#but i figured this was a good opportunity to just lay it all out there

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. 2 - Domination

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: LaCroix briefs Vincent on the new world he has just entered into, with the expectation that he will be an obedient ghoul. But Vincent is still struggling to gain the upper hand.

Author's Note: I made myself sad writing this - I want Sebastian to turn from Whumper to Caretaker already!

TW: mind control, emotional manipulation, strangulation, kidnapping

It was not LaCroix’s habit to keep his subordinates close to him. If it was wise to keep enemies close, then it was wiser to keep envious inferiors at such a distance that they had no opportunity to become enemies. Ghouls ought to have no knowledge of their master’s weaknesses, and no importance as anything other than pawns. They ought to view him as a solitary, impenetrable figure, above even their understanding. But Vincent Bisset de Gramont proved himself an enemy from the start, and therefore, an exception.

LaCroix repeated that name in his head and smiled, rolling it and playing with it, along with the bullet in his palm which he had decided to keep as a souvenir. Vincent had become so incensed when LaCroix refused to use his title that he determined on the spot never to use it again. The man had to be taught a lesson. “You are no Marquis any longer, let alone an ‘Autem Imperator,’ Vincent. Those titles have no meaning here. You will learn new titles. ‘Prince.’ ‘Regnant.’ ‘Domitor.’ And they will belong to me, not to you - as do all things where we’re going. Know your place.” He leaned back into the quilted suede of his seat, letting starlight and the dimmed glow of the cabin play across his features to what he hoped was a mysterious and intimidating effect.

“Your hubris knows no bounds, Prince,” Vincent spat back, clutching the arms of his seat as if his wrists were lashed to them. “They’re looking for me even now. Do you think you can walk into a High Table duel and make off with the highest ranking –“

“No one is looking for you, because no one knows you’re missing. Everyone who saw me believes they saw a kindly priest who said his respects over your body before helping that fellow – The Harbinger, I believe you call him – lay you to rest in a casket for your mortician to carry away. Tomorrow, that empty casket will be buried.”

A flash of panic before his pretty green eyes lit up again. “The mortician will – “

“The mortician wasn’t your man. He was mine. I sent a local friend to take his place, and to oversee the proceedings. You’re as good as dead, Vincent. I’m dreadfully sorry.”

He went as ghostly white as his travelling companion then. He remained very quiet while Sebastian explained to him the meanings of those important titles he’d mentioned, as well as other relevant words such as “Masquerade” and “Camarilla” and “Ventrue.”

LaCroix’s hope of entertainment during the flight was very much fulfilled. Vincent made for a captivating (if pitiful) image, with blood still smeared across his forehead and wetness sparkling in his eyes. LaCroix couldn’t stop staring at him and wondering whether he’d really cry or not. It filled him with a strange mix of sadism and sympathy that kept the Prince continuously in suspense. It sent him inexplicably trembling to hear Vincent say, “You’ll have to forgive me, Sebastian, I’m just so confused. Please…help me understand everything.”

He was coherent enough to ask intelligent questions though, and always seemed to latch onto those subjects that were a little too top-secret for a first conversation with a ghoul, whilst sighing that he was just so confused and scared. Clearly, he knew his way around a syndicate like the Camarilla and went straight for the vital information. When at last the Prince tired of this game and started to inquire about Vincent’s own organization, he refused to divulge anything.

It confused Sebastian a little. Every other ghoul he’d ever created had hung on his words in an ecstasy that totally drowned out the loss of their former life. They typically begged to repay him for saving them and fell over themselves to please him until he was either amused or disgusted. They certainly didn’t issue desperate pleas and threats about returning to their old life, or try to ply information out of him, or protect their old secrets. But Vincent? Well…there was no doubt that Vincent was affected by Sebastian. Sometimes his eyes lingered on LaCroix as if he wasn’t quite able to look away. But the look there wasn’t puppy love, it was…horror. Hatred. As if Vincent was looking at an old grudge who had wronged him grievously. Something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t in deep enough, that was all. He’d only taken the first sip of vitae – two still remained to form a full blood bond. And he was hardly a pliant individual, that much was evident. For now, Sebastian supposed he’d have to secure the ghoul’s cooperation via commands. “Vincent. When I ask you a question about the High Table, you will answer me directly, honestly, and without embellishments. Do you understand?”

A glazed, vacant look replaced the pitiful one. “I understand.”

There, good. Sebastian let out a breath, only just realizing how tense he had become, and began his inquisition.

He knew a little about the High Table already. It was not so different from the Giovanni, but even larger by membership the Camarilla, and impressive for a human construction. It was difficult to be anyone significant in either the human or kindred underworld without running across the High Table’s activities at some point. But the Autem Imperator (Sebastian might not call him by his title out loud, but he wasn’t forgetting it for an instant in his own mind) offered a unique view of its proceedings. Within minutes, LaCroix knew who held each seat, how communications passed between members, how those communications might be intercepted, into which countries their influence had spread (it was most of them), and even where the Elder resided.

It had been no idle tip, he realized, that suggested he should pay a visit to his home country and rest in the basilica that day. It had been, in fact, pure gold in the form of an anonymous email. He almost passed it up as an attempted ruse or ambush, even with all the power promised by the stranger on the other end. But it also spoke to a Masquerade violation, and even the Nosferatu could not trace it. The sender must have had a contact, someone who could encrypt on their level. So he went personally, just for 24 hours, with the resolution that he would return to the safety of LA as soon as possible.

Remembering at last to the original purpose of his visit, LaCroix asked his ghoul one final question, shortly before landing.

“Do you have an associate who would go by the initial ‘C’?”

Even under domination, he rolled his eyes. “Of course I do. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Sebastian held out the message on his phone. “Who could this have been?”

“Is it true that you can help someone live beyond death? If you really are I’ve been told you are, then come at once, to Paris. Come to the Sacré-Coeur Basilica just before dawn. If you’re lucky and I’m unlucky, you will find a man there who cannot escape death any other way. If you keep him alive, he will offer you knowledge and power equal to your own, pertaining to a human organization you may know as the High Table. Take him away from me, change him, disappear him, I don’t care. Only save his life and make him happy, and you will have my eternal thanks. He does not know, and will never know, what he means to me.”

- C”

“My bodyguard, Chidi.” His voice was strained almost to the breaking point, and his eyes still fixed on Sebastian’s phone even after the email was closed. Sebastian had no questions about whether he was faking his tearfulness this time.

“A ghoul of your very own, of sorts! Where can I find him?”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment before mustering an answer. “…He’s dead.”

“Ah, splendid. That saves me a great deal of trouble.”

And then Vincent did what no ghoul, whether on one sip of vitae or three, should have been capable of doing. He sprung forward and closed hands around his domitor’s neck.

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

It took Vincent much longer than it should have to recall that Sebastian didn’t need to breathe. By that time, he was already being dragged off by the enormous, visibly supernatural thing that Sebastian had introduced as “The Sheriff.”

“Get this brainless lump off of me!”

“Hey,” The Sheriff grunted. Vincent paid him no mind, and continued addressing LaCroix with exactly as much civility as he deserved, all the while straining against the boulder-heavy hands holding him back.

“You will not SPEAK to me that way and you will not – “ Fuck, he hated the way his voice was shaking… “You will not speak of my bodyguard’s death as – as ‘splendid!’”

“And you will not speak to me at all until you can behave yourself!” LaCroix retorted. “SILENCE!”

The voice seemed to go out of Vincent’s throat. All his resistance had been used up in the outburst and he sunk numbly back into his seat.

LaCroix was panting, a shaking hand against his neck. He adjusted his tie and recovered himself enough to laugh. “Imagine trying to strangle a vampire! And the one holding your life in his hands, no less. You’re one to talk of brainlessness. And just when I was beginning to respect your cunning.” Vincent opened his mouth and nothing came out, so he spat in LaCroix’s face instead.

“Oh for god’s sake - You don’t speak AND you don’t move!” Vincent smiled as he watched LaCroix wipe at his face with a handkerchief, scowling. But another wave of terrible compulsion spread through his limbs, and then he was paralyzed.

It was such a strange feeling, being “dominated.” It was the same magnetism that drew him to LaCroix when he first laid eyes on him (that must be the “vitae” he had spoken about), but stronger, and more concentrated. Making him capable of magnificent feats, making him motivated, drawing his focus, making things important to him. As if a power was bursting out from inside of Vincent. It wasn’t so unlike being high, and not wholly unpleasant. But it was not his to control, not a part of him. It was LaCroix’s, and he hated it for that, and he hated LaCroix for that too. Maybe, if he just held onto that hatred…

But LaCroix’s conversation with his Sheriff broke his concentration. “No, I don’t want him in a cell, much less his own apartment. He’s not fully dominated and it’s a security risk. I don’t understand it, but I need to maintain a tight hold over him even if I have to do it by manual override. He stays in the penthouse, with me.”

If The Sheriff understood that, he conveyed it only by grunting.

Damn it. Any chance to get out of LaCroix’s grasp was slipping away. Again, he struggled to protest, but it was useless. He couldn’t speak. His own body was refusing him. It felt traitorous and alien and there was no one to help him, no one looking for him, no Chidi ever again and absolutely nothing he could do. If he had a voice, he would probably be screaming, he realized. But instead, for the second time that day, he floated on a sea of bloody misery, gasping worse and worse by the second. As the jet went into final descent, its weightlessness hit him in the stomach and drove home a second wave of fear.

LaCroix was watching him, leaning over him, speaking to him, in much the same way one might speak to a broken printer shortly before kicking it. He lay a hand on Vincent’s chest to feel his shallow heartbeat and the very core of Vincent’s being rebelled against the way that it soothed him.

“Why are you not calm? You shouldn’t be feeling this way, I don’t understand why it’s not working…” He fixed LaCroix with the most hateful stare he could manage without moving his facial muscles. Why do you think, you useless fils de pute? He felt tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Fine. Good, even.

Again, LaCroix’s magnetic voice overpowered his will with a rush, even more hideously blissful than before. Perhaps it was more in harmony with him than the last had been... “Be calm, Marquis. I command you. Don’t be so afraid.”

And all the wild contents of his heart slipped away into a soft, empty, merciful void.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

Image Sources: One | Two

[hubbypossession]

Liza and Lily were one of the cutest couples when they were alive. Both women found each other in their early 20s and married. They were happy for years before both tragically dying in a car accident that abruptly put a halt to both of their lives.

Now as ghosts, they can still have some fun, albeit in different ways. They had both always been very open to exploring their sexualities and being ghosts made perfect opportunities for this. They had tried being other lesbian couples and straight couples that moved into their house and of course it was fun, but recently a gay couple had moved into their former home which intrigued both spirits.

"I can't believe two guys are moving in here. This'll be a first." Lily said as both ghosts hovered above the boys watching TV on the couch.

"Well, you always scare all of our tenants and they end up leaving." Liza said exasperated.

"Hey! I'm just keeping things interesting. Are you... thinking what I'm thinking?" Lily said as they both watched the guys.

"I think I should be able to pick first. You owe me that much." Liza joked.

"Fine. After you, Liza." Lily yielded.

Liza flew down towards the gay couple and listened in closer to their conversation.

"Gus, c'mon babe. You gotta lay off the beans." The smaller guy, Spencer, said as he backed away from Gus on the couch. The two had been cuddling on the couch when Gus farted on Spencer's lap.

"Just keeping up my fiber intake for my boyfriend. C'mon babe, I thought you were into farts. My stink loving top of a guy" Gus says defensively before turning his attention back to the TV.

Liza looked disgusted at Gus and turned her attention towards Spencer. "Looks, like you will do Spencer. I'm not going to possess the fat, gassy guy."

Liza dove into Spencer's ear and spread herself out through his body as his eyes glossed over and his body went limp. She quickly overtook his body and opened her eyes and swallowed. Spencer now looked down at his hands and his shirtless body before smelling his pits in curiousity.

"So not into gas but you are into pits, huh?" Gus says as he crawls back towards his possessed boyfriend.

"Oh, uh, no babe. I'm good." Liza says as she backs away from Gus some more.

"C'mon babe, I know you want th-! AH!" Gus goes flying backwards as Lily dives towards his body and into his agape mouth.

Liza curiously approaches her new boyfriend as he convulses on the floor and opens his eyes suddenly.

"You gave me the bigger, gassy guy? Figures. Well, you better get used to this." Lily taunts as she farts and groans out in her new voice.

"Seriously?” Liza stuttered as her new body started to get turned on. She distracted herself by approaching a hallway mirror to inspect her new body. “Alright, well this is different. We've never been a gay couple before."

"Yeah I'll say. I'm so... big. Dudes take up so much space." Lily flexes her arms in the mirror and grins.

"Wanna go out tonight babe? Find out what it's like to be a gay couple?" Liza asks as she explored her full blown boner.

"Oh for sure baby. We've never been to a gay bar. And later tonight, I'll let you pound this tight hole too... that's what guys do right?" Lily asks as she inspects her ass.

"Beats me. But sure, let's go!" Liza says as she excitedly runs towards their bedroom to get changed.

[pocketgalaxies]

Hello! I hope I’m not bothering you. I just feel confused about what I keep missing in episode 63, and I’m wondering what characterization or moments of detail I’m missing out on about Orym purposely enabling Delilah’s revival, or letting it happen? I had totally misremembered and thought that Hunger of the Shadow killed Bor’dor and so Orym nodding was a “We need to do this” that had multiple interpretations and Consequences. I had always thought it was a really ill-timed “He needs to die” that happened before Laudna used Hunger to kill Bor’dor

but after rewatching the whole fight, I realized Hunger of the Shadow only knocked Bor’Dor unconscious. The failed death saves came from Prism’s punch and Wither and Bloom. And it turned out Orym’s nodding thing came after Hunger of the Shadow and Delilah’s heart started beating again and not before like I had thought, so now idk what it is that Orym did that lead to Delilah’s return? I keep rewatching the fight trying to figure it out but I’m not seeing it 😭 Liam on 4sd and Beacon discord said that after Orym clocked that Delilah was probably back he thought that Delilah would be helpful against the Vanguard (this aged well :’D), but Orym’s suspicion that Delilah returned happened as Laudna was killing Bor’Dor and got “30% scarier,” not before Laudna decision to kill Bor’Dor or Hunger of the Shadow. I’m trying just to figure out how he could have “let” the revival happen before the fact? Because it’s a common topic of discussion among critters but now idk what it’s referencing?

I guess an argument could be made that nobody stopped Laudna before she did hunger of the shadow, but again I don’t think anybody was thinking of Delilah? My personal interpretation was that on Laudna’s turn in initiative, the party simply saw Laudna attacking Bor’dor and didn’t discourage it because guy had just betrayed them and dealt 10d4 acid damage to everyone— and not because they saw any strategic benefit in Laudna attacking. When the purple eyes in the Form of Dread appeared, I had just thought that was a manifestation of Laudna’s hurt at being betrayed again and tying it to Delilah (but that’s just my interpretation). Taliesin definitely clocked that eye color, look at his face 😂 But I can’t see how the characters knew beforehand that Laudna was specifically intending to make a move that would revive Delilah? And that this was a move that was strategic to enable? And Orym didn’t even suspect Delilah until Bor’Dor’s death with wither and bloom.

Are the purple eyes why critters keep bringing up Orym? But then that has nothing to do with the Nod that is moreso getting brought up. And wouldn’t Ashton get equal mention before Ep95 aired because they both didn’t stop Laudna on her turn?

The timeline beats I’m getting are that it’s Laudna’s turn in initiative after she counterspells Bor’dor’s attempted polymorph. On her turn, she does Form of Dread wit the purple eyes then casts Hunger of the Shadow, dealing damage and knocking Bor’Dor unconscious. Then she feels Delilah reawaken within her through the heart beat.

It’s now Prism’s turn and she punches Bor’Dor, autocritting and taking off 2 death saves.

Laudna’s form has been darkening and at this point, the mourning veil appears over Laudna. Liam notes that Orym has been watching, silent. Ashton also sees all of this and drops their rage. When it’s Laudna’s choice whether to end Bor’dor, Orym nods. Laudna is barely present and is cycling through her own trauma and memories at the moment, then she makes her decision and uses Wither and Bloom to kill Bor’Dor. Familiar purple flame and green light that Ashton and Orym recognize manifests as flowers bloom and Bor’Dor form cracks and withers.

So Delilah had already been revived before Prism punched Bor’dor and Laudna dealt the last death save, so I guess I just feel confused about what is Orym’s connection to Laudna bringing back Delilah?

The nod was endorsement to kill Bor’Dor. At that point that’s what the conversation was about, whether or not Laudna was gonna kill him. Delilah had already been revived

Like yeah Orym saw some potential advantage with Delilah once he realized what had happened, but he didn’t seem to cause any of it? But it’s a point constantly brought up, so I’m feeling confused about how it happened.

Sorry this got long. I tend to ramble

hi anon, thank you for being respectful and curious in this message, instead of coming at my throat. i appreciate it more than you know! i will do my best to explain this perspective

in the time between laudna's resurrection and bor'dor's death, the presence of delilah was questionable at best. they had "sundered" her in laudna's mind palace whitestone, pike seemed to think delilah was no longer present, and delilah was completely quiet for that stretch of time. i think a lot of people were waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there was also the idea that maybe she really was gone, or at least significantly weakened.

chronologically, here's what happened during that fight. bor'dor reveals his true alliances and turns on the party. per liam's statements in 4SDx14, orym decides that bor'dor cannot be allowed to live, because of the danger that any ruby vanguard member poses to the general public and other innocent lives. laudna says this:

she casts hunger of the shadow. prism does a bit more damage. then, as bor'dor falls:

the "faint shimmer of a mourning veil" explicitly mirrors the pre-resurrection form of dread and definitively reflects delilah, suggesting that delilah's influence is visibly returning. then, liam says this:

("you just see this" is where he nods.) per liam's statements in 4SDx14, orym realizes that laudna has opened the door again for delilah to reemerge, but he also thinks, "yeah, we're gonna need that." (liam's words, not mine.)

laudna casts wither and bloom for the hdywtdt, with the following description:

please draw your attention to the statement that the world has broken her and that she was trying to keep this dormant until she couldn't anymore. she is barely there, she has lost herself. more on this later.

with this information, it's inaccurate to say that orym caused delilah to come back. she already came back, as we can see with the chronology above. i will admit that i didn't realize the nod came after the veil, and i think that's an important thing to clarify. i will also say that most of us never fucking said that he caused delilah to come back in the first place, but i digress

this is a total sidebar but i think there's also an important distinction to make between orym deciding bor'dor needs to die because he poses a danger to the civilians around him (again, per liam's statements in 4SDx14), vs. laudna deciding bor'dor needs to die because he betrayed her. one is calculated and intentional with an understanding of the big picture and its consequences. the other is deeply personal and impulsive and blind to the consequences. this could be a separate post but suffice to say i think that when you're approving of your friend killing someone, it matters why they are killing them, and it matters if their "why" is different from your "why" because it will affect them differently than it would've affected you after committing the act. because of this, it could be argued that letting laudna kill bor'dor negatively affected her psyche more than if the roles were switched and laudna let orym do it, because orym could see the bigger picture and laudna was simply coming from a place of pain. it was a huge character moment from orym, i think it's fascinating, and i don't think it was wrong from a storytelling perspective even if it could be argued either way from a morality perspective. so i'll just leave that there.

anyway, the reason this is all relevant, is because it is a reflection of what orym says in ep 95, which is "you're right. why do i need the help of some dark force?" intended to suggest that she shouldn't cast judgment upon him for using a dark weapon when she uses the dark magic given to her by delilah.

what many people have tried to bring up about this statement is the issue of choice and agency. orym picked up otohan's blade and decided it would be meaningful to him, and also empowering from a mechanical standpoint, to wield it. which is fine, for his character story! laudna might not like it, and fearne might not like it, but it's something he did, and it's interesting! but the sticking point is that such a level of intention and purpose is simply not present in laudna's story. it could be argued endlessly how much of every laudna decision is actually laudna vs. how much of it is delilah, but regardless of what you think, it is plainly true that, in the high stakes and game-changing choices, at least some part of it is always delilah.

and per marisha's description above, laudna was trying to keep that dormant within her for a long time. it wasn't until bor'dor that it was unleashed in full. and in that moment, delilah's process of overtaking laudna completely was kickstarted. that isn't to say that delilah would've never come back if bor'dor didn't die the way he did, but it is to say that it happened earlier than it otherwise would have, and it's been a slippery slope of dwindling agency and psychological power-hungry manipulation ever since then.

the point of the argument is that it doesn't feel fair when laudna says "how dare you use that dark blade," for orym to throw it back at her and say "the same way you dare to use delilah." because orym wanted to use the blade for its power no matter the cost, and orym thinks delilah is useful for those same reasons, so for him perhaps they can be equated. but when delilah came back in ep 63, laudna didn't want her to. it broke her and it happened in a moment of terrible pain and anguish after weeks of trying to keep her at bay, and she hasn't been able to stop it ever since. and she's been getting mixed messages from orym and everyone else the entire time about whether she would be more useful if she just gave in entirely. but nobody seems to like what she turns into when she gives in even a little bit. nobody seems to understand that they are gravely underestimating how corrupt and dangerous laudna will get if they let this go unchecked for the sake of gathering more power to take down ludinus.

at the end of the day we're just people who think laudna is an interesting character with a vastly complicated psyche that dictates why she made a choice like this, and we were pointing out something that orym said that felt unfair to those nuances. in response, people have been painting us out to be demonic and illiterate misogynists who are stealing away laudna's agency and blaming her entire warlock pact on orym who's just doing what's right. forget being unfair to laudna, that's unfair to the equally interesting arc that liam is creating with orym, of an ambiguously levelheaded, hypervigilant, war- and grief-driven soldier. we should all know by now that liam is not interested in making infallible characters, but you wouldn't know it based on the amount of backlash being thrown at us for pointing out that hey, maybe that one thing orym said was flawed.

anon, if you've made it this far, please continue to be kind and ask questions of others to understand their perspectives. i appreciate you.

