#and 3. using the WRONG TERMS OF ABUSE

[anotherblogforborderlines]

grooming is grooming

domestic abuse is domestic abuse

those two things can overlap, obviously, but they are not the same thing. They are not interchangeable.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie makes an unexpected appearance in your life, again. Shocker.

wc: 16,550

warnings: violence/description of injury, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of gun violence, mentions of substance use (alcohol and recreational drugs), emotional distress/trauma, smut(afab!reader), first-time mishaps

a/n: this is a long ass chapter. i had to sacrifice multiple teenage soccer players to some entity in the forest in order to publish this. shout out the wilderness for proof-reading and helping me with everything <3

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO

It's been weeks since you last talked to Natalie. Sure, you've seen her around the halls at school, but she's made it a point not to even glance in your direction. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt.

Time has moved by in a blur of early sunsets, biting wind, and the slow buildup of snow on the streets as New Jersey heads deeper into winter. You’ve managed to keep yourself busy—trying to spend time with the friends you had before Nat, reading whatever books you can get, pouring yourself deeper into your studies, and retreating into the pages of your sketchbook. 

Still, no amount of distractions has been enough to banish her from your mind completely. The absence that she leaves is louder than you thought it would be. 

For such a short time of knowing her, you feel like you've known her much longer; maybe that's half the problem. Every time your phone buzzes, some delusional part of your brain hopes it's her, even though you know better.

You’ve replayed that 'fight' in your head a hundred times, searching for the exact moment things went wrong, wondering what you could have said—or not said—to change the outcome. Should you have just let her kiss you despite the fact you were uncomfortable in that situation? Should you just not have said anything? Should you—

Your thoughts have been spiralling a lot recently.

The snowstorm that arrived earlier this week has only made things worse. You've been stuck at home for days with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to the endless bickering of your parents. It's enough to make you want to scream.

Outside, the snow continues to fall to the ground in large, fluffy snowflakes, blanketing the ground and trapping you in this suffocating stillness. You swear that if the roads don't get plowed soon, you're going to lose your mind.

You sit by your window, head resting on the cold glass. The roads are supposed to be clear come morning, which means you'll be back to school soon, but you find yourself dreading the return. 

You don't know if you could manage Natalie avoiding you for the rest of the term, let alone the rest of the school year. You've thought about texting her countless times. But what would you even say? Maybe apologize for how you acted that night—but what would you even say sorry for? For poking into her information? For being concerned about her? For wanting to get to know her?

Fuck.

She was the one who walked away from you, anyway. Why would—no, why should you be the one to reach out, right?

Fuck.

Even now, as you sit beside your window, you keep your phone in your hand with your fingers stuck hovering over her contact name. You can't even count the number of times you've done this song-and-dance since that day, but it always ends the same way—with you getting frustrated and throwing your phone onto your bed. 

Today is no different.

With a huff, you toss your phone onto your bed and cross your arms, petulantly clunking your head against the window pane. You should be over this, over her, by now, your brain uselessly provides. 

Before you can think deeper into this, your phone buzzes once. Whatever, it's probably just your mom saying dinner is ready. 

Then twice. 

Okay… little strange, but maybe she was just sending a follow-up message to clarify something?

Then your phone starts ringing. Your mom is persistent tonight, huh?

Yet, when you check your phone, it isn't your mom. No, this is much more unexpected. Natalie is calling you.

You can't help it when you just stare at the screen, slack-jawed, wondering why the hell she's calling you now, of all times, six in the evening on a Wednesday. In your shock, you accidentally let the call go to voicemail. Fortunately, she's calling you back right away. She is nothing if not persistent. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you answer the phone on the fourth ring, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

There are a few moments of nothing but static, and you're starting to wonder if this was her idea of a prank call, and then you hear a sharp exhale. "Hey," Natalie says, voice rough and strained. "Listen…" A shaky exhale leaves her lips, "I, uh, kinda need a favour, Princess."

You scoff immediately at that, ready to start listing off all the reasons that you don't owe her shit, that you deserve better than this, that you—

"Please," comes out from the speakers—barely audible, but there. "Please," she repeats, "and bring a first-aid kit, if you have one."

"Woah, woah, wait—" You start shaking your head in confusion despite the fact she can't see you. "First-aid kit? Nat? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What the fu—"

"Princess," Nat snaps, though her voice is still shaky. "I'll explain later, I promise." You hear a grunt of exertion from the other end, "I just… need some help right now. I'm out front."

You run back to your window and see a beat-up Ford Ranger from the eighties idling on the street. "I, uh, I…" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, and you blink rapidly, "Okay, okay. I just… okay. First-aid kit. Out front. Okay. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

The line clicks off as you start throwing on whatever clothes you can find to face the weather outside. Admittedly, a hoodie and jeans aren't going to help keep you warm, but they'll do for now. Hopefully, she has heating in her truck.

Your parents barely acknowledge how you run downstairs and into the bathroom on the main floor, grabbing the kit from the wall before running back out and scrambling to throw on some shoes.

"You going somewhere?" Your dad asks from the couch, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, "In this weather?"

"Uhhhh…" You blink, trying to think of an excuse or reason why, "I just… going crazy inside the house. Gonna go visit… the… Monroe's! Yeah, I'll go visit the Monroe's." 

Your mom waves her hand idly at that, dismissing you. "Okay, sweetie. Say hi to Janet for me. Have fun, text us later."

Well. You suppose having parents who barely care is useful now and then.

A noncommittal nod and you're out the front door—immediately met with the bitter cold and fluffy snowflakes you've been avoiding for what feels like years. Fortunately, there isn't much wind, so it's not as bad as it could be.

You stumble your way through the snow that your father has (conveniently) forgotten to shovel after the last snowfall, grumbling to yourself as you try not to faceplant into a snowbank. By the time you reach Nat's truck, you swear your fingers feel like they're gonna fall off. Maybe you should have worn gloves. Whoops.

Throwing the passenger door open, you clamber inside the cab with a huff, eagerly soaking in the heated interior. "Oh, thank God. It was so cold out—" You turn to look at Nat and see her looking at you with a cut lip, bloody nose, bruised left eye, and a wince. "What the hell happened to you?" Comes out before you can stop it, those damn worries overriding any anger you had about her calling you up just for a 'favour.' 

"Tell you after I stop bleeding?" She offers with an attempted smile that looks more like a grimace.

A beat passes as you stare at her and try to assess her injuries (and how she got them) without touching her before Nat clears her throat awkwardly, "So, got that first-aid kit, or…?"

"Right." You blink a few times before snapping out of whatever haze you were in and fumble with the kit for a moment before popping it open and digging through its contents. "I, uh, have some antiseptic wipes and band-aids…" Sparing a glance back up at Nat to reassess her wounds, you frown to yourself. "Although I really don't know how much help a band-aid would be for what you have going on."

Nat snorts, which causes her to wince in discomfort, then raises her hands for you to see, "Yeah, but it might help with some of the cuts on my knuckles." 

Her knuckles aren't in a much better state than her face is, dark red and purple spots colour her usually pale skin. She has more than a few minor cuts decorating the tops of her hands, but the largest one—a throbbing cut on her right hand—creates a streak of dried blood that runs down her wrist and under the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"What the hell were you doing?" You ask, immediately moving to grab her right hand and inspect the injury. "Jesus Christ, Nat! You need to start—"

"Princess." Nat cuts you off, her face still contorted in barely concealed pain. "I will tell you whatever you wanna know after we deal with this shit, yeah?

With great reluctance, you stop your prodding and pull out some supplies from the kit—antiseptic wipes, band-aids, gauze, and some skin-safe tape. "This…" You sigh, "The antiseptic is gonna sting a little, probably."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Nat rolls her eyes—acting tougher than she actually feels—then proceeds to wince and let out a low hiss the second the wipe makes contact with a cut. "Fucking… shit…" But she doesn't pull away, letting you quietly clean her right hand of dried blood, allowing you to see how bad the cuts are.

As the excess blood is gradually removed, you begin to notice how vigorously Nat is shaking. When you glance up at her face, it almost looks like she's trying not to cry, but you can see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say something about it.

So, rather than speaking on it, you clear your throat and return your attention to cleaning her hand. "Uh… do you want me to clean up the blood that went under your jacket sleeve? It's just a little…" A nervous laugh spills from your throat, "I can't clean it off with your jacket in the way."

Nat blinks a few times in response, seemingly forgetting you were there in favour of not crying. "Oh, nah. It's fine. I don't have any injuries on my arms or whatever. Blood can be cleaned off later. More concerned about…" She grunts and flexes her hand, "I'm more concerned about the shit that's actually hurting."

"Is your face 'actually hurting' too, or just your hands?" You murmur, more to yourself than her, as you look back up at her face and the injuries that reside on it. "Because you've got some stuff up there I should probably clean, too."

A noncommittal groan leaves her lips, and it appears that's all the answer you're going to get to that question. You get the feeling that Nat isn't exactly the type to ask for help unless she really needs it, and although her face is most likely hurting as well, she isn't about to admit it.

When you get her hands cleaned up, it's more evident that her right side suffered the most. The left has some bruising and a few tiny knicks, but nothing that you'd need to put a bandage on. The right has considerably more damage—deep abrasions run across her knuckles; skin split in places where it had taken the brunt of whatever impact caused this. The largest cut is a wicked thing, stretching from her index finger to the base of her thumb, red and raw despite the dried blood you’d wiped away.

Bruises in varying shades of purple and green bloom along her knuckles and the back of her hand, stark against her pale skin. A faint swelling around her middle knuckle suggests she may have hit something—or someone—too hard, too many times. It’s the kind of injury that’s not just painful but one that will linger, a reminder of whatever fight she got herself into.

You sigh as you take a bandage from the first-aid kit, apply some gauze to the wound, and then wrap it to keep it in place. "You'll need to take care of this after I finish here; you realise that, right?" You already know she isn't going to properly take care of this cut after the two of you part, but at least you can say you tried. 

"Yeah, yeah." Nat grumbles, "I'll wash it and keep it real clean, just for you." 

A sharp huff leaves your lips at her statement, "You know, Nat, you really need to start taking better care of yourself." You grab a safety pin to keep the bandage wrap in place, "What would you have done if I didn't have a first-aid kit? Or wasn't here? Or didn't wanna speak to you?" Maybe you 'accidentally' stab Nat's already bruised hand with the safety pin as you put it in place, but she deserves it. Probably. "Like, seriously. What would you have—"

"Okay," Nat cuts you off, pulling her hand back the second the pin is set. "I get it. But I don't need the fucking lecture, yeah?" A tense beat passes before she speaks again, quieter this time. "But… I 'preciate it. You… being here for me, or whatever. After all the shit…" She sighs heavily, glancing down at the empty space in the bench seat between the two of you. "Thanks, or whatever."

You get the feeling that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology and let out a heavy sigh of your own. "Yeah, well…" A shrug, and you're glancing back up at her face. "Do you…" You clear your throat, "Do you, ah, want some help with the marks on your face?"

"Oh." Nat looks at you, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

Grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe, you lean in and begin cleaning her face to the best of your abilities. As you lean closer, you first notice the cut on her lower lip—a thin but angry line, the skin split and swollen slightly at the edges. Dried blood clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth, and when you dab at it with the antiseptic wipe, she hisses and attempts to move her head away.

"Stop moving." You mumble out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to maintain the position her head is in, "It'll only be worse if you keep moving, Nat." 

Her nose isn't fairing much better, darkened with a deep bruise that spreads across her bridge and down to her left nostril. Dried blood is crusted just under where the bruise ends, staining the normally pale skin. From how her nose is swollen, you get the idea that it might be broken, but there's no way to tell.

Unless…

Still holding her chin with one hand, you take your other and pinch the bridge of her nose, to which Nat immediately tries to pull back from you with a sharp hiss of pain, but your grip on her is firm. And, fortunately, "I don't think your nose is broken." You murmur as you release her nose and return to assessing her injuries.

"You had to fucking grip it like that?" As you continue your work, Nat snarls—or attempts to, but she really isn't that scary right now.

"Sure did," is the only response you dignify her with, now turning your attention to her left eye. The aforementioned eye is a striking sight, the skin around it already shifting into shades of deep purple. It’s swollen, but she can still open it enough to glare at you when you press too hard with the wipes.

A faint scratch runs along her cheekbone, the depth similar to one of a paper cut, but appearing as though she just missed a greater injury. Another minor knick marks her jawline, the red line about the length of the switchblade you've seen her carry around.

You work carefully, trying not to flinch at the sight of her injuries, your hands steady even as your stomach churns. Nat, true to form, stays mostly silent, though her jaw tightens with every dab of antiseptic. The tension in the air is thick, but she doesn’t push you away for once.

When you finish cleaning her off (leaving a small mountain of antiseptic wipes in your wake), you sigh as you properly look at her. The usually infallible Natalie Scatorccio looking like a wounded puppy, and it genuinely makes your heart ache.

You close the first-aid kit before attempting to meet her eyes, but she's pointedly looking away from you. "Nat…" You sigh, "Would you please tell me what happened? Why you ended up looking like a side character from Fight Club?"

Nat hesitates, jaw tensing up again as she glances out the windshield. "I…" A deep sigh leaves her nose, and she clenches her left hand on the steering wheel. "Only if I can get us out of here. I… I don't wanna talk here. I feel fucking suffocated in this shitty ass town."

"The roads are terrible, Nat. Where the hell would we even go? And your truck isn't exactly—"

"I have a place." Nat cuts you off, "I have a place I can take us, and I can handle the roads. I can handle the drive. I just… fuck. I need to get out of this town for a little."

Maybe you're dumb for this, but you don't even hesitate when you say "okay."

"Thank you," Nat says quietly as she puts the car into gear and starts pulling away from your house—

"Wait!" You say, fumbling to put your seatbelt on, "You don't have your seatbelt on! And the roads are really bad, and you're already hurt—"

She cuts you off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a snort, "Jesus, alright, I'll put the fuckin' seatbelt on. Relax." And she does, making a display of putting on her seatbelt before continuing to leave your neighbourhood.

"Gonna be a long drive, Princess." Nat grunts, turning the volume up on whatever she was listening to before you sat down in the car with her. "Get comfortable."

It is a long drive.

And Nat doesn't talk the entire time. You try to prod for questions, but she always dismisses you with a grunt, wave of her hand, or just straight-up ignores you. Which, on its own, is very frustrating. But couple it with the last interaction you had with Nat before this? Oh, it is very frustrating.

So, by the time you get to your destination, you're about ready to blow a gasket with how frustrating this goddamn woman is.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell happened to you yet?" As she parks her truck, you huff out, "Or are we just gonna sit here and get nowhere?" 

"You wanted to know what happened?" Nat takes her hand off the gearshift and faces you, one arm resting on the seat behind her while the other stays perched on the steering wheel. "Ask your questions. I'll fucking…" She exhales hard through her nose, "I'll answer them. Just…" Nat reaches across the car and opens the glovebox, taking out a flask. "I'm drinking."

Your mouth drops in shock as she opens the flask and greedily drinks whatever liquid is inside of it, making a face when she pulls away from the opening. "Shit, that burns. What the hell is in here?"

"Nat—you don't even know what you just drank?" You grab the flask from her, looking down into it as if you would be able to tell what is inside of it from vision alone. The liquid—which you can barely make out in the lack of light—appears to be dark brown and has a scent you don't recognize but smells like it is very strong.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the flask back from you, "Relax, it's probably just moonshine or some shit like that." A dismissive wave of her free hand and another swig from the flask before she caps it again, "You gonna ask your questions or just stare at me like I drank lighter fluid?" 

"You might as well have if we're being honest." A deep sigh parts from your lips as you settle back in your seat, "I just… okay. Why were you beat to shit? And… and why does it look like you also beat someone to shit?"

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, leaning her head back against the seat with a groan. "Shit, where do I even start?" Her left hand tightens around the flask, and her knuckles go white momentarily before she loosens her grip.

"Maybe start with the fact someone went to use your face as a punching bag? You know, that seems like a good place to start."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nat sits up straighter, tapping the flask against the steering wheel in thought. "You remember that guy Denny?"

Your jaw tenses at the name, and suddenly, you're back in that abandoned house all those weeks ago. "Yeah, uh… I remember." It's hard to forget, after all. Hard to forget when the name that carries the face is burned into your mind.

"He wasn't too happy with me today." She glances through the windshield, but you get the idea that she's not actually looking at anything but just into the night's darkness.

"Clearly," your voice drips with sarcasm, but the worry that you've attempted to mask with it is unmistakable. "What happened?"

Nat hesitates, still unable to meet your gaze or face you again. "I was supposed to have something for him—money. I, uh, I didn't. He got pissed. We argued. One of his guys tried to step in, and…" She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't take it lying down. I did far too much of that growing up." A bitter smile crosses her face, but it looks more like a sneer than anything.

"You fought them?!" You sit up, face incredulous. "Nat! That guy runs with a crew! You're just one person, and you're already…" You gesture to her bruised features frantically.

"Yeah, I know." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "But I couldn't just… let them walk all over me. I know it wasn't my brightest moment, okay? I don't need the reminders, already got enough of those." Nat flexes her hand underneath the bandage, wincing slightly at the skin, pulling at the cut.

Your lips press into a thin line as your brow furrows, frustration and concern boiling over in waves. "And now what, Nat? What if they show up again? What then? Will you be safe or end up like this again?"

A sharp, humourless chuckle leaves her, "Safe? Oh, Princess. I haven't been safe a goddamn day in my life. I won't fucking be safe until I die, and even then? Who knows." She scoffs, hitting the steering wheel with her left hand in frustration, causing you to flinch slightly at the display of anger.

You swallow, shrinking back into your seat. "Is there no one to help you? I swear I remember them mentioning something about your 'old man'? Can he help?"

Nat scoffs ruefully, "My dad has been dead for years. Who do you think was kind enough to give me this debt?" She takes another swig from the flask, then scowls when she realises it's empty and tosses it onto the dash. "I'm the one left to pick up the fucking pieces."

A frown crosses your face at that, and you genuinely don't know how to respond for a long moment.

Eventually, when words come to you, you try offering something, however small it is. "I may not have the money to help, but… I'm here for you, Nat. I wanted to be weeks ago, but… I'm offering again now."

"You shouldn't have to be there for me." She says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of someone caring for her. "You shouldn't be."

You shake your head, "But I want to be, you know? And… you can't make me not care. You're stuck with the knowledge that I do, in fact, care and want to help."

Despite herself, Nat lets a laugh part from her lips. It bubbles slowly, eventually spilling into a loud sound that you can't help but return. The small space of her car is filled with egregious laughter from both of you, ultimately resulting in tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

When the laughter subsides, that turmoil that had bubbled between the two of you feels lessened to some extent, and you're grateful for the respite in the tension. 

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know?" Nat says quietly, almost like she doesn't even realise she's saying it out loud. "Dead dad who was a deadbeat, mom who spends her days passed out on the couch bitching that the guy that used to fucking beat her daily was actually a 'good guy.' Blames me for his death. Fuck, I blame me for his death. If I just fucking…" She cuts herself off and closes her eyes, jaw tensing once again. "It's fucked up, Princess. My entire life is just… fucked up. You don't need to get involved with it." 

"But I am already." You say quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand in a show of support. "I mean… even without all the bullshit, I'm already involved in your life. We were…" You hesitate a beat before deciding you're already in too deep to care that much, "I think that we were friends, even if you don't. You… showed me your world, Nat, even if it was just fractions and slivers."

Nat's lip trembles, and it looks like she's holding back tears.

You get the feeling she's never had someone truly express their care as you did.

"I asked the questions I did that day because I wanted to know, Nat. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Her eyes close now, and she looks away from you properly, facing out the driver's door window. "Why?" She murmurs softly, voice breaking slightly. "Why? Why do you… fuck. Why do you give a shit?"

A scoff falls from your lips at that, "Seriously? Why do I care? Nat… you're a decent person, despite whatever the fuck you think. Like…" You try to think of an example, remembering when you and her went to that convenience store, "Like that time you stole that Buzz Ball for me! You only stole it because the clerk shortchanged you! Would you have just taken it if he didn't?"

A beat passes in silence before you hear a meek "no…" pass from Nat's lips, followed by a short sniffle.

Is… is Natalie Scatorccio crying? You didn't think that she could, but… well, you learn new things every day.

"I said all that shit to you after Denny left…" She trails off, vaguely wiping at her cheeks, "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe that's true." You smile softly despite the fact she can't see your face right now. "But I'm here anyways. And… I wanna know the shit. The stink. All of it, if you'll tell me."

Nat shakes her head, glancing at you for the first time since this conversation started. "It's a lot of 'stink,' Princess. There isn't much… fresh laundry scent in my life to talk about."

You shrug, "That's fine. I told you I wanted the stink, didn't I? Promise I got a strong nose."

The blonde sighs deeply, clearly battling with her words and debating whether she wants to tell you anything. She rolls her neck and leans back in her seat, a frown tugging at her features.

She finally speaks after a long moment of tense—slightly uncomfortable—silence. "The stink." She murmurs, glancing through the windshield again. "The stink is probably bad enough that it would fucking put a landfill to shame." The words come out harsh, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Fine. You want the fucking trauma?" She glances back at you for a moment, and upon seeing that you genuinely seem to care, she deflates slightly and turns her head away again.

"My dad…" Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. "He wasn't a good guy. Mean as hell. Could make you feel small just by lookin' at you." Her fingers flex around the wheel, turning pale beneath the cacophony of bruises. Her gaze remains pointedly away from you as she speaks, and you get the feeling that if she were to look at you, she'd start crying. "He drank a lot. Sometimes other shit if he could get his hands on it." A rueful scoff, "That's probably where I got it from."

You don't interrupt, letting her get the words out, but a part of you almost aches to comfort her despite the hurt she's given you. She's had it worse, after all, hasn't she? What are some choice words on a single night when she's had the odds stacked against her her entire life?

"Wasn't just mean to me, though." She continues, voice quiet and bitter. "Mom usually got the worst of it. I was just the kid who was too scared to fight back. Until one day, I finally fucking tried to."

Her jaw tightens again, and she takes a shaky breath, a single tear falling from one of her eyes. "I was fourteen. He came home pissed—he always did, but I made the stupid fucking mistake of thinking I could have someone over while he was gone. It's not like I was even doing anything." Her upper lip twitches, a fragment of a sneer. "Just had a fucking friend over. I was painting his nails, and we were listening to music." A moment passes, and she swipes at the tear that fell before continuing. "Was yelling some shit. Mom came in to see what was going on, and he started hitting her." She runs her hand over her face, "I grabbed the shotgun we kept by the door. Didn't even think about it, you know? Just pointed it at him."

