, scrubbing your hands down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe the slate clean. 

He’s just a man, a man your mother had chosen and for better or worse they seem to work. She is happy with him and he is seemingly happy with her, why then is it so hard to accept him for what he is? Something slithers around in your brain, something that laughs darkly, something pulsing through the network of thoughts and ideas that threatens to crack open your subconscious and throw it right in your face. 

“Well now, ain’t that somethin’?” You pull your hands away from your face to see a very explicit scene playing out on the screen. Heat floods every inch of your body. 

“Almost looks like she’s enjoyin’ herself.” He leaves it on, and you feel stuck, your body betraying you yet again to see the way the woman on screen moans wantonly while under a very handsome man. You let out a non-committal sound, teetering on the edge of madness. You scold yourself, you are an adult, an adult that has had sex before and this isn’t even real. 

“Looks like fake bullshit to me.” The strength in your voice lends credence to the illusion that you aren’t affected. He laughs, calm and completely at ease and that only pulls the anger to the forefront again. 

“They can’t show the real stuff on these channels. If it were real, he’d be doin’ what she needs.” 

“And what’s that?” It comes out before you can stop it. 

“Well,” He smiles to himself, winning a duel you hadn’t even known you were fighting. 

“If it were real, he’d be pressin’ on her clit, he’d be makin’ sure she felt every inch of him and make her take his cock like a good girl.” You let out a heavy breath, half shocked, half grateful it wasn’t a whimper. 

Warning bells go off in your head, just as a heartbeat starts in your cunt because you can see it. You can see him. His face twisted up in pleasure but cocky, his hips moving, his thumb dipped into your mouth and then swirling around your clit. He smiles at catching you looking at his hands and you want to yell at him. You want to smack him across the face and kick him in the balls for saying something like that to you, his partner's daughter, but you don’t. 

Your body almost catapults you out of your seat. Barely unintelligible words come out, something about needing sleep, about being tired and then you hightailed it out of there like a bat out of hell. 

The shower was cold enough to make your teeth chatter, but it did nothing to cool the heat blooming in your core and it was with a terrifying desperation that you ground against your fingers. The slick pooling at the mouth of your pussy was enough to feel even with the water washing everything away except your shame. 

You bit your tongue to keep from moaning out the taboo and entirely inappropriate name you were dying to say out loud. His firm thighs spread on that couch filled your mind, the calloused, work-roughened hands you could practically feel on your hips, on your thighs. You could feel them holding and spreading your legs open so he could make you make those same noises you’d heard over the years. Make you take it like a good girl, his good girl. 

You came with a shudder, sagging against the chilly tile. You warmed the water with a sigh, disappointed and ashamed with yourself, trying, and failing, to put the whole thing out of your mind. 

-

You doubled down on avoiding him after that. 

Your mother worked most of the time but when she was home, things were easier. He reverted to the healthy avoidance, the proverbial disinterest that she didn’t seem to have a problem with. You still heard them some nights, the bed creaking, throaty cries, deep grunts but now they haunted you in a different way. Now you heard his words on that couch and couldn’t help but picture all manner of unsavory things that both disgusted and thrilled you. 

Being unemployed didn’t help. There was nothing to keep you out of the house most of the day, and there were only so many places that would accept you looking for a job in person. 

There was only so much time you could spend with friends too, they had their own lives and jobs and relationships. Too busy to save you from unwanted free time. 

Old habits resurface, and you retreat within yourself while pushing yourself harder. A job would fix things enough to help, you could save up enough money to leave for good and take yourself out of the equation. 

-

The powers that be momentarily take pity on you, and after what seems like a lifetime's worth of job hunting you blessedly get a call back. It’s a part time job, but at this point beggars can’t exactly be choosers. It’s a steady, if insufficient source of income that hadn’t been available to you before. Determined, you buckle down, you channel every guidance counselor you’ve ever had and ace the fuck out of that interview.

It’s not taxing work, but you put your head down and focus with the hope that if you worked hard enough, if you made a good enough impression, made yourself indispensable they’d throw you enough shifts to make up a full time job. 

It helps. Time spent away from the house, from your mothers dried up welcome, from Joel altogether genuinely helps. You feel a bit lighter, less guilty, less prone to imagine the unimaginable. You find comfort in the absence of self-imposed temptation. There is peace in the mindless work, in the life outside of the house that no longer feels like a home. 

It's a double edged sword though, because at the end of every shift, the luck–the peace–runs out. If being at work and out of the house is a respite, returning home only thickens the tension. Time spent outside the house only sharpens the discomfort, clarifies the glaring wrongness of it all when you enter it at the end of the day. What it all is, you won’t name. That way madness lies. Issue is, with every interaction, with every chance encounter in the hallway, or living room, every second spent with him in the kitchen watching his lips touch the rim of his mug the thing inside grows. Parts of him fill the corners of your mind. The curve of his shoulders filling out the flannel shirts he favors. The fullness of his bottom lip when he purses them, something he does while squinting at the paper that you’re almost sure he isn’t aware of. His neck, his hands, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs at something really funny. 

These things jump out, innocent as they may be, but other not so innocent things start to creep in. The bulge in his jeans is a mental mine, it lies in wait and every so often when you think you’ve avoided it, it detonates and you catch yourself staring, both ashamed and so inappropriately curious it eats away at you like acid. 

What you needed was something to fill the emptiness, both emotionally and physically. So you did what any modern, adult woman would do; you bought a sex toy. 

Nothing too crazy, or expensive. After perusing the site for a while you finally settled on a plain, non-threatening dildo. Nothing too big, nothing noisy, just something to be able to focus on, something to use while imagining someone giving you what you need. You ignored that dark thing inside that hissed his name, shooed it away and ordered the package for express delivery. With your mom constantly working, and Joel keeping to himself you figured it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would question a package addressed to you. 

You still aren’t sure whether or not you’d do it all over again had you known the Pandora’s box that little package would open. 

You all but rushed home after work. All day, you’d imagined the relief that toy would bring. You imagined yourself using it in the shower, steam swirling as you took your pleasure. You imagined yourself laying in bed in the safety of the dark, setting a towel down on your chair and riding it to your heart's content. 

Joel’s truck is in the driveway when you pull in, but it’s secondary to the excitement at the chance to sequester yourself with your new best friend and so when you walk into the house, you don’t give him much attention. Until he opens his mouth. 

“You got a package today babygirl. I put it on your bed.” He sits on his spot on the sofa, a funny little smile on his face. A bad feeling swells in your chest, and you look up the stairs before meeting his eyes again. 

“Thanks.” You drop your bag on the little bench near the front door, trying, and failing to keep the nervous feeling out of your voice. He nods, and you make your way up, stopping yourself from taking the stairs two at a time. 

Ice flows through your veins when you see the package is open. 

He’d opened your package, he knew what you’d bought. 

Blood pounds in your ears as you stand there, limbs cold and numb at the realization that he saw it. He saw it. He opened it, and he placed it here, on the very place you fantasized about using it. Sweat beaded on your brow, the bottom of your stomach fell out of your ass as you stood there, barely feeling the soft, worn carpet under your feet. 

“Little small, f’you ask me.” His voice at the mouth of your room made your head twist fast enough to hurt your neck. You hadn’t heard him follow you up the stairs, hadn’t heard him open your door and lean against the frame, arms crossed in haughty amusement. 

“Why would you open my package?” You clutched at it, as though he could forget what he’d seen if you held it tightly enough. 

“I didn’t open it on purpose, I’m expectin’ somethin’ and I didn’t read the name.” He pushes away from the door frame, making his way closer and it’s like the air thins as the space between you shrinks.

“I mean, I could tell you been frustrated, but this doesn’t seem like it’s gon’ help much.” He reaches out, and takes the package from you. You watch him do it, watch him, frozen as he plucks it from your hands and takes the toy out. 

“This all you can take?” He holds it, contemptuously–pityingly. 

You wanted to snatch it out of his hands, the dimming voice of reason urges you to push him out of your room and remind him that he needs to keep a healthy distance but you say nothing, you stand there, and watch him. He puts it all down on your dresser, before stepping a little closer, close enough for you to have to crane your neck up to look into his eyes. 

“No boyfriends around to give you what you want?” His hand comes up, the tips of his fingers sliding across the apple of your cheek, slipping down until his thumb pressed against the cushion of your bottom lip. 

“No one around to give you what you obviously need?” He steps a little closer, until your bodies meet. This is wrong, your mind screams it but your body is frozen under his eyes, under his touch. That part, the frozen part is cheering, it’s running victory laps as it floods your cunt with slick in preparation for something unholy. 

That same, writhing, traitorous thing whispers that this is your chance, the house is empty and your body obeys. You look your fill, you take in the curve of his nose and the furrow in his brow. His eyes are black as a crow's wing, lust-blown and completely focused on your parted lips and your shallow panting. 

Adrenaline spikes and you do something you cannot take back. You rise on your tip-toes and press your mouth to his. 

He hums into it, smiling and once again you get that feeling that you’d made the exact move he’d expected you to. A vague, but fleeting inkling that you were just a pawn on his chessboard. 

At any other time you would have stepped away and repented, ate yourself alive with guilt but his hands pulled you closer, his tongue swiped at the seam of your mouth and you opened up for him. That only made it all the more real, the taste of his tongue in your mouth, feeling his hands lower to hold onto your ass. 

The rational part of you shrinks down to nothing, and that other part, the wrong part–it swells and preens under his hands. He pulls away, and embarrassingly, you chase his mouth in a daze. 

“Oh honey, you’re just dyin’ for it aren’t you?” He herds you towards your tiny bed, the twin mattress that has been the stage for every taboo fantasy about this man, your stepfather. You shoo the word away with a shiver. 

“It’s wrong-” You almost whisper, but you don’t push him away, you let him lay you down in that bed and he laughs. 

“It is, isn't it?” He pulls at the hem of your shirt, you raise your arms for him and the picture of it is wrong, daddy taking off your clothes. The thought, the word,  should disgust you but it only pulls your hands to him. You join in, and pull his shirt up and off, biting your lip at the broadness of him. You take in each freckle, the sprinkling of hair on his chest, the dip of his throat calling out for your tongue like a siren. 

He presses his lips to yours again, licking into your mouth obscenely. Unseemly. 

“You been wantin’ this for a long time, haven’t you babygirl?” He pulls your bra off, and the shock of cold air hardens your nipples. He bites his lip to see it, unable to stop himself from flattening his tongue against a hardened bud. A sound you’ve never let yourself make out loud in this room fills the space between you and that slithering thing luxuriates. 

He moves, languidly, unhurried to the other breast and holds the plump of it in his big hand and sucks at the second bud, sucks as much of the peak as he can into his mouth, breathing through his nose while you slowly spiral into madness.

When he lets go, he presses a kiss to your nipple and his facial hair tickles your skin. 

He pulls your leggings off along with your underwear in one go and the reality of it all hits you when the air hits your soaked core. That’s when the urge to put a stop to it is the clearest, when he kneels between your legs and spreads them wide, stares at the place where he’s already filled a million times in your mind. The place that’s drenched at the mere thought of him. 

“Joel-” You start, but he pushes your legs up, folding you and then he lets a glob of spit fall from his mouth slowly, aiming it, a bullseye right on the lips of your cunt. It’s too much, too filthy and you let out a whimper. 

“I think you wanna call me somethin’ else right now.” He undoes his belt and his jeans, keeping his eyes on where his saliva slides down over the open mouth of your cunt, down towards your asshole. He pulls his cock out and part of you shatters. Your eyes flit to the toy sitting on your dresser, your eyes flit to the open door of your bedroom. 

“Don’t worry, your mama ain’t gonna be home for a while.” He smiles, conspiratorially. It's too real, it’s too hypnotic, seeing him there with his cock in his hand while your legs already ache from holding them up and open. He slides the blunt end of it through the mess he’s caused, through his spit and he groans at the sight of it. 

Your heart races so hard to feel him there, that you see the pulse of it in your vision. 

“Deep breath baby.” he warns before slipping inside the tight fist of your pussy, the size of him making you gasp. This is it, there’s no coming back from this and right now, with him seated deep, his groin pressed up tight and the tip of his cock kissing your womb you cannot even think of why you’d ever care.

This is where he's meant to be. This is where you need him. 

“Oh baby, that’s so good huh?” He thrusts shallowly, pulling out a little more than halfway before shoving his hips forward again. You don’t really know how to form words, you don’t know how to take in what’s happening. This is Joel, your step-dad, fucking you in the bed you grew up in. One hand sits heavy on your shin, holding it, the other slides up and holds onto your breast. 

“Look how fuckin’ wet this little pussy is for me,” he moans the words, “you like daddy fuckin’ you?” He thrusts harder and you moan despite the word hitting you in the stomach like a big drop on a rollercoaster. He shouldn’t say that, shouldn’t call himself that, not now. 

“No-” it doesn’t come out like you mean it to, it sounds wrong, like a caress. 

“No? But I think you do-” He leans forward, keeping his pace while pressing his chest to yours, his mouth all but lining up and despite your bullshit protest, you hitch your knees high on his ribs to make room because if he stopped you’d probably die. 

“I think you want me to be your daddy, don’t you baby, it’s okay, I want to be.” He speeds up and the sounds between your legs are so wet, so filthy. 

“You can say it, I want you to say it.” He holds himself up, his elbows caging in your skull and before you can complain or moan or cry he sticks his tongue down your throat again. Your hands finally join the fray and you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tight to you. 

“Come on baby, say it for me, tell me how good daddy fucks you.” You moan, closing your eyes while your cunt floods him with wave after wave of slick, enough to drip down your ass and onto your bed, down his balls. Enough for it to soak the curls at the base of him. 

“Look at me when I’m fuckin’ you honey.” His hips speed up and it's hard now, his thrusts making your bounce, hitting a part of you that toy would never touch in a million years. 

