#she’d probably make it again and properly this time

[idolsgf]

thinking about weathering with you and how at the end the characters decide to go with the selfish choice instead of the self sacrificing choice. they’d rather doom the world and be together than apart and i think that’s beautiful

[taexoxosgf]

DO IT AGAIN

PAIRING brother’s best friend!park jisung x fem!reader

WORDS 3.7k

SYNOPSIS your brother’s best friend can never get you alone. that’s why he won’t miss an opportunity— even if your brother’s on the other side of the walls.

WARNINGS reader is tyong’s sister, jealousy, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, creampie

NOTES this smut is actually from a super long fic i posted on my old account! i’m not sure if i’m gonna post the whole thing because i’m cringing rereading it lol

“So, how’s your big bro’s parties? It’s better than frat parties huh?” Taeyong dangles the red cup charged with alcohol in front of your face just for you to swat away in annoyance. “No musty bathrooms and paint peeling off the walls! Woooooooo!”

You’re going to have to have a jolly time cleaning his vomit in the morning. “Stop drinking you little shit. I’m not gonna take care of you tomorrow, just so you know.”

He does a little dance that has you suppressing a laugh, “The night is still young! Loosen up a little! Won’t stop until you’re having as much fun as me!” Your brother is so out of it, that he bumps into a million corners of the home and an attendee urges him to the couch.

“Actually… I’m not feeling so good,” he shushes the person helping before running out of the main room.

“Oh my god,” you pinch the sides of your nose bridge, unable to understand how Taeyong’s motto is always all or nothing.

You're nothing near Taeyong's level of intoxication, and whether it's the devil on your shoulder or the drink, you want Jisung. Excruciatingly so. Whoever claimed that drinking made you act like a bitch in heat wasn't kidding. It's more than true now that you know he's nearby– wanting to look for Jisung because if he wasn't going to make a move tonight, you would.

“Y/n?” a familiar voice calls you, prompting you to turn around.

“Hyuck? Oh my god! How are you?” you’re already bringing your arms out for a hug and he’s quick to immediately accept.

You both went to high school together before he left for university thousands of miles away. He still texts you now and then, but due to the time difference, you never had the opportunity to properly catch up.

“Not doing too bad. It’s so good to finally talk face-to-face babe, holy shit,” he chuckles.

“How’s the East Coast? Did you find a girlfriend at Columbia yet?”

“Nah, you know me. Girls there are way too preppy for me. Plus, I can’t stand another minute of freshmen thinking they’re living through Gossip Girl,” he pretends to gag, swaying his body from side to side.

“Hey! Don’t hate. That show was ahead of its time,” you comment, brows raised.

“It IS! But I’m talking about the people acting as if they were a part of the show themselves. Like come on, you were probably five when it came out!” he exclaims.

​​"Fair enough," you nod. "You know who you should go for?" an idea flashes across your mind as you speak.

“Who?” he shifts closer, genuinely curious.

You wave towards you as another way of telling him to step even closer and cup your hand behind his ear before whispering, “Yuna.”

“What?! There’s no way!” he steps away, not expecting you would say your best friend’s name.

“Come on! You guys would look so hot together! What’s so ‘no way’ about that idea?”

Your old friend momentarily pauses, like he didn’t know what kind of question you asked. “She’d never go for me.”

“What? She used to have a crush on you! You were always around different girls so she never made a move,” you affirm. “You know how she was in high school,” you remind him of the girl who was once afraid to step out of her comfort zone.

“Are you serious? There’s no way that’s true! You’re straight up lying to my face right now,” he groans, looking as if he was going through a mental crisis due to the news.

“I swear on my Loubitons that it’s true! Just talk to her,” you point to the back door. “She’s in the backyard. I’m sure she would love to catch up.”

He brings a hand to his chin, soothingly rubbing with his index, “You do love those shoes…”

“More than myself, so come on! The times ticking!” you press him further, and his eyes light up when he realizes the words you’re feeding him might actually be true.

“You know what, fuck it.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Acting like a true alpha male!” you jump up and down, probably with more excitement than he has.

He chuckles at your words, “Okay. Okay. Let’s hang out and catch up this week. Let me know when you’re free.”

“Okay now go!” you try not to hold him back longer than he needs to be.

“I”m go-”

Before you can properly bid goodbye, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, pulling you away towards the narrow hallway of the home.

You see it’s Jisung after checking, and he’s definitely on a mission by the way he doesn’t utter a word. Instead, he drags you through the hallway and finally halts his steps at the sign of your bedroom door.

“Jisung, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t let up on your wrist, and definitely doesn’t spare you a glance until you’re both in the room with the door shut behind your back. It’s almost pitch black in the room, and the only light source is the hallway lights illuminating underneath the crack of the door. Jisung finally lets go of your wrist when it’s just you two in your own space, and he brings that same arm above your head to anchor himself.

“Jisung.”

“Y/n,” his voice comes out hoarse, more playful. This was just what you wanted. He’s right here on a silver platter and you hadn’t even come close to building up the courage to approach him first.

Too bad you love to act dumb for the hell of it.

“What are you doing?” your eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, noticing how close his face was to yours. It was the perfect opportunity. Taeyong was probably passed out along with the loud music all throughout the house. There’s no way anyone could hear a thing from inside the room.

“Just wanted you to myself,” he comments. You can smell the alcohol on his lips, assuming it was the reason behind his impatience– but don’t think he’s drunk due to his coherent speech and careful movements.

“You have me to yourself now. So what is it?” you gloat, acting as if you don’t notice him struggling to control himself.

“Sorry, I took you away from your little boyfriend. Look’s like you guys were having fun,” you can hear the slight anger in his voice, jaw clenching following the statement.

You roll your eyes in order to suppress a grin, the alcohol influencing you to play games, “Hyuck isn’t my boyfriend, just an old friend. Remember him?”

He notices the hint of playfulness in your eyes, wanting to just fuck it out of you. But he’s waited too long to do this, and there have been too many interrupted moments, so he leans into patience for resolve. “Oh, I must have missed something babe.”

You shift your face closer to him to prove your point once again, “He calls everyone that! Go up to him, he’ll literally call you babe.”

“Hmm,” Jisung hums. “Should I call him Hyuck too?”

Your eyes shoot to his plushy lips, his jealousy turning you on, but you don’t back down just yet, “If you heard that, then you must’ve heard the part where I told him to go for Yuna.”

“I checked out the moment you were calling each other pet names, baby,” he leans his hips against you, eyes evident with desire even in the darkness.

“Well, it’s definitely different coming from you,” you give him what he wants to hear, but it’s ultimately the truth.

Jisung pulls back just to lean down against your ear, “Different, how?”

It’s like he knows the power he has over you when he’s using that tone, including the fact that you feel him between your legs only slightly hard. It’s definitely bigger than you previously thought, the excitement shooting to your core, “I’m not spelling it out for you, baby.”

The name has him bringing his face back to where it was before, cocking a brow. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Play games. Don’t fuck with me because if you are, I’m gonna lose it,” he seethes, all control he previously displayed being lost in an instant.

You began narrowing the gap between the two of you even more, your noses brushing against each other. Jisung falters slightly as you do so, his hand landing on your hip. He's noticeably less in control than when he initially encircled you in the room, taking in every inch of you as you jut your hips forward.

He groans, struggling to keep up with what you've been doing.

"I'm not fucking with you," you say, holding his chin with your thumb and index finger, tilting his head and maintaining eye contact. "Just giving you what you want."

Jisung doesn’t know how you tempt while looking so innocent. If he’s being honest with himself, he never holds a sliver of command when you’re present. “You’re hot as fuck,” he mutters, trying to maintain a normal breathing pattern.

"You're hotter," your lips nearly touch at the movement. You're grinning ear-to-ear, but it's short-lived as Jisung grabs your nape and presses his lips to yours. This kiss is nothing like the previous one, and you want to drown in him. You press your mouth even harder on his, and he responds by positioning his entire weight against your body. You’re actually somewhat sober this time around and take notice of the piercing at the corner of his lips. The silver metal grazing over your lips provides a cold sensation to the hot atmosphere, and you push down a moan at the feeling.

He’s such a good kisser, it surprises you but doesn’t at the same time. The boy you used to know was so different than the one in front of you now.

When you set your arms around his neck to play with his locks, he grabs a hold of your waist. You're drowning, arching your back to relieve the tension in your body as the kiss deepens. Jisung licks your lips, and you easily accept his tongue, lips fighting against his. His tongue dances with yours, getting sloppier by the minute, ready to rip each other's clothes off.

He taps the back of your leg with his hand, signaling for you to jump. You do so without breaking contact with his lips, and he smiles against yours. The taste of alcohol in his mouth ignites something within you, along with the scent of his washed hair intertwined with the cologne he’s wearing.

Jisung slowly sets you down against the mattress, slotting himself between your legs before he pulls back for air. “You look submissive as fuck right now. Is that what you’re into? Being dominated?” he purrs, fingers playing with the waistline of your pants.

“Only if you like to dominate.”

The switch in his head flips, and he uses one hand to unzip your jeans to slowly run his fingers over your clothed clit. Your toes curl at the sudden pressure to your sensitive core that's been begging to be touched. The thin material of your panties doesn’t do much to shield his touch, but one thing’s for sure, if it feels this good, you can’t imagine how it’d feel when it’s not just a tease.

“Fuck,” you pant, moving your hands underneath Jisung’s shirt.

“What?” he asks, moving down to your neck. The sensation of his warm tongue against your neck has your skin igniting goosebumps all over. “I can’t hear you. Already falling apart?”

“N-no,” you stutter, knowing damn well that anything done to you will be the actual end. It seems like he wants to win the moment he brings his red and swollen lips back onto yours, sparing any niceties. He’s smothering you, ruthlessly kissing you to no end. But when you become lost in his lips once again, Jisung slips his hand underneath the band of your underwear to touch your pussy head-on.

“Jisungg,” you say against his mouth.

Of course, he doesn’t let up, circling your bud, knowing exactly where to touch you even though this is the first time you’ve done this with him. It’s nothing, but feels like so much, your thighs attempting to close around his hand.

He’s still attacking your mouth with his, fingers trailing in an up-and-down motion between your folds. It surprises you, and you moan against his mouth, unable to maintain the same pattern with your lips. “Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he lets go of your mouth with a pop, groaning at the arousal coating his fingers.

“Please, Jisung. I need you,” you whimper, unable to take any more of the mere seconds of pleasure he’s giving you. You don’t even look down as he slides your pants off along with your panties in one motion. He tsks, lowly enunciating a small, “So impatient.”

Without anything in the way, he doesn’t waste time plunging his fingers into your pussy, groaning at the way the muscle tightly clamps around his fingers– and it shoots straight down to your core, never getting enough of how deep his voice is.

The pleasure you’ve been trying to grasp is finally reached, a gasp spilling from your lips once he curls his fingers inside you. Your hands have found their way to his back, fingers digging deep into his skin and he hisses at the slight pain.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs against your ear while his fingers begin to speed up in pace. You’re bucking your hips up, wanting to meet him halfway in order to reach euphoria. “I w-want it,” you cry.

“Want what?” he asks, voice too soft for the motions he’s enacting.

“Want you. Want you so bad,” you moan, throwing your head back when he hits a certain spot. It feels too good to stop, and every part of your body tingles at the pleasure.

You want to sob at the feeling it brings you, his fingers, mercilessly driving in and out of your cunt, while his thumb circles your clit. Your stomach feels tight from all the stimulation, and his body pressed against yours makes you feel hot all over. What you don’t notice is Jisung’s watching every movement on your facial features, loving the way your brows scrunch and how your pretty lips open up every time he hits a certain spot.

The band in your lower abdomen is on the verge of snapping, and the fact that he's above you doesn't help. Jisung's hair still falls perfectly, occasionally brushing the tip of his nose. He’s so fucking hot, you can’t hold back. You can't stop the orgasm from reaching your body simply by the way he feels on your body and looks above you.

“P-please,” you beg.

At the feeling of your pussy tightening around your fingers, he digs into your cheek, bringing your face back towards his. “Come on, you can do it. Cum,” he demands.

“F-fuck! I-I’m gonna–” you scream, body convulsing as your orgasm washes over you. He doesn’t stop his movements until you’re whining for him to stop. Pulling his coated fingers out, just to bring it to his lips.

As the climactic high wears off, your body becomes limp, but the image of Jisung bringing his plump lips to wrap around his fingers leaves you wanting more. You nearly squeak when he groans at the taste, letting go of his fingers with a pop. "Mmm," Jisung moans. "You taste so good."

“Here, have a taste baby,” he smirks, bringing those same digits to swipe motions at your core. You whimper at the sensitivity, the buzzing feeling still present. “Open,” he commands.

You listen, sticking out your tongue for him to insert them into your mouth. The wet muscle swirls around his fingers, finally closing around them, and you gag when he presses further into your mouth, teasing your throat. “Good girl.”

It’s so arousing that you intend to get up from your original position beneath him, but he catches your wrists and pins them over your head to keep you in place. Maybe it's the unfulfilled horniness from all the other times he’s tried to get you under him, but it's got you whining and squirming beneath him for his tolerance. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this was gonna happen,” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off your body.

His hot breath fans against your face, “Did you?” He begins to trace the contours of your body, slipping underneath your shirt on his way up. “No,” it’s a weak response, body twitching when he starts massaging your breasts. You had just experienced an unearthly orgasm, but everything Jisung does just causes your cunt to clench around nothing, and it’s only once out of a million times since he walked through the door.

“Just fuck me,” you plead, feeling his thick cock prodding at the side of your thigh.

“You sure?” he asks once more for confirmation.

“Yes, now hurry,” your whine turns into a pout, and he chuckles at your impatience.

“Do you have a condom in your room?”

“Fuck no, I’m on birth control.” He groans at the information, already quick to tug his cock out of its confines.

And just like that, Jisung slowly inches his cock into you. “Oh,” you cry at the fullness. He’s stretching you out so well, and the slight burn just adds fuel to the fire.

“Holy shit,” he sighs. “You’re so tight,” to ease the tightness, his fingers are already making their way back to your bud, circling in slow motions, “Relax for me pretty.”

You nod, eyes rolling back into your head when he slowly begins to move. “Fffuck,” he curses, his grip moving to your waist the moment your legs instinctively wrap around his. He feels so fucking good inside you and you regret with every ounce of your being you both didn’t do this sooner. You should’ve jumped him when you had the chance because fuck. How are you going to stop now? “You feel so fucking good,” he groans at the sensation.

“Ji–sung,” you moan, “Faster.” Your walls clench around his hard cock dragging against your walls, speeding up in pace and you fully lose it. The lewd sounds of skin slapping echo through the bedroom, and Jisung just swallows your pour of moans. He eventually listens to your request, practically nailing you into the mattress. It feels so good, the sounds coming from him, the feel of his cock pulling out, leaving the tip, just to roughly thrust back inside. You don’t know how much more you can take.

The thin silver chain he always wears around his neck dangles right before your eyes, and even in your fucked out state, you can’t stop looking at Jisung. The sweat on his forehead causes the front pieces to stick, the glow of sex already peeking through. “This is what you get,” he spits, but you can tell he’s slightly holding back. “This is what you get for all the times you fucking ran away. When I could’ve fucked you dumb like you want.”

Jisung’s name was the only thing coherent as he drills into you, squealing at a particular thrust of his hips. He’s so deep inside you, tip faintly against your cervix. “You’re cock’s s-so big,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision. The higher the tension builds in your stomach, the more Jisung continues to destroy you. “Jisung, fuck!”

“You like it hard huh? Want me to make your pussy mine?” His dirty words only have you holding onto him tighter, digging the heel of your feet into his spine. It’s too bad you can’t respond, your brain a puddle of mush at this point, cock going too fast for you to think about anything else. The bed frame knocks against the walls as the bed shakes but there’s no room to worry about that. Especially when he’s hitting every spot inside you perfectly.

“Answer me,” he grunts as your moans grow higher in pitch, unable to take it much longer.

“Y-yes, it’s a-all yours,” your body jolts after every movement, carving pleasure all over his skin. The thread that holds on for dear life is on the verge of snapping, and you wail before your second orgasm can send you crashing down.

