#how to select ram

[ahqkas]

Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?

♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .

— gn!reader, fluff

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious

bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.

it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.

“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”

“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.

sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”

you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”

but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”

you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”

his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”

it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.

the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.

( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )

finds excuses to be helpful

bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.

it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.

“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”

he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”

when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.

but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.

“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.

“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.

he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”

“that’s not the point!”

“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?

DICK GRAYSON

finds excuses to touch you

for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.

but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.

“you know i can walk, right?”

he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”

and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.

“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”

but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.

teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)

teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.

if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”

it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.

“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”

but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.

“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”

the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.

“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.

he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.

“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”

his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”

you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”

JASON TODD

acts nonchalant but is always nearby

jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.

take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.

he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”

you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.

“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.

a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”

it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.

and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.

“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.

it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.

fixes things you didn’t even know were broken

jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.

it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.

until one day, it suddenly stops.

you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?

“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.

he doesn’t even look up. “what?”

“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”

he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”

you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.

the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.

you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.

“jason, did you—?”

“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.

“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.

he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.

TIM DRAKE

gets shy when you’re too close

tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.

it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.

his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”

it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.

you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.

if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.

sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.

but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.

follows you around during patrol

it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.

tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.

he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.

he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.

it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.

he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.

the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.

[romanofftherealest]

Good Luck, Babe

Summary: The once secret, a forbidden love hidden from the world. Those stolen moments together had been thrilling, but ultimately, drove the person you truly love away from you. But when she left, she didn't just leave you; she also left you a part of herself that would constantly remind you of her for the rest of your life. This fragment of her essence became an indelible mark on your soul, shaping the course of your life in ways you never could have imagined.

You know what they say, when someone leaves, someone else will come.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags | Warnings: +18 smut, jealousy, cheating (we're cheating on Steve with Natasha), AMAB!Natasha, top!Natasha, bottom!reader, fingering (r receiving), car sex, mirror sex, hate sex (?), choking, slapping, dacryphilia, blowjob (N receiving)

Author's Note: Reposting. This series has now become a commissioned work.

⧗

You stirred from your sleep in the middle of the night, woken by the gentle sound of Natasha's snore. As you looked up at her, her red locks lay scattered, half-veiling her face in peaceful slumber. You gently pulled the strands aside, you admired the way her features were soft and unguarded in sleep as if she didn't drive you into the brink of ecstasy a while ago.

You watched, entranced, as the steady rise and fall of her chest painted a tranquil rhythm, like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.

Her eyelashes fluttered softly, like fragile butterfly wings beating in the night.

Soft breaths escaped her lips and with each exhale, her warmth wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, enveloping you in comfort and security.

Your fingers traced the marks that marred her otherwise smooth skin. There were long, deep scratches on her back as you clawed to her dear life when she rammed into you, bringing you both to the peak of your own highs.

Unable to resist the urge, you leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

"I love you, Natasha."

⧗

Natasha was behind the wheel of her convertible and you were riding shotgun. You both planned to get away before the graduation, a secret escape for just the two of you.

Yes, it was a secret escape, just like your clandestine affair. For the past year, you had been meeting secretly, your passionate trysts hidden away from the prying eyes around your campus.

How could one imagine that the epitome of perfection in the eyes of many, from students, professors, and school staff had chosen a band guitarist to share your deepest desires and secrets with?

The fact that you, the student body president of the College of Liberal Arts, the volleyball captain ball, the campus' debate team leader, and the devoted girlfriend of the campus' student council Steve Rogers has been in an entangled affair with Natasha Romanoff, the school's band guitarist, was kept strictly under wraps.

Only a select few were aware of the tangled web you both were weaving behind the scenes. A few that only you, Natasha and her sister Yelena know about the affair that you've been keeping closely a guarded secret.

With your hands held high up in the air, you relished the feeling of the wind whipping through the open top of Natasha's convertible. The rush of air against your skin felt incredibly free and exhilarating.

As you stood there in the open wind, blissfully unaware, Natasha watched you intently, cherishing the unguarded moment between the two of you. Taking in every detail as she glanced at you the way your hair tousled in the breeze, the sparkle in your eyes as you smiled and the way your pink sundress fluttered in the wind. It was in these small moments, when she could watch you in your carefree state, where she could openly watch you and admire your carefree happiness without the need for secrecy or hiding.

Unlike when you were on campus Natasha could only watch you from a distance. Whether it was her playing with the band during a night blast events your campus would trimonthly organize, searching for your familiar face in the crowd, or her sitting in the audience far enough for her not to be seen by you, watching you shine in a debate competition you joined.

Just for once, it's only the two of you, completely unburdened by your secret affair.

"How did your send off go by the way?" Natasha asked, as she put her hands on your lower back.

"As usual, every player, even the new recruits had to spike a ball into me!" you rolled your eyes in the air. You glance at the redhead who is staring admiringly at you, you smile at her, biting your lip when she slowly dragged her hand all the way down to the curve of your ass.

"Two hands on the wheel, Romanoff."

Natasha chuckled, tearing her right hand away from you, you slumped on the passenger seat as she did so, "And coach just told me that Bishop will be the next captain ball."

"She's in the same position as you, right?" Natasha asked, now putting a hand over your thighs, unable to resist the temptation to touch you.

"During her residency coach had to train her as an opposite because we had filled the quota for each position. She was originally middle."

Natasha hummed at your response. Her fingers can't help but stray, tracing patterns on your thighs. Her hands begin to move of their own accord, sneaking higher and higher up your thighs with every pass.

Her touch sends shivers down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat as her fingers make contact with your sensitive skin. You can't help but let out a soft moan, involuntarily arching towards her touch.

"Natasha," you warned softly.

Her gaze flickers to yours innocently but she doesn't stop, her fingers continuing to trace patterns on your thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, "What's wrong?" She watches you carefully, her hands pausing in their ministrations as she waits for your response.

"Stop the car," you demanded and she didn't hesitate. Her eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror, spotting an empty side street just ahead. She swings the car in that direction, pulling over and turning off the engine in record time.

She barely has time to register your movement before you're on her. Your legs straddling her, your body pressed close against hers as you take control of the situation. Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she grins, her hands coming up to grip your hips and pull you closer.

She trails kisses down your neck, softly nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, careful not to make any marks even though she has been dying to mark you—to make you really hers.

Without warning, she thrusted her fingers deep inside you.

"Oh, Nat!" You cried in pleasure as she drove you higher and higher. Her fingers move faster, her thumb applying more pressure to your clit. She can feel you trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I can't believe you didn't wear any panties baby," she chuckled, "what if someone saw my pussy while you stood there in your seat huh?"

"I-I, I—"

"Close baby?" She smirked on your neck, she added another finger curling in your tight walls that made you gasp and buck harder towards her digits.

"Nat, I'm gon', I'm gonna…" you trailed off, finally hitting the peak of your orgasm. You chased your own breath when Natasha pulled you into a deep kiss and you let her dominate you again as she pushed her tongue onto yours.

She smirked at you as she pulled away, "You always loved quickies, baby." She teased, licking her digits that were coated with your arousal.

You hummed, placing your forehead on hers, "Because that's what only we can afford." You said in a small voice, your breath fanning over her mouth.

"Not now though, we have all the time in the world." Natasha replied as she stroked your cheek, the pain was evident in her voice as she spoke. You both never really had time alone inside the campus without prying eyes or suspicions of others. The only time you have is this, when you two would plan a night out every month or when Natasha would occasionally do late-night visits where she would sneak into your dorm and the two of you would spend the night making love to each other.

"That's the thing, Nat. We're on our way back to the world, the real world," you kissed her neck all the way up to her jaw and to her lips. You eyed her and kissed her nose before moving away from her lap back to the passenger seat.

The real world where your love is forbidden and hidden.

The drive to the campus' dorm complex was quick just like the quickie you had half an hour ago. Natasha pulled the car to a quiet secluded area and got out of her car. "I'll pick you up tomorrow?" Natasha asked as she opened the passenger door, you stepped out with your training bag that you brought with you.

"Steve will pick me up tomorrow," you said as you looked at her, you placed a kiss on her cheek, "But I for sure will see you tomorrow, alright?"

You and Natasha had agreed upon certain rules during the course of your…affair and one of those rules was that you would never mention your boyfriend's name when she was present. In this moment, however, you inadvertently forgot about this rule and his name slipped from your lips without a second thought.

Natasha just concealed her jealousy and aching heart but when you softly leaned on her, your head comfortably resting on her shoulder it was quick to soothe her. She then asked, "You don't want me to accompany you upstairs?"

"I might not let you go if I let you come with me." You confessed but the redhead knew this too. Your eyes, however, betrayed your hidden desires, silently pleading with her to disregard any resistance and come to the dorm with you.

"Baby, don't give me those eyes," Natasha softly whined.

You chuckled and painfully tore yourself away from your secret lover, "Good night, Nat."

⧗

It is Tony's tradition to host a party before the school year comes to a close and has become a much-anticipated event in your campus. But this year the party held a somber undertone as it marks the end of the journey for your entire batch. Tomorrow is your graduation day and everyone will finally embark on different paths. So this night will hold a memory for all of you as you hold a bittersweet celebration bidding farewell to school days and the journey you had together.

Your boyfriend, Steve, just picked you up at your dorm and as soon as you arrived at Tony's place, your eyes scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of your secret lover. Despite Steve's firm grip on your hand, your attention was elsewhere, the need of seeing your secret lover making your heart skip a beat. You tried to remain composed, pretending to engage in conversation with Steve.

"I finished my graduation speech, love," he told you, his voice cutting through the loud party music. Your mind was preoccupied with searching for your secret lover and you only half-listened to his words, caught up in your own thoughts.

"What? Sorry baby," you apologized, your attention finally shifting to him.

"I said," he held both of your hands and pulled you closer to him, eager to pull you away from whatever is distracting you, "I just finished my graduation speech," he whispered to your ear.

You smiled, reaching up to pinch Steve's cheek proudly, "My council president." Eyes shining with pride and happiness for him—genuinely.

Steve is a quintessential all-rounder; a true gentleman who excelled academically and was a beacon for the students as he is the student council president.

He is a good boyfriend too. He was consistent in picking you up from your classes, walking you back to your dorm. You couldn't help but notice that he possessed a mildly possessive nature, because he seemed to want to keep you shielded, no, away from the outside world because your life just revolves around the campus, gym, organization faculty, and dorm and your boyfriend made sure of that.

Whenever you attended training, tune ups or participated in debates, Steve is always there, observing and sometimes engaging in your activities. He had a subtle ego, where he'd train you, play as your opponent during debates and literally break you, pushing you through your limits because he told you that he wants you to do good, do better—he wants you to win.

He doesn't want losers and he always wins and you knew that the day he won your "yes" when he asked you on a date—he always gets what he wants—he always wins and everytime you let him.

"Stop giving Y/N those blue gooey eyes, Rogers," Tony's joke broke the moment between you and Steve as he offered drinks. "Lovebirds, drinks?" You cringe at his words, it doesn't feel right to you.

Steve accepted a cup for himself but when you were about to get one for yourself he swiftly interjected, shielding your hand away from the tray declining the offer on your behalf. You gave Tony a strained smile, "I'm good, Tony, thanks."

How did you even bother to get one when he never lets you drink alcohol or engage in any activities he deemed unsuitable for himself when you were out together? You often felt trapped and restricted, as if you could never truly enjoy yourself when you're with him. He constantly kept a watchful eye on you, ensuring your compliance to his rules—making you feel constantly monitored and controlled like right now you're basically trapped and isolated in the corner, his towering body shielding you away from the crowd in the party.

Sure, he is a good boyfriend.

"Stop, fucking in the corner blondie!" You heard his friend Sam shout at the distance and Steve just gave him a finger but still facing you.

Steve is never the one who fucks around, he always maintained decency and in fact—he is a celibate and no one knew actually—just you. It was an agreement to the both of you when your relationship began which you completely agreed and respected but what he didn't know was that you were secretly breaking that agreement by satisfying your desires every night with your secret lover.

And your secret lover, concealed by the presence of others at the party, watched despite Steve's imposing frame blocking her view. She watched as you laughed at his words and planted a kiss on his cheek every now and then. She watched Steve as he wrapped your hands around his neck, you looked happy—too happy she thought, considering she knew the truth about your secret. And the secret in question? Is her.

She clenched her jaw as you placed a final, chaste kiss on Steve's cheek, she almost lost it when your boyfriend tried to attempt to kiss your mouth but you gently stopped him by placing a finger on his lips, keeping him at bay and chuckling slightly as you finally walked away from him and from the crowd of the party.

⧗

You managed to convince Steve that you could make it back to your dorm alone, insisting that you'd see each tomorrow at graduation rites. Steve begrudgingly agreed, though you could tell he really wanted to walk you back as he usually did.

As you walked back to your dorm complex in the chill of the night, the absence of your secret lover weighed heavily on you. You didn't see a glimpse of the redhead tonight, she was nowhere to be seen at the party, leaving you to wonder where she disappeared to.

You took a deep breath before opening the door of your dorm only to be greeted by none other than your secret lover who you have been looking for the whole night.

"Out early in the party huh?"

You bit your lip pretending to not be shocked by her presence, you forgot that she had duplicated your dorm key, "I realize I just wanted to stay home, have a quiet night in."

"Oh, you intend to be quiet?"

You furrowed your brows at her question, "Yeah, why would I be loud?" You asked innocently, not aware of the redhead's innuendo, your back was facing her as you started to remove the heels you have been wearing.

"Well, if I am going to fuck someone's girlfriend, I might want to hear her scream my name." She stepped forward and grabbed your hips, you sucked in a little breath as she inhaled in your neck. "So tell me, will you be loud for me? Y/N? Will you…scream my name?" she husked, her breath warm against your skin.

You turned to her, green orbs dilated as you looked straight at her eyes.

"Don't I?" You whispered in a very dangerous tone as you ran your thumb against her lips, "always," you caressed her cheek and traced your fingers along her tense jawline, "scream your name?"

A growl ripped out through her, she immediately grabbed your hips and turned your back on her front. Her lips found your neck and she sucked and bit gently, leaving a faint mark. With a swift movement, you yelped a little as Natasha pulled your left leg up, causing your skimpy dress to roll up even further. Her hand instinctively went up to the back of your thigh, gripping it tightly.

You didn't notice that you were both facing your vanity mirror. Natasha's eyes darkened while yours widened as you looked at your reflection through the mirror. Natasha's right hand sneaks through your panties, finding its way to your core. She begins to rub gentle circles, causing you to gasp and lean back against her.

"Fuck!"

Natasha's left hand grips your thigh with the same precision and strength as when she holds her electric guitar during their gigs. Meanwhile, her right hand continues to strum your core like how she played a wild solo on her guitar.

She was the artist and you were the art.

"Oh yes, yes ah!"

Your moans fill the air, her fingers moving with a skilled rhythm that could make any musician jealous. To her, your moans and the sloppy sound of your pussy are like music to her ears, a symphony of pleasure that she herself is producing. Your moans crescendo, becoming louder and more frequent as she pushes her fingers in and out of you while her thumb continues to strum your clit. Your moans are like a song she is composing right this moment and the only lyrics is her name.

"Natasha!" You moaned out in pleasure.

Her breath hitches as she continues to pleasure you. She leans in close to your ear again, her voice a low purr. "Open your eyes and look in the mirror."

You hazily opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was her smokey eyes filled with lust, desire, and pleasure. You then dragged your gaze down to her digits disappearing inside your cunt—the sight only brought you closer to the edge.

"C-cum—please let me cum," you whined, a tear falling down your cheek. You can feel her lips curling into a predatory smile on your neck as she hears your plea. She doesn't respond with words, instead choosing to increase the tempo of her fingers.

"Only if you open those pretty eyes of yours and look at the mirror, detka."

You squeezed your eyes shut before managing to open them again, looking straight at her through the mirror.

"Come and scream my name."

"Oh f—fu—Natasha!"

You finally fall over, throwing your head back on her shoulder, a triumphant cry escaping your lips as she feels your body tremble against her. As the waves of pleasure subside, Natasha removes her fingers and you watch her in the mirror as she brings them to her lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied purr. She immediately catches your trembling body, still recovering from your orgasm, she then carries you into a bridal style and gently places you to the bed.

"I love you, Y/N."

You hummed pulling her by her leather jacket, "Please stay, Natty."

Natasha watches as your eyes flutter closed, she carefully extracts herself from your embrace, but you cling to her, your grip tightening on her jacket. Natasha pauses, her heart heavy in her chest as she looks down at your sleeping form. She knows she had planned to talk to you tonight, to finally come clean about her feelings, but now that the moment is here, she can't just bring herself to wake you up.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face. She remembers the first time she saw you, how easy it was to slip into her role as a recluse and simply observe. You were the most popular student on campus, an achiever, the captain ball, always surrounded by a group of admirers. It made it all too easy to keep her feelings under wraps. That's why she couldn't believe the moment her sister told her that you wanted to meet her and it ended up with you in her car, begging her to let you come.

It wasn't long before things took a turn. You would find yourself asking her to come to your dorm after your classes were over, even if Natasha's class isn't, she would immediately have an early out just to go to you only for the two of you to spend the night relentlessly fucking each other until neither of you could move anymore.

One time her sister brought her to your game. And she saw you struggling to keep up with the rest of your team—having a bad day to play. She watched you go to Steve and how he threw you your towel and handed you your tumbler being the supportive boyfriend that everyone thinks he is when he is acting like an entitled self-proclaimed coach just watching you, not even cheering or hyping you up.

And before she knew it, when you walked towards where she sat during the game completely shocked at her presence, she leaned enough for everyone not to notice—she offered to fuck you as a reward if ever you win the game. Only if she knew that you have a game. She would bring everything she thinks you might need, she'll bring you a jug of water, different colors of kinesiology tape, hell, she would buy you new shoes. But right now motivation is all she can offer because it's too high of a risk if she did all these things.

It was the first time she had seen you play because it was one of your rules, for her not to show up whenever you're in a competition, games, tune ups or in an event organized by you or your organization. You had explained to her that you preferred to keep things hidden, no, low-key, to avoid attracting unwanted attention that could arise from others noticing the two of you. She agreed, not even thinking a bit of it because she wanted you safe as you hold a lot of titles in you. She doesn't want to ruin your image though it breaks her heart not being able to watch you win and be successful in each game or competition.

Would that still be important if after you win it was her you would spend the night with where she'll see you in all your glory as she makes you feel like a champion once more?

At first, keeping your affair a secret had been easy. It was a necessary precaution, one that she understood and respected. But as time went on, Natasha found herself yearning for more.

Sometimes she wishes she would be the one you're running to after you won a game. She wanted to be able to cheer you on from the sidelines as you won game after game, competition after competition, events after events. She wanted to be there every time you win and every moment of loss—she'll be there no matter what.