You open your eyes, and look at him above you, sweat beading on his hairline. Never has he looked more fucking appealing than he does right then. The word is there, in your mouth and you know it’ll taste sweeter than anything in this world. 

The wrong thing wins.  

“Yes daddy.” You moan it, and the shameful thing sets off fireworks in your being, he smiles, and tucks his head into the damp crook of your neck, feeding his lovely filth right into your ear. 

“That’s my babygirl, that’s it, fuck baby you take it better than your mama.” Something inside recoils at that, but something else, another facet of that fucked up thing inside rejoices.

“Let me hear you say it again, say it when you come.” He licks a hot stripe up your neck. His words are a filthy groan, something to tuck away for later.

He reaches down, pressing his thumb to your clit just like he said on that couch and you keen, the slip and the pressure enough to toss you over the edge with an almost painfully intense orgasm. 

“I’m coming, daddy.” It’s a shuddering whisper as your cunt clenches around him. 

He moves quickly, kneeling between your legs to pull out and then he’s stroking himself over your cunt. It’s still pulsing when he paints it in his come. You catch your breath as he tugs at himself a few more times, milking himself against you with a disturbingly familiar groan. 

The fog clears altogether too quickly. The lights are too bright, you’re naked, and he’s still got his jeans around his thighs while the guilt creeps into your veins, replacing the euphoria. 

What have I done? What have you made me do?

[thepinkprincesss]

in which ♡ all you want is to be perfect for your boyfriend.

you'd been self conscious of yourself since you started dating jj maybank.

you were… different in just about every sense of the word from the other girls that jj would bring around, which is why you became self conscious—even your appearance played a big role in the difference, you were all soft and sweet. you dressed nice, always in cute summer dresses and pretty blouses and skirts. it was rare to see you without your make up done.

despite you being the complete opposite to his usual type, both of you just sort of clicked in an almost immediate, almost unexpected way. jj had never been with anyone like you before, so that in itself was new and exciting to him — someone he’d always thought he’d be bored of within a few days or weeks, but with you, he found himself clinging tightly to each day with you. you were different — and it was the best thing that could’ve happened to him, you were his first sweet thing.

but, you couldn't help but want to be.. better. kiara had given him the same confused, almost judgemental look everyone did when told he was now dating and official with you. no one felt you suited him and his lifestyle one bit — sure, you were a sweet, fun girl, but they all thought you’d bore of jj pretty soon, and he’d grow bored right back.

which is why your determination now to prove them wrong at this house party. you’d never been one to put yourself out there like this before. dressing in skimpier clothes, wearing more makeup, and making an effort to act more rowdy and rough than the sweet, quiet girl you normally were. you’d even started going out of your way to smoke with him, and even drink when he offered. you were determined to impress him, determined to be the girl he really wanted, even if it went against everything you actually were.

and tonight — your efforts are paying off quite nicely, your actions finally gaining the wanted response. you looked every bit the bad girl now, with your make up slightly smudged from all the dancing you’d done and the aroma of alcohol stuck to your clothing. you were determined to impress the boy that you loved. your determination was admirable, in a sense. but it was a complete disaster, in another.

it was getting increasingly obvious to everyone around you that you were completely different from how you usually were, the people around you confused — but most of all jj. his eyes followed your every movement, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. eventually — he makes a beeline to you, grabbing you by the elbow and pulling you into a room — away from the noise of the party.

you can't refrain yourself from being a silly giggling mess, the weed intake from the passed around blunt has got you dumb and fuzzy. "whattt? wha- what's wrong w'you?" you hiccup out, stumbling over your kitten heels due to the poor lighting and the loose cracked floorboards.

he holds you up, his hand gripping your elbow a little tighter than it needs to be as he closes the door behind him. he makes a ‘shh’ sound and with the mix of alcohol and weed causes you to almost collapse against him, but he pushes you off. he juts his chin before tugging his red cap off his head; clutching it firmly. he can see it in your eyes, in your stumbling around, and the way you speak — you’re just downright high.

he lets out a scoff of frustration at your question, shaking his head and closing the door behind him. he looks you up and down with his jaw clenched, not finding any real amusement in this. “sit down.” he tells you firmly, giving your ass a harsh push to seat you on the random bed.

you’re taken aback by the force of the push— you stumble over yourself, falling back onto the bed with a little “oomph” sound leaving your mouth. you just about manage to steady yourself, propping yourself up by your hands on the bed behind you — staring up at him with a grin.

“w-what?” you murmur, feeling a bit stupid for the way you’re acting — but also not really giving to much care into it. his reaction hasn’t escaped you either, and you feel a sense of triumph over seeing him all frustrated and worked up over you.

he rolls his eyes at your dumb grin and fluttery eyelashes, staring you up and down as he stands over you. you’re absolutely inebriated and acting stupid, but it just seems so out of character to him that it’s honestly pretty worrying. he doesn’t have a clue why you’re acting like this but he certainly isn’t amused, he’s completely put off. “fuck is wrong w'you? why the hell are you acting like this?” he steps closer to you, folding his arms over his chest.

the grin on your face falters, a pang of insecurity hitting you at the sight of his cold expression. your mind starts racing with worry, you've done something wrong. “i just — i just thought, uh — i mean —” you sheepishly respond, the words coming out in a meek, quiet voice. trying to figure out a good explanation for your behaviour, but you can’t, the words getting stuck in your throat. you feel stupid now, seeing just how un-impressed he is, realising that you’ve embarrassed yourself completely.

you bring your legs up onto the bed, hugging them to your chesthe look of confidence that you had so desperately tried to exude completely gone as you’re met with his harsh reaction.

the cocky persona you had adopted that night slowly fades away, your true self coming through when under his sharp gaze. he takes in the sight of you, curled up on yourself, arms wrapped tightly around you in an almost protective manner — as if you’re trying to get away from him. the sight is sad, if he’s being honest. he sighs softly, shaking his head. he’s still stood in front of you, just staring down at you. “what are you doin’?” he asks, and his voice has softened — not as cold and harsh as it was before.

“i jus’ wanted- i jus’ wanted to be perfect for you.”

you’re unable to look him in the eye, your voice coming out soft. you look down at your lap, fidgeting in your position — clearly embarrassed. you had put so much effort into acting different, acting more ‘perfect’ and ‘exciting’ for him — but it was a failure. you were ashamed and embarrassed.

he stands and thinks quietly to himself for a moment, studying you, analysing your words. his expression remains passive, but he feels a pang of hurt and guilt deep within him at your statement, your words cutting straight through him. he clenches his jaw for a second, before stepping closer to you.

“you’re bein’ stupid, yknow that?”

he suddenly grabs you, forcing your legs to drop down to the bed, and yanking you forward so that he’s between your legs, his face now just inches from yours.

you’re completely defenceless under him, the way you’re currently positioned not at all helping. your legs are on either side of his hips, his knees in between yours, and his head is lowered so that his face is mere centimetres from yours. his eyes scan your face, but there’s an expression that you hadn’t been expecting to find on his face. his eyes are soft, and there’s a hint of concern in his expression, his gaze flicking back and forth between your eyes and your lips.

“you’re stupid if you think you’ve gotta be something that you’re not— for me, or anyone.” he says, tilting your head up to hold his gaze. “you’re fine, exactly like this, like yourself. don’t go tryna be something else, somethin’ you’re not— you’re stupid if you do that.” he shakes your head a little for emphasis, making sure you’re staring back at him.

you swallow nervously, staring up at him as he continues to hold your head, staring intently into your eyes.

“i mean it.” he mutters, nodding for emphasis. “don’t wanna any of this nonsense again, a’right? you’re fine as you are. don’t change for me.” his voice is firm, but there’s a softness to it that you rarely hear — you’ve never heard him sound so genuine and sincere, his words coming so close to a confession.

“m'kay. i get it.” you reply weakly, your gaze never breaking from his, and he’s suddenly very hyper-aware of the fact that he’s stood between your legs— you’re so close to him, right under him— but he pays it no mind, his hand still holding your jaw to keep your attention on him. you’re nodding in agreement, and he loosens the grip on your jaw, instead choosing to rest his hand there, cupping your cheek.

he stares down at you, taking in every single one of your features. he takes notice of your make up, the way you’ve done your eyes, the way you’ve done your lips, how your hair is styled. he knows instantly that all of it isn’t something you would’ve done if you weren’t wanting to impress someone — wanting to impress him. “so you’ve just been tryin’ to be the girl you think i want, eh?” he gives your face a little squeeze, watching you.

before you can manage a response, a sudden involuntarily twitch in your legs, your body craving the friction that’s so close to you but so far from you at the same time. you can’t find the words to explain to him why you’ve suddenly changed how you look, so you instead just try to find a way to feel him. you bring your hands up to rest on his chest, trying to steady yourself as you start to move your hips up, trying to find friction from him. your face burns with embarrassment, but the weed’s doing enough to keep you feeling braver than you usually are.

he pushes himself away from you a little, holding you by your hips as he shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “nah.” he’s blunt, and he’s quick to get you off of his chest “nah, not like this. you’re not getting it.” he makes a gesture with his hand, as if to say ‘up.’ he’s suddenly all too aware of your lack in state of awareness, you’re not in a right frame of mind. the second you’re up, he turns you around in a swift motion. “c’mon mama.”

you want to protest so bad, the weed causing all this abrupt hornyness— but he already has you standing up and now he’s behind you so he can’t see your whiny face. before you can even begin to complain, you have a harsh smack on your ass. you let out a little cry at the surprise, your knees instantly buckling. “walk.” he mutters in your ear, giving your ass another firm grab — this time just as he pushes you towards the door.

you don't walk and instead stand at the door, which jj instead opting to just grab you by the elbow and usher you out of the room and the house. it’s a pretty quick walk back to his truck, you manage to trip yourself up several times, you being stupidly high to walk on uneven concrete — which earns you a few scoffs and frustrated grunts from him. at some point he’s simply just given up on trying to let you walk by yourself, opting to just hoist you up and slinging you over his shoulder instead.

you finally let yourself go limp over his shoulder, not bothering to fight him or protest at being dragged around like a ragdoll. you’re too high and too exhausted to care anymore, all of your previous confidence and bravado completely gone now. “m’m sorry.” you grumble as you feel a bit dizzy from being upside down like this, holding on to his shirt.

you let out a soft sigh as he opens the door to his truck, putting you down so that you’re sat on the seat. he fastens the seatbelt around you as if you’re a small child, you look up at him with glossy, tired eyes.

the ride back to your home is quiet and the volume of disappointment speaks, even if it's quiet— it's practically radiating off the blonde sat closely next to you. his jaw is clenched together, a usual little habit he'd picked up when he's thinking seriously or fed up. not to mention he rejected you when you began to hump yourself against him.

he’s still pissed off, but not in the way you’d think. it’s not the way he’d normally react to something he’s pissed about, but instead there’s a sense of concern there. he doesn’t glance at you once as he drives, just staring straight ahead at the road with his jaw clenched. he feels conflicted, frustrated with knowing you’d put others opinions of you over what he thinks of you, and feeling concerned for you — because the girl he fell for was nothing like how you behaved today.

it takes less than 10 minutes for him to reach your home, driving slightly over the speed limit. he pulls up outside, putting the gear into park and glancing in your direction once he’s done so. he doesn’t know what to say, but he knows he has to say something. he looks at your expression, finding those glossy eyes still staring back at him. he sighs, knowing he can’t just kick you out of the car like this.

your somewhat asleep, resting your head against the window you've leaned into and closing your eyes— he pats your back soothingly to wake you up, you look back at him with glossy helpless eyes.

god he hates that look — he hates feeling so helpless, and all because you’d gotten high off his weed and he’s left to deal with it. what he also hates is, despite it — he still feels the need to take care of you. it’s not like you actually did anything wrong, but the fact you’d gone to great lengths to try and look a certain way for him makes him both flattered and frustrated. he shifts in his seat so he’s fully facing you, still looking you in the eyes. “i’m gonna walk you up.” he eventually states.

your expression instantly changes, the look of despair replaced with a hopeful look. you’re nervous, and you know it’s a long shot - but you still can’t help the words that come tumbling out of your mouth, words that you didn’t even plan on saying. “can you stay the night?” you ask, the words quiet and meek.

he can’t help the way his eyes widen in shock when you ask that question. he wasn’t expecting it, no part of him was expecting you to ask something like that. he had planned on doing the chivalrous thing and just seeing you safely into your home, probably making sure you’d locked up and you had some water to drink before he would head home, you'd never asked him to spend the night before. he blinks twice to make sure you understand and comprehend what you've just asked of him.

you nod at an extremely quick pace, you’re desperate for any sense of reassurance, any sign that he actually cares about you. despite his cold exterior, you’re still holding onto that little bit of hope — that you still mean something to him. after this whole night is over with you'll return back to your true self.

you nod shyly, your voice quiet. “please stay. i don’t want to be alone right now, i won’t be able to sleep if i am.”

your pleading look has his resolve crumbling instantly. he’s annoyed with the fact he’s so pussy whipped, but he’s also pissed at the idea of you not only high but being home alone — vulnerable, and he can hardly bring himself to say no. he lets out a long exhale - frustrated and yet, there’s some hint of defeat lacing his voice. “fine. but we’re sleeping on the couch.”

you don’t know where the sudden confidence comes from, maybe it’s the weed making you less insecure than normal or maybe it’s the fact you know he’s unable to say no now— but you find yourself arguing back with him, your eyes still pleading as you stare at him.

“no! we’re sleeping in my bed, your my boyfriend!"

a small smirk makes its way onto his face at the demanding tone you use despite you being so small and timid looking. he raises his eyebrow at your words, amused at the way you try to assert yourself and demand what you want from him. he leans back in his seat a little, tilting his head back to look at you properly. “yeah? i’m your boyfriend?” he asks incredulously, but the smirk is still there.

you’re suddenly a lot braver now you feel you’ve got his attention, having found your confidence again. you nod enthusiastically, puffing your chest out a little. “duh! you’re my boyfriend.” you affirm, before letting a soft pout take over your lips again, “so we’re sleeping in the princess bed!”

he lets out a scoff at your sudden change to being confident, the contrast between now and earlier in the night is almost laughable. but then he sees the way your eyes fall to a soft, and how your expression dips to the cute little pout - he can feel himself already giving in.

he lets out a sigh, nodding his head in agreement. “alright, princess. we’ll sleep in your princess bed.”