"Called my bluff. Went to pull the trigger, and I had the fucking safety on." A bitter laugh leaves her throat, bubbling as another tear falls. "Made a show of showing me how to turn the safety off. Called me and my mom fucking useless and left the trailer." Nat's laugh falters, and her expression shifts from a bitter smile to a vague frown, lower lip trembling in an effort not to cry. "I called out to him that he was the useless one. He turned around to say something and started walking back to me…" She shakes her head, hands trembling as she recalls the memory. "He tripped. Never turned the safety off. A shotgun-sized hole was in his head a second later."

A sharp inhale follows her statement, and you can see the bitter resentment that she's kept just beneath the surface since that moment. "Cops called it self-defense or some shit. Mom didn't see it that way and said I took away the only person who ever cared about her—started drinking more, smoking more, all that shit."

Denny came around a few months later, claiming my dad owed him. Took one look at me and decided that I'd be the one to repay that debt. God knows my mom couldn't give a shit."

The two of you sit in silence for a long minute after that. You don't dare speak; break the silence between you as Nat desperately tries to look like she isn't on the verge of a breakdown. 

"There," she finally utters once the silence becomes too much to bear, "that's the 'stink,' Princess. The fucking shit that got us where we are right now." She glances back at you again, and you can see the water in her eyes just begging to fall. "Still wanna stick around?"

You hesitate for a few seconds before giving her a slight nod, "I think I do, yeah."

"You're too good for this shit, you know that?" She murmurs, expression looking almost vulnerable. 

"Probably," you reply with a faint smile. "I'm here anyway. So… tough luck, Scatorccio."

For the first time tonight, a short but genuine laugh leaves Nat. "You… you really gotta stop pronouncing my last name like that. It's Scatorccio."

"Scatorccio?"

"No, Scatorccio."

"...Scatorccio?"

"No, Princess. Fucking…" She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces when she remembers that it's insanely tender right now. "Scat-or-she-o."

A beat, "I think I'll just call you Nat."

Nat laughs again, "Yeah, just call me Nat. That works, too."

"Is there… can I ask more questions?" You ask hesitantly, then immediately regret the words the second they leave your lips. She just told you what is arguably the most traumatizing event of her life, and you want to ask questions. Fucking hell.

"Yeah. Uh… ask away." Nat nods, "And don't give me that face. I promise you I can handle answering a few questions after that, Princess—I'm not made of sugar, not gonna melt."

You smile to yourself, "It isn't related to… well, it's kinda related to that, but it really isn't. Uhh… it's just questions about the… rumours?"

She sighs and rolls her neck, "Okay. Ask."

"Right, uhh…" You blink, partially surprised she's being so open with this, but… she did just tell you about her dad, so maybe she's just in a generous mood? "I guess I'll start with the biggest ones? Uh… like… you being a massive player?"

Nat frowns slightly, her tone bitter. "What are you asking? If I'm a 'slut'?"

"Woah, woah!" You immediately counter, throwing your hands up defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, Nat. I just wanted to know your side of the rumours, is all."

A heavy sigh leaves her, and she deflates momentarily, "Yeah, I think 'player' is a nice word for it, considering the other words people have used. But… I've only slept with three people. None of the experiences were great. I've made out with a lot of people at parties, but I've only actually been with three people properly."

"Okay… uh… when we went to the skatepark the first time, you told me about some of the shit that you've done. Was that everything? Or is your, uh, rap sheet longer?"

"Mm, mostly what I told you. The Mazda wasn't boosted on a dare, but Denny told me I needed to do it. I don't know how I didn't get caught." She sighs, glancing up at the roof of the truck as she tries to remember everything, "Let's see… shit that I actually got booked for, though? First thing that got me behind bars was disorderly conduct. It was right after my dad died and…" She gestures to nothing, "I was in a shit mood. Got a few nights. The thing that landed me in juvie for the summer was a second-degree robbery—you probably remember it; everyone does. Was when some guys robbed that convenience store, and only one was caught. It's public knowledge I was the one that was caught."

"I'm guessing it was Denny's idea? The robbery, I mean?" You prop one leg up on the bench seat and turn your body to face her, "I'm guessing most of the shit you've done was his idea, actually."

Nat nods, "Yeah. Was one of his 'do this to help lower the debt' ideas. Fuckin' store had less than a hundred in the till, and none of the assholes knew how to crack the floor safe that they used for deposits. Fucking dumbasses." She spits, "I could have sold them out for less time. Knew that they'd make my life a living hell if I snitched, so I kept quiet."

You nod, digesting the information. "Right. And, uh, last one. The whole… 'druggie' thing."

She huffs and cuts you off before you can keep talking, "Yeah, that I shoot H and snort meth rocks? I don't." A beat, then her sardonic smile falters. "I didn't even start doing shit until late sophomore year. Denny and his gang move dope, and I've always had a hard time saying no. So, when it was offered…" She shrugs, "I did some lines. But it's not something I do often."

"How often do you do it, then?"

"More than some, less than others," she says sharply, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of questioning. "I can't afford to be addicted to it. I don't have the fucking cash to throw around."

"Right, right, yeah." You nod, quickly looking to soothe the nerve you've struck. "Can I, uh, ask why you let the rumours go around, then? I mean… if they're all so untrue, why let them fester?"

Nat shrugs, "People don't give a shit. They'll believe whatever they want to. Keeps the idiots I don't want around me at arm's length, anyway. If you're gonna believe whatever is told to you without finding out the truth yourself, then you don't deserve the truth."

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for leaning back in your seat and letting the weight of the conversation settle around you.

"Thanks for telling me," you finally say, breaking the silence. "All of it."

Nat looks at you, her expression softer now, almost... grateful. "Yeah. Thanks for listening, Princess."

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy or suffocating, but... peaceful. It's nice.

You think you could get used to sitting in silence with her.

You aren't sure how long you sit in silence with Nat. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, maybe several. You do know that the silence is comfortable, and you can tell she appreciates having someone she can just sit in silence with.

By the time the two of you return to your house, the snow has stopped falling, and the night has grown darker.

Nat's beat-up truck pulls to a stop in front of your house, and she puts it in park before turning to face you. "Y'know, Princess, I appreciate what you did. Helpin' me, and whatever." She grunts, "Y'didn't have to. So… thanks, I guess."

You hesitate to remove your seatbelt and realise that… you could invite Nat inside. I mean… nothing's stopping you. Your parents have for sure gone to bed by now or are too impartial to care, so you doubt they would even notice. And, after everything Nat just told you, you aren't quite sure if you want her to be alone tonight. Maybe you're a little too empathetic for your own good.

"Did you… wanna come inside?" You offer hesitantly, "You can… I mean… I could make us some hot chocolate? It's still really cold out, and…" A beat passes, and your voice quiets, "You don't have to go back to your trailer tonight if you don't want to."

Nat blinks at you, her brows knitting together like she's trying to decide whether the offer is a serious one or not. "You sure?" she asks after a long pause, voice hesitant. "Don't wanna, y'know… overstay or whatever."

"You aren't overstaying anything," you say quickly, then clear your throat, trying to act like you aren't overly enthusiastic at the idea of her coming inside your house. "I mean… it's just… you're already here. And, like I said, it's cold out."

Her lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl you would find on her face, either. She takes a long look at her bruised hands gripping the wheel, flexing her fingers before nodding once. "Right. Alright. But no funny business, yeah? I'm not tryna—"

"I know!" you wave her off, pushing open the truck door and immediately heading towards your house before your nerves get the better of you. "Just… hurry up before I freeze to death standing out here, ‘kay?"

You hear Nat snort from behind you right before her truck door slams shut, and she quickly catches up with you, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she trudges up the snow-covered driveway.

The house is dark and quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace kicking on. You discreetly toe off your shoes and dust the snow off your shoulders, glancing back to make sure Nat does the same. 

She hesitates momentarily, eyes flicking around the dimly lit space before finally removing her combat boots. She shrugs when you shoot her a curious look at her leather jacket not coming off. "I wear it everywhere. Take it off later." 

"Right," You murmur, turning your head towards the stairs. "C'mon. My room's upstairs."

The climb up your stairs feels like it takes ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Maybe it's because you're inviting Nat into your personal space, and that makes you nervous. Or maybe it's because you've never had someone who's kissed you in your bedroom before, which also makes you nervous.

Okay, maybe you're just nervous.

When you finally reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, gesturing for Nat to follow. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, a little trepidatiously. "I’ll, uh, grab that hot chocolate I mentioned. Be right back."

"Wait, wait—" Nat says, giving you a strained chuckle. "You're just… leaving me alone? In your room? I mean… I could, just…" She scoffs and gestures at your dresser, "I could just dig through all your shit or whatever."

You pause and look at her, confused. "I mean… it wasn't the first thing I thought of? The most you'll find anywhere is my sketchbook, and I've already shown it to you before," you shrug, "I really don't have that much to hide, Nat. I'm not that exciting of a person." A nervous sound escapes from your lips as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I, uh, wasn't thinking about you doing anything like that until you mentioned it."

Nat blinks, likely shocked that you didn't immediately assume she was going to do something 'bad,' "No, I mean… yeah, no, I'm not gonna do anything. I wouldn't… I'm not gonna like… dig through your shit. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just…" She glances around your room before sitting on the very edge of your bed, clasping her hands in her lap and clearing her throat, "Yeah. My bad."

A moment's hesitation passes before you nod and take your leave from your bedroom, heading back downstairs to get the hot chocolate as planned. By the time you return with two steaming-hot mugs (with marshmallows for added comfort), Nat has made herself more comfortable on your bed, brows furrowed as she flips through your sketchbook.

"Hey," you say softly, setting the mugs down on your desk. "Find anything you like?"

She glances up at you, appearing slightly flustered that you caught her, but quickly schooling her expression to one of neutrality. "These are wicked." She returns her gaze back down to the page, tapping on a sketch you did of an old lady on a bus. "You're fucking talented."

Your cheeks flush, and you immediately begin to wave your hand dismissively. "It's nothing special—"

"Don't." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "I mean it. You're talented. Don't sell yourself short."

You sit on the opposite side of the bed from her, pulling your mug into your hands. "Thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, never quite sure how to react to praise.

Neither of you speaks for a while, sipping on your drinks in comfortable silence as Nat thumbs through your sketchbook. For a moment, you're relieved that she didn't select the sketchbook you had spent the past month drawing her face into. That would have taken some awkward explaining. You aren't even sure what you would say to her. 'Yeah, I've just spent multiple days drawing you over the past few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's totally normal, right?'

As you sip your hot drink again and try to ignore the thoughts, Nat finally speaks up. "You meant it earlier? About, uh, being there for me?"

You meet her gaze, startled at her sudden… vulnerability? is that what you would call this? "Of course I meant it," you say without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

The blonde looks down at the mug in her hands, flexing her damaged fingers around it. "You're too good for this. For me."

"Well, too bad," you nudge her shoulder with your own and shoot her a goofy grin. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the slightest flicker of something you can't quite name behind her eyes. You doubt she'd ever be the type to be truly open with her feelings, but you suppose this is enough for now.

"I didn't…" Nat's face falls slightly as she sets her mug down on the nightstand beside your bed, "That shit I said the last time we spoke. I didn't mean it. About me just… 'trying to see you naked,' for the record. I just…" Nat grunts and waves her hand away, not offering an apology, but you doubt you'll ever see one in your lifetime anyway. "I was talkin' about myself. Askin' why I was like that. Not you."

"Asking why… you… kissed me? Or reacted the way you did?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to break the fragile peace you've created between the two of you.

Nat makes a face at that, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "Both? Neither? I don't…" A frustrated huff of air leaves her nose, "I don't know. That's why I was asking—because I don't know why I'm like that–fucking… reckless."

You shake your head, "You say 'reckless' like it's a bad thing. If you weren't 'reckless,' we never would have become friends, you know?" You tentatively scoot a little closer to her, unsure if this is the time to provide a reassuring touch. "I mean… I never used to do half the things I do. What was it you said? That I live in a bubble?" A strained laugh parts from your lips as you rub the back of your neck, "I mean… you weren't really… wrong. I wasn't exactly the most adventurous person before I met you."

Her jaw clenches as the air settles after your statement, but she doesn't look angry. If anything, she seems almost contemplative. "Y're not… mad?"

A light-hearted scoff leaves your lips, and you playfully shove at Nat's shoulder. "Oh, I was mad. For a while." Your smile falters marginally as you consider how to word your following sentence properly, "But… I was more hurt than anything, Nat. I just… I didn't know what I did wrong."

"Did nothing wrong," Nat grunts almost immediately, "I was just… I was being a dumbass. 's weird having someone say that they 'worry about me' since no one has ever really given a fuck."

"And if I told you that I 'give a fuck'?" You ask softly, scooting closer again until your knee bumps into hers. "How would that make you feel?"

"Fuckin' weird," is Nat's immediate response, "I would—nah, I feel fuckin' weird knowing that someone gives a fuck. It's…" She makes a face, something between a scowl and a sneer, "strange." Nat finally turns to face you, her eyes hiding an emotion you can't decipher. "But it still means something," comes out in a whisper, and for a moment, you swear that emotion you can't decipher is vulnerability. 

"Does this mean something?" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, "Us? You being here?"

Nat hesitates, her gaze flicking between your face and the vague space in front of her, weighing her next words carefully. "I don't know," she admits, voice low and rough. "This… whatever this is… it's new. Feels weird."

"But not… bad, right? Like… a bad weird? But more like a good weird?" You ask cautiously, trying to keep your tone light, but you worry she can hear the trepidation in your voice.

Her lip twitches, and for a moment, you think she might brush it off with a joke or sarcasm. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "No," she says quietly. "Not bad."

As the words settle, you both fall into momentary silence again, the atmosphere feeling heavy but not suffocating. You find yourself hyper-aware of the space between you, the way her knee is so close to yours it’s almost touching again.

"You're staring," Nat says suddenly, her lips quirking into a smirk that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Not that I blame you. Pretty hard to look away from this." She gestures vaguely to herself, trying to recapture her usual bravado.

You roll your eyes and can't help the small laugh that falls from your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well…" She shrugs, her smirk fading into something softer. "You don't hang out with me for my stellar personality, Princess."

The words feel like a deflection, and you narrow your eyes slightly at it, refusing to give into that train of thought. "Well, guess what? I actually think I do."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You seriously think that? You don't just… hang around 'cause I drag you into shit?"

You have to hold back a laugh as you shake your head in disbelief. "No, Nat. I hang around you because I want to. Shocking, right?"

Her gaze flashes around the room before meeting yours again. "Yeah," comes out in a hoarse whisper, "I actually think it is."

The weight of her words settles between you, and neither of you speaks for a moment. You can tell she's wrestling with something, and you give her the space to figure it out. Eventually, she leans back, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she looks at you more directly.

"Wasn't it you that said you don't have to understand everything or something like that?" You shrug, hesitating for another moment before leaning forward again. "Something about… bursting my bubble? Well… maybe it's my turn to burst your bubble, Nat. If you've been throwing me into your life for the past few months, maybe it's time I give you a little bit of insight into mine."

Her lip twitches, and she looks down, shaking her head slightly. "You make it sound so fucking easy," she mutters, her voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t quite place. "Like I can just…" She trails off, scowling slightly.

"Maybe it can be," you counter gently, reaching out on impulse to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. The movement is soft and unexpected, making Nat freeze almost immediately. Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and shocked, and the air between you shifts to something more… tense. Not exactly a bad tense, per se, but tense nonetheless. 

Then, a moment passes, and Nat pulls back from your hand with a shocked and confused expression. "Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"

You blink rapidly, immediately dropping your hand to your lap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why I did that or what the hell came over me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She waves her hands to dismiss your thoughts and cut you off, her face shifting back into that unreadable expression. "Why did you… why the hell did you do that?"

"I…" Your voice trails off, and you look down at your bedsheets in shame. "I don't know. I've never… done that before. I guess it just… felt right. Or… I thought it felt right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I don't know why I—"

"Stop." Nat cuts you off, her sharp tone causing your eyes to flash to her face once again. "Just… stop for a second." She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces again when she remembers it's still bruised and tender. "You…" A disbelieving laugh spills from her lips, one that bubbles slowly and dissolves into her next sentence, "After that shit I pulled, you seriously still want to do…" She gestures vaguely between the two of you, "Whatever the fuck we're doing?"

Your brows knit together in confusion—like you didn't just spend all night fussing over her injuries and learning about her upbringing. "I invited you into my house, Nat. I mean… you're…" A sigh leaves you, "You're here. I… yeah. I think I want to do 'whatever the fuck we're doing' if you still do."

The blonde looks at you in confusion, eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or indication that you don't want this. When she doesn't find any, her hand twitches in her lap, and she tentatively reaches forward, placing a hand on your knee. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the quiet atmosphere charged with something more—something that you don't think you've ever felt before. Her hand traces up your arm gently, as though she's mapping it, before coming to rest on the side of your neck.

You should say something. You should look away. You should do anything but what you’re about to do. But then she’s leaning in, and you’re not sure if you’re moving too or if it’s just her, but suddenly her lips are on yours, rough and urgent and so very Nat.

The kiss is overwhelming in every sense of the word. She's all desperation and aggression, and you can feel the built-up tension in her body as she leans into the kiss, as if it's something she needs and has needed since that night all those weeks ago. It takes you a second to catch up and understand what's happening, but you kiss her back this time despite the tachycardia causing your chest to feel tight. 

But then she's shifting, tongue gently probing—no, forcefully probing at your lips, trying to push past the seam of them. You feel her hands on your biceps, squeezing at them as she pulls herself closer to you, settling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck as she finally pushes past your lips, her tongue sliding against yours. You try your best to return the kiss, you really do, but it's obvious she has leagues more experience than you do in this department, but… Nat doesn't seem to care in the slightest about your lack of experience.

Your hands dangle uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do here. You've never had a girl—or anyone, really—sit in your lap. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. Nat seems to notice this, and despite the fact you are returning the kiss, she pulls back to look down at you. "Hey… is this… okay?"

You immediately nod and clear your throat, "Yes. Uh, yes. It's okay. I just…" A nervous chuckle escapes from you, and you glance away in an attempt to hide the blush that's blossoming on your cheeks. "This is sort of new for me."

"New?" Nat asks, tilting her head slightly, like a dog who just heard a sound they weren't so sure about. "You… you've kissed before, yeah?"

A sound of uncertainty parts from your lips, "I mean… yeah, I've kissed. But I've never done anything like this before. The whole… making-out-in-my-bed-with-someone-I-really-like thing, I mean."

Nat mumbles out the words you just said, digesting them, and then her eyes fly open in realization. "Oh," she blinks, then shakes herself out of whatever daze she was in and gently grabs your chin to make you look at her again, "Hey, hey." She says softly, her hand moving from your chin to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, much like you did to her earlier. "No matter… no matter what anyone says, this," she gently rakes her fingers through your hair, "means something to me. Like… it—it really means something." A moment passes between the two of you before she speaks again, voice soft and gentle. "Especially with you."

You nod, a small smile twitching on your lips as you lean forward and kiss her again, the action slowing down significantly compared to how it was before you told her—in a roundabout way—that you were a virgin. She appears comfortable with letting you take the lead now, but provides small encouragements without forcing anything. 

Her lips curl into a soft smile against yours, and although your heart still feels as though it's beating a million miles a minute, your chest no longer feels as tight. While you learn how to kiss her properly, Nat moves her hand from your hair to your shoulder, then trails down your arm until her fingers intertwine with yours.

"You can touch me, you know," Nat mumbles, guiding your hands to her waist. "I'm not fragile, and I'm not gonna bite… unless you ask, of course." She grins to herself when your hands find purchase on her waist, just under her leather jacket but over the fabric of her thin tee. Even with the cloth barrier, you can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating through it. "Yeah, like that. Don't be afraid."

Deciding to be bold for once in your life, you move your lips to her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her pale skin, and Nat rewards you with a shaky sigh. "God, yeah. Like that. A natural, really." 

She rolls her head back, giving you access to her neck. Who are you to deny such an invitation? You brush your lips lower, tracing over her pulse point. "No marks—" Nat says as she discards her leather jacket, tossing it precariously onto your floor. "No marks, please," she reiterates once her jacket is ditched.

You nod against her neck, tracing your mouth across her delicate skin—the same skin you've imagined brushing your lips again for much longer than you'd ever care to admit. "Fuck, you're a fast learner," Nat says with a breathless laugh, her hands running back up your arms to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them softly in a wordless display of encouragement. 

Spurred on by her words and touch, you let your hands slide up from her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her shirt. The outline of her ribcage shifts slightly beneath your touch as she takes a deep breath, the movement providing the incentive you need to continue. Your lips trail further down her neck, skimming over the hollow of her throat, her scent—something faintly musky with a hint of cigarette smoke—filling your senses.

Your hands hover, momentarily unsure of your actions before you finally gather the courage to slide them under the hem of her shirt. The feel of her skin beneath your fingertips—a mix of soft warmth and a few unexpected ridges of faint scars—makes your breath hitch. 

Nat notices your immediate hesitation because, of course, she does, and one of her hands runs back up to tangle in your hair. "You're good," she breathes out, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're doing fine. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, yeah?"

With her reassurance, your eyes wander along with your hands. Your gaze drops to the curve of her chest, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt but still ample enough that you can make out the swell of her breasts. Your hands, eager to feel that region your eyes have wandered to, continue to drift up her torso, her skin warm and shifting slightly under your touch.

When your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, both of you let out a quivering breath. "Yeah," Nat breathes out, "like that, babe. Keep—keep going…"

Babe, you think, that's a new pet name. One I could get used to.

Despite your sudden burst in confidence, this lingering hesitation rests on the back of your mind—I have no idea what I'm doing. You glance back up at her face trepidatiously, and you're sure your expression is a combination of bashful and nervous. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Nat whispers, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Seriously, it's okay." Her voice is reassuring—gentle in spite of her rough exterior, and it soothes you in a way that you weren't quite expecting. 

"No, I, uh, I want to. I just…" You fumble with your words, trying to find the proper ones to describe how you're currently feeling. "I want to. I just… I don't know how this is supposed to go."

A warm���almost affectionate—chuckle leaves Nat's lips, and her fingers gently rake through your hair. "It's not a test, Princess. There's no 'supposed to,' yeah? Just do what feels right." A beat, "I'll help you out."

She pulls back from you slightly, and you almost whine at the loss of the feeling of her fingers in your hair, but then she's—

Oh.

Oh.

