#emphatically-trash

[azzibuckets]

spoiled

vote paige as a wnba all star

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: paige spoiling azzi. that’s it. wrote in all lowercase bc im lazy. also rough ending bc i didnt know what else to add lmao

word count: 5k

main masterlist | oneshots masterlist

when it works

paige typically isn’t very observant, per se, but with azzi things are somehow always different. noticing things about her best friend comes like second nature to her—like how she’ll always slip a couple of bottles of coconut water into the cooler, or how during sad movies she suddenly has the urge to go to the bathroom every five minutes, blaming it on said coconut water but it’s really so that she can cry without her family making fun of her. or, more relevantly, paige notices that no matter how many dresses azzi looks through, her eyes keep flicking back to the sparkly one in the corner.

it was the first one azzi had looked at when they’d entered the small boutique store. eyes widening, she’d smoothed her hand over the satiny chiffon with a quiet sort of reverence before flipping over the price tag at the top. both paige and azzi’s jaws had dropped at the same time; azzi had brought the slip closer to her face, as if squinting at it would change the amount of zeroes. “didn’t even know dresses could sell for five hundred,” the dark haired girl had muttered before swiftly moving onto the next aisle, not daring to linger with something she knew she couldn’t have.

azzi had liked other ones—a black gown with a slit on the side that paige thought her long legs would look great in, and an emerald green sheath dress that dipped to show cleavage and hugged her curves a little too well. both articles fell within her budget, and it’s not like they were ugly; paige thought that azzi would look just as stunning in them—although it might be a biased opinion, considering that paige also thought azzi could wear a trash bag and still be the most beautiful girl at prom—but nothing compared to the smile she’d had when admiring the first one.

so while azzi was trying on her budget-friendly dresses, paige had went back and snagged the sparkly one. “hey, azzi.” she knocked on the door of the fitting room. “you all done?”

rustling, and then—“yeah. still tryna choose between the black and green.”

paige rises on her tippy toes to heave the dress over the door. “don’t come out yet. put this one on first.”

“paige.” azzi laughed breathily. “this one’s a little too pricey. my mom would implode.”

“i know, i know.” she shakes the dress emphatically. “just give it a try, yeah? i just want a look.”

hesitantly, the dress slips slowly over the door and into azzi’s hands. paige waits patiently outside, foot tapping against the floor. “paige?” azzi’s voice floats out after a few moments. “need help with the zipper.” the door opens a crack, and brown eyes peek out.

“you can’t get it yourself?” if the dress fits anything like paige had imagined, then she doesn’t think she can handle being in a small room when azzi looks like that. if she’s honest, being with azzi always sort of dims her logic, and she doesn’t trust that she won’t do or say something stupid that will expose her more than friendly feeling blossoming of late. but azzi nods adamantly, and paige stifles a groan as she steps into the room.

paige doesn’t let her eyes linger, immediately positioning herself behind her best friend. focus on the zipper, she reminds herself. ignore everything else.

but even from the backside, she’s a traitor to her own thoughts. she zips up the dress slowly, fingers brushing against her back. azzi’s somehow both curves and muscle, and paige resists the urge to trace her thumb along the path of her spine. azzi shivers. “sorry,” paige mutters. “my hands are cold.”

the zipper goes up easily, but paige doesn’t let go. her hands slide down azzi’s shoulders, tracing down to her waist, and she eases forward until they’re flush against each other. heart skipping a beat, paige burrows her chin into the crook of azzi’s neck as her hands slide around her hips. “looks fuckin gorgeous, azzi,” she whispers into the nape of her neck, breath tickling against the younger girl’s curls. she presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw, just for good measure.

a delicious shade of pink blooms across azzi’s cheeks. “i like it,” she says quietly, touching the neckline a little self-consciously. paige’s hold tightens on her.

this time, paige doesn’t have the willpower to avoid azzi in the mirror. the younger girl shifts in front of the glass, studying the dress from all angles. it’s only then that paige notices that this dress too has a slit. it’s subconscious, the way her thumb strokes across the exposed skin of azzi’s thigh, where the gap begins, and she doesn’t even really know what she’s doing until azzi’s breath catches, legs spreading a little as she pushes into paige, who groans. fuck. paige thinks she might faint with the feeling of azzi’s warm skin against her own. she clears her throat. focus. “this might be the one, mama,” she says as normally as possible.

“i can’t.” azzi shakes her head and reaches for the zipper, almost eager to take it off. “i told you, it’s too expensive.”

“nah, you’re getting this dress.” paige pushes away azzi’s hand and takes over, unzipping the dress carefully, one hand planted on azzi’s waist, not so much as to steady her but to feel. “i gotchu.”

“paige,” azzi says indignantly. “it’s half a thousand dollars.”

paige stuffs her hands into her pockets, averting her eyes as azzi steps out of the dress and starts to put her clothes back on. “honestly, az, it would be a crime against humanity for you to not wear something you look so good in.”

“i don’t care. i’m not letting you pay for that,” azzi says firmly.

“baby, you’re doing me a favor.” paige picks up the dress, shaking free the wrinkles before threading it back on the hanger. “it’s not even for you, it’s for me. i wanna see you in this dress.” when azzi stays silent, she adds, “it’s blue and pink which is basically purple and purple is my favorite color.” her logic doesn’t make sense to even herself, and paige doesn’t know why the hell she’s rambling, just that being so close to a half naked azzi is muddling her thoughts more than usual.

but they’re best friends for a reason, and some of that logic seems to work its way into azzi’s brain. “you’re ridiculous,” azzi says fondly, hand pushing paige’s chest a little.

paige grabs her waist so that she can kiss her forehead. “forgot how short you are,” she mumbles. “gotta get you some high heels too.”

“i’m not short,” azzi grumbles, but she has to look up at paige to say this, which doesn’t really help her point.

paige doesn’t hear her, merely grabbing the dress and leading azzi out of the fitting room. “pink sound good?” she asks, bending down to examine the first rack of heels they come across.

“i have heels at home,” azzi says resolutely.

“black heels.” when the younger girl’s eyes narrow, she says softly, “come on, baby. you know i got some nil deals. it’s really not a big deal.” in all honesty, paige has more money than she knows what to do with. becoming the first freshman to win national player of the year came with more media attention than ever, and she’d signed multiple brand deals that left her bank account constantly growing. sure, she’d used some of it to fund charities and donate to certain causes, but there was still an abundant leftover—more than enough to spoil azzi, which was quite possibly her favorite thing to do.

azzi’s eyebrows shoot up. “a five hundred dollar dress and hundred dollar heels isn’t a big deal?”

“not for you.” paige holds up two pairs of pink heels, one a light bubblegum and the other bright neon. “which one?”

“paige.”

“azzi.”

“paige. my mom’s gonna murder you.”

“i’ll just throw away the receipt and we can lie about the price.” paige looks down at the heels. “come on, azzi, if you don’t choose, i’m buying both.”

“fine.” azzi points reluctantly to the neon ones. pleased, paige grabs the lid and boxes it up. “remind me to never go shopping with you again,” the younger girl mumbles. “else you’re gonna go bankrupt.”

“wouldn’t mind going bankrupt,” paige says mindlessly. “long as you’re happy.”

azzi doesn’t know what to say to that, so she takes paige’s hand instead, who manages to hook the dress to the inside of her elbow and hold the shoebox and her wallet with her left hand so she doesn’t have to let go of azzi with her right. they check out, and paige is positively glowing at the look in azzi’s eyes.

as they emerge from the store, they spot azzi’s family milling about at the food court. but azzi isn’t ready just yet to share paige with them, so she tugs the older girl’s hand, halting their steps. paige turns around with questioning eyes.

“i just—” azzi sighs, and reaches for paige’s hand and squeezes it. “i don’t even know what to say. thank you, paige. you didn’t have to do that.”

“i know.” paige squeezes her hand back. “but i wanted to. someone’s gotta spoil the princess.”

azzi rolls her eyes before leaning in to kiss paige’s cheek. then her nose, then her forehead, and on her chin, until she’s peppering paige’s entire face with perfectly platonic appreciation kisses. “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

paige is grinning like a fool once azzi is done. “you forgot a spot,” she jokes playfully, tapping her index finger against her lips, but then azzi freezes and paige starts to sweat, because where the fuck did that boldness came from? she steps back hesitantly, thinking azzi might just about start yelling at her, but azzi steps right along with her. the dark haired girl touches her face, palm cupping her cheek, thumb swiping her bottom lip, and pulls her in. their lips meet, tentatively and softly.

paige groans a little, because azzi’s lips are soft and pillowy, just like she’d dreamt of, and taste a little like the chocolate milkshake she’d had earlier. as azzi breathes into her, paige can’t think of anything but more, more, more. unfortunately, the younger girl pulls away after a few seconds, and looks up at her with hooded eyes. biting her lip, paige realizes that azzi’s hands have somehow made their way under her hoodie to palm her ribs, and she thinks she has approximately five seconds before she actually, for real passes out.

“thank you,” azzi whispers, forehead pressed against paige’s.

paige’s heart stutters. “you’re welcome,” she says shakily, head spinning.

as the reality of their situation starts to set in, azzi giggles. “you just paid $600 for me to kiss you.”

“aw, shut up.” paige pushes her away, but her eyes stay glued to azzi’s mouth, and azzi laughs even harder.

truth be told, it hadn’t been entirely selfless on paige’s part. lord knows the amount of hours she’s spent stalking azzi’s date on instagram, sizing him up. but no matter how many good things she hears about him, about how he’s amazing at football, even better at baseball, a good brother and student, it’s not enough. not for azzi. it’s a bitter feeling, to know that no man is good enough for her best friend. but, as paige slips her wallet into her pocket, she thinks that maybe seeing azzi pose with someone else will sting a little less if she knew that she was the one who’d dressed azzi from head to toe. a twisted sort of satisfaction floods through her, because azzi may dance with another person, but at the end of the night, she’ll come home to her.

༉‧₊˚✧

when it backfires

azzi yawns. it’s barely past midnight, but her legs are still sore and aching from lift, and she’s about ready to knock out. she finishes off her cocktail before sliding a hundred dollar bill across the bar. “you can keep the rest,” she tells the bartender as she hops off the stool and grabs her purse, but he doesn’t even look at it.

“your tab’s already been covered, ma’am,” he replies, continuing to pour drinks.

azzi’s eyebrows furrow. the bartender nods his head at where the team is clumped together in one of the corner booths. “one of your friends got it. think it was the white one with the black shirt.”

and yeah, azzi might be tired, but she’s not tired past the point of letting her ex-girlfriend get away with her bullshit.

“you don’t get to do that.”

paige stares up at her, and azzi wills herself to keep her glare focused on bright blue eyes and not the girl who’s half in paige’s lap, arm looped through the blonde’s and thighs settled onto paige’s like they’re fucking glued together. “do what?” paige asks, taking a slow, unbothered sip of her beer.

“beg for my attention with your stupid money.” azzi throws the bartender-rejected benjamin on the table. it falls into a pool of condensation, wilting in the dampness, looking a lot like how azzi feels. “buying me things won’t change the fact that you’re a complete asshole.”

paige scoffs. “i bought the entire team drinks, azzi,” she says coldly, waving her off. “you’re not as special as you think you are.” the entire table falls silent, all the other girls pretending to not see war unfolding. it’s not that strange of a sight to see these days—the two star players of their team, always having been poised, supportive, leaders, now throwing grenades at each other like it means nothing. they’ve learned by now not to question it, not to dig too deep, to not ask azzi why she’s ignoring paige or ask paige why she won’t look at azzi, or else azzi will go back to her room and paige will get into her car and disappear for the rest of the day.

paige picks up the bill between her thumb and forefinger like it’s dirty, not worth her time. then she tosses it at azzi, as if it’s nothing more than trash, and azzi takes a step back as she realizes that she’s not worth paige’s time. not anymore.

eyes stinging, she turns around quickly, but it’s not fast enough to hide the tears already pooling at her eyes and slipping down her cheeks. paige softens, regret coloring her cheeks—she hadn’t meant to say that, to embarrass azzi, especially not in front of the stupid girl on her lap, and especially not in front of their team. “azzi,” she calls out, reaching for her, but she’s already gone.

a glass slams down on the table, and it’s like the entire room falls silent. “way to go, paige,” caroline says dryly. “making my best friend cry every day this past week wasn’t enough for you? now you gotta ruin the one good day she’s had?” it’s only now that paige remembers why they’re even at the bar—azzi had dropped thirty two points against one of the top ranked teams in the country, had been all smiles for the first time in a while. the taste in paige’s mouth turns sour as she realizes that she hadn’t even said congratulations. as much as she hates to admit it, azzi had been right—she’d drunkenly thought that paying for her drinks would be congratulations enough, that she could make everything up to azzi without ever saying a word or doing anything hard. her stomach sinks.

caroline stands up, brushing off her jeans as she moves to follow. “she was right. sometimes you are an asshole.”

paige can’t even argue back. she likes that azzi has someone who stands up so fiercely for her—she just never imagined that it would be against her. she only has the energy to move the girl off of her, who—paige can’t even remember her name, only that her dimple resembled azzi’s, but was nowhere near as cute, and that her hair was curly, but nowhere near as pretty as azzi’s—grabs the hundred off the floor, eyes gleaming. “i could use this,” she giggles.

without hesitation, paige slaps the money from her hand and puts it into her own pocket. she’s sure as hell not going to keep it, but she’d rather die than let it fall into the hands of someone else. “don’t fucking touch that.”

“your team’s right. you are an asshole,” the girl snaps, and she marches back to her group of friends, who all send a collective dirty look to paige. all the fight leaves paige’s body, and she slumps into her seat and groans.

nika pats her hand sympathetically. “rough night.”

“shut up, nika.” paige allows herself a moment of self-pity, burrowing her face into her arms. “do you think i’m an asshole?” she asks quietly after a beat.

“um.” when she lifts her head to fix nika with a warning glare, the brunette shrugs. “a well-intentioned asshole,” she offers.

“fuck my life.”

“hey, i don’t wanna hear you complaining.” nika shoves her, but it’s affectionate. “i’m still confused on why the hell you ever broke up with her in the first place.”

the question of the year, paige thinks dryly to herself. but she can’t really answer that when she doesn’t know why either, so she grumbles, “i said shut up, nika.”

༉‧₊˚✧

things never really go back to normal after that night. it hadn’t even been the worst things they’ve said each other (when you know someone for so long, fights are inevitable, and when you’ve known someone since you were teens, well, let’s just say every teenage girl has said something terrible at one point). it was the way azzi had walked away, and paige had let her. it was the fact that they’d both made an active decision to just give up, which is probably the breaking point for two girls whose entire relationship had been built on fighting for each other—through distance, pressure, expectations.

amari wipes the sheen of her forehead with her shirt. “spot me?” she requests, and azzi nods dutifully. lift ended half an hour ago, but amari wanted to squeeze in a few more sets, and azzi doesn’t want to be alone right now, so she’d lingered.

“did you see paige’s story?” amari asks, arms trembling as she lifts up the barbell.

azzi stiffens, but she keeps her face neutral. “nah.”

“i heard she dropped like, six hundred dollars at the mall the other day. was on a double date type of thing with the soccer girls.”

azzi’s not sure why amari is telling her all this—they’re pretty close, but azzi’s only ever opened up about her relationship with paige to caroline. she knows paige is the same with nika, stemming from an unspoken place of mutual respect to try and not let whatever’s going on between them affect the rest of the team by limiting who they tell.

“that’s cool,” azzi says, hands hovering over amari’s as she struggles on the last rep. amari flops onto the ground, breathing hard, and azzi lies down next to her as they both stare at the ceiling.

“i’m just saying.” amari rolls over to look at her. “she spends a shit ton of money, but that’s the only thing she does.”

azzi is slowly losing her patience. “what are you getting at, amari?”

“like, i’m not even gonna lie, it’s easy for her to drop a bag. she has money. minimal effort, you know? what’s hard for a D1 athlete with a busy ass schedule is using her time and efforts.” when azzi squints in confusion, amari takes that as a sign to continue. “like, i know you see her spoiling all these other girls, but shit, azzi. you’re the only one she ever set aside time for and did all the extra cringy shit for.”

azzi flops onto her back. she takes a second to debate on whether or not she should continue to engage amari—it feels like a mini act of betrayal to paige, but technically, amari was the one who started it. it couldn’t hurt to ask a couple of questions. “how do you know she’s not taking these girls on romantic beach dates and stuff?” she asks, contorting her voice to sound casual.

“i room with her, azzi. i know,” amari deadpans. “i also know that she’s definitely still in love with you.”

azzi falls silent. a door slams in the background, and there’s a faint sound of balls dribbling.

“can i ask you a question?”

“mhm.”

“why’d you break up with her? she’s hopeless for you, and you’re clearly not over her.”

azzi looks at amari, puzzled. “huh?”

“why’d you end it if neither of you wanted it?” amari prods.

“i didn’t.”

“you didn’t?”

azzi throws an arm over her eyes. she feels like crying again, and breaking down in the middle of the weight room is not her ideal way to spend the morning. “she broke up with me, amari,” she says, voice muffled.

her teammate snorts. “i don’t believe that.”

“then i don’t know what to tell you.” azzi sits up suddenly. “she came to my room, ended things, then left and never spoke to me again after that. she ended it, and it’s over, and i can’t even fucking look at her anymore without feeling like i want to die.” tears are dripping down her cheeks now, and she curses under her breath. she hadn’t meant to say all that. “i gotta go,” she tells amari, who looks more confused than ever. “i’ll see you at practice.”

azzi doesn’t want to believe amari at first. hope is a devastating thing, and for all she knows, amari could’ve been lying out of her buttcheeks. but a week later, when she wakes up hungover and head aching after a night at ted’s, she finds paige in her kitchen, and her friend’s words come back her in a sudden and dizzying rush.

more exactly, azzi wakes up to the smell of omelettes. which is peculiar to her, because nobody on the team likes omelettes but her. when she pads to the kitchen, still in her pajamas and glasses, she double takes at paige standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyeing the pan on the stove like staring hard enough will undo the burnt mess.

“what are you doing in my apartment?” she asks harshly. startled, paige jolts a little, and she curses loudly as her hand comes into contact with the surface of the pan.

“jesus, paige.” azzi grabs her hand, more rough than she needs to be, and paige winces. softening, azzi guides the older girl’s hand under a steady stream of cold water. it’s quiet, only the sound of the running tap and paige’s labored breathing filling the air. azzi can feel the blonde looking stubbornly at her, but it’s 8 AM in the morning and she can’t deal with all that right now, so she doesn’t look up.

she applies some ointment onto paige’s hand, not trusting that paige would do anything more than just stick a band-aid on it and call it a day if left to her own devices. she rummages through the cabinets to find some gauze. paige is wordless the entire time. “geno’s gonna kill you,” she mutters, breaking the silence as she slowly wraps the bandaging around paige’s fingers. “what were you even tryna do? you don’t even like omelettes.”

paige gestures gloomily to the rubbery mixture of eggs and tomatoes and other roasted, indecipherable ingredients. “i chose the recipe that said super easy.” she shakes her head. “i shoulda known when the first step said sauté.”

“sautéing is super easy,” azzi says. “what, you run out of pans at your own apartment or something?” she lets go of paige’s hand. “what are you doing here?”

“‘m tryna learn how to cook better.” the blonde scratches the back of her head sheepishly. “and i know you like omelettes even though they taste gross, and you’re always hangry as hell when you’re hungover, and, well.” she shrugs, looking hopeless.

“how’d you know i’m hungover?”