It was so easy for Jisung to slide in and out of your pussy, your dripping arousal coating his cock perfectly. “Ji–” you attempt to warn him, but he already made his way back to your clit, pressing rough circles. You begin to babble random sounds, unable to form coherent words when he’s impaling you.

“Yes!” A shriek tears itself from your throat at your orgasm, and your toes curl at the high that takes over you yet again tonight. Your body spasms, and your mind stuck in a haze when he continues stuffing your achy cunt with him.

“Holy shit,” it’s almost impossible for Jisung to keep going when you’re clamping down on him like a vice, keeping him from completely being able to leave.

“Inside, cum inside, Jisung,” you plead when his hips begin to stutter. After a few more thrusts, he fully moans, painting your insides. “Fuck,” It feels even more full than before, if that was even possible and you whimper from the overstimulation from the last few movements. After his orgasm is at its resolution, he slumps into your form, not bothering to pull out.

You’re both just lying there trying to catch your breath, and it’s somewhat serene. The music combined with the vague sound of murmurs could be heard from outside and that’s when you remember that there were indeed a bunch of individuals present too. Maybe they heard you guys fucking, and Jisung seems to have similar thoughts when he raises his head to murmur something. “I forgot to lock the door.”

Your eyes shoot wide open in response, “What? Are you serious? Someone could walk in to you butt-ass naked!”

You’re actually alarmed, but he just stares back at you, his mouth turning into a wide grin. “Nah, I’m just playin',” he laughs.

You chuckle along with him, playfully slapping his shoulder because of his unseriousness. “You’re so annoying.”

“Get used to it baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

[clipartdinosaur]

Griddlehark Fics

I have read an absolutely insane amount of Griddlehark fanfics in the past few months so I figured I could make a like...list of all of my favorites that I bookmarked. I'm not sure if anyone will use this but if anything it will be for my own self-indulgence LOL. Just a heads up, this list WILL contain spoilers up to Nona the Ninth, so proceed with your own discretion. Anyway here we go!

(♥︎ = favorite!)

Short (<15k):

"By the Sword" by JeanLuciferGohard (2.6k)

The Reverend Daughter of the Ninth, Necrosaint, Ascended, the greatest bone adept in an Age, does one push-up, and collapses. Harrow does not beg for her cavalier. Harrow rakes her hair back and snarls, “Nav, I am going to unzip your cranial sutures. One by one. And zip them up again sideways.”

"Your Necro Questions Answered" by Magichorse (8.8k)

Syndicated columnist "Nav the Cav" offers a sympathetic ear to cavaliers across the galaxy and dispenses practical, no-nonsense, real talk advice on how to properly manage and care for your necromancer.

"A Lesson in Bones" by Magichorse (3.8k)

One of the laboratory trials at Canaan House compels Harrowhark to swap bodies with her cavalier. What will Gideon do with the power of the most talented bone adept in generations at her disposal? Nothing good, probably.

"Visions of Gideon" by tothewillofthepeople (13k)

Oh my god they were roommates...

"true love's kiss, or something equally nauseating" by corpsesoldier (4.6k)

She was where she needed to be. She was going to pull her necro out of this godforsaken tomb, end the game of musical bodies they were playing, and then everything would be all right. Harrow would be alive. And Gideon was going to give her shit for approximately the next myriad for not just taking what she’d offered and saving them a whole lot of trouble.

"The Big Warm Dark" by decalexas (haelstorm) (2.7k)

Gideon Nav knows how to swing a longsword, brandish a rapier, bridge the gap between life and death, punch the dead in the face, and maybe overthrow an Empire along the way. What she doesn't know how to do is reach for the girl who made all of this possible.

"carrion comfort, despair (not feast on thee)" by NotAFicWriter (5k)

Some time after Alecto wakes, Harrow and Gideon finally have a moment to speak to one another. Hearts are bared. Teeth are bared. Intentions are bared. It all comes at great personal cost (emotional honesty).

"never exhale all the way" by pigflight (1.2k)

Harrowhark paints Gideon's face.

"such an almighty sound" by CountingNothings (10k)♥︎

“I need you to marry me,” Harrow says, a propos of absolutely nothing that Gideon can see. And, uh, okay, this is not what childhood best frenemies say to each other upon discovering that both of their graduate programs have weird residence requirements. “What,” Gideon asks, “the fuck?”

"A Handsomely Dangerous Thing" by zoicite (1.5k)

Had Harrow ever looked at Gideon and felt pride before? Surely not. It sat like a tumor in her chest, a cancerous lump that had grown where it did not belong.

"How it didn't happen" by Nary (1.5k)

"How did you lose it?" Coronabeth asked, more softly than her sister's shrill voice. The group assembled at Canaan House barely knew her, and yet here they were, asking the most irritatingly personal questions, and acting as if they were being kind and thoughtful by prying into her secrets. "I dropped my pen into a vat of acid and reached in to grab it without thinking," Harrow said dryly. Coronabeth recoiled, screwing up her pretty nose. Ianthe looked unsure whether to believe her or not. Their meatslab of cavalier just stared blankly. "The Daughter of the Ninth House was blessed in this manner from her birth, as a symbol of her strength and power over the mysteries of necromancy," Ortus interjected. Harrow glared at him. "Oh," Coronabeth said, an expression of disgusting sympathy on her flawless face. "But then you would never have known who your soulmate was!" Harrow's glare intensified. "My soulmate is bones."

"Halcyon Nights" by Morike91 (10k)

It was hard to tell what was worse: feeling the full warmth of those unguarded honey eyes fall on Harrow, or watching them narrow in recognition and contempt, their warmth now hotter with something else.  “What can I get you?” It has been at least four years since Harrow last heard the voice of Gideon Nav, but it was still as familiar as her right hand. 

"I completely fucking hate you" by ClaraZorEl (7.5k)

In the coming weeks, Harrowhark learns an unfortunate great deal about Gideon Nav. The kind of porn she likes, the number of bread rolls she can fit into her mouth at once, that she always leans too heavily on her left leg when she fights but can do fifty-seven push-ups in a row without stopping, that her biceps rates 11/10 on the scale of good biceps, that her laugh rumbles like an army of skeletons, and most importantly, that she can’t fucking stand her. Gideon Nav is so grating that Harrow has no doubt she will be her undoing. OR Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been invited to Canaan University's ball. But to successfully represent her house, she needs a cavalier, and unfortunately, her only option is her least favourite barista from her least favourite coffee shop.

"A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them" by pipistrelle (7k)

"In the end, she poisoned Ortus; so it was Harrow Nova who walked out to the shuttle a half-step behind the Daughter of the Ninth, the chain of Samael Novenary wound about her offhand wrist, the black blade of the Ninth at her side."

"The Only Prayer We Know" by pipistrelle (12k) [Part 2 of "A Thousand Teeth, Yours Among Them"]

It's like a bad joke: two cavaliers (alive) and two necromancers (one dead) walk into a rebel faction of humanity, looking for a new life -- in every sense of the phrase. What they find is each other, and (in some cases) themselves.

"The Flames of Hell Are Warm" by silverapples (7k)

In which Harrow is a repressed evangelical Christian and Gideon performs burlesque in a lesbian nightclub. Feat. nipple pasties, chewing gum, and a steaming mug of gay coffee (wake up and smell it, Harrow).

"Necro Business" by rnanqo (1.6k) ♥︎

“Gideon,” you said carefully, “I will need to examine your mouth. Various structures, primarily the jaw, but also the lingual muscles—the tongue—” You stopped there. Your cheeks were going red, probably with indignity. “Yeah,” I said, a bit too loudly, “yeah, sure. Do it.”

"Holy Cross, Alaska" by softieghost (10k) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Harrow meets Gideon. They go through it together.

"my love will be your armor" by TheKnightsWhoSayBook (2.3k)

"The princess has a right to bestow her favor on whoever she wishes to win a match," Gideon tells her. "Are you going to?" "Why would I? I don't want to marry him," Harrow answers bitterly. "Do you want me to win?" Princess Harrow will be engaged to the winner of the tournament, and her only champion is her useless bodyguard Sir Gideon Nav, who isn't going to save her. Unless...?

"The Meaning Of The Word" by pipistrelle (8.4k)

Harrow, along with a good percentage of Canaan University's necromancy students, has the flu. Gideon has a lot of feelings that she is in no way equipped to handle. It's a tough week.

"(i shine only with the light you gave me)" by sashawire (1.7k) ♥︎

God prods, gently, “Even just starting with their physical description, and we can go from there.” “Imagine,” you say, from somewhere outside your body, “the worst shade of orange you’ve ever seen in your life.” * Harrowhark receives her saintly title.

"i will learn to love the shears" by corpsesoldier (4.7k)

The avulsion trial left Harrow's hair in a sorry state and Gideon offers up her expertise with a blade. Or, Gideon gives Harrow a haircut.

"The Titty Texts: A Work of a Stupendous Titty Nature" by EleniaTrexer (3k)

Gideon accidentally sends Harrow boobs. And then just keeps on sending them.

"can we start over?" by breeeliss (10k)

Gideon needs a tutor. Harrow needs someone to get her out of college gym class. All in all, a pretty straightforward arrangement to make with your ex.

"Dark Mode Enabled" by senseoftheday (12k)

Tech Company AU in which a certain Sales bro with no filter decides to ruin Harrow's life (and feature roadmap) by initiating the cross-functional project from hell. At least, Gideon has the decency to work remotely, and Harrow's new office crush makes some pretty great coffee.

"deconsecrated graves" by emotionsandphenomena (4k)

Gideon and Harrow got out of the cult they were raised in. Okay, what's next?

"settle up in heaven" by liesmyth (3k) ♥︎

“Isn’t this arrogance, Harrow?” Kiriona says. “Think you could fix what God couldn’t?”

"Quoth the Maiden" by Sarsaparilla (10.9k)

The bold outlaws Nova Hawk and Gideon meet for the first time on a narrow log-bridge. But is it really their first meeting? Or: what if Robin Hood and Little John were both lesbians?

"twice in a blue moon" by sinshine (8.7k) ♥︎

Gideon snapped out of her depressing reverie and blinked at her. "That's a really good idea." "Obviously," said Harrow, and it was only a little bit condescending. "Step one, sneak out of the party. Step two, acquire the necessary items at a store. Step three–" Harrow gestured vaguely at the deer in Gideon's hands– "And step four, profit." [G&H rush to fix a smashed snow globe that Dulcinea made so that Cam doesn't kill them before the clock strikes midnight at their NYE party. The fact that Gideon is back in her hometown after a long time away and she and Harrow have unresolved romantic tension is secondary and definitely won't be a problem.]

"It Came From Planet Slut" by LockedTombMemes (8k)

Well. Evidently going undercover to an Idan society fling in order to deliver a message to a high-profile BoE agent was a tits-out kind of look.

"Apostate's Yuletide" by sinshine (12.6k)♥︎

Gideon raised one eyebrow comically high. She smiled easily, erasing any hint of the anxiety that Harrow might have sensed. "What's with all the questions today?" Harrow huffed indignantly and fidgeted with the blanket draped across her lap, worrying the frayed hem with her fingers. "I thought your ego would appreciate the interest." "Yeah, but it's weird coming from you. I'm used to you monologuing, not playing twenty questions." "Perhaps it's a Christmas miracle," suggested Harrow, with an expression so absolutely devoid of joy that Gideon couldn't help but laugh. [Harrow and Gideon burn down a church on Xmas.]

"when it's over" by Adertily (2.5k)

Harrowhark had sworn to herself to live to see the girl in the locked tomb awaken. Alecto has risen. Now God is dead, along with everyone who had ever been dear to her - and Gideon has returned as a distorted creature. The war is over. Harrow wishes she could be too. Or: A character study based on Harrow's suicidal ideation and Gideon's determination to never run anywhere unless she absolutely has to.

"Supernova Bloom!" by sinshine (13k)

"It's just for a week, and then you never have to see me again," said Gideon. "I don't have time to find anyone else." And, "Please." Slowly, Harrow took her hand off the door and cautiously turned around. Gideon watched a dozen unspoken questions flicker across her face. She voiced none of them, but eventually settled on an expression of grim resignation. "I suppose I could suffer you for a week." [Gideon needs help getting her new flower shop ready for the grand opening. Harrow needs cash.]

"I still need your teeth around my organs" by sinshine (7.8k)

Although she was a beloved Daughter and a talented necromancer, Gideon's greatest vice was that she dearly loved to fuck around and find out. Knowing this, perhaps it shouldn't have been as shocking when she lifted one of Nova's hands, flipped it over, and kissed her palm. [4 times Gideon kisses Harrow, 1 time Harrow kisses Gideon]

"cuckoo, cuckoo" by sashawire (1.2k)

What Wake gives it is not a name. To do so would be a moronic, unnecessary cruelty. But she does deign to give it the microscopic dignity of a title, a goal, a purpose. Bomb. Eighteen years later, in the rubble of a once-sacred home, Harrowhark Nonagesimus reaches up and touches Gideon Nav’s grit-covered, blood-rimed face, splits a laugh like the world is ending, and calls her “flower.” * Six times God's unwanted daughter was nicknamed, and once she wasn't.

"my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear" by sashawire (<1k) ♥︎

Gideon chomps into her tongue as hard as she can convince herself, stifling a very dignified squawk. Her eyes water, Emperor’s left tit that fucking hurts, but—it works. Blood weeps from the bite marks, creeping down the back of her throat, up into her nasal cavity, staining her teeth. Okay. She has blood in her mouth. Blood that, somehow, needs to get into Harrow’s mouth. * Step #6: Consume the flesh.

"fifteen percent concentrated power of will" by surreptitiously (9k)

Teaching someone to do a push-up is a love language, when that person is very annoying.

"GHAZAL WHERE I'M BEGGING YOU TO TOUCH ME" by igneousbitch (12k)

You had your body and I had mine, and it was a miracle. Your hands against my face were a miracle. The rest of your meat attached to your hands was a prayer answered and a promise broken, but we were flush and gasping and alive, and Harrow—I really thought you might’ve kissed me then. But I felt it happen. The way your breath suddenly stilled, and your body locked up beneath mine, remembering. How with splintering gentleness, you pushed me away. “I’m so sorry,” was the second thing you said upon waking. The first thing had been my name. Stranded in a safehouse on an Edenite moon, Gideon and Harrow try to put themselves back together.

"catch you on the flip side, sugar lips" by corpsesoldier (4.9k)

Maybe if Harrow's brain runs enough scenarios, she'll find a way to keep what she's lost.

"hand to heart, I swear" by corpsesoldier (5k)

Gideon has a broken heart, and there's only one necromancer who can fix it.

Medium (15-30k)

"If you're doing it right you'll break their ribs" by almostnectarine (22.4k)

"How do you know Nonagesimus has gone somewhere dangerous?" asked Isaac. "Have you wired some kind of alert system?" "It's, uh. It's on the schedule," said Gideon. "I just... forgot. Because of the bread." Nobody was convinced by this, least of all Gideon. "It's a Ninth House thing," Gideon went on, backing away with increasing desperation. This was a slightly more plausible explanation, if only because nobody wanted to look too closely at what fell under the awful skeletal-ribbed and rotting umbrella of Ninth House things. "Gotta go—!" And she was out the door, gone. But it wasn't a Ninth House thing, except inasmuch as it was happening to the only two representatives of the noble and decrepit Ninth House on this quite literally godforsaken rock. Gideon knew Harrow had gone somewhere dangerous—knew that Harrow was back in the lab where they had only just completed a horrible trial—because she could see it, clear as day: an awful overlay on her vision of that terrible dangerous room and a pair of terrible dangerous hands drawing some kind of ward next to the plinth. The hands were definitely Harrow's. This was definitely a problem.

"If Home Is Where the Heart Is (Then We're All Just Fucked)" by JeanLuciferGohard (17k) ♥︎

When Gideon Nav gets a call that her ex-girlfriend, who never bothered to change her designated emergency contact, is in the hospital, she goes against her better judgement and responds. Everything after that just gets more complicated.

"blue gray green lavender" by smolranger (29k) ♥︎

Laser Radial sailor Gideon Nav just wants pass her classes, win a few regattas, and keep her head down. FJ sailor Harrowhark Nonagesimus has grand plans to qualify for the Olympics, preserve her parent's legacy, and save her home town. Despite the ties binding them together, the two have kept their college lives carefully separate for two years. But when Harrow's helm, Ortus, suffers a concussion mid-way through the fall season, their carefully separated lives collide. Harrow needs someone capable of taking Ortus' place for the remainder of the season or her Olympic dreams — and Canaan College's entire sail team — are in peril. And Gideon is her only option.

"Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" by zoicite (24k)

Harrow and Gideon and times they have (and also have not) shared a bed over the years.

"Disney World, Florida" by softieghost (24.6k) [Part 2 of "Holy Cross, Alaska"]

After the events of Alaska, Harrow thanks Gideon the only way she knows how: devotion. -- Chapter 3: The journey concludes. More confessions.

"we've got a good thing goin' " by sinshine (14.6k) ♥︎

“Not to sound ungrateful, but being here makes me wish that you had left me for dead,” said Harrow. Gideon had been staring hard at the face of the fountain’s statue. She was pretty sure that it was carved in the likeness of Naberius himself, but she didn’t want to say it out loud and make it true. She shook her head and turned to Harrow. “Leaving me to live out eternity in your bony sock puppet of a body? Hard pass.” Palamedes and Camilla shared a look. It was the mutual understanding of two people who had been trapped in close quarters with the bickering of Gideon Nav and Harrowhark Nonagesimus for far too long. [Team 69 hide out in Babs's vacation home. Because it's not like he's using it anyway.]

"Cake by the Ocean" by zoicite (15k)♥︎

Okay, so the thing was, Gideon had always been shit at plans. She knew that. Everyone knew that, but this--she really didn’t think it would be this hard! Gideon’s voice was like the least memorable thing about her. Bargaining her voice for a well-shaped set of human legs--that really should have worked in her favor.

"careful fear and (un)dead devotion" by sinshine (23k)

[Gideon and Harrow wake up back in their own bodies but both of them are missing large parts of their memory. Camilla tries not to kill everyone.]

"who ya gonna call?" by igneousbitch (24k)

“Fret not, honeybun.” Gideon shook her red hair out of her eyes, belligerent. “I’m not totally sold on your whole skepticism thing.” “Well,” Harrow said, ignoring the nickname. She turned to the rest of the room, clearing her throat politely before addressing the empty air. “Ghosts, if you’re real, give us a sign. Make a noise. Move something. Send a shiver down our backs. Whisper softly into Nav’s left ear—” “I seriously fucking hate you.” - (Casual sex and paranormal investigation. Not necessarily in that order.) (or: the Buzzfeed Unsolved AU in which Gideon is ready to fight a ghost, and Harrow just wants to be haunted.)

Long(>30k):

"Beneath a Blue and Foreign Sky" by zoicite (35k)

Harrow has a decision to make.

"A Heart Full Of Sutures" by Rohad (40k)

All Gideon wanted was to get outside and ride her motorcycle. No part of that plan had included eight weeks in Canaan Medical Center with a broken Pelvis and the meanest little doctor this side of the eastern seabord.

"Midnight at the Mithraeum" by zoicite (66k) ♥︎

It'd been two years since Gideon Nav gathered her wine key and her gaming license and escaped The Locked Tomb, a speakeasy-style cocktail bar managed by the hateful Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Now, dealing tables at The Mithraeum Hotel & Casino, things were really looking up. So when Gideon scored a date with the most beautiful showgirl in the Gilded Halls of Ida, the last thing she expected was to wake up married to her old nemesis and former coworker. The story starts the night of Gideon's date and alternates between the events leading up to the wedding and the weeks that follow as Gideon tries to navigate life married to someone who claims to want nothing more than to forget she exists.

"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" by pipistrelle (90k)

Being the journal of Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus, chronicling the journey of the Emperor's warship Cenotaph on its hunt to slay an immortal Resurrection Beast. Or: the Moby Dick crossover AU that nobody asked for.

"The Darkest Night, The Brightest Light" by eternaleponine (50k)

Harrowhark has known for a long time that her home's financial situation is dire, and not getting better. She has plans to fix it all, but can't implement them until she turns eighteen in a few months. When her parents announce that the best (perhaps only) way to save Drearburh is to marry off its heir, Harrow realizes the timeline has changed and she needs to take action now to save her home... and herself. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all. Enter Gideon Nav. Detested foe, and Harrow's only hope.

"putting your fist through a thick sheet of glass (i know you don't want to)" by oretsev (46k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus and Gideon Nav have always been at each other’s throats, and the animosity has only intensified since the death of Harrow’s parents. But when a car accident leaves Gideon without any memories of her past, Harrow sees a chance at the clean slate she’s wanted for years. Becoming involved in Gideon’s recovery assuages some of the guilt, but as she and Gideon become closer and increasingly involved in each other's lives, Harrow worries that some of her secrets may be more than she can atone for.

Ongoing:

"semi-charmed kinda life" by strangedelight (182k+) ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

Gideon asked questions. Harrow surprised her with answers. They reached an agreement; they decided to be smart, to be patient. Gideon made a promise, Harrow gave her one in return. Wait and see. OR the year is 1994, and Gideon and Harrow leave their small town for life in the city. OR team 69 roommates au only this time it's the 90s

"Intern the Sixth" by apocalypticTaco (33k+)

ADDRESSING THE HEIR TO THE NINTH HOUSE, OR PRESUMED EQUIVALENT: PALAMEDES SEXTUS, HEIR TO THE SIXTH HOUSE, PRESENTS HIS COMPLIMENTS TO THE NINTH AND REQUESTS A FORMAL ARRANGEMENT WHEREIN HIS MASTER WARDEN AND CAVALIER APPRENTICESHIP UNDER THE NINTH FOR FOUR YEARS IN EXCHANGE FOR THE SIXTH’S SERVICES. *Details to be discussed. Please turn to back page. Timeframe variable. Services and agreements variable upon the Ninth's request. An internship of this caliber is highly unprecedented and likely unheard of, but any information valuable to the Ninth and into the Tomb will remain undisclosed upon request; Primary experience and study is required as the Master Warden has already decided upon such being his final thesis prior to his end studies. No takebacks, no denials. Pleased to meet you. Palamedes Sextus, Heir to the Sixth and Master Warden and Camilla the Sixth, Cavalier Primary and Warden's Hand of the Library

TO THE MASTER WARDEN: FORMALLY REJECTED.

"What's Eating Gideon Nav?" by labyrinthineRetribution (40k+)

After a miserable fifteen years at Blessed Saint Anastasia's School for Girls, Gideon's luck finally changes.

"We Have Always Lived in the Apartment" by labyrinthineRetribution (171k+)

John looks up from his Jack and Coke in drunken curiosity. "What's with the face, Harrowhark?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "Contrary to popular belief," Gideon butts in, "her face just fuckin' looks like that, bitch." She tends to use "bitch" as liberally as commas when off her ass. "You're piss drunk," you shoot back. "And you, my good bitch, are just as contemptible as the day you clawed your way up from Hell." - It is Harrowhark Nonagesimus' birthday, and it only gets worse from there.

PWP (basically):

"I'll hold in these hands all that remains" by corvidlesbian (6.5k) ♥︎

“Do you want me to try?” Gideon said. “What?” “You got all hot and bothered without me trying. Do you want me to try?” Their newfound habit of cuddling gets interesting.

"sting of a wasp" by brightbolt, imperfectlyctor (42k) ♥︎

"You’re a virgin,” Gideon said, testing it out. "Huh." Harrow didn’t like the sound of that huh. She knew Gideon’s noises, and that was a thoughtful, sinister huh. That was the same huh she’d made before putting canned tuna in Crux’s work boots. Her eyes narrowed. “What.” Gideon cocked her head to the side. “Is there a reason you’re waiting?” There was no judgement in the question— only genuine curiosity. Perhaps it was this that made Harrow more inclined to answer. “I don’t have the time to look for someone new,” She shrugged. “And my available pool is… somewhat limited.” “Well,” Gideon said, with just a hint of conspiracy in those glittering golden eyes. “If you ever want to change that, you have my number.” What? What? Harrow blinked. “What?” Or: the five times Gideon and Harrow successfully bone, and the one time they don't.

"Suckle, Honey" by zoicite (7.9k)

“You crave my juice,” Gideon accused. “I do not crave your juice.” “Fuck, you do though. You went off to explore that study alone, without your cavalier, using a key that I nearly gave my life for, and then you snorted some powder that made you crave my juice! Harrow. I never would have let you sniff powder from a ten thousand year old jar.” This was untrue--Gideon probably wouldn’t have noticed Harrow breathing in a puff of jar powder until it was too late--but it sounded like something Camilla Hect might say, so Gideon went with it anyway. Camilla definitely would have stopped Palamedes from accidentally sniffing old as fuck Eighth House jarred juice addiction powder.

"Five Times We Hatefucked and One Time We Didn't" by rnanqo (8k)

“Fuck you,” you said. “Fuck me yourself, you coward.” You ran a hand through my hair, fisted it, and pulled my head up. From here I had a spectacular view of your weird blown-out seething expression, like I was the worst thing you’d ever seen. Also a view up your blood-crusted nostrils. Choice. “Maybe I will, Griddle,” you said. “Maybe I will stop fucking you over and start fucking you." Gideon and Harrow realize, abruptly, that their hatefucking is no longer hatefucking.

"a call to motion" by groundedsaucer (coasterchild) (10k) ♥︎

Harrow and Gideon watch a porno.

"put her canine teeth in the side of my neck" by stranded_star (8.8k)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus is getting a PhD and a divorce. Against her better judgment, she goes out to the bar to celebrate and meets an incorrigible, absolutely ripped salt-and-paprika butch who takes her home and gives it to her good. To her horror, it's the best night of her life, and she sneaks home with her tail between her legs. Harrow has more important things to worry about - like raising her daughter and building the next stages of her career. But when her daughter's favorite teacher, someone named Griddle, turns about to be the Gideon she met at the bar, she's forced to contend with allowing herself (and her daughter) to find the happy ending she never thought they'd have. Featuring MILF!Harrow, Teacher!Gideon, and a very amused Camilla Hect.

"The Wound That Swallows" by seelieunseelie (7.8k)

Harrow can make out an uncomfortable amount of detail about Gideon’s body beneath. Powerful, strong as ever, yet somehow vulnerable for its supplication below Harrow’s. “Are we gonna get this over with?” Gideon says in a voice softly scratchy. She blushes then when Harrow sits on the edge of the bed. “It will hurt,” Harrow says. “Yeah,” Gideon says. “I think I can handle it.”

[alessiasfreckles]

i'll always look after you (alessia russo x reader sickfic)

you're sick, and your girlfriend takes care of you.

A/N: warning for nudity (nonsexual!). this is so sappy and fluffy, and now i have major bath envy and wish my place had a bath so my girlfriend and i could have one together. based off of this request, i hope you like it!

You knew as soon as you woke up that you were getting sick. Your head felt weird, your hands were clammy, and everything hurt a bit. Rolling over, you turned off the alarm on your phone. All you wanted to do was curl up and go back to sleep, but there was no way you were missing training just because of a cold. You laid there for another minute, enjoying the warmth of your bed, before sighing and getting up. Anyway, you thought to yourself as you got ready to head out, you’d probably feel better once you were outside in the fresh air. 

It didn’t take long for you to decide that you did not feel better in the fresh air. You were a couple hours into training, and your head pounded with every step you took. Your girlfriend watched you anxiously. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, babe?” she asked, arms crossed, worry clear on her face.

“Yeah, Lessi, I’m fine,” you insisted, sweat beading down your forehead. “just a bit tired, that’s all.” 

She wasn’t fooled. For the rest of the morning, she followed you around, keeping a close eye on you. By lunch even you had to admit that you felt awful, and there was no way you could keep training. You left early and collapsed into bed as soon as you got home.

You awoke a few hours later to the sound of keys in the front door. “Lessi?” you called out, voice hoarse. The two of you weren’t living together yet, but you spent so much time at each other’s places that you both had keys for the other’s house, just to make things easier. 

“Baby, hi!” you could hear clattering and a soft thump, before your girlfriend’s face appeared through your bedroom door. “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” you whined. “m’ head hurts and my throat is really dry.”

“Oh, darling,” she said, caressing your hair gently and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “hold on, I’ll get you a drink.” She reappeared a few minutes later carrying a mug and a glass of water. “Here, some tea, just the way you like it, and some cold water too, just in case. Oh, and I brought you some paracetamol!”

“Thank you, baby,” you said, moving over onto your side of the bed from the middle, where you had cocooned yourself in the duvet. “can we cuddle?”

“Can you take some medicine for me first?” she asked, holding out the paracetamol and the glass of water. 

“Ugh, fine,” you said begrudgingly, wriggling out of your cocoon to take the medicine and a sip of water. “okay, now can we cuddle?”

She smiled at you, climbing into bed. “Of course, darling.”

You sighed contentedly as she spooned you, holding you close and keeping you warm. She drew shapes on your arm with a finger, pressing soft kisses on the back of your head, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep again. Once your breathing changed and she could tell that you were fast asleep, Alessia slowly moved out from under the duvet, careful not to disturb you. 

Going into the kitchen, she rummaged through the shopping bag that she’d dropped earlier. She pulled out some vegetables, put on some quiet music, and started peeling the veggies. 

This time, you woke up to a delicious smell wafting through your apartment. Alessia was sat on the bed next to you, scrolling through her phone. She looked down when you rolled over, and smiled brightly at you.

“Hi baby,” she said gently, smiling at the way you cuddled into her side. 

“Hi,” you replied, rubbing your eyes. “how long was I asleep for? And what’s that smell? It smells so good.”

She blushed lightly. “Oh, I made some soup for you. And you’ve only been asleep for about an hour, don’t worry.”

“You made me soup?” you asked, sitting up to look at her properly. “You made it? For me?” 

“Yeah,” she said, chuckling. “who else would I have made it for?”

“No one has ever made me soup before,” you said, smiling in adoration. “I can’t believe you made soup for me.”

“Would you like to try some?” she asked, a smile on her face. 

“Yes!” 

“Wait here, I’ll get you a bowl.”

“No, I’ll get up,” you insisted. You hated spending so much time just lying in bed, it made you feel restless. And you felt better now anyway. Kind of. You stood up, the duvet still wrapped around you, and swayed in place. Okay, so maybe you didn’t feel better. “Woah.” you said, falling back onto the bed with a soft thump. 

Alessia frowned, her face lined with worry. “No, baby, you stay here. I’ll get it for you.”

She came back a minute later with a bowl of fresh tomato soup, steam rising from it. “I hope it tastes okay, I haven’t really made soup before. There’s lots of veggies in it, to help your body get healthy again, but I blended them up so you wouldn’t have to deal with any chunks, in case your throat hurts.”

You took the bowl from her and took a sip. “Oh babe, this is so good,” you said, and she smiled with relief. “I think this is the best soup I’ve ever tasted,” you told her, and suddenly you realised you were crying.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed, taking the bowl from you. “Does something hurt? Was the soup too hot? Did you burn yourself?”

“No, I just-” you sniffled, grabbing a tissue and wiping your nose. “no one has ever made me soup before, and you did, and it’s so good, and I can’t believe you made it for me, and I just love you so much, and-”

“Oh, baby,” she cooed, cupping your face and wiping away your tears with her thumbs. “I love you.”

You nodded, sniffing. “Thank you for making me soup,” you said, taking the bowl back from her. “it’s really really good.”

“I’m glad,” she said, stroking your hair. “I have to say, no one has ever cried because of my cooking before. At least, not in a good way.”

You laughed, finishing the rest of your bowl. “Can I have some more, please?” 

After you finished your second bowl of soup, Alessia grabbed your laptop and got back into bed with you, putting a tv show on for you both to watch. Your head was still pounding, and your limbs felt all sensitive and painful, but the warmth from her body against yours was helping. After the second episode finished, you realised just how sweaty and gross you felt from being in pyjamas for most of the day. Plus, you really needed to wash your hair. 

“Baby?” you asked, and your girlfriend’s hand stilled on your leg, where it has been absent-mindedly playing with the drawstring from your pyjama bottoms. “Can you help me shower and wash my hair?”

“Of course, darling. We could even have a bath if you want?” she suggested, and you smiled.

“Ooh, a bath would be nice.” 

She nodded, getting up to start the bath. You listened to the gentle splashing of the water, and after a couple minutes she came back into the bedroom. “I’ve put that bath stuff in, the one that you like.”