Natalie Scatorccio—the object of your fascination for an uncomfortable amount of time—reaches down to the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head, tossing it in the general direction that she threw her leather jacket.

"Just do what feels good," she repeats in a breathless tone of voice as she returns her hands to your shoulders, one of them moving up to cup the side of your neck. 

You find yourself instinctively leaning into her touch as your eyes fall to her freshly revealed skin, slightly flushed in the dim lighting of your room. You can't exactly make out the fine details of it all, but you don't need to see. You just need to feel.

Even with that thought in mind, your hands linger in their position, which earns a soft huff from the girl currently seated in your lap. "Princess," she grabs your wrists and moves your hands up a little higher so that your palm is placed loosely over the fabric of her red bra, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "Just feel, yeah? Stop overthinking it. This isn't…" A scoff leaves her lips, and she gives your wrists a reassuring squeeze. "Not a test or some bullshit. Feel."

So, 'feel' you do.

Your hands tentatively squeeze her breasts, mouth drying in sheer awe of what is currently transpiring, and you meet her gaze again.

"Fuck," you murmur, then lean forward to capture her lips with your own.

Nat immediately returns the kiss, releasing your wrists in favour of moving her arms to rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck. You lead, but it's impossible to miss how she shifts slightly in your lap and presses herself closer to you with a small sound you could almost call a whine.

Your hands and mouth slowly get bolder as the kiss continues, and between your palm kneading the soft flesh of her chest and your tongue sliding against hers, you feel a familiar warmth begin to pool in your lower gut. The sensation causes you to buck your hips up into hers, earning a gasp from Nat in turn.

"Oh," Nat pulls back slightly, using her hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving back in to continue the kiss. "Yeah, I think we're a little too dressed for that."

Before you can protest it, Nat is pulling off of your lap to remove her pants, and as you sit and watch her nimble fingers pop the button of her jeans out, it occurs to you that you are also overdressed.

A moment's hesitation passes before you begin discarding your clothing, trusting the room's dim lighting to keep your nervousness hidden from her gaze. Your shirt comes first, followed quickly by your pants, attempting to kick them off as fast as possible, causing them to get caught at your ankles, which earns a soft laugh from Nat as she watches you struggle.

"Here," she says, approaching the bed again and helping discard your jeans properly, tossing them in the general direction her clothes went.

Your breath catches in your throat when Nat returns to your lap, her bare thighs coming to rest against yours as she straddles you again. Feeling the warmth of her naked skin against yours for the first time causes your brain to short-circuit for a moment, and all the confidence you've acquired over the past ten minutes immediately goes out the window at this new sensation.

Nat senses your lack of action immediately and huffs out a laugh at your awestruck expression. "Jesus, babe. Just… do what you were doing when I had my clothes on, yeah? Touch me the same. It's just without barriers this time." She grabs your hands and places them on her waist once more before wrapping her arms around your neck, "Remember, no overthinking things."

You nod slightly, swallowing down your nerves at this new situation as you map out the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Every touch earns a quiet hum of approval from her, a sound that stokes the warmth already pooling in your gut.

"Mm, yeah, keep going." Nat hums in agreeance with your actions, tilting her head to recapture your lips in a kiss. Although she's the one initiating the kiss this time, she takes it considerably slower than the first time she kissed you tonight but doesn't fail to provide the occasional teasing nip to your lower lip.

One of her hands shifts to cup your face, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss further while her other tangles itself in your hair. You feel the texture of the bandage you applied to Nat's hand earlier brush against your skin as her thumb gently caresses your cheekbone. As one of your hands idly traces its way up a scar, you don't even realise that it's snaking around to the clasp of her bra until you feel it underneath your fingertips and pause in uncertainty. 

Nat pulls back enough to meet your eyes, her hands never leaving the place they've found themselves. "You're good, she whispers gently. "I want you to take it off, would have stopped you by now if I didn't, yeah?"

With another nod, you begin fumbling with the clasp of her bra with one hand. Quickly realising you're out of your depths, an apology is mumbled to her as your other hand moves to join the one currently struggling in its task of undoing the hooks. Your apparent lack of experience in taking off someone's bra earns a low laugh from Nat, but it's hardly cruel—rather, laughing with you instead of at you.

When you successfully separate the bra clasps, Nat lets the fabric fall from her breasts, and she tosses it carelessly on the floor before placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a look you could only describe as pure, unbridled lust. The sight of her nude tits causes your breath to stutter briefly, leaving you frozen for a few seconds too long.

The blonde leans in, her breath tickling your ear in an effort to break your stupor. "Touch me," she murmurs, "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Promise."

Your hands move of their own accord, sliding around to her front and grazing over the skin as you explore her curves with reverence. Every movement earns a reaction—a soft sigh, a sharp inhale, or a quiet hum that makes your confidence grow with each passing second.

When you tweak a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, you can visibly see your confidence doubling at the reaction Nat gives you—a sharp gasp that leaves her mouth as her head tilts back, hips grinding down against yours once more.

"Keep—keep going, yeah, keep doing that. Don't be—fuck—don't be afraid to touch me. Promise you I want it…" Nat breathes out as her hips roll languidly, her hands having a difficult time deciding where they should rest on your body, eventually just deciding to grip your hair and pull your face close to her chest.

There is no resistance you offer as she guides your head, and despite your previous hesitations, you run your tongue across the nipple that you don't currently have in your hand.

Fuck, your daydreams don't compare to the actual sensation of her skin beneath your tongue, of her nipples pebbling underneath your eager touch.

For a moment, you don't think anything could ever compare to this feeling of Natalie in your lap, your hands on her skin, and her nipple between your lips. 

That is, of course, until she gives you a gentle shove backwards onto the mattress. Her nipple releases from your mouth with a soft popping sound as your back hits the bed. And, okay, maybe this vision of her on top of you is also a really good feeling.

Nat sighs, grinding down unabashedly into you while her hands grip your shoulders for some leverage. Her eyes fall closed as her jaw becomes slack, and her hips press needily down into yours. "Fuck," she hisses, "Jesus Christ, we're doing this."

The words don't sound shocked or surprised, just… want and the slightest hint of desperation; both sounds you aren't exactly used to hearing from one of the most vilified people in school. In the time you've gotten to know her, she's never even come close to expressing any of those emotions around you. That being said, it's a sound you like and crave to hear repeated over and over and over again from her lips.

"Y-yeah," you agree after a long moment, just watching her move atop you, "we are. We, uh, we are doing this."

A breathless laugh comes from the woman on top of you as she continues to move her body, "I need to know who you're trying to convince. Me, or you?" She slides her unbandaged hand from your shoulder to your jaw, running her thumb over your lower lip. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmurs, hips slowing for a moment as the words leave her. 

She appears to consider saying something else briefly, but that consideration is gone just as quickly as it appeared, opting to speak with actions instead of words. The hand that is still on your shoulder runs down your torso, stopping right over your sternum and in between the valley of your breasts. No words leave her as she lets her eyes drift up lazily to meet yours in the soft, lunar glow.

You know what she's asking without words, anyway. She wants to touch you. She wants you to remove your bra. She wants you. Despite knowing these things, you still find yourself feeling insecure about removing the final barriers between the two of you. If anyone were to ask you, you'd tell them that the girl straddling your thighs is a work of art—a masterwork crafted on a canvas that had been beaten down by thousands of small events over the years, but a masterwork nonetheless. A voice tells you that you pale in comparison to her, but you know now, partially thanks to Nat, that you can't keep living life by letting fear control you.

So, you hesitate for a few seconds as you think about all the possible scenarios and outcomes of her seeing your uncovered breasts, then you think fuck it and sit up slightly to remove your bra and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor. 

When you lay flat again, you don't meet her gaze. You can't help it; you know your face is burning at the reveal of your skin, but Nat doesn't seem to be nearly as off-put as you are. 

"Jesus Christ." Her hands move over your breasts, delicately running over the sensitive skin prickled with goosebumps. "You have no idea…" She starts moving her hips at the same speed she was previously moving them at, a soft moan falling from her lips as she kneads your breasts in an exploratory fashion. "No fucking idea…"

Nat never finishes that sentence, much more concerned with moving her hips against yours and feeling the soft swell of your tits beneath her calloused hands. Her touch is exploratory, as though she doesn't have much experience with the actions she's currently taking. Regardless, she seems to be enjoying the learning process.

Deciding that you should also take this opportunity to learn, you start to trace your hands up her legs, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs. There's a contrast between the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her skin. Your movements are tentative initially, but Nat's low hum of approval encourages your boldness. 

You let your hands wander higher, brushing over the curve of her hips and pausing at the waistband of her panties. For the umpteenth time tonight, you hesitate to go further and continue to shed clothing. Nat notices and leans her forehead down to press against yours, stilling the movements in her hips fully. 

"It's okay," she breathes, her lips ghosting over yours. "I want this just as much as you do."

"I just need to know if I'm doing this right. I don't… I don't know what I'm doing, Nat."

A low chuckle leaves her as her hands run up your torso to rest on your jaw. "We'll go slow. It's okay, I'll guide you." She shifts her weight slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that feels somewhat different from the others—less urgent, more intentional.

You let yourself relax into the kiss as her body starts to move against yours once more. Her hands slide down your torso, encouraging you to move your hips against hers. Without even thinking about it, you bend one of your legs at the knee and earn a soft hiss from Nat, who shifts subconsciously to straddle your thigh. 

"Fuck yeah," she breathes out as one of her hands splays across your stomach, "shit, you feel good." 

Your fingers toy with the edge of her waistband, and you pause one last time to get confirmation. Nat nods, lips curling into an encouraging smile. Slowly, you begin to tug them down her hips, Nat shifting slightly to help, laughing softly when you fumble.

"They're just panties, Princess. First your jeans, now my underwear?" She hums and clicks her tongue teasingly, "I'm beginning to think clothes just aren't your forte. Maybe it's a good thing we're out of them, yeah?"

You groan, cheeks burning as you finally manage to toss them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "You're impossible," you mutter, but the humour helps ease your nerves more than you'd care to admit.

When Nat settles against you once more, you gasp softly at the new feeling you're greeted with—her wetness coming in direct contact with your skin. The feeling of slick skin is accompanied by a small, rough patch of hair between her thighs, the dual combinations causing a buzzing sensation to rake up your body.

"Doing fine," Nat reiterates, leaning down to brush her lips over yours again. "We'll take it slow, yeah? Just do what feels right. If something goes wrong…" Her lips twitch in barely concealed amusement. "We can figure it out, or whatever."

"You make it sound like we're assembling IKEA furniture," you deadpan, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

"Some assembly required," she quips back, closing the distance and kissing you again. As she does, she takes your hands and guides them to her thighs. "Start here. Touch me. I'll tell you if something feels off."

You nod hesitantly, swallowing down the nervousness in your throat. Your hands gently squeeze and massage the firm muscles of her thighs, trying to map out what details you can't make out in the dim lighting of your room. When your fingers skim over the curve of her hips—now without the barrier of cloth separating your hands from her skin—she lets out a soft hum and places her hands on your shoulders.

Your hands gain confidence as they explore the curve of her hips reverently, tracing the smooth lines of her body. Nat's breath hitches slightly at your touch, and her fingers dig into your shoulders—not to stop you, but to confirm that she is a fan of the actions you're taking.

When your fingers finally dip between her thighs, Nat inhales sharply, her body shuddering at the contact. "Yeah," she breathes out, her voice dropping lower, "just like that."

Encouraged, you press your fingers through the short tangle of hair and into her slick heat, your breath stuttering at the feeling of her wetness, exploring her slowly but with growing confidence. Nat's hips shift forward slightly, chasing your fingers. The sound she makes—a quiet, almost needy hum—sends a strange buzzing sensation up your spine that causes your fingers to slide deeper into her folds.

"Fuck," she breathes out as one of your fingers teases her slit, "you're—oh, God—doing good. Just… just like that."

Your confidence peaks when you brush a sensitive bundle of nerves with your palm, located at the apex of her thighs. When you press your hand harder against it, Nat's hips jerk subconsciously, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

"Shit," she laughs breathlessly, "fast learner, huh?"

You grin at her, feeling like you're finally getting the hang of things. "I had a good teacher; what can I say?"

One of Nat's hands drifts from your shoulder down to the wrist of the hand you currently have situated between her thighs, and she attempts to guide your touch with deliberate movements. "Here," she murmurs, "try this." She positions your fingers just right, showing you the pace and pressure she likes, her eyes fluttering shut as you get the hang of it.

"Yeah, babe…" She whispers, speaking more to herself than you at this point. "Fuck, that's it. That's good. Keep… yeah, keep doing that…"

You continue to follow her guidance until she decides you've gotten the hang of it and moves her hand back up your arm. "Mm," you watch her head loll back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat, and she removes her other arm from your shoulder to—

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—

Nat runs her hand up her torso, starting on the flat of her stomach before trailing up between her breasts and over her sternum. When she reaches her neck, her slender fingers wrap around her throat gently, and she makes a low humming sound as her hips press into your hand.

Your hand stutters for a moment—only because your brain stutters as you watch her touch herself, which might be your new favourite sight—but you quickly resume your movements, desperate to continue to see her in this heavenly light. 

In your overwhelming need to see her explore her own skin while seated on your lap, you press your fingers in a little too hard, pushing past her entrance and into the damp heat that awaits you. Nat initially seems to approve of this action, letting out a hum that sounds like the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Encouraged by this, you press your index finger into her deeper… until your uncut nails accidentally scratch against her inner walls.

With no warning, Nat immediately hisses and snaps her hand down to grab your wrist, tugging it back slightly. "Fuck, Princess. Warn a girl before you stick something sharp inside of her, yeah?" The words are intended to be teasing, a playful banter to ease your nerves… but they do the exact opposite.

Too desperate and too inexperienced, it seems.

Your eyes widen in equal parts shock and embarrassment, promptly backpedalling and losing all of that confidence you've just gained. "Sh—fuck, Nat. I'm… fuck. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I didn't…"

"Woah, woah—" Nat shakes her head immediately, releasing your wrist in favour of taking your face between both of her hands, warm skin and rough bandage against cheeks burning in shame. "Babe, no. It's okay, alright? It's just… a learning curve or whatever. You aren't gonna be a fucking… Sex God your first time, yeah? It's okay, seriously, dude. Relax. I'm fine."

Even with her reassurance, you hesitate again, not wanting to hurt her. To remedy this, Nat leans down to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly to speak. "Let's… try something else then. Change of pace."

When she climbs off your lap, you have to fight the urge to whimper at the loss of her warmth against your skin. 

But then she's lying down on your bed, looking like the picture of lust and sin. 

"Natalie…?" You find yourself asking hesitantly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at her. "What's… what's going on? Why are you… I thought we…"

She rolls her eyes and snorts, "What we are doing is still having sex, yeah? We're just gonna… try switching gears. Come here."

Then, she's spreading her legs for you. And, yeah. You really can't see her in this lighting, but you don't need to. Just the vague image of her (and the mental ones your brain has started providing you with) is more than enough, seeing be damned.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your brain feels fuzzy as you sit yourself between her parted legs. "Fuck, Nat…" Your touch is slightly more hesitant than it was earlier—mainly because you're worried about hurting her again—but you place your hands on her ankles and slowly but deliberately run them up her long, lithe legs. 

"Mm, yeah, that's the plan." Nat grins at you, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as her eyes follow your movements as you change your position to lay prone. 

From your new angle, you're looking up at Nat once more, but it feels ten times as intimate as it did compared to when she was seated on your lap. From here, you get a front-row seat to a meal like none you've ever encountered: something wet, warm, and deliciously wanton.

She reaches down and pushes some hair out of your face as you wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing the firm muscles as your breath brushes across her center. 

"Don't jump right into it, yeah? Explore, or whatever." Her free hand waves dismissively as if attempting to ease your worries. "Something about the journey, and not the destination."

You squirm slightly but give her a soft nod in acknowledgement. "Right, right… don't just… dive into it."

Nat hums in acknowledgment of your statement, parting her legs a little further on your behalf. "'xactly, Princess. You're getting it."

Your mouth feels overwhelmingly dry, and in an effort to shake the nerves from your system again, you decide to begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her right thigh. You start near the crook of her knee and gradually work your way up her leg and closer to the warm heat that rests at the apex. 

When you reach the point where her leg transitions to her pelvis, you quickly switch to her other thigh and repeat the same ministrations you gave her right thigh. For the record, Nat seems to be equally frustrated and increasingly aroused at how you've begun to take your time with her. But, when her hand tugs on your hair subconsciously, you can't help the small, giddy laugh that spills from your mouth.

"You were the one that told me I shouldn't be jumping right into things, Natalie." 

Although you can't make out the movement of her eyes in the dark of your room, you swear you can hear her rolling them through the irked exhale she lets out at the teasing comment. "Jesus, when did you become such a tease?"

You grin at that, nipping at her thigh like she did your lip when the two of you were kissing earlier. "When I was told to be one, princess."

Nat tugs on your hair again at the bite and subsequent comment, "Don't call me 'princess,' that's your title."

"Oh, my bad, Your Grace."

The scoff that falls from her is less harsh than it is humourous, and she gives your hair a soothing pet to ease the assumed sting from the tug. "You are forgiven, my liege," she says with a terrible English accent that would cause even a tenured dialect coach to have a heart attack. 

A thought vaguely occurs to you as your breath ghosts over her again; you know she told you not to leave marks, but you can't help the part of you that wants to suck a dark mark into her thighs.

Nat seemingly catches the thought in the way you hesitate, and she hums softly. "You can leave one. You know how to leave a hickey, yeah?"

You roll your eyes at the comment, huffing softly. "Yes, Natalie. I'm not that inexperienced. I know how to leave a hickey. It has to do with the blood vessels under the skin bursting when—"

"Mmm," she cuts you off, "didn't ask for the science behind it, babe. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

Before you can talk yourself out of doing it, you press your lips to the pale skin of her left thigh and take it into your mouth, lathing over it with your tongue and earning an approving moan from Nat at the action. 

When you break the suction, you get slightly upset that you can't immediately see if the mark will take; you suppose that will have to be something you revisit come the morning. 

Well, provided she actually stays the night. 

But… that's a thought for future you to worry about. Right now? Well, right now, you have Natalie Scatorccio lying on your bed with your head between her thighs. You can worry about the logistics later.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips brushing her skin as you speak. "How's that for a start?"

Nat chuckles, though the sound is breathless and ragged, something which you would like to think is a testament to how much you're affecting her. "Mm, yeah, not bad. Got some ways to go yet, but… I think with practice… we could get there." Her hand stays tangled in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding herself—or maybe grounding you. It's hard to tell, and honestly, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the way she arches slightly beneath your touch when your mouth trails closer to her center. Her breath catches, and you feel her thighs tense beneath your palms. That's all the encouragement you need.

"You say 'we could get there' like you fully intend on doing this again…" You muse as your breath ghosts over her center, wetness visible even in the penumbra. 

Following her earlier advice, you take your time, pressing gentle, deliberate kisses against the tender skin before finally letting your tongue dart out to explore. The taste of her slick is warm, slightly salty, and wholly intoxicating. You quickly decide this is something you could never get tired of, no matter how long you live.

Natalie's reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp intake of breath, her hips bucking slightly against your mouth as her fingers tighten in your hair fractionally. "Fuck, babe," she murmurs, her voice strained and dripping with lust. "That's… yeah, that's it. Just like that." 

Spurred on by her praise, your hands tighten around her thighs, and you tug her closer to your waiting mouth as you close your eyes and delve deeply into her glistening arousal. Sure, you aren't quite sure what you're doing, but… you took Anatomy and Physiology last semester. So you… kinda understand the basics. 

You're nothing if not eager to make up for your previous mistakes, which shows in how you bury your nose into the neatly trimmed hair on her pelvis. The movements start slow, almost exploratory, careful not to overwhelm either of you at the moment. You let your tongue flick lightly against her folds, testing her reactions and taking mental notes of the little sounds she makes. Each gasp, quiet moan, or whispered "yeah, right there" is a roadmap guiding you, and you find yourself following it with renewed eagerness.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more, but this time, it's less teasing and more… like she's trying to urge you to continue what you're doing. Her thighs tremble slightly against your hold, and you feel a surge of pride at the realization that you're the one making her feel like this.

You hum softly against her, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath and a broken curse from Natalie. The sound is enough to have you digging your nails into her thighs, your own excitement building despite the fact you're the one pleasuring her, and not the other way around. So, you repeat the action to draw the sound again. And again. And again.

As you get more comfortable, your movements become bolder, and your grip grows firmer. You flatten your tongue against her and drag it upward, savouring the way she shudders beneath you. Your lips close around a tiny nub at the top, sucking on it gently and feeling her body jolt in response.

"Oh, fuck—" Nat's voice cracks slightly, and her hips jerk up, thighs instinctively closing in around your head for a moment before she forces herself to relax. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

You shake your head immediately at her apologies, the motion causing you to brush against her in a way that has her letting out a delicious groan. "I like it," you murmur between movements, squeezing her thighs once in a show of approval. "Means I'm doing something right." A beat, "...right?"

Your voice comes out slightly unsure, although you try to disguise it with a sarcastic lilt. Nat, whether she picks up on this or not, doesn't comment on your unsure tone.

"Yeah, babe," she breathes out, her voice shaky. "Doing good, yeah? Try not to let it go to your head, though."

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against her skin, and press on, letting yourself get lost in her. Her taste, her scent, the way her fingers tangle in your hair… it's an all-consuming feeling. Those nerves you were feeling earlier? Gone. Replaced by a confidence that builds with every encouragement whispered from her lips.

At some point, your lips move from her clit to her entrance, and you run a stripe up it with your tongue. You debate using your fingers for a moment but decide against it once you remember what happened when you tried that initially. So, instead, you use your tongue to feel the inside of her.

You nuzzle her outer lips apart with your mouth and nose—which brushes against her clit—and press your tongue inside her, exploring her canal, which feels… strangely like the roof of your mouth. Your tongue isn't very long, so you don't stay for long, but you make a mental note to return to this at a later date. Ideally, when you've cut your nails.

When your lips move back up to her clit, your tongue flicks at it, and you experiment in strokes—a flat tongue, pointing and swirling it, attaching your lips to it, and catalogue every sound or reaction she makes in your mind for… future purposes. You decide the reactions that you like the best come from when you're effectively slurping on it. The messier, the better.

So, you get messy. Natalie's thighs wrap around your head, her ankles locking behind it as she tugs on your hair, a loud groan falling from her lips when you tug her even closer to you—if that was even possible—and get messy.