[buzzinrusso]

meeting the family

Based off this request !! Thank you and keep sending in more :)) And thank you for 500!!! That's just insane tbh

You had never been this nervous in your life.

It had started the moment you woke up, a deep, gnawing anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach, slowly creeping up through your chest. Every thought was a swirl of nerves, making your limbs feel heavy, and your mind running in endless circles. The day had arrived: the first official dinner at Emily’s parents’ house. You had met her family before, but this dinner was different. This wasn’t just a casual get-together—it was the first time you’d be meeting them as her girlfriend. Her serious girlfriend. And despite all of Emily’s reassurances, you couldn’t stop worrying about the possibility of saying or doing something awkward.

You couldn’t help but rehearse every potential disaster in your mind: What if they didn’t like you? What if you said the wrong thing? What if you tripped and spilled something on her mum’s lap? What if they thought you were too weird, too quiet, or too different?

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the feeling was overwhelming as you tried to distract yourself by adjusting your shirt once again in the mirror. Your stomach churned, and your reflection felt foreign to you. Why was this dinner so important? Why did it feel like this moment was somehow a measure of how everything between you and Emily would turn out? You couldn’t even begin to explain it, but the nerves wouldn’t let go.

“Em,” you called out to her, pacing around her room. “What if I mess it all up? What if they don’t like me? What if—”

Emily’s voice interrupted you softly, filled with that calm confidence she always seemed to exude. “Babe, you’re overthinking this.”

You spun around dramatically to face her. “Of course I’m overthinking! I’ve never been this nervous in my life. This is huge for me!”

Emily sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with that patient smile that always had a way of calming you. She was standing now, crossing the room toward you with a relaxed energy, completely unphased by your anxious rambling.

“You’re acting like you’re about to meet royalty, not my family,” she teased, and you couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, even though your nerves were still swirling. “They’re just normal people, love. They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow at her, still not entirely convinced. “What if they don’t? What if—”

Emily placed her hands gently on your shoulders, grounding you instantly. Her touch was warm, reassuring, and when she looked at you, her gaze was soft but full of certainty.

“Stop worrying,” she whispered, her voice tender. “They already love you.”

The words were simple, but there was so much trust behind them, so much faith that you could feel yourself starting to believe it, just a little. “You really think so?” you asked quietly, meeting her eyes.

Emily’s smile deepened. “I know so. You’re amazing, babe. You have nothing to worry about.”

You let out a slow breath and, for the first time that day, felt a sense of calm wash over you. “Okay… okay. I’ll try.” You paused before looking at yourself in the mirror once again, still unsure about your outfit. “But what if I look ridiculous?”

Emily laughed softly, walking up to you and glancing you up and down. “You look perfect. Don’t overthink it. My family isn’t expecting you to wear a ball gown or anything.” She raised an eyebrow playfully. “Trust me, just be yourself. That’s all they’re gonna want to see.”

You sighed and nodded slowly. “Alright, I’ll just be me.”

Emily leaned in to press a quick kiss to your temple, her lips soft and warm against your skin. “That’s my girl.”

---

As you pulled into Emily’s parents’ driveway, the nerves returned with a vengeance.

Your palms were sweaty, and your heart was racing again. Every step felt heavy, every breath shallow as you tried to calm your mind. You could feel the weight of the evening ahead pressing down on you. Emily reached over, gently taking your hand in hers. Her touch was grounding, steadying, and as she rubbed her thumb over your knuckles, you felt a slight calming effect.

“Breathe, love,” she murmured softly, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “It’s just dinner. It’s not like you’re about to meet the Queen of England.”

You turned to her, eyes wide and filled with anxiety. “It’s not just dinner, Em. It’s my first impression. What if I mess it up? What if I say something awkward or—”

She laughed, the sound light and soothing. “You’re adorable when you panic, you know that?”

You groaned, leaning back in your seat and staring at the ceiling. “I’m doomed, Em.”

“Drama queen,” she teased, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. They’re gonna love you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh along with her. Her playful attitude helped ease your nerves, even if just a little.

---

When Emily knocked on the door, it swung open immediately.

“Oh, finally!”

Before you could even react, a woman who was unmistakably Emily’s mum pulled you into a tight, affectionate hug. You barely had time to register her warm embrace before she pulled away slightly, holding you at arm’s length.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so lovely to finally meet you! Emily’s been talking about you nonstop!”

Your cheeks flushed a deep red. “Oh—uh, really?” you stammered, still caught off guard by her immediate warmth.

Emily groaned, rolling her eyes. “Mum—”

“All good things, don’t worry,” her mum assured with a wink. “I promise she only says the best things about you.” She looped her arm through yours, pulling you inside as if you had been coming here for years. The feeling of comfort was immediate, and you could already feel the nervousness begin to fade.

The house was exactly how you imagined it: cozy, inviting, filled with framed photos and little trinkets. You couldn’t help but admire the picture of a younger Emily—probably eight or nine—grinning with pride on a football field, holding a trophy in her hands. It was a simple picture, but it made your heart swell a little. You could almost hear her telling the story of that moment if you listened hard enough.

Before you could even speak, a deep voice came from across the room.

“You must be the famous girlfriend.”

You turned to find Emily’s dad standing near the fireplace. His smile was warm and welcoming, a genuine look of happiness on his face. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and you hesitated for just a moment before shaking it.

“No need to be nervous,” he chuckled, his voice rich with kindness. “We’re just happy our Emily’s found someone who makes her happy.”

“She definitely makes me happy,” Emily added, squeezing your waist affectionately.

Her younger siblings arrived shortly after, and you found yourself instantly caught up in their energy. They immediately bombarded you with questions, everything from “How did you and Emily meet?” to “Who asked who out first?” and, of course, “Do you know she snores?”

Emily protested with a flustered laugh, denying the accusation. “I do not snore!”

You giggled beside her, enjoying the teasing atmosphere. It was light, playful, and completely different from what you had expected.

Her family was so warm, so welcoming, and you felt yourself slowly starting to relax as the evening unfolded. This wasn’t some formal, uncomfortable dinner. Instead, it was like you’d stepped into a family gathering where you already belonged.

---

Dinner was filled with laughter, teasing, and stories of Emily’s childhood.

At one point, her mum started telling a story about Emily getting stuck in a tree at age eight, and you nearly choked on your drink from laughing too hard.

“She refused to come down because she was convinced she could make it higher,” her dad recalled, shaking his head with fond amusement. “Took us a full hour to convince her to jump down into my arms.”

You turned to Emily with wide eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You never told me you were a little daredevil.”

Emily huffed. “I was a very ambitious child.”

Her younger sibling, a 15-year-old girl, laughed loudly. “You were a menace.”

You laughed so hard you nearly cried. Emily shot you a playful glare before leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek.

“If I had known my own girlfriend would betray me like this, I might have reconsidered bringing you here,” she whispered dramatically, making you chuckle even more.

You grinned at her, nudging her gently. “Liar. You love that I’m here.”

She huffed but squeezed your thigh under the table. The touch was subtle, but it spoke volumes, and you felt your heart flutter at the tenderness.

---

After dinner, Emily led you upstairs to her childhood bedroom.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit in awe as you looked around. The room was a testament to her younger years—old posters still stuck to the walls, fairy lights strung across the ceiling, and the bed that was definitely too small for two people to sleep in comfortably.

“This is where you grew up?” you asked, your voice soft as you took in every detail.

Emily grinned, plopping down onto her bed and patting the spot next to her. "Yup. This is where all the magic happened."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Magic? I don't know about that. But it’s cute."

Emily’s room was like a time capsule of her childhood—a mixture of her past interests, little mementos, and the cozy ambiance that made it clear this place had been her sanctuary. You glanced around at the tattered plushies on the shelf, the notes pinned to the corkboard, and the fairy lights still strung around the room in lazy loops. You could almost see the 12-year-old version of her lying on the bed, scribbling in her notebook, or maybe laughing with her friends on the phone.

You stood still for a moment, taking it all in. It was surreal, seeing this side of her—the version of Emily that had been a child, growing up in this very room. You turned in a slow circle, wondering what it had been like for her during those early years. It made her feel even more real, somehow, like she’d had a whole life before you came into it, and you were lucky enough to be part of it now.

When you finally met her gaze, she was grinning, her eyes dancing with mischief. "What do you think?" she asked, obviously enjoying the effect her childhood bedroom had on you.

"I think..." you paused, pretending to deliberate, "...that I’m in danger of getting buried in all these stuffed animals if I sit down. There’s not even enough room for me in here."

Emily rolled her eyes but patted the bed beside her again, an invitation you didn’t hesitate to accept. "Fine. Get comfy. And for the record, I totally offer my childhood room for cuddling. It's a privilege."

You laughed and plopped down next to her, where she immediately threw her arm around you, pulling you into her side. You relaxed into her warmth, and for a moment, the nervousness of earlier seemed like a distant memory. The evening had been so much easier than you had imagined. Her family was everything Emily had promised—welcoming, kind, and full of humor. They had made you feel like you’d been a part of their world for years.

As you settled in beside Emily on the bed, you noticed her room’s soft ambiance. The glow of the fairy lights bathed everything in a soft, comforting warmth, and you felt a strange sense of contentment. Your nerves were completely gone now, replaced with a feeling of home. A feeling you hadn’t expected to have, but there it was.

"You know," you murmured, shifting so your head rested against her shoulder, "I think your family really does like me."

Emily let out a soft laugh, brushing her fingers through your hair. "I told you so." Her voice was gentle, teasing, but there was something else behind it—a pride, maybe, or a deep, quiet affection.

"I know, I just—" You paused, your voice growing softer as you realized how much this moment meant to you. "I’m glad. I was worried at first, but they made me feel like I belong."

Emily's fingers paused in your hair as she looked down at you, her expression softening. She kissed the top of your head, her lips lingering there for a moment before she pulled away, but not without leaving the warmth of her affection behind. "You do belong, love. They like you because you make me happy. And that’s all that matters."

Your heart fluttered at her words, and you snuggled closer to her, feeling the weight of the day slowly ease off your shoulders. You hadn’t expected to feel so... content, so at ease. Her family had made you feel accepted, loved, like you were already a part of their lives without even having to try.

"I’m still kind of in awe of everything," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper now. "It’s just... perfect. You’re perfect. Your family’s perfect."

Emily chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you could feel the warmth of her smile against your skin. "I’m glad you’re feeling that way," she whispered. "It means a lot that you like them. And that you’re comfortable with me and my world."

You grinned up at her, feeling your chest swell with affection for her. "Well, it’s easy to like your family when they’re as awesome as you are."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased, but there was a sweetness to her voice that made your heart skip.

You snuggled into her more, letting the quiet of the room wrap around you both. Outside, the evening settled into a peaceful calm, and the sounds of distant conversation from downstairs faded as the house grew still. But in this room, in this moment, everything felt so right. You could almost imagine the years stretching out ahead of you—visits to Emily’s childhood home, holidays spent with her family, quiet nights like this one where everything was simple and warm.

And then Emily broke the silence with a soft laugh, her breath tickling your ear. "You know, I can’t believe I let you get away with embarrassing me in front of everyone with that tree story."

You lifted your head from her shoulder to look at her with a teasing smile. "Oh, come on. You were a daredevil! It’s an important part of who you are!"

Emily groaned, but you could tell she was enjoying the teasing as much as you were. She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips, her hand resting on the back of your neck as she pulled you into the kiss. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

You laughed against her lips, the sound muffled but light. "Nope. I’ll bring it up every chance I get."

When you finally pulled away, Emily smiled at you—one of those soft, full smiles that made your heart flutter. "I don’t mind. I like that you’re here. That you’re part of my life now."

The words felt like they meant so much more than just a simple statement. You could feel the weight of them, the affection, the depth of emotion in the way she spoke them. And for the first time that day, you truly believed it. You belonged here. You belonged with Emily.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable haze, filled with soft laughter, shared glances, and moments of quiet contentment. Emily’s family eventually came to say their goodnights, but the feeling of being welcomed, accepted, and cared for lingered. You were no longer the nervous, unsure person who had walked in through the front door. You were part of something now—a family that embraced you without hesitation, and a love that made everything feel possible.

As you lay there, nestled against Emily, you couldn’t help but smile softly. Everything had gone better than you could’ve imagined, and the future suddenly felt bright. For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to dream of all the memories you’d create together. You belonged, and this felt like just the beginning.

---

Emily pulled you closer as the night stretched on. The soft flicker of the fairy lights created a peaceful glow in the room, and the occasional sound of distant laughter from the downstairs mingled with the silence of the bedroom. It was surreal being in this space with her, the two of you sharing such a simple, yet deeply intimate moment. You rested your head on her chest, your hand resting lightly on her stomach. It felt like time had slowed down in the best way possible.

“I can’t believe how much your family already loves me,” you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice soft and reflective. “It feels like... I’ve known them forever.”

Emily’s hand brushed gently through your hair, and she chuckled. “You’re making it sound like a fairy tale,” she teased. “But seriously, I think they just see how happy you make me. That’s all it takes, really.”

You smiled against her chest, your fingers tracing little patterns on her skin. “Still, I didn’t expect it to feel so natural. Like I just fit into your world without any of that awkwardness I thought would happen.”

“I told you,” she whispered, kissing the top of your head. “You fit perfectly. And they see that too.”