[augustinewrites]

it’s been…a while since you and satoru have gone on an assignment together.

having two young children at home made it difficult to take off on short notice and be away for days at a time. they needed stability and routine, so the two of you had decided that one person would stay home while the other was working.

for a while, that’d worked fine. but now that megumi and tsumiki were older, self-sufficient teens who loved nothing more than being left alone, satoru had seen this as an opportunity.

you’d still been a little hesitant, but it was a simple surveillance mission. easy, right?

“water. you need to stay hydrated.” you instruct when he gets back into the car. he takes the water bottle you’re holding out, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig.

“gakuganji isn’t even home yet,” he reports with a sigh. you hum, distracted as you check your phone. gojo reaches across your knees to pull open the glovebox, rifling through colourful snack wrappers.

“tsumiki hasn’t texted me back,” you mutter. “should i ask nanami to check in on them?”

“nah, i’m sure they’re just super busy trashing the apartment and racking up charges on the emergency credit card. ah– found it!” he pulls out a black silk sleep mask, slipping it on so it rests on his forehead.

“really?” you ask, unimpressed as he holds a second one out to you. “you’re taking a nap?”

“yeah, it’ll be easier to sneak around when it’s dark, why stay awake till then?”

“is that a good idea?” you ask, though you know there’s really no point in trying to argue with his logic.

“your fault for keeping me awake all night. late night laundry folding is no joke.”

“if you’d put it in the dryer when i’d asked—”

“can’t hear you,” he sing-songs, pulling the mask over his eyes. “you can take a nap too, you know. that old fart couldn’t get past us even while asleep.”

“i’ll pass on the nap. need to wait for tsumiki to text.”

he grumbles something incoherent that you’re sure is meant to be argumentative as he reclines his seat a little and lays back, getting comfortable and quiet.

…for about 45 seconds.

you watch out of the corner of your eye as he pulls the mask up a half inch, just enough for his right eye to observe you.

“what do you want now?” you ask.

then, with casualty akin to asking what you want for lunch, he clears his throat and asks, “do you want to have sex?”

“do i want to have what?” you ask, turning to stare at him incredulously, but your face is hot and for a split second, you’d considered agreeing.

“sex,” he repeats, patting his lap with a shit-eating grin. “we’re going to be here for a while, anyways. these seats recline way back—”

“i am not having sex in this car with you, satoru!”

he groans over-dramatically (as he tends to do). “will you at least cuddle with me then? i’m desperate and touch-starved and hopelessly in love with you!”

you make a note to figure out what cheesy rom com he stole that line from, but lean across the console to trail kisses up his shoulder, his neck. satoru does nothing to protect himself from your overly affectionate onslaught, he’s quick to catch your jaw, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

“wait. no, no, no!” he protests when you pull back, eyes suddenly trained on the house you’re meant to be watching. “you can’t just leave me high and dry—”

“he’s home!” you whisper, pressing a hand over his mouth (though he continues with muffled complaints). “pull the car a little further back before we get out.”

you’ve already summoned your shikigami as satoru maneuvers the car into the dense forestry, about to send them off when your phone vibrates in your lap.

“oh! megumi texted me,” you inform him. “he said…‘already made dinner. tsumiki is out on a date—’”

the car grinds to a halt and abruptly turns, the momentum causing your to slam into the side of the car as it peels out onto the dirt road. you curse loudly as your fiancé, devoid of all his playfulness from earlier, speeds through the forest.

“what the— satoru!”

[pucksandpower]

No Nut November

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando made a bet with his friends to give No Nut November a try but, as his girlfriend, you have other plans

Warnings: 18+ content and Lando shaving his head

You can’t believe Lando is actually going through with this. When he first told you about his silly bet with the other Quadrant guys to see who can go the longest without “nutting” in November, you thought he was joking.

But no, he insists he has to see it through now.

You roll your eyes in exasperation, “Babe, this is ridiculous. You know I have needs too.”

Lando just laughs and pulls you into a hug. “It’s just a month, love. We’ll be fine.”

“A whole month though? I’ll explode!” You whine dramatically.

He kisses your forehead. “You can manage, I believe in you.”

The first week actually goes smoothly enough. You figure you can handle this if you really try. Maybe it will even be good for your relationship, taking a break from the physical stuff for a bit.

But soon the desire starts creeping up on you more and more. Laying in bed one night, you roll over and start kissing Lando’s neck. He makes a small noise of protest and scoots away. “Come on, Y/N, you know we can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “But Lando, I need you.” Your hands start to wander under the sheets.

He catches your wrist gently. “Nuh uh, that’s against the rules.”

“Screw the rules!” You cry in exasperation.

Lando just shakes his head, clearly trying not to smile. “Stay strong, love. Only three more weeks to go.”

As the days pass, you get more and more worked up. Everything Lando does seems to turn you on now — the way he bites his lip in concentration, the flex of muscles when he lifts weights, even just the sound of his laugh.

One day after his workout, you’re waiting when he gets out of the shower, wearing his favorite lingerie set.

His eyes widen at the sight, but he steels himself. “That’s not going to work but I appreciate the effort,” he says with a cheeky grin.

You let out a dramatic wail. “Lando, please, I’m losing my mind here!”

He just keeps teasingly shaking his head as you continue your onslaught of pleading and temptation. You try every trick and tactic you can think of but he refuses to give in.

As November drags on, you’re utterly frustrated. At this point, it’s become a game and you’re determined not to lose. There’s no way Lando can hold out for the whole month when you look this damn good!

One evening, you decide to pull out all the stops. As Lando’s cooking dinner, you come up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Standing on your tiptoes, you begin kissing his neck the way you know drives him crazy.

He tenses up immediately. “Y/N ...” he says warningly.

“Shhh ...” You whisper. “Just focus on cooking. I’ll stop if you really want me to.” Even as you say it, your hands drift lower, teasing along the waistband of his shorts.

Lando’s breath hitches but he keeps stirring the pasta valiantly. You continue with your ministrations, feathering kisses across his shoulders. When you nip his earlobe, he lets out a low groan.

“That’s it baby, you know you want this,” you purr. Your fingers dip below the elastic of his briefs to tease along his hip bones.

Lando curses under his breath, his resolve clearly weakening. You seize the opportunity to deepen the kisses, sucking at the sensitive spot on his neck. Your other hand trails up his chest, fingertips circling over his shirt.

“Y/N, please—” he gasps out. The pasta is now dangerously close to boiling over but neither of you care anymore.

Grinning in triumph, you spin Lando around and crash your lips to his in a searing kiss. He kisses you back feverishly, his hands coming up to cup your face as he walks you backward toward the bedroom.

***

Lando kicks the bedroom door shut behind you as his lips meet yours again hungrily. All thoughts of No Nut November are clearly out the window now.

Your hands fumble urgently with the hem of his shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug it over his head. He returns the favor, peeling off your top and bra in one smooth motion.

Skin pressing against skin, you both groan at the contact you’ve been craving. Lando’s hands grip your hips, steering you toward the bed until the back of your legs hit the mattress. You let yourself fall backward, pulling him down on top of you.

Your lips find each other again as your hands explore eagerly. Lando kisses down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that makes you squirm against him.

“God I’ve missed this,” you breathe out as his fingers trail over your breast.

He hums in agreement, his touch lighting sparks across your skin. Your back arches off the bed as his mouth closes over your nipple.

Tangling your hands in his hair, you guide him lower, gasping when his lips reach the waistband of your leggings. He looks up at you questioningly and you nod eagerly.

In one smooth motion he tugs them off, followed swiftly by your underwear. You’re completely bare before him now and trembling in anticipation.

Lando’s eyes drink you in hungrily. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he growls before diving in.

You cry out as his tongue finds your clit, gripping the sheets tightly. He works you expertly, ramping up the pressure until you are writhing and moaning. Your orgasm builds fast and hard, his name tumbling from your lips.

“Yes, yes Lando! Don’t stop!” You pant out. Your climax crashes over you powerfully, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

Lando works you through it gently before moving back up to kiss you deeply. You can taste yourself on his lips and it makes you impossibly more turned on.

Reaching for his belt, you make quick work of the rest of his clothes. Taking him in your hand, you stroke him firmly as he groans into your mouth.

“Need you ... now,” you gasp out urgently.

Lando lines himself up at your entrance, his eyes questioning. You nod eagerly and he pushes inside you slowly. You both moan long and low at the feeling of him filling you up.

He sets a steady rhythm, rocking into you deeply. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. The coil in your core starts building again right away.

“Faster, Lando, please,” you beg. He obliges, snapping his hips quicker. You drag your nails down his back making him shudder.

The sound of skin slapping on skin and your mingled moans fill the room. You can tell Lando is getting close by the way he tenses and swells inside you.

Reaching down between you, he circles your clit rapidly. “Come on baby, come with me,” you urge him on. Your words send him over the edge with a choked groan.

His release triggers your second powerful orgasm, your walls contracting around him.

You cling to each other, riding out the aftershocks together. Lando collapses on top of you, nuzzling into your neck. You stroke his hair gently, holding him close.

“Guess you lost the bet,” you tease after a moment.

He chuckles against your skin. “So worth it.”

You tilt his chin up to kiss him softly, filled with love and contentment. Who cares about some silly internet challenge anyway? You and Lando have all you need right here.

***

The next morning, you wake up tangled in Lando’s arms, smiling at the memories of last night. Stretching contentedly, you roll over to face him.

“Good morning,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him.

He kisses you back softly. “Morning, love.”

You run your fingers through his curls. “I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated your hair more than I did last night,” you say with a grin.

Lando laughs but then his expression turns serious. “About that ... there’s something I should tell you about the bet.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Part of the deal was that the first one to fail No Nut November has to shave their head,” he admits.

“What? No!” You gasp, clutching protectively at his hair. “You are not shaving these beautiful curls, I forbid it!”

He sighs. “I don’t want to but I made a deal. The lads will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t follow through.”

You pout dramatically. “Can’t you just lie and say you succeeded? They never need to know!”

Lando shakes his head. “They’d see right through me. I’m rubbish at lying.”

“But your hair ...” you whine sadly.

“It will grow back,” he assures you, though he doesn’t look happy about it either.

You bite your lip, thinking hard. “What if you just don’t tell them we had sex? Then as far as they know, you’re still in the running and you don’t have to shave your head! Don’t think of it as lying … think of it as omitting the truth.”

He considers this. “I guess that could work as long as they don’t find out somehow.”

“Exactly! Our secret is safe with me,” you swear solemnly. Crisis averted!

Later that day when Lando hops on stream with the Quadrant guys, you make yourself scarce to avoid any accidental slip-ups.

Lando greets his friends cheerfully. “Alright mates, how’s everyone holding up?”

“Still going strong,” Max Fewtrell reports. “You?”

“Yep, all good here,” Lando lies smoothly.

You listen from the other room, praying they don’t notice anything amiss. But a few minutes later, you hear Max exclaim “Lando, what’s that on your neck?”

Lando sounds flustered. “What? Nothing!”

“That’s definitely a hickey! He’s got hickies all over!” Max crows. “You broke, didn’t you Norris?”

You gasp, realizing in horror that you must have left marks last night.

Lando tries to deny it but eventually crumbles under their interrogation. “Alright fine, I gave in. But don’t tell Y/N that I told you!”

Raucous laughter ensues, followed by teasing demands that he shave his head immediately.

You rush in frantically. “No, stop! It was my fault, I seduced him!” You blurt out.

More laughter. “Wow mate, she’s really got you wrapped around her finger!”

Lando rubs his neck ruefully. “Yeah, couldn’t resist her even with the bet.” He winks at you.

You bite your lip guiltily. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

He just smiles and pulls you into his lap. “I’d lose every bet in the world for you.”

Ignoring his cheering friends, he kisses you tenderly. You sigh happily, running your fingers through his curls one last time.

If this bet means sacrificing his lovely locks, you’re definitely making up for it tonight.

***

Despite your pleas and protests, Lando is determined to go through with the bet.

“I gave my word, love. Gotta shave it off,” he says, giving you an apologetic look.

You pout sadly. “I can’t believe I’m losing your beautiful curls because of my lack of self-control.”

He tilts your chin up to look at him. “Hey, no blaming yourself. I’m the idiot who made the bet in the first place.”

Lando retrieves his electric razor while you perch on the bathroom counter’s edge, watching mournfully. Taking a deep breath, he turns it on and brings it to his head.

You gasp as the first patch of hair falls away. “No, wait!” You cry, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

He raises his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Your lower lip quivers. “I can’t watch this. It’s too traumatic!”

Lando laughs and wraps you in a hug. “Oh darling, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

You cling to him dramatically. “But I love your hair so much!” Running your hands through his soft curls one last time, you sigh. “At least let me help, so I can savor every last strand.”

He smiles and hands you the razor. With a heavy heart, you get to work shaving off his glorious locks. You go slowly, offering up little eulogies along the way.

“Goodbye right sideburn, you always looked so sharp.”

“Farewell beautiful crown curls, so bouncy and free!”

Lando tries not to laugh at your antics. “It’s not dying, love, it’s just hair.”

“Shush, let me mourn in peace,” you sniffle.

As the last section of hair falls away, you set down the razor with a forlorn sigh. Lando runs his hand over his newly bare head and checks himself in the mirror.

“Well, what do you think?” He asks.

You bite your lip, holding back a groan. He looks so ... bald.

Lando frowns at your expression. “That bad, huh?”

“No, no!” You assure him. “Just different. I’ll get used to it.” You manage a weak smile.

He grins and pulls you close. “Don’t worry, I’m still the same Lando underneath.” To demonstrate, he begins trailing kisses down your neck.

You shudder involuntarily. “But ... what will I hold onto now when you’re going down on me?” You ask with distress.

Lando barks out a laugh. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” he promises, nipping at your earlobe.

Despite your mood, you can’t help but melt under his touch. You supposed you could get used to your bald Lando, though you already miss tugging on those luscious curls.

Later that night, Lando makes good on his promise to prove he can still drive you wild, hair or no hair. And as you lay tangled up afterward, blissfully sated, you have to admit — he still has some serious skills.

Running your hand over his stubbly head, you grin mischievously. “Well done, Mr. Worldwide.”

He gives you a confused look. “What?”

“You know, like Pitbull!” You laugh. “The bald head reminds me of him. I’ll have to come up with more bald nicknames now.”

Lando groans playfully. “What have I gotten myself into?” But he’s smiling as he pulls you in for another deep kiss.

***

It’s the morning of the Las Vegas Grand Prix and you’re with Lando in the paddock for his pre-race interviews. He’s got a cap pulled down over his head but it’s not enough to stop the questions.

“Lando, you’re looking a bit different today,” the reporter remarks with a wry smile. “What’s with the new hairstyle?”

Lando tugs the cap lower, laughing awkwardly. “Oh you know, just felt like a change.”

“A pretty drastic change though, no? Don’t think we’ve ever seen you with a shaved head before.” The reporter presses further.

“Ah, well ...” Lando trails off, glancing at you sheepishly. You give him an encouraging nod, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Let’s just say I lost a bet and leave it at that,” Lando finally mutters.

The reporter looks like he wants to inquire further but Lando steers the conversation to the race ahead. You let out a relieved breath, glad the subject seems to have been dropped.

But after the interview, a boisterous voice rings out behind you. “Oi, Lando! Heard you lost No Nut November!”

You and Lando whirl around to see Daniel Ricciardo sauntering over, his eyes glinting with mirth.

Lando groans. “Who told you that?”

“A little birdie named Max Verstappen who heard from Alex who heard from George,” Daniel chuckles. “So come on, give us the details! Was it the work of this lovely lady here?” He winks at you exaggeratedly.

You know your face must be scarlet now. Lando just stammers helplessly, which makes Daniel laugh harder.

“No need to be shy! Happens to all of us.” He leans in conspiratorially. “Though gotta say mate, I’m impressed you even made it close to halfway. If I had a girl like that waiting at home? Wouldn’t last a week!”

“Daniel!” Lando blurts out but he’s fighting back laughter now too. You bury your face in Lando’s shoulder, torn between embarrassment and amusement.

“In fact ...” Daniel taps his chin thoughtfully. “Reckon you deserve a prize for making it through 14 days. Most blokes wouldn’t make it past five! Here ...”

He reaches up and plops his AlphaTauri cap onto Lando’s head. “A trophy for your noble efforts!”

Lando swats him away, snickering. “Piss off, mate.”

“Just spreading the love!” Daniel calls over his shoulder as he saunters off. “And remember — November is for nutting, not for nothing!”

Lando shakes his head, still chuckling. “Unbelievable. Remind me why I’m friends with him again?”

You finally lift your flushed face from his shoulder. “Because he’s ridiculous in the best way and makes everything fun?” You offer with a giggle.

“Too right, love.” Lando smiles and pulls you into a quick kiss. “Now wish me luck today, yeah? I’m off to claim my real trophy!”

You smoothe down his new AlphaTauri cap and kiss him again for extra luck. Even through your lingering embarrassment, Daniel’s antics have lifted the mood. And Lando does look pretty darn cute in that cap. Time to go get that podium!

***

By some miracle, Lando takes the chequered flag in Vegas, earning his first ever Formula 1 race win.

The team is ecstatic, mobbing him in the pits and spraying champagne everywhere. You’re jumping up and down, screaming yourself hoarse.

As he pulls into parc fermé, Lando yanks off his helmet and balaclava, his shiny bald head gleaming with sweat. Fisting the air triumphantly, he looks like the happiest man alive.

The podium ceremony and interviews pass in a blur of joyful chaos. Lando can’t stop beaming, gazing at the trophy in his hands like he can’t believe it���s real.

Finally you get him alone in his driver’s room, immediately jumping into his arms and kissing him fiercely. “You did it!” You shout gleefully.

Lando laughs, spinning you around. “I actually did it! This is the best day ever!”

You cup his face in your hands. “I’m so proud of you.” Kissing him again, you murmur, “Now it’s time for us to celebrate properly.”

A grin spreads across Lando’s face. “Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”

In response, you lead him toward the couch, peeling off his race suit and fireproofs along the way. You push him down on the leather, straddling his waist and capturing his lips hungrily.

Lando responds eagerly, his hands roaming your body. As you move together, his touches feel extra electrifying in the wake of his triumph.

Afterward, you lay wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the afterglow. Lando presses soft kisses to your hair. “You were right, this is the perfect way to celebrate.”

You laugh, snuggling closer. “Mmhmm, I’m full of good ideas.”

He runs a hand over his head contemplatively. “You know, I think this new aerodynamic look might actually be my good luck charm. Maybe I should keep it?”

You bolt upright, glaring down at him in horror. “Don’t you dare! This is a temporary tragedy we must endure but the curls will return.”

Lando chuckles at your reaction. “Relax, love. I’m only joking.” He tugs you back down, nuzzling your neck. “Trust me, I miss my hair as much as you do. The second November ends, the curls are coming back.”

“Good,” you huff. “Bald is a very sexy look on some people but on you it’s just ... wrong.” You place a hand on his cheek. “I miss running my fingers through those soft locks. Your hair has always been one of my favorite things about you.”

Lando smiles up at you tenderly. “Don’t worry, I promise you’ll have your handsy little mitts full of my curls again before you know it.”

“I better,” you threaten playfully. “And you’ll look as dashing as ever.”

You kiss him again, conveying all the pride and affection overflowing from your heart. No matter what hairstyle he’s rocking, Lando is your champion. Though you can’t wait to see those luscious honey-brown curls again.

[blingblong55]

"your girl?" "My girl.."-Simon ghost Riley NSFW

Photo credits: @ave661

this is a collab with my bestie @aethelwyneleigh27 Part 1 is here ---- F!Reader, 18+, MDNI, smut, soft!sex, breeding, possessive, chubby!reader, unprotected!sex, fwb to lovers, P-IN-V, oral!sex ----

A/N: I think the song linked fits so perfectly with this

He managed to calm your nerves and give you reassurance with just the way he nodded with his warm lips finding your neck again. You felt enough adrenaline to kiss him, like actually kiss him on his lips.

Romantic, soft and sweet yet passionate, Simon couldn't help himself, guiding and backing you up on the kitchen countertop. He took it as an opportunity to hoist you up on it by your waist, squirming a bit as the marble was like ice underneath your thighs, your legs propped open with him comfortably in between.

Of all the things, the grey sweatpants and refusal to even come close to wearing a shirt surely didn't help to calm where your mind is running.

He pressed his forehead on yours, closing his eyes and basking in the feeling of this with you, his breath on your skin felt different now...

"I meant what I said," he whispers as his calloused hands move your hair away from your sweet face. "You're my girl now, Y/N," he says as he leans forward, his lips coming in contact with yours. There is a special kind of softness to the kiss but it's all masked from the passion he has for you. "You're something so dear to me," he says between nibbles and kisses to the soft and weak spot on your neck. You can feel it too, the certainty that tonight is more than just another time where you and him get tangled in the sheets. 

Was it important to let you know all this as undresses you? Yes, because for so long he can voice the emotions he felt every time he worshipped your body. 

Maybe with time, the sneaking into your bed to fuck you raw was more than just that. 