Your saliva runs down her already slick genitals, mingling with her juices as they coat your lower face and give you a headrush like nothing ever has before. This feels better than the first time you got drunk on your friend Alex's mom's wine for their sixteenth birthday. Hell, this feels better than the little buzz you got from smoking a joint with Nat at the skatepark. This is a feeling you want to experience as many times as possible in your life, you've decided. 

Nat's breathing begins to quicken, and you can feel the way her thigh muscles tense around your head, the way the grip on your hair grows more insistent, and… oh, shit, she's getting close. Your movements double down, your grip on her thighs nearing the point of bruising, and you do whatever you can to bring her closer to that blissful release.

"Babe—fuck, I'm gonna—" Natalie gasps, voice breaking completely as her hips back against you and her head trashes against your pillows. Her thighs effectively cut off all sound at this point, but you don't care about the lack of hearing in the slightest—the movements she's making are more than enough to tell you what you need to know. So, your ministrations don't let up—not until she's crying out and a sudden rush of wetness begins to coat your already slick face.

When her body relaxes from the orgasm that raked her, so does the grip on your head and hair. A soft murmur leaves her lips, something that sounds suspiciously like your name. You press a few kisses to her now-overly sensitive skin before pulling back to look at her.

Natalie is sprawled out on your bed, her chest heaving and a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips when her eyes open to meet yours. Her hair is a mess, her face is just as fucked up as it was when you were patching her wounds up in her truck, and she's never looked more sinful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself again as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Was… that… okay?" you ask quietly, voice tentative as you sit back on your haunches. 

She lifts her head to look at you, propping herself up on her elbows. "Babe," her smirk softens into a gentle smile. "That was better than okay. You sure you haven't done this before?"

You shake your head, blushing furiously. "Uhh… no? It was, uh, my first time…"

Nat's smirk reappears, and she moves to sit up and pulls you back toward her, "mm, well, you could have fooled me. You're a natural."

Her lips find yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected, given how utterly debauched she looks, and it leaves you feeling dazed and fuzzy in the best way possible. Maybe, you think as her arms wrap around you, this leaning curve isn't so bad.

At some point during this kiss, Nat starts encouraging you to lay where she was, and your positions are flipped. She's the one seated between your thighs now. The change in position leaves you a little overwhelmed, and you find yourself breaking the kiss out of nervousness. 

"Nat, uh, you, uh, don't have to… 'return the favour,' or whatever. I don't—"

She laughs. It's hardly cruel, but it's obvious she finds your nerves endearing. "Princess—babe—I wouldn't do something I didn't want to. Although my face is a little fucked up," she starts, using the word 'little' very loosely, "I can still use it. And I fully intend to 'return the favour, or whatever.'"

Her gaze softens slightly when she still sees your hesitation, and she gently brushes a strand of hair that got stuck to your forehead behind your ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice barely audible. So, you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah, uh, I'm good. Just… nervous."

"That's okay." Her hands gently massage your thighs, "I'll take care of you, yeah? Stop me if it gets too much. I won't be, like, offended, or whatever." She waves a dismissive hand before pressing kisses to your lower stomach.

Her words and actions settle over you, and you find yourself nodding despite the nervous fluttering in your gut. You trust her—for better or worse—and that's enough to keep you from spiralling for now.

Nat, far more sure in her actions than you were, hooks her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and pressing kisses along the skin as she goes. Her touch is slow and careful, almost reverent, and it genuinely makes you feel safe. It's a weird feeling, sure, to feel safe around Natalie Scatorccio, of all people, but you wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Her breath ghosts over you, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes as she starts pressing kisses up your inner thighs, then immediately running her tongue flat against your center. 

"Natalie—" you gasp, hands finding purchase in her hair. She hums in response, the sound vibrating against you and making you arch into her touch. When your thighs move to close in around her head, she growls—a sensation that feels as delicious as the hum did—and holds them to the bed.

She doesn't stop until you're trembling, breathing harshly, and your voice becomes a broken mix of gasps and whimpers. When you finally come undone, it's with her name on your lips, your body going taut before collapsing against the mattress. By far, it's a significantly better orgasm than anyone you've ever had on your own. Either you haven't been doing something right, Natalie just knows what she's doing, or it's just better with a partner. Whatever the reason, you feel good.

Nat presses a few soft kisses to your thighs as you come down from that high, her touch gentle and soothing. She climbs back up beside you, her grin equally smug and affectionate as she brushes your hair away from your face.

"So? You good, Princess?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. 

You nod, though your words come out a little garbled from the intensity of it. "Good. Yeah. Good. Just… uh… yeah. Good."

She laughs gently, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Good."

After a moment of stillness, she pushes herself off the bed, scanning the room before grabbing a random shirt off the floor. "Hope you didn't plan on wearing this shirt anytime soon." She uses it to gently clean you up, murmuring some soft reassurances as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation. Once you're taken care of (and, surprisingly, with much more care than you thought was possible from Natalie Scatorccio), she tosses the shirt aside and grabs a cup from your nightstand with some water in it, offering it to you.

"Drink," she says simply, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Once you drink, she finishes the water, murmuring something about 'stale-ass nightstand water,' then settles back beside you.

Once she settles down, her head finds its way to your chest like it's been there a million times before, and she sighs softly as her arm drapes over your waist. Her head tucks itself under your chin, and she kisses your neck softly before yanking the duvet up around both of you. 

This, you decide, is something you could get used to.

a/n: remember when i said it's all downhill from here? <3 also I would apologize for the foreplay being as long as it was but I'm really not sorry. teehee (also lowkey i wrote half of this late at night... if u see spelling errors... pls tell me ajhgbauyhdghbuyag)

tag: @we1rdth0ughts @theprismyyy

[yourdandelionofthedeathknell]

The Theraprism: Good or bad?

Ya know, i've never been sure how to feel on the Theraprism, as shown in the Book of Bill. This is in large part because we get very little info on it, from any perspective other then BIll's own at least (and he is...Not a reliable narrator). Personally, I see three possible interpretations and I don't know which one is correct. To be clear, I think all of these are fairly valid: 1. Their methods seem insipid, but are actually quite effective. They seem to have been effective in the past (one of Bill's fellow patients is slated for release in the near-future apparently), and the Axolotl (who, while not exactly rich characterization himself, has, generally, been portrayed as wise and benevolent) referred to it as "what [Bill] needs the most", which would be weird if it doesn't have SOME merit. I, myself, honestly prefer this one, because I think it works better with the narrative of the Book of Bill (a book which, generally, does not encourage the reader to sympathize with Bill's plight. Pity, maybe, but the framing is very clearly that he kinda deserves this) and the schadenfreude the reader is encouraged to feel if Bill's hellish afterlife is, largely if not entirely, a self-inflicted one: That it wouldn't be particularly bad if not for his own combo of being unable to accept that he lost, that he shouldn't be allowed to do whatever he wants whenever he wants to anyone he wants, inability to form meaningful bonds with others, and, most of all, his total inability to admit to being wrong. He COULD leave at any time, if he would just actually repent, but...He's Bill, so...He won't. It just works best for me if his hell is largely self-inflicted. 2. They are harmful, possibly deliberately. This does have a fair bit of support textually. Mandatory therapy is already a pretty major ethical grey area at best (a major tenant of modern psychotherapy is that you can't make someone change unless they take the first step), they definitely engage in toxic positivity, and, of course, the "Solitary Wellness Void" is...Solitary confinement, which is a practice most modern medical institutions oppose and consider to be psychological torture. So, fair bit of support for this. 3. This is what I think was probably Alex's intent: They're a bunch of oblivious obnoxiously happy morons (as Bill himself would probably describe them) whose attempts to treat eons-old eldritch horror bad guys with puppet shows and arts and crafts is meant to be amusingly-inept rather then actively malicious, and whose effectiveness (such as it is) is down to having literally eternity to try. Kinda like what Mabel might do to rehabilitate someone. To use an analogy, think Charlie Morningstar from Hazbin, at least in the first couple episodes, where the fact that she's treating adult criminals like misbehaving children is the joke and is meant to indicate incompetence rather than malice. I get that isn't that much different from the proceeding (except in terms of "how seriously are we supposed to take this"), but still. I think all three of these have support, and, to be clear, I go with the first one not because I think it's the most supported (might be the least), but because it jives most with how I think about BIll's narrative IE as a character we're meant to, at best, pity, but not really sympathize with. I think the intent is "Bill is suffering a karmic self-inflicted punishment after all the pain and suffering he's caused", not "Bill is being medically abused and we should feel bad for him". The Book of Bill does invite readers to sympathize with Bill occasionally, but mostly past Bill, not current Bill. All viewpoints are valid, this is just trying to organized some thoughts on the subject. I sincerely hope I haven't said anything harmful here. Uh, cards on the table, I am neurodivergent, but i've never had therapy, forcefully or otherwise (although I did have an irrational fear of the possibility of institutionalization for a bit), so i'm sorta going off vibes here, sorry to say. If I said anything insensitive here, I apologize.

[liplinerloser]

The coffin of Andy and Leyley

A long term relationship with either of them

(Spoilers for Decay Route, It’s a long one! My requests are open <3)

Minors DNI

Andrew Graves

He meets you in high school, when he could still be bothered to talk to people. You sit next to him in an English class, he catches you with your head in your hands after it’s over, and despite not knowing you or really giving a fuck about you, he bites. Asking if you were okay was apparently the wrong answer because you start sobbing.

At this point he’s ready to walk away, but he can hear through your tears that you’re struggling with your grades, and it’s all gone to shit. That peaks his interest, Andrew ‘academic validation’ Graves knows exactly what that feels like. Begrudgingly he asks if he can help you, seeing you perk up at the thought. He ends up keeping you around for reasons he can’t understand.

He’s attracted to vulnerability, although he would never admit it, it makes him feel more secure in his own abundance of issues. If he’s smarter than you it also makes him feel like the superior one in the relationship that you can rely on.

Doing an English degree, he’s obviously poetically romantic when he wants to be, writing you your own sonnets, or ranting on and on about the historical context fuelling an authors writing career while playing mindlessly with your hair. He’ll take a lot of candid pictures of you to keep just for himself.

Andrew uses relationships outside of his obvious family unit to distract from said family unit, and convince the barely functioning moral compass ticking at the back of his mind that he is normal, he’s proving it by being with you, and loving you, and wanting you. No matter how many times your touch makes his skin crawl with inexplicable guilt

You notice bizarrely he never seems to have much time for you, you’d heard from a friend of a friend, Julia was it? That was the norm for him, though she seemed reluctant to get into details. You’re sympathetic to your boyfriend, maybe he’s busy or has a difficult home life.

he introduces you to the only other person in his life, his little sister, “the bane of his existence”, the fire of his loins, lovingly nicknamed Leyley. You inquired about the parents but alas, they weren’t in the picture god rest their souls.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, she hates your fucking guts. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a man, a woman, or anything on the spectrum; the sight of you with her Andy makes her viciously nauseous, and she seeks to correct it at once.

Your time with Andrew will constantly be cut short, with Ashley feigning illness, fear of being home alone, desperate help for homework, or just missing her older brother. It doesn’t matter what she says, as soon as it’s said he could hardly throw a glance in your direction. Clearly if you make it long term you always enable this behaviour alongside him

Ashley will give you the girlfriend special. Blowing up your phone with god awful messages at a god awful time at night, sending you hundreds of letters, hell you’re sure you saw her in your window at night! Her pink eyes staring daggers into you. But alas Andrew is blind to his sisters actions, it can’t be her, are you saying she’s capable of such things?! How could you. And somehow by the end of the conversation, you’re apologising to him.

Any speaking ill of Leyley will not be tolerated, he raised her. Even if she can be a self proclaimed bitch at times, she’s his, and in his eyes you’re replaceable. During the relationship you’ll have to deal with both her abuse and his.

The rare times you do get him alone without Leyleys disturbance, you get to be in the presence of Andrew as opposed to Andy. His repressed fears and upfront attitude, a harsh 360 from the character he masquerades for the sake of his sister. He’s soft with you, gentle small gestures such as tucking stray hair behind your ears, or stroking his thumb across your knuckles while he holds your hand. You can’t shake the feeling though that he’s hiding something darker from you.

Once he realises you’re serious about the relationship and don’t have any issues with Leyley become a complete pushover just like Andy He tries to involve you more, to the point you basically live with the siblings in the apartment.

You notice some, unsavoury behaviour between the two, with Andrew perpetrating it, such as walking in on Andrew sleeping with his sister, coddling her like a teddy bear. Upon seeing you walk into the room his eyes flew open, sitting swiftly up before quickly explaining the “panic attack situation”.

It was bullshit. You weren’t stupid, he knew you weren’t stupid. But you loved him, and if you make it far enough in the relationship, he manages to work into your brain and guilt you into thinking it’s just a unique element of their sibling dynamic. Hell what would you know, even if you had siblings it’s just not the same

Where most people would’ve seen his manipulative side rear it’s ugly head, and tear loose of this creep, he manages to get to you. He gets you so fucking good, right where he wants you, with your stomach exposed and vulnerable that you feel like apologising for even getting Involved! You’re not so lucky as the one before you, nobody is going to pull you out, and you certainly can’t help yourself.

Andrew is passively abusive, to both you and Ashley; he’s passive aggressive, and gives you whiplash with his contradictory behaviour, sometimes using his bad moods to emotionally manipulate you into doing whatever he wants. Even the times you think he’s doing what you want, it’s usually because it serves him.

Andrew is smart, he knows it, but he’s not smart enough to admit he’s also capable of being a terrible person while also being a victim. The times you try to address his negative behavior he withdraws from you completely, before coming back due to his physical needs.

As much as he doesn’t feel the true love for you he knows should be burning in his chest, he needs you. He needs you for a sense of normalcy, for your comforting grasp and honeyed words, because without that he has nothing else to stop him from snapping. So you’re very important to the Grave duos coexistence.

Once it gets to a certain point in the longevity of the relationship, Andrew will feel like he needs something permanent to tie you down, especially if he becomes increasingly suspicious of you leaving. He’s not above baby trapping you to keep you exactly where he needs you. Besides, he raised Leyley, what’s one more.

Following from that he probably has a breeding kink, he likes the idea of something like a baby keeping you tethered to him permanently. Just like how his parents tried to shake him and failed, you’d never be free from him.

Andrew uses sex as a stress relief, in a similar bracket to the cigarettes. He’s fucked enough to know what he likes, and that’s all that matters.

He’s not particularly intimate, In the traditional sense, he’s hypersexual so he fucks a lot, but don’t expect him to lovingly gaze down at you while he pounds you into the pillow.

He knows your body inside out, knows what makes you tick, where you’re sensitive and what gets you moaning like a bitch. He knows how to work his tongue and have you crying to the ceiling forgetting any other problems you had.

You noticed he comes to you for sex a lot particularly after he argues with Ashley, you always just assumed he was Pent up and it was his way of dealing with stress.

When it all comes to an end I think there’s only two ways you’d be around to stay with Andrew, if he hasn’t already indulged in his sister and descended to the final layer of hell.

Either you know about Ashley with all that entails, and you choose to stay despite it all, then you allow Andrew to live his fantasy’s inside the house, and play a normal life when he leaves those four walls with you. You become his front, and to an extent, he can love you for that.

Or he has snapped, killed Ashley, and before he can kill himself, you walk in. You and your gummy spine help him dispose of her body, and then you become her replacement. You’ll start to notice gradually Andrew dresses you more often, in outfits following the formula of shorts, boots, some sort of sleeveless top, and a choker. He does your hair for you, a low messy ponytail. Eventually whatever your name was doesn’t matter anymore, you’re not you, you’re Ashley! His beloved Ashley, his dear sweet Ashley, His Ashley.

Cant stay like that forever though, his soul craves her, and you’re not her.

Ashley Graves

Unlike Andrew, Ashley makes no effort to get closer to you, because she knows there’s no point.

There was a time in her life that she had wanted to be social, wanted friends outside of Andrew and that bitch Julia ; but Everytime she tried to talk to new people it felt like an overbearing shadow loomed over her. The girls she did talk to were uncomfortable with her brother, and the guys didn’t even talk to her, they already knew the crack.

A lot of the reason her attachment to Andy was allowed to fester is because of this rotting social life. But you can change that.

You meet her through Andrew, specifically being part of his friend group during school, though closer to the other guys, you thought he was… nice? He’d decided to invite all of you over to continue their card game match. The issue is he hadn’t mentioned you being the new addition, thinking it pointless

Ashley being Ashley was seething, smoke steaming from her nose, blood shot eyes seething. Why hadn’t Andrew mentioned you?! Was he hiding something. And who was this floozie trying to take him away from her!

Ashley couldn’t hold on long with you in the apartment before having an outburst in front of the whole group, in turn making them uncomfortable; all the guys opted to go to someone else’s house to continue, but you couldn’t help worry for Ashley. Andrew assured you it was one of her Temper tantrums and walked off in a huff.

Following her into her room, you find her crumpled on the floor infront of her made bed, head stuffed down into the bedsheets, as sobs wracked her frame, your heart ached for the poor girl. You wondered what could have hurt her so much

“G-go away!! You’re just like the others hussies tryna steal him away from me! W-well you wont be able to, I won’t let you!” She shot up, despite the height difference clearly trying to intimidate you.

Oh! That was all it was! She was just a jealous younger sister scared of her brother having too many friends and not spending time with her anymore. A smile graced your face as you pulled her into a hug, she fought back like a wild raccoon but eventually warmed up to it. “I’d never steal your brother from you, Ashley. He loves you so much, I’m sure of it!”, unaware of the full extent of their relationship you felt confident in your statement.

It was enough to get Ashley’s tears to dry, and a small smirk on her face, you’d heard Andrew complain about her in the brotherly way, but she seemed like a little sweetheart!

Over the years you grew away from Andrew, went to different universities, did different courses, he split from the friend group where you stayed in touch. But you did end up getting closer to Ashley.

She felt relieved to have someone outside of Andrew that wasn’t also competing for his interest like Julia, and you didn’t judge her for anything!

She confided all the bullshit her parents did, or do, even the arguments she had with Andrew, expecting you to be fully on her side like she had gotten used to with Andy. But you weren’t, you were honest with her, told her things she needed to hear to be better, and yeah she fucking hated it, wouldn’t talk for a while.

But eventually the phone would ring, in a small voice she would mention how she apologised, or made up and moved on.

She felt different than she did with you than when she hung out with Andy, there wasn’t a pit that sat heavy in her stomach, a guilty gnawing feeling. She enjoyed sleep overs at your house when her parents were particularly overbearing, the relief of getting away from it, even Andrew bizarrely

Ashley always likes her affections for someone to be affirmed, oftentimes through physical touch and words of affirmation. She’s relieved she doesn’t have to force this out of you, you enjoy her company, her snarky remarks about people and her perspective. She takes comfort in cuddling with you on the couch watching some shitty tv and making a running commentary of it, something she stopped doing because it pissed Andrew off.

Ashley tells you the secret that’s “weighed on her soul” since she was a kid. About what happened to what’s-her-face. You’re dumbfounded that she was capable of something like that, but seeing the tears streaming down her face made you think otherwise, even if the sobs conveniently stopped when you held her. You felt awful thinking she lived with such a heavy action from when she was a child, with nobody to comfort her, but disgust overwhelmed your senses at the nature of the act. Locked in a box, in the dark, she probably cried for her mom in her last moments. But she isn’t here, Ashley is, and it’s Ashley’s pitiful expression you’re forced to gaze back at. Did she feel guilt of her constant rotting?

She’s surprised you don’t do anything about the Nina secret considering you knew Julia, her closest friend; she had assumed after worming it out of her you’d hold it over her head forever, forcing her to bend for you. But unlike others in the past you don’t, you don’t blackmail her or ignore it for bigger issues, you’re simply there for her, rather than for something from her.

Don’t get her wrong though, as soft as she can appear, shes just as capable of being manipulative as Andrew when it serves her. you were ruined by this secret too, bonded together with her by it forever.

Ashley’s attitude as a whole is a lot harder to shift than just with the power of friendship. It’s fucking draining. She will always find a way to start an argument, screaming that you don’t care about her and you don’t put effort in, then if you respond she blames her inadequacies, and how she’s a “terrible woman”. You try not to indulge these, rather hugging her, asking her to talk when she’s calmer, and leaving. It’s clearly insecurity and you want to help her rather than hinder her or feed into it like some people-

Unlike Andrew, a relationship with her doesn’t revolve around sex, At least on the terms of her wanting it. She would much rather get validation through other actions towards her, and if you use her you’re no different than other people. If you’re going to do it, be gentle with her, that’s all she wants.

However, despite not wanting anything from you physically, she can be quite mentally draining to be around, even she’s aware of this. She’s grateful you ‘put up with her’, she’ll never tell you that though! Hehe

She’s the type of person who enjoys having something personal to someone, like having inside jokes nobody gets, or matching bracelets. She’ll absolutely make those ugly mismatched bff bracelets and expect you to wear it like it’s woven with gold.

The only other person she’s ever had that kind of relationship with is Andrew, and having it with you made her feel so… normal?

Unfortunately in the end, Ashley is a product of her upbringing by Andrew, all her behaviours and irrational fears, her attachments, they were all planted far too early on for you to even fathom changing them. No matter how long you stay by her side, treat her like an individual rather than a concept, care for her with your full heart, she cannot help crawl back to Andrew. It’s in her blood.

Nobody gets her like he does, and you’ll never know her fully unless you know the ins and outs of him too; an impossible task. Andrew knows this too, the off times you see him in public he smirks, as if he’s won over you.

She’ll keep talking to you, but gradually the phone calls lessen, there’s no silly notes or clothes left around your place, it’s as if all traces of her have been erased. She is fully absorbed by Andrew, she’ll never be yours, she never was.

Maybe you can slow her decay, but you can’t stop the inevitable.

[wisteriasymphony]

But .. isn’t there already meaningless sexual violence for shock value in your story ? ? With Emmy at least. I’m probably wrong but I haven’t kept up w the AU . Also I don’t think some of those anons meant for shock value , but because Gabriel has said some weird shit in the past that some can’t help but view in a disturbing light .

For starters, the overwhelming majority of any focus on Emmy and Gabriel is written mostly in implication and is never graphic. I guess I should clarify that the few asks I got had tones similar to smut, based on what was emphasized and omitted etc, and that's never what I'm going for with any of the characters. A lot of the graphic stuff comes off almost like jumpscares to me?

