#and then I have some presentation slides and a draft final.

[essektheylyss]

okay alright okay I can get through my workload tonight I absolutely can do it I am going to get through all of these assignments and it will be fine!

[comatosebunny09]

merry christmas, mr. sylus [ fin ]

— summary: the one where you nearly tear your hair out, trying to find the perfect christmas gift for your office crush. — cw: fluff, romance, jealousy, feelings of inadequacy, reader is not mc, ceo verse, modern au, aged-up characters, mutual pining, misunderstanding trope, mild language, silliness, angst — notes: the finale for this. edit: i lied. this is the finale for this series. thank you for reading! — now playing: swan serenade - piano house

You spend the remainder of the party avoiding your boss like the plague. But running into him is inevitable. You work directly for the man, after all.

As the staff trickles out, taking with them their drunken merriment, you’re left to pick up the pieces of your wounded heart and the party’s aftermath. 

You shove Solo cups and decorative paper plates into a trash bin. Snatch off tablecloths and roll the karaoke machine into the broom closet. Wipe off tables, tear down garland. You do everything you can to stay busy, your self-loathing an ever-present rain cloud hanging overhead.

What were you expecting? For Mr. Sylus to fall to his knees for you? For him to sever whatever bond he has with Ms. Hunter for you? You snort at yourself as a wet film of heat slides over your eyes, impairing your vision. You feel ridiculous. Sick to your stomach. 

The trash bin slips from your fingers, thudding dully on the carpeted floor. In an attempt to collect yourself, you prop your hands on the edge of a table, releasing a shaky sigh. You blink away the new commination of tears. You’d been doing good so far, having given yourself a lengthy pep-talk in the bathroom earlier. Something to get you through what remained of the night without wearing your anguish on your sleeves.

So what if he doesn’t view you in the same light as you view him? This isn’t the first time you’ve faced rejection, and it most certainly won’t be the last. It doesn’t make this iteration hurt any less. You’re his secretary, for God’s sake. Not a friend nor a potential love interest. The quips and laughter you exchange daily are nothing more than him being polite. The model gentleman, maintaining the peace between himself and the person responsible for organizing his life. 

You are so swept up in the turmoil of your mind that you hardly register your name being called. Someone beckons to you again, this time more assertive, though not scolding. You whip your head around to the source of the sound, homing in on a familiar shock of white. 

Tamping down the emotions swelling in your chest, you straighten, fixing your sweater, and a superficial smile takes up residence on your face.

“Yes, sir?”

He studies you for a beat from the slab of space permitted by his half-opened door, long fingers wrapped around the oakwood like spindly spider limbs. He gives you a once over, his brows slightly wrinkled. His lips quiver, gaze pensive like he wants to say something. Something other than what next comes out. 

“Would you mind assisting me with something?” he asks, his tone deceptively impassive. 

Your stomach lurches, the feeling akin to cresting over the slope of a roller coaster. You swallow, pushing your disappointment to the back burner. What did you expect him to say? Sorry? Like he even knows you’re upset. Like he knows why you’re upset. 

Like he cares. 

You nod curtly, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans. “Of course, sir.”

You move to your desk, your nerves exploding like solar flares beneath your skin while Sylus slinks back into his office. He promptly reappears, thrusting a thick stack of envelopes of varying sizes and colors towards you. Your vision blurs and adjusts as you glance between him and the envelopes.

“Christmas cards,” he answers flatly with a shrug. “I could use some help opening and drafting up responses to them all.” 

“Oh.” Try to sound more disappointed, why don’t you? 

Your fingers graze the clutch of his hand when you reach for the cards. And the worn, warm glide of his skin beneath your fingertips makes you stiffen. You wonder what it would feel like to purposely hold his hand. To commit the feel of his palm to memory. But you banish such thoughts, bowing your head and ducking away.

“Sorry,” you pinch out, moving to the chaise sofa against the wall by his office door. 

He’s wordless as he plops down beside you, releasing a weighted sigh. He drapes his arm along the back of the seat. You try vainly to ignore his slender fingers near your shoulder, drumming against the polished leather. 

You lapse into a rigid silence, your shoulders and jaw set. You find your resolve trickling away, the warmth he exudes beside you making you feel dizzy and shameless. He even has the audacity to smell good, that unmistakable mixture of birch wood, pressed clothing, and his natural musk, conspiring together to overhaul your senses. 

You wonder if he would be offended if you just… leaned a little this way and—forget it. The bubbly’s getting to you. You’re not testing your luck tonight. You worked your ass off to secure this job, enduring tireless screenings and background checks. Worked even harder to gain his trust. No sense in allowing your feelings to compromise your position. 

Besides, you know where you stand with him. Or don’t stand. The spectacle before with the darling Ms. Hunter was all the confirmation you needed. The words you never stood a chance resound in your head like a struck gong. You scoff, tearing into a crimson envelope, dispelling the cacophony in your head. 

“This one is from Mrs. Carter over in HR,” you say, waving the card around. You don your usual playful mask, praying your hurt doesn’t show through the fissures. He acknowledges you with a gruff sound, immersed in a card of his own. You take that as your cue to continue.

Feigning nonchalance, you flip the card open. You clear your throat, repositioning yourself on the sticky, squeaky sofa, crossing your legs, and leaning towards the opposite chair arm. You rattle off the card’s contents aloud. A generic greeting, hollow praise, a bidding for a successful new year. 

“Send her a gift card,” he answers dismissively. You scoff, tucking the card between your thigh and the chair’s arm. Is it just you, or is he being unbearably cold? You’re the one with the wounded pride here.

You occupy yourself with another letter, trying to quell the new swell of emotions burbling in your chest. You’ve reread the same line repeatedly, the cursive scrawl embedded into the cardstock blurring and bending. It’s exceedingly difficult to focus with him so close. And you find yourself stealing little glimpses of him in your peripheral.

He looks even better beneath the incandescent lights like this, like a Roman sculpture bred from patient hands. His cheeks are mottled red, probably from throwing back one too many glasses of champagne. Delicate, alabaster strands fall from their usual coiffure, sweeping over set brows and hollow cheeks. Dark lashes dust over warm ivory skin, scarlet irises dancing beneath as he reads over another Christmas card. You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. Find yourself, too, swallowing against the dry, scratchy feeling in your throat.

You tug in the neckline of your sweater. It’s itchy and thick, and the heater’s turned up in the building to combat the cold outside. You’re uncomfortable because of the temperature and not because your boss is so unbearably close.

With a sigh, you peel yourself from the lounge. You venture to your desk in search of a letter opener. If you’re going to spend the rest of your night working, you might as well make the task a little less daunting. Rifling through your drawers, you happen upon the biggest one. And your breath catches, grip white-knuckled on the brass knob when you catch sight of it. Inside lies your present—his present—the intricate foil wrapping gleaming condescendingly.

Something pulls in your chest. Your hand shakes. Your lips pull into a taut line, embarrassment spuming like a hot geyser into your face. You’re about to slam the drawer shut, but a streak of warm skin stains your peripheral vision. And as horror descends onto your features, he snatches up the contents of your drawer faster than you can process things. 

“What’s this now?” your boss asks, intrigue mixed with amusement hanging in the boughs of his voice. 

Wide-eyed and mortified, you look at him. Your flight or fight instincts kick in, pushing you towards the latter. He dons a wolfish grin as you swipe at the box in his hand, and he holds it just out of reach. Damn him for being so absurdly tall!

“Sir!” you clip, swiping at the gift like an enraged feline. He doesn’t relent, instead spurred by your reaction, and the contents of the box shift about as he continues his childish game of keep away. Your chest slides against him each time you strain on tippy-toe. And you try to ignore how pleasant he feels, warm and hard-bodied against you.

Spinning out of reach, your boss chuckles at your expense. He seems to enjoy this, watching you hop after him like a field mouse, trying vainly to swipe the object from his hand. 

“You think I didn’t notice you fretting over this all night?” he teases once you’ve stopped—at least for now—your cheeks puffing out, nostrils flaring. 

“Mr. Sylus, I—”

“And you weren’t even going to give it to me.” He clicks his tongue, feigning hurt. “What have I done to warrant such cruelty?”

Reality slowly seeps in. He’s one step closer to opening your gift and discovering how much of a useless spazz you are. Switching tactics, you hold out a placating hand, stepping towards him like he’s holding a charged explosive.

“Sir, I need that back!”

His mouth forms a pensive line as his gaze shifts between you and the box clutched in his fingers. “Why? It’s mine, isn’t it? It has my name on it.” He squints at the meticulous scrawl of your penmanship, and when you make a surprise lunge toward the box when you think he’s distracted, he swings his arm out of reach, baiting you like a bull.

He laughs low, a mirthful crease to his eyes. You’d take time to appreciate it if you weren’t fighting for your life. 

“What’s got you so worked up? What could possibly be in here that you’re willing to bite my head off to get it back?”

You swallow thickly, chest heaving as you watch Sylus drop onto your leather rolling chair, cross-legged and smiling like the cat who caught the canary. He shakes the box near his ear, its contents rattling about. 

“Sir, don’t.” But it’s too late. The sound of paper ripping is jarring in the stillness of your office space. 

You’re stiff as stone, mouth hinged open, terror screwing up your features. Eventually, you concede to your fate, hands falling listlessly at your sides whilst your boss uncovers what lurks beneath the pretty foil paper you’d spent so much time wrapping his present in. You pour yourself onto the chaise lounge, your shoulders touching your ears, feeling like a child waiting with their parents at the principal’s office. You sneak little glances at his hands, each tear making you wince like a scrape against your heart.

Sylus quirks a quizzical brow at you, looking between the matte grey box he uncovered in his hand and you. You don’t contest him, too busy trying to remember how to breathe. He takes your cue, slowly peeling the lid off the box. He reaches inside to procure yet another box, slightly smaller than the one it’s nested in, neatly wrapped in paper similar to what he just tore off. 

Giving you a perturbed look, Sylus repeats the previous process. And again, he’s faced with matte gray. He carries on like this, peeling back a lid, finding another box nested inside, and tearing through wrapping paper for another three iterations.

“How long does this go on?” he prods, faced with another box. “And how many trees did you kill to pull this off?”

You press the tips of your index fingers together, pursing your lips as you look elsewhere. “You’re almost there.” You’re half-grateful he decided to be shit about it. You don’t feel as bad for nesting his gift away like matryoshka dolls. He deserves to feel the same distress he subjected you to mere minutes ago.

Vexation rolls off him in waves when he reaches yet another box, and he fixes you with a look that bodes danger. There aren’t too many times you’ve witnessed him this annoyed. He’s normally like this when his afternoon nap is interrupted by anyone but you or he’s dealing with a particularly ornery client. 

You stand from the couch with a nervous titter in your throat, snatching up the discarded red bow and ribbons you adorned his gift with and tacking it onto the crown of your head. You do a little jig, something to dispel the tension, wordlessly cheering him on. 

Sylus rolls his eyes with a resigned sigh. A ghostly smile rounds his lips thereafter, and you could swear you see something like fondness shining in his eyes at your antics. It disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by a determined pinch between his brows. 

You continue swaying your hips from side to side and pumping your fists in the air, the bow's ribbons falling comically over your eyes and water-falling off your shoulders. 

Finally, finally, Sylus exposes a matte, black box that’s the size of his palm. Wrapping paper lies like carnage at his feet, bent-up cardboard boxes piled atop your desk. You sigh in relief, though it’s short-lived, as he opens the final barrier between him and his gift.

He studies the contents of this new box, eerily quiet. You swallow as he reaches inside, producing something garish and pink from within. “What the hell is this?” he queries, waving the plastic novelty revolver around.  

You snort, the flatness of his tone catching you off guard. “A gun,” you answer as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Sylus scoffs. “Clearly. But what is it for?”

Flourishing your arms, you plaster on a grin. “For you to put me down in case you no longer find any use for me!”

Looking between the pink revolver and you, he crooks his finger around the trigger, huffing a disbelieving laugh. “You want me to ‘Old Yeller’ you?”   

“If that’s what it comes down to.” And what comedic timing he has, pulling the trigger, a banner with Bang printed in bright Comic Sans popping out, complimented by a flurry of rainbow paper confetti.

Silence lapses between you as the confetti flutters to the floor. You caution a look at your boss, and he shakes his head, his lips crooked into a smirk, though the knit of his brows reveals his disappointment. 

“You can also use it during your meetings when someone pisses you off,” you warily add, shifting your weight between your feet. He doesn’t honor you with a response, instead setting the revolver on your desk with a definitive clack. He studies something in the distance, seemingly ignoring you.

If you weren’t already feeling silly before, you most certainly do now. You figured something unconventional would suit your boss. Something to define your work relationship, the pair of you often trading morbid and esoteric jokes to make the day's hustle a little less daunting. It seemed like a good idea when it caught your eye in the mall. In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t a good buy after all. Especially when compared to Ms. Hunter's gift, and the recollection makes something cold wash over your innards.

You press the tips of your index fingers together, gaze cast on the floor. You’ve screwed up, and you’ll probably lose your job over this. Either that or your working relationship will turn to shit. You’d honestly rather be relieved of your position when considering the latter option. Turning to leave, to pick up the jagged shards of your pride and finish tidying up, you gasp when you feel a warm presence behind you, the fine hairs littering your body standing at attention. 

You turn to acknowledge him, wincing away, expecting to be struck. Mr. Sylus has never raised a hand at you before, only lightly flicking your forehead or tapping your nose when he felt playful that day. You realize how ridiculous you must look and sound, but you steel yourself against the worst possible outcome regardless.

A hit never comes. You’re instead greeted with the hard press of a body against yours. With arms loosely winding about your middle and a chin finding the crook of your shoulder. His scent is overwhelming. The heat he exudes is dizzying, wit-pilfering. 

Wide-eyed, with your hands opening and closing awkwardly at your sides, you stiffen as you grapple with the notion that your boss is hugging you. Mr. Sylus. Hugging you. No matter how many times you turn the words over in your mind, you can’t process them. You didn’t even know he was capable of such an act.

“Thank you,” he intones, his voice a pleasant vibration in your body. He rubs over the notches of your spine, nuzzling into you further like you’re his security blanket. Once your common sense returns, an affectionate smile touches your lips. 

You clumsily return his hug, unsure of the proper conduct in this situation. But you throw caution to the wind, full-on embracing him, your eyes twinkling with tears. “Of course, sir,” you murmur, swallowing against the swell of emotions in your throat.

The hug ends much too soon for your liking. Sylus peels away, his hands clasping your arms. You tilt your head quizzically as he studies you, the bow's ribbons brushing off your shoulder. You must be quite the doe-eyed sight. His eyes darken as his gaze falls to your lips, his own mouth slightly parting. He looks as if he’s wrestling with something in his mind. Turning it over, at war with himself. He seems to win whatever battle is taking place behind his eyes, for he slowly pans in, his lashes bowing.

And maybe you’re swept up in the moment, too, his hug having buried your defenses in the sand. You don’t fight him, only awkwardly shifting when your lips meet before relaxing beneath the slight chap of his lips. 

Beneath the ethereal twinkle of the fairy lights you hadn’t yet snatched down, through the stillness of the investment firm’s tenth floor, and with your pulse thundering in your throat, Mr. Sylus kisses you. A full press of lips, his grip on your arms tightening the barest as if to keep you rooted to the spot. Not that you would run, feeling weightless, like navigating a dream. 

As quickly as reality floats onto your shoulders like a wispy shawl, he pulls back, wild-eyed and panting. And it’s as if you’re the greatest sin he was never meant to indulge in. He releases you before tearing a shaky hand through his tresses, pushing out a weighted exhale. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping away from you before you can think, each hurried thump of his loafers across the floor like a strike to your racing heart.

You strain your ears for every bit of sound until the elevator around the corner pings, and you hear him step inside, the doors swishing shut. And you’re left to the swell of static and impenetrable silence, staring after the faint afterimage left by his tall visage. 

You turn towards the ceiling high-window, dazed. Touch your lips with shaky fingers, the sensitive skin still tingling with the remnants of your kiss. Flecks of white streak the violet canvas beyond the window, the first snowfall fluttering in gossamer patterns towards the ground. 

You got what you wanted. What you’d maybe consider the greatest Christmas gift you've ever received. But as a bitter smile tugs at your lips, your eyesight glossing over with a warm film, and you clutch your chest, your thoughts seep in.

Why does it feel like it’s not what he wanted? 

[leo-in-the-pitt]

On Your Own

Pairing Jack Abbot x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a second year resident in the Pitt who’s been working on a research project since you started intern year. The San Diego Emergency Medicine Conference is right around the corner. But when Robby has to cancel on the trip, you’re forced to go at it alone. But are you actually there alone?

Warnings: beginning is all fluff but the end is something else, Jack Abbot is a flirt, strong language, sexual tension, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, handjob/blowjob, all the dirty stuff tbh 

Word Count: 5.9k

Tuesday

The fluorescent lights at the back nurse’s station flicker just enough to make you squint. You’re slumped in your chair sipping your lukewarm coffee. Your tablet’s screen glows with the final draft of your presentation slides—months of work on resident burnout in the ER, distilled into bullet points and graphs. The numbers are grim: 60% of ER residents report severe burnout by their second year, 40% consider leaving medicine entirely. 

You’ve lived those stats, felt the weight of 24-hour shifts and patients you couldn’t save. This research is your lifeline, a chance to make a difference, and the Emergency Medicine Research Conference in San Diego is where you’ll present it.

Robby leans against the counter, his arms crossed, his face etched with exhaustion. “Bad news, kid,” Robby says, his voice low, like he’s breaking it to you gently. “Hospital execs are coming end of the week. Budget reviews, staff evals, the whole circus. I can’t leave.”

Your stomach drops. “What? Robby, we’ve been planning this for months. We’re supposed to fly out Thursday.”

He sighs, rubbing his temple. “I know. I’d rather be in California than kissing up to suits who think ‘trauma’ is a line item on a spreadsheet. But if I’m not here to defend the department…” He trails off, letting the implication hang. 

You’ve seen the understaffing, the broken equipment, the nurses pulling double duty. If Robby doesn’t stay, the ER could take a hit.

“So the conference?” you ask, though you already know the answer. Your palms are sweaty, and you wipe them on your scrubs.

Robby meets your eyes, steady but apologetic. “You gotta go alone, kid. I got the tickets last second—snagged you a window seat, but no way I’m stuck in the middle, so I was gonna take the aisle two rows up. Now it’s just you.”

The words land like a gurney hitting a wall. You’re 29, a second-year resident, competent enough in the ER’s chaos, but you’ve never traveled solo. Not once. Family vacations as a kid, college road trips with friends, even your move to Pittsburgh—you always had someone. The idea of navigating airports, hotels, and a high-stakes conference 2,500 miles away without anyone’s guidance makes your chest tighten. A window seat sounds nice, but it doesn’t dull the panic of flying alone.

But the research—your research—is too important. You spent your intern year interviewing residents, crunching data, and fighting for every scrap of insight into why ER doctors burn out. Second year tightening it all up. This conference is your shot to get it in front of experts, the best of the best ER physicians, to maybe change how hospitals treat their residents.

“I’ve never done this alone,” you admit, voice quieter than you mean it to be. “What if I screw it up? The presentation, the Q&A—”

“You won’t.” Robby cuts you off, his tone firm. “You know this data inside out. You’ve lived it. You’re ready for this, whether you feel it or not.” He softens, offering a half-smile. “Besides, you’re not totally alone. You’ll have colleagues there. Network, make connections.”

You nod, trying to believe him, but the anxiety churns. You glance at your tablet, the slide deck mocking you with its polished charts. 

Robby claps a hand on your shoulder, a rare gesture from him. “Get some rest before you fly out. And don’t let the airport coffee scam you—it’s worse than ours.”

As he heads back to work, you’re left with the hum of the break room fridge and a sinking feeling. 

Three days to San Diego. Alone.

————————————————————

Wednesday 

The next morning, you’re in the ER locker room, shoving your stethoscope into your bag, when Abbot appears in the doorway. 

His silver hair is mussed, his scrubs slightly untucked, like he just woke up in the on-call room. You’ve seen him on night shifts, moving with a quiet intensity that makes him a legend among residents. His past as a war veteran, his steady hands in a crisis—there’s something about him that always catches your attention.

“Heard you’re heading to California solo,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “You nervous?”

“Pretty sure I’m going to crash and burn.”

“And here I was thinking you were gonna win the whole thing.” He shrugs.

You pause, zipping your bag, a flicker of doubt surfacing. “You can’t possibly even think that. You haven’t even read my research.”

Jack’s eyes meet yours, steady and sure. “I know you. That’s enough to know you’ll be okay on your own. You’re gonna kick ass there. Bet you’ll look good doing it too.”

Your cheeks heat, and you roll your eyes to cover it. “Flattery won’t help me survive San Diego alone”

His smirk widens. “Maybe not, but it’s true.” He pushes off the doorframe, giving you a nod. “Knock ‘em dead kid.” He’s gone before you can respond, leaving your heart racing, his words a quiet spark in your chest.

His words linger, simple but heavy, like a promise. Maybe you can do this after all.

————————————————————

Thursday 

The hotel room in San Diego smells faintly of lemon cleaner and ocean air, a stark contrast to the ER. You drop your backpack on the stiff queen bed, the generic beige walls and stiff carpet doing little to ease the knot in your stomach. The flight was a blur—crowded airports, a window seat next to a snoring businessman. Now, alone in this room with a view of a parking lot, the reality of tomorrow’s conference presentation hits hard. Your research on resident burnout—your life’s work for the past year—feels like a fragile thing, and you’re not sure you can carry it alone.

You pull out your phone and text Langdon, your best friend and senior resident. If anyone can talk you off the ledge, it’s him.

You: Landed in San Diego. In my hotel room. Freaking out. This was a big mistake.

Your phone buzzes almost instantly.

Lang: Yo, you made it! Solo travel champ! Stop spiraling, you’re gonna crush this.

You: Easy for you to say. I’m presenting to a room full of attendings tomorrow. Alone. What if I choke?

Lang: You won’t. You know this burnout stuff cold—lived it, breathed it. Those big shots are gonna eat it up. Take a breath, champ.

You flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The conference doesn’t start until tomorrow morning, leaving you a free day to…what? Wander San Diego alone? The thought makes your chest tighten again.

You: I’ve got a whole day here before it starts. No clue what to do. Never been to California.

Lang: Dude, it’s San Diego. Sun, beaches, tacos. Go explore! Get outta that hotel room. You’re not chained to your slides.

You: Explore? By myself? I barely survived the airport.

Lang: You’re a badass ER resident. You’ve handled codes, psych patients, and that time I spilled coffee on your charts. You got this. Hit the beach live a little. Doctor’s orders.

You smile despite yourself, picturing Lang’s mock-serious face. He’s right—you need to calm down. But the thought of navigating a new city alone, with the weight of tomorrow’s presentations looming, feels like too much.

You: Fine. I’ll try. But if I get lost, I’m blaming you.

Lang: Deal. Send pics of the ocean. And don’t stress—tomorrow, you’re gonna make us proud.

You set the phone down, Lang’s words echoing faintly. The presentation slides are on your laptop, ready for one last review, but the idea of a free day in San Diego tugs at you. Maybe you could step outside, feel the sun, shake off the nerves. Or maybe you’ll just stay here, triple-checking your data until your eyes blur. Either way, tomorrow’s coming, and you’re on your own.

—————————————————————

Friday - Conference Day 

You barely slept. The San Diego hotel room, with its too-stiff pillows and faint hum of the air conditioner, offered no mercy. Yesterday, you wandered downtown alone, the sun too bright and the streets too unfamiliar. You grabbed a burger and a margarita at a crowded taqueria, hoping the drink would dull your nerves, but it just left you buzzed and restless. 

Back in your room, you sprawled on the bed, scrolling through TikTok—endless loops of dance challenges and ER skits that hit too close to home—trying to relax. It didn’t work. 

Your mind kept replaying your presentation slides, the stats on resident burnout, the stakes of today’s conference. By 3 a.m., you were still awake, staring at the ceiling, heart racing like you were running a code.

Now, it’s 5:30 a.m., and you’re rushing to get ready in the hotel bathroom, the mirror fogged from a quick shower. You pull on a tailored navy blouse and black slacks, professional but practical, your hair yanked back into a messy bun, still damp. A swipe of mascara and lip gloss is all you manage, your hands shaky from nerves and lack of sleep, your reflection showing the frazzled edge of a resident facing a make-or-break day. You check your phone one last time—Lang’s texts still glowing with encouragement—and grab your backpack, the weight of your laptop and handouts grounding you as you head out.

Now, it’s 6:30 a.m., and you’re at the San Diego Convention Center, one of the first presenters let in. The hall smells of fresh carpet and coffee, its high ceilings amplifying every sound—clattering carts, murmured setup instructions, the squeak of your shoes. Your table is a small island in a sea of posters and displays, your laptop open, your printed handouts neatly stacked. A foam board behind you screams your research title: Burnout in Emergency Medicine Residents: Prevalence and Pathways to Resilience. The numbers—60% burnout rate, 40% considering quitting—are bolded, impossible to miss. You adjust the board for the third time, hands shaky from lack of sleep and too much hotel coffee.