But that will happen anymore, Natasha could already feel the weight of the unknown future bearing down on her. This was it, the moment she had both been looking forward to and dreading. You two are graduating tomorrow, new chapters, new beginnings and things aren't still settled for the both of you, you never opened up, you never told her where you stood in this…clandestine affair.

And that made her want you more. She yearned to be by your side, proudly and openly. She craved for the day when she didn't have to hide her feelings for you or keep her presence a secret. She hoped for the day when she could stand beside you, not as a shadow, not a secret but as a partner—your lover.

Is that too much to ask for?

⧗

The sun was beating down on the graduates and their families, sweat glistening on their foreheads as they chatted and laughed, snapping pictures and the students—graduates hugged each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces as they said their goodbyes.

Natasha's eyes frantically searched for you. Her heart pounded in her chest as she clutched her trencher, every second feeling like an eternity as she scanned the sea of faces—and there you were standing with Steve and she assumed his family—deep in conversation and laughter.

In the midst of the chaotic crowd around you, both of your gazes met and everything else faded away—it felt like the whole world stopped and it's just the two of you.

You snapped back to reality as Steve pulled you into a warm embrace and kissed the side of your head, his family looking on with teasing grins. But you couldn't help but feel a twinge of cringe because you knew Natasha was watching all this happen.

"Love, I'll just go see my friends and Mom." You said, pulling back from Steve's suffocating embrace. You gave him a small convincing smile as you tried to get yourself away from the situation.

When he nodded you immediately excused yourself to his family and ran towards the direction where you last saw the redhead. Before you could even go away there was a hand who stopped you from walking-running, you gasped as warm and strong arms pulled you into embrace—not a suffocating one.

"Hey beautiful."

"Nat." You sighed, leaning closer to her. Her scent envelopes your senses.

You were suddenly jolted back into reality, and swiftly disentangled yourself from Natasha's embrace. You could see the pain flickering in Natasha's eyes as you retreated hastily. You despised yourself for causing her this, yet you couldn't explain your actions just yet. It wasn't that you didn't care for her—quite the opposite, but the fear of exposure and being not accepted prevented you from being out with her freely.

How you wished you could tell her that.

"Y/N, I need to talk to you."

"Nat, I need to find mom, we…" you trailed off, unsure on how to tell her, "we're gonna have lunch with Steve's family."

Nat's eyes searched your face, sensing the turmoil within you. She seemed to want to say something but held back, her silent gaze speaking volumes. You didn't miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes and the sorrow etched on her face. You were all too familiar with this. So, you swiftly reassured her, placing a gentle hand against her cheek, silently begging her to focus on you.

"Nat, don't forget our week-long plans," you reminded her softly, your thumb tenderly caressing her cheek. "I'll be all yours, just you and me."

Natasha despised how effortlessly you could coax her, and yet, she surrendered willingly as she always did—her love for you overriding all the resistance. Every time you whispered sweet reassurances and gave a comforting touch, she melted, her resolve crumbling effortlessly.

She could never say no to you.

Just as you were about to lean in to steal a kiss from Natasha, a sharp call of your name pierced through the air.

"Y/N."

You turned around to see your mother watching the two of you, "Mama…"

How you wished she didn't see you lean in for Natasha and to alleviate the awkwardness, you introduce them both to each other.

Nervously, you began, your voice quivering slightly, "Mom, this is Nat…" you trailed off, unsure on how to introduce your lover because you cannot just introduce her as your lover yet since your mom knew about Steve and 'friend' just didn't seem adequate to describe what you shared with Natasha. The relationship between you and Natasha was too complex, too dangerous, too intense to be boxed into a single label. And your mother is conservative, so you have to start there.

You looked towards Natasha, offering a strained smile, silently begging her to make a good impression. Your mother was known for being judgmental at times, and the last thing you wanted was for her to disapprove of the person dearest to you.

Natasha took the initiative, greeting your mom, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N," and she extended a hand. However, your mom's gaze remained fixed, her eyes honed in on the intertwined fingers of your hands with redhead. The subtle gesture didn't escape your mom's keen eyes.

Sensing your mom's penetrating stare, you quickly withdrew your hand from Natasha, creating a bit of distance between the two of you. Your mother seemed lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to reality and reaching out to shake Natasha's hand.

"Congratulations." She greeted with her unreadable expression and the redhead gave her a warm smile and thanked her. "Steve and his family are waiting for us."

You nod, acknowledging your mom's reminder before she started walking away. You turned towards Natasha and you found her looking down, she then handed you a box and whispered, "You should go."

Despite the aching in your chest, you managed a feeble smile, holding the box she had handed you. You longed to remain there, to embrace her and not leave. Your heart clenched in your chest as you attempted to suppress the tears threatening to spill, "I'll see you, Nat. Okay?"

Natasha stood there, her eyes fixated on you as you walked away. A soft whisper escaped her lips, lost in the air.

"I love you."

⧗

Two months had crept by since your graduation day and the affair with Natasha remained a secretive yet constant part of your life. The thrill and passion you shared with her continued to burn brightly, with neither of you daring to mention the status of the affair. The question of what it meant would remain locked away, hidden beneath layers of secrecy.

Not until you kept another secret from your secret lover herself.

"So when are you going to tell me about it?" Natasha's voice was cold as she cut through the silence, her anger barely contained.

You froze under her intense gaze, your body shaking as you fought back tears.

"I...I'm sorry," you whispered.

Shaking her head, Natasha continued, her eyes flickering with hurt and anger. "Engaged? And you didn't tell me?"

Your tears finally cascaded down your face as you relived the memories of four days ago, when Steve had proposed to you. How could you say no? He decided to propose to you in front of his parents and your mother. And the sickening weight of expectations and the pressure of you saying yes to him had overwhelmed you causing you to yield without hesitation.

Natasha had learned about the proposal from Steve himself and he had even made a joke about her reuniting with the campus band and playing at your wedding.

It was no secret because you were planning to tell her, of course you are, you were just looking for the right time but when she showed up at your apartment minutes ago, her intoxication evident in her glassy eyes and the strong smell of alcohol that hung heavy got to her, you knew—but you didn't know that it came from your fiance himself.

Natasha's voice cracked in anger and despair, "I did everything you wanted! I followed your rules, your demands. I stayed away when you asked, I played along to keep our…fuck!" She suddenly broke off, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. "Relationship isn't even the right word. We're not even a couple, right?"

"Stupid," she chuckled, "stupid! stupid, stupid!" Natasha unleashed a punch to each word, slamming into the wall next to her. You flinched and fought the urge to soothe her but she turned to you, tears streaming down her face.

"I played along to…" she choked back a sob, "to keep you!" She spat, pointing a finger on you.

Maybe it was too much to ask for.

Her words hit you like a knife to the heart, causing you to physically flinch. Your tears welled up and fell uncontrollably, your whole body quivering with sobs as you struggled to hold yourself together.

"Sorry."

Your heart was heavy with guilt for causing Natasha so much pain. The single word didn't seem enough to fix the hurt you had done, but it was all you could manage in this moment.

"I just wan…" she sobbed, "I just want you to be mine."

"I am yours, Natasha." You managed to immediately say between sobs, placing your palm over your chest emphasizing each word.

"Are you?" Her brows knit together, "With that ring on your finger?"

Natasha approached you and with every inch she advanced, you slowly retreated, your body moving back in response to her encroaching presence. Natasha finally stood close, her body towering over you. You could feel the heat of her breath on your skin, infused with the strong scent of alcohol. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath she took.

"Y/N you were never mine to begin with and I had to live up with that."

You were looking away from her, arms wrapped tightly around yourself in a protective manner. Natasha's fingers gently guided your chin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. Her touch was electrifying as she slid her fingers down to your arm, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"I chose to live up with that."

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she took your engagement ring off your finger and examined it before letting it bounce to the carpet of your bedroom.

"Engaged, hm?" Natasha smirked, the pads of her thumb wiping the tears running down your cheek, "Did you let Steve finally fuck you after you said yes to him?"

You breath hitched at the question but you immediately shook your head sideways, her hands slipped at the back of your neck and hissed.

"I am the only one who can make you say yes over and over again."

"Natasha, y-you're drunk," you stuttered, you would never deny the redhead but you feel uncertain and scared around her right now.

She smirked before kissing you harshly. Her lips were cold and demanding, silencing any further protests. She held the back of your neck tightly, "Shut up."

She walked you backwards as she kissed you, the kisses becoming sloppy with each step. You felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees and as she kissed you deeply, you slowly sank down onto the mattress.

"Lie down."

"Nat, please…we can talk late—" you were cut short when she shoved her forefinger in your mouth. She watched as you squeezed your eyes shut, finally giving up, your lips sucking gently around her finger.

You chased her finger when she removed it out your mouth then your gaze went down as she moved to remove her belt. Her movements were deliberate as she undid the buckle and pulled it from the loops of her pants, causing them to fall open with her boxers.

Natasha's hand wrapped around a fistful of your hair, harshly tugging your head forward and forcing you to kneel in front of her. Your hands instinctively held her the back of her legs for support, her length inches on your faces as if you knew what to do, your hands slowly reached out to touch her. You wrapped your fingers around her shaft, feeling its thickness and hardness, your thumb rubbing the tip with the pre-cum that covered it.

"Open your mouth," she plainly said, a command rather than a request. Your lips parted slowly and without a second she pushed forward, easing herself into your mouth. Natasha's expression hardened as she gripped your hair, her hips bucking forward aggressively. She thrust into your mouth without remorse, tears welled in your eyes, but she remained unmoved, solely focused on her own pleasure.

She fucked your mouth ruthlessly, her thighs trembling with the force of her movements. Your nose was pressed against her pelvis, your eyes watering from the rough treatment. The only sound was the sloppy wet noises of her thrusting and your muffled cries.

Natasha was one to fight her moans and grunts back, but she was unable to hold them as she unleashed a thick, hot load directly into your mouth. The force of her orgasm sent ropes of cum shooting down your throat, making you choke and gag on the sheer volume.

In a sudden move, Natasha yanked you up by your hair, her cock slipping out of your mouth with an audible pop. She took a step back, leaving you panting and disoriented, your mouth agape, tears falling down your cheek and her cum inside you mouth. She reached down and yanked your hair again, forcing you to look up at her. She spat into your open mouth, watching as the saliva mingled with her cum.

"Swallow."

She squeezed your chin, applying pressure until your throat opened up. You looked straight into her eyes, you felt the lump of cum and spit lodge in your mouth, and then you swallowed the liquid sliding down your throat.

Natasha released her hold on your chin and hair, her voice taking on a dismissive tone. "Bed," she ordered, turning away from you to clean herself up. You scrambled to your feet, quickly making your way to the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin.

Natasha hovered on top of you, you tried looking into her bloodshot eyes but you couldn't see anything. You couldn't see her. Her eyes didn't sparkle the way it did when you two were making love…is this even making love?

You wanted to make it up to her, you wanted her to use you for what you did to her. For hurting her, it is all that you could do as of now—it's all that you could offer. But you wanted her to talk to you through it like she always had, but right now she doesn't seem to care about what you need.

Natasha locked her knees on yours, her thighs squeezing tight to keep you pinned in place. She surged forward, burying her face in the crook of your neck. You could smell the alcohol on her breath as she trailed kisses down your body. She then nipped at your skin, her teeth sinking in hard enough to leave bruises. Right now, she didn't care. In fact, she wanted you to be marked, marked by her and not by your stupid fiance.

"N-Nat…Steve might com—" before you could even finish your sentence, Natasha slapped you hard across the face, the sting making your eyes water.

"Don't fucking say his name when you're underneath me," she snarled and as if losing her patience she harshly pulled you by your thighs towards her. Without giving you a chance to protest, Natasha thrust into your core with a ferocity you hadn't expected. You could feel yourself stretching around her, each movement of her hips sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Natasha folded your thighs towards your chest, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. You eyed her, tears ready to fall down as she fucked you with reckless abandon. She was like a different person, all rough edges and sharp angles, her usually composed, sweet, and caring nature replaced by a harsh, uncaring desire. Her usually gentle features were twisted into a snarl, her eyes cold and hard, lacking the warmth and spark that usually dwelled within them.

You couldn't help but wince as she thrust into you again and again, the pain dulling the pleasure, yet you let her continue. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as you bit back a moan, your mouth agape in a silent scream as she took what she wanted.

You.

You tried to claw her back, but she was too quick for you. She wiggled and before you knew it, she had gripped both of your hands on her own, pinning them above your head. She didn't want you to touch her and the realization stung.

She then suckled your tits hard, biting and pulling on them until you cried out in pain and pleasure. The rough treatment and seeing you in pain seemed to turn her on more, and she then continued to abuse your sensitive breasts.

Natasha's grunts grew louder, more primal as she neared her peak. Her face contorted, eyes screwed shut, and her movements became jerky, uncoordinated. She touched your lower abdomen to feel her cock bulging in and out. She was close, so close, and you could do nothing but lie helpless beneath her, tears leaving a trail on your cheeks as she held you down and used your body.

She finally let out a guttural growl, her body spasming as she emptied herself inside of you.

At least in this way she could make you really hers.

You jolted awake from the dream as the sound of your baby's cry made you alarmed. It's an instinct that you developed since you had your baby, whatever sound she made you'll be quick to get or coo her, doesn't matter if you're in the shower, cooking or asleep.

You slowly sat in the bed, wiping the sweat that glistened on your neck. You breathed in and out to calm yourself. It was a dream, just a dream, you're not new to it, it's same dream you always dream. It did happen but it never failed to visit—haunt you even in your sleep.

It was a dream but what you're living right now is a nightmare.

You looked over at Steve's body, deep in slumber beside you, the sight of him only causing a lump to form in your throat. The tears began to well up in your eyes, and you quickly looked away, unable to bear the ache and guilt any longer.

You quietly moved away from the bed, the sound of your baby's cries growing louder with every step you took. Your heart swelled as you reached the crib, carefully picking up your child and cradling her in your arms. You gently shushed your baby, cooing softly as you fixed the red hair that had become mussed during her sleep, her little face scrunched up as she wailed.

"Shh, mommy's here." You whispered as you blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision to fight back your own tears.

As if she was actually listening to you, her cries became silent as her small chubby hand reached up, her fingers wrapping around the delicate chain of your necklace. She tugged gently and your heart skipped a beat as she pulled the guitar dangle free, holding it in her tiny grasp.

You gently rocked your baby, cooing soft lullaby as you tried to soothe her back to sleep. But as you looked down at her innocent face, her green orbs shimmered with unshed tears were looking at yours. Your heart ached and the tears you'd been holding back began to fall, softly dripping onto your baby's soft skin.

"I love you, little one."

Good Luck, Babe: Masterlist

[agreeewrites]

Hit Me Where It Hurts The Most | S.B.

feat. Sirius Black x Rowle!reader

SUMMARY: You and Sirius have known each other since childhood due to your families running in the same circles. But after a lifelong loathing of one another, the scale tips another way during the New Years Eve feast after-party.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, hate fucking, enemies to enemies that kiss, abusive siblings, toxic friends, reader is Thorfinn Rowle’s twin sister, side Rabastan Lestrange x reader (it's complicated)

series navigation | part two | part three | part four | masterlist

divider by @sxmmerberries

“Well, don’t you look supremely vicious this evening,” a low voice hummed in your ear, one you would recognize anywhere.

“Would you like a taste, Black?” You replied, turning your head just slightly so you could see him in your periphery. He looked exceptionally handsome, as he always did, with his regal bone structure and sage eyes, his hair glossy as raven’s feathers.

It made you sick.

“I’d rather chew nightshade. Far less dangerous.” Sirius stepped around to your front, openly surveying the outfit you’d selected for the evening: a black mini dress with long bell sleeves, a silver chain around your waist, and a platform pair of gogo boots that barely brought you up to his chin. “You’re lethal, darling.”

You and Sirius had known each other for years, having been in attendance for countless parties thrown by your families, and you always seemed to end up here, flirting like you were wielding knives instead of compliments. A competition to see who could deal them most flattering, and most lethal blow. And when he’d left his family for the Potter’s, that rivalry only deepened.

It was much easier to hate one another, to twist the most alluring parts of each other into flaws rather than admit the truth of what they were, or how they made you feel.

You were both at the New Years Eve feast afterparty in the Astronomy Tower, a rare multi-house event. Magic kept the blustering cold at bay, and the party safely enclosed in a bubble of warmth. Students from every house mingled, sipping straight from bottles of giggle water and dancing amid a haze of glittering confetti. The music thrummed through you, aiding the alcohol in loosening your tense muscles.

You loathed parties, but your brother, Thorfinn, had insisted. And what the oaf wanted, the oaf got.

Speak of the devil, you caught Thor’s eyes across the party, where he stood with Sirius’ cousin, Rabastan Lestrange, and the Carrow’s, scanning the crowd for their first unwitting plaything of the year. Thor’s gaze flicked to Sirius, and his expression darkened.

You turned your attention back to Sirius, rolling your eyes at him. “Better hurry back to Potter, baby. His hand must be getting cold outside of your ass.”

Your jab didn’t phase him, and he flashed you that dauntless grin. “What? Big brother says you’re not allowed to talk to me?”

Thor started to move through the crowd towards you, a battering ram through water, and panic curled behind your ribs. “I have no interest in speaking with you, reject. Leave me,” you hissed, as vicious as he accused you of being.

His smile tightened, your cruel words finally chinking his armor. Then, the bastard caught your eye flitting past his shoulder and turned, spotting Thor as he prowled ever closer. “Oh, he looks thrilled,” Sirius said, turning back to you. “Better turn that little brain off and play dumb like you’re so good at.”

Anger simmered under your skin, twining with the panic to make you feel a frantic, fevered.

With a huff, you stepped around Sirius and met Thor halfway, allowing him to take your elbow and steer you back across the party, his grip bruising.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, talking to that rat?” Thor seethed, his alcohol-singed breath wafting over your face.

“He came up to me,” you bit back, swallowing the urge to pull away despite the pain.

“So you walk away. Not play your stupid little word games.”

“I know, Thor. I’m sorry,” you said, feigning remorse, but tonight, he wouldn’t be so easily disarmed.

“Your lack of control is a disgrace,” he snarled, before shoving you away and almost directly into Rabastan, who caught you with a steadying hand before quickly releasing you.

“Just stay here,” Rab whispered in your ear, his heat at your back. “Pecking at my cousin isn’t worth the consequences.”

Rabastan Lestrange was far from a good man, but he wasn’t an unfeeling ogre like your brother, so you often took shelter in his calm demeanor and powerful name. If he wanted Thor shipped off to Azkaban, all he had to do was say the word.