Maybe it was a rough poem of his emotions. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, your head thrown back as he leaves marks of his confused heart on your neck. 

"Fuck...I need you...do you know that?" he looks back up at you and cups your face with his hands. Why does it all feel so different now?

You nod and he smiles. It was a routine he knew best, which is why by now, those precious panties of yours hit the ground, your gown tossed to the side as he kneeled and captured your soft thighs in kisses. Your hands run through his hair, admiring how good he looks in this light and this position. 

"God...Simon," you whisper as his lips get closer to your soaking cunt. A chuckle escapes him. "Already wet for me, lovie?" he mockingly shakes his head and before you know it, his tongue runs through your folds. Your eyes close and your soft hands push him further in, directing him towards the needed target. He smiles as he knows exactly where you want him and a man like him obeys his love. 

"mmm, so sweet, lovie," his voice vibrates on you. His tongue laps at your clit. One of his hands opens your pretty pussy more whilst the other lets his thick fingers inside of you. A moan escapes your lips. It's easy to forget your ex was just here when the man who makes your heart and pussy throb is on his knees eating you out like you're some goddess he must worship. 

The more he continues this, the more he can feel you clench around his fingers and that's when he knows he must fuck you dumb...with his dick of course. No need to have his fingers claim your cunt over and over when his hardened member can do that. 

He gets back up, earning a small whine from you as you are near climax. A playful smile falls upon his wet lips, the ones he licks before speaking. He raises and finger to the air and sighs, "Now, how about I fill you to the brim and make you forget about that mangled-looking mutt," his head to the side as he watches you ponder. You nod and he picks you up, leading you to bed. 

Once he lays you down, he admires your soft and curvy figure. What a sight you are for a man like him. 

He crawls between your thighs after he takes his sweatpants off and spits on his cock. His tip is so swollen and red that you practically know he also needs this as much as you do. 

His hand is on your hip whilst the other slips his fat and hard cock inside your tight and wet cunt. A small gasp from you and a groan from him is what slowly sets the mood for the morning. "Si," you whisper as you try and adjust to his size. "Shh, I know..I know, Y/n," he whispers back and slowly thrusts into you. Your hand holds onto his wrist while the other rubs the swollen clit. 

Your tits bounce and he leans forwards, taking one into his mouth. He licks and sucks on the sensitive skin. His tongue flicks on the nipple and a low chuckle escapes him when he notices the small whimpers that leave your plump lips. 

What an innocent thing you used to be before you ever met him and now, he has you moaning and getting fucked like the pretty little slut you are. "Fuck," Simon groans and goes somewhat harder, hitting that sweet spot of yours. He can tell he was doing this when your grip on his wrist tightens and your nails leave a painful mark, one he doesn't complain about. "You're mine...you're so mine, Y/N. You hear me?" his voice deep and yet so soft. A small nod from you makes him smile. 

With each thrust, his gaze falls on you. Even as he licks and sucks your tits, you look so pretty when biting your lip from this angle. His balls tighten, the image of you too much to take. God, you belong to him now.  

The moans you begin to let out that mix so perfectly with the noises his hip thrusts make against you is the melody that's so dirty the angels would have to cover their ears for. "He doesn't fuck you like I do, huh, lovie?" he says between angered groans. "He doesn't please that needy pussy like me and he'll never please it like I do," he bites his bottom lip as he says this. 

He pulls his chest back, feeling that he can't take more but he must wait until you clench around his dick so he can fill you up. 

By now, both his hands hold your hips, his cock aching for release and as you play with your pretty pussy, he almost wants to see if you've forgotten the idiot you once dated. 

"God, you're so heavenly," he whispers into his groan. Your walls tighten around him and he can almost feel you cliamx by now.  

He holds your body close, burying his head on your neck as he moans and feels you shake and moans his name over and over. Your nails leave love marks on his back from how good he is. "C'mon...just like that...fuck...mark me...let them know your body was used by me," he moans out so desperately it's hot. 

Soon enough, he cums inside of you, coating your delicate walls with his cum. He moans loudly, closing his eyes and slowing his pace. "You keep my cum inside you, that's a command," he kisses your neck with the need to have you this close to him. "Y-yes..." you whisper. 

His fat and heavy dick is still inside you as his unspoken promise to fill you up is becoming true. 

His hands are on your waist and then hips, travelling between them with so much delicacy it looks like he is truly worshipping a goddess. 

"Don't you ever open the door to him. You're mine, not his and you'll stay mine until we die," he says before giving you a rough but needed kiss. His breath is hot as his body captures yours. His hands holding you so close like he is afraid you vanish with just one blink. 

It must be a sin to love this hard and this good. 

"I think I'm falling for you, Y/N," he confesses and kisses you again. Your arms snake around his back. His body and yours are like magnets. "Do you think you're falling for me?" he asks once he separates his lips from yours. "I've already fallen for you, Si," you whisper and like a schoolboy, he blushes and chuckles nervously. 

It was cute to see him this way. It's exciting to know just these words make him all happy and giddy. "Good because I'm tired of being just your friend," he kisses you once more as this kiss turns into a cuddle. 

A soft cuddle that turns into a nap. 

A nap that turns into days of romancing in town streets and parks. 

A/N: thanking the man who let’s me recreate things with him for fics for some of the parts of this because I couldn’t figure out what to write

Tags:

@tf141gloryhole @captainsarcasmandsass @lahniu @appl3-0rchard @certifiedcodbabygirl @lucycastlesworld @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @rvivienner @Krinoid24 @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @idklols @katybaby00 @night-mare-owl-79 @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @Juneonhoth @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare @defnotlpuluvyou @enarien @Simonssweetgirl @luvecarson @nellsbobells @willowaftxn83-87 @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @sae1kie @queen-ilmaree @Llelannie @Macnches2 @avidreadee123 @talooolaaloolla @skelletonwitch @bittermajesties @Nyx_Flower @1234beeandpuppycat @sparky--bunny @honestlyhiswife @who-can-appease-me @ghostwifeyy @konigssultwithghost @lovelyvqer @the_royal_bee @soapybutt17 @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @anonxasian @born4biriyani @thegreyjoyed @mychemichalimalance @marshiely @sleepyycatt @

[lovebugism]

could i request “mean” eddie and reader going swimming somewhere and maybe she’s in her swimsuit and someone says something that makes him jealous? also just want to say i love you writing sm!!! <3

hi, lovely! thanks so much for your request and your kind words!! i hope you like it xoxo (1.7k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Eddie can’t stop staring at you.

It’s not like it’s his fault, though. You’re all sprawled out beside him in a plastic lounge chair, clad only in a bathing suit that leaves little to the imagination. It’s an all-black number with little white bats all over it, clinging to you like it was made to do it.

It’s a wonder the two of you even made it to Hawkins Community Pool, honestly. Eddie's thoughts verge on obscene at the sight of you. But then again, they tend to when you're on his mind.

You lay with your hands folded above your head, totally surrendering yourself to the golden sunlight. It gives Eddie the opportunity to gaze at you fully — even though sometimes he thinks he’s already memorized you by now.

He analyzes you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you, like you’re the last thing he’ll ever see.

The pudge of the top of your breast spills over the hem of your bikini. The skin of your stomach bulges underneath your high-waisted bottoms. The fullness of your thighs begins to glow beneath the glittering daylight.

He commits all of this to memory and figures maybe that’s what the sun’s doing too, as it paints your skin more golden.

He doesn’t know how he got you. 

But he hopes your eyes are closed behind your thick glasses. Or, at the very least, that they block your view of him. Eddie knows he’s unabashedly staring at you, but he also knows he can’t stop. He doesn’t want his ogling to be met with your teasing — even if he is deserving of it.

The Lord of the Rings book in his hands goes quickly abandoned. It’s a feat he even made it to page fifty. He’s flipped through it enough times to memorize it, though. Sort of like you.

Like the novel, he could read you a million times and never get bored. The only real difference is he finds you much, much sexier than printed words on a page.

“I can feel you staring, you know?” 

Your voice jolts him from his stupor, light and golden like the slowly setting sun. Your words are nearly drowned out by the sounds of the bustling pool — screaming kids, splashing water, and people trying to converse over it all.

Eddie’s far too attuned to you not to hear you, though.

You’re not looking at him, but he can see the corner of your lip quirk in a slight half-smile.

“Can you?” he deadpans, turning back to his book like he hadn’t been looking at you at all.

The words are all mush, though. He’ll blame it on the stifling summer heat. He was the idiot out here in a black t-shirt and trunks, after all.

“Yeah,” you nod.

He sees your smile completely when you turn to look at him. The sun pierces through your amber lenses, making your eyes more visible beneath them. You’ve got one eye squinted to evade the blinding light. The beam you wear is somehow brighter.

“’S like spidey senses, you know? I can always tell when you’re looking at me, Munson.”

Eddie wants to be embarrassed at the thought. He knows that you’re joking — if only just the slightest bit — but it makes him think about all the other times he’s shamelessly gawked at you. He spent years doing it before you ever got together.

Many of his high school years were spent paying more attention to you than his homework. He thinks maybe that’s why he had such a hard time graduating.

“You’re saying my girlfriend’s a superhero?” the boy jokes, brows raised behind his curly bangs and chocolate eyes going wide. They look more golden in the sunlight, and they twinkle with mischief.

“Uh-huh,” you hum with a wider smile than before. “You didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. Some of his curls still stick to him, damp with the sweat beading on his milky skin. “No. I can confidently say that I didn’t.”

“Good. It was supposed to be a secret, anyway.”

Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh, but he does.

It’s a sharp exhale through his nose more than anything, paired with a crooked pink smile. He wishes he knew how much of a dork you were a year ago. He might’ve asked you out sooner.

“Brush up on your spidey senses before you go out patrolling the neighborhood, alright, Spiderwoman?” he jests in a monotone, turning the page of his book even though he hadn’t actually read it. “’Cause I totally wasn’t staring at you.”

You know he’s lying.

And it’s not just because you could feel it — even though you think his button-eyed gaze can be palpable in its attentiveness at times. But what you lacked in superhero senses, you made up for in awareness of all things Eddie Munson. 

You knew when he got quiet that he was in his own head. And being that you hadn’t heard a single page turn in several minutes, you figured his eyes must’ve been on something other than the book in his hands.

Your quip was hardly more than a lucky guess, really.

“Good,” you hum as you flip over onto your stomach. Your backside had been completely deprived of sunlight before now. You prop yourself up on your elbows and lift your sunglasses to the top of your head. Your teasing gaze is no longer amber-coated. “‘Cause that would mean you find me attractive.”

“And that would just be a travesty, wouldn’t it?” Eddie scoffs.

He looks over at you again and finds your changed position. Your back is pointed towards the sun now, the very bottom of your ass on full display. Your thighs are indented softly from the slatted chair beneath you.

He can’t pry his eyes off the combination of the two despite knowing you’re watching him right back.

“It’s okay if you have the hots for me, Eds,” you tell him, feigning sympathy. “I’d only make fun of you a little bit.”

Eddie stays silent for half a moment too long, then shakes his head to dismiss the thought. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. It’s just the heat.”

You scoff. “Yeah. Let’s blame the way you’re ogling at me on sunstroke.”

He still finds it a bit difficult to be your boyfriend sometimes — or just a boyfriend. And it’s not because of you. Not in the slightest. He just sort of put a wall around himself when he was younger. He’s been behind it so long he’s forgotten how to let people back in.  

And even though he hasn’t said it yet, he loves the goddamn shit outta you. But for some reason, he can’t let himself be vulnerable in that way — can’t even ask to touch you without coming up with some lame excuse that covers up all his vulnerable-ness.

“You, uh… You put sunscreen on, right?” he asks, shifting slightly in his chair. He spares a brief glance your way from the corner of his eye, halfway concealed by the fluffy brown curls framing his face.

“Yeah?” you answer with pinched brows. “Right after I forced you to put some on, remember?”

He scrunches his nose as he squints at you. It takes everything in you not to lean over and kiss the tip of it. “I don’t know,” the boy singsongs as he tilts his head to his shoulder. “I don’t remember it, actually…”

“Then maybe you’re the one that needs to get checked out, Eds.”

“I think I should just put some lotion on your back,” he summarizes with a shrug, already rising from his chair to swing his legs over the side of it. “You know, just to be safe.”

The teasing glint in his eyes makes you grin. You trap your bottom lip between your teeth to dim its brightness, lest how happy he makes you go to his head.

Your feet lift in their air and twist together with a girlish excitement. It makes your ass wiggle gently. Eddie swears you’re doing it just to tease him.

“Get my legs, too, while you’re at, yeah?” you quip.

Eddie reaches for the tote beside your chair with an effervescence that can only be described as a boy on Christmas morning — his present: the opportunity to touch you. He rises again with the blue bottle in his hand.

A low whistle sounds from behind the both of you.

“Looking good, sweetheart,” Billy compliments with a smirk as he walks by your chair. He’s in his lifeguard uniform — a pair of red swim trunks and his toned, golden torso.

He lifts his sunglasses from his face and rests them on top of his curled mullet. His crystal blue eyes gape at you, far sharper than Eddie’s chocolate syrup ones.

“Bite me, Hargrove,” you deadpan in response.

“I like the sound of that,” he laughs, chomping spearmint gum between his pearly white teeth. He spins on his flip-flops and walks backward to keep ogling at you. “Just give me the word and I’m yours, darlin’.”

He disappears in the bustling crowd after that, fading like rubbed-in sunscreen. You forget about him the second he’s gone.

He’s always been an asshole like that. It’d be a rookie mistake to give more than half a shit about him. But Eddie still feels the boy’s presence like a mean, lean, green monster full of envy. It’s like he’s still there — close enough to punch, even.

He isn’t sure if it’s the heat or if he’s actually seeing red.

“What an asshole,” you murmur under your breath.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Eddie snaps.

“Whoa,” you drawl within a laugh. “Slow your roll, tiger.”

The boy's eyes go wide as he looks over at you again. “I’m not even sure what I just said, honestly.”

“You’re a dork who plays Dungeons and Dragons, remember? You can’t start talking about fighting Billy Hargrove.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” he sighs, rigid body finally loosening with the heavy exhale. He squints at you after. “You don’t think I could take him?”

“I don’t thank you have to,” you lilt.

“That’s such a non-answer, babe.”

“I’m just saying,” you giggle with a shrug. “I’m asking you to feel me up, Eds. Not that creep.”

A rosy smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, smug and full of love.

You meet it with a grin of your own. 

“C’mon, I’m burning to a crisp over here,” you urge, shifting in the chair just to make your thighs jiggle in the way you know Eddie likes.

His eyes glaze over at the sight — one he’s seen a million times now — and you know it’s done the trick.

“Let’s give Hargrove a show, yeah?”

[darkwaveho]

Damage Control: In the night

Summary: You’re not estranged when it comes to your girlfriend breaking in and entering your room unannounced but the reason behind it is what constantly eats away at you but tonight you no longer keep quiet about it. (Basically an injured Natasha using your room as a safe house.)

Pairings:Mob!Natasha x reader

Warnings: brief mention of abuse, hurt-comfort, small mention of blood, fluff? Brief smut.

Series Main masterlist

You lay there without fear or concern seeing as you’re already aware of who that could be entering your window. Small noises are heard, and the bed barely shifts after a few moments you will yourself to open your eyes with intentions to turn fully towards the cold body in your bed. Strong arms stop you in your tracks holding you in place. “Go back to sleep.”

The sound of her voice is so much richer within the nighttime it almost distracts you from what you know to be the truth. You needed to look at her, you needed to see her face before you even gave yourself the opportunity to even think about sleep anymore. Of course, Natasha isn’t going to budge, and she knows you aren’t either, that’s exactly why her grip around you grows stronger as you continue to fight against her. You huff with annoyance before finally saying something to her.

“Let me see you.” It’s silent for a moment, a moment too long in your opinion that lets you know what type of late-night visit this is. “It’s fine, I’m fine, now just go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you up.” She dismisses any concern that you have as always. “What was the reason this time?” You don’t fight against her anymore, you simply just lay there as she’s pressed against your back. Maybe she’d talk about it in detail this time.

“Same as always.” Her response shouldn’t be a response she’s accustomed to but that was the reality of her life and burden of being placed in a situation where she’s responsible for everything and nothing other than perfection is accepted and even then, sometimes it wasn’t enough to save her from a fist and bruises littered across her body. You managed to turn around while her guard was down to finally assess the damage. You stare at her shadowy figure holding back your emotions. If you got too sentimental it would become too much for Natasha and in an instant, she’d be gone, you know because it’s happened before. She sports a black eye, a bruised lip and a few bruises on her shoulders. Her tank top still has dried blood on it. You don’t know if all of it is hers or not and you’re not going to ask. You quickly shift your thoughts on anything else sensing her fight or flight reaction beginning to start. You look away from her quickly as you sit up in bed you get up and head start for your dresser drawer. As you fumble through it, Natasha watches you the entire time and doesn’t say anything else. You turn to her as you throw a change of clothes at her. You aren’t doing a good job of hiding your frustration but then again you don’t care about hiding it. You’re sick of it, you're sick of her being treated this way and you’re sick of seeing her bloody and bruised by the hand that’s shot to protect her. Natasha glares at the spread out clothes on the bed and snaps her eyes at you. “I didn’t come here for pity, I don’t need a change of clothes. The clothes I have on are just fine.” 

“Those clothes are not fine, YOU are not fine Nat! You don’t need a reminder of what happened, your face is doing that all on its own.” You harshly whisper into the night. Your breathing is uneven, your head is starting to pound. It's four in the morning. You had very little energy to deal with this than you normally would have. Natasha wants you to forget about it, she wants you to not worry about her, she is enduring. She’s taking whatever comes her way to finish to the end. In the end when she’s the one running things in the family business. When she’s the one people are afraid of. When she has the power to make or end anyone she chooses. “I said, I don’t need pity.” She grabs the clothes and tosses them to the other side of the room with no guilt or remorse on her face. You want to kick her out, you want to yell at her for being stupid and stubborn. But you know, you know she wants to push you just to take the easy way out. She wants to find any little thing for her to run away from you and for the first time you’re starting not to care about her running away from you and her feelings.

“Then why did you come here?” She doesn’t have an answer for that she never has an answer for it at least not out loud, being in a relationship and dealing with expressing her emotions was still new to her. “If you didn’t come here for pity or to be cared for then leave out the same way you came because I’m not just going to keep ignoring this Nat, the way he treats you is not right. I’m sorry, I can’t be a shitty girlfriend and ignore the abuse that he causes you so if that’s what you want and if that’s what you’re looking for you’re wasting your time with me, I’ll never be okay with anyone hurting you.” “I’ll never be okay with you putting yourself through torture because you think you deserve it. You don’t deserve it Natalia.” You get back into your bed snatching your blanket on top of you and you make sure to turn over with your back facing Natasha. You can’t even see her facial expression right now, she’s in pure shock and an unfamiliar feeling that won’t go away is at the pit of her stomach. Her skin finally feels warm after walking in the cold for an hour to get to you. You once again feel the bed shift ready for your ears to hear the shut of your window but it never comes. There is nothing but silence.You're scared to turn around and be disappointed by her leaving instead of accepting the love and care that you constantly try giving her. The love and care she always rejects. Those deep thoughts are removed when strong arms wrap themselves around you again. this time pulling you closer. Her breath hits the back of your neck sending a chill down your spine. Her hands slightly tremble before getting more firm against your body. You don’t know if it's because of her bruised knuckles or if she’s actually nervous. “Sorry.” It’s all she says, it's all she can say at the moment but you’ll accept it seeing as how hard it is to even get her to apologize in the first place for anything. 

“Will you let me get the first aid kit?” Natasha sighs, she still wasn’t fond of being catered to and being seen as weak. She silently nods her head against yours. You silently get up from the bed and tell Natasha to put the clean clothes on. While also being careful about making as little noises as possible, you honestly don’t know if your father is home or not as of late things have been very busy for him and the family. You return from the bathroom with the kit handing her the box to do it herself. You don’t want to be overly pushy when it comes to stuff like this, plus she’s quicker to get it done than you are. She finally undresses and you honestly weren’t expecting to see more bruises with each piece of clothing hitting the floor. She’s waiting for you to say something about them, ready for an excuse to lash out and push you away again. After seeing the extra wound you look away giving her some sense of privacy instead of making her feel like a displayed punching bag. You don't forget to subtly sit an icepack near her the way her eye is swelled up. It would most likely be shut closed by the morning time if not iced at the bare minimum. You ignore the way she huffs out a force of air through her nose, she is irritated but she still hasn’t snapped at you for it, not yet. You make your way back to the bed facing away from her. When she’s done treating her wounds and putting on the new night clothes you gave her she enters the bed again. There is a brief moment of silence before her stomach growls loudly, you feel her become stiff as if that would make her hunger disappear. “Are you hungry?” 

