#and how it “wasn't really love” “wasn't really a relationship”

[hoonstrology]

♯┆ NO ONE COMPARES. ✩ PSH.

PAIRING ➤ park sunghoon × fem!reader.

SYNOPSIS ➤ you've been with your boyfriend for months now. still, you've never really gone past the occasional make-out sessions due to your lack of experience. but when you tell him that you're ready for the next step of your relationship, sunghoon's heart and body is there to guide you through it.

CONTAINS ➤ 4.9k+ words.  downbad!hoon & bf!hoon aka: E404!sunghoon. established relationship. fluff. a little bit of humor. angst if you squint. for context, read E404 & other epilogue drabbles.

CONTENT WARNING ➤ smut. softdom!sunghoon, inexperienced!sub!reader. pet names. fingering. unprotected sex. (zon't zo it.) bigdick!hoon. soft, soft sex but sunghoon kinda goes feral towards the end. praise kink— a lot. they are SO in love, your honor. overstimulation. hints at dacryphilia. aftercare. not proofread.  ➤ main masterlist.  ┆ epilogue masterlist.

  𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ  ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ♡

SINCE THE NIGHT SUNGHOON SLEPT OVER, things in the physical intimacy realm of your relationship only escalated. your boyfriend became bolder.

he started walking around your apartment half-naked. letting his hand wander dangerously high up your thigh during classes. quietly whispering in your ear about how your skirt's making everyone look, and how he's proud that it's all his.

often, and most dangerously, he'd initiate make-out sessions— heated ones. the kind that had you gasping for air. the kind that had your head spinning even an hour after his lips pulled away from yours.

the kind that had you wearing long sleeved sweaters in the middle of summer just to hide the evident red marks painted by his mouth.

but you never really went further than that. and sunghoon—ever the patient and loving boyfriend he is—never pushed you past what you were comfortable with.

"i can take care of myself, angel." your lover would whisper, seemingly satisfied with just leaving traces of his mouth on your skin. "we'll do it when you're comfortable."

and then he'd lay you in your bed, whisper sweet nothings until your breathing evened. until he thought you've fallen asleep.

but you noticed his pattern.

you heard it.

the click of the bathroom door. the swishing of water falling against tiles. the heavenly sound of his grunts when he thought the shower was strong enough to muffle them as he relieved himself just a room away from you.

after a while, the door would creak open and you'd feel the bed dip, mint-scented arms wrapping around you. then, a gentle kiss on your skin with a quiet whisper of 'good night' before he fell into a deep slumber.

but you? you'd be awake.

nights like that would get your body feeling too warm. clothes too tight. you'd shift every now and then, uncomfortable from the thought of him touching himself, not because it disgusted you—it actually turned you on beyond belief— but because your lovely boyfriend was dealing with the pain of his hard-on alone.

you knew he was experienced.

sunghoon was no stranger to physical intimacy, meaningful or otherwise. he mentioned his exes and the occasional one night stands before he met you, naturally increasing his skill in that department regardless of how shy and loser-like he appeared to be whenever you're around.

sunghoon never made a show of it. he never bragged, never pointed it out, nor did he hold his abundance of experience over your head— the fact just existed.

and you weren't a depriving sunghoon because you were a prude. if anything, you've fantasized about him more than he probably has with you.

you've actually done the deed with your past boyfriends a handful of times.

yes, you've had sex more than you've had orgasms. and yes, your friends think that it doesn't matter because it wasn't as pleasurable for you than it was for your partner.

but their dick went inside, so it should count for something, right?

wrong.

because now, you're inexperienced and riddled by irrational thoughts.

what if you sound like a dying sheep when you moan? what if you said something weird in the middle of it?

god, what if you're not pretty when you cum?

and though you know he loved you, the bottom line is that you're scared that he might not find sex with you as enjoyable as he did with his past fucks.

but as his girlfriend, it was your rightful duty to take care of sunghoon, afeared or not. and you decided that the next time the chance comes up, you won't let his needs go unmet anymore.

the opportunity came in the form of your weekly sit-com re-runs. you were both on the couch, sunghoon's arm slung over your shoulder as your head rested his chest, both eyes glued to the tv.

and then.. you felt it.

the palm moving to your arm, rubbing and squeezing the muscle gently before it snaked down to your waist. his fingers slipped underneath your shirt with so much ease you'd think the fabric was never there in the first place.

sunghoon, still staring at the screen, started rubbing slow circles on the skin of your hips. you shifted closer, whining softly at the contact. sunghoon just pressed a kiss on the crown of your head.

his free hand cupped your jaw, tipped your head up until you met his eyes. "can i have a kiss, angel?" he asked in that low, gravelly voice that had you pressing your thighs together.

his lids were hooded, desire pooling in the deep brown irises after catching you in the act. something in the way he looked at you made your tummy flip and your throat tighten.

you gave him a meek nod. "o-of course."

you quickly found yourself in your usual position on sunghoon's lap, caging his hips with your thighs. his lips claimed yours in a second, the faint laughter from the television drowned out by the soft gasps and wet smacks of lips meeting hungrily.

your arms circled around his neck and sunghoon squeezed on your waist, emitting a low growl at the familiar sweetness of your lips as the kiss intensified, tongue and teeth meeting while his hands moved to the curve of your ass, giving them squeezes like its plushness was the only thing grounding him to this moment.

you were muffling whimpers into his mouth, tugging on his hair, not even aware that your hips began rolling, causing sunghoon to pull away, much to your displeasure.

"baby? why'd you stop?" you whined.

"careful, angel." he breathed, lips still slick with saliva, restraint pooling in his eyes as he gripped on your hips to make you halt.

but the friction felt too good, and you tried chasing after it by bouncing instead. "but hoonie." you huffed and he let out a quiet hiss as your clothed heat put pressure on his length with each little hop.

he gripped on you a tad tighter, choosing instead to occupy his mouth on your neck to distract himself from the way his cock throbbed inside his sweatpants.

"fuck." he cussed below his breath. "you're making it hard to control myself." he whispered in between nips and bites, tongue smoothing over the fresh mark just above your pulse point.

"then don't."

sunghoon stopped moving. so did you.

suddenly, the buzz of the tv was too loud. maybe that's the blood rushing to your ears out of embarrassment. or maybe that was the low rumbling from sunghoon's throat.

he slowly peeled himself away from your neck, eyebrows furrowed at the invitation. "do you mean…"

"y-yes." you stammered, finding your throat too dry to speak properly. "i know.." you trailed off, your insides stirring at the memory of the sounds he made— the grunts and faint whispers of your name.

"i know how you've been taking care of yourself. and i want to help." you gulped. "i want you to fuck me."

his adam's apple bobbed, lips pursing into a thin line. for a moment, he almost looked like he would reject you, but you couldn't mistake the hunger in his eyes when you tentatively rolled your hips again.

you were testing him, and you knew he was close giving in when his hips involuntarily bucked up to meet yours.

"shit— are you sure, angel? we don't have t—"

"i want you. need you, hoonie." you confessed, rocking against his clothed cock more feverishly. "please."

sunghoon bit down on the skin of his inner lip as he took a deep breath through his nose. he wanted to be respectful of your boundaries— but the throbbing in his pants was becoming more unbearable after hearing your soft voice say 'please' so nicely.

that's all it took. muscular arms guided your legs around his waist, easily lifting you up by your ass, making you squeak in surprise.

"hoon! where are you taking me?"

"bedroom, angel. do you really think i'd rail you on the couch?" he rolled his eyes in offense at the implication. sunghoon was a sentimental man, and no matter how needy he was to feel you, the couch wasn't what you deserved.

he kicked the door open, the back of his heel slamming it back shut. "i mean... i wouldn't be against doing it there. but not for our first time." he corrected himself, giving your ass a squeeze before laying you down on the bed.

"i'm asking you again— are you sure about this, baby?" his brows were curved down, worry written all over his face as he gingerly brushed the hair off of your face.

you gave him a hum, but he shook his head, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth in dissatisfaction. sunghoon gave your swollen bottom lip a gentle push with his index finger. "words, angel. use your words."

"y-yes, hoon. a hundred percent."

"good girl." he whispered under his breath with a smile, kneeling in front of your folded legs with tipping his chin downward to point to your body. "take off your clothes, angel. let me see you— all of you."

there was authority in his voice. not pushy nor demanding. just gentle dominance, softly guiding you to giving him what he wanted.

it was a pleasant shift. between the two of you, you're the one who usually dealt the cards. you had him wrapped around your finger and you knew it.

but the way sunghoon stood, the way he spoke, the mere energy he radiated even while he kneeled in front of you told you everything you needed to know: tonight, no matter how softly he was calling for your name, no matter how delicately he asked for permission, sunghoon was the one in control— the one in power.

so, you obediently sat up and took the shirt off, discarding it to the floor along with your bra. sunghoon also took his top off, revealing his sculpted torso— fair and even skin interrupted by the shadows of lean muscles.

and when you finally met his eyes, sunghoon looked like he was barely hanging on.

he was looking at you like you were a goddess, gaze hungry but reverent as it raked up and down your body. from the deep flush tinting your cheeks, to the valley between your breasts, down to the sweet dip he's been craving for between your thighs.

under the warm lamps and dimmed lighting, you truly lived up to the name he gave you— an angel. you looked celestial, and he was in disbelief that such sanctity was within his reach.

slowly, sunghoon leaned down to press a kiss on your lips. it wasn't hungry nor possessive. done, not just with softness, but with something more intimate— devotion.

"you look beautiful, my angel. fucking divine." he mumbled, trailing the wet, open mouthed kisses to your cheek, down to the curve of your jaw. "can't believe you're mine." he whispered, tapping on your hips and you, by instinct, raised them just enough to allow his agile hands to pull off the rest of the fabric covering what was his to worship.

you let out a gasp of his name once his mouth latched on the column of your neck. "so sensitive." he chuckled.

his hands stroked your outer thigh and you instinctively tried to close them but he pulled away, clicking his tongue. "no can do, angel. let me see you, hm?"

it barely took him any effort to pry your legs apart.

his hold on your leg tightened when he finally saw the most intimate parts of you— pretty, puffy, and glistening with arousal. it made his cock throb painfully within its suffocating confines.

"s-stop it." you grunted, palms moving downwards but he was quicker to catch your wrists with one hand, wagging a finger at you with the other.

"shhh. i said i wanted to see, angel. be a good girl, okay?"

you hate how quickly your wrist fell back down to your sides. how your body knew quicker than your mind to nod, like it knew that it was in your best interest to follow your boyfriend if you wanted to hear him call you a good girl again.

he ran a finger down your slit. "already this wet? just for me?" he grinned, cheeky and proud at the way your back arched just from a simple touch.

"hoon, don't teas— f-fuck." your words came to a stop as he began rubbing circles on your sensitive bud, expertly pushing with enough pressure to have you gripping on the sheets.

"i'm not teasing, angel. just need to get you prepped if you want to take my cock." he slowly pushed the same finger past your throbbing hole, thumb replacing the one rubbing on your clit.

his finger was longer than yours, reaching far deeper than you could ever do alone. sunghoon hissed, feeling the resistance your pink walls put up. "see? so fucking tight. can't have this pretty little hole ruined so early now can we, love?"

you didn't respond. you couldn't. everything felt overwhelming. he wasn't even doing anything that you hadn't experienced before, yet it somehow felt foreign. like he just knew what your body needed before you could push the words out.

sunghoon added a second finger, spreading out your walls while his mouth busied itself by latching on a nipple, sucking on the stiff peak and teasingly letting his fang graze the tip of it.

you threw your head back against the pillow, fingers threading through his hair. you tugged on it as if it was your lifeline, like an outlet for the overwhelming sense of pleasure as he sloppily lapped at your nipple and squeezed the unoccupied one between his fingers.

your walls kept throbbing around him and once he felt them clench tight after brushing against a particular spot, the pads of his digits kept stubbornly pressing on it, pleased at the sound of your sultry moans turning a pitch higher.

"yeah? you like that?" sunghoon smiled softly, a heavy contrast against the ruthless speed at which his fingers pumped into you. his knuckles drove in deeper and deeper, and your walls helplessly tightened around him as response.

but that wasn't enough for him.

"answer me, angel. words." he spoke, chest full with a twisted sense of gratification now that he's the one pushing you to speak.

"yes. i... i love it." you grunted, giving him dumb repeated nods as the words in your brain jumbled. "fuck— need you. want to feel you, hoon."

you looked too good, all whiny and fucked out already with just his fingers and sunghoon wanted to prolong it so he could savor the sight a little bit more, but he figured if he was going to make you cum for the first time, it'd be on his cock.

so he obliged.

slowly, he pulled out his fingers. remnants of sweet and abundant juices dripped down to his wrists making a smirk grow on his lips at the way they glistened despite the minimal lighting of your bedroom.

you whined at the loss of contact, eyes shot wide open.

and oh, was the sight sinful.

sunghoon, lapping at your juices with his eyes rolled back at the taste as he sucked them off his digits with abandon. "you taste fucking divine, angel." he moaned, tongue licking at whatever remnants was left on his lips. "do you wanna taste?" he invited with a teasing smirk, already leaning down.

the kiss was deeper this time. more torrid. you met his lips with your own, muffling a gasp into his mouth as he prodded his tongue past your lips to give you a taste of yourself like he promised.

"mmh— sunghoon. baby, please." you begged, breathless. you looked adorable bucking your hips against his clothed cock, already desperate to feel him inside you.

what was he to do when you were being so cute and saying please?

he tugged off his sweatpants stained with your juices, kicking them off the bed to reveal his cock.

it stood proud and angry, twitching in anticipation, precum dripping from the reddened tip down to your abdomen.

more importantly, he was huge. the tents you've seen him sport after making out gave you some sort of indication that he was well-endowed, but seeing it bare was another thing.

sunghoon was big — far longer and girthier than your past partners.

you heart pounded against your ribs at the thought of fitting all of that inside you. but if the pulsing between your legs and saliva pooling in your mouth were anything to go by, you knew your body looked forward to the pain.

"keep starin' at me like that and i might come right here, right now." he joked, trying to downplay the shyness he was starting to feel with your glassy eyes locked on his length.

"n-no.. you're just…" you whispered in a daze.

"big? i know, angel." he hummed, proud but not smug. just confident in his tone, like he knew it was the truth. "that's why i needed to prep you, but my pretty little baby's so insistent on getting fucked, isn't she?"

he slotted himself between your legs, letting out a relieved sigh as he pumped his length once, twice. the muscles of his jaw twitched as he began rubbing the head up and down your slit to lubricate it with your juices, mouth parting in awe as he watched how your puffy lips accommodated his length.

"you're so fucking soft. so wet. just so damn beautiful." he took a sharp inhale, gently squeezing on the base of his cock as his head gently poked at your entrance. "let me know if it hurts too much, and i'll stop, okay?"

you gave him a quiet 'yes' and sunghoon chuckled, placing a quick reassuring kiss on your forehead. "good girl."

his hand guided your leg up his shoulder, the other one holding his length steady as he pushed his tip past your entrance, eyelids closing shut at the tight fit.

"oh my god. h-hoon..." you sucked in a breath between gritted teeth.

it wasn't too painful, but there was mild discomfort. your body had never had anything this big inside. still, it felt too good to make him stop, even as he pushed a couple more inches inside.

he hushed you, placing soothing kisses along the length of your calf. "shhh. it's okay, angel. you'll be good, right? you can take me. just—" he let out a shaky sigh. "just a little more."

"my god, hoon— fuck… feel s-so full." you drawled out once he finally bottomed out inside you. he stayed still for a moment, trying to get you used to the stretch.

his length twitch inside your warmth, and it's taking sunghoon's entire strength to not selfishly fuck you dumb then and there.

"yeah? does it feel good, angel?"

"so good. so so good." you nodded, eyes glazed over. you bit down on your lower lip when he started to move, shallowly thrusting into you.

he was gentle, carefully pushing into you while muttering sweet praises against your flushed cheeks.

"fuck, i love you so much, angel."

"taking my cock like a good girl, aren't you?"

"such a pretty little angel for me."

then sunghoon picked up his pace, pelvis pressing against yours rhythmically, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each delicious thrust.

the vulgar sounds of your walls squelching around his cock mixed with your shy pleas for more cutting at each thread he had to his self control.

"mine. all fucking mine." he growled, fingers putting light pressure on your clit. he rubbed the sensitive bud in circles while he slammed his length inside you, pulling back just enough to leave the tip in before slamming right back.

"sunghoon!" you cried out, tears of pleasure brimming in your eyes.

"fuck. you're milking me dry, princess." he gripped on your thigh harder, thrusts becoming even more punishing.

"oh god.. i— i'm gonna—"

"let go, princess. it's okay." he nodded, the finger on your clit working in smaller, tighter circles.

your vision blurred, toes curling as his relentless thrusts pushed you to your climax. "f-fuck! sunghoon!" you screamed, eyes screwed shut while entire body tensed, cumming so hard you swore you started seeing galaxies.

even then, sunghoon didn't stop.

"baby, i— wait. please. i c-can't." you choked out, clawing at his forearms desperately as overstimulation set fire to every nerve in your body.

sunghoon couldn't hear you. he was drunk off of your pussy, how they felt so warm contracting around his hard cock, how even more slick they felt after you came.

his pupils were dilated in pleasure as he zoned in on the way your breasts bounced with each sharp slam he gave your puffy cunt, reaching to cup one in his hand.

"you can, angel. you will." he whispered, voice laced with sweetness and something more commanding.

he repositioned your still trembling legs to his shoulders, leaning forward with them until youre anchored to the bed in a mating press. "need you to scream for me again, baby. need to cum inside you."

you could say whatever you want, but sunghoon knew you'd take it. heard it in the way your breath hitched. felt it in the way you tightened around him.

"you want that, angel? want my cum to ruin your pretty little hole?" his words came out slurred, warm breath fanning across your swollen lips.

everything felt so good that all you could do was babble 'yes' repeatedly, chasing after his lips with a fucked out whine when he teasingly pulled away, cock buried deep inside yet unmoving.

"what do good girls say when they want something, baby?"

"please!" you cried. "please please please hoon. please, fill me up." you were delirious and overwhelmed, nails scraping dark red marks across the expanse of sunghoon's back and shoulders.

pleased, he finally moved again, splitting you open as he drove his cock impossibly deeper into you with the new position. "such a good little angel begging for me." he rasped, the grip on your thighs almost bruising.

"tell me," he breathed. "tell me owns this pretty pussy, angel."

"yours! 's all yours, hoonie."

"that's fucking right." he chuckled, confidence dripping from his voice.

"mine to make a mess of." thrust. "mine to fuck." thrust. "all." thrust. "fucking." thrust. "mine." he growled the last word, sealing it with the kiss you've been desperately chasing for.

his thrusts turned frantic—borderline animalistic—like he was running on pure instinct, drunk and ravenouse for more.

there was nothing else but the sound of skin slapping and the muffled breathless gasps to fill the room as sunghoon focused on fucking himself into you whilst whispering dirty promises into the shell of your ears.

you keened at the filth, feeling the knot deep in your abdomen tighten again. you clawed at his biceps, crying out. "i'm close, hoon—" you hurriedly whispered.

somehow, finding a little bit of lucidity in the midst of what was happening, sunghoon's hands moved to grab yours, fingers threading through yours and keeping them pinned beside your head.

"shit. i love you, baby. love you s-so much." he confessed in a strangled moan, pressing kisses to your temple as if to reassure you he still held affection for you, no matter how heartless he was in punishing your gummy walls.

"hold it, angel. w-wanna cum with you." the gulp he took was audible, slamming into you. "say it again, princess. please." he whimpered this time— actually whimpered into your skin. "say you wanna get filled up."

"wan' you fill me up.. hah– need it s-so bad. 's all yours to ruin, hoon— fuck!" a loud, trembling moan cut off your sentence when the tip of his cock brushed against the squishy spot again.

pleasure ran through you for the second time, thighs tense and back arched as high as sunghoon's body on top of yours would allow.

your mere expression— eyes rolled back, tongue lolled out with drool dripping from the corner of your mouth—motivated sunghoon to devour you again, muffling your sinful noises with his mouth all while he was chased after his own orgasm.

with stuttering hips, he pushed once, twice, before releasing thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside you, drowning out a husky grunt of your name against your lips.

"fuck..." he panted through the aftershocks of your intense climax. "good girl. did so well for me, didn't you?" he muttered, gently stroking your thigh while placing a final kiss on your lips.

"wait— why are you crying, angel?" he whispered, wiping the tears streaking down to your temple. "god, you look fucking delectable even when you cry." he groaned, kissing the sweat-ridden skin with such gentleness you'd almost forget this was the man who gave you the most mind-blowing orgasms you've ever experienced.

"please don't tell me you're gonna develop a kink." you weakly chuckled, still trying to catch your breath.

"i'd get a kink from whatever you do, but when you cry like this.." he trailed off, brushing the drops pooling on the sides of your eyes. "it's like a reward for fucking you too good."

your shoulders shook slightly from laughter, pushing his hand away. "that, you did, park. that, you did." you hum in content, pulling him closer so you could pepper kisses all over his jaw and he happily leaned into it with a quiet, giddy giggle.

just like that, your soft boyfriend was back.

"give me a moment, baby. where did we keep the tissues again?"

"nooooo." you whined out, a pout forming on your lips as you grabbed on his shoulders. "wan' you here."

"angel. i need to clean us up." he chuckles, playfully biting down on your puffy lip. "we can cuddle after."

"but hoonie! i wanna feel warm and full until morning." you demanded, batting your lashes at him.

"you can't say things like that and expect me not to fuck you again, angel." he replied with a more serious expression. his smile didn't look playful, his head tilted to the side as if daring you to push him to ruin you again.

you pursed your lips and let out a huff, reluctantly pushing him off with closed eyes.

sunghoon came back already half-dressed, armed with a wet washcloth.

he ran it between your legs, careful not to stare for too long at the flushed skin of your abused cunt as he wiped between them, turning the cloth over so he could meticulously wipe over the spit and sweat he left on you, taking a few seconds of his time to admire the red and purple bruises left across your torso.

once he was done, he threw it across the room, howling with a boyish grin as it easily slipped in the hamper. "jay and jake better watch out."

"i don't think they're worried, dork." you chuckled under your breath, half impressed by his skills, but more amused at the duality he had.

"you love this dork." sunghoon stuck his tongue out at you, picking up his own discarded shirt. he sat you up and meticulously guided your head and arms through the shirt.

"i do. i love you— a lot." you confessed with a smile.

he laid in bed beside you after, throwing the thick duvet over your tired bodies, pulling you close to his chest. he gave you a wide smile, albeit shy, and kissed on your forehead. "i love you more. and not just because you gave me the most amazing fuck in the world."

you snorted. "pfft. i'm sure that wasn't the most amazing."

"it was, though!" he looked at you in the eyes and raised a brow when you looked at him with doubt. "what is it, angel?"

"just.. you've probably had other girls who could please you better before. i mean— i.. i know you love me. i know that. but i guess i kept putting sex off the table because i was scared i might not compare to your past experiences." you shyly admitted, hiding your face.

"what the fuck are you talking about?" he roared out, laughter breaking in between his words. "i don't think i came that much or that hard with anyone else. i almost busted a fat nut on the couch when you told me i could hit."

"sunghoon!" you gasped, slapping at his chest.

"i'm serious! i saw you naked and thought i was getting taken by the light. it was amazing." he chuckled, truth laced in his voice despite the humor behind it.

he leaned back to gaze at you again, a genuine smile on his lips while caressed your cheeks with gentleness. with unrivaled love.

"no one, and i mean no one, can have me like you do, angel. no one can compare to my amazing, beautiful, sexy angel. it's that simple. so quit overthinking it, hm? i love you."

"i know that." you hummed, nodding. "i love you too, hoon."