“nika said some of the girls were going out to ted’d last night, and i didn’t get an invite, so.” paige shrugs. “i assumed you were going.”

that makes azzi a little mad. “we promised to keep the team out of it,” she says. “don’t act like i told them not to invite you. you were invited. everyone was invited in the group chat.”

“i’m sorry.”

azzi snorts out an exasperated breath, and paige licks her lips, nervous.

“why’d you break up with me?”

paige blinks, the question clearly throwing her off guard. “what?”

“you heard me.”

paige turns away, starting to clean up the kitchen, and that gets azzi even angrier. “don’t do that. don’t turn away when it gets hard.” when paige continues wiping down the counters, azzi says harshly, “i know you fucking lied to me.”

paige stills.

“i’ve always been honest with you.” azzi says, voice breaking. “we promised each other that.”

paige’s head bows, but her back remains turned. “who said i lied to you?”

“god, paige, i know you’re still in love with me.” she spreads her arms, hoping to god she’s not wrong. “i see it, everyone else on the team sees it. you broke up with me, giving some lame ass excuse that the timing wasn’t right, that we should focus on basketball.”

“you didn’t want anything serious,” paige says lowly. “i can’t not do a serious relationship with you, azzi. i can’t—i can’t have a little bit of you while wanting all of you. i can’t have some of you knowing eventually i might have none of you. it’s not fair to you or me.” she sniffles. “if you didn’t see us going anywhere, then what was the point of us being together?”

“that’s not—that’s not what i meant.” azzi grabs paige’s elbow, and finally, she turns around. “god, paige. you think i didn’t want serious with you?”

paige runs her hands through her hair, frantic. “you said you weren’t ready for anything more beyond just going on dates! how else am i supposed to interpret that?”

“i wasn’t ready yet, but that didn’t mean i was never gonna be ready.” azzi furrows her eyebrows. “we’ve been just friends for so fucking long, i thought we needed time to adjust to being more before we threw ourselves deeper into everything.” she searched paige’s eyes. “we’ve never been good at taking it slow. or thinking.”

“well, you didn’t say that.” paige laughs bitterly. “so i thought you didn’t see a future in us, azzi, and that fucking broke me.”

“well.” azzi crosses her arms, not so quick to forgive. “you did move on pretty fast.”

“i was tryna distract myself from thinking of you.” paige’s throat bobs, and her voice falls quiet. “it didn’t work.”

“dropping six hundred dollars didn’t work?” azzi provokes, mouth twisted.

paige scowls. “it was three hundred. and who told you that?”

“she’s a gold digger, paige,” azzi says, ignoring the question.

“never said she wasn’t.” paige lifts her hand in surrender. “but it was nice knowing she didn’t want anything but money. i didn’t want her to get invested.”

“how chivalrous of you,” azzi says dryly.

“i know what it looked like.” paige’s hand hovers over her waist, and azzi shifts closer, giving the older girl permission to pull her in. “let me prove to you that you’re the only one for me.” paige kisses her shoulder. “besides, i didn’t hear you complaining when i dropped five hundred on your prom dress.”

azzi scoffs, twisting away but paige’s hands are insistent. “that was so long ago.”

“i know. maybe we should work on our communication skills.” paige presses another kiss to the pulse on azzi’s neck, feeling the flutter beneath her lips. she tastes a little like sweat, and paige loves it.

“and take it slow,” azzi emphasizes, fighting back a smile as she pushes paige’s head away.

“right.” sheepish, paige wipes the spit from her neck with the pad of her thumb. “slow.”

“i better never see you dropping a bag on anyone else again,” azzi warns.

“swear,” paige promises.

“that was the worst month of my life,” azzi admits.

paige nods in assent. “i should’ve talked to you,” she murmurs. “instead of just walking out.” her head falls on azzi’s chest, and azzi holds her.

“caroline’s gonna be jumping for joy when she finds out,” she snorts.

paige winces. “think she’s still mad at me for the bar thing?”

“definitely.”

“i’m sorry about that too. that was wrong of me to say, especially in front of everyone, and—”

“apologies later,” azzi interrupts, makes a start for her room. “first, hold me until i fall asleep because your horrible cooking skills woke me up way too damn early and i’m exhausted.”

paige smirks. “whatever you say, princess.”

༉‧₊˚✧

it works again

“i actually have to get my own gas now.” azzi stares at her fuel gage in disbelief. the red tick is dangerously close to the empty line.

“your life must be so hard,” sarah mocks.

“fuck.” azzi starts her engine. “you’re coming with me.”

“bro, let me go home.”

“don’t think we can even make it back to storrs with this.” azzi drives to the nearest gas station. as she waits for the tank to fill up, she snaps a quick photo of the pump and texts paige.

azzi: can’t even remember the last time i had to do this💔

paige: i’m sorry baby

paige: wish i could be there ☹️

Apple cash payment: $100

azzi: for?

paige: gas

paige: and having to pump it yourself

paige: it’s a cruel world we live in

azzi: sometimes i feel like u think im poor

paige: naaa

paige: you know i love to spoil you

azzi hops back in the car, ten times lighter. tank full, lunch paid for, loved up by her perfect, hot girlfriend. we’re so up, she thinks.

“we can go home now?” sarah asks brightly.

“nope.” azzi pops the p. “we’re getting lunch. paige’s treat.”

“no way.” sarah snorts. “she’s like putty in your hands. bet you could ask her for a thousand and she’d immediately send it, no questions.”

“na, i’m sure she’d say something,” azzi replies. “she knows i don’t need her money.”

sarah’s eyes gleam. “i’ll bet you fifty that paige will send it with no hesitation.”

azzi hesitates. a thousand is a lot—surely paige would ask what it was for, if she even sent it. “alright,” she agrees. “fifty.” she pulls out her phone, sarah huddling over her shoulder.

azzi: P can you send $1000

azzi: please

they wait for a couple seconds. text bubbles pop up before they disappear again, and an apple cash message appears on the screen. Paige Bueckers sent you $1500.

paige: have fun baby

“well, well, well,” sarah snickers. “pay up.” shaking her head, she mutters under her breath, “i should’ve bet a hundred.”

azzi groans and sends $1450 back to paige.

[luveline]

kisses before dinner — steve comes home to his girls after a long day. 2k, mom!reader

Steve has a back ache twinging between his shoulders that takes his breath away as he treks the last step up to the front door. The door gets caught on the latch when he pushes it open, which is awesome, Steve’s so glad you’re being safe late at night, but deplorable in that he has wood grain etched into his jaw and no way inside. 

“Girls?” He knocks the glass pane. “Anybody home?” 

Everyone should be home. Your car is in the driveway, the girls’ shoes are by the wall. He pushes the door open as far as he can (not far) and weasels his face into the gap to look for you. It’s dark besides the upstairs bathroom light. 

Steve calls your name a few times, but eventually comes to the realisation that you’re all asleep and he’s locked out. He closes the door and heads back to his car to scrounge the spare back door key from under his seat. 

He fights through the garden gate covered in brambles to the backyard. It hasn’t been touched since summer, forgotten things left to the elements. Avery’s bike flakes with copper coloured rust against the wall. The trampoline net is tangled and fallen off of one side. There are plastic cups in the stinging nettles growing back beneath it and gummy bears swollen with water along the paving stones like some poor retelling of Hansel and Gretel. He unlocks the back door and promptly knocks over the trash can he’d left in front of it. His back whines as he cleans it away, but at least it’s warm inside. 

It’s good to be home. 

He shoves the toppled garbage back into the can, washes tomato sauce off of his hands in the sink, and lets himself bask in his own poorly lit company for a moment, rubbing his tired eyes. He was hoping for a welcome party. It took longer to help Robin move than they’d anticipated. 

“I won’t be back for a while,” he’d said apologetically down the phone. 

“Okie dokie,” you’d crooned. He didn’t need to see you to know there was a baby in your lap. “Just come home when you can, babe. And lift with your knees! I’ll put your plate in the fridge, yes? Love you.” Your voice turned to sugar. “Love you, love you, love you, honey.” You definitely weren’t talking to him at that point. Mother of my kids, he’d thought reverently, the strength of a thousand men restored for an hour or two before the fatigue truly set in and he and Robin considered leaving the rest of her furniture on her new front lawn.

He scratches his hair from his eyes with both hands. Mother of my kids, he thinks again. You’ve actually managed to keep the kitchen tidy, the only evidence of a day of play being the grape juice rings on the dining table placemats. How the fuck you’ve done it is a miracle worth marvelling. Three children, one (admittedly smaller) baby bump, and a full eighteen hours by yourself. You’re very impressive. 

He decides to tell you emphatically with his face in your neck. He should shower, and he will apologise to you for subjecting you to his sweaty hair in the morning. You’ll shrug off his apology, say something sweet about for better or worse or maybe wrinkle your nose and kiss him anyways. 

Steve honestly can’t find any shame about how much he likes you. Like and love can begin to diverge in a marriage, especially after kids when your duty as parents is more important than it is as partners, but you’ve yet to let him pull away, and he won’t give you a reason to. He’ll keep trying as hard as possible to be a husband you can adore. And you don’t have to do much, really. Realistically you give the majority of yourself every day to Steve and your kids, but he would cling to you if you got sick of it. He knows he would. You could turn hermit and live under the bed, and Steve would spend half his life on his stomach just looking at you.

Half trying to pull you out again. The other half getting the girls ready for school. He’s so tired he doesn’t realise that this is too many halves. 

When he gets to the top of the stairs he feels like a lifetime has passed since he left that morning, bright and early at 5AM. There’d been driving, car swaps, booing at people from behind the wheel, a hundred boxes, a million trips up and down the stairs, and a suspicious washing machine recalibration. This was without the cold coke drinking, peanuts, popcorn, mistimed movie references, and the obligatory insulting of Robin’s girlfriend’s mauve chaise, of which Robin refused to participate. 

Between all that, there’d been worrying, and a want for more phone calls. Promise me you’ll call me if you need anything at all, he’d said that morning, giving your face a fond caress. There’s a confidence that comes with this much love. Steve can pour every inch of his affection for you into one touch and knows you’ll soak it up like a sponge. Really. Any problems, any stress, any tantrums. Just call me. I’m ten minutes away. 

You were grateful if amused, telling him he didn’t need to worry so much, and then offering him another slice of toast. 

Is it weird how much I love my wife? he wonders, pushing open the bedroom door gently. 

You’re actually awake! He’s shocked and a little betrayed to find you looking at him, but the betrayal fades when he notices the swelling around your eyes and your trembling arm as you hoist yourself up under Avery’s weight. He’s woken you up coming in. 

“Sorry,” he mouths, frowning at your shakiness. 

You manage a smile and beckon him forward. The problem is the little ladies strewn about in the way. Avery drools on your chest while Dove takes up the entirety of Steve’s side, spread into a star shape, and Bethie snores loudly by your knees. An especially aggressive one makes him laugh as he rounds the bed to your side. 

“Hello,” he whispers, taking your face into a loving hand, “sorry I’m back so late.” 

You smile into his palm but don’t say anything. 

“You okay? Had a good day?” he asks.

You hum something nonsensical. He wipes at your cheek in the rough way you enjoy, your face bumped with every stroke of his thumb.

“Did you…”  Your eyelashes flutter closed. “Did you eat?” 

“Loads. Sorry. I’ll eat my dinner tomorrow.”

You wrinkle your nose. He’s been dying to see it. “Don’t bother, it wasn’t my best.”

“All dinners are your best.” 

You cover his hand with yours, and then you steal it away from your cheek and kiss it all over. Steve bends down to hug you.

“Missed you,” you say at the same time. Steve laughs. “Was it a long day?” you ask. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” 

“It was aeons,” you say. “The girls were good, mostly. Baby not so much.” 

“Aw, no,” he croons softly, “what’s she been doing?” 

“She won’t let me eat.” 

Steve rubs the top of your arm. “I’m sorry, honey. You should’ve called me.” 

“What are you gonna do, H?”

He breathes out into the side of your face. “You’re right, like always. What can I do?” 

He can’t do a thing to ease your morning sickness, so… Steve ends up taking a knee on the bed beside you to hold you for a while, no rush to lay down even though he aches in strings and shouts. “I’m glad I can’t get pregnant. I’d have hundreds of your babies if I could and it would be torture.” 

You laugh at his absurdity in the giggly startled way he’d been hoping for. 

“Did you throw up?” he asks, pulling away enough to see your face while his hand starts the soft journey down your front to your bump. You’re about three months along and the bump came quickly. It’s cute and Steve loves it and he tries not to be weird about it but he’s weird about you. 

“No, just kept churning. I made eggs for breakfast and we can’t eat them anymore.” 

Steve kisses your cheek, the corner of your eye, knowing it’ll make you happy. Your smile follows swiftly after, and he kisses that with gusto. “I don’t even like eggs,” he mumbles.

“You love eggs.” 

“What was it like being the stay at home mom today?” he asks. 

“Hard. But fun. Avery was being really nice to me all day, did you have something to do with that?” 

“Avery’s always nice.” 

Your smile widens impossibly, “Yeah, but she was asking me if I wanted to sit down and if I needed a glass of water all day.” 

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” 

“Well don’t do it again, H. She’s just a baby. She doesn’t need to worry about me.” 

Steve strokes your forehead, totally in your orbit. “She’s not worrying. Are you worrying about her when you take care of her? And sometimes you need a reminder.” 

You chew it over. “Okay… you’re right. You win that one, Harrington. Mostly ‘cos I’m too tired.”

Steve always wins when he gets to slide into bed next to you. You push yourself over and bunch the kids up tighter. There’s not quite enough room for him. He feels as though he’s one little legged kick from falling back out, but he doesn’t mind, wrapping an arm around you and Avery where she’s sliding off of you and onto the mattress between you both. The poor girl is in a deep sleep, dribbling from the corner of her mouth. Steve wipes it away. 

“You comfortable enough?” he asks. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” 

He rests his head against yours on the pillows. “Missed you.” 

“But you had fun, right?” 

“It was great. I feel like I ran a marathon.” 

“Exhausted?” you ask. 

“And accomplished… You sure you’re okay? It was a long day by yourself. That stunt you pulled in the kitchen? Incredible.” 

“I thought you’d like that. I told the girls you’d buy them a pony.” 

“You did not.” 

You laugh into his cheek. “No, I didn't, you caught me… I’m fine, really. I did miss you. It’s not nice, not seeing you. I’m used to a couple of hours, but it started feeling wrong when it was dark out, I… it’s silly but I was thinking about how horrible it would be if you never came back–”

Your pitch lifts up as Steve gasps and slaps a hand over your mouth (doesn’t slap, but covers, big hand on your lips and pressing them shut without sympathy). 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He meets your eyes, smiling hard despite the fatigue clinging to you both, and doesn’t buckle, even as you kiss his palm again. “Pregnancy brain is a scary thing.” 

Your eyes turn to melting. He’s putty immediately, pulling your hand away to caress your cheek. 

“Wanna be crazy in love in the morning?” he asks gently. You put your arm behind Avery’s back and smile as she snuggles into your ribs. Steve kisses your nose. “Go to sleep, honey. I can feel how tired you are. Back to normal in the morning.” 

“Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you, too.”

[corroded-hellfire]

For the Christmas requests ⛄

Imagine Christmas when Eliza is old enough to believe in Santa and everything is rather new to her, especially since her brothers are teenagers and probably don't have the same excitement as her and Eddie's emotional cause his boys are grown up now and very excited trying to make the most of the holidays with Eliza helping her write a letter to Santa, decorate the house etc etc

I simply fell in love with this idea the moment I read it 🥰

Words: 2.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Downstairs is quiet, the soft hum of the fridge all that’s piercing the calm silence. The living room is dim, the only light coming from the white twinkle of the Christmas tree in the living room. It casts a warm, inviting glow over the kitchen, making everything feel peaceful and still on this cold December night.

Ryan and Luke are tucked away in a corner of Ryan’s bedroom, a video game controller in each of their hands, fiercely battling one another to see who can kill the most zombies. You’re in the shower, letting the hot water take the chill out of your bones.

Eddie pads gently into the kitchen, looking to grab one of the frosted sugar cookies you made with Eliza earlier in the day. He pulls back the cling wrap and slips out a red frosted stocking-shaped cookie topped with snowflake sprinkles. As per usual for him, the cling sticks to Eddie’s fingers and he has to fumble his hand free without smearing any of the other cookies or ending up with multicolored frosting coating his skin.

Once he’s made a successful escape, Eddie lifts the cookie to his mouth—but stops halfway. He pauses, a small smile coming to his face as he looks at the cookie. Suddenly he’s transported back to when the boys were little.

“I don’t know why that’s in with the Christmas cookie cutters!” Luke crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs his small shoulders. The three-year-old is firm in his opinions already.

Eddie chuckles and uses his forefinger to dab flour on the tip of his younger son’s nose.

“Because it’s a stocking, duh!” Ryan says from the other side of his father.

“It looks like a J!” Luke replies, gesturing towards the offending cookie cutter in question.

“There aren’t any other letters here though!” Ryan retorts.

“Boys,” Eddie says, calmly putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a stocking or a J, does it? Santa is going to love it no matter what when you leave it for him tonight.”

Luke picks at the bottom corner of the rolled-out sugar cookie dough in front of him. He pinches it off before rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Do you think Santa will leave us more presents if we put chocolate chips in them?” Luke asks.

“Oh, good idea!” Ryan adds, face lighting up in excitement at the prospect.

“I think we can manage that,” Eddie says. He steps away from the counter to grab the bag of chocolate chips out of the pantry. When he turns back around, he watches his sons from behind as they move closer together.

“We gotta leave Santa the biggest cookies,” Ryan tells his younger brother quietly.

“So we can’t let Daddy eat them!” Luke adds, nodding emphatically.

Eddie lets out a silent chuckle before walking back to his previous post between his two sons.

“Alright, so why don’t we use the chips as buttons with this snowman cookie cutter?”

He smiles wistfully at the cookie in his hand before sinking a bite into it. The sound of his chewing prevents him from hearing the less-than-graceful footsteps that are slowly coming down the stairs.

Cookie fully crammed into his mouth, Eddie swipes a paper towel from the roll and wipes his hands off on it before turning to toss it in the garbage can under the sink.

Unruly curls catch in Eddie’s periphery and he does a double take when he sees Eliza standing there, long pale pink nightgown hanging around her, and her stuffed pig Penelope dangling from her hand at her side.

Eddie swallows the cookie and tosses the paper towel into the trash bin.

“What are you doing up, sweetheart?” he asks. “I thought you were sleeping.”

Your three-year-old shakes her head, clearly tired.

“What’s going on, huh? Did you have a bad dream?” Eddie cocks his head to the side and takes a few steps closer to her.

Eliza shakes her head and rubs her right eye with her free hand.

“Can’t sleep,” she says.

Eddie frowns and crouches down to be at her level.

“Why not?”

“I not write my letter yet,” she says.

Your husband’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion.

“What letter?” he asks, head tilting to the side.

“For Santa.” Her dark sleepy eyes widen and Eddie can see the true worry there. “If I don’t write it for him, he won’t get in time.”

“Ah.” Eddie nods in understanding. He remembers the days when Luke and Ryan would write their letters together at the kitchen table, always peeking over to see what the other was asking for and double checking that they weren’t asking for the same toys. There’s a sudden pang in his heart that the boys are teenagers now; that young, joyful, magical wonder is long gone from their Christmases. Eddie knows he should tell Eliza that they’ll write the letter tomorrow and to get back to bed. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to indulge in this joy with her. To help her keep her endearing innocence when it comes to Christmas magic.