You’re here to pitch your work to anyone who stops by, from curious residents to stone-faced attendings. Somewhere among them are the judges, anonymous faces deciding the top three projects for research grants. Those grants could fund your next study, maybe even change how hospitals support their residents. The pressure feels like a vice around your chest. 

You’ve never done this alone, and without Robby’s steady presence, every glance from a passerby feels like a judgment.

A young doctor in a UCSD badge pauses at your table, skimming your handout. “Interesting topic,” she says, her tone neutral. “What’s your intervention model?”

You swallow, launching into your pitch. “We surveyed 200 residents across five ERs, found 60% report severe burnout by year two. Our proposed intervention focuses on structured debriefs and flexible scheduling to reduce emotional exhaustion.” You point to a graph, your voice steadier than you feel. She nods, asks about sample size, then moves on. 

You exhale, but there’s no time to relax—another researcher stops, then a group of residents, each with questions you scramble to answer. Are the judges watching? Is that gray-haired attending with the clipboard one of them? You can’t tell.

Between visitors, you check your phone. A new text from Lang.

Lang: You at the conference yet? Bet you’re killing it.

You: Barely slept. At my table, talking to randos. No clue who the judges are. Freaking out.

Lang: Chill, kid. You know this stuff cold. Just be you—smart, badass, saving the ER one slide at a time. You got this.

You smile faintly, but the nerves don’t budge. Another attendee approaches, this one with a conference organizer badge, and your heart skips. “Nice setup,” he says, eyeing your board. 

“Burnout’s a hot topic. Got any preliminary findings on interventions?”

You dive in, explaining your data, but your eyes keep scanning the crowd. Every face could be a judge, every question a test. You’re alone in this, carrying the weight of your research and the hope of a grant that could make a difference. Jack Abbot’s words from Pittsburgh echo faintly—“I know you. That’s enough.”—but right now, it’s just you, your table, and a room full of strangers.

————————————————————

It’s 12:30 p.m., and your stomach growls loud enough to rival the convention center’s hum. You haven’t eaten all morning, too wired to think about food. Your iced coffee sits melted at the back of your table, a sad puddle in a plastic cup, next to a barely touched water bottle. You haven’t sat down, haven’t stepped away to check out the other projects—just kept talking, pitching your burnout research to every passerby. 

The latest group, a mix of residents and an attending, just left, their questions about your intervention model still ringing in your ears. You’re wiping sweat from your brow when a slow, deliberate clap starts behind them.

You turn, and your jaw drops. It’s Jack, standing there in sharp black dress pants and a crisp white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his silver hair catching the convention center’s light, a roguish grin on his face as he keeps clapping. 

You’ve only seen him out of scrubs once before, at last year’s residency year-end party, nearly a full year ago—the next one’s set for two weeks after you’re back in Pittsburgh, to celebrate the end of the residency year and the start of the next for all the ER interns and residents. 

The polished look, not quite a suit but close, makes your pulse skip, his presence as commanding as ever. “Really solid work,” he says, voice low and warm. “Knew I was right—you’ve got a good shot at winning this thing.”

You blink, mouth still open. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, stepping closer. “Well when Robby found out he couldn’t make it, he asked me. Couldn’t pass up a couple days off. And I guess seeing what all this research is about anyway.”

“Oh, so you’re not here for me, you’re here for a free vacation?” you shoot back, half-teasing, half-stunned.

Jack’s grin widens. “Two things can be true.” His eyes flick to your melted iced coffee and untouched water, then back to you. “Think I’d be right in assuming you haven’t eaten today?”

You smile, sheepish. “Uh well no but, I’m fine. I swear.”

“Let’s go,” he says, tone firm but kind. “You need a break. Pretty sure walking away for a bit won’t get you disqualified.”

Your brow furrows, a flicker of worry. “I didn’t think being disqualified was even a thing here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Your research is about resident burnout sweetheart, yet you’re standing here burning yourself out. Let’s go.”

You hesitate, but his steady gaze wins. The “sweetheart

You grab your phone and follow him downstairs to a convention center café, where you snag a turkey sandwich and a soda. 

Over the small table, you spill everything—the terrifying plane ride, the restless night scrolling TikTok, the dozen times you’ve pitched your research today.  He listens, really listens, his eyes locked on you, no trace of the usual ER chaos between you. It’s different from work, where he’s all business and quick quips. Here, he’s present, his quiet nods and occasional smirk making you feel seen in a way that steadies your nerves.

After eating, you both wander the conference floor, checking out other projects—trauma protocols, AI diagnostics, rural ER studies. Jack points out a flashy poster, muttering, “All style, no substance,” and you laugh, tension easing. Back at your table, he grabs a chair behind you, hyping you up between pitches with a quiet “Nailed it” or a teasing “You forgot to mention you’re a rockstar.” His presence is a lifeline, keeping you grounded as the afternoon drags on.

By 5 p.m., the presentation session ends, and there’s an hour wait before the awards in the main room. Jack tries to nudge you toward the front, but you insist on the back, sinking into a chair. “No way I’m sitting up there,” you mutter, nerves spiking again. He relents, sitting beside you as the ceremony starts, specific awards handed out first. Then, the big ones: the top three grants. Third place goes to a researcher from New York. Then—

“Second place: Burnout in Emergency Medicine Residents, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.”

You freeze. Jack glances over, grinning. “Hey, think that’s your name they just called. Told you we should’ve sat up front.” He nudges your arm.

You stumble to the stage, heart pounding, grateful there’s no speech required—you’d probably puke on the front row. After quick photos with the other winners, you weave through the crowd back to him, slow-clapping again, eyes twinkling. “Knew you could do it.”

“Abbot, I’m actually puke,” you say, half-laughing, half-serious.

He chuckles. “At least the worst part’s over. Come on, you’ve barely eaten all day. Now that it’s done, you deserve a nice dinner. Maybe a drink or two. My treat?”

“Yes, please,” you say, relief flooding you. He grabs your sweater from the chair, slinging it over his shoulder, and leads you outside, the San Diego evening air warm and promising.

——————————————————————— 

He taps his phone, calling an Uber as you step into the San Diego evening, the air warm and tinged with salt from the nearby ocean. The convention center’s lights fade behind you, and the buzz of your second-place win still hums in your chest, mixing with exhaustion and something lighter—relief, maybe, or the thrill of his unexpected presence.

“Where are we even going?” you ask, glancing at him as you walk toward the pickup spot.

He smirks, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You don’t like surprises, do you?”

“I don’t think I hate anything more than surprises,” you say, half-serious, your nerves still raw from the day.

“Guess you’ll just have to deal with it tonight,” he says, his voice teasing but warm, his eyes catching yours in the streetlight’s glow.

The Uber pulls up, and you slide into the backseat with him, the driver weaving through downtown to a restaurant that’s equal parts fancy and casual—exposed brick walls, soft lighting, and a bar lined with craft bottles. You settle at a corner table, ordering a glass of wine and a plate of seared salmon, while Jack goes for a whiskey and steak tacos. The food is incredible, the wine smooth and heady, but it’s the conversation that hits harder. 

Away from the ER’s chaos, Jack’s different—not just the war-veteran-turned-legend with steady hands and sharp quips. He talks about his early days in medicine, the desert sunsets from his military tours, the music he listens to when the night shift gets too heavy. You share more than you planned—your fear of failing at the conference, the way Pittsburgh’s gray winters weigh on you, even a dumb story about a TikTok trend you tried to follow last night. He laughs, really laughs, and you see a softness in him, a side the hospital rarely lets out.

The conversation turns deeper, past casual. You talk about burnout—not just your research, but how it feels, the weight of patients you couldn’t save, the nights you questioned why you chose this life. Jack nods, his eyes steady, sharing his own stories—moments from the battlefield that still wake him up. It’s raw, unguarded, and you feel a pull, a connection that’s new and terrifying and good.

The restaurant empties out, and a server’s voice cuts through: “Closing in ten.” You glance at your phone—midnight. Only one other table remains, their laughter faint across the room.

Jack leans back, smiling. “Didn’t even realize what time it was.”

You laugh, a little dazed. “Me neither.” It’s almost midnight. He grabs your sweater from the chair, holding it out to help you slip it on. His hand grazes your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine—not from the cold, but from the warmth of his touch, electric in the best way.

Outside, you walk to a street corner to wait for the Uber, the city quiet around you. The silence between you isn’t heavy, just full, like the moment’s holding its breath. You break it first. 

“Thank you, Abbot. I really needed this tonight.”

He steps closer, his voice soft. “We’re not at work. Call me Jack.” His eyes hold yours, steady and sure. “You deserve all of this. Never seen a resident as incredible as you.”

You’re face to face now, inches apart, your heart pounding harder than it did on stage. Thoughts race—he’s your boss, this is a line you shouldn’t cross—but they blur as his hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers linger on your cheek, warm and gentle, and your breath catches. His gaze drops to your lips, and your pulse spikes, louder than the day’s nerves.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low, almost a whisper.

You don’t speak, just nod, your eyes locked on his. His lips meet yours, soft, gentle, a quiet promise in the way they move. Your bodies press closer, the world narrowing to the warmth of him, the steadiness of his hands. It’s brief but endless, until headlights flash beside you, the Uber pulling up.

—————————————————————

The Uber drops you off at the hotel, the neon sign casting a soft glow over the entrance. Jack’s hand rests lightly on your lower back as you walk through the front door, his touch steady and warm, grounding you in the buzzing aftermath of the kiss. 

The lobby is quiet, just a bored clerk scrolling on his phone and the hum of an ice machine. You head toward the elevator, and just before the doors slide open, Jack’s hand slips from behind to find yours, his fingers intertwining with a gentle squeeze that sends a spark up your arm.

Inside the elevator, you glance at him, his profile sharp under the fluorescent light. “What floor you on?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“Four,” he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You?”

“Same,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. The elevator dings, and you step out, still hand in hand, the hallway carpet muffling your steps. You realize his room is right next to yours—417 to your 418. He stops at his door, but as you start to walk toward yours, he tugs you back, your body pressing against his again, close enough to feel the heat of him.

“Wanna come in?” he asks, his voice low, eyes searching yours with a mix of mischief and something deeper.

You bite your lip, nerves and want swirling in your chest. “Sure,” you say, the word slipping out before you can overthink it.

He unlocks the door, and you step inside, the room a mirror of yours—beige walls, stiff bed, a single chair by the window. His lone book bag sits on the floor, unzipped but barely touched. You laugh, nodding at it. “Wow, you travel light, don’t you?”

Jack grins, locking the door behind you with a soft click. “Here for less than 24 hours, flight back’s at 8 a.m. No point unpacking my three outfits.”

“That’s cute,” you tease, laughing as you meet his eyes.

He steps closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you in. “Don’t know if I’ll be needing clothes to sleep in tonight though,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends heat pooling in your core.

You lick your lips, boldness rising. “Oh, so you sleep naked, huh?”

He laughs, a rough, warm sound. “Don’t actually plan on sleeping tonight.” His eyes darken, holding yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“Oh yeah, what exactly you got planned then, Jack?” you challenge, your voice teasing but edged with want. His eyes darken, holding your with an intensity that makes your breath hitch, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart.

“Why don’t I just show you,” he says, his hands sliding around your back, tugging your sweater off in one smooth motion. You kick off your shoes, sending them skidding across the room, and your fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt, pausing at his belt. He yanks your top off, quick and sure, then pops the button on your pants. His lips find your neck, hot and deliberate, grazing the sensitive skin as you shiver.

He pulls back, eyes locked on yours. “You sure you wanna do this?” he asks, voice rough but careful, checking in.

“God, yes,” you breathe, cheat heaving, need drowning out any doubt.

He unhooks your bra with one move, his shirt falling open as you shove it off his shoulders. You shimmy out of your pants, and he pushes you back onto the bed, taking his pants off while standing over you before pinning you under his weight. 

His hands trace your thighs, slow and teasing, as his mouth moves to your chest, lips closing over a nipple, sucking hard enough to make you gasp. You feel him, hard and straining through his briefs, pressed against your thigh. “Already so hard for me,” you tease, voice breathy, running a hand over his bulge, feeling him twitch.

His tongue slips into your mouth, hungry and deep, as his hand slides into your panties, finding you slick and ready.

“Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he growls, his lips trailing to your jaw, then down your neck, each kiss searing your skin. “Tell me what you need, baby. Say it loud.”

“I need you, Jack,” you moan, your head tilting back to give him more access. “God, I need you so bad.”

“Love hearin’ you beg like that,” he says, voice dark, peeling your panties off and tossing them aside. He kisses you again, hungry and deep, his fingers circling your clit, teasing with just enough pressure to make you writhe. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he promises, sliding two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling perfectly as you cry out, hands fisting in his hair.

“Jack, fuck!” you scream, hips bucking against his hand, the pressure building hot and fast. “Don’t stop, please!” His thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, and you come hard, moans echoing off the walls, body trembling as he works you through it.

“That’s it, darlin’, cum for me,” he murmurs, licking a slow path down your stomach, his fingers still moving inside you, drawing out every shudder. 

“Gonna taste you now, make you scream louder.” His mouth closes over your clit, tongue hot and relentless, lapping and sucking hard as you jerk against him, hands tugging his hair. “Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he growls, pinning your thighs to the bed, his tongue circling faster, driving you wild.

“Jack, oh God!” you scream, voice raw, hips bucking as another orgasm builds fast. “You’re too fuckin’ good!” He sucks harder, fingers sliding back in, curling just right, and you come again, louder, cries filling the room as your body shakes uncontrollably.

He kisses his way back up, lips slick with you, eyes dark with hunger. “You’re fuckin’ unreal,” he rasps, settling over you. You push him onto his back, straddling his hips, and tug his briefs down, his cock springing free, thick and heavy against his stomach. You spit into your hand, stroking him slowly, feeling every vein pulse. Leaning down, you kiss the tip, then suck the head, tongue swirling as he groans, hips twitching.

“Fuck, sweetheart, that mouth,” he growls, voice strained. “Keep suckin’ me, baby, just like that.” You moan around him, taking him deeper, hand squeezing his balls gently, making him thrust into your mouth. “Shit, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he gasps, voice breaking.

“Cum for me, Jack,” you tease, pulling off to stroke him with both hands, feeling him throb. “Wanna taste you.”

He grabs your hair, tugging lightly. “Get that pretty mouth back on me, darlin’,” he growls. You dive back in, sucking hard, tongue working him until he comes hard, spilling into your mouth with a loud, guttural moan. You swallow, licking your lips, wiping your chin with your thumb and sucking it clean as he watches, eyes wide with awe.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re incredible,” he pants, voice raw. “Gonna ruin me.”

“Need a second?” you tease, crawling up to face him, your body buzzing with need.

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” he growls, flipping you onto your back, his body pinning you. His hands roam, squeezing your breasts, then sliding down to grip your hips. “Need to be inside you, now,” he says, voice thick, reaching for his bag, then pausing, cursing softly. “Shit, didn’t plan for this. No condom.”

You grab his wrist, breathless. “I’m on the pill. It’s okay. I want you—want to feel all of you, Jack.”

His eyes flare, a low groan escaping. “You’re sure, darlin’?” You nod, pulling him closer. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, kissing you hard, teeth grazing your lip. He positions himself, dragging his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance. “Ready for me, baby?”

“Fuck yes,” you moan, legs wrapping around his waist, voice loud and desperate. “Give it to me, Jack, please!”

He pushes in, bare, slow and deep, the raw stretch intense, filling you 

completely. “Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, bottoming out, hips flush against yours. “Feels so fucking good inside of you.”

“Oh, God, Jack!” you scream, nails raking his shoulders, the raw heat of him overwhelming. “You’re so big, fuck!”

He smirks, pausing, eyes locked on yours. “You okay, babygirl? Can take it slow if you need.”

You grimace, adjusting to his size. “Just… you’re huge. Not used to it.”

He chuckles, low and dirty. “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll make it good.” He slides out almost fully, then back in halfway, letting you adjust, his lips kissing your neck softly. “Tell me when you’re ready for more.”

You nod, hands gripping his face. “I’m ready. Want it rough, Jack, please.”

“Fuck, you’re my kinda dirty,” he growls, approval thick in his voice, thrusts speeding up, hips slamming into yours, the bed creaking loudly. The wet slap of his balls against you fills the room, mingling with your moans. “This pussy’s mine tonight, takin’ me so fucking well,” he rasps, fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles, making you tremble.

“Yes, Jack, fuck!” you scream, voice echoing, body shaking as he hits that perfect spot. “Love how you fuck me, don’t stop!”

“Keep screaming my name, babygirl,” he growls, lips at your ear, thrusts relentless, headboard banging. He shifts, pulling your legs over his shoulders, going deeper, making you cry out louder. “Fuck, you’re so tight like this, squeezing me so good.”

“I’m gonna cum, Jack!” you scream, body tensing, orgasm building fast. 

“Please, harder!”

“Cum for me, darlin’,” he rasps, thrusts brutal, fingers working your clit in sync. “Wanna feel this pussy milk me.” You shatter, screaming his name, clenching hard around him, legs jerking as the orgasm tears through you, raw and intense. He groans, thrusts stuttering, “Fuck, babygirl!” his body shaking as he buries himself in you.

“I want you in my mouth again, Jack,” you pant, voice raw, still trembling. “Need to taste you.”

He pulls out, slick with you, and moves to your mouth, stroking himself. You take him in, sucking eagerly, catching every drop as he cuts, moaning your name. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasps, eyes locked on yours.

He collapses beside you, both of you slick with sweat, the room heavy with the scent of sex. You grab the sheet, pulling it over your naked body, legs still twitching. He laughs, breathless. “You okay over there, darlin’?”

“Fuck, that was…intense,” you say, catching your breath, turning to face him., your face red, “You wanna go again though?”

He shifts, propping himself up, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “Hell yeah, babygirl.” You crawl under the sheet, straddling him, grinding slowly as he hardens beneath you. “Goddamn, you’re gonna drive me fuckin’ insane,” he growls, pulling your hair back to kiss you deeply, hips rocking up to meet yours.

You guide him to your entrance, sinking down, crying out as he fills you again. “Jack, fuck!” you moan, riding him hard, his hands gripping your hips, guiding your pace. “Make me cum again,” you beg, voice loud and desperate.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he rasps, thrusting up, hitting deep, making you scream. You come undone, body shaking, moans echoing as he follows, spilling inside you with a low groan.

You collapse onto his chest, his hands finding your hips, both of you panting. “Goddamn, you’re something else,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. 

“Don’t think I can walk back to my room after that.”

“Then don’t. Stay here with me.”

You turn to him and nod gently.

“Let me clean you up.” He grabs a towel, wiping you gently, his touch lingering, making you shiver. “Got a shirt and boxers if you wanna sleep in ‘em,” he says, tossing the towel aside, grabbing clothes from his bag. You nod, taking them, and head to the bathroom, pulling the door shut.

Leaning against it, your heart races. Holy shit, I just fucked my boss. My mentor. The thrill of it—his hands, his voice, the way he made you scream—mixes with a cold wave of panic. He’s your supervisor, the ER legend you’ve admired for years. What the hell did you just do? 

Your phone sits on the counter, 20 unread texts, eight missed calls—Langdon, Robby, Dana, co-residents, all congratulating you. You want to text Lang, spill everything, hear his dumb jokes to calm you down, but you stop. What would I even say? ‘Just slept with Jack Abbot, oops’? No, he’ll come knocking if you stay in here too long.

You slip into Jack’s shirt and boxers, the fabric smelling faintly of him, and step out. The room’s dark except for his nightstand lamp, Jack in just his briefs, sprawled on the bed. “Look better in those than I do,” he says, smirking, but, there’s a flicker of something else- concern, maybe, or hope.

You chuckle weakly, crawling under the comforter, avoiding his gaze. He pulls you close, lips brushing your forehead. “I’m glad we did this,” he whispers, voice heavy with meaning, but there’s a question in it, like he’s testing the waters.

“Yeah,” you say, voice flat, mind racing. He’s my boss. We’re flying back together in hours. What does this mean? The 5+ hour plane ride looms, a confined space where you can’t escape him—or this. “So, what time do we have to get up for the flight?”

His eyes flicker, like he wanted more from you, a hint of disappointment crossing his face. “Flight’s at 8. Uber by 5:45, latest. Up at 4:30? Gives you time to shower, pack.”

“Sounds good,” you say, voice distant. “Think I’ll skip breakfast. Nervous stomach for the plane ride.”

“Oh… okay,” he says, voice soft, sensing your shift. He grabs his phone, setting the alarm, and turns off the lamp. You feel his hesitation, like he’s debating asking if you’re okay or what this night means, but he stays silent. 

You roll over, pulling the comforter tight, facing away from him, your coldness a wall between you. His breathing slows, but you know he feels it—the distance you’ve put there.

You lie awake, mind spinning. He’s right there, inches away, but you can’t face him. The weight of crossing that line, of what it might mean back at work, presses down. You want to say something, to bridge the gap, but the words won’t come. The room feels too small, the plane ride too long, the future too uncertain.

The alarm blares at 4:30, sharp and jarring, less than two hours since you collapsed beside him. Your stomach twists, and you keep your back to him, eyes fixed on the wall, unwilling to turn and face the man who just changed everything.

Woo Woo, haven't posted in like 3+ weeks but, I'm back now! Let me know what you guys think of this one! Already have a rough draft of a part 2 ready for you guys!!

[vhagarys]

Issa Ānogar {My Blood}

pt.2

targaryen!siblings x reader, brother!aemond x reader, brother!aegon x reader, sister!helaena x reader

summary: drunken words are sober thoughts. you confess your desire for your siblings and come to find such affections are more than reciprocated.

warnings: canon-typical incest, brother x sister, eventual smut, horny reader!, sexual harassment, possessive!targ!siblings

MDNI

Your eyes blearily opened as the throbbing in your head began to finally subside.

I certainly outdid myself last night. You groaned as the sun peaked through the curtains.

The prior evening’s events buzzed through your mind. You recalled chugging from your goblet atop the royal table, stuffing your mouth with lemon cakes, your siblings saving you from the pervy Lannister lord.

Your siblings…

A draft from the open windows delivered a cold sensation to your lower region. You pushed off the blankets to discover a large wet patch on the sheets, your small clothes uncomfortably damp.

You had peaked during your dream. Your dream in which you fantasized of your brothers stretching you open with their cocks while tasting your sisters sweet arousal between her thighs. Though the scenarios varied slightly each time, you had dreamt of this many a time already.

“Seven hells,” you buried your head beneath your pillow as you recalled your brazen actions.

They knew. Knew of the desire you had for them. Your cheeks burned at the thought of having to face them.

Perhaps if I lock myself in here for a fortnight they will have forgotten about my declarations.

Nothing ever sounded as appealing as that.

But, your mother’s timing never fell short of impeccable, and a quiet knock was heard at the door.

In a panic, you darted under the sheets, hoping the intruder will not see you and leave.

“My princess,” your handmaiden Elyse said softly, “The dowager queen has requested your presence at breakfast this morning. Shall I run a bath?”

You sighed in relief upon realizing who was there. You were very fortunate to have such a thoughtful and attentive handmaiden. Peeking through the covers, you shook your head.

“You know how I hate the formalities,” you narrowed your eyes at her. A small smile made its way onto her face as she bowed lightly and entered your chambers.

“That won’t be necessary, love. I may request something else though.” Curious, she approached your disheveled form and once in arms reach you dramatically clutched onto her arm.

“I believe I did something foolish last night,” you muttered. Though many may deem inappropriate, you shared many things with Elyse, developing what you hoped was a friendship with each other.

She reciprocated your touch, rubbing small circles on your lower arm. Chuckling to herself, she mused, “This wouldn’t happen to correlate with your indulgence in last nights wine, would it?”

The blush that spread across your cheeks was almost instantaneous. You pulled her down into an embrace, reciprocating her laugh.

“Ugh, I made such a fool of myself!”

Pulling back and observing the pout on your face, she couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for her friend.

Grabbing your hand, she pulled you onto your feet and led you over to your vanity and began brushing through your tangled knots.

“I thought the dress you wore last night was lovely, Y/N,” she divided your hair and started three smaller braids.

You smiled softly and reveled in the heavenly sensation of her fingers combing through your strands.

Once finished, she walked over to your closet and pulled out a satin, emerald gown. She knew how you hated to dress in a corset in the morning, thus she opted for a piece that naturally hugged onto your curves.

While she dug through your clothes, you quickly replaced your wet small clothes, preferring not to be wet between the legs at breakfast.

How she was able to transform you into something presentable, you swore was some form of witchcraft.

Sliding on some wool slippers that disappeared under your gown, you realized you would not be allowe solitary confinement.

Before opening the doors, you reached for Elyse and pleaded, “Stay with me, eat with me please,”

At this, she pulled you into a hug, “Everything will be alright, Y/N. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

If only she knew, you gulped.

———

You stared at the doors to the dining room, hoping to the gods to only find your mother inside. The door creaked opened, and to your misfortunate, were soon in the presence of the very group you had prayed to avoid.