"i love you more." he grinned, pulling you closer, letting your head rest on his chest.

silence enveloped the room as your exhausted bodies recovered, then he spoke up again. "funny how i was the one telling you to use your words this time around, huh?"

you gave him a hard pinch on his side, making him whimper. "fuck— angel!"

"go to sleep, idiot."

꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀ so.... uh. scratches head. i meant for this to be soft and awkward, but e404 hoon is too near and dear to my heart so he's the perfect softdom!bf and that's canon now i guess. also this is my second time writing smut, so i'd love (kind) feedback on how i did !! ><

⌗ perm taglist (open) ➤  @mariegibeau @kristynaaah @ikeukiss @zerocoded @alex-is-sleeping @ntxs1

© hoonstrology 2025. do not translate, plagiarize, steal, or repost any of my works across any platform.

[harmonysanreads]

Yandere Alphabet↬Phainon

Warnings: General Yandere themes, Discussion on topics such as Abduction, Coercion, Stalking, Emotionally Manipulative Behaviors, Social Isolation, Non-graphic depictions of violence, Gaslighting, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Suicide (one mention) and Unhealthy Relationships. Some spoilers for Phainon's lore. SFW.

♡ Word Count: 6304

♡ Yandere Alphabet prompt credits to @/dear-yandere. artwork credits.

♡ Note: This was more of a personal challenge that I've been wanting to do for a long time but, never got to because no character managed to occupy my thoughts that hard. But Phainon did it lol. Please excuse any unintentional errors and enjoy<3

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

In Phainon's case, the question we should be asking is how does he not show affection. See, Phainon's notable characteristic that is often mentioned by others in game — the one that qualifies him to be the World-bearer — is his ability to imbibe everyone's hopes and wishes and carry them along ‘as if’ they were his own.

However, when Phainon falls in love, truly and wholeheartedly ; the experience that will be borne of that phenomenon is something that is his and his alone. For the first time in his life, his desires and dreams cannot be traced back to someone else, he isn't striving for something that was incipient from another's wishes. For the first time in his life, he's enticed by selfishness.

This new discovery makes him feel both uncomfortable and… fulfilled, strangely. The discomfort is prevalent in the initial stage, when he's still trying to digest the fact that more and more of his priorities are shifting their tone from plural to singular. Sure, it unsettles him when an event that he would previously want to include all of his friends in seems much more desirable to celebrate with you only — but, it also feels… natural to want to do so with you alone.

Perhaps that's just because the exhilaration is always more active in the beginning, curiosity nudging his young heart to explore this fresh territory. Of course, as time proves next, it wasn't simply a case of hormones.

So, how does Phainon cope with this love that is so particular to him? Ironically, through the very same quality that he'd been so conflicted about, by imbibing every piece and aspect of yourself that he's observed and you've gifted him, until you become an integral part of his personality, so to say. And when he's made you take reigns over his every thought and action, his affection will spill forth — in his words, in his silence, in his gaze and in the way his body becomes spellbound when you're around.

Phainon is not someone who remains tethered to one or two ways when it comes to giving love, he constantly switches between every method known to mankind. But some things are repeated more frequently. He loves to talk to you, wants to hear your voice again and again until it becomes something he can hear with clarity even in his dreams, he memorizes your idiolect by heart ; so that even if Ciphera herself were to take on your appearance, he'd know immediately that it's not you. Denying him your voice is one of the fastest punishments you can give him.

He also views physical touch as particularly valuable. He doesn't really realize how touch starved he is until that first brush against your fingertips and all of a sudden, his thoughts are spiraling into far more dangerous territories. This is another aspect to his burning desire to know about every minuscule detail about your being. He wants to know and he wants to be the only one to know about every crease and ripple on your skin. So that even if he goes blind, the image of you may be the clearest one in his mind.

He likes giving gifts, but not empty ones. Every one of them must have some sort of meaning behind them and he always anticipates that you'd be able to deduce what they are. He wants to go on so many adventures with you and he can turn even the most mundane chores sound like an adventure, bear no doubt in that regard. Not that he's going to impose menial chores on you while he's still very much alive with functioning arms and legs. Every morsel of your attention and every minute of your time that you give him is a blessing to him and he doesn't wish to be deprived of this boon, ever.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

When it comes to dealing with external forces that inconvenience you, distress you or come between you two, Phainon has very little concern for his Hero image. If it was something that was causing him problems? He could and would bear with it. But when it comes to the people who he cherishes, he's willing to go miles and it's you we're talking about.

This case of being empowered to do something that may or may not be morally just in behest of his love for you is rather problematic, actually. For one, it makes him even more reckless and two, the person he's doing it for will likely not appreciate it. That's fine by him though. In his head, he's laser focused on the fact that the harm he's doing to someone else is merely a payback for the harm that person has done to you, or to the ‘bond’ you two share. That thought process protects him from giving into the itch that his conscience begets.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

In my opinion, Phainon would not abduct his darling. He, however, does isolate and confine.

Regardless of how careful you might be with him, he's going to teeter close to these roads sooner or later. It may begin rather harmlessly. ‘That person you were talking with gave off odd vibes to me, just saying.’ Everyone knows how much of an amicable fellow Phainon is, if he is saying that there is something off about someone… it's probably in your best interest to be wary of them, right? Your group of friends unintentionally said or did something hurtful? He's been holding back his tongue for so long! They obviously don't know how to treasure you, why don't you hang out with his friends instead?

The extreme form of this is when he resorts to confinement. Get hurt enough times to the point where you can't dismiss it as being clumsy anymore, an assassination attempt made by the Council of Elders or worse, a penumbra of Flame Reaver around you? He's going to make you move in with him, to the safest house designed in the history of Amphoreus probably ; every lock tested, every nook tethered with Aglaea's golden threads, every inch baby-proofed.

You can't even get mad at him at that stage, because he looks so out of his element. Rest and meals neglected, thoughts of your safety constantly whirring in his head, hyper-aware of everything yet exhausted to his atoms. It's a pitiful picture.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

He certainly can. For example, uprooting the weeds (read: troublesome people) from your life, assuming that this isn't something you told him to do. It's just in his nature to handle problems that he comes across and because he cares for your mental peace. That, or he has beef with that person in regards to you somehow. Constant surveillance is also something he imposes and he tries to keep you unaware about it for as long as possible.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

That all depends on you. If you're someone who's proven themselves to be capable of providing a safe space for him, the chances of him baring his secrets to you may increase. Offer him gentle touches, understanding words, a feeling of peace and although he'd know very well that you possess a separate motive, his desperate heart that longs for every morsel of your affection might humor you with a few confessions.

In general, Phainon is someone who's much more accustomed to hiding away his fears. But just because he's used to shielding them from the eyes of everyone doesn't mean that the metaphorical jar containing his doubts doesn't exist — cracks and splinters sing of the way his fears overflow from their containment. Poking at him about this is a gamble (and not one I'd recommend) especially if he hadn't consulted you about it himself.

When the matter of being vulnerable in someone else's presence is concerned, being aware of those vulnerabilities is the precondition. Phainon is an interesting case in this regard, at his very core, he's aware of how unhealthy his attachment is and how he's basically destroying himself and much more by loving you this intensely. But this awareness is buried beneath layers upon layers of justifications ; he has to, what is essentially gaslight himself into believing that this is normal, this is protection, this is just his pure love because it'd kill him otherwise.

Confronting that truth, confronting all his fears all by himself and worst of all, letting go of you would ruin him. Far, far more than nurturing this delusion because he's simply spiraled too far away from the edge of sanity and you are the only factor keeping him anchored from losing it completely. So, he'll believe in the ruse until he's turned it into the truth. He'll smile and laugh and wave off your or anyone else's concerns. He'll persist until you, too, have accepted the rationale carved by his hand.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

He'd feel very hurt. Regardless of how many layers of reasoning Phainon may try to use as shields, a part of his conscience will always question the rationality in his behavior. Any resistance from you, be it verbal or physical, is validating that part of his conscience that he keeps on pushing away. It's an acerbic reminder that he's teetered too close to the point where you look at him as less of a hero and more of a monster. You'll be surprised at how quickly his self-deception comes close to crumbling completely, because the structure upon which he's relying on to stay sane is incredibly fragile.

Luckily for him, his expression always twists into something that morphs his inner guilt into fitting his primary narrative by itself. Phainon has accolades in the art of looking like a kicked puppy. It's near impossible for the average person to guess the actual complex back-and-forth that is happening in his head, hell, Phainon himself doesn't process the nuances of it. So, you're most likely to think that perhaps you've overreacted this time. He looks hurt enough to make your heart tremble, enough to make you question yourself and enough to earn your reluctant cooperation.

This pattern needs to be repeated just two times before Phainon is also abandoning that voice in his heart, convinced once more that he's in the right. By the looks of it, you're on the exact path that he wants you to tread and you won't be able to realize what you got tangled up in any time soon.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

It's not a game, it's his fantasy. In a world that is doomed with destruction, dreaming is the easiest escapism. Phainon weaves visions with the threads of his desires at day, tries to bring those dreams to reality throughout it and ruminates about those dreams when he falls unto slumber. He wants to be yours so badly and he wants you to be his — in the most ‘natural’ way possible, like in those romance stories.

“Escape attempts” have a different meaning when it comes to him. He isn't actually restraining you, he's simply pining you in place with the weight of his name, his titles and his power. He's amused by your attempts… until he isn't. When does this happen? Hard to predict, could be any day where he decides that he's had enough and simply wants to embrace you close to his heart while the world goes to hell or whatever.

If he's in a good mood or if his hold on his patience is still in tact, he won't even take your escapades seriously! It's play to him, he's eager to see what surprising tactic you'll use to evade him, in fact. Escaping from conversations, date attempts and physical initiations are okay to an extent, at least when he's still in a humorous mood. That is only because he's confident that he can catch you with his skills anytime. Trouble occurs when he feels a rift in this confidence.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Probably if he were to emotionally withdraw abruptly, just when you were starting to get used to him or had even returned his affections. It's not that he falls out of love, he could never even if he tried to. It's just that he can resort to distancing himself emotionally from you if life's hardships kept on piling up on him continuously and somehow, the repressed guilt from all his sins would manage to infect his thoughts.

You'd never realize how much Phainon's smile had aided in keeping you somewhat sane until he stopped smiling altogether. It's unnerving beyond words to see the man whose whole being brightens up at your presence, so gloomy and strings of ‘you deserve better than him’ suddenly spilling forth from his lips. This is more of a phase and it will pass if you can be patient, because again, Phainon can never stop loving you even if he tried.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

From the moment Phainon's admiration starts to take shape into love, a dream would begin to haunt his every breath ; you and him, beneath the sky of a bright, sunny day as gentle winds ruffle your hair and guide the wheat fields to dance along their rhythm. You'd fall asleep leaning on his shoulder and he would laugh fondly at his little sleepyhead, gathering you in his embrace and cradling you close to his heart. No monsters, no Black Tide, no cruel prophecies.

Waking up beside you every morning, lazily going through the rest of the day tangled up in each other's presence and going back to sleep with you in his arms. Sharing laughs with friends and family on the weekends. Maybe, with time, a small bundle of joy would further illuminate his home, or more. Regardless of what he becomes, this singular vision always keeps him tethered.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Jealousy is a reflection of one's own insecurities. Typically, love brings with itself a fresh set of insecurities, or triggers old ones. So, jealousy is bound to be enticed in even the most mentally stable person at some point. Phainon is someone who doesn't often get back as much as he gives to others, something that he's learned to accept. But just because he's reluctantly accepted it doesn't mean that he never wishes someone would. With his darling, this ‘giving’ is even more amped up and that subconscious yearning to be given just as much love also develops.

So naturally, when he notices that his devotion isn't exactly being reciprocated, he becomes frustrated. But he'll always give you the benefit of the doubt first. He tries, he tries so hard to be understanding and considerate about your boundaries, he really does. He doesn't really have many good coping mechanisms in general, besides swinging his sword at a hundred more Black Tide creatures.

The best way to describe jealous Phainon is through passive aggression. He might not say it outright, but everyone and their dromases will know of his displeasure through strained smiles, clipped words and rigid body language. It's unnerving to see the usual jolly and polite hero frowning that hard. No one wants to even walk wrong in front of him when he's like that. He doesn't really intend to, but in the end, he makes everyone (including you) feel just as uncomfortable as he does from his rigid demeanor alone.

His jealousy can be triggered through almost everything, but nothing makes him feel as livid as when someone other than him makes you laugh. Phainon prides in his sense of humor and his ability to make people smile! Whenever you're with him, he doubles down on his efforts, as if he was trying to Pavlov you into associating happiness with his presence by the amount of serotonin he tries to entice. So if he sees that exclusive position being threatened, he feels miffed, starts seeing red even.

Phainon gets jealous of things you wouldn't even think someone would be capable of getting jealous of — the wind that brushes past your skin? He wishes that was him. The Chimeras you coo at and give head-pats to? He's glaring at them from behind you and is going to research whether it's possible to turn into a Chimera for a day the moment he gets home. Your pillows and blankets? Titans, he wishes those were him. That mosquito that had the audacity to bite you? Lucky bastard. The list goes on.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

With you, he's typically on his absolute best behavior. His smile is noticeably wider, his laughs don't feel forced, his speech is much more bubbly and overall, he simply looks like a man that's in love. Due to this, it might be difficult for you to believe any contradictory statements about his demeanor from elsewhere. Even if someone may try to sneak in questions to you about what you really feel about him or if you notice any suspicious stuff about him, you may not think too hard about them. Because Phainon is very dedicated to making a good and lasting impression on you. He wants to be someone whose words you'd believe in, who you'd trust and want to rely on in all times.

You have no idea how much power you have over him, everyone else does though. He could be in the middle of a heated negotiation, but the moment you're in the vicinity, he does a 180° and is rubbing cheeks with you like a lost pet. He could be in the midst of a bloody battle, both of his legs chopped off and he'd still crawl to you from across a field and ask if you are alright.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Phainon is one of the Yanderes that tries to follow the traditional route. He'll first try to be your friend, then he'd reveal his romantic interest, a few months or so of courting to ease you into the relationship and then he'll bend down on one knee — at least, this is his preferred route.

If you don't meet each other by chance and he happens to know of your existence first, he lets his attraction marinate for a while. He needs a somewhat clear idea about you, for which he'd need to learn as much as possible. Then he'd plan a rough draft about how he intends to take things from there in his head, which expands all the way to your joint retirement plan by the way. Rule of thumb, if there's capacity for him to have control about how things will go with you, he isn't going to be comfortable with the spontaneity route.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Asking that question to Phainon himself is going to give him an identity crisis on spot. Assuming that ‘true colors’ here refers to a side of Phainon that he actively tries to hide from everyone, even his darling to an extent ; yes, it is different. But if you've observed Phainon a bit, paid attention to his speech, how he acts under pressure, it's also not very surprising to discover that Phainon has a side that is contradictory to his usual sunshine boy image.

Phainon carries burdens from his past, the ghosts of many loved ones and he keeps them hidden under that veneer of a cheerful smile. The more someone does this, the less control they actually end up having over that ‘side’, allowing it to slip through at times.

At least, his fellow Chrysos Heirs have a good idea about this matter. And they also know that your existence works as a good panacea to his woes. So, you can kiss the chances of being helped by the majority of them goodbye. They might call him out at times but, at the end of the day, they need their Deliverer — preferably sane.

The common people don't even see anything wrong with him (they idolize him even), you increase the chances of being dubbed as the irrational one by resisting his most ardent amative advances, in fact. Sooner or later, you will start to question your judgement as well.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Phainon is actually very bad at enacting the usual Yandere punishments, because he's weak for you. If he's ever done anything harmful to you, know that it was unintentional, or that it wasn't ‘Phainon’. He's incapable of doing anything hurtful to you on purpose without causing a flood with his tears or dying a bit inside first. One look at your sad eyes, or any indication of fear and he's already dropping it.

But that doesn't mean that he never gets ruffled enough to want to let you know that he doesn't want to see a repeat of whatever it was that disturbed him. So, he opts for more ‘harmless’ punishments, as they appear on the surface.

His go-to is ‘engulfing you in a bear hug suffocating enough to squeeze your fighting spirit out’. He has the speed, strength and stature to do much worse, you should be smart enough to pick that hint up. Another thing he likes doing is cuffing both of your hands together. You're annoyed by him? Mad at him? Can't stand his face at the moment? Oh, what travesty! Now you're stuck shoulder to shoulder with him and the keys are nowhere to be found either! It's as if even the universe itself is telling you that you can never and should never leave him.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

The first right that's going to be taken away from you is your right to your privacy. Unless your meeting was through a mutual serendipity and Phainon happened to know of you first, he isn't going to immediately approach you, oh no.

As mentioned before, he needs at least the rough draft of a plan and to illustrate that, he needs information. During that period where all he has are fantasies of walking side by side with you, any piece of information he can get his hands on about you is as important as sustenance. First the citizens' records, then the words of people that know you and at last, a more involved approach.

He's your usual case of trying to justify it with things like ‘just in case’ ‘to make sure you aren't a dangerous individual’ ‘it's his duty as a Hero to know about the states of the citizens’ etc. And when he's certain that you're someone worth pursuing, someone he must pursue in fact, the excuses shift. Now, it's more about matters regarding your safety. Where do you tend to be at this time of the day? You aren't wandering around dangerous places, are you? He just has to monitor your every move, otherwise he might claw his organs out due to the sheer anxiety. It's also a bit of a competition to him. It happens unconsciously and it makes him feel prideful, to be the person that knows the most about you.

After you two have gotten entangled enough, to the point where people have begun to associate you with each other, your name and identity will begin to be replaced by his, slowly. Though this one isn't really his doing, he does end up fanning the flames indirectly. You realize a little too late that dedicating victories to you, bringing you up in almost every conversation and always trailing after your shadow had a more profound impact upon your identity than what you'd assumed.

There's the matter of your claim to your personal space as well. Physical space is one thing but your mental space will not be spared as well. After all, you didn't spare him. It's not just a matter of feeling your skin under his fingertips, or the pleasant signals that flood his brain when he gets to have his hands on you — he wants to be so in a certain radius of your being that whenever he is away, your heart will be restless, that even other people will feel as though something is wrong, you without him by your side just looks wrong.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Patience is a gamble with this man, sometimes you win, sometimes he wins, sometimes you both lose. It's like his ‘patience’ is in a constant state of superposition, it's both there and isn't there, you wouldn't know unless you probe.

What Phainon excels in is being tenacious, stubborn. Not to be mistaken with patience, but you can't be blamed if you do. If he has a clear goal in mind, he's excellent in persisting until he's achieved it. But this isn't the levelheaded path, he's sacrificing bits and chunks of himself just to keep that fire burning within him and to push forward. Self-destructive, but it gets the job done.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Never. That answer is plain and simple. At least in the cases where you somehow manage to escape or leave him, he can still comfort himself with the knowledge that you're out there somewhere and there's still a chance for him to correct the mishaps, make sure there won't be a third attempt.

But if you died? That is his singular, most dreaded nightmare come true. This is the man that when he wakes up in the middle of the night, his first instinct is to check if you're still breathing or not. Phainon has thought about how he'd cope with your departure countless times — because everything and everyone must face death and he hasn't liked even one of those hypothetical scenarios.

On the outside, he looks petrified, a statue of disbelief frozen in time. He isn't willing to accept that you're just… gone like that, he always said that Thanatos themselves would have to wrestle him if they wanted to take you away and he's going to do exactly that. He'll search the River of Souls for millions of years if necessary, he'll bring death upon Thanatos themselves if necessary, he'll do anything, anything if any grain of sand, anyone in this wretched world could promise him that it'd bring you back.

But if that isn't possible and you're just gone for good forever? Then to hell with this world, he's going to first destroy everything and then himself ; in his eyes, nothing holds value to continue existing if you're not a part of it, not the universe and certainly not him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yes, guilt is a ghost that will never cease haunting him, even if you return his affection. Just the simplest impedimenta that he might have to use to keep you safe prick at his conscience, in moments where it's just him and his thoughts ; be it a tactful wordplay to distract you or the pinnacle of the degradation of his sanity, confinement.

But does that mean he's willing to let you go? Titans, no. Guilt is something he's accustomed to carrying, from when he left the graves of Aedes Elysiae to the prophecy that has penned down his solitary destiny. But the possibility of losing you, when he could've prevented it? That would end him for good. So, he'll linger at your feet, for as long as possible.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

A mix of his childhood and just the overall state of Amphoreus. He's already experienced the taste of losing everything that he held dear once, of having to cut down and bury the bodies of his loved ones with his own hands. The cries of the dead still echo in his ears whenever it gets too quiet. Phainon had once thought that he wouldn't be capable of harboring affection ever again. His sense of attachment had gone askew with the end of Aedes Elysiae. But truthfully, he's never stopped grieving for his home.

If Phainon really does fall in love with you, to such an intense degree moreover, that'd mean that you're truly special. It'd mean that you're capable of soothing his wounds with your presence alone, that you're capable of making him want to dream again like he used to when he was a little boy. This process, all this mind-work that goes inside Phainon doesn't happen as easily as I'm describing it.

Once Phainon becomes attached, he does so terribly, to the point he wouldn't even imagine is possible. And he doesn't want to sever this connection, this new fantasy that's empowering him to take on the mantle of World-bearing with renewed vigor. He now has someone who he wants to protect more than anything, he wants to carve that blissful future and he wants to walk into that sea of flowers at the end of the west winds with you. So naturally, he has to do anything that is required for that future to come true.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

As discussed in “Fight”, Phainon would be hurt by any act that runs contradictory to what he expects from you. He just wants to make you happy and feel safe ; screaming, crying, withdrawing from him — all of them are like harsh slaps that tell him that he's failing brilliantly in that field. The worst part is that he understands why you're behaving that way and can't fault you for it, he definitely deserves it, in fact. He should be treated worse for whatever nonsense he's been doing.

And when his attempts to calm you down with that lifeline, that he's doing it all to protect you, no longer works, what does he do? He cries. He breaks down as well. All the guilt and shame and emotional weight crushing him in an instant of unintelligible apologies drenched in tears.

The hero that always comforts others, always prioritizes others first, the man who'd forgotten how to cry in funerals, on his knees under the pressure of his feelings. Not even the most hardened heart could remain unflinching before that sight, I believe.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

I am in firm belief that Phainon would not abduct his darling. Simply because he has more options available, enough resources and connections to bind you by his side and to make it all seem like the biggest coincidence ever. His heart is always pointed to empathize with others first, this feature is even more intensified for you.

It is not to say that Phainon never has the thoughts, sometimes all he wants to do is to wrap you up in his cape and hide you away. But they're just that, thoughts that he dismisses upon realizing that you would not at all like him if he were to do that.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Phainon's biggest weakness is… you, so, exploit yourself if you want to escape his grasp I guess? But you need to be something of a master manipulator and extraordinary actor to be able to actually succeed. Phainon is by no means unaware of how much power you have over him. You could get him to do anything by pulling at one or two of his heartstrings and he'd let you use him. So, Phainon does keep his guard up a bit in that regard.

You'd need to start slow, make the transition to acquiescence seem normal so that he doesn't immediately get suspicious — making the process lengthy. At a smaller scope and to have any bygone whims met, the easiest option is a kiss. To the cheek, to the neck, to the hand or to the lips it doesn't matter. You just need to give him a kiss, make his brain short circuit and slip away in that interval or, get him to agree to whatever it is you want.

Using affection is a risky method though, since it's essentially just reinforcing an existing addiction. You'd think that you're satiating that hunger little by little, but you're merely fanning the flames by giving him a taste of the whole he could have, if he just… keeps on clinging to you. There is no guarantee for when kisses to the cheek will not do the work anymore and he will demand a higher dose. If you find yourself here, consider kissing the dreams of escaping him farewell instead.