“Why don’t we fix that right now, huh?” Eddie asks. “Write your letter real quick, then you get back to bed and I’ll send it out to Santa before I go to sleep.”

Eliza nods, bedhead curls bobbing with the movement. She takes a few steps forward and lovingly rests her forehead against Eddie’s right cheekbone. Your husband smiles at the sweet, if not sleepy, gesture.

“Let’s see what we’ve got,” he says. Eddie presses a kiss to the top of her head before standing back up to full height.

The drawer next to the sink gracefully glides open and Eddie pulls out a notepad and pen. He holds them both in one hand and offers the other to his daughter.

“Shall we?” he asks.

Eliza’s small hand folds into his much larger one and the two walk towards the dining room table. Eddie pulls out a cherry oak chair and lowers himself down on it. He effortlessly lifts Eliza and sets her on his left thigh, facing in toward the table. The blank lined paper stares up at the pair of them and Eddie lets a black pen roll from his grip.

“So,” Eddie says, uncapping the pen with one hand while the other arm holds Eliza safely in place. “What are we going to tell Santa?”

The little girl plucks the pen from her father’s grip and presses the tip to the top of the page of paper.

“How I spell ‘dear Santa?’”

Eddie guides her through those letters, occasionally correcting her on how to properly draw them out. After she writes her greeting and adds a comma that’s longer than her father’s hair, Eliza tilts her head up at Eddie.

“Now what do you want to say?” Eddie asks her.

“Ummm…” Eliza looks back down at the paper. Her nose scrunches up as she tries to envision the perfect letter in her mind. “Wanna tell him about me.”

“Go ahead, sweet pea.”

“Daddy, can you help me write?”

A soft smile graces Eddie’s face before he presses a few gentle kisses to the top of his little girl’s head.

“Anything for you, Lize.”

Eddie’s right hand gently curls around Eliza’s, guiding it below the greeting, to the next line.

“Uh, I Eliza,” she says, trying to figure out what content to add.

“How about how old you are?” Eddie offers.

Eliza nods and relaxes back against her father’s chest as they continue to write as a team.

“Can I ask him questions?” Eliza asks, peering nervously down at the sheet of paper.

“I think he’d love that,” Eddie assures her.

Dear Santa,

My name is Eliza and I am three years old. I have been very good all year. Except the time that I took one of my brother Luke’s cleats cleets baseball shoes. I didn’t want him to go to baseball practice, I wanted him to stay home and play with me. But I gave Luke his shoe back and he said it was okay, so I don’t think that is something to put me on the naughty list for.

There are lots of things I want for Christmas but Daddy says I can only tell you the ones I really really want because you’re busy with all the other kids. I would please like a new Barbie doll. I want her to have red hair because then she will look like my best friend Mia and my Aunt Max. I also want a new princess crown because I don’t have a green one yet. Can I also have a tea set so I can have tea parties with my mommy? I want to ask for one more thing and Daddy says Mommy won’t like it, but I want a tiny dragon who can sleep on my bed with me. But no fire breathing because that is too hot.

Santa, is it always cold in the North Pole? How many reindeer do you have? Are there more than the ones you fly with? Where do they live? Does Rudolph have a bigger house than the rest of them? Maybe I can name my dragon Rudolph!

Okay, I have to go to bed now and I want my daddy to send this letter to you right now. So bye and I hope you get lots of yummy cookies but none that are yummier than the ones I made with Mama.

Love,

Eliza Marie Munson

Eddie smiles as he helps her sign off with the final “n” of their last name.

“Feel better now?” Eddie asks.

Eliza nods, stretching her mouth wide open in a yawn as she does. Your husband presses a few kisses to the girl’s head as she leans back against his torso. Penelope the pig starts to slip off of her lap but Eddie is able to make a quick save and set the doll on the table.

When he peers down at her, Eddie can see that Eliza is already fast asleep. Her body goes pliant as her soft breathing evens out. Solid arms wrap around her tiny frame and Eddie holds her close to his chest as he pushes the chair away from the table and stands up.

He manages to finagle her more to his left so he can scoop up Eliza’s beloved Penelope in the other hand. Slowly, Eddie heads towards the stairs and takes one careful step at a time until he reaches the second story of the house. Eliza’s room is at the end of the hall and, just as the two of them pass by the door to your bathroom, you pull it open.

A smile graces your lips when you see the peaceful face of your sleeping daughter. You tie the belt of your plush bathrobe as you follow Eddie down the hallway to Eliza’s room. First, Eddie tosses Penelope down onto the small bed. Then he slowly, as not to wake her, lowers Eliza’s fragile form, cradling the back of her head with one large hand.

The moment her body comes into contact with her blankets, Eliza buries her face in her pillow and curls up against her crumpled and bunched-up comforter. A content sigh is all you hear before her soft breathing fills the room.

Arms now free, Eddie pulls you against his body and the two of you just stand there in the moment. It reminds you of how you’d simply stare down in awe at your daughter when she was a newborn. Everything about her was new and exciting. Now, you admire how those features have changed. Her cheeks still hold that round but chubbable marker of toddlerhood. The little button nose she’s had from the moment you laid eyes on her hasn’t changed at all—even though it crinkles up more these days whenever she laughs.

“She’s perfect,” Eddie whispers, bringing you back to the present.

“Of course she is,” you reply at the same volume. “We made her.”

After taking one last look at your sleeping daughter, the two of you quietly slip out of her room. The sound of Ryan and Luke battling one another in some form of virtual combat leaks out into the hallway and you chuckle. Eddie listens as well, remembering when those voices weren’t as deep as they’ve started to become recently and were excited about the things Eliza is now.

You head down the stairs, Eddie right behind you. The soft white lights gleaming on the tree fill the living room with a warm glow that’s unlike any other during the year. Swaddled up in your robe, you sit down on the couch and pat the cushion next to you. Eddie takes the cue and settles in at your side. The serenity of the moment lulls you into sleepiness. You rest your head on your husband’s shoulder and he gently lays his head atop yours.

After a few quiet moments, Eddie whispers, “I missed this.”

“Missed what, Eds?” you ask, letting your eyes succumb to their heaviness.

“The magic,” Eddie replies wistfully. “The Santa, and the reindeer, and the pure innocence and joy of those little faces when they see what’s under the tree for them. Christmas is still so meaningful with the boys at this age, but there’s a spark that’s missing once they know the truth. It’s back, though. Even with the boys, I can see it. The way they ask Eliza when she wants to go see Santa at the mall or if she wants to make reindeer food to leave out for them on Christmas Eve.”

A soft chuckle rumbles through your chest.

“What’s reindeer food?” you ask.

“Basically trail mix,” Eddie says with a soft laugh of his own. “It was Luke’s idea when he was little.”

“I’m glad you feel that magic again,” you tell him. “That’s the Christmas spirit.”

“Don’t go singing carols on me,” Eddie teases.

You laugh and turn your head to bury your face in his neck, the familiar scent of Irish Spring soap making you take a deep breath in.

“How about we just enjoy this silent night then?” you ask, pressing a light kiss to the side of Eddie’s throat.

“Good thinking,” Eddie says, tucking you into his side. “It’s only a matter of time before we get interrupted by one of our little drummer boys—or girl.”

“Hmm,” you hum, resting your head on your husband’s shoulder. “Then I think I’ll soak up every second of this cuddle time with you.”

“Merry Christmas to me.”

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Two can play | The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Notes/Warnings: AU - Reader wins the games - Obsess!Salesman - Possessive!Salesman - Red flag - Stalker -  Unhealthy relationship - Sex  - Salesman lowkey wants to die - OOC maybe -

"So? What do you say? How about a game? You must have seen this in movies"

After three years of looking for him, he just casually shows up. Looking as smooth as ever, looking down on you, like you were nothing, like trash.

But you did not survive six deadly games for nothing, taking a seat across from him with no emotion.

He smiled pleased to see you coperate. He had to admit, he had feel a trill when he noticed you were looking for him. The Man who gave you the card to change your life, some part of him felt like he was in you. Like this new you, the look on your face, the way you moved, it was because of him.

"Spin it" Was your response. You were not sure what you were feeling right now. But fear was not on the list.

Happy ? Nervous ? Conflicted ? Confused ? Why did you go out and look for him? Because you needed some type of way to close that part of your life ? To kill him ? Did you think on killing him ?

"Looks like its your turn" He said the smirk on his face giving away how much he was liking this.

You took the gun, eyes on him, the gun pressed on the side of your head. Cold metal, chances of living were high but the chance of dying was there.

Why did you not feel scared ? Did the games really change you ?

"How does it feel? To have death close again? And by your own hand?" He asked but you did not respond at first.

"This is nothing like I went against" You said pulling the trigger not moving when nothing happened. Leaving the gun on the table you talked again.

"Why ? Why work for them ? You send people to their deaths and you go home like nothing"

"Oh sweet (Y/N) do you blame me for their death?" He asked pulling the gun besides his own head and pulling the trigger with centrain will, like this was not his first time.

"No. You are just their dog. You just move your tail and follow the ball, thats how low you go"

Something in his eyes flicker, anger?

But it was quick moved away as he left the gun once again.

"And you? Do you think you are special because you won?" He asks leaning over the table his breath hitting your face. "You are like the rest of them (Y/N), just a scum and a worm. Someone who's life had nothing to offer"

Anger flew throw your body and you picked the gun once again the barrel against your head with more pressure than needed.

"Shut it. You dont known whats like do you? How could someone like you be emphatic towards others? I believe that word must not be in your dictionary at all"

The gun clicked, nothing happen once again.

"You think you are above me ? Like your morals gives you the right to down talk to me ?" He said taking the gun and leaning once again over you. "This is why I hate winners. You all think you are something worth it. Like you are the start of a film" His tone showed frustration, not only because of what you said but also because of what he felt towards you. With any other winner he would have never show himself. He would have let the organization do its work.

But no. He did offer himself for the task. If you were to die tonight it needed to be by his hand.

But why? Why did he feel like that ?

He looked at you, like he was expecting the answer to just come. With less exciment than last round he pulled it once again, a part of him being ready to leave this place. To not have to face the uncentrain. But nothing. The gun was left on the table once more. Something changed on the room, the 50/50 chance was now yours to take. And part of you did feel scared, but also at peace...like if someone was worth of taking your life was him. Even if the Man was someone you were not sure what feelings you had for him.

Slowly you took the gun once more. This time it was heavier, the chances were slim and him who never loses a chance noticed your now less fire revoke.

"Its getting harder right? There is only a 50% you will survive this round. But you could also say fuck the rules. I have the gun, one shot maybe two and the man in front of me will be dead and I will walk free. But if you do that you would admit that you are nothing but scum, nothing more than someone who got lucky, who's life means nothing"

Maybe a part of him wanted you to do it. The secure your life. Even if it was his the one who would end dead, the conflict he felt when he stepped in to make sure he would be the one in charge of your punishment were back.

Did he want you to die or was this is twisted way of at least give you a chance on surviving? He knew the organization would not be so kind.

But his words only made that fire in you get back. Trembling you pulled the trigger and when nothing happened you left it on the table with hard deep breaths not beliving your luck.

And now your fate was on him, if he would follow the rules of just kill you right there. It would safe him lots of problems you assumed. And also, you did not mind if it was him, he gave you the way in, he taking you out seemed almost poetic.

You saw his eyes now a flicker of something, you were not sure what it was.

"What? Its the 100% of death getting you? But you could also fuck the rules and shot me. Maybe your Boss would be so proud of you and will toss you a bone in compensation. But then you would have to admit. You wanted this. You wanted this to happen, to see us again. You wanted to be the one who would have my life in your hands. Because at the end of the day I was the only one who showed you just a bit of kidness" You whispered seeing him take the gun pulling it under his chin. "That day at the station, I was probably the only one who got worried over you"

Tense silence filled the room as you saw him for once not pull the trigger at once. His own mind was racing, yes his Boss will be happy with me and would give him money because he had deal with a problem.

But did he want that ? Or did he want you ? In a twisted way that left no room for a romance of a book but rather an obsession formed because of death and feelings he could not point out or he was too scared to even acknowledge them.

"Cmon pull the trigger" You said now yourself towering over him. "Pull the trigger or accept that you wanted this. You wanted me to find you, you wanted someone to go after you. Because no one does, no one cares for you"

The Salesman grip on the gun got thighter, he could end your life. He could end his life.

"What? Getting cold feet now? Facing the truth its hard right?" You taunted "You do some much high talk, but you are someone pitiful, someone broken who just knows the bad in people and has forced himself to believe that no one would ever care for you"

Right. He was a bad Man. He had no feelings, no attachments, it was easier that way. He never thought he was burning down human bodies, or who he was killing, he never flicked when he saw it was is own father who he had to kill. And he never cared for these he ended giving the card for the games.

"Sir..I think I went over myself last round" Your voice sounded so shy as you saw his cheeck get more red. You could not help it. The frustration had won over your own accord.

He blinked suprised by the froce and the burning feeling. It had been a while since he was slapped this hard. However the thing that truly brought him back was a soft cloth against his cheeck.

You were trying to consol him. Or at least to erase some of the pain. Him, the Man who had hitted you for five rounds now and basically mocked you. But your eyes had no look of anger just guilt...

"Sorry, it was not my intention to hurt you"

He softly took your hand and pull it away from his face. Your soft skin sending a electric shock down his body. He felt....human. And seen, like only you could care for him.

"No need to apologize Miss" He responded getting back to is usual self but a centrain and real happiness was within him. "Lets continue playing"

He admited it only weeks later how much regret he had because he ended giving you the card.

"So lets me ask you once more, why now? After three years? And why you" You pressed tears of frustration starting to form "Fucking answer me or pull that dam trigger"

What he did in response was something you never saw coming. The cold noise of the gun against the floor was the first thing your mind registered, the second were his lips on yours. Devouring you like he had waited for this moment for far too long. You could not keep up with him as he bited down your lips, pulling them till you opened your mouth and he traced the inside with his tongue. He held you by your neck pulling away after a moment when air was needed but he went on, leaving kisses down your neck, biting hard on the exposed flesh.

"Who gave you the right?" He asked but it was more to himself as he took your face between his hands. You could see for the first time the number of emotions on his always calculated eyes.

"Who gave you the right to have this control over me ? To make me think over myself again ? To ask myself things that I thought were buried"

He kissed you once more pulling you with him over the couch, letting you be on top of him as his hands went over your sides.

"Three years because I had to prepare myself. I had to be centrain that I wanted to do it" He said between kisses his left hand groping your ass. "If you were going to die tonight then only me could deliver it. Only I got to see the last time your beautiful eyes shine with life"

You could not make sense of his words. Lost in the pleasure, he heat of his body and his hand. These big hands of his going under your shirt leaving goosebumps as they went higher and higher.

"But now I know. I dont want to kill you, no. What I want its for complicated" He whispered into your ear biting it. "I want you as mine. I dont care if you want to end these games, I dont care what you want to do with the information i have. But i know what i want, and thats you"

"You are making it sound like a fucking love declaration" You said between hard breaths as he kissed down your neck pulling your shirt off.

"And you chased me for three years" He said it with a smirk on his face "So who is the crazy one at the end? I know something that you truly know too. Only I can understand you and be with you. I met you when you were nothing and had no one, and now? Well you do have the money but you are still alone"

It did hit hard you had to admit it. But he went on before you could talk.

"And you dont have to. You can be with me, let all that past suffering and loniles behind, all you have to do is to submit to me" His last words were puntuated with a thrust of his hips so you could feel how hard he was under you.

"So whats its going to be (Y/N)? A path of sadness with no one to turn and trust. Or one where you can see the devil in the eye and know its yours?"

"So now you are the devil?" You asked your own hips rolling over him making him groan in delight.

"To some...Im. To you? I can be anything you want" He said giving you one final kiss to leave you breathless.

Maybe it was the heat of the moment, the adrenaline from the game, or his wandering hands over you. But you could not denied him. You wanted him, more than anything.

"Then, I will look you in the eye, and be sure I have all your attention" You said pulling his hair to expose his neck and kiss him "You and I, what a sick twisted fate"

Sick and twisted indeed. But he would not have you in any other way.

[smosh-fessions]

I think a big part of Smosh community, particularly on Twitter, is straight up vile. Much of the Damien hate is rooted in not liking his "vibes", or "the way he speaks". Like I've seen people unironically tweet saying Damien should just shut up and not talk because it annoys them when he talks. I've seen these same people claim that Angela hates him, or how Damien is trying to take advantage of Angela to make himself more popular because he's become a forgotten Smosh member or some stuff like that. Genuinely horrid shit that they spout with zero shame. Absolute losers.

So much of it is rooted in ableism because of him being autistic. It's fucked up and the people who act like that need to grow the hell up. Didn't your parents ever tell you that if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all?

When you are actively a 'hater', I consider you to be more of a fan than an actual fan, since it's all you ever talk about. These people talk about Damien and Damangela more than the actual people who stan Damien and ship Damangela to begin with! Then they turn around and complain that those people are mad at them and talking to them and it's just like... no shit? You expect people to just let you run your ableist little mouth and not have someone tell you to shut the hell up? You don't get to just talk trash about people scot free, my guys. It's beyond immature, it's beyond pathetic, and one day you're going to look back at your behavior and be embarrassed as shit and I hope that day comes sooner rather than later.

The only ship that gets shit on so hard is Damangela, because as far as I can tell everyone has decided on their own that Angela is a lesbian, and she isn't. She also cares about Damien very much. Did you guys all miss her on Perfect Person saying she sought him out drunkenly just to tell him emphatically how much she loves him and appreciates him? People have made up that she hates him just because their dynamic isn't in your face and it's ridiculous, and knowing what I know about Angela, she wouldn't appreciate people deciding she hates one of her friends. It's not cool and it's childish to do.

Sorry for the length and the rant but I'm so, so tired of this behavior. It's just middle school bullying all over again.

[syntheticavenger]

Nothing to see here, move along.

Let Him Loose - Two

A continuation of a little project I started here.

Dark! Ari Levinson x Female Reader / Dennis Baker x Female Reader

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language, world building, possibly a little murder right out of the gate?

Summary | After your boyfriend’s promotion, he means to make amends with his estranged parents, including his older brother. As family wounds come to light, so do the secrets that have been buried for decades.

Sweat dots her brow, the older woman scrubbing at a stubborn stain on her favorite skillet, ignoring her husband who opens the fridge to grab a beer, wordless before the crack of the top of the bottle gets her attention. It’s been a week of nonstop cleaning, painting and redecorating, the countdown on the calendar circled in blue pen.

”Did you take out the trash like I asked?” She questions, the man giving a slight sound of what appears to be a yes. “Elvin, I asked you a question.”

”I said yes, woman,” he speaks up, the woman stopping her scrubbing at the tone of his voice. “Why on earth are you so worried about making the place look good? It’s Dennis. The boy knows home.”

”It ain’t just about him knowing about home, he’s bringing her,” she reminds him, Elvin turning around at her mention of you.

”Is he?” Elvin emphasizes, seeing his wife’s head nod emphatically. With that, he snorts, thinking of his youngest son in disbelief at the news. “Thought you were pullin’ my chain. A girl. That changes everything, don’t it?”

She scrubs away at the stain, looking at her handiwork for a moment before slipping it into the hot, soapy water, leaning over the sink with a heavy sigh.

”Can’t have this place lookin’ like a pigsty. She’s a city girl, Elvin. Lord knows she’s gonna turn up her nose at everything we have and then some so the least I can do is make sure the house looks tidy.”

Elvin shakes his head in disgust at her worrying.

”Bernadette, since when do you care what a city girl thinks about our home?”

“I don’t. But I can keep up the appearance in the meantime.”

