#i have mildly mixed feelings in the end but

[ozzgin]

Yandere!School Q&A 2

Answering some of the questions involving the Yandere School universe. Gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW/suggestive in parts.

Just curious, is there a difference between men and women in the yandere/darling academy?

Not at all. In theory, there could be a difference in uniforms, as seen from the occasional depiction of skirts, but that's really up to the student. As in, they can wear either, regardless of gender.

When it comes to you, on the other hand...I feel like they'd either ask you to wear pants, or heavily reinforced skirts. Too many creepshots and perverted attempts otherwise.

I know the yandere school verse is meant to be silly but I’m genuinely invested in the lore and worldbuilding now. What classes are taught in both schools? Do the darlings resent the yanderes? WOULD THEY BEAT THE YANDERE STUDENT’S ASS IF THEY GOT FOUND OUT??? SO MANY QUESTIONS SMFKEDKK

To be honest, I still haven't considered all the logistics!

I'm imagining a mix of both when it comes to classes: you have yandere-specific courses, and then general subjects with some practical applications. Obviously you can't do without mathematics, for example. If you don't understand double integrals, how will you determine the area you need to cover to reach your Darling who's running for the hills?

Also, I don't think the Darlings would be too upset. After all, they are studying solely to find themselves a yandere one day. What is a little baffling is that out of all the damn darlings in school, this guy ends up chasing after a ‘yandere’ student.

One of the Yanderes at Yandere Academy is bound to be a Platonic, and they're probably going insane watching every student and teacher going after the school Darling. Do you think they'd be on the staff or a fellow student?

There's plenty of platonic yanderes, both among the students and teaching staff. They make up the security brigade, ensuring your safety and keeping dangers away. If other students let their infatuation go overboard, they will be quick to correct it.

In fact, this is where their yandere skills shine most. Taking care of you.

Ohh what about yan art teacher using reader as the model for nude portraits in class?

That'd be like opening Pandora's box. What's to guarantee that the students won't go feral? Even as a regular model, removing any article of clothing within the artistic depictions is strictly forbidden. The other teachers already have to sort through stacks of confiscated fanart involving you, they don't need a boost in lewd creations.

Unless you mean a private encounter with Yan!Art Teacher for some extra credit. That's a whole different story. 👀

for your yandere school au if I was in readers situation, and I got a free full?? scholarship?/ to a fancy school?/? I no longer need to go along with family tradition I’m getting that free scholarship it’s not like I particularly needed a bunch of people to stalk me 🤷

I'm kind of hoping that Yandere School comes with a full scholarship, too. Bonus points if they offer legacy benefits. Reader comes from several generations of graduates, after all.

Not to mention, you already have a bunch of people stalking you, if we are to count the yandere family members. You'll feel right at home.

The darling is christian in some other scenarios right? What if in sex ed class, she said that she would only do that if she got married? Imagine every single yanderes trying to be a good husband material but the darling is so damn clueless about it

I don't think the religion was ever specified, but you're free to imagine it however you'd like, anon. I can definitely picture the yandere students perking their ears at such statement and taking it as a challenge. You want to wait until marriage? Then they’ll bring the marriage over right now. You have to wonder if there’s some current fashion trend you’re unaware of, as every student has asked for your opinion in rings. You’d assumed it’s a question involving their own, personal acquisitions, so now there’s a bunch of classmates fighting outside because they all got different answers and clearly only one of them holds truth.

That one teacher who got all those accidental smut submissions about Y/N is gonna be feasting tonight

I suspect most teachers have a neatly organized storage full of content involving you. Whether it's accidental submissions, confiscated doodles, illegal photos and so on. Hell, they probably trade the stuff like collectibles.

"You got the fic I asked for?" one teacher asks lowly, resting against the wall.

"Uh huh."

Another teacher swipes through a thick folder with the efficacy of someone who does this too often.

Imagine yandere school y/n slips up and accidently calls a teacher mom/dad. Or worse (or perhaps better depending on who it is), mommy/daddy. y/n is embarrassed, yandere students are jealous, and teacher is now horny.

Terrifying affair. The teacher will have to evade weeks, maybe even months of assassination attempts coming from the students and parents. Reader probably joked about it at the dinner table once, and the mom/dad has been spiraling ever since. How could such a mistake happen? Have they neglected their darling child?

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” one student will stutter, terrified to find Reader’s parent behind them.

“I’d say it’s pretty obvious, you’re doing a terrible job. Hand me the binoculars”, they demand in a whisper, glaring at the object of their envious stalking: the teacher.

How would the readers parents/fam react if the reader complained about the school staff or a student? [Gym teacher dress coding reader] With this as personally speaking I would be really annoyed. The yan family could also take it as an insult because I know for a fact they make sure the reader has all the best stuff. As well how they're bothering or unfairly treating the reader. And if the yan fam connects that the school is yan (students and staff) they would FLIP OUT. But that's out of the point

I’d say it depends on their relationship. Remember, Reader’s parents are graduates of Yandere School, so it’s entirely possible they were taught by the very same teachers and staff. Thus, they might be reluctant to question their authority.

“You have to understand, I had my best intentions in mind”, gym teacher will explain to the parents with a solemn face.

“No, you’re right. We’ve seen the way those kids look at our (Y/N). Who knows what perverted thoughts linger in their mind?”

The grey-haired man dabs a handkerchief across his forehead, visibly paler.

“E-exactly. It was all to protect (Y/N) from any indecent, uh, risks.”

Gym teacher prob got a forest downstairs

Only one way to find out. Better put on your adventurer's hat! 👅

Okay but like, the poor principal having to deal with the entire Yan!academy

He probably stares in the mirror every morning, noticing yet another grey hair, or that his eyebags have gotten worse. He's going to need an early retirement. "I tried my best", he mumbles to the portraits of the previous principals.

How would the yandere school react to reader being hypersexual? P.s can I be raccoon 🦝 anon? [I'm afraid you'll have to pick a different emoji, anon, as raccoon is already taken]

I mean, I can totally picture a playboy/playgirl kind of Reader who skips class to smooch one of the students in a storage room. Or Reader getting too flustered and excited and begging one of the teachers for "help" after school. I'm sure most would comply without hesitation.

Though you may have to deal with a horde of jealous partners who don't like to share. Next thing you know, you have to compile a sexy time chart and schedule the smooching to fit everyone in.

hai ! this is related to yandere school, i’m curious to know what if reader decided to accept the scholarship to darling academy? like i can imagine readers parents worried and proud while clumsy yandere is absolutely celebrating abt it :D

Knowing Reader’s luck and Clumsy!Yandere’s misfortune, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more yandere students lurking the Darling Academy grounds. Or even worse, some darlings begin to develop intense feelings for Reader. Worry not, your clumsy best friend will always come to your rescue.

[sollucets]

midnight museum episode 10 and the cigarette saga

[transgaysex]

heeehee i like my classmates

[soup-or-who-lock]

Not trying to be a downer or contrarian or anything, especially because it seems like a lot of people have enjoyed the Holiday Sitter (gay Hallmark Christmas movie), and if that's you I'm happy for you!!

Personally, I didn't catch the full movie, but what I saw I found awkward and uncomfortable? Some scenes felt like sitcoms/nickelodean movies almost? And others were so dead serious and heartfelt, kind of heavy-handed in comparison.

I love what they were going for!! I love that Hallmark made a gay christmas movie, and I read that the cast and crew are all queer, so that's awesome!!! That's a huge step and something to celebrate!

I don't want to tell anyone how to feel or not to watch it (in fact, do watch it! Form your own opinion, and either way support hallmark making more diverse movies). I'm just shocked at how little criticism I'm seeing? I felt like there was a lot of room for improvement I guess

[mcmansionhell]

this house may or may not be real

on grayness in real estate

Allegedly, somewhere in Wake Forest, North Carolina, a 4 bed, 5.5 bathroom house totaling more than 6,600 square feet is for sale at a price of 2.37 million dollars. The house, allegedly, was built in 2021. Allegedly, it looks like this:

A McMansion is, in effect, the same house over and over again - it's merely dressed up in different costumes. In the 90s, the costume was Colonial; in the 2000s, it was vague forms of European (Tuscan, Mediterranean), and in the 2010s it was Tudor, dovetailed by "the farmhouse" -- a kind of Yeti Cooler simulacra of rural America peddled to the populace by Toll Brothers and HGTV.

Now, we're fully in the era of whatever this is. Whitewashed, quasi-modern, vaguely farmhouse-esque, definitely McMansion. We have reached, in a way, peak color and formal neutrality to the point where even the concept of style has no teeth. At a certain moment in its life cycle, styles in vernacular architecture reach their apex, after which they seem excessively oversaturated and ubiquitous. Soon, it's time to move on. After all, no one builds houses that look like this anymore:

(This is almost a shame because at least this house is mildly interesting.)

If we return to the basic form of both houses, they are essentially the same: a central foyer, a disguised oversized garage, and an overly complex assemblage of masses, windows, and rooflines. No one can rightfully claim that we no longer live in the age of the McMansion. The McMansion has instead simply become more charmless and dull.

When HGTV and the Gaineses premiered Fixer Upper in 2013, it seemed almost harmless. Attractive couple flips houses. Classic show form. However, Fixer Upper has since (in)famously ballooned into its own media network, a product line I'm confronted with every time I go to Target, and a general 2010s cultural hallmark not unlike the 1976 American Bicentennial - both events after which every house and its furnishings were somehow created in its image. (The patriotism, aesthetic and cultural conservatism of both are not lost on me.)

But there's one catch: Fixer Upper is over, and after the Gaineses, HGTV hasn't quite figured out where to go stylistically. With all those advertisers, partners, and eyeballs, the pressure to keep one foot stuck in the rural tweeness that sold extremely well was great. At the same time, the network (and the rest of the vernacular design media) couldn't risk wearing out its welcome. The answer came in a mix of rehashed, overly neutral modernism -- with a few pops of color, yet this part often seems omitted from its imitators -- with the prevailing "farmhouse modern" of Magnolia™ stock. The unfortunate result: mega-ultra-greige.

Aside from war-mongering, rarely does the media manufacture consent like it does in terms of interior design. People often ask me: Why is everything so gray? How did we get here? The answer is because it is profitable. Why is it profitable? I'd like to hypothesize several reasons. The first is as I mentioned: today's total neutrality is an organic outgrowth of a previous but slightly different style, "farmhouse modern," that mixed the starkness of the vernacular farmhouse with the soft-pastel Pinterest-era rural signifiers that have for the last ten years become ubiquitous.

Second, neutrals have always been common and popular. It's the default choice if you don't have a vision for what you want to do in a space. In the 2000s, the neutrals du jour were "earth tones" - beige, sage green, brown. Before that, it was white walls with oak trim in the 80s and 90s. In the 70s, neutrals were textural: brick and wood paneling. We have remarkably short memories when it comes to stylistic evolution because in real time it feels incremental. Such is the case with neutrals.

Finally, the all-gray palette is the end logic of HGTV et al's gamified methodology of designing houses with commodification in mind: if you blow out this wall, use this color, this flooring, this cabinetry, the asking price of your house goes up. You never want to personalize too much because it's off-putting to potential buyers. After twenty years of such rhetoric, doesn't it make all the sense in the world that we've ended up with houses that are empty, soulless, and gray?

A common realtor adage is to stage the house so that potential buyers can picture their own lives in it. In other words, create a tabula rasa one can project a fantasy of consumption onto. Implied in that logic is that the buyer will then impose their will on the house. But when the staged-realtor-vision and general-mass-market aesthetic of the time merge into a single dull slurry, we get a form of ultra-neutral that seems unwelcoming if not inescapable.

To impose one's style on the perfect starkness is almost intimidating, as though one is fouling up something untouchable and superior. If neutrality makes a house sell, then personality - at all - can only be seen as a detriment. Where does such an anti-social practice lead us? Back to the house that may or may not exist.

In my travels as McMansion Hell, I've increasingly been confronted with houses full of furniture that isn't real. This is known as virtual staging and it is to house staging as ChatGPT is to press release writing or DALL-E is to illustration. As this technology improves, fake sofa tables are becoming more and more difficult to discern from the real thing. I'm still not entirely sure which of the things in these photos are genuine or rendered. To walk through this house is to question reality.

Staging ultimately pretends (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) that someone is living in this house, that you, too could live in it. Once discovered, virtual staging erases all pretensions: the house is inhabited by no one. It is generally acknowledged (though I'm not sure on the actual statistics) that a house with furniture - that is, with the pretense of living -- sells easier than a house with nothing in it, especially if that house (like this one) has almost no internal walls. Hence the goal is to make the virtual staging undiscoverable.

If you want to talk about the realtor's tabula rasa, this is its final form. Houses without people, without human involvement whatsoever.

But what makes this particular house so uncanny is that all of these things I've mentioned before: real estate listing photography, completely dull interiors and bland colors all make it easy for the virtual furniture to work so well. This is because the softness of overlit white and gray walls enables the fuzzy edges of the renderings to look natural when mixed with an overstylized reality. Even if you notice something's off in the reflections, that's enough to cause one to wonder if anything in the house is real: the floors, the fixtures, the moulding, the windows and doors.

This is where things are heading: artifice on top of artifice on top of artifice. It's cheap, it's easy. But something about it feels like a violation. When one endeavors to buy a house, one assumes what one is viewing is real. It's one thing if a realtor photoshops a goofy sunset, it's another to wonder if anything in a room can be touched with human hands. I won't know what, if any, part of this estate costing over 2 million dollars actually exists until I visit it myself. Perhaps that's the whole point - to entice potential buyers out to see for themselves. When they enter, they'll find the truth: a vast, empty space with nothing in it.

The better this rendering technology gets, the more it will rely on these totally neutral spaces because everything matches and nothing is difficult. You are picking from a catalog of greige furniture to decorate greige rooms. If you look at virtual staging in a non-neutral house it looks immediately plastic and out of place, which is why many realtors opt to either still stage using furniture or leave the place empty.

Due to the aforementioned photography reasons, I would even argue that the greigepocalypse or whatever you want to call it and virtual staging have evolved simultaneously and mutualistically. The more virtual staging becomes an industry standard, the more conditions for making it seamless and successful will become standardized as well.

After all, real staging is expensive and depends on paid labor - selecting furniture, getting workers to deliver and stage it, only to pack it back up again once the property is sold. This is a classic example of technology being used to erase entire industries. Is this a bad thing? For freelance and contract workers, yeah. For realtors? no. For real estate listings, it remains to be seen. For this blog? Absolutely. (Thankfully there is an endless supply of previously existing McMansions.)

The thing is, real estate listings no longer reflect reality. (Did they ever to begin with?) The reason we're all exasperated with greige is because none of us actually live that way and don't want to. I've never been to anyone's house that looks like the house that may or may not exist. Even my parents who have followed the trends after becoming empty nesters have plenty of color in their house. Humans like color. Most of us have lots of warmth and creativity in our houses. Compare media intended for renters and younger consumers such as Apartment Therapy with HGTV and you will find a stark difference in palate and tone.

But when it comes to actually existing houses - look at Zillow and it's greige greige greige. So who's doing this? The answer is real estate itself aided by their allies in mass media who in turn are aided by the home renovation industry. In other words, it's the people who sell home as a commodity. That desire to sell has for some time overpowered all other elements that make up a home or an apartment's interiority to the point where we've ended up in a colorless slurry of real and unreal.

Fortunately, after ten years or so, things begin to become dated. We're hitting the ten year mark of farmhouse modernism and its derivatives now. If you're getting sick of it, it's normal. The whole style is hopefully on its last leg. But unlike styles of the past, there's a real, trenchant material reason why this one is sticking around longer than usual.

Hence, maybe if we want the end of greige, we're going to have to take color back by force.

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[anniebeemine]

nesting mode- s.r x fem!reader

You giggled softly, one hand resting protectively over your growing bump as you watched Spencer struggle with the crib assembly. He was surrounded by a chaotic sea of crib parts, the manual awkwardly draped over his knee as he tried to fit two stubborn pieces together.

“We’ve lived here for, what, seven years,” you said with a teasing smile, “and we never bought a drill?”

Spencer looked up at you with a sheepish grin, then glanced around at the scattered tools. “Or a second screwdriver,” he added, his tone a mix of frustration and amusement.

You settled on the couch with a groan, sliding to the floor with a soft thud. You wanted to help him, but with one dull screwdriver that took over an hour to find and the large bump that barely let you breathe, it was hard.

“What about your sonic screwdriver?” You asked. 

Spencer paused, then sighed in defeat. “It’s not actually functional,” he admitted, tossing the uncooperative crib pieces aside. Noticing the wide grin spreading across your face, he raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You spent ninety dollars on an authentic sonic screwdriver, and it doesn’t even work?” you teased, laughter bubbling up as you shook your head in disbelief.