Your mother sat at the head of the table with all three of your siblings engaged in some light chatter. They all seemed cheerful as they feasted on warm lamprey pies and intricately baked raspberry tarts. The sight made your mouth water.

Upon hearing the door open, four sets of eyes landed on you.

You prayed no one could hear the loud thrum of your erratic heartbeat.

“Good morning mother, brothers, sister.” You bowed your head lightly before taking your place at the table next to Helaena.

“I trust you slept, my dear? Your siblings were informing me of your restlessness last night when they brought you to your chambers.”

Staring down at your plate, you were more interested in the pastries and fruit than entertaining any sort of conversation.

Across the table, you could feel your brothers gaze drill holes in you.

You cleared your throat, “Yes mother, I apologize for my brazenness last evening. I was just so thrilled of our families victory and indulged too heavily on the wine. It won’t happen again.”

Helaena chuckled and lightly grazed your arm, her touch seared into your skin. “It’s quite alright, dear sister. No one faults you for engaging in the celebrations.”

You shifted your gaze away from her fingers on you to her face. Looking into her eyes, there was no doubt she remembered everything that transpired last night. You offered a half smile before returning to your food.

Aegon couldn’t hide his amusement at your obvious discomfort. He added, “And you looked absolutely delightful, sister. Do tell me, where did you conjure such a beautiful gown from?” He smirked darkly at you.

Awaiting your response, you quickly lied, “I found it in my closet buried beneath some other clothes,” your cheeks were inflamed at your brother’s hidden accusation.

He shook his head, “You know, I seem to recall Helaena wearing a dress almost identical less than a fortnight ago”, an almost sadistic smile graced the kings face.

Aemond watched the scene unfold, almost wanting to step in and tell his siblings to stop their teasing. A more devilish voice in his head wanted to see you squirm, to return the favor from last night.

He leaned forward and folded his hands in front of him. You met his gaze and pleaded with your eyes for him to change the subject.

“I worried for our sister last evening. From now on, I think her intake of wine at such festivities should be monitored closely. I’d hate for something to happen to her,” he spoke to your mother yet kept his eyes fixed to you.

A surge of annoyance flared through you, gripping your fork tightly “I am not a child, that will not be necessary.”

“On the contrary, mandia. After you were nearly assaulted by the Lannister man, it would put my mind at ease knowing someone was watching over you. Perhaps I will accompany you at the next celebration.”

They were ganging up on you, attempting to humiliate you in front of your mother. Their actions only served to confirm they indeed remembered your words from the previous night.

As with many Targaryens, one of the biggest flaws were their tempers. As hard as you tried to refrain from losing yours, Aegon’s patronizing words caused you to snap.

Your fork clanged loudly on your plate as you seethed, prior thoughts of embarrassment long gone.

“Pay mind to how you speak to me, brother. I will not be disrespected.”

Aegon grinned cruelly at your outburst, satisfied for getting a rise out of you.

Your mother quickly intervened, “Enough. The matter is through. Y/N, do not be wasteful and eat.”

You gritted your teeth, the urge to slap each of your siblings the most appetizing thing in your mind.

Finishing your plate in a hurry, you asked to be excused and stormed out of the room. Your siblings all exchanged a glance as you left.

———

Forgoing your morning Valyrian lessons, you barged through the gates of the dragonpit, calming when you saw your dragon Vermithor.

Sensing your presence, the dragon lifted his head and nudged you with his snout.

You had claimed the ferocious dragon when you were only eight years of age. Since then, you two had developed quite a close bond.

Your mother had screamed in terror when she saw your reaching up to touch the most terrifying of beasts in the pit.

As if sensing your distress, he let out a growl to which you whispered, “Kostagon īlon s��vegon tubī?”

(Can we fly today?)

Spreading his majesty brown wings, he leaned down enough for you to climb on. Soon, you were soaring through the clouds, the transpirations with your siblings long forgotten.

You reveled in the feeling of the cold wind against your face and the freedom of escaping the daily mundanities of the land below.

A sudden twirl which caused you to hang upside down for a moment evoked a yelp from you. You laughed and Vermithor responded with a pleased grunt.

Taking refuge in the misty clouds above Dragonstone, you were blissfully unaware of the larger dragon gaining traction behind you.

Vermithor whipped his head around and let out a warning shriek. This promptly snapped you out of your day dreaming and soon saw the head of Vhagar peaking through the clouds.

“Ziry’s sȳz, ziry’s issa lēkia,” you soothed, though irked at your brother following after you.

(It’s okay, it’s my brother)

Once they were closer, you could make out the shit-eating grin on Aemonds face.

“Sōvegon qrīdrughagon hen īlva, byka mandia?”

(Running away from us, little sister?)

Vhagar let out a roar and attempted to intercept your path, to which your dragon grunted and dived down beneath the clouds.

You were happy the two of your were on the same page.

You pulled the reins towards the left, directing your dragon towards a range of mountains to the east.

“Gaomagon daor mazverdagon issa jiōragon ao,” Aemonds voice descended upon you. A shadow soon encompassed you and knew he was right above.

(Don’t make me chase you)

Vermithor let out another menacing roar, unwilling to submit despite Vhagars sizable difference.

Frustrated, you commanded your dragon to return to Kings Landing, knowing your brother wouldn’t leave you alone if you didn’t.

———

Dismounting from your loyal friend, you could hear Vhagar making her descent towards you.

Can this day get any worse?, you rolled your eyes.

Eager to lock yourself in the comfort of your chambers, you sprinted down the hall. It was only past noon and yet were exhausted from the emotional roller coaster today had become.

The guards looked puzzled as you approached, however you made no mind and strode past them hastily.

Any hopes of solitude died quickly as a laugh rang through the room.

Lounging on your bed laid your brother Aegon as well as your sister, both who seemed to perk at the sound of you entering.

Your annoyance was palpable. Spinning on your heels, you didn’t wish to entertain any sort of conversation with them and opted to simply relocate.

Suddenly, you collided with a hard presence, body landing with a thud on the cold marble floor. The initial shock quickly wore off and you looked up to find your brother Aemond smirking cruelly down at you.

The pot boiled over. You collected yourself and made to push past him, using as much force as you could muster.

This evoked a chuckle from him as he grabbed your outstretched arms and commanded, “Sit down.”

You wrenched yourself out of his grasp. Feeling like a corned animal, you all but shouted, “Why are you doing this?! Haven’t I made it plain that I wish to be left alone! I do not wish to fight with any of you!”

The lack of response made you throw your hands up and take a seat at your vanity. You cradled your temples with your hands as you simmered.

Your sister was the only one who seemed to take an ounce of pity on you. She sauntered towards you and removed one of your hands from your face.

“Sister, do you remember what you said to us last night?”

You froze.

The tension in the room could be sliced with a knife as they awaited your response.

Too cowardly to admit the truth, you replied with a meek, “no.”

Aegon’s mocking chuckle filled the room and you heard foosteps approach your nervous form.

His pointer finger lifted the bottom of your chin, forcing you to look up to meet his wicked gaze. You shrunk under his scrutiny.

“I think she does remember. Why else would she take such great lengths to avoid us, hm? Tell me sister, have you forgotten the feeling of my cock stiffening from your touch? I certainly haven’t.”

Embarrassment washed over you like a bucket of cold water. Though, you couldn’t stop your core from leaking at his vulgar words.

You craned your neck to look at your other brother, tears starting to teeter over the brim of your lash line.

Aemond observed you. How cute.

Dousing the flame with gasoline, Aegon continued,

“I recall her saying something along the lines of “I only want all three of you, my blood?,’ Did I mishear you, byka mandia (little sister)? Or does my innocent sister want the three of us to have our way with her, hm?”

Helaena played with a piece of your hair, and tugged lightly, evoking a small gasp from you.

“We want to hear you say it, dear. Did you truly mean those things?” a tinge of desperation could be heard in her tone.

You knew you couldn’t evade them any longer. Their heated gazes made your dress unbearably hot. A moth who ventured too close to the flame.

You murmured, “Yes, I meant it.”

She tucked the strand she’d been playing with and slowly her lips meet your cheek, similar to how you had kissed her at the banquet.

“We want you too, sweet sister. Isn’t that right, lekias,” (brothers) she cupped your cheek and the ghost of something mischievous danced across her features.

You look over to your brothers, who seemed enraptured by the scene before them.

“I’ve dreamt of claiming you as ours for quite some time,” Aegon confessed, to which Aemond agreed with a nod of his head.

Was this truly happening?, you feared the gods were playing a cruel jest on you.

A dark shadow loomed over you as your brother Aemond extended his hand to you, which you nervously took.

Once on your feet, he roughly pulled you to him, pressing your bodies together.

The room was thick with suspense, you gasped and gripped his arms to steady yourself.

Strong and sturdy, you felt yourself reveling in your brothers form against your own, you softly bit on your lower lip to stifle your heavy breathing.

Observing this, he pressed his thumb down on your lip, forcing your teeth to release it. Applying more pressure, you instinctively parted your lips.

He was enraptured by your plump, soft mouth. The innocent gaze in your eyes, the way you gripped his arms tightly to steady yourself.

The urge to manhandle you on the bed and claim his rightful place between your thighs went straight to his cock.

You let out a breath as you felt him hardening against you, filled with a sense of pride that you had such an effect on him.

Breaking you out of your trance, he gripped your hips and twisted your body so you were now facing your other siblings. His hands traveled up the sides of your hips, sending shivers down your spine, and soon began toying with the bow on the bodice of your dress.

His stiff member pressed deliciously between your cheeks.

You felt your garments loosen with every pull of your brothers nimble fingers on the strings of your corset.

A gentle voice behind you sent goosebumps down your skin.

“Be careful what you wish for, sweet girl. Get on the bed.”

part 3??? hmmmmm

authors note: i am a tease

enjoy!

- alice •••

taglist: @sparklywagonghostduck @notsuremarie @suga-baby-darling @arya-brooke @roselyhills @aegonssswifey @minaridior @gruffle1 @eloiseloverwtt

[writingjourney]

grabby hands // secondo

1.5k word snapshot, secondo x f!oc manon (named but mostly undescript this time), some fluff, a lot of spice including hands in particular, rated: E, 18+

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

The sheets in the abbey just outside of Parma have been washed one to many times, clumsily patched holes, the white now more of a stale grey. Manon has never known a sweeter feeling than having them wrapped around her tired body, her head resting on Secondo’s chest. He’s lit two black candles on the windowsill, their flickering lights dancing along the walls with every draft that presses inside. As always, their first day at a new location has been long and tiresome.

He only gives a low grumble when she slides her hand underneath his shirt, just like most nights when he decides it’s too cold to sleep bare. Drawn to his soft belly, the hair that covers his whole torso, the feeling of his warm skin against her palm, fingers carding through thick curls, up and up until she can feel his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall as he takes steady breath after steady breath.

“Manon,” he warns, as he always does, amusement dripping into the name.

“Mhm?”

He doesn’t reply when she thumbs at his nipples, something he’s rather sensitive to, though she can feel a muscle in his throat jump. His hand drags her hip further across his lap, resting on her bent knee with spread fingers. She smiles against his neck.

“Grabby hands,” he remarks.

“Says you.”

He huffs. She thinks about how he casually cradled her whole breast in his hand all through last night, snoring against her neck and sweating against her back, waking her with his other hand pressing between her thighs. If she accused him, though, he would simply say his usual phrase. I am Papa. Which somehow absolves him of everything.

She’s content to rest like this, though, it seems, Secondo is not. His hand begins to wander, innocently at first, stroking along her thigh, full-palmed, his warmth sinking into her skin. After a moment his fingers toy with the seam of her sleeping shorts, wandering underneath the loose fabric to cup her ass. He squeezes, spreading her apart, feeling how she moves.

“Grabby hands,” she whispers.

Secondo laughs.

He leaves her be for a while, then, content to just rest his hands on her. Manon’s eyes have already closed. As always, she is easy to succumb to sleep, especially when sharing a bed with him. She can feel her palm getting sweaty against his chest, barely tying her to the present, but then she’s wide awake again as his fingers dip lower, grazing her cunt. No accident, he does it again, fingertips exploring her unceremoniously.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, voice already tinged with sleep.

Naturally, he doesn’t reply. His fingers part her, spread her open, playing with the wetness that has already begun to pool. At first she tries to hide her little moans but it seems to annoy him so much that he lets his middle finger dip inside of her, stealing the sounds he wants to hear. He’s deft, always, and when he can’t reach her well enough he squeezes his hand between her leg and his body instead.

Manon moves to sit up but his free hand grabs her elbow, holding her in place underneath his shirt.

”It stays,” he says. “If you pull it out I will stop.”

Her cheeks are aflame. She sinks back down, spreads her fingers, a silent confirmation to his order. Secondo hums, then his fingers are teasing her again. He allows her to hide her face against his neck and after a moment he lets go of her arm, gently stroking her brow instead.

“Brava,” he whispers, moving onto her hair, rhythmic circles against her scalp.

Her head is somewhere else entirely now, as though she has entered the space that only Secondo occupies. It is one that allows her to let go so safely, not just guided by his patience but by the way he soothes the very ache in her bones. Sleep is a far-away concept. This is better than unconsciousness, it is a tether to her own self.

“You had a long day, my dove,” he says, finally circling her clit. “Will you dream of me tonight?”

Her lips part, though the whimper comes from her throat. His hand feels so warm against her mound, so large that it is all she can attune her senses to. Then he parts her once again, rubs patterns against her entrance with two fingers, lazily, pressing deeper and deeper to open her up. It is not enough, though there is only so much movement left in her, and her pelvis rolls slowly forward to take more. Secondo chuckles, a sound she has only ever heard from him when he elicits the exact reaction from her he was expecting.

“You have not answered me, Manon,” he complains, though it is an observation more so than a demand. He is not here to sanction tonight.

“I will,” she whispers. “What else is there for me to dream of after your reckless torture of my every sense?”

“Torture? What an odd choice of words while you're dripping into my hand.”

“I don’t mean tonight,” she clarifies. “You have a habit of haunting me.”

It earns her another rumble from his chest, no doubt showing how very pleased he is, though she is not sure if he understands the extent of this statement. Is he aware how he lingers on her? Traces of him, fractures squeezed into every crack of her, his scent in her clothes, skin raw, purpled, shaped like his mouth, paint stains on her white blouses, fingerprints on her hips, her thighs, his voice echoing in her ears for hours. And his face, in countless expressions, memories taped to her brain like polaroid pictures, labelled in black ink, his name, every word he ever whispered to her, a dictionary of his language.

When his fingers press inside of her she knows they will leave another mark, a feeling that she will be chasing for the rest of her life. When he fucks her this slowly she can feel every knuckle, every single movement of his joints. Pleasure is an odd word for something that her body is starving for, an appetite he inspired in her, unlike anything she’s known before. Secondo carries her through it, starving her, feeding her, consuming her in turn.

All she has to anchor herself to is his chest now, leaving fingerprints of her own. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth opened against his neck, moans that fog against his skin. The ball of his hand presses against her core, every roll of his wrist met by her hips. He whispers in Italian, not that she understands a word in her state, but the syllables sound sweet, drawn-out, a caress of his voice against her ear. She clenches, gasps, her body shuddering against his that is so very calm, barely out of breath while she struggles to take in air.

A beat passes. She comes to, hips still jerking against his hand, his fingers lazily pushing against her from inside. His lips linger on her forehead and she notices that he’s angled her face away from his neck.

“Breathe, my dove,” he whispers.

She sucks in air, notices how her fingers are still grasping at his chest, though he doesn’t show any signs of pain. Even so she’s not eager to retract them, stroking over his pectoral muscles instead, that odd sensation of soft skin underneath coarse hair she’s become so addicted to.

Secondo removes his fingers slowly, easing her out of the sensation. It is a loss, of sorts, though quickly forgotten when she finally allows her hand to wander down across his belly. She can feel him inside of his pants, not as unaffected as he otherwise appears, the soft linen warm against her palm where he strains against it. She thinks she’d like to use her hands as well, just as gentle and slow. Only he carefully wraps her up in his and pulls it away.

“No need,” he whispers. “I am content.”

He must feel her frown against his lips because once again he chuckles, as though she is so predictable that he finds it greatly amusing. When she lifts her head to look at him his brow twitches. He’s not as subtle as he thinks he is.

“Don’t you want to feel me?” Manon whispers, voice still half-choked from how hard she’s been clenching her jaw.

Not the question he expected this time. His eyes soften, hand brushing back the hair that has fallen into her face. “What if you fall asleep and twist it off, hm?”

She rolls herself fully on top of him, kisses stamped all over his jaw, down his neck, back up to his cheek. “I don’t have to use my grabby hands, you silly man.”

Her heart swells when he gives another tired, chest-heavy laugh, amused until she’s kissing it off his face under his grumbled protests. She easily sinks down on him, his knees pulled up, hands encouraging her to move at a slow, lazy pace that will carry them both to sleep. The greyed sheets have fallen off of them, but the candles still flicker, orange light cast over each of their movements. Secondo’s eyes, half-lidded, are intent on staying on her until he can't keep them open anymore. It won't matter, she'll be asleep long before him, and she suspects that he doesn't truly mind at all.

─── ⛧ ✦ ⛧ ───

as always thank you for indulging me and my oc shenanigans ♡

more manondo here if you so fancy!

[worldsover]

Will we ever get a sequel for Heejin's birthday fic? Just asking btw

Sorry. I am allergic to completing tasks to 100%. For example, as I mentioned in its author notes, there was never even meant to be a sequel since this was supposed to be one story, but instead I posted the incomplete version because the alternative was no story for her birthday. That being said, I do at least have a bit more written, so the same thing applies here: it's unfinished, but at least it's something?

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Heejin Birthday Fic cont.

~2.5k words, incomplete draft of the continuation to Transcendence/Pareidolia ft. Heejin

This wasn't fun. Well, it's a little fun. All the games the two of you play.

The best/worst part are all the videos she sends. She starts with the typical: eating an ice cream cone, having cream drip on her fingers; covering herself with oil and rubbing it over her entire body; holding a vibrator to her clit, waiting for your text about what position you want her in; showing her sopping pussy from various angles, and you can tell exactly which angle she sent you and why.

And then her videos get dirtier. There's Heejin on a vertical video, sitting on her bed, dildo deep inside her pussy, just talking. She talks about how she imagines your cock sliding in and out of her pussy, ramming her g-spot and fucking her senseless, while your fingers rub her clit and your mouth suck her tits. You would fill her up with your cum, dripping out of her pussy, down her legs. Then she would get the taste of your cock as she cleans it with her mouth, and how the cum mixing with her juices would taste even better as she slurps it all up. Heejin has a gift for describing things with vivid detail. You never realized just how eloquent her tongue could be. You can't wait until it's on yours again.

There are the times you meet and end up making out and nearly fucking, but you manage to stop. You keep each other on the brink. Sometimes you want to rip each other's clothes off and ravage the other right then and there, and your hearts would race at the thought of all the consequences and dangers involved with doing it outside. But you had to be patient; you were the one who suggested waiting, after all.

But the weeks pass, and you grow restless. You can't wait to claim Heejin as yours, in the most intimate way possible.

And finally, October 19 arrives.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

The restaurant is a small, cozy establishment, with warm lighting and ambient music. You and Heejin are dressed in semi-formal attire, and you admire how beautiful she looks in her black dress, with a slit up the thigh that shows off her perfect legs. You're both a little giddy with anticipation. You feel like it's Christmas, ready to open the ultimate present, even if she's the birthday girl here.

As you sit at the table, Heejin's phone lights up with birthday messages from her friends, and you can't help but wonder what they would think if they knew about you two.

"Wow, you're popular."

She giggles. "I know, it's silly. But, it's kinda sweet."

You take a sip of water. "You know, Heejin, it's been fun, these last couple of weeks, edging. I've never gone this long."

Heejin scoffs. "You're one to talk. It's been hell for me."

"I believe you."

You start to eat your food. The flavors are rich and savory, and the portions are generous. The two of you chat about the usual stuff, like work and your family and the newest set of anime coming out, but no matter how you try, you can't resist being glued to her every touch. Her finger absentmindedly twirls around a strand of hair. Her thighs shift in her seat. A napkin wipes the side of her mouth. The candlelight, and the warmth of the establishment makes her glow, and you're hopelessly under her spell.

Of course, her heel brushing against your inner thigh doesn't help.

"You seem tense," she says.

"Great observation."

"You know, for some reason, I don't feel that full, even after all I ate."

"You wanna go to another restaurant or something?"

Heejin rolls her eyes. "That's not what I'm hungry for."

Your mouth rounds to a circle.

She rubs her heel on your pants. "What?"

You throw the napkin on the table and stand up. "Excuse me, I have to use the restroom."

Heejin bites her lip as you walk away. You enter the bathroom. It's its own individual room, fancy and well-kept. You walk up to the sink and splash cold water on your face, sighing.

You use the toilet. Then, you use your phone to find the nearest hotel and its nearest vacancy. Can't even wait to bring her home. You text her your plan for the night.

Seems even that is too much waiting. A knock. She texts you back.

> open the door.

You gulp. You do, and Heejin steps in, her breathing erratic, her smile mischievous. She pulls you by your tie for a kiss, shoving you against the door. Your tongue and hers are tangling, and you reach for her breast. Your knee is lifting her skirt, and she's grinding against it.

"Heejin," you say, "we gotta, we gotta go somewhere else."

"I can kneel here." And she does just that. "We can make this quick."

She unbuckles your pants and frees your cock, your limp-cock instantly hard in the warmth of her mouth, instantly in the back of her throat.

"Heejin, no, wait, we were saving..."

Pop. "Oh, what, like you don't wanna blow your load down my throat and cum all over my tits and face?"

She's pumping, her fingers slick and tight around your shaft, your cockhead rubbing against her face. She sucks on your balls.

"I bet you'd absolutely ruin this fucking dress with your load."

In the next five minutes, Heejin proceeds to slather your cock in her spit while sucking you down with best blowjob you've ever received. Her lips and tongue are tight, and the heat of her mouth and the vacuum of her suction feels so divine around your cock. And her moans, oh, fuck, how you missed her moans around your shaft. The vibrations tickle your skin and your nerves. You're thankful for the door and the weight of your body preventing the two of you from collapsing, because the pleasure is making your knees weak. And if that wasn't enough, Heejin is relentless in her dirty talk and her sucking.

"God, your cock is fucking amazing. I wanna drink your cum forever. I wish you could shoot your cum deep in my pussy, fill me up. I can't wait to get your cock in my cunt."

She bobs faster, deeper, sucking more intensely. You're about to burst. She knows. Heejin reaches between your legs and squeezes your balls.

Then, she pulls back. Pop. "So, where's the hotel?"

✦✧✦✧✦✧

You pay for your meals, and then you're on the way to the hotel. It's a short taxi ride away, and the two of you keep your hands to yourself.

Once you're in the elevator, you hold Heejin's waist, and she faces you, giggling.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," she says. "Just… happy."

You lean down to kiss her. "Have I told you enough that you're the prettiest girl on the planet?"

"A couple times." She kisses back. "I don't mind you telling me more."

You brush strands of hair away from her face. She puts her hands on your face. Your hand slides up her waist to cup her cheek. She runs her thumb across your bottom lip.

Ding. The elevator doors open, and you step into the hallway. Your room is a few steps down, and you unlock the door.

It's a basic suite, and you don't waste time, dropping your stuff, locking the door, and moving to the bed, pushing Heejin down and kneeling to her height.

She giggles. "Gotta catch up, huh?"

You slide her shoes off her feet, then your own. Then, you slip your hands under her dress and hook a finger on her panties, moving them down her legs. All the while, she takes off your suit jacket and undoes your belt. You move Heejin's panties completely off her ankles. They're soaked. She lies down on the bed.

Your cock is throbbing, but you can't stop staring at the view.

She blushes. "N-no, no more edging. Please. I need to cum, so, so fucking bad. I need you in me, right fucking now."

You swallow. "Don't worry. I'll be inside you soon enough. Just, lemme get a good look of your body first."

Heejin smiles. "My body, huh? What, what's so special about it?"

"Everything."

You're on top of Heejin now, caressing her face.

"Everything," you repeat. You lower your head. "Especially your eyes." You lower your head again. "And your lips." You kiss them. "And your neck." You kiss. She moans. You continue kissing downwards, licking along her collarbone, nibbling on the side of her throat, biting her shoulder. Then you lick the valley between her breasts, pull down the neckline of her dress, and lick circles on her nipples. You hike up the hem of dres to reach a hand to her pussy. "And, this." You rub her lips.

She moans. "What… about that?"

You crawl lower, your face between her legs. You spread her lips, already wet, and you stick your tongue inside her hole. "The prettiest pussy I've ever seen." You lick up her slit.

Heejin grabs your hair and pulls you. "I'm sorry, but I can't wait anymore. Fuck me."

You wipe your mouth. "Yeah, yeah, sorry."

"Just… put it in me already."

You get on your knees and rub your cockhead against Heejin's lips, smearing pre-cum. You rub it around her clit, and she shudders, whimpering.