“No” she replies immediately, it fascinates you how she’s quickly able to lie through her teeth. You raise an accusing eyebrow just as her hunger makes itself known once more, even louder than the first time. “Liar” Natasha sighs in defeat and finally answers truthfully. “Fine, I didn’t eat dinner. I was too busy internally bleeding.” She attempts to make a lighthearted joke that you don’t find funny at all. You poke her in her ribs. Natasha hisses in pain, the pain was so bad that she was nearly yelling out loud. Thankfully you’re quick by covering her mouth with your hands. “Shh, shut up!” You shush her cries and grunts of pain. When she’s calmed down a bit you finally remove your hands from her mouth. “What the fuck was that for?” She is still trying to steady her breathing and manage her pain. “I didn’t find that joke very funny, asshole.” You unwrap yourself from her embrace, without a word you stop in front of your bedroom door. “Promise me you won’t be gone when I come back?” You give a look of seriousness because she’s done it plenty of times leaving you without a word for a job, just because or simply because of her being overstimulated by emotions. “Fuck off.” She’s still upset about you poking at her wounds. You know her response is not in a malicious way so you ignore it. “Natasha, I’m serious.” She gives you her signature smirk remembering the last few times she’s done that to you, as she crosses an X over her heart. “And hope to die.” You nod once in agreement, anytime Natasha used that it meant she was serious about keeping her word. It’s a weird arrangement but it works in a twisted, melancholy way. You leave the room quickly and quietly, not taking long to prepare a snack. You return with her still in the same spot you left her in. You hand her a plate with a sandwich and a glass of milk to wash it down with. “I made your favorite, peanut butter and banana.” She can never just take things as they are so you weren’t surprised when she had a sarcastic response shooting from her mouth.“You gonna tuck me in and read me a story too?” 

“I’m close to throwing you out my window now, do you want the food or not because I can give it to the other strays that would actually appreciate it.” 

“Did you basically just call me a stray cat?” Your irritation grows more intense why? Why does she insist on being so difficult, especially at a time like this? “Yes, yes I did. Do you want it or not? I'm tired Nat.” You hold the plate and the cold glass out for her to reach. It takes a moment but after a brief pause she takes the food from you and nods her head. You know she’s thankful for it. You won’t be difficult with her tonight. After handing her the food you return to bed with the intention of going back to sleep on the verge you feel her hands wrapped around you. Her face pressed against yours and the smell of peanut butter invaded your nose. “Thank you.” Those two words weren’t just meant for the sandwich. Those two words were universal for Natasha; that's just how her brain worked. It was a thank you for everything not just tonight but other nights that have passed when she needed shelter like this. She ends her thanks with a kiss to your lips. “You’re welcome.” 

“Tash?”

“Hm?” 

“What if you left some of your clothes here for when this happens?” You don’t want to enable this situation but it’s evidently clear that this isn’t going to change anytime soon. Her father’s temper won’t change. His views on her life choices won’t change. Natasha’s mindset on leaving this life all together and running away with you won’t ever change. After a moment of awkward silence Natasha finally responds. “What am I a pet?” 

“No, I just thought it would be more convenient…actually forget I said anything.” You turn away from her again. You don’t want her to see how overly mushy and clingy you’re being right now. 

“Fine, I guess a few clothes won’t hurt.” Her voice comes out low and gentle. With that unexpected response you face her again ignoring the strained grunt that comes out of her mouth from the bed shifting. You place a small kiss to her nose and snuggle up to her chest. You massage her scalp gently knowing it helps her fall asleep faster. There’s still just one more thing in your mind and you have to ask her while she’s all buttered up. You were taking the crown for ultimate opportunist tonight.

“One more thing.” She groaned, she was actually tired now and her social meter was at its lowest point right now. “What now? And make it quick, I’m tired.” You want to slap her arm but remember the uncertainty of your father being home yet. Her breath fans over your cheek and her heartbeat finds a comfortable rhythm. Now’s your chance. “Promise me that you’ll be here in the morning when I wake up.” You hate the vulnerability in your voice sometimes you hate how much you display affection more than Natasha does. You shouldn’t be anxious to ask her for something so minuscule, but she doesn’t function like others would in a normal relationship. This was not a normal relationship no matter how bad you want it to be. “Promise.” She says it almost too fast for you. It was untrustworthy; she's known for ghosting you. “Not scared about daddy catching us together anymore?” It’s not a malicious question but the teasing is evident in her voice. She’s playing it cool right now but she was also in the same position. At times she’s being overly aware and cautious about how much time she spends away from the meeting in your fathers home office, how much she’s constantly timing herself knowing Alexei is doing the same waiting to catch her doing something so insignificant just to reprimand her. There were even times your father almost caught you two in uncompromising situations, when Natasha isn’t supposed to even be near you at all. Sometimes she's so cautious that she would ignore you completely while she was downstairs. She’s only been able to sneak away a few times to have a quick moment with you and even then that wasn’t enough for you. (It wasn’t enough for her either but you don’t know that yet.) 

“Truthfully, l wouldn’t care if he found out. I just want you safe.” Once again Natasha curses in her mind another mushy moment that she can’t seem to deny tonight. She raises her hand over your chest. The action isn’t what you were expecting at first but then she crosses an X over your heart and whispers. “I promise.” She kisses you hard, taking your breath away, she clenches to you with need and purpose. You release a soft moan savoring in the warm embrace as long as she’s allowing you to. “Now please no more talking.” You scoff at her demanding request. “Hey, it’s my room.” She hums softly and shifts to place her face deeper into you, if she could jump into your skin right now she would but she’ll never tell you that. Natasha always needs the last word, so she mumbles into your neck. “Not while I’m in your bed, it’s not.” You mumble a sleepy ‘Whatever’ and let the rest of the early morning take over you. You needed rest but most importantly Natasha needed it more than anything right now. It’s honestly taking everything in you not to throw on your clothes and drag her to the emergency room but then you know she’ll ghost you for doing it. 

You know she’ll leave you wondering about her wellbeing as retaliation. She’s done it before , going radio silent without a care in the world knowing how much it affects you. So you shake those invading thoughts and force yourself into a deep sleep. The morning comes and your body feels light, too light. You’re scared to open your eyes right now. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of disappointment. Being lied to even when you have the best intentions of keeping her safe. It sucks. It more than sucks, it’s honestly heartbreaking but you swallow the hurt and open your eyes to an empty bed. She’ll never change. You check your phone for time and it’s almost noon. You’re surprised your father hasn’t checked in on you yet but then again you didn’t even know if he was home. You toss your phone on the bed quickly turning over to scream your frustrations into your silk pillowcase. This isn’t nearly enough to keep your emotions in control but you get up from the bed to start your morning routine. Whatever you had planned to do with Natasha is not happening anymore.You'll find something expensive to buy with your credit card to cope with it. After a long hot shower you return to your room and the moments from early morning flash into your mind that you can’t keep it together anymore. You won’t be silent about this. You won’t endure pain just because she does. You stomp towards your bed with determination, you grab your phone angrily tapping away at the screen. Her phone goes straight to voicemail. Did she block your number? You never leave voicemails as it’s too dangerous in Natasha’s words but you’re angry not thinking clearly. “You think this is funny? You think you can walk all over me and my feelings? You promised, fuck that you crossed your heart! I swear I don’t know what you want from me.” You pace back and forth around your room. “I don’t know what I can do to show you how much I care about you and how much good you deserve in this world. Until you can give me an answer I don’t want to see your face, you lying piece of shit!” Just as you yell those words your window opens up and the first thing you see in the reflection of your vanity mirror is a black leather boot. You swiftly turn around as Natasha stands there. 

“Who’s a lying piece of shit?” You don’t answer her as you end the voicemail and toss your phone on the bed. Your silence is becoming awkward for her. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? And why do you look like you’re about to breathe fire out of your mouth?” 

“You left.” 

“What?” 

“You left, and you promised that you would stay.” Natasha walks back to the window and ducks down, her body half way through the opening before she grabs something and closes it completely. She brings a bag to your eye view. “I went to get you breakfast.” 

“What? You don’t do that, that’s not something you do.” 

“Oh, thanks I’ll remember that next time I want to do something for my girlfriend.” Natasha tosses the bag of food down on your desk and does nothing to hide her annoyed response. “Sorry.” Natasha brushes past your apology, she doesn’t get angry about it. She doesn’t fault you for her repeated patterns. She instead changes the subject. “Is the offer still on the table?” She stands there with a clenched jaw and an unwavering stare. Her eyes never leave yours, it's becoming  too much right now.whatever is going to come out of her mouth is clearly stressing her out to even say out loud.  “What offer?”

“Ya know, the whole dresser drawer girlfriend privilege thing.” You swear you saw a ghost of a grin, it was so quick you'd miss it if you blinked. Natasha was actually loving this new found step in the relationship. Just from the sound of the title, she’d be lying if she said she isn't making her day better. She can’t keep it a secret, it’s not like she didn’t rummage through your drawers anyway she might as well have some of her own in there as well. You smile at her trying to soften up the reasoning behind the drawer being offered in the first place. You’re glad she isn’t seeing it as a pity offering and finally accepting some of the perks of being in a safe space. 

“Yes, of course it is.” You try not to sound too eager, if you failed Natasha doesn’t comment on it. She nods in agreement and heads back out the window leaving you confused until she brings her backpack in with her and once again shutting the window. You want to ask her if she went back home for those clothes. You want to yell at her if she did return knowing you wanted her safe. With one look she can tell what’s going on in your mind and she’s quick to ease it. “Yelena, packed it for me.” She gently tugs at her bruised bottom lip ignoring the pain and starts unzipping the bag and placing her clothes into a drawer. You don’t say anything, you let her do whatever she wants. You let her have confidence and pride in placing her belongings with yours. 

When she’s done you rush over to her, pulling her into a bruising kiss that knocks her back into your dresser. She releases a low grunt from the contact and allows you to take control. After a moment you pull away from her lips. She looked dazed and breathless. “I’m sorry.” You kiss her again. The first kiss catches her off guard but she immediately holds you firmly against her. “Thank you for the breakfast.” You kiss her again. “Thank you for putting your safety first this time.” You pull back as you breathlessly whisper those words against her lips. Her hands tighten against your hips. She wants you close, she needs you close. Her lips take control this time, her tongue brushes against your lips in a silent understanding. You give her access and her tongue immediately enters your mouth. It’s too much to keep up with, she's messy today, normally she’s so calm, collected, and patient but not right now. She can’t right now because she has too much to give to you. Too much appreciation to show you what her words won’t allow. Maybe she’ll get better with that in the future. You have to pull away when you hear the sound of a car door shutting, you’re not sure if it's your father or not but you won't take the chance of being caught. Natasha groans, still chasing your lips. You chuckle at the action and promise her later to continue. You give her one last kiss as you pull away. “Let’s eat this breakfast before it gets cold.” You open the bag and it’s nothing but greasy food, you won’t complain because it’s the thought that counts. 

After eating the greasy breakfast you enjoyed the nice moment of just having her company. It was a rare occasion where Natasha got to spend this much time with you. Natasha is going through her tossed away clothes from last night, pulling out her phone she taps away at the screen that you noticed is cracked now. The screen remains black and she turns to you, ignoring your watchful gaze and curious mind. She doesn’t want to talk about it. You remind yourself.

“Hey, can I use your charger, my phone is dead.” 

“Yeah sure.” And then you think about it…the voicemail you left. If Natasha’s phone was charged it would’ve ceased your mind about her being gone from your bed this morning. You quickly snatch her phone from her. “Okay?” She looks at you curiously with clenched eyebrows. “I, uh left a not so nice voicemail on your phone when I thought you left, so yeah.” The reaction you get is not what you expected from her. Instead of being upset about it she’s being very playful. “Oh, yeah? Let me hear it.” You frown at her response. You couldn’t stay in the same room with her after letting her hear what you said, because she might leave. You never when Natasha might blow up at you or just leave you in the darkness. There’s also part of you that wants to remain honest with her no matter what. In doing this you hand her the phone anxiously waiting until her phone powers up again while on the charger. Natasha can sense it and it’s the main reason why she wants to hear it. How bad could it be? What’s so horrible about this voicemail? She reflects back to how angry you looked when she came in and she’s not so sure if she even wants to hear it now. Her finger hovers over the play button, she takes a moment to truly think about what the outcome would be if the words you said were too harsh or too real for her to handle. She presses play and she hears it. She hears everything and feels the raw emotions behind your voice. It doesn’t feel good, it's not a feeling she wants to experience again. Sure you’ve had your share of arguments and temporary breakups but this time it would be different. You basically gave her an ultimatum. Show how much you mean to her or stay away from you. She doesn’t even care that you called her a lying piece of shit. If Natasha did ultimately decide to leave this morning and not come back you would be done with her. That’s what’s making her upset. She places her phone Back on the desk to continue charging. She doesn’t say anything to you after hearing the message. She takes her jacket off and tosses it on your chair, she then starts to unlace her boots tossing those as well across your room. You stand there curiously wondering what would happen next. Natasha’s mood can switch quickly through different emotions. Just like now, you aren’t sure what type of Natasha you would get.

“I wanted to do something nice for you and you call me a lying piece of shit.” 

“You were gone Nat, you didn’t even leave a note, how was I supposed to know?”

She scoffs, not appreciating your response. “You could have trusted me.” You pinch the bridge of your nose not understanding how your cute and soft moment has turned into an argument…again. “Why are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?” 

“I'm not picking a fight, you left the voicemail, not me.”Natasha folds her arms defensively. you sigh deeply, she was indeed picking a fight with you. You’re tired of the push and pull of it all when it comes down to her and this relationship. “Are you serious right now? We already moved past this!”

“No, you moved past this and we both know that you're still upset about it.” She’s right you were still upset about it but you were willing to deal with it on your own. Clearly Natasha isn’t gonna let that happen. “C’mon, I can take it.” you look at her curiously, not knowing where she was heading with this. She steps closer to you repeating herself again. “C’mon you want to let go of your anger? Take it out on me, I'm used to it.” 

“Nat, stop.” When it's clear you’re not going to yell at her, shove her or degrade her she pushes you further. She shoves your shoulder lightly the first time then again with more force that sends you stumbling into your dresser. Natasha stalks towards you slowly cornering you against the cherry wood. “You sure you don’t want to hit me? Smack me around a bit?” her jaw is clenched tight, her eyes are glossy but the tears remain concealed in her eyes. “I can’t take it, hit me.”

“Nat.” Your frustration grows, and the more you soak in what’s happening in front of you, the more you hate Alexei. You hate him for making her this way. 

“Hit me.” She stares at you baring teeth in an animalistic way. Invading your personal space as she moves closer, her lips just a mere centimeter way from yours.

“No!” You're firm in your answer not holding back your emotion behind it either, but that only riles Natasha up even more.

“Coward.” you roll your eyes at this. You couldn't believe what you were witnessing right now. Your girlfriend needed some serious and immediate therapy. “If that makes me a coward then so be it, but like I said before I’’ll never be okay with seeing you hurt. I’ll never be okay with anyone hurting you, that includes me.” Your response catches her off guard but she maintains her composure, not giving anything away. You’ve had enough, you reached the end of your breaking point. Natasha pushed too far, as much as you want to unpack what just happened just now you can't. The fact that she thought provoking you into hitting her would make things better because she’s used to it is all you need to see. You wont allow yourself to coddle her, for the first time ever. “Get out, I’m not doing this with you.” 

Her eyes scan you over, waiting to see if you were luffing. Your stone cold, unwavering and upset. It's when you attempt to move from your spot against the dresser that has Natasha making the first move. She slams her lips against yours with desperation. You are still upset , you don't want to be kissing her, you don't like that she can pull you back in after pulling a stunt like this, but you can’t ignore it. You’re never really strong enough to stay away from her for too long anyway. “I didn’t mean-” this time you’re the one to cut the conversation short. As much as you didn’t want her to trauma dump on you, you were still going to consider the fact that she did share with you in a weird twisted way.  “Shut up.” you cup her face pulling her back into the kiss. Her movements are quick, hands moving naturally against your body. You release a soft moan, as Natasha continues her trail beneath the waistband of your jeans. “Nat, your ribs.”

“It’s fine, I’ll deal with it after. You’re more important.” You don't get the chance to protest against her selflessness. “Nat what if-” her hand slams against your mouth, cutting off any excuse you were trying to give her. She wasn't interested in hearing it. Truth be told she's using this as an excuse herself to let out her own previous frustrations, it is not entirely about an angry voicemail you left. “I. don’t. fucking. care.” Each word ends with a deep thrust. your eyes widen, you clench around her fingers. She’s moving more quickly than usual. Her movements still have the same impact under these circumstances. She's focused on your body and how you’re reacting and nothing else. Everything else is white noise. Your moan is muffled, your throat is burning with restraint. “What was that?” 

“I Can’t hear you baby, speak up.” She kisses your cheek and drags her lips against your skin towards your earlobe. “Look at you, leaking down my hand.” For a quick moment she looks down at the mess you’ve made all over her fingertips. The sight

“Am I a lying piece of shit?” you quickly shake your head, denying your own words. A condescending pout makes ”Say you’re sorry.” she removes her hand from your mouth, basically snatching it away. “Im- fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You were worried about me?” it's not a soft moment, she’s teasing you. Almost as if she's making fun of you for having human emotions, something she doesn't really seem to have. It doesn't phase you, you're used to it. The question was rhetorical, she knows you were. You’re always worried about her. This was for her own ears to hear. To hear that she mattered beyond being an attack dog or used as a pawn. Natasha kisses you softly this time, a change of emotion. “Cum for me.” Natasha's pace picks up, she flexes her muscles until they burn. She doesn’t care, she just wants to please you right now, she wants to feel your want and need for her. It sends you over the edge, your walls clench with desperation against Natasha's nimble fingers, you grip her hand pausing her further movements of trying to drag you through another round. She pulls back slightly, resting her forehead against yours waiting for you to catch your breath. 

“I’m not trying to fuck this up y/n.” it was a form of an apology and once again you would accept it. You nod slowly letting her words sink in. “I know, and I know you’ll probably never talk to me about it in detail, but just know you can. You don’t have to keep it bottled up inside and you don’t have to provoke me to release your frustrations.” her only response is to kiss you. Kiss you hard. The sudden movement of her pulling away from you in pain raised alarms in your mind. 

“Natasha, what’s wrong?” She’s clenching her side groaning in pain.you knew you should've done more to stop her. The untreated wounds are clearly more than what they seem.

Natasha starts coughing relentlessly, causing immediate concern especially when you’ve noticed the blood in the palm of her hand. “Natasha, get your shoes on now I’m taking you to the hospital.” She pulls away from you and shakes her head. “No, I’m-“ You cut her off, not letting the same words come out of her mouth. You’re sick of hearing it. “I swear if you finish that sentence.” You don’t want all the progress she’s made to be for nothing but you also want her to make the right choice. “They’ll ask questions and I’m not in the mood to play family feud.” 

“What about Melina?” Natasha releases a heavy sigh and shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to see her either.” Now you’re really curious to know what happened. If Natasha doesn’t want help from her mother something major occurred at that house. You might have to badger Yelena about it later; she can never keep things away from you like her sister can. “Okay then, I know someone who can help.” You nervously bite your lip anxiously as you gather yourself for the potential response she could give you just from hearing one name. “Who?” She leans towards her left side placing all the weight of her body on her leg. She grunts slowly, still trying to contain her pain level and it fails, it fails miserably in your watchful gaze. “Val.” Natasha’s eyes snapped at you, anger was beyond describing her expression right now. She growls through her clenched jaw, baring her teeth like some type of wildlife animal on a hunt or protecting its own. You won’t like a possessive and feral Natasha was always a win for you but this comes down to life or death, especially with how stubborn she is. You’d drag her down the front steps all the way to Valkyrie’s private medical facility she’s interning at without a care in the world about the nasty and insulting things she’d throw at you. 

“No fucking way, I’d rather bleed out.” Natasha says flatly, there is no smirk, grin or playful tone to her response. She was being serious, a bit dramatic but nonetheless serious. “Don’t say shit like that asshole. You need medical attention and since you don’t want that on record this is the way we have to go…unless you want to tell me why you don't want your own mother to help.” Natasha contemplates on her choices, she really hates Valkyrie but in this instance she really didn’t want to see her mother. Natasha grumbles as she moves away to put her boots and jacket back on. You take the actions as her accepting defeat, you move around the room to put your shoes on and grab your keys. As you move to open your door Natasha places a quick and firm hand against yours. “What are you doing?” she raises an eyebrow at your actions. “I’m opening the door?” you mirror her same expression clearly not understanding what the problem was.

“You want me to walk out the front door? You would think you're the one internally bleeding right now.” 

“Are you seriously gonna go out the window again?” Now you understand, but you won’t waste this opportunity to tease her like she did to you. “Oh, look who's scared now?” Your grin is enough to pull an unamused frown on Natasha’s face. With the possibility of your father being home and the injuries, she’s facing, Natasha would only slow you down. Ultimately leading to another brawl between her and your father, she barely has enough energy to stand on her own right now. She's truly indulging the pain. Natasha didn't want to risk it. Is it stupid, dumb and carless to go out of a window and climb down the side of a balcony? Yes, but it's what she has to do.

“Shut up and grab me a snack from the kitchen on your way out.” Natasha gives you a quick peck, steps away from you and heads towards the window. Your girlfriend is an asshole but she's your asshole and, in the night, when you get to hold her again the arguments you two had today will mean nothing, as long as she's safe in your arms. you'll care for her; you'll love her in the night.

[caitlinsclark]

GOOD LUCK BABE! caitlin clark PART I. IT'S FINE, IT'S COOL caitlin clark x reader ✰ bree's notes: bet y'all weren't expecting this one yet mwahaha. had to write about this specific game.. for no specific reason! you'll see xoxo gotta keep you on edge. as always, i hope you all love it! thank you for all the support, you guys make me love writing again, i adore you. word count: 3.2k series masterlist masterlist and tag list

“You’re gonna be there early tonight, right?” Caitlin cringed at the longing tone that always somehow slipped in when she was talking to you. She was thankful she’d called you so you couldn’t see the way her palm hit her forehead in a silent scolding.

You remained perfectly unaware on the other end of the line, the same way you’d remained unaware the last few years. The brunette could’ve watched a closed gallon of paint dry in the time it took you to notice that she was hopelessly in love with you.