You both grew quiet again, the contented hum of the house lulling you into a comfortable peace. The warmth of Emily’s body next to yours and the rhythmic sound of her breathing soothed you, filling you with a deep sense of belonging. Her family had embraced you with open arms, and it wasn’t just their warmth that made you feel like part of the fold—it was the way Emily looked at you, the way she made everything feel effortless, like nothing could go wrong as long as you were together.

“Hey,” Emily murmured after a moment of peaceful silence, her voice low and playful. “You know what’s something I didn’t mention earlier?”

You looked up, intrigued. “What’s that?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I told you about my family, but you haven’t heard any of my embarrassing stories yet. There’s a whole list of those.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, now I’m intrigued.”

She laughed softly. “Well, let me just say—there was the time I tried to bake cookies for the first time and nearly set the kitchen on fire.”

You gasped in mock horror, pressing a hand to your chest. “No way! Tell me more!”

Emily sat up slightly, an impish smile on her lips as she began to recount the story. “I was about 10, and I had this ‘brilliant’ idea that I would surprise my mum by baking cookies. But... I didn’t read the recipe correctly. The oven was on too high, and the cookies were black before I even realized it. I remember standing in the kitchen, staring at the smoke, thinking, ‘Well, at least the house is still standing.’”

You burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you did that! Did your mum freak out?”

Emily giggled, lying back down beside you. “She was more concerned about the smoke alarm than the cookies, honestly. She came into the kitchen and just stared at me, and I remember her saying, ‘Emily, you’re never baking again.’”

You snorted, unable to contain your laughter. “I can totally see that. Your mum seems like she’d be very direct about things.”

“She’s definitely not shy,” Emily agreed with a grin. “But she’s also got a big heart. She was laughing just as hard as I was once we aired out the kitchen.”

You smiled, your heart feeling fuller as you listened to Emily’s playful retelling. It was these small glimpses into her childhood, these intimate stories, that made her even more endearing to you. She had grown up just like anyone else—messing up, laughing at herself, and learning along the way. It made you feel closer to her, like you were discovering pieces of the puzzle that was Emily, and you loved every second of it.

"You're so lucky," you said softly, your fingers brushing against her hand. "Your family sounds amazing. I wish I had that when I was growing up."

Emily turned to face you, her expression softening. “You know you’ve got that now, right? With me, and with my family. They already see you as part of the crew.”

You sighed contentedly, letting her words sink in. There was something about the way she said it—like it was just a fact, a given—that made you feel truly accepted, more than you had in a long time. You didn't have to prove anything. You didn’t have to try to fit in. You just did.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice quiet but full of gratitude. “That really means a lot to me.”

Emily smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead softly. "You're more than welcome, love."

You both lay there for a while, just enjoying the quiet of the room, the weight of the day finally lifting off your shoulders. Eventually, though, Emily broke the peace with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“So,” she said, her voice suddenly playful, “since you’re all cuddled up in my bed and I’m feeling generous, I think it’s time for one more embarrassing story. This one’s a real gem.”

You groaned dramatically, but your curiosity won out. “Oh, here we go. Hit me with it.”

Emily chuckled, her fingers gently tracing patterns on your arm. “Alright, so when I was 14, I had this huge crush on this girl in my class. Like, I had it bad. I had the whole ‘love letters, blushing every time she spoke to me’ kind of crush, you know? Anyway, I decided to write her a note, because obviously, I was the best at expressing myself in writing at that age.”

You snickered, already loving where this was going. “Please tell me you didn’t make it too dramatic.”

She rolled her eyes with a grin. “You have no idea. So, I handwrite this note, and I even put a heart doodle on it to make it super obvious. Then, during lunch, I finally work up the courage to slip it into her locker. But... well, turns out, I was so nervous that I grabbed the wrong locker.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh no. Did you leave the love note in the wrong locker?”

Emily nodded, stifling her laughter. “Yeah. And not just any locker. The jock’s locker. The guy who, by the way, was the worst at keeping things to himself. He found the note, read it out loud in the middle of the hall, and—well, let’s just say that story made its way around school faster than wildfire.”

You gasped, holding your stomach from laughing so hard. “Oh my god, that’s priceless. What did you do?!”

“I spent the rest of the week hiding in the library,” Emily admitted with a sheepish grin. “But the worst part? The girl I had a crush on? She was actually really sweet about it. She came up to me the next day, apologized for the misunderstanding, and then said—‘If you ever want to try again, just make sure it’s the right locker next time.’”

You wiped a tear from your eye as you giggled uncontrollably. “That’s amazing. Honestly, you’re lucky she didn’t totally roast you.”

Emily shrugged, her smile genuine. “I learned a lot from it. Mostly about being more careful with where I put my notes and not trying to be so dramatic.”

You settled back against the pillow, still chuckling to yourself. “I love hearing these stories,” you said softly. “It’s like I get to know you in a whole new way.”

Emily smiled, her hand finding yours again, intertwining your fingers. “I’m glad you like them. I think there are a lot more to tell, if you’re up for it.”

You squeezed her hand gently, feeling the bond between you both deepen with every shared laugh and story. "I'm definitely up for it," you whispered, smiling as you closed your eyes. "As long as you promise to always be this honest with me."

Emily’s voice was soft as she whispered back, "I promise."

And in that moment, with the warmth of her presence beside you and the quiet peace of her room wrapping you both in its comfort, you knew—this was just the beginning of something

[octagava]

Plzzzz can you tell us your Dazatsu headcanons

Ask and you shall receive!

Their "romantic story" was painful for anyone witnessing it. It all started when Dazai first met Atsushi and told him he didn’t "swing that way." However, he quickly regretted it, as not long after, he began to develop feelings for him and started trying to flirt. And flirt he did, so clearly, in fact, that even Atsushi could tell. But because Atsushi assumed Dazai was just being his usual playful self, he didn’t take it as a romantic gesture.

Atsushi tends to sleep at Dazai’s place every few days. At first, he was a bit concerned about leaving Kyouka alone, but he was reassured him it was fine. After a few nights, Atsushi got comfortable with it, especially since sometimes Kyouka would go to sleepovers with the girls, so she wasn’t always alone. When they do sleep together, Atsushi often reads before bed, while Dazai just lies on top of him. Half the time, Dazai falls asleep on Atsushi’s chest, the only time his insomnia allows him to truly sleep.

Dazai is surprisingly good at forehead kisses, always catching Atsushi off guard. He partially does it on purpose, treating it as a game to see how many times he can manage to sneak one in without Atsushi spotting him first.

They watch fireworks together whenever the chance arises. Dazai loves the lights, and Atsushi loves the sounds, but neither of them will admit that they’re also watching each other. There’s nothing better than the sight of their loved one under the lights.

Atsushi tends to shield Dazai first in combat, even though both of them know Dazai doesn’t need it. Dazai actually finds it very sweet, so he never tells Atsushi to stop. This habit also stems from Atsushi realizing that Dazai hides pain all too well, especially when he drops the dramatics. As a result, Atsushi has learned to check for hidden injuries after every mission.

As it turns out, Atsushi worries he’ll never be enough for Dazai. Dazai reassures him in his own strange way, usually with teasing but sometimes with rare, sincere words (Dazai is terrified of vulnerability).

Dazai’s idea of "comforting" Atsushi more often then not is completely messed up. When Atsushi is feeling down, Dazai shows up with one of his absurdly dramatic pep talks that don’t make any sense but still manage to make Atsushi laugh. “If life gives you lemons, Atsushi, throw them back at the universe and demand a refund.” It always catches Atsushi off guard and makes him giggle, even when he’s sad.

Dazai deeply hates the idea of Atsushi becoming just like him. He does everything he can to keep Atsushi’s hands "clean," even if it means taking the fall for things himself. He knows it’s an irrational fear, but he can’t let go of it.

They both believe the other saved them, and neither is wrong.

Dazai actually hates baths (partially because he struggles to take care of himself due to depression). Atsushi is the one who has to drag him into the bath sometimes, and on particularly bad days, he’s the one helping Dazai out.

Shopping with them is a disaster. Atsushi is responsible, but Dazai? He can’t be called that. He buys the most absurd, useless things possible... using Atsushi’s money.

They play video games together! Atsushi was horrible at them at first but got much better with practice. Dazai, on the other hand, is a sore loser and cheats.

Atsushi is naturally an early riser, and Dazai? Absolutely not. No matter what, Dazai refuses to wake up before noon unless there’s a life-or-death situation. Atsushi once tried pulling him out of bed, but Dazai clung to him like a koala and refused to let go. Now, Atsushi just leaves coffee by his bed and lets him sleep.

Atsushi is actually a lot better at cooking than Dazai expected. He once tried making dinner to impress Dazai, and although he got nervous, the food turned out perfect. Dazai always teases that he’s secretly a gourmet chef, but whenever Atsushi offers to cook, Dazai immediately insists on doing something weird, like putting hot sauce on everything. Atsushi still tries to impress him with “normal” dishes, though Dazai pretends to hate them, secretly loving them more than he admits.

Atsushi has a soft spot for animals, so naturally, Dazai pretends to be jealous. Every stray Atsushi takes in ends up having a little corner of the apartment, and Dazai can’t help but act slightly put out whenever Atsushi spends too much time with them. He’ll dramatically declare, “I guess I’m just second to a cat now.” He’d never admit it, but he’s secretly fond of the animals and often plays with them when Atsushi isn’t looking.

They’re both secretly emotional softies, and neither of them will admit it. When Dazai is feeling overwhelmed or down, Atsushi will go out of his way to comfort him, whether it’s making tea or just sitting with him in silence. And Dazai, despite his usual stoic demeanor, always finds himself leaning into those moments.

At the very least those are all of them that I can put down from the top of my head.

[saelterlude]

Happy first anniversary to the Link Click Musical!! To celebrate, here is a list of all the specials official recordings that they have given us!

Kay so starting with

Chinese Musical Promo Special Livestream: (I forgot the name of the event hehe)

Faith of Friendship by Wang Minhui and Cai Qi

Words Can't Convey My Love by Shu Rongbo and Wu Yihan (they play these two songs straight, but no worries its not the case for the other proper specials held by encore musical)

100th Performances Countdown Specials: (Yes, this week was a blessing)

Words Cant Convey My Love with LG-CXS swap (roles not character if that makes sense) by WMH, Bai Zhuoming and Wu Hanglu (dont you love seeing wmh cocky confidence slowly and surely crumbles lol, bzm got the rights to get mad at him in the end)

Words Cant Convey My Love with LG->CXS->the girl and QL-> LG by Du Guangyi, Wang Yifei, and Qian Anqi (lets be real wyf took us all by surprise with that entrance and the oh~. its also the source of shy lg in cxs jacket. dont forget the failed streamer disaster lmao)

Faith of Friendship with a push up bet for every ball missed by Teng Chunpeng and DGY (aksnsjks the stupid star formation is great, and the multiple failed shots plss. i love their goofy asses so much)

Forget About It with LG->CXS->QL->LG by WYH, Ding Xingchen and Deng Xialin (i love dxc's twin sister, shes pretty shes great. wyh being a hyper orange cat on stage is also great, dont forget the meme that came from it)

Forget About It with various dialects by Guo Hongxu, Ji Xiaokun and Cai Lu (its the closest thing we've got to how the actual performance goes! special mention go cl needing to read the lyrics off her phone)

As The Saying Goes with CXS as Chen Xiao and everyone else as CX's mom by CQ WMH, DXL, Zhang Jiahao and Zhu Jiayan (chickenchickenchicken, peak comedy, i love wmh going all asian mom lmaooo, yess scold cq into a chokehold!)

Valentine Special:

Words Cant Convey My Love with LG->the girl QL->LG and CXS as CX by DGY, TCP and WHL (dgy wjth the high pitched voice, the almost kiss, the fckin succulent, the fake retching, its perfect)

200th Performances Special:

Words Cant Convey My Love with CXS->Liu Meng, LG taking the confessing role and QL->LG by WMH, GHX and DXL (i love how cheeky ghx looks, and how everyone burst out laughing when he enters. ghx is just terrorizing wmh this whole performance)

300th Performances Special:

Trump Card with CXS and LG hanging by TCP, DGY, WHL, ZJY and Zhou Bo (dgy core strength took me by surprise, its a mess)

1 Year Anniversary Special:

This 15 minutes video contains: (watch me struggle to describe this loveable mess here)

Words Can't Convey My Love by ZJH, Guo Zheyan, and DXL with mahjong cameos (shiguang is in the walls. i promise, it makes sense, its chaos, i love it) by GHX, BZM, ZHB, YHL

Faith of Friendship (doubled! theres too many of them!! and zhb is so tiny wtf. none of them can shoot, wheres basketball god when you need him) by GHX, BZM, ZHB, YHL

Back to The Past by CQ and WMH with WMH belting it whilst a group of raincoat wearing menaces (GHX, ZHB, YHL, CQ) does some cult ritual nonsense. (i am not joking, wmh is singing this angsty song on the verge of tears and getting bullied)

Also, Dive Back in Time with everyone!! (its very cramped lmao)

Bonus! If you prefer it to Weibo, here is a YouTube playlist for the specials posted by niebo! Happy 1st anniversary Link Click Musical! I know I haven't keep up with the clip list but damn I gotta do something.

[voyaging-too]

July Recs and Stuff

Books

Ursula K. LeGuin: Lavinia. A beautiful and subtle retelling of Virgil’s Aeneis, focused on the minor character of Lavinia, the princess of Latinum who became Aeneas’s second wife and the foremother of Rome. This book is low-key troubled by the problems that trouble many Feminist Retellings: inadvertent shuttling between ancient and contemporary morality, some overambitious metafictional devices, exploration of one ancient mythological woman at the cost of sidelining other ancient mythological women (Camilla! Juturna!!), plus something that even I, a feminist who hates to use that word, cannot call anything but preachiness. That said, this is still LeGuin, so the book is very beautifully written, beautifully characterized, with a deep and loving understanding of the original Vergil, and a very striking anthropological take on Latin religion. Worth reading, especially for the scenes at the (very stinky) sacred springs of Albunea, which are peak LeGuin to me.