“Thank you, baby,” you said, standing up. This time you managed to stay up, although she did have to steady you with a hand on your waist, and you leant against her, breathing in her scent, a combination of her favourite perfume and the smell of the bath foam. Once in the bathroom she helped you undress, before undressing herself and joining you in the warm water. You sighed happily as she sat behind you, pulling you in to lean against her front. 

“You want me to wash your hair now, or sit like this for a bit first?” she asked.

“Mm, sit like this for a bit first,” you said, enjoying the feeling of the warm water against your skin and the gentle rise and fall of her chest against your back. “How was the rest of training?”

“Fine,” she said, hands trailing up and down your sides and your arms under the water. “I was worried about you. Kept getting distracted,” she murmured into your ear.

“What are you like,” you said, smiling. “I was okay, no need to worry about me.”

“I like you,” she hummed. “want me to wash your hair now?”

“Yes please,” you said with a sigh. “otherwise I’m going to fall asleep.”

She took the shower head and put one hand against your forehead. “Let me know if it’s too hot or too cold?” she asked, switching it on. Her hand stopped any water from trickling down your face and into your eyes, and you relaxed against the steady stream of the shower. 

You let out a moan as she massaged shampoo into your scalp, her fingers putting pressure on all the right spots. “That feels so nice,” you said, letting out another moan as she got a particularly tight spot at the base of your scalp. 

“Moaning for me already, baby?” she asked, and you could hear the smirk in her voice. You rolled your eyes and slapped her arm lightly, and you felt her laugh against you. “I’m going to rinse the shampoo out now, okay?”

Her gentle hands combed through your hair as she rinsed away any suds. After your bath, she dried you off using a big fluffy towel that she’d put on the radiator. Once the two of you were in bed again, she brushed your hair gently, taking care not to pull too hard. 

“How are you feeling now, my love?” she asked, making you blush. You loved it when she called you that.

“Still sick, my head hurts, and my throat is starting to hurt too,” you said, and turned to look at her with a cheesy grin. “but I feel all warm and clean and happy, thanks to you. Thank you for looking after me.”

Alessia smiled, cheeks red. “Of course, I’ll always look after you,” she said, kissing you softly. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Lessi.”

[wittlesissyb4by]

ABCDegree

Marianne clutched her books tightly as she made her way through campus. 30 years ago she would have felt right at home. Laughing with the other girls by the fountain, flirting with boys by the quad, or frantically studying before an exam. 

Now? She couldn’t feel more out of place, like all eyes were upon her. She imagined what people were thinking as they saw her: What does this woman think she is doing trying to get a higher education at her age?

She felt even more foolish about what she was here to study: Adult Baby Care and Development or ‘ABCD’ as the kids were calling it these days. She’d known for a while about these Adult Babies, and how they were becoming more and more common in today’s world, either by choice or by punishment. But she had no idea they would actually offer a class in a prestigious University about how to care for one. She had even less of an idea that her husband would be the one who needed caring for. 

It was a little over a year ago when Jack first came to her about his diaper fetish. Throughout their 8 years of marriage, she’d always known he’d been hiding something. The way he would turn his phone ever so slightly in her presence, the way he’d make 100 different clicks on the computer as soon as she unexpectedly walked into the office, and how flushed and flustered he would get any time she used that same computer. Like he was terrified she’d stumble upon his goldmine of a porn stash.

So when Jack finally came to her and confessed his longstanding affinity for diapers, she was actually a bit relieved. At least he wasn’t cheating on her like she’d suspected. But with this new revelation came a whole host of insecurities. She saw how vulnerable he was when he approached her, how terrified he must have been to tell her. He probably thought she would just up and leave as soon as the words left his mouth. But obviously she would do nothing of the sort. He was her husband, after all. One she still loved very much. Marianne wanted Jack to know that she was happy he told her. She remembered placing her hand on his knee lovingly as he tearfully confessed what he had bottled up for so long. 

That’s not to say she wasn’t a little taken aback, though. It’s not every day your husband tells you he’s been sneaking off to play with his penis inside a pair of Pampers. She certainly had her questions: how it started, when it came about, and any other girlfriends he may have told. 

He mentioned a girl in college that he had gotten the nerve to confess to. She apparently laughed her way out the door and he never saw her again. So it was understandable to Marianne why Jack had taken so long to tell her: he was worried she would do the same. 

But Marianne–like most wives in a happy marriage–wanted to please her husband. She can still remember how much he was shaking from being so turned on when she first wrapped that pair of AB Cushies around his leaking, throbbing cock. The pheromones coming off of him were almost tangible, and she even found herself getting a little turned on by how much it was fulfilling his desires. 

But alas, once the diaper was on, she was at a loss. What was she supposed to do now? She knew Jack liked her to be dominant. But it’s not like she could very well spank him while he had a diaper on. She was never great at the dirty talking thing, no matter how hard she tried, and she wasn’t sure she could stomach changing a grown man’s dirty diaper. Sex was pretty much off the table as well. Jack wasn’t the smallest, but he wasn’t the biggest either, so it’s not like his dick could really stick out of the diaper enough to do anything with. She was at a loss. She was fine with putting him in diapers, but she didn’t know what to do once the diapers were on. 

So she turned to porn. She tried finding videos to give her ideas, any little tips she could get on how to properly engage with him the way he wanted. But her research yielded very little. She found out the hard way that there was a surprisingly barren amount of Adult Diaper porn on the web. Or, at least, she wasn’t the best at finding it. Apparently a Tumblr wide purge of ‘explicit content’ didn’t help………………….

She didn’t want to turn to her girlfriends for help. She didn’t think it was her place to air her husband’s dirty laundry (or diapers) to the public. But, one night over drinks, her friend Cathy was talking about her daughter who was now in college, and that’s when she heard about the program. 

“She’s majoring in ABCD.”

“Like…the alphabet?” Her other friend Erica asked with a mixture of incredulity and amusement. 

They all laughed, but Cathy explained, “Apparently they teach them how to deal with those guys that are in diapers. I was a bit skeptical at first, but it turns out there are a lot of job opportunities that come with it.”

“So what does she want to do?” Erica asked. 

Cathy shrugged, “She wants to be a ‘Betasitter’. Supposedly these rich couples or wives will hire her to…take care of their husband while the wife goes off with another man. Something about ‘cuckolding’ or something like that…” Cathy sighed and shrugged exasperatedly. “I don’t really get it, but it’s something she’s really passionate about, so I guess all I can do is support her.”

Marianne sipped her wine silently, but her interest was piqued. The very next day she was Googling the program and getting details on the specifics. Still a bit unsure, she decided to talk to one of the counselors. 

“Yes, the Betasitting class will still be great for you. They will provide you with lots of resources and ideas to use on your husband, it will also open up more opportunities for you down the road if you want to explore it further,” the counselor explained. 

Marianne was skeptical, but ever since finding out about Jack’s fetish, she realized she wasn’t participating in it as much as he probably liked. After the initial fun of it, her anxiety took over, making it feel uncomfortable for her any time it was brought up. Not that there was anything wrong with the diapers themselves, it was mostly how uneasy she was in the dominant “diaper domme” role. 

So she enrolled, and that’s how she ended up here, in the ABCD building, trying to get the nerve to enter the classroom. 

She watched as flock after flock of 18-24 year old girls entered the room. Feelings of regret and anxiety rising to the surface. What would they think of someone her age taking a class like this? 

Finally she came to the realization that she didn’t care. She was doing this for her husband, for her marriage. She took a deep breath, clutched her books and readjusted the bag on her shoulder, grabbed the handle of the door, and entered. 

The room was a little bigger than your typical classroom. It had auditorium-like seating and rows that ramped downwards to the front of the class. Marianne felt like all eyes were upon her as she entered, even if they weren’t. 

She found a seat towards the back of the room, then looked around and thought better of it. She needed to be able to see the board. She gathered her things again awkwardly and moved up a few rows. Girls were still filing in, and Marianne tensed as she heard some sit down in the row behind her. 

“Originally I was in Early Childcare,” one girl said to the others, “I wanted to work with toddlers at a Daycare. Turns out, I much prefer working with Adults and treating them like toddlers. Still the same dirty diapers and tantrums, but at least with adults you know what they want...and you can tease them for it!”

They all laughed and must have nodded in agreement. 

“I’ve already got a job lined up” said another, “$1200 a week to betasit some rich loser that was caught cheating on his wife! She left him for another man, but still wants him in diapers 24/7. She’s gonna use his money to pay me as soon as I get my degree!”

Marianne’s eyes widened at that. Even with her business degree and healthy job she wasn’t making that good of money. 

“Is someone sitting here?”

Marianne looked up to see a young, beautiful blonde girl. Her stomach tried to escape through her throat when she realized who it was: Claire, the daughter Cathy was ranting about over drinks. The one who ultimately let her know about the ABCD program. 

Claire obviously recognized her too. There was that small, awkward moment of recognition before general social norms kicked in. 

“Oh my god! Marianne! Hi! How are you?” Claire asked as she sat down, it would be too weird for her to take off and find another seat now. Marianne reciprocated the uncomfortable exchange of “I'm good! How are you?” Before the conversation descended into silence. 

“So…” Claire finally said after what felt like ages, “why are you…taking this class?”

The elephant in the room was staring them in the face. Claire obviously knew Marianne’s husband Jack. But she didn’t want to out him in front of her and all these girls. So she said the first thing that came to mind: “I'm interested in the…business side of things.”

Claire nodded with narrow eyes, probably in disbelief, but she didn’t press further. 

Luckily, Marianne was saved from any further discomfort by the door opening at the front of the room. 

A woman in her mid-forties strode in, a couple years Marianne’s junior. Her salt and pepper hair tied up in a tight bun. Black, horn-rimmed glasses, fiery red lipstick, and a sharp jawline that jutted in the air as her pumps clanked on the floor rhythmically, like a Judge using their gavel to command order in the room. 

There was a sharp, collective intake of breaths as conversations ceased and pencils and notebooks were taken out. 

“Good afternoon, everyone!” the Professor announced with a sleek smile. Every girl in the room, including Marianne, replied back in unison “Good afternoon, Professor Peterson!”

“I trust you all have your essay on Yankevitz’s Psychology of Age Regressive Therapy, so please take those out, and pass them down the line if you will.”

Marianne gulped. There was a clamor of rustling papers as the women took their printed or handwritten sheets and passed them down the row for the T.A.’s to pick up. Marianne had worried she’d be behind on assignments after signing up for the class two weeks late. Hell, even 20 years after her first bout of college life, she still had recurring nightmares of showing up to Calculus 17 and not realizing there was a final she hadn’t studied for. The anxiety associated with being a full-time college student suddenly came rushing back to her. 

“We have a special lesson lined up for you today, it will be your first real ‘lab’ demonstration of this course.” Professor Peterson announced, she opened both arms wide and like clockwork the side doors on either side of the room opened. T.A.'s on both ends came in wheeling what looked like hospital beds into the room. 

The girls all gasped in excitement, apparently seeing something Marianne couldn’t. When the lady sitting in front of her finally hunched back down again to gleam excitedly at her neighbor, Marianne finally caught a glimpse of what everyone was ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ about.

Inside the bars of each bed, there was a college boy squirming underneath a blanket. 

******************************************************

“If you’ll all carefully make your way down so we can begin our demonstrations…” the Professor began, but the girls needed no further instruction. They already had their books and bags over their shoulders and were clambering down the stairs towards the blanketed boys. All 50 girls in the auditorium-like room were divided into groups among the 5 beds respective to their seated section. That meant Claire was in the same group as Marianne.

The 10 or so girls in the group circled around the crib-like bed. The boy inside was old enough to be Marianne’s son. He was around 20-22 years old. Further inspection yielded that the boy was, in fact, tied to the bed. His ankles and wrists strapped down with hospital restraints. He made a pathetic attempt to squirm and escape from under the bed sheet as the girls oggled and giggled. 

“Now, as you can see, you each have a Betaboi in front of you.” Professor Peterson called over the groups, “Notice their less than prominent jawline, their lack of much body/facial hair, their high-pitched whimpers, and their cowering nature.”

The girls nodded their heads in agreement. Marianne couldn’t help but see the same resemblance in her husband Jack. 

“Now, if you’d all be so kind as to remove the sheet, so we can see our Betabois in their appropriate attire…”

The girls all clapped their hands in excited glee, rushing to be the first to grab the hem of the sheet. Marianne seemed to be the only one interested in being a mere spectator. She watched as the girls looked around, nodded, and withdrew the sheet at the same time like a magician revealing their prestige. 

The bound boy clenched his legs as the sheet was removed, like that would do anything to hide the large disposable white diaper taped around his waist. The crowd of girls erupted in laughter and awes. The boy’s cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink. 

“As you learned from your reading last week, it is very important to emphasize the Beta’s attire. Remind them of their place, and that the diaper is necessary for their development.”

There was a chorus of chastising comments coming from each of the girls. 

“Awww!! Wook at the wittle beta baby in his diapurr!!”

“Aren’t you just the cutest?!”

“Look at the little loser in his Luvs!!”

“Don’t you wish you could use the big boy potty like an Alpha?”

The boy winced at every mocking remark as if they were lashes from a whip. He cringed and pulled pathetically on the straps. Marianne tried to jot down some of the things the girls were saying to remember them for later, but there was too much to keep up with. 

“Awww!! He went pee pee in his Pampers!!”

Marianne wasn’t sure if the boy’s diaper was wet beforehand, but it certainly was now. There was no mistaking the yellow tint forming in the front, and the big blue wetness indicator showing prominently down the middle. 

As if on queue, Professor Peterson continued with her lecture. “After you have properly acknowledged their attire, it’s time to focus on the state of their attire. Be sure to comment on any observations you see about it. Poke, prod, and question them about it. You can even have them talk about their situation. Remember: verbalization is one of the highest forms of humiliation.”

Again there was a slew of comments slung at the poor boy. 

“Did the wittle baby wet his diapy?”

“Beta baby went piddles in his diddles!!”

“The only wet thing your wittle clitty ever gets to touch!”

“Tell us what you did in your diaper, beta!”

The boy looked to be on the verge of tears. He screwed up his face and his bottom lip was quivering as he spoke in the most pathetic high-pitched voice “I…i went tee tee in my diapy…” The gathering girls erupted into laughter.

The boy tried to wipe his misty eyes on his shoulder, but the straps left him quite immobile. 

Marianne leaned over to the girl standing next to her. “Don’t you think this is a little…harsh?”

The girl’s face was bewildered. “What…him? Oh please! Don’t let those crocodile tears fool you! He is loving this! All of them are. In fact, they sign up for this!”

“Look! He’s hard!” one girl exclaimed as the girls leaned in to observe. 

“Awwww!!” They cooed. Pointing and laughing. 

“His wittle pee pee is poking inside his Pampurrs!!”

Marianne didn’t believe it was possible with how ashamed the boy seemed, but sure enough, there was a very noticeable bulge forming at the front of the swollen, sodden diaper. 

“And that brings us to our first demonstration!” Professor Peterson announced. “If I can have one volunteer at each station to perform a diaper change.”

Almost every hand shot in the air. Marianne chose to sit this one out. She was so overwhelmed by all the new experiences, the last thing she wanted to do was put her inexperience at the forefront of everyone’s attention. 

Mrs. Peterson went down the groups, choosing one girl seemingly at random. The girls not chosen groaned in jealousy, with the selected student grinning wickedly. 

When the Professor got to Marianne’s group, she pointed across the way. “Yes!!” Claire exclaimed excitedly when she realized she was picked. 

The rest of the girls groaned in disappointment, but parted ways and allowed Claire to clamber onto the bed and take her place between the beta’s legs. 

The boy squirmed and writhed at his bonds. Marianne wasn’t sure if he was pretending to be in distress, or trying to rearrange his bulging member inside his diaper. Either way, the onlookers found it hilarious. 

Claire looked a little more unsure now that she shared the center of attention, but she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. 

“First thing we want to do,” the Professor began, strolling back and forth amongst the groups, “Is administer the pacifier. This will immediately drop the beta into subspace. It is hard for them to argue or complain when they have something in their mouth, and it reinforces their regression.”