If you're going to, say, sodomize someone with a fashion awards trophy, I'm always going to say it will be more effective to only have it almost happen. That way, the readers are always left with the implication that it's always a possibility, but never given the release of tension of reading it happen. Imagination is a powerful thing, and it's usually going to be more effective if the monster in the dark is never given a face. TL;DR It's a matter of building horror through tension and release (or lack thereof).

Second of all, establishing lines of motive goes a long way, and a lot of the asks were just throwing out ideas based on what would be the most extreme situation without taking in account the characters themselves*.

For example, it is paramount that anything Gabriel does to Emmy is out of a desire to recreate his relationship with Emilie (and, secondly, maintain the power he has now, which inevitably comes into conflict with the former). And it's extremely important that explicit sexual violence is not the only way this can be demonstrated! A great example of this is in Chapter 3:

Then was the makeup: Gabriel had gotten a particular knack for painting Emmy’s face, like one would a doll, meticulously drawing brush strokes over her round cheeks and holding her head still as he raked mascara through her lashes. Gabriel’s grip on Emmy’s head was uncomfortably tight for the lipstick, in particular, his fingers pressing her jaw thinner as he puckered his lips out as if demonstrating what she was ought to do for him. His eyes, too, lingered on the shape of Emmy’s lips for quite some time, and as he finished Emmy got the sickening implication from the way his mouth stretched into a grin that M. Agreste wanted to immediately smudge his work… and was only showing just enough temperance to restrain himself.

This is a clear example of Gabriel using Emmy as a tool for his whims, in a manner that is not inherently harmful (doing someone's makeup), and yet is made creepy through context and implication. Anybody could make the fashion-trophy-sodomy uncomfortable, it's already an uncomfortable idea. It's the wrongness of Gabriel shouldering Emmy with expectations of a dead woman that makes the abuse interesting, for lack of better terms.

Extra example of what I mean, based on the above screenshots:

"Oh, I missed you," Gabriel slurred out, running his fingers through Emmy's hair. "My gorgeous, gorgeous girl, how I missed you. It drove me absolutely mad." Emmy just sucked at her teeth as she watching Gabriel's head and the way his drunkeness made it nod, his cold blue eyes hidden behind a half-lidded gaze of adoration. Her stomach turned. Gabriel giggled as his hand moved from her hair down the slope of her jaw to hold her cheek, seemingly in awe of Emmy being real and in front of him at that very moment. "What else can I even say, sweetheart? I'm just so glad to have you back." Emmy didn't remember the last time she had been out of Gabriel's sight, and even when she had been she never thought it had ever been for long enough to warrant being missed like this. Frankly, Emmy would've liked it more if Gabriel didn't miss her at all. The way he pet her was too soft, the stroking of his hands almost made her skin itch.

Motive is also incredibly important with Gabriel and Gege as well. Gabriel doesn't exactly just dole out mistreatment willy-nilly; If readers aren't able to pick up on why he, in his head, thinks of his actions as justified, it's going to feel meaningless. Gabriel's abuse of Gege largely comes down to self-hatred, and if anything he's going to punish Gege for perceived 'disobedience' (talking back, stealing fabric or fashion supplies, not conforming to some ludicrous standard of well-mannered-ness, generally anything that reminds Gabriel that he used to be some rowdy boy from a hick town up north). That, I think, needs to be made clear whenever Gabriel and Gege is brought up.

So yeah, there's my thoughts on that.

*As a final note, I'll clarify some highlights of the asks included the trophy sodomy, things where Gege and Emmy were forced into exhibitionism (which runs directly counter to Gabriel wanting to preserve his relationship with '''Emilie''' as much as possible and not wanting Gege to insert himself into it), and stuff where Adrien was involved in sexually explicit ways with the other sentikids. Like, the whole point of Adrien is that he's forcibly made entirely oblivious to everything going on in the house, either through Gabriel using the amok to wipe his mind or Gege and Emmy just refusing to speak about Gabriel when Adrien is around. That's what I mean by the "shock value".

[szhmidty]

There's this thing that lawmakers do that really blackpills me on ever having long-term effective legal systems.

Like, ok, look at this case here. The gist is this: a woman kills her ex-boyfriend and then flees to canada to avoid arrest. Shortly after arriving in Canada, she announces that she's pregnant with her ex's child. She and her lawyers fight the attempts of the US to extradite her back to stand trial. The victims parents go to canada to fight her on custody. The courts find there is sufficient evidence to arrest her locally and award custody to the grandparents. But she's granted bail, on the theory that she's not really a risk to the public (true, in all likely hood). Being on bail, she gets custody back. She drowns herself in the ocean, taking her 13 month old son with her.

This is obviously a horrific scenario, and bill C-464 was introduced to rectify this: it adds language to broaden the reasons for denial of bail. To be fair, the actual language is fairly anodyne, essentially saying "don't grant bail if they're a threat to children." Like fine, whatever.

But the fact of the matter is, she probably should have been granted bail. She wasn't a threat to the public, the only person she was a threat to was her son, and that was easily rectified by not granting her custody. The problem with the legal system here isn't bail, it's the court's obsession with "keeping families intact." She has been credibly charged with murdering her son's father, she should absolutely lose custody while that plays out in court.

But all of that is secondary to the actual problem of criminal charges taking years to prosecute. Bail is absolutely a necessity to safeguard and cushion abuses of the legal system because otherwise false accusations and false arrests ruin lives. This is an area where it would protect victims to simply enforce basic rights of the accused to a speedy trial. That would dramatically reduce the damage of false accusations, and would reduce the window of opportunity bail gives to those who are guilty and who do pose a threat to others.

A bunch of things went wrong in this case, but this woman being not being locked up for years while the accusations against her moved glacially through the legal system wasn't one of them. Bill C-464 that was passed in response to this case does little to make anyone's lives better: the courts are still forced to trade off against "is this guy a risk to the public?" vs "hey, what if this guy is innocent and we lock him up for 3 years for no reason, that'd be bad, right?", the bill just weights one side of the debate when any effective legislation would focus on reducing the need for that debate.

It's just. It's maddening. The right thing to do, the actual effective thing that would do the most good, would be to protect the rights of the accused---you could kill two birds with one stone. But the only angle that ever gets any play is "should we be even harsher or not?"

[nekropsii]

Aww. On one hand, I'm glad my words touched you. On the other, it makes me so deeply sad knowing even the smallest glance towards granting one basic human dignity is enough to drive one to tears. I wouldn't even call my words the bare minimum - I don't think that countering the common idea that a group isn't inherently abusive should be the bare minimum. The bare minimum should be casual respect, the same that's afforded to any other person. The bare minimum should be me not even needing to say any of this in the first place.

NPD is so heavily demonized, especially right now. There's wave after wave of people claiming "Narcissistic Abuse" is a valid term and viciously attacking anyone who breathes in the direction of contradiction, every single search adjacent to NPD results in almost nothing but article after article on, specifically, how to hurt people with NPD, or protect yourself against them... There's conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory posted online quite literally painting them as actual real demons, like, Demons, from The Bible, or linking them to the Jewish Reptilian conspiracy theory, and it's just completely and utterly gut-wrenching. Even in spaces that proclaim themselves as safe, or progressive, or bigotry-free, these unjustified, bigoted snap judgments occur. It's the worst.

NPD is not something that I have. I don't have any Cluster B Disorder, actually. But I'm sympathetic because they're all fucking human beings the world has decided is socially acceptable to turn into a Sinister Other, a Walking Otherworldly Threat, like this is a fucking fiction novel or a video game. I'm sick of it.

There's a few people in my immediate circles who have NPD. They're all good people. They're nice, they're funny, they have perspectives on things that I deeply value, they're smart, and I treasure their proximity so much. They've never done anything wrong, and certainly haven't done anything wrong purely on the basis of being some Evil, Conniving Super Villain. They're literally just hanging out, and I'm glad to know them. My life is better and more enriched having known these people. They have never wronged me, and I don't think they ever will. And even if they do, it would not be because they have NPD, it would be because they're a living being. As people, we all have the capability to harm others. Animals have the capability to harm other animals, too. Plants can harm you. This is not a trait unique to the Disordered.

Us people without NPD need to do better, to listen to our friends and siblings with NPD, to help boost them up so that we can help end this wretched fucking curse - or, at the very least, quell it. We need to help them speak louder, and amplify their cause with our vocal support. Ableism will never go away, but the least we can do is try to move towards making it not as socially acceptable to be bigoted. None of us need a Sinister Other to combat. This is not war, this is not the medieval times. We do not need this. We do not need to beat a persecution complex into ourselves to excuse persecuting others. We do not need to live in constant fear of the idea of the line cook who just wants to go home and play Dark Souls, or the office worker passing the time by thinking about their 3 cats, or the high schooler at home reading their favorite shoujo manga, or the guitarist driving home tapping their fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. These are not your enemies. They are people going about their lives. They've literally never hurt you. Stop projecting your fear of abuse onto strangers - onto minorities.

My message to people without NPD is to fucking check yourself if you believe in Narcissistic Abuse, or automatically assume that people with NPD are up to something. Especially right now, that is a very, very vile, dehumanizing form of absolutely rampant ableism that we needed to take extreme steps to mitigate fucking months ago. Years, even. The best time to shoot this bigotry and burn it's corpse was the moment it started rising. The second best time is Now. Interrogate yourself. Realize that people with NPD are literally just human beings. Stop being awful to your fellow person. The way people think and speak about people with NPD is just absolutely disgusting, and everyone needs to apologize to them right now.

My message to people with NPD is simple: You deserve one billion dollars for having to put up with all of this shit. It's actually deranged. Trust me, there are others out there that think this is horseshit. You are not alone.

[bahablastplz]

Skz fic recs (mxm) MDNI

hello! we had mixed opinions if we wanted mxm fic recs but I decided to make one anyway so those of you who want it, have at it! those of you who don't, that's okay you don't have to interact <3

These fics are all on ao3! I tried to find tumblr blogs for those authors who have them but if i'm missing anyone feel free to let me know. These are all mature unless otherwise stated! They are majority minsung but in general they are sorted by pairing with the older member first!

here's the color code: completed, ongoing, over 50k words, under 50k words, no smut

Haebang by BulletTears Chan/Everyone, 193k completed: Chan’s friend sets him up for a ‘spa retreat’ but he later finds out it’s a sexual liberation program. Slow burn, virginity loss, kink discovery, angst, hurt/comfort

you know I can’t leave you alone by @jisungjuice Chan/Minho, 13k completed: “When Chan asks Minho to help him with his dancing for the Red Lights MV, he didn't expect to like a certain part of the choreography so (very) much.” red lights, choking, kink discovery

reply hazy, try again by mrehk Chan/Changbin, 15k completed: “Changbin’s calculus tutor is Bang Chan. (OR: solving for the derivative of l+o+v+e)” frat boy chan, fwb, pining, loss of virginity, idiots in love

Case 35 by theproblematique Chan/Felix, 15k completed, part of series: “The running joke is that he is the 'group-dad', and Chan plays the part for his friends without protest. Then Felix has to go and complicate things.” Daddy kink, idiots to lovers

deviation by theproblematique Chan/Jeongin 8k completed: “They all used Chan for their first ruts, until it’s Jeongin's turn.” bang chan wants to feel needed, a/b/o, omega chan, heats/ruts

I’ll never be that type of beautiful by @changbinholic Minho/Changbin, 50k completed: “the unconventional omega Changbin and feral alpha Minho we all needed.” one dubcon scene, a/b/o, angst

Case 54 by theproblematique Minho/Jisung, 35k completed, part of series: “Jisung is so supportive of Minho’s sexuality that it goes wrong.” Jealous Han, coming to terms with sexuality, great buildup

Your love (my breath) by Lox_y Minho/Jisung, 34k ongoing: “In which Jisung is the luna of his pack, and is tormented by his mate until he's killed in a fight with a neighboring pack, by an alpha named Minho.” heed warnings, a/b/o, abuse, hurt/comfort

Rule number one by evesmysoul Minho/Jisung, 144k completed: “Or Jisung’s broken heart leads him to make an arrangement with his mysterious classmate Minho. He believes everything will work out, as long as neither of them breaks the rules.” fwb, bad with feelings, slow burn, angst, happy ending

Ruin me (for everyone else) by preetydark Minho/Jisung, 20k completed: “Minho’s rut is blocked, it’s been for years now.This was never really a problem for him; except when the symptoms show up again when his younger brother's best friend, Jisung, is around.” pining, a/b/o, tension

no attachments by ockleibi, Minho/Jisung, 68k ongoing: “The guy who refuses to have sex with Jisung because he's a virgin turns out to be inextricably connected to his friend group. Awesome.” fwb, virginity loss, angst, great smut

chasing friction by cloudrages Minho/Jisung, 5k completed: “Jisung rides Minho’s thigh” virginity loss, gay panic, thigh riding (duh)

use me for a feeling (or a good time) by honeyeaters Minho/Jisung, 58k completed: “Minho and Jisung have slept with everyone except each other. Until that changes. No feelings attached, of course.” fwb, pining, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

mouth to mouth by keros Minho/Jisung, 54k completed; “It’s Jisung’s first time off schedule in months, and he’s naturally anticipating the most boring day ever. When Minho gets back to the dorms early, it turns into anything but.” pining, tension, teasing, confessions

you have one (1) new notification by hnjsngluvr69 Minho/Jisung, 8k completed: “Jisung asks Minho to help him with his porn-watching addiction. Against his better judgment, Minho agrees.” friends to lovers, tension, humor lots of thoughts, head full (and bursting with horniness) by hnjsngluvr69 Minho/Jisung 13k completed: “Minho develops the power to read minds. Turns out, Jisung's thoughts are very, very horny.” mutual pining, friends to lovers, humor, I have a plan to write an xreader fic inspired by this soon

ex proprio vigore by mrehk Minho/Jisung, 23k completed, professor minho/law school student han, slowburn, tension, teasing, great smut, power dynamics

a fish tank (with rainbow socks) by mrehk, Minho/Jisung, 10k completed: “Minho never sleeps with the same guy twice; Jisung becomes a master of disguise” strangers to lovers, idiots in love, humor, mrehk has the best writing 

an octopus (playing tennis) by mhrek Minho/Jisung, 10k completed: “Minho sighs. “Put yourself in my shoes, Bin. You see incriminating photos of your best friend. You realize you’ve been in love with your best friend for ages. You can’t stop touching your dick while thinking about your best friend— and now you’re just supposed to hang out with your best friend like everything is fine?!” friends to lovers, idiots in love, fluff, comedy, mutual pining  chrysalis by mhrek Minho/Jisung 12k completed: “Jisung didn’t prepare for this. He was meant to just— tell Minho he’s gay— not ask him to have sex with him. The glass must have been a literal breaking point for his feeble self control.” friends to lovers, mutual pining, loss of virginity, gay awakening

cat’s cradle by mrehk, Hyunjin/Jeongin 13k completed: “Hyunjin starts fucking his drug dealer because he asked so nicely” stoners, fwb, gay awakening, idiots in love 

I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do by @/jisungjuice Jisung/Everyone 117k completed: “How omega Jisung turns all of Stray Kids into a proper pack.” fluff, a/b/o, light angst, loss of virginity, poly

between pavement and sky by tellmesomethinggood Jisung/2min 5k completed: “You want Minho to... cheat on you?" Jisung asks. "I want Minho to sleep with someone, while I watch." Seungmin says.” threesome, cuckholding, poly

Unsweetened Lemonade by Intricate 6 Jisung/Felix, Jisung/Everyone 44k ongoing: “Jisung runs away from his old pack only to be captured by another. This pack claims to be different, but Jisung isn't so sure…” Heed warnings, a/b/o, abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, smut

I’ll be good by skittlesmenu Jisung/Seungmin, 5k completed: “Cocky fuck boy Jisung gets flustered when top student Seungmin flirts back.” enemies to friends, fwb, tension

Open your hands (open your life) by rainyleafs Felix/Everyone, 158k ongoing: “Felix has been living off the grid ever since he fled his abusive former alpha. When he finds a distressed omega in an alley, he has no idea that bringing Jeongin back to his pack will get him everything he would never have dared to dream of.” No smut, slow-burn, hurt/comfort

effortless like loving you by littleinfinitewisdoms Jeongin/everyone, 202k ongoing; “Yang Jeongin, 24, "beta," has been disowned by his religious family after coming out. A month or so later, he finds himself with nowhere else to go, and almost no more money. He finally calls a crisis center and gets placed in an employment assistance program and a host pack.” fluff, angst, past trauma/abuse, religious trauma, haven’t finished yet but it’s good enough so far to recommend

[lemonsuponlemons]

Astarion Ancunin is pissing me off but it says more about me than him

(warning: talks about depression, abuse, homophobia, self-harm and suicide)

When Baldur's Gate 3 launched, the Internet was suddenly flooded by people yearning for Astarion. He became a Joe Jonas, Harry Styles or Troy Bolton overnight. So when I played BG3 for the very first time, I was curious. What's up with that guy? Lo and behold - from the very first meeting, I was ready to knock his teeth out. However, I'm an introspective person, and so I did some self-reflection on why that is. It turns out, Astarion reminds me of something (someone) I haven't gotten over yet:

I was born and raised in a Catholic, "pray the gay away" kind of family. My parents have talked about atheists many times, always negatively. To them, life without God is pointless, rid of morality and happiness. How could a person be truly happy without sacraments? I've never felt the presence of God in my life but I knew I can't talk about it openly. So I just remained silent, listening to how awful "godless" people are.

My parents didn't shy away from corporal punishment, saying how raising my brother wasn't as troublesome, how I'm not even trying to do well at school and suggesting that maybe God doesn't want me to go to university and I should become a nun instead. In different ways, mostly indirectly, I was told that there is something fundamentally wrong with me.

My brother is a Catholic priest. Ever since he left for the seminar, I have become invisible to a degree. The whole family was interested in him, expressing their pride. I could be standing right next to him and don't get a simple "how are you?". Family dinners for me were silent - I stayed silent because no one cared about my opinion. All they talked about was church, priests and horrible, horrible "gays"/leftists/atheists. My parents would chat with my brother over the dinner table and never look at me. I mean, why would they? I didn't care about priest friends, I didn't know them.

My family situation contributed to my becoming severely depressed. I engaged in self-harm and was low-key addicted to it. The thought of hurting myself was the only thing getting me through the day. It took me several tries to quit (currently clean for 4.5 years). When I told my parents (only because I was meant to go swimsuit shopping and wanted the truth to come out on my own terms), my mother didn't speak to me for a few days. Completely ignored me. My brother made jokes about "cutting one way for attention, other way for effectiveness". You know how you should disclose such things to a "trusted adult"? Yeah, I chose the wrong adults.

I was actively suicidal. I fantasised about awful things happening to my family just so they suffer like I did. I thought it was fair. If I had to beg God every day to kill me, why shouldn't they? Do they not deserve punishment for their wrongdoings? For making me feel like they would be happier without me? Like I'm a burden?

I think what pissed me off in Astarion was the similarity. On a visceral level, I know what it means to suffer and demand revenge. I know what it's like to build a spiky, sky-high wall of snarky comments and insults in hopes that no one will hurt me again.

I know what it's like when your pain and anger fester inside you, eating you alive. How anything humane and kind rots away.

But today I'm a completely different person. I love it when random old people strike up a conversation with me in public. I smile whenever I see a dog or a baby enjoying the weather. I laugh when I drop something and like to feel soft, light rain on my face. I don't hold back my seagull laugh or weird sense of humour. I dance to the radio playing at the store. I simply enjoy life and each mundane day I get to live because I know it's borrowed - I got a second chance when the painkillers didn't put me in a morgue.

Seeing Astarion's snark and negativity reminds me of the person I used to be. It brings back something I buried deep inside in hopes that it would simply disappear once I got my stuff together. I hear his words and immediately get upset. Because it doesn't have to be this way. The world doesn't have to be all gloomy and "masters or slaves". There's a lot more to this, to us. I want to grab him by the collar and yell, "You don't have to live this way! You can free yourself from this suffering!". But would I be doing it for him? Or for the teenage me? Maybe both. Maybe I know where his path leads and I know that it won't get better unless he stops this spiral.

His ascension made me think of my own violent fantasies. My own desire for revenge. Now I know that fulfilling them wouldn't change a thing. Just like with Astarion, becoming the perpetrator wouldn't erase what had already happened. No matter what, my pain would still exist. I don't fantasise about that stuff anymore and you know what? It's like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I have the energy and space to think about better things. To look towards better days awaiting me.

In short: Astarion Ancunin pisses me off because he reminds me that I haven't fully grieved what had happened to me. I want to "save" him from himself against his own wishes because I know that spiralling into violence, anger and misery will only kill him. If not literally, then figuratively and I can't tell with one is worse. Maybe I just wish someone had saved me.

[pomefioredove]

Hi! This is very very specific, but…I've had a rough start to my day today, kinda relating to the topic of my request…

So I was wondering, would it be alright to request HCs of Jamil, Ruggie, Leona, Floyd and Rollo with a Reader who runs into an emotionally abusive/manipulative parent they haven't seen in a long time? The kind of subtle abuse that's hard to tell (from the inside, at least) is even abuse at all, and makes you doubt yourself a lot. Kinda narcissistic abuse

Kind of a hurt/comfort thing? Like how they'd deal with the bad parent and the Reader opening up a bit about it. Romantic or platonic, either one is good

Feel more than free to ignore if this kind of request isn't your thing: that's totally fine, I understand it's a bit heavy, not to mention very specific, so please do what makes you feel best. I hope you have a good day!

ahhh of course! I relate to this sort of thing a lot (although I don't use terms like narcissistic abuse since abuse is just abuse to me) and I know exactly what you mean. I love hurt/comfort and you're well within my boundaries since the only thing I wouldn't write pertaining to this topic is intimate partner abuse (like with an s/o). so you're perfectly fine! I enjoyed writing this <3

summary: comforting a reader with an abusive parent type of post: short fics characters: jamil, ruggie, leona, floyd, rollo additional info: reader is not specified to be yuu ("shrimpy" is used as a nickname during floyd's part tho), reader is gender neutral, food mention (ruggie's part), actual interaction w the parent happens during leona and rollo's parts, mentions/descriptions of emotional abuse, although reader is kinda vague about it

Jamil Viper

Jamil knows what it's like to feel stuck.

That's really all he has to know when he recognizes that look on your face.

Perhaps you usually wear your heart on your sleeves, or perhaps you're better at keeping your emotions to yourself, like him, but either way he can tell something is very wrong the second he sees you.

It's a bit strange, isn't it?

Surrounded by people in the cafeteria and yet no one seems to notice the shadow cast over you.

He tries to talk himself out of it for the rest of the day. He has enough on his plate as it is, and it's not his problem. He's Kalim's keeper, not yours.