Heejin pushes on your chest. "Wait, hold on, sit up. I wanna watch. Please. Your cock… entering me. I can't wait to see it."

You nod. Heejin sits up too. You grab Heejin's thighs and spread them. Your cockhead rubs against Heejin's entrance again.

"Holy shit, holy shit," she says.

You lick your lips. You push your cock into Heejin's hole, and your head is swimming in her heat, her wetness. Her pussy is already sucking you in, and Heejin is already moaning, and her whole body is already trembling.

"Shit, Heejin, you're already going to cum?"

She nods. "Yes! I'm sorry, it's just, you're finally, finally inside me. I've dreamed about this, so many times, and now it's happening."

"Me too. It's fine, it's fine." You pull back, and then you thrust again, a bit deeper, and Heejin shudders again. "Holy shit."

You pump slowly, Heejin moaning louder and louder, her pussy squeezing you tighter and tighter. Your grip on her thighs is tight, and you push her down, burying your cock deeper. Her back arches, and you start thrusting faster. You grunt. Heejin's pussy is milking your cock, sucking you deeper, and you're pounding her cunt, her moans and your grunts filling the room, until she lets out a scream, a high-pitched, satisfied noise, and her walls are convulsing. And just as you said, you empty your load deep inside her, rope after rope, a thick batch of semen pooling in her hole and leaking past your shaft.

"Holy… shit," she says. Heejin's trying to catch her breath. She looks up at you, a slight smirk on her face. "You're still hard, right?"

You look down. You're still hard.

Even though her legs writhe and her toes curl, she fucks herself into your shaft, covering it in more and more cream.

"Fucking, hell, Heejin, just like that?" You clench your jaw.

"Yeah. Yeah, we just started. I love watching you pump your cock in and out of my pussy, seeing it get all sloppy."

You chuckle. "Slut."

"For you." She wraps her legs around your waist, her arms around your back. "Wreck me."

You can do nothing but comply. Heejin's eyes roll back, her lips tremble, and her nails dig into your back, and you fuck her, you fuck Heejin, hard. Using your own creampie as lube, your cock plunges and slams inside Heejin's pussy, over and over. You pick her up from the bed and pound into her as you carry her around the room, making loud wet slaps fill the air. Then, you set her down on the desk, gripping her shoulders, and the room shakes with your thrusts.

Heejin screams and babbles. You're about to cum again already, and so is she. You love her expression, like she's completely drunk to your cock as she loses herself to the pleasure of it stuffing her, pushing your first creampie out just to fill her up again. You're sure she can feel your heartbeat from how far your cock is in her womb. You slow down, then you pull out. Heejin's pussy is drooling cum, and she lies flat on the desk. Your head is so light that you only just now realize you're still cumming, so you jack off onto her body, mainly covering her dress in cum, though some of it reaches her chin. Heejin promptly licks that clean.

"Why," she says. "Why'd you stop? You're, you're still hard. Please."

"Turn around. Get on your hands and knees."

She obeys. "Yes, sir," she says, and you like the way she says that.

You grab Heejin's waist, and then you slam into her pussy. Your pace is just as brutal as when you started the night. Turns out that edging for weeks, then cumming inside a woman's tight pussy, then pulling out and painting her in your cum is more than enough to keep your cock rock hard, and Heejin is more than eager to have your cock pounding her hole as many times as you want.

After the fourth round, your fifth climax, Heejin is a mess on the bed, and so is your cock. It's covered in her cum and your cum and some of her saliva, and her tongue is lazily circling your cockhead while she rests her head on your thighs.

"Do you, do you want to keep going?"

Heejin nods. "Why? Are you tired?"

"I mean, I'm pretty sure I have another few in me. But my abs are killing me."

"Oh yeah? You should try doing planks."

"The way you do them? Yeah, ri—" You're interrupted when Heejin climbs up your body and grabs your cock. You flinch. "No, wait, wait, wait. Wait, Heejin."

"Are you afraid?"

You gulp. "Very."

"I promise it won't hurt. It'll be fun."

When Heejin says it, you believe her. "Fine. Go for it."

Heejin grins. "Awesome." As she positions herself over your shaft, the creampie you filled her with starts to leak onto your stomach, and she holds your cock to point it up towards her hole. She lowers her pussy, and your cock enters her again. She rides you, holding your cock by the base so that the entire time, you feel the entirety of her tunnel envelop you, and your cum is squishing all over her insides.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

If I do get around to finishing the story, I will probably delete this and the initial version of Transcendence, post the full version instead. Big if.

[vilevenom]

Okay, sooo...the first chapter of this fic has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS. I'm tired of it languishing, so I decided to finally just post it.

You Are Now My Home Sweet Home

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog (general media)

Pairing: Sonic/Shadow

Chapter: 1/?

Summary: He couldn't really remember exactly when it had all started. But it didn't really matter now.

He'd always thought that their biology was incompatible.

Life had a funny way of proving him wrong time and again.

WARNINGS: Explicit sexual acts. Characters are depicted as ADULTS. Mentions of Miscarriage and Pregnancy

P.S - If you want a full list of tags, this has already been posted on AO3

Shadow grunted as his head was pushed further down, a low moan escaping his lips as Sonic thrust into him without abandon.

He couldn't really remember exactly when it had all started. All he could really recall was that one day, after a particularly rough race, while both of them had been catching their breath at the top of a mountain, Sonic had suddenly dug his fingers into Shadow's quills, pulled his head back and kissed him with a ferocity that Shadow had otherwise not known the hero to possess. Their physicality rapidly progressed from there, with each of their subsequent meetings ending in increasingly more intimate acts, until nearly every race or fight they had ended with the hybrid pressed down into the ground in some secluded woodland area, Sonic's cock buried deep inside him.

What Shadow could easily remember was Sonic's initial reaction to his relatively peculiar anatomical configuration. They'd made out on several occasions by the time the blue hero finally seemed to gain the courage to press his fingers against the slit of Shadow's pouch. He'd groaned into the hybrid's mouth happily as his cock slid free, only to jerk back in surprise as his fingers dipped down into unexpected slick. Shadow had arched a brow at Sonic's surprise, a slow smirk of bravado curling his lips, even as panicked quietly coiled in his gut over the hero's hesitance. "What? Is it too much for you?" he had teased, heart practically in his throat as Sonic observed the viscous liquid dripping from his fingers. In turn, the hero had shaken his head, making some asinine comment about being up for any challenge while letting his hand slide back down, experimentally dragging his fingers along the folds of Shadow's pussy.

He'd gotten Shadow off, because of course he had, but they hadn't had penetrative sex. They'd simply rutted against each other, with Sonic's hand a blur over their cocks until they'd made a mess on the forest floor. Shadow had worried, after the blue hedgehog had left, that the hero would cease their clandestine little meetings because of his genitalia.

Apparently he needn't have worried.

Barely a week later he found himself spread out on the side of a grassy hill with Sonic between his knees, biting at his lip as he gingerly slid his cock between the folds of the hybrid's pussy. "Can I…?" he'd asked, looking more nervous than Shadow was certain he'd ever seen him. After the barest hint of a nod, Sonic was pushing into him with a breathy moan, his tail wagging practically at the speed of light as he'd bottomed out. Shadow had never had something inside him before, aside from his fingers, so the stretch of the hero's cock and the depth he could reach were novel and new. They'd moved in tandem from there, reaching their climax in what felt like record time, with Sonic pulling out just in time to make a mess of Shadow's fur with his spend. He'd apologized with a laugh as Shadow griped at him to be more careful, before taking off with a promise they'd try something new the next time.

It turned out that the next time was barely three days later, and the something new was the blue blur happily presenting his ass to the hybrid with a wicked smirk. While Shadow had easily found his finish inside Sonic, he'd also found himself wanting for the feeling of a thick length stuffing his cunt full as he orgasmed. After that experience, he realized that he didn't care much for being 'on top', preferring the fulfilling sensation of his body providing pleasure to someone else while having something thick split him open.

His cock currently hung heavy between his legs, dripping onto the ground between his knees, angry red and neglected, though he cared little about the ache. He was more than content to simply lay there and let Sonic use him if it meant he got to continue to enjoy the warmth of the other filling him. It was the closest he imagined he would ever get to proper intimacy with the hero, given Sonic's reputation and general lack of interest in romance or companionship. He knew he wasn't the first 'rival' Sonic had taken to bedding, and he figured he wouldn't be the last. But, oh, how he wished that the faint brush of Sonic's teeth over his shoulder would dig down and sink into flesh to stake some sort of claim.

It was a fleeting, foolish wish that his traitorous heart kept pushing into his head in these moments, while Sonic was deep inside him, curled over his back and praising his body while calling him a 'good boy'. It let him imagine that the hero's heart belonged to him, and only him, and that the sweet nothings murmured into his ear truly meant something. That their periodic dalliances were more than a daring game to the blue hedgehog, lasting only as long as someone didn't catch them. But those thoughts were usually swiftly dashed and pushed aside as Sonic neared his climax and inevitably began to babble, letting Shadow know that he really was just a toy to the blue blur.

"Fuck, Shadow," Sonic growled into the hybrid's shoulder, pulling his cock free of Shadow's dripping cunt to flip Shadow onto his back with a feral grin on his face. "Look at you," he crudely smacked his dick against the folds of Shadow's pussy, "So wet for me." He roughly pushed himself back inside the hybrid with a wet squelch, pushing Shadows legs up and back, folding the other in half so he could continue to fuck him fast and deep. "The ultimate lifeform, reduced to whimpers," he breathed with a low chuckle, digging his fingers into Shadow's thighs hard enough to leave bruises under his fur, "Always so cocksure and confident, now so fucked out you're drooling all over yourself and making a mess, desperately whining to cum while stuffed full of my cock." He snickered as Shadow tossed his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut as he wrapped his fingers around his weeping dick, stroking in time with the hero's brutal thrusts. Sonic was pressing in deep. Deeper than Shadow was certain he'd ever felt him before. It made his toes curl and pathetic mewls dribble from his lips. "I wish everyone could hear the desperate little sounds you make while I fuck you. See how blissed out you get with my dick buried inside you. Now, c'mon, Shads. Make even more of a mess of yourself for me. Come on and cum all over yourself for me."

With that, Shadow let out a cry, his back arching as his cock released streams of white across his abdomen, while his pussy clenched and fluttered around Sonic's dick, slick gushing onto the ground beneath them. He groaned as he fell limp beneath Sonic, the hero grunting above him, holding his legs high while pressing him down into the ground and grinding in as deep as he could go. "So fucking tight," he moaned, biting his lip as he doubled over the hybrid and found his own release, buried to the hilt.

The first time Sonic had cum inside him had been a bit of a dramatic fiasco. Shadow had barely had time to enjoy his orgasm before Sonic was pulling out roughly with a cry of distress, causing the hybrid to go on full alert, his quills raised in warning as he cast his gaze around for what could have caused the hero to shout like he'd been hit. Instead, all he found were Sonic's remorseful green eyes staring at him and a litany of apologies spilling from his mouth. Shadow had simply scoffed at the time, assuring Sonic their biology was incompatible according to his medical charts, so it was fine.

Or, so he'd thought, anyway. That was right up until a few weeks later when he was bleeding into a toilet with cramps unlike any he'd experienced before, twisting his organs and making him groan into his knees. A miscarriage, according to the medical texts he quickly looked up through a secure IP once the cramps had passed and he'd cleaned himself up. Apparently his reproductive organs weren't nearly as thoroughly researched as he'd been lead to believe. He never told Sonic, of course, resolute in his unwillingness to give up the small modicum of false intimacy they had. He was certain the scare of potential pregnancy or the thought of needing to be careful would cause the hero to grow bored of their trysts. He also just didn't want to deal with the inevitable guilt that the situation would cause.

And, it would have seemed, based on the handful of subsequent similar experiences he had over the next year or so, that the research wasn't completely wrong. None of the embryos ever took, proving to him that his womb really wasn't suited for Mobian reproduction. It was far from a pleasant experience, but certainly something worth the encounters he got in exchange, in Shadow's opinion. By the third miscarriage he was well versed in what to do and how to take care of himself. Sonic was like the wind, and he was more than happy to make sacrifices of himself to hold the whisp of their relationship in hands for as long as he could. After all, if life had taught him anything, it was that nothing worth loving in life came without pain

Shadow's mind snapped back to the present as Sonic snickered above him, his cock still buried inside the hybrid as he grinned. "Did you float away there, Shads? Didja cum that hard? Certainly made quite the mess," he teased, palms tracing up and down Shadow's thighs. And there it was, another break in Shadow's fantasy. Aside from Sonic's degradation, the hero always laughed and teased afterwards, treating their coupling like the conclusion to an especially fun game. It truly solidified to Shadow just how little he ultimately meant to Sonic, outside of providing some sort of temporary satisfaction to the blue hedgehog.

"I was enjoying myself," Shadow growled, swatting at Sonic's still roaming hands, "But then you opened your stupid mouth. Now, if you're finished, get off me."

"Aww," Sonic sighed, gently easing himself out of Shadow, "You're no fun, Shads."

"That's not what you said barely a minute ago," the hybrid ground out, tossing an arm over his eyes as Sonic eased his legs down, setting them gently on the ground before standing between Shadow's feet. Aside from his own cooling slick, he could feel a faint trickle of Sonic's cum dribbling out of his pussy. He grunted as he clenched his muscles, not particularly wanting to be laying in an even bigger puddle than he already was.

"Touché," Sonic laughed, tucking himself into his pouch without an apparent care in the world. "Hey, y'know…Amy is having a little get together tonight for her birthday. You should come."

Shadow grunted as he peeked out from under his arm, a look of utter disdain on his face. "I'm not going to your girlfriends birthday party. Especially not right after you've fucked me."

"Amy is not my girlfriend," Sonic was quick to snap, only to wilt slightly at the look he got from Shadow. He took a quick deep breath, his foot unconsciously tapping against the ground as he folded his arms over his chest. "Look, I just thought it'd be nice, y'know? You never really come to any social gatherings without Rouge practically dragging you there. Figured I'd extend an olive branch."

"I don't need nor want your olive branch," Shadow said with a low grunt as he sat up, making a face as he took stock of the mess on his fur, "What I need is a bath."

"You could come after the bath."

Shadow tossed his head back with a groan, closing his eyes as he leaned back onto his hands. "Look, Sonic," he growled out, opening his eyes after a moment to glare at the hero, "You can test your speed against me, spar with me, use me to satisfy your carnal needs," he grunted as he shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the sticky, wet feeling between his thighs, "But the moment you start to pity me? Pretend like you care? We're done." He took some satisfaction in the dumbfounded, nearly wounded expression Sonic had plastered on his face, like he was unaware that Shadow could see right through his little games. Like Shadow didn't know he had to guard his heart for fear of having it shattered.

"What? Shadow-"

"Ah! No," Shadow held a hand up, effectively silencing the hero, "I think we're done here. You got what you wanted." He dug into his quills and pulled out the ever present green chaos emerald, stepping quickly back from the hero as he reached out. "Good bye, Sonic." With that he chaos controlled away, knowing full well that the look on Sonic's face was disappointment at being caught out, and not the heartbreak he desperately wished it was.

Luckily for Shadow, GUN called on him not an hour later, forcing him away from Central City for a solid month, so he wouldn't have to deal with Sonic's antics for at least a few weeks.

~

Rouge had known something was up the moment Shadow had first come home sweaty and disheveled - far more than usual when he came back from a race with Sonic. She assumed he'd gotten laid, by the sway of his hips and his suspiciously good mood. She could pinpoint the exact date and time he'd practically swaggered into their shared apartment, a barely perceptible smirk on his lips as he'd made himself dinner and then vanished into his bedroom. It was shortly after that she started to notice how Sonic and Shadow kept disappearing together and making excuses to be alone. It really wasn't hard to put two and two together if one was paying even a modicum of attention, which most of Sonic's friends blatantly didn't. But she did. It was one of her specialties, after all.

She'd needled him once or twice for details, only to be brushed off or dismissed entirely, which was fine. Despite their relatively close relationship, they were both private individuals. She knew that he knew she'd be there, if he really needed someone to talk to, or vice versa. At least, she hoped he did.

That idea was swiftly kicked to the curb when she'd come home one evening to the faint smell of blood underpinning an overwhelming scent of bleach in the air. Their bathroom was suspiciously clean, and she'd found Shadow curled up on the couch in his favorite blanket with a bucket of ice cream, an ice pack conspicuously held to his abdomen. For a moment, she'd thought he'd gotten into a fight and had to use their bathroom as a makeshift surgery, which had happened before. But he didn't look injured. At least, nowhere that was visible.

It was then that she decided privacy be damned. Even if they both played it off with barbs and aloof demeanors, they cared about each other, and Rouge was not about to let Shadow suffer silently through whatever was going on with him. So, she'd confronted him. Demanding an explanation, accompanied by a false threat of homelessness, should Shadow continue to bite his tongue. It had fallen on deaf ears, and Rouge watched in abject horror as Shadow lifted himself from the couch and limped to the door, fully intent on just leaving, instead of talking to her like a grown ass adult.

Tears seemed to do the trick, where threats did nothing. Shadow only paused when he heard Rouge sob, his previously hard expression falling into one of regret. He puffed out a breath as he hobbled back over to the couch, flopping down with a grunt and dragging his ice pack back over. Minutes passed as Rouge gathered herself and Shadow stared into space, words only finally passing his lips once the bat's sniffles stopped.

He told her about the strange day that Sonic had kissed him, and the rapid progression of the relationship neither of them really acknowledged outside their 'meetings'. He then reluctantly told her about how he'd been harboring feelings for Sonic for quite some time, but knew full well that no one would be able to catch the blue blur in their grasp, so he was taking what he could while he held the hero's attention. He knew full well that it was a fleeting thing, so when Rouge admonished him about not just talking to Sonic, he brought up how flippant the hero could be with even the smallest of inconveniences. With great reluctance, he then admitted to the miscarriage he'd had, and how he knew Sonic would run if he knew. He didn't want to lose what they had, no matter how detrimental it was to his physical well being. After all, he'd pointed out, he was the ultimate lifeform, with advanced healing capabilities. He would be fine.

After sitting in silence while Rouge digested the information she'd been given, Shadow then made the bat swear to secrecy. She'd protested heartily, but a threat of disappearing from Shadow had her reluctantly agreeing to keeping her mouth shut. It would be hard, since there was no way she would ever be able to look at the blue hedgehog the same way, knowing what he was unwittingly doing to her best friend, but she'd do her best.

So, when Shadow appeared in the living room, stinking of sex, his fur matted with an assortment of fluids she didn't want to think about, she said nothing. When he pushed a communicator into her hands after a swift shower and told her to come with him on a GUN mission, she continued to hold her tongue. But when he vomited on the carpet the moment they'd stepped back into the apartment a month later, while clutching at his stomach, she apparently couldn't stay silent anymore.

"What the fuck?!" Rouge snapped, frozen halfway into their shared apartment, staring in wide eyed, disgusted shock at the scene before her.

Not her finest moment, really, as Shadow fell to his knees, only barely missing the puddle of sick as he gasped in pain. It was the gasp, a sound Rouge so very rarely ever heard from her sullen companion, that made her realize the true gravity of the situation, carefully avoiding the puddle on the floor to crouch next to Shadow, a gentle hand ghosting over his shoulder.

"Honey, what happened? Did you eat something that was off?"

Shadow grunted as he sat himself up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his glove. "I am the Ultimate Life form. I don't need to eat."

"One, I know that's a lie because I saw you stuff your face on the cinnamon buns Vanilla dropped off last month , and two, you probably think that's reassuring somehow, or making you sound indestructible, but in this situation it's making me more worried," Rouge admonished, rubbing calming little circles between Shadow's back quills as he caught his breath.

"I'm fine. You don't need to coddle me."

"The puddle of vomit on my floor says otherwise, hun."

Shadow growled, scowling down at the offending non-contents of his stomach. He couldn't exactly argue that. He huffed out a breath after a beat, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "I…I don't know. I just suddenly felt light headed and nauseous. It happened before I even realized what was going on."

"Well if you didn't eat anything weird, then maybe it was something you drank?" Rouge offered, frowning at the little scowl Shadow shot her. "Or something you didn't drink? Shadow, please tell me you've at least been drinking water."

"I am-"

"Do not give me the Ultimate Lifeform spiel right now. Everyone needs to drink water. You're probably dehydrated. C'mon, grumpy, let's get you some water."

With that Rouge helped Shadow to his feet, a supportive arm around his mid section as they skirted around the mess on the floor and headed into the kitchen. After three glasses of water, Shadow reported that he was feeling better, much to Rouge's smug satisfaction.

"There, you see? Maybe try acting like a normal person every once in a while and, y'know, eat, and you might be able to avoid these kinds of situations in the future," she gloated, though not unkindly. She ruffled Shadow's quills, much to the dark hedgehogs chagrin, then trotted off to find someone to call and come clean her carpet. As much as she loved Shadow, she was not about to clean up his vomit.

Admittedly, Rouge had thought Shadow's illness would be a one time fluke of a thing, caused by general stress and a lack of taking care of himself. But, it would seem that wasn't the case, as the next morning she woke to the distinct sound of Shadow retching rather violently into the toilet. She paused in the bathroom doorway after dragging herself out of bed, wrapped in her comfiest robe, delicate brow arched as Shadow peered up at her rather pathetically from his spot curled on the floor.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear this was morning sickness," she quipped blandly, folding her arms over her chest.

"Impossible," Shadow grumbled with a scowl, reaching up to flush the toilet.

"Well, you didn't eat anything last night. All you've got in your system is water, as far as I'm aware. And, forgive me if I'm misremembering, but I do recall at least one or two of your ultimate lifeform declarations including the fact that you can't get sick," she snarked, tilting her chin up. "When did you last shack up with Blue?"

Shadow groaned, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the toilet seat, brow furrowed. "Just before we left on mission. But I'm telling you, Rouge, it's impossible. My biology simply isn't compatible with that of Mobians. I know you are aware of enough of my miscarriages to prove that fact."

Rouge's brows both crawled up her forehead, a slight tilt to her head. "I was aware of two or three. Are you implying there have been more?"

"Don't act surprised," Shadow sighed, tone defeated, "And please don't give me the self destructive talk again. We went on a mission so I wouldn't have to see his stupid face for a month, okay? I'm trying to kick the habit."

"And doing a piss poor job of it, by the look of things," Rouge quipped back, snorting as Shadow tipped his head to half bury his face against his arm. "Look, I'm going to order some pregnancy tests, okay? You're going to take them, just to be on the safe side."

"Order? You know that will start rumors if a delivery driver is bringing you pregnancy tests," the hybrid grumbled into his arm.

"Who said anything about delivering them to me? I'm going to have them delivered to Omega. No delivery driver in their right mind is going to say shit about what they deliver to him," Rouge hummed, already tapping away on her phone.

Twenty minutes later found Omega outside Club Rouge, plastic bag in hand.

"My knight in robust, bullet proof armor," Rouge cooed as she flew down to retrieve the bag from Omega, grin on her face.

"QUERY. WHY DID YOU NEED ME TO FETCH YOUR GROCERIES FOR YOU?" Omega asked, though he did obediently hold up the bag for the bat to take.

"These aren't groceries, hun. It's a handful of…delicate items I needed discreetly delivered, and I couldn't think of anyone more perfect for the job," Rouge cooed, playing easily into the robot's ego.

"AFFIRMATIVE. I AM THE BEST AT BEING DISCREET," Omega's booming voice carried down the street.

"No one better," Rouge chuckled, patting the robot on the head, "Now, I'm sorry to grab and go, but I have some sensitive matters to attend to."

"UNDERSTOOD. I WILL SEE YOU FOR THE NEXT MISSION," Omega said, before turning abruptly and heading back down the street.

Rouge watched the robot go for a moment with a charmed little smile on her face, before turning and heading back inside, bag clutched to her chest.

"Alright, hun, we've got a variety to try out," she hummed as she approached the bathroom while riffling through the bag, "The shortest one says results in three minutes, while the longest one is ten. I hope you have a full bladder, 'cause you're going to need to pee a fair bit."

"I still think those are unnecessary," Shadow grumbled, finally pushing himself away from the toilet once Rouge was in the bathroom, sitting back to lean against the wall.

"Just take them. For both our sanity," Rouge sighed, dumping the contents of the bag onto the counter.

With a grunt of disdain, Shadow shoved himself to his feet, shuffling over to the counter to look over the assortment of tests Rouge had purchased. Picking through the boxes, he chose three and set them aside, earning a frown from Rouge. "I will take these three. Seven seems like overkill," he snorted, sucking on his teeth, "These should be more than enough to prove to you that I'm not pregnant."

Rouge continued to frown at Shadow for a moment more, before huffing out a breath and tossing her hands in the air. "Fine! Fine. Three is better than none, I suppose. Let me get a glass we can throw away for you to pee in. It'll be easier just to dip the tests in, rather than hoping you've got enough liquid in your bladder to piss three times."

"Don't be so crass," the hybrid grumbled, earning an eye roll from Rouge as she stepped out of the bathroom.

"Drink some water while I rummage in the kitchen."