There is something else that works, though you need to have a bit of control over words to execute it: guilt-tripping. This is something Phainon feels in ample amounts even if he seems meticulous in hiding it. Target those doubts, twist his words, throw in the tears and make sure to squeeze his heart. If you're lucky, he might just bend for good. After all, the one thing Phainon can never stand seeing is you being unhappy.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Emotionally? Yes. Which is because he is hurting tenfold and hurt people hurt others, one way or another, eventually. Physically? No. He may get carried away in moments of intimacy, leave indents of his fingertips on your skin or bite a bit too hard at times but, actively trying to inflict physical harm on you is the stuff of his nightmares.

He's not unaware of the difference in strength between you, his thoughts often wander and intrude upon his conscience. Bluntly speaking, he could snap your bones with his bare hands or do worse. At moments when paranoia bleeds into reason, staining it with thoughts of you leaving him behind and dying somewhere all alone — he muses if he should just… break your leg, so that you won't be able to leave. But as it is, his mind has expertise in sprinting down the road of overthinking.

Let's assume he did just that, but what if and Titans forbid, the house catches on fire and you have to run? What will you do then? So, these thoughts remain as intrusive fiends.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Phainon is a reverent type, through and through. From the moment the seeds of love take root in his heart, you become the centerpiece of his universe, the orbit which guides his path, the missing piece of his psyche, the factor that allows him to be more than the prophesied hero, the Deliverer or the vessel of destruction.

Your every word is scripture, every glance a blessing, every breath a miracle. Your every wish is his command, something he must see fulfilled, even at the cost of his life. A smile, for your gaze to remain ever so gentle upon him is all he asks.

Phainon has devoured a litany of texts, has learned to weave words to ensnare, captivate and make anyone's heart ache and yet, he can't put into words just how intensely he feels his love for you. It can be seen though, in the way he both dares not to cross the steps to your altar and can't help himself in the end.

Probably crawling into your ribcage, taking the place of your heart and living there would satiate him — or you could do that with him. But since neither are quite possible, he'll be content to be by your feet, or beside you (if you would allow it), his body, heart and soul all surrendered in offering.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Phainon can be a bit… masochistic in this regard. You'd think by the intensity of his feelings that he wouldn't last more than a month before he's approaching you, but he can surprisingly pine for an impressive amount of time. It's not that he wants to, it's just that he'd much rather execute that encounter he's illustrated in his head with perfection. In this pursuit, he may have attempted many times and had withdrawn last second until the events pushed him to a point where there was no backing out anymore.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

He definitely has the skills to do so. But I don't think he can consciously do it. Knowing full well that nothing good will come out of crushing everything he loves about you and leaving you a shattered mess that will just hate him for eternity? Just the idea disgusts him. He wants you to keep being happy, make you happy, he wants to protect you from all the dangers of the universe and he wants you to return his love, too. The prospect of breaking your spirit runs contradictory to everything he stands for when it comes to you.

But yes, it's not something that's impossible to happen with him. He's destined to lead a turbulent existence, it's not unnatural if you end up getting caught up in that chaos and break apart. Regardless of how it happens, Phainon would never forgive himself for it.

[benjaboyisatwink]

John Price is confused.

He is confused, because he's home, he's on a long low time, much like the rest of the boys, and he is home with you. You, his spouse, the one he married, for fucks sake, he loves you more than anything. Has been nothing but happy to have you close again, wake up tangled with you, hear your voice and feel your skin against his.

But he can't stop thinking about the others. Can't help it, and he hates it. Those are his men, his friends and...whatever else they were after what they went through together. But he shouldn't be thinking about them when he has you curled up with him.

He really has been going crazy. He's staring at you, seeing you just..be, and he can't help but be somewhat jealous of you. He's older, he knows what people assume of him, what he was taught to be, and being with you already broke enough of those teachings. You were young, proud of who you were, proud of your colors and your flags and any labels, or lack of, you used. And while he had come to learn a few things about himself with you, he still feels...off.

It's not even about them being his men, and more about them not being you. He loves you, he's sure of it, so he can't just be interested in the others like that, because then it would mean he didn't love you..right?

He decided he just missed his team. That after so much time together, being apart left him antsy. You noticed too, how he'd sigh, how he'd longingly stared at something before saying it reminded him of one of them. So you had the idea of the boys spending a few weeks at your and John's house. It was big enough for them all, and you would do anything to see your husband more relaxed. And maybe have some confirmation on your suspicions.

The boys came a few days later. All very happy to be there. They knew you from passing, and they seemed ecstatic to see you too.

John thought that now that the boys were here and he could be sure they were safe, he'd relax, that these weird aches would stop. He was wrong, and he hated it. Because now, instead of feeling normal again, he was even more confused by different feelings.

He wasn't jealous, he is sure, but he couldn't help but feel his heart ache anytime he caught you napping with Kyle, your head on the other man's chest; or cooking with Simon, the behemoth of a man looking extra soft as you'd feed him bites of food and move around each other quietly; or talking with Soap, your legs on the Scot's lap, his sketchbook out as you two talked.

It left him longing, for what? He wasn't sure. He just hated it, because even if you were with him, tangled under the sheets, the feeling just wouldn't go away. Leaving him more and more annoyed as the days went on.

You, however, noticed it all. You weren't as confused as your husband, only because you had been thinking about this for a while already. But seeing it all in front of you just settled it. You'd see the lingering gazes of the boys, the soft touches they shared between each other aswell as you and John. The softness they had with each other. And you saw how John, consciously or not, did the same; watched his sargents and lieutenant with such longing you recognized from when you two started dating. It pulls at your heartstrings, because you see how he frowns after it, looking lost and confused in his own head.

So, after a month of this, you wait until you two are quietly cuddling in bed, everyone asleep, and whisper it. A simple phrase as you nuzzle and kiss at John's neck.

"Love... I think you're in love with your men"

You can't help but giggle when he freezes, you feel the heat on his skin as he flushes, and before he can start talking, you continue.

"And you do know non-monogamous relationships exists..right?"

He's silent, and you don't stop kissing and nuzzling his neck and collarbone until he let's out a heavy breath, hesitant.

"And if..."

He starts, sounding so overwhelmed with what you're implying.

"Hmhm, and I like them, too"

You say quietly. And that just clicks it in his head. As he starts imagining all of you together, his heart aching as he squeezes you.

"Oh.."

[senipsenipsenip]

Every once in awhile it just hits me how alone Stan was in that house.

Thirty years of no one walking through the door. Sure, walking in the door of the Mystery Shack, the part of himself that he's able to let the town see. The part of himself full of fakes and misdirection. But thirty years of no one else joining him at the dinner table. Thirty years of keeping the tv on in the background just so he can hear someone else's voice in the house. Thirty years of sitting alone on the porch with a cigar, watching smoke curl up into the constellations that had circled back around marking yet another year that he still wasn't home yet.

He probably tried to bring a date home once. Thought maybe if he could get his mind off of everything for a bit it would clear his head and give him some sort of breakthrough. Maybe then he'd have someone else who he could share his secret with and get some help with fixing the mess that he made. Really, just anyone else to help fill the silence. But the thing about relationships is you have to open up to the other person, and he just couldn't risk letting anyone know "The Real Mr. Mystery." Because the real Mr. Mystery was hiding some terrible secrets that could spell disaster if they were revealed. One of which being the doomsday device in his basement he needed to activate to save the brother he could only hope still loved him.

The other, was that he was Stanley Pines, a name he'd begun to view as a sin within itself.

And it will hit him when he least expects it. They've been docked for months and they're visiting Soos in the Shack, and despite Ford harping on and on about Stan and his health he'll join Stan in this one celebratory cigar. After all, it's tradition when a baby boy enters the family.

A little boy Ramirez. God, Stan feels old.

His stomach still hurts a bit from how hard he laughed at Ford choking on his first inhale. Ford's face was still red from his coughing fit, embarrassment, and the winter chill. He's looking up at the sky to avoid Stan's teasing gaze, so Stan follows his line of sight.

Oh, hey Orion. Welcome back.

And suddenly Stan's the one who feels like he's choking. Because suddenly it's no longer just Stan and Orion, sharing the winter chill of the porch and the burn of cigar smoke. There's no more shooting stars for Stan to be wishing for while he stares at those three stars lined up in a row, wishing for three journals to line his shelf in the same gleaming gold.

There's Ford. Here. He's complaining about how the smell of smoke will never get out of his sweater. He's fanning himself and turning towards the door, the door, the one that leads to the living room where Soos and Melody are watching old monster movies. He's turning the doorknob to enter a home that is no longer full of secrets, but memories, postcard promises of a niece and nephew coming to visit, of a tight-knit family of futures waiting to fill every creaking corner of this old shack.

"Are you coming, Stanley?"

After thirty years, Stan hears the name of someone worth being.

[aphr0d1teh]

For Now It’s Enough

Disclaimer/Pairings: Boyfriend!RafeCameron x reader

Type: fluff, angst if you squint (more hurt/comfort but also not?)

Warnings: swearing, ward mentioned, mentions of sex but no smut, rafes internal struggle

Word Count: 1.4k

Rafe wasn't exactly the kind of guy who's love language was physical touch. Ward raised him on tough love, hardly ever hugging his son or even acknowledging him, and after losing his mom that was all he ever knew. He wasn't used to hugging someone or holding them close, he never even thought he wanted to. He instead showed his love in other ways, little words of affirmation or gifts he knew you'd love. He'd occasionally pull you into a hug but it never lasted long. He was typically tense and awkward, and it usually only occurred when you were upset.

You knew this about him though, and you never pushed him for more, despite how much you wanted it, craved it, borderline yearned for it. You'd dream about the simplest of touches like you were in a period drama, holding his hand while walking in downtown, sitting close enough that your knees touch, leaning your head over onto his shoulder at the movies, but even that was too much for him, and you respected that, you really did, but it was hard when all you wanted was for him to touch you, with no sexual innuendo, even just for a minute.

The closest you got to him holding you was when you two had sex, but even those touches were light and careful like he was scared it would become too intimate. The most he'd hold your hand was when he pinned them above your head and oh god you enjoyed it, you enjoyed it a lot, but you'd be lying to yourself if you said it was enough, though you’d never admit this to him.

You always made it a point to respect his boundaries, it was the first thing you noticed about him when you two started going on dates, how he'd keep his hand secure in his pocket after it brushed against yours, or how he’d sit far enough for you two not to touch. Today was different though, you weren't really pushing him but you were sleeping over and all you wanted was to snuggle up against him, to feel his body pressed against yours in a moment that wasn’t purely sexual.

You laid on the left side of his bed, tossing for the tenth time in a row in the past few minutes as he laid facing away from you. As you tossed again he sighed "Why are you moving so much?" He asked, a bit annoyed "I just can't sleep—I'm sorry." You swiftly replied.

He sighed again, "Just stay still and you'll fall asleep." You nod in the darkness even though he isn't looking and try to stay still, opting to chew on your nail instead, a nervous habit you'd had your entire life. He sighs again after a minute "I can hear you chewing on your nail Y/N/N, what's up? Why can’t you sleep?" He asks, rolling over.

You don't look at him as you shrug, taking your hand and placing it between your thighs to physically urge yourself to stop as you speak, "Nothing." He narrows his eyes, "It must be something, you've been tossing around every minute for like an hour. It’s distracting. I can't sleep, and now all I can hear is you chewing on your nails."

"I just—I don't know, I-I don't wanna push you. I know cuddling and touching and all of that isn't your thing, but it's mine Rafe and it's hard, tonight's just—harder than usual I guess." His face twists into a frown as he shifts to lay on his back, "You know I can't give you that Y/N." He mumbles, his tone a bit cold.

You nod, "I know." You whisper into the darkness. He doesn't reply, he just lays there, his mind reeling, he knew he wasn't enough for you, he knew he should've never let your relationship get this far. "Rafe." You say, your voice barely audible.

"Hm?" He hums, his mind still racing, "Don't worry about it ok? I promise I'm fine. I knew this about you before we started dating." He nods but still doesn't look at you as he turns over, his back facing you once again. "I wish I could give you more." He says after a while, turning over again. You shrug, "You give me enough, Rafe, you give me your all, and that’s all I can ask for.”

He lets a small smile grace his features as he nods "Ok." He whispers and you hold your pinky out in the space between you. He freezes, his eyes darting between your face and your outstretched finger. He slowly lifts his hand to intertwine your pinky's. Once he does you both stay like that for a moment, laying on your sides with a distance between you, it wasn't what you wanted, but he was trying, and that was enough, it would always be enough for you, you loved him, you loved him so damn much you’d deal with never cuddling with someone again if it meant being with him.

He doesn't pull back as your eyes flutter, instead he keeps his finger intertwined with yours as your hands rest on the bed, while he watches you fall asleep. He only thinks about turning around when your grip goes limp against his and he sets your hand down on the bed, keeping his flat beside it as he closes his eyes.

—

In the morning he wakes up first, now turned away from you in his sleep. He rolls over to see you still sleeping, but your hand is now tightly wrapped around the second pillow on your side of the bed, your face buried into it, subconsciously using it as a place holder since it smelled like him. He smiles sadly at the sight, wishing he could give you what you wanted, wishing he could be someone different, not for himself, but for you.

His gaze remains locked on you as you stir, your eyes opening as you tighten your grip on the pillow, stretching out your legs. Your eyes meet his and you smile softly, "Morning." You whisper. "Morning." He replies in an equally soft tone, wishing he could give into his urges and pull you closer, or tuck the wild strand of hair behind your ear.

"How'd you sleep?" He asks and you shrug, "Good." He nods, the silence that follows is a bit awkward but not uncomfortable, it was never uncomfortable. "Y/N?" He starts, still thinking about last night, and you hum in response, "I think I want to try—I don't know, something to—I don’t know. I-I just want to be able to give you what you want." He rambles as he struggles to find the words, something Rafe Cameron was not used to.

Your heart races a little at his confession and you pull your arm away from the pillow and hold your hand out wordlessly. His eyes lock onto your hand as he breathes out and slowly intertwines his fingers with yours, a distance still between the two of you in his bed. His hands feel a little sweaty and his body is tense, but he's trying, and truly for you he'd try anything, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

You brush your thumb against his hand and he tenses more before trying to relax at the feeling. "It's ok." You whisper, a small encouraging smile on your face. He just nods and lays there, holding your hand. To most people this probably would've looked awkward, but to you, it felt like a grand gesture, a declaration of love.

His hand eventually lets go of yours and he looks relaxed so you test the waters, lightly trailing your nails up his arm, stopping at the hem of his sleeve before going back down. A small gasp leaves his mouth as his body tenses, but he doesn't pull away. You continue your motions until he relaxes, subconsciously leaning closer to you. Your eyes stay on his as he sighs, "I wish this wasn't so hard. I just wanna be able to give you what you want—what you deserve." He mumbles.

"You do give me what I deserve Rafe. You're sweet, you always make sure I'm safe, you buy me those flowers I love—the fancy candies downtown." You muse, a smile on your face. He shakes his head, "Yet I can't give you something that's free."

"You do your best, Rafe, and that's more than enough." You reply, your hand still slowly trailing his arm, he leans a little closer, his face mere inches from yours now. You fight the urge to lean in, not wanting to scare him off, but to your surprise, he moves closer again. His forehead shakily presses against yours as he keeps his eyes open, studying your face.

You can't help the grin that comes over you. "I love you." You whisper. "And I love you sweetheart—fuck I love you so much." He admits, his voice is unsteady and his eyes are glossy, making your heart skip a beat. You don't know how long you stay like that, but it's enough to feel intoxicating. Eventually your movements stop, your hand resting on his arm now as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

The kiss wasn't sexual, there was no purpose or intent behind it other than him just simply wanting to, and god did it feel good, but you didn't mention it, not wanting to scare him off, because he was trying, he was doing his best, and for now—for now that was enough.

—

A/N: hey guys, i haven't written anything for obx in literal ages—like since 2021 maybe 2022?? so anyways i hope this is alright. i've decided to post some obx stuff on this account too now soo feel free to request for that, the masterlist is also up! :)

[doberbutts]

I had a partner whose previous partner had died, very suddenly by suicide, and I did feel in pretty constant competition with his dead ex-spouse. Part of it was the recency- he had broken up with the guy, got with me a few months later, and a few months into our relationship his ex killed himself. But a significant portion of it was undigested and unprocessed grief and anger at the loss, even when his hands had been washed of their previous connection.

He fell into a deep depression and actively tore himself apart over it during the bulk of our relationship together- he couldn't sleep in the same bed as me, we couldn't be intimate, even something as small as a cuddle on the couch or a kiss goodnight was a big ask much of the time. We went on no dates. We did pretty much nothing as a couple together outside of a handful of dog events and some nightly parallel play where we played seperate videogames. He went on several-day binge drinking benders to try and stop the dreams and the grief. He went to therapy but spent most of the time arguing with his therapist that he was justified in exploding his life over his dead ex. I had to talk him out of trying to kill himself to join his ex on multiple late night phone calls over the next couple years we were together. He was frequently hospitalized due to alcohol poisoning because he knew that was a way to kill himself because he'd tried it before prior to us being together. We broke it off and came back together to be off and on at several points during that time. He would tell me he wasn't fit to be in any relationship because everything he touches dies and what if he kills me too, only to beg to have me back a few weeks after telling me that he didn't want to be in a relationship anymore.

And at some point I realized that I couldn't compete with a dead guy anymore. That he had a present with a living partner but could not stop looking over his shoulder to his past that he had already said goodbye to prior to the suicide. That I had been weighed against a dead man, and the dead man had won. It did really feel like he was cheating on me with a corpse already buried in the ground.

So we broke up. He stayed single for quite some time though after a few years expressed regret that he ruined what we had between us. I think he has someone in his life again now, though he's mentioned the same problems with intimacy and togetherness and affection still exist, and he still writes yearly eulogies about how the love of his life was suddenly taken from him. Once again I remind you, they broke up because the dude cheated on him *prior* to my relationship with him, and the suicide happened *during* the early stages of our relationship, so they were not actively together at that time either.

So if someone's spouse is acting this way during their relationship, I can certainly understand feeling like they have to compete with a dead person, and not wanting to be involved. I felt incredibly disrespected and devalued throughout the entire process- and it had very little to do with the fact that he loved someone before me and very much to do with how deeply the grief impacted him and how little he was able to actually commit himself to the relationship happening right now in front of him. And as much as I wanted to support and stand by him through it, at the end of the day as much as I loved him I could not continue to try and convince him to actually exist in the now rather than constantly regret his decision to walk away from someone who had already disrespected *their* relationship.

My ex was and is still extremely disabled by mental illness, now has a recent autism diagnosis, and appears to have built a better life for himself. And for that I'm grateful. But having experienced this, I'm a bit leery of labeling it a problem of monogamy or heterosexuality.

I think it is equally likely that many men are taught from a very young age to stunt themselves emotionally, to clam up and close themselves off from their deeper emotions, and to not practice any amount of emotional maturity especially during upsetting or traumatizing events. And then a big trauma happens, like your spouse dying, and suddenly bottling things up just turns them into a molotov cocktail to explode all of your personal relationships and hopefully there's still something salvageable left in the rubble. Like, it has to suck for my ex that we are approximately 10 years from this happening and he is still incapable of processing that grief enough to not have his intimate relationships blow up in his face. I don't think many people would choose to stay in that mental state, but it does happen.

Heterosexual relationship culture is so alien to me and I don’t know if it’s the fact I’m not cishet or the fact I’m autistic but I hear so many things that make me go “Am I insane or are they?”

There’s a lot of hate on widowers and I saw a woman say “You cannot compete with a dead woman.” which is perhaps a reasonable statement to say if he’s constantly comparing you to his dead partner but that wasn’t what the post was about. And I realized “Oh my God, these people genuinely feel like they’re constantly in competition with their spouse’s exes and the ex being dead makes them feel insecure that they cannot best her.”

There’s also been an uptick in the ‘men and women cannot be ‘just’ friends’ rhetoric which I feel like is extremely dangerous and reflects the rise of fascism and sexism. Some of these stories of women feeling threatened by their husband’s female best friend have some merit and others are like “I feel angry that my husband still talks to the girl he grew up next door to and she and her wife are invited to family gatherings and included in family photos sometimes. Am I right to be suspicious?” No. No you’re not. I cannot imagine being you and living with that high level of stress and paranoia and constant torment and jealousy about your husband having a positive relationship with anyone who isn’t you.

[rosiesweets]

my reflection tells me i wasn't made in god's image, but yours. - one

synopsis: with a failing math score, a latte, and a dream, paige bueckers stumbles her way to a soulmate.

a/n: because i love you all sooooo much i finished chapter one tonight. please tell me what you think. (if you were here earlier, the synopsis has changed. i found editing that this was the next natural chapter). please be gentle with me, i probably need to edit again, but wanted to get this up for y'all. all my love forever and always, xoxo, chiara

it seems you're woven into my dna

paige remembers testing day.

she had just turned eighteen and her father made the appointment to drive her to st. paul in the space between christmas and the new year, when she was home for the first time since leaving for connecticut. it was the closest testing center to her quiet suburb. the car ride was quiet, filled with the soft dad rock he needed to concentrate on long drives.

that was something she liked about her dad, he was comfortable in silence. they were different in that way. paige, still growing into herself. her long body, her seemingly god given talent, always felt the need to talk. to move. stillness often evaded her. but she remembers that there in the passenger side of her dad’s sedan, staring at the snow covered highway, she was still.

she thinks that was one of the first times she really felt god speak to her. told her this was the right decision. gave her the peace and courage to go through with it. you don’t need to submit your blood for soulmate matching. it’s not obligated. most people do it, the idea of a soulmate too enticing to miss out on. but she knows there’s a sizable population of people who don’t. everyone has their own reasons to submit their blood or not. some people do it for a love story like they’ve read in books and watched in movies. some don’t in an act of control, believing choosing their partner is more romantic than a blood match done in a government lab.

paige could’ve gone either way.

you can submit your blood once you turn eighteen but paige feels like she’s been thinking about it her whole life. she’s wavered a lot. her parents were soulmates but divorced, matched and unmatched. just because your blood matches in a secret government lab they don’t tell anyone about doesn’t mean you aren’t two humans in a relationship. you won’t go through struggle. life in all its cruelties won’t happen to you.

there’s a popular conspiracy theory that because the government is so secretive about how they match soulmates, it’s all fake and the government is just matching ideal couples suited to its agenda. (there’s not not merit in this. reagan’s administration refused to test anyone against the same gender. a generation of same sex soulmates were lost in those years).

paige thinks of her parents and understands why and how people can think it’s all fake. her parents were never blatantly a bad match. but they weren’t a good one. paige knew this growing up. it seemed their match centered on her. her mom tells her she’s certain that she was destined to match with her father so she could have paige. that’s a weight that hasn’t left paige since her mother inadvertently laid it across her shoulders.

her parents really only ever portrayed partnership when it came to parenting her. they showed up together to everything she did. sat the kitchen table looking lost alongside her as she stared at her algebra homework. sat first row at her first and last band concert (safe to say her talent remains on the court and not on a stage). made long rides to aau tournaments fun with sing-alongs and car games.

but her home was quiet. empty feeling. perhaps that’s why she always sought to fill it. made herself loud to drown out the silence that cloaked it.

she never really witnessed her parents affection, because there wasn’t anything to witness. they both had accepted their matches right away and moved in together. they orbited around each other in the way mismatched magnets do, close but something innate in them pushing each other away. when they broke their match and divorced, paige felt like she could finally breath. they both seem so much better with their non soulmate partners. each new pair gave her new siblings and soon her life at home wasn’t so quiet anymore. both her parents seemed to become more of themselves.

it feels like naturally paige should be against soulmate matching, since her parents were proof it doesn’t always work. doesn’t guarantee a happy ending. and she was uncertain for most of her life, in the time she understood what it meant to put yourself up for a match. she knew the burden of being a product of an unsuccessful match, not that her parents would ever characterize it like that. but still.

and yet, as she moved through life she couldn’t help but hope. look at couples in love and think to herself that could be me one day. she remembers asking her dad what she should do. ever pragmatic he told her that’s not a decision he should be involved in. but said he never regretted it. would go back in time and accept his match to her mother over and over again. that god’s plan for your life is never wrong. so whether paige decides to test, in a way doesn’t matter. god will guide her. she will not damn herself either way.

so she went. feels it was almost inevitable. paige is only human after all. and what is not the most human act, but to yearn for love?

she had her dad wait in the car because paige was an adult and could get a blood test all her own. it was clinical. considerably less fanfare than she had conjured in her brain. she waited in a sterile windowless exam room as a medical assistant asked her the typical questions like weight and height. the nurse made kind small talk with her as a distraction to the pinch of the needle. paige watched as she labeled the vials with her full name and birthdate. gave paige the choice between a blue and green bandaid (blue obviously). then paige listened as the nurse gave what she expects is a mandatory speech, “you will receive a letter from us with your match if one is found. there is no guarantee you will ever match. not everyone tests. we suggest you continue to live your life, date, explore, whatever makes you happy. please remember to update your address with us if it changes so we can mail your letter properly if it comes. do not call us asking for updates on your match, you will get a voice mailbox that no one ever checks. any questions?”

paige just quietly shook her head no and took the offered packet memorializing what the nurse just told her in writing. she slid back into the passenger’s seat and just like that her dad drove them back home. the car ride was mostly stretches of silence with small breaks discussing her first march madness tournament coming up.

paige thought she would dwell on it. sit in constant anticipation of a letter. but surprisingly she didn’t. she went to class, practice, hang outs with friends. soon the entire possibility of a soulmate moved to the back of her mind. never leaving, but more fading into the background with memories one keeps in shadows, rather than at the ready.

then she met azzi fudd. and suddenly, the possibility of a soulmate was a constant thought.