One of the girls in Claire’s group pulled out what looked to be a glasses case. Instead, when she popped it open, it was actually a very large pacifier. But instead of having a rubber nipple, it was an elongated rubber penis. Claire chuckled as she took the paci from the spectator, thanked her,  and pressed it to the beta’s lips. Marianne expected the boy to put up more of a fight, considering how humiliating and patronizing it must have been, but instead the boy opened his mouth and accepted the penis paci down his mouth without hesitation. Almost eagerly, in fact.

“After you have adequately administered verbal degradation and provided them with a paci, it is time to remove the diaper.” Peterson declared. “Make sure to place a firm palm at the front, between the decorative banner of the diaper and the blue indicator. You should feel their stiffness through the padding. You want to press this area so that they can feel the wet padding against their stiffy. This establishes dominance, provides slight stimulation, and gives you a solid grip to begin pulling off the fastening tapes. They can be a little stickier than normal baby diapers.”

Claire followed the instructions to a T. Smirking when the beta whimpered underneath her firm hand as she removed the tapes one at a time with a tssskk!

“Remember to take a deep breath before opening the diaper! I realize your babies aren’t messy at the moment. But it’s a good habit to get into. The fresh batch of air will save you from gagging more often than not.”

Clair pulled the front of the soaked diaper open, exposing the beta’s bits to the surrounding air. Some of the girls had to turn away, covering their mouths. Not out of disgust, but out of hilarity at the little 3 inch pecker pointing straight up in the air. 

“I always forget how tiny they can be!”

“That can’t be as big as it gets…can it?!”

“It amazes me that some of them think they deserve anything other than a diaper!!”

The beta had a fresh flush of blood rush to his cheeks. He tried to hide his face, but again the bonds kept him bound and exposed. 

“If you will take out your supply bags, you can begin the changing process…”

Claire looked around for help. In her excitement to get on the bed with the beta, she’d left her bag on the floor in the circle of girls. Marianne reached down and grabbed the infantile looking diaper bag. Claire side-eyed and shrugged innocently as Marianne handed it to her. It was a bit awkward for them both, but with everything going on, it paled in comparison. 

Claire set the bag on the bed next to her. Fishing for a package of wipes. She took them out and removed three from the container, which crinkled more than the beta’s diaper did. 

“Remember, take your time. You can never get them ‘too’ clean. Every little bit of stimulation gets them that much more desperate. Either for you or for the wife that is off having her own bit of fun.”

Claire laid the cold wipe across her palm and placed it against the boy’s inner thigh. He gasped, perhaps from the chill or from the anticipation. Claire slowly ran her hand up, closer to the beta’s bobbing balls, but stopped. Jumping over the area with the wipe and continuing to the other thigh. 

The boy’s breathing changed considerably, the head of his cock was swelling, his eyes were desperate. The other girls teased and pinched his nipples and cheeks, making him squirm even more from the intense stimulation. 

Finally, Claire laid a new wipe over his pulsing pecker. Making it resemble an actual tent, or a tiny little ghost. The girls giggled at the ridiculous display. Claire smiled before using her whole palm to twist and turn the wipe around the boy’s cock. Making it more painful than pleasurable. 

“Now, if the beta is uncaged, I always recommend a proper edging session.” Peterson professed as she strode back and forth amongst the groups, “Again, we want them as sexually frustrated as possible. It will make their eagerness to please and their obedience levels skyrocket. So if you will all carefully take your subject’s privates in your hand…”

Claire glanced over at Marianne. Neither of them really wanted to witness this in front of each other. Marianne had watched her friend’s daughter grow from a young age to the beautiful woman she is now. It was a bit abnormal to see her grasping another “man’s” penis right in front of her. 

“It is very important that you watch the beta’s visual cues during this portion of the change. As you know, betas have a very difficult time controlling themselves. We do NOT want them to achieve release, we just want them right up to the edge. Hence the term ‘edging’”

Claire looked down at the helpless subject before her as she applied liberal amounts of lotion to her hands.  Smiling at the obvious hold she had over him. Every single girl in this room with the exception of Marianne was here because they enjoyed that sense of power over those they found weak. Claire reached out her hand and grasped the beta’s already leaking member. Though, it was so small she couldn’t even palm it. Her hand ended up making the whole thing disappear. 

“Remember, you don’t have to use your whole hand. In fact, you only need to use two fingers! This will further emphasize the inadequacy of their equipment. Simply make a ring with your fingers, or a small gap between your thumb and index...”

Claire followed the Professor’s instructions, making a small circle with her hand and putting it into the air just above the head of his twitching clitty. 

The beta whimpered behind his pacifier. Raising his hips up and trying to poke his way between the tiny ring Claire had made for him. He managed to make the head slide through, but only for a bit. Falling back down on the bed and onto his used diaper. He grunted again as he summoned the strength to flex his abs and raise his hips again, pathetically humping at Claire’s stationary hand. 

“Good job, Claire!” Professor Peterson cheered, “As you can see, Claire here is letting the beta do almost all of the work, another great way to establish dominance and have the change go on your own terms. Always work smarter, not harder!”

The poor boy was practically pleading with his eyes. Sucking on his oversized paci with frantic intensity. His thrusts into her lubed up palm were eager and anxious. Like he hadn’t had relief for weeks. 

“Pay attention to the signs…” Peterson reminded, “See how his toes are curling? Perspiration building around the chest and temple? He’s close, when he starts to gasp, pull away.”

It was like the Professor was a fortune teller. Within seconds, the beta boy was whimpering and clenching and several quick, short, gasps later…Claire stopped. Opening her fingers just enough so that all the wiggly worm of the beta could feel was a cold breeze.  An almost angry grunt escaped around the paci in the frustrated beta’s mouth. 

“Awww!!!” The girls around the bed teased, “Somewon’s getting fussy and fwustwated!!”

There was an explosion of laughter, followed by shouts and jeers from the group next to them. 

“Professor Peters!! Someone had an accident…” they called. The older woman rushed to other group to assess the situation. Turns out the other girl was not as successful in edging her beta, as evidenced by the massive load of sticky juices covering both the kneeling student and the naked boy beneath her.

“Seems like we waited a bit too long to withdraw the stimulation. That’s okay! I won’t dock you points as you are still learning, just make sure you learn what you did wrong and what this particular beta’s tells were. Everyone has their little ticks that give them away, and sometimes it’s just a matter of learning each individual. However, if they do begin to ejaculate, ALWAYS remove your hand as soon as possible. The lack of stimulation at this precarious time will result in what is known as a ‘ruined orgasm’. It provides some of the relief the sub desperately wants, but without the associated pleasure of a full orgasm. Not to worry, dear. We’ll get ‘em next time! But just be aware that your future clients may not take lightly to having their husband’s achieve any sort of release. So keep that in mind.”

The girl seemed embarrassed as Peterson walked away without another word, the group of girls around her and the spent beta put a consoling hand on her shoulder.

Claire now seemed even more determined to do it right. Edging the beta 5 more times until his balls were noticeably swollen and aching. The poor beta could probably be heard across campus if it weren’t for the penis paci muffling his sobs.

“If you have made it this far into the edging session, give yourself a pat on the back!” Professor Peterson declared, the girls around Claire and one other group clapped and cheered. 

“The next part is where their preference sheet comes in,” Peterson continued after the room quieted down, “Again, every client is different, but some will have the box checked that allows for optional or even mandatory ‘milkings’. The wife or caretaker of the beta will often be specific as to how the milking can be administered, but I’ll show you one of my favorite ways: a procedure known as ‘milking the prostate’.”

Half of the room gasped, the other half looked around bewildered.

Peterson clicked the device in her hand, and a Powerpoint presentation detailing the specifics of the male ‘g-spot’, also known as the prostate, appeared on the screen. Through a series of slides the Professor explained that one of the best ways to stimulate this area is by using two fingers inserted into the rectum of the beta.

“It will be about the size of walnut, though some studies have shown that betas tend to exhibit a much larger sized prostate, which is why a lot of them are more prone to enjoying anal activity. Simply insert the lubricated fingers, point upwards just behind where the base of the penis is, and press lightly.”

Claire followed along with the Professor’s presentation by practicing on the beta in front of her. She put on a latex glove, lubed up her fingers with more lotion, pressed her palm against the pelvis of the boy, reached between his legs, found the hole, and pressed inwards.

Marianne will never forget the sound the beta made as Claire entered him. She was always hesitant to try things like this with Jack, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to hear those same sounds come from him.

The beta’s breathing was much more measured now. Like he wasn’t excited, but wasn’t being tortured either. One of the girl’s stroked his hair while another whispered in his ear to relax and ‘take it like a good boi’.

“OoooOOoohhh” the boy cooed as Claire worked her fingers inside him.

“That’s it, Claire!” Peterson encouraged, “right there! That’s the sound we want. Do you feel the walnut?”

Claire nodded and screwed her face up in concentration. Biting her bottom lip as she worked her hand and fingers back and forth inside him. 

The beta was moaning now. Like he was experiencing the most intense pleasure he ever felt. Claire had to use her other hand to hold him still while she worked her fingers in and out of him. 

“He’s close. Finish the job.” Peterson prodded, and Claire obliged.

The beta was rocking up and down on the bed, tugging at his bonds, moaning pathetically.

“Yes! Yesss! Yess!! I’m gonnNna..”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence, the puny penis pulsed and a projectile of semen shot into the air, then more oozed down the shaft and dribbled down his balls.

The crowd gasped and clapped. Even Marianne threw her notebook under her armpit and joined in the applause. 

“Well done, Claire!” Professor Peterson commended, “you have a bright future ahead of you!”

Claire smiled sheepishly as she pulled out several more wipes and began cleaning up the beta’s baby batter. 

“We are almost out of time,” Peterson announced, checking her watch, “so let’s all take out a fresh diaper and learn how to properly prepare it for application.”

Every girl in the room reached into their bags and pulled out a large, fluffy diaper of varying colors and designs. Except for Marianne, who must have missed it on the supply list. 

“Do you mind if I borrow…” Marianne asked the girl next to her. She smiled sweetly and obliged by handing her a pink, princess diaper with unicorns and flowers all over it. It was a bit of a strange design, she thought. Weren’t the people that wore diapers this size mostly males?

“It is very important when you have a new diaper to do what I call the ‘Fluffing Technique’” Peterson instructed, using a diaper of her own as a demonstration. “Most of them come vacuum or hermetically sealed, and they lose most of their volume. We obviously don’t want a flat, puny diaper, we want big, bulky diapers that force the wearer to waddle. So in order to fluff it up, simply open it up, and fold it down the middle, ‘hotdog style’ like this…”

She held the diaper aloft so all could see and follow along. 

“This begins the aeration process and creates a sort of channel for the messes to travel, helping to ensure you don’t have as many leaks. Once you have that crease, grab it on both the edges and wriggle it back and forth like this, almost like you’re activating a disposable heating pad.”

There was a cacophony of crinkles as the 50 women shook the sides of the diapers back and forth. 

“We are fluffing up the inner material and letting those layers breathe. Again, ensuring that we’re adding bulk and reaching peak absorbency. Your clients will thank you for going through less diapers, and for making their hubby’s look even cuter!!”

There were murmurs of agreement and awes. Even comparisons between the girls as to who got their diaper the fluffiest. 

“Now take those diapers home with you and practice applying them to a stuffed animal, your boyfriend, or anyone you can! That concludes today’s session! Have a great day!”

The auditorium rumbled as the girls grabbed their things and filed out. The betas in the beds were wheeled out by the T.A.’s. 

Marianne waited behind, stuffing the pink diaper into her bag that the girl graciously let her have. 

“Excuse me, Professor Peterson?” Marianne asked, approaching the desk where her teacher was rounding up her things. 

“Yes dear?” She said, without looking up at first. When her eyes rose to see the speaker for the first time, there was a look of recognition and sympathy in them. 

“My name is Marianne Olsen and I…I just wanted to say thanks for the lesson today. I’m sorry I didn’t get that paper in, and didn’t have my supplies b-but I—“

“How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?” Peterson asked. 

Marianne was a bit taken back by the question. ”F-fifty-two” she answered, feeling self conscious again. 

Peterson smiled, nodded and removed her glasses. 

“And why are you here?”

“I…well my uh…my husband has an…ummm—“

“A diaper fetish.” Peterson finished for her without even blinking.  

“Yes.”

The Professor stared at her for a long while, then smiled. “I admire you, Mrs. Olsen” she finally said. 

“I…you do?”

Peterson smiled again “Yes. Few women, especially your age (no offense) would be willing to put forth the effort to accommodate for what is often seen as a very taboo and misunderstood fetish. Most women would run, but you stayed. Not only that, you signed up for a class to better understand and provide for your husband. I deeply admire that.”

Marianne’s eyes started misting. She had been so unsure about this whole thing and, up until that very moment, felt like it was all a mistake. 

“The world is changing, Marianne.” Peterson continued, “People are not only seeing diapers as a fetish anymore, but also as a very effective method of punishment, control, humiliation, and therapy. There are going to be many business and recreational opportunities in this field in the not so distant future, and I really hope you will see this class as more of a stepping stone rather than just a way to help get your husband off.”

“I…I guess I never considered—“

“You’re a powerful woman with a good head on her shoulders and the desire to learn and please. I am confident you will get more out of this class than you ever thought possible.”

“Thank you, Professor Peterson.”

“No, thank you. But in the interest of being consistent with all my students, I am going to need your essay by the end of the week.”

“Consider it done, ma’am!”

*******

By the time she got home, Marianne was exhausted. She placed her bag on the coat rack, went to the fridge to grab a bottle of wine, and sighed exasperatedly as she sat next to Jack on the couch. 

“Hi honey,” Jack said, “how was class?”

“It was good,” she said as she poured herself a glass of Cabernet, “Now go get your diapers and bring them to me. Then take off your clothes. I have some...studying to do!”

To Be Continued

I just launched a second Chapter for this story on Substar! Head on over to read it if you want to see more!!

[frozenjokes]

Put Me In Perspective, Or At Least In My Place (Another Retrospective On Aromantic Love)

“Above your head like this. Both hands, look at me. Both hands, Grian. It doesn’t take a lot of strength, just step forward and release around eye level.” Cleo demonstrated, holding the axe at the end of its handle and releasing the weapon. It flew in what had to be a perfect arc before burying itself in the wood, a bullseye of course. She threw the axe like she’d done it a thousand times, and honestly, she probably had.

“Don’t people throw them with one hand, too?”

“Yes. It’s just harder. Try this first.”

Grian pursed his lips, stepping forward, throwing, then squeaking when the axe bounced terrifyingly off the wood, hitting the wall before rolling and bumping the curb that separated the stall and his feet. Ah. That was frightening.

“Nearly took out our ankles there,” Cleo said, not sounding all too concerned.”

“It- Can it bounce over that?”

“Not easily. But not uncommonly either. Try not to do that.” Cleo strode forward, plucking the axe off the ground and handing it to Grian. “Don’t throw it while I’m in there.”

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Maybe you won’t, but some people need to be told,” Cleo grunted, ripping the axe she’d thrown from the wall and spinning it thoughtlessly in her hand before burying it in the stump that split their twin alleys. “Try again. Keep your wrists straighter, release at eye level.”

Grian shifted his weight, frowning, “Surely you brought me here to talk about something else other than axe throwing. ‘Cancel your plans, I’m picking you up,’ is an extremely ominous message to receive from a stranger at 8:00 at night. How did you get my number again?”

“Pearl. And we aren’t strangers, we’ve met at least once at that big friend get-together thing, you know. That awful pizza place? Regardless, I’m friends with runners, so force is necessary 90% of the time. If you want to skip to the talking, we can talk, but I don’t know if you want to hear what I have to say.”

“I probably don’t.”

“Then start throwing and I’ll do the work. You’ll get it to stick, just give her a few tries.”

“You seem to have a lot of faith in me.”

“Everyone gets it eventually.” Cleo looked relaxed, unconcerned, and Grian tried to match the energy, but he couldn’t quite shake his anxiety. Well. He was here, so he might as well make the most of it.

It took six more tries before he got an axe to stick. Wow that was satisfying- but the air seemed a little too heavy to celebrate more than Cleo’s tasteful clapping. Maybe he should come back here with Pearl and Impulse.. Jimmy maybe? He’d kill to see Jimmy try this actually, even if he’d likely crush Grian in the end. When Grian went to collect the two axes from the stall, Cleo finally spoke.