“I realize now that it probably wasn’t the best purchase,” Spencer replied, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he joined in your laughter, the frustration of the moment melting away.

Spencer sighed, moving the stubborn crib pieces and crawling over to you. He knelt beside you, leaning over your bump with a gentle smile. His hand moved soothingly over the curve of your belly, his touch light and tender.

“Well,” he began, speaking directly to your growing twins, “it looks like you two might just have to sleep in a sock drawer for a while.”

You laughed softly, your hand covering his as he continued to rub your belly. “A sock drawer, huh? That’s what you think our babies deserve?”

Spencer chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss on your bump. “Only the best for them,” he said, his voice filled with affection. “We’ll just have to make do until their dad figures out how to assemble a crib without any power tools.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Maybe we should call Derek. I’m sure he has a drill. Probably a whole toolbox, actually.”

Spencer feigned a pout. “You’re really going to call Derek to bail us out? This is going to be like the bookshelf disaster all over again."

You laughed, remembering the event all too well. "Disaster is putting it mildly. It took you, me, and Derek a whole weekend to get that thing standing, but it kept him humble." You grinned, threading your fingers through his hair. “I just want to make sure our babies don’t end up in a sock drawer, that’s all.”

Spencer smiled, his eyes soft as he looked up at you. “Fair point,” he conceded, resting his head on your bump. “But for now, they’re doing just fine in there.”

You hummed in agreement, your hand still gently rubbing his back. “Yeah, they are.”

But then, a sigh escaped your lips, and you couldn’t help but voice the thought that had been lingering in your mind. “I’m so tired of being pregnant, though,” you admitted with a small chuckle. “I feel like I’ve been carrying them forever.”

Spencer looked up at you, concern flickering in his eyes. “You’ve been amazing through all of this,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “But I know it’s been tough.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of exhaustion and determination. “It has been,” you agreed. “But at the same time, I feel... good. Like, I’m ready to meet them, but I’m also so protective of them. I want to make sure everything’s perfect before they get here.”

Spencer reached up, his hand covering yours on your bump. “They’re lucky to have you,” he whispered. “And so am I.”

You smiled down at him, feeling a surge of warmth and love. “We’re a team, Spencer. All four of us.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, basking in the quiet intimacy of the moment, the half-assembled crib forgotten as you both focused on the tiny lives growing inside you, one of them currently trying to kick their father in the head. After a few more moments of peaceful quiet, Spencer sighed and stood up, brushing off his pants.

“Alright,” he said with a determined smile. “I think it’s clear we need to make a trip to the hardware store.”

He gathered his keys from the coffee table and began slipping on his socks, clearly intent on getting this crib situation sorted. As he was about to put on his shoes, you called out to him.

“Spencer?”

He turned back to you, a gentle smile on his face. “Yeah?"

You raised your hands towards him, giving him a sheepish look. “I need you to help me off the ground.”

Spencer chuckled softly, setting his shoes aside and walking back over to you. He reached down, taking your hands in his and gently pulling you up. As you got to your feet, he wrapped his arm around your waist to steady you.

“You okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice as he watched you carefully.

You nodded, giving him a grateful smile. “Yeah, just… not as easy getting up as it used to be.”

Spencer grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Well, you’re carrying two future geniuses, so I think you’re doing pretty amazing.”

You laughed, resting your hand on his chest for balance. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Reid.”

He chuckled, guiding you towards the door. “In that case, let’s go get those tools. We’ve got a crib to finish.”

-

When you got home, Spencer carefully unpacked the new drill from its box, setting it up on the charger. He read the instructions, a habit of his, and then turned to you with a mischievous grin. “The drill should take about an hour to fully charge,” he said, his voice dipping slightly, eyes glinting with a hint of something more. “That gives us plenty of time to, you know… do other things.”

You raised an eyebrow, entirely missing the suggestive tone in his voice. “Oh, perfect!” you said, already shifting into a more practical mindset. “We still need to rearrange the books in the study. You could start with that while I go through the mail. I’ve been waiting for a letter from my penpal. And after that, maybe we could finally sort through that pile of clothes for donation?”

Spencer blinked, momentarily thrown off by your unintentional deflection. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he realized you hadn’t caught onto his intentions. “Yeah,” he said with a light laugh, “I guess I could do that.”

You nodded, already mentally planning out the rest of the afternoon. “Great! The sooner we get those things done, the sooner we can get back to the nursery.”

Spencer smiled, watching you bustle around the room, completely oblivious to his original suggestion. “You really know how to keep me on my toes, don’t you?”

You turned to him with a sweet smile, still not quite catching on. “Of course! We’ve got a lot to prepare for.”

Spencer shook his head again, amused but not deterred. “Alright,” he said, moving towards the study, “I’ll get started on those books.”

As he walked away, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Maybe he’d try again later, when the drill was fully charged and the tasks were done—if you didn’t find something else to occupy your time.

[ryescapades]

hi hello how are you?? i would like to request a yor forger!reader with hoshina where it's friends to fake marriage if that's alright?

they both agreed to the arrangement just to get their families' pestering off their back, but they ended up catching feelings in the process.

basically married shenanigans with pining hoshina with his insanely strong (fake) spouse in the third division 🔥🔥🔥

thorny predicament | kaiju no. 8

characters: hoshina soshiro x fem yor forger!reader

genre/warning: fluff, fake marriage, idiot to lovers? pining, this is more like a character study i think, mixed use of present and past tenses (don't mind my grammar guys pls)

a/n: hi hii i’m doing well tq for asking and requesting dear anon ! sorry for the delay and i hope this is to your liking :3 it's been so long since i first watched spy x family so i'm sorry if the yor characterization is a bit butchered :c 2.98k wc

"ya have been quite distracted in battles lately. any problem we should be aware of, y/n?"

almost stumbling on the kaiju carcass on the ground, you let out a startled yelp at the voice. you switch your attention from the gun in your hands to the man behind you, holding in the grimace from showing on your face.

"vice-captain! apologies, um... i'm just exhausted, i promise!" you laugh, though you can't help but to cringe inwardly at how obviously forced the sound was.

hoshina gives you a long, scrutinizing stare. he then glances at your surrounding, making sure no one is around to eavesdrop. "alright, i know somethin' is wrong with ya. out with it," he presses. you make a gesture with your hand, attempting to brush it off. "no, no, i'm fine, sir! it's nothing, really—"

"it's just us here, y/n." hoshina cuts you off, mildly bothered that you're still addressing him in a formal way.

realizing you have no way out of this, you sigh in defeat. "it's my parents again... and their marriage shenanigans. they've been pushing me about it and if i don't make any progress, they'll have me do an omiai soon," you huff, kicking at a stray pebble on the asphalt.

born into a family who valued tradition above all, you've already known that you're going to be subjected to it soon enough. sure, your parents are proud that you're always out there saving the country, but true to their beliefs, there's no way they'd allow you to die a lonely maiden.

but for it to be conducted this early? you almost tear your hair out at the thought. you can barely cook anything to save your life!

knowing your parents, they'd probably pick your potential suitors from family friends or the sons of people they're close with at work. how can you stop that from happening, you wonder... hm, would eliminating them work? maybe let a honju go rampant near their houses— wait, no, no, stop! don't go there, y/n!

meanwhile, hoshina's eyes widen, blissfully unaware of your inner deviant thoughts. he's reminded of his own conversation he had with his father just a few weeks ago. it was exactly the same thing.

well, not that exactly.

his father only talked about how old he's getting and how nice it'd be to see some kids running around in the family estate. in other words, he's hoping for grandchildren.

hoshina vividly remembers the old man saying he 'doesn't want to bother soichiro because he's busy running a division'. he scoffs to himself. as if his job as a second-in-command isn't as important.

and as if he'd agree to marry some random woman his father picked for him anyway. because deep down in his heart, there's only one person he could see himself tying the knot with. though he never really indulges himself to acknowledge that fact, too afraid of what it could mean and the uncertainty of it to work out.

he watches as you continue to fuss over your dissatisfaction at the poor concrete below, panicking about the possibilities of getting a perverted and alcoholic old man as a husband and whatnot.

there's a notion in his head, it’s bugging him to voice it aloud. an idea, a way to dissolve this messed up situation the two of you have been thrown into.

and so he finds himself saying, "mind stopping by my office after we wrap up this operation?"

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"i— we... excuse me?" you sputter in disbelief, gaping at your superior who's calmly leaning his hip against the desk behind him. you think this is the first time you've ever been this speechless in your whole life.

understandably, of course. never would you have thought that your family issues were something you can relate to that of hoshina's. and it's not every day you find yourself hearing your good friend suddenly proposes that you two get married. it's only a fake marriage though. but still.

"i know ya heard me the first time, y/n. don't make me repeat myself," hoshina gruffly says, shifting in his stance. little do you know there's a trail of cold sweat running down the back of his neck.

the line between your brows deepens even further. "sorry, it's just... i honestly don't know how to respond. are you sure you're up for something like that, hoshina?" you question.

"i wouldn't have brought it up if i'm not up to it. are you?"

you continue to ponder over your options, slightly stressing out because of how impetuous everything is.

it’s not like you think the idea is bad, no. if anything, you’d finally get to push your parents— and your whole family, in fact— off your back. god knows how many more ‘you’re getting old, y/n. it’s not good to marry so late. you’d lose your appeal as a woman, do you understand?’ you could take from your mother before you completely lose your mind.

your femininity is alright, but you don't think you'd make a fine wife-material out of yourself. then again, you're too much of a kind soul to outright say no to your parents about it. lying to them is a no-go either, for they'd always known how bad you are at lying and how hard it is for you to keep up the act.

it’s clear that the burdens of being a daughter in a family such as yours are too much for a benign spirit such as yourself to bear.

another thing is that your parents had once emphasized to take anyone but a defense force officer as your spouse. again, highlighting the fact that they don’t want you to suffer the despairing fate of a soldier; losing a partner in battle.

it’s not just that. there’s the case with hoshina too, where you think your relationship with him has always been in the grey area. you two are considerably close, though you’d rather describe it in a more-than-coworkers but less-than-best friends kind of way, given how the two of you have never actually confided in each other about something explicitly personal as this. so basically, this is the first time you’ve heard him confessing such problems to you.

apart from that, there were also some of those moments where you’d catch him doing something that threatened the thin, fragile line of your relationship. it’d send your mind into an impasse every time it happened, making you question about it more times than you’d care to admit.

although with that being the reason, you still end up agreeing to his proposal, knowing fully well the arrangement can bring you both mutual benefits.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

the day you formally introduce yourself to the hoshina family turns out rather smooth. the meeting with your parents, however...

you don't think you've ever been this nervous before. not when you held your first ever presentation in school, not when you were anticipating your jakdf acceptance letter, and definitely not when you fought your first kaiju.

another first experience added to the list of that involving hoshina soshiro...

simply put, the entire meeting was nerve-wrecking.

as expected, your parents were skeptical with your so-called husband of choice. they interrogated the hell out of him, asking this and that, commenting on every little thing about him with the intention to see him squirm in his seat.

but you know hoshina. he's confidant, undeterred and he knows how to handle his opponents well. with honeyed, dialect-thickened answers slipping from his tongue at every turn, your parents gradually warm up to him.

if only you knew the praises he had uttered about you all came from his honest heart.

since then, your relationship with hoshina grows closer, born out of correlative understanding and acknowledgment towards your newly shared status as each others' spouses. both of your parents have dwindle down a bit with their pestering, now opting to support you two in their own ways.

hoshina becomes a tad bit more bold with his gestures too. he grazes his hand a lot more with yours, stands a bit closer to you until your shoulders brush, suspiciously eyeing men who he thinks were looking at you wrongly. he even asked captain ashiro to let him have the same meal times and off-duty hours as you.

"you called for me, captain ashiro— oh, vice-captain hoshina, you're here too!" you salute just as you step into the captain's office.

hoshina gives you an easy smile, one which you gladly mirror as you stand beside him in front of ashiro's desk, now consciously aware of the engagement ring you wore as a necklace hidden beneath your uniform and a complementary one you know is looped around his neck.

"at ease, y/n. i just called to ask whether you'd be alright with having a schedule change starting next week?" ashiro asks straight away, her attention still fixed on the papers in front of her.

your brows raise in confusion. "um... respectfully speaking, captain, since when do i have a say in something like this? i thought that's only for you to decide?"

"well, seeing as hoshina is the one who requested it, it's only right that i properly ask consent from you first, since it's your work hours we're discussing about here." she says.

ashiro then continues, not giving you and your 'husband' a chance to utter a single reply, "besides that, i'm quite surprised you're still calling him by his last name, given that you're also a hoshina now, y/n."

thoroughly amused, the captain revels in the way the two of you blush almost simultaneously, turning away from each other in bashfulness after being called out.

right, you forgot captain ashiro is the first person to know about the true nature of your relationship... and yet despite that, she genuinely roots for you two, praying that someday hoshina will eventually confess his painfully deep-rooted feelings for you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

hoshina enjoys watching you in action. polite and kind personality off the field but with impeccable fighting abilities, your unleashed force could soar through the roof on a good day, and your hand-to-hand combat skills are considered on par with his own. not to mention your extremely high agility and fast reflexes, hoshina has rarely seen any kaiju catching you off guard mid-fight.

in short, you're strong. monstrously so.

he's reminded of that fact during one celebration party, where you've emptied one too many glasses, drunk out of your mind to even think straight.

"you know, soshiro-kun... this is like the best decision i've ever made! like, ever!!" you slur in between hiccups, cheeks flushed as your heavy eyes shine brightly at him.

your husband's slanted eyes crinkle at the corners in clear ardor, though you never noticed it due to your intoxicated state. "what decision? you mean drinkin' till you're all trashed and plastered like this?" he drawls with a teasing lilt in his tone.

hoshina lets you drunkenly lean the entirety of your weight on his side, an arm hovering just above your figure in case you fall over. choosing to indulge himself a bit, he rests his cheek on your head, taking in the soft scent of your shampoo.

most of the others celebrating around you don't even bat an eye, already used to the sight of you and the vice-captain being so physically close together. the new recruits never asked about your relationship. they just assume that you're already dating since they've seen you two like this even before they got officially appointed as officers.

though they have no idea how unbearably frustrating it was for the older members of the division to keep watching their vice-captain pine for you for years now.

one is hopeless, and the other is oblivious. it's sickening.

"ehhh, me? drunk? no, no! the decision is me marrying you, of course! i'm so happy i said yes to you that day! cheers to my lovely husband, guys!" you giddily hoot, raising another glass in the air before downing it all in one gulp.

and then chaos ensues.

shocked exclaims of "you two are married already?!", "wait, why was i not invited??", "since when?!", and among others fill the already rowdy hall.

hoshina internally combusts, his ears burning hot for he doesn't expect you to suddenly reveal your status like that but you seem so delighted about it that he doesn't have the heart to deny anything.

at the table beside you, furuhashi shouts in victory, "hah! i told you guys l/n-san and vice-captain hoshina are together! pay up, suckers!"

the swordsman raises a thin eyebrow at the new discovery. "that's quite a bet y'all made there. think some good extra laps could fit in somewhere?" he provokes.

the newbies sit upright, body rigid as they're about to send apologies his way but then you cut them all off.