Grumbling his dissent, Shadow did as he was asked, downing a couple of glasses of tap water before Rouge returned with an odd little plastic cup that the hybrid was fairly certain he'd never seen before. "Where did this even come from?"

"You got me. I found it in the back of the cupboard, and since neither of us remember it, I think it's good to go in the trash when you're done with it."

"Noted," Shadow stated, setting the cup on the counter next to his chosen tests. For an awkward moment the two stood silently in the bathroom, staring down at the assortment on the counter, before finally Shadow snapped. "Alright, get out," he huffed, unceremoniously shoving Rouge towards the door, while ignoring the indignant squawk the bat let out as she stumbled out of the room.

With much trepidation, Shadow ripped open each of the three tests he'd picked out, carefully setting them up on the counter before reading the instructions to each thoroughly, while ignoring Rouge's periodic needling through the door. Finally, with a hefty sigh, he picked up the doomed little plastic cup and set about finally taking the three tests that could, for better or worse, change the trajectory of his life.

It should have felt like a lifetime, waiting the designated times for the little plastic sticks to determine his fate, but it felt like no time at all before he was peering down at the tests with nerves he hadn't even realized had begun to make his hands shake and stomach flutter.

Shadow stared down at the little sticks, neatly lined up on the counter, two blue lines taunting him like some sick joke from all three. He contemplated, for a brief moment, yelling at Rouge through the door to go to the pharmacy for him to get something, anything, that would stop this in its tracks. Panic momentarily filled his chest with dread, his grip on the edge of the counter nearly strong enough to crack the marble it was made from. And then his eye was caught by a simple blue ribbon, sticking out of one of the bathroom drawers. It was a plain little thing that Rouge sometimes used in her hair, but it just so happened to be the same cornflower blue of the dress Maria used to wear. It made him wonder what she would have to say about this whole situation. Obviously, she would have admonished Shadow for how he was allowing Sonic to treat him, and she'd scold him for not being more careful. But then she would have been so excited. She'd likely coo over Shadow's stomach and start designing clothes and accessories for his child before he had even fathomed that it existed.

He took several long, deep breaths and looked at himself in the mirror, at his flat stomach, and angled himself ever so slightly, imagining it slightly distended. He swallowed thickly as he pressed a hand to his belly. It made his heart give a treacherous little thump in his chest at the idea of having a child growing inside him. Sonic's child. Something he'd never even contemplated in his wildest dreams to be possible.

Well…hadn't he vowed to protect all life on the planet? He supposed that extended to one beginning to grow inside him, even if its tiny chances were likely pretty slim.

"Alright," he murmured to his reflection, "if you've survived in there this long, I suppose I should give you a fair chance."

"Well?" Rouge prompted as Shadow pulled the bathroom door open and stepped out. Silently, Shadow held out one of the tests for her to see, a quiet gasp escaping her as she stared down at the little blue tics that had nearly sent Shadow into a panic attack mere moments ago. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to see how long it lasts."

"…are you going to tell Blue?"

"No."

Rouge arched a brow at him, hand on her hip, skepticism plain on her face. Shadow sighed, turning to toss the pregnancy test into the bin in the bathroom, where its brethren already sat.

"I know you've heard him talk about being done with kids, Rouge. He's never made it a secret that he's more than happy that Tails is old enough to take care of himself, and he barely tolerates playing with Cream half the time. Do you really think he'd appreciate having this dumped on him? Especially after I reassured him it wasn't even a possibility?"

"I think you underestimate how much responsibility Blue is willing to take on," Rouge said with a click of her tongue, stepping aside as Shadow brushed past her on the way to the kitchen.

"That's just it, though, isn't it?" Shadow hummed as he pulled a glass from the cupboard, "It's a difference between willing and wanting."

"It's not like you were exactly chomping at the bit for kids yourself there, hun."

Shadow sighed as he poured himself a glass of water. "Perhaps not. But, after a moment of thought, after being startled by the results of those tests…maybe I always did, but never allowed myself to hope it was feasible."

Rouge folded her arms over her chest and leaned in the kitchen doorway as Shadow sipped at his water, a contemplative look on her face. Finally, after half of Shadow's glass was gone, she sighed and nodded. "All right. I guess it's ultimately your body, your choice and all that. Just know that no matter what, I'm here for you, okay? Anything you need, I'll be there."

A rare smile graced the hybrid's face at Rouge's words, offering her a quick nod. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

[callme-darling]

What if we give Vincent some angst, breaking up with him because all he does is work :((

sometimes, love isn’t enough

word count: 680

warnings: fem reader, angst (i LOVE angst hehe)

if there’s one thing you understood before getting serious with vincent, it was that his work hours and workload would require a significant amount of his time and attention. you understood that, and you rolled with it. for awhile, at least.

it wasn’t so bad in the beginning. sure, he’d be a little late coming home sometimes, the dinner you prepared having gone cold sitting on the stove. but dinner could be reheated, and he was always present when talking to you, so you let that slide.

but when the late nights in the office began to bleed into reservations planned out months ahead, you couldn’t deny the hurt. or his growing nonchalance to missing milestones; that was when the attitude you had managed to keep began to falter.

you stopped asking him when he expected to be home, knowing that whatever answer he gave you would likely run at least two hours later. for nearly a week you even stopped talking to him, just to see if he’d notice. he didn’t.

thus, your decision was made. you packed all of your clothes and most of your smaller possessions while he was at work. no rush, you’d joke to yourself, there’s plenty of time to leave someone who never felt your absence in the first place. despite your reservations on leaving, it still tasted bitter. your bottom lip quivered as you gingerly tucked the final picture frames in your suitcase.

most of your bags had already been packed in your car, and you were exhausted by the time you got the last one slotted into the backseat. it was dusk and you knew you had a long drive to your friends house.

a handwritten letter sat on the dining table, drafted as a final farewell and touch of love you weren’t sure would even be felt.

‘vincent,

forgive me, but this seemed better. i’d rather have you remember me as the coward who wrote my fears rather than how i ruined everything by saying them out loud.

i love you, i do. but i’m afraid i’ve made that love too important. because you’re going to leave me. we can’t deny it, you’re always going to leave. i could feel it already. i’ve never felt more alone than in a room with you. i’m afraid i’ll love you forever and we will never be in the same room again. i know you look at me, but do you still see me?

i think we both deserve a soft epilogue. no screaming, no tears, no chance for a hurtful exchange. so i’ll finish this with a simple goodbye. that would be better than saying something dangerous, like i love you.

y/n’

a few hours later, when you’re already halfway to the coast of bordeaux where your friend is waiting for you, your phone dings in the cupholder. ‘where are you?’ a few minutes pass before a picture of vincent’s smiling face illuminates the small screen as it vibrates. you let it ring until the screens goes black. a moment later a stream of messages chime. ‘please answer darling’ ‘where are you going?’ ‘answer the phone, please y/n’. then another call attempt. you ignore that one too.

your eyes began to sting as your throat constricts. you didn’t want to leave, let alone leave like this, but you knew yourself too well. if you had stayed, waited for him to come home, you knew you’d stay for good. at least, until it got bad again. and thus, by running away like some coward, you’re escaping a fatal cycle, you convinced yourself over and over again. it was the right move, he’ll move on soon enough, and i will too, the voice in your head reminded you.

what hurt the most, you supposed, was not the fact that you were unloved. vincent loved you, you were certain of that. but it still wasn’t enough. that is where your pain lives.

and for the remaining two hour drive to bordeaux, you wept quietly to yourself, knowing vincent was doing the same in the home you once shared.

[darkwaveho]

Damage Control

Summary: You went through hell just to get this vacation, and everything has been going smooth but how long will it last?

Parings: Mob!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: 18+, violence, fluff, jealousy, hurt -comfort, angst, drug use, alcohol use, bondage, edging, orgasm denial, Oral, fingering, overstimulation, scissoring, tribbing, psychotic le$beans <3

A/n: This shit is long asf lmaoo so if you don't have time to read it in one sitting I would probably wait until you do, buut that's just me idk? never again (unless on A03) anyway, I hope you guys like it and thank you guys for being patient with me. I know I promised this chapter like a year ago but I'm happy to finally post this and get it out of my dusty drafts folder.😂💜

Damage Control Masterlist

During the whole vacation trip Natasha was insatiable, never letting you get an inch before her hands and lips were on you. she fucked you anywhere she could. That whole situation in the warehouse was a wakeup call for her and she would never take you for granted ever again.

“Tashh, enough.” you whine into the pillow she licks a long stripe up the center of your neck before she bites your skin. “That’s not what you said last night.” she drags her lips against your skin and drips her head down to lower each kiss further down your body. “In fact, I believe the words that came out of your mouth was ‘more, don’t stop, more." She mocks you with pride, smirking against your skin as she travels dangerously closer to your covered sex.

“Shut up.” you harshly yank her hair in retaliation. “Shut me up then.” she smirks after she bites your cheek in retaliation and tugs on your panties you move her hand away from the expensive lace. “I’m serious, I still need to get dressed. we both still need to get dressed” you correct yourself and huff beneath her. “We can stay in and go to the club another night.” you roll over on top of her as she was caught off guard. thinking she’s won you over she places her hands on your hips waiting for you to give her what she wants.

“We’re going.” you untangle her hands from your hips and walk into the bathroom to fully dress yourself. “You know you want to; I don’t even know why you’re denying it right now.”

“We’re not staying cooped up here in the penthouse tonight, Tash. we already missed our dinner reservations.”

“Well, whose fault is that? you’re wearing my favorite set. what’d you expect?”

“I expect you to have some self-control but we both know you don’t know what that is, don’t we?” you snap back at her not caring if you bruised her ego or hurt her for bringing the amber thing back up in her face. Okay you haven’t completely forgiven her; you still threw things up in her face any chance you got, and Natasha couldn’t do anything but sit there and take it. she sighs on the bed waiting for you to return from the bathroom.

She checks her phone for any updates on anything back home. nothing out of the ordinary, Yelena bugging her about when you’re coming back because she misses her bestie and Clint dealing with import deals. She also saw a couple of text messages from Melina. Once she saw the mention of his name on her screen, she shut the whole thing down completely. She needed to take her mind off of it. There was no way she was going out tonight, she wouldn’t be up to partying now.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” you stand in front of her on the bed hand placed on your hip annoyance present on your face. say lays there on the silk sheet in her button up blouse that she was too lazy to button up at the moment and no pants. she stands giving you a better view of the lace that pressed against her body. she nears you with hunger and an unwavering gaze. she was mesmerized. staring at you, admiring your beauty. there was also a look on her face that you know too well, something set her off and she needs a distraction, a way to release her emotions.

“Look at you baby, absolutely breathtaking.” she swiftly slides her hand under the tight dress running her hands against your soft skin. “Tash, no. I already said we were going.” you try to remain firm on your plans, she’s done this many times before to sway you into doing what she wanted.

“Please.” you groan from hearing her beg and she knows it’s a weakness of yours. you rarely ever heard her beg. after almost losing you forever she’s wanted nothing more than to keep you to herself in this penthouse. “I’ll make it up to you in the morning, sweet face. We can have our own party right here.” You stand firmly on your decision by unlinking her hands from around your waist. “No, I said we’re going, if you're not downstairs in 10 minutes I’ll just go by myself.” You grab your jacket and make your way to the door.

“You wouldn’t leave me.” She replies with confidence, maybe the old you wouldn’t have but the Amber situation brought things up in a new light you were tired of her shit. You had just as much if not equal power as she did; you were no longer going to let things slide so easily. “I guess you’ll find out in about…” You glance at your phone to view the time. “Seven minutes now.”

Natasha sighs heavily as you leave her alone in the penthouse. She really didn’t feel like going out and maybe she should’ve given you more details about why she had a change of heart but then that meant she had to talk about it. She also didn’t want to spend the remainder of the night alone, so she put the rest of her outfit together, but she didn't rush to finish. Ignoring the time frame, you set for her. She was deliberately ignoring the timeframe you set for her just to remind you of who was still in charge regardless of how sorry she was for her mistake. Natasha is the one calling the shots, at least that’s what she thinks.

She makes her way downstairs coming out of the building as the doorman holds the door open for her. She waits patiently still not seeing the driver's car. She calls you promptly and you let the phone ring on the first call just to be petty. Truth, is you left immediately after you made it downstairs. Telling the driver that you had a change of heart and that you were still going to the club. “Y/n, where are you?” She has to shout into the phone and now it away from her ear as the loud screams and music drum through her ear. “I’m at the club, duh. You took too long.” Natasha goes to yell at you for leaving her. You weren’t even sitting outside for no longer than ten minutes. Her lips part but remain in place as she hears the mentions of body shots. She hears your voice agreeing and cheering on the crowd. “Y/n I swear to god! We’ve been doing so well on vacation, don't do anything stupid to ruin it.”

“It's called having fun Natasha, you could be having fun with me and my new friends right now if you came downstairs in a timely matter.” The only words that seem to register in her head is “new friends” “Listen, very carefully I will leave bodies all throughout this city if I have to, don’t add more deaths to your consciousness.” If Natasha could see your face on the other end of the phone, she would have regretted saying those words to you. She knows how hard you tried staying away from actually getting your hands dirty, not only was Amber a contest reminder of infidelity but a constant reminder that no matter how hard you tried you still had the blood of a killer in you.

“Well, I guess I should tell you to have fun on your Gta rampage then. I’ll see you back at the penthouse.” just as you finish your response the drunken woman you've come really close to in a matter of minutes comes back with your drinks. The only thing Natasha can accurately make out is that it was your turn for body shots. If that meant you licking someone else's body or someone else licking your body, she didn’t know, and she didn't care. It shouldn't be happening. She doesn’t expect the growl to escape her throat as she yells into the phone again, but this level of disrespect was causing her to lose every inch of restraint she's been holding back on this entire trip.

“Y/n!”

“Bye Tash!” You end the call with a muffled laugh as the phone goes dead. Natasha fumes by the curb, the realization of the club music no longer playing on her phone. Your voice filled with excitement. You, having fun without her. Having fun with strangers. Would you be bold enough to get even with her after everything she's doing to show you how sorry she was? Natasha’s not going to stand here and think about scenarios like that. If this is the game you wanted to play, fine she down to play but she won't be holding herself accountable for what comes out of it. Natasha gathers her thoughts and calls a contact to pick her up. As she sits in the vehicle dangerously calm, and stone faced. The inner part of her is excited. Yes, excited to cause a bit of chaos. She’s been loving vacation time with you, but it wasn’t every day that she gets to go on a rampage. The other non-rational devil on her shoulder keeps repeating that you're pushing her to do this. You want her to act this way. You want to see innocent people die and get hurt. One thing Nat is always good for is making your wish come true.

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Natasha swears she made it in record time telling her driver to run every red light that tried to slow her down. Her fast-paced steps hold a rhythm as she searches for you within the dark and crowded room. when she spots you by the bar preparing to lay on the counter the rage overloaded as she stomps her way over to you.

“Did you think that was fucking funny?” she adds more force behind the yanking of your neck. She practically drags you to the corner of the bar before a bystander approaches her for her aggressive actions. "Hey, leave her alone!” She naps her head around to face the person who dared speak to her and inserts herself in her relationship conflicts. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” The man doesn’t back down clearly not knowing who Natasha is and what her level of power was. “You heard what I said.” he reaches for you, thinking that you were actually in danger. You’re too buzzed to actually tell him that everything was okay. That and the fact that Natasha was jealous and angry had you wanting to see how things would play out.

Natasha lands a swift and impactful hit to his throat, crushing his air supply momentarily. As the man holds his neck in pain while coughing up a lung Natasha watches him still not satisfied with the damage. “Fuck!” The man cries out in pain. Always the observant one, Natasha picked up the abandoned glass off the bar and in one swift motion she lodged the shattered piece of glass into the man’s neck. Blood splatters out as the man's face raises in panic, he holds the wound on his neck for dear life desperately trying to keep all the blood from flowing out as much as possible. “You crazy bitch.”

The outburst caused a scene within the club, people yelling and screaming from the escalated fight that just occurred before their very eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” The woman's voice sounds louder than the music and the frantic screams in the club. Natasha turns her head with pinch brows as she recognizes the voice. “Long time no see.” she smirks to the woman and you stand there clueless looking back and forth between the two. “I should've known it was you Romanoff, what the hell are you doing wrecking my club?”

“Relax Sharon, it’s just a flesh wound he’ll be fine.” the blonde woman sighs and brushes it off, calling her worker over to clean up the mess. “Come on, let me show you to the VIP section.” Natasha quickly interjects Sharon’s offer.

“Oh that won't be necessary, we aren't staying anymore since this one wanted to get a rise out of me.” she clenches your forearm as she responds to Sharon, an obvious sign that you really made her mad tonight.

“Oh, come on, you can't come to madripoor unannounced, trash my club and then leave, have some class, Natasha. I mean unless you’re still working under Alexei and have no time for fun, or a social life then never mind.” Sharon pokes fun at her knowing she'd get her to stay at least for an hour by bringing up Alexei’s name. She turns away from you and Natasha and halts when Natasha's voice reaches her ears once more.

“We’ll stay for about an hour or so, my sweet face here already started partying without me.” she reminds you of what you did just to make you feel guilty. For making her lash out like that when this was supposed to be a relaxing time for the both of you to reconnect and just enjoy the sense of a normal relationship vacation trip.

“Ah so this is y/n? Had I known that you were in my establishment I would have treated you to a much more luxurious greeting.” Sharon grasps your hand with the utmost gentle care. “I’m Sharon Carter, nice to finally put a name to a face.” You rarely were involved with Natasha’s business. After what happened to your father you tried to block that part of your life out. So, it shocks you that Natasha would mention your name to someone you haven’t met before. “Sup Sharon.” You reply back to her and shake her hand that hasn’t left yours during this whole interaction. She accepts the greeting and releases your soft hand. Sharon turns to Natasha and motions with a tilted head nod for her to follow.

“So, I can count on you to spend a little more for that outburst you caused earlier?” Sharon speaks over the loud music as she leads you both to the top level of the club.

“Well, that depends.” Natasha shouts back and keeps you pinned to her side to make sure you don’t wander off causing more headaches for her.

“On what?” Sharon questions Natasha's response, only her focus was on you and your inebriated, loopy state. “If you keep making sly touches and glances at my girlfriend ” It takes Natasha to yank you by your clothes for Sharon to bring her attention back to Nat’s unamused glare. Sharon clears her throat and rolls her eyes. “Right, I forgot you’re not big on sharing.”

“Let’s hope you don’t forget that again, for your own sake.” Only Natasha could be this unfazed about making threats to Sharon in her own environment. The remainder of the walk was silent apart from the loud music and passing conversations.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Sharon showed you to the table right above the dance floor. Natasha sat down in the booth and drinks were brought to the table immediately. Natasha didn't say one word to you, she spoke about you as if you weren't sitting right next to her silently begging for her to acknowledge you, touch you, look at you or something.

You start thinking that maybe you went a little too far tonight, but then you remember that she had no right to act this way when she was the one who stepped out on you and this relationship. You throw back a vodka shot and stand from the booth. The sound of the glass firmly slamming against the table brought her attention to you, only this time you weren't really seeking for her anymore and she could sense that. The sudden movement of you standing has Natasha's grip on your wrist in an instant. “Where are you going?” Natasha's grip on your arm for the second time that night did not hold back on the amount of strength she used on you. "The restroom.” you reply back to her with gritted teeth and an annoyed attitude. She raises her eyebrow at the tone of your voice, maybe she’s been too soft with you. Let this be no mistake she was sorry for what she did, and she wanted to do anything to make it up to you, but she would never tolerate this level of disrespect, especially in a public setting. You know better.

The image she possessed was everything to Natasha, it always has been and it always will be. She releases you and turns back to her abandoned drink and lights a cigar. Silently telling you it was Okay to leave from the vip section. Sharon comes back to the vip section not expecting you to be absent. “Where’s your troublemaker?” She sits down across from Natasha casually fixing the cuffs of her suit jacket.

“What do you want, Carter?” Natasha takes the cigar out of her mouth as smoke fills the area. “Well, I wouldn’t be a businesswoman if I didn’t at least try to tempt you into something, now, would I?” Natasha doesn’t even hesitate with an answer. “No.” Sharon’s face drops from rejection and Natasha’s blunt but playful response. “Oh, c’mon you haven’t even heard me out yet.” Natasha looks Sharon over for a moment and thinks what warm could it do to at least hear the proposal. “Alright, fine but don’t waste my time.” Sharon smiles as she’s won Natasha over; she also knows the amount of money the two of them could make would have her set for life without any worry.

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During that time of discussing business Natasha lost track of time and your absence. She searches the crowd from above until her eyes land on you, on the dance floor dancing but of course you're not alone why would you be when you look that good in a club filled past its maximum capacity. “Nice, catching up with you Sharon but we have to get going now.'' Natasha puts the cigar out and throws back her drink before slamming the glass down against the marble tabletop. The glass cracks from the brutal force but Sharon doesn’t complain about it, she could care less about a glass right now, her mind was too busy focused on her future financial luxury that would be coming her way.

You let the music take over as all the negative energy fades away from your body. You dance close with strangers, well one woman wasn’t really a stranger you met her in the restroom. After a few traded compliments you two have since then become best friends even if she doesn’t know your name. As your body grinds against others without a care in the world you're once again snatched up and pulled away from the dance floor. "Ouch!" You yell out in pain, but Natasha continues on her mission to exit the club with her hand firmly around the back of your neck.

“Get in the car.” she shoves you into the backseat. “Aww are you mad at me baby?” you inch toward her with a condescending pout on your face. You reach for her face to bring her closer, she dodges with ease. Setting her jaw and sticking to keeping her eyes on the window she wasn’t in the mood to play your game.

The moment you were about to cave in and apologize to her, the car door opened on your end, surprising you both. Natasha was seconds away from blowing a hole into the intruders head just because she’s away on vacation doesn’t mean she let her guard down. She was always aware and alert. The sound of the bullet never comes as she blinks away the utter disbelief that someone would be stupid enough to enter her vehicle. It’s the woman you were on the dance floor with.

“Omg I was looking all over for you! One minute we were drowning in vodka, sharing a blunt and then the next you were gone babe by.” She moves the hair from her eyes and leans a little closer to you. She was obviously more drunk than you, not even taking notice of the gun barrel that was aimed at her head. “Omg you found me!” You move away from Nat scooting closer to the other side of the seat.

“Of course, I did! Now why don’t we take this party back to your place, we can have more fun with just us.” her hands start to travel in places that only belonged to the fuming red head seated on the opposite side of you.

“Absolutely not!”

“Cmon Tash live a little, I don’t mind at all” The woman snorts thin white powder from her wrist, that seemed to get Natasha’s attention again but what comes after it has her considering cutting this trip short and ending her no kill rule for this trip. The woman plants her lips onto yours. Humming in delight and moaning in ecstasy. It was quick but calculated so much so that her tongue sneaked its way past your lips for the second time tonight.

Natasha had enough. There was a part of her that thought this through, thoughts of participating in a threesome, thoughts of letting you sleep with someone else for what she did to you, but she could never go through with it, she was selfish and a hypocrite.

Her apology would have to be enough because once again she’s not big on sharing and she’s definitely not big on sharing when it comes to you, she’s had many requests over the entirety of your relationship. All have been shot down over the request and some have literally been shot at for even proposing such a thing. “Get the fuck out!” Natasha shields you away from the drunken woman pulling you onto her lap and raising the gun to a better eye level. “Woah, hey! No need to get violent red. I was going to give you a taste next.” She raises her hands up in surrender. She furrows her eyes and does a seductive motion, slowly lifting her dress up to change Natasha’s mind. “Mm can we take her home Tash?” You bite your lip as you slowly wait for the drunken women to reveal more.

“Don’t move your hands any further unless you want me to chop them off! Now get out!” You can only giggle hysterically at the interaction between the two of them. Natasha smacks your ass to quiet your annoying drunken giggles and gives the woman one last chance to exit the vehicle before the entire back seat interior was covered with her brains. If she even had a brain. She understands the seriousness now or either she’s started to slowly sober up but she doesn’t say anything else as she exits the car finally. “Byee madissyn.” You slur your words as you watch her leave the vehicle. Natasha grabs your face harshly turning you around to face her, and for the first time tonight she looks deeply into your eyes and lifts your eyelids. “Did you fucking take something?” You giggle and mock her as a reply “dId yOu fuckin take something.”

“Relax, it’s nothing we haven’t done before.” Natasha doesn’t need you to go further she can tell by your dilated pupils and the way you can’t sit still in the leather seats. Ecstasy. She knows the signs partly because you’ve done it together a few times when you were younger. She can’t decide if she’s upset that you took it from a stranger or the fact that you took it without her.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? You don’t even know her!” Natasha shoves you to the other side of the seat and instructs the driver to head back to the penthouse. You've made her mad, mission accomplished but at what cost?

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Entering the penthouse Natasha goes straight to the bar by the window, taking her jacket off and tossing it on the bar stool. For some reason it annoys you, how could she be so upset and hurt when all you did was dance and participate in harmless body shot fun. Okay maybe it wasn’t as innocent as you made it out to be but the fact that she was being hypocritical right now only angered you more. “You’re upset about a dance, body shots, shotgunning some weed and some ecstasy pills?” She keeps her back turned towards you as she sips on her drink. You walk closer to her stumbling a bit when you near the bar.