Elvin nods at her response, realizing that his wife is much smarter than he ever gives her credit for. Scratching behind his neck, he looks on at the pristine kitchen, redone with fancy wallpaper and some spackle and paint to cover the cracks. It does look good, he has to admit to himself, Bernadette finishing up the last of the dishes.

“Does Ari know?”

She pauses for a moment, looking over her shoulder as she gives him a wink.

”He will.”

-

The clack of billiard balls are overshadowed by the raucous music, heavy conversation and servers announcing the next round of drinks while they visit their tables. Another local watering hole, nothing special about it except for the cheap beer and the waitresses who try for extra tips by showing all the skin they can get away with. One in particular hangs around, her shorts slung over on her hips when she comes by again, placing another beer in front of him.

”Never seen you before,” she hints, batting her eyelash extensions at him. “I’m Donna.”

“First time,” he answers, reaching for the beer. “Ari.”

”Ari,” she repeats, nodding her head. “I like it.”

He simply nods, giving her nothing to work with as she leans over the table, her cleavage on full display.

”What do you say you and I get a little more acquainted? I’m off in thirty minutes.”

Ari’s blue eyes lock with hers as she smiles. He leans in closer, getting a waft of her cheap body spray. It’s overpowering but it doesn’t deter him, not in the slightest.

”That could be arranged,” he begins, his curled index finger gliding down her heavily blushed cheek. “Got a little fetish though, if you don’t mind indulging me..”

She leans in closer, her teeth dragging excitedly on her thin lower lip.

”Tell me.”

”Well… I like a little chase. Gets the heart rate up.”

With a loud laugh, she leans up with a snap, tucking the tray under her arm.

”Say less. Meet you out back. I even got my running shoes on.”

Ari settles back in his seat, his stomach growling. It’s been hours since he ate. The appetizer that sits in front of him is untouched, the cheese dip congealing into something that looks like mush.

Glancing over his text messages, he smirks at the message he’s left his younger brother, left on read when Ari had mentioned he had wanted to meet her. Poor Dennis, trying to keep her a secret, only to fail and succumb to the pressure of wanting to brag about finally having a girlfriend after being teased and bullied for so long. Not that he could fault him - he would have gloated too if he’d had decades of a dry spell.

After a little business, he downs his beer, stomach still growling as he feels the aching gnaw in the pit of his gut. It’ll subside eventually. It always does one he’s sated.

The moon hides behind the clouds and for a moment, Ari takes it in, looking at his brand new watch to note the time before he takes it off and slips it into his jean pocket.

Whistling to himself, he tosses a few dollar bills on the table, cracking his neck from side to side before heading out the exit and to the back of the bar like Donna had requested.

-

Bernadette sits out on the porch, wiping her brow before fanning herself with the ornate handmade handheld fan that Ari bought her during his business trip to Guangzhou. The ice in her iced tea is melting rapidly, floating on the surface like tiny glaciers. She’s finally alone with her thoughts, Elvin gone to bed to get up early to tend to the farm. Nights like these keep her awake, thinking of her boys who used to play on the front lawn until all hours of the night until she carried them back to their beds.

It’s been years since she’s had her sons in the house, thunder rumbling overhead as she sips her drink, thinking to the future. Annabelle Tatum thought she was the only one with something to talk about, her only daughter finally getting married. The dour faced girl with pock marked skin after several bouts of acne had been extremely shy but had grown into her looks, something that Bernadette had prayed to God to forgive her for once saying out loud when the girl had come back from college.

Like most, the ones who came back never left again, just as Annabelle’s daughter. Two kids in tow now, another on the way, Annabelle gushing at the eventual new arrival every chance she got.

It isn’t like Bernadette had a rebuttal. Everyone knew she had one son that grew up to be something. Ari was a star baseball player, a swagger in his gait and a smile that lit up a room. She’d raised him well, happy to see him stick to his roots and defy the agents who came with blank checks and big dreams to make him a star. An enlistment and three tours later, the once gawky teenager with long hair and a shuffle in his step had emerged to be a mountain of a man with that same husky drawl and even longer hair, albeit much richer than his parents had ever thought he’d be.

Then there was Dennis.

Secretly, he’d always been her favorite, as sinful as that could be to have a mother love one son over another by a small margin. How could he not be with his once clear framed glasses, bruises marked on his elbows and knees from the amount of times he would get knocked down. For as long as she could remember, she always wanted her little Dennis to win, even if Elvin didn’t think he would. There was grit in his spirit, even when he’d come home, teary eyed and unwilling to talk about the fights he had lost, he’d get back up and do it all over again.

But there was a need for him to put distance between what he always knew and the great unknown. She never approved - still doesn’t now, even after all these years. Once he was given a scholarship, including the others that he had secretly applied to, there was no looking back. No amount of convincing that staying here would be safer for his psyche worked.

Bernadette swallows hard at the lump that forms in her throat when she thinks about how long he’s been gone. Christmases still aren’t the same, even when Ari comes with his fully loaded truck packed to the gills with the newest household gadgets for her to try and new furniture for them, the loss of knowing her youngest wants nothing to do with their family traditions.

While she can understand to a point, Elvin in his older age has grown tired of pretending that he can live with Dennis’ decision. As the head of the household, Elvin looks to Ari to carry on the family name, to take care of her and the farm when he eventually passes away. It’s a way of life, especially with their kind, something that she knows he’s been talking about more than usual. She isn’t ready to discuss it.

She isn’t sure if she’s ever ready to have him bring up the topic again.

But as it’s written, the law handed down a century and then some ago, there’s a ceremonial meaning to Dennis coming home. She hopes it’s because of the call, intertwined in his DNA that makes him want to return home.

Placing her drink down, she closes her eyes, the fan in her hand moving rapidly.

Yes, she thinks.

He knows where home is.

-

Ari’s boots crunch on the gravel, the first strings of dawn beginning to form, his hand plunging into his pant pocket and pulling out his watch. He looks back at the discarded clothes and smiles, reaching for his keys in his back pocket.

Dennis finally replied to his text, a simple acknowledgment with a thumbs up emoji. Never a man of words, this is all the conversation Ari will get before they meet in person, something he knows Dennis won’t want to do. Ari doesn’t mind pulling rank, especially on his younger brother.

Shrugging on his flannel and buttoning it down, the chill of the air makes everything feel still, as if any slight noise will shatter this serene moment. Opening the door to his truck, he examines his teeth in the rear view, picking out a piece of bone before flicking it out of his window.

With a few simple presses of buttons, all the windows lower, rock music playing loudly as he reverses, gravel spraying upward before he throws it into drive, accelerating and leaving the mountains behind.

He’s not hungry anymore but tiredness hovers over his eyes.

There’s a small diner on the way to his parents’ house, where the coffee is fresh and people know to keep clear of him. A healthy fear, one that he uses to his advantage when the time calls for it. No doubt in a few hours, they’ll pretend that they didn’t see him, deny that he was there.

He snaps his fingers to the beat of the music, hitting his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums.

He’ll be home before dinner.

Just in time to size up Dennis’ new girl.

-

Elvin watches the truck pull up in the driveway, the music still thunderous before it abruptly shuts off, Ari flinging the door open. In the back of the truck are more gifts, Elvin finding himself shaking his head with the idea of where he will put the things he’d bought.

”Where’s Ma?” Ari questions, Elvin’s head tilting toward the house. 

”Shower. Gotta get dolled up for the prodigal son and the city girl, ya know,” Elvin quips, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. “What’s in the back?”

“Figured that we can’t have Denny back in the house without a little celebration,” Ari says, adjusting his sunglasses before slamming the door shut. “Brought some meat for Ma to cook up for tonight. Figured we could have a right feast this time.”

[acourtofthought]

Rhys and Az on the Illyrians:

“The Illyrians,” Rhys smoothly cut in, that light finally returning to his gaze, “are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.”

“They’re barbarians,” Amren said, and neither Illyrian male objected.(this scene included Azriel) Mor nodded emphatically, even as she noted Azriel’s posture and bit her lip. “They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors.”

“The Illyrians are pieces of shit,” he said too quietly.

Rhys to Feyre's face:

"but I never thought you’d actually dabble with mortal trash.” My face burned.

He stalked toward us. Tamlin remained holding me. “Look at what you’ve done to my pet.”

Cassian to Nesta’s face:

“Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.”

“Well, I didn’t have a choice in being shackled to you, either.”

But do tell keep telling us how Lucien is so terrible for befriending Jurian after Jurian commented on the brutality he believed the Illyrians to be capable of.

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader) - bonus post-epilogue chapter

Note:  I randomly wanted to write a wedding, but I don't actually include the ceremony, so this is more like a "pre-wedding/post-wedding" story if we're being honest ! Also it takes place about 2 years after the epilogue :)

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Content! (Explicit Language/Sexual Content).

(Read on Ao3) /// (Masterpost)    

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sydney held the wooden spoon toward you and the scent of the honey and ginger glaze tickled your nostrils. Earlier in the afternoon, she rolled the sleeves of her dark green sweater to her elbows and the beaded bracelet (a gift from Richie’s daughter, Eva) slid partway down her wrist.

“Alright, it’s your entree. You get to try it first.”

“I thought that was the chef’s honor?”

“Yeah, well, you’re the bride so…” she trailed off, shrugging. “I think that superimposes chef’s honor.”

You smiled and raised both eyebrows at Syd. She didn’t have to help, especially considering how busy The Bear is nowadays, but she offered and you gratefully accepted. Wedding planning – as it turned out – was a stressful affair. You and Carmy had your location set, but the guest list, wedding registry, and menu were woefully incomplete. You tangled yourselves into knots over the planning, but the goal remained firm in your mind; a celebration with Carmy and your friends mixed with the legality of marriage. You would overcome any hurdles you needed to cross because all of it would be worth it in the end.

Wordlessly, you closed your mouth over the spoon. Your lips puckered and your tongue recoiled to the safety of your back molars.

“Oh, oh shit,” Sydney said emphatically, “you hate it.”

“N-no!” You coughed, swallowing, and grabbing your glass of water. “The acidity is just a little...strong. It needs to be adjusted, that’s all.”

“Fuck,” she said, slapping her palm on the wooden countertop. “Okay – uh – that’s okay. We can – I can totally fix this. No biggie.” When she tasted the glaze, her expression pinched before she stuck out her tongue and gagged. “Yeah, nope.” She released a forced, short laugh. “There’s no saving that one.”

You loved Syd’s earnest, anxious awkwardness. Her blunt nature had been the first foundational stone of your friendship. You liked that she didn’t let Carmy off the hook, regardless of his experience and talent, and their partnership was an integral component to the Bear’s continued success.

“Back to the drawing board,” you said, drumming your fingers on the countertop. “Maybe ginger is too sharp? Do we lean more savory?”

“Interesting idea coming from the baker,” she teased.

“Hey!” You pretended to be offended and infused your tone with as much indignation as you could. “Just because I run a bakery doesn’t mean I have a sweet tooth.”

Syd laughed. “There is literally a bowl of candy by the entryway.”

“It’s for Halloween.” You crossed your arms and said, “There are a ton of families in this building.” In truth, your lack of nicotine intake after quitting smoking had manifested into a ravenous sweet tooth and, the lollipops – although bad for your teeth – were monumentally healthier than cigarettes.

“Dude, Halloween is seven months away.”

“We’re prepared.”

“What for like kids who don’t know how to like tell time and show up a few months early?”

“Obviously.”

She finished scraping the glaze into the trash. “You’re fucking ridiculous.” Her bright smile faded and the light entered her dark eyes. You recognized it as her ‘I have an idea face’ and your mood lifted—the overly sour glaze quickly forgotten. When Carmy said he wanted The Bear to cater your wedding, you had been shocked, and concerned about the additional stress it would add to your lives. However, with Syd in your kitchen, the pan gripped in her hand and her expression rapt with wonder, you realized that you had nothing to worry about. The wedding’s menu and food preparation were in the best hands.

“Do you have any soy sauce?” she asked, “Worcestershire sauce will work too, or liquid aminos if we’re desperate.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmy watched as your fingers held aloft over the keyboard and the spreadsheet glared menacingly in a harsh blue-white glow. The guest list had been easy to start. The obvious ones were Syd, Natalie, Peter, Richie and Eva, and your best friend, Taylor. The harder choices were family and how to arrange the tables. Your eyebrows angled in confusion and you drew your hands away.

“I’m not inviting my dad,” you said after a moment’s pause.

Carmy nodded. “Okay.”

His neck prickled uncomfortably. It wasn’t the flushed heat that arrived when he felt embarrassed. No. This discomfort traveled from his neck to his fingers. It raked across his skin like a thousand needles, pricking every nerve, and drawing blood. He thought about going to his coat pocket and withdrawing a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The quick, cold rush of nicotine would ease his headache and calm his nerves. But, if he smoked, then he’d need to walk downstairs and into the blustery sharp gray wind of March. And he didn’t want to bail on you. The puzzle of who to invite and who to sit with whom was a project for the both of you to untangle.

“I dunno if I should…” He cleared his throat and looked away when your eyes met his over the laptop screen. “I dunno.”

“Your mom?” you correctly guessed.

Carmy sniffed, scratched the side of his nose, and nodded. His heart thumped into his ribs. Maybe he should take a walk. Maybe the March air would clear this dreadful feeling from his skull. His stomach hardened into a pit at the idea of his mom coming to his wedding. But, at the same time, his dread and fear congealed into a sharp guilt that curdled his stomach acid. His mom was a force to be reckoned with. A hurricane of a woman. He loved her. He didn’t know if he wanted her at the wedding. He knew she’d be upset if she weren’t invited. But, both of you decided to keep the guest list small. The careful cuts were necessary, and not just due to the frugality aspect, but in terms of everyone’s enjoyment.

“She’d make it about her,” he said, “remember Sophia’s second birthday?”

You placed your hand on the middle of Carmy’s back, right between his tense shoulder blades, and he forced a harsh exhale through his teeth. They almost called the police, Carmy thought with a frown. His mom showed up and seemed fine, and then shortly before cake and presents, she buckled little Sophia into her car and claimed that Natalie hated her and didn’t want Sophia to have a relationship with her grandmother. His niece, at the age when separation anxiety often occurred, cried so much that she threw up on her special birthday dress.

“I do,” you said and your eyes softened.

“I’m a terrible son,” Carmy said, “I’m a fucking asshole. We have to invite her, don’t we? She deserves to be there.”

“Carmy, you’re not.” You rubbed his back. “Do you think I’m an asshole for not inviting my dad?”

He quickly said, “No.” The pit in his stomach gnawed at his smoke-deprived lungs. “It’s different.”

“How so?”

“He has another family.” Carmy stood, raking his hand through his hair. “My mom only has Nat and me.”

“So you have to sacrifice your happiness and comfort for hers?”

“Yes!” he said immediately followed by a quick, “No. I don’t know.” He reached into his coat pocket hanging by the door and fished out the squashed packet of cigarettes.

You trailed after him and wound your arms around him, pressing your face into his back, your hands coming to rest over his heart. Carmy froze. The pressure of your hands on his chest made him realize how fast his heart was beating. He squeezed the cigarette packet and it crinkled beneath his clammy fingers.

“Remind me,” you said, voice faintly muffled by his t-shirt, “what was the possible diagnosis your therapist gave her?”

“Borderline personality disorder.” His therapist also said his mom could have narcissistic personality disorder, but BPD was more likely, based on his descriptions of childhood. It helped to have a name for it. It gave him a better understanding of everything he went through.

“Which defines her behavior but doesn’t excuse it,” you said as you circled around him to face him. “Carmy, I love you.” You cupped his face in your hands. “I will support you if you want to invite Donna and I’ll weather any storms she brings with her. Who knows...maybe it’ll be a good day for her.” Your tone toward the end of your sentence became dubious.

Carmy sighed. “I don’t think I want to invite her, but I feel like I should.” He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No, it does. You feel an obligation as her son to share this big moment with her. I get it.”

“Do you feel guilty about not inviting your dad?”

���A little.” Your lips pursed. “But, if I visualize our wedding, the thought of my dad standing beside me doesn’t make me happy. I don’t feel excited about it. I just feel…”

“Dread?” he guessed.

You smiled faintly. “It’s more annoyance and anger for me.”

“Mm, yeah. Makes sense.” He leaned his forehead and touched it to yours. How did he get so lucky? He imagined the wedding. He imagined seeing you across from him, sliding the ring on your finger, and stuttering through his vows. The usual nervousness bubbled up inside his chest, but it was smothered by the overwhelming warmth and affection he felt for you that bled across his skin like thick honey.

“I don’t think I can invite her,” he whispered.

“That’s okay, Carm.” You kissed him softly. “That’s okay.” You repeated against his mouth. A sensation of cool and blissful relief extinguished the last lingering remnants of his dread.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Something is weird,” you said, leaning forward in the passenger seat. “Why are there two florist vans? Did we accidentally get two?” You didn’t recognize the name on the second van either. Must be a local shop, you thought, although that doesn’t explain why they’re here.

“I don’t think so,” Carmy said.

As everyone poured out of their cars, their garment bags slung over their arms or over their shoulders, a sharply dressed black woman emerged from the entrance and strode purposefully toward you and Carmy.

“You must be the Berzattos,” she said breathlessly as she shook your hands. “It’s good to meet you. My name is Vivienne and I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“What sort of bad news?” Richie said, “The kind that gets us a discount?” He grinned at Carmy and your husband-to-be rolled his eyes.

“Perhaps.”

Richie whispered, “Oh shit.”

“We’ve had some technical issues with our new scheduling program.” She wrung her hands together. “The venue has been double-booked.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, noticing all the additional staff buzzing to and fro across the manicured lawn.

Vivienne said, “I’m so sorry for the mistake. If you’d like, we can reschedule you.”

Your stomach dropped into your shoes.

“Absolutely not,” you said, “people flew out to be here. We can’t reimburse flights and accommodations, and nor should we have to considering this is your error.” You sighed, feeling a headache press into your temples. “Why didn’t you notify us?”

“How about a discount and you can split the venue?” she offered, “we only realized the mistake when the two catering companies showed up.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” said Richie.

“Fuck,” Syd said.

Natalie crossed her arms. “I’m sorry did they say double-booked?”

“Mommy!” Sophia pulled at Natalie’s pant leg. “Mommy, look! Sunflowers!” She pointed at the floral van carrying out their arrangements.

You shared a glance with Carmy. “Can we have a minute?”

“Of course. Again, we’re so sorry.”

You and Carmy broke away from the group of your closest friends and family. You rubbed your hands down the length of your face.

“We can’t reschedule,” you said, “but how the hell are we going to share the venue? They have one kitchen and we paid for our guests to stay the night.”

“Maybe the timing works out,” Carmy said, taking your hand in his. “You want to stay here?”

“Yes.”

“Then fuck it. We stay.”

“Okay, fuck it.” You smiled. “Let’s negotiate a good discount.”

“Say the word and I’ll send Pete in,” Carmy joked.

You laughed. “God, we might need him.”

The organization was a cluster-fuck. The venue manager, Vivienne, assured and promised that the space was large enough and that the other party – the Carmichael's – were having a noon wedding with a 2 PM reception and everything would be cleaned up for your 4 PM wedding and 5 PM reception. But, you noticed the proverbial cracks in the foundation. The necessary kitchen prep work, the clashing decorations, the intermingling guests, and the underlying stress and confusion permeated every interaction. You practiced intentional breathing and hoped you’d make it through the day without bursting into stress-induced tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The zipper was halfway up when it broke. You felt the snag, then the tug and pull, and the abrupt separation. You pressed your hand to your mouth and muffled the noise of discontent and frustration that threatened to break free.