"l/n? soshiro, you had a partner before me? am i getting in between your relationship?" you shakily ask in your hazy stupor, barely able to get your words out correctly as you jerk back, tears pooling in your eyes.

hoshina halts, finally realizing that you're too far gone to grasp that they were talking about you. "wait, what? that's not—" he tries to console, but you move fast, more so now that you're drunk. "no, don't touch me! i'm not a man-stealer, i swear!" you cry out.

before anyone can say or do anything, your fist connects with his jaw, so strong and forceful that the sound echoes in the hall as everyone else freeze in their spot, almost in horror at the spectacle.

the powerful yet underserving hit left hoshina's pretty face sporting a nasty bruise for the next few days, and it got you apologizing every chance you get.

nonetheless, at least he finds it endearing that you're not the type to handle your liquor well.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

another thing hoshina adores about you is that you're protective of the ones you care about.

he can distinctly recall the sagamihara neutralization operation when officers furuhashi and ichikawa had stumbled upon the humanoid version of no.9.

after losing connection with the two boys, you knew something was wrong at that moment. deciding to trust your instincts, you immediately head towards their last reported location, hoshina's concerned warnings from your earpiece going unheeded.

relief washed through you when you managed to arrive on time, though the sight of two direly injured officers made something boil deep inside your stomach.

your heart leaped to your throat when you see no. 9 with its hand out towards furuhashi, seconds away from blowing him to bits. with an enraged vigor, you lunged towards the man, pulling him behind you and aiming your gun at the monster before straight away pulling the trigger.

furuhashi cried out your name but you felt your pulse quicken then, not because of the daikaiju's hand separating from its arm and its core almost exposed due to your piercingly pin-point shot, but because of the figure appearing just behind no. 9. it was kaiju no. 8.

the next thing you knew, no. 9's head was flying away, and you held furuhashi closer, your aim changing its direction to the new humanoid kaiju. "keep still, furuhashi." you grit your teeth when you felt him stagger behind you, eyes narrowing warily at the way no. 8 gently handled ichikawa to sit up.

you wanted to question how it was possible for a kaiju to act in such a humanely way, but you figured that was something to be figured out later, as you now have two wounded officers to worry about.

hours later, as the mission came to an end, you approached hoshina who was seated on the ground with a sullen look on his face. "soshiro?" you called.

your husband immediately turned at the sound of your voice, clambering to a stand and dusting off his suit. "y/n! you're fine, thank gods," he exhaled before fussing over you, peering here and there to make sure you're not injured anywhere. "you're crazy, you know that? runnin' off to face against two daikaijus like that. ya had me worried sick!"

your fingers mindlessly fidget with the ring necklace, heart melting at his concerned sentiment. "sorry... i was worried too, you know. to hear furuhashi and ichikawa-kun getting isolated with an identified kaiju like that. they're under my care so i have to be responsible for their lives. and then you just had to go off and fight no. 8 on your own!" you huffed.

finding solace in his safety and well-being, you dropped your head to his shoulder and brought his own ring close to brush a kiss on the smooth surface of the glinting metal. "but i'm glad you're safe, soshiro," you murmured quietly.

when a tense silence greeted you, you slightly winced as embarrassment slipped into your conscious thoughts.

were you making him feel uncomfortable? fuck, you shouldn't have done that. you're just his fake wife, you don't have any right to succumb yourself to such intimacy with him.

you moved to pull away, but a palm situated itself on the back of your head, making you settle back on his shoulder. the hand felt warm, and so did hoshina's ears, cheeks, neck and anywhere his blood rush could reach.

"soshiro...?" your voice muffled on the material of his suit. his grip on you tightened just a little, an airy whisper of "stay," brushing against your ear almost affectionately. slowly, you snaked your arms around his back, burying yourself further into his welcoming embrace.

hoshina's mind seemed to settle. calm like the ocean waves during a slack tide, rustling like the tree leaves on a bright, sunny day. his feelings for you grew tenfold, adoration and love blossoming like flowers on a ripe spring season.

at that time, all he could think about is how much he desperately wanted to make you his real wife.

no official wedding ceremony written bcs my brain just couldn't come up with anything TT also i wanted to add more tension-filled scenes BUT I'M SO BRAINDEAD HELP I WANNA CRY

anyways, title inspired by yor's nickname, thorn princess hehe

—

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[kitscutie]

hiii !! i was wondering can you do a fic where rafe comes and picks the reader up from a girls night out and she’s super drunk? tyy!

girls just wanna have fun (rafe cameron x fem!reader)

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: feel bad for y/n and fluff (a little bit of psycho rafe at the end!?)

summary: after a rogue night at the boneyard you are in desperate need of comfort from your knight in shining armour - rafe cameron.

a/n: i am still trying to be more active while school is picking up but please bare with me :)

word count: 773

join my new taglist here!

Rafe pulled up to the Boneyard with a sigh. He was no stranger to this place, sure, but he was so used to being with you at these times when you would drink too much and end up being driven home in his truck. This time was different.

He had received a call from your phone, not from your friends but Kie. She had found you puking behind a log alone which sounded funny had it been anyone but you.

Your so called 'friends' from figure eight had ditched you. Rafe knew they were bitches but you ever with a golden heart had ignored his warnings, excited by their invite to a girls night meaning he could not accompany you. Now, he regretted it.

"Where is she?" He asked approaching the only person apart from you and Kie in attendance that he could mildly stand, Sarah.

She simply pointed to an area of the beach separate from the party, he appreciated that Kie had removed you from prying eyes who would no doubt speak of the Kook Princess' inability to hold alcohol tomorrow had they seen.

"Fucking finally, she wont stop crying." Kiara said, not out of anger but worry. He glanced down at you seeing you curled up in Kie's arms, eyes glassy and red, cheeks stained with tears.

"Hey baby." He said ever so gently, kneeling down to your level in the sand and no doubt ruining his expensive chinos.

"Rafe?" You whispered peeling your head from Kie's shoulder as you dared to take in your surroundings.

"Yeah it's me, you good?" He asked, lifting a hand to remove the strands of sweaty hair which had stuck to your forehead, the humidity of the Outer Banks mixing with your illness making your body ever so slightly too warm.

"No I-, I don't feel well and I can't breathe properly." You hiccupped, anxiety making your heartbeat uneasy. Your hands reached for his ironed black shirt and he let you scrunch it between your fingers, grounding your mind.

Rafe nodded at Kiara, letting her know she could leave with a silent thank you.

"Think you had too much to drink?" He asked, watching as you messily nodded in response. "You'll feel better soon then, yeah? I see you got most of it out already." He chuckled, knowing you had been sick multiple times between this moment and his phone call from Kie.

"Just wanna go home." You mumbled, leaning into his warm chest.

"Okay lets get you up then." He said standing up and taking you with him as you stumbled on your feet. "Lean against me okay? Good girl." He added as you did so. The name was comforting and soft, sure it was sometimes used during sex but in this moment it was more. Reassurance.

He supported you all the way to his truck where he buckled you in with a gentle kiss to your scrunched and rosy cheeks.

"I don't want you speaking to those girls again." He said, hands clenched around the steering wheel while his jaw clicked in place though his anger was not directed at you.

"What Kie and Sarah?" You slurred, "They helped me though." You finished as your eyes squinted beneath the street lights which flickered as you passed.

"No, no. I'd rather you talk to my fuckin' psycho sister at this point I'm talking about those Figure Eight bitches." He seethed making your head snap towards him.

"Number one, they're my friends, number two, you're also a Figure Eight bitch, no?" You giggled to yourself, knowing deep inside that his anger was justified to an extent. They weren't your friends, not really.

"They're not baby, you're kind and sensitive they're stuck up and have no personality outside of generational wealth." He replied. You saw the irony in his words though it appeared he didn't and it wasn't a hill you were ready to die on so you let it go.

"M'kay well, I feel better now you're here and I didn't like them all that much anyway I'm just surprised they would stoop that low." You sighed into the silent atmosphere as the car, feeling his gaze on you.

He softly placed a hand on your bare thigh in the darkness, squeezing it in a gesture of comfort.

"Yeah." He sighed in defeat.

In this moment, looking at you in the moonlight Rafe felt a new sense of protectiveness over you. You were naïve and too forgiving to your own detriment, he wasn't and if he could help it those girls would never see the light of day again, never mind your beautiful face.

[reiderwriter]

Hi there! It's me :"> again I read that you're closing your request soon and I just want to put another in before the deadline haha But by no mean you should put more pressure on yourself please take all the time you need, I'm always here happily waiting while enjoy reading all of the fabulous writing you had for other requests <3 Much love to your work <3

I have a request for s smut fic when the BAU was called in for a case: the victims were workers at the local bars/restaurants, the bau!reader recognised one of the bars the unsub frequently target is the one she used to work at as bartender/mixologist while putting herself through school and asked to be the undercover while other agents supervise. After successfully closing the case, the BAU decided to celebrate at said bar and the owner was happy to let the reader personally make your friends any cocktails outside of the menu.

The reader then learned about all the mildly irritations and possessive feelings softdom!Spencer had while watching people hitting on you behind the bar, but all of that can be solved with a (almost criminally) 3-sugar-cube level of sweet of a cocktail the reader personally made for him hiding an ungodly amount of alcohol which made the night a lot more interesting ;)

I'm sorry if all of my requests are soo long I know you want to have as much details as possible but please lemme know if you feel like it's too much haha Happy writing!! :">

A/N: Thank you for your request! I was partly inspired by this post to help me out with some of the drinks orders, so go check it out for more character headcannoms!

Warnings: NSFW, soft dom! Spencer, spanking, semi-public sex, jealousy, slight breeding kink/ creampie, thigh fucking etc. 18+ Minors DNI

It had been a good few years since you quit the bartending job that put you through college, so you didn't realise just how much you'd missed it.

You thought it was the universe intervening when a case popped up in your college town, and the bar you'd spent every weekend in for nearly three years straight from the end of your undergrad to the first years of your masters degree was at the dead centre of Spencer Reid's geographical profile.

You knew the unsub had been hunting from bars, and it took only a few nights of surveillance to catch his scent, and one more of a simple cover to get the guy.

You'd taken up your spot once again, slipping easily back into making cocktails and pouring pints of beer on tap - a skill you were regretfully slow to learn but happy to see stayed with you even in your brief retirement.

You busted the bar while your coworkers tried to look inconspicuous sitting around as customers. Diligently, you served them mocktails and alcohol free beer ad regulars clapped you on the back, greeting you like an old friend as you worked to catch a killer.

JJ was the bait, and you were glad, for once, that it wasn't you, even if that thought made you feel guilty. She slipped out with a crash, and all eyed were on the man that followed her quietly to the alleyway out back.

He practically arrested himself. All in all, it had taken maybe three days to catch the guy, and you'd never been so happy to have had to work a double shift to do it.

“Y/N, if this FBI thing doesn't work for you, I'd be glad to have you back behind the bar. These college students just aren't what they used to be.” Your ex-boss grinned at you, indulging in his own glass of whiskey now that the case was closed.

He'd graciously invited your entire team to spend the rest of the evening at the bar celebrating (for at least a drink or two before his wife came to collect him). You were shocked when Hotch took him up on the offer, but happily stayed behind the bar mixing up the drinks.

“Okay, now that we've found out you're this magic mixologist, you have got to make us personal cocktails. I want to see how drunk you can get me, Y/L/N.” Emily laughed from the corner, finishing the last dregs of her virgin piña colada.

“My dear Emily, it is not the mixologist job to get you drunk, it's the mixologist job to keep you sober for as long as possible so you keep buying drinks.”

“No, come on kid, I'm intrigued as well. I'm not a cocktail guy but you've been pouring like a woman possessed tonight. Help.me out here, Spencer, hasn't she been on fire?”

Spencer's eye caught yours and your heart skipped a beat when he gave you a small smile. He'd been quiet all night, and you felt a little regretful that you'd made him stay so long in a place he wasn't entirely comfortable with. But he was still here, and surprisingly, still drinking, nursing the beer that your old boss had served them all when they'd returned from the crime scene.

“Mixology is an interesting field of study. When you think about it, it's practically chemistry.”

“I like to think of it as alchemy,” you grinned at him, enjoying the way he could turn anything into something more complicated and mathematical than it is. “Because one sip of one of my cocktails will have you thinking you've unlocked the secret of immortality.”

“Okay, if that's how drunk we're getting tonight then I'm calling home now,” JJ laughed standing from her chair and already dialling the numbers.

“Okay - here we go.” You grabbed the bottle of vodka from the counter and started, keeping your eyes focused on Reid as much as you could.

–X–

After two hours and about 5 rounds of cocktails, you'd nearly defeated the entire team. Your ex-boss had thrown you the keys half an hour earlier and called himself a cab, leaving you behind to close up just like old times.

Hotchner and Rossi had given in after two drinks each, apparently old and wise enough to know just how much alcohol was in an Old Fashioned and a Negroni each.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” Emily had mocked them on the way out, but two drinks later and she was asleep in the back of a cab having been carried out by both JJ and Morgan.

You'd used the good gin in her Aviation cocktail, and it was only a matter of time before she ended up peacefully sleeping the week away.

The only member of the team left standing was, surprisingly again, Spencer.

You'd gone simple with his Espresso Martini, though you'd made a big show and dance about adding twice as much brown sugar syrup than the recipe required.

“A sweet cocktail for the man who drinks the sweetest coffee known to man.” He'd brushed his hand across your fingers every time you'd passed him a refill, and you'd felt the familiar jolts of anticipation pass through you with each shared glance.

Your old boss had even noticed that you were ‘sweet on that little coworker of yours,’ and you'd had to do your best to stop yourself from openly flirting with him whilst he was sat there at the bar.

You'd done it for tips every single shift, not caring about the consequences, buy with Spencer, you so desperately wanted there to be consequences that you never so much as tried.

“We should pack up and head home, Spence.” You said, cleaning up the final glass of Mai Tai Derek had left behind, but when you turned around to see him, he was gone.

More accurately, he'd moved to your side of the bar and was sliding his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in.

You gasped his name like a prayer, not expecting his cold fingers to curl under your shirt as he buried his head in your shoulder.

“Spencer! What's… what are…”

“Let me hold you.” He didn't say much more than that, but he didn't need to say more. You'd already.relaxed into his touch, eyes shutting so you could focus on the feel of his skin against yours.

“You're good at this,” he mumbled, words slightly slurred. “Everyone was watching you, they all wanted you to pour their drinks.”

You listened to each word of his voice fighting off confusion. Who was everybody? There hadn't been another customer in the bar since you'd made the arrest.

“The old men in the corner, they looked down your top when you picked something up for them. I heard them talking about it, how they thought about stuffing a couple of one's right here,” his hand trailed up to your breasts and you gasped, “like you were some stripper.”

His hands were slowly caressing you as he stood, chest pressed against your back, and you felt desire flood between your legs.

“Spencer, you're drunk, we should get you back to the motel.”

“My blood alcohol level should be around 0.11, so yes, legally I am drunk. If you want me back at the motel, be my guest, but I don't think I can keep my hands off of you tonight, Y/N.”

His words were blunt, delivered the same way he usually talked about case details, or books he'd read. There was nothing in it to indicate he'd meant to turn your world upside down just like that.

His hand had moved under your bra now, and you snapped back to reality, grabbing his hand and halting his movements momentarily as you craned your neck to look at him.

“Spencer, you're not in your right mind, you're going to regret this-” you didn't get to finish the sentence as he cut you off, pushing his lips into yours softly. With each second, his passion grew, until the two of you were caught in a battle of tongues, saliva dripping down your chin as you cared about nothing else but the pleasure you found in each other's mouths.

“The only thing,” he whispered between kisses. “That I'm going to regret, is if I let you walk me out of that door without showing you how much I want to possess every inch of you.”

His words were insistent but there was a question hidden in his movements. He'd withdrawn slightly, giving you enough space to turn him down should you want to.

You didn't.

Instead, you let a hand run up the back of his neck to his hair until you were pulling him down into you, stepping back into the warmth of his broad chest as you opened up to him.

Your other hand relinquished his, letting him explore your chest further and doing much of the same as you tried your very best to twist in your spot to get a better hold of him.

He was holding firm though, despite everything he'd drank, and had pushed you once again against the counter, hand moving between exploring your ass cheeks, and placing your hand firmly underneath you on the table so you could stabilise your position.

He worked his lips down your neck, prying your other hand out of his hair and placing it parallel to the first, before pulling your hips back slightly and encouraging you to arch your back.

You only realised you'd assumed a position for spanking when the first blow landed on your ass.

It was soft, all things considered, and he was still busy bruising your neck that you almost thought you'd imagined it.

The next one was harder though. It was real.

“Spencer!” You gasped as he stroked a hand over your asscheeks.

“Shhhhhhhh s'okay. You have a beautiful ass, I'm just making it prettier.”

His hands fumbled over your pants zipper, and then pulled them down to your knees as he continued stroking your ass and licking your neck.

The material limited your movements, trapping your knees together as he delivered one more blow. The skin to skin contact was too much and you let out a sinful moan, surprised at how loud you were suddenly managing to be.

You'd never been spanked before, never even thought about it, but something about Spencer's hands on you, the lingering scent of alcohol in the air had every hair on your body standing in excitement.

You heard Spencer unzip his own pants and were a little regretful that you didn't get the honour. You wanted to see him hold him in your hand, take him into your mouth and play with him until you knew just how he worked. But your back was still to him, and he wasn't giving you the space you needed to turn around and catch a glimpse.

“Every man in this bar tonight wanted to be where I am right now,” he whispered into your hair as he kissed the crown of your head, and then pushed your panties aside and ran himself along the lips of your cunt.

It was a night of sounds - the zippers, his whispers, your moans - bit you still weren't expecting to be able to hear your arousal.

It was erotic, near pornographic how wet his spanking had made you, and he let out small groans of appreciation as he gathered your juices on his cock.

He didn't try to breech you just yet, but rocked his cock between your thighs and cunt, teasing you just enough to keep you hooked, but nowhere near where you needed him to get you.

“Every man who was in here wanted you, and I got you. Right?” He asked again, practically rutting against your cunt.

“Y-Yes, Spencer.”

“Yes, sir.” He corrected, and you gasped as his hand struck your ass again, dangerously close to where his hips joined yours.