Nikolai Gogol: A Terrible Vengeance. Classic 19th century Ukrainian Gothic tale about an evil sorcerer and the people he preys on. Makes very little literal sense, is incredibly gripping and atmospheric. To be entirely honest I only read it to get a better understanding of my favourite HBO Chernobyl fic.

Terry Pratchett: Going Postal (reread). One of the high points of Discworld, the story of a conman who’s pressganged into fixing a catastrophically messed-up postal system. Lots of hijinks, lots of humour, lots of heart, and a protagonist whose unhinged actions are backed up by a believably unhinged personality.

Nalo Hopkinson: Brown Girl in the Ring. Young Ti-Jeanne struggles with cyberpunk organised crime, Greek tragedy level family conflict, some real scary supernatural visions and having a new baby to feed in a decrepit near-future Toronto. Written in a future Canadian Jamaican dialect, it makes heavy use of Caribbean religious and spiritual practices (although we’re told multiple times not to call it obeah.) This book is better than most urban fantasy, most near-future sci-fi, most horror, this book is what most other genre books wish they could be.

My cousin's family history project.

Star War

The Mandalorian Season 1. A taciturn bounty hunter trundles around the galaxy with a frog child. I expected it to be weaker and dumber than Andor, but I didn’t expect it to be weaker and dumber than the clone wars cartoon series. It’s not bad, per se, it’s just very, very simple. Some of the worldbuilding is fun, but overall there’s not much there, neither in the world nor the characters.

Other

Yuko Ota. Third Imp. Percy in the Lands Between. A hilarious Elden Ring fanzine by cartoonist Yuko Ota.

Pico Park. Cooperative multiplayer videogame where you are little cat creatures solving simple puzzles together. It’s not an exceptionally interesting game, but it makes a great party game because it’s fairly accessible to people who have never played a video game in their life, and it can get very, very funny. Played irl with my family, saw my parents get stuck on various ledges and yelling at each other “jump, jump” “I can’t jump, you’re standing on my ear!”

BBC: Witness History. Bite-sized history, eight to ten minutes every day, always relying on the first-hand account of a witness or participant. The subjects vary, from serious events like wars and natural disasters to lighter topics like famous concerts or cool new inventions.

Tom Bloom: Magnagothica Maleghast. Basically what if a heavy metal album cover turned into a tactical tabletop wargame. A bit of sparse but clever worldbuilding, a lot of gorgeous illustrations, lots of heavy tactics with ongoing adjustments for balance as playtesting reveals flaws. Everything is necromancy, everyone is screaming, bleeding and on fire, all the time. As far as I can tell, the major factions are 1) corporate necromancers, 2) hellraiser bikers, 3) plague rats, 4) goths in who still stand out as goths in a setting where everyone else is also goth, 5) hypocritical clergy and 6) the Igors from Discworld. I’m highly unlikely to ever play this, but reading it was nonetheless a trip. Also this thing is calling out for a Locked Tomb crossover mod.

Tom Bloom: Goblin with a Fat Ass. Objectively and deliberately stupid two-page game.

[saint-starflicker]

Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives

Matthew Lloyd is not YOUR poor little meow meow. he's mine

I'm kidding. I don't write Meow Meow Lloyd. (Do I? Not deliberately. But anyway—) To me it depends more on how he's played by the actor onstage than how he's canonically written. It's tempting and possible to go full speed to Shakespeare Villain with that role: drives the point home to the audience. The material's there. Just imagine Are You There in some minor key with every line from Matt being a mix of Edmund Lear and Iago Othello. Like, he knows Peter's having a moment of weakness and he's going to purposely get him drunk and rambling until there's something Matt can actually use. "Who usually leads?" And the lights ominously dim, end scene.

That can totally happen without changing what the audience would hear of the script.

But I do have to imagine it, because early casting and directorial decisions purposely framed Matt as...certainly at fault, but also purposely having sympathetic dimensions.

"He's not homophobic he's Jasonphobic" yes and haha—but also their religious community was homophobic and Matt knew it (Matt was it), and that was a much stronger factor in Jason's failure to resurrect than how Matt didn't mean for it to go that way.

That's definitely a bad thing, I just doubt the point of that definitely bad thing in-show was... to get the audience to hate Matt.

But if it happens, it happens. Hell, I'm pretty sure the point of the show was not to hate on Jason, either, but interviews from 2004 say there's been Jason Haters for at least 20 years. Is that personal catharsis? The show got viewers to define their personal principles, and Jason inexplicably didn't make the cut? Or the clarity of blame is supposed to somehow translate into fixing a social issue in real life the more complaining there is about him?

Or is there a sense of comfort in more people honing in on the same feature of the show in the same way?

(Same interview says there's been Ivy Haters for at least 20 years, too. Those haters were definitely infinity-billioeventeen percent wrong. Just nailing this one here like a thesis by Martin Luther. Ivy Hatred: Inexcusable! ...Jason Hatred: Vehemently disagree, but Jerkface Jason is a directorial/performance choice that's actually been implemented so this is an uphill battle. Or should I say, a John Hill battle? But this post is about Matt.)

I just don't believe Matt fans haven't already picked up on what a mess Matt is around rejection and failu...uh, success (Salutatorian is still brag-worthy! Tybalt is an actual named role, not getting shunted to the chorus! There will be pretty girls at Harvard—so leave Ivy alone already she's not into you! What is wrong with this guy.) That's cautionary, not aspirational. I do think Matt Lloyd fans already know that. Blaming a third person for someone's disinterest/breakup is bad form. Matt fans know this.

Now that that's well understood, the next step sometimes for some people is to make that fictional disaster boy bi. I think that's not so bad to do in a world where Jason doesn't die—and, look, there he is alive in the fanfictions. He's okay. They're okay. This is okay.

And if Matt should be depicted as an incel and a slur-slinger who should never be forgiven, I still think the main thing is...any one person typing words on the internet does already have the power to make a drabble or more with that character interpretation.

That's a more productive effort than calling for less of the Meow Meow Lloyd stuff, which—for reasons unrelated to audiences Not Getting It—there probably won't be.

[leftdestiny-posts]

hello <33

I come baring f/o questions from that ask game (if that's what they're called) ✨ can be for dottiro <3

💥 1: What is something fun you and your f/o have done together? It can be an activity, a silly moment, a good memory, etc! ❤️‍🩹 8. What is a deep or special memory between you and your f/o that means a lot to you/them? 💌 12. What is your f/o's love language(s)? (Gift giving, words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch, acts of service.)

enjoy and have fun <33

I'm going to do both Dottiro selfships, I hope you don't mind DX

💥 1: What is something fun you and your f/o have done together? It can be an activity, a silly moment, a good memory, etc!

[ 🧪🤍 ] Shiro has always had trouble with social events. Due to her illness, she rarely has the energy to last an hour, and the masses of people don't help with sensory overload. If she were to go to such an event, it'd surely be anything but fun for her. Not to mention that she would need to recover in the following days. Yet, almost always, Dottore finds her disappointed when he mentions he has been invited to a business party. He can't make sense of her contradicting emotions. But one night after returning from a ball organised by the Regrator—it finally made sense. While he was in formal clothing and she in her pyjamas, the moonlight shone upon them as he took his lover in his arms, guiding her across the room as he showed her how to waltz. Shiro's steps are uncertain and she trips too often for it to be elegant, but part of him feels satisfied when she looks at him as if he is her everything.

[ 🩵🩷 ] The first time Momoiro had messed up a recipe in his kitchen, DOTT wanted to murder her. Everywhere his eyes reached, he saw dough. It was as if it spontaneously combusted when Momoiro had touched it. —A total disaster. DOTT was mad, and he quickly sent her away so his ruin core wouldn't explode too; feeling his circuits overheating and buzzing without control. Yet, after his outburst passed, he immediately felt something new—something even worse that left him empty and wavering. As he began to clean the mess, he noticed the new labels on the shelf, making the place more organised. And on every one of these, Momoiro had drawn a heart or a smiley; something so in character, that her saddened face from before felt like a crime. Even before he knew it; Momoiro had already made an impact on his life. When she returned from the apartment above the bakery in new clothes, he wanted to apologise, but Momoiro was first. DOTT still remember her determined face when she asked him if he could help her so she could learn how to be at her side. And although Momoiro needed a lot of trial and error, DOTT no longer sees her mistakes as flaws. Aside from the mess she had made, he looks back at this memory fondly; feeling as if those learning moments in the kitchen had brought her closer to him.

❤️‍🩹 8. What is a deep or special memory between you and your f/o that means a lot to you/them?

[ 🧪🤍 ] Dottore and Shiro knew each other in the Akademiya. It had been a meaningful meeting for both, yet it was short-lived, for soon after meeting Zandik, Shiro had gotten in a terrible accident resulting in her losing all her memories and needing to return home. After this, it wouldn't be long before Zandik got expelled and recruited by the Fatui. Years later, Dottore had found her; and while he knew she had lost all of her memories, he found she still instinctively remembered him as she did back then. At that moment, he vowed to return her missing pieces and make her whole again.

[ 🩵🩷 ] On one fateful evening, DOTT found his loyal customer knocking at the closed door of the bakery. Part of him already knew they had crossed the line of being acquaintances, but he still felt shocked that the white-haired girl had come to him at her darkest hour.  With no one else to trust, Shiro had told DOTT about her past, and without question, he had invited her in; giving her his bed to sleep in as he offered to sleep on the couch in the meantime. That night was the first of many to come where Momoiro finally felt safe.  The following day, Shiro had dyed her hair pink; bought blue contacts; and changed her name to Momoiro.  DOTT was the only one to know. 

💌 12. What is your f/o's love language(s)? (Gift giving, words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch, acts of service.)

Has been answered already here!

[realcreacher]

Here’s a hilarious ChatGPT story that I just had to post here.

The Garcia house was buzzing with life, filled with the comforting hum of family. Laughter and conversation flowed freely from every room. The smell of savory food lingered in the air as dinner preparations were in full swing, but in the kitchen, things had taken a slightly different turn.

Clementine and Mariana stood at the counter, their hands covered in flour as they attempted to make a cake from scratch. Clem wasn’t exactly the best baker, but Mariana had insisted that it was "for fun" and not to worry about it being perfect.

“This is going to be either amazing or an absolute disaster,” Clem said, eyeing the lumpy batter in the bowl.

Mariana giggled. “Either way, we’ll still get cake, right?”

Clem smiled, shaking her head. “I guess so.”

As Clem reached for more flour, Mariana suddenly got a mischievous look in her eye. Without warning, she scooped a handful of flour and flung it at Clem, hitting her square on the side of her face.

“Hey!” Clem exclaimed, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

Mariana burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as Clem stared at her in disbelief. “You should’ve seen your face!” Mariana managed to get out between laughs.

“Oh, it’s on,” Clem muttered, grabbing her own handful of flour and tossing it right back at Mariana.

Mariana squealed, ducking as the flour dusted her hair and shoulders. In a matter of seconds, the kitchen descended into chaos as the girls engaged in a full-blown flour fight. Flour clouds erupted in the air as they laughed and dodged each other’s attempts to land another hit. The once-clean kitchen was now covered in a fine layer of white, and their cake-making project was completely forgotten.

“Take that!” Clem shouted, aiming a fistful of flour at Mariana’s arm.

“Oh, you’re going down, Clem!” Mariana shot back, grabbing the bag of flour and threatening to dump it over Clem’s head.

Just as the battle reached its peak, Salvador, Javier’s father and the girls’ beloved grandfather, strolled into the kitchen. He took one look at the two of them—completely covered in flour with the kitchen in utter disarray—and let out a low chuckle.

“Well, well,” Salvador said, crossing his arms over his chest with an amused glint in his eye. “Looks like you two are having some fun, but make sure you clean up this mess when you’re done.”

Clem and Mariana stopped mid-laugh, looking guilty for a brief second before nodding.

“Okay, Grandpa,” Mariana said with a grin, wiping flour from her cheek.

Salvador shook his head, still smiling as he turned to leave the kitchen. As he stepped out, Javier walked in, clearly curious about what was going on. His uncle senses were tingling.

“What’s happening in here?” Javi asked, his eyes darting around the kitchen.

Before Salvador could answer, Javi’s eyes landed on the mess of flour and—more importantly—his prized baseball team dishes that were now covered in a thick coat of flour. His expression shifted from curiosity to pure horror as he stood there frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“My dishes!” Javi screeched, his voice going up an octave. “My prized dishes! Do you know how hard it was to get those signed by the entire team?!”

Clem and Mariana both looked at him, wide-eyed at first. They exchanged a quick glance, trying to hold back their laughter.

Javi started pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. “This is a disaster! A catastrophe! What have you done?!”

Unable to contain it any longer, Mariana and Clem burst out laughing, doubling over as Javi continued his panicked rant. Mariana’s giggles echoed through the kitchen, while Clem leaned against the counter, wiping tears from her eyes.

“You’re acting like a child, Javi!” Mariana teased between breaths, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.

Javi stopped pacing, his arms flailing in disbelief. “You don’t understand! These dishes—these are sacred! You can’t just throw flour all over them!”

Clem grinned, clearly enjoying his overreaction. “I think they’ll survive, Javi.”

Javi dramatically wiped a finger across one of the plates, examining the flour coating it with exaggerated disgust. “Survive? Barely!”

Salvador, watching the scene from the doorway, was chuckling again, shaking his head. “Relax, Javi. They’re just dishes.”

“Just dishes?” Javi turned to his father, eyes wide. “These are signed by the players themselves! They’re part of history!”

Clem, unable to resist, grabbed a little more flour and flicked it at Javi’s shoulder. “Oh, look, you missed a spot.”