Taylor pushed her long, thick dark braid over her shoulder and pursed her red lips at you. “We can work with this,” she said after a long moment of contemplation. “We can fix it.”

You released a strangled, “can we?” You blinked back your burning tears—you didn’t want to ruin your makeup.

“Yeah, most of these places have emergency sewing kits,” your best friend said while digging through the drawers, “also, this might be a bad time, but is the chef single?”

Despite everything, you laughed. “Which chef?”

“The tall blonde one with the accent.”

“Luca?”

Taylor’s eyes brightened. “Yes!”

“I’ll find out for you,” you said while reaching for your phone. You smiled at the sight of your phone background, a black and white photo of you and Carmy, and Taylor snickered.

“I remember when you told me about him,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, you were all tied into knots about it...and now look at you! Tying the knot.” She winked. “I’m glad you guys figured it out.”

Your chest warmed with pleasure. “Me too.”

“Aha!” She held the little sewing kit aloft. It had the venue's name printed on the front of the bag. “Do you think they write this so nobody steals it?” She asked while tapping the swooping decal.

Before you could answer, your mom bustled into the room, her billowing lilac sleeves trailing after her arms.

“Oh! Look at you!” She grabbed your chin and kissed your cheek. “I’ve got something for you. A little tradition.”

“Mom, I don’t know if I can stomach any more surprises.” Taylor began to fix your zipper and the cold metal teeth periodically kissed your skin.

“You’ll like this surprise.”

Your mom removed a potted plant from her purse. The dark soil clung to her fingertips, the plant likely got knocked around more than once, as she set it down on the vanity. You recognized the wide, verdant leaves.

“A basil plant?”

“Normally, we give a flower of some type, but I chose a basil plant instead.” She smiled, pleased. “Nurture the plant as you nurture your future and it’ll thrive.”

Your throat tightened. “Thanks, Mom.” Your shoulders jerked as Taylor finished zipping and she whooped in triumphant delight.

“There we go, crisis averted,” said Taylor, “now we don’t have to worry about walking down the aisle naked.”

You rubbed your fingertips along the basil leaf and smiled at them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“God,” Richie said, fixing his tie, “I can’t believe you’re getting fucking married, cousin.”

“Yeah, me either.” Carmy scratched the side of his nose.

“I always thought Mikey’d get married before you,” he said, “he was just more charmin’, you know? He had a way with people, women especially, God…” Richie shook his head. “He couldn’t walk down the street without getting some chick’s phone number.”

Carmy stared sullenly at his reflection. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t? ‘Cause then he’d have an ex-wife, or a widow, or a kid or somethin, I dunno.”

Carmy wondered if he’d forever be in rooms with Mikey’s shadow stuck to the corners. It didn’t suffocate him as much anymore. Mikey’s memory lurked within every conversation – like slivers of light through the paneled window shades. Today of all days though, Carmy suspected those slivers would blind him. Mikey should’ve been here, could’ve been, and he wasn’t.

“Yeah, good point.” Richie turned the side and smoothed his lapels. “Still, it should be him.”

Carmy’s neck flushed with indignation. Did Richie seriously have to be such an asshole? His brow furrowed. It was his fucking wedding day for fuck’s sake!

“Cousin—” Carmy began.

“Standing here, I mean, as your best man,” said Richie. “Look, there’s no takebacks and this would be a hell of a time to change your mind but it should’ve been Mikey. Not me. I get that, okay? That’s all I’m trying to say…” He fixed his tie again. “And I’m gonna do everything to make sure that this day doesn’t go to shit. I can promise you that, alright?”

Carmy blinked, at a loss for words at Richie’s admission. It had been six years and counting since Mikey’s death and Richie had been with him for every one. If he was being honest with himself and not caught up on nostalgia, if Mikey was here, then Carmy wasn’t sure he would have trusted him with all the responsibility. Hell, Richie organized a pizza-making bachelor party for him. He offered to trash the other couple’s wedding.

“Who else would it be?” he asked softly, “you’re family, Richie.”

Richie sniffed, nodded, and clapped his hand on Carmy’s shoulder, jostling him. When Carmy met his eyes, they were glassy and bright.

“I know.” His lips twitched up into a grin. “Let’s get you fucking married!” He pulled Carmy in a one-armed, half-hug and shook him. “Put a fucking smile on that face, Carm. Come on! Come on!”

He affectionately pinched Carmy’s face in one hand, squishing his mouth, and Carmy shoved Richie away, annoyed, but laughing—in the same way he’d get annoyed and laugh whenever Mikey goofed around with him.

“Fuck off,” said Carmy, without any heat.

“Hey,” Syd poked her head into the doorway, “you ready? The photographer wants to see all of the groomsmen.”

“Shouldn’t you say grooms-people? To be like politically correct or whatever,” Richie asked, “or groomsmen and women considering you’re among us.”

Syd made a face. “Richie shut up and come pose with us.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to be inclusive,” he said loudly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If someone asked you to recount all the details of your wedding—you didn’t think you could. It was the busiest and most stressful day of your life. You’d always remember the finer details like Carmy’s thoughtful, flustered vows, Richie starting a limbo competition, or Syd’s dad dancing with Taylor—at least for a while until she disappeared with Luca in tow. Good for you, you remembered thinking as you watched her form retreat down the hall.

But the rest of the day was an exuberant blur. It had been long and you were grateful to relax into the lush pillowcases with your short silk gown kissing your skin.

Carmy climbed into bed after showering and peppered kisses along your nose and jaw, his hands finding your hips beneath the covers and holding them.

“I can’t believe you’re my husband,” you said with soft laughter before chasing his lips with yours.

“And you’re my wife,” he said, lifting your wrists and placing them over your head, “keep those there.”

You said, “We’ve been married less than twelve hours and you’re already bossing me around?”

Carmy chuckled and his breath puffed over your peaked nipples. His tongue laved over the silk, and moistened it before he drew your nipple between his lips. The soft silk and warmth of Carmy’s tongue was a heady, back-arching mixture.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered, plunging your hands into his damp curls and scraping your nails over his scalp.

“Yeah?” His calloused palm felt its way down your thigh, “Are you wet for me already?”

“A little,” you admitted as you parted your legs for him.

“God,” he muttered before mouthing along your breasts and wetting the silk with his tongue and lips. He held one of your breasts in his hand and squeezed, pushing the mound into his mouth again and sucking your hard nipple. The sensation turned to liquid, sticky heat between your legs. You moaned, pushing upward into his grasp and gyrating your hips in askance. His hand was frustratingly close to your cunt, but not close enough. He rubbed up and down your inner thigh from knee to apex, letting his knuckles occasionally brush your pussy, before drawing away without adding any pressure. The fucking nerve of him!

“My wife is so fucking hot,” Carmy said, and hearing the words sent a hot, fresh thrill trembling through you.

“And my husband is a fucking tease,” you said, digging your fingertips into his hard, sculpted shoulders.

Carmy pulled his mouth away from your wet breasts. The silk had darkened where his mouth had been and you could faintly see your nipples through the semi-translucent fabric.

“Am I?” He drew his hands away from you and grabbed your wrists again, pinning them above your head, “I thought I said to keep these here.”

You snorted. “When have I ever listened?”

“You’re a great listener,” he said honestly.

“I want to touch you, Carmy,” you said, matching his honesty with your own, even as his praise sang through your ears and warmed your skin.

He softened. “Okay.” He pulled your wedding ring-adorned hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. The moment he released your hand, you slid your fingers down his chest, smiling at the way his eyelashes fluttered and his cheeks darkened. You wiggled your fingers beneath the tight waistband of his boxer shorts and found him hard and pulsing within your grasp.

“Fuck.” He shuddered. “I feel like I could come just by looking at you.”

He jerked his hips into your touch as your fingers encircled him. You craned your neck upward and kissed him, finding the familiar rhythm of tongue and teeth, and moaning wantonly into his mouth when his hand cupped your wet folds. He hissed when his index finger pledged into you and your mind went white-hot and blank.

“Do you think the stress of the day has manifested into being super horny for each other?” You asked, your other hand cupping the back of Carmy’s neck, pinning his face close to yours so you could kiss him. His pretty blue eyes blinked at you.

“Maybe. But, I think I just want to fuck my wife.” His cock twitched in your hand and you grinned.

“It turns you on to call me your wife, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

His admission made your walls clench around his index finger. Maybe you liked it too. Maybe. You felt Carmy smile against your lips. “Can’t wait to be inside you,” he muttered, “filling you, listening to you moan.”

You gasped and your eyes rolled back into your skull. It wasn’t often that Carmy engaged in dirty talk, so when he did, it was a rare and special treat that never failed to drench your core. Carmy ran his tongue along your neck, tasting your sweat before a second finger speared between your folds and coaxed that inner fire.

“Keep this on,” he said, dragging his teeth across the strap of your gown, “when I fuck you.”

“Mm – fuck. Okay,” you groaned.

“Actually, I—” his words were suddenly lost to a moan as you adjusted your grip on his cock, your fingers slicked with pre-cum. “Fuck, baby. I need you on top of me.”

“Gladly.”

Carmy rolled onto his back, yanking his shorts down, and you smiled at the sight of him – as desperate as you were with his chest heaving and his wet curls falling onto his forehead. Your walls clenched in anticipation as you hiked the hem of the dress over your hips. Carmy’s hands settled on your thighs and he watched hungrily as you held the base of his cock and slowly lowered yourself onto him. Your spine convulsed and the sensation of him stretching you and filling you wiped out every lingering thought in your mind.

“God,” his voice was strangled, “you feel so fucking amazing.”

You cupped his face, resting your forehead on his as you rode him, and said, “so do you.”

“I love you so much,” Carmy said reverently, “so goddamn much.”

Your heart threatened to break and regrow the from sheer tenderness of his words. Carmy, you learned over the years, expressed his love with acts of service and he said ‘I love you’ most often while having sex. However, something about this ‘I love you’ was different. It was more intense on your post-wedding night. You buried your face into his sweaty neck, your bodies and hearts joined, your futures intrinsically linked.

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You tilted the watering can over the thriving basil plant and smiled.

“Auntie.” Sophia, freshly eight years old, held something in her hands. “I found a worm.”

You blinked at her. “Put it back?”

“Okay!” She replied cheerily and dropped the worm back into the potted rosemary. She spun when the balcony door slid open. “Hi Uncle Carmy! Do you want to see the worm?” She pointed.

Carmy smiled, first at his niece, and then at you. “Let me see,” he said, crouching. He balanced his wrists on his knees and the sunlight gleamed off his wedding band. Your heart skipped. My husband. You wondered what your grandfather would say if you could tell him that his death led you to your soulmate, a second family, and a range of new friends. Knowing him he’d tell me that he would’ve died sooner if he knew how happy it’d make me. Your grandfather had had a wry sense of humor.

Carmy stood and put his arm around you. “We’re going to need to re-pot the basil if it keeps growing like this,” he said absentmindedly.

You leaned into him and kissed his cheek.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @bleutwocents; weird Kryptonian bonding.

"I think that's fair," Clark says, mouth quirking in amusement again. Superboy's own mouth is stuffed with chili fries, but he makes an emphatic noise of agreement, nodding firmly. Clark feels an overwhelming urge to knock him ass over teakettle, pin him down, and comb his wild-looking hair into order for him, but should really let him eat first. Also, playing high-altitude tag will probably just make a mess of it again anyway, so maybe after that too.

His kid is so cute. Really. Clark has never seen a kid this cute. Even the kids in ads and commercials and anime aren't this cute.

"You're adorable," he says fondly, and Superboy swallows his mostly-chewed mouthful of chili fries and grins at him.

"Daaaaad!" he laughs protestingly. "I'm not a baby, geez!"

"You're my baby," Clark hums contentedly, ruffling Superboy's unruly curls a bit closer into order after all, which–yeah, okay, he's just immediately become his parents, hasn't he.

At least they're good examples.

Superboy laughs again and ducks away with his share of the chili fries, still grinning.

"Am not!" he says, then sticks out his tongue at him.

"Are so," Clark hums, then clotheslines him into a hug. Superboy elbows him in the gut and attempts to wriggle free for about two seconds, then melts into him completely with a happy purring sound that somehow makes him seem about six times cuter than he already did, which is saying something.

God, he's actually just absolutely precious, isn't he. Clark needs to find such a good place to raise him and introduce him to Ma and Pa and Lois and Jimmy and–

"Are you gonna finish that?" Superboy asks with clear malicious intent, unsubtly attempting to steal his chili fries. Clark lets him but hugs him harder for it in vengeance, and Superboy laughs yet again before dissolving into happy purring as he decimates his way through both of their fry baskets with a very teenage appetite. Clark makes a low rumbling noise he's never made in his life and nuzzles his hair before dropping a kiss into it. Superboy purrs louder in response.

So cute. Clark is going to buy him all the chili fries in the world. Every single one. They're all for his baby now.

"Tag now?" Superboy asks eagerly before Clark can follow through on clearing out this food truck of all its chili fries for him, and Clark hums and kisses his head again, giving him an affectionate crushing as he does.

"Throw out your trash and thank the service worker again first," he says.

"I can't do that when you're hugging me this hard, Dad," Superboy says with a snicker. Clark huffs at that total nonsense and hugs him harder.

"I believe in you, kiddo," he says firmly, and Superboy laughs again. Clark is never going to get sick of hearing him do that, much less of making him do that. Suddenly everything about the existence of dad jokes makes sense.

Superboy balls up their emptied cardboard fry baskets together and tosses them both towards the trashcan, making a triumphant noise when they land directly in it in a perfect arc. Clark smiles helplessly and gives him another affectionate crushing. His kid is so talented. And cute. And strong. And smart. And good.

"Thanks again," Superboy says, grinning sheepishly at the food truck worker as he gives her a little wave. "The fries really were super-good."

"Any time," she says a little faintly, waving back at him.

[olderthannetfic]

I think some of us are so burned by anti stuff that we have a kneejerk defensiveness. I was talking about anime to someone the other day and the conversation drifted to Mushoku Tensei. I mentioned that I couldn't stomach it because I couldn't see the protagonist as anything other than a disgusting pedophile, but in a way that felt so insidiously predatory that I couldn't dismiss it as simply loli slop. The whole thing's vibe was so off to me that even mentioning the series make me uncomfortable. (I later learned that the web novel version of the story opens with him jerking off to hidden camera footage of his 7 yo niece bathing, which solidified my opinion on it.)

The person I talked to said I sounded like an anti. The worst is that they knew that I was emphatically NOT pro-censorship, so there was no lines to read in between. I wasn't using my disgust as a cudgel to batter anyone else's right to enjoy something. Am I no longer allowed to be disgusted or hate a series for feeling uncomfortable to me? Do my every opinions have to be curated to be as inoffensive as possible so I don't hurt the feelings of people who like the series I dislike? Afaik, the person was pretty neutral on the series so it's not like I was trashing someone favorite in front of them. Like what is this? Why are my taste and my words being policed? Seriously?

--

[eustasscapitankid]

Eustass Kid x Killer Challenge: Kikitober 2024 "Mask" Rating: Teen & Up Warnings: None Tags: Friends to Lovers, Partners, Swearing, Love Confessions, Love Summary: Kid was never bothered by Killer’s mask. Well, other than the fact that he hated the history behind it. If that’s what made Kill comfortable, then that’s all that mattered. So why does looking at it suddenly fill him with rage? Word Count: 900

"And if you go, I wanna go with you. And if you die, I wanna die with you."

Kid’s thoughts went around like a carousel as his hands idled away at some random piece of junk. In all honesty he wasn’t really focused on what he was doing. His hands just needed to move. Normally, being in the shop was a quick fix to quiet his mind. Not today.

He fucked up. He had snapped plenty of times, at plenty of people—but never at Killer. He just didn’t understand what was wrong with him. I mean, clearly something was going on with him—but that didn’t mean he had to blow up at him about it. It’s just…he was being so frustrating. Why the fuck was he acting so weird lately? It’s like he was avoiding him. Plus, even though he normally had a mask on, he was always looking at him in the eye. But now? He wouldn’t even look his direction.

Had he done something wrong? Said something? It was pissing him the fuck off. Fuck! How was he suppose to run the ship when his first mate couldn’t even interact with him???

He couldn’t take it anymore. His hands slammed down whatever he was working on as he stood up suddenly, the chair he was sitting in pushed out behind him. He was going to find out what was going on one way or another—and put an end to whatever bullshit this was.

It was getting late but Killer should still be up. He grabbed his coat, knocking the chair it was slung over to the floor has he stormed out of his quarters. Where the fuck would he be? Kitchen? Yeah. Probably prepping for tomorrow’s meals. His footsteps fell heavy on the deck, the gentle breeze doing nothing to cool the angry flush forming on his face and neck.

“Killer!” he boomed. Killer’s body stiffened at the sound of Kid’s voice.

“Yes Captai—?” he couldn’t even get the words out before he was stumbling back, pulled by his shirt. “Hey! Stop! W-what are you doing??” He hastily dropped the knife in his hand, tossing it toward the sink as he was ripped away from the counter.

Kid remains silent. It’s taking all of him to keep his mouth shut as he drags Killer out of the kitchen, across the deck, and into his quarters—the only place on the ship that’s remotely private. It’s almost too forceful the way he pushes him into his room, emphatically slamming the door shut behind them.

The room is dimly lit, but well enough to stare daggers into the blonde’s back. Kid starts pacing, his footsteps growing heavier with every step. Kill stands silently, only the soft glow of candlelight illuminating his emotionless mask.

Kid snaps. “I’m fucking sick of this Killer! You think I can’t tell when something is wrong?! You think you can hide behind that mask from me?! You won’t even look in my direction anymore!” Kid’s voice is laced with anger, concern, and something...something raw.

But Killer doesn’t respond. His frame hunched slightly as his eyes remain on the ground before him. Tense, heart beating. He’s not sure what he should say…not sure what he can say.

Kid spins on his foot, practically catapulting himself toward his first mate. His presence overwhelming as he approaches. A metal arm reaches out, the tips of his claw scraping against the metal of the blue and white mask that hides the blonde’s face from view.

“You want to hide from everyone? Fine. It’s always been that way. But hiding from me?!”he hisses. In a swift motion his claws grasp the mask, ripping it off and tossing it to the side like trash.

Killer’s heart skips and his breath hitches. A stunned silence fills the room. His exposed face revealing a convoluted mix of emotions bore on his face—shock, fear. But there’s something else. Something vulnerable the likes of which he has never seen cross his friend’s face. It’s paired with the now too familiar view of his avoiding gaze. Kid’s given up on personal space. He steps closer as a hand reaches up, grasping the blonde’s chin in his hand and forcing his gaze. As their eyes meet, a bright red flush floods Killer’s face.

“Stop running from me Killer. You’ve always been able to tell me when something is wrong. Always. If you’ve had something to say you’ve always been able to say it. So whatever it is, just say it! Fuck!”

Killer bats away kids hand, his gaze turning away. “Not this.”

The rage bubbling within Kid boils over. He tackles his friend to the floor, pinning him. “How the fuck am I supposed to act like nothing is happening when my own god damn partner can’t so much as look at me? Spit it out!”

Killer’s heart races. Hands wrap around his throat. “TELL ME!”

“FINE! FUCK IT! YOU WANT TO RUIN EVERYTHING?! EVERYTHING WE’VE HAVE? EVERYTHING WE’VE BUILT—?!”

“What…?” a look of confusion, worry, and betrayal crosses Kid’s face. What was he saying?