“Yes, sir.”

“Be a good girl for me, baby. I want to take care of you.”

With those words, he lined the tip of his cock up with your entrance and slipped in.

With your knees still locked in place by your pants, it was really up to Spencer to control the pace. You didn't spare a second for the thought that had you been completely naked with a better range of motion that he still wouldn't relinquish this quiet control of you.

With one hand on your hip, and the other curled around to reach your clit as you arched your back against him, it wasn't long before he was setting a vigorous pace.

It wasn't that he was thrusting particularly fast, or that he was doing it ridiculously hard, like some men who knew no better tried. It was the combination of how far he was able to reach with his careful concentration on your pleasure.

You felt him speed up once before quickly drawing himself back to the even tempo, doing his best to not get lost in you.

His fingers traced your cunt in a slow figure eight as first, before experimenting with different movements, shapes, words until he'd been rewarded by your cunt clenching around his cock as you came all over it.

You gasped in shock, and flushed, so shocked it took only that long.

Instead of congratulating himself on getting you off though, he used your orgasm to inform himself of what you liked, what you so desperately needed from his fingers and his cock.

And most importantly, he didn't stop.

Even as your body twitched and spasmed around his cock, he kept up his wrist movements, keeping your body warmed up as he finally took his turn.

“Tell me how much you want this,” he whispered into your ear.

“I want this so badly, Sir, I need your cock pumping in and- ahhh out of me.”

“Tell me how nice my cock feels,” he again ordered and you willingly obeyed.

“Your cock is perfect, it's so big and warm, like it was made just for me.”

“Good girl, now tell me how much you want me to shoot my cum inside of you.”

Your mouth went dry as you choked out a moan, his pace getting rougher and rougher with each thrust. You hadn't heard him correctly, surely, your brain was imagining things.

But he prompted you with a slight tap to your face, a slap that wouldn't leave any mark.

“You don't want my cum all over this bar, do you? It would be a shame for your ex boss to fail his hygiene inspection.”

“Cum in me! God, please cum in me.”

He gripped you tight around your waist as he finally pushed himself over the edge, filling you with his seed and keeping you pinned in his arms until he was sure that none of it would escape.

“I'm glad you agreed, because I wasn't asking,” he said, chest still slightly heaving as he rode out his orgasm, lower body twitching in its sensitivity.

When he finally did pull out, he'd spent so long inside you, cockwarming, that not much of his cum slipped out. He cleaned you up with a clean dishcloth you pointed to on the counter, and pulled your pants back up, quickly manoeuvring his up too.

After a brief moment of silence, you finally turned to look at him, melting into his arms again as you took in his fucked out expression.

He stroked your head quietly for a few minutes, before pulling back from your hug.

“This bar doesn't have CCTV, does it?”

[killerpancakeburger]

Another Headache

SUMMARY: You get another one of your chronic headaches, and the meds don't don't work. Soap's by your side though.

PAIRING: Soap x F!Reader (Soap calls Reader "pretty girl" once, that's the only mark of gender)

TAGS: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, suggestive at the end, Soft!Soap, Established relationship, Civilian!Reader, Reader works as Price's assistant.

WARNINGS: The suggestiveness at the end, mention of chronic pain.

WORDS COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: Lots of Soaps I like in there... pouting Soap, drawing Soap, needy Soap, Human calculator Soap (because of that one post that I KNOW I REBLOGGED BUT CANT FIND!! CURSE U TUMBLR!)

“1245.87… minus 56.43… divided by 98.62….” you mumble out loud to yourself, painstakingly inputting each digit into your calculator.

“12.06,” pipes up Soap without missing a beat, not looking up from his sketchbook where he's drawing.

You look up from the device and throw him a mildly annoyed glare, assuming he concocted a random number to confuse you. It's the first explanation that comes to your mind, the most logical one, even though it would be out of character for Johnny to make your work harder, even as a joke. 

“Very funny.”

Then you press the result touch and your eyes widen as the machine provides the exact same answer.

“How in the hell…?”

You look at your boyfriend again, irritation gone out the window, replaced by amazement and a dash of admiration.

“Do you have a calculator for brain or something?”

“S'basic stuffs for sniping and demolition works.” 

The explanation is way too abrupt for anyone who knows how much Johnny enjoys his job, rambling, and rambling about his job. You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Can you develop?”

An amused smirk stretches his lips as he still persists in not looking at you.

“Bonnie, ye need tae focus oan yer work, or ye'll git us in trouble.”

You groan in protest. Being lectured about trouble by Soap “Troublemaker” Mactavish out of all people, you couldn’t make it up. That doesn't make him less right unfortunately. 

Your supervisor, John Price, only allowed his Sergeant to hang out in your office during his free time on the express condition that it would not impact your tasks. You initially couldn’t imagine that blue-eyed menace sitting still for hours only for your sake; to do your own thing in your own side of the room in silence, without any physical contact, nor any other sign of acknowledgement? That was Ghost's idea of a good time, but Soap's idea of torture.

However, it turned out you underestimated his willpower, and his determination to take advantage of every moment that could be shared with you. The intimate knowledge that he was holding back this whole time, and that the minute the clock would strike the end of your workday, he would be all over you like usual, warmed your heart and sent pleasing tingles everywhere in your body.

Sympathetic to your plight, Johnny adds with indulgence and cheekiness in his tone: 

“Ah ken how much ye like mah voice, but we'll make up fur lost time after.”

You roll your eyes at the suggestive taunt, still recognizing the comment for what it is - a consolation to compensate for his refusal to extend earlier. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from retorting about how distracting he's actually being even when drawing in silence, his biceps bulging with his posture, and the mix of concentration and serenity on his face strangely captivating. 

The expression he wears when sketching is one you're particularly fond of. It reveals a different kind of intensity than the one he usually displays, when eager for battle or indignant in front of injustice. It is one not many are privy to, since he tends to favor the solitude of his bedroom to scribble, making this scene all the more special and giving it an intimate tone that's enough to make your heart race.

A loving smile on your face, you throw yourself into your work.

You can feel it coming from miles away.

That accursed headache. Pushing behind your forehead, between your eyebrows and sneaking behind your temples.

Its reasons could very well be everything or nothing; the mix of cold weather and your own tiredness, the acute light from the winter sun blinding your eyes in the absence of sunglasses, the long hours spent in front of a screen.

It is light yet harsh all at once. Muffled pain always felt worse than a sharp one. Yet you know from experience it is only going to hurt more from here on.

Gritting your teeth in a grimace of discomfort, you press your hand against your forehead. The coolness of your fingers provides a respite, albeit a short-term one.

Is there even any painkillers left in your bag? You can’t remember the state of your stock-

A familiar box is suddenly moved in your line of sight. Your usual brand of aspirin.

You look up to see Soap staring at you expectingly. You take the medecine with a grateful smile.

“You really are full of surprises today!”

He pouts as he hands you your water bottle.

“Wi’ how often ye git those bloody things, a'd have tae be a bloody eejit for nae knowing how tae deal with ‘em.”

He sounds like your chronic migraines offended him, personally, and it's both adorable and hilarious.

“That's still very sweet,” you insist after swallowing the treatment.

He brings a lock of hair behind your ear before tenderly kissing your forehead.

“That's me, “Sweet Soap” Mactavish.”

That drags a giggle out of you.

An hour later, as the meds miserably failed, you’re not laughing at all anymore.

At least your work is done for the day, granting you the luxury to suffer on the rec room's couch. Laying on your back, head on the armrest, you’re pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyelids while groaning in agony. Any bright light or screen increases the pain, so keeping your eyes closed is the only protection conceivable.

Seated right by you, your legs laying over his lap, Soap squeezes your tigh in support, itching to bring you relief but unsure how.

“What can I do?”

You remove your hands from your face to peek at him. If the ache behind your temples wasn’t occupying all space in your thoughts, you would have fussed over his chagrined expression that wasn’t without reminding you of a worried puppy. He was torn between concern for you and frustration of not being able to do anything. Johnny absolutely hated not being capable of remedying a problem. It made you want to cover his face in kisses, not only to placate his frustration, but also because you were filled with cute aggression.

“Well, I have this theory that if someone hit me really hard in the head with a baseball bat, it would help…”

“How the bloody ‘ell would it help!?”

“The pain from the blow would replace the headache.”

“How does replacing pain with pain helps…?”

“I prefer the acute pain of a strike than the dull one of a headache. It's way more bearable.”

“M not hitting you with a baseball bat,” he exclaimed, clearly convinced that the pain had made you go insane.

“I'll just ask Simon instead.”

At this point, you’re insisting more to rile him up rather than out of seriousness.

“Nae yer not,” he retorts vehemently, voice bordering on a growl.

You're about to laugh when he suddenly gets up, still taking care to not send your legs flying off the sofa. Worried that you managed to actually piss him off, you half pick yourself up, raising on your forearms, but he exits the room before you can catch his expression, ordering you to not go anywhere. Not like you were planning to anyway.

You flop back on the couch, closing your eyes and massaging your temples. A moment later, deliciously cold fingers rest on your forehead. You hum in appreciation.

“Better?”

“I love you,” you declare boldly.

The husky laughter Soap emits in response is almost as soothing as his touch.

You suddenly open your eyes as a realization dawns on you.

“Johnny, why are your hands fucking freezing?”

“Put ‘em under cold water,” he retorts casually, like it was evident.

You sigh, closing your eyelids, endeared by his behavior but also a bit fed up.

“You're crazy.”

He chuckles again.

“Crazy in love maybe.”

You don't need to look at him to know the smug smirk he's displaying with that comment.

“Wipe that goofy smile off your face, Mactavish.”

“Make me.”

You playfully slap whatever part of his body is nearby, then sigh once more.

“It's only a temporary solution, though. Unless you intend to spend all night turning your hands into ice cubes.”

“Ah could try-”

“Johnny, no.”

“Johnny, yes.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Will have tae be, unless ye've got a better option.”

“Laying in the dark with a wet cloth could help… or at least it's supposed to.”

This is how you ended up in Soap's bedroom with the lights off, both of you laying on his bed, you nuzzled on his torso with his arm around your waist, a washcloth soaked with freezing water on your forehead.

“Is it working?” he asks, barely a few minutes after settling down.

You cannot contain a smile at the impatience in his voice.

“More or less. But what sucks the most with this method is.. “

“Aye?”

“I'm so freaking bored. Cannot read, cannot use my phone, cannot fall asleep either. And with no distraction, I cannot focus on anything but the pain.”

“Ah could distract ye... If ye wanted.” he immediately suggests.

“What are you thinking of, pretty boy? Surely nothing… inappropriate.’

Despite your playful words, your fingers start idly running down his chest, and the shiver that travels his skin in response doesn't leave you indifferent. You hear him suck in a breath, and he grasps your wandering hand only to press it flat against his pectoral, even raising his breast to deepen the contact. Meanwhile the hand holding you tightens its grip on your flesh before traveling lower to grab your ass. 

“Now that yer mentioning it, ah read online that it could help wi’ headaches…”

“That what could help, Johnny?”

“An orgasm, bonnie,” he rasps.

You let out an amused sigh at the bold statement, trying to hide how much effect the rasp of his voice has on you.

“Hear me oot-” he pleads, apparently worried that you’re taking him for a perverted loser obsessed with his own pleasure over your comfort. “A'm not bullshitting ye-”

“I know, baby,” you appease him. “I know about the orgasm being a thing.”

“Ye know?... wait, ye knew this whole time? Why didn’t ye say anythin’?”

“Let's just say I'm skeptical of that method.”

“Did ye already try it?”

“Nope. But I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then let me make ye a believer, pretty girl. Please? Pretty please? Will make ye feel so, so good, promise. Lemme take away yer pain, hen.”

He punctuates his begging by burning kisses, on your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck. His fingers sneak under your shirt, tickling your waist. The neediness in his voice and his touch makes you whine his name helplessly.

“Johnny…”

He echoes your whimper with a moan of your name.

“Alright, alright,” you capitulate. “For the sake of experimentation.”

[dev1lm4n]

all glory

masterlist | kofi (support me here!)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel has been feeling insecure, finding it hard to come to terms that he's indeed aging. tommy suggests a clever solution: a post-apocalyptic glory hole

word count: 4.8k of pure filth

warnings: minors dni (18+), post-outbreak, joel is 56 here hehe hot old men, insecurities, glory hole, fingering, unsafe piv, slight breeding kink, no pregnancy stuff tho cuz im terrified of that, reader calls him sir, pet name (darling)

note: i decided to create a kofi bcs im a broke college student lol. anyways hope yall enjoy this, do COMMENT and REBLOG if you enjoyed this :)

Joel Miller had always been a man of confidence.

Being left as a single father for Sarah at an early age, he’s been through thick and thin, trying his best to make ends meet so that they wouldn’t have to end up in one of those run-down shelters. But never once did he question his ability to attract women. 

He’s always had it in him. With a mere glance from his expressive eyes, he can ensnare hearts and leave an everlasting impression on anyone fortunate enough to encounter him. Rugged masculinity and striking refinement; a deathly mix that kept girls swarming after him like bees. After the world descended into chaos, he’s not much different either. Perhaps the bone-deep trauma had left him looking eternally exhausted with sunken eyebags, or that gray filaments started becoming a welcomed addition to his beard, but all in all he’s still charming.

He didn’t have to seek, because people seek for him. Joel had plenty of erotic rendezvous in times where society crumbled and the rule of law eroded, more so now that everyday could be his last and he didn’t have the privilege to take it slow like a true Southern gentleman. He’s done it everywhere. Inside a stuffy closet while hiding from a clicking monstrosity, behind a thin wall while her husband sat cluelessly on the other side, and even taking sexual compensation for his little business. Joel Miller wasn’t a saint. Neither he one for God and he’d like to make it obvious.

Nowadays though, within the tall foreboding walls of Jackson City, that type of attention has faded away. He’s no longer getting those longing stares from across the floor, no longer being begged to corrupt just for some extra wad of cards, no longer being flirted and fawned over like a goddamn stud. Joel didn’t have any problem with it at first. He’s growing old. Instead of those naughty strands of white peeking out of his head, he’s now a complete mix of salt and pepper. Instead of just having a fun smile line, forehead rolls and crows’ feet are now imprinted deep into every crevice. Joel wasn’t the man he used to be. 

He’s weathered away, he thought, unsuited for fun and adventure.

Perhaps it had something to do with his daughter as well. Even when Ellie’s not from his actual blood, everyone in town viewed her that way. He’s her father. Thus, everyone seemed to perceive and treat him as merely a father and not as an actual person that has his own needs and wants. Joel loved his daughter. Terribly so in ways he couldn’t decipher. A part of him has made up his mind that this would be how he should spend the rest of his life: in celibacy. Though the retirement of his sexual and romantic life has slowly taken a toll towards his self-esteem. Tommy, who’s always known to be rather slow and imperceptive, was surprisingly the first one to take notice of his gradual change.

“Maria told me you might be here.”

Tommy’s gruff voice brought him out of his trance. Joel looked up, meeting the familiar figure crouch to get into his little workshop. It was his newfound hobby these days, becoming a hermit and isolating himself from the community. He’d craft a wooden figure or two each night while he relived each and every one of his memories. Good and bad. Of death and of birth. Then by the end of the night he’d feel mildly satisfied with a wooden sculpture shaped like memorabilia from the old world. Joel couldn’t admit it outloud, but insecurity had taken over him. It festered deep into his soul that he couldn’t even bear looking at himself in the mirror anymore or present himself to society.

“Yeah, just..” he paused to ponder on a better way to answer. “Just doin’ my own thing.”

“You skippin’ dinner again?” Tommy’s curiosity sounded oddly suspicious, enough that Joel already knew he’s about to say something obnoxious or entirely uncalled for. The older quirked his thick eyebrows in return.

“Made myself my own plate,” Joel cocked his head towards where a lone plate sat. Judging from the crimson stain smeared on top, it must’ve been one of those canned pastas that he picked out.

“Brother..” Tommy started out, visibly nervous of how his brother would take it. “Is there something wrong?”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you.”

“No, not that I could think of,” Joel hummed. “I ain’t bitten or anythin’, why are ya asking such a dumb question anyway?”

“You’re just different these days,” Tommy reasoned with a small frown. “You barely come out of your house and if you do, you’re huddled up in this place, carving things for hours on end.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with wanting to be alone. Is there?” he challenged.

“No, but you’re.. different. Almost like your mind’s troubled for once.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong, Tommy,” he insisted.