Mariana burst into laughter again, nearly doubling over as Javi froze, staring at Clem like she had just committed a cardinal sin. He pointed a finger at her, his voice shaking with mock outrage. “You—you—”

Before he could finish, Mariana, still giggling, wiped a finger through the flour and held it up. “C’mon, Uncle Javi, they’re just plates. You’ll live.”

Javi looked at both of them, his face softening as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You two… are impossible,” he finally said, shaking his head in defeat.

Mariana grinned, walking over to her uncle and giving him a flour-covered hug. “You love us.”

Javi groaned but hugged her back, shaking some flour off his shirt. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I do.”

Clem smirked as she dusted herself off. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a cake to finish.”

Javi threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine. Just don’t get any more flour on my dishes, okay?”

“No promises,” Mariana teased, and Clem gave him a wink as they returned to the counter to try and salvage what was left of their baking project.

As they continued working on the cake, the kitchen still a mess but filled with warmth and laughter, Clem couldn’t help but feel that moments like these were what family was all about. Flour fights, silly overreactions, and the kind of teasing that only happens when you know you’re surrounded by people who love you, no matter what.

And as Javi’s freak-out slowly turned into laughter, even he had to admit it was worth seeing the two girls having so much fun—even if his prized dishes had suffered a little in the process.

[whattheell]

From another letter to my mother I never sent, March 2019

I'm sorry

I'm sorry I'm so messy in every sense of the word. Everywhere I go is just disaster, physically and mentally and emotionally. I'm sorry I'm always late and behind on everything. I'm sorry I'm not better at making good choices. I'm sorry I'm not easier to love. I'm sorry I'm broken on the inside. I wonder a lot of it would be easier if I just went somewhere else, although I'm not sure where I would go. Not to get away from everything, but so that I can't keep messing it up. All day long, every single day, all I can think about is everything im doing wrong, and I don't know what I'll do when everyone finally gets tired of cleaning up my messes, and the resentment sets in and then I'm a drag. Cause I already feel like one most of the time.

There are so many things I want to tell you, but I can't. Because I don't know how to say them, or i don't know how you'll respond, or I do know and that's even worse. I hit someone with my fingernail and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since then, reminding myself what a horrible person I am and how I'm so embarrassing and how everyone, at best, pitties me, and at worse hates me but only says so behind my back. Every time someone says something to me, usually work or school, I manage to say the stupidest thing and I think they all think I'm mentally disabled or just really stupid. And I do too, I just don't know which one. I want to know how I'm broken. But also, selfishly, so I have an excuse for how inept I feel all the time. I also wonder if that would explain why I can't love people in a good way. I've never felt like I could. Like I was always missing that piece. It comes easier with family, although I don't talk to my brother as much as I should, and I can't remember the last time I talked to her.

But with other people it's like I'm faking it most of the time. And I feel like I'm cheating them out of something when the give so much. I thought it was men, maybe that was the problem. The first time I looked up homosexuality in my Bible I was younger than the baby of the family. Everything in it said that it was wrong, and I believed that. But it didn't get rid of the feeling. But I don't think I like girls any more than I like guys, so I must just not like either at all. A tiny bit of me still wonders though and I hate that. I don't want to wonder. I don't want to think about it at all. Because you would probably hate me. You wouldn't be able to look at me the same if you knew, even if it was nothing. So I ignore it and push it away again and again as it comes back.

I ignore a lot of things, but not well. I ignore the urge to run my car into polls as I pass then driving in back roads. I ignore the constant pain in my bones that makes it hard to sleep and hard to be awake and hard to exist because I don't want to complain constantly. I ignore the overwhelming desire to be sicker. To be more injured. To look worse. So that I don't have to usually pretend to be fine. If I was sicker, if I had the right, perfect diagnosis or looked worse, then people wouldn't roll their eyes at me. I would have an excuse for not being better at things, for working harder or going to the gym or being so tired or whatever. I hate the way my body looks sometimes. My arms are too hairy. My feet are ugly. I don't like my pointed chin that makes my whole face look crocked and pinched. I don't like how thick my thighs and hips are, or my bulging belly. It needs me feel pregnant but I can't seem to do anything about it because I don't have the will power to make changes. And I can't start something then fail but I also can't stick with it. I can't stick with anything. Hobbies, skills, anything. I have more abandoned projects and ideas then I do hairs. And looking at my gorrilla arms, it's a lot.

-

I dont want to share you with anyone, I had you first. But I also don't want you to get bored or tired of me, or be disappointed to look at me, or think I'm messed up. I don't know how to be real with you without making you hate me in the process. I hate me. I don't want you to hate me too.

[peakyswritings]

SHARK FUCKING HELL WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN

Alright first of all I’m going to say I’m so fucking happy you’re back. And after reading this chapter, I can say you’re back with a BANG. I missed you (and Heaven, of course, wouldn’t want her to feel left out🫢) so much!

The initial scene was so lighthearted, I loved that little moment of “girls being girls”. But remembering how the last chapter ended, I knew something terrible was coming🥲.

I found Heaven having doubts about the baby so realistic. That’s definitely not a good moment, with Changretta still around. I loved the contrast between Lizzie’s reaction about her baby and Heaven’s about her own.

It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

I loved this insight on Heaven’s way of thinking. Her mind is always so fascinating.

The way you built the tension right after was *chef’s kiss*. The way a single feeling progressed into a whole disaster was so well-paced, and it kept me at the edge of my seat. I also found so interesting the way her and Tommy seemed to communicate without speaking, and every time they interact, I can’t help but being more convinced that there’s something else behind their mutual hatred.

Heaven’s reaction as soon as she found Arthur was heartbreaking. She has already lost so much, she doesn’t deserve this. So it’s not a wonder that she would choose him over the baby. It’s such a terrible, difficult choice, but it makes sense that she would choose him. As heartbreaking as it sounds, she can have another baby, but she can’t have another Arthur. My heart aches so much for her, she didn’t deserve to be forced to make that choice.

The way she unleashed her rage left me speechless. We’ve had glimpse of what she’s capable of during the course of the story, but this was something else entirely. And the way you described it all - the actions, her feelings, the Italians’ fear - was out of this world. You never fail to leave me at a loss for words.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

Stop you’re killing me😭😭😭😭

I have to admit Tommy surprised me in this one. He seemed genuinely concerned for Heaven, and I loved the way he acted reassuringly instead of freaking out. I feel like it grounded her and helped her, in some way.

Polly’s thoughts about losing another nephew broke my heart.

And that ending…

This was amazing, Shark. Things are really starting to happen, and I can’t wait to see what happens next. I wonder how much Heaven’s rage will grow after this.

Loved this!

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[mauvecherie-writes]

Try Me.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton [XNDA] AU x f!Artist Black Reader.

summary: When you had started your journey in the music industry, your mother had warned you time and time again to not fall for the games of the industry. You should have headed her warning and taken her words to heart. Because now you were left in the crosshairs of one of the biggest artists struggling with wanting to escape and wanting to explore more …

warning: 18+ MDNI, NSFW, smut, slapping, choking, rough handling, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight bratty behaviour, dom/sub dynamics, slight toxic relationship. Please understand its all nastiness in here, thank you.

notes: another asshole Lewis fic lmao. He’s not a F1 driver, he’s just a musician. I was going to edit it all but I got tired so just ignore the mistakes please and thank you. @lostinlewis​ sorry it’s late babe but hope you love it 😘

word count: 8.3K

Lightskin & Corny MSG: You up?

MSG: For you? Never.

Lightskin & Corny MSG: 😒🙄 You say that everytime.

MSG: What do you want nigga?

Lightskin & Corny MSG: Watch your tone with me Angel.

I wanted to see you but I can sense your hostility from here.

MSG: Didn’t you just debut your new girlfriend? Like literally yesterday !!

Lightskin & Corny MSG: It’s just PR for her, it means nothing to me but more money.

MSG: And how long has that been about?

Lightskin & Corny MSG: I don’t want to talk about her and that situation. I’m tryna see when you can sit on my face again.

MSG: Never. Go to the other girls on your catalogue. Shit! Even your little PR gf would love to do that. I don’t fucking care. Leave me alone! I mean it this time.

Lightskin & Corny MSG: 😂 fine.

You should be happy that he agreed but the one word reply had you throwing your phone somewhere in the mess of your bed covers and then proceeding to scream into your pillow. Lewis Hamilton was the bane of your existence and with passing moments, you were coming to regret ever crossing the line of professionalism with him. He was addictive and he had you hooked; however, for the past four months you had been trying to get rid of him.

Like any addiction, Lewis was extremely bad for you in every possible way. He confused you and made you doubt your feelings time and time again. You had always been a person who always listened with their intuition but for some reason when it came to Lewis, all he had to do was give you that dazzling smile of his as he shook your hand and all the warning signals were ignored. You should have known that it was going to be a disaster waiting to happen but you ignored it anyway. The fact that his name was consistently in gossip blogs connected to a different person damn near every week should have been the greatest red flag. In the land of Hollywood and fame, nothing was ever too far away from the truth.

However, with each studio session the two of you had when it was just the two of you, you saw parts of him only a handful of people were privy to and you began to fall for it. Then one night, left alone to the charms of a man who could bend anyone to their will, you shared a passion that sealed your fate.

FLASHBACK - Ten Months Ago -

“Fun fact, this is probably the fastest, I’ve over completed a song.” Lewis confessed as he tuned his guitar. The D’usse you had been sipping on had left a buzz in its wake, making you more relaxed than typical.

“Well that’s because we work so well together. From the very first session, we’ve been bouncing off each other like we have known each other for years.”

Lewis looked up at you, licking his lips and smiled. “We do have that chemistry don’t we?” He quirked his eyebrow upwards as you felt his eyes trail down your body before coming to linger on your lips, then finally meeting your eyes. His attention on you made you giddy and a giggle left your lips as a wave of warmth rushed through you.

“Do you say that to all the women you closely work with?” You chewed on your bottom lip as you felt yourself being drawn closer to him. You didn’t want to be but the atmosphere was just right. The both of you were buzzed and the already built up tension was threatening to explode and the way he was looking at you wasn’t helping.

“No I don’t actually. There’s something about you.” From the deep tone of his voice, you knew that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. You took a deep breath to try and control the bundle of emotions threatening to burst. Your stomach clenched as desire began to grip every fibre of your being.

“Stop looking at me like that?” You whispered. Lewis no longer focused on his guitar, had moved it away from him and to the side.

“Stop looking at you like what?”

“Like you want to eat me up.”

Lewis groaned as he shifted closer to you. “I do want to eat you up. Would you let me, Angel?” Your thigh shuffled closer to brush against his as you felt the back of his fingers caress the length of your neck. You were getting lost in his eyes and the logical part of you was telling you to pull away, to stand up and leave but you were doing nothing of the sort. Too turned on, you nodded your head to his question before closing the gap in between you. When his lips touched yours, you knew that it was over. Whatever fight that you had left in you was lost. His lips were so soft and they felt so good against yours. The kiss was slow in the beginning but you fell into a rhythm, Lewis dominated your senses. He grabbed both sides of your head before pushing his tongue into your mouth. He growled and became more insistent, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

You held onto him as you felt yourself drowning and never wanting to come up for air. Your hands wandered into his hair as you tugged on his bottom lip. When he moaned, you felt proud to illicit such a sound from him. He slowly pulled away but he kept his lips close. His thumb caressed your swollen bottom lip before inching forward for one more kiss.

“Now that I know what you taste like, I think I’m going to get addicted.”

—

That was how your whirlwind of a relationship began. You guys made magic together, sex or music - what thetwo of you made was so passionate and explosive. The world could see the chemistry that blossomed when the two of you were together … but they could also see how it wasn’t good for either of you. Lewis was a massive commitment phobe and the only priority in his life was his music and career. There wasn’t any space for much else outside of his family and his close friends.

How he managed to fit you and all the other women he was rumoured to be in entanglements with was a mystery to you. It made you feel dirty that all he wanted from you was sex and your musical capabilities. It ate at you how little restraint you had when it came to Lewis. Your jealousy always got the better of you and whenever your friends sent you link after link to gossip blogs who plastered pictures of Lewis all hugged up on someone, it sent you into a frenzy.

It was like a direct hit to your heart.

It left you so enraged that you would message him that it was over but it never stuck. This time however, something had changed. You had admitted that you loved him and you hadn’t meant to. At the time, you were sick and he had spent the day taking care of you. He was playing with your hair and it just slipped out. He never said anything in response and then the next day he reminded you that he couldn’t give you more than what he was giving you now. And finally you forced yourself to accept it for what it was.

It had been more than four months since then and now he was reaching out to you like nothing had changed between the two of you. You were doing great without him, you told yourself. He did not have ownership over your heart and if he wasn’t going to give you what he wanted then you were going to find someone who did.

Pushing Lewis to the back of your mind, you prepared to go to dinner with a group of friends. The restaurant La Patissiere was new to the area but was quickly becoming popular amongst your peers. Your freshly done goddess locs were parted to the sid, highlighting your bronzed cheekbone. The silk green dress you chose to wear was short with a slit on your right thigh. It was a little risque but it had been a while since you had dressed up so you wanted to enjoy yourself. Blood orange heels wee on your feet to match the pop of colour on your lips,

You looked good and you felt good.

Knowing that you would be drinking, you decided against driving yourself and had your bodyguard drive you to the restaurant. As you left the car, you told Mike that you would call him when you needed him as if it was his day off after all and you didn’t want to bother him. The night was still young thus not a lot of paparazzi were crowding around the entrance of the building but you were sure that they would pick up in numbers as the night went on.

“Finally! YN is here! What took you so long?” Your friend Ashley said as she stood up to greet you. You rolled your eyes as you hugged her.

“Fashionably late as always darling.” You responded with a giggle.

“We were about to order without you” She replied, causing you to blush. You were not late by any long stretch but Ashley had always been for the theatrics. That was why she chose acting as a profession. From Ashley, you moved to greet all of your friends dotted around a table until you came to a face that you didn’t know.