—

the thing paige remembers most about meeting azzi was that she was in a terrible mood. the team was month into practice and they just weren’t gelling. it was a slow and painful torture. she loved her teammates, she did. but at times she couldn’t stand them. more often though, she couldn’t stand herself. she was the national player of the year as a freshman. the best. and lately she couldn’t make a fucking layup. she knew it was mental. just needed to get over the hump. keep her head down and put in the work. but paige was impatient and honestly a little embarrassed her year was starting so poorly. she still has time, their first game isn’t for a month. but with expectations of leadership and success, paige felt like recently all she saw in the mirror was disappointment.

now she’s sitting here in a back room of werth next to a girl she doesn’t know, tired from another shit practice and ready to take a year long nap. instead the girl, paige thinks her name is azzi, is going on about linear equations and paige feels the the pressure behind her eyes increase. she’s about to ask if she could have a minute when the azzi’s voice cuts through, “look if you need a break, we can take one, clearly you aren’t listening.” there isn’t any real malice in the girl’s voice. no anger. the statement is laced with mild frustration but remains mostly neutral. paige takes a second to look at azzi, in a moment that comes and goes in a second notices her huge eyes and pretty curly hair.

paige is normally one of the nicest people on campus. always saying hi, making time for pictures, autographs, and small talk. she typically has a positive and grateful attitude no matter the circumstance. but in that moment, paige didn’t have the strength to be any of those things. hearing once again she was a disappointment set something off inside her. she let out a biting reply, “sorry i’m not staring deeply into your eyes while you moan on about something i’ll never actually use. i don’t need a break. it’s fine. we can keep going over this useless information.” azzi scoffs, “look i get it. you’re going to throw a ball or whatever for the rest of your life. but you can’t do that if you don’t pass this class. math and especially algebra is like the fundamental basis for all thinking. you’re probably tired and stress but i am too and i’m here, showing up for you. let me know when you’re done being a bitch and ready to work.”

paige, who just listened to coach drill into her for the past three hours, has never been more stunned. her mouth drops open wordlessly, as she scrambles to put together any sort of sentence in reply. azzi doesn’t wait though, gathering her books and leaving to go sit with ashlynn before paige can make a sound.

—

from that single interaction, paige will never go another day without thinking of azzi.

paige remembers stumbling around campus for the week after. wondering how to apologize. asks herself if she should. if she should just cut her losses and work with the other tutors. but as she sits there and watches as azzi helps her teammates and some guys on the men’s team, she can’t help but stare. azzi is never in anything particularly flashy, but she’s so quietly stunning that paige can’t help but flicker her eyes over multiple times in a session.

paige notices things. how azzi speaks with her hands. writes in pink pen. pauses to make sure you’re listening, gives space to ask questions. notices that she makes people laugh. that when she genuinely thinks something is funny her bunny teeth show. that she doesn’t wear mascara but yet her eyelashes are still so long, feels like azzi flutters instead of blinks. fuck paige has a crush.

paige knows she likes girls. knows if she has a soulmate out there it’s a girl. paige has had crushes on girls before. but this is inconvenient. she’s going to have to see azzi all the time, even if she doesn’t speak to her. paige figures she should face this issue like she does most her other problems, head on. azzi is just a girl (ha) and paige can handle sitting next to her for an hour a couple times a week so she can fucking pass algebra (lies paige absolutely cannot handle that).

so the next week, paige hatches a plan to get azzi to agree to a truce. she grabs azzi a coffee from the cafe on campus that always has a line miles long. she noticed azzi has a sweet tooth, always adds three sugars to her tea and is frequently surrounded by hershey kiss wrappers. she decides she’ll probably like a vanilla latte, adds cinnamon because the barista recommended to.

latte in hand paige walks into werth for their off day tutoring session. as she walks past, kk stops her. “girl, who is this for? you don’t drink vanilla lattes.” paige wills her cheeks to stay their natural color, “azzi. i said something shitty to her a couple weeks ago and i feel lowkey bad about it.” kk legit laughs in her face, replies “uh, ok” and simply walks away. paige scrunches her nose, confused but decides to move on. she sees azzi sitting in the back, waiting for someone to approach her. paige walks half a step faster, not wanting anyone to beat her there. (azzi is quite the popular tutor, one can venture a guess as to why). azzi doesn’t look up as paige drops her backpack on the ground and sits in the chair across from her.

paige elects to slide the latte across the table to her and simply say, “i’m done being a bitch and ready to work. ” azzi looks up, meets paige’s eyes, holds her gaze. paige feels her stomach flutter, fuck this is going to be the longest hour of paige’s life. paige smiles sheeply, azzi raises an eyebrow and moves to read the label of the latte, nods and takes a sip. then she’s speaking and paige is quick to pull out her notebook and pen and start writing, “so your quiz next week is on linear equations … .”

as paige walks out of the tutoring session feeling lighter than ever now that azzi seemingly doesn’t hate her anymore, her phone vibrates in her pocket.

cd’s strongest soldiers kk breaking news. p boogers has a crush. icey GIRL WHAT. tell me who rn !! twin obviously its that tutor azzi. the girl with the curly hair. kk wait nika how’d u know twin sorry was i supposed to ignore paige’s longing stare at her twice a week? kk nika i could kiss u twin girl, at least buy me crumbl first icey can someone record this longing next time so i don’t miss it pls? having fomo. paige kys. xoxo

paige can’t hold it back now, her blush blooms across her face as she clicks her phone off and walks to her dorm.

—

it should’ve been a sign how quickly paige and azzi fall into each other after that. azzi was quiet at first, not wanting to talk about more than variables and functions and whatever else paige literally doesn’t know anything about now that she passed that class (with an a- take that nika and fuck you ice for putting five dollars on her getting a c). but paige was nothing if not persistent. she made stupid jokes and embarrassed herself weekly all to get azzi to let out a single laugh. soon azzi’s bunny teeth showed more than once a session and paige felt like she was soaring. almost like she just sunk a game winning buzzer beater.

it’s well into her season now and paige is exhausted all the time but also constantly running on adrenaline. she wants the natty so bad she can taste it. when she closes her eyes, she swears she can feel the confetti on her shoulders. they were so close last year, knocked out in the final four. paige won’t let that happen again.

she’s waiting in her car for azzi to finish lab so they can grab food together and then bed rot in paige’s dorm. it’s their thursday ritual and it’s fucking sacred. paige doesn’t even look up as azzi bounds into the passenger side, too busy queuing the perfect sound for their fifteen minute drive to panera.

azzi is organizing her pens back into her pencil case, in color order like a psychopath, while paige drives when paige opens with “so like how much of that caffeine lemonade do i have to drink before i actually die?” azzi pauses, mid pink pen in hand, “um, did you recently begin suicidal ideations and forget to tell me?” paige thinks about making fun of azzi for using big words like ideations but thinks better of it.

“bruh what? no. kk just said a small one could kill me. i’m like six feet though so i was like no way dawg definitely a medium at least. but she like insisted.” azzi simply looked over at paige. blinked. blinked again. “for real az, ur the doctor, tell me i could survive at least a medium.”

azzi is both unbelievably endeared that paige calls azzi, your local college freshman, the doctor and means it, and is so unbelievably concerned for how paige treats her body. “one, not a doctor, literally just a biology major, two, you have so much energy at all times the only thing you should be consuming is a sedative, and three, you’re five eleven.” paige puts the car in park as they pull up and walks over to open azzi’s door while azzi is putting the last of her things away. “nah bro you did not just call me short. why are you bullying me today? i didn’t even break ur stupid paige isn’t allowed to send azzi more than ten tik toks a day rule.”

“that rule isn’t stupid. it’s the bedrock of this friendship.” paige just rolls her eyes, bedrock my ass. paige knows that if she sent eleven one day azzi would not friend break up with her, (if she tried, paige would just annoy her until they hung out again).

after azzi finishes up her order paige swipes her card for both of them, walking them over to counter to wait for their pick up. paige doesn’t drop her hand from the small of azzi’s back the whole time. neither of them say anything about it.

—

paige watches as azzi sets down her now empty container of mac and cheese on paige’s dresser. turning to face paige on the bed azzi asks “rot or tv?” paige pretends to think before turning on her tv as her answer. (it was a no brainer, they’re currently rewatching criminal minds and serial killers on the screen means azzi will spend half the episode tucked into pagie’s side. and they said paige only had a high basketball iq). azzi simply nods and moves to sit back, resting against the wall. paige isn’t even fully set against the wall with her pillow before azzi is pulling her over to cuddle. she hears azzi sigh in contentment as she rests her head on paige’s chest and slides her arm around paige’s middle. the familiar theme song starts playing as they settle in.

paige hopes azzi can’t hear the pounding of her heart as she brings her arms to curl around her.

—

it’s summer now, the warmth of the hot minnesota sun soaks over paige as she lays on a towel next to azzi at azzi’s grandparent’s cabin. she’s spent the better part of the summer here. grieving the loss of the national championship and working tirelessly toward the next one. even though she works out almost everyday, her and azzi let the days melt by.

warmth from more than the sun fills paige. her crush on azzi hasn’t really gone away, but morphed. before, when azzi was just her tutor, the main reason for her crush was azzi’s beauty. now, paige knows the way azzi laughs, like really laughs. it’s full and joyous, overtaking her whole body. paige loves the way all of azzi’s teeth show when she laughs. when paige makes her laugh.

she knows how hard working azzi is. and like that sounds kind of stupid, but azzi gets paige. gets how much work goes into looking like a prodigy on the court, because to paige, azzi’s intelligence seemed effortless. until she watched as azzi carefully planned her study schedule, revised every exam she took, did flash cards as she walked to class. azzi knows what it’s like to want to be something. what it means to work. to commit. it’s why azzi has spent half the summer rebounding for paige at the local park’s court in the time she’s not getting her volunteer hours done at the town’s hospital.

paige knows what it’s like for azzi to call her annoying and then pull her closer. to say she’s a sore winner but click “start next game” on the playstation. azzi doesn’t think paige is perfect, has never expected her to be. azzi actually points out paige’s flaws all the time. azzi hold’s paige to the standard of someone who loves her. of someone who knows they are excellent and knows paige should be too. who knows they shine best together. azzi isn’t in awe of paige nor does she look down on her for being a jock. azzi wants paige to be paige. she wants paige in every edition. paige who stays late after practice. paige who wants to do tik tok dances. paige who needs to drive the dark streets of storrs after a practice or game where she played like shit.

so yeah, paige still has a crush on azzi. thinks it would be like super cool if she got to maybe like hold her hand (romantically) or even kiss her one day. but ultimately, paige just loves azzi. it’s a quiet warm feeling that fits around paige like a well tailored jacket.

paige looks over at azzi whose nose and eyes are scrunched in the sun, book she’s holding above her face casting a shadow across. paige traces the arch of her nose, the fan of her lashes. watches as azzi’s pupils move back and forth across the page.

“stop staring at me.” paige blushes, hopes the she can blame on the uv. “dude i’m not staring. just wondering what has you so focused. must be a sex scene or somethin’” azzi turns her head toward paige, glares, turns back to her book. “actually, he’s confessing his love for her after four hundred agonizing pages.” paige rolls her eyes “lame.” azzi huffs, clearly paige has decided being quiet for twenty minutes was the longest she could go. paige watches as azzi sets her book down, dog earring the page. azzi walks to the edge of dock, skin glowing and bikini fitting just right. her toes hang off the wood as she turns to paige and simply states “last one to the buoy has to do dishes tonight,” and dives in. paige squaks, jumping up to dive in after her, “no fair! you got a head start!”

—

paige puts her car in park as drew excitedly talks about going to some birthday party later in the backseat. she watches him run up to the door as she takes a leisurely pace. she’s been putting in work this off season, (even though her team since to think she just spent all summer staring at azzi in a bikini. which, two things can be true) and her body aches in places she didn’t know it could. she’s been lifting heavier. needs to be stronger to take more contact. even though she knows basketball is a team sport, she needs to do everything she can to put this team on her back and win this year.

she notices the red flag on her mailbox is up, shakes her head at lauren forgetting to take in the mail, again. she pulls out the stack and walks in, toeing her shoes off at the door and making her way to the kitchen in search of protein and electrolytes. she stops at the kitchen table, shuffling the mail in her hands for anything she might have received.

her heart stops. there’s a letter for her and the sender is Federal Bureau of Soulmate Matching.

holy shit.

she has a soulmate. her hands are shaking as she turns the letter over. suddenly everything is quiet. she can’t hear drew’s video game, or lauren on the phone with her friends, or even the hum of the refrigerator next to her.

her finger slides through the top of fold, the tear of the envelope so loud it almost hurts. she pulls the letter out slowly,

Dear Paige Bueckers, The Federal Bureau of Soulmate Matching is overjoyed to notify you we have found your soulmate! Please see her name below: Azzi Jazlyn Fudd

paige stops reading. grin overtaking her face before she can register it. her eyes blur as tears fill them, one feeling rising to the surface.

absolute joy.

[gerardsbest]

Dirty Needs Done

One Shot

Relationship: Gerard Way x Reader

Tags: begging, handjobs, teasing, nipple licking/sucking, first time, aftercare, sub gerard

Summary: Gerard is a major virgin and you're Mikey's college buddy who's incredibly interested in him.

After weeks of constant teasing and flirting, you finally make an actual move on him at a party, making Gerard beg and whine for you in his own room on his own bed.

6.6k words | ao3

requested by anon ᡣ𐭩

Mikey tend to bring over a lot of friends from university, he was popular like that, in an odd way. Whether it was for projects, study sessions, or simple hangouts— Gerard always found a new face in the living room, kitchen, or porch almost every day.

Some he got familiar with, like this guy named Ray who could shred the guitar like no one Gerard had ever seen before. That guy was capital "C" cool. Others, too, but most were just acquaintances, which was fine since he didn't particularly find most of Mikey's friends all too intriguing. They were just nice enough, just interesting enough, and just friendly enough to incite a conversation here and there but it was mostly cordiality.

Sure, Gerard might have wanted to pursue things with some of the girls Mikey brought over, but he was always way too shy to feasibly do anything; and well, more importantly, they weren't ever... interested in him and instead had their sights already set on Mikey.

Or they just completely weren't attracted to him at all.

This was the case most of the time.

Gerard tried not to let this get to him but he couldn't help but feel disheartened whenever this happened; not because of any reason like he felt as though he was "owed" something, no, that was dumb. It was more so because these girls looked like they wanted to be possibly anywhere but with him. Some even looked straight up repulsed.

That made Gerard wonder— was he really that bad?

Looking in the mirror, he saw greasy, matted hair that was too long for the average guy. His face was nothing special; it wasn't like he thought he was ugly, but definitely not "handsome", either. Just average. Maybe a little below because of how he dressed and probably how he smelled. Speaking of... he should really get out of this hoodie and put it in the wash. The thing was becoming a biohazard at this point.

Gerard knew Mikey would bring over company again, so he at least wanted to look presentable whether the person in question was a cute girl or not. But "presentable" to him was a low, low bar and in the end, he just put on another— slightly cleaner— hoodie and called it a day.

Making his way up the stairs, Gerard heard Mikey's voice first, and then, a girl's voice. He hung around the entrance of his bedroom for a bit since, admittedly, he was a little nervous. It was embarrassing that at his grand age of twenty-three, he was still out here getting bashful around women, yet here he was, doing just that. Gerard took in a deep breath before coming out of his hole.

"There you are," Mikey greeted when he saw him approaching. "That's my older brother, Gerard." He said to you.

You smiled, "Oh, so that's Gerard. Nice to meet you, Mikey loves to sing your praises."

"Hey..." Mikey murmured as you laughed and extended your hand to him.

Gerard was floored. Out of all of Mikey's friends, you were by far the most gorgeous. Just his type (to be fair, any girl that'd give him the time of day was his type) and nice to top it off. Well, he had no way of actually knowing that but you gave him a warm smile instead of a poorly made fake one to hide your disdain, so there was that. It almost felt wrong to take your hand, especially because he knew how sweaty he could get, but leaving you hanging there was worse so he just did it.

A quick, minimal contact handshake. Gerard revelled at how soft your hands were from the few seconds he touched them, and he swore he could smell some fruit-scented lotion on his fingertips. It must be residue from you.

Gerard blushed, "Sorry, I... um, I didn't quite catch your name."

You gave it to him, and Gerard thought it was the most perfect name in the world to suit a perfect girl like you.

Okay, he needed to chill out. Even if you weren't revolted by his existence now, you probably would be if he couldn't get normal around you. So, Gerard tried to straighten himself up, but groaned and failed seconds after because he was cursed to forever be a hunchback.

"Back problems?" You asked.

He flushed, "Scoliosis."

"My friend's got that. It happens to the best of us."

"Haha, I guess..."

"Just relax, alright? We're all friends here."

"Mhm."

"You two get situated, I'm gonna go to the bathroom." Mikey suddenly interjected. Gerard had been so enamored that he forgot he was even there— sorry, Mikes!

When Mikey left, it was just the two of you, naturally. You were standing on one end of the kitchen island and he was on the other, about four feet of distance in between. Still smiling, you bent down to rest your elbows against the countertop and Gerard could see all the way down your shirt because it was so low-cut.

That almost killed him. About two seconds into this meeting and he was already thinking perverse thoughts.

"So, where do you go to college, Gerard? Or university. I don't think I've seen you around our campus."

It was a miracle he even heard that because his eyes were so fixed on your breasts. He really had to thank God himself that this counter was there to shield the bottom half of his body because he was sure that even through his baggy jeans, you could probably see his...

Gerard gulped and quickly answered your question, "Um, I go to the School of Visual Arts... it's in New York... or I used to since I graduated a year ago."

"Oh, right, I forgot you're older."

Gerard froze. He dared to look into your eyes and you were staring at him so... intently. Inside, he was a wreck and he was sure that reflected outwardly, too. Was he just so delusional he imagined the way you said that? The way your voice got low, even curious, when you said he was older.

It didn't help that your breasts were still so visible and he had to do everything within his power to both keep perfectly still so anywhere past his hips couldn't be seen while also fixing his vision straight ahead, at the cabinet behind you so you wouldn't notice him being weird.

"What have you been doing since graduating?" You asked again, back to sounding normal.

"I'm an intern..."

"Where?"

"Cartoon Network... it's a channel on TV for kids."

"Are you good with kids?"

"Somewhat."

"Do you want them in the future? Because I do."

"Yeah, having kids sounds nice..."

"Doesn't it? I think one is good, but maybe I'll have two if my husband is really good."

Again. That voice again. This time it had to have been some kind of innuendo. Gerard found it harder and harder to look at the cabinet.

"That's way in the future, though. I'm only twenty. This is prime time for dating," You stated, normal and carefree while he was suffering. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"I don't."

"Single like me then, huh? Have you ever had one?"

Wow, these are getting invasive, Gerard thought, but felt obligated to reply. "Not yet."

"Seriously?"

Gerard knew he probably sounded like a mega loser after that— if, if you had even an inkling of interest in him before, then that was probably fully gone by now. A beautiful girl like you would never interact with someone like him normally, and especially not now after finding out that he was a virgin.

I didn't have a chance, anyway—

"Hey, Gerard? Is there a reason why you won't look me in the eyes?"

That immediately broke the one-sided staring contest he was having with the cabinet.

"H-Huh?" Gerard uttered stupidly, feeling like he was obligated to look at you after you said something like that.

"Finally," You sighed dramatically, leaning even more forward so your breasts were prominent. "I was starting to think you didn't like me."

You were smirking this assertive, playful smirk with a firm hand on your hip, which was a pretty lethal combo but at least you were standing up now so Gerard couldn't see directly into your shirt anymore. Still, the way you eyed him and the confidence which exuded from you— it was both impressive and incredibly attractive. You were everything he wasn't; so sure of yourself yet not crossing that threshold of being full of yourself while still handling things gracefully, only being direct in certain moments. You were toying with him, Gerard was sure of it.

And he wasn't sure if he minded. He didn't mind at all, actually.

What he did mind was his erection, however, and with how dangerous you were, he was afraid you'd do something and see it somehow.

Then, Gerard heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and he whipped his head to the side, "Hey, Mikes, what took so long?" He asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

Mikey raised a brow, "I didn't take that long...?"

"Um, yeah, anyway, I'm gonna go now. Nice meeting you." Gerard dismissed quickly, giving you a tiny wave before he ran off, making sure to turn his back on you and Mikey so neither of you could see the situation in his nether regions.

"Did something happen?" Mikey asked, standing beside you.

"Not at all, we just had a lovely conversation," You shrugged. "Let's get started on the project now, yeah?"

Of course you wouldn't tell MIkey what happened, and especially not what you were thinking. To him, you were just his good friend, someone who was an upright citizen and definitely not the type to intentionally flaunt her breasts while oh so boldly hitting on his brother.

Definitely not at all...

-

You swung by the Way residence a lot more frequently after that. For both innocent and not-so-innocent reasons.

There was the fact that you genuinely enjoyed Mikey's presence; the guy had a knack for being quite charming, and had endless wit despite his reserved appearance. But then, there was also the reason of Gerard.

Sweaty, bashful, nervous-wreck Gerard.

You thought he was absolutely adorable, and the fact that he was a certified virgin made you a hundred times more intrigued. You wondered what he would do during sex; all the ways he'd fumble around like an absolute mess, hands shaking and audibly gulping as he took off your bra and slid your panties off your legs. From the way he could hardly even look at you clothed, you could only imagine how he'd unravel if he ever saw you naked.

The only question now was just how far you could push him until he finally crumbled.

Maybe that was a bit evil, it was certainly wicked, but you couldn't help yourself.

Thus, every time you went over to hang out with Mikey, you'd do your hair all nice, put on your best outfits, and flaunt around in a way that left just enough to the imagination to drive anyone crazy. Most of the clothes you wore around Gerard consisted of shirts that showed your cleavage since you knew that was his biggest weakness— a guy like him who had trouble keeping eye contact as is being forced to look either directly at you or at your tits, it was greatly amusing in a morally dubious way. And because you were you, if he ever tried to look at anything else that wasn't you or your body, you'd call him out for it. To which, Gerard would ultimately be forced to keep intense eye contact with you since that was the "safest" option.