“Of course!” Your sweet voice had her forgetting entirely about the slip up, “I’m just running out with Luke and then I’m on the way.” 

Any joy from talking to you was suddenly washed away by the  natural disaster referred to as your boyfriend Luke. Luke, who you’d been with for three years now.

Three long, agonizing, pitiful years and counting that Caitlin had been skillfully avoiding a gag at the mention of his name. 

The brown eyed girl didn’t know when exactly the light changed and she suddenly saw you in a rose-tinted lens, surrounded by hearts and rainbows every time her gaze met yours. 

If she had to think, it was probably years ago during high school, a time where you were both unexperienced and eager to get your firsts done. You were just as attached to the hip as you were now, only Caitlin wasn’t knowingly burdened with the weight of loving you yet.

As you did many nights in your high school years, the two of you were having a sleepover tucked away in the comfort of your room. You were being entertained by the screen of your phone in the late hours of the night, texting an older guy in one of your classes. He’d offered to come pick you up and take you for a drive if you were willing.

As a teen who had never done anything remotely rebellious, you jumped at the opportunity to agree. You’d peaked over next to you, finding Caitlin deeply asleep and cuddling into your side. She had her head laying on the edge of your shoulder, undisturbed by the bright light of your phone when she was so cozy with your skin against hers.

You leaned over to kiss her head softly in an apology, sliding out so slowly from under her and replacing yourself with a pillow. Being so careful to be quiet despite Caitlin being one of the heaviest sleepers you knew, you tiptoed over to bathroom to make yourself look presentable and freshen up.

It was only two minutes later when the door gently pushed open and Caitlin groggily entered the bathroom with you, a blanket draped around her shoulders and her ponytail askew. 

“What are you doing? How did you even wake up?” You looked at her in the mirror, confused on how she woke up so fast.

She put her head on your shoulders, keeping her eyes closed as she used her arms around you to make sure the blanket enveloped both of you.

“Go back to bed, Cait,” You giggled, rubbing moisturizer onto your skin as you looked at her tired figure, “you’re so tired.”

She nodded without argument, “Okay,” and wrapped her fingers around your arm to tug you back with her. You tried to fight against her hold, softening at her childish pout.

“Dave wants to pick me up,” You informed, too busy to see how her face fell when you started applying lip gloss. She shifted on her feet, suddenly a lot more alert at the mention of the boy you’d been fawning over.

Maybe it was manipulative at best but Caitlin needed to stop you from going, “You’re not scared he’s gonna make a move on you? What if you’re not ready?”

You frowned, anxiety now building at the possibility she pointed out, “Do you think I’ll be bad?” Toying with your rings, you started to bite your bottom lip and Caitlin couldn’t stop her eyes from focusing on the action.

“Even if you are, you’re too hot for him,” She put her hands on your shoulders encouragingly and squeezed them, “But we can always try really quick to get your nerves down.” Caitlin spoke far too casually for what she was proposing and you did a double take at her in the mirror. 

Though she kept her eyes on you in the reflection, trying to gauge your reaction and you tried not to shake under the intense gaze. 

“Stop.” You shook your head like she was kidding, continuing to brush product onto your skin. Though she could tell you were doing this out of nervousness as you started fumbling around and looked anywhere but her.

She grasped both your hands in hers, successfully stopping you from ignoring her, “I’m offering.” Regardless of your previous nervousness, the sure look in Caitlin’s eyes had you and your heart beat settling down in the blink of an eye.

It would be a lot less embarrassing to be told nicely that you suck at kissing by your best friend than a possible boyfriend making fun of you. Worst case scenario, you were still more comfortable taking the leap with Caitlin than anyone else.

With the confirmation that she wasn’t kidding, you leaned into her and exhaled out slowly as her hands slip down to hold your hips. 

The gentle touch of your hands on Caitlin’s face was committed to memory, an intimacy she could still imagine to this day if she tried. But the softness of your lips was a feeling she kicked herself for not being replicate.

And the fear of how much she enjoyed it kept Caitlin from ever mentioning it again. The fragility of how close to her heart she held that moment could never hold up if you were to downplay it in a conversation.

“He’s not coming to the game though?” The athlete shook away from the everlasting memory and held her breath, closing her eyes and crossing her fingers during the moment of silence.

“No,” You sighed and Caitlin has never felt more apologetic for being so ecstatic at your disappointment, “him and Courtney are working on a pitch tonight.” 

The brunette thanked whoever the hell Courtney was and moved on, impatiently changing the topic to something that couldn’t be poisoned by the mention of that guy.

“Are you ready for game day?”

Tonight was a game that had both of your nerves rising. You could taste the redemption calling to you, eager to beat New York Liberty after having been bested the last three times before. 

“Wait, can I FaceTime you really quick?” You’d asked and it was a little embarrassing the speed in which Caitlin said yes. But the opportunity to see your pretty face wasn’t one she’d ever pass up.

She didn’t answer the second call right away when her screen flashed the contact picture, pausing instead to admire it as it continued to ring. It was a picture from the draft, when you’d exited the stage to see her standing and waiting for you. The matching Fever jerseys in each of your hands were proof of your dreams being within reach, the fabric wrapping around you both as you jumped into Caitlin’s arms unexpectedly. You were wearing beaming grins in the picture, as you pulled back just slightly to be face to face with her and say a small, sentimental ’we did it’ when the flash went off. Courtesy of Kate. 

Caitlin shook out of her infatuation fueled daydream and pressed accept, patting herself on the back when she got rewarded with the sight of your dazzling smile so close to the camera.

You set the phone down, doing a quick twirl in frame to show off your outfit, “Does this look good?” The black pantsuit hung off your figure deliciously in Caitlin’s eyes, framing you perfectly with a white cropped top showing off your soft skin. 

If the way she was ogling you didn’t answer the question, the stuttered ‘yes’ she let out did. You’d giggled, stepping out of frame to slightly fan yourself at the sudden heat spreading unexplainably through your body. 

“Thank you,” You had black heels in your hands, ready to slip them on when Caitlin stopped you.

“Wait,” She bit her lip at the idea, wondering if she was basically torturing herself at this point but she couldn’t stop, “Do you have those beige ones?” 

To the side she glanced at her outfit laid out, almost a reverse of yours. She had her beige set and black heels planned for about a week, though you had no idea.

You paused to scrunch up your face mid thought, Caitlin bit back her smile when your tongue poked out like it always did.

“I think so,” and you disappeared off camera for a moment while ruffling could be heard from little ways away. You walked back into frame, hair slightly messy and adorable in Caitlin’s point of view, with a pair of beige heels in your hand that managed to match the shade of Caitlin’s outfit. 

You slipped them on and took a step away, doing another twirl to show off the completed look. Caitlin started clapping from the other end of the line when you posed, cheering and wolf whistling loudly in a way that had your face heating up bashfully.

“Alright, alright,” You waved her off with a laugh, “I’m gonna see you to walk in, right?” 

She loved the fact that you knew she’d be waiting, confident like you didn’t even have to ask, “Right, I’ll be waiting.” And the tiny sigh that she let out afterward held all the dreaminess she’d been clinging to for the last 3 years she couldn’t speak on.

And you were about to respond when a knock rang out on your door. Right on time, Caitlin hid her growing smile behind her hand as you excused yourself to get the door.

When you came back, you were not only sporting a large bouquet but possibly an even bigger smile that made your eyes crinkle and face scrunch up.

“Caitlin.” You said with a monotone voice, trying not to let excitement overwhelm you as your insides lit on fire with a blazing adoration. She swore she even saw a row of tears start budding on your waterline, wishing she was there to wipe them away for you.

“What are these for?” You clutched them to your chest, a beautiful array of dipped roses that had a little navy blue bow on them.

She simply grinned, a sweet sight that you took a live photo of, “I wanted to wish you luck today. And I made sure they were safe for cats too so Perry would be okay with them.”

The outward ‘awe’ you let out was loud and still incapable of showing how touched you were, as you brought the phone to your lips and kissed the screen with a louder ‘mwah’.

She did the same back, hating the way she craved for it to be real. You lifted the gray cat up off the ground where he was circling your feet, “That was the sweetest and most thoughtful thing ever. Perry says thank you too.”

Caitlin took her own live photo, her heart growing in size as she admired you while you held the flowers tucked in one arm and cuddled the furry animal in the other. 

“Just as pretty as you,” She muttered just loud enough for you to hear, slipping your face behind the flowers to try and shield the fact that you were most definitely reacting to the praise.

Your best friend knew you too well, chuckling on the other end and you knew that she knew, “I’m gonna go finish getting ready, I’ll see you in like five days.” Caitlin groaned the last part dramatically all while you watched with an amused delight.

“I’m seeing you in like three hours, not days, C,” You laughed with a small head shake. You set the flowers in a vase as you side eyed the camera and put them on display in the center of your table where they deserved to be.

She still kept up her disappointment, “Feels about the same if it’s time without you.” 

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” You promised, sending her an air kiss which she caught obediently and saluted to you. If you had to hang up quickly to giggle like a school girl, that was no one’s business.

You’d sat dazed with a lingering smile as you slipped your phone into your side pocket. You hummed a tune, in a delightful sort of daze and you twirled a petal of the rose between your fingertips. Your blissful environment was halted by the presence of an incessant buzzing and you groaned at the caller ID of your mother. You went into the living room and sat on the couch, debating letting it go straight to voicemail.

Luke had walked in at the same moment, barely saying a word to you as he headed right into the kitchen. He popped his head out a few seconds later as you were preparing to press the green answer button

“Who are those flowers from?” 

The first thing that he’d cared to speak to you about and you stopped from rolling your eyes. Your voice came out monotone and hesitant, “Caitlin.”

He made a face you couldn’t quite describe and nodded before disappearing back into the kitchen. With fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried to get back even an ounce of happiness you’d felt earlier.

“Hi.” You’d spoke curtly into the phone, trying not to sound too displeased, though you most definitely were. And talking to your mother never helped that.

“What is the attitude for?” She questioned, already adding a layer of tension and you muted the call to scream into a pillow before unmuting it.

“Sorry, I was just moving laundry, out of breath.” You’d rolled your eyes at your own lie, “What’s up?” The quicker you could get off the phone the better.

She made a noise like she didn’t believe you, “How are things with you and Luke?” There was no segway to the conversation, treated like a simple business interaction of information rather than a comforting mother and daughter exchange.

Should have expected it, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut, “We’re great, he’s working on a big project at work right now.” With a silent prayer that the conversation would stop there, but it never did.

“I don’t see why you and Luke haven’t gotten married already, you’re settled in the league, he has a steady job, he loves you. What more are you looking for?” 

Opening your mouth for a rebuttal, you couldn’t find one in your chest. What more were you really looking for? In reality, you were content with the way your life was going. You were playing professionally basketball with your best friend in the world like you’d dreamed, you had a healthy and adorable little cat, and you had a steady boyfriend. Though your face scrunched up at the order in which you casted your priorities. 

“I don’t know, I’m not in any rush. We haven’t been spending much time together with his work and mine.” You hated having to clue her into any part of the negativity that your relationship had been facing.

You loved Luke, you truly did, but you felt like he resented the fact that you had gotten into the WNBA. Things had shifted once you got drafted and it seemed like Luke was the only one falling behind. It was a stark difference to the way he’d supported you in your career during college and you weren’t a fan of the change.

Your mother made yet another hum of disapproval, “You know, your father and I aren’t going to be around very long. You should be rushing to get married and having a family for us to see. As long as I can remember, you’ve always run away from people who treat you better than you deserve. You’ll never find someone else like, Luke.”

You could’ve mouthed the words in sync with her, knowing exactly what the conversation was going to come to, “I’ll keep that in mind while I’m prepping for one of the most important games of my season, mother.” A bitter undertone slipped its way in and you quickly hung up the phone with a loud groan.

The white picket fence life was one that was forced onto your mother, one that she seemed not too happy with. And it showed in the way she forced it onto you since such a young age. Find a nice man, get married, have kids. Nothing else in between or after mattered to her.

You were tense and rigid when Luke entered the room again about twenty minutes later, with your head in your hands and tears forming. It didn’t seem like he had any idea of your state, or maybe he did and didn’t care.

“You look hot,” Luke commented and you lifted your head to stare at him for a silent minute. When he didn’t seem to have anything else to say, you nodded in weak acknowledgement.

It was a quick decision, moving away from his lustful eyes that seemed to devour your figure. You wished it made you feel the way it used to, the way you used to melt and have to shy away from his gaze purely because it made you nervous. Now you shied away from his gaze because it made you anxious. 

“You excited for the game today?” Luke put his hand on your waist now that you were standing and you resisted the urge to protest by running far away, “You’re playing the Knicks right?”

You couldn’t help the sigh, a difficult swallow to hold back the words you wanted to say, “We’re playing Liberty. The Knicks are the NBA.” It was a gentle reminder, but the tiredness was evident in the way you spoke.

Luke had the audacity to look surprised, “Oh, you didn’t tell me that.” He squeezed the skin of your waist and you suddenly started to feel suffocated.

You did the other three times you played them. But that was beside the point. A sigh was your response as opposed to correcting him, turning to grab your keys from the kitchen counter.

You were about to completely leave when you noticed the absence of a very colorful and bright part of your day. The flowers that Caitlin had delivered were missing and you almost ran around your apartment looking for where they could’ve been moved.

“What happened to my flowers in the kitchen?” The question was frantic when you approached Luke on the couch, a little too frazzled but those were beautiful flowers. 

“They were dying, so I replaced them with new ones,” Luke smirked with a shrug, seemingly unapologetic as he nodded toward the trash. The attitude he had made you more mad than anything. 

You sped walked over to the can, ripping out the cartons littered on top of the beautiful flowers Caitlin had gotten you. A part of your heart broke when you saw half of them bent and broken.

“These were brand new, Luke,” You scolded him like a child, sighing in disappointment as you laid them out on the counter to save them the best you could.

“And those will kill Perry.” You sighed with a point to the flowers he had gotten. Not even feeling the slightest bit bad as you pulled out the Lilies and tossed them in the trash to replace where Caitlin’s used to be before heading out the door.

taglist: @lovermcres @glorioushamsterqueen @miedmead @blueagle45 @pbloverr @cavillary @elizabethkitley @1-800-fantasy @into-f0lkl0re @mysticchildsuit @sapphicmermaid @ureleesian

series taglist: @wnbaforthewin @stefanshope @sewiouslyz @kaelaheartsyou @caitlin-clark-obsessed @trinscam @julienbakerloverr @muhlsfilm @paigebueckresfan8282 @sadie-bug7 @madismadmad @dinosaurstrandedonnublarisland @kenzlovesyou @gaydonutdino @jujubuckets @elliewilliamsthang @princes21w

[charliemwrites]

it is my borfday. I am now 20 whole years. So I ask: 1fur1 reaction to readers borfday? I have 1fur1 thoughts but they aren't ready yet... They're still cooking

Happy Borfday!!!!! Two decades 🎉🎉

Okay just for you, bean - I’ll make it a full part too, even. This is very fluffy up until the end when it gets just a hint of spice.

(No human boys in this one, sorry!)

You haven’t said a word about it all week - and why would you? You live alone with three dogs. It’s not like they care that it’s your birthday; or even understand what time is, really. (Except for dinner time of course.)

But the day of your birthday dawns, a little rainy. You let yourself sleep in a bit, mumbling five more minutes three times in a row when Ghost nudges impatiently at your cheek.

Eventually you do get up though, giving each of your boys a crooning “good morning” and laying kisses on their precious heads. You stumble to the kitchen to start your coffee, even pull out the fancy beans you reserve for special occasions. While it’s brewing, you start gearing up the boys for their morning potty. The precipitation is mostly mist right now, but you’d rather them not smell like wet dog.

You’re trying to belt a wiggly, impatient Johnny in when your phone rings. Huffing, you tap at the speaker icon and try to wrestle the stupid hood over his big-ass ears.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart!” your mom trills through the phone.

At the noise, Johnny thankfully goes still. You finish securing his raincoat and turn to Konig. Thankfully, he’s much more cooperative about getting dressed - even if he takes every opportunity to lick your face.

“Uh, thanks,” you answer. Honestly, you were hoping she’d forget.

“What are you doing today to celebrate? Going out with friends? Maybe a date…?”

You roll your eyes as you finish adjusting Konig’s (custom) raincoat.

“Definitely not. I was just gonna stay in, order some food, drink some wine…”

You haven’t even finished before your mother is protesting.

“No, no, no, you need to do something special! Not every day is your birthday.”

And thank fuck for that, you think, shaking your head.

“It’s not that big a deal,” you insist. The boys crowd as you lead the way to the back door and prop it open. They seem oddly reluctant to leave your side. You assume it’s the rain and shoo them off, your mother still on speaker.

“Well if you won’t do anything, I will.”

“Ma, you really don’t need to—“

“Dinner will be at 6:30. Don’t be late!”

And she hangs up. You groan, run a hand down your face. Well. At least it’s only dinner. You can still do the rest of your plans.

“Boys!” you call, noting that they’re mostly just congregating at the edge of the yard. They instantly return to your side, even Johnny - who has a tendency to make you chase him in the rain.

They each file inside, sit and behave while you remove their raincoats and hang them to dry. As usual, they follow and crowd while you make up your coffee. Add a bit of whiskey just for fun; you won’t need to drive for a while.

The boys climb onto the couch with you, happily arranging themselves in a warm circle. Konig at your back like a living pillow. Johnny on your right, head in your lap. Ghost just in front, pressed against your shins and warming your feet.

You settle in with a contented sigh and sip your coffee. Even put on a show you’ve been meaning to get to.

Midway through the episode, Ghost slips off the couch and slinks off. You notice in the back of your mind, but he tends to be the moodiest of your boys and figure he just wants some alone time.

When he comes back, you hum at him, kissing his muzzle as he takes your other side. As the next episode is loading, Johnny hops down.

“Biiiiig stretch,” you coo, grinning as his back legs extend. He wags, licks your hand in parting, and trots off. You hear the doggy door clatter, figure he didn’t do all his business after all.

About an hour later, the doorbell chimes. You jump, but… the boys are oddly quiet. Usually they’d be rioting that someone dares come to the door. This time, though alert, not so much as a growl.

Put off, you pad to the door and check the peephole. Just a delivery man with a… frankly monstrous bouquet.

You open the door, prepared to tell him that he’s made a mistake. But he says your name and address and tells you happy birthday, gently handing it over.

You blink as he saunters back to the truck, almost don’t notice Ghost standing sentinel right beside you.

“Huh,” you muse, finding him watching you. “Who d’you think ordered me flowers?”

He makes a little “ruff” noise. You snort and close the door. It’s a beautiful arrangement, you must admit. All your favorites. It even came in a vase!

You inhale the sweet scent and sigh, unable to keep from smiling. Usually you think flower arrangements are a bit silly, so expensive for something that will last so little time. But it’s been ages since you last got one and someone clearly put thought into it.

You offer each of the pups a sniff, laughing when Konig sneezes a bit. You set the vase on the kitchen counter where it won’t become a casualty of any enthusiastic tails and you’ll get to look at it regularly. Try to look for a card but there isn’t one.

Hopefully, whoever sent it will reveal themselves by asking if you like it.

You settle on the couch again with a lingering smile, scratching at Ghost’s ears when he presses his face against your shoulder.

Another hour passes in peace when there’s another knock at the door. Again, the dogs stay eerily quiet. This time, you’re greeted with a huge bag of items.

You unpack it on the couch, Johnny sitting by your knee. A new plush blanket, a pretty mug, a video game you’ve heard good things about, the next book on your reading list, your favorite candies, and even an expensive new pair of headphones (since Johnny ruined your last ones).

You let him sniff curiously at each item, amused by his involvement in your gift unwrapping.

“Wow,” you breathe, staring at your pile of gifts. “This is more than I’ve gotten in years. I don’t even know what to do with it all.”

You start by eating some of the candies. Johnny’s tail wags furiously the entire time, even when you remind him that candy is Not For Him.

At some point in all the craziness, Konig’s scurried off somewhere. Not surprising, you figure. All the guests must have made him shy. He’s not a fan of really anyone but you.

Eventually he returns, though, and you’re sure to welcome him back with praises and kisses before he climbs into his spot. You happily return to your show, scratching absently at your snuggly pack.

Just around noon, there’s one last knock at the door. Your favorite takeout place, including a box of the really good German pastries that you never let yourself get more than once every other week. Fresh baked too!

You hum happily as you eat, wishing you knew who to thank for it.

“I feel utterly spoiled,” you laugh as you save the rest of the pastries for later. “I definitely don’t deserve all this.”

A deep bark nearly startles you. Konig. He hardly ever makes a peep!

“Listen to you, baby!” you coo, wiggling your fingers to entice him closer. He comes to your side instantly, chin on your stomach, staring up at you with big mismatched eyes. “Such a lovely voice. Ich liebe dich, Herr Konig.”

He wags happily at you, a big, silly canine grin on his face. When you duck down to hug him, he leaves kisses all over your face and neck.

By evening, you’re in a good enough mood that you’re not completely dreading the visit to your parents’ house. You get dressed, kiss each of your boys goodbye, and leave.

It’s not… bad per se. Sure, your mom makes your sister’s favorite meal, and your dad doesn’t even realize why you’re there at first. Your sister’s husband also keeps making weird comments about you being single and your biological “clock” but—

Well, you’re just there for dinner. At least your mom made homemade cookies; a classic you’ve always enjoyed. But not even that is enough to make you stay longer than absolutely necessary, making your excuses that Konig still gets separation anxiety.