Joel was actively avoiding the accusations. He stood up from where he’s been perched upon for hours on end, bringing his half-carved wooden slab with him to set it on one of the displays he had. He’s grown quite the collection. It’s been going on far longer than he’d expected, the crippling fear of being undesirable and hideous, and it brought up an immense feeling of embarrassment. He couldn’t possibly admit such things to Tommy, could he? Tommy was different from him. His first child was on its way to be birthed, but girls still chatter about his charming smile and strong figure. They’d still gossip and make dirty guesses about his size. How long he endured such activities, the position he enjoyed best, and how sweet he was to his partner.

Tommy couldn’t possibly understand his fear.

“You can’t help me even if I told ya,” he grumbled.

“Put some trust in me, will ya?” Tommy chuckled as he spun around his seat to follow Joel’s every move. “Tell me what’s troublin’ you, big brother.”

“They don’t look at me the same way.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The ladies,” Joel muttered.

His words were barely above a whisper. It almost seemed as if he saw the phenomenon as something humiliating, up to the point where he couldn’t even look Tommy in the eye in fear of having him laugh. He’s never talked about this with anyone else. It didn’t help that he truly didn’t have anyone to talk to in general aside from the few acquaintances his brother introduced him to and well.. Ellie. But none of them seem to be the right person to talk to regarding this. 

Regarding his failure in masculinity. His unspoken worries that he didn’t have any of the strong, chiseled jawline or any of the tightly packed abdomen with six separate squares to admire. He’s grown old and weak. Five years ago, he could’ve probably still sweet-talk his way into a woman's heart, but now he couldn’t even look one in the eye without the fear of being put to shame.

“They still do, Joel,” Tommy assured him. He’s telling the truth. Joel knew that Tommy didn’t have it in him to lie, he’d have sounded like a strangled bird or a squeaky dog’s toy if he did. But his mind couldn’t believe it one bit.

“I don’t know, Tommy..” he muttered. “They don’t look at me the same way. They don’t look at me at all even.. and I’m fine with that I 'spose. I ain’t a whorin’ bastard who couldn’t accept that he’s agin’..”

“But they do, Joel.”

“I’m old,” he sucked in the air. “Lately there are these moments where I.. where I’d look a girl in the eye and all I could feel was humiliation.”

“Humiliation?”

“Like they’re lookin’ at me as if I’m some.. some sort of repulsive creature,” he whispered. “I feel like I could hear ‘em gigglin’ with their girlfriends on how shameless I am.”

Tommy was deduced into silence. Time ticked by as he cranked up his brain to figure out the best way to aid his older brother out of his misery. It’s all in his head, Tommy knew that Joel knew that as well, but it’s easier patching up an oozing wound than a troubled mind. He brought his hand together on top of his jeans as he waited for the younger to make another comment, whether of comfort or of a harsh reality.

“I’ll offer you a solution,” Tommy spoke up. “But you gotta promise not to lose your head over it.”

“It ain’t drugs, is it?”

“No, no..” Tommy chuckled humorlessly.

“I’m open to anythin’” Joel dropped his arms to his side as he curiously eyed Tommy.

“Have you ever heard of a glory hole?”

Joel’s expression contorted in such a way that the younger Miller couldn’t possibly read what he’s thinking any longer.

“I ain’t goin’ outside those borders just to go to some sketchy brothel, Tommy. That’d be pathetic.”

“Well, the thing is this whole operation ain’t sketchy,” Tommy reasoned. “The girls were tested and approved by the local doctor before..”

“Local doctor? You tellin’ me this is happenin’ within Jackson?”

“I operate it, Joel,” he sighed, knowing he’s about to be bombarded with a handful of questions. “And before you ask, no this ain’t considered prostitution as there’s no material exchange.”

“You mean..”

“Yes. The girls do it for free. Volunteers. They do it for their own pleasure and I help make their dreams come true.”

Joel looked at his own brother as if he was a mad man. Who wouldn’t? When he’s just told him that they had an actual glory hole installed without most of the public knowing. Or perhaps they knew, they were just not talking about it in front of Joel.

“Ten to twelve. There’s a small house across the sheep field. One girl every Friday night.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Maria knows about this?”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably on the stool.

“No, but it’s better off she doesn’t.”

Joel felt his morals set askew for a second. This sounded like a terrible idea, despite the fact that he’s confirmed it himself that it’d be the safest a glory hole could possibly be. He scratched his beard and took it into deep consideration.

In the quiet stillness of a winter’s night, the world was wrapped in a soft, white blanket of snow. The moon hung low in the dark sky - a beacon towards those who chose to travel in the deepest hours of nighttime. Joel blew puffs of warm air onto his gloved fingertips, hoping it’d satiate the coolness that made his joints ache and his skin itch. The air was crisp and biting, each breath producing a frosty cloud which quickly amalgamated into the air. He watched as gentle snowflakes, alike to elegant ballet dancers, fell from the heavens up above and twirled and swirled into an intricate pattern. He’s been waiting for way too long.

“So what are ya sayin’? Are you gonna let me take you tomorrow night?” Tommy broke the silence.

Tommy promised to meet him on the edge of the sheep field, where they’d herd livestocks all throughout the warmer times of the year, but he’s yet to see his tall nose and dark hair from any of the cardinal directions. He’s been waiting for too long to keep the same mindset Tommy’s trained him into, that this was simply a beneficial exchange for every party involved and that he shouldn’t feel shameful for something so instinctive. Waiting gave him time to weigh out the cons, how this was naturally an act of debauchery that wounded both his moral values and beliefs. He ain’t a God preacher, but he’s sure to keep some of those Southern manners.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

None of Tommy’s ideas are ever well thought out. Starting from his sudden gravitation towards the military, to his desires to hand over his entire life towards the Fireflies, and now this. He knew his younger brother wasn’t the brightest of men, but creating an entire glory hole to keep the town’s morale up might be the stupidest one he’s heard yet. Especially when Maria’s not aware of it. He feared for the day when the beans spilled out of its jar, but tonight wasn’t that day. During the time in which he contemplated his decisions, Joel didn’t notice the crunching of snow against thick boots. Tommy was here and he looked far too calm for a self-made procucer.

Tommy beckoned him to follow the path his boots had made. Joel sucked in some of that painfully cold air into his lungs, before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started trailing along. There were a few street lamps across the field, a ruddy glow emanating from them as they were adorned with a light dusting of snow. He kept his guards up while he scanned through the whistling field of crop, that traumatized part of him always keeping in check of abrupt movements and unsettling sceneries. After a quiet walk for a good three minutes, they finally arrived. The house fronts looked dark enough, and the windows even darker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs.

There was snow piling up outside as well, dirtier ones whose last deposit had been plowed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and wagons. He scrutinized over the tracks, wondering if this was meant to be used as a makeshift grain tower. If it was, then Tommy must’ve been a great scheming asshole to turn such a place into his own little heaven. Not one soul was around, which confused Joel even more. Wasn’t this supposed to be a public glory hole? Weren’t it supposed to be disgustingly packed with sweating men, adorned with walls covered in left-over spurts of cum and other bodily fluids, and smelled like sex itself?

Joel continued to pursue Tommy even when he’s overly skeptical about this entirely new scene. His boots were scuffed as he was dragging his feet through the front door, a fight against his defense system that’s begging him to flee out the door at the unfamiliarity. The establishment consisted of a long narrow hallway that eventually led up to an imposing door. Wooden, large, and mysterious.

To his surprise, what was beyond that door wasn’t some tacky sex dungeon with rattling chains and leather whips, it was a modest looking box. Square, he’d assume one meter wide and half a meter tall. He took in the wood it was made from. His pointer finger slowly traced the circumference out of habit. Oak, he concluded, making it sturdy and cool even in the warmer weather. What he failed to notice from the get-go was a pair of legs that were stretched open, chained onto the wall from the considerably-sized gap. Joel’s heart dropped to his stomach, he forgot for an entire minute what he was planning to do, and he’s starting to get cold feet.

“Darlin’, I’ve got someone for you,” Tommy cooed.

“You do, Tommy?”

Normally, people acquire hobbies in order to soothe their brief but occasional boredom, though you have discovered a unique way to tackle long hours of the night. This brilliant discovery of yours was birthed from a fated moment. One where you accidentally stumble across the conversation Tommy had with one of his patrol friends. It began a fantasy in your head. One you didn’t believe could come true until you overheard a passionate storytelling session one of the barmaids gave their friend. Only then did you gather enough courage to talk to Tommy about it. Despite his initial disapproval, saying things like you look too good and gentle to be doing such things, you managed to convince him with a week's worth of nagging.

“Mhm, one of my good friends here,” he hummed. “You’ll let him use you like a good fucking girl, won’t you?”

Goosebumps trailed from your backbone down to where your legs spread wide. Your nervousness made you flinch, effectively causing your legs to rattle against the metal restraints.

“Yes, I will, Tommy.”

When did you get so.. obedient?

“Alright then. I’ll see you in um.. twenty?”

“Thirty,” the foreign voice spoke up, masculine with a twinge of accent.

“Thirty it is.”

The entire room went quiet for an entire minute, only then did you finally hear the door slammed back shut. You swallowed back the throbbing fear in your heart, pushing back those persistent thoughts constantly warning you of the dangers. Even if you trusted Tommy with all your life, you didn’t trust the random strangers Tommy’s picked out. How could you trust them when you didn’t know who they were for sure? They could’ve been someone you see on the daily. The friendly guards, the cafeteria guy who’d always beam a sweet smile your way and give out more bread than standard, or even.. Tommy’s hunk of a brother. The same one who wouldn’t even spare you a look when you’re obviously sending heart eyes his way.

“Darlin’ is your name, ain’t that right?”

There was something so.. alluring about his voice. The type that makes your knees buckle inevitably, despite your best efforts to push it apart.

“That’s right,” you squeaked out.

“Darlin’, it’s been a long long time since I’ve done this, so let me indulge in you alright?”

“Okay,” you breathed out unsurely.

Your eyes instinctively followed the direction of the hushed voice, but all you could see from the dim box was a piece of dark fabric that was hung from above the hole. It was to keep your identity a secret so that the patrons across from you could only see you from the belly button down. Though now you felt more inclined than ever to pull on the draping and meet this man’s eyes. Your thoughts soon diminished when you felt a large hand over your inner thighs. Nowhere dangerous, just resting below where your kneecaps sat. You closed your eyes to try and envision the kind of hands touching you.

Were they soft and unsullied like a baby’s bum? Or were they rough and ridged with years of work?

That large hand traveled down South, inching with an irritatingly slow pace down towards where you ached the most. He was a fair man. He treated both of your thighs in the same manner before the two gathered together in a v-shape over your cotton panties. You wondered if you should’ve worn something more enticing, something which suited a person like you - someone willing to spread their legs for a true stranger. But the man on the other side didn’t seem to have a problem. He didn’t seem like he was bothered by the simplicity of your presentation, instead he was keen on pressing his thumb down the center.

They were the latter. 

His fingers were textured and it felt too good to be true. At the briefest touch, you followed after his movement, hips reaching further up to chase after his departing touch. You whined. Frustrated that he’s cruel enough to press your sensitive clit and leave you all hot and bothered. He let out a deep chuckle, one that came out from the depth of his stomach as he placed his thumb back where it belonged. Your hole clenched and unclenched at the stimulating sensation. Your cotton panties seemed to be a great aid for your needy clit. It felt similar to grinding over a pillow, just this time, it felt a lot more real and animated.

“How long have you been doin’ this, darlin’?”

“Doin’ what, sir?”

So polite. It’s laughable the fact that you’re so soft spoken. Your lips spilled out a gentle moan as his thumb dug deeper into that sensitive spot.

“Lettin’ strangers fuck you,” he was frank with his words that’s for sure.

“This is my first time.. in the box that is,” your voice cracked almost immediately under pressure. “Been thinking of this for a long long time though.”

The gruff man hummed noncommittally as he continued to please you with his thumb. You used to be shy when it comes to being reactive during intercourse, but with the box, it almost felt like you could finally be your true primal self with your utmost carnal desires. He slowly eased your stained panties to the side once he saw an increasingly growing wetness, knowing that it’s time to move on to his next way of torture. Your pussy was exposed to the cool air immediately, it felt like the air was nipping at the sensitive skin all around. He took his two fingers - his middle and pointer finger being his favorite choice despite the controversy - and slowly dragged it atop the slick canal.

“A pretty girl like you gettin’ all wet from a little touchin’,” he chided. “You haven’t been fucked well or somethin’?”

What a considerate man. He called you pretty when he could barely tell what you look like.

“No, maybe, I-” you were flustered. You’ve never had to exchange proper talk when someone’s touching your dirty, wet cunt. “None of Jackson’s men did good. That’s why I hoped..”

Your voice trailed off into a garble of nonsense when he teased at your entrance, trying to decide whether you’re soaked enough to push a finger in comfortably. You whined, louder this time, as your legs fought against the uncomfortable metal cuffs wrapped around your ankle. He decided to play nice for once and made your dreams come true by inserting that thick finger of his. Fingering has never felt good for you, it always felt like an intrusion rather than a welcomed feeling, but he’s making it feel like heaven on earth.

“Hoped a stranger would fuck me well enough,” you took awhile to finish that statement.

He let out one of those noises of disapproval, at your skewed moral direction perhaps or at the tone of desperation your voice must’ve let out. You could only suck in a shallow breath when he started making proper, continuous motions with his finger. He pushed upwards to poke the tip of his finger onto that squishy part, playing around to find out where exactly made you react the most. You loved how he’s patient. You’re half-expecting the men to just stuff their cocks in you like you’re some sex doll instead of taking their time, which you don’t mind either. Half the pleasure was from being treated like nothing.

“Dirty gal,” he degraded, which you found both surprising and exciting. “Just wanted her pussy stuffed with any cock she could have, hm?”

Your hips thrusted up at a larger interruption. This time, the man managed to insert two of his thick fingers inside your eased cunt. He twisted it one-hundred-eighty degrees to the left, then back to the right, before he curled it in a come-here motion. The motion had left you dumb. A combination of ah ah ah’s and unfinished pleads for him to keep still. The man never once fully removed his fingers out of you. He’d slowly pull back to only have a single knuckle stuck inside before pushing it all the way in once more. For once, someone didn’t finger you like you’re a pizza dough waiting to be pounded.

“A-ah, sir. I really.. mmh- I really like that,” you moaned out shamelessly. “Feels really good in my.. in my pussy.”

“You like what, darlin’?”

“Like your fingers.. fingers in my ah- ah pussy!” you whined when he deepened his reach by rotating his wrist upwards. “Something- fuck- something’s coming! Please.. Please don’t sto-”

You warned him like a goddamn virgin and there it was, you couldn’t see it, but you could hear the way your pussy squelched around his finger at the new wave of sticky fluids. The noises were filthy and lewd that you were embarrassed for the first time that night. It coated your throbbing cunt and slowly ebbed out of your hole, dribbling down onto the wooden floor boards under. Strings of almost translucent thickness proof of his success. It’s pretty. The way you gaped around his fingers, tightened and relaxed at his fingers that still kept you full.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

He must be experienced, because he was quick to rub your clit precisely as you went through the throes of orgasm. His broad palm never missed where that bundle of nerves were, until you’re dripping all over the place. Only when you’re right towards the end did he land a small smack atop your pussy, keeping pressure where your womb is to maintain the pleasure for as long as you could. It felt like this wasn’t a shit place for once. It felt like this stranger could surely turn the flesh-eating monsters into a field of rainbows and flowers from how good he’s making you feel.

“You taste sweet,” he muttered. “Someone ever told you that?”

It took you a while to notice that his fingers weren’t there to stuff you full. He was busy tasting you. You could imagine him on the other side of the room, rough fingers deep in his mouth, drenched in your arousal. The thought made you squirm, growing wet once more. You shook your head as his hand slid back up. His fingers ran over your clit with one long stroke before they stayed there. His thumb sat right atop the throbbing spot, unmoving. 

"Perfect little thing, ain't ya?” he asked, and you nodded, your muscles tense as anticipation ran high. "Gonna fill you up real nice."

As soon as the dull tip of his cock prodded against your entrance, your whole body convulsed. Tears slowly crept into your eyes, frustrated, you might as well cry out a pathetic plea if he kept on stalling. Your palms banged flat against the side of the box. Overwhelmed and on the verge of tears when he purposefully missed your weeping hole. His length slid upwards, the warm tip rubbed against your clit from below before it shied away once more. Your toes curled and he must’ve taken the hint from behind the curtains.

The perfect stranger pushed himself up to where his mushroom-like tip ended, allowing you to adjust to the dimensions of his cock before he eased himself deeper.

You let out a strained moan. 

You almost bump the top of your head on the oak boards when he forced his way in. His cock was fully inside you at last. You were ecstatic. Eyes shut close as you bit into your bottom lip, flesh tearing beneath your canines. It was too much all of a sudden. Too good. Too large. Too full. You could hear the loud squelching noise your spongy hole made as he pulled back and stuffed himself back in.