“I’d like to know what’s going on between you and Scar. Properly. It’s been a particularly shitty week for our friend group and Scar’s been in a foul mood for more reason than one, so we haven’t talked. And I’m not just here to interrogate you about Scar either, I’d really like to know what’s going through your head as well. Have you seen each other this week? Have you talked at all?” Cleo was firm, but nothing about their voice was hostile. There was a worried longing there, the kind of urging that came from a deep concern for a good friend.

Grian took a deep breath. “Not much. I saw him a couple days ago when I was getting lunch with Pearl at the zoo. He only texted me one other time to tell me he wouldn’t be.. we have this mutual place we hang out, and he just told me he wouldn’t be around this week. Too much going on. I’m really sorry about Etho by the way, I hope you guys find him.”

“Thank you. Bdubs got in contact with him yesterday, so we know he’s alright. We still don’t know where he is or when he’s coming home, but from what I’ve heard, he’s keeping frequent contact. Hasn’t called me or Scar, but that’s typical. With any luck he’ll be back safely soon. That’s what Etho said anyway. Still all sorts of concerning, but we’ll take what we can get.”

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Grian tried not to be hurt that Scar hadn’t updated him, but failed miserably despite the fact it probably wasn’t any of his business. He just would’ve liked to know, that’s all.

“It is. So how did that clusterfuck of a night happen between you and Scar? How did that start?”

“Oh,” Grian mumbled, fidgeting with the axe still in his hands. Cleo took the other from the stump, throwing it almost lazily, like the question didn’t matter to her much at all. Grian decided to do the same, focusing on the secondary activity instead. “Well.. he invited me over. That was a couple hours after our first spat, and I was still feeling weird about it all. Wasn’t well.”

“I figured. He reached out to you first?”

“Yeah. We weren’t supposed to do anything though, just.. get it out of our systems. I was so mad at him- I’m still so angry, and not even for any reason in particular. I’m just mad.”

“Then how’d you end up in his bed?”

“Oh. I kissed him. He was pissing me off.”

“Right.”

Grian scoffed, snagging his axe off the floor of the alley after a failed throw. “How did you think this all went down? He told you the jist, basically. Not nicely, but he told you.”

Cleo shrugged. “I just wanted to know a few more details. Place my judgment a bit more accurately. From where I’m standing, you’re both idiots self destructing in the dumbest way possible. I would like it very much if this didn’t happen again, not only because it’s bad for both of you, but quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Come on.”

Grian curled his lip. “Listen, I don’t understand why it’s such a huge problem for Scar and I to work out our differences with a little violence. We're consenting adults and the sex was kinda nuts, so if we’re both having fun there’s no issue. In any case, I’m pretty sure this is solving all of our problems.”

“Oh? Do explain.”

Grian rolled his shoulders, throwing his axe and getting it to stick for the second time, “We’re just letting off steam, Cleo. Two months of awkward tension does a lot to a man, it does a lot, nothing good. This is like a shortcut to the whole ‘tiMe hEaLs aLL’ bullshit, we’re like- getting it out of our system.”

“Uh huh. And this is going to resolve your unrequited feelings for Scar how..?”

“I’m getting it out of my system, Cleo.”

“Ah, so having really good sex with a man who isn’t looking for the same things in a relationship as you is going to fix you.”

“You got it.”

“That’s the dumbest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” For the first time, Cleo’s axe bounced off the board. She strode to pick it up wordlessly.

“Alright.” Grian landed another axe, just inches from the bullseye.

“Grian,” Cleo sighed harshly, and Grian avoided her eye, uninterested in her scrutiny, “Listen. As dysfunctional as the both of you two are, I don’t actually believe this couldn’t work. You two have been as thick as thieves for ages, and as much as you’re scrapping now, I don’t think that’s indicative of how you actually feel about each other. You’re just hurt people hurting each other, and you don’t have to be. For goodness’s sake, Scar would have been happy to be in some sort of relationship with you, he just didn’t want to lose you altogether. Somewhere I think that got lost in translation.”

“Scar doesn’t want to date me. He only offered to appease me, it was as obvious as anything.”

“I don’t doubt there’s truth to that. He doesn’t do well under the pressure of a love confession, and that’s no one’s fault. But his feelings on romance are a lot more complicated than ‘wanting’ or ‘not wanting.’ You did the right thing to refuse him, Grian, he wasn’t ready. But I think it’s worth talking to him again. Laying everything out on the table. And I can’t speak for what Scar wants, his brain is a mess of tangled wires and sparks, but he’s obviously had plenty of time to think about this, and he might surprise you. If there’s one thing I do know about Scar, it’s that he loves to give things like this a try. And I mean that. He does love it.”

“But Scar won’t love me. Not like I want to love him.”

Cleo hummed, thoughtful as they considered the ceiling, “You know, I don’t know if that’s true.”

Grian huffed, “Unless I’m misunderstanding what ‘aromantic’ means, I don’t see what you mean.”

Cleo shrugged. “Scar loves everyone in big sweeping gestures. That doesn’t change from person to person, whether they’re family, close friends, lovers.. it doesn’t change. But there are still levels, right? There’s still loyalty. You’re thinking of Scar as loving you like a friend, but I think that’s the wrong approach. Making that distinction makes it seem like his love would be less intense, like he wouldn’t still give you everything he has. Try.. a scale, 1 through 10, maybe. For you, you’re looking to give Scar your 10 on the scale, right? A 9 or 10, whatever it is, that’s the kind of love you want to give, the kind of love you’re looking to receive. In Scar’s brain, he’s been giving you that 10 for months, and if you asked to spend the rest of your life with him, he’d probably go ahead and accept without hesitation. That’s just how he feels about the people he’s close with.”

Grian didn’t speak, still working out how to process those words, but Cleo did not mind continuing in his absence. “If you’re worried about not being #1, then I’m afraid you’re fighting a losing battle, friend. With anyone. You’re contending with mothers, brothers, sisters, friends that go back to high school, grade school, diapers. Being intimate doesn’t outweigh those bonds, not for most people. And this isn’t to say that a relationship with Scar would be exactly the same as it would be with anyone else, it won’t, and if you’re the type of guy that gets insecure when your partner is physically friendly with other people, then forget it, but in my truest of hearts, if you’re looking for someone to love, I believe Scar would be more than good for you. He would treat you well,” Cleo paused, thoughtful before continuing, “And honestly, things literally can not get any messier between you two. There are zero stakes to giving this a shot. You’ll either feel a lot better about yourselves or you’ll go your separate ways, both of which are a huge improvement to whatever the fuck is happening between you two now. Maybe you’ll even stay friends after talking all this shit out. Who knows.”

Grian returned his axe to the stump, needing to sit down. To think. He was quiet for a long time just sitting there, the only sound being the bustle of other customers and Cleo’s own axe hitting its mark time and time again.

“You really think he’d want to give it a shot?”

Cleo shrugged and shook her head noncommittally, “Who knows. But it wouldn’t surprise me. So long as you two actually talk this all out, I think anything could happen. And Christ, if you two decide to get together and still want to ‘fall down the stairs’ then have nasty sex afterward, that’s your prerogative, but for crissakes, at least wear some sort of padding or a helmet or something, don’t actually kill each other.”

Well. He had gotten Scar that helmet, hadn’t he.

“I’ll think about it,” Grian mumbled, eyes lidded. And he was. He was thinking quite hard about it.

[redocity]

Hiii i love your writing!! Currently keeping me alive 😩 im begging for some angst hurt to comfort. Maybe something involving abby but ultimately a happy ending?

MOVING ON - E.BUCKLEY

buck was finally taking the step to move out of abby’s apartment, except it’s not exactly that easy.

WARNINGS: buck has a minor breakdown oops, minor abby slander, happy ending

buck x fem!reader II hurt/comfort Il 2.3k Il requests open!

a/n: thank you for the request! і love writing angsty stuff

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

Buck had finally decided that he’d had enough.

He wasn’t going to wait for Abby to come home anymore. He needed to move on. It’d been almost five months since she’d left, and five months of the team trying to convince him she wasn’t coming back.

He’d given up trying to convince them all that their relationship was just ‘unconventional’ by now, and after a particularly lonely Friday night he decided it was time to make a move.

"Can you believe it? After five months? I’m finally moving out of her apartment." Buck lugs a half filled cardboard box over to the dining table, dropping it down with a thud.

“I’m proud’a you,” You tap his shoulder with your hand as an indication for him to move, laughing with a roll of your eyes. “Glad you actually got to this point,”

He makes no resistance to your silent instruction, shifting to lean his back against a clear area of the table and watching as you rifle through the box to properly organise his horrible packing job. "I know you were all sick of me moaning about her. I still can’t believe she just up and left me like that."

“It was definitely a dick move, but if we’re being honest here she didn’t deserve you anyway,” You wave off his unspoken apology for talking your ear off for the last few months with your hand.

“I just thought we were really something you know? Then she up and leaves out of nowhere,” Buck sighs. He was sick of her, he was sick of the fact she’d left him with nothing but a half-arsed explanation and an empty promise of them staying in touch.

But sometimes he can’t help but reminisce on how she used to make him feel and believe that maybe she really was going to come home. “She was supposed to be the one, I can’t believe I was so stupid."

“Unfortunately Buck,” You reach over the table to grab the packing tape, it making a harsh noise as you rip off a piece to tape the - now neatly organised - box. “That how real dating works,”

"No, this wasn’t ‘real’ dating. Real dating doesn’t involve her leaving after she said I could move in, she didn’t even say a real goodbye, I had to find out that she wasn’t coming back from an Instagram post of her kissing some random guy in Thailand." Buck’s voice plainly displayed his emotional exhaustion.

He didn’t want to think about Abby anymore, but it was just so hard to get her out of his head when he really thought that their relationship was going somewhere.

“Head up mister,” You tap your middle and index fingers against the underside of his chin with a sigh. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea,”

Buck laughed exasperatedly. He hated that quote, it always felt so insincere. Then again that was probably because he’s used it so many times in the past when turning down his previous hookups who wanted a more serious relationship.

Now he was on the other end of it, and it just felt ironic.

“You just don’t get it, we were a perfect match for each other,” Buck exhales dramatically, turning his head up to the ceiling. "She was beautiful. She was kind. She was smart. Our sex life was perfect, she was exactly who I was looking for but she left. She just up and left."

“It happens unfortunately,” You shrug your shoulders slightly. “Especially with someone who was dealing with so many personal issues like she was,” You give up on your organising for now as you entertain Buck’s want to get everything off his chest.

“Looks like you finally got a taste of your own medicine hey?” Your attempt at lightening the mood a little is met by a roll of Buck’s eyes and a sigh.

You had a point to an extent, he’d never really dealt with a real breakup before even though he’d been with plenty of other women. "What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone’s gotta experience heartbreak at some point, it’s part of your character development,” You mirror the way he’s leaning against the dining table yourself, pressing your lower back against the wood with your arms crossed.

"I don’t think I needed that character development," Buck sighed once again, "I wish I wasn’t experiencing it right now. I just wish she’d call me or even send me something, anything. Tell me she’s not coming back properly you know?"

He’d probably try to convince her into a long distance relationship if she did call him. But he wasn’t going to tell you that part. He was supposed to be moving on.

“I deleted her number from your phone so… she’s not going to,”

“You did what?” You could hear the immediate hurt in Buck’s tone at your confession, demonstrated further by the way his eyes turned to you in astonishment. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, you are trying to physically move on,” You gesture towards the cardboard boxes that are littered around the apartment containing Buck’s belongings. “But you haven’t mentally moved on, you need both otherwise you’re gonna crash,”

Buck hated that you were right.

You were always right.

You always knew what was best for him when he didn’t even realise what was best for himself.

"I hate that all you do is say the right things at the right time."

“It’s a talent of mine,” You nudge him gently with a smile, again trying to lift up the mood a little.

Sometimes he hated that you were so kind too.

Some twisted part of him wished that you would do something wrong, that you would say the wrong thing and give him an excuse to let out all of his pent up frustration without feeling bad about it afterwards.

But you never did. And he didn’t know whether it was a blessing or a curse.

Then he started thinking about Abby again, of course he did. She was like a parasite that had burrowed a little cavity in his brain and wouldn’t leave no matter how many times he hit himself over the head.

He’d never had a truly vulnerable conversation with her when they were together. Not without the sole focus being on her or her mother’s health. He couldn’t remember a conversation that they’d had that was actually about his problems.

He couldn’t hate her for that. Of course not. She was going through a lot. But it really put into perspective who was the primary giver of their relationship. And it’s starting to make him question whether it was authentic in the first place.

Did she see it as a proper relationship like he did? Or was she using it as a distraction from all of the stress she had looking after her mother all the time?

He didn’t even realise he was tearing up until a drop of water hit the back of his hand.

“Are you alright?” You turned your head towards him after noticing how he’d gone quiet, his head lowered to a point where you couldn’t fully see the expression on his face.

“I don’t know-” His words said one thing, but the way he shook his head said something else. He was very clearly not okay.

“Buck…” You sigh softly at his tone, sounding a little forced as if he was scared of his voice breaking halfway through his sentence.

“Can I have a hug? Please?” He asked his question hesitantly, no longer trying to hide the wavering in his tone. He felt stupid for feeling like this over something that was seemingly so trivial to him in the past, but right now he didn’t feel like doing anything but crying until he physically couldn’t anymore.

He felt even stupider acting like this in front of you of all people. You’d dealt with enough of his baggage already, and he didn’t want to do to you what Abby had done to him in essentially using you as a human diary.

You don’t hesitate in your answer at all. “C’mere,”

You barely even open your arms before the space is filled by Buck, his head hidden against the shoulder of your t-shirt to hide his expression from you.

You lean your weight fully against the edge of the table as you envelop him into a hug, rubbing your hand up and down his back in your best attempt at physically soothing him as he lets out a soft cry into your shoulder.

A fully grown man crying into the arms of someone half his size because he couldn’t handle a breakup. Who would’ve thought?

The longer you held him the less he felt like he had to be embarrassed about it. Somebody had his back, and he didn’t ever want that to end.

“You’re gonna be alright,” The hand that wasn’t gently rubbing soothing lines over his back cupped the back of his neck, holding his head securely against your shoulder.

You knew he was going to break down eventually. You were just glad he had someone present during it.

"Thank you," Buck whispered to you as he began to calm down, "Thank you so much."

Embracing you felt like home, the first time in a long time that he’d felt like he had support. Like he could be himself.

He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let go, and for the first time in a while he felt as if everything would be okay.

“Don’t mention it,” You make no move to pull away from the hug once he’s calm enough to speak to you again, content to wait until Buck was comfortable enough to pull away in his own time.

He didn’t seem like he was going to let go any time soon.

“Can we just stay like this forever?” Buck’s voice is muffled against your shoulder as he speaks, and he links his arms together behind your waist. “That would be nice,”

You laugh shortly at the question, your shoulders shaking slightly as you do and in turn jostling Buck slightly in your arms. “I think my legs would give out after a while, you’re heavy you know,”

"They’d get stronger eventually," Buck muttered, "We could work out together. I could train you."

Buck was enjoying this more than he wanted to admit but, as usual, his mouth spoke before his brain had a chance to control it. He was just glad that you hadn’t actually pulled away yet.

“You can’t train me to do anything if you won’t let go,”You continue to laugh softly at his proposition as your hand scratches gently at the hairs at nape of his neck.

“You can just hold me then,” He drops the idea almost immediately under the favour of staying securely in your arms.

He’d never hugged any of his friends like this before, although he supposes he’s never actually wanted to. But here he is nonetheless, and it was probably the most comfortable he’d ever been in his life.

He just wanted to stay in the little cocoon your arms provided him away from reality for the rest of his life, maybe longer than that. The only question was whether you’d entertain his idea of abandoning everything productive you were supposed to be doing so that he could satiate his desire to stay exactly where he was.