The drive home is long and you feel exhausted from putting on the “grateful daughter” song and dance. When you pull up to the house, though, you perk up when you see another package.

It’s a… basket? You carry it inside, too dark to see what it is on the porch. Immediately greeted by the boys, you don’t get a chance to look at it at first. But once you do…

It’s a self care basket, you think. A ridiculously nice bottle of wine, a bath bomb, body cream, sugar scrub… a bottle of the lube you always use. New lingerie. A toy. Not just any toy either. One you’ve been putting off buying because it’s close to a hundred pounds and you’ve got three big boys to feed.

At first you think it’s your ex but…. No. No, everything in this basket is things you’d pick for yourself. Things he never knew you well enough to buy. And he’s too cheap besides - and too much of a stuck up dick to ever dream of patronizing adult toys.

You hesitate over it. But….. well, you’ve already brought it inside. Doesn’t matter if you use any of it or not; and it’s stupid to let it go to waste.

So you feed the dogs and wander to your room.

And it. Is. Decadent.

You linger in the bathtub for way too long, giggling at the sparkles in the water, sipping wine and nibbling on German pastries. Even sacrificed one of the roses from the bouquet to let the petals float in the water. Start the first couple chapters of your birthday book, sigh and talk nonsense to your boys, all of them lingering in the doorway but behaving.

And when you finally get to bed, you run the battery out achieving your “birthday orgasms”. (Remain shockingly uninterrupted by any of the boys.)

Sometime before midnight your dream of gentle hands cleaning you up, pressing kisses everywhere. Voices whispering “love you” and “happy birthday”.

It’s the best one to date.

(Again, happy borfday!! I love you and I hope this was a good gift 💕)

Main Story | Konig pt.2 | Price pt.1

Masterlist

[ckret2]

Chapter 53 of human Bill Cipher not properly appreciating the fact that Mabel is his only friend on Earth:

Mabel has read a book about Bill's home dimension and is prepared to interrogate him all about where he comes from.

Bill is willing to do anything to avoid being interrogated.

(Featuring SEVEN illustrations, provided by 🌈 MABEL 💖)

####

Flatworld, from what Mabel had read, was probably literally the worst place to ever exist. 

The book was a hundred pages of an old-fashioned formal-sounding super boring guy rambling on about the most egregiously evil society Mabel had ever had the horror of reading about.

Society consisted of a bunch of geometric shapes—which in concept sounded half nerdy and half adorable—but they'd made a brutally oppressive government organized by quantity of sides, with infinite-sided circles at the top and three-sided triangles at the bottom, and one-sided lines—women—oppressed into near silence. Career options, educational opportunities, who you could love, were all determined by your sides. Irregular shapes—quadrilaterals that weren't squares, triangles that weren't equilateral, anyone with a side too long or too short—were presumed from birth to be criminally insane. Each generation had sons with one more side than their father—and they had to, because having higher-ranked sons was the only way families could climb out of poverty. When babies were born with too few or irregular sides, poor families abandoned them—or worse—and rich families put them through oft-fatal bone-snapping surgeries to regularize or increase their sides. Knowledge of the third dimension was considered heretical, and anybody claiming it was real was locked in an insane asylum.

There was a lot of mathy stuff in the book about a square meeting a magical sphere and going on educational adventures to the higher and lower dimensions; but most of it passed by her in a blur. When she'd finished reading last night, Mabel had lay in bed for an hour, staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about dead baby shapes and fighting the urge to wake Bill up just so she could hug him; until she'd finally drifted off and woken up in her own bed.

At least, thank goodness, the bit about banning colors so lower shapes couldn't contour themselves to look like higher shapes was false. But she was sure that at least part of the story was true. And it had happened to somebody she knew. It was a lot to process.

So she processed it the way she usually did the stories that weighed on her: by creating a self-insert and pulling out her art supplies.

####

"You're drawing fan art of Flatworld?" Bill asked warily.

"I wouldn't call it fan art. I'd say it's more of a... thoughtful artistic critique. I don't think I'm a 'fan' of the second dimension," Mabel said. "No offense."

"Sure."

Mabel had designed a shapesona of herself: a pink heart with a rainbow-colored outline, a big sparkly eye, and skinny black stick limbs like Bill's. If, as Bill had said, colors weren't illegal, she didn't see any reason she couldn't be rainbow. The heart shape was maybe unconventional, but Bill hadn't said she couldn't be a heart yet, so she was sticking with it for now.

She'd honestly expected Bill to come over and interrogate her about her creation long before now. Usually, when she was doing art and he was unoccupied, he was hovering right by her, examining her work and dropping hints—some more subtle than others—that she should draw him next. But she hadn't immediately noticed when he'd silently drifted into the room, and she wasn't sure how long he'd been there before speaking up. He was still leaning on the wall, arms crossed, watching askance from halfway across the living room as Mabel worked with her crayons, as if she were playing with a chemistry set and he was trying to figure out if she was building a bomb.

"Is Flatworld really about your world?" Mabel asked. "Did you tell Edward Bishop Bishop all that stuff? With the circles and all the laws about shapes and stuff?"

Bill mulled over the question, staring into space. Mabel had never seen his face look so inexpressive before—at least, not since his first night as a captive, after he'd gotten all the screaming out and had looked too exhausted to feel. "We talked," he conceded. "I'm surprised you got your hands on it. I suppose Stanford brought it up."

Something in the back of her mind pricked up defensively—what was that supposed to mean, he was surprised she got her hands on it?—but she pushed it back down. "Yeah, he told me and Dipper about it when you guys got home yesterday," Mabel said. "But you brought it up to me first!"

"No I didn't. When?"

"A few weeks ago? You mentioned Edward Bishop Bishop."

"I don't remember that," Bill muttered. "I probably didn't think you'd make sense of it."

"Hey!"

"You didn't make sense of it! Ford had to tell you about it."

"Yeah, but—mean!" She shoved aside her drawing and started on another one, grumbling, "I could've made sense of it if I'd looked it up."

What was up with Bill today? He wasn't usually this much of a jerk. To her. Lately. Plus, she thought they'd really had a moment yesterday! But Bill had had a rough couple days. Maybe he was just tired and cranky. 

A wiser person might just leave well enough alone. But a wiser person wasn't exploding in their brain with curiosity about just how bad Bill's life had really been. There was something itching at the back of her head, had been itching since she'd woken up—something about Bill, something important, she was sure of it—but she couldn't quite put together what it was. She just needed to talk to Bill long enough to figure it out.

"So..." She glanced up from filling in a shape yellow, "were lines really executed if they didn't make noises all the time so everyone always knew where they were and they couldn't sneak up and stab anyone?"

Bill scoffed, rolling his eyes, as if the very idea was stupid. "It wasn't that extreme. Making a peace cry is like a human saying 'coming through' when they're trying to squeeze past somebody. Lines are just taught to do it in public because it's easier not to see a line, that's all."

"If they didn't, were they executed...?"

"No. They were just rude."

That was a relief. Mabel had been worried for her fellow ladies. She was plenty noisy, but she didn't think she could remember to make constant sound any time she was around other people. She turned back to coloring her newest drawing, but watched Bill out of the corner of her eye. "Is it true that rich people killed almost all of their babies by giving them surgery to break their sides?"

The corner of Bill's mouth curled in a sneer. "Do I look like a pediatric surgeon?"

"Um." Not a welcome question. She tried to backtrack to something softer. "So, in the second dimension, the outside of your body is just your outline and your guts are everything inside the outline, right?"

He gave her a wary look. "Yeah."

"So your bow tie is basically in your stomach."

Bill sucked in a deep breath; but quickly caved in to the need to be the most correct person in the room. "More like around my esophagus, but. Sure."

"So, where did you wear it when you were back in the second dimension? Was it on your side? Did you have to wear two so people could see them from both sides—"

"I didn't need a bow tie then."

Mabel stared at him. "What do you mean, you didn't 'need' it? What do you need it for now?"

Bill ignored the question. "You know, I didn't think Flatworld was an interesting enough book to deserve this much attention! Especially not from you. You like fun stories." It felt oddly like he was criticizing her for having read it.

"Well—yeah, but it's about your home! That makes it fun!"

Bill raised his brows.

"Right? Doesn't it?"

"Kid." Bill laughed condescendingly. "Don't give me that. You read an entire book. In the summer. About math. With a downer ending where the narrator goes insane and gets locked up. That's some people's idea of a fun time, but I know it's not yours."

Maybe "fun" was the wrong word—but it was still important. She was glad she'd read it. She'd cared about it. She'd cared enough to know Bill was describing it wrong. "That's not what happened. The square got locked up because he kept telling everybody the third dimension's real."

"Like I said! He went insane!"

"But he's not insane. Everyone says he is, but he's right about the third dimension! It's everyone else who's stupid!"

"So what," Bill said. "The things he knows mean he'll never be able to see the world the way other shapes do, and no matter what he does he'll never be happy with his home. If that's not insanity, what is?"

Last year, she'd heard Bill agree when Gideon called him insane. She'd always wondered. "Is that why you're insane?"

Bill shot Mabel a furious look. That was the wrong thing to say. "Shooting Star—"

(Oh no, she thought, he's using my full name.)

"—what's with the third degree." Bill crossed the room to lean on the other side of the table. He gave her the guarded glare of a guilty suspect facing down a cop in an interrogation room—and trying to figure out whether he could kill the cop before he was stopped. "What do you think you're trying to dig up?"

"I'm not trying to 'dig up' anything," Mabel said. "I just want to learn more about you!"

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you do! Who doesn't wanna know all about me! And right after I trusted you yesterday! Do you think you're the first person to start digging into my history? 'Hey, does anyone know what made Bill Cipher so crazy'?" Bill laughed bitterly. " You're not even the first Pines to try it. Not even the second."

"That's not what I'm trying to do!" said Mabel, right before it dawned on her that that was exactly what she was trying to do.

"Right. I'm sure whatever you learn will make a nice two-page spread in Journal 5. Another secret you and Fordsy can add to your Mysteries, huh? Think he'll draw the dead babies?"

She thought back to Portland—to asking Ford what had made Bill so awful. I think if anyone’s ever had a chance of finding out what made him like he is, it might be you. Mabel shook her head. No. She didn't want to be that. "I'm not Grunkle Ford's spy, I'm your friend. I just—I just want to understand you—"

"Yeah, and the 'friends' who understand you are the most dangerous kind." Bill laughed harshly. "Your uncle and brother couldn't figure me out! And Sixer's been trying for years! So what makes you think YOU can?"

He was calling her stupid. He'd been calling her stupid all day. That was why he was so surprised she'd read the book.

"You—shut up!" She wadded up her latest drawing and flung it in Bill's face. (He snatched out of midair.) "All I did was read a book I thought was important to you, you jerk! I thought you'd like that!"

She hadn't meant for that waver to enter her voice. But she was exhausted from too little sleep and worrying about dead baby shapes and worrying about Bill's fear of death and worrying about what Ford had said about not giving Bill a second chance, and now Bill was being a jerk, and maybe he was just exhausted and upset too, but he was treating her like she was stupid—and there was that pathetic little waver.

But it made Bill pause in his onslaught; for a moment, he averted his gaze. Still, he said, "Maybe if you'd thought to ask—"

"You were asleep! I was being nice! And letting you sleep! In my bed!"

"But—"

"Just go away!" She pointed at the doorway.

Bill's face hardened again. "Fine!" He flung his hands in the air and stomped from the room. "Who wants to hang out with you when you're in such a bad mood, anyway."

Mabel glared at her stupid drawings so she didn't have to watch Bill's stupid back as he left.

Why had she bothered?

When Bill was out of sight, she dropped back onto her chair, pulled her sweater over her face, crossed her arms on the table, and buried her head in them.

####

Bill didn't think to smooth out the paper Mabel had flung at him until he was out of the room.

On one side she'd drawn Bill—properly triangular—with an expression that he thought was supposed to be fear and on the other side several angry-looking shapes, pentagons and hexagons, colored gray and black, being led by a pale figure shaped like a human skull and wielding a scythe; and between them, a bright pink heart, standing in front of Bill protectively, hands on its "hips," glaring down the would-be assailants.

The corners of Bill's mouth sagged down.

####

The bell rang and the shapes began filing out of class, muttering to each other about how they thought they'd done on the test. As the triangle cheerfully left the room, the teacher caught him by the arm again to pull him over. "Just a minute," she said. "I want a word with you."

Oh, he bet she did. Breezily, he said, "Sure thing! What is it?"

"Who was the first triangular president?"

"Wh— Th—" He spluttered indignantly. "There's been like—seven of them."

"Nine. And I'm only asking about the first one."

"How should I know!"

"You knew an hour ago."

He sputtered again. "That was— That was a multiple choice test! And it was an hour closer to when I'd studied! And I can focus better in the classroom! You can't expect me to remember anything in the hallway. You're using intimidation tactics. How could anyone focus under these conditions—"

"I don't know what you're doing," the teacher said, "or how you're doing it. Maybe I never will. But..." She sighed, and the anger seemed to leak out of her, and that only made him more nervous. "But whatever you're doing—you won't be able to do it forever. What will you do when you're out in the real world and you didn't learn anything in school?"

Her pity was worse than being hated had been. At least when he was hated, he knew she only looked down on him because she had something against him. What did he do with pity? With concerned warnings about the "real world"? He'd never heard anybody use the phrase "the real world" as anything but a threat. He hoped he was never out in the real world.

"Who cares! I'll never need any of this!" He should have shut up there. He didn't: "You're just jealous that me and my family make a million times more lying to everyone than you'll ever get trying to teach them the truth!"

His teacher gasped in shock; but before she could say anything, he was halfway down the hall with no intention of slowing down.

The next day, he stayed home, and his mom visited the principal. The day after that, he had a new teacher.

####

He was stupid. He knew that. He didn't know when he'd gotten stupid—if it was because he'd started touring so much and missing classes, or if he'd always been dumb and just didn't notice it before he registered just how often he was using his all-seeing eye to pick up answers that other kids couldn't see. It had crept up on him. But there it was. He was stupid, and he was too stupid to figure out what to do about it.

There was a big difference between being able to see everything, and actually knowing anything. And he might be all-seeing, but an idiot like him would never be all-knowing.

####

A trillion years later, he still didn't remember the name of the first triangular president. And look how far he'd gotten without it.

Lunch was toast and peanut butter. The toaster was the only source of heat he could use without having to ask his captors for access; and peanut butter and bread were the most nutritious foods he could reach without asking his captors to open a cabinet or fridge. He was sick of toast and peanut butter.

He wasn't about to ask Mabel to help him get lunch.

Well. He'd succeeded. He'd known just the right thing to say to get Mabel to lay off and drop the topic. Did he feel accomplished?

He stared out the window as he ate—there were hazy gray clouds on the horizon, beyond the trees, slowly inching closer—and he tried not to look at the picture Mabel had flung at him.

####

Mabel felt dumb about being upset that Bill thought she was dumb.

Because of course he did. Sure, he liked her art and he liked dance music and games without rules; sure, he was a willing student when it came to stuff like making friendship bracelets or artistically mixing sprinkles; sure, he was a weirdo fun guy; but he was also a Smarty McSmartypants, just like Dipper or Ford. And Mabel was the Girl Dipper who brought home C's. And even a weirdo fun Smarty wouldn't want to hang out for long with someone who couldn't keep up with nerd talk. He probably just... put up with her for as long as he could stand pretending he took her seriously, but he'd finally lost his patience...

And shown his true, jerky colors again.

Maybe Ford and Dipper were right about him; maybe he couldn't really change.

Except... there was something he'd said. And right after I trusted you yesterday. When he'd cried in front of her. When he'd told her about his fear of death.

He was being a jerk because he thought she'd betrayed him. But by reading a book?! Why couldn't he ever just explain himself? Did he think whatever was bothering him was obvious, and she was stupid for not figuring it out?

Something she almost but didn't quite remember thudded like a drum inside her brain. Dum-dum-dum. Dum-dum-dome.

From the entryway, Bill called, "Hey, star girl. I—"

He stopped in the doorway. Mabel had taped 28 pieces of paper together, drawn on a door knob, written "DOOR" at the top, and taped it across the doorway into the living room. Irritably, Bill said, "It doesn't work like that. This is obviously paper."

"Bill," Mabel grumbled. "Go away."

"No. I'm gonna say something to you."

He didn't phrase that like he was giving her a choice in the matter; but all the same, she said, "I don't wanna hear it."

"You know that horror story about a bride with a velvet ribbon tied around her neck, and her head falls off and rolls down the stairs when her husband unties it?"

She did. She and Dipper had read a book of scary stories to each other on Halloween a few years ago while waiting for it to be late enough to go trick-or-treating. In spite of herself, he'd piqued her curiosity. She reluctantly turned to look at him. "Yeah? So?"

Bill was leaning in the doorway, head tilted against the doorframe so he could see Mabel around the paper door curtain. "That's why I wear a bow tie."

Mabel blinked. "Wait—if you didn't, your head would fall off? What part of you is your head? How did it come off? Were you decapitated? Did you get decapitated for knowing about the third dimension—?"

"It doesn't keep my head on; it keeps my skin on."

Mabel's nose wrinkled. "Gross! How?"

"Remember how you said my outline is my skin and all my organs are inside the outline," Bill said. "That didn't change when we left the second dimension! We had to get exoskeletons on our top and bottom sides so solids like you can't stick you fingers in our guts. My bow tie keeps it tied in place."

"Whoa." So that was why they hadn't seen Bill's organs before. "Do you ever take it off?"

"Mostly when I'm eating!" He knocked on the doorframe. "So can I come in now?"

Of course. He'd been using information to buy his way back into her good graces. (No—that was what somebody who didn't think Bill deserved a second chance would think. He was making up for earlier by answering one of her questions about him.)

She took a deep breath, turned to face Bill, and said, "You didn't talk to me like a friend earlier."

"I—" Bill grimaced, looked at the ceiling for help, and conceded, "I mean—It's how I talk to my friends, but all right, I know you're not used to that—"

"Nobody should be used to that!" Mabel said. "What would Love Bunny say?"

"Wh—?! I— Th— You—" His voice cracked as it jumped higher, "What do I care what a cartoon rabbit thinks about—"

"What. Would. She. Say."

Bill's face screwed up in agony. He crossed his arms. "Ugh."

"Biiill?"

Eyes squeezed shut, Bill said, "She'd say my breath smells like I've been eating mean beans."

"Aaand?"

"I'm not going to say it. I won't say it."

"And you need to eat your nice rice!"

Bill let out a long, slow sigh.

"Say it!"

"This is my penance," Bill muttered toward his feet. "This is my penance. This is fair." He took a breath. "And... I need to eat my nice rice."

Mabel nodded. He'd confessed his sins.

"I think we're out of nice rice," Bill said, "but I've had the peanut butter of kindness and the toast of remorse. Good enough?"

She considered it. "Yeah. You can come in."

Bill batted aside the paper door curtain and ducked into the room. 

He sat across the table from Mabel and set down the paper she'd chucked at him amongst her others. Mabel glanced at the drawing, embarrassed of it now; but Bill didn't say anything about it.

He just propped his cheek against his hand and started looking over her other art.

Mabel sat there with her hands under her legs, watching his spotlight eyes rove over the table, feeling like she was waiting for a teacher to grade a poster she'd made for class. He saw a stop sign red octagon in sunglasses that was labeled "Bill's parole officer" and snorted. She wasn't sure if it was an amused snort or a derogatory snort. His gaze stopped on her attempt to figure out how Flatworlder anatomy worked, and didn't move farther. She'd probably gotten everything wrong, hadn't she?

She couldn't stand waiting for him to pass judgment on her art. "You think they look dumb, don't you."

Bill took a moment to reply. He didn't look up from her drawings. "I don't think you're dumb, Shooting Star."

"You think I'm dumber than Dipper and Grunkle Ford."

Bill winced. "I don't." At her dubious look, Bill amended, "Only Stanford! And that barely counts, all humans are dumber than Stanford. It doesn't mean I think you're dumb-dumb"

"Could've fooled me," Mabel muttered.

"You bet! I'm good at fooling people. All I have to do is say things I don't mean that make people feel the way I want." His voice was flat and matter-of-fact. "I wanted you to feel like the conversation wasn't worth it. That's all."

She stared at him. "By letting me know you think I'm stupid?!" She chucked a crayon at his face. "You could have just told me you didn't want to talk about Flatworld!" Her voice was getting that stupid waver again. "If I'd known, I would have dropped it! I didn't want to upset you!"

"I wasn't upset, it's just a stupid thing to complain about! It's just a dumb book! It'd—it'd take a real loser to be bothered by talking about a dumb book! I'm not..." He sighed harshly. "I know you weren't trying to get on my nerves, kid. It'd mess up your sticker chart." (Mabel hadn't even realized he knew about her sticker chart.) Almost inaudibly, he added, "M'sorry."

She'd never heard him apologize before.

She let out a slow breath. "Biiill. I don't think you're a loser."

He muttered something she couldn't make out as he flipped his hood on and pulled it down over his burning face. "Forget it. Move on. It's in the past!"

"If you're so embarrassed—"

"Not embarrassed!"

She chucked another crayon at his chest. "Then why are you telling me this now?"

Bill shut his eyes; took a deep breath; and, with a look of solemn dignity, and no small amount of pain, he said, "Because. Teddy Tender says. Our friends can't help us feel better if we don't tell them why we feel bad." He almost, almost managed to say it without sounding sarcastic.

Mabel burst out laughing. Bill pulled his hood lower.