Your parents hoped you would snag an engagement proposal from him by graduation, but the months were rapidly winding down. And you couldn't bring yourself to try all that hard, despite finding Rab both intriguing and exceedingly handsome. He was a Lestrange, after all, with angular features and the eyes of hunter, the kind of magnetic allure that only good genetics could buy.

You didn’t respond, snagging another flute of giggle water as it passed by and taking a delicate sip, Thor’s glare still trained on you. As your family demanded, you were to remain the picture of elegance, of restraint.

Appeased, Thor finally turned back to his hunt, and you exhaled.

You watched as students danced and flirted on the dance floor, gyrating and spinning with abandon. How badly you wished you could join them, could let loose for just a moment. And your opportunity arrived when the band started a slow waltz, and Rab’s hand caressed your lower back.

“Dance with me,” he said, not a request, but you didn’t mind.

He led you out onto the floor and you slid one hand up his broad chest, the other placed in his palm. He pulled you closer, his touch light and careful along your back as he started to lead you.

Dancing with Rab was effortless, fluid as water due to his extensive etiquette training, and you quickly got lost in the buoyant feeling of it.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmured, and you looked up at him, finding his brown eyes trained on your face, thick lashes heavy, a new intensity blooming.

“Thank you.” You rested your cheek on his muscular chest, overwhelmed by that look in his eye. Your parents would be thrilled. So thrilled, they may not even care that you broke form by resting your head on him.

Rab certainly didn't seem to mind, his hand growing heavier against the curve of your spine and pressing you closer together.

From this new angle, you scanned the crowd, watching countless other couples get lost in their own love story. There was Pandora and Xeno, and Evan and Barty. Not far from them was Marlene and Dorcas, and James Potter and Lily. And to the right of James—your heart stalled, acrid, green poison spilling through your blood.

Sirius was dancing with a girl you didn't recognize, her hair tangled in his long fingers while she kissed up his neck, their bodies flush and swaying.

But his eyes—his eyes were trained on you.

You shifted closer to Rab, an unconscious movement, and he purred in pleasure, his fingers trailing up your spine and making you shiver against him. He smelled expensive, amber and peppercorn, Burberry wool. Warmth began to spread through your lower belly, cloying and dark.

You lifted your head, glancing around to check Thor's location. He was tucked into an alcove with Lucinda, and paying you no mind. With Rab, you were safe from Thor's constant shadow, the burden of the Rowle name. With Rab, you were shielded by his even loftier name, a Lestrange by association. A large enough legacy to disappear into.

It could have been Sirius, your mind whispered, unprompted, and you flinched in Rab’s arms. Where had that come from?

“Alright, darling?” Rab asked, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “Did something frighten you?”

You shook your head, fingers curling into his chest. “Just a little overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping it comes off as coquettish and sweet instead of pathetic, like you feel.

You saw his gaze flit towards Thor, then back down to you. “Would you like me to throw him off the tower?”

You nearly choked on your surprise, then are stunned further to see a soft smile crinkling his eyes. A nervous flutter tickles your lungs, and you giggle. “No, no. That would be too obvious.”

Rab chuckled, his smile widening. “Fair enough, I suppose. Just say the word, love, and you will be free of him.” He pressed your head gently back onto his chest and you obliged, feeling his steady heart drum under your ear.

But, you couldn't seem to stop yourself from finding Sirius in the crowd once more.

He was dancing with Lily now, laughing and spinning her in wide circles, and that poison spread further, rooting into your bones.

It could have been you.

You flinched again, this time away from Rab. “I'm sorry, I—uh. I need some air.”

Rab looked around, you were literally outside, but nodded sympathetically. “Go on, little doe. I'll handle Thorfinn,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles before turning you loose.

You pushed your way through the crowd and down the stairs, bursting into the empty corridor below, the cold seeping in through the stone.

You leaned against the wall, drawing deep breaths, running your fingers through your hair. It was all too much, you were feeling too much, and you couldn't make sense of any of it.

Rabastan was finally flirting with you, and you ran away from him. From safety, from security, from your inevitable future. And for what? To avoid—

“Good ‘ole Rab scare you off?” Sirius drawled, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. “That was a very swift exit.”

You rolled your eyes, straightening. “Can't allow me a moment of peace, can you?”

He sidled up closer, looking sinful in his all black outfit, his shirt half unbuttoned, neck heavy with silver chains. “Not in my nature.” He smirked.

“No, you're nature is far too effusive. Permeates the fucking room.”

“Wow, I've really got you wound up tonight, doll. Profanities on that pretty, posh tongue? Be still, my heart.”

“Not everything is about you, imbecile.”

He prowled closer, his hand resting on the stone beside your head. “So who is it about? I highly doubt that Rabastan Lestrange has you so hot and bothered.”

“And if he does?” You challenged, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. Your bodies were so close, the heat of him pushing back the winter chill, and that bitter poison in your blood sweetened to something honeyed, sticky and slick and burning.

Sirius huffed a laugh, the warmth of his breath caressing your lips. “Then he’s an idiot for letting you out of his sight.”

“And why's that?” You prodded, bumping the tip of your nose against his, wanting to rip that smug smile off his face with your teeth.

“Because.” Sirius pressed his body to yours, solid and lean, so warm, too warm—”Someone else might burn in the fire he started.”

“You think we care if you burn?” You hiss, hating him so much you could scream, but wanting him so desperately you might cry.

“We?” He sneered, all mirth vanishing from his voice. “If there’s ‘we’, then why am I the one you're arching into? Why am I the one making your reptilian heart flutter?”

“Because you're insufferable and I hate you.” The last word skims the surface of his lips, the faintest brush of contact, a match striking the tinderbox.

“And you're a liar,” he growled, slamming his mouth onto yours in a vicious, wrathful kiss, the electricity between you combusting with a boom that rocked you to your core.

You gasped against his mouth, his tongue driving between your teeth to taste you, claim you. You bit down on his tongue, just hard enough to make him grunt in agitation, and his hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air and forcing your to release your hold.

His rings were icy against your fevered skin, his lips against your ear. “Oh, darling. How long have you waited to be bad?”

Unable to move, you flicked your tongue out, dragging it along the hard angle of his jaw, and he shuddered, loosing a wrecked groan.

He crashed your lips together again, open-mouthed and sloppy. He kissed you like every second was stolen, every lick was a victory, and it made your head spin. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen.

He released your throat and you sucked in a sharp breath of cold air, making your lungs burn. His lips moved down to your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as his hands bunched up your dress, fingertips grazing the bare flesh of your thighs.

“Sirius, not here,” you gasped, moaning as he sucked a mark just under your ear, where it could be easily hidden by your hair.

You felt him smirk, and you realized that you'd verbally accepted what was happening, the charade of fighting having fallen without you realizing.

“Why? Afraid you'll get caught with the reject?” He threw your words back at you, and you cringed internally. But there was no malice in his voice, just that infuriating humor.

You grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into a nearby classroom, locking the door behind you. He promptly tossed you up onto a desk, resuming his colonization of your neck, his narrow hips nestled between your thighs.

His hungry exploration of your skin had your blood boiling, your cunt slick and thrumming with need. It was so bizarrely discordant with the loathing in your mind, but it only made your desire burn that much brighter. It didn't help that he was so unbelievably sexy like this, his hair messy, lips rosy and bitten, his shirt wrinkled from your hands.

The image of that leech attached to his neck flitted through your mind, your anger flaming anew. You tangled your fingers in his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat. You laved your tongue up his esophagus and his hips bucked against you, the hardness of his cock tangible against your thigh.

You covered his throat in wet kisses and licks, marking every spare inch as yours.

“Fuck, doll. You're a feral little thing aren't you?” He rasped, his hand sliding around your thigh to stroke the outside of your panties. “And fucking soaked for me.”

You bit down on his neck, earning a hiss of pain and another stutter of his hips.

He pressed his fingers harder against your cunt, making big, messy circles over your slit and you cried out, the pleasure far more intense that you anticipated.

“Sensitive, baby? So warm and wet—you've ruined these expensive panties, y’know? Such a shame, I bet they look so fucking pretty—”

“Shut up, Sirius,” you hissed, throwing your head back as his middle finger massaged your clit, stars dancing behind your eyes.

“I don't think I will. I think you like hearing me whisper filthy things in your ear. Don't you, my naughty girl? Ah—shit, yes—feel that? Your cunt is practically purring in my hand, drooling all over my fingers—”

“Sirius,” you whined, the attitude draining from your voice as your orgasm prowled near, your entire body humming with desperation, with need.

“Poor thing, getting close, hm?” He pulled the gusset of your panties aside, the pads of his fingers making direct contact with your puffy clit. With his other hand he undid his trousers and you reached for him, pulling his cock out.

Fuck, it was pretty. Of course it was, it belonged to Sirius Black. Long and veiny, flushed and shining with slick. You licked your lips, longing for a taste, but you needed to come more.

“Merlin’s fucking—” he groaned as you pumped him, smearing precum over the rigid head with your thumb. “Ready, doll?”

You angled your hips forward, lining him up with your gooey entrance. He batted your hand away, grabbing his base and easing himself a few inches inside of you, hissing through his teeth.

“Of course you have the perfect fucking pussy,” he grated, almost angry. “Why wouldn't you fit me like a glove? You fucking brat—”

You were barely listening, lost in the delicious feeling of him spearing you on his cock, ripping you apart at the seams and stitching you back together in the shape of him.

“Fuck, Sirius,” you mewled, falling back onto the desk when he bottomed out, so full it felt like he was in your lungs, your heart, your throat.

He drew his hips back, pausing just before his tip left your entrance. “Say my name again,” he growled, leaning over you.

You bit your lip, eyes flashing with defiance despite the need tearing apart your insides.

“Oh, darling,” he chuckled. He shifted forward, slamming his hips into yours with a brutal punch to your cervix. “I'll get it out of you one way or another.”

He fucked you mercilessly, driving in and out of you like he'd somehow exorcise the attitude from your body. And you fucking loved it, keening and crying out as you thrashed underneath him, unable to get purchase on the smooth wood beneath you. But you held your tongue, refusing to say his name.

“You really are a brat, you know? So fucking spoiled,” he growled against your neck, breathless, his grip painful on your hips. “Giving me nothing but attitude, and here I am, giving you exactly what you fucking want.” He slapped your clit, making you jump and cry out as your orgasm pulled taught, a hairs width from shattering.

“Sirius, please,” you begged, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes as the last of your resolve crumbled.

“That’s better,” he cooed, so condescending you'd punch him if you weren't about to explode. “See? You can be a good girl.” His middle finger found you clit again, moving into tight, fast circles, and you detonated.

An inferno burned from your core through every muscle fiber and tendon, every cell and every atom, eviscerating your mind until you were nothing but ash and starlight, weightless and scattered.

But Sirius didn't let up for a second, and you were quickly wrenched back into your body, oversensitive and wrung out, crying real tears as he fucked you through it.

“Fuck, that was beautiful. You even come pretty. Got another one for me? Shit, baby—feels like you do. Squeezin’ me so tight—fuck!” He roared as his own release crashed over him, his cock kicking hard against your tender walls and painting you with rope after rope of his seed.

The feeling drove you into another, smaller orgasm, your body lifting to wrap around his as you both shook and whined, clinging to one another through the onslaught.

He braced his hands on either side of your head, breathing labored and trembling so hard the desk shook beneath you. You collapsed onto your back, thighs clenching and unclenching around his hips, mirroring the frantic flutter of your used cunt.

He kissed you a final time, loose and featherlight, and your heart gave a weak trill. Your breath mingled another moment before he stepped away from you, tucking himself back into trousers.

You sat up, feeling his release squelch between your thighs, and shame crashed down over you, hard enough to steal you breath.

Thorfinn was going to fucking kill you, if he didn't kill Sirius first.

He noticed your expression shift. “Nobody needs to know,” Sirius said, his low, steady voice cutting through the cacophony of panic in your mind. “I won't say anything. To anyone.”

“Not even Potter?” You asked, hating how small your voice sounded.

“No, not even James. This stays between us,” his tone was soft, more sincere than you'd ever heard him, and it assuaged some of your fear.

You nodded, exhaling, though the relief was quickly overshadowed with sour guilt, and something else you refused to look at closely enough to name.

Sirius approached you again, catching your chin and tilting your head up towards him. “But when you go back up there, dance with my cousin, kiss him at midnight, I want you to remember who's dripping between your thighs. Who you were screaming for.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, jerking your chin out of his hold.

“Already did,” he smirked, disappearing into the corridor before you could say anything else.

Heat scorching your cheeks, you cleaned yourself up as best you could in the privvy before returning to party.

Rabastan and Thorfinn descended on you immediately. Sirius was nowhere in sight.

“Where have you been?” Thor growled, tugging you closer by the wrist, his giant hands making the thin bones grind together.

“I told you,” Rab cut in, his voice a glacial calm. “She stepped out to the ladies and to get some fresh air. These parties can be overwhelming for those with a gentler constitution.” Rab gave you a knowing look, a ‘keep your mouth shut and go with it' look, and you nodded in agreement.

His hand fell to your lower back, tugging you closer to him and away from Thor, and like the spineless coward you were, you went gratefully into his embrace.

As if his cousins come wasn't crusting along your inner thighs. Like your lips weren't still tingling from Sirius’ kiss.

“Now, take your hand off of her before I remove it,” Rab ordered, sharp as a razor’s edge.

Thor looked back and forth between the two of you, the singular gear in his brain turning.

Thor released you, suddenly seeming entirely too pleased, and dread coiled in your gut. Some kind of exchange had occurred, a currency trading hands, and it made you vaguely nauseous.

“Come, darling,” Rab murmured to you, leading you back towards the dance floor. “It's only a few moments ‘til midnight.”

When the clock finally wound down, the bell tower tolling loudly enough to shake the floors, instead of pulling you in for a kiss like you expected, Rabastan bowed low. He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to your ring finger, the same place a diamond would find it's home, and you flushed from head to toe.

Tingles erupted all over your body, your muscles tensing with excitement, but it was quickly followed by a twinge of exhaustion in your core, a sobering reminder of what you'd done.

God, what had you done?

Thank you for reading! 🤍

[making-you-in-spore]

pinned post/FAQ

TRANS RIGHTS!! TERFS GET THE FUCK OFF MY BLOG!!!!!!!

we have a source of income again, but if you like my work, donations are always appreciated!

who are you?

i'm just a guy who likes spore [2008]

why do this?

i just really like spore and making creatures in spore. it helps me practice my creature creation abilities.

can you make my oc in spore?

as of right now i do not take requests. i generally find characters and creatures i want to make by them appearing on my dashboard. refer to the Request Beast.

what is in your icon?

captain thunderhide, my main spore space stage captain.

what is peeling?

peeling is when i remove all detail parts from a creature and show the bare sculpt underneath - anything that is not eyes, mouth, hands, feet, or limbs will be removed. it is a tradition around these parts

what are "original spores"?

original spores are spore creations that aren't based on existing media - ocs, copyrighted characters, or otherwise. usually, they're just making things to make them in spore, or are based on simple prompts such as "a plate of spaghetti" or "a penis".

do you use mods?

i exclusively play this game with mods.

can i download the creatures you make?

only if the original creator of the design is okay with it and requests a png. please note that in order to successfully download the creatures, you will need to download every mod used to create them.

i will not always be able to say what mods i use to make something, so it's a gamble if you don't have all of the ones i use.

how do i mod spore/do advanced creature creation like you?

darkedgetv's FAQ is a very good resource to begin. i started there, and it's where i recommend you to start if you're interested in spore modding. it also contains many other mods i have not listed under the cut.

as much as i disagree with the process of using a discord server to contain vital information and resources, the davoonline spore modding community discord is also a good source of resources and mods that even i do not use.

have you heard of [in-development indie sporelike]?

yes. i have heard of all of them.

i hold no interest in any of the currently in development indie "sporelikes". i believe they are trying to reinvent the wheel and overall they do not interest me.

are there any other blogs like yours?

there's a few and ever growing! i refer to this as the ecosystem or the making-you ecosystem.

i have a masterpost of all known individuals in this ecosystem here.

what editor mods do you use?

a lot, so they'll be under the cut.

not mods, but highly recommended for enhanced playing experience

4GB patch - Tutorial - patches spore [and other 32bit programs] to be able to use 4gb of RAM. recommended if playing a highly modded copy, and makes the game more stable.

Reshade & ReSpore - post-processing injector & shader that alters the appearance of spore, giving it more detailed shading and vibrant colors. i use this for gameplay and screenshots. runs on GPU power, so excellent if you have a strong graphics card

HD graphics fix - this doesn't actually seem to work for my copy, but it alters the textures of base spore to be more high-quality.

mods that are absolute must-haves

these mods are ones that i use in almost every creation, and add a lot of QoL to the editors. if i forget a mod in a creature png i post, it will be one of these.

Dark injection - THE spore mod. it's likely a lot of other mods you'll download will mesh well with dark injection. you can turn off whatever you don't want to use through the installer.

Universal Property Enhancer - a library mod that many other mods require

The Smoother - a useful tool for building muscles and smoothing out your creatures' bodies

Enhanced Color Picker - a requirement for super detailed creations, enables hexcode color picking and color wheel selection beyond normal limits of spore

[UPE] Infinite Part Scaling - allows scaling of parts near-infinitely, beyond the limits of the original game

Project Skyncraft - adds new creature skinpaints

Unshackled - adds nodes and limbs for creating custom wings, heads, hands, etc. a little bit unstable, i mostly use this for wings.

Spore Stacker - allows stacking of any part

Subtle Rotations - reduces part rotation snapping

Advanced CE - adds building editor manipulators to the creature editor

Every Part Costs Nothing - self explanatory

Rotate Anything - lets you rotate anything, including feet and hands

Advanced Creature Paint - allows for individual coloring of parts on a creature, like in the building and vehicle editors

Ambient Occlusion Disabler - removes baked-on shadows for creatures

Delta Paints - adds new skinpaints

Valla's Skinpaint Switcheroo - adds duplicates of all vanilla, C&C, and GA creature coat and detail skinpaints into their opposite category

Valla's Vanilla Style Parts - adds several parts which mimic the vanilla style

Delimbiter - increases the amount you can scale limb parts, and allows for more crazy movements of certain limb parts

test drive related mods

these mods are not required to download the creatures i post, but are recommended for the test drive.

No More Creature Editor Animations - turns off the animations that play when you add eyes, mouth, feet/hands, etc

Sevan's TF2 editor animations - adds multiple animations from tf2 into the creature test drive.

Mx3's Dance Animations - adds a multitude of dance animations into the creature test drive.

Tenebris's Creature Test Drive Animations - adds many animations from within the game to the creature test drive.

EditorBG - adds extra editor backgrounds

Ramone Kemono's MMD Drag Ball - high-effort dance mod complete with special effects and a reverse engineered camera system

part mods

these mods add parts to the editors.