But that sense of unease doesn't go away.

He drags himself out of bed and somehow finds himself at your door in the dead of night.

And even though it takes you a moment to answer, he can tell you were already awake.

"Here," he says, handing you a warm meal in a container. "I noticed you didn't eat today. We had leftovers."

You don't feel very much like eating, but you accept the gift, anyway. It smells amazing. His cooking always does.

"Thank you," you mumble.

You can't think of anything else to say.

"Are you... well, Kalim sent me to ask if you're feeling unwell," he lies through his teeth.

"I'm fine,"

Another lie, this time of your behalf, which annoys him ever-so-slightly.

"You're clearly not. Are you sick?" the question is vague enough, said in such a way that leaves you with the impression that he wasn't exactly referring to a physical illness.

"I've... had a rough day,"

Jamil is quiet for a moment, thinking to himself. And then: "Do you mind if I come in?"

He's always so careful with his words that such a direct (yet polite) request almost catches you off guard. You step to the side, letting him in your room.

"I don't mean to pry. I know it's not my place," he says, watching you close the door. "But... Kalim is worried. Yes."

You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll get over it,"

It.

What did "it" mean? Surely this couldn't just be a lousy day.

"Did something happen?"

You hesitate.

"Have you ever... ran into someone who made your life miserable? That you thought you moved on from... and it starts to feel like you're stuck in that place all over again?"

Of course. Of course he knows what that feels like.

He has to live through that exact experience every day, without even being able to move on.

But he can't just say that. And this is about you, after all.

"I'm familiar with the feeling. I suppose that's what's ruined your day, then?"

"That's one way to put it," you sigh, sitting at the edge of your bed. "Sometimes it feels like all the progress I've made is just... null. Like I'll never really move on."

He hates how much he's relating to you. How much you're affecting him, now, too.

He follows you to the bed and sits beside you.

"Someday, though, you will. It may feel hopeless now, but... you won't stay stuck forever,"

Unlike me, he thinks.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can't be. But you don't strike me as someone to give up after hardship,"

Like me.

You're quiet for a moment, seemingly considering what he told you. And then you hug him.

A nice, soft hug. Not abrasive or sudden like the ones Kalim gives. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Thank you, Jamil,"

He hugs back. "Of course,"

Ruggie Bucchi

It was almost painful, watching you fumble with your wallet like that.

You couldn't seem to get the proper amount out, shaking like a leaf and apologizing profusely. Sam keeps telling you it's okay, but the line forming behind you is starting to grow restless.

Ruggie included.

He has places to be, after all, and he's got two whole crates of energy drinks to lug back to Savanaclaw.

He has half a mind to ask what the holdup is.

And so, he peers over your shoulder, ready to- oh, no. You're crying.

Damn it. Why can't things ever be easy for him?

He can't even chew someone out for taking up all his precious time without being thrown a curveball. And now he feels bad.

Sigh.

"Hey, I got this," he says, setting his heavy crates down on the counter and flashing a card.

Your eyes widen. "Oh, no, Ruggie, you don't have to-"

"Relax, it's Leona's money, not mine," he offers a grin, ignoring the tears trailing down your face. "He won't even notice it's missing."

The line behind you two breathes a collective sigh of relief (much to your embarrassment) and Ruggie shoots them a glare.

"I... I still can't accept this-" you start, before he quickly shushes you.

"Hey, if you wanna make it up to me, you can help me carry these things. I'll call it even,"

You're silent for a moment as Sam finishes ringing you both up, and then you take a crate. As quiet as ever. It's unnerving.

You're walking back to the Hall of Mirrors when Ruggie breaks that silence by bringing up your purchase. "So, what's up with the afternoon snack? Not that I'm judging- I'm jealous. I skipped lunch, shishishi,"

"Oh, it's nothing," you mutter. "Comfort food, I guess."

The concept of comfort food is extremely appealing to him. "Huh. Long day?"

"Something like that... Why'd you skip lunch?"

Trying to change the conversation topic? Clever. But he'll bite, anyway.

"Leona forgot some of his class stuff, so I had 'ta run and get it. Too bad he forgot where he left it... I was all over campus,"

"Did you find it?"

"Eventually. Or else I'd be busy getting my neck wrung instead of 'bein here with you,"

You nod, and the conversation swiftly dies.

After another awkward beat, he clears his throat. "So you... you wanna talk about it, or something?"

"What?"

"You know, your... your day," he mutters, shrugging. He's desperately trying to remember all of the things his grandma did for him when he was upset as a child. "Talking about it might... make 'ya feel better, y'know?"

You're quiet again, and for a moment Ruggie is worried he said something to offend you.

Then, much to his relief, your voice picks up. "I ran into someone today,"

"What? Like someone was giving you trouble?"

"No, not a student. Someone I don't see very much anymore. Um... I guess it just threw me off,"

He tilts his head to the side. "Why?"

"I don't... well, we don't get along very much. Something about them just makes me feel... very... small. Insignificant,"

You don't ask if he understands what you mean, but he does. Not that he'd ever admit that so openly to you at a time like this, but being small and insignificant is basically his job.

And as much as he likes the perks, he can imagine how rough it would be to deal with that and not get to use a bottomless credit card whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He struggles to respond for a moment.

"That's rough,"

Definitely not the sympathetic response he was going for. At least you don't seem to mind.

"I-I mean, sometimes we have to act small to survive. It's a part of life, 'ya know? But that doesn't mean you are small. Just surviving on its own is an accomplishment," he recovers from his earlier blunder, trying to smile. "You should be proud of yourself, if anything."

"That's..." you say. "That's one way of looking at it."

He sighs. "I'm not expressing myself very well, am I? What I'm trying to say is that you're not small or insignificant, and living life feeling like you are is a survival tactic at best,"

The both of you stop in front of Savanaclaw, and he offers another grin.

"And if you ever wanna talk about this stuff... well, I'm around... And you can come inside now, if you want. I could definitely find more stuff to carry!"

Leona Kingscholar

Leona Kingscholar is very, very much enjoying parent weekend alone, thank you.

Of course his folks don't want to attend a school event for their disappointment of a second son. Why would they care? And on Cheka's birthday weekend, no less...

But that didn't bother him. Not at all.

As long as he slept through the weekend without being bothered by any happy-go-lucky nuclear family units, he'd live.

That plan lasts about five hours.

"You'd be better off doing something more useful with your time. Sports, or science, or... something that might help your future. But if you're so sure... I suppose it's better to cut our losses now than put any more faith in you. You just can never decide, can you?"

That voice. Unfamiliar, but drawling, laced with poison. Aggravating enough to stir Leona from his nap in the botanical gardens.

And it's getting closer.

"I just don't understand. Why get accepted into one of the most prestigious schools in the world just to spend your time goofing off?" a long sigh. "But as long as you're happy... we just want what's best for you."

Leona grumbles, turning over and trying to drift back to sleep.

"I'm trying,"

This voice is different. No- he recognizes it. It's yours.

"Are you? You know I know what's best for you, right?"

Sevens. This is your parent speaking to you? No wonder you've been acting all jittery lately.

He sits up, giving up on his nap, and continues listening in.

"I know," you say. "I really am trying, though."

"Did I say you weren't? Don't speak for me,"

This is getting ugly. Leona stands, stepping out of the shrubbery and clearing his throat behind the two of you.

You're the first to turn. "Oh- Leona! Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you,"

"You're fine," he snaps, sharp eyes turning to your parent beside you. "Who's this, then?"

"This is-"

"Their parent," they go ahead and introduce themselves, cutting you off as if you weren't speaking at all. Like you're a piece of furniture hanging in the background. He's not a fan.

"Really? From the way you were talking, I would have guessed that you were their coach. Or boss,"

Your eyes dart between the two. "Leona-"

"You're fine," he reaffirms. "I was just looking for you, anyway. We really have to talk."

You pause, raising an eyebrow. He? Wants to talk to you? Now?

"Is it important?" your parent asks. The question is directed at you, although he answers.

"Very. I was just coming to ask you, very politely, I might add, to reconsider my offer,"

"Your... offer...?"

Your parent looks down at you. "What's he talking about?"

"Can't blame you for forgetting. I'm sure you're busy with all your... school... things. But I do have to ask you to rejoin the spelldrive club. We're in shambles without you,"

He gives you a certain look, one that clearly reads "Go along with it."

Leona Kingscholar offering an olive branch to someone is a rare occurrence. So you take it.

"Oh! Right, I have been busy with school. I've been meaning to get back to you..."

Your parent looks between the two of you with just the faintest hint of confusion, and then frustration. "You've been playing spelldrive? When was I going to hear about this?"

"They haven't been playing with us," Leona says, a small smirk already forming. "They're the team manager. They're way too smart to be out on the field- no, they're running the team, they're organizing everything, their strategy is like nothing we've ever seen. If only they were in Savanaclaw, we might have a chance at winning one of these years."

"Uhhh..." you start, looking between your parent and the oddly friendly and receptive clone that's replaced Leona. "...Yeah, right."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we really have to discuss official club matters," he says, shooing away your parent until they eventually give in and leave.

As soon as they're out the door, you turn to him. "What w-"

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Stunned would be an understatement. "I'm fine,"

"Really? Cause you're looking at me like a gazelle caught in headlights,"

"I-I guess it's just been hard... having them here,"

Leona nods, closing his eyes as he thinks to himself. Then, he sighs.

"Yeah. I get that. Come on, then,"

You raise an eyebrow as he starts off in the opposite direction. "What? Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet and warm to nap. Being around that person sucked all the energy right out of me, I can't imagine how exhausted you feel,"

He turns to look over his shoulder with a smile. "With any luck, we'll avoid them for the rest of the weekend,"

Floyd Leech

Of course, he can tell something's up right away.

Well... maybe it takes him a little while to tune into the conversation, but once he does, he notices you've been... awfully quiet throughout it.

His favorite little shrimpy? All sad? Moping around like a kicked puppy?

Now this catches his attention.

"Bored?" he asks. It's his first guess.

"Hm?" you ask, looking back at him. "No, I'm fine."

"But you're not,"

"Okay, I'm a little distracted,"

Now that, he can understand. But there's still something very off about the whole thing that he can't quite put his finger on.

"You're not telling me something," he states, matter-of-factly, crossing his arms.

You raise an eyebrow. "...And?"

"And I wanna know. I'm not letting you leave until you tell me,"

Your thought process is probably ranging somewhere between "oh, no," and "oh NO," by now.

"I sweaaar, it's nothing," you insist. "I just had a bad day, okay?"

"Why?"

There's no turning back now. He's invested, and until he loses interest, you're stuck here.

"It was... just... long. Can I go now? I have things to do,"

He frowns, and stands, and then puts you in a headlock. "Alright, where're we 'goin?"

"FLOYD!"

He drags you along with him, remembering not to be too rough as he takes you from place to place on his dailies. You begrudgingly learn to accept it.

When you walk back into the Mostro Lounge, Azul and Jade don't even bat an eye.

"You're thirty minutes late- ah, why do I bother?" Azul says, rifling through a stack of papers on his desk. He only looks up when he catches a glimpse of you. "Oh. Hello, there."

You wave half-heartedly. "Can I get some help?"

"Floyd. What is the meaning of this?" he asks.

Floyd pouts. "There's 'somethin wrong with them and they won't tell me what,"

"Are they ill?"

You lower your eyes at the two as they speak like you're not even there. "Hello?"

"Nah, they feel fine. They're all mopey, though,"

Azul hums to himself, lost in thought. And then: "Well, figure out what it is, and get to work, if you please,"

"Azul!" you shout. He ignores you.

Floyd drags you back outside the office and sits down with you at one of the tables, waving to concerned lounge-goers as they pass by.

"Now will you tell me?"

"Geez, alright, alright. I give up, you win," you sigh. "I... well, my parent was here earlier. At school. And we talked, and they... said some not-very-nice things to me. That's why I've been upset, okay?"

Floyd's smile immediately drops. "I win? But that's not a very good prize,"

"Tell me about it,"

"Why would anyone be mean to you, anyway? You're the best shrimpy I know!"

You avert your eyes. "It wasn't... mean... per se. Just... not nice,"

"Sounds mean to me," he mutters. "I don't get it."

"Well, sometimes these things just... don't make sense. It's my fault, anyway," you sigh.

His gaze sharpens at that. "'An who told you that? You didn't do anything! I'm starting to really dislike this parent of yours,"

His sudden mood swing doesn't phase you, but it does lift your spirits... just the tiniest bit. Even if you wouldn't admit that to yourself. "Hey, it's fine. I'm over it,"

"You sure you don't want me to squeeze 'em?"

"Heh. No, that's okay. I would like you to let me go, though,"

His eyes widen at the sudden realization he still has you in a headlock and he quickly releases you.

You sit up, stretching and rubbing the back of your neck. "Thanks,"

"My arm was starting to hurt, anyway..." he thinks for a moment, looking back to the office door. "Ya think I can use that to get out of working? I wanna spend more quality time with my favorite shrimpy. You could use it!"

You look to the door and shrug. "Hey, worth a try, right?"

Rollo Flamme

Out of all the things to ruin the day, of course it had to be your parent.

The disappointment between the two of you was palpable. And even though it was only a brief encounter, it was enough to sour the rest of the afternoon for the both of you.

The first thing Rollo noticed, of course, was the manner in which they carried themselves. As an authoritative, important figure, puffing out their chest and towering over you. What gave them the right...?

They were not a leader, nor a public figure, nor anyone of interest, if your earlier mentions of them gave him any idea. Nothing but an adult who spoke to the both of you as if you were tiny children.

He loathed being talked down to.

Perhaps he should have said something sooner than he did, and perhaps he should have said something more than the interruption he used to excuse you from the conversation.

And now you're just quiet.

"Are you well?" he asks, looking at you from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug.

"I apologize for not speaking on your behalf sooner. I did not want to be rude,"

No response at all.

Your silence was driving him mad. He couldn't get a good read on what you were feeling when you kept looking away like that.

"If you'd like to return home early, I would understand and escort you promptly,"

"No,"

A response. Not a good one, but a response nonetheless.

"May I ask you a question?" though he doesn't really wait for your permission to go on. "Why do they speak to you like that?"

That comment seems to jolt you, and you turn to look at him with wide eyes. "What? Speak to me like what?"

He struggles for the right words.

How could he describe it? It was so... odd. The words they spoke to you didn't sound cruel, but there was something sinister lurking beneath them. And not even in the typical "polite for the sake of it" sense.

Each response they gave was laced with a sort of venom that seemed to sting you. You had grown quiet, distant, as if you weren't really there at all.

Of course he was familiar with such tactics. He could weave his own words with ease. But you had done nothing wrong- you were guiltless. Why were you being punished?

He couldn't quite come up with an answer.

"You seemed uncomfortable," he finally says, looking away again. "I apologize for such an experience happening to you under my watch."

"It's not your fault,"

"It certainly isn't. And it's not yours, either,"

A blanket of silence falls over the two of you until he speaks again.

"You have nothing to feel bad about," he reaffirms.

Another pause.

"And I don't mean to intrude. But if you ever need my assistance, you know where to find me,"

[axelsagewrites]

Aegon Targaryen*Daughter

Pairing: aegon x mum!reader

Word count: 1904

Warnings: unexpected pregnancy, aegon having a bad reaction, absent father, mentions of alcholism and drug abuse, mentions of birth/morning sickness, aegon coming back

Part one here or read alone

Masterlist Here

“Pregnant? You can’t be- you’re not- how?” you sat back as Aegon shot up from your bed, instantly pacing the bedroom as he tried to come to terms with it. you couldn’t blame him you suppose. After all you’d spent a whole week trying to convince yourself it was a lie and your roommate had to literally slap some sense into you. “But we were so safe?”

“Condoms aren’t perfect I guess,”

“But you were on the pill,”

“Its only like 90 something percent effective, look I don’t know,” you let out an exasperated sigh as Aegon looked at you with eyes bulging out his skull.

He walked over and picked up the test, “Maybe you did it wrong,”

“I didn’t do it wrong Aegon I did 20 of them!” you snapped, instantly regretting it as he sunk down on the bed next to you.

You went to speak but he finally broke the silence but broke your heart at the same time, “You’re getting rid of it right?” ‘it’. the words hit like a brick colliding with glass.

“I hadn’t decided yet,” you admitted in a quite voice but loud enough for Aegon to rub his hands over his eyes before dropping his head between his knees, “But we’ll figure it out Aegon. We’ll make it work,” you told him, trying to rub his back but he snapped back up.

“Maybe you can,” he said, his voice cracking, “Not me. I can’t be a dad. Look at me!” he said, standing up and pointing to himself like he was an exhibition, “I am a fucking mess I can’t raise a kid! Ill break it!” he said as he started to pace again.

“They’re not it!” you yelled back standing up too.

“Don’t yell at me!” he screamed as he turned around, his eyes instantly softening when he saw you stepping back, “I’m so- “

“Get out,” you managed to grit out through clenched teeth, “You don’t get to talk to me like that. Leave. Now,”

Aegon paused, his hand half reached out to try comfort you before he sighed and turned around. He headed to the door with his head hung low, “If you need me to go to the doctors- “he started to mumble as he reached for the door handle.

“I won’t need you. ever. You’ve made that clear enough,” you forced the words out your mouth even though they burned you to even saw them. You saw his heart shatter, but you didn’t care as you laid a hand on your stomach.

-

Telling your parents was defiantly not something you looked forward to. You told your best friend Heleana first who offered to fly out the next weekend to see you, but you insisted you were fine. She however insisted on being there to tell your parents to make sure you were okay. the whole time you refused to tell her who the father was.

“Who’s the dad?” your mother asked after a very long and teary-eyed conversation.

Your eyes wandered to Heleana. She reached for your hand and tried to say something, but you cut her off, “I’m so sorry Hel,” you whispered making her tilt her head. You cleared your throat and spoke up so they could all hear, “Its Aegon,”

Heleana’s grip on your hand loosened as her eyes fell to the floor. For a moment you thought you’d lost her too btu then you felt her hand squeeze yours again, “What did he say?” she asked but she could tell from the look on your face, “I will fucking kill him,”

-

It was the first time you’d heard her swear but not the last time it was brought up when discussing Aegon. You ended up telling her the full story later that night and she was ready to fly out and kill him. the only issue was no one knew where he was. Alicent was used to that by now though you could see it begin to weigh on her know he’d been gone for 3 months.

You however were now 4 months pregnant, postponing school, and unable to hide it any longer. “Alicent?” you asked as you awkwardly shuffled into the room with Aemond and Heleana behind you as backup. Aemond had sussed it out pretty quickly though was equally shocked by the father when you told him.

Alicent smiled at you from where she sat on the sofa reading her novel, “Is everything alright dear?”

“I need to tell you something,”

-

Alicent was silent as she processed it all before suddenly taking your hands with a teary smile but a happy one still, “Thank you for telling me sweetheart. Its going to be okay,” And for a while it was. Well, if you didn’t mind the morning sickness and ballooning to the size of a small house. That and still no one had heard from Aegon.

Heleana had helped pick out the decorations for the nursery in your new flat. Yes, a new flat paid for by Alicent. Well technically it was one of her rentals she had inherited when her father died but she decided to let you live there free of charge as well as telling you she’d help out when you decided to go back to school.

Aemond helped you get a job in the restaurant he’d been at for years and even though working as a waitress could be draining at the best of times you knew it would be worth it. especially now you were holding your daughter in your arms.

She was adorable with tuffs of blonde, white hair covering her perfect head. She was such a giggly baby, always gurgling away with a smile. Heleana had to go back to university, but Alicent made sure to adjust her schedule to have the baby when you were at work. Everything was finally feeling good again.

“Hush little baby doesn’t say a word,” you whisper sang to your baby as your nighttime routine with her, but she was already out from a long day at the park with her gran. As you laid her in her crib you heard the doorbell ring.

You froze, watching your daughter who initially stirred but luckily didn’t wake. You quickly padded to the front door, shutting the room to the nursery as you did. when you looked through the peep hole you felt your stomach tighten but still you reached for the door handle.

“Aegon?” you asked as he began to turn and walk away, probably assuming you weren’t in.

He spans back around, “Hey. I- “he began to stutter, “My brother said I could find you here,” you mentally cursed Aemond but stayed standing in the doorway, “I needed to talk to you,”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,”

You saw the hurt in his eyes, but you didn’t care. well at least you tried not to. “I should go,” he muttered, turning to leave once more.

You sighed. Even if you hated him for what he said he was still your daughter’s father, “Wait!” you called out, wincing at the noise you made. Aegon turned back, “Come in,” you sighed.

He walked in in silence, sitting down on the couch you pointed him to as you sat in your armchair. You turned to the table beside you and flicked the baby monitor on. “How is she?” Aegon broke the silence with his head hanging low.

“She’s okay,” you paused but decided to go on, “She’s got your hair but my eyes and all she ever does is laugh,”

“Just like you then?” Aegon smiled softly, looking up as for the first time in a year you shared a smile with him, “I’m sorry. For what I said, for even thinking it,” he began, the smile fading, “I fucked up. Nothing I can say will fix it and I don’t think ill ever make it up to you,” he took a deep breath before continuing, “But I won’t be my father. I don’t want to only see her at Christmas and sign some cheque to pretend I care. I want to be there for her, and you. if you’ll let me,”

He said it so sincerely, but you couldn’t help the pit in your stomach, “What if you leave again?” you whispered. “I didn’t even know where you went,”

“I won’t,” he said firmly, “I know I fucked up. That night I left, and I ended up back at square one. Maybe less than one. All I remember is me leaving then waking up in a field surrounded by broken bottles. I couldn’t face you after. Not after how hard you worked to help me,”

“I kept it up for a bit, the drinking. Bounced around some houses sleeping on couches. Drank myself to sleep every night,” he continued his ramble, all while his eyes stared at the empty ground, “Then one night I was drunk again at a party and some guy offered me something. I almost took it. but something just snapped,”

“I checked myself into rehab the next day. Aemond’s been helping me, but he refused to tell me anything about you or well her. I couldn’t blame him. I was there for about four months. Got sober. Got better. Got another therapist. Ended up getting some jobs here and there. I work down at the Carstark Warehouses. Pays not much but enough to get by,”

Aegon paused again and finally looked up, “I really am sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me or feel bad, but I am sorry,” he said as he pulled an envelope out his pocket, “Take it,”

“I don’t need your money,”

Aegon sighed as he leaned forward and held it out to you. hesitantly you took it. inside was letters though. You pulled them out. At least thirteen of them, you weren’t too sure as your eyes began to well up. Some were to you, but most was to your daughter. “I brought this too,” he said making you look up.