“It was more than that and you know it, the whore even followed us out to the car and had the nerve to touch you! We didn’t discuss anything about bringing a strange whore into our bed!” She deeply inhales and exhales, closing her eyes to maintain her calm demeanor. “Get away from me y/n, I’m not in the mood to even look at you right now.”

“Aww did you not like her touching my body?”

”Y/n” she says in a warning tone, her face is stern but the way her lips pout in a cute way only makes you want to push further.. “Did you not like her lips grazing mine?”

“I’m warning you, watch what comes out of your mouth.” You challenge her, what could she possibly do when she vowed not to hit you in that way again? You brush off her warning threat and you can’t fully blame it on the drugs and the alcohol for what comes out of your mouth because truth be told it’s been on your mind since that day.

“I would hate to see the look on your face when I actually do decide to fuck someone else!” Her hand finds comfort around your throat, your back pressed against the wall as you struggle to breathe. Natasha doesn’t look like she’s letting go of you anytime soon. Being in this position was a sense of deja vu. Being back home in the bedroom after finding out about Natasha's true actions at Tony’s club, but this time it didn’t end with you receiving a slap to the face and a split lip.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t m-“ your snappy response gets cut off when you feel the ripped fabric of your skirt. cold air exposing you and the wet spot of your fancy lingerie. “You think someone can fuck you better than me?”

“The way you’ve soaked your panties tells me otherwise, did you like making me mad? You like seeing me go crazy over you?” Your breathing picks up as she moves closer to you. Her lips ghosting over yours. Everything she said was true, you just wanted to be petty tonight, and give her a taste of what could happen if she ever stepped out on you again. There is always someone out there that would kill for a night with you.

“I asked you a question” she tightens her grip on your neck no doubt a bruise will be left when her hand finally retracts from your skin. You offer no reply back to your girlfriend, only smiling menacingly at her and placing your hand on top of hers adding more pressure to your restricted airway. A flash of excitement rushes through Natasha. You weren’t always like this, so willing to initiate certain kinks like airplay. “I know everything about you and your body, I know what sets you off, and I know I’m the only person that can make you cry out to god.” You don’t hide any sense of humility. Smugness plastered across your face. It’s not enough, you really want to push her.

“Unfortunately for you the same can’t be said for me.” You’ve pushed too far deep now. She knows you can find pleasure from someone else. Of course, it won’t be on the same level as her, but your body will react and openly welcome the pleasure. For her it’s not the case, the prime example of that is now dead. The darkness within her eyes had you retreating. No longer wanting to toy with her but the damage was done, and Natasha had her mind set, once she finally had confirmation that you wanted her to lash out at you and use your body to take out her frustrations. Finally, she slams you to the window, not hard enough to truly injure you but hard enough to have more than a hangover in the morning.

Her lips crash into yours leaving your plea unheard. The kiss was rough and messy, as it normally would be in this situation of claiming you. The feeling of her rough hands tearing at the remainder of your clothes.

“Fuck, you know I love this set on you.” She speaks with mesmerized once again as her eyes land on the lingerie set that had her begging you to stay on for the night. It was a midnight black two piece. Mostly basic, Natasha didn’t need much despite her lifestyle, at least when it came to you she welcomed simplicity she found it just as sexy as you dressing up for her but the reality of it all was she just loved you. No matter how long or how hard it’s taken her to admit that out loud and under the circumstances it came out.

“Duh, that’s why I put it on.” You don’t receive any form of reply. Natasha snatches the fabric of your bralette finally exposing your Breasts. Her animalistic growls only increase the burning desire to have her near your throbbing core. She briefly breaks away from the kiss, roughly turning you around to face the bright lights and industrial buildings. Your face pressed against the window and her fingers plunged into your warm cunt without warning. You didn’t need any foreplay, that started the minute you decided to leave her for the club. Riling her up any chance you got. You hoped that she would fuck you, but you didn’t want to be fucked against this high rising window. You teased her, you angered her, and edged her on, now you were just going to have to deal with it and take what she gives you. She keeps a steady and brutal pace pushing you closer to your high and pulling away just at the cusps.

“Hm, Tash- it’s enough.” You reach behind you with intentions to push her arm away. Natasha smirks and forcefully pushes your pleading hand away and plants it against the window as well. She keeps her hand there for extra security, squeezing your wrist as a silent warning not to do it again or to move it. She wasn’t done tormenting you just yet, but she’ll allow you to cum. She lifts your leg and hikes your thigh up for a better angle, adding another finger to your overstimulated hole. She grunts as her breath fans over the shell of your ear.

“Nat”

“Tsk, what happened to all of that mouth you had a few minutes ago? she knows your fear of heights and still proceeds to fuck you against the thick glass. The fear and the pleasure has your mind going foggy, experiencing both at the same time. She pounds into you harder with each thrust reminding you of who you belong to. The thick glass brought some sort of comfort to your skin, cooling it off from Natasha’s burning touch. No words come from you, only panting and whines. Your breath fogs the glass as Natasha keeps her brutal pace, slick runs down your legs . She doesn’t relent until you practically turn into mush against the tall frame window.

As you feel her body weight slightly removed from your back you sniffle as the tears built up in your eyes struggle from falling down your cheeks. The edges her on even more, the sound of you trying to catch your breath and the small sound of your sniffles push her further. She’s definitely not done being petty. She takes her previous position behind you and pulls your back against her front; she grazes her lips against the warm skin of your ear and her raspy voice lights a fire inside of you from anger and arousal. “Who’s the sensitive one now?” You didn’t need to turn around to know she was wearing that shit eating smirk, you didn’t even need to look at her reflection in the smudge stain glass, you could hear it.

You use all the strength you have left on your shaky limbs to push her away. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You asshole!” You wipe the stray tears that fell from your eyes and Natasha only returns a smirk in response before she reaches for her abandoned drink on the bar counter. “Relax, the window is custom made, there are very few things that would make it shatter and our body weight isn’t one of them.” Natasha isn’t hiding her enjoyment right now, it’s on a very rare occasion when you actually cry for her. After the small moment of silence the soreness and weakened state of your body starts to take effect. Your eyes feel heavy and the drugs start to come back in full effect. It's pretty normal for you when you do smoke, not to mention the post orgasm clarity.

Natasha stood next to you the entire time watching you and she knows you had the idea of sleeping on your mind next and that just wasn’t enough for her, she’s still angry at you. Natasha picks you up and heads for the bedroom, she lays you on the bed gently totally different from her aggressive demeanor in the living room. You think she’s helping you get more comfortable, but the light tap against your cheek tells you otherwise. “Oh, no sweet face, wake up we’re not done yet.” She removes your shoes and tosses them to the floor. You hear shuffling around you still not quite aware of your surroundings.

“You’re a hypocritical, psychotic, asshole.” You mumble into the cool air of the night with closed eyes. The small break was enough for you to gather yourself again and you’re still upset about her putting you into danger like that just to get back at you for what happened at the club. She stops unbuttoning her blouse and kneels over your body until she’s face to face with you, her hands softly rub against your cheeks. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.” Natasha takes her clothes off and sits everything she needs on the other side of the bed, the next thing you feel is the bed dipping. Natasha grabs both of your arms and lifts them above your head, the feeling of soft fabric against your wrist causes you to jerk your body. She pays no mind to you as she continues to focus on knotting the fabric and connecting it to the headboard.

Your mind is still hazy, so every little movement Natasha makes is keeping you alert. “Nat, what are you doing?” You say, your voice is scratchy and hoarse. Natasha returns with a liquor bottle, two shot glasses and one regular glass. “We’re gonna play a game, since you’re in a playful mood tonight.” Is all she says before pouring into the two shot glasses. You curiously watch her in anticipation. She kisses up your stomach leaving bites and wet kisses along the way before she stops at your neck and pulls away all together.

“If you spill any of my drinks you lose.” She places one shot glass on your bare stomach as you shudder from the cold glass she sends you a warning sound. “Careful buttercup you don’t want to lose before we even start now do you?” You have to compose the little self control you have left. Her fingers slide against your thighs as they get closer and closer to your sex her smirk grows wider. Her finger grazes your swollen clit and you have no choice but to react causing the drink to shake but thankfully the alcohol remains in the glass.

Natasha crawls up your body and takes the glass in her mouth while remaining eye contact, she doesn’t finish all of it, she leaves a small amount in the glass and removes it from her mouth and pours the alcohol down your body starting from the center of your chest. You shudder from the contact and Natasha doesn’t give you much of a break as she starts her attack going down your body. She follows the trail that the alcohol leaves behind for her with her tongue. Leaving deep marks and bites along the way until she makes it back to your clit with a gentle kiss that leaves you wanting more. She looks up from your clit at the sound of your moan.

“Isn’t this much better than doing body shots with strangers?” You don’t reply to her, your head is too busy wondering how long she’ll keep this game up. She pours another shot but this time she has a new agenda on her mind. She makes her way up your body right in front of your breathless face. “Are you thirsty?” She knows the answer to that question just based on your appearance. The tension in your throat was becoming too much. You need a sense of relief. She takes your head leaning forward as a yes. Just as your lips were about to make contact with the glass, she pulls it away from you and drinks the shot herself and chuckles from the bewildered look on your face. “What the hell Nat!” You don’t even know what number of shots she’s on right now, but it takes a lot for Natasha to be drunk. A drunk Natasha was a completely different story than an annoyed Natasha.

“You still thirsty?” She whispers against your lips. Her stare is intense and intoxicating. You look away from her to show her just how annoyed you are, of course she thinks it’s cute. She refills the glass and hooks her finger under your chin bringing you face to face with her again. She downs the shot once again and tosses the glass across the room. She keeps your face in place as you try no ring away from her. She smashes her lips against yours and pushes the alcohol into your mouth. It’s fast and sloppy, so small amounts of it leak down the corner of your mouth and as Natasha pulls back she uses her tongue to catch every drip she sees.

“You want more Detka?” She still remains close to you as she reaches over to grab the bottle of alcohol off of the small cart. You only silently nod eagerly, wanting her to do it again. Except this time she hooks a finger underneath your chin tilting your head backwards and tips the bottle over. She notices the sudden change in enthusiasm at the change of direction. She can only laugh at you and your expressions but she can’t get too lost in it. This was a punishment after all. There was no time to be soft, at least so early into things. “Don’t pout.”

The next time she reaches for a shot to place on your stomach she sits the bigger glass on your stomach as well. She follows it up with dropping a few pieces of ice into the glass. “Nat you’re not being fair” frustration grows more when you realize this was a losing game either way it went. It’s not a game at all, it's a punishment of overstimulation. She pulls the wand out and turns it on to the highest level, your moans rise in volume at the first touch. “What was that I can’t hear you?” She keeps a firm grip on the toy and doesn’t relent on the pressure against your clit. “Fuck” you whine from the overstimulation, your legs are numb, and you no longer have the strength to try closing them from Natasha's access. The drinks spill over your body and the sheets Natasha takes in the sight with pride even though you’ve clearly just lost she has not intent on letting up on this game “You lost, baby and you’ve made such a mess.” She taunts you with fake concern as her hand stays firm and she starts moving the toy against your folds.

“Natasha, please.” She pouts at you with her fake sympathy. “Natasha please, what?” She gave your messy pussy a break by turning the level to the lowest Instead of taking it away completely. Your facial expressions plead more towards her than your words do. “Y-ou made your point, okay? now can you please- fuck! untie me?” She hums, weighing her decisions on if she thinks you’ve learned your lesson or not. Not really though because once Natasha Romanoff’s mind was set on something she made sure to go through with it no matter what. She took a little bit of pity on you right now but she really wanted to see this through, plus she was beyond turned on. She’s just stubborn like that.

“You know I don’t like pity cards and you know I don’t like cop outs, but nice try buttercup. You take what I give you and be happy with it.” If you were truly in unbearable pain, you’d use the safe word or Natasha would notice your breaking point and stop everything immediately. “Besides, don't you want to cum?” You growl in frustration as you glare at her, forgetting about the tight silk fabric strained against your skin you hiss in pain after your little tantrum. Natasha chuckles as she presses the toy firmly back into you. “You’re worried about me hurting you, it looks like those are doing it all on their own.”

“Mmh- h-how much longer are you gonna keep me like this?

“Until my feelings are no longer hurt or until I’m satisfied enough with how puffy and messy your pussy gets for me.” You were about to say something until the sensation of the wand tapping against your clit and the curl of Natasha’s finger entering your hole sent you further into ecstasy “Oh! Oh my-“ your fingers clench hard around the fabric of the restraints. “You know you haven’t even said sorry.” The look you gave her made her laugh but you can tell that she was being serious, maybe you did cut a little deep with your words knowing she has abandonment issues among many others. “I’m sorry, please. I’m sorry Tash.” You desperately apologize to her and she gives you no sign that she’s acknowledged it. Natasha turns the toy back on but not to the highest level and trails her tongue to your throbbing and neglected hole. She teases you for a moment by swirling her tongue around the hole before she spreads your folds, dives in and fucks you with firm and fast strokes. The sound of your wetness egging both of you on even more.

Every stroke and flick of her tongue was so intensifying that you forgot all about the silk fabrics restricting your hands from her grasp. Your body jerks from overstimulation but hearing the sound of Natasha’s praise filled moans made up for it. You ignore the stinging pain as the pleasure was much more overpowering. Just as you were getting used to the feeling of being on the edge again Natasha abruptly stops and pulls away from you with your juices smeared over her face. She enjoys the baffled look on your face right now. “I hate you.” You say, breathlessly while glaring at her as your legs shake uncontrollably with the loss of another orgasm.

You both know that’s not true she is using this moment to trap you, she wants to get a reaction out of you, she wants you to beg her to fuck you after you’ve been pleading with her for a break. “No, you don’t.” She places a soft but burning kiss on your skin while doing absolutely nothing to hide that smug expression from her face. You arch your back off of the bed, the sensation is now becoming too much to withstand. Natasha takes note of it and silently looks at you for any signs that you are at your limit. You wrap your legs around her as tight as your worn-out limbs will allow. “Keep going daddy, I’m okay.” Natasha’s strong hands have to keep you in place as she devours what belongs to her.

“Naat” your voice was finally at its breaking point. Worn out and hoarse. Natasha doesn’t budge, she keeps her focus on gaining her pleasure. “Hm fuck, just hold on a little longer” she thrusts against you groaning just how you like it, breathlessly panting with extra rasp in her voice. The moment her breath fans against your earlobe you felt your control slipping away. “Hold on for daddy?” She hooks your leg up for more security. Her fingers would surely leave behind imprints from the way she’s pressed her fingers into your soft thighs. “You feel so fucking good throbbing against me.”

“Just for me” she whispers the words out loud more so to herself than to you, but you respond to her anyway.

“Uh huh” you nod with eagerness as your nails claw at her skin. Natasha endures the stinging pain as she gets lost in the feeling of your warm slick. “Say it!” The sound of her hand making contact with the side of your ass jerks your body. “Just for you! Fuck, just for you!” You cum before Natasha does, you were already worked up and well spent she however still had energy left to use against you. Anger and jealousy were always a motivational boost for Natasha’s sex drive weirdly enough. As you lay there catching your breath Natasha’s movements slow down only for a moment before she’s repositioning herself on top of you. She finally frees your hands from the silk binds. Quickly massaging your wrists and leaving a chastise kiss on them. She spreads your puffy folds and begins angling herself against you. “Tash.”

“You can take it.” The sigh of relief and pleasure that takes over Natasha’s face was definitely worth the soreness that you will feel in the morning. She positions her clit against your dripping hole, she slowly pushes into you. The warmth of your pussy against the tip of Natasha’s clit was pure joy, she doesn’t do it often, or rather she didn’t really have time to do anything other than a quickie. Her mob activities and her regular nine to five businesses were always top priority now with new goals and a clean slate she wouldn’t dream about leaving you and your feelings out of the equation anymore. Especially not if she gets to fuck you like this more often.

Natasha snaps her hips forward, with each thrust your tits bounce in perfect rhythm. Her thrusts start slow but firm, until she can no longer hold on. Even though her entry point was small it didn’t take away the indescribable feeling of you sucking her in. Natasha pulls back for observation and once she sees the tip of her clit still inside of you something snaps inside of her. The perfect bounce of your tits soon starts to become erratic and sloppy just as Natasha’s thrusts. The loud sound of skin slapping, and wetness was almost enough to drown out anything else.

she buries her face into the crook of your neck, her muffled moans send the last bit of sensation you had left through your body. You don’t move. All of your limbs were non-functional at the moment, your bodies are still pressed together, and you hope to the highest heaven that Natasha meant what she said this time because you could still feel her throbbing against your folds. Your warm juices continue to flow as you watch Natasha come down from her high. “That was so hot.” She bites the side of your neck and soothes it over with her tongue. She takes a moment to place soft kisses anywhere she can on your body. You lay there in comfortable silence as you bask in the warmth and affection, she’s showing you right now because you truly don’t know how long it will last. How long this side of Natasha would stay before she’s back to her cold and set ways of thinking.

You fought off sleep as long as you could, but you were no longer winning the fight, Natasha obviously notices you trying to keep yourself awake. She makes quick work of cleaning you up, during your moment of dazed and fuzzy afterglow you only come down when you feel her in the same area she just abused. “Fuck off tash.” You limply try swatting her hands away from your cunt. Natasha scoffs and chuckles in the same breath. “Shut up and stop squirming. I'm cleaning you up, I should leave you a mess for what you did tonight.” She slaps your pussy once just to add on to the ‘asshole of the night award’ and you call her a bitch which only makes her chuckle. You know it’s a lie, Nat has never deliberately skipped aftercare with you. Only in times when she had to rush out unexpectedly, back when she was still in training to take over the business. Back when your relationship was in an awkward place.

During your small moment of reminiscing, you feel the bed shifting. The warm heat of Natasha’s skin against yours and the faint feeling of her breathing gets you to crack your eyes open to be greeted with her patiently awaiting your gaze. “Hey.” Your groggy greeting is cut off forcefully by Natasha’s lips smashing into yours. She pulls back looking you over as her nimble fingers ghost over your skin, over every mark on your neck and chest. She’s satisfied with her work tonight. She gives you a few more kisses before pulling you close to her side of the bed and turning the lights off. “Y/n.”

“Hm?” You hum in response while she rubs your back soothingly. “You're the only one for me." She wants to say, “I’m sorry I fucked up for me to realize that.” But she doesn’t want to get deep into that conversation right now. She doesn’t want to be vulnerable and open; she'll save it for another day. “Sleep.” Not long after that you were out cold.

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The next time you shift in bed your eyes are halfway open. You notice Natasha is still sitting up with her back against the headboard talking in a hushed whisper. She hears you stirring beside her. She doesn’t want you awake, she doesn’t want you to hear the conversation. Panic bells sound off inside of your head anytime she gets a phone call in the early hours of the morning. “Let me guess, vacation is over.” Your voice still dripped with slumber but it wasn’t a question it was more of confirmation, confirmation that usually results in you being tossed to the side and neglected. Natasha pauses the conversation you weren’t too focused on trying to hear. You were nearly on your way back to sleep. “No, baby, just go back to sleep.” She gives you a soft kiss to distract your curiosity so you fall asleep without any hesitation or any push back.

The next time you wake up you hear voices, and you feel yourself being moved around. The cool breeze hits your face, but you still remain with low lidded eyes. You’re not in danger, you would know if you were. The hands that hold on to you and occasionally caress your face weren’t unfamiliar ones. You could spot them instantly; you drift back off to sleep with the reassurance of a body nestled close to yours and warmth radiating into you. You wake up feeling the aftereffects from the evening you had last night with Natasha. You stretch your arms out while remaining to keep your eyes shut. You feel the bed for Natasha’s body and freeze when you come up empty. She wasn’t here.

You vaguely remember being put in the car and seeing your luggage being carried out of the penthouse. You sit up in bed with pinched brows after you’re aware of your surroundings, you search for your cell phone and find it on the side table plugged into the charger. Most of the messages were from Yelena and a few emails about your new night club. You were just about to call Natasha’s phone to demand answers about the change in location when you heard voices above you on the top deck of the yacht. Not only is Natasha standing there but she has Bucky and Clint with her as well. This was supposed to be a trip away from the mob life and that includes them. You storm up the last few stairs towards her. She knew you’d be yelling at her sooner or later after you woke up.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I thought this was our vacation time?” You cross your arms as you await her answer while also being aware of the extra bodies that were not supposed to be present. “Good morning to you too honey, I slept great thanks for asking.”

“Don’t fuck with me, I’m not in the mood to play with you right now Natasha.”

“We’re still on vacation…this needed to be dealt with immediately.” Her response doesn’t do anything for you to ease up on her. “Oh, c’mon sweet face, I thought this would be better by settling this here so we wouldn’t have to cut our trip short.” She rubs your waist and kisses your face hoping it will cool your temper. “You couldn’t have handled it at the penthouse?”

“You’d rather have me do that in a place where we lay our heads?”

“Natasha, we’re in fucking madripoor! Shit happens here every hour on the hour! Packing me and our things away at the ass crack of dawn for this? was not necessary!”

“Will you relax? You’re always complaining about me being romantic. Well, I was trying to be spontaneous while also getting things done efficiently!”

“Nothing about this is romantic and your whole excuse is a cop out.”

“Surprising you with a morning on a yacht isn’t romantic?”

“Don’t condescend me Natasha, it was the way you did things while also having an ulterior motive behind it.” Natasha grabs your hand before you walk away from her. Linking her fingers through yours and somehow your eyes drift up her body just in time to see the flex of her muscles in the tank top she was wearing. “Calm down, have some breakfast. I have all of your favorites prepared Already. This is not the end of our trip, it's more of a small interruption.” “Fine.” You turn your face away from her and start moving towards the kitchen area for some breakfast. if you were going to be around for this you were not doing it on an empty stomach. Natasha stops you and places her lips to the shell of your ear. “It won’t take long I promise.” She kisses your neck. “We can go back to our room and make that champagne and ice bucket useful, hm?”

“No, absolutely not you’re not touching me after last night, I’m still sore.” You brush past her as she scoffs and glares at you, you can say that now but maybe when she’s finished, you’ll change your mind. Natasha walks back to the group at the seating area and picks up a few pieces of fruit as the paranoid man sits in silence. “It’s my understanding that I haven’t received your payment.” She holds her hand up when the man attempts to speak, no doubt to apologize or make an excuse for his actions. “I don’t want excuses” Natasha doesn’t like pity and she doesn’t like excuses. You'd be lucky enough for her to even ask you for a solution instead of killing you. Charles stupidly ignores her response hoping she’d be able to understand when she hears the full story and his side of things.

“We’ve been having a tough time at the shop and-“ Her fists cut his words short he wasn’t even aware of when she stood up to even get near him. “I thought I just said I didn’t want to hear any excuses.” Natasha sighs with disappointment as she checks her nails like the narcissist she is. “You interrupted my lovely trip with my sweet face over there.” She points to you while you sit at the counter sipping your orange juice. “This was not the way she was supposed to be waking up, Charles. Do you understand my dilemma here?” The man hesitated to answer Natasha. The question was dripping with a sexual undertone, not knowing if he would end up with a bullet between his eyes for answering truthfully. “I-“ Natasha delights in his uneasiness to reply, one wrong word would set her off completely, changing the mood of this meeting. “It’s okay, you can answer.”

“I understand, trust me.” He takes a little too long to turn his attention back to her. So, she grabs him by the collar. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” She tilts her head hovering above him. “I-I apologize for the intrus-“ the back of her hand makes contact with his face. “Not to me you fucking idiot!” She grabs his face and turns it towards your direction. “To her.” You grow awkward with the man’s eyes on you while you are trying to eat. “I’m sorry.” “She can’t hear you! Say it louder!” You heard his apology but you wanted to be left alone for now. After having a week of silence and wild nights with Natasha you weren’t ready for things to start going back to normal. You weren’t ready to go back home and fall into the same pattern again. “I’m so sorry” fully catching your attention you flip him off in response and go back to eating and drinking your juice. He turns around to look at Natasha for what to do next. She insists on him trying again for an apology. Shooing him away with her hands. He moves further into the kitchen area as you eat your breakfast. Unfazed by his presence. “Um miss I wanted to sincerely apologize for-“ his apology was stopped abruptly when the weight of the waffle iron collided with his face. “What the hell!” He shouts out in agony clutching his broken nose on the floor.

“Why the hell are you in my face? You already ruined my morning, now you’re going to ruin my breakfast too?” You grab him by the collar of his shirt. “No, that was not my intention.” Even if he was telling the truth, you were still pissed about it, so you use this opportunity to use him as a punching bag. Throwing multiple punches to his already broken and bruised face. Clint once again steps next to Natasha. “You just gonna let her do that? We don’t need him dead, Nat.” Natasha looks at Clint with a smirk on her face. She honestly loved that you let out your dark side more now. “I suppose you’re right, but I just love seeing my sweet face go sour and bad for a bit.” Clint makes a face of disgust.