Today was the classic tank top and jean shorts combo. Simple and incredibly basic but effective, and you had a solid excuse if anyone were to ask or be suspicious because it was hot outside. God bless summertime.

You came whistle toning to the Way's front door, smiling ear-to-ear. As you rang the doorbell, you thought, Wouldn't it be great if Gerard opened the door?

Lady Luck was on your side because lo and behold, it was Gerard who came to you, not MIkey as it normally was.

Your eyes went wide and your smile got even bigger, "Hey, Gerard!"

"Oh," He learned to look straight at you whenever you wore these shirts. "Hi."

"Can I come in? Where's Mikey?"

"He's um... helping our dad out with something in the garage... gonna be out soon."

That's great, You tried not to giggle to yourself as you waltzed right in. "This house never gets old. You guys have a certain charm about you, it's comforting."

"Really? I think it's just a normal house."

"Well, that's 'cause you live here, silly."

You elbowed him in the arm, nothing intense, you weren't even trying to be flirtatious about it but Gerard made a weird noise. It was a cross between a grunt and a very faint whimper.

Wow.

It was like no matter what you did or said, whether intentional or not, Gerard would have some kind of reaction to it. Moreover, he would look incredibly embarrassed about it afterwards, too; and the fact that he was so pale didn't help him as any pop of color on his face, even if it was just a light blush, would stick out like a sore thumb.

Gerard covered his mouth, his head tilted to the side, looking like he was praying that you wouldn't mention his little slip up. You decided not to, sparing him some humiliation. Instead, you just asked, "How long do you reckon Mikey will take?"

"Um... dunno really, maybe ten minutes?" He looked and sounded so relieved.

"Dang, ten minutes, huh..." You pretended to think for a moment, but you already had everything planned out. "How about we do something in the meantime?"

Gerard blinked, "Like what?"

"Gimme a house tour! I've been here so many times but I've only been delegated to here, the kitchen, and Mikey's room. Show me yours!"

"My room?"

You nodded earnestly, hands behind your back, "Don't want to?" You asked, doe-eyed and taking a step forward.

Gerard was in complete and utter disbelief, his face was so expressive you found it funny in a "cute" sort of way. Whenever he felt something, his facial features would betray him and show it to the world. Right now, his brows were raised super high as his mouth was slightly agape, chapped lips parted. His eyes were sort of blank, staring at you while still fully processing your request. He was flatlining, of course, one heart palpitation away from being rushed to the hospital because what the fuck.

A girl, a really nice, beautiful girl was excitedly asking him to give a tour of his room as though it was something special or had anything to offer someone like you. While wearing such a bold outfit, too— did you know he had a weakness for jean shorts? Especially the ones you were wearing now, the low-rise ones that were so short your midriff and thighs were impossible to avoid.

This was every geeky, no-experience, never-even-having-a-girlfriend, nerd's fantasy.

Gerard had already made a fool out of himself, he had to just accept this and coolly give you a tour of his room, as asked. Maybe then you would have some respect for him.

"Yeah— I mean, no. I would like to. Er, follow me."

"Awesome."

You followed him, practically humming in excitement. But instead of being led upstairs, you were led to the other side of the house, to a door, "Wait, this is your room?"

Gerard looked a little ashamed, "Kinda weird my room's in the basement, right?"

Look, you might be a little mischievous, but you weren't cruel. You realized that maybe your tone was a little harsh there, and Gerard was frozen because of it, his hand clinging onto the doorknob, not wanting to turn it.

"I didn't mean that in a negative way. I just meant that I've never seen someone's room be in the basement before! Let's go in, let's go in."

That got his confidence back up and Gerard got the will to allow you in.

If you had to be honest, there was a bit of a smell.

Okay, a lot. Most of it wafting from a dirty pile of clothes in the corner. It wasn't to the point where your nostrils were getting viciously bombarded and you had to leave or anything, but this was still the basement-room of a twentysomething guy who probably rarely left his house, so... it was bearable, though. You just had to breathe through your mouth sometimes.

Otherwise, you found it quite cool. Gerard had one of those rooms that was super personal to himself. It was posters, games, figurines, and comic books galore. A total nerd paradise. What you found most interesting, however, were all the art supplies scattered across his desk.

"Ooh, you draw?"

Gerard nodded, mumbling something under his breath as he looked down at his feet.

"Can I see?"

He nodded again, eyes still cast downwards.

You bounced towards his desk and marvelled at everything that was scattered across it. He really was a messy person, there was no rhyme nor reason to anything there yet it all made sense, somehow. Markers were sorted to one side, pens all jumbled on the other, pencils in the middle and looking like they'd been through hell— all of them varied in quality, too, from brand new and straight out of the package to missing caps and being sharpened so much they were basically just a nub. The drawings themselves were phenomenal, but you wanted a closer look.

Now, you could have just picked one up and stared at it like a normal person, but oh no. You wanted to have some fun.

Knowing Gerard had been firmly standing behind you the whole time, his feet rooted into the dusty carpet, you bent over his desk to better view the drawings. Your shorts rode up just a little bit because of their impossibly small length.

If Gerard wasn't frozen in place before, then he certainly was now. God, he was gross. He was so nasty. He was the absolute definition of a loser virgin. Again, like before, his pants tightened, he just couldn't help it, everything about you was maddening. What Gerard wanted, more than anything, was to be near you; sexual or not, to be near you would certainly become his most cherished memory.

Gerard wanted to see what your skin would feel like for himself, he wanted to look up at you while you looked down at him with certainty. Your boldness. Gerard loved that so much. All of these clothes and the angles of your breasts or backside were one thing, but they'd be obsolete without your eyes or the way you talked to him. Friendly, of course, Gerard was sure this was the nicest a girl had ever been to him, but with this underside he couldn't quite shake. How would this attitude of yours translate to the bedroom? Would you be as bold? He hoped so.

Your words, how they'd linger on certain phrases while your eyes lingered on him. How you'd tell him directly to look at you, or show skinship so openly.

Now? You were bent over his desk. Your figure was so perfect, he could stare at it forever, it was so enchanting.

While he was mesmerized, you decided you sifted through his drawings enough and turned around so suddenly Gerard didn't have time to react; which wouldn't be a problem except he was hard.

And unlike before, he didn't have an island counter or any other piece of furniture to hide it.

Your eyes trailed up, then down, and Gerard knew for a fact you'd seen it. How could you not? It was so there, so prominent, nothing hid it, and his pants were not baggy enough to camouflage anything.

You wordlessly approached him and Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, expecting you to berate him for being so pathetic and gross and weird. He deserved it. Who gets this hard this fast over the sight of someone bending over? Your shorts might have ridden up enough to reveal the curve of your— thinking about that was not helping.

Either way, Gerard got ready to be chewed out. Except, you didn't call him disgusting nor a pervert, nor did you storm out of the house to probably tell your friends and everyone you knew that Mikey Way's older brother was a grade one creep.

You did none of those things. You just stood next to him, put your hand on your shoulder and simply said, "Your drawings are sick. Show them to me again sometime, yeah? I'm gonna go check on Mikey now. See you."

Gerard dared to open his eyes, but you were already gone by the time he did so. He hesitantly watched you leave, and you purposefully swayed your hips the slightest bit to give him a little show and something to remember for later tonight, probably.

You met Mikey at the top of the stairs, actually, he said that he was going to travel down to find you, so this was perfect timing.

"Why'd you wanna go see Gerard's room?" He asked, scratching his head.

"Eh. Boredom."

That's when his expression turned a little serious, "Don't tell me you're into him."

"Totally not."

"Alright..."

Mikey led you to the living room to watch the movie he'd been raving on and on to the entire friend group for about a week now— no one wanted to see it, and you didn't really want to, either, but you supposed it couldn't be that bad so you decided to give it a chance.

(Also, you wanted any excuse to come over. That might have been the realer reason.)

Anyway, it ended up working out for you because you got a real important piece of information, or more like the confirmation of a theory you were harboring.

Gerard Way was totally into you.

-

When Mikey decided to host an end of summer party, of course you were invited. It was set to be on a perfect Saturday evening; the weather wouldn't be too hot, people were antsy to get drunk one last time before school or work inevitably started again, and most importantly... the parents were gone.

It would just be twenty or so college students, some older, but definitely none younger. Gerard would probably be the oldest there, and he also probably wouldn't have gone but his invitation was from forced proximity because, well, this was his house, too. Not that you were complaining or anything, this was great, actually. Amazing, even.

You arrived around thirty minutes after the initial starting time 'cause who the hell is punctual for a party (and also you might have taken a tad bit long to choose an outfit). The condition was BYOB, and you brought a nice six-pack of beer.

"Beer, huh?" Mikey commented when you came to the door. "I thought you'd bring a harder liquor."

"Let a girl enjoy a beer." You rolled your eyes, moving past him and into the house.

Music was blasting, and practically the entire guest list was already there plus a few strangers since this was a house party, not a planned event. Everything was casual, extremely lowkey, there was no dancing nor crazy screaming, most people just lounged around and enjoyed each other's presence while also enjoying some booze. Speaking of, the kitchen island was stacked. Wine, vodka, gin, tequila, copious amounts of beer... your six-pack looked puny compared to it all. Despite that, you began unloading the cans to join the table.

At that moment, Gerard emerged from his room, hair messier than usual— did he just awake from a nap? It was like nine o'clock.

Gerard looked disoriented, weaving through the people walking past him and even bumping into a wall as he made his way over to the kitchen. You chuckled to yourself before calling out, "Think fast, Gerard!" As you threw a can at him.

Surprisingly, he caught it— fumbled around with it like a hot potato, but caught it nonetheless. The coldness of the can woke him right up.

That and seeing you.

It ended up being quite worthwhile that you took as long as you did since the dress you picked out made his eyes pop right out of his sockets.

Gerard didn't know where to look. The whole thing hugged your body ridiculously well, especially your hips. "I didn't know the party was... today."

"Is that why you took a nap?"

"How did you...?"

You ruffled his hair and that was all the answer he needed. Gerard immediately put the can you tossed at him down and went to comb down the pieces that were sticking out with his hand, using the microwave as a makeshift mirror. In his reflection, he saw how hard his face was trying not to twist into embarrassment. He enjoyed you ruffling his hair much more than he should have.

From behind him, you approached, "Don't worry about the bedhead too much. I think you look cute like this."

Just like that, he stopped and left his messy hair as is, stifling a short, "Oh... thank you." As though he'd never been complimented in his life.

You didn't know what it was about tonight, but you were feeling much more ballsy then you usually would, and that was saying something considering how you normally acted. It could have been the setting; a party at the end of summer, surrounded by buzz and a little bit of chaos. It could have also been that little buzz from alcohol since you might have had a glass or so of your mom's wine before coming over. Whatever it was, you were sure Gerard wasn't going to know what hit him by the end of tonight.

"How do you think I look tonight, Gerard? I picked this out just for you."

Gerard choked on air, "For me?"

"You have a lot of red in your room, so I wore a red dress. Is that your favorite color?"

It was one of his favorites, but Gerard ended up nodding, anyway. Were you fibbing or did you actually go out of your way to wear something you thought he'd like? If so, why? What could be the end goal here?

"I wanted to wear something you'd like because I wanted to impress you."

"Impress me? Why?"

You were getting closer, Gerard was getting redder.

"Why else?" You leaned in directly into his ear. "Because I like you."

A shiver ran down Gerard's spine. He was frozen in place, stiffer than a rock, everything quiet despite the noise around him. It felt like it was only you and him at that moment, and he almost moaned when your hand crept up around his waist, pulling him in even closer.

"Do you like me, too?"

Gerard was sensitive to people touching him, and your hand firmly, almost territorially being placed on his waist made it so that he had to breathe before answering or else he actually might have moaned out loud in front of all these people.

"Well?"

"I do."

"That settles it, then." You finally crept back and allowed Gerard to breathe.

He didn't dare look at you, he couldn't, he was one glance and one touch away from getting hard and he couldn't have that. Not right now, not in this place, not in front of everyone.

What a way to wake up from a nap.

"You know what would be a great idea?" You asked casually, as if none of that had happened. "Give me another tour of your room. I feel like the last one was cut way too short. I wanna see more of your drawings and stuff." Lies.

"Um, yeah, I can do that for you..."

"Lead the way, big guy." You put your hands on his shoulders, squeezing them like you were about to massage him and pushed him forward from the back. That was it. Gerard's pants tightened against his will under your grip, a small sound left him but it was graciously muffled by the blasting music and boundless conversations.

Gerard led you to his room again— or more like you guided him, steering him around like you were a train conductor— and the two of you quickly slipped in without anyone noticing. Because you were behind him, you made sure to sneakily lock the door, too since who knows what might happen down here?

The smell was the same as before but a margin better since the dirty pile of clothes was gone. Everything else was the same, still, which was expected since only a week or so of time had passed between then and now. A whole week without seeing each other, though, how did Gerard take that, you wondered.

Right, You remembered. I can just ask.

"Hey, Gerard? What'd you do throughout the week?" The question started off relatively harmless at first, but before Gerard could even begin to answer, you followed it up with. "Did you have any thoughts about me?"

You smiled, "Any at all?"

Gerard was full-blown hard by now, and he was trying to angle himself so that you couldn't see it. Of course he had thoughts about you. Asking a question like that was akin to asking if he'd breathed at all this week. Your image was fully burned into his mind, and suddenly, all the girls in the pinup mags and on those sketchy websites weren't so appealing anymore.

His fantasies were fuelled by purely you. Gerard felt guilty about it, obviously, but he had dirty needs that needed to be done.

He would wonder, where all of your semi-flirting would lead to, if anywhere. All of the outfits, the touching, and especially the things you would say, it gave Gerard more "action" than anyone else in his life. Perhaps one day, he fantasized, you would make the first move and just grab him by the face and kiss him while shoving him onto his own bed. Gerard would die for that to happen since he knew he didn't have the gull to do anything himself. You were just so experienced and confident, it made him nervous in the way that went right to his dick.

Now, he was getting closer to that. Or so he thought (hopes).

"Are you gonna answer me or do I have to force it out of you?" You asked sweetly, tracing your finger across his sweaty neck.

Gerard gulped deeply, his throat bobbing against your fingertip. "... Uh, what was the question again?" He gasped as though he were dehydrated.

You knew that question was bullshit, he definitely heard what you said. Sighing, you started fixing up the collar of his hoodie and brushing the crumbs and dust and such off it, "You get hard whenever you see me, but you don't think about me in any way? I find that hard to believe."

"I'm not..." Gerard stopped right there, knowing it was futile to deny it.

That's what I thought, You smirked and took a step back. "So, I'll give you two options. Do you want me to either make your dreams come true right now or... I walk."

Oh Jesus Christ.

Gerard was choked up, seriously, his throat felt swollen and every part of his body was grossly clammy. This was unreal. He had to be sleeping still. He couldn't believe the words that had come out of your mouth, through your pretty and glossed lips.

"Tell me what you want, Gerard." You hummed.

"I want... I want you." Gerard finally sighed, and admitting that felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

You smiled, a mix between pity and sympathy, "You want me? How do you want me?"

"Anything. Just, anything."

"Anything? Well, I can't just give you that for free..." You trailed off then suddenly pushed him to his bed, just like in his fantasies. Gerard flopped onto it and you were standing above him. "I want you to beg for whatever you want to do, and if I feel like you begged well enough, I'll comply. Okay?"

Gerard was so hard his pants might rip.

"I asked you a question, Gerard." You chastised, pulling his hair to make him look up at you.

Gerard whimpered, "Yes, I'm sorry."

With a satisfied smile, you let him go and crossed your arms, "Well, what is it you want?"

"I... I want you to t—" Gerard was feverishly red. "I want you to... touch... me."

You scoffed, "Touch you where?"

"Here..." Gerard shamefully gestured down to his crotch, wanting to put his head down but knew you would just force him up again.

"Use your words, baby." You cooed, and he squeaked in response because you were stroking his hair while you did and it felt so damn good.

"My dick, I want you to touch my dick. Please?"

"Do you want my hand or mouth?"

"H-Hand, please." Gerard stammered. In reality, he'd be grateful with absolutely anything, but he felt like the second you put your mouth on his cock, he'd cum right on the spot so he decided against that.

"Alright, I'll touch your dick with my hand. Anything else you want?"

Gerard shook his head for now.

You got to work, getting on your knees to slip off his pyjama pants which were incredibly dorky and so him— they were black with little images of cartoon pinup girls all over it. Adorable. Expectedly, his underwear was dark grey, just your standard boxers but his erection was sticking out of it so blatantly. Gerard covered his face as you undressed him further and your eyes went wide at his cock springing free.

"You're pretty big there, Gerard." You whispered, he whined in response. You had half a mind to just wrap your lips around it right then and there, but alas, deal's a deal and you went to sit next to him on the bed instead.

Gently, you put your arm around his shoulder and brought him closer to you so that his head was practically cushioned against your breasts, which made his erection twitch. Wrapping your head around his head, you began with slow stroking motions. You didn't even have to do this for long before Gerard shuddered against you, whimpering like crazy, looking like he was already going to pass out. It made sense. You were probably the only hand besides his own that had gone anywhere near his dick.

Gerard was clinging onto you, breathing heavily as your hand started gaining speed, pumping his cock as precum kept dribbling out. For some reason, though, his hand was kept firmly on your shoulder and his head was even angled as far off from your breasts as possible, even though it looked like he was uncomfortable.

"Are you trying to intentionally avoid groping me?" You slowed down to ask.

"N-No, I—"

"—Tell me the truth, Gerard." You gave his cock a little squeeze.

A sad whimper left him and he nodded.

"You can touch my boobs if you want, I'll even let you suck on them," You offered graciously, stroking him again. "If you beg, that is."

Gerard could hardly get a worthwhile word out of his mouth while you were touching his cock, how was he supposed to beg? But he really did want to touch your breasts, and your offer of letting him suck on them... that was once a wild, delusional, fantasy and now, it could come into fruition. All he needed to do was beg.

"Can..." His embarrassment was palpable. "Can I please touch your breasts?"

To torment him a little, you sped up, "Hmm. What else?"

Gerard moaned, full on, girlish moaned. The next words that came from him were basically just slightly coherent whimpers, "And, would I be able to... hnngh—" Gerard suddenly tensed and curled up real small because he was so close and you could feel his cock throbbing against your hand. "—Please, please, oh god, let me put my mouth on them, too. Please."

"Alright, I'll let you because you've been so good." You relented a little and took your hand off his cock for a moment to pull your dress down past your bra, then unhooked that, too.

Gerard almost came from the sight alone, and he probably would have if you were still touching him. Meanwhile, you chuckled to yourself because his eyes were as wide as saucers, like this was a million bucks and not just your breasts. Slowly, he approached, lips pressed together thinly and trembling slightly as he wrapped his damp hand around one of your breasts, squeezing it so incredibly softly.

You allowed him to feel them up as he pleased since he did beg for it. Gerard was absolutely mesmerized by their shape, their feel, how soft they were, and especially how this was him experiencing something as great as being able to feel your breasts. Then, as slowly as he was when he first neared them, Gerard opened his mouth and gently wrapped his lips around one of your nipples while his hand stayed firm on the other one.

A small groan escaped you, that groan evolving into moaning when he began sucking, Gerard's whole mouth and tongue practically wrapped around your nipple. You reached over and started stroking his dick again, his moans sending vibrations across your chest.

With your movements, you didn't only focus on his base, but his tip, as well since that was any guy's weak spot. All five of your fingers rubbed that area, almost playing it like a guitar, coating you in precum. Gerard rutted his hips into your hand as his body was pressed more firmly against you; he was trying really hard not to use teeth to not hurt you, but you were making it impossible to keep composure like that.

He had to let go for a moment and mewled as his tongue was against your nipple, licking it instead, "I'm so close, I—I, Jesus."

Gerard was panting too hard, breathing too deep to do much except lean against you, using everything in his power to not put his entire weight on you. He was unravelling fully, and with his face buried in your breasts, he came in ropes with a slew of high pitched whimpers.

"Hng, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

The aftermath of finishing was still shocking his body like tiny bolts of constant static electricity, and he was so weak that he was now fully relying on you to support his weight. Still unmoving from his place against your breasts, he honestly could have fallen asleep from how plush they were and how much the orgasm had wrecked him.

"Are you okay there, Gerard?" You asked after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gerard mumbled something, it sounded like a "no" but you weren't so sure.

Feeling pretty tired yourself, you steadily rolled his head off your chest and guided it to his pillow before laying down next to him. Gerard was fully naked from the waist down and you were naked from the waist up, it was kind of fitting in a funny, "two puzzle pieces finding each other" kind of way.

Gerard's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow but not sleeping because when you placed your hand against his cheek, he flinched.

Scooting a little closer, you placed a kiss on his sweaty forehead before wrapping your arms around his body to pull him in all close. Gerard felt your breasts bundle against his face again, but instead of focusing on that, he fixated on being able to hear your heartbeat instead. It was regular, and his was beating way too fast. He hoped you wouldn't be able to hear it.

Wrapping his arms around you, as well, you two stayed like that for a while.

[hitomisuzuya]

Hai suzu!!!! :3

I freaking love the FWB story about Scaramouche and I wanted to request something similar but different storyline!

I'm not really good at explaining the story and maybe my english sounds bad..

The reader was doing her work in the office when suddenly Scaramouche came to approach her and wanted to speak with her in private. He asked her if he wanted to have the "friends with benefits" relationship with him and the reader was hesitant at first but then reluctantly agreed. (Scaramouche swore to himself that he never has a feelings for her. He's just horny and maybe sexually frustrated.)

Since that day on, whenever he feels horny, he just came to her and f*cked her hard and raw.

And slowly, Scaramouche began to grow a feelings for her and be keeps denying it !

ceo!scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. friends with benefits to lovers. cunnilingus. creampie. a little degradation. slight mention of blowjob. let's face it, this is straight up hate fucking at first.

to me, scara reeks of friends with benefits first. he would fall in love kicking and screaming, while enjoying fucking at the same time.

when he hired you, scaramouche was surprised with your competency. you did the job he hired you to do, and you did it well. you are smart, kind, and patient. you didn't feel the need to talk just to occupy silence.

you even kept him organized. you talked back to him, and called him out when he was clearly being an asshole. and you looked fucking good doing it. he hated what a turn on it was.

god, you drove him insane.

at first, he tells himself there isn't anything special about you. he just needs to fuck, and that would be that. every man has the natural instinct to fuck and breed whether they are in love or not.

and he definitely, definitely wasn't in love with you.

something had to give when he has to go home during lunch to jack himself off to thoughts bending you over his office desk, and fucking you stupid on his cock.

scaramouche was very clear, and straight to the point with you. "no strings attached," he said, "there is no reason to make this complicated. it's just simple fucking," that's all it is, just pure raw fucking.

"i dunno," you reply, looking away shyly. "you are my boss. that could get messy," you look cute when you did that. would you look away shyly when he pokes his cock head against your lips, opening that pretty mouth for him to fuck into your throat? the only thing that would be messy was your pussy with his cock squelching in and out of it.

fuck, he is horny.

"what could go wrong?" he continues, all cocky confidence that undeniably made you wet. how could you tell your boss that though? "you get a mind blowing orgasm. i get to fuck my frustrations out," smirking, he shrugged, "we both win."

he took you out to dinner that night, and it definitely wasn't a date. he ate you out in the back of the luxurious town car, not caring that if driver could hear him reducing you to a whimpering mess through the divider. he enjoyed denying you your orgasm. sucking on your clit until you were breathless and pleading in the sweetest whimpers to just let you cum.

scaramouche lost himself in you a little more than he intended to. your body was so responsive, spasming underneath his. your nipples hardening, sensitive from even the softest of sucks. he fucked you hard enough to make you scream his name while his cum seeped from your hole.

and in his frustration, he kept coming back to you again, and again. occasional fucking turned into fucking during lunch breaks. into deep throating his cock in his office whenever he got too stressed. into you staying weekends and sometimes weeks at his place, indulging him in whatever pleasures he wants.

and he definitely did not fantasize about fucking so good that you confess your feelings to him. cumming hard in his hand, his eyes squeezed tight shut thinking about hearing you babble, "i love you, i love you. please, fuck me harder. i love you," tears falling from your pretty eyes while you bounce yourself stupid on his cock.