DroneParts 2017 - adds many mechanical and polygonal parts useful for machine creatures, i like to use it for building clothes and markings.

New Drone Parts - a sequel to droneparts 2017, compatible with the old version. install both at the same time if you want to be able to use creatures from the old droneparts mod.

Himeric Engine - adds horror-themed parts to the creature editor.

Spore Resurrection Next Steps - adds a few parts to the creature editor and several new textures to the building and vehicle editors.

Dinosaur Parts - adds parts based on dinosaurs and other animals. mostly heads.

Strange And Beautiful - a now-discontinued, reuploaded mod that adds unusual and unique parts to the creature editor

Bionicle parts - adds a few bionicle pieces to the creature editor

Little Box Of Horrors - adds many parts with an overall horror theme. some are animated.

Pandora's Toolbox [1.0] - adds a multitude of basic shapes and polygons to build with

Replicant - adds non-textured animating parts and non-animating parts in a separate tab. good for if you want to use hands, limbs, etc without them animating or adding stats

Armoured And Dangerous - adds a few high detail mechanical looking parts.

Wordsmith 2.1 - adds letters to the creature, building, and vehicle editors

Kaiju parts - adds several parts based on popular kaiju

Organic Help - adds many membrane pieces to the creature editor, for creating wing webbing among other things

Project: Mad Mannequins - adds many human body based parts. and a horse for some reason

A Mouth For All Seasons - adds alternate versions of all vanilla mouths [and all unused cell mouths] with alternate diets

Valla's Captain Badges - adds all space badge models into the captain outfitter and creature editor

Rock On! - adds rock props from spore into the building and creature editors

Anime Parts - adds a couple anime human heads and anime hairs

[thirstkanaphan]

Yeosang and Wooyoung's Recent Features & Subverting the Idol Persona

I have so many thoughts about Yeosang and Wooyoung's most recent editorial features for fashion magazine and how each of them sends a message about their growth over the years.

These two former BigHit trainees each dealt with image issues early in their careers: Yeosang's beauty dominated the external perception of him as an idol who was nothing more than a pretty face, while Wooyoung internally struggled with his physical appearance, recently exacerbated by his diagnosis of a skin condition that flares up in the heat.

In response to these pressures, Yeosang and Wooyoung took on different personas when they debuted as Ateez.

In Yeosang's case, he was "a Maltese who insists he's a Doberman." Yeosang's characterization as pure, innocent, and hapless was (and still is) reinforced by the members as part of their fan service. KQ also allegedly overruled Yeosang on his choice of a Doberman as a representative animal for their Aniteez characters and discouraged him from going to the gym, so as to preserve his slim physique.

Yeosang himself has said that he's not too bothered by the Maltese/Doberman bit; yet, at the same time, Yeosang shows his true self in his performance. He is the kind of dancer that takes up space; his movements are filled with unexpected swagger and ferocity. I noticed this during his MMA solo; again during his Sticky dance challenge, and most recently during the concert film. It was his attitude that entranced me, not (only) his visuals. Around this time, he began to bulk up, seemingly in control of his body's appearance for the first time in a while. He has solo music on the horizon and more schedules coming his way.

Whether or not you want to use the Doberman metaphor, the Esquire Korea feature feels like Yeosang reshaping his image.

Yeosang's poses draw attention to his bulging biceps, his large hands, veiny forearms, and exposed forehead. These attributes all signal traditional masculinity and almost aggressively sends the message: this is a man, not a "good boy."

My quote comes from the clip below of Yeosang, San, and Wooyoung on Jaejoong's variety show. It should be noted that Jaejoong is considered the platonic ideal of a center visual. Jaejoong was allegedly blacklisted from entertainment after his lawsuit with SM led to the national elimination of the so-called idol "slave contracts" with entertainment companies, yet SM continues to use him as the visual blueprint with selecting idols. Jaejoong's compliments to Yeosang therefore feelsalmost double-edged: Yeosang fits the Jaejoong type, but there are certain expectations and pressures that come with this role, and consequences for stepping out of line.

Yeosang's Esquire photoshoot therefore feels transgressive and affirming, given how much he's tried to show the fandom how we've continually underestimated him. See his quote in GQ:

I am intrigued by the sudden (or perhaps not-so-sudden) rebranding of Yeosang and I greatly anticipate his collaboration with Hongjoong for the next Ateez: Present installment. The Sangaissance is upon us!

If Yeosang's idol persona served to reinforce our opinion of him as pure and untainted by earthly desires, than Wooyoung's aimed for the opposite. Welcomed last to KQ on the strength of his dancing skills, and who shared the role of main dancer with Mingi and Yunho, I think Wooyoung found a way to stand out through his "sexy performer" concept.

While his loudmouth antics and aggressive aegyo were also his signature characteristics, Wooyoung used his sexy concept as a kind of shield and battering ram. For many years, Wooyoung spoke negatively about his own body and faced unkind comments from the fandom. There was so much scrutiny over his appearance that it makes sense that the sexy concept became his way of seizing control of his own narrative - and good for him. "Sexy Pefrormer" became how he identified himself and how his members referred to him (although you can imagine their tone).

These days, the nickname "sexy performer" is mostly used to affectionately tease Wooyoung. Wooyoung has himself admitted that he's matured beyond his adolescent understanding of "sexy"

I also notice the kpop industry trended away from "sexy" around the same time Wooyoung did, about two years ago. He's too savvy to be unaware.

These days, you'll find him in head-to-toe Chrome Hearts or styled more androgynously, especially with long hair.

And yet, like Yeosang, and perhaps due to watching Seonghwa and San dramatically transform their bodies and gain opportunities in the high fashion world, Wooyoung recently modified his physique and debuted an unprecedented amount of skin at the Couurages show:

Wooyoung's efforts at exercise were downplayed by the man himself, who was a combination of shy, dismissive, and smug in his messages to ATINY.

With his Courreges appearance going viral, Wooyoung's sexiness was once again part of his packaging as an idol, but with this recent feature + digital cover for ARENA Magazine, it's clear Wooyoung is not sticking to the same old rule book.

These photos of Wooyoung are sexy, yes, but they are also bold, weird, loud, unsettling, strange, erotic, camp, and even unflattering (meant as a compliment). His face forms exaggerated grimaces and pouts; his body bends and hunches; his clothes are either too small and tight or overly large and baggy on his form.

It's not at all what we were expecting from Wooyoung. Compare this photoshoot to cover model Hyunjin who is there to serve Blue Steel-"i'm a handsome idol" face (and it's a beautiful face, good for him!) and apparently also sell watches and jewelry.

They are doing very different things, not one better than the other, but I am delighted that Wooyoung took a real risk and embraced the vulnerability and liberation of not trying to look like a picture-perfect idol. According to Wooyoung, the results were due to him doing what felt natural and not studied:

Wooyoung was so impressive that the Editor-in-Chief made a comment on instagram about how they decided to give Wooyoung a digital cover, something that normally only happens with a brand collaboration (like Seonghwa with John Varvatos perfume).

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Arena Homme+ Korea (@arenakorea)

Yeosang and Wooyoung are not the only members who have altered their appearance to meet new visual concepts. Yet these two recent magazine features suggest that they are making a concerted effort to change/affect our perceptions of them as artists. By embracing different yet not necessarily oppositional modes of sexiness (one rooted in traditional masculinity; the other engaging with queer aesthetics) Yeosang and Wooyoung make clear they intend to move beyond the idol structures and strictures and challenge our perception of kpop visuals through the fearless, transformative, and radical embrace of their own. Bravo!!

I can't wait to see what they do next!

[souriru]

you say you want passion || leona kingscholar

Every halloween, there was something to expect from this world. Not that you could ever rest or relax in your world either, but damn, at least you didn’t have to fight spectres, or chase down one of the students because they were the ghost princess’ selected husband, or even fight people who wanted to eradicate magic from this world or trap rich buffoons (including your own lover) in an odd and terrifying amusement park for all of eternity. 

But right now, none of that matters, since your lover managed to get the two of you some down time, in adult speak. In his words? I am going to ram you against the wall and fuck ya till you scream. And that is how you ended up like a piece of meat on a stand, in what could technically be the living room of a paper house, paper graves lining the surrounding and the horizon, but the man in front of you demands all your attention, which you are more than happy to give. 

Hooded, lazy eyes roam your body, the owner dressed in a striped three piece with an overcoat reminiscent of the skeleton man who led you here deep inside the book. Inside an equally dreary house painted grey, the man wordlessly asks you to spin with a none too equolent spin of a gloved finger, but you find it very hard to ignore, getting on your knees on a padded floor that felt like the pages of a book and greeting him. The man rolls his only visible emerald eye, removing his eye patch and leaning in for a deep kiss, tongue prodding at your lips. 

“Strip.” he whispers against your lips, and you tug at the embellished overcoat as you bite his lower lip and Leona groans despite trying not to, but when has he ever been able to stop it? You drive him madder than the hatters that once dealt with mercury with their bare hands- but maybe, just maybe, you were his mercury, and he twists his body so you can strip him, occasionally tilting his face upwards as you crawl and place yourself firmly on his lap, kissing and sucking and nipping at his face and his throat as you open the first three buttons of his shirt nestled under his vest. 

“You first,” you mutter in a way that is silky and sullen, and Leona chuckles as his hands make their way to your neck, supporting you while he kissed you as you whined against his lips about how unfair it was that he looked so good, and he chuckles again when he pulls away to admire your swollen lips and he feels the blood rush to his dick almost immediately- he knows exactly how to put that mouth of yours to work. 

And so do you, it seems, as you sigh and slip off his lap, and Leona makes quick work of his pants as you help him tug it down to the floor, and you push the flyer in your own pants down as you hum with anticipation. “Easy, beastie,” Leona murmurs as he spreads his legs wider, and you kiss his inner thighs, sucking and biting in a manner that is so him, and he moans as you finally take his length, kissing and licking the underside before putting it in your mouth, choking at halfway as Leona sighs above you. 

Then, you feel Leona shuffling above and around you, guiding your head gently with a gloved hand, and you close your eyes and you take him in deeper and a hand slides slowly towards your still-clothed cunt, desperate from some friction and relief. “Mm, beastie, gonna cum…” you hear him murmur above you, and suddenly, abruptly, you’re pushed away, and eyes snap open as he tilts his head and smirks, before pulling up his pants and picking you up in a bridal sweep, pulling you to a bedroom where there was a permanent curtain drawn. 

Tossing you onto the bed, Leona crawls on top of you as you trace the outline of his chest peeking through the opened buttons of his suit, and you tug at his tied hair as you pull him into another kiss, and he doesn’t bother fighting you, freely giving you whatever you need from him. “Only the best for my queen,” Leona  murmurs as he pulls away and tosses his shirt and vest away, choosing to keep his pants on this time as he pulls yours down, leaving your underwear on as he dives between your legs. 

“Meanie,” you half-huff, huff-breathe as you still spread your legs, and Leona smirks audibly before kissing your inner thigh, kissing and sucking your flesh, occasionally kissing the fabric of your underwear and tugging at it. You, on the other hand, groan at the sudden attack between your legs, and when his nose brushes near your cunt again, you slam the sides of his head with your thighs, waiting for him to yield. “‘Kay, beastie, no need to get aggressive,” he murmurs as he tugs on your underwear, and that’s how you know you’ve won, when he dives in and eats you out like you’re the last meal he’s had in ages and the last meal he’ll have in life. 

You hear more shuffling beneath you, and a wet, squelching sound as Leona strokes himself, a pause followed by a long sigh right against your cunt as he continues getting you off with little regard to his own pleasure. Meanwhile, the sheets of the bed begin feeling more and more like the pages of a book, signalling the end of your time with him, but you don’t have the heart or the mind to tell him to stop, not when you’re so close, damn it. "Leona, I'm close," you hiccup and sob with the overstimulation as Leona redoubles his efforts, adding a finger or two to speed up the process and bring you to your climax. 

As you come down from the high, Leona pulls away to wipe the edges of his mouth, and you sigh in a mix of loss and bliss as he shoots you a toothy grin from above. “You didn’t come, did you?” you murmur as you raise a weirdly sore arm towards your lover, who dodges the question while leaning into your palm. “Leona.” He shushes you, kissing your palm as you wrestle your hand away from him and sit him down (metaphorically, of course) on the bed, and he looks up at you with the most lovesick look in his eyes as you rest your arms on his shoulders and kiss him gently before stripping him, stroking his cock to full length before taking a deep breath in. 

“Cold feet, beastie?” Leona teases quietly as you roll your eyes and push yourself down, breathing in and out as Leona leans in to kiss you gently with sighs and murmurs of how beautiful you are, you’re perfect, absolutely wonderful, and Leona supports the back of your neck as you take him all in, and sighs again and again as he pushes you onto your back on the bed. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. How could I want anyone so much it hurts, beastie?” he murmurs in a fix, eyes blown out and wide as he pulls out and pushes himself in again as you moan loud and clear, grabbing onto the stands of his hair that fell from his ponytail. 

“Mm, you’re perfect too, Leona.” you moan and scream as you close your eyes, tears forming under your eyelids at the feeling of being full and filled with love, and you feel a large, warm hand on your cheek wiping at something, before kisses peppering themselves all over. “Beastie, open your eyes.” your lover murmurs before whining suddenly, and he flushes before he whispers a quiet gonna cum, wanna cum as you nod your permission. 

“No condoms,” he breathes as you shake your head. “I’ll pull out.” You shake your head again as tears fall down your cheeks again, and despite the emotions surging in both of you, he laughs gently, wiping the stray tears that fall. “Beastie, as much as I wanna have kids with you, that’s a discussion for later, hmm?” You moan quietly as he pulls out as strokes himself to finish, and you sit up slowly to watch him as he smirks and winks after catching your eye. 

“Cute.” you whisper as he beckons you with his index and ring finger gently, pulling you onto his lap once again before bending his head and kissing and sucking your chest, and you hug him loosely as you watch the bruises bloom under his careful consideration, and Leona smirks. “Still think I’m cute?” You nod as you kiss his forehead. “Yeah.” you smile as he rolls his eyes fondly before setting his head on your chest. “You’re perfect.”

word count: 1486 words; song: birthday sex; header: @.cafekitsune

tags: @aivy-saur, @nemisisnemi, @glidiaxoxo, @puowei, @vauxxnm @loser-jpg, @fungifanart (idk if you will read it but think of it as an alternate universe??)

[nornities]

How to use DXVK with The Sims 3

Have you seen this post about using DXVK by Criisolate? But felt intimidated by the sheer mass of facts and information?

@desiree-uk and I compiled a guide and the configuration file to make your life easier. It focuses on players not using the EA App, but it might work for those just the same. It’s definitely worth a try.

Adding this to your game installation will result in a better RAM usage. So your game is less likely to give you Error 12 or crash due to RAM issues. It does NOT give a huge performance boost, but more stability and allows for higher graphics settings in game.

The full guide behind the cut. Let me know if you also would like it as PDF.

Happy simming!

Disclaimer and Credits

Desiree and I are no tech experts and just wrote down how we did this. Our ability to help if you run into trouble is limited. So use at your own risk and back up your files!

We both are on Windows 10 and start the game via TS3W.exe, not the EA App. So your experience may differ.

This guide is based on our own experiments and of course criisolate’s post on tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/criisolate/749374223346286592/ill-explain-what-i-did-below-before-making-any

This guide is brought to you by Desiree-UK and Norn.

Compatibility

Note: This will conflict with other programs that “inject” functionality into your game so they may stop working. Notably

Reshade

GShade

Nvidia Experience/Nvidia Inspector/Nvidia Shaders

RivaTuner Statistics Server

It does work seamlessly with LazyDuchess’ Smooth Patch.

LazyDuchess’ Launcher: unknown

Alder Lake patch: does conflict. One user got it working by starting the game by launching TS3.exe (also with admin rights) instead of TS3W.exe. This seemed to create the cache file for DXVK. After that, the game could be started from TS3W.exe again. That might not work for everyone though.

A word on FPS and V-Sync

With such an old game it’s crucial to cap framerate (FPS). This is done in the DXVK.conf file. Same with V-Sync.

You need

a text editor (easiest to use is Windows Notepad)

to download DXVK, version 2.3.1 from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 Extract the archive, you are going to need the file d3d9.dll from the x32 folder

the configuration file DXVK.conf from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/blob/master/DXVK.conf. Optional: download the edited version with the required changes here.

administrator rights on your PC

to know your game’s installation path (bin folder) and where to find the user folder

a tiny bit of patience :)

First Step: Backup

Backup your original Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path! The DXVK file may overwrite some files! The path should be something like this (for retail): \Program Files (x86)\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3\Game\Bin (This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located.)

Backup your options.ini in your game’s user folder! Making the game use the DXVK file will count as a change in GPU driver, so the options.ini will reset once you start your game after installation. The path should be something like this: \Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3 (This is the folder where your Mods folder is located).

Preparations

Make sure you run the game as administrator. You can check that by right-clicking on the icon that starts your game. Go to Properties > Advanced and check the box “Run as administrator”. Note: This will result in a prompt each time you start your game, if you want to allow this application to make modifications to your system. Click “Yes” and the game will load.

2. Make sure you have the DEP settings from Windows applied to your game.

Open the Windows Control Panel.

Click System and Security > System > Advanced System Settings.

On the Advanced tab, next to the Performance heading, click Settings.

Click the Data Execution Prevention tab.

Select 'Turn on DEP for all programs and services except these”:

Click the Add button, a window to the file explorer opens. Navigate to your Sims 3 installation folder (the bin folder once again) and add TS3W.exe and TS3.exe.

Click OK. Then you can close all those dialog windows again.

Setting up the DXVK.conf file

Open the file with a text editor and delete everything in it. Then add these values:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1

d3d9.presentInterval = 1

d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60

d3d9.presentInterval enables V-Sync,d3d9.maxFrameRate sets the FrameRate. You can edit those values, but never change the first line (d3d9.textureMemory)!

The original DXVK.conf contains many more options in case you would like to add more settings.

A. no Reshade/GShade

Setting up DXVK

Copy the two files d3d9.dll and DXVK.conf into the Bin folder in your Sims 3 installation path. This is the folder where also GraphicsRule.sgr and the TS3W.exe and TS3.exe are located. If you are prompted to overwrite files, please choose yes (you DID backup your folder, right?)

And that’s basically all that is required to install.

Start your game now and let it run for a short while. Click around, open Buy mode or CAS, move the camera.

Now quit without saving. Once the game is closed fully, open your bin folder again and double check if a file “TS3W.DXVK-cache” was generated. If so – congrats! All done!

Things to note

Heads up, the game options will reset! So it will give you a “vanilla” start screen and options.

Don’t worry if the game seems to be frozen during loading. It may take a few minutes longer to load but it will load eventually.

The TS3W.DXVK-cache file is the actual cache DXVK is using. So don’t delete this! Just ignore it and leave it alone. When someone tells to clear cache files – this is not one of them!