“Please spare me the details of you and y/n’s psycho relationship dynamic, I already told you that you two need therapy like yesterday.” She rolls her eyes and walks away. You stop your attack on his face and you hold him up by the collar of his blood-stained shirt. The small blade presses against his skin; you trail the sharp knife down his cheek and stop at the curve of his neck. “What type of work do you do?” He seems caught off guard with that question as he nervously licks his lips. He doesn’t know if he is supposed to look at you or keep his eyes trained on the cabinets. “I own a butcher shop.”

“Oh, this is perfect.” You take pride in his blatant display of confusion and fear. “You cut and trim meat all day, what’s so hard about that?” You don't give him a chance to reply to you, not that he would even dare try to respond to that loaded question. “Since you’re a butcher I’m sure you’re aware that a single incorrect cut could ruin a good piece of meat.” He stares up at you in pain and confusion as you tilt your head adding more pressure behind the knife. Natasha arrives in the kitchen area just in time.

“Okay, that’s enough, buttercup.” She pulls your back to her front and holds you in place. “Put the knife down.” She rubs your body soothingly to bring you back to a calm state. It takes you a few seconds, but you eventually flick the blade back into its safety pocket and place it into Natasha’s hands and let the man go in the process. As she puts the small knife in her pocket Natasha looks down at the bloody figure on the floor. “I know how much you wanted to cool off a bit, I don’t know what possessed him to bother you.” She snuggles her face closer to your neck inhaling deeply, She loved the scent of you. As Natasha was distracted the man quickly defended himself once again.

“You literally told me to come over here and apologize!” He shouts out at her stupidly once again not knowing how dangerous that is. “No, I don’t think I did, actually.” Instead, she replies back with a cool and calm demeanor she wanted to see if you’d attack him again. ”Yes you did!” Charles shouts back defensively and Natasha kicks him in the face “Shut up!” You crane your neck to watch Natasha’s body language. “Don’t listen to him baby Especially since I know how grumpy you get when something interrupts our plans.” She softly kisses your neck when she’s done telling the lie. You take a moment to look down at your silk pajamas and groan frustration.

“He got his blood all over my new pajamas, now we have to buy another set of matching ones.” Natasha just chuckles at your response. Blaming that poor man for getting blood on your expensive robe when you were the cause of it being there in the first place. She loved it. Part of her wished your father would’ve made you more involved with the mob activities like she had to. She would’ve had this sight of you way early on into the relationship, but she loves you just the way you are right now. “Don’t worry about it. We can buy all the matching pajamas you want, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, you will especially since this is your fault for sending him over here in my goddamn face in the first place.”

“See, I told you!” You both speak at the same time. “Shut up!” When the man quiets down Natasha doesn’t try to deny it this time she just laughs and pulls you closer to her. Of course, you knew she was lying. “I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to let some anger out and I was clearly right.”

“How thoughtful of you.” You gently pat her cheek. “I know.” She leans forward placing her lips on yours. She growls in surprise when you take control, shoving your tongue down her throat. Backing her up into the counter and harshly biting her lip. “Don’t tease me right now dekta.”

“Can you two stop sucking face? We have import shit to deal with here!” Bucky was getting annoyed. From the time being wasted and just from seeing you two showing public displays of affection. You clench your jaw, looking over Natasha’s shoulder. Who the hell did he think he was? You pick up an empty champagne flute and launch it at Bucky. “Shut the fuck up!” He dodges the glass before it makes contact. Clint pulls Bucky aside with force. “You seriously need to let it go, Buck.” Clint harshly whispers to him. He snatches his arm from Clint and goes to sit down on the padded couch. Seeing him be seated like a good little guard dog that he should be. As Clint snatches the man from the floor and away from the kitchen area you focus back on your girlfriend. “Finish everything up here and I’ll be downstairs. Don’t take too long though, I’m not promising to keep my hands off.” You slide your hand underneath the silk waistband of her pajamas. Natasha’s eyes blown wide, she couldn’t wait to get this over with to have you screaming out in pleasure and pain once again. You bring your hand back out into the open. Natasha licks her lips at the glistening wet slick dripping down your fingers. You place your fingers on her lips. She welcomes them openly, sucking the flavorful juices off your fingers. You lean in ghostly whispering against her lips.

“If you get this handled quickly the next time, we kiss I’ll have the taste of your cum on my lips.” Her breath hitches and she’s more determined to get this shit done now more than ever. Hell, she might even give him more time and just have Clint and Bucky take Charles back home. That would be the only time she would show forgiveness. The only time she’d be so lenient to someone who wronged her.

Natasha makes her way back to the seating area; she makes a show to whistle from your previous actions. “Yeah, she’s pissed. I was going to put on a show for her but I’m feeling merciful and gracious.” She pops a few pieces of fruit in her mouth and turns directly to face the bruised and bloody man. “So, let’s talk about how you’re going to move forward to get me the money that I’m owed and how you’re gonna pay extra for this inconvenience, shall we?”

They found a way to come to an agreement and the instant that the problem had been solved Natasha jumped up from her seat with haste and intended to run downstairs to you. “Natasha, we have another problem.”

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“No, we just fixed it…any other problems can wait until tomorrow or until I officially return from my vacation.”

“Uh, Nat you’re not listening…”

“And you’re not listening to me Clint, this trip was to make things up to y/n, and I don’t need calls interrupting the time I made for her. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have holes that I need to fill downstairs and you’re making me late.” Clint visibly gags and Natasha’s satisfied with his reaction to walk away from him to leave him with that burning image. “Jesus! Keep that to yourself I swear to God I’m this close to ditching my earring aids whenever I’m on duty! and I’m serious Nat it’s about Alexei.” Just as she was walking away from him she stops in her tracks as soon as he mentions the name. She slowly turns around to face him and a silent Bucky. “What kind of problem is it?”

Time passes longer than you would’ve liked but once again you were used to it. This trip did nothing but show you the reality of your life and your relationship. You could never truly get away from this lifestyle. You quickly change into normal clothes, your mood has drastically changed and the likelihood of your girlfriend returning to you anytime soon was uncommon. As expected when the bedroom door opens you know it’s Natasha and you know she’s come to tell you the bad news but what she doesn’t expect is for you to already have the bags packed and ready to be put into the car. Her apology falls dead on the tip of her tongue as you cut her off before she even had the chance to release it. “I don’t want to hear it.” Your response is cold and calm, two signs she’s much familiar with now, you could snap at any moment. Which furthers the internal need to be close to you she knows there’s a chance of a fight happening, an item being thrown at her hell you could be hiding a knife somewhere just waiting to make your move. She ignores her thoughts and cautiously takes small steps towards you at a time.

“Hey, it’s another emergency that needs to be addressed and it’s much bigger than what happened this morning.” You don’t say anything to her as you sit in silence on the edge of the bed. She tries to be near you to bring you some sort of comfort, but you stand up and head for the door with your luggage in hand. “I told you I don’t want to hear it; I don’t want to hear excuses.” Natasha already felt bad and now you’re using her own shit against her which makes her feel even worse. She reached for you hoping you’d let her explain the situation further. Maybe it’ll ease the pain if you knew just how dire it was to fly back home. All she got in return was a stinging slap to the face before you stormed out of the room with your luggage completely. Natasha wasn’t expecting it but she isn’t mad at it, you’re upset, angry and hurt. She knows you’re not letting it all out, so a slap to the face is something she’d have to endure. She grabs a duffel bag and tells Bucky and Clint to get the rest of the luggage as she follows after you.

You remained silent in the car as Clint and Natasha discussed business matters. You settle for keeping your focus on the car window knowing Natasha is staring at you intently waiting for you to address her. To say something. Anything. She leans closer to you, and you counter her movements by sliding closer to the door. She tries again by placing her hand on your thigh to silently apologize for cutting the trip short. You remove her hand immediately. In your eyes it looked like she lied about what happened earlier, which in truth she didn’t lie, things just played out that way. How Inconvenient for her. She leaves you to deal with your emotions and goes to her phone texting Yelena about your incoming attitude and about this meeting that Alexei demanded to have.

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You make your way onto the private jet, and you still have not said one word to Natasha other than your outburst from earlier. You flop down in the seat after taking a sucker from the candy bowl and popping it into your mouth. Natasha brings two champagne flutes over as she sits next to you. She asks you something and your only response is to grab the abandoned pair of headphones and turn the volume up to true maximum level to drown out her repeating apologies. “Can I have some?” She removes the left side of your headphones to speak directly into your ear. When she has your attention, she nods to the candy that’s in your mouth. You roll your eyes and hand her the bowl only she never reaches for it. Instead, she goes for the sucker in your mouth, and she reaches for the end of the stick. Lightly tugging on it for you to release it from your tight grasp. Making a sound of annoyance and disapproval you swat her prying hands away.

“You’re not gonna share with me?” You once again shove the bowl of candy near Natasha, and she still doesn’t budge. That’s not what she wanted. This was her way of getting you to interact with her. To acknowledge her. It’s not the first time something so childish as candy could bring you back from a fit of rage and anger and back into her embrace of understanding and forgiveness. A little lighthearted interaction to let her know how deep in shit she was truly in once the two of you were back home and things went back to the everyday routine. Natasha makes a disapproving noise and tosses the candy bowl on the empty seat next to her. She’s had enough of your attitude and your unwillingness to hear her out, this wasn’t like any other excuse that truly needed her presence. Natasha quickly grips your face and turns your attention back on her.

“I didn’t plan this. Trust me I would rather still be on that yacht with you right now, but this is serious." You shrug her off of you, annoyed with her cryptic responses, she never really goes into detail about why things were serious or so urgent that you sit at the dinner table alone most nights. You remove the candy from your mouth and lick your lips, an action Natasha focuses on intensely. “You still haven’t told me what’s so serious that you cut our vacation short, a vacation I only got because you let Stark get in your head and you couldn’t keep your hands off of an attention seeking whore!” Your voice raises in volume and Clint and Bucky share a look but they remain in their seats unbothered. They’re pretty much used to the outbursts between you two and they’ll only intervene if Natasha tells them to. Meanwhile you lean away from her and place the candy back into your mouth seemingly being done with this conversation. Natasha rubs her face harshly and exhales a deep breath that she’s been holding since she got the news. Natasha calms her nerves trying to stay on her new path by managing her temper. She’s trying her best to communicate properly. “It has to do with Alexei.”

“Alexei?!” You could’ve cut the inside of your mouth with how fast you pulled the candy out of your mouth from hearing his name. She nods her head and swigs down her champagne. She was nervous. “You know just as much as anybody how dreadful this surprise meeting is going to be for me.” Natasha hasn’t spoken to Alexei directly in a long time and she hasn’t seen him in the flesh for even longer. The two of them never got along and when Natasha started to rebel against him and his orders, that caused the drift between them. The final straw that broke the camel's back was her continuing to defy him by being in a relationship with you. Once he found out about you two, things changed. He treated you differently, he deemed you as a distraction to his daughter. Of course, his attitude could only be expressed slightly back then with your father still being around and being the man in charge but once he was murdered, Alexei didn’t hold his tongue any longer. He had free reign to say anything he wanted. He Finally got to release the built-up aggression that built up over the years starting from the moment you came back, and the moment Natasha set her eyes on you.

The harsh and cruel words spewing out of his mouth no longer held back in the depths of his throat. The words remained there from the first day he caught you and Natasha together. The memories brought back pain not just yours but Natasha’s as well. You saw how she was treated by that man for as long as you’ve known her. You finally turn your whole body to her and the first thing you can see is the sincerity in her eyes. “I know.” You say with softness and love. You hold your hand out to her and she doesn’t touch you. You move your hand closer to her, placing it in her lap. “Are you gonna hold my hand or what?”

“That depends if you’re gonna slap me again or not.” You shake your head ‘no’ in response and she links her fingers with yours. Now you feel bad for slapping her knowing she has Alexei on her brain already, that abuse was enough on its own, even though your feelings and reaction was valid you needed to apologize. “I’m sorry for that by the way.” You use your other hand to rub against the cheek you previously struck. “No, you aren’t.” She cracks a smile and you return the same mirrored emotion back at her. “Okay, maybe not completely but I’m sorry for not hearing you out earlier.” You slowly exhale, lowering your gaze down to your abandoned hand on Natasha’s lap. “I was just really starting to get used to this kind of lifestyle.”

“You’ve always had a luxury lifestyle, what are you talking about?”

“Not that, I meant being normal. Having a normal and domestic lifestyle, that doesn’t involve waking up to random strangers in our living room or having to be pulled away from vacation after the shit I had to go through to even get here.” You take a brief moment to calm down. You weren’t trying to start another argument with her, not after you know what awaits her when this private jet lands. The mindset and preparation she has to readjust to. You feel the warm embrace of her hand in yours. Natasha gives you a firm and comforting squeeze before she finally links her fingers with yours. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I know I’ll never be able to truly escape it but it would be nice to put things on pause more often and just...get away.” You look to Natasha to answer your response as if your statement was a question. She understands perfectly without the use of your voice. She’s known how long you’ve wanted to get away and it was always put on the back burner, had she known that a vacation trip meant this much to you, your passport would’ve been overfilled with stamps by now. She feels guilty for neglecting you and not being attentive to your needs. All she had to do was make a call and everything you wanted would be everything you’d have. “We’ll take more trips…I promise.” You give her an annoyed look, it's something you’ve heard before and you’d rather not hear the lie again. “I’m serious, if you want to take a trip just book a flight or call Fitz to have the jet ready and we’ll go wherever you want.”

“Tash, you talk a sweet game, but we both know how this will play out.”

“I’m making changes, I’ve put in the effort and I’ve owned up to my mistakes. I’m being serious, I really mean it this time.” You hum with satisfaction as you see new determination in her eyes. Your hand tugs the collar of her shirt forward, you hold eye contact for a moment before your lips ghost over hers. “Next time something like this happens just tell me straight up, and don’t start with apologies. Do you understand Natalia? She smirks against your lips as they slightly graze each other. “Yes, my love.”

“Good.” You say, softly and finally lean forward to peck her lips you pull away way too soon for Natasha to even get started on her attack. You pull away with a smug smile while Natasha licks her lips tasting the remnants of sweetness from the cherry blow pop, she was practically begging for moments ago. “I’m stressed out over here and you’re teasing me?”

“You’re right” you go in for another kiss, but this time Natasha pulls you in and holds your face in place as she deepens the kiss. It’s sloppy and desperate, which is another silent sign that means she needs comfort and support right now. when you try pulling away again, she places her hand around your neck giving you a subtle squeeze as a warning to keep still. Natasha makes sure to savor the artificial flavor as she strokes her tongue around every part inside of your mouth. The noises you two pull from each other caused Clint to fully turn his hearing aids off and Bucky turns his headphones on max volume to drown out the lewd sounds. When she finally lets you come up for air, she admires your dazed expression and goes back to drinking her champagne as if nothing just happened.

“You just tried to kill me!” You say as you finally get the sensation of oxygen coming in again. she chuckles and turns her head towards you. “It’s your fault for not sharing with me.” Is all she says before shrugging her shoulders and sighing before she makes a move to get up. You quickly place your hand on hers stopping her movements, a silent question hung in the air about why she’s leaving her seat. “I need to plan things out with Clint and buck” you move your hand and silently nod in agreement but before she leaves you beckon her with your finger for one more kiss which she happily obliged to.

After a few playful nips and bites, you both pull away and you place the blow pop against Natasha’s wet lips. “I also forgot to mention that Alexei is meeting at our house tonight for dinner.” The moments of normalcy and domestication were over, now things were officially going back to what you've been used to since you were born. You just hope and pray that no one ends up dead but maybe that's asking for far too much when Alexei is at the center of the equation.

[0ccvltism]

Downpour

((It's been a long time coming, but I finally finished another of the drabble drafts! This one is meant to prelude Rocks and Rom Coms and Long Story, but can certainly be read separately! I present to you: Stanford-Era Dean being the socially-inept, ill-adjusted boy I maintain he would be.))

What would arguably be the most important day of your life, looking back, was an entirely average Monday; it was one that would even count as a bad day.

You went to class – you were running late, and it was only the first week. You had lunch at some overpriced cafe on campus; another several hours of classes that made a headache start to throb at your temples; as rain began to pour down as you walked home, you ducked into the nearest building – a run-down looking gas station that, really, had no business keeping their prices a solid ten cents higher than everywhere else in town – to wait it out.

He was leaning against the counter beside the display of brightly colored lottery adverts and scratch off tickets, brows furrowed as he stared out at the rain, grumbling about how he’d “just waxed the damn car–”, his eyes fixed on a sleek black muscle car safely hidden beside pump three from the sudden downpour. It seemed he was stuck there, just like you were, if his muttering was any indication. His green eyes darted to yours as the bell above the door jingled cheerfully, and the sour expression on his face lightened just a bit. “Kind’a wet out there, huh?” He asked, lips quirking into a lopsided grin as he took in your damp clothes and disheveled hair.

“Usually what happens when it rains,” You quipped, making a bee-line for the line of coolers, grabbing an overpriced bottled iced coffee. You heard him snort out a laugh behind you, and you couldn’t help but grin as well, idly wandering toward the aisles of snacks.

The sound of the rain on the roof was getting louder, not quieter, and the realization struck that, unless you wanted to arrive home entirely soaked to the skin, you were likely going to be stuck there for a while. Grabbing a bag of mini-donuts, you made your way to the register where he was still leaning, arms folded, on the counter, sliding your newly acquired snacks toward the register.

You reached into your pocket, digging for your wallet.

Nothing.

You paused, dropping your backpack down to one elbow, digging through each compartment.

Nothing.

As you wracked your brain to try to locate your missing wallet – and more importantly, your money – it hit you. You’d spent the batter part of the previous evening indulging in a bit of retail therapy, and your wallet was probably still on the coffee table, right next to your laptop. The realization was a welcome one in that you knew where it was, but an incredibly inconvenient one in regards to where it wasn’t.

You looked up at the cashier – a girl a few years younger than you, who was staring at you with a bored, unamused look. “I, uh – I’ll just put those back,” You offered sheepishly.

“I got it.” You startled slightly as the man beside you leaned forward, casting you a wink and another brilliant grin, sliding a ten across the counter. His eyes cut back to you, that million dollar smirk not fading as he offered his hand. “Dean.” He supplied.

“Y/N,” You introduced, before quickly adding, “Look, I left my wallet – I don’t have any way to pay you back.” You slowly took the bag the cashier offered, shaking his hand with your free one.

“‘S fine,” The man – Dean – waved your concern off with a hand. “It was, what, ten bucks tops? ‘S fine.” He flipped briefly through the change he’d gotten back, counting, and – “Yeah. Seven fifty. Not gonna miss it.” He smiled over at you. God, that smile was borderline disarming. “‘Sides, I can think of a few ways for you to pay me back.”

There it was.

You grimaced slightly, and he seemed to realize his misstep, holding up his hands immediately in surrender. “Not what I meant,” He said quickly, a sheepish expression immediately darting across his face – you got the immediate impression that wasn’t a line he’d tried before, nor one he’d actually thought out before he used it.

God, he had no idea how to talk to women, did he? “Alright,” You said slowly, reaching into your bag to fish out the bottled coffee, giving it a few shakes before you opened it. “What did you mean, then?”

“I was just thinkin’ – I dunno. Coffee, maybe? Real coffee, not that,” He cast a stare at your bottle like it had personally offended him somehow. “And – hell, it doesn’t look like ‘s gonna stop rainin’ any time soon. Maybe I could give you a ride home.”

Your first instinct was the logical one – a very firm thank you, but hell no – but the words didn’t come out. Instead, you let your eyes wander over his expression. If you had to guess, he was around your age - give or take a year or two. He didn’t seem threatening. He seemed awkward. Not for the first time, you were reminded of the boys you’d had classes with the last two years – freshly out of high school, full of faux self-confidence and one-liners they’d snagged from suave action heroes that always got the girl.

You glanced out the window at the rain, which seemed to have no intention of slowing – let alone stopping – any time soon. “Weren’t you just complaining that you just waxed your car?” You pointed out, taking a sip of your coffee.

He gave a one-shouldered shrug, leaning his weight against the counter. “S’pposed to give it an hour – she should be fine.”

“She?” You quoted skeptically, earning another sheepish grin. You took another sip of your coffee, glancing down into the bag at the paper bag of mini-donuts, considering your options. Your shoes and socks were already soaked through, squishing uncomfortably as you shifted. You could wait out the rain – which didn't seem like it would stop any time soon – or you could take your chances ending up on some daytime crime show like your mother loved to watch so often.

You glanced back up at him – he'd gotten a scratch off ticket and was slowly working his way over it, one of the quarters from his change gripped between a thumb and finger, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes flitting back up to yours. “Yeah, alright.” You finally conceded. “Any funny business, and I'm tucking and rolling.” You warned.

Dean gave a wide grin, one that sent a flutter of butterflies through you. “Deal. I won't even lock the doors.” He raised one hand – the one still holding the quarter between two fingers – in a teasing promise. “Just let me finish this –...” His face, scrunched up (adorably, though you would never admit as much) in concentration, lit up as he scratched off the remaining few squares of his lottery ticket, one fist pumping briefly in the air. “Score!” He grinned over at you. “What’d’you say we stop for that coffee first?” He asked, proudly holding up the ticket.

He was still grinning ear-to-ear as he held the door open, the bell jingling overhead, before he followed you out into the rain.

[therentyoupay]

Hello, Kris! I think I might’ve already gotten the gist of it, but it’s been some time. What exactly IS Academia Mode? Are you still in school, or is this your actual job, and it just happens to be involved in the education system?

Many thanks!

hahah no worries!!! that is a good question 🤣😭😭🙏 for me, academia mode is currently finishing the 5th and final year of my doctoral program and includes (but is not limited to lol):

data collection, analysis, write-ups

writing python programs to support my data cleaning, data coding, stats, and data analysis/visualizations

applying for GRANT MONEYYYY

submitting abstract proposals to conferences (and applying for MORE GRANT MONEYYYY)

reporting research findings (writing journal article manuscripts, preparing conference slides)

writing my actual dissertation manuscript lol

supporting and instructing my research assistants

sharing my research with mainstream public audiences

writing my non-fiction book based on my ongoing dissertation research

teaching classes, grading papers, holding office hours, fielding emails, writing letters of recommendation for all sorts of students' fellowships/grad admissions/grant applications, teaching students how to strategize their personal statements, grant purpose letters, and other aspects of apps, etc.

peer-reviewing others' journal manuscripts, providing feedback to colleagues (blind review or not)

assisting with my advisor's research and textbook manuscripts (proofreading, copy-editing, internet sleuthing, finding more up-to-date citations, occasionally writing rough drafts)

writing chapters for edited volumes on various topics

READING. all the time. reading new literature and research articles constantly. ALL THE TIME. writing 1-pagers and mini-annotated bibs for future lit review use, etc.

WRITING. all the time. professional-speak, academic-speak, insructor-speak.

getting paid to travel to conferences to present my research (GRANT MONEYYYYYY)

by may 2025, i'll be a Ph.D.!!!!!! [screams]

academia mode! ✨🤣🤣🤣😭🤣💕 every day, i think about how lucky i am that i get paid to do what i do 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 hope you are having a magnificent day, and thank you for the ask!!

[asksythe]

(Cropped and without background art) NSFW illustration for Lies and his Wife Truth.

A scene in the present timeline. One day before the fateful reunion in Norwich.

Yay! The first successful NSFW Com for Lies!

Lies has two planned sex scenes in its draft. One in the past timeline between Oberon and Titania!Ritsuka (milestone of Oberon's character arc an his rebellion from the world, eschewing his mission to destroy the Lostbelt) and one in the present timeline between Oberon and Ritsuka (milestone of Oberon devolving and sliding back into his monstrous origin and descending into Beasthood). This is the present timeline one.

Haaaa... I am so stoked to finally get this. Maybe I shouldn't have posted even this cropped version and spoiled some details of the plot. But the alternate option of sitting mum on this piece until the story progresses to that point might be impossible for me, considering how excited I am (hahaha!). Plus my memories are just horrid these days.

[whoreviewswho]

I Only Know Who - The Snowmen, 2012

Any conversation of The Snowmen is one, inevitably, dominated by a big what if. That 'what if' comes in the form of Beryl, the Victorian governess created by Steven Moffat to be the new companion for the Eleventh Doctor. As we will quickly discover, The Snowmen is an odd concoction but it shines some clarity onto the project to know that the starting place was really with this character and that does make sense. The Snowmen is a story that attempts to tie three largely unrelated plot ideas together and the strongest of these, the plucky barmaid turned governess adventure, is easily the most compelling. Despite this, Clara Oswald, as she came to be known, did not become the new co-lead of Doctor Who in this form. The character does star in the whole special but her role is swiftly written out by the anxious production team and replaced entirely by... Clara Oswald. The exact same character just with a present-day Londoner background. At which point this change was made still remains unclear with some suggestion that the Victorian companion at least existed in some of the drafts for the later Cold War and Nightmare in Silver. 