"beg for it, slut," scaramouche growls behind you, gritting his teeth. "beg for my cock to be fucking into you," he hooks his finger through the band of your thigh high stockings, snapping it back against your thigh before smacking his hand across your ass.

your cunt clenches from the sting, your cheeks flushing hearing your own shameless moan. "fuck me, please," you reach down to rub your swollen clit, parting your drooling folds with your fingers to show him how wet you are.

"not good enough," he snarls, smacking his hand across your ass again. you look so frustratingly cute when you are needy, playing with your poor little clit in such desperation for him. his cock pulses as you mewl. "but do continue to make yourself a wetter mess for me. it's an amusing display."

"please, i need your cock inside of me," you plead, swiping your thumb over your throbbing clit. "i'll do anything," your walls squeeze empty, and you whimper with need as you tease the tips of your fingers at your hole.

"you'll do anything, huh?" he can't help, chuckle huskily, and it almost sounds cruel, delighted at your lewd display. batting your hand away, he lines his cock up with your hole.

he pushes inside, slow and firm, rubbing every sensitive nerve in your walls to life. you arch back into him, your thighs shaking as your pussy is stretched apart all at once. "yes, anything," you let out a broken sob of pleasure as he bottoms out with a harsh thrust.

he shudders from the tight feeling of your pussy sucking his cock in. "fuck, do you know what you do to me?" his angry thrusts emphasize his words, his hips smacking into yours, the impact making a captivating ripple in your ass. "why? why? i can barely control myself."

every thrust pushes his cock so deep into your sweet spot. he doesn't give you an inch of room to breathe before his cock is tearing another shameless moan from your throat. the words continue to tumble from his mouth the tighter your cunt squeezes around him. "would you let me be the only one fucking into this pretty pussy? the only one spilling cum inside you?"

"yes! yes! you would be the only one!" you cry out, barely able to hold yourself up from his intense onslaught. your hand falls away from your throbbing clit, and his hand quickly replaces it. "the only one! the only one!" you swear he is hellbent on rearranging your insides.

"would be mine, all fucking mine?" he moans, one hand gripping your hip, angrily pinching and rolling your clit. "say it!" he demands, smacking your ass again. "say you'll be mine while i make you cream on my cock," he groans, biting his lip as his cock pulses hard inside you. "i fucking hate the way you make me feel," he has to swallow a whimper, "i want you so fucking much."

"i'm yours, i'm yours," you manage to moan, barely able to string the words together your orgasm was building so intensely. "oh scaramouche, i'm gonna cum..please, be the only one who cums inside me. i'm so in love with you it hurts."

one harsh flick to your clit is all it takes to finally overwhelm your body. with a scream of his name, your pussy spasms and gushes on his cock. your head spinning as his thumb rubs feverish circles on your clit.

you sound so cute babbling, stupid while you cum. your confession pushes him over the edge. gripping your hip tighter, he lets out a satisfied moan as his cock ribbons cum inside you. "that's a good girl," he praises, soothing his thumb over your clit and soaking in your whines of pleasure, "you are already submitting to me so well."

[remotely-radical]

Very true. I'm glad I've learnt to be alone, I love my solitude. I don't need to find the next thing to make me feel good. I need to make myself feel good.

Sometimes it's hard, and I have moments of wanting to seek it else where. But reality I know this is what is best for me. I'm happy I've come this far and don't need to do that anymore.

I do think it's why I get so hurt when I was with someone, had genuine feelings. Then they leave and go off to sleep around and seek attention from everyone. I get really sad and hurt because I don't function that way. When someone means alot, I can't just be with another. I can't just so easily throw away what we had. Because that's how it feels. Even if it's not the truth.

It hurts, because it makes me feel i was so meaningless, because why is it so quick to move on from me. Was i that bad? Was i that terrible of a girlfriend or whatever that they were dying for the next thing? Because i notice a pattern, that so many of my past peoples just sleep around 2 seconds after me. Am I problem? Or is this just how they are and they'd do it to anyone? I know one ex just can't be single, like ever, theres never even been a month where she isn't with someone else. I feel sad for her. She's gone through so many people and relationships, and never has been able to sit by herself and self reflect. Or do any kind of healing.

I think also why i feel i mean nothing, is because ive gotten out of a relationship and then organically met someone else and was with them very shortly after. But the previous relationship before that person, my heart wasn't in it, it wasn't love. I didn't have deep sadness it was over because we just weren't right for each other.

But then I've had a relationship where it was really meaningful, loving and all of that. Took me a whole year before someone else, I had apps i think, but I had no interest in others or felt the need, just mindless swiping and being bored. I was happy alone, happy myself. The girl I met was also organic, no apps or anything, just met and I thought okay I'll give this a go. So even then I wasn't actively seeking.

Which again, is why i feel hurt when people move on 5 minutes after me. Because my own fundementals and how i am when something meant something. So it's hard to fathom and understand what I meant to them. Because they have the words, the love, the saying how much I meant. So yeah, it's hard to compute, but I also know that is my own issue and insecurity. To not feel or be able to accept love from someone. Even if it was genuine. Maybe one day I'll look back and see the love, or maybe I'll find out otherwise. I'm not sure, but I can't focus on that, I have so much ahead of me and I can't dwell, its been a week of dwelling and it consuming me.

I understand people move on and handle things differently, but it's hard not to spiral. But in the positive sense, it used to affect me so much more and longer and every day was bad and consumed me. s

So I am glad I can pull myself out more efficiently now. But doesn't mean I don't feel these things though. I've had my week of depression and low self esteem. I've made my mistake and how I handle it and projected my insecurities on her.

I do think she is maybe using that to cope. Its easy to be away from me if all she is saying, thinking and expressing that im a peice of shit and now her life is perfect without me because she is so happy now I was making her life horrible. Forgetting everything else we had. Because I get it, I really understand that mentality. It does make it easier to focus on those things. It's easier to hate me than love me. I can hold that space and understand her actions come from that. Anger is a powerful emotion, it takes over so quickly and easily. It's easier to use that anger and hate. To be consumed by it. I've been guilty of it also. We all have.

So now instead of thinking about why, why people do this, why wasn't i good enough, why are they so much better than me, comparing myself feeling to every girl she is with, feeling it's not even a competition because I'd lose every time. Even if that's true. I couldn't compete with these girls, since they have the one thing I don't and probably more. I can't focus on that, I know I have my flaws, my issues, my traits. I know it's a constant battle to work on them. But I do know I have good ones too. I want to focus more on that, that I wasn't asking for too much, I was just asking the wrong person, and so was she.

“Healing is difficult because it requires solitude and some haven’t conquered the battle of being comfortable alone.”

— Meggan Roxanne

[secriden]

Because I am Petty (yes, with a capital P) I need everyone to understand just how inappropriate Yue Yue was acting in episode 18 when she visits WSW's mom. TBH until that scene, I was kind of neutral about her - she's opportunistic and incredibly fickle, but in the grand scheme of our boy's love story, she was but an inconsequential footnote and I mostly found her character amusing because of the futility of her attempts to seduce CC and WSW.

And then I watched her meet WSW's mom and was instantly filled with rage. And it wasn't because of what she did but how she did it.

Now the first thing you have to understand is that in Chinese, there are levels of address and tone that you can use depending on your level of familiarity with the person. Considering that this is the first time they are meeting, it shocked me that Yue Yue doesn't even bother to greet Wu Suowei's mom properly or formally, and goes straight to saying "I heard you're unwell so I am here to especially see/visit you". To make matters worse, the way she's says it carries both the implication of (a) Yue Yue is doing WSW's mom a favour/doing something out of her way ("especially to see you") by visiting her, and (b) that she has a prior/established relationship that allows her to speak so casually, as if they're carrying on a conversation from a prior meeting. This assumed familiarity and almost playful ease comes across as very rude and presumptuous and shows how little she respects WSW's mom (as if her eye roll and look of disgust right before she puts on a fake smile doesn't communicate that).

Edit: also another thing that was very rude was her walking into the courtyard without an invitation. It demands hospitality without giving WSW’s mom any agency to keep her at a distance without also being incredibly rude. The social pressure she puts on WSW’s mom here really fills me with disgust.

Contrast this with the first time Chi Cheng meets WSW's mom in ep 5: After knocking on the door to get her attention, he says something like, 'excuse me, can I please ask a question?' It's polite and formal in tone and very appropriate for addressing someone older that you are meeting for the first time.

And then once he confirms this is WSW's mom (since this is WSW's house), he greets her properly, "阿姨, 好" (Aunty, hello), before explaining who he is. There's no presumption of familiarity with WSW’s mom just because he knows her son, which is appropriate.

Edit: He also waits for an invitation to walk into the house, which shows he doesn’t expect or demand hospitality. This is mostly noteworthy in contrast to what Yue Yue does in ep 18, but still.

Meanwhile, when Wu Suowei's mom asks her "You are...?" she responds with "I'm Yue Yue, ah". The inclusion of the 'ah' at the end of the sentence changes the tone of what she says, adding an air of incredulous surprise, like she expects Wu Suowei's mom to know who she is and recognise her. It communicates that she thinks she's owed this familiarity.

To make matters worse, she makes a clearly insincere excuse for their lack of meeting prior. Something that makes this extra terrible is that there is a conspicuous lack of any apology (whether for how she treated WSW or how she disrespected WSW's mom by flaking on their meeting). In fact, her light tone/phrasing implies that WSW's mom would be overreacting to be upset about how she acted in ep 1.

She continues to take a lot of liberties (holding WSW's mom's hand, swinging and acting 'cute' and using a 'pleading' tone), ones which she absolutely has no right to when she's literally meeting WSW's mom for the first time and when his mom has done NOTHING to indicate that she would welcome this level of familiarity. You can see not only how uncomfortable she feels, but also how she's a little bit disgusted/appalled by Yue Yue's behaviour in her expression.

Again, let me contrast this with Chi Cheng's first time meeting WSW's mom. It's not just that he's using polite words and phrasing, but even the manner in which he carries himself is very respectful and deferential. It's hard to see in a still, but Chi Cheng literally bows when he says "you can call me Xiao Chi", and the way he says it is not as a demand or even as in a 'this is what I want you to call me' way, it's more like 'if you feel so inclined, please feel free to address me as someone you feel comfortable around'. It's very much an attempt to endear himself to WSW's mum and it just really communicates that he values her opinion of him. In fact, throughout every interaction with WSW's mum in episode 5, you can see Chi Cheng constantly doing these little head nods that are a sign of respect/deference to WSW's mum, and the tone of his address is always very respectful.

Finally, when Yue Yue asks WSW's mom to talk to WSW on her behalf, I actually think the English subs make her sound more polite then she really is. What she says is closer to "Auntie, can't you talk to/convince WSW for me?" in a tone that would suit a much better relationship and more familiarity and affection than what she has with WSW's mom. Like the way she's asking this favour would be how a beloved child would beg a parent who is feeling particularly indulgent, who maybe can ask a favour because they just did something very good or nice for said parent. It is all sorts of inappropriate for Yue Yue to be using this tone with WSW's mum in this scenario, given she should really be grovelling for the insults that she paid WSW's mom back in episode 1.

All that to say, Yue Yue's behaviour in this scene is a lot worse than you'd understand if you don't catch the nuance of tone and register and word choice and demeanour.

Also, it really highlights just how much effort Chi Cheng puts forth to make a good impression on WSW's mom in episode 5. Note that Yue Yue also brought a gift in ep 18, but the way she gave it was so careless it shows that she was just going through the motions. Contrast again, with Chi Cheng sending gifts after he has already left and drawing attention to how "embarrassing" (shameful because of how disrespectful/inappropriate he acted) it was for him to come empty handed.

There's a reason that WSW looks so pleased here - not only is Chi Cheng showing how much he values WSW through his respect to his mom, but the willingness to 'debase' himself and admit his wrong/apologise for a perceived 'lack of manners' is such a stark contrast to Yue Yue that it would definitely be attractive.

[tongzu]

Suzu hums in thought. "They're tired of me," he says jokingly. "Most of my characters are just me in another flavor. The Sleepless King and Jire were probably interesting to them, but my mom said that Jire wasn't a good representation of the way they taught me to talk about my emotions, and the Sleepless King was just a little sad insomniac. However, Fugio and Figaro are just so different from what they're used to, in a good way, and they admired the way you brought those characters to life. My mom admired Figaro's intensity and my dad — well, you already know why my dad likes Fugio."

He laughs and nudges Soshiro. "Well, I can haunt you like Hachipochi. I'd be a cute ghost dog so you don't get too bored of me." He sighs. "It was unfair, true. It's hard, because I know Chance would be happy to die protecting those he loves... but I would feel guilty about making someone I love sad. It'd be nice if everyone could've lived, but Neji-senpai really twisted that knife in for the last performance."

Suzu's eyes twinkle with gentle amusement. "I just tell them a brief version of what I like about you. I think just you being my friend will help ease that conversation a bit. And no, I didn't tell them about us or Tachibana. I wasn't sure where y'all wanted to stand with that." He scratches his cheek briefly. "My parents would be supportive, but I think sharing our relationship status is something we probably need to sit down and discuss one of these days... but I'm operating on the same assumption as Tachibana's thing, y'know. If Tsuki-san himself had to be a secret, my guess is that anything else is fair game. And I don't particularly mind not telling my parents, because I'd rather protect his secret first and foremost. I'd just be a bit bummed that I can't brag about how much I love both of you, but I can get over it that pretty easily. Plus, platonic love and romantic love are pretty adjacent to how I would talk about the two of you anyway."

Suzu blinks and then nods enthusiastically. "I'd be down to meet your mom! It's okay, she isn't the first traditionally-minded person I'd ever meet. Has she ever seen any of our performances before? I don't think I've ever heard you mention going to see your parents after a performance..."

Sitting on a bench? Okay, Suzu really isn't grasping what this conversation is about, huh? It takes all of Soshiro's self control not to clarify, or at least quip: no, that's not the kind of tired you make me, Suzu-kun. There's regular physical exhaustion from typical exertion like walking around and working out, and then the way Suzu drains him. Which to be fair, also includes physical exertion, but also emotional involvement.

Not that it's a bad thing. It's a good kind of tired, but unlike just going for a run, Soshiro has to prepare not only his body, but also his heart.

"S-Sorry..." Suzu is gradually getting more comfortable with using his first name, which is nice, and exactly what he wanted. Yet it's also even more overwhelming than he imagined? At least Suzu brushed off his nerves and isn't drawing attention to his soul-crushing awkwardness. "This isn't making me feel any more eager to meet your dad," he mutters. Not only is he a huge fan of Soshiro, but how is Soshiro going to look that man in the eye knowing what he's done to his son? ...And what Soshiro has let that son do to him...? "Can't your parents just be fans of your characters like normal parents?" Not that his parents would like his roles if they came to a performance. Just the thought of his own parents witnessing Fugio in particular makes him want to pass out.

It's odd how cheerfully Suzu can approach topics even as heavy as death. "So you're telling me I won't get a break from you even after death?" Soshiro teases, though there's no bite to it at all. "I still think it was unfair. If it was my choice, Isaac would have found some way to..." Die, with the others. What would the point of anything be if he lost his friends? Why should he have to be the only one who...? Realizing his thoughts are going to a dark place, he shrugs it off.

"I don't mind meeting them," Soshiro says instead. "It's just a lot of pressure. I've never really been introduced to someone's family before... not even as a friend." The tips of his ears turn red. "As long as you don't raise their expectations too much about how I am offstage. I'm really not..." There's no point in trying to talk himself down when Suzu is just going to go off on a tirade about how amazing he is, so he may as well stop that before it happens. "Did you...?" Tell them about us...? Surely not, right? No, he doesn't want to know for sure, otherwise he really won't be able to look at Suzu's parents.

Soshiro hesitates, then adds: "If we weren't at Univeil, I'm sure my mom would be happy I made a friend like you." She always seemed to fantasize about him making an outgoing friend group in middle school that would bring him out of his shell (and make him forget about Kisa). But his parents have always been a little judgmental about people in performing arts professions, so they would probably still look down on Suzu for being in theater. "Ah... she'd still probably like you. She's just a little more... traditional-minded." She probably wouldn't be too happy about them dating either, but Soshiro elects to not admit that.

[traincat]

In a world where Spideytorch got together while Sue, Reed and the kids were gone when the dust settled on their return do we think there’s a moment Peter would have laid into them (Ben too probs, if that hadn’t already happened beforehand) about abandoning Johnny completely and utterly? Protective!Peter simply slays my heart honestly

So thrilled how many people are into protective!Peter, it's so fun. Johnny deserves a man who will aggressively yell at the paparazzi for him, among other things.

The thing about both Peter and Johnny when it comes to romance is that when they're in it, they're in it, zero to a hundred in sixty seconds. There's a real good chance they're secretly married by the time Reed and Sue return. At the very least, they're extremely committed. I think getting them together during this period -- especially if it's before Ben and Johnny make up -- is really interesting, because Peter becomes basically Johnny's entire New York support system, which probably isn't healthy, but that Peter would kind of love, because he's a freak who loves to be needed. Johnny trends much more towards depression than anger -- he burns hot and fast, and then he smolders internally -- but Peter is the opposite, and I do think he would develop grudging feelings against the other three if he and Johnny were together and he was watching Johnny suffer. I think especially because he has such a history with partners/close friends with family problems -- MJ's abusive father and her previously strained relationship with her sister, Harry and Flash's extremely abusive fathers. I am not claiming in any way that the FF are abusive; I'm saying that Peter doesn't have great associations with a lover's family in general and that he's an overprotective bastard first and a rational human being later. He's not necessarily primed to have positive feelings for a lover's family in the first place, even if he previously had good relationships with them, because often family is something he's had to protect a partner/close friend from, and I think that's a difficult thing for him to move past, even though he has a very positive relationship with his own family. (Hypocrisy thy name is Peter Parker.)

I think a big factor here is Marvel 2n1, too. Specifically if it happens more or less how it did anyway, just that Peter and Johnny are together before Johnny and Ben embark on their road trip, which wouldn't be a stretch -- it's not like Peter wasn't there at their departure with Alicia.

(Marvel 2n1 #4)

Specifically, the return from their universe hopping trip, which to be fair is something we don't... actually see. (I really enjoy the majority of 2n1, but I think it falls apart at the end, which is not really its fault, considering it was cut short to make room for the return of Reed and Sue in Fantastic Four (2018).) Because there's no way Johnny isn't being squirrelly and weird when he comes back. There's distance between him and Ben again, and he won't really talk about anything that happened -- just that Reed and Sue weren't out there, at least, not where they looked. He has fresh, shiny burns on his palms that he won't explain -- and the alarm bells are going off in Peter's head, because Johnny doesn't get burned -- and a new melancholy in his every move. He watches Peter, when he thinks Peter isn't looking. (He doesn't mention the Spider. It's too fresh, too frightening, to think of Peter gone bad, when Peter is right next to him, when Peter's warm fingers are laced through his own.) He doesn't mention Doom, either, besides the basics. Peter is like Ben in some ways -- he's stubborn. He won't be able to see the nuance. Doom is Doom, and Doom ever he shall be.

So there's something wrong, and Johnny won't talk about it, and it's driving Peter up the wall. He interrogates Ben and gets nothing. He interrogates Doom and nearly gets made a political prisoner. But at least he gets the faintest hints of what went down out of that, and none of it makes him feel any better.

That doesn't change when Reed and Sue come back. It's not that Peter's not relieved to see them, it's not that he's not happy for Johnny. He's over the moon especially that the kids are safe. But there's no real good explanation for why Ben and Johnny had to stay behind. And Peter's been watching Johnny suffer for months. Watched him crash cars and fall from the sky, watched him jump universes looking for Reed and Sue only to return with burned palms and strange silences. Watched him hope and mourn in equal measure.

So yeah. He's gonna flip out at some point.

[c0tt0ncandi]

🩷Back in your arms.🩷

A/N: I'll keep it short and sweet this time. I wanted to try a little angst. I know! I always wondered how the conversation would've gone had Annie kicked Smoke out for asking about her root work not working on their baby.

Warning: I tried to tie in a little bit of the actual movie lines, but also my own twist on it for legal reasons. (Don't get me Ryan! 😭) It's a little mention of smut, a few N-words, and an OCCASIONAL cracker thrown in there. 🤷🏽‍♀️ I had to make it authentic. 🤌🏽 Once again PLEASE let me know what y'all think and please forgive any mistakes or errors. Love y'all!🫶🏽

Pairing: Smoke x Annie.

Smoke kept looking at his watch. His nerves were on ten today. Stack could tell. He rolled a few more cigarettes than usual because of it. This was their first time back in the Delta after seven years and Smoke had unfinished business to handle. They came back to turn that old sawmills into a juke joint. Mainly Stack's idea, but Smoke was all for making money and seeing his wife again so he jumped on board.

They had to wait for Hogwood to make the deal, but Stack knew that's not why his brother was anxious. He knew this transaction was nothing compared to the actual face to face conversation he was going to have to have with Annie. It was seven years since he had last seen his wife and four years since he'd actually spoke to her.

They've known each other since they were 16 and the relationship they had was the strongest and rawest relationship Stack had ever witnessed. She kept his brother in a healthy headspace and always surrounded him with love and protection. She was stubborn in the best way possible. She loved hard and Stack witnessed that first hand. Cared for him harder than anyone else. The kind of care and love that even he as his twin brother couldn't provide for him at times. She was his other OTHER half.

It had Stack jealous from time to time, but he never really had what they had so he felt his jealousy was justified. He loved Annie like a sister and hoped she could forgive his brother. Not just because he needed her to cook at the juke joint, but for the sake of his brother.

"Cracker just set us back. Inconsiderate ass actin like folks ain't got nowhere else to be." Smoke groaned as he took the lit cigarette from Stack.

"Relax. The juke ain't going nowhere."

"Nigga I'm not talking about,"

"I know." Stack teased. "Annie ain't going nowhere either. She ain't gonna say it but she's gonna be happy to see you. She might give you a mouthful at first, but she's due that much."

"Classic Stack taking her side."

Stack laughed. "I'm not taking sides. I'm just saying you left. She didn't." He reminded. "When you head over there don't forget to ask her if she can cook for us tonight."

"You keep talking about tonight.That place needs more than six hours to clean up. Besides imagine me going back home after being gone for seven years to ask her to cook for us and however many people."

Stack laughed. "She gone cut yo black ass...again."

Oddly enough Smoke smiled at that memory. His wife took no shit from anybody not even him. He remembered one night that he had been out later than usual with Stack running around up to no good and collecting funds. She was seven months pregnant, feet swollen, and restless at the time.

Smoke wasn't out too late, but he was out later than he should've been. He apologized with foot rubs, a warm bath, and ice cream, but that was after she took a blade to his jaw. Told him to do it again and she'd apply more pressure than necessary the next time. After she stitched him up he apologized in more ways than others. In different rooms and on many different surfaces.

"Alright now nigga come back to the present." Stack sounded as he turned to his brother. "Don't stress about it too much. Just don't say anything stupid while you there."

Annie was tending to two young girls when she got hit with a gut wrenching feeling. Her heart sank into her stomach and down to her feet. He was home.

She heard a car pull up to her shop and she didn't even need to look outside. She just walked to her back porch and watched. He came with flowers in hand and a heavy heart. She could see his body soften and hesitate as he walked to their baby's grave.

"How've you been?"

"No misery worth complaining about."

Annie walked out and towards him. She missed his face, body, and presence. He still smelled of cedarwood and cigars and his eyes still warm. His frame had gotten fuller and she was worried someone else was feeding him all this time.