Killer’s next words come out in sharp contrast to his outburst. Quiet and reserved, almost a murmur.

“I love you.”

Kid’s hands go lax, falling to his sides. “W…what?”

“I’m in love with you Kid,” he confesses, his soft words blaring in Kid’s ears, “I was trying to avoid it because…we’ve been friends our whole lives and I didn’t want to rui—”

“I love you too.”

[notsopersonalcharlie]

Ride Home

Snowboarder!Bucky x fem!skiier!reader

Note: I was watching my friend being taught to snowboard and thought of this. Gif is not mine

Warnings: none?

Bucky plopped down into a snowbank unceremoniously and started to undo the strap attaching his back foot to his snowboard. Steve and Sam had gone off to run some black diamonds, but he never had quite felt confident on his other side after the incident that left him with a prosthetic arm. Not that he didn’t trust it, but he had swapped sides for everything, writing, punching, even shooting. He was snapped out of his own shame spiral by a man, wearing a set of rather expensive and new looking gear, swearing at the woman who appeared to be trying to teach him. 

“When you said skiing I didn’t think you meant full fucking mountain day. I thought we’d get some drinks, hang out. This is fucking rediculous and these skis and fucking trash.” 

“You said you knew how! I thought this was-“

“I said I had been before, I thought at least you’d fucking be nice about it. May-“

“Just go get a drink then!” You sounded exasperated and Bucky took a closer look, noting the well loved outfit and skis. Clearly they had been used and were being cared for as such. 

“Aren’t you at least going to come?” It sounded more like a command to Bucky than a suggestion. 

“No, I’m going to ski, which is what I paid for a pass to do. I’ll come meet you later.” 

“Yeah well… don’t drink. You’re going to have to drive us back to the city.” The man stumbled away and you sighed, rubbing your forehead before kicking into your own skis and heading for the lift. Bucky cursed to himself after you had started moving and pushed his way up right behind you in the singles line. There weren’t a whole load of people waiting for the lift, it was getting towards lunch time, and he managed to get up beside just you on the lift. 

You glanced over at the snowboarder who decided he had to get on that chair with you, despite the mostly empty line behind you. He had all black gear with a crisp white jacket that had clearly been mended and bleached a few places. He rode goofy and his board knocked up against the edge of your skis when the chair rejoined the cable. 

“I heard that guy being an asshole back there. Sorry you had to deal with the shitty part of the male species.” The somberness with which he said it made you laugh a little. 

“Thanks he was, uh, a set up kinda. I’m new to town, and my parents decided the best way for me to make friends was to go out with one of their college friends’ sons. This is technically our third date and… wow I am spilling info on a stranger. Sorry.”

“No no, he sounds like he sucks. I heard you say he said he knew how.” 

“Yeah! He did! And I even asked before we came out here. Clearly he bought that whole… whole getup to impress me. It was so stupid.” You were waving your hands emphatically and Bucky couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, all I will say is that guys like that don’t actually know how to do anything.” Silence lapsed as you started getting closer to the end of the lift. 

“Uh, how would you want to ride with me and my friends today? Or ski I guess. I’m getting my footing back after an accident, but they’re pretty good and I’m sure they would love to have more friends.” You shrugged, hoping the cold air disguised the blush on your cheeks. Bucky had pulled up his goggles and pushed down his mask on the ride under the pretense of speaking more clearly, but you could tell he was handsome and right now was not the time to blow it. 

“I’d love to ride with you for a while. It’s my first time out this season and I could use an easy day.” He smiled and you both made your way off the lift. Your first run down you could tell that he was good, but kept holding back when he turned to his toe side. It was strange to watch since he seemed to favor it otherwise when he moved before. You told him as much at the end of the run. 

“Yeah, I…” Your conversation was halted as you got back on the lift. 

“I, uh, lost my arm kind of recently and I have a fantastic prosthetic, but still just… cautious.” You couldn’t help but let the shock show on your face. His motions seemed entirely unbothered aside from his anxiety about falling. 

“You look like you’re doing great. I don’t know you all that well but based on that run I feel like you shouldn’t be doing the easiest trail on the hill.” He laughed and you began an amazing afternoon riding, and convincing him to go up to some blue slopes where you spotted some of his friends, who waved but quickly surpassed the slow loping runs you were taking.

“Fuck, I do not want to ruin this amazing day with a car ride home with Dan.” 

“Dan?” Bucky asked. It was getting late in the day and his legs were sore, but he was having too good of a time. During a short break at one of the stops on the mountain he’d finally gotten a look at your face aside from your nose and the strands that were collecting snow beside your goggles. He hadn’t been able to stop picturing your face at every other event in his life since then. 

“The guy I was with this morning. The asshole.” He’d basically forgotten about the existence of the other man after spending the day with you. 

“Well, if you’re not totally opposed to riding a few more hours with a no longer stranger, I would be okay driving you back.” He watched your gears turning, deciding. 

“It would kinda be a massive fuck you to him if he had to sober up and drive home down this mountain alone.” 

“Oh shit, do you think he woul-“

“No, I have the keys. He doesn’t seem bright enough to check the car for keys himself though. You sure you don’t mind?” Mind? Bucky thought to himself, he wanted nothing more than to spend more time with you. 

“Not at all.” You finished the next run, a harder one which Bucky took flawlessly, and dropped the keys off at a nice looking car, grabbing your bag, before you followed Bucky back to a slightly beat looking older SUV. 

“I told Steve and Sam I would drop them down at Sam’s car. They’ll be here in a few minutes. What’s your address?” You dictated it to him, omitting the exact number or unit so you weren’t completely risking yourself. To be totally fair he didn’t have your full name or know all that much about you, yet. 

“And maybe my phone number…in case I forget something? Or in case you want a riding buddy again?” A sweet smile crossed Bucky’s face, blue eyes shining. 

“Sure.” You exchanged numbers and by the time you’d taken a goofy picture of him as a contact photo, his friends arrived. They didn’t comment on your position in the passenger seat. 

“So, where do you live?” You told them where about in the city and Sam opened his mouth to commend, but received an icy blue look from Bucky. You couldn’t help but wonder what else that icy blue stare could be for, but tucked the thought away for another time by yourself. 

“That’s mine. Thanks Buck, have a good drive…” Steve cuffed him on the shoulder on the way out.

“What was that about?” 

“Nothing.” You ended up talking for nearly the entire ride, and it was easy conversation. He told you about the snowboarding accident that had resulted in his lost arm, his job, his dog, Alpine. You told him about your roommate, your hometown, and how excited you were to have a fresh start after the absolute shitshow of your old job and friends.

“Where do you live?” The question was entirely for your own benefit, so you could find out how realistic ‘accidentally’ running into him at a store could be.

“I uh…” Bucky’s cheeks turned red when he told you. 

“WHAT? Bucky, that’s like an hour and a half the other way! Are you insane?” You were near your place already, and there was no use arguing with him that you getting out now to try to get another ride made no sense. 

“I just wanted to spend some more time with you. It was such a great day.” You smiled, blushing as you gave him the final directions to your building. 

“It really was a great day.” He stopped in front of your place, idling as you sat in a few more moments of silence. 

“Maybe we could have another great day? Skiing or maybe dinner?” You felt a little forward asking. 

“Well given there’s no natural way for me to accidentally run into you at the corner store, I guess that sounds like a great plan.”

[sootyships]

Part 1 | Part 7 | Part 8 (you're here) | Part 9

Mer!Moon & reader | 0.5k words

Mirrored on Ao3 >>HERE<<

Following the sunset, you once again get alerted to pinecones hitting the window.

At least this time he didn't wake you.

You step outside and call: "What?"

The blue-silver mer lounges against the gangway with your apple juice bottle dangling from his fingers.

"What is this?" he rasps. You strain to make out what he says. "I give you gifts and you leave me trash...?"

"I'll take it back if you don't want it, thank you", you say and approach briskly down the stairs.

The mer clutches the bottle to his chest and hisses. "Mine." He pauses, then adds: "What is it?"

You stop at the bottom of the stairs with a smug little huff and cross your arms. "Yeah, I thought so."

"What. Is it", the mer repeats, more demanding.

You release a breath. "Apple juice from our own apples."

"Hm." He studies the cap for a moment, then twists it open and sniffs the contents. He pins you with his gaze and offers out the bottle. "You try first."

You roll your eyes. "Fine." You approach, but remain outside of grabbing range. "Put it down there", you say, pointing to the stone step by the shore.

The mer also rolls his eyes, but reaches over to dry land to set the bottle down.

You flap your hand at him. "Shoo."

The mer huffs, but pushes himself into deeper water.

You grab the juice and carefully tip some juice into your mouth to avoid getting your germs on the bottle. "See? Totally safe."

You set the bottle back down and step back. "I didn't even consider poisoning you..." You contrive to tap your chin thoughtfully. "Probably should have... Rat poison should be effective."

The mer scoffs as he approaches and swipes back the bottle. He takes a sip and his eyes widen. He stares at the bottle.

"Good..."

"You're welcome!" you chirp.

After a moment of silence and a second sip, the mer grudgingly says: "Thank you."

"—Question. What were the reed roots for?"

The mer frowns, studying you for a moment. "Eating...?" he finally answers, as though it should be obvious.

You huff at his tone. "Humans don't usually eat those, I don't think."

He makes a small noise in acknowledgment, then, with a giggle, adds: "You know how to eat the crucians?"

"Eheh-eheh", you laugh sarcastically. "I'll look into the reed roots", you say, then tack on an introduction, by-the-way.

The mer fiddles with the bottle cap where it's attached to the bottle. "Moon."

Sun and Moon. "Are you and Sun siblings?" you ask.

"No", Moon says curtly, then continues, watching you. "We are together. You cannot have him."

Ah.

You crouch to get better to his eye level where you stand, still well outside of his reach. "I'm not trying to get him", you say emphatically, your brows knitting. "We're friends. I don't even understand why you'd—Well, assume that."

Moon scowls, baring his crescent of teeth. "Too friendly. Too—" He gestures vaguely at your everything. "—Luring."

What.

[peachymilkandcream]

Jailbird|Part 4|Levi x Evelyn AU

WARNINGS: noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, forced exhibitionism, sexual coercion, blackmail, misogyny, sex trafficking, orgy, forced threesomes, ffm, cuckquean, masturbation, etc.

NOTE: All mentioned AOT characters are timeskip age

================================================

This is what happened when you broke Levi's rules, he was the one in charge ultimately here, any question of his authority would be met with swift punishment in one way or another.

For this girl, it was desperately touching herself while watching Levi worship the body of two others and not her. Like most in this place of isolation, they often turned to Levi for comfort or favors. Most were careful not to get too close and catch feelings, knowing that it was merely a business transaction, but others weren't so lucky.

Levi knew that some, like this one here, had naively fallen head over heels. Not that he minded in the least, it gave him more of an opportunity to manipulate and use them to do as he pleased. As well as finding easy methods of punishment that weren't too suspicious.

Poor thing was on the verge of both climax and tears watching him pound into each of the girls under him in kind. The girl's clits desperately grinding together to get some kind of friction while Levi alternated between their spent cunts. Heartbreaking for those who cared about the man who held their future in his hands, but he never forced the observer to stay, she had done that on her own, reaching down to flick her clit in time with his thrusts.

All this did was fuel Levi's ego even more, he was desired by many, able to control people and get his own satisfaction out of it in the end. It seemed like a pretty good deal at the end of the day, and with his demand of everyone taking birth control, he could do so risk free.

Cum dripped out of the girl on top onto the one below, each taking turns to rub it into each other until they both finished with a spasm. Even the one watching bit her lip to hide a cry of euphoria as she too reached the edge.

"Clean this up." He commanded after, not really caring about their well being, just a set of holes after all. He turned to the pathetic girl, hand still down her pants. "I hope now you've learned your lesson."

She nods emphatically, desperate for his approval.

"Much better, it seems you can behave with the right motivation."

================================================

Evelyn threw the birth control in the trash, as if she would allow a man like Levi to think that he could demand she take anything. If this was his subtle way of hinting that he could dictate what she did with her body, then he had another thing coming. She wouldn't take it out of pure spite, hopefully it would piss him off, she'd love to see his stupid face when he learned that she threw away his "generosity".

Her eyes met with the other woman in the hall, and she silently moved to the side to let her pass, only for the other woman to step directly in her path regardless.

"Can I help you?"

The short haired brunette crossed her arms, staring Evelyn down. "You're new here, so I just wanted to get to know you."

"Oh- well I'm Evelyn-"

"I know that. Petra." Her voice was hostile, much to Evelyn's surprise.

"Nice to meet you."

"Mm." Petra looked her up and down, judging her.

"Do we- have a problem?"

"Possibly. From what I hear you're not quite understanding the way things work here, thinking you're above the rest of us."

The accusation was absurd. "What? Of course I don't, I've never said anything remotely similar to that!"

A swift slap across the face sent Evelyn reeling. "Don't you dare raise your voice to me you little shit!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?"

Petra's fist connected with her stomach, sending Evelyn doubling over and struggling to hold in her lunch. "I told you not to talk back! You don't get it do you!? I'm over you, in ever sense. While you're here, you do whatever the fuck I tell you to and thank me for asking. You're my bitch, and the moment you think otherwise I'll make your life miserable. Are we clear?"

"Yeah right, if you think I'm taking orders from some fucking cunt-"

Already slightly dazed from her previous blows, Evelyn could do little to defend herself from the assault that came after. It seemed that Petra had it out personally for her now, beating her mercilessly, blood filling her nose and mouth. All Evelyn could do was weakly defend her face, only dodging a few kicks as she curled up into a ball.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Petra finally stopped, standing back to admire her handiwork. "I asked you, are we clear?"

Evelyn spit out a mouthful of blood, looking up at Petra with swelling eyes, nodding weakly.

"That's what I thought. And from now on you'll do what I say and not act like a little shit?"

Again she nods, cursing herself for her own weakness.

Petra laughed cruelly, getting one more kick to the stomach in before turning and leaving Evelyn there to bleed. Now Levi would praise Petra, she had put Evelyn in her place with only one lesson, such a weakling would be easy to mold and control. Petra could tell she was going to enjoy this. She'd turn Evelyn into such a weak and pathetic mess Levi wouldn't even want anything to do with her. Petra would just lock herself in as the favorite.

Evelyn wouldn't stand a chance against her.

[katyawriteswhump]

power of love, part 15

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Steve’s back in the loggers’ cabin. He’s kissing Eddie stupid, and he’s loving it.

They’re both done with drinking bad beer, and even more done with pretending this thing between them isn’t real. They’ve gotten their arms flung around each other. Steve’s tongue is happily exploring the depths of Eddie’s mouth.

Kissing Eddie is totally unlike any make-out session Steve’s ever known. The scratch of Eddie’s lightly stubbled jaw against his is… Gnnng, mindblowing! Steve slides his knee into Eddie’s lap, wishing Eddie would jump his bones already. When Eddie snags his fingers through Steve’s hair, it sends literal sparks down Steve’s spine. The insistent brush of their lips is actual fire, until…

… it’s all too much. Steve moans with something other than dumb teen passion, and it feels like his head’s gonna explode. That familiar crimson tide washes through his brain, and then…

“Steve?”

Robin’s voice wrenches Steve back to the present. Oh, yeah. They’re wading along some shitty little stream, hidden between high banks. Somehow, while getting lost in memories of that kiss, his feet shifted forward on autopilot.

She’s following behind. “I haven’t heard those woofy search dogs for a while,” she says. “You?”

I’ve not a clue, Robin. My head’s zoning in and out of Christ-knows-what-crazy-ass-shit, and I’ve gotten a boner from daydreaming about Eddie. Which is fading fast, because when I remember I might never get another shot at kissing him for real, I wanna stuff my fist in my mouth and bite down hard.

“Gonna trust you on that one,” he mumbles.

“We can get out of this disgusting drain then?” He shrugs, climbs up the bank to check all’s clear.  “See anything we need to worry about?”

“Not sure.” Steve frowns, surveying a few dumped cars and a burned-out trailer. It’s a familiar patch of wasteland, a known hang-out for pretty much every teen in the area. “We’re back in Hawkins already.”

“You’re kidding?” She scrambles up to join him and visibly pales beneath her grime and freckles. “Oh my God. We must’ve travelled at least ten miles. In less than an hour and a half.” She glances at her watch and nods emphatically. “Any explanations, Steve? Any cryptic messages from your water-fairy-godparent?”

“Gimme a break! You’re the one who said we’re off to Magic Camp. At this stage—boom! Whatever! Crazy is to be expected.” He sounds chill. Despite the fear jostling him from every angle over what the hell is happening now?  Their gazes lock, and… Jesus, he can read in her manic eyes how her last ragged nerve is about to snap.

“Okay, okay,” she says, “we won’t panic.”

“I’m not panicking."

“Well, I am! One plus side—there’s plenty of nice dry paths leading to Lover’s Lake in that direction.” She points to the wasteland. “Don’t you dare make me get back in the ditch. I am literally wearing duckweed for mascara.”

He considers her suggestion for a few seconds, before that stupid waterfall roars in his head. “Sorry.” He bounces back into the stream. “If we’re believing in this bullshit, then I gotta go the way I get told.”

With the biggest sigh ever, she skids down after him. They paddle onward, hand in hand. She’s shaking weirdly, gasping and gulping, like she’s giggling and crying all at once. Oh, and shivering too. He wants to check she’s okay, but he doesn’t dare speak. Sounds bombard them from every angle, including shouting, maybe a quad bike, and plenty of distant and not-so-distant sirens.

“Look, Robin,” he whispers, when it seems safe. “You’re not in deep shit, like me and Eddie. Maybe you should go home to your mom.”

“Nice thought. Mommy Dearest has probably rented out my room already.”

Steve hums sympathetically, while pausing to mindlessly kick off his trashed sneakers. “If it’s any consolation, when I was reported missing, nobody noticed my parents rushing back.” He’d asked Hopper, casually enough. “I’m guessing they didn’t bother."

“That sucks, though…means we could nip back to your place for a warm shower, clean clothes?”

“Trust me, I’d murder for that. You really should go, but—” The sound of way-too-close voices interrupts him. After a minute longer, shuffling forward, she wrings his fingers crushingly tight. 

“Uh, Steve? Look.”

Up ahead, the waterway flows into a culvert. The entrance is barred with a metal grid. 

“Oh, thanks a bunch, fairy-guardian-water-spirit-angel-parent,” says Steve. “Great short cut, just great!” A dog growls so close that they startle as one, resulting in a loud splash. He shoves Robin toward the opposite bank. “Go! I’ll try… something.”

“How’s that gonna help?” she hisses, letting him bundle her ahead. “It would be kinda sad if you lightning-fried the dog because it’s not the dog’s fault—"

“Scram, will you? I’ll give it a quick shot—mind the freakin’ dog—and be right behind.”

She scrambles into some bushes at the top, and he prays she keeps going. All he hears is goddamn barking. Christ, can it smell my blood? Still, he has to keep it together and come up with some damn heavy rain, and fast, to destroy her scent as she escapes.

He crouches down, conjures up their recent discussion about parents. Eleven told him to channel anger, so that’s a decent start…

Grrrrrr!

Steve jumps up, whirls about. A foam-flecked mouth snarls at him from the top of the bank. He’s faintly relieved to see the canine owner of this huge and scary mouth is on a leash. Unfortunately, the leash is held by a tall guy in khaki, a semi-automatic tucked at his side.

He shines a flashlight directly in Steve’s face. Steve meekly raises his hands. He’s too stunned for real fright.

“You shouldn’t be here,” says army guy. “Woah, you’re filthy! You got papers?”