Update Options.ini

Go to your user folder and open the options.ini file with a text editor like Notepad.

Find the line “lastdevice = “. It will have several values, separated by semicolons. Copy the last one, after the last semicolon, the digits only. Close the file.

Now go to your backup version of the Options.ini file, open it and find that line “lastdevice” again. Replace the last value with the one you just copied. Make sure to only replace those digits!

Save and close the file.

Copy this version of the file into your user folder, replacing the one that is there.

Things to note:

If your GPU driver is updated, you might have to do these steps again as it might reset your device ID again. Though it seems that the DXVK ID overrides the GPU ID, so it might not happen.

How do I know it’s working?

Open the task manager and look at RAM usage. Remember the game can only use 4 GB of RAM at maximum and starts crashing when usage goes up to somewhere between 3.2 – 3.8 GB (it’s a bit different for everybody).

So if you see values like 2.1456 for RAM usage in a large world and an ongoing save, it’s working. Generally the lower the value, the better for stability.

Also, DXVK will have generated its cache file called TS3W.DXVK-cache in the bin folder. The file size will grow with time as DXVK is adding stuff to it, e.g. from different worlds or savegames. Initially it might be something like 46 KB or 58 KB, so it’s really small.

Optional: changing MemCacheBudgetValue

MemCacheBudgetValue determines the size of the game's VRAM Cache. You can edit those values but the difference might not be noticeable in game. It also depends on your computer’s hardware how much you can allow here.

The two lines of seti MemCacheBudgetValue correspond to the high RAM level and low RAM level situations. Therefore, theoretically, the first line MemCacheBudgetValue should be set to a larger value, while the second line should be set to a value less than or equal to the first line.

The original values represent 200MB (209715200) and 160MB (167772160) respectively. They are calculated as 200x1024x1024=209175200 and 160x1024x1024=167772160.

Back up your GraphicsRules.sgr file! If you make a mistake here, your game won’t work anymore.

Go to your bin folder and open your GraphicsRules.sgr with a text editor.

Search and find two lines that set the variables for MemCacheBudgetValue.

Modify these two values to larger numbers. Make sure the value in the first line is higher or equals the value in the second line. Examples for values: 1073741824, which means 1GB 2147483648 which means 2 GB. -1 (minus 1) means no limit (but is highly experimental, use at own risk)

Save and close the file. It might prompt you to save the file to a different place and not allow you to save in the Bin folder. Just save it someplace else in this case and copy/paste it to the Bin folder afterwards. If asked to overwrite the existing file, click yes.

Now start your game and see if it makes a difference in smoothness or texture loading. Make sure to check RAM and VRAM usage to see how it works.

You might need to change the values back and forth to find the “sweet spot” for your game. Mine seems to work best with setting the first value to 2147483648 and the second to 1073741824.

Uninstallation

Delete these files from your bin folder (installation path):

d3d9.dll

DXVK.conf

TS3W.DXVK-cache

And if you have it, also TS3W_d3d9.log

if you changed the values in your GraphicsRule.sgr file, too, don’t forget to change them back or to replace the file with your backed up version.

OR

delete the bin folder and add it from your backup again.

B. with Reshade/GShade

Follow the steps from part A. no Reshade/Gshade to set up DXVK.

If you are already using Reshade (RS) or GShade (GS), you will be prompted to overwrite files, so choose YES. RS and GS may stop working, so you will need to reinstall them.

Whatever version you are using, the interface shows similar options of which API you can choose from (these screenshots are from the latest versions of RS and GS).

Please note: 

Each time you install and uninstall DXVK, switching the game between Vulkan and d3d9, is essentially changing the graphics card ID again, which results in the settings in your options.ini file being repeatedly reset.

ReShade interface

Choose – Vulcan

Click next and choose your preferred shaders.

Hopefully this install method works and it won't install its own d3d9.dll file.

If it doesn't work, then choose DirectX9 in RS, but you must make sure to replace the d3d9.dll file with DXVK's d3d9.dll (the one from its 32bit folder, checking its size is 3.86mb.)

GShade interface

Choose –           

Executable Architecture: 32bit

Graphics API: DXVK

Hooking: Normal Mode

GShade is very problematic, it won't work straight out of the box and the overlay doesn't show up, which defeats the purpose of using it if you can't add or edit the shaders you want to use.

Check the game's bin folder, making sure the d3d9.dll is still there and its size is 3.86mb - that is DXVK's dll file.

If installing using the DXVK method doesn't work, you can choose the DirectX method, but there is no guarantee it works either.

The game will not run with these files in the folder:

d3d10core.dll

d3d11.dll

dxgi.dll

If you delete them, the game will start but you can't access GShade! It might be better to use ReShade.

Some Vulcan and DirectX information, if you’re interested:

Vulcan is for rather high end graphic cards but is backward compatible with some older cards. Try this method with ReShade or GShade first.

DirectX is more stable and works best with older cards and systems. Try this method if Vulcan doesn't work with ReShade/GShade in your game – remember to replace the d3d9.dll with DXVK's d3d9.dll.

For more information on the difference between Vulcan and DirectX, see this article:

https://www.howtogeek.com/884042/vulkan-vs-DirectX-12/

[thetxtdevil]

pls write something about high sex drive hyuka

i feel like his tags are so dry lately 🙏

oh. whipping up something real quick

pervy freak kai, smutty mdni/nsfw

soft boyfriend kai is very respectful with you. doesn't rush you into anything, asks to hold your hand, lets you kiss him first, only wants to cuddle. but oh... soft bf is not so soft behind closed doors...

can't help but masturbate every night with the thoughts of you. wacks one out after every date with you. gentle touches on his big cock while talking on the phone with you. high sex drive hyuka thinks he's stealthy with his phone calls but you can hear every lubed up flick of his wrist and the bitten whimpers. how cute

your big boyfriend loves to spoon you. his cute button nose in your hair, he's wearing a soft sweater hoodie over his head brushing his bang in his eyes. you're wearing his oversized hoodie looking so cuddly to him. his big hands graze over your soft skin and oh how you hum to the feeling. next thing you know poor kai is hard :(( i-im sorry sweetheart, he says stuffing his face into your neck. it ok kai do what you need to do, you could hear his breath hitch, feel the shiver rolling his body before he rolls his hips into your plush ass. he's fast to it, like freeing a feral captive animal.

you soon learn that your sweet bf kai is a baby in the streets and a freak in the sheets. always wanting to cuddle fuck you, thinking its convenient since you can be on your phone or continue watching whatever is on tv, but how can you do that when kai is stretching you out so good and slamming into your ass hard.

every date was a cute themed get together that eventually turns into a fuck session later. he lets you on top sometimes loving how you look above him but your poor legs give out so quickly and... kai is too impatient he needs to ram into at his pace. newly buff body of his flexing with every thrust and ready to be scratched by your nails. but he is respectful, you say he's going too fast, he'll slow down slightly, you say you can't do anymore, he'll let you rest but will be waiting for another round.

so so so happy you're his and loves that you let him do whatever. he treats you to the usual chocolates, coffee, plushies, but now,,, he's been adding more to the selection. dainty lacy lingerie, pretty pink toys, and more :))

i kinda rambled....

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio

[sukunalomll]

human! sukuna x f colleague! reader headcanons

warnings: afab reader, smut, virginity loss, soft & ooc sukuna, marriage (??), uncapitalised letters are intentional, not much mention that sukuna is a human

a/n: hello everyone:) this is my first post and kind of my first time writing things like this, so please forgive me for any errors! anywho, enjoy ;)

ryoumen sukuna, who’s never felt love or even a single hint of romantic feelings for someone, until he met you, his colleague at work.

ryoumen sukuna, who doesn’t know what to do when he can’t get you out of his head, as he tosses and turns in bed.

ryoumen sukuna, who one day decides to ask you out and to his surprise you agree, because he sees himself as unlovable and unkind.

ryoumen sukuna, who tells you one night about his childhood and how he was neglected, who tells you about how everyone fears and avoids him but only you see the beauty in him.

ryoumen sukuna, who doesn’t know how to react as he sees you shed tears at his story, holding his face in your palms tenderly.

ryoumen sukuna, who doesn’t know what to do when you sleep in his bed that night, because it was too late for you to go home.

ryoumen sukuna, who decides to just lay beside you on the bed, afraid to hurt you, until your warm body nuzzles into his, and he’s unable to hide the crimson red blush on his cheeks.

ryoumen sukuna, who gets hard when your leg accidentally brushes against his dick, and he has to get out of bed to relieve himself.

ryoumen sukuna, who proposes to you during your 3rd year anniversary holiday in new zealand, under the stars at 11pm.

ryoumen sukuna, who feels a new sense of protectiveness towards you as his fiancée, and death stares every man who looks in your direction.

ryoumen sukuna, who nearly cries as he sees you walking down the aisle, the love of his life in the wedding dress he selected.

ryoumen sukuna, who almost cums in his pants when you shyly ask him to make love to you that night.

ryoumen sukuna, who gets unbelievably hard and flustered when you tell him you’re a virgin.

ryoumen sukuna, who doesn’t know how to make love, but for you, he’s willing to go slow and gentle because he doesn’t want to hurt you.

ryoumen sukuna, who, with immense self restraint, enters you slowly, making sure to rub your clit and give you kisses because he loves you and wants to make sure you’re okay.

ryoumen sukuna, who can feel how wet and warm you are when he finally bottoms out inside you, your virgin pussy clutching onto his cock with a vice grip.

ryoumen sukuna, who can’t bear to look at your fucked out face when he’s finally inside you, because he knows he would lose control and fuck you senseless.

ryoumen sukuna, who goes slow at first, listening to your moans of pain slowly turn into moans of pleasure.

ryoumen sukuna, whose hips stutter when he finally makes eye contact with you, seeing your red face and heaving chest.

ryoumen sukuna, who’s pace quickens ever so slightly when he feels you scratching down his back, leaving marks.

ryoumen sukuna, who’s eyes roll to the back of his head when you ask him to go faster, his self control hanging by a thread as he quickens his pace slightly.

ryoumen sukuna, who has never had sex this sensual before, only having had rough sex with his concubines in his past life, ramming into them violently and throws them to the side after he’s done.

ryoumen sukuna, who breathes in your scent and hides his face in your neck when he’s close, trying to hold himself back but your pussy is gripping him so nicely he can’t wait any longer.

ryoumen sukuna, who cums so hard when he feels your pussy spasm and cum around his dick, his hot seed spilling in your wet pussy as his dick twitches uncontrollably.

ryoumen sukuna, who kisses your forehead and stays inside you, panting as he holds you close, knowing that you’re finally his.

[river-taxbird]

Have YOU got an old Windows PC Microsoft has told you can't run Windows 11? It's time to give it a new life!

How to install Windows 11 on unsupported PC Hardware using Rufus. You can also disable some other Windows 11 bullshit like data harvesting and needing a Microsoft account.

It has been in the news a lot lately that Windows 11 isn't allowed to be installed on PCs without certain requirements, including the TPM 2.0, a chip that was only included in PCs made in 2018 or later. This means that once Windows 10 stops receiving security updates, those PCs will not be able to (officially) run a safe, updated version of Windows anymore. This has led to an estimated 240 million PCs bound for the landfill. Thanks Microsoft! I get you don't want to be seen as the insecure one, but creating this much waste can't be the solution.

(I know nerds, Linux is a thing. I love you but we are not having that conversation. If you want to use Linux on an old PC you are already doing it and you don't need to tell me about it. People need Windows for all sorts of reasons that Linux won't cut.)

So lately I have been helping some under privileged teens get set up with PCs. Their school was giving away their old lab computers, and these kids would usually have no chance to afford even a basic computer. They had their hard drives pulled so I have been setting them up with SSDs, but the question was, what to do about the operating system? So I looked into it and I found out there IS actually a way to bypass Microsoft's system requirement and put Windows 11 on PCs as old as 2010.

You will need: Rufus: An open source ISO burning tool.

A Windows 11 ISO: Available from Microsoft.

A USB Flash Drive, at least 16GB.

A working PC to make the ISO, and a PC from 2018 or older you want to install Windows 11 on.

Here is the guide I used, but I will put it in my own words as well.

Download your Windows 11 ISO, and plug in your USB drive. It will be erased, so don't have anything valuable on it. Run Rufus, select your USB drive in the Device window, and select your Windows 11 ISO with the Select button. (There is supposed to be a feature in Rufus to download your ISO but I couldn't get it to work.?

Choose standard windows installation, and follow the screenshot for your settings. Once you are done that, press Start, and then the magic happens. Another window pops up allowing you to remove the system requirements, the need for a microsoft account, and turn off data collecting. Just click the options you want, and press ok to write your iso to a drive.

From there you just need to use the USB drive to install windows. I won't go into details here, but here are some resources if you don't know how to do it.

Boot your PC from a USB Drive

Install Windows 11 from USB Drive

If you had a licensed copy of Windows 10, Windows 11 will already be licensed. If you don't, then perhaps you can use some kind of... Activation Scripts for Microsoft software, that will allow you to activate them. Of course I cannot link such tools here. So there you go, now you can save a PC made from before 2018 from the landfill, and maybe give it to a deserving teen in the process. The more we can extend the lives of technology and keep it out of the trash, the better.

Additional note: This removes the requirement for having 4GB Minimum of RAM, but I think that requirement should honestly be higher. Windows 11 will be unusable slow on any system with below 8GB of RAM. 8GB is the minimum I think you should have before trying this but it still really not enough for modern use outside of light web and office work. I wouldn't recommend trying this on anything with 4GB or less. I am honestly shocked they are still selling brand new Windows 11 PCs with 4GB of ram. If you're not sure how much RAM you have, you can find out in the performance tab of Task Manager in Windows, if you click the More Details icon on the bottom right. If you don't have enough, RAM for old systems is super cheap and widely available so it would definitely be worth upgrading if you have a ram starved machine you'd like to give a new life.

[boymanmaletheshequel]

An altar for Hermes 🛐

🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌

Hello there! Yes, YOU! the little hellenist reading this post! Have you been wanting to start taking your worship of Hermes a little bit more seriously? Because I have, and I have just the thing for you! Hermes is a trickster, but also a very fun, very intelligent god who loves his followers, and is more than willing to grant his protection and deliverance unto them! Wether you’re a lawless little anarchist like me who seeks his protection from the not always fair side of the law, a traveller or wanderer who is looking for some shielding and luck on the road against the backdrop of a big, scary world, or simply a mail carrier who sees the king of mail himself as an idol to be followed, allow me to offer some ideas on how we can craft a little altar space for the hectic and honorable Hermes!

———————————————————————

• STEP ONE: colors and cloth:

When it comes to the domain of color, there’s actually a lot of mixed opinions when it comes to Hermes, as he’s one of the only Olympians whose sacred colors are not really divulged explicitly. Some say that red and green are the colors traditionally associated with him, but I feel like most devotees I know or follow seem to associate him with blue, yellow, and orange. Therefore, any cloth, a base fabric or cloth, the first thing you’ll add to your altar as the base everything else sits upon, would probably be best suited in this color scheme! You also may want your cloth to have more character, and it never hurts to have some symbolism on your fabric, which I’ll get to shorty! You can usually find cheap fabric at craft and thrift stores such as Johanns, Value village, or other local shops!

• STEP TWO: dishes and vessels:

The next thing you’ll want to add to your altar are some of the larger, more utilitarian pieces you wish to decorate with, these can include things like tarot decks, teacups or plates to hold offerings, offering bowls, candles, or books. It is also a good idea to select bowls, dishes, and teacups that line up with the iconography and sacred symbolism of the god the altar is dedicated to. For example, in my altar to Freyja, I have a small teacup with strawberries on it to honor her favorite fruit in Norse mythology! For Hermes, there are a couple different common icons you can look for, these include ironically, strawberries as well, as well as hawks, feathers, coins, gold trimmed and detailed, or gold painted pottery, String instruments, and the Greek key pattern!

• STEP THREE: Idols and tributes:

Another important way to respect your altar and it’s god is to decorate it with Idols of them, like statues, sketches, or other artworks depicting them! You can also donate tributary items to the altar, such as little figurines or charms of things associated with them, for example, my Artemis altar has a small porcelain cat figurine, and my Freya altar has a guilloche heart trinket. In an altar for Hermes, perhaps a statuette of a cherub with a lyre or harp, or a figurine of a mail carrier, or of one of Hermes sacred animals like a cow or ram, would make an appropriate idol for your altar space?

• STEP FOUR: traditional offerings:

Some traditional offerings like food, drink, crystals, herbs, flowers, etc. are an important, and very easy offer to make to your altars, and can easily be placed in the vessels and dishes you keep on the altar space. These offers vary drastically and personally on the god associated with them, but I’ll list some examples that I think would be good fits for Hermes below!

🌸 Crocus, Hydrangea, baby’s breath

🫚 olive oil, myrtle, sandalwood, Saffron

💎 citrine, blue lace agate, blue topaz, Aquamarine, Pyrite.

🍗 strawberries, olives, honey.

🍷beer, milk.

• STEP FIVE: ICONOGRAPHY:

The final step to creating your altar is the use of divine iconography. These symbols, emblems, and motifs celebrate your gods lore, history, and sacred things. You can honor this by finding things donning the iconography associated with your god! For example, almost all of my altars utilize antique painted porcelain or ceramics in some way, I have a porcelain sugar dish painted with strawberries for Aphrodite, a tea plate with wheat sheathes for Demeter, and an antique English teacup with Lilacs painted on it for Pan! Some of the sacred symbols and depictions of Hermes included, but are not limited to: strawberries, olives, lyres, sandals, mail and postage insignia, crocuses, rams, hawks, and coins! Depictions of all of these things on porcelain, pottery, fabric, or otherwise or on their own, are great ways to make clear your altar is dedicated to Hermes!

———————————————————————

Now that you have your very own space to worship and to commune with the hectic, humorous, and helpful Hermes, use it! Talk to him about your travels, bid on him to protect you from your hijinks, legal or otherwise, pray to him to guide your packages safely to you, and to guide you safely on your journeys! Enjoy your new altar space, and may lord Hermes bless you with riches, protection, and travels!

If you like this post, and wish to learn more about the gods of Hellen, Hellenism, paganism, and much more, please consider giving me a follow! I post every single day :) have a blessed day. 💙🏛️

🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌

[howtofightwrite]

Hi! Love your blog, it's such a brilliant resource, thanks so much for writing it.

So, I'm looking for more information on ways that someone would go about breaking someone else's neck. Long story short, it's for a murder mystery situation where I need the investigators to be able to look at the injury on the victims (in an autopsy context, not necessarily on casual examination) and go 'oh, that's a specific technique and it suggests our killer has military or similar how-to-kill-people combat training'. Any suggestions?