“Not standing up,” You shake your head against the side of his with a small chuckle. “My legs are already starting to hurt,”

“On the couch then? We can watch that movie you were talking about,”

“We still have packing to finish Buckley,”

“Tomorrow,” Buck shakes his head as he makes a move to separate himself from you, although not fully as his hands still lay carefully positioned on your sides. “I genuinely cannot do any more packing today,”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he tilts his head at you with a sigh. “Come on, humour me here I’m emotionally vulnerable,”

He slips one of his hands towards your wrist and gives it a small tug, his grip loose enough that if you wanted to pull your arm away from him you could do so with minimal effort. You don’t of course, allowing him to tug you forward until you’re not leaning against the table any more, your weight fully supported on your feet. “We can watch that movie, order a pizza and I can wallow in my emotions for a few hours until I’m mentally fit to continue packing,”

“Sounds like you’re just trying to procrastinate,” You furrow your eyebrows accusingly, but the smile on your face betrays your feigned scolding, just grateful that he was sound enough to joke about his own misery now that he’d actually had the chance to vent his emotions.

“Oh I definitely am,” Buck’s smile mirrors yours emphatically, and he starts towards the living room with your wrist in his hand so you’re ‘forced’ to follow him. “I hate packing, it’s boring and everyone always tells me I’m doing it wrong,”

[girlboypersonthingy]

Can I request Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn trying to cheer up/apologize to their S/O after a nasty fight? I wonder what they would do to try and make it up to them.

AAAHHHH ANGSTY GIRLS ARE MY WEAKNESS 😩💔 As always, I am so grateful for the request! Also sorry this took so long… ENJOY~

VI 💘

Okay, she def said some mean shit to you. She’s good with her fists, but she has a sharp tongue too. She can destroy someone with her words just as fast as she could with her bare hands.

You’re hurt and upset, probably crying or maybe you’re angry at her. She knows you’re upset at her too…she just doesn’t care rn.

Once she’s gone off on her own to calm down, she’s thinking about what she said to you and the longer Vi thinks about it, replaying the words in her head, the more she feels guilty.

She comes back to find you later with the saddest look on her face. It’s obvious that she feels so guilty she wants to die right now but it doesn’t make the sting of her words any better.

“(Y/N)….I…” She can’t even come up with words that could fix this. She knows she really fucked up.

She’d definitely try to physically comfort you before she would try to offer comforting words. She does not know how to say sorry, it’s lowkey so hard for her. She feels sorry but the words just won’t leave her mouth.

Vi would sit or lay beside you and gently cup your chin in her hand, turning your face so she can look at you.

“Sorry…” She finally spits it out, watching your eyes water.

Then she’d go straight in for a kiss, maybe on the lips, maybe on your forehead. She’ll put her lips wherever you’ll let her rn.

If you accept/return the kiss, now she’s feeling more comfortable with talking. She’ll apologize again then kiss you again then apologize again then kiss you again, maybe slip a little compliment in about how precious you are to her then back to kisses. This goes on for like 5 minutes straight until you’re smiling a bit and your heart feels full again.

If you DONT accept her kisses or apologies, she’ll get so sad. This girl will just watch you with wide eyes, chewing on her lip as she asks “what…can I do?”

Honestly, give her any task you can think of, she will do it so fast with no complaints. Tell her to go jump off a bridge and she’s running there. Tell her to actually give you a proper apology and she will stutter through it and look at you with puppy dog eyes as she tries her best to make you feel like she doesn’t hate you.

If you’re just giving her the silent treatment, she will literally go disappear for like 8 hours. She’ll just give you space and go think about what she did. She’ll spend this time reflecting inward, thinking about what lead up to the outburst, why she felt the way she did, why she let her emotions get the best of her, why she took it out on you of all people.

When she finally comes back, hopefully you’re more ready to listen and respond to her. She’s so grateful when you are.

She will do literally anything for you when you’re upset with her. Even if it’s illegal or dangerous or something she has no idea about, she’ll figure it out and do it for you. Think there’s something she won’t do? Try her.

Once you’ve been consoled and talked to properly, when you’ve finally accepted her apology, she just wants to be close to your. You don’t have to be cuddling, you could just be holding hands or laying down with your head in her lap. She just needs the physical reassurance that you’re still her ✨partner✨

JINX 🦋

Let’s be real…Jinx blows up on you a lot. She just loses it too often and you two are so close, you’re always right in the path of destruction.

She’s not really the type to apologize after every time she blows up on you. If it’s obvious that you’re just butt hurt and irritated with her, she won’t bring up what happened but she will get all clingy and nice all of a sudden. She knows what she did and she’s gonna cheer you up and make you feel loved. She just wants to remind you that she’s unstable but your relationship shouldn’t be. She’s trying.

If she really upsets you, says something that really hits home, she’ll break down crying almost immediately after the words have left her lips. You might not even be crying yet, but Jinx is. She can tell by the look on your face, the way your lips are turned down and your eye brows are lowered, she can tell that you are truly hurt.

When you’re upset like this, she will cry hysterically as she tries to apologize and explain herself. She’ll be sniffling and hiccuping as she furiously wipes her wet eyes. Honestly, when she gets like this you think maybe she’s more upset than you are rn.

When she yells at you like this, it all comes pouring out of her mouth in the heat of the moment. She’s just in a blind rage. But as your face changes, she’s always reminded of her sister. The way her sister would yell at her and call her names. It triggers her and she always ends up sobbing in your lap, begging for your forgiveness, begging for you to stay with her, begging for you to love her still.

If you readily accept her apology and maybe offer her some comfort, she will comfort you back tenfold! She’s playing with your hair, gently scratching your back, offering to rub your feet while she’s still apologizing every so often. She feels like a bad dog who needs punishing and bc you won’t really punish her, she turns to manual labor on you. This is her punishment, pampering you until she’s exhausted.

If you’re not so quick to accept her apology, she gets scared…like actually terrified of you walking out on her right now. She’ll get really quiet, probably not even crying anymore, but she won’t let go of you. She’ll stay flush against you, her arms trapping your torso against her own. She feels like if she just clings to you, you can never leave. She can’t handle you leaving…plz don’t leave her.

As you both sit in silence, she’ll remain still, only moving to tighten her grip or lay her head on your other shoulder. In this moment, nothing else matters to her, no one else matters to her. Sure, she’s probably scared of being alone, but she’s never loved someone as much as she loves you. You are her everything…if she loses you…then she has nothing else to lose. She doesn’t know what she’ll do then.

She’s basically having a silent panic attack as she clings to you, awaiting your response. And she’ll wait forever if she has to.

If you need some space and time to yourself, she will literally just back away a little bit and still stay in the same room. She’s literally terrified…she thinks if she leaves the room she’ll never see you again. But she will stay silent and give you some breathing room.

Once you’re finally ready to talk about it, she’s constantly interrupting you to tell you that this is all her fault and how sorry she is. She isn’t trying to speak over you, she just feels like you shouldn’t be the one doing the talking, she just needs to make sure you know how horrible she feels.

As you talk it out and come to terms with what has happened between you two, she’ll get happy again and start smiling at you. She’s just so overjoyed that you forgave her and are willing to keep trying with her. That’s all she can ask of you…please keep trying. Don’t give up on her.

She’s a good girl at heart and she’s trying her best with what she’s got.

CAITLYN 🤍

It’s actually very rare that you two fight. Caitlyn can be very stubborn and hard headed but she is always willing to compromise for you.

This time tho…she just lost control. She was having a rough week, feeling like she lacked confidence and security in her job, feeling the weight of her parent’s expectations of her and she just snapped at you.

Yeah…it stings but she would never say anything offensive to you. Ever. She might raise her voice at you and call you a pain in her ass but a crude name or insult would never leave her mouth when talking to you.

She probably just told you to shut up and leave her alone bc she’s stressed okay? She can’t handle you rn. She needs to be alone and think in silence.

If you’re upset and decide to leave her be, she’ll spend maybe an hour or two alone before she comes to find you. When she does, she takes your hands in hers and says your name so softly. If you’re not looking at her, she’ll pull her hand away from yours to gently grab your chin and turn your face to her. She pretty much forces eye contact and tenderly whispers an apology.

If you decide not to leave her, maybe you just back away and stay on the other side of the room. She’ll accept your presence as long as you’re quiet…and after the way she said “shut up”, you’re sure to keep quiet.

After maybe 20 minutes, she’s speaking up to apologize…but she’s still in a sour mood. Don’t let her stern apology fool you. You should probably just stay silent.

Soon she’s waving her hand at you as she mumbles “come here…” and you do. You go to her slowly, noticing how she’s watching you. Once you’re within arms length of her, she’s reaching for your hands and trying to look into your sad eyes. She’ll shyly apologize as her thumbs rub over your hands.

If you don’t accept her apology so quickly, she’s very mature about it. She’ll tell you that she accepts your response and then she’ll say how sorry she is again before leaving you to think about it more. She’ll give you space for as long as you need it. She’ll busy herself with other things while still thinking of what she can say to make you understand how sorry she is. She’ll take this time apart to really think about how much you mean to her and how she can better herself and your relationship.

If you immediately accept her apology, she’ll pull you into a tight hug and gently kiss your cheek before explaining herself to you. Caitlyn feels like she has to explain where she’s coming from and why she snapped like that. She needs you to know that she’s not upset with you and she shouldn’t have taken her anger out on you. She doesn’t want you thinking she’s mad at you when she’s actually mad at everything but you.

Whenever you decide to accept her apology, she wants to have a whole conversation about it immediately. Like I said, Caitlyn is very mature, very polite and caring. She wants to talk this out like a couple in love should. She wants to dive deep into your partnership and make sure you’re feeling okay.

She just cares about you so much. She never means to snap at you…she’s just under a lot of pressure. So when it does happen, she can’t just sweep it under the rug. She must be sure that you still love her and that you know she still loves you. Plz tell her you still love her.

[burnthoneydrops]

Could you do a fluff Jamie Tartt imagine where the reader takes care of a drunk Jamie who forgets that they've been dating for months and thinks they're back in their crush phase after they and the boys went out celebrating a win?

Drunk in the Back of the Car (j.t. x fem!reader)

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 654

warnings: language, alcohol

a/n: here you go love! i hope you like it and requests continue to be open!! (also first time writing for jamie so pls be kind lol)

The early 2000’s pop music blasting through the speakers was about to make your brain explode. The boys were celebrating a great victory in their match earlier that day and had all decided to crash this club that Colin had found. The flashing lights and sticky floors were slightly off-putting but the boys just wanted to celebrate and Jamie had insisted you came along too. Keeley and Roy were somewhere, probably at a table stuffed in a corner as Roy hated anyone spotting him. Isaac immediately bought a round of drinks upon entry and thus started the flow of alcohol. You were just glad that you and Jamie had agreed that you would drive home so he could properly celebrate. 

Speaking of your boyfriend, he was nowhere to be seen. A group of you had been gathered in front of the bar, chatting and drinking and dancing- though somewhat badly- and then as the night aged on and people found different things that piqued their interests, the group dispersed into smaller groups across the club. You were clumped together with Colin and Sam, chatting about the opposing team from the earlier match, while Colin interspersed some lyrics from the rap songs that were playing overhead. While laughing at Colin doing this weird dance while rapping, you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

“Your boyfriend is smashed,” Roy commented as he held Jamie under his arms. He was clearly having a hard time standing on his own and it seemed like Roy had dragged him from wherever they were previously stationed. 

“I’m fine grandad,” Jamie retorted, though slurred and he clearly had to put a lot of thought into the short sentence. 

“I’ll take him,” you smiled at Roy, silently thanking him for making sure Jamie got back to you. He nodded and passed Jamie over to you before he walked off, probably going back to find Keeley again. You grabbed one of Jamie’s arms and threw it over your shoulders, leaning his weight into you. “Looks like I’d better get this one home. Enjoy the rest of your night lads”. Sam and Colin say their goodbyes before going to find the other boys. 

“Woah, you better be careful there. I’ve got a girlfriend and I don’t think she’d like you touching me like this,” Jamie tries to stand up straighter to get away from you, but almost immediately tips back over. 

“I am your girlfriend,” you laugh. 

“No way,” Jamie says quietly, in an ‘I can’t believe it’ type of way. 

“Come on Jams, let’s get you home”. 

Despite the copious amounts of effort it took to get Jamie through your front door- which included him almost throwing up in the back seat of your car- you finally got him in bed in a semi-comfortable position. Once you were sure he wasn’t going to throw up in the bed, at least long enough for you to get ready for bed, you headed to the bathroom to take your makeup off and change out of your clubbing outfit. 

“Y/N?” You heard Jamie call from the bed. 

“Yes love?” you question, sticking your head out of the bathroom doorway. 

“How’d you get into my house?” 

“I have a key Jams,” you laugh. 

“Did I give you that?” He tilts his head. 

“How sloshed did you get Jamie?” You move closer to him, sitting down next to him on the bed. 

“Oh my god I’ve got Y/N in my bed,” he whispers more to himself. 

“I’ve been sharing a bed with you for the past two months, love,” you remind him, moving his hair away from his sticky forehead. 

“Holy shit, no way,” he mutters before passing out again. You laugh at his antics and go back to the bathroom, finishing your nighttime routine before grabbing some water and aspirin for the morning. You were so going to make fun of him tomorrow for this.

[abiiors]

cherry // ross macdonald x reader

valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer

a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see. cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also wc: 7.8k

it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there’s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified. 

next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.

every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds. 

on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips. 

he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon. 

he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye. 

more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard. 

the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him. 

“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off. 

“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh. 

this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip. 

ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.

“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head. 

ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”

it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview. 

there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—

the balcony door open with a creek. 

at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly. 

and so he follows suit. 

the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes. 

“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure

“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in. 

“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”

quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing. 

up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her. 

the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone. 

“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest. 

“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward. 

“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.” 

the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him. 

what the actual fuck is wrong with him!

he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside. 

george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare. 

“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside. 

ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.

there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things. 

a million things he’s got on his schedule…

but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her. 

he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do. 

ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room. 

shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning. 

he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs. 

he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before. 

ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust. 

ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts. 

his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.

thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands. 

ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan. 

this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl. 

his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room. 

fuck. fuck. fuck. 

ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.

his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it. 

with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue. 

fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride. 

somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system. 

he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after. 

yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do. 

he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again. 

until she shows up at the studio the morning after.

the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort. 

besides he has his to-do list cut out for him. 

last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder. 

“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows. 

ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan. 

everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy. 

tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them. 

“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”

behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly. 

there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.

unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback. 

this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.  

she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him. 

ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder. 

but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again. 

even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is. 

the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.

day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option) 

every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it. 

starting today he’s focused. he’s serious! 

that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance. 

she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.

shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs. 

his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth. 

“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest. 

“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”

he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size. 

her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest. 

her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes. 

for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug. 

he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak. 

“there.”

“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”

all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.

by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless. 

but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend. 

day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much. 

and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him. 

ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones. 

“you need anything?”

she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”

barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—

“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”

he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?” 

he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…

what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.

“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”

oh that’s certainly interesting. 

“just me? not the others?”

“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid. 

“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.” 

oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself. 

but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.

“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”

“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.” 

and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat. 

“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes. 

“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”  

this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him” 

she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.” 

“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”

“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.” 

and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days. 

so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?” 

“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.” 

“so you find me really interesting.”

he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.” 

this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt. 

“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”

he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass. 

it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out. 

his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”

the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!

“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”

but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode. 

“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully. 

the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps. 

“you’re cold.”

she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”

he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest. 

“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue. 

“‘s alright. you’re warm.”

“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”

it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest. 

“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”

“ever?”

that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”

he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.  

“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow. 

“you could try with me…”

“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest. 

“do you know what to do?”

she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”

“have you now?”

“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”

so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before. 

“should i light it then?”

she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined. 

once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her. 

“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”

his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag. 

“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind. 

“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”

she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again. 

ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.

“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing. 

“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold. 

“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.

his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside. 

just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side. 

ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss. 

“someone’s going to hear us”

“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”

his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet. 

he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch. 

“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”

his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth. 

“done what?”

“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”

“no? do you want to stop?”

she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”

ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”

just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers. 

“your hands are… i like your hands.”

“do you think about my hands a lot?”

“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.

“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”

she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again. 

“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”

“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”

he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again. 

“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”

she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again. 

“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”

“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.

“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”

“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear. 

it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.

“please!”

“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”

her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”

the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”

when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it. 

she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss. 

she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.

her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name. 

“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”

“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now. 

he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there. 

but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable. 

he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks. 

he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever. 

so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his. 

and he’s not about to do all that here of all places. 

“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”

instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before. 

then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her. 

ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.