“Fuck,” he groaned silently. “Don’t squeeze around me, darlin’. You're gonna get me in big trouble.”

He chuckled and fuck did it sound so hot.

You felt his fingers gently reach for the width of your hips. His grip was tight and harsh as he guided your every movement with them. He thrusted like a man on a shooting range, with much precision and prowess. You liked this. Liked feeling as if you’re just a doll for people to use and dump their loads in, especially when it's for someone like him. His cock made you writhe and fight against the metal cuffs holding your legs up. Eager to have him speed up to meet your desires yet he was persistent in keeping a stable speed. The sensation was growing. Slowly but surely.

“A-ah.. mmph.. oh God!”

“God ain’t here to save you, darlin’. It’s just this old man right here,” he cooed crudely. 

He made sure to keep you full at all times. Never once did his perfectly-sized cock leave your sloppy hole, it just kept on twitching and growing in size with the help of your warm embrace. “You like this, don’t ya?”

“Oh- oh yes. I like it. Love your..,” he stopped your lewd confession by placing his thumb back atop your once neglected clit, drawing lazily with what’s left of your wetness. You could feel him starting to seep. A tinge of his own arousal mixing in with yours. “Cock! Love your c- cock.”

His heavy pants started to intensify in volume, such a lovely melody when combined with your pathetic whimpers. He’s close.

“Gonna cum in you, darlin’” he muttered out breathlessly. “Gonna make sure you’re all fucked out with my cum.”

You couldn’t think straight. Not when you’re on a highway to heaven. Your little hole tightened, so eager to milk him dry.

“Yeah, you’d like that, won’t you?”

“O-oh.. oh yes. Please.. fuck,”

“Please?”

“Please fill me up.”

His tip started oozing out ribbons after ribbons of cum, quickly filling you up relentlessly. Though he hasn’t stopped bottoming himself up into you. His load sloshed around, coated his length a perfect milky shade, and dribbled down your rear deliciously. Did you really just let a complete stranger fill you up to the top? Did you truly just let him pour his seed up your needy hole?

Maybe you did.

And maybe it’s reckless.

But oddly enough, you don’t feel too bad about it.

[the-monkeies-girl]

I recently saw your prompt list, and I would like to know if I could pretty please have the 6 and 60 with caesar?😭

6. teasingly kissing the tip of the nose. 60. Sitting in their lap.

Smoldering is how his hands felt against your skin, taking in the delectations against your side as they were brought down from the side of your rib cage towards your hips, Caesar securing his grasp there and pulling you even closer with a small huff of contentment mixed with need. If he could, the Ape King would have you inside of his skin at moments like this where the wall he had needed to rebuild time and time again in all his interactions with humans since the flu came tumbling down and he was able to feel the trembling of your body against his own.

The pure torture his leathery skin gave you as he held you so tightly, in any other form would cause you to burst out of laughter as it tickled instead of pleasured, was sending you in the the highest bid imaginable. That was the thing about Caesar. He would always get you there, bring you to the very edge and in a seconds worth of hesitation as you both never wanted the feeling to end, he’d staved off and thus make you follow him into the trenches were all you were able to mutter was his name and the occasional plea. You were such an incredible sight to the green eyes that were so intent on watching, admiring and trying so desperately to remember the way your eyes rolled back, the way your mouth, ajar murmured one prayer to him before you were utterly consumed in white heat that seemed to burn hotter than the sun itself, Caesar doing his best to swallow the sounds you were making as he knew they caused a ruckus to the Colony members, but he could not bring himself to care anymore with the subsequent actions you put him through.

A small utterance 'Caesar' catapulted the Ape into the great Heavens themselves as he brought his face between the bridge of your breast, nuzzling his mildly protruding muzzle there and garnering himself a tightening of your hands in the fur of his shoulder when Caesar bared his teeth against the already flushed skin and tasted your sweat on them. 

Coming down was never the easy part, your head lulling itself into the crevice of his neck as the grip on your waist that was keeping you leveraged as you bounced atop him mildly were becoming loosened as even the great Ape himself staggered out of the abysmal heat into the trenches of chilled air that lingered around the nest during the latest hours of the night. His eyes shut long enough for him to recollect himself, to recollect yourself as he dragged his hands upwards on your back, touching barely on your shoulder blades but feeling you tense out of heady intentions to go again despite your mate coming back from his trip late, despite him being tired. Caesar dragged you down with him with carnal desire and now you were both reaping the utmost consequences. 

“Mmm…” You murmured, bringing your head from the fur of his neck where you had been swimming in his musk of ashen wood, the tallest red wood where its top peaked the clouds, the deepest and riches parts of the Earth were only a worm would enjoy until this moment where all you wanted to do was consume it yourself. “You need to go on long trips more often.” Caesar chortled at that, the action in his shoulders causing you to shift ever so slightly in his lap as your legs loosened their tensed grip they had around his sturdy pelvis. “Think… You should stay awake… and wait for me when I return late from these trips…” Caesar lifted his gaze to meet your own, the flushed nature of the green and golden specks always mesmerizing and your breath caught in your throat, enough to cause you to grasp the fur of his shoulders much tighter as you saw the glimmer of flirtatious notes playing behind them. Caesar, unprompted, was not one to speak like this and you really only got it in the aftermath of intense throes of scorching pleasure. You took what you could get, dishing back what he had served. 

Bringing your face down towards his own, Caesar had thought that you were going to swipe your lips against his, then bracing for impact on the immediate basis that he was only blessed with lip to lip contact on occasion, knowing that it wasn’t something common amongst the Apes.

But--- He was wrong, your lips placing themselves on the cartoon heart shape of his nose for only a fleeting pash in time as you laughed against him, your chest rattling movements causing his eyes to dip just once so he could see your breasts move along before the visual was lost as you came scrunching in tighter, the hands that had scratched themselves into his bare flesh beneath the thickness of his furred shoulders now coming to wrap themselves around his muscular neck.

“I’ll be sure to try my best.”

[storm-angel989]

Hi I’m not sure if your requests are open at the moment. But if they are, I was wondering if you could do a Valentino x fem!Reader; where Charlie meets the Overlord - like when she goes to the studio to request more time off for Angel in the show - and she finds out he’s married - and she ends up meeting Reader and their kid?? - sorry if this doesn’t make a lot of sense.

I think this is what you were looking for? If not please feel free to request something different!

Please consider this an OTO short story and consider the characters within the context of that narrative! Enjoy!

<3 Mandy

Valentino didn’t let his family in his studio, and for good reason. 

Sure it was a dangerous place. After all, he employed criminals, scumbags, and general down on their luck losers. Not to mention the actual work itself wasn’t something he wanted his wife, let alone his daughter, anywhere near. 

But deeper than the obvious reasons, Valentino didn’t want them to see him in the role he played. He didn’t want them to see the cruelty he inflicted as he fulfilled the terms of each contract he signed. The day he married his wife, he swore he would keep her as far away from that part of him as he could. 

The day Charlie walked into his studio, he was already at his wits end. 

The baby had been up all night with bad dreams. His wife needed to work in the afternoon, which meant he needed to keep a tight schedule so he could keep an eye on his precious daughter. 

So when he heard that creak of the door opening and the blonde bitch walked into his studio, he wanted nothing more than for her to turn the fuck around and walk back out. 

From the corner of his eye, he watched Angel Dust rush up to her, and encourage her to leave. As with everything else in her life, Alastor’s bitch ignored his plea. Valentino could feel his anger growing as he stood up. Normally he would find this entire thing entertaining, but today it was interfering with his very tight timeline. 

As he strode over to encourage her to leave, he heard the elevator door open. From his back, wings sprang forth as he watched his wife step into his studio, his daughter in her arms. 

Fucking great. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He yelled across the studio. In the moment, he forgot about Charlie, forgot about Angel, forgot about the timeline. He strode across the floor and hurried her into his office. 

“Bebita,” he hissed. “Get yourself and her out of my studio. Now.” 

“Put those wings away,” Reader replied mildly. “You’re scaring her.” 

Valentino looked at his three year old daughter's face as she stared at him in a mix of fear and fascination. With a sigh, he took a deep breath and retracted his wings. 

“It’s just me, my ninita,” he said softly as he reached for her. “Come see Papi.”

He lifted her out of his wife’s arms and cradled her to his chest. Softly, he cooed to his little girl until she snuggled into him and wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

“Papi!” She said excitedly. “Play game? Uncle Voxy’s Sharkies? Pony ride?”

Valentino gave his wife a hard look. “Mi amore, why are you here?”

“Because you need to watch her and I need to go meet with Uncle Lucy,” she replied as she set the diaper bag on the table. “Do paperwork, keep her in the playpen, hell, make one of your assistants watch her, I don’t care but I need to leave right now.”

Valentino felt his anger bubble up but swallowed it back. He knew it wasn’t her fault. Hell, he knew it wasn’t even technically Lucifer’s fault. Instead, he leaned over and kissed his wife softly. 

A creak of the door and Valentino jerked away. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see him act so soft. 

“Val? Do you have a moment?” Charlie’s voice interrupted. “I’d realllllly like to speak with you about Angel.”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Valentino growled. “What now?”

“Language! That’s two quarters in the swear jar!” Reader scolded him. 

As soon as Charlie pushed the door open and saw the scene within, Valentino could see his reputation going down the drain. He tried to hand his daughter back to his wife, to put on the mask he wore with everyone else. 

Unfortunately, his little girl had other plans. 

“Daddy! No!” She shrieked. “Papi, no no no no no no!” 

“Okay, okay ninita,” he muttered and snuggled her back to him. “Settle down.”

She stuck her fingers in her mouth and laid her head on Valentino’s shoulder. 

“Daughter? You have a kid?” Charlie asked, her voice dripping in disbelief as she looked at the three of them. “The overlord of lust and depravity?”

“Oh shut up,” Valentino snapped as he sat down on his desk.

Charlie looked to reader and waved brightly. “Hi! I’m Charlie! I’m…”

“I know who you are. You’re the one who opened the Hazbin Hotel,” reader replied. She gave Charlie a smile. “Please, ignore my husband. What’s going on with Angel?”

Charlie’s eyes couldn’t get any wider. “Valentino is married?”

“That’s common fucking knowlege,” Valentino muttered. “I wear a wedding band for fucks sake.” 

Both of them chose to ignore him. 

“Hi Charlie, it’s nice to meet you,” Reader replied with a smile. “I’m reader, and this is our daughter. Sweetie, say hi.”

Instead of answering, the little girl buried her face into Valentino’s neck. 

Charlie’s eyes went wide again. “You’re Lucifer’s niece. Oh my god it is true. Valentino, you’re married to Lucifer’s niece?”

“Charlie, what is it you want?” Valentino asked with a sigh. “What will it take to get and keep you the fuck out of my studio?” 

Charlie turned to him, “I have come to- aggressively kindly- ask that you give Angel more time off to…”

Valentino closed his eyes. If he gave Angel the time off, could handle this bitch by himself. And get her out of his studio for good.

“Fine. Done. He’ll be off in five hours and I’ll shorten his hours, now get out,” Valentino growled. “And I swear, if we pick up even a hint of Alastor in this building I will…”

“Val…the baby,” reader warned. 

“Deal! Thank you thank you thank you!” Charlie gushed.

 In a single motion, she reached out as if to hug Valentino. He stepped back quickly.

“Not with the baby, she doesn’t like strangers,” he said sharply. “Goodbye, Charlie.” 

Valentino watched as she practically skipped out the door. Grateful for the privacy, he sank into his office chair and closed his eyes. Against him, his daughter snuggled deeper. He felt his wife prop herself on his knee and felt the weight of her head against him. Outstretching his arms, he held them both against him and closed his eyes. For a moment, all was right with the world. 

“I can’t have her in my studio,” he said aloud. “The baby, I mean. I hate to do it, but I need to call Vox, see if he can take her. I just, I don’t want her around all this. It isn’t okay, for so many reasons.”

“I know, and I’m sorry normally I…” reader began. 

Valentino cut her off with a kiss. “I know. Go, if you have to.”

Reader looked a bit disheartened but leaned over and kissed their daughter, and then him before making her way out of the office. A quick phone call to Vox later, his now sleeping daughter was safely in her Uncle’s arms and Valentino’s attention shifted back to his work. 

Five long hours later, he called cut, pulled Angel aside and informed him his day was ending early. To his dismay, he watched as Angel strutted to his changing room just as Charlie again walked through the door. 

“Valentino! Can we talk?” She asked.

Valentino shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “I gave Angel the time off because you promised to leave.”

“Yay! But this isn’t about you, this is about reader and you, and your softer sider- I think you might be a great candidate for the Hotel!” She gushed. “Think about it! Your daughter…”

Valentino had her by her throat up against the wall before she could finish her sentence. His wings sprang from his back and every part of him pulsed with power. 

“Do not presume to speak about my family,” he snarled. “This is your last chance. Get. Out.”

He released her and without another thought, he slammed open Angel’s dressing room. He could feel the rage building as he grabbed him and shoved him into the wall. 

“I don’t give a shit what you do with your time off, get that fucking cunt out of my studio,” he snarled. “The next time she comes in, both you fucking bitches will be dead.”

He dropped Angel and to his relief, Charlie was nowhere to be found. He stepped into the elevator and tried to swallow back the fear and anger in his chest. Alastor and his little twat had better keep themselves far away from his family. Valentino had no desire to start another fight, but if push came to shove, he would most certainly finish it.

[raspberryera]

The Fall | 3

Pairing: Vanessa Shelly x Reader

Warnings: Smut, fingering, and oral

Summary: Vanessa drives you home.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Thank you so much for 100 likes! This is my first time writing smut so it's pretty short so please let me know if I should make another part!

Several hours had passed since Vanessa's arrival, and as you kept watch on the cameras, she quietly worked on some leftover paperwork. Her presence in the room was silent yet undeniable, her body language professional and composed but with a hint of flirtatiousness that filled you with anticipation as you waited for the shift to finish. As you continued to monitor the cameras, you couldn't help but notice her occasional glances at you, your eyes often shifting towards hers.

The clock on your desk read 4:47 am and you could feel the fatigue slowly creeping up on you, the tiredness slowly overpowering your desire to spend your shift in Vanessa's company. Despite your desire to be at home and rest, something inside you was drawn back to her, and you found yourself unable to peel your eyes away from her. You were aware that your gaze towards Vanessa was bordering on inappropriate given the context of your relationship, though something about her presence and flirtatious mannerisms made it difficult to look away. You knew you probably shouldn't be gawking at a "friend" the way you were, but you couldn't help it anyway, your eyes unwillingly drifting back towards her at every opportunity.

Vanessa saw your glances out of the corner of her eye, and she couldn't help but smile at the fact that you had your eyes on her. She enjoyed the attention that you were giving her.

A bit more time had passed and you checked the clock, which now read 5:58 am as your shift was almost over. You let out a sigh of relief at the realization.

You had unexpectedly remembered that you didn't have a ride home, and with your shift coming to an end very soon, you decided to approach Vanessa and ask her for a ride home, hoping that she would willingly oblige.

"Hey," you said, breaking the momentary standstill between you two.

"Hm?" she hummed at your gentle interruption, her tone somewhat inquisitive.

"Umm... my friend had dropped me off at work," you said, pausing momentarily as you thought about how to phrase your question. "He can't drive me home, so I was wondering if it would be possible for you to drive me home instead?"

"Ah, I see," Vanessa said, her tone mildly amused. She gave you a small grin before responding, "Of course I can give you a ride home. I'm heading that way anyway, and I wouldn't want you stuck here after your long shift." She then paused and gently added, "I guess I have an excuse to spend some more time with you now, do I?"

"I suppose so," you replied, a tinge of embarrassment mixing with the anticipation of spending more time with her.

Vanessa pushed her chair back and stood up, grabbing the stack of paperwork in front of her. "Let's go," she said, you could make out the excitement in her tone when she added, "I can't wait to get home and finally rest."

"Same here," you replied, laughing slightly, standing up from your seat as well. A small blush formed on your face, although it was more due to their growing anticipation of spending more time with Vanessa than to her sudden standing up.

As you both exited the building, the late night air hit you and the silence between you two became more noticeable, but in it, the tension and excitement of the moment was palpable, the prospect of spending more time with Vanessa giving way to a growing anticipation of spending the ride back with her as you walked side by side across the deserted parking lot.

"Do you think I can ride shotgun?" you joked playfully, causing Vanessa to giggle at your humorous response. "I don't think my ego could handle riding in the back of a cop car," you added with a teasing grin.

Vanessa let out a small giggle at your playful banter. As you both continued towards her patrol car, she gave you a playful smile before responding, "Of course you can ride shotgun.” She gave you another cheeky grin as she added, "I don't blame you for avoiding the backseat."