"You look good." Smoke complimented.

Annie cocked her head to the side and rested her hand on her hip. "You come alone?"

"Stack's on the other side of town with Sammie."

"Hmm." She sounded. "That boy is talented. He can be something. I hear him humming all up and down the Chow's spot. How's Stack doin'?"

"He's good. We just bought that ol sawmill and wanted to turn it into a juke joint."

"Juke joint." Annie said to herself. "Who you and Stack rob to get those crackers to sell you a whole mill?"

Smoke fiddled with the hat in his hand. She knew him all too well.

She raised her brow at him before turning back into her shop.

Smoke followed right behind her.

He watched as she helped and sent two little girls on their way. He saw the money the girls gave her and knew that money wasn't going to exchange for much. He stepped in and took it from her with intentions of trading it out for actual cash, however it did not come off that way. The blade came out again and she threatened to cut him. He gave it back to her and sighed.

Annie just didn't understand the obsession with money, POWER, and respect.

Money will get you farther in life than offering free handouts. They did just about whatever they wanted in Chicago when everyone knew the kind of power they had. Smoke had been more places than Annie. Seen more than she had seen and he just didn't understand why she didn't want more money. Actual money. His money.

"You fool." Annie never understood why he couldn't wrap his head around how much she prayed on him and his brother's safety. She used all of her power and energy on their safety whilst away, yet he was sitting here telling her about what powerful people he ran into in Chicago and how money will get you places. Probably places she didn't even want to be associated with. Here he was talking about Chicago and what money has done for him.

"I worked every root my grandmother taught me to keep you and that crazy brother of yours safe everyday since you've been gone."

Smoke knew how much Annie believed in her root work, but he just didn't understand if it supposedly kept him safe then he just wanted to know one thing. "Why them roots ain't work on our baby then?" Smoke asked. He could still hear the cries and the repetitive prayers from Annie that night their baby passed. Cries he couldn't stop. Cries he couldn't fix.

He was hurting, but he realized too late that he struck a cord when he asked her that. Her eyes welled up as she stepped back from him. Her brows furrowed and she wasn't going to take that from someone who left her to deal with that loss on her own.

"Get out Elijah."

"Annie, I"

"Get out!" Annie wiped at her eyes and watched as Smoke walked out again. She slammed her door behind him not caring about what his reason was for coming back to see her.

Smoke sat in his car and gripped his steering wheel. Hands trembling and knuckles white. Tears fell to his lap. His eyes burning and heart filled with hurt and regret. After being gone for seven years he made their reunion even more uncomfortable and hurtful than ever. He knew Annie's work was special to her and here he was insulting her all because he didn't understand and know how to regulate his emotions.

Stack stood in the mill with Sammie, Slim, Cornbread, and a few other guys he grew up with there to help clean it up. He was laughing with Slim when he was hit with a funny feeling. Almost like remorse.

"What's wrong young blood?" Slim asked.

"My brother put his foot in his mouth. Shit." He took his jacket off and ran a hand over his face. "You know how to cook?"

"You payin me $20 to play. That's it." Slim reminded as he took another sip of his beer.

Stack threw his hand up at Slim and walked off. He waited by the front door and watched as his brother rolled up angry, shades on probably covering his red eyes, and Annie-less. He couldn't do anything, but shake his head.

"I ain't tryna to hear whatever shit you about to spew out at me. I know I fucked up leave me alone. I got about twenty pounds of catfish to cook up and two pots worth of greens to wash."

Stack watched his brother breeze pass him with a cooler in hand as he headed towards the kitchen.

"Shit." Stack walked in behind him. "Aye! Cornbread, Therise know how to cook?!"

"This is the third fire he's put out in one hour. What he say to Mrs. Annie?" Sammie asked Stack as he helped him string up lights.

"Probably took it too far and insulted her work or brought up their baby." Stack answered.

"One more pound down!" Bo shouted.

"Aye nigga! Leave the fish alone and just wash and cut the greens! You wastin' money!" Stack turned to Cornbread and waved him over. "Help him finish this. I'll be back."

Stack pulled up to Annie's shop and hopped out. He had stopped by a shop to grab some flowers to rest at his niece's grave. "Uncle Stack loves you. Always and forever." He kissed his hand before gently placing it on the stone.

Stack had his hat in his hand and knocked on the door. He was nervous, but he was here to do damage control for his brother. Plus he was going to see his sister in law after such a long period of time. He wasn't sure what her feelings were towards him.

Annie opened the door and just stared at Stack.

He flashed his gold grin and she couldn't help but soften her features at him.

"Elias."

"How you doin' Annie? You look good."

"I'm doing well. I heard y'all bought that sawmill and are trying to turn it into a juke joint. When are y'all having the grand opening?" She asked as she invited him in. She picked her broom up to finish her cleaning.

"Tonight actually. I got Delta Slim and our lil cousin Sammie performing. You know Therise's husband Cornbread? He's the bouncer and we got the Chow's to help us out as well. Smoke is cooking,"

"Elijah in the kitchen?! What's on the menu toast and water?" She asked out of pure shock. "Hmm. He tries he just ain't too good at it."

Stack chuckled. "Yeah. Lost about two pounds of catfish in an hour because of him. I told him to leave it alone and just wash and cut the greens."

"Greens as in collard greens? Elias! That ain't no better."

"Damn. He ain't even get to ask you to cook, did he?" He pieced together as he scratched his head.

Annie's smile dropped. She rolled her eyes and put her broom in the corner. She snuffed her candles and wiped her tables down.

"Sis, I'm not sure what he said, but he misses you. He hasn't stopped thinking about you since we left. Anytime we'd go out and women would approach him he'd tell them he's married. He's got at least four pictures of you in his wallet. I know it wasn't handled very well and we left at a bad time, but that don't mean he stopped loving you. That love ain't goin nowhere. That mojo bag you gave him he still wears it."

Annie stopped and looked up at Stack. "Why wear it if he don't believe it, huh? Walking in here disrespecting my beliefs like money make a man. Askin me why my roots ain't work on our baby."

Stack sighed and dropped his head. "Sis,"

"Stack it ain't for you to apologize." Annie pointed out. "I know he don't wanna come back to a place that holds bad memories, but I did all I could do. I can't bring people back from the dead and I can't stop people from dying. I just keep people safe. I did everything I could for our baby."

"I know you did." Stack replied. His tone soft. He'd never seen Annie so lost and heartbroken before that night. She didn't deserve to go through such a tragic loss.

"Does he?" She asked. "Elias I'm here everyday. I had to mourn our child alone. I didn't get to run away and distract myself with a new life in another city."

"He tried to stick around. He really did, but he changed. We got in arguments because I hardly got to see him during your loss. I ain't too fond of sharing him that much."

"Tell me about it." Annie said quietly as she fiddled with her satchel.

"That's my fault for even putting Chicago in his head when times got hard for y'all. I'll take the blame for that, but he never stopped loving you. He's not used to that amount of care, Annie." Stack confessed.

"You're the only one aside from me that's seen a vulnerable Smoke. It ain't easy for him. Now I'm not defending what he said or did, but he has a hard time in believing in anything, but he believes in you which is why he still wears his mojo bag around his neck. He was checking his watch all day today trying to stay on schedule so he could spend his day with you. Opening the juke joint today was my plan. I asked him when he got here to ask you to cook for us, but I see that backfired."

Annie huffed.

Elias dropped his head and shook it. "Sis, please come and help cook at the juke joint tonight? Please?!" Stack put his hands together and got down on his knees. Begging was his final straw. He needed her.

"Elias!" Annie laughed.

Stack stood to his feet. "Annie please! If you don't help Smoke is about to waste 18 more pounds of catfish. We're already in a bit of a hole as is. I can't afford to waste any money."

Annie read his face and knew he spilled too much, but that was normal when he was around her. He just couldn't lie to her.

She crossed her arms. "How much trouble y'all in and how much money do y'all need to make?"

Smoke was doing his best to roll up he greens the same way that he'd see Annie do, but it just wasn't coming out right. His cuts were too big. Too chunky and short. He'd already cut himself twice just trying to get the knife right. He was wishing for a miracle at this point. "Shit!" He dropped the knife to run over to the fryers.

"Ya grease way too high and that batter is watery."

Smoke stopped and turned around.

Annie's arms were crossed as she watched his face and apron covered in flour and batter. His fingers wrapped in a couple of bandaids.

"Ladies we have a few hours to get this food ready. Mrs. Patty and Mrs. Betty do y'all mind disposing of that burnt grease and put a fresh batch on? Lucy and Margaret do y'all mind whipping up some cornbread? Mrs. Suzette can you make some sweet tea? Use about 8 tea bags. We have a lot to make. We throwin' us a party tonight and these party goers deserve a freshly brewed batch of sweet tea."

Smoke looked at Annie and shook his head. "I'm sorry. What I said was hurtful and harsh and I ain't mean for it to come out like that. I wasn't thinkin about how hard it was for you to grieve a baby all alone while your husband left to handle unnecessary business in Chicago. I ain't mean to disrespect you or your beliefs either. Just because it's something I don't know don't mean it ain't right. Just different, right?"

Annie's lip twisted up into a small smile. That's something she'd been telling him since they were teens.

"I'm not sure what Stack said, but imma thank him later. I know you've always had a soft spot for him. Can't really tell him no."

Annie smiled. "That's my Elias. Never could say no to that face."

"I still think I'm the better looking twin, but"

Annie let out a laugh that Smoke missed dearly. His stomach had butterflies again just being in her presence. She was his weakness. Always and forever. "Sugar, I'm sorry. For everything." He closed the space in between them and wrapped his arms around her in a hug.

She was hesitant at first, but she wasn't going to stay mad at her husband forever. Especially after not seeing him for so long. He apologized and she wanted to move on from it and grow.

Annie pulled back and held Smoke by his arms. "I know I didn't teach you how to cut those greens like that, Elijah." Annie groused. She put the apron on and washed her hands. She could still feel some dirt on the greens so she dumped them back into the bowl to rewash. "I got it from here. Go ahead and help them with the stage."

After hours of cleaning, decorating, and last minute cooking people started to pile in. Slim had been playing the piano and Grace was pouring up drinks.

Some people got word of mouth that Annie was cooking and came just for a plate of food.

Annie would glance around the room to see how people were taking to the joint and every time her eyes spotted him Smoke's eyes were always on her. No smile, but light in his eyes.

"Thanks."

Stack smoked his cigar. "I ain't just do it for you. That's my family too. She should've cut your ass again for sayin' what you said, but I also know how hard it was for you. I know it's hard being back, but we here and we ain't goin nowhere so you might as well make new memories with her now. Start fresh.

Smoke just nodded.

"Now go on down there and dance with your wife. I'm about to get me a catfish sandwich and dance up on one of these nigga's wives." Stack plotted as he adjusted his hat and skipped down the stairs. "Aye Mrs. Betty! You got a fresh batch of catfish out yet, ma'am?"

Smoke headed down and saw Annie talking to Grace so he just watch Slim and waited for her to finish.

As he was enjoying the music he felt her presence behind him. Her arm draped up on his shoulder and a smile peeking out by his side. He looked over and his lip curled up into a small smile.

"Looks like y'all had a nice little turn out."

"I think so. A few more of these and we can make some real money. Hmm, come here." Smoke took her hand in his and lead her near the wall. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. Both swaying along to the music.

"I know you ain't ask me and you ain't got to ask. This is all me. I can help and sell some food during the day. Possibly bake up some cakes or pies. Cook for y'all until you make what you need."

"Stack talk too damn much."

"Hey," she said softly to grasp his attention and to keep him from getting upset. "Meals in the day, hell maybe even breakfast, and a juke joint at night. Double your profit while you can. You say you back for good, right? Well until you pay them men off in Chicago you ain't gone be able to ease up. What you would make in two months you can make in a month. You had people coming in tonight just for food, but stayed for the atmosphere. I ran it by Elias on our way here. He says it ain't too bad of an idea. You ain't gotta pay me just pay for the groceries and maybe Mrs. Betty and Mrs. Patty on the days they help me out. That's all. Everything else you pocket and put to the side."

"Got myself a gem of a woman, you know? Couldn't ask for nobody better than you. I appreciate you, Annie. I love you. Always." Smoke confessed.

"I love you too, Elijah. You know," Annie paused and lowered her voice. "It's been seven long years, ain't it?"

A small smile played on Smoke's face as he turned his head towards her. "Seven long years."

"Ya body still remember me?" She asked against his ear.

"Tryna find out? Here?"

"Papa, it's been seven long years. I'm tryna find out now."

Smoke was smiling with his teeth now. Had he not been wearing blue you would've thought it was Stack.

"Come on." He took Annie by the hand and lead her upstairs and into the office.

Stack stood at the bar dabbing hot sauce onto his sandwich with a shit eating grin on his face. "Bout to tear that whole room and ha ass up." He laughed. "Aye Jerome! Play something loud! We falling asleep out here!" He finished his last bite and took a swig of beer before getting out on the dance floor.

Smoke locked the door and immediately found his way to Annie's lips. His lips hungry for her. His hands needed to touch her. All of her.

Annie worked on his jacket as he unzipped her dress. She missed her husband and needed him now.

Smoke gently backed her into the desk. He removed his lips from hers and brushed everything off of the surface. He picked her up and placed her on the desk and just looked at her in awe. He missed her eyes, lips, breast, hips, smell, and everything in between. He didn't know how he managed to be away for so long, but he was back and wanted to get reacquainted with all of her. Again!

Annie's hand worked her way up his thigh stopping at her favorite destination.

"He ain't forget who he belong to." Smoke informed.

Annie's eyes fluttered up at him as she bit her lip.

"Aye Stack you seen Smoke?" Sammie asked.

Stack swayed as a thick dark skin woman in red worked her way up his body. "Yeah he busy. He got some backed up work he dealin with. Seven long ass years worth of work. He'll be down in about forty-five minutes to an hour." Stack whistled as the woman kept eye contact with him as she lowered her body on his.

Smoke helped a weak Annie to her feet and turned her around. He arched her back and spread her legs opened using his feet. Her hands and breast pressed to the old wooden table

He whistled at the sight. He misses this for sure.

Stack was posted up at the end of the stairs when he heard a loud sound coming from the room. "He cleaning all that shit up. That's his office now." He turned his head and threw his hands up. "Grace! You got a heavy ass hand."

"We'll get your ass over here and help then!" She quipped.

People were still filling into the juke joint and the ladies hadn't stopped cooking since.

Stack took time to look around and appreciate that his community came through for them. He was back home and ready to start a new life back where it all started only this time he was going to do it right.

Smoke buttoned up his shirt and tucked it back into his slacks.

Annie picked her earring up from the floor and fixed the skirt of her dress. She leaned back against the wall and watched her husband pull himself together. She giggled lightly at his hair.

"What?" He asked with a smirk as he walked closer to her.

"Your hair is all outta place."

"Means I was puttin in work."

Annie laughed.

"Ain't nothing a hat can't fix." He picked his hat up from off of the chair where he tossed it prior and brushed it off before tugging it on. He wrapped one hand around her waist and kissed her awaiting lips.

Smoke opened the door and lead them down back to the party just in time for Sammie to perform.

Smoke wrapped his arms around Annie and swayed to the music. She had snuck off with a catfish sandwich and reached back for Smoke to take a bite. "Mmmm." It had been years since he had her cooking. It was better than any restaurant he'd ever been to. He licked his lips then got comfortable in the crook of her neck. He placed a gentle kiss to her warm skin as his cousin filled the room with his powerful voice.

Stack had his arm around the same woman in red and just smiled. "We gone be alright."

He looked at his brother. Both just gave each other a nod and that was all that needed to be said.

I don't usually have a tag list, but I know @brownskincheyenne asked me to tag them. If any of y'all want to be tagged in any future Fics just let me know! 🫶🏽

[redroomreflections]

Still Us (Even Louder) Chapter 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader The Loud House - 5 years later

Five years later, the Romanoff house is louder than ever. Six kids, two tired moms, and not enough coffee. Natasha’s retired. R’s stretched thin. The sparks are flickering, the teens are testing limits, and nobody said forever would be this complicated.

But love built this family. And maybe love is what will hold it together.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Chapter Summary: just normal family crises

w/c:4.8k

“So, you can’t be angry.” Cara raised her hands in an unassuming way. She made sure the bedroom door was locked before she began to pace. “Technically, I’m an adult. I’m twenty years old, and it’s natural for… like… feelings to develop, right?”

“Cara?” you asked carefully. You shared a glance with Natasha, who seemed just as confused.

Cara nodded quickly, words tumbling out faster than her breath. “I’ve been seeing someone. A guy. For a while now. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was serious at first, but then—” She stopped, pressing her hands into her sweatshirt. “It got serious.”

You shifted on the edge of the bed. “Okay. That’s… normal. You’re twenty. You don’t have to hide that from us.”

Natasha leaned forward, voice measured. “What about Ezra?”

“We’re kind of on a break,” Cara said, with a shrug that didn’t quite mask her nerves. “With me at UPenn and him at Duke, it’s weird. Anyway, I met this guy.” That's where she reeled you in.

“He’s… he’s nice. Older, but not like crazy older. Just… older. He treats me well. I swear he does.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she crossed her arms. You could almost hear the unspoken list of questions piling up in her head. But then Cara’s shoulders sank, her pacing slowing to a stop. The bravado cracked, and her voice came out smaller.

“That’s not the part I was scared to tell you.” She lifted her chin, but her eyes shone with something between fear and shame. “I thought I was pregnant.” The words dropped like glass on tile. She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes flicking between the two of you. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, I haven’t even taken a test yet. But I'm late. And for days I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and I just… I panicked. But this guy, we are kind of on and off. Like we broke up for a while and it was break-up sex so...”

You didn’t know which part of this conversation to be appalled at first: the fact that your daughter was in a relationship with an older guy, the fact that she thought she might be pregnant, or the fact that she thought breakup sex was a good idea.

Natasha’s inhale was sharp, almost audible, the kind of sound she only made when she was holding back. Her arms folded tighter across her chest, knuckles white. “Breakup sex?” she echoed flatly.

Cara groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my god, please don’t repeat it back to me. I already know how stupid it sounds.”

“Stupid is one word,” Natasha nodded. "But you can't change the past."

You reached over and rested a hand on her leg. Not to calm her down, exactly, but just to let her know you were there.

Cara looked up, brief panic flashing through her eyes. It wasn't the first time you'd seen her scared like that, but it had been a while.

"What we are hearing right now," You looked to Natasha for confirmation. She tilted her chin in agreement. "Is that you came home because you are scared. You need help. You want us to help you. Right?"

"Yes," Cara breathed. "I thought you were going to look at me like I ruined everything. I didn't want to keep it from you guys. I would have gone to my friends, it's just they're not always the most mature, and I know you guys would know what to do."

“Well, we aren’t exactly in the business of keeping tests around,” you said with a small smirk.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Not really a need,” she added dryly.

Cara made a face and groaned again, this time dramatically. “Oh my god. You’re both lesbians. I get it.”

You and Natasha exchanged a look, half-amused, half-exasperated.

“But I can run to the store,” Natasha offered, her voice softening. “We’ll figure it out from there.”

“I don’t even know if I need one,” Cara mumbled. “I mean, I’m probably fine. I just… I don’t know. I freaked out.”

“That’s fair,” Natasha said, her voice more gentle now. “But if there’s even a chance, it’s better to know.”

There was a pause. Natasha’s eyes sharpened slightly. “What’s his name?”

Cara bristled, just a little. “Why does that matter?”

“Because we’re your parents,” you replied calmly. “And if someone’s in your life, especially in this context, we want to know who they are. That’s not unreasonable.”

“His name’s Shawn,” Cara muttered. “And before you ask, yes, I’m being safe. Well, most of the time. No, he’s not a creep. And yes, he’s from Philly.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t shift.

“He’s twenty-four,” Cara added reluctantly, arms crossing over her chest. “So he’s not like some sketchy thirty-year-old or whatever you’re imagining.”

You watched her, taking in the way she was gearing up to defend him, this guy you hadn’t even met. But underneath all that, you could see the worry still clinging to her edges.

“We just want you to be okay,” you said.

She relaxed a little, but didn't unfold her arms.

Natasha looked at the two of you, then exhaled and stood. Her shoulders had loosened, and she offered Cara a faint smile.

"Come on. We should get going. I'm guessing you'll want to do this as soon as possible."

Cara's eyes widened. "Like now?"

"There's no better time than now." You patted her leg. "Time to grow up."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Cara grumbled. "I know."

********

The car ride was mostly quiet.

Cara picked at a hole in her pants, eyes trained on the passing traffic. The tension hadn’t completely faded, but there was an understanding now. Whatever happened, the three of you would handle it together. Natasha’s hand rested steady on the steering wheel, her eyes locked on the road, but Cara could see the thoughts stirring just beneath.

“You can say it, you know?” Cara said softly.

Natasha flicked her eyes toward her, then back to the road. “Say what?”

“That you’re disappointed in me.”

Natasha exhaled, long and slow, as she turned into the pharmacy parking lot. “We’re not disappointed,” she said as the engine idled. “I don’t even think we’ve had time to process it yet.”

Cara stared ahead. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’d be mad too if I were you.”

“I’m not mad,” Natasha replied. Her voice was low, a little rough around the edges. “I’m… surprised. And maybe a little scared for you. That’s not the same as mad.”

Cara’s fingers tightened in her lap. “I didn’t think I’d ever be the kind of person who would end up in this situation.”

“You’re not the kind of person,” Natasha said, turning the ignition off and finally facing her. “You’re a person. You make choices. Sometimes dumb ones. But that doesn’t make you dumb. Or reckless. Or unlovable.”

Cara blinked. “That sounded like something Mom would say.”

Natasha smirked faintly. “Yeah, well. I pick up things.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Cara asked, barely above a whisper, “What if it’s positive?”

Natasha looked at her then, really looked at her. “Then we deal with it. We don’t leave you alone in it.”

Cara nodded, her throat visibly tight.

“Now,” Natasha added, already reaching for the door, “let’s go buy something we never thought we’d need to buy.”

Cara cracked a nervous smile. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”

Natasha raised a brow as she opened her door. “We’re lesbians, baby. There’s literally never been a need for this in our house.”

Cara groaned. “Okay, I get it, you’re gay, can we not make it weirder?”

Natasha grinned despite herself. “Come on, drama queen.”

********

“Do we go digital or bulk pack?” Natasha bit her lip, her eyes scanning the shelves like she was selecting fine wine, not pee sticks.

“I don’t even know,” Cara mumbled, dragging her hands down her face. “I hate myself right now for even having to do this.”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Natasha shrugged. “Which one do you want to pee on?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Cara groaned, reaching for the nearest pink box. “Just get the one that doesn’t talk.”

“Oh, so no digital voice assistant telling you congratulations or condolences?”

Cara looked like she might melt into the floor. “Mama.”

“Right, right,” Natasha chuckled, tossing a two-pack into the basket. “Nonverbal, budget-friendly trauma it is.”

******

The walk home on Wednesdays was usually Willow's favorite part of the day. Just her and Charlie, no adults, no one needing anything from her, and they usually weren't arguing with each other. Today felt different, lighter somehow, like she had something bouncing around in her chest she couldn't quite name.

"So," Charlie said, adjusting her overstuffed backpack that was covered in pins about climate change and equality. "How was practice?"

"Fine," Willow shrugged, watching the houses in their cul-de-sac get bigger and bigger. She couldn’t help but think back to the time her dad said theirs was the biggest house on the block. He wasn't lying. "Cheer has always been a fun thing for me, you know."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Willow glanced sideways at her cousin. Sometimes Charlie was too perceptive for her own good. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh," Charlie grinned. "So Marcus just happens to stay after practice to help you work on your form out of the goodness of his heart?"

"He's just being nice," Willow's face went warm. “He helps everyone.”