He was holding a white plush bunny, your favourite animal, with a bow on its neck. “I got it when I saw my mums post on Facebook with the baby. I thought she should have it,” he said as he reached out to give it to you.

You shook your head this time, “No. you should give it to her. not me,” you said as you stood up, “You want to see her?”

Aegon shot out his seat, rubbing the sweat of his palms on his jeans, “Yeah course,”

You nodded as you led him to her nursery, “She’s asleep so you need to be quiet. I don’t want to wake her,” Aegon nodded as you creeped the door open.

Together you both walked in and for a moment before you turned around you thought he might run away again. However, when you turned and saw his awestricken face staring at your daughter you somehow knew he wouldn’t. he tenderly walked over to the crib, a tear trickling down his cheek as he held the crib by its rails. “I can’t believe I missed her being here,” he whispered so softly you barely heard him.

“You’re here now,” you whispered back, rubbing a hand on one of his shoulders while leaning on the others. “Just please don’t leave again,”

“I won’t. I’m never going anywhere again,”

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @meg-ro

HOTD taglist @jmii722 @hypocritic-trash-baby @starkleila @jacesvelaryons @sashadevil766

Part One Tags: @heavenly1927 @aemonds-holy-milk

[yuff7e]

hi! Can I pls request a one shot of reader comforting the hashira abt their biggest insecurity? Also, can reader pls be gn? Thank you! I love ur work!!!!!

˚ ༘♡ ·˚ comforting the hashira about their biggest insecurity’s !! ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ headcanons + small fic(s) / fluff (??) / angst / mentiones of violence / mentions of self-hatred / TW !!

gender neutral

hiya anon !! thanks so much for requesting this !! it’s so creative, and definitely put me to work (haha) !! i love requests like these where it’s about multiple people :) anywho, enjoy !! <3

the cuties song -> www.spotify.com

₊˚ପ⊹ gyomei himejema !!

- his biggest insecurity would be his immense strength

- hey, who wouldn’t like being strong and being able to beat up anyone in their path ?

- gyomei.

- we all know he’s an extremely kind hearted man, and hates hurting other living beings

- so imagine walking in on him one day, sitting on his knees - silently crying to himself

—

“gyomei? are you alright?!” you rush over to his side and he just sits there, looking into space. you run a hand over his arm in an attempt to get him to look at you, he turns his head in your direction - hot white tears spilling out of his eyes.

“ah, [name]. hello.” he speaks, you stare at his state and ask him what’s wrong - he stays quiet. you question him again, letting him know you wouldn’t judge him. he turns his head forward and opens his mouth to speak - “my.. strength. i am capable of many things, harming people. i do not wish that upon anyone.”

you smooth a hand over his forearm, reaching the beads he was holding in his hands. “gyomei, you are not a bad person. you have not hurt anyone, we’re hashira for a reason. we save people.” - “but demons used to be people too, before muzan kibutsuji - they had a life just like us.” you sigh at his words.

“gyomei, they were the people we couldn’t save. we cannot save everyone, but - saving a few is enough.” his white eyes flick downward toward the floor, blinking slowly. “i suppose. thank you, [name].”

₊˚ପ⊹ tengen uzui !!

- his biggest insecurity would be his inferiority complex

- he shows insecurities toward his fellow hashira, worrying he will never be as great as them.

- because of this, he locks himself away some days and sits training on his own terms

- abusing his mental and physical state immensely.

- imagine walking in on him as he trains himself to his knees, collapsing over and breathing heavy - clearly upset.

—

“tengen?! what are you doing?” you ask, standing in the doorway of his room - he glances back at you. “[name]? what are you doing in here?” he strains, sitting up - placing a hand on his knee. “do you need help?” you walk toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder and he looks back at you once more.

“no, im fine. thanks though.” - “tengen.” he blinks, holding his sword in a shaky hand - “do i look strong?” you raise your eyebrows at his question, “what do you mean? of course you do, do you not think that?” his gaze stiffens when you say that. noticing his stiff demeanor you glance down at his hands, he’s shaking.

“tengen, your abusing your power too much. you need to take a break, that’s why we have a schedule.” - “i don’t feel strong..” he whispers and your eyes widen at his response, “what? seriously? tengen, you are.” you brush your hand against his in a comforting manner, and he smiles weakly.

“thank you, [name]. sorry for this, maybe i do need to take a break!” - “yeah, i think you do.”

₊˚ପ⊹ kyojuro rengoku !!

- his biggest insecurity would be his unwavering will

- the way he wants to protect those weaker than him eats at his brain every night

- thinking of the people he couldn’t save, the people he couldn’t get to in time

- people suffered, because he couldn’t save them.

- imagine waking up and seeing him standing outside, looking at the moon with tears prickling his eyes at his thoughts.

—

“rengoku, are you okay?” you ask, walking up behind him as he stares at the moon somberly. he turns to the sound of your voice, blinking away his tears. “[name]! hello!” he shakes off his sadness quickly once he sees your face in order to hide it.

you notice this, and look at him sadly - “rengoku, what are you doing out here? it’s night..” - “sorry [name], i was just thinking.” he looks up at the moon again, sighing. “don’t apologize, is something bothering you? you can talk to me.”

he turns toward you once more at your reply, “it’s just.. all of the people i couldn’t save! suffering.” you watch him intently as he confesses his feelings, looking into his deep golden eyes. “rengoku, you have saved more people than i can count. more people than i have, that’s such an amazing thing.”

he smiles at your words, his sadness fading as you compliment him. his thoughts of not being able to save some people will never leave his brain, but knowing he’s saved just a few is more than enough for him. “thank you [name]! i don’t know what id do without someone like you!”

₊˚ପ⊹ sanemi shinazugawa !!

- his biggest insecurity would be his appearance

- having to cut himself to intoxicate demons is not anything short of brave.

- but it takes a toll on his self esteem, the cuts across his face, tummy, arms, etc.

- he didn’t really think about his looks after he saw what demons looked like, but it still eats away at him sometimes.

- imagine seeing him training and glancing in a window, his expression changing into an aggressive one at his own image - saying things how he looks disgusting, hideous, etc.

—

“sanemi! don’t say things like that!” you yell, running towards him. you knew sanemi quite well, especially since he was one of the most.. unique looking hashiras.

“[name]?! what the hell do you know? leave me alone.” he continues his training, turning away from you. “i heard what you said, and that’s untrue! you’re perfect! don’t say those things about yourself.” he stiffens at your confession but doesn’t stop training.

“what the hell? so you’re an eavesdropper? now scram!” he slashes one of the dummies heads clean off, you watch as his aggressive demeanor falters for a second after he finishes. “it’s not true, sanemi.”

he stays quiet, looking at the dummy - his face doesn’t change but you see him tightening his grip on his sword. “thanks [name].”

₊˚ପ⊹ giyu tomioka !!

- his biggest insecurity would also be his inferiority complex

- like tengen, he also feels inferior towards the other hashiras

- hence why he says he’s “different” than the rest of them.

- he isolates himself from the others quite frequently, and you begin to worry for him.

- imagine checking up on him and he’s laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling..

—

“giyu.. how are you doing?” you trot towards his bed, kneeling down. you’ve known giyu for a while, having a steady relationship - which has given him time to trust you. he stares for a bit before replying, “i’m tired today, i’ll get up soon.”

you look at him softly, placing a hand on his arm and he glances towards you - “i’m fine.” - “you’re not.” he looks back up toward the ceiling, he looks ill. “giyu, what happened? talk to me.” you squeeze his arm gently and he sits himself up, “nothing, [name]. i’m fine, just tired.”

you wait there, silent. you knew if you waited he’d eventually cave and tell you what’s wrong, and so he did. “i am different from the others, i am not like them.” - “what are you talking about? you’re as equal if not superior to the other hashiras. at least you are to me.” you smile at him, comforting his thoughts.

he sends you a weak grin before dropping it, “thank you, [name]. i will be fine, i promise.” - “i believe you, and please giyu - tell me if something is bothering you. i want to be here for you.”

₊˚ପ⊹ mitsuri kanroji !!

- her biggest insecurity would be her fear of rejection

- she’s always been concerned with the way she looks, acts, and how she appears to others.

- suppressing her true feelings, emotions, and personality in order to fit in.

- her being concerned that no one wants to marry her is a big deal to her, and it eats away at her constantly

- imagine you’re hanging out with her, and she asks you a question that makes you question her state of mind..

—

“[name], do you think anyone would want to marry me? be honest!” she asks, her cheeks burning - waiting for your reply. you look at her with wide eyes, chuckling at her question. “what do you mean? of course someone would want to marry you.” - “you’re not just saying that, right?”

looking into her eyes you can sense her lacking self esteem, you ask her why she feels like that and why is she asking you such a question? she falls silent, clutching onto her skirt - “it’s just.. what if i get rejected? i want to fit in y’know!” she confesses, tears prickling at her inner corners and you quickly go to console her.

“mitsuri! don’t be stupid, anyone would want to marry you! honest. listen, if i could marry you i would in a heartbeat! you’re the best person i’ve ever met.” she stares at you, then she begins to smile. “thank you so much [name]!! i just want to live happily ever after with someone.. y’know what i mean?!”

“yeah, i do.”

₊˚ପ⊹ obani iguro !!

- obani has many insecurities, but his biggest ones would have to be his appearance and background.

- growing up, the clan he was in never made him feel good enough. torturing him beyond repair.

- he’s grown up feeling worthless, and the scars across his mouth state just that.

- he can’t even look in the mirror without disgust, nor have friendships & relationships where he doesn’t feel inferior

- imagine seeing him without his mask on for the first time, and he freaks out - telling you how sorry he is for you to have witnessed something so horrific…

—

“[name]! sorry! i—“ he stutters, quickly reaching for his mask to wrap around his mouth - you just stare at him. “obani.. you look..” he cuts you off, clearly panicking.

“no, i know what you’re going to say. you don’t have to tell me twice, i know how disgusting i look.” you gasp at his words, there’s no way he just said that about himself. “obani, no! i wasn’t going to say that! you look great.. how can you ever say that about yourself?” you hurry over toward him, grabbing ahold of one of his hands.

“you don’t think so?..” he whispers, looking back at you with his yellow and blue eyes. “yes obani, you look amazing! i’m glad i saw you, now i really know what my friend looks like… and it looks great.” he smiles a little at your words, a pink hue laminating his cheeks out of slight embarrassment.

“thank you, [name].”

₊˚ପ⊹ muichiro tokito !!

- his biggest insecurity would be his forgetfulness

- i mean of course he would probably forget that insecurity because he forgets everything… however

- there are days when his mind is more clear, and he realizes all of the things he could achieve if he was always like that

- some days he wishes to himself to give him the ability to remember things more clearly, his friends, his things, his family.

- imagine finding him one day, seemingly upset over something you weren’t too familiar with until now …

—

“muichiro! hello!” you jog toward the boy who’s kneeled down on the ground, staring into the grass “hello? muichiro what are you doing?” you place your hands on your knees as you try to get a good look at his face, his cheeks were flushed and wet.

“muichiro? hey are you okay? talk to me.” you kneel down beside him and shake his shoulder a little, causing him to look at you. “huh? oh, hello. who..” he trails off, looking into your face - you look back at him sadly, he had forgotten you.

“muichiro it’s me, [name]. what are you doing? are you alright?” you ask, pulling your hand away from him and placing it onto your lap. “uh, i don’t know. i can’t remember.” he looks upset again, suddenly - a tear rolls down his cheek. “muichiro!”

“sorry, i just can’t remember.” he coils over and wipes a hand against his eyes, “i don’t know why i can’t remember.” - “muichiro it’s okay, please don’t cry. you’ll be alright, you’re here with me.” you smile at him and he looks up at you, his eyes glisten.

“i suppose, uh— sorry what was i talking about again?”

₊˚ପ⊹ shinobu kocho !!

- her biggest insecurity would also be an inferiority complex

- she’s extremely insecure of her physical body, and how she’s not as strong as the other pillars.

- she curses herself for not developing further, and wishes she could be as physically strong as the others …

- it eats away at her confidence and self esteem, locking herself away from the others wasn’t uncommon

- imagine having a deep conversation with her, and she admits to feeling ashamed of her physical body to you…

—

“what? you really think that?” you gawk, and she nods. “i’m quite ashamed, really. i wish i was as physically capable as the others… i trust you with this knowledge, [name]. do you think so too?” she looks into your eyes and you can’t help but feel your heart silently breaking for her.

“no, i don’t. that’s absurd that you think that! you’re quite beautiful! why would you ever think that about yourself? you are just as capable as the others.” she smiles sadly at your words, looking down into her lap. “i suppose.” she sighs.

“don’t beat yourself up for it, seriously. i can tell you one thing, i know for certain you’re smarter than most of the hashiras here..” you laugh a little at your own comment and she does too.

“thank you, [name]. that really makes me feel better, you’re a great person. i’m happy to have you in my life.”

—

that’s it! i’ve finished :) this was really fun to write!! i love writing for the hashiras but tend to only do it when someone requests since it takes up a lot of my time to get through all of them - and i like to post fast. hope you’ve enjoyed !! <3

REQUESTS : OPEN

[dekariosclan]

How do you think Gale would be with a Tav that just came out of a long term relationship where they were abused in at least some similar ways as to what Mystra did to Gale? (Gatekeep, gaslight, girlboss apparently) Would hearing Tav's experiences make him realize that he did deserve what happened to him either? How would he handle both their trauma? How would he handle it if Tav's ex found them in Baldur's Gate, especially if it happened before his own talk with Mystra?

Oh what an interesting question anon!!

I’ve mentioned before that I think Gale, like most people, has an easier time perceiving flaws in others than he does seeing those same flaws in himself. And I think the same goes with perceiving wrongs done against those he cares about. He would be horrified by any wrongs done to his beloved Tav, but it would be much easier for him to see how Tav didn’t deserve what was done to them than it would be for him to accept the same compassion for himself.

During the course of the game, with Tav’s help and Tav’s encouragement, we see Gale slowly come to understand that he did not deserve the abuse he received from Mystra. In the Act 3 boat scene, having refused Mystra’s command to die for her forgiveness, he tells Tav, ‘you showed me just how much I have to live for.’ He’s no longer caught up in the despair of his past, but finally ready to move forward with Tav. I think he would apply this same encouragement to a Tav that had also been treated cruelly, by showing them again and again, in a million different ways, just how worthy of love they are and how wonderful he knows them to be.

And this carries over into handling both of their trauma. The thing is, I don’t think that burden would fall entirely on Gale’s shoulders, because I think he and Tav would both heal in same way: by truly loving and being loved by each other.

One of the reasons Mystra was able to hurt Gale so deeply was because she disguised her cruelty as love; as Gale himself said, she used him as ‘an amusement, a mortal to be trifled with.’ But Gale would never willingly enter a romantic relationship with that type of dynamic. He commits himself fully to his partner and gives them his whole heart. So, after loving and devoting himself to Mystra only to find himself wounded and discarded as a result, it would mean everything to him to find Tav, and finally be able to give and receive love with someone who is as devoted and loyal as he is. And I think Tav would feel the same.

Finally, if Tav’s ex found them in Baldur’s Gate? I don’t think it would matter if they arrived before or after Gale’s talk/resolution with Mystra, because I believe Gale’s response would be the same regardless: disgust, repulsion, and a fiercely protective anger. Imagine Gale’s classic Act 1 line of: ‘if you use that knife, I will incinerate you’ but amped up to 11. Gale would not do any toxic overstepping of boundaries or acting out against Tav’s wishes, he would follow Tav’s lead and support them fully however they wanted to handle the situation…but he would be seething at seeing this loathsome person who had treated Tav so horribly, and if Tav gave any indication that they were amenable to it…well…there might be a ‘mishap’ with a fire spell or shocking grasp, who’s to say?

Gale would certainly not lose any sleep over it if something were to happen.

[bitter-hibiscus]

Characters I think you'll like based on your favorite Jason Todd characterization (from a JT stan)

"Struggling between his morals and his family, on a constant back-and-forth between being true to himself or having people who love him" -> Talia Al Ghul (especially pre-Damian)

"Hot-headed, brawns, angry but incredibly kind to children" + "Grew up in an abusive household and has to work on overcoming the trauma it brings" -> Guy Gardner/Green Lantern.3

"Child Prostitute Jason Todd" or "Struggles to find his place in his family and belives himself to be hard to love (gets proven wrong)" -> Mia Dearden/Speedy

"Good quips, mercenary-esque, uses humor to deflect his trauma, very passively suicidal" -> Cole Cash/Grifter

"Magical Jason Todd, selfish, very very depressed and struggling with loneliness + letting himself be open with people" -> John Constantine

"Crimelord with a heart of gold" -> Slade Wilson/Deathstroke

"Struggling to understand his morality and coming to terms with the fact he's hurt a lot of people and done really bad things" -> Hal Jordan/The Spectre ("oh but isn't Hal a green lanter-" GO READ THE SPECTRE 2001 NOW)

"guy with morals and kills people with guns and... cares?" -> Eddie Fyers

"DOESN'T kill, grew up in a physically abusive household, constantly undermined by others (especially Bruce)" -> Stephanie Brown/Spoiler/Batgirl

Other characters I think you'll like but couldn't tell you why:

Beatriz da Costa/Fire

Yara Flor

Barbara Gordon as Oracle PRE-NEW 52 (especially in BOP)

P.S: Don't be a dick to Jason fans in the tags/comments. This post is to get people into the greater DC canon and not to bash the character or his fanbase. Be nice to each other.

[blackstarlineage]

The Harm of Physical Discipline on Black Children: A Garveyite Perspective on Abuse, Colonial Trauma, and the Need for New Approaches to Parenting

From a Garveyite perspective, which champions self-determination, empowerment, and the uplifting of Black people globally, the physical discipline of Black children—often normalized in many communities—is a direct result of colonial conditioning, intergenerational trauma, and an internalized acceptance of oppressive tactics. This form of discipline, though widely practised, ultimately hinders the development of strong, confident, and independent-minded Black youth who can lead the charge toward liberation.

This analysis will explore why physical discipline is a legacy of slavery and colonial rule, why it contradicts Garveyite principles of Black self-empowerment, and why alternative methods rooted in respect, understanding, and cultural restoration are necessary.

1. The Colonial Roots of Physical Discipline in Black Communities

Many Black families defend beatings, whoopings, and corporal punishment as “tradition,” but in reality, this practice is a remnant of colonial rule and slavery rather than a cultural legacy of African societies.

Fact: Pre-colonial African societies relied on communal discipline, verbal correction, and rites of passage to instil values in children—not beatings inspired by slave masters.

Example: During the Transatlantic Slave Trade, slave owners brutally whipped and beat enslaved Africans to instil obedience through fear. This method of control was later internalized and passed down through generations.

Example: Colonial governments in Africa and the Caribbean used severe physical punishments to enforce European laws on Black populations, reinforcing a hierarchy of control based on violence.

Garveyite Takeaway: If beating children was an effective and righteous method of discipline, it would have empowered Black people under slavery rather than kept them in a state of fear and submission. If it did not liberate us from white rule, why should it be used to prepare our children for liberation?

2. The Contradiction of Physical Discipline and Black Empowerment

Marcus Garvey’s teachings emphasized the need for strong, independent-thinking, and self-disciplined Black individuals to lead the charge for global African liberation. Physical discipline directly contradicts this vision in several ways:

How Physical Discipline Weakens Black Children Instead of Strengthening Them:

1. It Instills Fear, Not Critical Thinking:

A child who is beaten does not learn why their actions were wrong—they only learn to fear punishment.

Fear-based discipline leads to obedient followers, not revolutionary leaders.

2. It Damages Self-Worth and Identity:

Black children who are frequently hit may internalize self-hatred and associate discipline with violence instead of wisdom.

How can we tell Black children they are kings and queens while treating them like enslaved people?

3. It Perpetuates the Cycle of Oppression

Many Black parents justify beatings by saying:

“I do this so the police won’t have to.”

This statement is an admission that corporal punishment is a tool of white supremacy, used to “prepare” Black children for life under oppression instead of preparing them for liberation.

Example: Malcolm X, Huey P. Newton, and Marcus Garvey were not obedient, fearful children—they were defiant, critical thinkers who challenged the status quo. We need leaders, not people conditioned, to obey authority without question.

Garveyite Takeaway: We must stop preparing our children for submission to oppression and start raising them to become liberators and builders of Black power.

3. The Psychological and Emotional Damage of Physical Discipline

The Scientific and Psychological Evidence Against Beating Black Children

Numerous studies confirm that physical punishment leads to negative long-term effects rather than producing disciplined, successful adults.

Research has shown that children who experience corporal punishment are more likely to:

Develop low self-esteem

Exhibit aggressive behaviour in relationships and society

Struggle with mental health issues like depression and anxiety

Be less likely to challenge authority, even when that authority is unjust

Example: Many Black adults defend beatings by saying, “I was whooped as a child, and I turned out fine.” However, if we examine how much internalized trauma, anger, and distrust exist within the Black community, it’s clear that we did not “turn out fine.”

Garveyite Takeaway: A truly free and empowered people do not need to rule their children through fear—they lead them through wisdom, cultural education, and self-determination.

4. The Double Standard: Black Children vs. White Children

One of the most dangerous consequences of normalizing corporal punishment in Black households is that it prepares Black children to accept violence as normal, while white children are often raised with nurturing and encouragement.

How This Affects the Black Community in the Long Run

White children grow up being told they can achieve anything—Black children are often told they need to be beaten into obedience.

White children grow up to become bosses, entrepreneurs, and leaders—Black children, conditioned through fear, are often expected to follow rules instead of challenge them.

The system punishes Black children more harshly in schools, knowing their own parents won’t fight back against abusive authority.

Example: Black children are three times more likely to be suspended or expelled from school than white children for the same behavior—yet Black parents still tell their children to be quiet, obey, and never challenge authority.

Garveyite Takeaway: Beating Black children does not protect them—it only weakens them while their white counterparts are being raised to dominate the world.

5. A Better Approach: How to Raise Black Children for Power and Liberation

If physical discipline is a product of oppression, then the solution is to return to African-centered parenting methods that build strong, confident, and intelligent Black youth.

Garveyite Alternatives to Physical Discipline:

1. Restoring African Values of Communal Discipline

In African societies, elders disciplined through community correction and mentorship, not through beatings.

Teaching, storytelling, and cultural reinforcement were the primary methods of guidance.

2. Rites of Passage Programs

Black children need structured rites of passage to transition into adulthood, teaching them responsibility, self-discipline, and leadership.