“Huh?” Hopper hadn’t been kidding about the military dictatorship.

“Got a name, kid?”

He glances down at his Hellfire Club t-shirt, cringes back into the dazzling beam. “Eddie Munson?”

“Outta the ditch. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Steve doesn’t instantly obey. He’s still trying to figure out if this is really happening, and why exactly he said he was Eddie. To protect him, right? Then Eddie can get clean out of the state. Oh, and because he’s so obsessed with Eddie that he can’t stop thinking about him.

A second later, the dog-handler is in the stream with him. He grabs Steve by the arm, and snaps into a lapel radio: “This is MWD-handler 7. Inform O’Sullivan that fugitive 1 is apprehended.”

…

Eddie POV

The forces dragging Eddie home to Hawkins are suddenly spooking-him-the-hell out. 

It’s not all about Steve anymore. He’s hearing water. Loud running water, which draws him toward what turns out to be a nonsensically pathetic-as-piss stream. He jumps in and follows, even as he starts to panic for real.

Steve said he was hearing water. Now I hear it too. What does this mean? Wtf does this BS mean!?!

He presses on anyhow, finding he simply can’t stop thinking about THAT KISS. He’s reliving it over-and-over. At least, the good parts, before Steve fainted on him. Did Eddie daydream the delicious twisty, flirty things that Steve did with his tongue? 

Then he’s thinking about Steve’s butt. 

You never gave THAT BUTT the squeeze it deserved. Holy shit, Munson, you’re such a loser. 

Most torturous of all, the idea that it might be all over between them… Crap, it makes him feel physically ill. How can the idea of losing somebody he never really had hurt so much?  Oh, and when the heck did he kick off his sneakers and start wading bare foot? He has absolutely zero memory of doing that. Still, the cold water doesn’t seem to bother him.

As darkness falls, he spots some familiar landmarks, and realises he’s only a mile or so out of Hawkins. Which is also totally cuckoo, because there’s no way he should’ve travelled back so fast. For the first time since he set off, he stops dead.

Reality check, Munson—pretty much everybody in this dump you call home believes you to be a freakshow-turned-serial-killer. And you’ve come storming back for some douchebag rich kid who dumped you.

There is, however, a single good side to his progress into Hell. He pulls out his walkie-talkie out of his pack, switches it on, and tunes into Dustin’s coded wavelength:

“Anybody there? This is a code-red. CODE RED!” Okay, being officially too ‘old’ for the Party, he’s not supposed to say that, but desperate times call for desperate—

“No way! Is that you? Over.” 

At Dustin’s reply, some dam deep inside Eddie bursts. His face crumples, and he shamelessly, softly weeps. “Yeah, it’s me, buddy. It’s me.”

“Roger that. What the hell are you doing? This place is overrun with wannabe Nazis.” The hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand suddenly on end, and not because of Dustin’s news. “It’s a warzone. You should be in the next state by now!”

Eddie drops the walkie-talkie and shoves his hands in the air. Some military-fascist-knucklehead is pointing an assault rifle at him, though he’s weirdly numbed to the horror of it all. He honestly hadn’t expected it to feel this inevitable.

“Roger that?” says the walkie-talkie.

Eddie grins, so manically goofy that his face aches. 

“Name or papers,” demands the son-of-a-bitch.

“Uuuuuh…” Okay, he’s blown this. Nobody with nothing to hide, blunders THAT answer. “Steve Harrington?”

He said that to protect Steve, right? If they think I’m him, they’ll… torture me instead. Oh shit. Oh Shiiiiiiit!

A big angry dude pummels into Eddie from the side, crushing him into the mud. 

Part 16

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know. Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16

[rossellini-tyrell]

Nothing's Gonna Change My World

Ch. 8 - i sat on a rug (biding my time, drinking her wine)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Word Count: ~7500 Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader

Warnings:

THIS IS SMUT. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE SMUT, OR NOT BETWEEN THESE CHARACTERS, DO NOT TOUCH THAT KEEP READING LINK. Under 18? Please click out of this post! All characters here are in their early-mid 20s. things that happen: reader receives oral and it's cash money. Pav aesops a lot about healthy experiences. Gwen gets a little (or a lot OOC). also found on AO3 and Wattpad.

"I swear, I could have put the damn ring on Miles's finger myself after that!" gushes Gwen from her spot on your couch. She's tipsy, you're each on either your second or third hard seltzer, and your living room is starting to wobble and melt before your very eyes. "I would wholly support that," you agree. Gwen giggles in that overly familiar way, the one that tells you she's cooking up something wicked in that brain of hers. She leans in closer, slings an arm around your shoulder and peers at you through conspiratorially-squinted eyes. "So, (You), how's Pav?" she asks, a lilt in her voice that tells you there's definitely an ulterior motive to this seemingly innocent question. "Oh, he's great!" you reply, ducking out of wherever this is going. "He just raised another round of funding, so he's going to be able to expand his company more!" "That's great, but that doesn't answer my question," she says. "How. Is. Pav?" she enunciates. Her top two teeth peek out, pressing into her lower lip. You start to sweat, remembering the topic of conversation you'd been on. Gwen had given you the New York Times review of all the wild shit her and Miles had gotten up to since you last talked to her. You'd immediately learned that drunk Gwen has zero concept of propriety. "He is...the best, honestly," you deflect, but voice still deeply earnest. "I mean, can I ask for more than a handsome man with great hair who takes care of me when I'm sick, he even cleaned me up and—" "zzzzz, BORING!" Gwen shouts. She gives you a good-natured but maybe a tad too aggressive shove on the shoulder. "Skip to the good part, I want details!" "Gwen, I don't know if I should be—" you try to dissuade her. "Back when he was with Gayatri, we got trashed and she told me he was eating good, is that still true?" she whisper-growls with a saucy wink, in no way trying to lower the volume of her voice.

"Gwen!" you chide. Blood rushes piping hot to your face, heart absolutely banging off the walls of your chest. Gwen cackles maniacally and nearly spills her drink on your nice sofa. "Christ on a crutch, (You), your fucking face right now is precious! It's just a lil' girl talk, nothing here leaves this room, you get me?" she rambles. "Well, I mean, I wouldn't even know what to say about...about—" you stammer. "Oh come on! It's not like you're some kind of virgin or somethi—wait, holy shit, are you a virgin?" Gwen's eyes widen. You think she looks like a fish staring like that. "Oh my god, you're a virgin! That's so sweet!" she cooes at you. She reaches to pinch one of your cheeks. "No! No no no no, it's not like that! I'm not a virgin, definitely not, we just haven't—" you race to clarify, hands waving in front of your face. "Well what's the holdup, then? Are you guys trying to up the sexual tension? Are you saving yourselves for some special occasion or..." Gwen wonders aloud, before tapping her fingers together while her face morphs into a faux-dismayed expression. "You're not scared to be with him, are you?" "No way!" your rejection of the idea is immediate, emphatic. Gwen doesn't seem to have heard that, however, with the way she keeps on prattling.

"Like, I totally get it, he's Spider-Man, he's loaded, he's got some experience, he's really fucking attractive, that's intimidating and all for, like ninety-nine percent of everybody, but I promise he really wants to be with you too, you don't have to just fantasize when you—" "Gwennnnn, for Christ's sake, I do not fantasize about my boyfriend and—" you interrupt that very, very salacious thought. "What?! Why on Earth would you not? Who are you fantasizing to?? Is it Tom Holland??" Gwen questions in rapid-fire, face clearly scandalized. "What the fuck, Gwen. No," you deny. "I'm not fantasizing about any of these people, I'm not fantasizing, period." Gwen seems awfully confused by that statement. "But, how else is a girl supposed to get off by herself? I don't get it." You shrug your shoulders. "I don't know, I must be broken or something. I've never had an orgasm," you deadpan. "You what??" Gwen sits up ramrod straight, flabbergasted. "What?" a shocked third voice sounds outside the apartment. Followed immediately by a blur of red and blue at the window near your fire escape, and then a heavy crash. You and Gwen share an alarmed look for a moment. You can almost see the steam coming out of Gwen's ears, she marches over to the window, pulls it open, and with a terrifying force, yanks the eavesdropper into the apartment by the hair. "Ow, ow, shit!" the voice yelps. It's very familiar, you realize. Because it's your boyfriend. "Pavitr Prabhakar, you have five seconds to explain to me why in the fuck you were spying on our private conversation—" Gwen starts reading him the riot act. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to..." Pavitr's groveling, apologies awkwardly spilling from his lips like a leaky P-trap. You don't stick around to hear them. You about-face and beeline to your room to curl up and die of mortification, only briefly stopping to consider that you just watched your seemingly-normal human friend drag a superhero into the apartment by the hair, like she might bring in a small bag of groceries. How much did he hear? Would he think worse of you? Did he hear Gwen talking about his— Nope, we're not doing this today.

You belly-flop onto the bed. Your pillow makes a great set of earmuffs, and doubles nicely as a dark cave to stick your head into while you hear Gwen and Pavitr arguing (more accurately, Gwen winning the argument in a one-sided fashion while your boyfriend tries and fails to form a coherent sentence) in the kitchen. Your head is spinning, dust kicking up from discussions put to the side for far too long that is now filling your lungs. You're not sure why you and him haven't talked about this, whether it was fear, nerves—

Was he scared of you?

You're not sure how long you're hiding there for, but there's one, two, three soft knocks, the squeal of your door-hinge, then, a dip in your mattress. You know it's Pavitr right away when you feel the soothing stroke of a hand on your upper arm.

"Can I hide under there too?" he softly asks.

The idea of your big, strong, superhero boyfriend being scared of Gwen Stacy makes you giggle (although it's not hard to be scare of Gwen Stacy, if you're honest with yourself). You lift the pillow up and make some room on the bed, he lays down on his side to face you, suit and all, save for his mask.

"I'm sorry if I said anything that was—" you begin.

"I'm sorry I was listening to your—" he talks across you.

You both pause. Pavitr sighs heavily and rubs his sore scalp.

"I deserved that," he admits.

"I'm not so sure you did. The direction that conversation was going was..." you trail off, you gesture vaguely in front of you, trying to communicate something to the effect of "cringe".

"You aren't broken," he says suddenly, determined.

You snap your head up to meet his eyes. They're serious and shine with resolve.

"I'm...I don't get it," you say.

"You're not broken for never having an orgasm. And I'm not convinced you can't," he explains.

You chew on the thought for a bit.

"I mean...I've tried on my own, until I just gave up. That sounds like a 'me' problem," you mumble.

"Look, I know you might not believe me, and I know you might not even be interested but..." Pavitr hesitates, runs his hand through his thick, black hair. "I'll give you one. Or as many as you want, I don't know. And I don't want you to worry about doing anything for me, or for anything to hurt, I just want...fuck, (You), my heart broke when I heard that," he admits. His mouth is wilted into a pained frown.

Your face droops, you hate the idea of sweet, sensitive Pavitr being sad on your account.

"Pav, I don't want to get your hopes up though, I feel bad already that with all of the—the bullshit in our lives I haven't taken the time to think about your own needs and—"

"No. You're the one who had three boyfriends that couldn't be assed with your needs, and were put in a situation where your choice was taken away from you, even though it didn't get anywhere," he cuts you off immediately with an open hand below your collarbone. "The only 'need' I have is the need to show you it can be so, so good when you're with someone who loves you. But only on your terms, only ever when you feel the time is right."

You feel the urge to turn away, but you can't resist Pavitr's puppy-dog eyes, the kind he gets when he sees a stray animal that he wants to adopt on the spot.

"You seem very invested in this," you tell him, like it's a strange idea. Should it be?

"I just wanna make my girl feel good" he cooes. He pulls your face against the hollow of his throat. "Hobie told you once that you could ask for whatever you damn-well wanted, and I wouldn't say no. He's not wrong, you know."

"So you are an eavesdropper!" you accuse him.

"Okay, the Amazing Spider-Man has a minor personality flaw, sue me," he snarks, but is sure to drop a kiss in your hair after the words leave his lips. "My point stands, though. If there's anything you ever wanted to try, I'd love to do it for you. That includes giving you your first orgasm. And your second, your third, your forty-eighth—"

"Forty-eight?" you gasp.

"That's really not that many!" he protests, which earns him a well-deserved flick to the forehead from you. "But, in any case, it's up to you. Like I told you when we first got together, all at your pace, sweet girl. If the thought strikes your fancy, just say the word."

"I'll think about it," you agree.

"That's all I can ask of you," he says, and brings your hand to his lips to kiss your palm.

---- The heat in Pavitr's room is stifling. The air conditioner isn't cutting it, you're in a tee and sleep shorts while he's shirtless in jeans, you only have the energy to watch an old sitcom on the bedroom TV while Pavitr works out the fatigue from your sore feet. You lay with your legs across his lap, hissing when the pad of his thumb digs in to your arch. "Darling, you have to start wearing actual shoes when doing big chores," he gently chastises you. "A slipper is a shoe," you argue back. Pavitr's thumb arcs up towards of the ball of your foot and you wince when he lands on a tender spot. "Your poor, abused feet don't seem to think so," he retorts. "Well, then you can make it better later with those magic hands of yours, mister 'I'm so good at everything'", you declare. Pavitr snickers, his thumbs find their way to the lower end of your calf, just above your ankle. "I'm good at a lot of things, dove, but not everything," he says in dulcet tones, one corner of his mouth quirked up just so. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the perfect amount of pressure his hands are putting on your leg. Maybe it's the silky feel of his voice when it resonates in your ears. But today, you start to notice a difference. You feel...aware, like a deep itch, well below the layers of skin, muscle, fat. A thirst, yet, your mouth feels full and cottony from the humid air of the room. "You're very good with your hands," you praise. The knot in your leg dissipates, and he moves on, this time pressing at the outer side, halfway up near the heart of the muscle. You exhale as he draws slow, deep circles into the tension there, it's achy, but it's pleasant, too. Pleasant in a way that makes your legs twitch, something that Pavitr doesn't miss under his thumb. "So I've been told. Among some other things," he purrs. This tone has always brought you to your knees when he used it, and he knows it. Today, however, the shiver you feel isn't the same as the others, instead of a nervous, delighted tickle, it curves lower, warmer, lingers a bit beneath your ribcage in a thick haze.

Pavitr lifts your leg by the calf, places an open-mouthed kiss over the imprint his thumb left there. Then, a second one next to it, intentional, calculated. The stuffiness of the room is so much you think you could scoop it into a glass and drink. "Pav..." you murmur. It's a little bit questioning, a little bit commanding, a little bit hesitant. The show's laugh track rings obnoxious in the background. "Sonu...you should take me up on that offer," he suggests. Or is it pleading? "...Right now?" you gulp. You can feel your pulse in your voicebox. "If you wanna," he affirms. "You don't need to do anything, just relax and...enjoy." The juncture of your thighs starts to feel uncomfortably sticky against the fabric of your shorts, you fight the urge to press them together. "What did you have in mind?" you inquire. Pavitr rolls over to kiss at your shin, then the inside of your knee before crawling up your body to level with your ear, you can feel his breath tickling the shell. "I think Gwen mentioned to you that I'm happiest when I'm eating well," he husks directly into it, and then traces the inner rim of it with the very point of his tongue. You shiver from the contact, from his words, the way they felt so close to your skin, or the teasing of his tongue, you're not sure which. You're definitely pressing your thighs together now. "Good luck with that. It's been tried, and hasn't worked," you warn him. You hate the idea of him doing all that hard work for no reward. Pavitr is nonplussed, he takes your face in hand to kiss you slow, beginning the dance you know well by now. "Did whoever was trying give you head for its own sake? Or were they trying to butter you up with oral so they could say they did before doing what they wanted?" he asks pointedly, one eyebrow quirked. You don't have to think about it for very long, you've never been given this on its own. Only before sex, and it'd be difficult to argue they were into it, or trying particularly hard to please you. "You're probably right. I don't think they were trying too hard at all. But I should have felt...something, right?" you wonder. Pavitr sighs and sadly shakes his head. "There's a world of difference if someone really wants take their time and make you feel good, instead of just half-assing it so you'll give in. It also helps to have...skill, which I can promise you, I have plenty of," he slips you a wink and licks his lips, and the subsequent jolt of thrill makes your core twitch. "All you need to know is that this is for you. I wanna give you oral because I love you, dammit. No strings, no bullshit, just very, very good head. I'll give you the best orgasm of your life, and it's going to be amazing. Sound good?" You worry your lip with your canine, thighs squeezing together at the image he's planted in your head. Pavitr waits for your reply patiently, he's not leering, his expression is fond, gentle. He's never led you astray before, so he wouldn't now, right? Right? "But...if I can't?" you trail off, leaving Pavitr to fill in the blank. He does, with ease, one hand takes yours and gives it a soft squeeze. "If something's not working for you, we can change it. If it doesn't happen today, then no hard feelings, we'll go back to what we were doing. Even if you don't orgasm, sex can still feel really good in and of itself," two of his long, elegant fingers walk along your arm while he talks, voice even and mellow. "And when you feel done, we'll be done. It's like a conversation, we go down a line, and change the topic when it feels right to," he explains, kisses your knuckles on the back of your hand. "I think I can get you there, I think you just weren't given a fair shake and need someone to actually try. But if it doesn't happen, we can try again another time. Or never, you're wonderful all the same." You exhale through pursed lips. "Okay, I'd like to try at least," you acquiesce. Pavitr nudges your chin with his hand. "Do you want to try? Or do you just feel like you should because I asked?"

You understand immediately what he's asking. His eyes are soft, but stern, he scans your face for any sign you are simply appeasing him, rather than agreeing of your own enthusiasm. He's searching for fear and apprehension where there should be desire, curiosity. You don't think you've ever been asked this, and while you can't say your past experiences were ever coerced, save for the circumstances under which you and Pavitr met, you're grateful that he's thinking of this.

"I do want to," you confirm. "I'm...nervous that I'll be disappointed again, but what you're offering feels different from what it's been like...before. You've never given me any reason not to trust you, and I'm ready to try if it's with you."

You smile up at your boyfriend, and Pavitr seems satisfied with this answer. His eyes darken further than the rich cocoa they already are, and he leans in to kiss your mouth deeply, explores every ridge, every surface of it with his tongue, a little preview of his repertoire.

"I am going to eat you up so well, for hours," he rasps directly into your ear, leaving you shuddering, getting even wetter at the seam of your shorts. "On my bed, on the kitchen counter, in my car, on my desk at work after everyone's gone home, every damn day if I have to until you come on my tongue. You deserve that much, dove." His lips ghost on the shell, then along the hollow of your throat, where he leaves gentle, slow little nips and sucks while he crawls back down your body.

You have enough sense to turn off the television before he's back over your legs, kisses and suckles getting closer and closer to the hem of your sleep shorts. Your breaths catch and stutter, each little contact a sweet torture that leaves you jumping under his mouth, your center grows slicker and you'd think he could smell you from here.

And then, to your surprise, he stops. He reaches behind you for one of the pillows.

"Lift your hips a bit for me, darling," he instructs, the tone of his voice honey-sweet.

You comply, confused, and he slides the pillow beneath them.

"What's this for?" you ask.

Pavitr grins brightly and plops a smooch on one kneecap.

"So my girlfriend is comfy, of course!" he says in a voice almost inappropriately upbeat for the situation.

Your heart melts at this thoughtfulness, never has anyone you know associated the word "comfy" with sex, but with someone as attentive as Pavitr, you're learning things can be different. Maybe those words should go together, you think.

Pavitr's nails catch on the waistband of your sleep shorts, they pause there.

"Yes?" he asks, looks to you for your assent through the dark curtain of his fringe.