Bill didn't even like Teddy Tender—he thought he was the stick in the mud of the Color Critters—and he certainly wasn't actually trying to follow Teddy's friendship lessons. He was just... saying something he didn't mean to make Mabel feel the way he wanted. And he wanted her to feel better.

No matter what anyone else said, he could change. And he was changing.

"Apology accepted," Mabel said. "Gold star!" She peeled one off a nearby sticker sheet and held it out.

Bill eyed it, like a man so hungry he was too nauseous to eat eyeing a pizza; and then snatched it from her and stuck it in the middle of his hoodie.

Mabel said, "And... I guess I'm sorry for getting all diggy about your home world." Even if she hadn't known it was bothering him, she probably should've guessed, shouldn't she? With how crabby he'd gotten. "I just got all excited and curious and... kinda worried about you after reading that book?" She sighed. "I understand if you don't wanna talk about it. You probably hated your dimension."

"What? He lurched forward with the vehemence of his denial—"Of course I don't hate my dimension!" Mabel leaned away at the sudden rage that had flared up in his eyes; but it died just as quickly and Bill immediately reeled himself back in, sitting back, crossing his arms: "I mean, come on, kid, use your head: you read a book about a culture. We're talking about an entire dimension. Would you hold a grudge against Jupiter if an ant bit you on Earth?"

Even as casually as he played it off, Mabel was sure he hadn't meant anything as calm and measured as claiming it was technically irrational to hate an entire dimension. He meant—emphatically, with his whole heart behind it—that he didn't hate his home dimension, at all.

Then why didn't he want to talk about it? (Then why had he destroyed it? Or was not hating it just another fiction he'd made up because he'd prefer that reality? Or was the destruction itself a lie? He hadn't mentioned it once since they'd started talking about Flatworld. Or did he think she didn't know about that and didn't want her to know? Or...)

Something had been churning in her subconscious since she woke up, and now—watching Bill ball up around himself as he squirmed around the things he didn't want to say—it finally dawned on her. Two words. Another piece of the Axolotl's poem. She tried to hold the words in her head until she could write them down, repeating them over and over—Misses home. Misses home.

Quietly, she asked, "Then... don't you want to remember it?"

His face spasmed, like it was nearly cracking in two—and then smoothed out. His face was blank. He didn't answer for a moment. "The last time I told a human more than two sentences about where I'm from... he gave me the universe's most depressing geometry textbook."

Oh. Maybe Bill was following Teddy Tender's friendship advice. "That's because you were talking to a boring old-timey math teacher, duh."

He laughed wryly. "You may have a point!"

If Bill assumed anybody prying into his history was either looking for the reason something was wrong with him, or publishing a whole book about the super bad parts... No wonder he hadn't wanted to talk to her. "So you didn't dislike Flatworld? You just dislike the book?"

Bill grimaced. "Did you read Eddie's biography?"

"No?"

####

As soon as he'd buckled himself into his seat for the drive to Northwest Manor, Dipper read the summary on the back cover of Flatworld, and then the paragraph-long author biography underneath it:

Edward B. Bishop, born in 1838 in England, was an accomplished mathematician, writer, theologian, and closet occultist, as well as a professor at the esteemed University of Fancyton. He published twelve books, the last of which was Flatworld in 1884. After sentencing his square protagonist to a two-dimensional asylum for preaching of the existence of the third dimension, he himself succumbed to an ironically similar fate: three months after publication, he was committed to an asylum for insisting that two-dimensional alien invaders intended to conquer the Earth and were persecuting him for revealing their existence, a delusion he maintained until his death from sleep deprivation in 1886. His most enduring legacy is inventing the margarita glass, which he claimed came to him in a dream. 

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Ouch."

####

"Never mind, don't worry about it," Bill said. "But no. I didn't like the book."

"You poor thing! All this time you've been homesick for the second dimension, but the only things humans talk about is the bad stuff!"

"Don't call me that."

"Do you want to talk about the non-depressy stuff instead? Like..." Mabel wracked her brain for something nice she'd read in the book. She winced. "Uh... I'm sure there's something. You could choose the topic?"

Bill didn't look directly at her. He just looked over all her drawings again. "Tell me why you want to know so badly."

It was basically the same question he'd asked earlier—what's with the third degree—but his tone was different. Mabel swallowed hard and repeated, "Because... I'm your friend. It's crazy that we've been friends for like a month and I barely know a-ny-thing about who you are or how you grew up! By now, I'd usually know about a friend's family, favorite subject, favorite animal, opinion on glitter, and biggest life dream! Plus all the stuff humans have in common—like, 'do you breathe?'"

This time, Bill didn't argue with her answer. (He could have called her a liar. A month ago, she had just been trying to find out what was wrong with him. But this version of the truth she'd made up was better.) "You already know I'm pro-glitter in all contexts and my life's work is to throw an eternal party. What else really matters?"

"Those are the two most important questions," Mabel said seriously. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you have glitter in the second dimension?" He'd already reassured her that they'd had color, but it was hard to imagine glitter in such a bleak world.

"Sure."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness."

She looked around at the morning's art production, pulled over the first drawing she'd done of her shapesona, and grabbed a bottle of glue to draw a thin line around the heart.

Bill watched as Mabel carefully sprinkled several separate colors of glitter on the line of glue, like a master chef adding a precise amount of spice to a gourmet recipe, to create a glitter rainbow gradient; and then he slowly sat up and leaned toward the table again. "So, who's this freak?"

Mabel gave him an exasperated look. She decided he'd meant "freak" neutrally; but she'd clearly labeled the heart "ME IN FLATWORLD," she thought it was pretty obvious who this freak was.

But Bill cheerfully went on, "He's the most hideously disfigured shape I've ever seen."

"Hey!"

"I'm not joking, it hurts to look at this guy. At least he's symmetrical, but woof."

"She's not a guy! She's supposed to be me in Flatworld," Mabel insisted. "She's a powerful lady and I think she's beautiful." She paused. "Can a heart be a girl?" Lines looked boring, but Flatworld said that girls were all lines and all other shapes were boys. (Or were they? When they'd talked at the mall, Bill had been very clear that he considered himself a triangle instead of male or female, which scuttled the "all polygons are male" concept. Maybe Edward Bishop Bishop had made that part up?)

"She can be anything she wants," Bill said firmly. "I don't see any gender cops around here, do you?"

Good point. "And when there's no cops around, anything's legal."

Bill laughed. "Hey, I like that."

"Grunkle Stan says it!"

"Wise man." Bill leaned forward further across the table and tapped a finger on the deep cleft at the top of the heart. "Personally, I'm more worried about that agonizing-looking birth defect. I'm surprised she survived past infancy!"

Mabel glared at him, but she supposed she couldn't argue. A heart was a pretty irregular shape. And according to Flatworld, almost all irregular shapes were executed in childhood or else imprisoned in adulthood, since they thought irregular shapes would grow up to be depraved, imbecilic criminals—

"Wait," Mabel said. "Wait. Last year, when I called you an isosceles freak—"

Bill cut in, "It was 'monster,' but go on!"

"Was that, like..." Mabel's voice dropped to a whisper, "a slur on Flatworld?"

Bill fought to keep his face straight as he decided how to respond. He went for the funniest answer. "Yes."

Mabel clapped her hands over her mouth and squeaked, "Nooo!"

"It's actually pretty impressive a human managed to come up with it!"

"I'M SORRYYY, augh I didn't know!"

Over her anguished whines, Bill went on, "It's just a good thing you didn't say 'scalene'! I would've had to wash your mouth out with drain cleaner!"

Mabel had pulled the collar of her sweater over her face. From within Sweater Town, she asked, "Was that the first thing I ever said to you?"

Bill choked back a laugh. "Yeah, it was."

She squealed in embarrassment and slid under the table.

"Heck of a first impression, star girl!"

"i'm sorryyy."

Bill reached under the table to pat the top of her head. "Ahhh, it was funny. Get up here." 

As she climbed back into her seat, Bill added, "I'm getting back at you now, I'm not done making fun of your medical miracle yet. You know what she'd look like as a human? A headless, neckless body with an eyeball shoved six inches down her esophagus." He paused thoughtfully. "Actually... that sounds kinda cute."

"Eww, Bill."

"It is, it's cute. Like a clumsy puppy with a neurological disorder! I guess that's how the hideous Miss Heart here must look to humans!"

Mabel looked over her art again, wondering if she should change her shapesona, considering Bill's reaction to it. 

So, maybe she was creating a freak. She didn't see any shape cops around here. She kept drawing. "I'd be fine," she said. "You like weird freaks! You'd keep me safe."

A stricken look crossed his face. He was momentarily silent as he watched Mabel start another picture. And then, as though he were only considering it for the first time, he said, "Yeah. I guess I would."

His gaze drifted to the wrinkled picture of Mabel's shapesona standing protectively in front of Bill. "Freaks can't afford to tear each other down."

####

(THIS is the chapter that's been giving me hell the last few weeks. Months. Last few months. I'm so glad to finally have it out, and I hope y'all enjoyed!! This chapter probably brings up a lot more questions than it actually answers—and completely different questions based on whether or not you've read Flatland lol—so I can't wait to hear what y'all think.)

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere DILF! Reaction to You seeing Him as a Fatherly Figure

Warnings: Obsessive Behaviour, Delusional Behaviour, Freudian “Logic”, Age Gap, Implication of Murder, Implied Sexual Content, Infidelity, Pet Names, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You.

♡ The D in DILF stands for ‘Delusional’.

♡ At least, in Dominic’s case.

♡ When you first told him that you saw him as your “Dad away from home !” he spiralled.

♡ At first, in the immediate fallout of your bombshell statement (one which you gave little thought to, seeing it only as a compliment), Dominic smiled, a dry, thin, almost watery smile, and paid you a compliment back – something suave and reflexive; the technique he’d learnt as a younger man that freed him of consequence on many occasions.

♡ And, like clockwork, you give a laugh and a smile, yet you do not succumb to abashment.

♡ Just another reason why you stand out to Dominic; why he loves you so.

♡ Your comment stays with him long after you’ve left.

♡ And, initially terrified that this was all you’d ever see him as – just some guy who could be your step-in father when your real one was away – he tried to rationalise it. Nullify it.

♡ For days afterwards, Dominic assesses his behaviour, searches for the instigator of his ‘fatherly’ aura.

♡ True, he is an actual father to two children, which he can’t exactly “correct” (not legally, anyway).

♡ After racking his brain, searching for any way to nullify his fatherly appeal, he has a flash of brilliance.

♡ Instead of neutralising it, he decides to lean into it; to amplify it and add his own charm to such a degree so to make himself more appealing to you in ways a father could not be.

♡ Cue Dominic’s Freud era.

♡ Fr though, he’s so desperate to turn your appreciation into attraction that he endorses the whole insane theory that a man’s offspring will compete for their father’s romantic attention with their peers (gross, I know).

♡ He’s turning up the DILF factor.

♡ Sleeves half-drawn up to his elbows to show off his forearms (the ones which he’s worked tirelessly on at the gym); giving you one of his shirts to wear when he “accidentally” gets yours wet during a summer water fight – things like that.

♡ Things that are a gateway for him to show that he ‘cares’.

♡ Really pressing into that ‘fatherly’ image.

♡ Prepare to be praised 24/7.

♡ Only when his wife isn’t in earshot, though.

♡ “Oh, what a wonderful painting ! Such a pretty little picture, Darling…”

♡ He’ll lean over you, trapping you between his arms as you sit at the table, bringing himself as close to your body as he can without arousing your suspicion or making you uncomfortable.

♡ Definitely the type to lean against doorframes or walls just so he can cross his arms over his chest and show off his bulging biceps.

♡ He calls you a good girl or good boy whenever you do something that pleases him.

♡ In his own way, he’s trying to train you to seek his validation.

♡ Dominic’s a master at reading a room, and he uses this power of perception to act when he knows you’re at your most accepting. Or your most vulnerable.

♡ Had a bad day at work ? He offers you his open arms, his shirt sprayed with an irresistible collection of colognes to create a distinct scent (one which he’s also tried on others with positive effects. Though, as previously discussed, things which sent his prior conquests wild seemingly have little effect on you).

♡ You have something big to celebrate ? He’ll take that opportunity – your good mood – to pull you into his arms, lower his lips to your ear and congratulate you: “That’s such good news, Sweetie !” he says, laying on the pet names. Then, his volume dips as he pulls you just a little closer, just brushing the area between your legs with his thigh.

♡ “I’ll have to take you out somewhere so we can celebrate properly.”

♡ As to what this is will be a mystery to you until a box is delivered to your doorstep, a formal outfit inside, coupled with a note with the address of an upscale restaurant, and…

♡ A keycard to a hotel room.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[heytheredelulu]

Unbreakable - The After Years

Follow up to Unbreakable, my Bucky Barnes x Reader fic.

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

C/W: Language, sexual references

You don’t get pregnant after that first time. You hadn’t been in your fertile window but were still disappointed with your negative test despite knowing it wouldn’t have been positive when you took it.

When your period came, Bucky brought you your favorite snacks, bought you a new fluffy blanket and a pack of ovulation tests that he gave to you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

The first time you got the smiley face on your ovulation test you nearly tackled him when he came through the door that evening, brandishing the test stick at him and peppering kisses on every bare inch of skin you could find.

He made love to you constantly, regardless of where you were in your cycle, just craving the intimacy of being raw inside you, of the feeling of his warm, thick cum spilling within you. He’d rut himself deep into you, kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, desperate to be as far in you as he could physically be.

You knew you were pregnant before you even took the test. You’d been cooking dinner and Alpine had hopped onto the counter, craving a good ole head scratch and the idea of cat fur where you were plating your food sent you into a violent gagging fit.

You called Sarah, Sam’s sister and your best friend and she squealed so loud you nearly dropped your phone. She stayed on FaceTime with you while you anxiously took the test, not even needing to wait the full three minutes for the results because you had a blazing positive the moment your urine passed through the window. You made her promise not to speak a word of it to Sam before you had the chance to tell Bucky.

He could sense something was up the moment he got home. His enhanced senses followed your strange new scent into the living room and when his eyes met yours, he knew- he knew you were carrying his child. Tears brimmed his lower lids the second you stood up and he pulled you into a tight embrace, kissing you fiercely as he cried tears of joy.

Bucky was attentive and overly protective of you l you anyways and once you were pregnant he became over the top to say the least. He doted on you constantly, always asking, “Are you feeling okay, Angel?” “Have you eaten today?” “What can I get you?” Sam and Sarah always teased him, saying he would treat you as if you were made of glass.

He accompanied you to every appointment, his foot tapping anxiously before every ultrasound, his eyes wet with tears every time he had the opportunity to see the small little movements on the screen, every time he heard the fast paced thump thump thump of his baby’s heartbeat inside your womb.

The first time he felt her kick- his daughter- his flesh hand was resting affectionately against the swell of your abdomen, where it lay almost any chance he had. You’d been watching a movie, lounged on the couch together with Alpine curled in his lap. The tiny flutter against his palm drew a sharp gasp from his chest, his eyes wide as he whispered in a voice of disbelief, “Angel, I felt her. She’s kicking. She’s kicking, isn’t she?”

Bucky was the first to buy things for his baby girl. He constantly came home with outfits, bows and blankets, excitedly showing you what he’d picked out. Anytime a package arrive in the mail you knew it was something else he’d bought for your daughter, spending entirely too much time online shopping once he’d figured out how to navigate Amazon.

You’d painted the nursery together, laughing and teasing him once you’d finished and he began attempting to put together the crib. The instructions ended up crumpled in a ball as he wiped sweat off his forehead, motherfucking the pieces laid out on the floor in front of him. Once he’d finally conquered ‘the damn thing’ you kissed him deeply as you admired the nursery, the kiss quickly becoming gentle touches and heavy breathing until you made love on the soft carpeted floor. He took his time exploring every inch of your body, his thrusts careful, slow and sensual as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

Your water broke late in the evening, while he was drawing you a bath to soak your sore back and swollen ankles. Bucky raced around the house in a panic, passing the hospital bag several times while looking for it as you watched with an amused smirk. “Baby, take a breath.” You told him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Your labor was long and hours blurred together amidst the pain and anxiety but Bucky never left your side. He held your hand, pushed your hair off your forehead and whispered words of praise and encouragement against your ear as he kissed your temple. At one point he climbed into the bed with you, settling his powerful frame behind you as he drew you to his broad chest, holding you against him as you labored until it was time to push. Fortunately you didn’t have to push for long before the tiny cry echoed through the room, choked sobs of joy and relief bubbling up from your chest as you slumped back against your weeping husband.

Once you were comfortable, your small, perfect daughter resting against your chest, Bucky headed out into the waiting room with wet cheeks and a proud grin. “Winnifred. Winnifred Natasha Barnes.” He told Sam and Sarah as they stood up excitedly to hug him after having waited for hours for her arrival.

Winnie was a daddy’s girl and she had Bucky wrapped around her finger from the first moment he held her. She looked like you, with his blue eyes and his dark hair and you frequently argued playfully over whose nose she had. Named affectionately after his mother and your fallen friend and teammate, as she grew into her toddler years she definitely gave you both a run for your money as she perfectly emulated Natasha’s fiery personality.

Bucky couldn’t have been more wrong in his fear of being a father. He was the most attentive and loving dad you’d ever seen and you often found yourself lingering in the doorway at night, your heart swelling with love at the sight of the two of them curled up in the rocking chair after having fallen asleep mid bedtime story.

Bucky loved being a father so much that shortly after Winnie’s third birthday you were pregnant a second time. A boy, much to Bucky’s excitement. He would daydream about playing catch with him, teaching him how to fix up the motorcycle- all while he braided Winnie’s hair and chased her around the yard.

It wasn’t more than a year after Steven Samuel Barnes was born that you became pregnant for a third and final time. Your second son, Anthony ‘Tony’ James Barnes being the final and beautiful piece to complete the family you’d only ever dreamed of.

Winnie was the first to find out about who her dad used to be. She was 14 and had come home from school in tears over the cruel things a particular little shit of a classmate had told her. Before you sat her down to tell her everything, you had pulled Bucky into your bedroom, cupping his face with your hands. “Unbreakable.” You reminded him softly, until he nodded, eyes closed with a shaky breath.

It was easier to show Winnie who her dad really was. You took her to the Smithsonian, walking alongside her through the Captain America exhibit, until she stopped wide-eyed in front of the large picture of her father. The panel detailed his service in the 107th, his capture in Azzano and the heroic actions that took place during his time alongside Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos before the tragic fall in 1945 from the train in the Alps. Once she’d had the chance to absorb her dad’s incredible feats, he took her for a long walk along the shore where he told her his story, in his own words- beginning with his time under HYDRA. He told her fond memories of his years in Wakanda, mentioning how incredibly badass the Dora Milaje are and that she would love Ayo, Okye and Shuri and perhaps one day she could meet them. He explained the blip, how he’d fought alongside so many heroes in order to save the Earth from the Mad Titan Thanos and fondly recalled Steve and Tony- her smile widening into a grin as she made the connection to her younger brothers’ names. He ended his story with you- how you met, how he fell in love with you and how you saved him. He told her how you made him a better man, helped him overcome his darkness and how she, his beautiful, resilient, first born child reminds him everyday that everything he had been through was worth it when he saw her smile.

Winnie got detention the next day for foul language. The principal called home to report that when she’d been arguing with a classmate she’d said- and I quote- “My dad saved the fucking planet, Jessica. Your dad’s screwing his secretary.”

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@badbunnybabygirl01 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe @ihavetwoholesforareason @km-ffluv @shortnloud @mrs-katelyn-barnes @somnorvos @22rhianna2006 @fanfictionreaderfan @misshale21 @angelbaby99 @deans-spinster-witch @kezibear @acornacreacure @wintrsoldrluvr @terry2227

[fanaticsnail]

Lathered Up

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,600+

Synopsis: After spending far too long at sea in the Polar Tang, all you wanted was a shower. Your two lovers join you in ridding their bodies of grime while enjoying ridding you of your stress.

Warnings: smut, Mdni, 18+, throuple dynamic, Shachi x afab!reader x Penguin, shower sex, oral - afab!receiving, soap, water sex, Shachi is a Fishman, Penguin is a soft-dom, semi-sub!reader, established relationship, Premature ejaculations, untouched ejaculations, watersports.

Notes: taking a leaf out of @bby-deerling's book and had a few drinks, here is some throuple smut for two of the Heart-Pirates that @feral-artistry asked for in passing. I blame Aperol Prosecco spritz. Art link.

Tag list: @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @carrotsunshine @vespidphoenix @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @mfreedomstuff

Suds of frothy soap sloshed at your chest, drops of cooling lather clashing with the scorching liquid plummeting harshly on your shoulders. Your head hung limp, hair falling and sticking to your forehead beneath the fresh, warm water.

The day had been exhausting, your body encumbered by the difficulties faced while traveling at sea in the Polar Tang. You loved your crewmates, you loved your job, you loved the sea; but sometimes, all you wanted to love was the hot ripples of pummeling beads between your shoulder blades. As you docked at port, you immediately sprung at the opportunity of taking a lengthy shower.

All of your thoughts were eclipsed by ‘shower.’ The grime sticking to your skin plagued you more so than keening at the prospect of sleeping in a cozy bed, up to your neck in weighted quilts and within the perfect cool temperature of a welcoming room. Sleep? Shower. Food? Shower. Alcohol? Shower.