A shovel through the spine at the base of the skull?

So, the headlock neck break is basically a fantasy. The amount of force you'd need to actually shatter someone's neck in the way presented would be superhuman. (Which does mean there's probably examples as industrial accidents, but industrial accidents are a somewhat uncommon murder method. Mostly because they're not especially portable.)

Hilariously, there are multiple attempted murder cases, where the would-be killers tried to replicate that neck break, only succeeding in annoy their victims, and telegraphing their intention. So, someone were to try to snap someone's neck that way, it would be an excellent indicator that they had no training what so ever.

There are ways that someone can kill with a headlock, such as a blood choke, but nothing that's going to concretely point the finger at someone with a military background.

Similarly, stab wounds can be very informative about the killer. But all you'll really gather is how familiar they are with human anatomy, and how comfortable they are with cutting people-shaped meat. This won't help you distinguish between someone who's done this before, and someone who's done this before for their country. (Incidentally, “people-shaped meat,” isn't strictly a joke. There are lot of potential careers and backgrounds where you could become pretty comfortable cutting into animals, either live or recently deceased. So, in this specific case, that's more about the mindset. Someone uncomfortable with that level of physicality, is like to leave behind hesitation wounds. These are smaller cuts, sometimes in the main wound channel, indicating that they're not really comfortable with what they're doing.)

So far as it goes, I'm more a fan of just ramming a blade into an artery, rather than slitting their throat. The latter is a lot more work, but the former requires you actually know where to find someone's arteries quickly and efficiently. Which isn't necessarily a sure thing.

Even tool selection won't necessarily tell you much. Someone who's using a military knife might be ex-military, or they could be someone who uses surplussed equipment because it's cheap and relatively reliable. And that's assuming you can concretely identify the knife from the wounds it leaves. Which is also not especially reliable. You can tell how far the blade penetrated, and roughly how large it is, but that won't tell you if it was a bayonet or some cheap gas station hunting knife of a similar size.

Firearms present a similar problem. Once you can track down the gun (if there were any intact bullets to compare, which isn't a certainty), you might be able to match the gun to the wounds. But, examining the wounds on their own (especially if the bullets are gone, or buried deep in the corpse) will only give you an estimate of the bullet's size. Here's a problem with this, did you know that .38, .380, and .357 magnum are all 9mm rounds? They're different cartridges, but the bullets they spit out are very similarly sized. You might be able to make some educated guesses based on the wound channel and burns, but these all fire a round that's roughly the same size. So, when someone looks at a wound and definitively says it was a .38, they don't know that. (Unless they found the shell casing. But even then, you're not likely to find a .38 or .357mag shell casing unless the attacker specifically dropped their spent brass and reloaded, as those are revolver cartridges. .380 is a semi-auto round, so those will get kicked out after each shot. And, yes, before someone complains, there is .357 SIG, that's a semi-auto cartridge. It's 9x22mm.)

Also worth remembering, you can't, specifically match a shotgun's ballistics, assuming the shell was loaded with shot, and not slugs. You may be able to match the mechanical wear on the casing itself to a model (or multiple models in some cases), but not a specific gun.

So, how do you know it was someone with military training? You don't. Learning that someone's been trained to kill is a bit easier to pin down, but the information isn't that useful. That doesn't tell you if they're ex-military, ex-police, or even just the product of an extremely messed up homelife with a prepper parent. Or, even just they got extremely lucky (or unlucky) with a single stab.

Now, it isn't pointless to try to determine that, as it can be helpful later to demonstrate that the eventual suspect had the training to kill in the method that the victim experienced. But it doesn't do much to narrow the suspect pool on its own.

Ironically, the killer not having combat training. So, with things like defensive and hesitation wounds, can be far more useful for narrowing the suspect pool. As an investigator, when you're talking to someone that you're sure has been certified in knife combat, isn't likely to be especially messy with their stabbings. (Though, to be fair, even a trained knife fighter might stab their victim many times, to ensure a faster bleedout, and not all of those hits are going to be especially artful.)

So, that's a long way from, “you can't really break someone's neck like you see in the movies.” You can kill people, and as an investigator, you can make a lot of educated guesses based on what you find at the crime scene. But, “this method means they were militarily trained,” doesn't really mean they were trained by the military.

-Starke

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[vergess]

Please, please explain how to install and use linux like I'm 5 years old. I'm so sick of windows adding AI and other bullshit to my already struggling elderly laptop but I'm really not good with computers at all so I have no idea where to start with Linux.

Okay, so, I'm going to break this down into steps I would give the average tumblr user first, and then if any of them are confusing or use words you don't understand, ask me and I'll explain that step in greater detail.

Step 0) BACK. UP. YOUR. SHIT.

NEVER EVER EVER CHANGE YOUR OPERATING SYSTEM WITHOUT A COMPLETE BACKUP OF ALL YOUR FILES.

Step 1) Learn your machine. You need to know:

How much RAM you have

If your processor is 32 or 64 bit

How big your hard drive is

On windows, you can find out all of this by going to the start menu, typing "about" and opening the first result on your system instead of the internet.

For additional instructions, visit this page.

Step 2) Pick your Linux.

There's like 10,000 kinds of Linux, each tailored to particular functions that the end-user (that is you!) might want to have. The sheer amount is very daunting, so first I'm going to give my suggestions, then I'll explain how to pick for yourself.

For Mac users, I suggest Kubuntu. For windows users, I suggest Mint Cinnamon. If your laptop is really REALLY old, I recommend Sparky Stable, which is the lightest weight Linux I would ever suggest for a new user. In every case, download the version suited to your processor (32 bit can be labelled "x86" or "32 bit"; 64 bit is always labelled "64 bit").

If you want to try a different type of linux, you'll need to make sure your laptop meets the "minimum specs" or "system requirements." These numbers tell you how much RAM, processor and hard drive space the linux will use. (That's why you needed those numbers at the beginning.)

Step 3) Collect your supplies. You're going to need:

An ISO burning program compatible with your current system, like Balena Etcher.

A copy of the ISO file for the Linux you want to use.

Your laptop.

An 8gb or larger USB flash drive.

Step 3) Make a bootable USB drive

Install Balena Etcher, hitting "okay" and "next" when prompted. Last I checked, Etcher doesn't have adware attached, so you can just hit next every time.

Plug your USB drive into the laptop.

Open Etcher.

Click "flash from file" and open the ISO file with your Linux on it.

Click "Select target" and open the USB drive location. Hit the "flash" button. This will start writing all the linux installer data to your flash drive. Depending on the speed of your machine, this could take as long as 10 minutes, but shouldn't be much longer.

Step 4) Boot to the USB drive

This is, in my opinion, the trickiest step for a lot of people who don't do "computer stuff." Fortunately, in a rare act of good will, Windows 10 made this process a lot easier.

All you'll need to do is go to settings, then recovery, then advanced startup and pick the button labelled "use a device."

This tutorial has images showing where each of those is located. It's considered an "advanced setting" so you may get a spooky popup warning you that you could "harm your system by making changes" but we're not doing anything potentially harmful so you can ignore that if you get it.

Step 5) Try out linux on the flash drive first.

Linux installs using a cool little test version of itself that you can play around in. You won't be able to make changes or save settings, but you can explore a bit and see if the interface is to your liking. If it's hideous or hard to navigate, simply pick a new linux version to download, and repeat the "make a bootable USB" step for it.

Step 6) Actually install that sucker

This step varies from version to version, but the first part should be the same across the board: on the desktop, there should be a shortcut that says something like "install now." Double click it.

Follow the instructions your specific linux version gives you. When in doubt, pick the default, with one exception:

If it asks you to encrypt your drive say no. That's a more advanced feature that can really fuck your shit up down the road if you don't know how to handle it.

At some point you're going to get a scary looking warning that says 1 of 2 things. Either:

Install Linux alongside Windows, or

Format harddrive to delete all data

That first option will let you do what is called "dual booting." From then on, your computer will ask every time you turn it on whether you want Windows or Linux.

The second option will nuke Windows from orbit, leaving only linux behind.

The install process is slower the larger your chosen version is, but I've never seen it take more than half an hour. During that time, most linux versions will have a little slideshow of the features and layout of common settings that you can read or ignore as you prefer.

Step 7) Boot to your sexy new Linux device.

If you're dual booting, use the arrow keys and enter key to select your linux version from the new boot menu, called GRUB.

If you've only got linux, turn the computer on as normal and linux will boot up immediately.

Bonus Step: Copy Pasting some code

In your new start menu, look for an application called "terminal" or "terminal emulator." Open that up, and you will be presented with an intense looking (but actually very harmless) text command area.

Now, open up your web browser (firefox comes pre-installed on most!), and search the phrase "what to do after installing [linux version you picked]"

You're looking for a website called "It's FOSS." Here's a link to their page on Mint. This site has lots and lots of snippets of little text commands you can experiment with to learn how that functionality works!

Or, if you don't want to fuck with the terminal at all (fair enough!) then instead of "terminal" look for something called "software manager."

This is sort of like an app store for linux; you can install all kinds of programs directly from there without needing to go to the website of the program itself!

[liatai]

Question!

Neurodivergent peeps of Tumblr, I have a question.

I know that "nonverbal" or "selectively mute" are specific terms that mean "I cannot force words out no matter how hard I try," so... is there a term for "I can speak if I have to, but right now it requires extra energy?"

Like, I'm autistic. I have times where I can speak and even hold conversations, but stringing a verbal sentence together takes effort, the same kind of effort lifting a heavy load with your body would but in your mind. I can be perfectly eloquent and verbose in text when this happens, and sometimes I'll even make some of the limited signs I know in ASL without an issue, but speaking aloud uses up all my mental RAM and I can feel the metaphorical fans of my mind-computer whirring in overdrive. X3;

It's exhausting, too. Usually if I've been verbally social for a while, that's when it kicks in.

I can understand spoken words just as well as other times when this happens, as long as I don't have to speak to reply. If I have to speak, the mental effort and stamina needed to do it tends to push details aside in an endeavor to save processing power. ^^;

I know autism is a spectrum, and I'm hoping someone might have a name for this "not QUITE nonverbal but verbal words are VERY hard right now" feeling ^^; "Partially nonverbal" or "partially selectively mute" doesn't seem quite right.

Help?

[glendasguidance-inactive]

🤍 pick an emoji, mini reading 🤍

Spirit Messages for You 💌

method: random posts selected from my spiritual pinterest board

₊˚ʚᗢ₊˚✧ﾟhow to pick // disclaimers ✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

🕺🏽 🦬 🩰 🎠 🧿 🪬 🧬 🔭 🪆

Inhale, exhale 3x, pick

★ personal readings ★ support me ★ other readings ★

Pile 1 🕺🏽

I think the sublime confusion is from 19 to 29. You think you are late for everything, you’re a has-been, nothing is happening… there’s no opportunity for you, the world is closed, everything is a disaster, you wanna die. And then you’re 30. […] I’m much happier at 53 than I was at 23. - Guillermo del Toro

Pile 2 🦬

Imagine you are pulling negativity and pain away from your body.

Pile 3 🩰

Before a child talks, they sing. Before they write, they draw. As soon as they stand they dance. Art is fundamental to human expression. -Phylicia Rashad

Pile 4 🎠

What if cell by cell you gently and very gradually shift your thoughts of self-shame to a sparkling vibration of self-celebration and how would that feel in your heart, in your body? - Yumi Sakugawa

Pile 5 🧿

The time is now. (image of a clock and all the numbers are the word “now”)

Pile 6 🪬

I was no longer needing to be special, because I was no longer so caught in my own puny separateness that had to keep proving I was something. I was part of the universe, like a tree, or like grass is, or like water is. Like storms, like roses. I was just part of it all. - Ram Daas

Pile 7 🧬

If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it. - Zora Neale Hurston

Pile 8 🔭

The first feminist gesture is to say: “OK, they’re looking at me. But I’m looking at them.” The act of deciding to look, of deciding that the world is not defined by how people see me, but how I see them. - Agnés Varda (images of Sophia Coppola holding a camera on the red carpet at the Venice Film Festival in 2003 and 2023)

Pile 9 🪆

This summer I will forgive myself. I’ll braid my own hair and lay in the sun. My past is farther behind me today than any other day. And tomorrow I’ll say the same. Time will leave me with peace. I am allowing my soul to be kind again this summer. I will forgive myself.

🦢 ♥︎ much love - Glenda ♥︎ 🦢

pngs: click here // dividers: click here // I do not consent to my writing, blog's likeness, or anything associated with my work, to be used to teach any machine learning software and artificial intelligence for any purpose.

[callsign-mayhem]

i'm with the band (part 3)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female!Reader & Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader (final pairing to be revealed at the end...) Word count: 8.2k CW: Use of Y/N; the reader is kinda alternative

You discover that your best friend Bob can play the drums, and since you have some musical gifts of your own, you decide to start a navy band. It's supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but what happens when lines get blurred between you and Bob, feelings come to the surface, and a certain Rooster gets jealous?

This is a multi-part fic.

Part one Part two

Bradley had no problem with Mondays. In fact, he would go so far as to say he enjoyed them. This was primarily because you brought coffee and doughnuts to work for the whole squad to share. 

It had started a few weeks into your permanent station on North Island, and you’d done it every Monday since. 

Bradley had gone so far as to arrive early for work that day. So early, he was there before you. When you walked into the meeting room—a doughnut tray in your arms and eight coffees in holders precariously balanced on top—he was reclining comfortably in one of the seats. When he realised how much you were carrying, he jumped up. 

‘Bradley!’ You exclaimed, surprised. ‘What are you doing here so early?’

He took the coffees so you could set the doughnuts down without spilling them.

‘Oh, you know. Early bird catches the worm and all that.’ He said flippantly, flashing you a lazy grin.

What he really meant was, ‘early bird catches Y/N Y/L/N before everyone else arrives and steals her attention.’ 

You put your hands on your hips—those damn hips, all he could think about was the sight of them in that dress from dinner a couple of weeks ago. 

‘Well, lucky you because you get the first pick of the doughnuts and the coffee while it’s still piping hot.’  You beamed, although, for some reason, unbeknownst to Bradley, you couldn’t quite meet his eye. 

‘You’re so sweet, Y/CS.’ He grinned. 

‘Well, thanks.’ You smiled, blushing profusely. God, you were adorable. 

He couldn’t tell if it was awkwardness, shyness, or if you were upset about something, but he knew something wasn’t quite right. He finally had you all to himself, and you couldn’t even look at him. Currently, you were busying yourself putting sugars in a few cups (because you knew how everyone liked their coffees), replacing the lids and writing an initial on the top so you wouldn’t forget which was which. 

‘You okay, sweetheart?’ Bradley asked, flipping open the doughnut box and selecting one at random. 

He scanned your face for answers, but you gave nothing away. 

‘Yeah, I’m okay,’ you replied. ‘Just exhausted.’ 

Bradley wasn’t convinced, but he could tell you weren’t up for discussing whatever was wrong. Reluctantly, he let it slide and bit into his doughnut—chocolate sprinkles and icing, Nutella all the way through. 

He was working out the best way to ask you to dinner (ballsy) when the door to the break room swung open, smashing into the wall behind it. Both of you jumped all the way out of your skin.

‘Jesus Christ.’ You hissed, spinning around. 

It was Mickey. Obviously. 

‘Sorry.’ He smiled sheepishly. 

‘Very on-brand entrance.’ You muttered.

Mickey practically skipped over to the table, eyes wide at the sight of the massive doughnut box. 

‘What have we got this week?’ He asked.

‘One of everything.’ You told him. ‘Although, I think the lady put an extra cinnamon swirl in there.’

Mickey turned his nose up. ‘No thanks. Nutella?’

Your eyes flickered over to Bradley, who had a mouthful of doughnut and chocolate sprinkles stuck in his moustache. He froze as Mickey followed your line of sight. 

‘Seriously, Rooster?!’ He exclaimed. ‘You know they’re my favourite!’

Bradley shrugged. ‘Should’ve got here earlier like I did.’ 

Mickey cocked a brow. ‘Yeah, ‘cause that’s why you’re here before everyone else.’

Bradley could’ve happily rammed the rest of his doughnut in Mickey’s mouth for that remark, but he refrained. Suddenly, your cup of coffee had gotten really interesting. 

Thankfully, Javy and Reuben breezed in. Bradley admired their natural confidence. They were unruffled, always the calmest people in the room. Bradley only pretended to be the calmest person in the room. He was a phoney, thoughts constantly swirling around inside his head. 

‘Good mornin’.’ Reuben greeted. 

You handed him his coffee—two sugars and a splash of creamer—with a smile that made Bradley want to put his fist through something. 

‘Coffee for Payback.’ You said, reaching over to grab Javy’s. ‘And coffee for Coyote.’ 

Javy put his arm around your shoulder, and you rested your head on his chest for a second. ‘Thanks, Y/CS. You’re the best.’

Bradley ground his teeth together. He knew his jealousy was misplaced, but there it was, rearing its ugly, green head anyway. 

Nat, Bob and Jake were the last to arrive. It was almost time to get out onto the runway. Honestly, Bradley was looking forward to it. He needed to think about something other than you, which he found himself needing a lot recently. 

Now that Bob was here, Bradley’s chances of getting your attention were slim to none. You were perched on the edge of the table, chatting animatedly with your best friend who stood in front of you. Bradley almost scoffed out loud. Any closer, he’d be on your lap. 

Unfortunately, Mickey was prattling on at Bradley, so he only heard snippets of your conversation.

‘—practise tonight.’

‘Fletch is bringing—’

‘—torn between Bon Jovi and—’

Bradley had so many questions and nobody to get answers from. Did you mean Fletcher Adams? Bradley knew he only had one option, which didn’t seem appealing. He knew he was about to open himself up for a lot of teasing and questioning, but his curiosity burned within him. He just had to know. 

On the way out to the hangar, Bradley pulled Natasha aside. 

‘Walk with me?’ He asked, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. 

Natasha’s face crumpled in confusion. ‘Okay, weirdo?’

Bradley took a deep breath. ‘Do you know if Y/N is friends with Fletcher Adams?’

‘Yes,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘So is Bob.’

‘What are they doing with that ass, and what does any of it have to do with Jon Bon fucking Jovi?’ 

Natasha snickered, only aggravating Bradley more. ‘The real question you should ask is what it has to do with you.’

Bradley couldn’t take it anymore. ‘You know what.’ He snapped.

‘Ah, so you’ve finally seen the light, have you? Not lying to yourself anymore?’ She was almost giddy with this particular turn of events.

‘Are you gonna tell me what’s going on or not?’

Nat sighed. ‘I’ll tell you, but you won’t like it. And you can’t mention it to anyone.’

Bradley’s insides twisted. He was imagining you and Fletcher fucking Adams as a couple, or worse, you and Bob. He almost wanted to close his eyes for the devastating blow he was sure was coming. 