From a cursory glance at the title, The Snowmen appears to be following the pseudo tradition laid down in the previous two Moffat specials of being a pastiche of a classic holiday story, in this case The Snowman by Raymond Briggs. However, if this was an intentional effort at any stage in the production, the story quickly moved away from it. This episode is in no way an adaption of that story and the parallels are loose at best. Like James (or the unnamed boy if you prefer the book as a reference point), Simeon builds a snowman as a boy that unexpectedly comes to life, at least in a fashion and that’s about where the inspiration ends. Briggs’ story is unambiguously a tale about innocence and mortality with the snowman himself symbolising the experience of childhood. It is a sombre but bittersweet coming of age parable that introduces children to death and finality through a whimsical and almost Buddhist lens of circularity. Not that Briggs pioneered the idea of the seasons representing the cycle of life and death but it is perhaps a definitive exploration for many children.

The Snowmen is not about these things despite the potential certainly being there. Simeon’s snowman is, at first, not exactly a being unto itself but simply an entity into which he, as an angry and isolated child, can project his own thoughts and feelings. The snow reflects Simeon and is powered by his sociopathic and psychotic person eventually causing it to take on a life of its own beyond simply being a mirror. There are a number of places that this idea could be developed into but it never really happens. We know really nothing about Simeon’s upbringing that would have lead him to be such a cruel character save for the prologue that simply presents him as a lonely boy with some genuine care from presumed parental figures (one of which looks uncannily like Eve Myles). This could even be an orphanage which would prove to be a cool link if true to the governess side of the story later on. It is a provocative moment when the snow is revealed to just be the voice of a sad and lonely child, perhaps being representative of a form of trauma for Simeon. The man has funnelled all of his negative feelings into his work, what is literally a snow globe that could shatter with enough pressure, and left any chance for an enriching life outside that slide away completely. This is almost in the text but just needed some more teasing out of it was the intention. Similarly, the Intelligence’s existence behind Simeon as a bigger force that has snowballed (ha) into an unstoppable, raging killing machine could have served well as embodying a cycle of abuse. The consequences outlive the perpetrator and have grown to dangerous extremes. The abuser is gone but the victims still have the great force and repercussions to reckon with. 

I realise, of course, that this kind of read is somewhat far removed from what actually happens onscreen. If there is any greater subtext to Simeon’s plot then it is much less subtle than any of my reads (which are not particularly deep either). Here we have Moffat in his anti-capitalist mode with the Doctor explicitly identifying Simeon as somebody looking for a profit. In practice, his resulting scheme is a bit banal – he and the Intelligence want to take over the world. This is framed as a business venture and the notion of a shapeless, malicious entity creating an homogenous monopoly across the globe is a fun one that I would have loved to see expanded upon. The episode, however, does not really have enough time to dedicate to this single aspect of the story and so it, subsequently, feels like the most undercooked element of this whole package. The Great Intelligence as a company feels positively throwaway by the end. The whole villain plot is necessarily in the background for the first two thirds of the runtime but then it is savagely railroaded into irrelevance for the final third. Even more damning is Richard E. Grant performance which makes no effort to hide how painfully disinterested in this material he is. That said, he does deliver one of the funniest moments of possibly the entire Moffat era when he unveils a giant lizard doing detective work only to be disgusted that she is a woman and it is worth praising the reintroducing the Great Intelligence as literal monstrous snowmen. It is a painfully obvious stroke of brilliance that does not get nearly enough credit. 

In fact, let us turn to some even more unabashed praise which is overdue for great swathes of this episode because it is a fabulous production. Saul Metzstein is a very stylish Who director and this episode is no exception. The sets and costumes are all as wonderful as you would expect from a period BBC showcase, Murray Gold's score is breathtaking and it is an incredibly slickly constructed episode all around. Besides Grant, the cast are generally wonderful. Throughout this half of season seven, I have always felt that Smith had a bit of a season eighteen Tom Baker – his heart is not in these stories and he is clearly missing his friends that made the show feel like home. Still, that is not to say he is bad at all because he certainly is not and it is nice to see a marked shift in both the writing and performance that puts his Doctor in a more subdued and somewhat mature mode for the remainder of his run. The Doctor being in grief is a fine-enough part of this story though it does feel a little oddly obligatory. Even stranger is the fact that this isolated, morose Doctor was evidently at the core of the story's concept from the beginning. It gives way to the best visual moments in the whole episode but his arc is still so dully presented.

One of the problems could be that the framing is in the wrong place. The drama hinges rather pointlessly on whether the Doctor will get over his reclusive, grief-ridden lifestyle and return to adventuring but this is never going to work because the whole show operates on the understanding that the Doctor is an adventurer. Where the story should have had its focus, in my opinion, was on the how of this which, of course, is Clara. What about Clara and her story compels the Doctor to return to his old ways? Again, I love it aesthetically and do wonder if this story might have excelled if it were actually a silent film but there is never a good enough sense of what makes Clara so different than anybody else that he might have met. She is a great character but that relationship with the Doctor is not nearly as well-connected as it may have been. It just seems like he follows her because he fancies her and that's it. "I only know who" is the best explanation we get. Clara being the perfect companion is going to factor into all of her fatal flaws later on but perhaps we needed more examples of the Doctor with other people to really sell that idea? As it is, it seems like he just decides to take off with the first pretty girl he sees which may have been Moffat's intention but, if so, it is a little unclear to me. There also could have been a way to connect this plot line to everything else in the story with a traumatised villain and kids in fear of a dead governess. Grief, death and trauma could all have been at the forefront of the main plots here but never really are. This is my big frustration with The Snowmen at the end of the day – it is just not really about anything.

Jenna Coleman is immediately brilliant. Clara in her first season gets a lot of criticism for being an underdeveloped, generic character and, to an extent, I feel the same way but I feel that the problem is less that she is lacking in a distinct character than it is that character being deliberately obfuscated by the arc that Moffat is pushing at the audience. That is a problem later but not so much here which is probably why the sentiment that Victorian Clara is superior continues to linger in fandom. Clara is immediately a magical presence in an old-school adventure hero sort of way. The two modes she presents are very distinct feminine adventure hero archetypes, occupying at different points the adventure-seeking, boisterous, tomboyish wench (for lack of a better word) and Mary Poppins. Coleman is masterful at both and it is brilliant how one is overtly pitched toward kids and the other to the parents. It is important to note too that the character traits underpinning Clara in both of these contexts are things that we would also come to know about Clara proper. She is obviously intelligent, witty and flirtatious but more interestingly than that are things such as her overconfidence, which makes her transgressive to the narrative in the same way as the Doctor. These are all relatively small moments such as her using the improper entrance at the Latimers' and challenging the hierarchy established by all of the men around her, including the Doctor, but their go a long way toward fleshing her out immediately. 

Given that she dies before the end of the story as well, it becomes even more apparent in hindsight how much of what would be the regular Clara's downfall is obvious from the beginning. Clara is entranced by the Doctor and immediately seeks him out, follows him and the pair are so enamoured with each other that neither are careful enough to protect her from her easily avoidable death. I understand though that their later relationship changes and improves on the whole reading of their dynamic. Clara is clearly a deceitful character from the start, if not a manipulator, with how she falsifies her identity for employment with Latimer (though it is never particularly clear why), and a thrill seeker of some kind at least given how much if a rush she is in with the Doctor in dangerous situations. Clara is obviously a character and a more than barely distinct one at that but the divide between her Victorian self and the contemporary version does little favours in selling that fact. The aesthetic divide is so great plus the amount of plot importance placed on the later version. It becomes difficult to connect this story as her actual introduction when so much of the "plot" insists upon that not being the case.

As for the supporting cast, I really like them too though I do not have all that much to say. The Paternoster Gang got a lot off hate at the time and probably still do by some sects of fandom but I bloody love them. Vastra and Jenny are a terrific duo and have their impact in normalising queer relationships for young minds should not be understated. As for Strax, well, if you don't find him funny then that's that really. I, for one, think he is hilarious and well on-brand for what Robert Holmes may have done with him had he seen the modern show. He is also my dad's single favourite Doctor Who character so it would be hard for me to muster any huge negative feelings, even if they were genuine.

The Snowmen is probably Doctor Who at its most whimsical and fantasy, both in tone and in storytelling. There is not a lot of interest in real science for any of this. The Doctor, the snow, the emotional beat pf the resolution are all basically magical elements and the story is all the better for it There are so many lovely moments of genuine magic in this episode such as the entire aspect of living on the clouds. It is beautifully realised and a storybook image that I truly adore. This episode is a lovely little Mary Poppins pastiche for a goof part of the runtime to a point where I wonder why the title focus was not on that somehow. Clara's stories she tells the children sound pretty wonderful, don't they? Clara being a governess is a nice part of the story and leads to some lovely interactions but, again, it leaves me wondering what the hell the intent was, if any. Simeon was a lovely child, we have two kids here being raised by a distant, somewhat cold father but they have a simultaneous childhood friend and mentor in Clara. Is there a connection? I'm not sure. I'm also not sure if there is anything to read into Franny having premonitions of the old governess returning too. It never comes back but is this supposed to be linked to the psychic snow? 

Actually, it is really at about this point that the cracks start to show in the episode. Everything up until now has been one beautiful display whimsical set pieces to another and it is not so much that they stop coming as it is that the direction they are heading in changes a little. When we reach the most self-indulgent moment of the episode, the Doctor's own Sherlock pastiche, it becomes a bit clearer that the story is drifting away from itself almost as if we are watching Moffat, in real time through the Doctor, stumble about the scene until he decides what the plot actually is. Or, more accurately, what kind off plot can frame the already determined decision to have a monstrous ice governess attack the kids. Again, this is a great set-piece and very well realised at a visual level but what are we actually doing here at a story level? This sequence is immediately followed by Simeon coming to the house and being generally menacing but not really doing or saying anything of substance and the plot becomes a series of vaguely dramatic scenes that do not quite coalesce into actual meaning. 

Of course, we do have one solid through-line which is just Clara who gets a series of lovely scenes with the Doctor, including that epic TARDIS reveal, and a genuinely surprising death. Following that though? Well the Doctor waffles on about the London Underground for no actual reasons besides a cute reference that nobody was really getting in the moment and the dead Simeon gets possessed until the power of love drives the Intelligence away. It is all very messy and Moffat is clearly struggling to bring the three main plots (corporate invasion, grieving man and whimsical governess) together in a way that has a clear logic to it. The vibes are all there and I freely admit to being in sync with them when I first saw it. It is just one of those stories where the sleight of hand is not really working and I can see everything that went into the trick without being actually moved.

The Snowmen is a beautiful episode of television though. It is well-paced, pretty to look at and easy to become wrapped up in. There is a great marriage of adventure and fantasy aesthetics here, presented in a swish and contemporary package that is incredibly clever and palatable. Dare I say that it's strengths and weaknesses are actually about the same as something like Pyramids of Mars or Earthshock. Is that heresy? No, frankly. Television in 2012 could do a lot better than Pyramids of Mars or Earthshock and it could do a bit better than this. I really like The Snowmen and I think it’s a great watch but I would be hard pressed to say that it really works as a script.

Still, how good is Ian McKellen though?

[pentanguine]

Misc life things

I'm learning new things at work! I taught myself how to fold a zine less than a day before I had to lead a workshop on it, and I'm also going to teach myself how to edit Wikipedia, since apparently I'm going to have to teach the presenters for our Wikipedia edit-a-thon before they teach our patrons. (I feel like I shouldn't have to do that because that's literally what we're paying them for, but oh well, it's a cool thing to know how to do)

My cousin's baby is getting a vinyl record collection for her birthday, with contributions from each family member, and I bought her Whenever, If Ever by TWIABPAIANLATD. Would babies like that? Will her mom like it? Who knows! I know I like it and I'm debating keeping it and starting a record collection even though I don't have a record player

Ate dinner at the cool food plaza where the record store is and just basked in getting to live here. People chattering all around me on a warm summer evening with sunlight through the trees and pride flags out and good food smells and shorts on and a fresh haircut and a record store and a bookstore and all this is fifteen minutes from my house :)

Got a haircut! I feel good and sharp and fresh and like I have an actual bond with my barber, which is wild. Also a reminder that you never know how good things can get. I used to dread getting my hair cut, and when I found someone who cut it how I wanted it here in The City, I was like "wow, this is amazing! It can't get better than this!" And then I realized their haircuts, while masc, were not actually very good and I found a little queer indie barber that friends of friends raved about, and holy shit. Not only are the haircuts good, but we can talk?? We have common interests?? They're also queer and their room is full of plants and they have a punk playlist going and our vibes match each other?? It can get even better, apparently, and I never knew! Things can get even better than "not dreading it"!

Walked along the river on my way back, which was lovely. Saw a blue heron preening at the top of the rapids. Saw a flock of geese sliding through the dappled sunlight. Was also briefly followed by a man on a slow, small bike who tried to sell me drugs, but this was mostly amusing.

I have been working on my favorite books of 2024 since February, because I lost the first draft of it when my computer died, and maybe hopefully one day soon other people can actually read that! It will not be super long, but I do like sharing the books that made an impression on me and why I liked them

My coworker finds me fascinating and has declared that I'm more houseplant than human, which I find extremely flattering

I've been trying to not-date recently, which I would define as "being on a dating app but explicitly looking for friends, which might also include benefits" and it's Going. I'm also doing all this under an assumed name, because I wanted to try out the Other Name that lives in my head in real life, and this seemed like a good context for it. Do I want to go by that name?? Maybe?? I honestly love my name and I don't ever want to change it, except for the part where I also want to use this other name, whoops

See below the cut for the release of some anxiety that I've deemed too trivial to bring up in therapy

I've been working up the nerve to save my exported tumblr blogs to my external hard drive for...two months now, and tonight I finally had the nerve, only to find out that apparently the exports expire and I have to do the whole multi-day backup process all over again. Which is fine. I guess.

Why do I need to work up the nerve to save things to my external hard drive? So, I have intense anxiety about loss of my personal digital media due to the Burglary of 2013, and my computer from 2022-2025 had a charming habit of abruptly dying whenever anything was plugged into its USB ports. So any time I plugged anything into that computer there was a 50% chance it was about to go dark, and even though it came on again every time, the suddenness and clear malfunction of that would send my anxiety into overdrive. So now every time I go to save something to that hard drive I get really tense, even though my new computer so far works great. This is very functional and my anxiety is manageable and reasonable :)

[k00297230]

Hello you jubilant jaguars!

We've finished our final project and have placed all our things on the wall for assessment on Thursday. I didn't have as much to physically present because I didn't have my larger drawings from the first animation brief.

I've very much enjoyed the animation discipline work we've done and the overall process and pacing of the workflow. It was a little bit jarring in the beginning but once you started getting into it, it felt productive and consistent.

Final Brief "Nursery Rhyme"

I have to admit I was a little hesitant with doing group work that is often either really good or really annoying. I was blessed to be in the former of groups.

In the beginning I was a little withdrawn perhaps because my mind was on CCS and the prompt of

Three Blind mice

Epic/Historical

Space Age

wasn't something that sparked many ideas for me. I don't have a great pool of reference for space themed bits of media so I didn't feel super comfortable coming up with ideas. The first day we were supposed to make draft scripts to which I opted to do some research instead of. In the beginning it didn't feel like I was pulling my weight as such but during the weekend we had a call on Sunday to show off our newly written script, of which I did do.

It was my first time writing a script but I was actually really enjoying it towards the middle. I finished after an hour and didn't really revise it because I was occupied with CCS work I needed to get done. There's a couple of things I learned, from the time I spent.

I'm not supposed to write descriptions of shots. (in the beginning)

My dialogue was really long and wordy. (I wanted to get my ideas of characterization across and didn't give myself time to revise and edit it which I would've done usually.

On Monday we finalized the script after taking different aspects of each of our scripts that we liked. From my script they took:

The beginning shots of the space craft showing characterization through visuals.

"Some of the characterization and dialogue ideas such as "is that Russian?"

I spent Monday working on CCS and then on Tuesday my group had storyboard stuff done but I didn't have much of an impact on it besides revising the argument scene between Ridley and Latimer in the buggy. I found myself although not contributing as many new ideas to a discussion but rather looking at the ideas we had and seeing if they fit in with an overall vision. I suggested having an overall theme for the story as it is an Epic and came up with the idea of blind beliefs and the consequences that can lead to.

I knew I had to start pulling my weight for the group and we started doing research. I was put in charge of landscapes as well as spaceships and their interior.

I found the Observing the Moon book to be quite useful for looking at the Apollo missions, reasons for its' discontinuation and the geography of the moon. Moonshine was a Dreamworks background art book that more so served as inspiration and motivation for my future background work.

We put together a google slide consisting of the research we did and these were the ones I made.

We then went onto look at style/aesthetic and once again I felt like I didn't contribute much to this discussion although I was okay with going for the Star trek, Akira hybrid we settled on.

We then started going into concept art. I was put in charge of landscapes and backgrounds along with Mik. I focused on the moon surface and the spaceship interior and exterior. I found this youtube video to be quite useful for getting started as I wasn't too confident in my abilities to make background art.

I found this process quite fun in keeping loose shapes with wide brushstrokes and practising stroke economy which aims to show great detail and imagery to the viewer with implied detail. I also tried playing with values. It was also my first time really using the gradient tool which add a little interest to the sky as opposed to just a flat colour.

I feel like I could've experimented more with composition but I wanted to get more work done so I took one of the compositions and changed the hue/saturation/brightness to show different colours and palettes to see what type of feel we want for the background. I did try and place the ship in different spots to see how it'd look composition wise but that was the extent of it. I settled on a closer view of the ship for my master shot.

My group liked the bottom three particularly the bottom left purple hue. I then took this and fixed the sky to make it pop more with stars.

I also spent time working on the space ship itself. I sketched them out traditionally based off the video I had in my research to get used to the shape and structure of the exterior and then went to do it digitally/. I quickly sketched out my shapes and then went over them with a paint brush. I didn't do line art and kept it pretty basic.

I think I got the basic look of it down here and once again played with the hues/saturation/brightness to see how it would look differently.

I went over it again but took more time to make it fit the Akira aesthetic more. I used airbrushes, with a lack of line and tried to make it more detailed in spots. In the end I finished it early and was mostly happy with the top half.

Before starting my master shots at home, I wanted to look at other parts of the project for my time in college. I felt like we were lacking some of the civilization development and ideas and started drawing up designs for that.

Basing it off roman architecture with elements of irish stone carvings with the idea of rat/mice imagery and looking at how a language could be formed from this with writing. When it comes to writing I knew the writing would be composed of scratches as if done by mice. The writing I thought would look like symbols not too dissimilar to kanji or Chinese characters but in a more primal less sophisticated form.

I knew the pillars would be the most opportune asset in our storyboard to illustrate a culture or some form of civilization. I played with shapes and tried relating them to Ryan's work so they would feel connected. (Ryan's work below).

I then took these designs and tried making very quick digitized versions but I didn't quite like how they turned out. I also tried seeing how their look in a dark environment being lit with flashlights to the same result.

This was all the concept and design work I was able to get done and I was quite happy with the results. If I gave myself more time to work on this I would've liked to have breached out to other parts of the project such as character work, cave interiors and the city itself. I think it would've been interesting to see what we all would have come up with for each part of the project but with the time we were given I would've liked to have experimented more with composition I think.

After preparing for the pitch presentation I focused on the master shots I was responsible for. I did the exterior of the ship on the moon landscape in the composition I picked out earlier.

Liberty did the sketch for the interior of the ship taking reference from the video I had seen for research.

I went over this in my style to keep it consistent. I found this workflow to be more efficient.

I think a big thing I learned from doing these backgrounds and something to keep in mind for next time is to use darker colours against the light ones to create more contrast and create depth. I feel in some parts of my work certain things don't pop out as much as I would like them to.

We then had our presentation which went well. I wrote down a scripts and practised it multiple times until I felt confident In what I was saying and could talk around it if I forgot any words. I used a Q card to help prompt my sentences with words that I knew I blanked on during my practises written down. I felt my part went smoothly and I remembered my points. I did speak too early for one of my script lines during the animatic but I don't think it that much of an impact.

Coming to the end of this project I learned quite a bit working with my group. I was quite happy with the work I did do and wasn't used to the actual good communication and enthusiasm my group displayed overall. Although I faltered in the beginning, all members in our group felt they had a moment or moments they weren't doing as much. We still covered for each other and always had new work to look at each day. It was really nice to work on something with people who were equally as dedicated to making something together.

If I had to change somethings for next time it would definitely be how much I contributed to new ideas in the group. I did come up with ideas but I felt I kind of took a back seat and looked at the ideas we already had to see if they would fit without coming up with much of an alternative.

I felt also that there were some things I was thinking that I didn't quite vocalise at times but as I grew more comfortable with the group I was more relaxed in sharing my ideas and criticisms.

This might be my last Tumblr post but thank you guys for the support and love you've all given me throughout this journey.

Signing out,

~K00297230

[noahtally-famous]

keith! the throwaway name in tdpi to you; but to me he's an actual character

younger me is screaming rn, ever since i watched tdpi when it came out, i was super interested in keith as a character (and his dynamics with sky, and with dave)!! finally here we are, some picrews of what i think he looks like & some basic info! (cant do the 16-slide presentation with him rn like i did with gabriel 😔 but maybe i will in the future!)

here's a fic abt him! (plus i do have an rr au idea with him in my drafts)

below the cut are gonna be some keith (and keith & sky) hcs:

-> keith is exceptional in almost any sport he puts his mind to! his favorites are baseball and basketball though. he met sky through a school game and they bonded over their love of athletics!

-> keith never rlly considered sports as a career, he's always default thought of it as a hobby. sky was the one who wanted to take her skills farther, and he did support her for it

-> their shakiness started when sky brought up auditioning for tdpi. keith has heard the shit that happens in many reality shows and worried for her, saying they could try another solution. they argued, sky signed up for tdpi (she said she'll miss him in the audition bc he was filming and it was sort of as a 'im sorry for the fights pls try to understand' thing). however, despite keith trying to understand, he didn't watch any of tdpi until the finale episode

-> as a loyal person in relationships, keith was extremely hurt and upset by sky kissing dave and then leading him on. it made him feel quite worthless, and despite any reconciliations, he knows he can't ever trust her again

-> he doesnt like dave bc the guy went ballistic and put sky's life in harm's way, he considers that a bit of an overreaction on dave's end and he does resent him for believing he played a part in sky falling for him

-> this guy places trust to a high degree, if you break it, you're seeing a different keith

-> he's the type to maybe be good/proficient at chess. might have him be good at it actually!

-> he and sky are both bisexual. sky is bi with a preference for women; keith is bi but used to pretend he was straight due to the environment he lived in

-> sky and keith's relationship tropes: friends to lovers, mutual respect for each other, relationship for convenience

-> in actuality, sky & keith's relationship is more of a friendship. they only made it like they're dating bc of their families, and when their individual sexuality crisis came up, that caused some issues. prior to tdpi, sky already had a feeling she liked women, but she kept it to herself; keith, for his part, already was aware of his bisexuality when he and sky started dating but he thought their relationship would "get rid of it". in the end, sky got the courage to push aside the veil in front of their relationship first (hence the dave moments), and keith tried to hide behind their relationship bc he didn't know if he had the guts to confront the implications

-> keith's fully ready to confront/fight anyone who gives him bad vibes and isn't afraid to show that--all except for his father (the man gave this guy too much trauma for that)

-> he got his piercings as a nonverbal 'eff you' to the old keith he used to be. back when he was worried abt his parents judgements and his friends. before tdpi, before sky and his breakup, before he made an effort to come into his real self

-> his mum and he have a complicated relationship. she's low-key homophobic at times that he cant get a proper read on her. but he does love her (def more than he does his dad), and he hopes she's willing to accept him

-> has heterochromia; one eye is dark blue, the other is light hazel (he tends to wear contacts, making it seem like he has two blue eyes)

-> he shaved part of the side of his head in a fit of impulsiveness at a concert with several friends, but then he realized he looks good in it and he likes the style, so he kept it that way

-> the type to wear sweatshirts/shirts/hoodies with lowkey memes on them (as shown in the pics with him wearing the orange hoodie with the two fingers almost touching)

-> he and sky were the epitome of 'what we have is better off as a wonderful friendship than a romantic relationship'

-> he and sky tended to help each other sports-wise in various ways; like she'd play scrimmages with him, and he'd race hurdles with her. this helps both of them grow and bond at the same time. it's a fun pastime they both enjoyed and feel nostalgic for now

-> clothing style: the stuff in the pics, along with jeans (not rlly baggy jeans though) along with sports sneakers or light brown hiking boots

-> one time sky twisted her ankle and refused to get help, and keith had to literally piggy-back her to his car bc she said she "can just walk it of, its fine!"

-> strong emotionally/mentally/physically. more so abt the first two, he's good at hiding his feelings bc of the environment he grew up in and his family (his dad more so). if he and dave ever have a heart-to-heart they can discuss their shitty father figures and how that lack impacted them lmao (the dave in my head has a shitty and distant father)

-> this also makes him more suppressed emotionally and more uncommunicative

aaand think that's all i've got so far!!