You both made it to the car, Vanessa leading the way towards the passenger side. She reached out for the passenger door to open it for you. You quickly got into the car nodding, silently thanking her. Your hands accidentally brushing against Vanessa's for a short moment before you settled into the seat, your body suddenly heated up at the brief physical contact.

She made her way around the vehicle, slowly circling around to the driver's side. You felt your heart skip a beat as she finally entered into the driver's side, your eyes following her every movement as your body tingled with excitement at the sudden proximity you found yourself in with her.

Vanessa shot you a soft smile as she turned on the engine and put the car into reverse, her eyes meeting yours as she backed out of her parking space. "So," she spoke up, attempting to start a conversation to lessen the tension of the closed space. Vanessa's nervousness at the closeness between the two of you was evident. "What do you usually do after you get off your shift?" she asked, hoping her question would break the awkwardness.

"Well, the obvious answer would be sleep, but sometimes that just doesn't work out," you replied with a light laugh, trying downplay your nervousness. You shrugged and looked over her way as you asked, "How about you?" You shifted slightly in your seat, the closeness between the two of you starting to affect your nerves.

She gave you a small smile. Each passing second she was becoming conscious of the closeness between the two of you. She let out a soft sigh of exasperation as she replied, "I guess that makes two of us, huh? My sleep schedule's all out of wack; I hardly feel tired after my shift at all."

"Really? You're not tired after your long shift?" You asked slightly shocked.

Her head shook back and forth. "Nope, I'm not, surprisingly." A small smile grew on her lips, making it obvious that she wasn't tired in the slightest, which caused you to tilt your head slightly.

"Honestly, I'm not that tired either," you confessed after giving Vanessa a brief glance, your gaze then moving to the road before you. She responded with a light chuckle and a small shrug as she continued to drive, the slight tension from earlier now relieved, the both of you now feeling a bit more relaxed and comfortable.

"Well, that makes two of us, then," Vanessa responded, her teasing glance towards you shifting into a seductive smirk as she continued to drive. "I can think of some ways we can spend our time together." She says teasing you, her eyes remaining fixed on the road.

"I'm sure you can," you responded in a lighthearted tone, teasing Vanessa right back with your reply before your gaze turned back towards the road.

"Oh, you have no idea," Vanessa replied, a smirk growing on her lips. Blush creeped onto your face shocked by her words. She seemed to thrive on your continued response to her teasing.

As you glanced at the road, you noticed that you were nearing your house, Vanessa pulling into your street as she drove on.

She pulled up in front of your house, parking the car before shifting her gaze towards you and speaking, "Want me to walk you to your door?" Her voice was soft yet playful as she gave you a knowing smirk, her words filled with an underlying layer of flirtation as she waited for your response, her eyes remaining fixed on you as she awaited your next move.

"I'd actually like that," you responded, your gaze fixated on Vanessa, your heart beating slightly faster as you took in her knowing smirk.

There was an unspoken tension between the two of you, your mind now filled with the anticipation of what exactly would happen next, if anything would.

You and Vanessa both exit the car, walking side by side up the pathway leading to your front door, the two of you remaining close together as your heart rate begins to increase. The two of you now mere inches apart, your mind flooding with thoughts and images of what exactly might happen once you set foot in the threshold of your front door.

You quickly shook your head away from your thoughts as you reached the front door. Your fingers grasped the handle and turned it, slightly opening it while returning your focus to Vanessa.

There was a moment of silence that lingered in the air, the tension between you two growing thicker with each passing second. You held the door open, your gaze meeting hers and your heart beating rapidly as you looked into her eyes. The desire to jump into Vanessa's arms and kiss her was nearly overwhelming.

You had opened your mouth to speak, to thank her, but Vanessa unexpectedly took control by placing her hands on your face and pulling you in close, her lips crashing fiercely against yours as she fulfilled both of your desires. The kiss was passionate, the pent-up feelings and emotions being released like a dam bursting open. There was no holding back, the overwhelming confirmation that Vanessa had felt the same for you, her lips soft and tasting of blueberry chapstick, her body heat rising with a feverish passion at the intensity of your kiss.

You were intoxicated by the kiss, and Vanessa's expertise in kissing proved to be almost overwhelming, her lips and mannerisms almost too good to be true. As your hands moved from the door to her hips, she pulled slightly back from the kiss to catch her breath and rested her forehead against yours, the two of you locked in a haze of passion as your head swirled with the intensity of the kiss and the closeness of Vanessa.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Vanessa says, practically panting out, due to being out a breath.

Her words catch you off guard, your face flushed and pulse racing at Vanessa's confession. You weren't sure what to say, your body still recovering from the shock of the kiss and your stomach full of butterflies at the boldness of Vanessa's words. Her panting breaths a sign of her own excitement and arousal. Her bold confession only made the butterflies in your stomach even flap harder.

Her playful demeanor was evident as she leaned back in towards you, her lips connecting forcefully with yours. The kiss became more intense and sloppy - and wet, which now wasn’t the only wet thing.

Vanessa pulled her body closer to yours, her movements becoming more deliberate as she drew you further backward and deeper into the confines of the doorway. Her lips pressed more forcefully against yours, the intimacy and closeness causing the heat to rise rapidly between the two of you. You felt the flood of passion start to overtake your senses, Vanessa's actions leading the way as she pulled you backward towards her, your mind becoming more fuzzy and disoriented due to the intoxicating aroma of her kiss.

As you stumbled backwards into your entryway, she smoothly shut the door behind the both of you with one hand, never taking her lips off yours. She momentarily pulled back to catch her breath. She breathed in heavily to compensate for her rapid breathing and the rise in her heart rate, while maintaining a firm grip on you, her strong hands now clutching your body close, you let out a gasp as she presses you against the door.

As the passion continues to build between the two of you, Vanessa's actions become more deliberate and intense, her hold on you growing tighter and her kisses becoming more forceful as your body begins to react with the sensations of her touch. Her lips press against your own in a fierce display of lust and her tongue begins to enter your mouth, the heat and tension steadily rising as you both lose control. Your breaths becoming louder and more intense as her hands roam your body.

Her hand slowly found its way to your chest, her long fingers gently circling your skin and caressing your tit though your shirt. Her touch was light and tentative at first, but you could feel it growing in fervor and intensity as she moved upwards, her fingers starting to probe and caress your tits as your arms found their way around her neck, leaning into her touch. The intensity of your actions matching the growing heat between the both of you.

The kisses shared between the both of you became more, and more desperate. Your desire for her growing immensely.

You dragged Vanessa, still in the heat of the moment, towards your bedroom, your bodies stumbling a bit as you both kissed, but neither of you cared at this point. It had felt like you had waited for this moment your whole life, and you couldn’t believe it was happening.

As you entered your bedroom, Vanessa pushed you onto the bed, climbing on top of you and smirking down at you. Her newfound position at the forefront of your shared intimate moment giving her control. You had let out a gasp at her movements as you looked up at her.

Vanessa leaned down and gave your lips another lingering kiss, she softly spoke to you, "Hmm, I can’t tell you have many times I've imagined this; you below me," she whispered with a hint of seduction in her voice. She hoped her words would get a reaction out of you.

“Yeah? What exactly did you think about?” You asked, trying to fake your confidence, while deep down you were nervous. Your face heating up slightly, awaiting her response.

She leaned in towards you again, as she whispered, "I thought about how many ways I could please you."

Your eyes widened as you heard her words, and your voice grew thick with lust and desire as you whispered back, "Well, shall we try them out?" Vanessa nodded, as she leaned in further and began leaving wet and sloppy kisses down your neck, you let out a sigh of pleasure.

Vanessa's hands slowly traveled down to the hem of your shirt, her hands gripping it gently as she looked back at you, silently asking for permission to remove it. Your face flushed as you nodded your head, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

She pulled your shirt up slowly, her hands slipping between the fabric and your body as you sat up slightly to allow her to pull the shirt over your head.

Vanessa tossed your shirt into a corner of the room, unconcerned on where it would end up, leaving you in your bra. She took time to admire your chest and how it moved up and down as you breathed.

"God, you're so hot," Vanessa breathed out, still admiring you as she let your figure and shape sink into her mind.

You felt your body grow slightly flush at her words, and you responded saying, "You're not too bad yourself."

Vanessa leaned back in, gently kissing you at first. Her hands freely roamed your body, desiring to touch every last inch of it, both of your bodies now heating up (even more) as you responded with the same passion, your fingers running through Vanessa's hair. Your breaths becoming heavier, and the tempo of the kisses slowly growing in intensity, your body beginning to melt with pleasure and excitement as Vanessa's lips met yours.

You moaned into the kiss, the feeling of Vanessa's pink, soft lips on yours causing another wave of pleasure to wash over you. Your desire for her grew more and more intense than ever before. Never before would you think you’d even want, need a woman as much as you needed her.

As the kiss became more intense, you couldn't control yourself anymore. You grabbed the hem of her shirt, your fingers gripping the fabric as you lifted it up higher.

As you lifted Vanessa's shirt off, she held her arms over her head to help you, and her body was exposed to you as her shirt was lifted over her head. As the shirt was removed, her dark, lacy bra revealed itself, highlighting her beauty. A smirk was drawn on your face in response as you tossed Vanessa's shirt near yours.

You only had a moment to take in the sight of Vanessa, as she took no time leaning back into kiss you once more, her lips gently yet vigorously meeting yours. Vanessa slowly allowing her body to lean back as she gently spread your legs, pressing the entirety of her body against yours, her knee now rubbing against your heat.

The feeling was intoxicating, it drove you wild, your body craving more, your hips involuntarily lifting as you sought for more friction. Your hips moved in a rhythmic motion as your body begged for more contact, the intensity of the feeling overtaking you and your senses as Vanessa continued to kiss you, her knees digging deeper into your as the motions of your hips grew more intense.

Vanessa's hand quickly darted behind you, her fingers handling the clasp of your bra and unclipping it with swift motion, as you stood motionless for a second, stunned at the ease and quickness of Vanessa's actions. Vanessa then tossed your bra somewhere into the room, exposing your upper body to the open air and creating a feeling of vulnerability before her, watching your reaction to her movements with a half-smirk.

She leaned down and began to leave open mouth kisses on your collarbone, slowly making her way down to your breasts. As she reached your tits she took a nipple into her mouth and rolled the other between her thumb and pointer finger. The sudden contact almost overwhelming, you arched your back at the feeling.

Her motions alternated between swirling her tongue around and sucking on your nipple. Your soft whimpers and panting noises only encouraging her to do more. Vanessa switched sides now paying attention to your other nipple.

Your body had grown even hotter at the feeling of her hands and hot mouth on you. She began her decent down your body. Leaving soft, gentle kisses down your body. Her kisses got sloppier as she reached your naval.

Vanessa looked up at you and smirked as she began to unbutton your pants teasingly slow. As she finally unbuttoned your jeans, Vanessa began to tug downwards on the waistline - a clear sign for you to help her by lifting your hips. The anticipation was almost maddening.

She pulled off your jeans painfully slow, obviously teasing you. At this point you weren't sure if you could handle much more teasing.

Finally your jeans were off and discarded somewhere, God knows where, in the room. She leaned back in, continuing where she had left off, just below your naval. Slowly and teasingly she lowered her way down. Both of her hands found each one of your thighs, parting them a bit wider than before.

Vanessa began to leave light kisses all over your thighs and inner thighs. You were becoming restless at this point as you spoke up, "Please, Vanessa."

You were desperate for her to relieve the ache and tension between your thighs. "Please what?" She asked, although she already knew the answer she wanted to hear you say it.

"Touch me please," you begged her. You should've been embarrassed of how needy you were, but all you could focus on is how much you needed her.

"But I am touching you?" She teased, smirking slightly. But she gave in as soon as she glanced at your face.

Vanessa slowly rubbed your clit through the fabric of your underwear. You let out a sigh of relief at the sudden pleasure. She could immediately feel how wet you were, even though there was a barrier between her thumb and your heat.

Leaning down she took the waistline of your panties between her teeth she looked you directly in your eyes she pulled it down. It honestly was the hottest thing you had ever witnessed. She pulled it the rest of the way down with her hands and tossed it behind her, not giving a care where it would end up. All of her attention right now was on you.

She didn’t waste any time as she began kissing your inner thighs as she made her way closer and closer to where you had desired her most. You squirmed, waiting for something, anything to happen. As she reached your center she tested the waters by licking your clit softly. You gasped at the contact.

She had began slowly, licking you but as soon as she heard just what those gentle touches could do to you, it fueled her. She applied more pressure with her tongue, which drove you insane. Your hands made its way to her hair which you now gripped.

Testing the waters once more, she began to suck on your clit which brought out an explicit moan out of your lips.

She began to eat you out like you were her last meal. You were shocked by how good she was at.

Vanessa brought her middle finger up to you entrance as she slowly pushed it in, still paying attention to your bundle of nerves. She slowly trusted her finger in you, once in a while curling it in a ‘come-hither’ motion.

After a while she pushed in her ring finger as well, it took you a second to adjust to the stretch of her fingers but once you did your senses were overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Fuck,” you moaned out. That fueled her even farther as she sped up her movements. You were already embarrassing close to coming - but in your position who wouldn’t?

Your moans became closer and closer together, Vanessa knew exactly what that meant. She kept her movements at the same pace and her fingers kept brushing and curling against the spot the made you see stars. You were sure that the neighbors would make a noise complaint due to your noises.

Your back arched as the coil in you abdomen snapped, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. You panted as Vanessa worked you through your high as your legs shaked softly. She stopped her movements and removed her fingers.

You took a moment to recover as you looked up at her. “God, you’re amazing.” You said looking at her with your eyes half-lidded. She let out a soft laugh.

Now all you could think of was returning the favor and how hard you were falling for the blonde.

[adventuringblind]

A Little Lost

Liam Lawson x Reader x Oscar Piastri x Logan Sargeant

Genre: fluff and hurt/comfort

Summary: With her ADHD driving her mind into a whirlwind, she ends up slipping in public and unable to find the one person she needs. Luckily Oscar and Logan are there to help.

Warnings: non-sexual age play, agere/age-regression, panic attacks, implied trauma, non-sexual use of daddy

Notes: I needed this for myself, honestly!! I hope the requester finds comfort in it like I did!

Side note: age-regression is NOT a kink. If you're going to request it, please don't make it a smut request. It gives ya girl mixed signals. AGEPLAY is a kink and has dd/lg dynamics. Please remember this when requesting... I'm begging T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Everything is overwhelming at the moment. He thoughts are running in a million different directions. The noise and bustle of the paddock is pulling Her every which way.

She needs Liam. Without a shadow of a doubt, she needs him right this second.

Her mental state is dancing between headspaces. Her little self is attempting to break free of the confines she's put the girl in. To young and to alone to be out in this environment.

The alphatauri garage feels so far away. It's an endless walk she's been attempting to make for what feels like hours now. Liam, she just needs to get to him.

Panic rises every time someone bumps into her. She squeaks out a sorry, only to be met with annoyed grunts. She needs her daddy to make it better. No - Liam - she needs Liam.

The catalyst is someone shoving her away and complaining that she should pay more attention. She is paying attention. Her brain just has thirty tabs open, three of them have commercials playing, another is driving her senses wild, and where the heck is her da- Liam?!

The shove sends her tumbling to the ground. Her elbow hits the hard ground on impact. It's bleeding, and she's officially offline.

Her little self takes over, tears welling in her eyes as she hides around the corner and tugs at her hair. A desperate attempt to settle the whirlwind of her thoughts.

She needs her daddy.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Logan and Oscar are animatedly chatting about the race as they walk through the dwindling crowd. Liam had texted about a longer debrief and had asked them to check up on his girlfriend since she wasn't answering her phone.

They'd been an item the last couple of years like Oscar and Logan have. It's an interesting and often tense dynamic. The four of them are all extremely close, but neither of the couples have openly talked about any kind of open relationship.

Oscar and Logan have. It's often a source of interesting fantasies and warm fuzzy feelings. They say nothing, though. Scared of losing their closest friends in the pursuit of something mildly taboo still.

Logan is lost in his thoughts when Oscar stops suddenly. He hushes him and listens intently. It's then that Logan catches the muffled sobs.

They take off in the direction of the crying. Neither of them are ones to let somebody suffer when they can help it.

They turn the corner, and there sits their original target. She curled up with hair in every direction, and her fingers rake through it in a violent manner.

Logan approaches her like she's a wounded animal. He's not at all hurt when she curls farther into her corner.

"Osc, we're gonna need to call Liam."

"Already on it!"

She perks up at hearing Liam's name. Eyes wide and teary, but at least she doesn't look scared of the Logan for the moment. "Daddy? Are callin' daddy?"

Oh. Oh.