‘They’re in a band together. Y/N and Bob started it, Fletch is on guitar, and they’ve got Elliot Green from air and space ops on bass.’

Well, that wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

‘What?’ 

‘I know. Think they’ve landed themselves a gig, too.’ 

Bradley’s head was spinning. This was so far outside the realm of what he’d been anticipating that he felt disorientated. He hadn’t even realised that he’d stopped in his tracks until Nat stopped, too.

‘You good, Bradshaw?’ She asked, all the lightheartedness gone from her voice.

‘Erm, yeah. I’m good.’

‘I told her she should’ve asked you.’ Nat told him, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. ‘But she thought you’d find it lame. Didn’t think you’d want any part of it.’ 

Bradley felt as though he’d been slapped. ‘Are you serious? Why the fuck would she think that?’

‘I told her the same thing. Too late now, I guess.’

‘Yeah.’ Bradley said, swallowing thickly. ‘I guess it is.’ 

You were practically drooling watching Bob drumming to ‘Animal I Have Become’ by Three Days Grace. As Elliot had said, the song had a delicious bassline, and you and Fletch were breaking in your new guitar pedals. It had been your idea to learn this song, partly because it was one of your favourites and partly because you knew it would get people moshing.

At your gig. 

It still hadn’t sunk in yet. Between the thought of playing in front of people, Bob’s muscles in that t-shirt, and Bradley calling you sweetheart earlier, you had no idea how you were managing to focus on singing and playing guitar.

By the time you reached the song's end, you were ready for a break.

‘Shall we take five?’ You asked breathlessly. 

Elliot and Fletch both agreed. You didn’t wait for Bob’s response before heading into the house. He kept drinks in the mini-fridge, but you needed a change of scenery. 

In the main fridge, you found a four-pack of your favourite Monster, which Bob always kept on standby. This reminder was not helping you to take your mind off things. You cracked one open and leaned against the counter, taking a few deep breaths with your eyes closed. 

Your conversation with Nat felt like it had taken place years ago, yet it was all you thought about. Bradley or Bob? You still didn’t fully believe that Bradley even liked you. 

That would be insane, right?

‘Y/N?’ Bob was standing in the doorway, frowning. ‘Are you alright?’ 

You tipped your head back and sighed. ‘Just got a lot on my mind. I’ll be okay.’

‘You wanna talk about it?’ He asked, taking a few steps closer. 

He wasn’t wearing glasses because he opted for contacts when drumming, and he wore a black Vans baseball cap over his sandy hair. Sweat glistened on the side of his neck, and his t-shirt clung to his body in all the right places. You dragged your hand over your mouth and tried not to release the unholy sound that was climbing up your throat. 

‘No.’ You said, shaking your head for good measure. ‘Let’s just get back to it.’

He looked extremely concerned. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ 

You headed back into the garage, Bob close behind you. 

Elliot and Fletcher sat on the floor, sheets of music spread out around them and cans of coke in their hands. The band had met for practise every night this week after work. It was Thursday, and you’d put together half a setlist already. You knew deciding on the rest of the songs wouldn't be difficult, so everything should have been perfect.

The problem was nobody could come up with a name for the band. 

It had been grating on all four of you for weeks, and you didn’t seem any closer to a solution. All of you were just hoping that a name would fall out of the sky in time for your gig at The Hideout. 

‘Ready to pick it back up?’ You asked.

Fletcher wordlessly held up a sheet of music, which you took. 

You scoffed. ‘You can’t be serious.’ 

Elliot looked up at you, doe-eyes wide behind his glasses. ‘Come on, Y/N. You know it would be awesome.’

‘And your voice is fucking killer.’ Fletcher added. ‘You could totally pull this off.’

You looked at both of them in disbelief. ‘I really don’t think I could.’

Bob appeared next to you. He somehow still smelled of freshly laundered cotton and bergamot, which baffled you since he was quite literally dripping with sweat. 

He took the sheet of music from you. ‘I don’t think I know this song. I know the band, not the song.’

You knew it quite well. ‘I Like It Heavy’ by Halestorm was one of the songs you played when getting ready for a night out or in the gym to hype yourself up. To put it simply, it made you feel like a badass. Fletcher connected his phone to the speaker and found the song so Bob could hear it. 

You stood awkwardly with your drink, imagining you singing this in front of people and imagining singing it in front of the likes of Jake and Javy. And Bradley. Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing the words and bopping your head. 

When the song ended, your three bandmates were staring at you expectantly. 

‘What?’ 

‘You already know every word.’ Elliot pointed out. 

You chanced a look at Bob, who was smirking. Yes, that’s right. Bobby Floyd was fucking smirking. 

‘I think we should add it to the setlist.’ He said.

And by God, who were you to deny him when he was standing there looking like that?

‘Fine.’ You relented. 

Bob sat back down at his drumset, and you downed the rest of your drink. The plan was to practise ‘Animal I Have Become’ one last time, but Elliot and Fletcher apparently had other ideas.

‘There’s an instrumental version on YouTube.’ Elliot said slyly. 

‘And?’ You asked, even though you knew what they were getting at. 

‘Sing it for us.’

Perhaps drinking an energy drink hadn’t been your brightest idea. The nerves you felt at the thought of singing this song were suddenly unbearable. Really, you didn’t know why. It was just a song. Sure, it was a gutsy song and would require you to push your voice to the breaking limit, but didn’t you do that anyway?

Fletcher took your silence as his cue to play the song. You stood before your microphone and closed your eyes, envisioning your most confident version of yourself. You took another deep breath.

And then you sang. 

You left your body for the entire length of the song. As much as it had terrified you at first, singing a Halestorm song felt as amazing as listening to one. In a way, it had purged you of a lot of negative feelings. Almost like you’d been exorcised. 

When the song ended and you opened your eyes, Elliot and Fletcher stood up. They clapped, clearly impressed. As much as you valued their opinions, it wasn’t their reactions you so desperately sought. 

Bob gazed up at you from behind his drum set. His eyes weren’t starry like when he heard you sing, play guitar, or breathe; they were dark, all pupil. You knew lust when you saw it. It wasn’t a look you’d ever seen on your best friend before.

It also wasn’t something you planned on forgetting anytime soon. 

Bob Floyd had never put this much effort into getting ready before. As he stood in front of his open closet, debating between two pairs of Carhartt pants, he wondered how women did this daily. And he didn’t mean it misogynistically. In fact, his first experience with outfit anxiety had given him even more respect for women because, boy, he was stressed.

And it wasn’t like it mattered anyway. Bob felt a little stupid that he was getting so worked up. The Dagger Squad had been on plenty of nights out. You’d seen him in navy uniform, flight suits, sweat gym clothes, pyjamas—everything, really. So why was he worried now? 

The Dagger Squad hadn’t been on an outing since Juniper and Ivy, and earlier that day, Javy and Jake had suggested a night out. A real night out, they’d called it. Ultimately, this meant pre-drinks at The Hard Deck and then a visit to the newest nightclub that had opened Downtown. 

Bob hated nightclubs. He’d step foot in maybe two his entire life, and both experiences had been memorable for all the wrong reasons. He was only going because you were going. And because Bradley was going.

It would be a cold day in hell when Bob let you go to a nightclub with Bradley Bradshaw without him. 

In the end, he didn’t choose either of the pairs of pants he was going to wear. He went with black Dickies jeans, black Converse, a Smiths t-shirt and a black and white flannel to go over the top. He’d decided to wear contacts tonight because he felt his glasses messed with the vibe he had going on. He also threw on a baseball cap for good measure because wearing one made him feel less exposed. 

He patted some Bleu de Chanel onto the sides of his neck and headed out the door. Sadly, he wasn’t picking you up tonight. You’d gone over to Nat’s house to get ready, and it was ‘girls only.’ Saying this, Bob wouldn’t be surprised if his two favourite ladies showed up with Mickey in tow. 

He headed straight for the bar when he arrived at The Hard Deck. It was a busy night, and he waited patiently for ten minutes before being served.

‘Hey, Pen.’ He greeted. 

‘Lieutenant Floyd.’ Penny smiled. ‘You look handsome tonight.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘Corona Extra?’ She asked, already reaching into the bottle fridge behind her.

‘Actually, Penny, can I get a Maker’s Mark? On the rocks.’

Penny blinked. ‘Bourbon?’

Bob flushed. ‘I’m partial to one from time to time.’ 

Penny scooped some ice into a whiskey glass and grabbed the bottle. It was way more than a double shot, but that was Penny all over. She treated The Daggers like family. 

‘On the house, Bob.’ She grinned. 

‘Thank you, Penny.’

‘A few of the guys are at your usual table.’ She told him. ‘And before you ask, she’s not here yet.’

Bob didn’t know how to respond to that, so he thanked Penny and was on his way.

Jake, Javy, Mickey, and Reuben were all sitting in their usual corner. When Jake saw Bob approaching, he wolf-whistled, causing everyone else to stop their conversation and look too. Bob hated this kind of attention and didn’t know what he’d done to earn it. It wasn’t like they’d never seen him out of uniform before.

‘Turns out our baby on board isn’t much of a baby after all.’ Jake said.

Mickey was squinting at Bob in a way that made him uncomfortable. ‘There’s something different about you, Bobby.’

‘The hat?’ Javy offered.

Reuben sipped his beer. ‘It’s the glasses.’

Mickey’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. ‘Hey, that’s it! I’ve never really seen you without them.’

Bob’s neck and cheeks suddenly felt extremely hot. He wished somebody would change the subject. ‘Where’s Rooster?’

‘He’s picking the girls up.’ Jake told him. ‘Phoenix’s place is like, a block away from his.’

Bob smiled pleasantly. ‘Is it?’

‘You never been there?’ Javy asked. 

‘Not to Rooster’s place, no.’

‘Well, they should be here any minute.’

Bob felt like he’d missed his mark big time. He sipped his bourbon, and Reuben eyed him curiously, like the all-seeing, omnipresent being that he was.

‘Not like you, Floyd.’

‘I wish people would stop saying shit like that.’ Bob snapped.

Reuben recoiled. ‘Damn. Sorry, man. Just an observation.’

‘No,’ Bob said, shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry. That was out of line.’

‘Everything alright with you?’

‘Everything’s fine.’ 

Luckily, Bob didn’t have much time to feel like an idiot.

‘Heyyyyyy! There they are!’ Javy called, standing up.

Bob turned around to see Bradley leading both you and Nat towards the table with a hand on the small of your back. Once he’d finished being pissed off about this, he took in your appearance. Dark flared jeans, cherry-red platform Docs, a white tank top and a deep red leather jacket to match. Your hair was bouncy, like an 80s rock star, and you were wearing dark red lipstick. 

‘Who is this absolute vision?!’ Mickey yelled. 

Jake and Javy both wolf-whistled for the second time that night.

Bob knocked the rest of his drink back. 

‘Well, you said it was a real night out.’ You reminded them. ‘So I pulled out all the stops.’ 

Jake looked Natasha up and down. Black skinny jeans with rips in the knees, cropped white tank, leather jacket with fringe, black cowboy boots—it was hard to miss the way Jake’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘And Phoenix. You wear those boots for me?’

Nat rolled her eyes. ‘In your dreams, Bagman.’

‘Well, if you feel like stepping on anyone later,’ he winked. ‘You know where I am.’

‘Okay! After that weird remark, Y/N and I are going to get some drinks. Anyone want anything?’

The group gave their drinks orders. Much to your surprise, Bob asked you for a bourbon.

‘Maker’s Mark tonight, huh?’ 

You knew him well, and you knew that he only ever drank whiskey when you came to his place for movie nights some weekends or when he was drinking to get drunk. And when he was drinking to get drunk, it was usually because he wanted to be someone else for a while. 

You gave him a look that said, ‘We’ll talk about this later’ before sauntering off to the bar with Nat. This was when Bob noticed that the back pockets of your jeans had big, red stars stitched into them.

All the guys noticed, but none of them said anything. Bradley, however, looked at you like you were something to eat. 

Bob was beginning to get a bad feeling about tonight.

Seriously? How was Bradley supposed to look at anything but your ass in those jeans? Those red stars were basically a sign saying, ‘Look at me.’ He wanted to hate himself for it, but you were just so damn fine. 

He’d intended to spend the night pissed at you, but he wasn’t supposed to let on that he knew about the band. And besides, even if he could, he wouldn’t have been able to stay mad at you. Sure, he was slightly hurt that you hadn’t asked him to join or at least tryout and that you thought he would call you lame, but maybe that was his own fault. Maybe he hadn’t done a good enough job of showing you who he really was, showing you that he wasn’t like the others. He was like you. 

Tonight, he planned to change that. 

Bob already had a bee in his bonnet, that much was obvious. He was drinking neat whiskey, for one, and he’d clearly chosen that outfit thinking it was something you’d find attractive. Bradley had no qualms with Bob Floyd. They were friends; they’d had each other’s backs on the mission (and always would), and Bradley had actually been to a couple of local gigs with Bob since being permanently stationed in San Diego. 

Bradley wouldn’t say that the tension between him and your best friend had started after your impromptu shopping trip—the moment Bradley considered as the start of your friendship. No, the tension was new, and it had only begun in the last few weeks. It was because Bob had finally figured out how he felt about you.

Bradley liked Bob, but if there was a chance in hell you might feel the same way about him as he did about you, Bradley wasn’t going to turn you down for Bob’s sake. 

Sorry, Bobby. 

You and Nat came over, each with a tray of drinks in hand. After handing them out, Natasha took the seat between Bob and Jake, leaving you no choice but to sit next to Bradley.

DING DING DING! FIRST POINT TO BRADLEY BRADSHAW!

Bradley smirked. He could feel Bob’s eyes burning holes into him as he raised his glass, and you clinked yours against it. Bradley knew you and Nat had already had a couple of glasses of wine while you were getting ready. He knew this because you’d been unable to look him in the eye when speaking to him all week, and now you were staring him down. It was almost as if you were making up for lost time and making the most of your courage. 

‘What are we toasting to?’ You asked.

Bradley glanced at your lips. What he wouldn’t give to smear that pretty lipstick, to have it stain the collar of his shirt and the skin underneath. 

‘To us. For making it through another week.’

‘To us.’ 

You sipped your vodka lemonade, eyes never leaving his. Bradley shuddered. 

‘Alright,’ Jake announced. ‘Eclipse opens at eleven, so we’ll head over just before. Don’t wanna be standing in line for hours.’

Everyone seemed happy with this plan. Night clubs weren’t really Bradley’s scene, but he’d find a way to have a good time. If you hadn’t come tonight, though, Bradley definitely wouldn’t have come either.

Mickey, who sat opposite, stole your attention. The two of you started talking about a movie Bradley hadn’t watched, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind that much. He was just happy to listen to you talk. 

It was nearly 10:30 PM when Javy suggested a round of shots to see you until you got to the nightclub. 

‘The last time we got shots, Nat threw up in my rose bushes and Bob had to put us both to bed.’ You recounted while Nat groaned in embarrassment. 

Bradley glanced at Bob, who seemed to be stuck somewhere between a laugh and a wince. Bob caught your eye, and Bradley watched you have an entire conversation just through eye contact. 

There was definitely more to that night than what you’d just said, and you and Bob were now caught up in one of your private, nobody-else-exists moments. 

SHOCKING TURN OF EVENTS AS BOB FLOYD EVENS THE SCORE BY EARNING HIS FIRST POINT OF THE EVENING!

‘I say shots are a great idea.’ Bradley announced. 

Nat—who was on Bradley’s other side—leaned in close to whisper: ‘Why, so you can put her to bed this time?’

Bradley’s mouth twitched, but he refused to give himself away. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, Trace.’

Javy and Bradley went to the bar to order eight tequila shots, along with lime wedges and salt. 

‘Shit’s about to get messy.’ Javy remarked as they headed back over to the table.

‘Why’d you say that?’ Bradley asked.

‘Every messy night I’ve ever had has started with tequila.’ 

Bradley tried to shake off the feeling that maybe Javy was right, but even he had to admit that the night felt loaded—heavy like a black stormcloud full of rain. 

‘Not too late to turn back.’ Bradley offered.

‘Yeah,’ Javy chuckled. ‘It is. It’s already in motion.’ 

Back at the table, everyone picked up their shot glasses. 

‘To a messy night.’ Javy toasted, grinning like a madman. 

Everyone downed their shots. You looked at Bradley as you slammed your glass down and picked up your lime wedge, sucking on it desperately. He had no idea where the confidence came from, but instead of putting the salt on his own hand after discarding his own lime, he put it on the back of yours and licked it off in one stripe. 

Shock and mischief danced in the depths of your eyes as you followed suit. 

Did that really just happen? Bradley thought he might pass out. 

The nightclub—Eclipse—was a walkable distance from The Hard Deck. You were almost there when Mickey grabbed your arm, pulling you to the back of the formation. Both Bradley and Bob spared you a cursory glance as you were practically dragged past them. Nat appeared at your other side, eyes almost bulging out of her head. 

‘Y/N.’ She whisper-screamed. ‘What the actual fuck just happened in there?!’

Mickey might as well have rubbed his hands together like an evil villain. 

‘You guys saw?’

‘Uh, yeah?’ Nat was looking at you like you had three heads. ‘Everyone saw.’

Your stomach churned. ‘Everyone?’

‘Well, not Jake and Bob.’ 

You breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Ok, that’s good.’

‘Why? ‘Cause you’re still deciding?’ Mickey asked.

You were starting to hate the person you were becoming. ‘I’m starting to feel like a cheap whore.’ You admitted. Nat and Mickey both laughed, but you were being deadly serious.

‘You’re far from a cheap whore.’ Nat said. ‘You could make six figures working three days a week.’

  Now it was your turn to laugh. God, it felt good to laugh. You loved your friends so much. 

‘Let me put it like this,’ she started, all business now. ‘What you just did with Bradshaw—can you picture doing it with Bob? Does he make you wanna do sexy, daring shit like that?’

You didn’t have a simple answer to this question. You thought of Bob, playing drums, all sweaty and hot. But Bradley didn’t need to be doing anything. Merely breathing, he was sexy. So, did that mean your answer was no?

‘What she’s asking is if looking at Bob, you know…makes your body react.’ Mickey said, winking. 

You and Nat both stared at him vacantly.

‘This honorary girl membership is only gonna get you so far. I’m not revealing all that stuff with you!’ You considered this for a moment. ‘But for the record, it has a few times.’

‘But not as much as Bradley?’ Mickey questioned.

‘Not as much as Bradley.’ You agreed.

‘And do you believe he has a thing for you?’

The man in question had his arm around Reuben’s shoulder. They were walking together, laughing at something Javy was saying in front of them. God, what an amazing thing it would be to be loved by him and to feel his light from all sides.

‘There’s something there, but how serious is he? Would it be a one-time thing?’