“YN, this is Broderick, he just moved into the area.” Ashley introduced you. “Recently single.” She whispered underneath her breath for only you to hear which caused you to smile. “So be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes before you paid attention to Broderick. He was attractive, that was for sure. His skin was a dark and rich melanin - so smooth that you were very tempted to touch it. His hair was shortly trimmed with the sides faded. Your eyes fell to his beard that was thick and healthy and you hated yourself for fantasising about how it would feel against the skin of your thighs.

“Nice to meet you.” You reached your hand forward.

He grinned and his teeth were so bright, you couldn’t help but be impressed at the upkeep. When his hand shook yours, the grip made you focus on how large his palm was. Granted that they would be because of his tall stature. The physical attraction to Broderick was instant but it took you for a spin and you liked it.

“Nice to meet you too.” He replied, his hand was still in yours and the fact he hadn’t let go spread warmth up the track of your spine.

Yeah, tonight was going to be good.

As much as you were engaging with everyone and enjoying the atmosphere, your attention kept getting called back to Broderick. As a divorce lawyer, he had many entertaining stories about his clients and hearing his laughs made your stomach flatter. It had been such a long time since another man had made you feel the way that you were feeling now.

It was such a refreshing welcome.

He was sitting opposite you but the both of you were leaning into each other with your elbows on the table. It was bad decorum but it was the only way you could hear Broderick above the loud chatter of your group of your friends. That was what you were telling yourself anyway.

“So Miss YN, tell me. Are you single?” He asked.

The giggle that left your lips couldn’t be stopped as you dropped your eye contact. However, you lifted your head and met his eyes yet again.

“It’s complicated.”

Broderick raised his eyebrow and then licked his bottom lip. “Like how complicated?”

“Like I’m untangling myself and trying to move on, type of complicated.”

“Hmmm.” He seemed to contemplate what you had said and it made you a little nervous. You were finally putting yourself out there and you kind of needed this. You like Broderick and even if it did not last more than tonight, it didn’t matter, you were just up for some fun.

“Is it too complicated that you can’t go for dinner with me one on one?”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from grinning. “No, not at all.”

“Good.”

Feeling giddy, you chewed on your bottom lip and your bashful behaviour made him chuckle. Without a moment’s breath , the two of you went back into your regular conversation. So lost in your joy, you failed to notice the commotion by the door. Despite all the fangirling and the flashing of the cameras, you were more focused on your waiter refilling your glass of chardonnay.

Then you heard his name being yelled out. By Broderick of all people.

The spit dried in your throat and your heart stopped beating. Your eyes widened in surprise as you reached for you glass of wine and downed half of your drink. You tried to mask your reaction and you prayed that nobody had seen you. Outside of your female friends, the rest of your group were not aware of your tumultuous situationship with Lewis. It did not help that the way they were looking at you was causing you to internally panic.

Then you watched as Broderick got up from his chair and walked over to Lewis, greeting him with a wide hug, like long lost brothers.

What. The. Fuck.?! How in the hell did they know each other?! The questions ran frantically in your mind but all it did was bring tension to your temples. From the corner of your eye, you watched as the two of them hugged and then began to enthusiastically speak to each other.

You met Ashley’s eyes and she mouthed to you “What the fuck!” but you just shrugged your shoulders.

“Excuse me.” You called out to the waitress for your table. She stopped and paid attention to you.

“What can I get for you?”

“Can I please have a couple shots of tequila please?”

“Sure! I’ll get those for you.”

“Thank you.”

You could hear your heart pounding as you watched the two men return back to the table and Lewis’s eyes fell on you immediately. His blonde blonde braids were falling freely but they did nothing to hide his beauty and the look of adoration in toffee brown eyes. He was dressed in all black. Some pants and a linen button down shirt underneath his baggy denim jacket. Always the sucker for monochrome but he always made it look good.

Your eyes followed him as everyone welcomed him to the table, your friends keeping it cordial - which was a surprise to you - Ashley and Brandy especially being the top people telling you how much of an asshole Lewis was, were all smiles and kisses on the cheeks. It was all for the hospitality but you knew it was all for show. You hoped that it was.

When it came to you, Lewis did not hesitate to take the empty seat that was beside her. You took a deep breath as your eyes met and a small smile of longing and upon instinct, his hand fell on your lap. Your breath hitched in your throat as the light squeeze of your flesh alerted to you that he had no intention of drawing his hand away.

The familiarity of his warmth made it hard for you to push his hand away. The emotions you had been trying to bury were crawling to the surface. After four months of not seeing each other, seeing his eyes staring down at you hindered all of the effort that you had made.

“Angel..” He whispered your nickname. Your eyebrows furrowed as you willed yourself not to cry. It felt like it had been an eternity since you had heard that nickname. Like it had been for so many days and nights, the name ‘daddy’ laced your lips. But you had to swallow that will.

“Lewis.” You whispered his name and gave him a small smile in return. You hated just how fast your heart was beating being in his presence.

“You look beautiful.” He complimented you which made you smile. Hearing that from him always brought a smile to your face.

“Thank you. You look handsome yourself.” You politely replied. You were slipping into the black hole that was Lewis. You reached for your tequila shot and threw it down your throat quickly in hopes that the alcoholic burn would snap you back to your senses.

Well that was much easier said than done when Lewis completely hijacked most of the attention of the group. Sure, everyone was off in their own clutters but Lewis was the centre of attention. And you were handling it all pretty well on the outside considering just how much you were internally panicking due to the fact that his hand was still on your lap and was progressively inching up higher and higher.

“Can you please move your hand from my lap please?” You leaned towards him to whisper into his ear. Lewis chuckled softly.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because we haven’t spoken to each other in four months and the first thing you do when we see each other is just touch me like nothing ever happened.” You gritted through your closed teeth.

“If you didn’t want me to touch you, you wouldn’t have let me. Be honest with yourself Angel.” You took a deep sigh knowing that there would be no retort as he was right. His touch always made you feel the safest and you would never fight him on that.

“Well it’s inappropriate because we’re in public and amongst our peers.”

“Hmm, is it?” I remember a time where we were dry humping in public and you would have rode my dick in the middle of the club if I had asked you to. Now if it’s just my fingers that you’re worried about?”

He raised his eyebrow, licking his bottom lip as his fingers traced your panty line.

“If I remember correctly we ended things we don’t want the same things.”

“I thought I didn’t -.”

“No!” You quickly interjected “Don’t say what I think you’re about to say. Don’t fuck with my head like that.”

“I wanted you Angel. I still want you.”

“But not in the way that I need right?” You scoffed as you reached for your wine glass and sipped on the beverage a little. Lewis cleared his throat as he leaned back into his chair and turned so that his lips were even closer to your ear.

“You think Broderick is going to give you what you need?” At the mention of the other man’s name you gasped - mostly due to Lewis having moved your thongs to the side and slid a finger into your cunt. You quickly covered your gasp with a slight cough.

“Yeah I see how he’s looking at you. How’s been looking at you the whole night - he thinks he has a chance with you huh? But you think he’s going to fuck you like me Angel? You think he’s going to make you cum so hard that you lose your senses? Tell me.” His words were so softly spoken as he thrusted his fingers. Subtle enough to not cause a scene but with just the amount of pressure that had you creaming all over his fingers.

You were trying so hard to control your breathing so as to not give away what was going on beneath the table cloth.

However it was too late for cover ups. From across the table on the opposite end, Ashley and your other friend, Brandy were giving you a knowing look. Abruptly, you shoved Lewis’s hand away from you and then stood up, adjusting your dress.

Broderick tore his eyes from the friend that he had been talking to and looked at you with a worrisome expression.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yes! I just need to go to the ladies.” You paced away from the table and you tried to ignore Lewis’s burning glare at the back of your head as you walked away.

You burst through the door of the bathroom and threw your purse onto the counter.

You were so fucked!

The assault of feelings on your mind was absolutely not needed. You had gone from being certain that you were ready to move on from Lewis to going right back to square one with just one look and a few touches.

“God, you’re fucking pathetic!“ You scolded yourself. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths to help calm yourself. The bathroom door quickly burst open before being shut. You lifted your head and met his dark eyes through the mirror as he was leaning against the door.

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk.”

“No we don’t, I’ve said all that I needed to say to you.”

“Then can you just listen to me?”

“So you can tell me that I wasted my time with you? No thanks!”

“If you actually stopped talking and listened to me -.”

“What are you even doing here?!”

“I can’t have dinner now because we happened to be in the same building?”

“You could have sat at a different table yet you came to ours and I know that you did it to fuck with me!“

“I was intending just to talk to you but then Broderick welcomed me to your table, I couldn’t be rude.”

You narrowed your eyes at him because you knew that wasn’t the truth. You had now turned your back to the mirror and used the counter for support.

“The last time I tried to talk to you, it didn’t go down so well.”

“Because you were just trying to fuck when you had a fucking girlfriend!”

“She was PR! I told you that!”

“It didn’t fucking matter Lewis!” You exclaimed. “All I was, all I ever was, was just a plaything to you. That you could call whenever you felt like getting your dick wet!” You were so frustrated that you almost wanted to pull your hair out. You stared at each other in silence with nothing but your breathing being the only audio but you stayed leaning your back against the counter. Lewis approached you as he spoke.

“I won’t lie to you and say that I don’t love having sex with you Angel. I love it because of all the feelings that come with it. From the very first day, I knew what our connection was so I only offered sex because that’s all i could afford to give you without facing the reality that what we have is deeper than that.”

“Stop saying things I wanna hear. You’re only saying this because you want to have access to me.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. I’m saying it because I fucking miss you! It’s not even about the sex. I miss the companionship you offered, the ability you had just to see me and not the celebrity. For some fucking reason you wanted all of me and accepted me without judgement.”

“What are you saying?” You whispered as tears welled up in your eyes as you felt his hands touch at your waist and try to pull you in but you placed your hands on your chest. The fabric of his shirt was scrunched up beneath your fingers.

“I’m saying that I want it all. I want everything that comes with being with you.” he mumbled as he tried to look into your eyes but your head was facing down. The gravity of his words wrapped around your heart and began to squeeze. In complete disbelief, you shook your head. You didn’t want to believe it - after waiting for so long to hear these words from him, now that they had come, it felt surreal.

And that made you angry.

Why did it always take the person leaving for their partner to realise their worth? Lewis hated commitment and you knew that but the deepest part of you hoped that you’d be the one for him. And now he was telling you and you didn’t want to believe it.

Lewis cradled your cheeks and forced you to look into his eyes and you hated just how much sincerity you could see in his eyes. The feel of his fingers on your skin left a trail of flames in their wake. His thumb rubbed on your bottom lip, parting them softly before he brought his lips closer to yours.

“I hate you.” You confessed. It was the biggest lie but your feelings were too jumbled up and it was all his fault. Your breaths mingled, tempting you to close that small gap in between you. Lewis stopped the words from coming out of your mouth again by covering your lips with his. You moaned softly as you finally got to taste him again. His tongue lunged into your mouth, drinking all of you. He wasted no time as he lifted you up and set you down on the counter and pushed through your parted legs. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs and pushed the hem of your dress up to your hips. You gasped as you felt Lewis fiddle with your thongs and slide a finger into your cunt.

Everything was rushed but it was electrifying. You wanted to tear at his clothes but a faint part of your clouded mind was acutely aware of your location. You tugged at his belt, frantically trying to take it off as his fingers pressed on your g-spot, bringing you closer to climax.

When your hand finally got through his boxers and grabbed his hardness into your palm, you groaned. The urgency increased as you pushed his pants down just enough to free him. Lewis tugged you closer and rubbed the tip of his dick against your opening. You gasped as he thrusted his hips forward, swiftly sliding into you.

“Fuck.” He groaned softly, his words brushing your lips.

“I hate you!” You hissed as he pulled back on your throat. His chuckle sounded so delicious with his lips close to your ear.

“You may hate me but you love fucking me, don’t you Angel.” His hips were thrusting hard and fast and you were struggling for air with his grip around your neck. You gasped as your knuckles tightened on their hold of the counter.

“You love fucking me back.” He growled, biting on his lip. He leaned backwards as he watched you meet his pounds, stride for stride. The way you creamed all over his dick was a contradiction to your spoken words. You may hate him but your pussy loves him and he’ll take that.

Like he was reading your mind, he hooked your legs into his arms and pounded into you harder and faster as he could. Your eyes widened and the ferocity of his thrusts which caused your body to rattle and nearly slip off the counter. You buried your face into the crook of his neck in hopes to silence yourself but you ended up sinking your teeth into the flesh of his neck. You drank in the urgency of his thrusts, your walls sucking him in and threatening to drown his cock.

“You’re so fucking wet. Always wanting to drench my dick in your cum don’t you Angel?’ He groaned as he placed kisses on your shoulder.

“Lewis!” You moaned as he pressed on your g-spot. You felt his fingers weave through your hair and tug your head away from his neck. He held your chin beneath his fingers and forced you to look into his dark eyes.

“Nothing has changed, baby. You know what to call me when I’m deep inside this pussy.”

“Daddy!” You gasped as he fucked you harder, the pressure mounting up at the pit of your stomach. Your eyes began to roll to the back of your head as your pussy tightened around him. Your breathing became erratic the more he fucked you into oblivion and forced your orgasm to the forefront. His hand that was still in your hair pulled on the strands as his thrusts became staggered.

“If you don’t stop squeezing me like that, I’m not gonna be able to pull out.” He hissed as the drag of your walls along his length threatened his restraint. You nibbled his jawline, letting your teeth graze his skin slightly.

“Please cum with me.” You whimpered as you let your legs fall to his waist and then wrap around him, trapping him in between your legs. Lewis grunted against your mouth before capturing your lips into a heated kiss as his thrusts became sloppy. The two of you moaned as your climaxes melted into each other and filled you up.