The one and only thing stronger than your incessant need to rid yourself of traveling grime were the two strong arms lathering your breasts in silken suds. Fingers tweaking your peaked nipples, you lulled your head back to lay atop Penguin’s stooped shoulder within the large shower bay. His toothy grin was occupied by pressing loose kisses against your neck, tongue swirling over your damp flesh.

His dark hair stuck to his forehead beneath the rapid water, his eyes half-lidded and consumed with lust. He was just as far gone as you were, pent up with frustration at traveling without respite for so long.

Although you all traveled together, there was truly little to no time you got to spend within the arms of one another. Your work overtook your duties as a partner, the captainship of Trafalgar Law held higher than your need to give in to your carnal desires.

“Feel good?” he cooed at you, his elbows caging you in a slippery embrace, “You want some more pressure?”

You whined against the circling of his skilled digits against your peaked buds, your body fighting the urge to turn away to press your lips against his. Should you turn your body to face his smiling lips, you would inadvertently be breaking away from the kneeling figure of the redheaded Shachi, skillfully lapping at your glistening cunt. His tongue slid against your pearly clit, sliding down to your slit to collect more of your arousal to spread against your needy pussy.

Shachi moaned against your core, his mouth drooling as he eagerly nodded his face against your quivering clit. Penguin continued to tweak your nipples, only halting to gather more of the frothy bubbles and spread it over your chest.

“Lean into me,” Penguin ordered, hooking his left arm over your torso and supporting your weight, “We've got you.”

“Just relax into it,” Shachi’s muffled voice called to you, lifting your legs over his shoulders and swallowing a gulp of bathwater, “We’ll take care of the rest.”

All you could do was let out a whining hum of affirmation, allowing your two crewmen to manhandle you to gain the best advantage to please you. Shachi continued lapping greedily against your weeping cunt, whispering praises into your core each time he bobbed his face against you.

“There you go,” Penguin’s voice cooed in your ear, flicking his tongue out to tease your lobe, “Ease into us. Good job, let us do the work.”

“W-What ‘bout you?” you huffed. Shachi’s deviant tongue flicking skillfull circles against your clit, his lips hovering over the bud before diving in completely caused you to arch your back and cry out.

“We'll get to us later,” Penguin laughed against your cheek, his right hand tracing over your jaw to turn your head, “Don't worry about it right now. Let us please you.”

“You've been working harder than the both of us combined,” Shachi’s slurred voice muffled between your folds, “More than me, especially. Wanna get you off on my face before we go to bed.”

Shachi’s lips dove against your clit, circling it with his lips, and flicking with his flattened tongue. Penguin drew your face closer to him, taking your full weight against his glistening chest. Collecting your lips against his, water flooded you both over his shoulder. The showerhead continued to pummel it's beaded droplets against you, adding to the moisture and steam between the three of you.

You whined into Penguin's mouth, sucking in a heavy breath through your nose as he flicked his tongue out to meet yours. He pried open your lips, consuming your cries with a ravishing intensity.

Right hand hooking behind his neck, you pulled Penguin in deeper and nudged his jaw with your chin to deepen the kiss. Your left hand balled Shachi’s damp, red locks against the scruff of his neck and held him tightly as he continued to suck your clit.

The familiar coax of your impending unravel stampeded towards you with lightning intensity. Shachi hummed into you, his tongue flicking and lapping at your cunt in a similar motion that Penguin was conducting against your lips. Your brows peaked in the centre, feeling the prod of Shachi’s fingers against your neglected slit.

Just as Shachi intended to add his fingers into you, you were shocked when he circled the weighty girth of Penguin’s aching cock and lined it up with your core. Penguin’s breath hitched, his voice whimpering against your lips as Shachi coaxed his throbbing cock into your slickened walls.

“No, Shach,” Penguin whimpered, “It's been w-way too long,” he grit his teeth when Shachi began pumping his cock while fucking your slit onto Penguin's cock.

“You need it,” Shachi commented, tearing his face away from your core to focus on Penguin’s needy cock, “You both do. So take it.” Shachi guided Penguin's cock to sheathe itself within you, Penguin whimpering a strangled whine as your arousal eased him down to the hilt in a single thrust.

“I-I'm gonna cum quick,” Penguin cried, “I haven't had the time to touch myself in weeks,” his confession had Shachi chuckle, focussing on taking your weight into his shoulders so Penguin could focus on his needy thrusting. 

“S’okay, Pen,” you managed to cry, Shachi’s lips finding your clit once more and romancing it with open-mouth kisses, “M’not gonna last long either.”

“F-Fuck,” Penguin cried, his hips slapping with large gushes of water flicking between your bodies. Shachi licked, sucked, mouthed, and romanced your clit while Penguin railed you from behind.

Penguin's hands hastily anchored his left hand at your right hip, and his right hand needily clutched at your left breast. He rut into you like an animal in heat, greedily chasing his high within your body.

“I-I'm gonna cum?!” Penguin's confusion at the hasty climax had yours begin to unravel, your walls immediately contracting with the white-hot bliss of your eruption.

“C-Cum in me, Pen,” you whined, Shachi's tongue greedily lapping at you while he moaned against your stiffened pearl, “Use me. Take me. Fuck me, Pen-.”

“-Oh fuck, I'm cumming,” Penguin cried, immediately sinking his teeth into your right shoulder as he rammed his girthy cock into your eager cunt, “I'm cumming. I'm cumming s-so fucking hard. Fuck, I'm filling you up. F-Fuck.”

Ribbons of his translucent bliss splashed within your greedy cunt, ushering you closer to your ecstasy. His rhythmless aftershocks of his orgasm shepherded you ever closer to encountering your own.

Growing over confident, Shachi latched fully against your clit and immediately shot an intentional stream of water from his mouth against you. His natural abilities as a Fishman granted him this unusual and unique sensation. Shooting water from his mouth in a rapid-fire jet, you immediately screamed with your orgasm.

Unhooking your arm from Penguins neck, both hands shot out to firmly sink into Shachi’s head; the largest orgasm of your life erupting in gushing streams of release against his face.

“Sh-Shachi, t-too much!” you cried, grinding down against his head as he mouthed at you through your orgasm, “F-Fuck Penguin, don't stop. F-Fuck I'm cumming! Sh-Shit-... nmmghm-... So good.”

Shachi’s eyes rolled into his head, empathetically succumbing to the bliss his two partners were experiencing. His beaded precum glistened amongst the shower water, his cock twitching out an unintentional stream of sticky cum as soon as you gushed against his face. His shock flew from his lips as he cried through his untouched orgasm.

You rode his face through the unravel of your bliss, Penguin's cock sleeved to the hilt within you as he cried out both yours and Shachi’s names. Your lips were agape, wordlessly naming your two lovers as you all rode through your highs.

Shachi’s shock only unravelled the moment he released your clit with a crude ‘pop.’ He never came untouched, always the one that took the longest to reach his peak. He chalked it up to the pent up frustration at sea, and the fact that when he looked up, he saw nothing but eternal bliss depicted on his lovers’ faces.

Upon coming down through your highs, three sets of roaming hands scrubbed at each other's bodies. Ridding yourselves of your prior releases, you shared kisses and intimate touches between you that felt sacred and holy.

No further words were spoken between you, your emotions all depicted in your unconcealed and unshrouded eyes.

After drying off in fluffy towels, you all plopped into the giant mattress and immediately became an amassment of tangled limbs. Legs, arms, torsos and lips all greeted each other in blissful tranquility.

No blessings of ‘sweet dreams,’ nor peaceful promises of ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ were uttered. All of your emotions and feelings were laid out between sweet kisses and gentle embraces, all tucked beneath the weighty duvet you shared between the three of you.

[hotpinkstars]

ESPRESSO - aventurine x reader

- "now he's thinkin' bout me, everynight, oh, is it that sweet? i guess so." or, how does aventurine do when he's in love?

- GUYS GUYS QUEEN SABRINA DROPPED A SINGLE i've been listening to this for days and i needed to write about it sooooooooooo yeah! anyways i'll get to writing probably a few requests tomorrow and wednesday (expect 4-5 posts between those days to make up for my absence) and yeahhhhhh enjoy!!

- aventurine might be a little ooc, mentions of his trauma (so penacony main quest spoilers), reader confesses at the end. wc 1067

Aventurine doesn’t know what to do when he first figures out that the feeling in his chest whenever he saw you was because he liked you. He probably tried to deny it, until Topaz caught him blushing like crazy after you walked away from the conversation you two had just finished. (Even then, she had to tell him, and then he spent a long time thinking that possibility through. She might have been right). 

You plague his visions. Why does he always want something to do with you? Why does he always want to be in your space, but also never wants to see you again? You’ve noticed his weird behavior, considering you were one of the first people he’s ever genuinely called a friend, but didn’t really think too far into it. 

Though, it didn’t stop you from paying more attention to it, that's for a fact. Sometimes you’d pay more attention to his body movements around you, the way he speaks, his etiquette, etc. You and Topaz communicate through it, and it’s a little bit different from his conversations with her. 

You know he can be cocky. Like, very cocky. You know he’s not too afraid to talk back, to challenge someone to a gamble (spoiler he wins), and to be reckless. Though, you also know about his backstory. So you can kind of understand where he’s coming from. 

He’s been pretty open with you about all of the things he’s endured. You know his real name, he’s described how his family has looked, and he’s described his years he endured slavery and what his home planet was like. You know about the Men in Black and the Katicans. And you know how traumatized he is.

Now, you’ve known him for a long, long time before this. You welcomed him into the IPC when Jade first announced his arrival, and you kind of showed him the ropes. He thought you seemed kind, so he stayed in contact with you.

You’ve watched him change, all of his progress through life, the hard times and the good times, and so much more. And that's what gets him the most, he thinks. 

He never realized how much he trusted you until he realized he liked you. You know every single thing about this man, which was the reason why he was rather… nervous when he’d have to communicate with you face to face. He did a good job at keeping up his front he uses to talk to people, but you sensed a slight form of stress underneath all the layers he put up to look tough. 

He lays awake, thinking about you. You’ve made part of his mind your home, and it’s the part he comes back to over and over again. You replay in his mind like a good song that he can’t get enough of- on, and on, and on, and on. 

He does like to bring you little trinkets he finds pretty when he goes out in public to do some shopping. Considering how wealthy he is, he could probably afford to buy out the whole store, so if you even mention something you like to him, he’s on his way to find it for you. He likes to think of it as he’s buying your kindness, but you think something completely different. You enjoy his sudden gift giving, not just because of your gain, but because he thought about you enough to do such a thing. It always makes you slightly blush before laughing while opening the box presented in front of you. He thinks that's the most precious part about your time spent together; all of the opportunities he gets to listen to your gorgeous laughter and see your flawless smile. Topaz, pinch the man, he’s in his own personal dreampool.

Oh, how bad he wants to confess to you, but he’s really afraid of rejection. He fears losing you entirely, fears that you won’t look at him like you always do if he asked if you two could be a thing. He fears you’d think he was odd for wanting you to himself, and that you’d slowly back away until you refuse to even look at his broken, battered form any longer. The thought makes a shiver crawl up his back. He can’t lose you too. 

All this man asks is to find a way to remove you from his head. You’re absolutely tormenting him! Notice how he’s been lacking on his work lately, always caught in a daze when he’s sitting down at his desk? That’s you he’s daydreaming about. He’s no good with his emotions. He knows how to hide sadness, fear, and anger, but he’s never been in this boat before. Love is a whole new concept to him. 

“Aventurine, you’ve been out of it lately. Tell me, is something the matter?” You barge through the blonde's office, not even bothering to knock. You know you don’t have to, he’s never doing anything so significant in that tiny space that it needs to be kept private.

“What are you saying? Nothings up with me,” he drops his pen in the small plaster pen cup you bought for him. “Work has been tiring lately. Nothing to stress over.” 

You plop into the chair in front of his desk, resting your arms on the top and putting your head in between your palms.

“I can tell when you lie. Tell the truth.”

He looks away. What was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t get you out of his brain, and that you’re the only thing he can focus on? That’ll scare you off for sure!

“Aventurine?? You there?” you wave a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his daze once more. “You know, you don’t have to lie. I already know what you’re thinking.”

His eyes slightly widen, just enough for you to notice. You giggle very lightly before continuing on with your sentence. “You have a little crush, don’t you? Don’t worry, I like you back. Seriously, I do.”

He doesn’t know how to reply to that. He doesn’t know if he wants to faint or make out with you right now. “So that makes us…?”

“I don’t know. We could remain friends, we could be boyfriend girlfriend, whatever you want. I don’t care.”

Well, he believes he already knows the answer he’s choosing.

[yuanology]

I imagine spanking Satoru in my lap while whispering lewd things about him being a pervert while the only thing he can do is sob and bite my shoulder ,bby is so lost in pleasure he wishes to end up as satisfied as his best friend who is laying asleep in front of him but bby is so new he is ashamed of asking so force him into telling what he wants and then like …corruption kink akksnwkaoaoao😋🐸 idkkkk 🫨

hey ...... i'm sorry in advance for this one. i don't fucking know what this is either. also, this ended up being an entirely separate thing from the original satosugu fic & this is just........ afab!satoru getting his cunt slapped raw while suguru—who's implied to have been fucked by reader earlier—is passed the fuck out. &. i ended up writing this as a teacher!suguru au a.k.a everything goes well au so yeah, don't get confused

despite common first impression, twenty-eight years old gojo "the strongest" satoru had never been touched by anyone before. yes, you heard that right. he was still a virgin; pure and untouched.

before he came to jujutsu tech—before he left home, before he found out about the world, before he realised that he was practically a damn princess stuck in his tower—satoru hadn't even thought of the art of carnal pleasure. he had thought it was just something that happened, not something to indulge himself in.

growing up amongst people his age had been an awakening, that was for certain. his hands started wrapping around himself more often, the collar of his shirt caught between his teeth as he stifled the noise escaping his throat. porn became a commodity, and satoru wasn't exactly oblivious to it, he just never had the time or opportunity to try it.

until you.

satoru let loose another sob, tears streaking down his face. his teeth was caught around the meat of your shoulder, and he could barely breathe around it, much less speak coherently. he still whimpered, "too much."

"you wanted this," you reminded him, your voice low and dirty and so, so fucking real that it's driving him insane. nothing—nothing, no lewd images or videos or even his own imagination—could compare to the feeling of you right now. "you asked me for this, baby."

and you were right. he had asked for this, craving your closeness just as much as he craved the feeling of your hands on him. he had asked you for this, physically and audibly begged you to give him a taste of the things that he had seen and watched all these years.

finally, satoru had thought to himself when he met you properly for the first time. finally, someone who can understand. who can finally give me what i need. it hadn't taken much time before he was on his knees, begging for you to give him everything and so much more. men like gojo satoru didn't make a habit out of begging, but you were an exception amongst many others.

your only response had been a raised, unimpressed eyebrow before you told him that you would consider it. he didn't blame you for it. it wasn't as if your relationship with his own best friend, suguru, was a secret, even if it wasn't official. but satoru had to try.

(and he had asked suguru about it already, kicking at the floorboard underneath him with an out-of-character show of shyness, until suguru had laughed at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "yeah, sure. what's mine is yours and all that—if you can get him to agree, that is." so.)

but when he had asked you to show him what it meant to feel good hurt during sex, he had never expected you to do this to him—to be so mean and so fucking rough, to be so, so desperately cruel to him in ways that he had never seen you do to anyone else.

fuck, satoru thought dazedly. the position—his body bent over your lap, his ass high in the air and his cunt flushes, twitching, and so fucking exposed—had him distinctly dizzy, his head dropping at an awkward angle on the mattress but he didn't care.

he blinked away the tears in his eyes, but the slumped figure of his best friend's body passed out a behind you on the bed remained blurry. how the fuck do you handle this? he wondered.

he let out another whimper when your hand met the meat of his ass, and he could feel it fucking jiggle. he found it so humiliating, but you must think otherwise because you groped his asscheek with an air of smugness. you pried his ass apart, making him grimace when he felt his slick slide down his thigh, betraying him.

"look at you, baby," you cooed, chuckling to yourself. "you're fucking dripping all over the place. you're so desperate for it, huh? pretty virgin like you probably doesn't even know what it's like to be touched like this."

your voice was a light musing, distinctly distant and almost detached in your amusement, but satoru couldn't help but feel raw all over; an exposed nerve ready to be flayed over an open fire. he was sensitive, each inch of his skin a weakness that leaves him feel vulnerable.

"hurts," satoru croaked out miserably, feeling a bit like a fool for saying it. his words are garbled, slurred—almost watery in a way satoru hadn't known was possible before.

"hm." your hand left his hand, making a whine escape the back of satoru's throat. his voice returned to something subdued, something calmer, when he realised that you're simply moving to rest your hand on the small of his back.

"i suppose i can give you mercy," you said, your voice a low drawl that sent goosebumps racing along his skin. "just this once."

satoru couldn't help the whimper that escaped him. even through the heavy haze in his mind, he knew that he couldn't have this without a price. you always demanded an equal pay be returned for the price of your kindness. he had watched you wring dry orgasm after orgasm out of suguru, even when his best friend's body was limp, practically motionless save for the overstimulated twitches and the sobs that escaped suguru's throat, all in exchange for having satoru there with them tonight.

you must notice the sudden shift in his attitude, the way his ass was wriggling in the air almost desperately, because you snickered and your hand pressed him down harder against your lap. fuck, he thinks, feeling himself dripping all over the place at the feeling of you.

"how about this," you offered. "five more spankings, and i want you to count. if you miss one, we'll start over." your hand caressed the swell of his ass, your movements gentle as you soothed the spank marks you had left there earlier.

as much as satoru knew he shouldn't believe you, he still couldn't help the way he sniffled at the feeling and asked, "promise?"

you chuckled, the sound soft. your lips met the skin on his back, right over his spine. "sure, baby," you said. "i promise. just five more, okay? you'll be a good boy, won't you, satoru? you'll stay still for me?"

satoru nodded eagerly, chewing at this lower lip at the sound of your praise. good boy. yes, he could be your good boy. he would always be your good boy.

although he couldn't see it, he knew your smile was there when you said, "good. don't forget to count, okay, baby?" which, really, should have been the first sign of something dangerous looming.

the sound of your hand slapping his skin was promptly followed by a fucking howl that was stripped out of his throat; loud and jagged and surprised and so fucked over that satoru's head throbbed with it.

because jesus motherfucking fuck, you just slapped his cunt.

"count, baby."

satoru could barely even think past the static ringing in his air, stuffing his brain full with cloth, but he thought he might have choked out a whimpering, "one."

your hand moved once again to his cunt, he motion gentler this time. you didn't spank him again but rather, you spread his legs, exposing more of his cunt, and he whimpers in anticipation.

but your fingers only breach the lips of his cunt, spreading his labia apart to look at the slick already dripping the moment his folds were parted. you cooed at him, and satoru felt himself burning with so much fucking feelings that he couldn't even identify a proper source for it.

holy shit.

"four more," you whispered, your thumb dragging along his slit down to his clit. you rubbed it for a moment, causing satoru to whine at the feeling. "just a bit more, okay, baby?"

he didn't know if he nodded, or if he just lay there across your lap—rooted in place and feeling lightheaded, entirely motionless—but you must have found something you wanted to see from him because he could feel you moving again.

anticipating what would come after didn't make it any easier to handle.

your palm met the centre of his cunt perfectly, the tips of your fingers catching his clit, and satoru sobbed. "two," he quickly scrambled to rasp out before you could make him repeat it, before you could make him start all over. "two, that's—" he catches his breath, tongue feeling swollen in his mouth. "that's two."

"good boy."

another slap, making his back arch and his body squirm away from the sensation. the sound was fucking disgusting, even more so now that the slick accumulating on his cunt had created a pillow for your hand to rest on, creating a loud squelching sound that made satoru's toes curl.

"three," satoru whimpered. "it hurts."

"just two more," you reassured him, your fingers grazing over his entrance but never once dipping inside. fuck. "can you do that for me?"

satoru sniffled, but he nodded. "two more," he repeated.

"good boy."

your next slap came in sharp and quick, and he barely managed to blurt out, "four." before he collapses into sobs. his body is slumped, weak and unable to even twitch.

one more, he thought. just one more.

letting out a ragged breath, satoru's voice bleeds into a high keen when he feels you pull back the hood over his clit, exposing the sensitive nerve. the realisation of what you're about to do strikes him a second, too late.

no, you're going to—

your entire fucking palm met his exposed clit, sending up a burning sensation across the length of satoru's spine. "five!" satoru shouted, a little desperate, a lot hurt, equal measures of feeling fucked right out of his mind.

"fuck, that's five. that's—" he couldn't even finish his sentence, already broken off to sobs and whimpers as his entire fucking body trembles at the feeling of it. fuck. every inch of him felt numb; all of the hurt centred on the feeling of your slap on his clit.

the world is a hazy blur of static and cotton and distance for a long moment. when satoru's world comes back into focus, he's still on your lap, but seated now, positioned in a way that saved his cunt from any accidental stimulation. his mouth parted and drool dripping down the corners of your lips, but your hands are on his his back, keeping him close, and you're murmuring sweet nothings to him.

and he must have done something—something right, something wrong—because he feels himself going weightless and then your lips are brushing over the shell of his ear, and you're telling him, "get your rest, satoru. you deserve it."

oh, satoru thought dazedly, feeling the world drift in and out of motion for a long moment. this is why. because for all your cruelty and all your harshness, you were exceptionally gentle in the aftermath. satoru's vision is blurring around the edges, but he feels you all the same—warm and present and there.

"g'night," he thought he might've slurred out.

he might imagine the feeling of your lips on his temple, but he liked to think that it was real all the same.