She's - how did they put it? - regressed, in age. They talked about it in passing but never elaborated. Logan and Oscar had never bothered to look into it. They were protective over it and they wanted to respect that.

He's regretting that decision just a tad now. He might be more prepared on what to do if he'd bothered to figure out what it is that happens to her.

The obvious thing is that she's vulnerable and scared. "Yeah, we're calling him." He smiles warmly at her. "Can you tell me what happened? Why you're so sad?" He keeps his tone calm to hopefully ease her into a less anxious state.

She untucks herself and shows Logan her red and bleeding elbow. "Was pushed."

It's not a terrible scrape, not one to be worried about, but it is getting on all her clothes. He'll have to ask about the pushing later.

Oscar comes back and sighs in annoyance. "He said another thirty minutes at least of debrief. I feel bad for worrying him now."

Oscar sees where the two are crouched and throws Logan a confused look. "Is everything alright?"

"Well, I think someone needs a band-aid for her elbow and somewhere to wait for daddy." Logan tries to communicate that there is more going on here. Oscar looks between the two, and then his face lights up in some kind realization.

"Lando already left for the day, so my room should be safe. And I know he has crayon band-aids in his room."

She considers the idea. Carefully studying both of their faces for some hint of malicious intent. "Daddy said no strangers."

Logan exaggerates a pondering face. "Are me and Osc strangers? I thought we were best friends!"

She shakes her head yes and moves closer to the American. A reassurance that she does consider him a friend. "More then friend!" She leans up to Logan and motions to lend his ear so she can whisper into it. "Daddy says loves." She giggles, and Logan has to use all his strength not to look dumbfounded at the confession.

Oscar and Logan wrangle her the back way to the McLaren motor home. Their success in going mostly unnoticed has both males breathing in relief as they step into the saftey of Oscar's room.

The Aussie ducks out to grab the band-aid from his teammates' room, and Logan is left to sit with the girl currently looking confused and intrigued. She hesitantly grabs the stuffed koala sitting on the shelf. The one Logan had gotten for him as a joke before they started dating.

"Has name?" Her fingers stroke the soft fluff of the toy.

"I'm not sure. Should we ask Osc when he gets back?" She nods once, then comes and sits on the couch with him. The stuffed koala cradled in her arms like it's the most precious thing she's ever seen.

Logan is still trying to comprehend what she meant earlier. Is it just her small brain misinterpreting something Liam said? Or is this an honest confession that she doesn't currently understand the implications of? He doesn't want to get his hopes up and settles on the second option for now.

Oscar sneaks back in the door and starts unwrapping the bangade. It is, in fact, shaped like a red crayon. Her eyes light up even as he washes the cut and places the band-aid on it.

"There we go, all better now." Oscar smiles at her as she hugs his koala.

"Thank you."

She's completely entranced in the stuffed toy again. Logan taps her on the nose to get her attention. "Did you want to ask Osc your question?"

She makes an 'o' shape with her mouth. "Does koala have a name?" She looks up at him with expectant eyes.

Oscar considers. "Hmmm, I don't think he does. Would you like to give him one?"

She takes careful consideration, weighing all the possible options. "Koko."

"Love it."

"Very creative!"

Her expression changes into something sad. Her eyes once again glassy like before. "Will daddy like?" She curls up in Logans lap with the toy.

"Yeah, he'll love it. Certainly not as much as he loves you."

She hums and closes her eyes. It's adorable and peaceful. "Do you think Liam might let us do this with her again?"

"If he doesn't kill us first. Speaking of, I should let him know where we are."

♡♡♡♡♡

Liam likes to think he's relatively quick. He runs often enough and has good stamina.

This is the fastest he's ever moved in his entire life. He grabs all their stuff with a speed that shocks both Daniel and Yuki.

"What's got you in a hurry, mate?"

"Just eager to see my girl, is all."

Daniel shoots him a wink. "Have a good time!" Liam can only laugh nervously in response. It's certainly not the good time he's thinking of. No, he'd promised her a nice dinner tonight.

Now he's thinking he might have to shift plans. Which - he's not upset about. Liam loves when she's in headspace because it gives him an excuse to do things he wouldn't normally. As in, she's obsessed with cars, and he gets to spend time building the most intricate tracks with household items, blocks, and an ungodly amount of Legos that they have at home. She's always sad when they have to leave them for long periods of time, but he brings a portion with just in case.

He makes for the McLaren garage and is greeted by Oscar out front. It's odd, knowing that their secret is out and yet the Aussie is looking at him affectionately.

They make light conversation while they venture into the building. It feels normal still, nothing to awkward aside from the fact Liam goes on rabbit trails every ten seconds. It's the reason Oscar knows how to handle Lando and his chaotic communication tactics.

Liam mentally slaps himself. Now is not the time to be drooling over his friend's stability and emotional intelligence. He should really just confess. They'd talked about it, they both want it, but that could result in rejection.

Oscar opens the door and slips inside. Liam takes a second to observe the scene in front of him. His girl, happily laying her head in Logan's lap rambling about the koala in her hands.

"Look who I found!" Oscar gestures to Liam. Her head perks up and she scrambles off the couch, slipping to the floor before throwing herself at Liam.

"Hi, love bug." Liam attempts to get on the floor without falling as she clings to him. He fails miserably as the topple over. "Were you good for Oscar and Logan?" She hums something into his chest that he can't decipher.

"She was an angel, honestly." Logan leans forward on the couch. It looks like he's contemplating something, shooting stead looks at Oscar.

With effort, Liam finally gets them situated on the floor. "Do you know what might have triggered this?"

"She scraped her elbow, was that it maybe?"

Liam ponders the suggestion. His eyes find the crayon band-aid that wasn't there the last time he saw her. He sighs, hopefully she was just overwhelmed, and this wasn't an altercation of some kind. "She's struggled with - uh, being shoved around - I guess. You know, home life things."

"Maybe she was shoved and fell which caused the panic attack." Oscar eyes them sadly.

"Well, you two feel up to helping us get out of here?"

♡♡♡♡♡

Oscar doesn't understand how Liam makes this look normal. HAs this been going on under their noses this whole time? If only he could go back in time, rewind a bit and do some research. He and logan could help out if they wanted.

She was falling asleep in the car and still looks like she might clock out in the elevator. Still, Oscar can't help imagining the four of them together, like this.

Liam twirls her around as they walk until she almost falls over. She falls into him, laughing and smiling, the injury from earlier forgotten about.

Their space is comfortable and lived in. The two even slip into a routine, pulling out food for dinner. He whispers something to her, and she skitters off.

They pull chairs out from around the small table. Liam offers them water and something to eat. "So, about... this."

"Which this? The four of us or her specifically?" Logan raises an eyebrow.

"Both."

The girl returns and climbs into Liam's lap clutching a notebook. She flips open to a page and excitedly hands it to Liam to hand to the two across the table.

Oscar isn't sure whether to laugh or melt, so he mixes the two together. The pages are lined with drawings of the four of them. "She's quite the artist."

"You've no idea. Our fridge is covered in artwork." Liam chuckles a bit and wraps his arms around her.

"Told you! More than friends!"

"Do you know what that means, love bug?"

"Three people to cuddle!"

Oscar really does laugh this time. "Well, you're not wrong!" He shoot a look to Logan.

"Count us in." The American smile.

Liam sighs heavily in disappointment. It's a confusing reaction that Oscar wasn't expecting. "She's going to murder me later for not having this talk when she's big."

"Can't be mad if you make me dessert!" A devilish grin spreads across her cheeks.

"Only this once."

"You said that last time."

[litnerdwrites]

Feyre betrayed Nesta in the worst way...

It's a common stance that many people, regardless of if they love or hate Nesta/Rhys/the IC, seem to have, but I don't think it is. Was Nesta complacent in keeping it from her since she found out? Yes. Was that wrong of her? Yes again. Was blurting it out the way that she did also not ideal, to put it mildly? Absolutely yes. But was it out of malice? No.

And Nesta didn't care. Couldn't think around the roaring. 'Have any of them told you, their respected High lady, that the babe in your womb will kill you?' Amren barked, 'Shut your mouth!' But her order was confirmation enough. Face paling, Feyre whispered again, 'What do you mean?' 'The wings,' Nesta seethed. 'The boy's Illyrian wings will get stuck in your Fae body during the labour, and it will kill you both.'

The idea that this was all said in malice just never sat right to me, and after scrolling through some comments on a video discussing the matter, the pieces finally clicked into place. First, let's talk about the hike, though.

Her breakdown after that hike wasn't a moment of catharsis and letting walls down. It was a weeks worth of exhaustion, dehydration and depression that resulted in Nesta giving in to the torture she was put through just to end it. It was a pivotal moment in the IC's efforts to break and then reconstruct her to their liking, or rather, to Feyre's liking. However, a vital stepping stone in reaching this point would be for them to gaslight and isolate her until she truly had no one. I mentioned before that I didn't think anyone in the NC would chose Nesta, and this is an example of why I believe that.

Nesta snarled, but Feyre stepped between them, hands raised. 'This conversation ends now. Nesta, go back to the House. Amren, you...' She hesitated, as if considering the wisdom of ordering Amren around. Feyre finished carefully, 'You stay here.'

Nesta is clearly upset and hurting and Feyre disregards that entierly, not even offering to discuss or find out why Nesta is hurt or feeling the way she is. Feyre didn't bother to try and understand Nesta before and she isn't bothering now. Either Feyre assumes she knows what Nesta is thinking/ feeling, or she just doesn't care. She dismisses her, telling her to go back to her prison, disregarding Nesta's choices, autonomy and opinions again.

If I recall right, it was Amren who informed Nesta that she was free to go where she wanted if she made it down the ten thousand steps. Feyre wouldn't order Amren, even to stand up for her sister, but happily go against Amren's own words to punish Nesta? Hypocrisy at it's finest.

All of this leads to one outcome: Nesta feeling trapped. Cornered and without a single ally in the whorld who would defend her properly. Isolated from anyone who'd be willing to treat her with decency, while believing she doesn't even deserve the basics of kindness. It leaves Nesta more prone to actually going through with committing suicide, since the behaviour of these people, mixed with her own self hatred, sets a precedent for how Nesta believe she'd be treated.

We see this when Nesta first meets Emerie, thinking to herself that 'the invitations would stop' when Emerie learned what nesta was really like. Or at least what Nesta perceived herself to be like.

Even though Nesta has Emerie and Gwyn, she has no reason to think, based on what brainwashing the IC has already done coupled with her self deprecating mindset, that they wouldn't side with the IC. This isn't to say Emerie and Gwyn are like the IC by any means. I think they're great friends to Nesta, and if that changes or not later on is more so up to SJM and her writing, rather than their characterisation. It's the reality that the IC have created for Nesta through abuse, gaslighting and borderline torture that's wound up feeding in to Nesta's already existing trauma and self worth that has lead to her becoming isolated this way.

And Nesta didn't care. Couldn't think around the roaring. 'Have any of them told you, their respected High lady, that the babe in your womb will kill you?'

The comment on the video I saw explained that, while Nesta was angry when saying this, she wasn't trying to hurt Feyre or take her anger out on anyone. Nesta was angry because she wasn't told that she made a new trove. She was angry that these people had the audacity to vote on her life, and take bodily autonomy from her. She was angry that Feyre wasn't acknowledging or even trying to understand how Nesta was feeling. She was angry that she was treated like the bad guy- or more like a petulant child in this scene, I suppose- and had her feelings dismissed again.

Dismissed the way her mother/grandmother used to when she was trained. The way her father did when he refused to hunt. The way the Mortal Queens did when Nesta merely asked them to save her people. The way Feyre did when she asked for Nesta's help again, and again, and again during the war, only for it to never be enough in the eyes of other. The way that Elain did when she got upset at Nesta time and time again for how she handled her trauma or how she wasn't over her trauma or how Nesta tried to protect her. The way Cassian dismissed her feelings when he got mad at her for having an opinion of Rhysand.

Nesta was angry. She had every right to be angry. Most people would be angry, and alone, and if they already had suicidal thoughts like Nesta, having been abandoned by everybody while gaslit into thinking it was fine, and then only called upon to be used for the benefit of others while the snickered behind her back and dismissed her again.

As the commenter put it; She was trying to find someone who would relate to her anger. Nesta wanted an ally, someone who wouldn't leave her alone. Someone to be by her side and, perhaps subconsciously, thought that Feyre, who'd hunted for them and helped look after them for years, would chose Nesta's side.

The parallels between Nesta and Feyre's situation here are clear, and I think Nesta understood that when she said what she said. I think that Feyre believing Nesta said it to hurt her was a gross misunderstanding on her part, but it's not like she ever asked Nesta how she felt. Now that I think about it, for all that Feyre talks about Nesta feeling too much, and taking everything to heart, she never once confirms with Nesta. Never asks how Nesta feels.

Since coming to the Night Court, Nesta's feelings and traumas have been twisted and spoken about only in relation to how Feyre feels.

'Do you know how embarrassed I was when we got the bill this morning and my friends-my family- had to hear all about it?'

The intervention began, not because of Nesta doing something to risk hurting herself, but because Feyre was embarrassed and started crying into her breakfast.

'All of it pains me… It pains me that Nesta has become… this. It pains me that she and Feyre are always at each other’s throats. It pains me that Feyre hurts over it, and I know Nesta does, too.'

Cassian is pained, not because Nesta is suffering so greatly that she isolated herself for her own sisters (who didn't really act like sisters between the end of ACOWAR to... well now, so it's understandable), or because Nesta felt her only reprieve from her pain was in sex and alcohol, but because Feyre hurts over it. He knows Nesta does (but he doesn't know she hates fire? Or is uncomfortable at their social gatherings, since in ACOFS he somehow hoped she wouldn't take the bribe money and say she enjoyed their solstice party??? Because...Why?) But, of course, it's Feyre's feelings on the matter that are prioritised.

'Nesta is Nesta. She does what she wants, even if it kills her sister.'

Rhysand, not that I expect much from him, honestly, is utpse, not because he can't find a way to help Nesta. Not because his court is actively cruel to Nesta, hell, he joins in. Not because Nesta is in pain, in no small part because of him and his court. Not even because Nesta is spending his money. Because she's upsetting Feyre. Because, god forbid, Nesta have trauma and handle it in a way that doesn't make his wife happy.

Feyre tells others how she thinks Nesta feels, the others go with it, or just come to their own conclusions, not sure which is worse, but nobody stops to consider how she feels. Feyre feeling like Nesta said it to hurt her, I think, is simply proof that she doesn't understand Nesta.

Let me ask you, if you found out you were lied to in a way that affects your ability to make informed decisions regarding your own body, by someone you were supposed to trust, and who should've had your back, and that your own sibling has been betrayed by the same people in a very similar, if not identical way, and yet you're the one being turned into the bad guy, and dismissed, would that not make you feel isolated and frustrated?

It's understandable that Nesta tried, either consciously or subconsciously, feel less alone by appealing to common ground to find an ally. Nesta mentions at the end of ACOSF that she believes Feyre loved her from the start, and after those years in the cabin, I think Nesta sees Feyre as someone reliable.

This scene doesn't feels like Nesta trying to hurt Feyre. It feels like Nesta trying to reach out to the one person she could rely on; Feyre. Her mother was abusive, her father was a deadbeat, Elain was her ward, and the IC hate her.

'Nesta studied me for a long moment. And then she said with equal quiet, though we could all hear, “I can’t get into a bathtub, anymore. I have to use buckets.” I hadn’t known—hadn’t even thought that bathing, submerging water…'

Amren tells Cassian to keep reaching out his hand, even though Nesta has reached out her own time and time again. Esspecially to Feyre, as she was the one Nesta relied on before. Possibly even the only person Nesta has ever relied on, and Fyre was the one she was trying to rely on now.

Nesta relied on Feyre, and needed to rely on her again. To have strength together, in a situation where they both lost their choices and autonomy to Rhysand and his (cause don't pretend it's even slightly Feyre's) IC.

It may have been wrong to say it in that way, at that time, under those circumstances, but this, to me, feels like Nesta's way of reaching out her own hand only to be misunderstood, punished, and dismissed again. And again. And again.

In a way, I think Feyre might have, unintentionally, betrayed Nesta in a worse way than Elain ever has. Elain was a ward. Almost like a child, to Nesta. They were never on equal footing. Moreover, Nesta was never punished if she upset Elain, no that she should be, or if Elain misunderstood her. Nesta never relied on Elain the way she relied on Feyre. She never trusted or had faith in Elain, the way she clearly trusted Feyre. She had thought she'd found an ally, with similar pain, in Feyre, in the moments she spilled the secret, but Feyre didn't care.

When I was reading the scene where Cassian told Feyre his idea to take Nesta on a punishment hike, she sounded all too gleeful when telling him how miserable Nesta would be. That, in my opinion, is the worst betrayal of all.