"Sure, he does," Charlie hopped over a crack in the sidewalk. "Does he help everyone by bringing them Gatorade and helping them walk to their locker? What's he going to help you do next? Stretch?"

"How do you know half that stuff?" Willow stopped. "Are you spying on me between the hallways?"

"7th grade can be quite boring," Charlie teased. "Also, I was waiting for you yesterday, remember? You said you'd be out at 4:30. It was almost 5."

Willow groaned. "It's not like that. We're just friends. That's it."

"Okay," Charlie sighed. They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps mixing with the beautiful noises of nature. There were other kids on the block walking into their homes.

"Can I ask you something?" Charlie said suddenly.

"Always," Willow said.

"How do you know, like, when you like someone. Like really like them more than friends." She felt heat creep up her neck. "Not that I do. I'm just... curious."

Charlie was then quiet, which was unusual for her. When Willow looked over, she was chewing on her bottom lip, the way she did when she was thinking hard about something.

"I think it's different for everyone," Willow used some of her sixteen-year-old wisdom. "But maybe it's like when you think about them and everything gets warm and fluttery? And you want to know everything about them, or you get nervous just thinking about them."

"Would it be the same if it's a person you've been friends with for a long time?" Charlie tilted her head.

"I mean, I guess," Willow shrugged. "It might even be a better thing since you know how they'd react if you tell them."

"Also," Charlie continued, her voice getting softer. "Would it matter if they're a boy or a girl? Like, if you got the same feeling about a girl, would it be any different?"

Something in Charlie's tone made Willow slow her steps. She looked at her cousin and grinned. Charlie's cheeks were blushing, and she was fidgeting with the strap of her backpack.

"Charlie," Willow said gently. "Are we talking about you?"

"Maybe," Charlie's shoulders hunched slightly.

"Is this girl Savannah, your best friend?"

"Maybe," Charlie repeated, quieter this time. Suddenly, Charlie's recent activism on LGBTQ issues made sense.

Charlie took a shaky breath. "We've been best friends since second grade, you know? Like, inseparable. We do everything together. Environmental club, sleepovers, we even have matching friendship bracelets." She held up her wrist, showing a faded green and blue braided cord. "And lately, I just... when I'm around her, it feels different. Like when she smiles at me, my stomach does this weird flip thing. And when she hugs me goodbye, I don't want to let go."

They'd reached the corner of their street, and Willow could see their house in the distance. She gently pulled Charlie to stop walking for a moment.

"Charlie," Willow said carefully. "You know everyone kind of already knows you two have crushes on each other, right?"

Charlie's eyes went wide. "What?"

"I mean, you guys are pretty obvious. The way you look at each other, how you always find excuses to touch each other's hands, how you get all giggly and weird when the other one's around..." Willow smiled. "Even James noticed, and he's ten. Plus, you told us back then you were going to marry her."

"Oh my god." Charlie buried her face in her hands. "Savannah doesn't like me back, though. She probably thinks I'm just some weird kid who's obsessed with saving the whales."

"Charlie." Willow pulled her cousin's hands away from her face. "Trust me on this one. The way she looks at you? She likes you back."

"But what if I'm wrong? What if I mess up our friendship?" Charlie's voice was small and scared.

"What if you're right and you miss out on something amazing?" Willow countered. "Besides, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Mom and Mama are married to each other. You think they're going to have a problem with you liking girls?"

Charlie's shoulders relaxed a little. "I guess when you put it like that..."

"You're twelve, Charlie. You're allowed to figure yourself out. And whatever you figure out, we'll all love you the same." Willow bumped her shoulder. "Even if you are annoying about composting."

Charlie let out a watery laugh. "Thanks. And yeah, I guess I have been pretty intense about the composting thing."

"Just a little." Willow grinned.

"Can we... not tell anyone yet? About Savannah, I mean. I want to figure it out more first. Maybe actually talk to her about it."

"Of course." Willow squeezed her hand. "But Charlie? You know you can talk to me about this stuff, right? Anytime."

"I know." Charlie's smile was wobbly but genuine. "Same goes for you. About Marcus."

"There's nothing to talk about with Marcus."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that."

They started walking again.

"So, maybe you could help me tell Mama I quit dancing," Charlie asked.

"You're just a bag full of surprises these days," Willow laughed. "Why do you want to quit dancing? You love dance."

"I do, but I kind of want to explore other styles," Charlie explained. They'd finally reached the doorstep. "I love ballet and always will, but I've been watching some other videos, and I want to try jazz or hip hop or something."

"I'll back you up," Willow said as they stepped inside. "Mama might be upset at first, because it's like her thing, but I don't think they'll mind. As long as you're happy, they're happy."

"Cool," Charlie nodded. She felt a bit better. 

******* Five minutes. The instructions on the pregnancy test said five minutes, and it turned out to be the longest time in your life. The three of you were barricaded in the bathroom, away from the outside world. The rest of the kids were spending their time cooking up their version of dinner. You and Natasha didn't even want to ask what that looked like. Right then, you were making sure your oldest baby was alright.

She sat on top of your bathroom counter, knees pulled to her chest, eyes closed. You sat on the cool tile floor, hands making little patterns on your thighs as you tried to occupy your mind. It was the first time today you'd gotten to truly sit and be quiet. Work had drained you, and you could feel the beginnings of your strength waning.

Natasha leaned against the closed door, arms crossed, watching Cara with the intensity of someone trying to solve a puzzle. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it was heavy with all the things none of you were saying.

"How much longer?" Cara asked without opening her eyes.

You checked your phone. "Two more minutes."

"This is torture," she mumbled into her knees.

"Welcome to parenthood," Natasha said dryly. "Lots of waiting around for things that might change everything."

You shot her a look, but Cara actually cracked a small smile.

"Did you guys do this? The waiting thing, I mean. When you were trying to get us?" Cara lifted her head slightly.

"Different kind of waiting," you said softly. "But yeah. We did a lot of sitting in waiting rooms, staring at things, and waiting for phone calls that would tell us if our lives were about to change."

From somewhere in the house, you could hear Luke's voice calling for someone, followed by what sounded like pots clanging. Normal family chaos, continuing while the three of you sat suspended in this moment.

"Time," you announced quietly.

Cara's eyes flew open. For a second, none of you moved. Then Natasha pushed off from the door and reached for the test on the counter beside Cara.

She looked at it for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

"Well?" Cara's voice was barely a whisper.

"Negative," Natasha said, handing it to her.

Cara stared at the single line for what felt like forever. Then her face crumpled, and she started crying, not the panicked tears you'd expected, but something deeper. Relief mixed with something else you couldn't quite name.

"Mom!" There was a yell from the other room, and you glanced toward the door, knowing you'd promised to come back to the chaos soon. Cara wiped her tears and bit her lip, looking smaller than her twenty years.

"Is it crazy that I've only ever wanted a baby with Ezra?" Her voice cracked just slightly. Then her eyes widened, and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Not like that! I don't mean—ugh—we didn't even... not until we were both eighteen. I just—I pictured my whole life with him, you know? Since I was fifteen."

Her voice trailed off. "I know I'm the one who broke up with him. And Shawn is... Shawn is great. He's funny, he listens, he really does. But I don't know. It's not the same."

Natasha didn't respond right away. She glanced down at the pregnancy test box in her hand, then back at Cara. 

"It's not crazy," you said gently, pushing yourself up from the floor. Your knees protested after sitting on the cold tile. "First love feels like forever when you're living it."

"But I'm supposed to be grown up now," Cara whispered. "I'm in college. I should be over this."

"Says who?" Natasha finally spoke, her voice softer than it had been all day. "There's no timeline for getting over someone who meant everything to you."

“Do you think this means I should break up with him?” “I think it means you should follow wherever your heart leads you,” Natasha patted her on the back. 

Another crash from the hall, followed by Luke's distinctive giggle.

"We should probably..." you gestured toward the door.

Cara nodded, sliding down from the counter. "Yeah. And Moms ?" She looked between you and Natasha. "Thank you. For not making this weird. For just... being here."

"Always," you said, meaning it completely. “We need to discuss birth control more in depth after this.”

“Yeah, a long conversation,” Natasha nodded. 

“God, please, no, I know,” Cara groaned. “I’m never having sex again.”

“A parent’s dream phase,” You muttered. 

As you reached for the bathroom door handle, Cara caught your arm. "Can we not tell the others? About any of this? I just... I need some time to process."

"Of course," Natasha said immediately. "But Cara? You don't have to figure everything out right now. Sometimes it's okay to just be confused for a while." Cara nodded. She was okay with that. 

The moment you opened the bathroom door, the smell hit you first—burnt cheese… or was that garlic bread? Probably the one Paige had proudly claimed she knew how to make.

The kitchen was a war zone.

Paige stood on a step stool, waving a wooden spoon like a conductor. “I told him the noodles go in after the water boils,” she snapped, glaring over at James.

James, who was trying to salvage what looked like a tray of overcooked lasagna, grimaced. Charlie was fanning the smoke alarm like it owed her money, a dish towel flapping violently in her hands.

“I swear I had it under control,” Willow groaned, holding Luke under the armpits as she tried to lift him down from the counter.

Luke was cross-legged, in superhero pajamas, and a colander on his head like a helmet. “I’m Uncle Steve!” he announced.

Behind you, Cara snickered, holding up her phone to record the scene. You could already hear the click of her tongue before she whispered, “This one’s going in the group chat.”

You and Natasha jumped into action without a word. Years of co-parenting turned you into a synchronized response unit. She snatched the dish towel from Charlie’s frantic hands and fanned the alarm with practiced precision.

“Nat, oven mitt,” you said, reaching back without looking.

She tossed it to you wordlessly, the two of you moving in sync like clockwork. While she waved away the smoke, you pulled the scorched tray from James with a sigh. The pan sizzled as you set it on the counter.

“Lucas Alexander Jameson Romanoff, if you don’t get your behind off my counter, I swear I will—”

Luke jumped down before you could finish the sentence, cape fluttering behind him like a retreating soldier.

“Lasagna takes years of practice,” Natasha scolded lightly, a smile pulling at her lips.

“We read the recipe book,” Charlie said, shaking her head, clearly betrayed.

“It had pictures and everything,” James added defensively.

Paige pointed her spoon at him. “And yet, the garlic bread still tastes like vengeance.”

Cara lowered her phone and smiled. “God, I missed this.”

You leaned back against the fridge, watching the controlled chaos with an exhale that almost felt like relief.

“Anyone want takeout?” you asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Natasha said, already reaching for her phone.

****

"So, we're never doing that again," Charlie commented as she munched on pizza. She looked around the table, seeing that you had half the same sentiments.

"Maybe we should send you all to Nana over the summer," you suggested. "She'll have you cooking by the end of week one."

"Maybe that's what should happen. There's no discipline around here," Cara commented, tearing off a piece of crust. "They get away with things I didn't."

"Like what?" Paige challenged, cheese stretching from her slice.

"Like burning down the kitchen," Cara shot back with a grin. "When I was twelve, if I so much as left a dish in the sink, I got a lecture about responsibility."

"That's because you were the guinea pig," Natasha said, reaching for another slice. "We had no idea what we were doing with you."

"Thanks for that," Cara laughed. "Builds confidence."

Luke had been quietly arranging his pepperonis in a perfect circle, but he looked up suddenly. "Cara, are you sad?"

The table went quiet. Luke had this way of cutting through everything with a simple question that hit right at the heart of things.

"Why would you think I'm sad, buddy?" Cara asked softly.

"Your eyes are puffy. And you smell like the bathroom soap," he said matter-of-factly, then went back to his pepperoni arrangement.

James nudged him under the table. "Luke, you can't just tell people they look weird."

"I didn't say weird. I said sad." Luke looked confused. "There's a difference and don’t touch me your hands are gross."

"It's okay," Cara said quickly, catching your eye across the table. "I'm not sad, Luke. Just... tired. College is exhausting."

Willow, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly perked up. "Speaking of college, what's it really like? Like, the freedom part of it?"

"Overrated," Cara said immediately. "Trust me, having to do your own laundry and remember to eat vegetables is not as fun as it sounds."

"But you can stay up as late as you want," Paige pointed out. "And eat ice cream for breakfast."

"Technically, yes. But your body starts to hate you pretty quickly."

"What about parties?" Charlie asked, trying to sound casual. "Are they like in the movies?"

Both you and Natasha raised eyebrows at that question.

"They're loud, crowded, and someone always breaks something," Cara said diplomatically. "Plus, cleaning up Solo cups at 2 AM is not the glamorous college experience you're imagining."

"But the people, though," Willow pressed. "Do you feel like... more yourself? Like, away from family and everything?" Something in Willow's tone made you look at her more carefully. There was something she wasn't saying.

"Sometimes," Cara said thoughtfully. "But honestly? I missed you guys more than I expected. Like, way more. It's weird being away from all this chaos."

"What's a Solo cup?" James asked innocently.

"Something people drink alcohol out of," Charlie informed him with the confidence of someone who definitely shouldn't know that.

"Charlotte," Natasha warned, but there was amusement in her voice.

"What? It's true!" Charlie protested. "They're red plastic cups. I've seen them in movies."

"Movies," you repeated flatly.

"And maybe some TikToks," she admitted sheepishly.

"You're twelve," Paige pointed out. "Why are you watching college party TikToks?"

"The algorithm is very aggressive," Charlie said defensively. You would talk late about how she was watching those TikToks, considering she didn’t have a phone yet, but now wasn’t the time.

Luke looked up from his pepperoni arrangement, which was now starting to resemble a flower. "What's alcohol?"

"Something that makes adults act like you when you're overtired," Cara said quickly, shooting you a grateful look for the save.

"Oh," Luke nodded like that made perfect sense. "So it makes them cranky and want to take naps?"

"Something like that," you said, trying not to laugh.

"Can we get back to the important stuff?" Paige interrupted. "Like whether Cara has a boyfriend again. She hasn’t been on the phone with Ezra this entire time, so that must mean something."

Cara nearly choked on her pizza. "Paige!"

"What? It's a valid question. You're in college. You're pretty. You must have guys asking you out."

"Or girls," Charlie added casually, but something in her tone made you think it wasn't as casual as she was trying to make it sound.

"Charlie's right," Willow said, and you caught the meaningful look that passed between the two of them. "College is supposed to be about figuring out who you are, right?"

Something was happening with these two, some conversation they'd had that the rest of you weren't privy to. You filed that away for later.

“It can be but I think I need to sit down and be alone in college,” Cara said. “Tell me about you guys though.”

********

You felt like the moment between you and your bed would never come. After half-assing your skincare routine and brushing your teeth on autopilot, you were finally in bed with your head sinking wonderfully into the pillow. Your bones ached in only the way they could after hours of work and parenting. You didn't even want to check your phone after all this. Your eyes were closing when you heard the faint creak of the floorboards just before the mattress dipped under Natasha's weight.

"You're back," you murmured, your voice scratchy with exhaustion.

Natasha settled beside you, her back against the headboard, one leg stretched long and the other bent loosely. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No," you said. "Wasn't really sleeping."

A quiet beat passed.

"How was she?" you asked. "Cara?"

Natasha let out a breath. "Wired. Nervous. More vulnerable than I've seen her in a while." She paused. "Scared, mostly."

"She's a great kid," you said, opening your eyes to look at Natasha. "She doesn't think so."

You turned to look up at your wife, eyes soft. "You okay?"

Natasha didn't answer right away. She tilted her head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know. I kept thinking about how young she is. How fast all of this came at her. How easy it is to fuck up and not even realize it until it's too late."

"She came to us," you said gently. "That has to count for something."

"It does," Natasha said, quieter this time. "It really does."

"I'm proud of how we handled that," Natasha said softly.

"We make a good team," you replied, meaning it completely.

She smiled. The same warm smile that had gotten you through six kids and countless crises. For a moment, everything felt steady again. Natasha leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I love you," she whispered, but your breathing had already deepened into sleep. She settled back on her side of the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time before closing her eyes.

------> next part

[bettyvick]

broken promises

based on this request!

Anakin Skywalker x Senator!Reader

Summary: When you confess your husband you're pregnant, he makes a beautiful and hopeful promise, but he can't fulfill it.

Warnings: Implicit sex, mention of big pregnancy boobs, Anakin fetishes the pregnancy a little, angsty.

A/N: I wrote this while listening to manchild by sabrina carpenter.

Anakin and you had made a deal.

It all started on a normal day. You spent the morning between meetings with the Galactic Senate, wearing that extravagant senator's outfit that required hours of makeup and lots of heavy jewelry on your head. The heat made the dress stick to your skin, irritating it. By the time the conference was over, you felt exhausted, although that was normal after several hours of repeating the same thing to people who didn't even want to listen.

What wasn't normal was the way you threw up as soon as you entered the palace, staining the carpet, which cost a fortune, and your shoes with a yellowish liquid. You coughed with the bitter vomit still in the corners of your mouth, and your guards rushed to support you when your legs felt weak.

The news spread throughout the city: "The senator is vomiting because of poor health," and as soon as your husband heard that, he dropped everything he was doing to go find you at the palace. When he arrived, you were lying on the enormous bed in your room, surrounded by comfortable pillows and covered by an absurd amount of blankets.

Anakin kissed your forehead as you told him what had happened.

—You work hard, my love. Maybe you should take it easy.

You knew he was right. Ever since the Trade Federation's political situation had deteriorated, you'd been on edge. But you were a senator, and you had to look out for the well-being of your people.

The nausea didn't stop. Every morning, you woke up and ran, trembling, to the toilet, where you knelt with Anakin, holding your hair and gently rubbing your back.

You could imagine what was happening to you. You had a very active sex life, and sometimes you risked not using protection. Those were the consequences. All the ‘I'm going to fill you with my seed, baby, you're going to be the mother of my children’ had paid off.

And to top it all off, they were twins.

Then you broke the news to your husband, your hands shaking and your stomach churning. You weren't sure how he would take it; you were afraid it would be too much for your relationship and that he would leave you. However, that wasn't the case. Anakin was surprised, shaken, but happy. He kissed you like never before and twirled you around in the air like a princess. He immediately began making plans for the future and talking about everything he would do with the babies once they were born: teaching them how to repair droids, preparing them to be pilots, training them to be Jedi, reading them stories every night... even taking them on missions with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka!

All of that was terribly dangerous and reckless, so you had to stop him and remind him that your relationship was a secret too; no one could find out. That gnawed at Anakin. Why could no one know you were pregnant with his children? That was his favorite part, letting everyone know it was him who made you those beautiful and healthy babies. He could already picture you in his head, with your swollen belly and breasts full of milk.

In a moment of raw emotion, he proposed something that made your heart race.

—I'll leave the damn Jedi Council, okay? I'll leave, and you could leave the senator position too. There would be no more secrets, and we'll raise our children on Naboo. We'll have a beautiful house with a huge garden for them to run around in.

You smiled tenderly. His promising words made you really consider it. The senate lately only brought you stress and headaches, which wasn't good for the pregnancy. You would give the position to one of your sisters who you knew would do a good job, and you would live in a cozy cabin by a river on your home planet.

Everything about that vision was promising.

—Are you serious?— you asked cautiously.

—So serious!— he insisted, pacing around the living room table.

You looked at him with shining eyes.

—Promise?

Anakin stopped when he heard your soft, vulnerable voice. His eyes fell on yours, and he swore he could have melted right there. He approached you, sitting down beside you carefully.

—I promise— his firm tone sent a short circuit through your entire body. He cupped your face in his robotic hand and kissed your lips tenderly.

The following week, you mused about the matter constantly, and the more you thought about it, the better it seemed. After considering all the risks and analyzing the pros and cons, you made your decision. So you did it, resigning from your position in front of the entire galactic senate. People were a little confused, but many supported your decision, knowing the difficult times ahead. Your sister thanked you for trusting her, and you returned home feeling like a huge weight had been lifted.

Anakin arrived late, but you waited awake for him. He was surprised when he saw you sitting there with your eyes open, holding a cup of tea.

—What are you still doing awake?— he said in that deep voice that made your stomach feel overwhelmingly warm. He grabbed your waist and kissed your forehead affectionately.

—I wanted to talk with my husband— you said with a flirtatious smile as you stood up from your seat. His hands rested on your already swollen stomach; he'd been obsessed with it since the baby had started growing in your womb, making you look even more pregnant. He raised his eyebrows curiously.

—And what does my wife want to talk about?— he asked in your ear, pressing his body against yours, his pelvis seeking yours. You giggled. Your chin rested on his high shoulder, and your hands gripped his Jedi uniform on his chest. —Or maybe you don't want to talk.

You raised your face, and your eyes met.

—I've stepped down as senator.

Anakin nodded slowly, adjusting a strap of your dress that had slipped off your shoulder.

—That's fine.

You frowned. That was it?

—And you…?— you said, caressing the area where your hands were.

—And me what?— he sounded disoriented, although you were more so. You looked at him confused and distanced yourself.

—You said you'd leave the Jedi Council— you took a few steps back. —To be a family and all that. No secrets— you quoted him.

Anakin looked embarrassed, but also with a secret behind those blue eyes.

—Um, yeah, that...— he murmured. Anger and despair surged in your chest.

—You promised it, Naboo, the house with the garden, the children running around— you reminded him sternly as you circled around him.

—Love...

—You promised me, Anakin!— you exclaimed, panicking. He flinched at the sound of his real name and not his nickname.

—Yes, I know, and maybe we were a bit hasty— he apologized. Your pulse was pounding.

—Hasty?

—Yes— Anakin answered as it was obvious.

—And it didn't occur to you to consult me before making your own decision?!

—You were so excited, and I didn't know how to tell you— he stood frozen in place.

You gasped, offended, as feelings flooded your body. He tried to grab your arm to pull you back to him, but you didn't let him. You didn't want him to touch you.

—I’ve quit my job. Do you think this is a game?— you asked threateningly.

—No, of course not! But I can't leave the council now. They need me!— you looked at him in disbelief. Your hands clutched your belly almost unconsciously, holding your baby.

—Oh, don't give me that. You know how badly they treat you.

You touched his soft spot, and his expression changed completely.

—Hey, my work is far more valuable than that of some pathetic senator no one wants to listen to— he spat, anger blinding all his senses.

It broke your heart, and the deathly silence that enveloped you afterward spoke volumes. He didn't realize what he'd said until he saw the tears running down your cheeks. The regret was immediate. His gaze softened.

—Hey, love, I didn't mean...

—You've said enough, Anakin— you snapped as you headed toward the bedroom, the floor filling with the warm drops that overflowed from your eye sockets. He followed you like a lost puppy.

—I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that— he said, distressed, his gaze cast to the floor, sadness running through his body. You stopped in front of the bed and looked at him, eyes bright with disappointment.

—Do you really think that about me?— you asked, even though you knew you'd never know the real answer.

—Of course not! I wasn't thinking— he tried to approach you again, but you stopped him.

—Stop and leave— you said bitterly. He looked at you, confused.

—What?

—Leave, Anakin, I don't want to see you— your voice cracked, your throat tight.

—I'm not leaving until-

—No, leave now, grab your things and leave— you ordered, even though you weren't entirely sure what you were doing.

—Love, it was unintentional. I don't think that...

—Go now, or I'll say you snuck into my bedroom— you threatened. He watched you for a few seconds, looking exhausted and remorseful.

—Fine, if that's what you want, I'll go— he relented in a sad whisper that almost made you regret your decision. She grabbed a bag with a few belongings and left the room. "I'll be with Obi-Wan, in case you change your mind," she murmured before stepping through the doorway.

You collapsed, sobbing on the bed like never before. Not only had his words hurt, but also the realization that you'd quit your job for someone who didn't even take you seriously. You clutched your stomach as if it was the only thing you had left. You were terrified; you knew Anakin wasn't going to leave the Jedi Council, and if he didn't, you wouldn't be able to forgive him. You didn't know how to cope alone, with raging hormones and strange feelings.

It was you and your little babies against the world.