Natasha shook her head. ‘You really, really do not know him at all if you think that.’

‘Well,’ you pouted, displeased by the accusation. ‘Maybe I ought to get to know him, then.’

Mickey waggled his eyebrows. ‘Oh yeah? What’s that code for?’

You and Nat groaned in unison. ‘For fuck’s sake, Fanboy.’ 

The line for the club wasn’t long at all, thanks to Jake’s idea to get there slightly early. It had only been open for a month or so, and it still had that shiny, new feel. There were multiple different rooms spanning two floors, but The Daggers opted to stay in the main room—at least for now. Jake, Reuben and Nat went to the bar, leaving everyone else to find a table. It was getting busier by the second, but Mickey was able to snag a booth right next to the dancefloor. 

The booths were C-shaped. You scooted right along to be in the middle, giving you a clear view of the dancefloor. Since you were nowhere near drunk enough to get up and dance yet, you shrugged off your leather jacket and made yourself comfortable. 

Bob slid in next to you, and Bradley came around and sat on your other side. Your belly did a weird flip as you tried to work out who you were supposed to be talking to. Mickey—who was trying so hard not to laugh that he actually looked constipated—clambered in next to Bob. 

‘So,’ he chirped. ‘This is nice, huh?’

You glared at Fanboy, wondering if he was close enough that you could kick him underneath the table. 

‘Perfect.’ You grimaced, voice dripping with acid. 

When Nat came over, she looked at Bob, then at you, and finally at Bradley. Bob was talking to Javy, so he didn’t notice her amused giggle. 

‘Alright,’ Jake announced loudly, his signature smirk plastered to his face. ‘Drinks were two-for-one, and shots were a dollar each! Happy hour!’ 

‘Damn,’ Javy exclaimed. ‘They might as well be giving them out for free!’

There were three trays on your table, carrying sixteen drinks and twenty-four shots. You could feel the hangover you were going to have tomorrow morning already. 

‘That’s…a lot of drinks.’ Mickey pointed out, sounding slightly terrified. 

Jake clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You don’t say.’ 

Nat handed you one of your vodka lemonades, and you took it gratefully, desperate for something to do with your hands. It shouldn’t have felt as awkward as it did sitting between Bob and Bradley, but you knew too much for it to feel normal now. Hell, you felt too much for it to be normal. 

The music—which wasn’t anything you knew—blared loudly enough that the bass pounded in your chest like a second heartbeat. It was warm, warmer, still being sandwiched between two men you had crushes on, and your drink went down far too quickly. When Bradley reached over for his drink—a dark rum and coke—his leg brushed against yours, and you ended up staying that way. It was meaningless contact, but it was enough to make you dizzy. 

‘Alright, let’s get a couple of these shots gone.’ Reuben suggested. ‘If we wanna get a few more drinks while happy hour is still on, we’re gonna need to clear some space.’

The idea of buying more drinks when there were this many on the table already seemed ridiculous, but you knew once everyone got riled up, the ridiculous ideas would sound like the smartest ones. 

Everything was a good idea when The Dagger Squad were out drinking together. 

Whoever had decided on the shots had gone for a pick-n-mix approach. There were Jagerbombs, B-52s, fireballs, sambuca shots, lemon drops and a green one that you vowed not to touch. 

‘What are you gonna have?’ You asked Bradley.

His eyes scanned the table before landing on a Jagerbomb. 

He held one out to you. ‘You want one of these too?’

Shaking your head wildly, you said: ‘Absolutely the fuck not.’

Bradley laughed at your terror. ‘Why?’

‘The last time I drank Jagerbombs was in college, and I woke up with bruises on my face.’ You explained, wincing at the memory.

‘Okay, you’ve gotta give me a little more than that.’ He said.

‘Well, I vaguely remember being upright, and the next minute I was on the floor. I didn’t know I was on the floor until my friend Emily picked me up. She had to flirt with the security guard so we didn’t get kicked out.’

‘I can’t imagine you doing something like that, Y/CS.’ Bradley replied. He seemed to have gotten even closer to you without realising. ‘You’re very reserved.’

‘Not always.’ You winked, feeling bold.

You allowed Bradley to sit in stunned silence for a moment or two while you nudged Bob and asked him to pass you a fireball. He was ever so happy to oblige, even being so bold as to grab one for himself. The two of you downed your shots and grimaced in unison, sending you both into fits of giggles.

‘Not like you to do shots with us, Bobby.’ You said, nudging him playfully. 

Bob offered you a lopsided smile. ‘It’s good to let loose once in a while.’

‘There’s letting loose, and then there’s going off the rails.’ You tried to sound lighthearted, but you were genuinely concerned about his out-of-character behaviour. ‘Neat whiskey and shots are generally considered off the rails for you, Bob.’

Bob huffed. ‘Why does everyone seem to think I’m boring? Or that I’m a kid or something.’

You frowned. ‘Nobody thinks that. It’s not a bad thing that you’re more reserved.’ This was all very troubling. ‘When have you ever needed to get drunk to prove something?’

‘I’m not trying to prove anything.’ He insisted. ‘I just wish people would stop treating me like I’m twelve years old or second-guessing me whenever I do something that’s ‘not like me.’’ 

The two of you appeared to have reached an impasse. 

‘Okay, well, I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I was just looking out for you.’ 

‘I can look out for myself just fine.’ 

You knew he didn’t mean it to come out the way it did, but it had, and here you were, pouting. He had never taken that tone with you, never said anything of the sort, and he most certainly hadn’t ever downed two shots in quick succession while you gaped at him like a moron. Before you could come up with a response to his remark, he had turned back to Mickey. 

Alright then. If that was how it was going to be…

‘You know what, Bradley. I think I will have a Jagerbomb.’

Bradley—who had been filming Javy and Reuben’s terrible dancing—cocked an eyebrow sexily.

‘You sure about that, sweetheart?’

And if this didn’t sound like a challenge…

‘Oh yeah, I’m sure.’ 

Bob didn’t know this song. He didn’t know it, and he didn’t like it. What he did like, however, was watching you dance to it. You and Nat were in the middle of the dancefloor with Reuben and Javy, pressed against each other, dancing in a way that he supposed could have been considered sexy. 

Actually, yeah. It was very sexy. 

He hadn’t moved from his spot in the booth. He hadn’t even needed to move when you decided you wanted to get out and dance because you simply climbed right over him. And now he was expected to get on with his life as normal as if you hadn’t been straddling him. Sure, it was brief, but it was still etched into his brain.

Bob wanted to blame his ungentlemanly thoughts on the liquor, but he knew that deep in his subconscious, he’d been thinking about you in this way for a while now. And he’d be damned if there hadn’t been a few occasions where he’d started to believe you were thinking of him in the same way. Band practice the other night was just one example. Of course, there was a high chance that he was making it all up inside his head, but for once, he doubted that. 

He saw the way you looked at him.

But then, there was also the small yet incredibly inconvenient matter of the way you looked at Bradley. 

Bob would be inclined to argue that Bradley had a much better chance than he did. I mean, you’d basically all but confirmed that you saw Bob as someone who needed to be looked out for. Hell, he couldn’t even do a shot without someone asking him if he needed to see a head doctor. 

You weren’t loud and boisterous, and most of the time you felt more comfortable around Bob than anyone else on the planet, but you were still a lot more adventurous than he was. You needed someone who could do both—quiet, but audacious when he wanted to be.

And, that was just Rooster all over, wasn’t it? 

‘No Scrubs’ by TLC came on and you and Nat went wild in the way girls do when a song they like comes on when they’re drunk. Bob couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. You were singing the lyrics at each other at first, but then—much to everyone’s amusement—you and Nat started singing them at Jake. 

‘'Cause I'm looking like class, and he's looking like trash, can't get with a deadbeat ass!’

To be fair to Jake, he stood and took it like a man. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the attention, especially where Nat was concerned. Bob was starting to think there was something behind their friendly rivalry, but neither of them would ever admit it. 

When the song ended, you were giddy and out of breath. Mickey was now on the dancefloor with Javy and Reuben, so there was an empty spot next to Bob. You took it, reaching for your next drink.

‘You good?’ He asked.

‘Perfect. I’m not gonna ask you if you’re good, because you don’t need me looking out for you.’ You said indignantly. 

Bob rolled his eyes. ‘Come on, now.’ 

As you sipped your drink, you watched him. Impressively, you drank half of it in one go, and then you reached up and took his hat off. He felt his hair stick up with static.

‘What are you doing?’ He asked, half expecting you to put it on.

‘This…’ 

You turned the hat around and put it on him backwards, adjusting it with narrowed eyes, trying to get straight. 

When you were done, you sat back and admired your handiwork proudly. 

‘There.’ You grinned. ‘Much better.’

‘And the purpose of that was…’

‘I like a guy in a backwards hat.’ You shrugged.

And with that, you were back off to the dancefloor with Nat. 

It had just gone midnight. Bradley was positively buzzed from all the shots he’d had, but he didn’t want to get too drunk. Why would he want to forget such an amazing night, or miss it while it was still happening because he was paralytic drunk? The idea didn’t appeal to him, so he’d been drinking water for the last half hour. 

‘Bradshaw!’ Jake yelled from across the table. ‘Put that down!’

‘No can do. I don’t feel like being carried home tonight, Seresin.’ 

Jake smirked knowingly. ‘Nah, you wanna be the one doin’ the carryin’, don’t ya.’ 

Hangman’s southern accent always got thicker when he was drunk, a fact that Phoenix found extremely endearing. Earlier, she’d asked him to say loads of different sentences, just so she could hear it. Bradley had every intention of asking her about this when they were sober.

Bradley raised his glass of ice water in response to what Jake had said, mainly for Bob’s sake. He was starting to feel a bit bad for the guy, but to be fair to him, you kept giving him reasons to believe he had a chance. The thing with the hat? What the fuck was that? For all Bradley knew, maybe Bob did have a chance, and he’d been reading this whole thing wrong. 

You and Nat were supposed to be getting more drinks, but you seemed to have disappeared. Mickey was nowhere to be seen as well. Lately, it seemed like the three of you were in on something that nobody else was privy too. 

Bradley made the excuse that he needed the bathroom, and instead went searching for you. Eclipse had multiple different rooms and bars, including a lounge where you could go to chill and cool off for a while. You weren’t in there, you weren’t outside on the patio, and you weren’t in the other room on the bottom floor which was playing 80’s hits. The vibes and the music in there seemed much better, and he made a mental note to check it out later. Maybe he’d take you with him and get you away from the rest of The Daggers. 

Bradley climbed the stairs to the second floor, narrowly avoiding a couple making out against the wall. Up here it was open plan, a big bar against the far wall, and a white dancefloor with little lights peppered across it. The outside edges were lined with white leather benches with pillows scattered across them, and there were candles burning in glass sconces on the walls above. It was as though he’d walked into an entirely different club. 

Up here, the DJ was playing Lana Del Ray, and you and Nat were in the middle of the dance floor (obviously), swaying along and singing. Mickey was at the bar, chatting up a girl, so Bradley didn’t go over to him. He indulged himself and watched you move for a while, hypnotised by the mere sight of you. The lights made you look ethereal. 

He’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad in all his life. Bradley was seriously debating interrupting you, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t bring himself to put a stop to it, to the entrancing sight in front of him. 

Turns out, he didn’t need to. Nat had her back to him and you were in front of her whispering something into her ear when you spotted him. You started smirking while you finished whatever you were saying to Nat. Then, you kissed her cheek and you both started heading over to him. 

Nat didn’t stop, she walked straight past him towards the stairs, patting his shoulder as she walked past. It felt like a ‘Go get ‘em tiger’ kind of gesture. 

Bradley looked down at your face. You were gazing up at him, blinking prettily. How was it possible for someone to make blinking pretty? Your cheeks were flushed and you were smiling dopily at him. Clearly, the shots had hit you too. 

But it was the red lipstick he couldn’t get past. 

He reached up and brushed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and you nuzzled your face into his palm. The moment was full of possibility. It was as if time had stopped, and as cliche as it sounded, like nobody else existed except from you and Bradley. He liked it this way, wished it was like this all the time. 

The song faded, and ‘Dancing In The Moonlight,’ started. Bradley leaned down to tell you how much he loved this song, and in response you took his hand and led him out onto the dancefloor. Bradley almost couldn’t believe his luck. He wasn’t much of a dancer, but the Jagerbombs and the smile on your face gave him all the confidence and permission he needed to let loose. He probably looked like a gazelle on ice, but your movements were graceful and carefree. Aside from being up in the air, this was the best he’d felt in a long time. 

The two of you danced for a while. At one point, you looped your arms around his neck and danced close to him, like you’d done with Nat. He couldn’t hide his disappointment when you suggested going down to get another drink.

You linked your fingers through his. ‘Relax!’ You called over the music. ‘I’ve still got a few more dances left in me.’

With that, he reluctantly followed you downstairs. You didn’t let go of his hand and he didn’t let go of yours, which he took as a good sign. In a way, it felt like you were staking your claim on him, and that was definitely something he could get behind. 

Back in the main room, everybody was up dancing, even Bob. It was nice to see, but also strange. Kind of like seeing a bird in an aquarium. 

‘Sex on the beach?’ Bradley whispered into your ear.

You scoffed playfully, turning to face him properly. That look on your face—God. 

‘What did I say about asking me to dinner first?’ You remarked.

Bradley licked his lips. ‘Bet. How about next weekend?’

You pulled your head back in shock, and then let out a delighted laugh. ‘Wow, Bradshaw. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘Well,’ he said, closing the distance again. ‘Clearly I haven’t made my intentions clear enough, then.’

You glanced down at your feet having lost your nerve a little. ‘I guess not.’

‘Well, let me make it clear for you. I like you, and I’d love to take you out.’

Shyly, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. ‘You know what, I’d love for you to take me out.’

Bradley beamed. ‘Well then, it’s settled.’ 

‘I guess it is.’ 

You gave it half an hour before dragging poor Nat off the dancefloor and outside onto the patio. There were lots of people out there smoking, talking and getting some air. Personally, you’d never needed fresh air more in your entire life.

‘Between you and Bradshaw, I get dragged all over the place.’ 

‘Sorry, Nix. I gotta talk to you.’

‘I know.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I left you alone with him for an hour and all of a sudden he’s buying everyone drinks.’

‘Was it him who bought that bottle of prosecco?’

‘Yep. It’s a big ass bottle.’ Nat emphasised. 

You groaned. ‘Bob is gonna be so upset.’

Natasha grabbed you by your shoulders and gave you a good shake. 

‘What was that for!’

‘You like Bradley, Y/N! Your body gets a reaction, you said it yourself.’

‘Nothing happened, but we’re going out for dinner next weekend.’ Your stomach twisted at the thought, nerves already getting the better of you. 

‘That’s great! So why don’t you look happy?’

‘I am happy.’ You told her, because you were. ‘I just feel guilty. I like Bobby, I really do. And I guess in the process of figuring my head out, I’ve messed with his a little.’ 

Nat made a sympathetic noise. ‘Then you need to be honest with him, and put it right. Don’t mess with his head any more.’

‘Okay.’ You nodded. ‘I can do that.’ 

Arm in arm, you headed back inside and to the dancefloor. It was getting late, and you got the feeling everyone would be heading off soon. Even if they weren’t, you would be. You were starting to see double, all truth be told.

You had every intention of giving Bradley another dance, but then you saw Bob. He was standing by the bar, and when you locked eyes with him, he nodded towards the lounge. He didn’t look sad, but Bob could be very stoic when he wanted to be. If he didn’t want anyone knowing how he felt, he could hide it well. 

There was a vast array of different shots on the table still. You knocked another fireball back for good measure, before following after Bob. 

You sashayed into the lounge like nobody’s business. Bob had claimed a loveseat in the corner with the intention of setting a few things straight, but now he finally had his chance, his mind was coming up short.

‘What’s up?’ You asked, taking a seat next to him.

Bob sipped his umpteenth drink, more for something to do with his hands than anything else. 

‘Bobby?’

Bob set his drink down on the table next to him and cupped your face in his hands. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, he just pressed his lips to yours. He could feel your shock, but he didn’t let up. Instead, he put a hand on the top of your thigh, finally starting to touch you in all the places he’d been wanting to for months. You were kissing him back, but not with the passion he’d been expecting.

He thought you wanted this too. 

You pulled back and laid a hand on his chest. It was gentle, but it told him everything he needed to know.

‘Y/N.’ He said hoarsely. ‘I-’

And then you were kissing him, and he could taste the cinnamon and the whiskey in your mouth. The sober, sane part of his brain knew that this wasn’t coming from a good place, that you were both too drunk to be making moves like this, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to pull away and it didn’t seem like you were going to either.

The whole world started and ended with your lips on his. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of and more, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get enough. 

When you eventually pulled away again, your lipstick was smeared. 

‘Fuck.’ You gasped. ‘Bob, I’m sorry.’

‘Why are you saying sorry?’ 

‘I didn’t think this through. This shouldn’t have happened like this, I have things I need to talk to you about.’

Bob felt sick. ‘What things?’

‘God, lots of things really. I’m such an awful friend!’ You leaned over, elbows on your knees and head in your hands. 

Bob had no idea what was going on. This was the most confused he’d ever been in his whole life, but he had a nagging feeling that Rooster had something to do with this. Goddamn Rooster. Always in the way.

‘I gotta go. I can’t do this.’ You stood up and ran your hands through your hair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I need to go home.’

‘Y/N, wait. You’re drunk, let me call you a cab, I-’

‘Bob, you deserve better than me.’ You choked back a sob. ‘You deserve so much better.’

And with that, you were running out of the club. Bob was seriously panicking. What if you got hurt? You’d had enough liquor to kill a horse, and to make matters worse, you were upset. Bob sprinted out of the lounge and back to the rest of The Daggers. They were all back at the table, finishing up their drinks.

He grabbed Nat’s arm. ‘Did you see Y/N?’

All it took for Nat to figure out what had happened was a quick look at his mout, which Bob was sure was smeared with your lipstick. She ran out of the bar with her phone in hand, Mickey hot on her heels. Bradley was staring at him, prosecco glass dangling from his limp hand. Clearly he’d figured it out too—it didn’t take a genius. Bradley looked ruined, and the guilt and anxiety were starting to creep in. 

It was moments like these were Bob needed his best friend most. He needed your advice, your comfort and your presence. But how could he ask you for comfort and advice when you were both in the same situation?

Bob was starting to feel a little like the universe was playing some big, cosmic joke on him. 

He should’ve listened to his gut instinct about tonight. 

A/N: The long-awaited third part! Honestly, the ending of this physically hurt! I have so much planned for the next part, including the first gig. I'm really looking forward to sharing it.

Taglist: @dearsnow@avythef1addict (tagging my fav online friend who singlehandedly gave me the courage to start writing this fic again!)