3. Building Self-Discipline Instead of Fear

Encourage critical thinking and accountability instead of forcing obedience.

Teach children to analyze their actions and take responsibility without violence.

4. Lead by Example

Many Black children experience hypocrisy from parents who demand respect but show none.

Children learn from watching—if they see strong, disciplined, and intelligent parents, they will embody those traits.

Example: The Nation of Islam emphasizes self-discipline, structured education, and accountability over beatings, producing many strong, disciplined leaders.

Garveyite Takeaway: We need Black children who think critically, move strategically, and act boldly. This will never be achieved through fear-based parenting.

Conclusion: Breaking the Chains of Slave Discipline

The physical discipline of Black children is not cultural—it is a practice forced onto us through colonial rule and slavery. If we are to build a strong and liberated race, we must break the cycle and return to African-centered, Garveyite principles of discipline through empowerment, knowledge, and cultural restoration.

Final Thought

Marcus Garvey did not build the UNIA by beating his followers into submission—he inspired them through discipline, knowledge, and leadership. If we want strong Black leaders in the future, we must raise children who are strong in mind, not just fearful of punishment.

[bumblebriez]

Love Stricken (PT.5)

(Gojo Satoru x Chubby!Fem!Reader)

(PT.1) (P.T.2) (P.T.3) (P.T.4)

⚠️⚠️⚠️: Abuse, physical and verbal. Non con sex. Degradation. Just mental abuse. Talking horribly about weight and reader. Children sort of present. Underage dating if you squint.

Never in a million years would you think, you'd catch the eyes of a certain jujutsu sorcerer but you did and with that came alot of consequences. That you would eventually find out the hard way.

Your parents vanished a good couple of years ago with no knowledge of why and where, leaving you; the eldest, to care and provide for your younger siblings. Being responsible and forgetting about the life you used to live, you felt lost. Struggling a lot with your self worth.

Your best friend took it upon herself to finally get you to live your life a little more by taking you out on the town for a night.

But you found that night was the start of your downfall.

********

GIF by saewrq

********

You woke up alone.

Though this time.. you weren’t worried. Your tired eyes stared up at the ceiling with a smile gracing your lips. Last night was amazing. You felt amazing. You just felt good. Confidant.

Which was such a rare feeling for you in these recent times and it pissed you off that with only a few touches and meaningful words, you had been turned to putty.

You brushed a hand over your face with your cheeks started to heat up; blushing ferociously. You can still hear his voice, his words that made your heart flutter, leaving you feeling like a school girl with an intense crush.

Even if you felt like you could just stay in bed and reminisce on last night, you had to move. Kids to get ready for school and all.

You huffed in slight amusement and fondness, throwing your legs over the side of the bed and stretching softly.

Just as you went to stand, your smile immediately got wiped off your face as memories started to plague your mind; unwarranted and unwanted.

Why now..

Why after all this time..

But you knew why.. HE just likes to remind you..

4 years ago.

Freshly 21 years old and you were already struggling with life, caring for a 2 year old and an 8 year old wasn’t exactly how you pictured yourself to be doing after high school.

You remember not too long ago, you were discussing plans for your 18th and soon your 21st but.. they never came to

You were hoping by this time you would’ve been trying to figure out what you wanted to be doing, maybe you would’ve gone to university. Maybe you would’ve had a better job that you could climb the ranks and be set. Who knows. Maybe the 9 to 5 job you work now, would’ve been just a part time job. Not full time.

You were grateful for Zack, at least that’s what you told yourself back then. Completely unaware that your relationship was far from healthy, even if he did help with the kids.

You were young. Never been in a proper long term relationship before, so how were you to know that his love language was wrong and toxic.

Maybe you should’ve known better than getting into a man who was four years older than you when you were only 17 but you were lonely and he seemed like really nice. It’s not like any guys your own age took a liking to your.. figure. In fact, you were quite use to guys and even girls thinking they could have an opinion on your body..

So when this guy came along, spitting all these compliments and showing affection, making you feel good about yourself for once and with the disappearance of your parents, you didn’t realise how unstable you truly were. You needed it.. at least that’s what you told yourself.

But that’s how it all starts right? The compliments. The affection. The want. The desire.

But how long does that truly last until you start realising it’s all a facade.

The possessiveness was the thing that came first, you never thought much of it at first, in fact you welcomed it. He just wanted you right? He didn’t want anyone else to have you.

When your high school friends, Zariah and Rast came to visit you, who were you to tell Zack, he didn’t have to be the only one talking. When Zariah would ask you how you were doing, Zack would answer for you. If Rast wanted to plan something with you, Zack would tell him you were busy. Busy with work and busy with the kids. It was all true though right? You couldn’t just drop everything for some mindless reason. They could do what they wanted because they didn’t have responsibilities like you did.

The gaslighting was subtle at first.

Like the ‘Oh come on Y/N. I was just looking. It’s not like I want them. I want you.’ Of course. How silly could you be? He was with you at night not them. How SILLY could you really be.

‘Who are you texting Zack?’ You would ask him when he was always on his phone, when he was smiling at the screen he glazed upon, almost forgetting about you.

And he would say ‘It’s just a friend. Can I not talk to my friends?’

Of course he could and who were you to tell him otherwise.. even if he wouldn’t let you talk to your own.

You can’t exactly remember when it escalated, perhaps you didn’t want to; blocking it from your mind.

‘Y/N where do you think you’re going? Akari is too young for you to leave her all the time. Just quit.’

‘Y/N. Baby. You don’t need the money. I’ll look after us.’

‘Y/N. Why are you so useless. No wonder you got so big in high school.’

‘Baby. You know I love the way you look. You’re pretty.’

‘Can’t you just lose the weight? I think you’d look so much more beautiful if you were smaller.’

‘You should look like this girl, so gorgeous and you could finally be proud of yourself. Even the kids will appreciate you more..’

‘Y/N. Akari and Riku need you. Zariah and Rast just don’t understand, they don’t have kids to look after. Stop being so neglectful. They will hate you when they grow up.’

‘Akari is the only thing here that is worth something. And she’s a baby.’

‘You’re mine.’

‘Are you talking back to me Y/N? Who do you think you are? Know your fucking place.’

‘You think someone else will love you like I do? Please. No one could love you like i do.’

‘You do realise no one loves you right?’

‘Are you fucking kidding me? How stupid can you be? Fucking idiot.’

‘Don’t fucking talk over me. You will listen to me and do as your fucking told.’

‘You’re lucky you’ve got a big ass, otherwise I would’ve left it ages ago.’

‘Look at you. You look so pathetic when you cry, grow up.’

‘I don’t blame your parents for leaving, they probably hated you too.’

‘You know. When I actually look at you. Like really look. You’re a repulsive and disgusting human-‘

Stop.

Was that the last straw for you? Is that when you finally got the courage to leave him?

No.

It wasn’t.

How much abuse did you really have to put up with before you finally realised you were worth so much more than his pathetic ass.

Sadly. You truly thought you deserved it. Your parents did leave after all.

When did YOU leave? That’s the real question.

Even if you didn’t remember everything, you’d always remember that night. That NIGHT.

The night was simple, it was calm in the beginning, making sure the children were fed and then you got ready to put them to bed.

You had a dreadful feeling in your chest at the thought Zack was coming over soon. You remembered thinking, is this how you were supposed to feel when your boyfriend of 4 years was coming to stay; glad that you didn’t live with him.

You were even grateful for the fact you hadn’t seen him all week. You should’ve missed him but you were far from it.

You will always remember the second hand embarrassment you felt when you were desperately trying to settle Akari in her crib and the hands that made their self known on your hips, the cold lips that pressed to the back of your neck. Akari still didn’t settle.

‘Just leave her. I want to have fun.’

‘Zack I can’t right now.’

He scoffed in your ear, his hands on your hips gripping tighter.

‘So. She’ll be fine. They are suppose to cry.’ He continued to nip at your neck, the involuntary shiver that travelled up your back at the sensation was not a welcomed one.

‘Please. Can you wait.’ You will always remember the way you pleaded for him, as you kept trying to settle your little sister and the immediate freeze that over took your body when his fingers dug into your skin, the pausing of his kisses.

‘Are you.. defying me?’

‘No. I just.. this is different. She’s just not settling right.’

Your breathing hitched when his hand moved to your throat, gripping softly before squeezing a little.

‘It seems like you are defying me..’ You gulped softly as his grip got tighter, Akari cries got louder; you were at a stand still.

‘Shut her up.’ He growled in your ear.

‘IM FUCKING TRYING TO.’

That was it. You knew as soon as those words left your mouth, the tone it came out in, pure frustration and irritation.

You were quite literally fucked.

You yelped loudly as he gripped your hair, pulling you roughly away from the crib and your bawling sister. Akari standing up with her fresh wobbly legs, bouncing as she gripped the edge of the crib, crying out for you.

‘Zack please!’ You cried out as he dragged you out of the nursery but your hair, down the hallway.

Your brother Riku had popped out of his own room with teary eyes at all the loudness in your home, the crying from you and Akari.

‘Go back to bed kid!’ Zack had growled at your younger brother, not bothering to spare him a glance as he shoved you into your bedroom; slamming the door shut behind him.

You landed on the ground with a loud thud and after the door was slammed shut, he marched to you; pure anger on his features.

‘Zack im sorry i didn’t mean-‘ you gasped sharply when he gripped you by the neck dangerously tight, his face moving closer to yours.

‘Shut up. I don’t want to hear your pathetic excuses. You’ll just take what I give you and fucking enjoy it.’

In a swift moment, he had you pressed into the mattress, your back arched with your ass into the air, his hand was still very much holding you down by the neck; your face press against your bed sheets.

Despite your protests, he never listened.

He always took what he wanted.

You were too weak to fight back, no matter if you even tried to.

Your heart was aching as you heard your baby sister bawling her eyes out, her voice hoarse from screaming so loudly; crying out for her mama, even if you weren’t her real one. She was only a baby.

You whimpered painfully, when he took you. Not giving you time to adjust. Not caring too. He took you hard and rough, borderline brutal.

Your hands gripped your blankets tightly as you tried to drown at the cries and the pain he was inflicting on you.

You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed sex, maybe it was your first time with him and a couple times after that but once he started to show how he really was, you hated the idea of sex.

You’d blank out every time.

You’d never initiate it.

It always hurt with him. So why would you bother?

He’d never focus on you, he wouldn’t even try. You were always dry and it pissed him off. Which only made it worse.

Your mind went numb as you laid there, his hips thrusting against your ass with brutal force. His hand now tangled in your hair as he grunted loudly.

You didn’t cry. You wanted to for different reasons but it only got him off more. He was always determined to see you cry when he took you but not this time.

You grimaced when you felt him thrust harder than before; letting a guttural groan as he came inside you.

When he finally pulled away from you, you didn’t bother moving, just laying there; with a blank stare, the cries coming from your sister finally filling your ears once more.

‘See. That wasn’t so hard. If you’d just behave you’d have a nicer time.’

Liar. He was a liar.

His hand gripped your ass, squeezing it tightly before letting go. ‘For that. I’m not staying.’

You could’ve sighed in relief when he said that, not even bothering to protest. Just glancing over at him tiredly; watching as he did up his belt.

‘Sort that kid out yeah? She’s fucking annoying.’

You wanted to thrash out at the comment, silent anger was brewing inside you, you were desperate to shout at him

But yet..

You simply clenched your jaw as he opened the door to your bedroom and slamming it shut behind him as he left your home.

You let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding before moving to sit up, you winced softly as the pain in your lower region surged through you.

You had an oncoming headache from his hand gripping your hair the way he did and the on going cries.

You quickly pulled up your sweats before rushing from your room and back into the nursery, approaching the bawling toddler; pulling her from the crib and cradling her delicate body against yours desperately.

You shushed her as she finally settled in your arms, slowing to hiccuping; your lips were pressed to her crown.

‘I’m sorry little girl. I’m here now.’ Your voice was a whisper, your eyes glazed over to the door and you saw Riku standing there, with a pout and teary eyes. He was only eight years old and he already had a look of concern; seemingly understanding the situation more than an eight year old should.

You held out your free arm and he didn’t hesitate to run into your arms; clinging to your shirt frantically. Scared.

‘It’s okay my babies.. everything will be okay..’

Present time.

Your body had simply gone into auto pilot as you went throughout your day, almost reliving your past again. The kids were at school and you were alone.

A different alone from the feeling you felt this morning.

You mindlessly cleaned up your home, scrubbing significantly harder with your scrub daddy on the counter that Satoru had you pressed up against last night.

You hated this. Your past was tainting your present.

The words you were told long ago, resurfacing and making you question Satoru’s intentions once again.

They always started out nice.. but your body was telling you that Satoru was different but your mind was guarded; trying to protect you, making you remember what happened last time you let a man fully into your life.

Zack was an unpredictable man, it’s like he purposely popped up to remind you. You were his. No one else’s.

Regardless you grew a backbone after those times but you were still scared nonetheless..

What happened if Zack tried to hurt Satoru.. you didn’t want him to get hurt because of you.

“Ding dong! You home girl?” A familiar voice rang out from your front door before popping her head through the kitchen archway.

“Hey Za. Whatcha doing here?” You asked softly, throwing your sponge into the sink before turning to your best friend.

“Just seeing what you were doing? Haven’t heard from you in a couple of days.” She huffed slightly as she walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter you had just cleaned.

You couldn’t stop the words that fell from your lips next, like your mouth just needed to tell her what was going on without thinking.

“Zack showed up yesterday.”

Zariah was silent for a few moments, her eyes widened as she realised “Are you okay?” Were her first words to your admittance.

You shrugged lightly trying to act dismissive but eventually it fizzled out, leaving you to crash. Your eyes immediately gathering tears “No. I’m not.”

Zariah rushed forward taking you in your arms; rubbing your back in a comforting manner. You sobbed quietly into her neck; your fingers gripping her jacket tightly.

Zariah’s frown only deepened as she felt you cling to her. She clenched her jaw hard as her eyes started to sting, she hated this. She hated how broken you truly were and she just wanted to help all she could; her hand never stopping its ministrations.

“I’m sorry..” was all you could say as you clung to her, Zariah quickly shook her head, pulling back to look at your face; her hands moving to caress your cheeks.

“Don’t apologise. You’re aloud to cry. He’s an evil prick and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now..” Her soft tone she used to talk to you, calmed your nerves somewhat but not completely diminishing them.

“I don’t know what he wants. I just wish he’d leave me alone. It’s like he doesn’t give a fuck about the restraining order against him.” You mumbled into her shoulder, her hand still rubbing your back softly.

“Like I said. He’s evil. He’s only doing this to torment you. If Reagan and I could move you into our house, you know I would in a heartbeat.” You pulled back to look at her before you could say a response, your phone dinged.

In silence, the both of you turned to your phone on the counter. With a deep sigh, you step over to the counter, grabbing your phone; pressing the lock button.

Satoru

Sent 11:43am

Sleep well doll?

You let out a breath of relief and couldn’t help the small curl of your lips. Zariah sauntered over, peaking over your shoulder. “Ohhhh. No way.”

She took a step from behind you, facing you front on. “You still talking to him? I thought you dropped him because of the whole ghosting thing.” Zariah spoke with an amused tone, the previous situation being forgotten about for a moment.

“Well.. he.. came over last night.. apologised. Explained why.” You said softly; putting your phone down.

“OHHH. So he came over huh?” She smirked at you with a suggestive look; tilting her head slightly as she threw the innuendo at you.

You nudged her softly all while you blushed, your cheeks burning up. Hot.

“Damn girl. You really like him.” Her smirk dropped into a soft smile, noticing how you were getting flustered.

“He’s really sweet but he’s also a cocky ass.” You spoke with fondness, a small chuckle leaving your mouth in the process.

“Eh. What man isn’t? At least he can back it up huh.” She nudged you back with the soft smile that she held.

Your smile immediately dropped as you started to think about what you previously were, you glanced away slightly before looking back at your best friend.

“I’m scared.”

She straightened her posture slightly, her hands dropping to her side “Scared it’s all a facade?” Her voice was soft as she asked you.

You shook your head, gulping harshly “No. I’m scared because of.. what happens when Zack finds out? What happens if he tries to hurt Satoru? I don’t want him to get hurt because of me.. because of.. this baggage.”

“Look. This situation is fucked up but I think you have to tell him. For his safety and your own.. Especially since the police aren’t doing shit about the bastard.”

“But what happens if he leaves after that.. I don’t want him too..” You responded softly.

Zariah gave you a specific look, a look you have seen on her plenty of times, mixed with sympathy. “Well.. you know I love you but that’s a selfish way of looking at it, I won’t glaze over the fact that it’s still unfair to you to have to deal with this.. but you can’t hold back this information when he could be in danger. If he leaves.. then that’s his choice and you can’t blame him for that. On another note though.. as your friend, if he does leave, he’s not worth it.” She quickly added on, you understood where she was coming from but that didn’t still mean you weren’t scared in more ways than the one.

And in her own way, you knew she was right. You were gonna have to mention it.

****

Zariah stayed for a few more hours before she headed off, leaving you with your thoughts, a text from Satoru and the promise if Zack came back, to make sure to send her a text.

After a few minutes of psyching yourself up, you end up sending Satoru a text back. Short and simple.

You knew why you were hesitant and you hated it. You and him had just gotten everything sorted between the two of you and now you were being tentative.

With a heavy sigh and a hand pulling softly at the roots of your head, you take the time continuing to distract yourself with cleaning before you had to leave and pick the kiddos up from school.

You pull a few boxes out of your storage space, wondering what to keep and throw out; being invested in your activity, you fail to hear the approaching foot steps in your home and the fact there was no indication; like the front door opening to let you know, you weren’t alone.

As you rummaged through the boxes, you felt a shiver travelling up your back and immediately tensed up; slowly moving to stand up straighter before..

“Naw. I was enjoying the view you know.”

You had never felt so relieved in your entire life, compared to this moment; spinning around on the balls of your heels, facing that charming and egotistical smirk that you had grown to.. Lo-

“Jesus Satoru. You scared the shit outta me.” You breathed out heavily. Satoru simply kept smirking before stepping closer to you.

“Sorry.” You had a feeling he was anything but. Especially with that smirk on his face.

“Do you just let yourself in everywhere you go?” You teased softly as wrapped his arm your waist; pressing your body against him.

“Only when I know you are just dying to see me.” He hummed lightly as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the side of your neck.

You couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on your lips but eventually it fizzled out. Reminding you that, you needed to tell him about Zack.

Gojo wasn’t a stupid man, far from it actually. He knew something was bothering you as soon as he teleported into your home. (Which was a risky move in itself.)

He let his hand run up your spine in calming motions, wanting to rid you of your inner turmoil; his hands acting like a protective cocoon for you.

“You smell good.” You murmured softly into his shoulder.

Gojo let out a small chuckle; pulling back to look at your face “And you’re deflecting.”

“What are you-“

Gojo shook his head; his smirk softening a fraction “Nah. We’re not doing that. There’s something on your mind and call it GREAT intuition but I think it involves me.”

He was feeling a mix of emotions, ones he wasn’t use to and ones that were very familiar.

One of the feelings that outweighed most, wasn’t exactly what he expected to feel. EVER.

He should feel relieved that this might be what he needed to know about you, about those flowers.. about your past that you kept close to your heart.

But it was being outweighed by.. insecurity.

What happens if you were regretting letting him in? Regretting giving him a chance.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. He hated it and he didn’t feel like himself. He was so infatuated with you that he was doubting himself and it was making him feel weak.

Even if he was the strongest, he felt too weak to pull away and he didn’t want to run.

“What’s going on in that pretty little noggin?” He asked softly, cradling your cheek; his thumb brushing over your cheek bone.

You take a deep breath, leaning into his touch; your eyes locking with his.

You didn’t know how to start, you couldn’t find the words that could beat around the bush but it goes to show there wasn’t time for that.

“I have crazy, psycho ex.”

Gojo stared at you for a few moments; the cogs turning in his brain, all while you continue looking for a reaction.

“Is that it?”

Your eyes widened slightly, staring at him with shock. “What do you mean is that it?”

His smirk widened softly, shrugging “I mean.. is this what it’s been about? A stupid man?” His hand moving to the side of your neck.

“Normal people don’t smile at that sort of thing.” You exclaimed softly, still staring at him with bewilderment.

He shrugged once again, his smirk never faltering “Hate to break it to you sweets. I’m not a normal guy.” He teased all while leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“Yeah clearly.” He let out a small huff, leaning into peck your lips softly before his beautiful eyes narrowed a fraction “Is he the one who sent those.. flowers?”

You just nodded softly, answering his question without the need for words, though you did add on quickly “I thought they were from you..”

“No they were hideous.”

You snorted softly at his response, causing him to genuinely smile at your reaction “You deserve so much more..” His fingers brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Little did you know there was more to those words than he was letting on. A psycho ex? Who might just so happen to be a cursed user? Nothing good could come out of this.

He suddenly but softly, caressed both sides of your face, making you look him “Listen to me. I don’t want you to worry about this fucking loser anymore okay?”

“Satoru-“

“Let me finish.” He spoke firmly, never breaking eye contact, you just nodded softly.

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. He won’t touch you as long as I’m around. Believe that. You’re mine and I protect what’s mine..” Gojo had a glint in his eyes that you had seen before but not from him. Zack had the same glint.

Though this time.. it was different. It felt different. You could feel the aura he was projecting, it definitely held a layer of possession but a protective possession. One you didn’t know you needed.

“You promise?”

“I swear on my life.”

His thumbs continued to brush across your cheeks and you could feel the sincerity of his words; in his touch.

You just pulled him into an embrace with a soft whimper, you knew actions spoke louder than words but somehow you believed him.

His eyes fluttered closed as he returned your gesture happily; his nose pressing into your hair and inhaling your delicious scent.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder and opened his eyes slightly before they caught something shining in the boxes you were sorting through, once he got a proper look..

His whole body froze.

You had immediately sensed his tenseness and pulled back to look at him but his eyes weren’t on you and they didn’t shift either.

“Where did you get that?” His voice was soft and distant, you followed his line of sight, turning in his arms; his hands gripping your waist tightly.

“Get what?” You asked softly, still unable to see what he was looking at.

Gojo stepped from you before moving to bend down and pick up the small object with his fingers; the gold colour shining brightly.

“Oh.. that? It’s not mine. I must’ve missed that. When I was throwing his things out.”

Gojo was silent as he stared at the object; his eyes narrowing.

It was the ‘Tokyo Jujutsu high crest pin.’