You're frozen in time when you meet his eyes. It's not a particularly hard choice. It's easy enough to say no, sorry you're not ready for that. Or even ask if you can reschedule to next Wednesday, maybe work it in between the gym and your dentist appointment. He'd be happy to drop it and continue doing what you were doing, wait a hundred years if he had to. What sways you is when you meet his rich, coffee-colored eyes and there's no

want I want gimme give it lemme grab tug squeeze grab take have

You're so used to that by now. No, these eyes are soft, round, curious, even. Curious to know this part of you, to share this with you, a whispered secret on the breath of butterfly wings. To give you something that was always denied, see the way your face would light up when you got there. By the look on his face, you knew Pavitr wasn't lusting after you and what was under the shorts, no, he wanted to try, and you knew that he'd only ever try if it was for you.

"Yes," you affirm. There's no warble in the note of your voice.

Pavitr grins, lazily and closed-mouthed, hooks his fingers around the elastic and starts working the whole thing down in one shot, shorts and underwear all. Warm lips press to the bony cradle just above your mound, your hips twitch under their smack.

"Thank you for trusting me with your body, sweet girl," he says. "I promise you, you will not regret this."

The shorts are worked over your knees, your ankles, and then they're off. Your knees drop off to the sides, you ponder closing them for a moment, covering yourself up like the shy virgin you once were all that time ago. That thought doesn't get a chance to linger, as sloppy, sucking kisses are quickly alternating up your inner thighs, firm enough not to tickle, but enough for the muscle to tense beneath Pavitr's mouth with a yelp, the sensitive spot a direct line to your exposed core.

"Aanhh—" you whine as Pavitr gets closer and closer to where you'd really like him to be. He does get awfully close, the rounded point of his nose bumping against the juncture of your hip and thigh, the corner of his mouth brushing the curve of your vulva as he inhales, smiles. Suddenly, the really nice pressure is sadly gone, Pavitr's propped up on his elbows and gazing down between your legs, while you're slack-jawed huffing and puffing from arousal.

"You're really pretty here," he husks. He mouths at the soft swell just below your navel with deep mauve-colored lips, lets warmth curl up there.

"Why are you staring?" you whinge, averting your eyes.

"Why not? This part of you is divine," Pavitr waxes poetic. "And you deserve to be told as much, because it doesn't sound like you've been hearing it."

"Umm...thanks? I guess?" you sputter, incredulously. You want to shrink away from the compliment, but your boyfriend (your insufferable sap of a boyfriend) isn't having it.

"Shush, you," he jokingly chides, his breath hot against your delicate flesh. "Go away. Let me explain to my girlfriend that her pussy is perfect in peace."

"Pavitr, you're obnoxio—oh FUCK!" your words are cut off with a cry as your entire cunt is swallowed up in a sucking kiss, like the ones Pavitr had dotted along your thighs. There's nothing lazy or perfunctory about this, the suction is just right and there's nothing like the way his soft lips feel sliding against your intimate skin. He pops off with a wet, lewd smack that rebounds around the bedroom.

Pavitr snickers lowly at your reaction, and turns his head to take each of your lower lips between his, run his tongue along and beside the soft, fatty parts before delicately suckling the inner lips betwixt them. His next kiss finishes with a deep lick, one that parts your lower lips at the seam and makes you jump when a wet tongue brushes past your clit.

"Good?" he asks, an inquisitive arch on his brow as he attempts to get a glimpse of your face. His mouth doesn't leave your pussy, simply ghosts against it when he speaks. It's a hint of a touch that makes you prickle, teeny frissons along your spine from your core that sprout behind your ears.

"Very," you tell him, nodding furiously, hoping that will spur him to get on with it.

Pavitr smears a messy, affectionate kiss to the inside of your left thigh before securing his hands on the crests of your hips.

"Love you," he purrs. He nuzzles against the inner thigh with his cheek before returning to his work.

Pavitr treats you to a make-out session with your lower lips, his tongue and lips exploring every dip and curve he can find. Every flick, kiss, suck, even gentle tugs between his teeth carries intention, you can feel the weight of it in each stroke. This is not the same halfhearted attempts at the pretense of 'doing his part' you're used to, he's losing himself to the task, eyes fluttered shut behind the ebony drape of his hair as he drinks you down. It's the same way he moves his mouth when he takes a bite out of a ripe mango, your wetness dripping down his chin when he slurps on your sex. "Pavi....Pav...hah..." you wheeze. Your chest heaves in harsh breaths as a delicious, gentle heat stretches out low in your belly and finds a home there. Your boyfriend steadily continues to make love to you with his mouth, you can't resist locking your ankles together atop his upper back, he responds in turn by scooching your hips just that little bit closer, wanting as close to zero space between his tongue and your intimate flesh as possible. "Your taste, it's sofuckengood, fuck," Pavitr slurs into your cunt. You notice him shifting around just out of your field of vision. Is he...rutting his hips into the bed? Pavitr licks straight up your seam on the flat of his tongue, ends with a suck on your clit that's enough to pull it out of its hood. A sharp bolt of pleasure triggers your cunt to clench around nothing. "Holyshitholyshitdontstop" you babble to the room. Your feet kick out behind him, your hand that was bunching up the flat sheet flies to his shade-colored waves, tangles in the dense mop of hair to hold his face against your pussy. "That's the plan, dove," Pavitr rasps. He gets right back to it, delivering the same treatment to every part of your pussy. The two-o'-clock sunlight streams in rich sheafs through the window, it leaves amber dapples on his back that bend and stretch with every flex of his well-developed back muscles, they collect in the valley of his spine, the two little dimples that sit above his waistband.

This? This is nice. It's nice like this, the both of you laying here, embraced by the mid-day sun. Pleasure laps at you like waves at low tide, it's warm, warm like the sand between your toes. Your boyfriend is taking your pussy apart with his mouth, the touch of his tongue isn't teasing, neither harsh, nor lazy. It's earnest, steady, and oh is it affectionate, too. He's not here to pay some sort of toll or fee to access your body, he's basking in how wet you're getting for him, the plush of your skin against his lips, your heady scent, the sharpness of your flavor on his tongue. Pavitr's mouth cherishes this entire part of you the same way he does to the rest of you with his words. He's in no hurry, but he has no intention of making you beg or plead for your first release, he simply wishes to take you by the hand and lead you there, walk you to the door and kiss you goodnight at the threshold of a place you didn't believe existed. He knows the way, has learned the road well, and guides you there with no fuss. Yes, you think, this is nice. It starts out as a fullness, a pressure on the inside that makes you want to tighten up, squeeze around it and keep it from getting out. The pleasure sitting heavy in your belly becomes urgent, it sinks low, low, lower. The sensation is strangely familiar to you, but it's off. You feel like you're about to burst, about to— "Pavitr, stop, I'm gonna—I have to—" you reach with your free hand to stop him. Pavitr finds your hand with one of his, takes it and laces your fingers together.

"Hey. No, sweet girl, this is good. You're supposed to feel that. It means you're here," he explains, gives his head a shake so you can meet his eyes without his hair in the way. A thumb strums back and forth along the dorsum of your hand. "All you have to do is let it ride. I'll catch you, I always have," he reassures. Your head feels like it's full of bees, it feels like there's a water balloon sitting low in the cradle of your pelvis, it's scary, it's intimate, but you want more. "You promise?" you ask timidly. It seems silly to ask this of him, but you do anyway. Pavitr responds with a kiss, the softest one yet, to your lower lips. "Baby girl, I'd promise you everything," he almost growls into your pussy.

Pavitr renews his focus onto your clit, taking it between his lips and tracing upon it the outlines of flower petals with his tongue. He sups on you, over and over again, batters your pearl about with the point of his tongue, coaxing it out from its protective cloak with a please please oh please pretty please. He does not demand, he waits, arms outstretched. The fullness and urgency quickly returns, you clench down, breath held instinctively. You can't hold it anymore, you yank on his hair, and he moans into your vulva when he feels the sharp twinge on his scalp. You feel like you're going to pop and his face is right there eating you and he said he'd catch you and he's holding your hand when you pav pav pav please oh please pav i have to It's warm here The molten heat nested below your navel loses its shape, pours like molasses down your legs, between your ribs, to the points of your fingers and burbles at your throat. Warm, sticky, wet, spilling out of your core in a steady trickle. Your voice catches in a sigh, the floor of your ribcage drops as the tension eases away in a steady throb, you feel it in your cunt as Pavitr keeps on drawing mindless doodles over your clit with his mouth. It's not fireworks, it's not an explosion, it's sunrise on the roof, three o' clock on the beach in July, it's hot chocolate in December, sticky sweet affection poured into you through your sex and spilling out over the edges. It's a safe place, a joyful place, bubbly, bright, and warm. A place, a home he built for you beneath your skin, in a grove you've been too wary, too exhausted to claim as your own. He presses the key into your palm, at long last, and you are all too happy to invite him inside, in that space between your ribs. Your eyes flutter shut as a gentle tongue laps slowly, soothingly at your swollen flesh, cleans up your release as you give yourself over to the ebb of the tide. Lips tenderly trail up your mound, your navel, your sternum, your nose. Hands cup your face as the lips find purchase on your forehead, your unfocused eyes open to fuzzy strokes of bronze, charcoal, ivory. "Yes, Ahava, hello. Hi," Pavitr purrs. Your eyes adjust, the blotches of color wend into a familiar form, and there he is. He's positively glowing, both with a fondness and pride, not of himself, but for you, like he's swallowed down the sun itself. His chin and mouth bear a fine gloss from your wetness. "Whazzat? Pav?" you burble, your tongue fumbling with the words. You find that you've been curiously transformed into a pile of mush, your corporeal form broken free of its solid container.

Your boyfriend chuckles above you, and brushes a few downy hairs off your forehead where sweat holds them down.

"How's that orgasm treating you?" he smugly inquires. "...S'nice," you slur, not quite realizing how dopey your face must look. "Kinda feels like I have to pee." Pavitr covers his mouth with his hands to hide his laughter. "Alright, well, you hang tight and enjoy the afterglow, beautiful. I just need two seconds to take care of something real quick," he says. You watch as he reaches over the side of the bed and fishes around for something. "Where are you going?" you ask, a wave of sadness and worry coming over you, remembering past partners who would never stay when the act was said and done, leaving you to your feelings. "Nowhere, silly," he teases, tongue stuck out. "Just gotta make a wardrobe adjustment, then all the snuggles you can handle, I promise." You find yourself unable to reply when he works his jeans off of his hips, and the boxer-briefs with them. The tips of your ears heat up like a gas grill when you're given a generous glimpse of prominent hip bones, lithe, defined quads, and an absolutely sumptuous ass that makes your mouth water, you resist the urge to sink your teeth into it. "Hey, Pavitr, I can, 'yanno, return the favor," you offer. "Oh, that won't be necessary," he quickly replies as he skips the boxer briefs and pulls on a pair of sweats he'd left on the floor. A hint of something you can't put your finger on tinges the timbre of his voice, and that's when you notice the flush in his cheeks. Oh.

"Pav...did you...?" you hesitate to say it out loud, your brain refusing to form the words. Pavitr crawls up the bed next to you, immediately rewarding you with the tightest, most perfect snuggle he's ever given you. You're face to face, noses but a hair's breadth apart. "As a matter of fact, I did," he admits, turning his cheek into the pillow. "Knowing I was giving you this experience and seeing how much you were enjoying it, it was so damn erotic and I couldn't help but go off the edge with you. Imagine that, being the woman that made Spider-Man come in his pants by just being." "Well, I'm glad I could do that for you," you jape. Your head feels less foggy, the afterglow abating to something cozy and secure, nicely contained in Pavitr's hold. "I'm glad I could do this for you," he counters with a tap of a finger to your nose. "This was all for you, anyway, you owe me nothing. I knew you could do it, and I'm so proud of you. You just needed a patient hand. Or tongue," he winks. "You're insufferable," you groan, burying your head against his bare chest. Pavitr chortles and kisses the top of your head. "I'm talented. And I have many, many orgasms to make up for," he rebukes. His voice feels like silk, it's dripping with ego and it makes your mouth go dry. "Hopefully they're all like this one was. I keep hearing that it's supposed to be...erm...explosive, but this one was just...nice," you comment. Pavitr considers this a moment, and then you know you fucked up when you see his lips quirk into a wicked grin, a devilish gleam in his eye as one hand tightens its grip around your bare hip. "I see...say, I don't think I ever returned the favor for that upside down kiss you gave me when we met," he muses aloud. "No, I don't believe you did," you confirm, wondering where he's going with this. "Oh..." he rises to a kneel on the bed, the covers falling away to expose your calves. "Then I guess now might be a good time to do just that," he proposes.

"What do you mean by tha—ohgod!" you yip, as Pavitr uses his enhanced strength to pull you down the bed by your ankles, and then hoist your thighs all the way up to his ears, his hands settling on your hips. You're nearly suspended entirely upside-down and he's immediately ravaging your sensitive cunt with this mouth, lewd smacks rebound around the room as the blade of his tongue digs deep between your lower lips. "Jesus fuck, Pav, why are you so good at everything?" you whine, your heels thumping against his back, an expression of the pleasure rapidly coursing through your body. Pavitr doesn't reply to this, only hums an acknowledgement into your pussy. At this angle, the extra pressure from his face on your clit does a lot of work, and being manhandled by your superhero boyfriend like a ragdoll...yes please. His fingers curl into the flesh of your thighs, his lips lathe aggressively at your inner lips and clit, you can only watch as he pulls his head up just enough to tug at them with a firm suck that makes something deep in your core light up like Christmas, and then releases them with a salacious pop before going right back in to swallow, to consume, to lap you up until there's nothing left to. Pavitr's playing for keeps this time, he's not looking for a gentle release, he wants to give you the orgasm you've only heard about in stories, one that knocks you on your ass that you'll still feel the next morning. He's nothing if not a show-off, and that trait of his is on full display.

"Pavitr Prabhak—ah!" you moan, your legs flailing behind him. "You smug jackass! It's not faaaaaaair!"

Your kicking and screaming (literally) does nothing. Pavitr doesn't let up, his lips and tongue devour and his face smashes into your pussy in relentless pursuit of your climax. You squirm, but his mouth chases, and with you upside down in what you would have never expected the Spider-Man kiss to entail, you're helpless to stop it, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. But you're safe. Cared for. Loved. You can feel it in how his grip on you is gentle enough to leave no marks, the way his thumbs stroke over the skin there. The way he bends forward just enough to keep your head and shoulders on the pillow so you won't hit them on anything, or get dizzy. This scene is filthy, pornographic even with his athleticism, but as your second peak of the night comes hurtling at you, neither of you have ever felt more in love than you do right now. You have trusted him with your body in all ways like you rarely have before, and he's more than shown you he's worthy.

You come with a shout, you clench hard on empty space until you can't, it feels like a sneeze, an insane blossom of pure ecstasy from your center that blooms in a riot of red, pink, yellow, orange behind your eyelids. You feel your cunt gushing, squirting even, followed by an immense relief. Your heart pounds in your ears, your ribcage struggles to expand and contract with your breathing, it feels like you're flying, soaring in the wind. There's a fizzling, tickling feeling creeping along your arms and legs and worming its way into your brain, your pussy feels aflame, overtaxed despite the calming strokes Pavitr is now using to soak up your juices. Your abs feel sore, and you feel physically and emotionally drained, the overstimulation hits all at once, and—are you crying?

"Awww little love, it's okay. Come here, darling, I've gotcha, shhhh," Pavitr's voice breaks through the swell of emotions frothing in your chest, he sets your legs down and bundles you close beneath the blankets. "You've been through a lot of new things today, sonu. You're overwhelmed, it's completely normal and your mind just needs a minute to sort itself out," he explains, you turn your head to see all traces of mischief gone from it, only soft features remain. The flat of a hand drags up and down your spine, warm lips dot squishy kisses along your cheek and temple. "I—I thought I was broken," you blubber. "I've been trying for years." "Not broken at all, no ma'am, I even double checked," he quips with a wink. It makes you snort and you can't stop yourself from swatting his chest. "You simply hadn't been shown how sex is supposed to be: none of it works if you're not feeling safe or secure first," he says more seriously. The blunt edges of his nails slowly drag along your back, scratching carefully, it's deeply satisfying and it makes you feel calm.

"So you're saying I couldn't for so long because...I wasn't feeling safe?" you ask, past memories starting to click into place.

"Mmm, precisely so," Pavitr hums. An unhurried kiss is fluttered against your lips, the flavor a bit different than the ones before, you wonder if it's you that you're tasting. "Sex is art, dove. It doesn't just come down to technique, if your mind is worried or not feeling cared for, you're not going to be able to be vulnerable with yourself enough to feel good, or your partner, for that matter. Your partner needs to be invested in your experience, and not as a means to an end for them," he explains, his nose nuzzling yours now. "That means taking the time to make you comfortable, listening to you and instead of rushing you through, and for fuck's sake, they need to give proper aftercare, Jesus," he finishes his rant with a grumble. The protective hold around you tightens, cuing you to snuggle closer into your boyfriend.

"Aftercare...is that why I got upset when an ex went to play video games when we were done?" you ask, everything suddenly making so much more sense.

Pavitr shudders and pulls you even closer, if that were possible, you burrow into his chest. Your legs tangle together under the blanket as he kisses the space between your eyebrows.

"Oh my God, why are men like this," he mumbles under his breath. "Yes, aftercare is making sure your partner is feeling okay and safe after you're done. Sex is intense, physically and emotionally, and if they weren't making the effort to take care of you like this after, it's no wonder you didn't have any fond memories of it. I hate that those were your first experiences, but that will never happen again, I can promise you that."

"Oh...so right now, this...this is aftercare?" you ask shyly. You think it sounds silly at your big age to be asking this, but since you're both putting everything on the table, you might as well learn for the future.

Pavitr senses the discomfort and tips your chin up to meet his eyes. They're still sparkling, but carry a stern edge to them.

"Hey, there are no dumb questions with me," he firmly reassures, his eyes softening further. "Yes, this is one way aftercare can look. It can also mean things like...like rubbing their back, or watching a movie they like together. Maybe even taking a bath with them or giving them a massage, just little things to reassure them and help them come down gently from an intense moment. It's the best part, in my book," he purrs.

You're inclined to agree. You're all tuckered out, your limbs have definitely turned to jelly with no chance of reconstitution, you feel buzzy on the inside in the best way, and it's warm and toasty here under the blankets, tangled up together, his bare skin on your cheek. You're basking in each other's afterglow and he's lavishing as much affection on you as he's got to offer, there's nothing closer, nothing better than this. Well, except maybe one thing...

"Can we...can we take a bath too?" you suggest, uncertainly.

Pavitr scrunches up his round nose as his eyes wrinkle at the corners.

"You act like I'd say no to that. Of course we can, dove!" he exclaims. "You're the one who had her first two orgasms in a row, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't let you pick?" he's already hefting himself off the bed to carry you there himself.

"Together with me?" you kiss at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, all you can reach from his hold, your feet dangle limply in the bridal carry. Pavitr looks down on you with a besotted expression.

"I like the sound of that," he cooes in your ear as you cross the room. "And I wanna wash your hair with my shampoo again, I loved smelling it on you the next morning."

"But Pav, your shampoo is expensive!" you protest.

"You just had a screaming orgasm, like, ten minutes ago, let me spoil you at least a little," he counters. He nudges the door open where it's ajar with a hip check, being sure not to jostle you.

"That's already spoiling me!" you argue.

Pavitr laughs, deeply kisses your mouth like he did your center, and closes the bathroom door behind him with his heel.