Lewis didn’t move from in between your legs as your breathing slowed down. His hands came to your cheeks, caressing your skin and moving your hair out of the way as he admired you.

“Come back to mine with me.” He whispered. You sighed as you dropped your legs away from his body and sat up straight. He moved away from you a bit but he fixed your thongs and let his fingers tease you once again which caused you to jerk and give you a mean glare.

“I can’t. I promised my girls a night with them and you’re already ruining it.” You scolded him which caused him to chuckle.

“But if Broderick asked you to leave with him, would you have said yes?” He quirked his eyebrow.

“So what if I did?” You sassed. “I’m not your girlfriend remember?”

“Yet.” You blushed at his declaration. “You have my cum dripping out of you right now so this little attitude you’re trying to give me won’t work.”

“I still can’t come home with you.” You pushed his body away from yours as you hopped down from the counter and began to fix your appearance. You looked at the bite mark on your shoulder. It was faint but you still made sure that it was covered by your long locs before moving to clean your makeup and re-apply your lip-gloss. Lewis pressed his body against yours and a soft gasp left you when you felt the hardness of his print on the curve of your ass.

“How are you still hard?” His hand wrapped around your throat before softly tilting your head to the side so that your neck was exposed to his lips. Your eyes flattered close as his lips left kisses on your skin, the way his tongue tickled your nerves making you to be aroused yet again.

“Because I’m not done with you just.” He mumbled into your ear before moving his other arm to be secured around your waist. “A quickie in a bathroom is not enough to feed me what I’ve been craving for months.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to explore every inch of you like the very first time. I want you screaming my name so loud I want my neighbours wondering what the fuck is going on. I want you bound and completely helpless at my mercy. All your little tantrums have been piling up and you’re in need of a punishment and it’s due very soon.” 

Lewis left you in the bathroom with your legs buckling at the knees and you stayed in there for a few more minutes before you finally collected yourself and walked out of the bathroom and strutted back to your table. The boys were around Lewis shaking their hands as he was saying their goodbyes and as you sat down at your chair that had Ashley and Brandy beside it. Your ears perked up when you heard Lewis speak up.

“Why are you leaving so soon? You barely ate and the night had barely started.”

“I’m just not feeling it tonight but I’ll hit you guys up later.” His eyes briefly scanned over you which sent a wave of flush down your spine. You turned away from him and you were met with the all knowing stares riddled with slight judgement from your friends.

“What happened to it’s over between us. I won’t ever go back to him.” Brandy mocked your voice which caused you to groan and hide your face in your hands. You couldn’t even explain your actions to your closest friends, let alone yourself. Whenever you were around Lewis, it was always action and then you thought about the things you did later.

“Guys please. I’m just trying to figure this shit out myself. I really don’t know what I’m doing.” You whispered.

“Well one thing is for certain, that man is not letting you go and it seems like you don’t want to be let go either.”

–

The group did not stay at the restaurant for long and decided to travel to one of the guy’s, Teddy’s mansion as he had the best space and the best booze. It did not take long for your small gathering to turn into an impromptu party as more and more people were invited. As much as you were enjoying yourself and the time that you were spending with your friends, your mind kept drifting back to Lewis. Each time that you crossed your legs, you could still him in between your thighs stretching and filling you up.

The more you thought about him, the more champagne you drank to try and ignore the bubbling of feelings inside of you. As much as you tried to just focus on the physicality of your relationship, you knew that there was more to it. Lewis pretty much confirmed it to you in the bathroom and a part of you wanted to be petty and deny him but why would you when you were finally getting what you wanted.

You were sitting by the pool on the sun bed as you took the time to sit and reflect on everything that had transpired. Your feelings for Lewis were like waves crashing into the shore of your ocean over and over again, only taking a break to retreat before coming back full force. There was never truly a break and it suffocated you but you loved the way it made you feel. To be fully immersed in those feelings is what pushed you into wanting more of your connection with Lewis.

Everything about your bond was passion in its rawest form. An intertwining so rare, especially in the times you were in, amongst the people you lived and worked with. You cherished that tremendously and that was why it was so hard for you to let go of Lewis and just move on from him.

“YN.” You heard your name and you lifted your head up and saw Broderick approaching you. You gave him a smile as he came to sit beside you.

“You okay out here? You’ve been in your own bubble lately.” He commented.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about a lot of things that just came onto me all at once.”

“Has that got anything to do with Lewis spontaneously showing up at dinner tonight?”

“Broderick.” You sat up straight and looked at him with a solemn expression on your face.

“Is he your complication?” He questioned you. Your shoulders dropped and you looked at your fingers, fiddling with them. “It’s okay if he is.”

You sighed softly, chewing on your bottom lip as you shifted your gaze away from him. You nodded your head in agreement. “It started over a year ago and everything was intense from the beginning. But such is life when your heart decides to fall for someone like him.”

“I can understand why you did. I’ve known Lewis for a while and this is the first time in a long time, I’ve seen him hung up over anybody.”

“How do you know Lewis by the way?”

“When he first moved out to the city, I bumped into one of his close friends Daniel and we just sparked a friendship of sort, I guess.” He shrugged his shoulders before a short silence blanketed you. “I should have known that he was the complication. You looked uncomfortable when he showed up and then the two of you disappeared for ages with him leaving right after.”

Heat warmed your cheeks as the memory of Lewis fucking you on that counter flashed in your mind. “I wasn’t expecting him to be there and at that point I had been trying to move on from him but that is easier said than done.”

“You know in good conscience, I can’t take you to dinner anymore right?”

“Why not?”

“I saw the way he looked at you and you him. I don’t want to come in between that.”

“Ugh, why can’t you be a bad guy and just compete?”

“Because I would never truly win would I? I would just be a distraction.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.” You mumbled to yourself which caused the both of you to laugh.

“If you think it’s worth it, then give yourself the chance to explore what it could be.”

“What if it blows up in my face?”

“What if it doesn’t?”

Broderick parted ways with you by placing a kiss on your cheek and promising to stay friends. You could have screamed because an opportunity to move on had been closed but Broderick was right. Lewis had an unmatched hold over you and fighting that was a useless battle. There was no denying it anymore, especially to yourself - you wanted Lewis and he wanted you.

Like kismet, your phone began to vibrate, indicating that you were receiving a call. You took your phone out of your bag and saw Lewis’s contact ID flashing across your screen. You sighed as you picked up after the fourth ring.

“What?”

“Angel.” He groaned softly. You sat up straight, immediately knowing what the tone of his voice meant.

“Lewis…”

“I can’t stop thinking about you sweetheart. I keep thinking about you bouncing up and down on my dick. But the way you felt around my cock tonight, fuck Angel, I need you so much.”

You could hear the faint sound of his hand stroking his cock and your legs clenched at the visual.

“Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“All I kept thinking about how beautiful you looked in that dress and how much I wanted to fuck you in front of everyone. Let them know that you’re mine.”

“You’re so shameless.”

“When it comes to you, I lose all my senses.” Lewis confessed. “I just want to feel you coming all over my cock.”

You chewed on your bottom lip the more he spoke but you could feel the heaviness of his need. He was whimpering to you, asking for you and begging for you. As much as you tried to ignore him, he was all you felt.

“I don’t want to come without you baby. I wanna cum all over you.” He groaned. Your eyes closed as you listened to him pleasure himself. Lewis was pulling out all the stops to make sure that you ended up back at his place. He was masturbating on the phone to you and you were losing all of your composure, He groaned in your ear once more you stood up and began to pace.

“Talk to me baby, let me hear your voice.”

“Lewis…”

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m outside by the pool at Teddy’s place.”

“Good. I want you to hear me cum Angel.” Lewis had always been vocal and that was one thing that you had always loved about him. Hearing him whimper your name as he fucked his fist was the ultimate fantasy. You could feel yourself creaming and you were so turned on that the fabric of your dress brushing against your nipples sent shivers down your spine.

“Fuck I’m coming, I’m coming!” He growled as he reached his release. You were panting yourself as Lewis regulated his breathing. Your thighs were clenched but you were rubbing them together to offer some relief to yourself. You were panting in reflection of his actions and fuck you needed him. You needed him bad!

In the haze of your lust you asked him. “Where are you?”

“I’m at my place.”

“Leave the door open.”

You ended the call and rushed back into the house and grabbed all of your belongings. You knew that your friends were watching you but you didn’t care. You didn’t need to explain anything to them, they knew exactly where you were going and if they had any questions, you’d answer them later.

Skipping calling your driver, you called for an uber and luckily for you, Lewis only lived about ten minutes away and the minute the car stopped, you hopped out and rushed to the door. Even though he kept the front gate open, you scanned your fingerprint by the pad near the door and it immediately opened for you. The hallway was dimly lit but you could find your way. This place was like a second home to you for a long time and its layout was still engraved in your brain.

Finding your way through the living room and towards the kitchen where most of the light came from and you found him standing there, draped in nothing but a Versace gown. You’d seen him in far less but this still managed to take your breath away. You dropped your handbag on the counter and before you could barely move an inch, he picked you up in his arms. You moaned into his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his neck and waist. The feel of his hardness against the inside of your thigh made you cream even more, your yearning for him knew no bounds.

“I missed you.” He mumbled in between kisses as he made his way towards his bedroom.

“I missed you too.”

It wasn’t long before he was throwing you on the bed and tearing your dress away from your body. His touch was heavy with need and you fed into that, wanting more of it. Your thongs were damp with your essence as he dragged them down your legs. He groaned as your pussy came into view, still puffy from his onslaught on you earlier.

“You always look so good to eat.” He mumbled as he pushed his fingers inside of you. You gasped as your knees buckled because of how accurate he touched your spot like the two of you were not apart for months. You reached forward as you grabbed his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Your tongue seeked out his as his fingers kept moving inside of you.

“Fuucckk.” You whispered as he cupped your face as he applied more pressure.

“I want you so bad. I can’t believe I almost lost you.” He kissed his words into your skin as he shifted his body so that he was in between your legs and the first contact of his tongue on your clit had you arching off the bed. And the more he licked, the more out of breath you became. He inhaled you like it was his last breath and you were the giver of his life. Your body tensed up as he moved his tongue from your clit and replaced his fingers with it. He slipped it inside of you, pulled it out and circled your clit over and over again until you were crying.

As you came into his mouth, he grunted into your cunt as he pushed your legs down further as he licked you clean. You pulled at the sheets as he re-introduced his fingers and paid attention to your clit. You screamed as your second orgasm melted into your first one.

“Daddy oh my god!” You whimpered as you began to feel overwhelmed by the pressure building up inside of you. He pulled his mouth away and slapped your pussy until you were jerking backwards but he kept you in place and made you crave for it more. But just as you were feeling yourself about to cum, he pulled away from you. You whined at the loss of contact but as Lewis flipped you onto your stomach and positioned you on your knees, you knew what you were in for.

He moved your locs to the side and sucked on your skin before he parted your legs and positioned himself in between them. You could feel his tip brushing against your swollen clit and you pushed back against him, tempting him to push inside but he kept you at a hair’s length.

“Please Daddy, I need it. I need you.” You begged as you pussy wept. You knew that his holding back was some form of punishment for the attitude you gave him but you knew that he needed you just as much as you needed him but he was always the better one at hiding that. You wore your jealousy and possession on your sleeves and if that made you a bad person then so be it.

As long as you got Lewis.

“Promise to be mine.” He whispered as he held your waist as he led himself into you, only pushing in the tip. You whimpered wanting to cry for more but as much as you wanted to rush him, you loved the way he played with you just as much.

“Baby.”

“Promise me.”

“I’m yours.” You admitted. “I’ve been yours.” As the words left your mouth, he slid into you. You cried softly. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” He groaned as your walls tightened up around him. “Since that night, I’ve been yours.”

At his words, you pushed yourself, forcing him deep inside of you. The both of you shuddered before letting out a moan as he began to work his hips. As much as he wanted to fuck you into the bed, he pulled you to his chest and bent down to bring his face down close to yours before placing a kiss on your jawline and then your lips.

“You mean that?”

“Let me show you.” With kisses along your neck as he moved his hips at a steady pace, making you melt into his body, like you were infusing into one. He held you down as he began to thrust his hips faster and with how sensitive you were already, it did not take long before your orgasm was being brought to the surface.

Your fingers dug into his skin as his thrusts rattled your body. The slapping of your skin echoed in the room as sweat glistened your body. This was probably the hardest Lewis has ever fucked you and you fucking loved it. He didn’t care that your makeup was ruining his sheets as he pushed your face into the mattress. He didn’t care that your screams were being carried by the wind out into the air. He just loved the way you felt beneath him.

He rolled you onto your back before placing your leg on his shoulder as he sunk down into you. As always. He was much deeper this way and you felt everything. One hand was on your neck as the other held down your leg giving you no space to move but to just take all of him. You clawed at his body as your senses shot into overdrive.

“Daddy, wait! I can’t — I can’t take it.” You whimpered as tears trailed down your face and soaked the sheets beneath you.

“You can Angel, you can take all of me. So good for me. My good girl.”

“Please —.”

“Ssshhh Angel, you’re fucking brilliant. Taking me like this, like you always do.”

“Look at me baby.”

Your eyes opened as you looked into his eyes. You could feel the tip of his dick brushing against your spot over and over again and it left you trembling.

“You coming for me baby?”

You eagerly nodded your head as your walls clamped up tight around him and refused to let go as you came. He captured your lips once more as his thrusts become sloppy and sloppier before he was groaning into your mouth as he flooded you with his come until he buried his face in your neck and slumped his body into yours.

You hugged him and the smile on your face could not be stopped. You were in his space once again and this time you were not letting go of him now. He was yours to keep.

“I know you think I’m all words but I promise I mean it. As long as you’re willing to try, I’m ready to do it all with you.”

“As long as you’re all in then I’m all in.”

“I’m all in baby. You’re worth it.”

——————————————————

Can you tell I didn’t know how to end this lol [ Because this would have gone on for longer ] 

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