“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”

“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”

when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth. 

“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice. 

she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there. 

“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all. 

“am i better?”

he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva. 

“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”

“like a gentleman,” she giggles.

he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly. 

“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”

lemme know what you think <33

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[freelancearsonist]

Hold Me Like a Knife

Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Rated MA for p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, handjobs, smoking/nicotine use, excessive drinking, characters not knowing how to handle emotions properly (same), ANGST [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

6,003 Words

A/N: thank you to the lovely @shakespeareanwannabe for being my ever faithful beta reader ily 🥺

Smoke disperses in abstract swirls from Joel’s parted lips, the tang of nicotine making his taste buds prickle. It’s been a long time since he’s been afforded the luxury of a cigarette and this first drag makes him think he might not want to pick the habit back up, after all. But you worked hard to find these for him after he mentioned he missed having a smoke, and he’s not one to let a gift go unappreciated. Especially now that gifts are off the table.

It’s become routine at this point. Waking up in the middle of the night; reaching for you, realizing all over again that you’re not there anymore; ruminating on what’s happened, how he’s taken you for granted. At least he has his cigarette to keep him company.

There’s no chance of going back to sleep for him–it’s 4AM anyway, close enough to a full night’s sleep. He takes another drag and decides it’s not as bad anymore. He just needs to get reacclimated to it.

He only allows himself to savor half the cigarette before he stubs it out in the ashtray on the nightstand–another gift from you–to save for next time he needs it. He wants to make this pack last; he doesn’t care as much about maintaining the habit as he does about having any little piece of you he can.

Two hours later, he’s bathed to the best of his ability given the stunted resources in the quarantine zone and ready for another day in hell.

He didn’t hate it nearly as much until he started working with you again.

When you see him you wear the same soft smile you always do, nodding your head in greeting as if nothing is wrong. His face remains flat as he nods back. Nothing he can do but play along–pretend you were never his to lose in the first place. After all, if you haven’t heard his heart fracturing into a million pieces by now, you never will.

“Either quit starin’ or go over there and talk to her,” Tess tells him sternly. He immediately snaps his eyes away and tries to shoot her a glare, but he’s a bit too embarrassed for it to actually land.

“M’not starin’,” he grunts.

She actually almost cracks a smile at his denial. “The hell you’re not, you look like a lost puppy. Why don’t you talk to her?”

“She ain’t interested in talkin’.”

“Bullshit. That’s all she wants.”

Maybe Tess is right. Maybe he’s the one who’s afraid. He’s not going to admit that, though.

“If she wanted to talk to me, she’d come talk to me.”

“You probably scared her off.”

Joel slams his hand against the wagon bed, startling everyone within a ten meter radius except Tess. “That’s enough.”

“Touchy.” Tess rolls her eyes but backs off nonetheless, not interested in poking the bear any further. 

Joel lets it go and turns his attention back to his assigned job for the day, mentally preparing himself for another night of washing the stench of death from himself and his clothes. Normally, you would do it for him without complaining. Now it’s just another addition to the list of efforts he didn’t appreciate enough while he had you.

Even though he dreads the consequences, he allows himself to become completely preoccupied with his work in a way he normally wouldn’t. It’s a reprieve from the constant swirling of his mind, from the overthinking that keeps him up at night or invades his dreams when he finally finds rest. 

The day is over far too soon, and then he’s back in his little apartment with nothing but his own mind for company.

His mind hasn’t been a friend lately.

He looks around and everywhere his dark amber eyes catch, he sees you. You sprawled on the worn couch underneath a threadbare blanket, you swaying your hips to the rhythm of silent music in the kitchen, you casually dropping the towel wrapped around your naked body to the floor as you step out of the shower and lure him down the hall to the bedroom.

He wants to crawl into a deep, dark pit when he remembers what he said and how he chased you away. Your only sin was introducing him to someone as your man, and he played like he was upset about it because that’s not what this was ever supposed to be. There had been an agreement, in the beginning, that feelings wouldn’t be involved. It would be you, him, separate, occasionally helping each other out. 

It so quickly turned into you and him, so inseparable you were practically living together. Neither of you even tried to stop it despite the agreement. And Joel was fine with it, liked it even. Until it was put into words.

Because he’s not supposed to be anyone’s. He’s Joel Miller, and he’s not deserving of belonging to anyone; including himself.

He didn’t mean to push you away. It was more out of instinct, an inborn urge to self-destruct.

The instinct has won, because he feels like mere pieces at this point. Like you’ve taken a sledgehammer to his heart repeatedly, which really isn’t fair to you. Space was his decision–you didn’t even fight it.

With a third of whiskey in his hand and an ache in his jaw from having it unconsciously clenched so long, he slumps down on his time-worn couch and begins a long night of rehashing mistakes and feeling bad for himself.

It could be so easily fixed if he just swallowed his pride. It’s a competition of will at this point–a game to see who can survive without the other for the longest. He hates that he’s losing, that it’s not affecting you; that even though it was his choice, he’s the one who’s suffering the most.

He must spill his drink–although he can’t find where it possibly could’ve been spilled, everything around him is dry–because it’s gone within a few minutes. He allows himself another glass as a reward for surviving a particularly shitty day.

When he comes to in the morning, there’s a pounding in his head so loud that it drowns out any other sound he might hear. It takes him a moment to realize that the pounding is on the door–then he processes how blinding the sun is coming through the slats of the tattered blinds precariously hanging over the window.

Joel pushes himself up from the couch with a grunt and stumbles a little, nearly falling right back into place. He curses himself for becoming such a lightweight as he stomps his way over to the door and throws it open.

“Jesus Christ, you reek,” Tess chokes, pushing past him to make her way inside. “I’ve only been knockin’ for ten minutes, what the hell were you doin’?”

“Sleeping,” he tells her with a pointed glare. It doesn’t ruffle her at all–it never does.

“Missed morning shift,” she notes. “How much you have to drink?”

“Not enough.”

“Alright, that’s it,” she tells him with a sigh. “It’s time to stop with the pity party if you’re not gonna play the hand you’re dealt. You know how stupid you’re being? She wants you. You want her. Two words’ll fix the whole thing and you’ll go right back to bein’ the disgusting little lovebirds you are. Apologize.”

“No,” he insists without thinking it over. Because he knows she’s right–he owes you an apology. And he also knows you’ll take him back the instant he delivers.

Which is exactly why he can’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve another chance to take you for granted. He didn’t appreciate you enough when he had you, and you deserve to find someone who will. Asking for another chance would be the most selfish thing he’s ever done, and Joel Miller is not a selfish man. 

“Then drink yourself to death.” As much as Tess plays at being frustrated with him, he’s never seen her this legitimately upset. “I’m done cleanin’ up for you. You’re acting pathetic, Joel Miller. Get yourself together or get yourself over.”

And before he can stop her, apologize, beg, plead, do anything besides bite his tongue in pure shock, she’s gone. The slam of the door rings through his head for a good minute longer than it should.

All he can do is slump like a sack of potatoes onto the couch, his center of gravity off balance from the weight in his heart and the churning in his stomach.

It was never supposed to be like this; it was never supposed to get this far. You were supposed to fight him, demand he stay, do anything to make him feel like you really want to be with him. Instead, you acquiesced without resistance. You listened to his offer of space and accepted without hesitance. Almost like you were looking for an out.

That’s what hurts most, maybe. That you can still afford to smile at him like nothing ever happened between you when he feels like he’ll never smile again.

He knows he can’t lose Tess over this–she’s the only friend he’s got and a damned good business partner. He knows it’s time to clean up his act. What he doesn’t know is if he actually can without you by his side.

Baby steps. He decides to start by showering and changing his clothes; the freshness should make him feel astronomically better.

He lets the limited hot water run over his sore muscles and through his hair, trying to wash away memories of you along with the dirt and grime. 

He thinks of long nights spent sneaking out after curfew–his pack heavy on his aching shoulders but barely feeling it when you’re so near. He thinks of nights in this apartment together, hours and hours spent reminiscing and planning new trips and even more hours spent in comfortable silence. He thinks of you on your knees in this very shower with him, of how he felt akin to a god beneath your praise and worship. 

He lets the thoughts swirl for just a moment, and then he watches as they trickle down the drain.

A towel off and a change of clothes later, and he’s almost a new man. The hole in his chest has shrunk a bit, at least.

One deep breath, then another. Joel can almost feel you slipping through his fingers, and for once the sensation doesn’t terrify him. There’s a quiet solitude, a resignation to his mind now. He’ll never be happy, and that’s okay. He might at least be able to find peace if he can’t have you.

He finds Tess and apologizes–at least in the best fashion Joel Miller can manage. It’s a grunted “sorry” and not much more, but it’s enough.

And then, because he has nothing else to do with his free time, he throws himself completely into survival. Working long shifts at the fires during the day, and even longer shifts as a smuggler at night. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes deepen and his hair grays rapidly, but he finds a way out. He finds a way away from you, and he doesn’t hesitate to take it.

Somehow, you beat him to Jackson. He doesn’t know how–he’s sure you were still in Boston when he left–but you’re waiting there for him when he arrives.

Waiting maybe isn’t the best way of putting it; you look at him like you’re looking at a poltergeist. Not just a ghost of your past, but a volatile and unpredictable one at that.

He can’t blame you. He ditched you, after all–not just emotionally, but physically.

You observe from afar for a while, like a timid animal meeting its first human. You watch his reunion with his brother, how he seems to fit like a puzzle piece into such a tight knit community. You even see him interacting with the young girl he’s brought along with him, and you wonder if he’s changed. If maybe he’s allowed his heart to open even just the slightest fraction.

The whole of Jackson gathers to greet this newest member, and you’re on the very edge of the crowd. But it’s like there’s an invisible string connecting the two of you—like the sea of people parts to make a path for your reunion.

Joel doesn’t know what to say. It’s been so long, and yet it feels like just yesterday he still had you in his arms.

You nod at him and awkwardly shuffle your feet against the cracked pavement. ”Hey.”

”Hey.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for you.

You don’t show the same restraint.

In mere seconds you’re on him, arms around his neck and lips pressed to his like he’s air—like if you don’t breathe him in you’ll die.

He grunts in surprise at the suddenness, but more at the fact that he can’t believe this is happening. That you’re really here, really in his arms, really kissing him.  He doesn’t know if it would be better to talk through everything first, but he’s missed you so badly that there doesn’t seem to be another way to communicate it other than to show you. His hands settle on your waist and pull you tightly against him, lips parting to allow your tongue access. It’s harsh and it’s frenzied, but it’s beautiful in the way a force of nature is.

And then you remember the prying eyes surrounding you and you reluctantly pull out of his grasp.

There’s a bit of muffled conversation and a particularly loud wolf-whistle from Tommy before the crowd disperses, and you’re alone together for the first time in more than a year.

”Sorry—“ “That was—”

He clears his throat, and you nod in signal for him to take his turn.

“How did you get here?”

“It was a fluke, really. I caught a radio broadcast and decided to check it out. The QZ didn’t feel like home anymore after you left.”

Joel tries as hard as he can not to read too far into that, but he can’t help the fleeting hope that it means you wanted to fix things. That maybe you weren’t as unbothered as you always seemed to be.

You clear your throat and continue. “But… what about you? Who’s the kid? Where’s Tess?” 

”I’m takin’ the kid to the fireflies. Tess is gone.”

Your face falls instantly. You’ve admittedly always been a little bit jealous of Tess and her closeness to Joel, but you never wished this upon her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Joel grunts noncommittally, and you’re left to awkwardly shuffle your feet while you think of something else to say. You’ve spent so much time apart, there should be so much more to talk about. But even in the QZ, talking was never your speciality—and it definitely wasn’t Joel’s. More than anything with him, you’re familiar with the comfortable silence that surrounds two people who’ve spent a lifetime together. Your lifetime with Joel just happened to be over the span of a couple of months; but that’s how it goes with someone who matches you so completely. There doesn’t have to be anything said when he already knows what you’re thinking—when you’re two parts of a whole.

”Sorry. About kissing you. I… I’m normally better controlled,” you mumble.

”Don’t be.” He clears his throat, shifts his feet—does everything within his power from making eye contact with you because he knows if he does he won’t be able to stop himself. “Wasn’t bad.”

”We did agree we weren’t gonna do that anymore,” you point out.

”That was back in the QZ.”

”And here?”

The hope in your voice is unmistakable. You’ve missed him, and that’s almost impossible for him to comprehend. Joel wants nothing more than to lean into your hope; to give you—and him—exactly what you want. You’ve missed out on so much time, and there’s little time available to make up for it.

Fuck it, he decides. “Here? I’m pullin’ my head out of my ass.”

And then he kisses you, and it’s not sweet. It burns—with passion, desire, regret. He presses his lips to yours like he’s finally realizing what he’s lost and might never get back. Joel Miller isn’t a man who can say sorry easily, but he says it to you now with his lips, and his tongue, and his hands.

It feels like you’re learning him all over again. You marvel at how tall he is, how broad his shoulders are as you run your palms across them. You revel in the softness of his lips and the contrasting scratch of his patchy beard. More than anything, you’re in awe of the feeling of his hands—how familiar they feel even after so long as they trail down your neck from your face on the way to your hips.

You pull away sooner than you want to, but you both seem to realize that you can’t just snog in the middle of the street. Most of the crowd has cleared out by now, but there’s a few sets of wandering eyes to worry about.

“Tommy didn’t happen to show you your house, did he?”

Joel’s brow furrows in the most adorable way as he suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings. 

“I have a house? Is that where he’s taken Ellie off to?”

“C’mon, follow me.” With a wave of your hand, you’re headed down the street. Joel stands frozen in disbelief for a moment, utterly dumbfounded that you’re really here and really still want him the way you used to. He has to jog the few steps to catch up to your side, and then every ounce of effort goes into not grabbing your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.

You clear your throat in preparation for the question you have to ask. “I… I swear I don’t want to push labels or anything, but… what exactly is going on here?”

Joel sighs, and it’s easy to mistake it as a sigh of annoyance. You open your mouth to expand on your question, but he stops you.

”I made a mistake. I know it, I knew it while I was makin’ it. But I didn’t stop myself because… because you deserve better.”

You open your mouth again, and he holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t argue. You know it’s true. And the thing is… I’ve spent a lot of time bein’ selfish, if fightin’ to survive can be called that. You’re good, and I don’t deserve to be selfish when it comes to you.”

”I want you to be selfish,” you insist as firmly as you can. “Joel, you don’t seem to understand how much I adore you, how much I rely on you. How much it hurt to lose you.”

He tries to shrug, but it’s half-hearted. There’s a kind of sick satisfaction to the fact that you were struggling just as much as he was. ”You seemed fine.”

”I was dying, Joel.” There are tears in your eyes now, and he feels guilty for insinuating that your pain wasn’t real.

”I was, too.”

”I just wish you would’ve talked to me,” you whisper. “I could’ve made it better. Things could’ve been different.”

”But they aren’t.” His tone is firm, but not malicious. He’s not trying to be mean—all he wants is for you to understand that there’s no point dwelling on the past. It’s something he’s learned over twenty years; that no matter how hard to focuses on all the mistakes he’s made and the things he regrets, there’s no way to undo any of them. No point in focusing on them at all, really.

”I… I miss you,” you tell him. “I don’t wanna keep going to bed alone and waking up wishing you were there. I don’t want to pretend we’re just friends with benefits or whatever the fuck we were supposed to have been. I don’t want to lose you over any more stupid arguments. I loved you, Joel. I still do.”

Joel swallows thickly. He’s known for a long time how he feels, and he also knows he doesn’t deserve to feel the way he does. Telling you might be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. ”I love you too.”

”Then can we… stop being stupid?” There’s a giggle behind your tears, and it brings the smallest of smiles to his face.

”Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He kisses you again, pausing on the steps of the house he’s supposed to occupy so he can pull you tightly into his arms. This one is sweeter, almost like a promise. Like he’s going to be a new man and this is his seal of authentication.

He scoops you up in his arms despite your squeal of protest, barely pausing enough to read the note on the door.

Took Ellie on a grand tour. We’ll meet y’all at dinner. - Tommy

You glance at your watch, then look up into his eyes. He’s thinking exactly what you are; his dark eyes are burning with tension. ”A whole hour of pure uninterrupted bliss. What’re we gonna do with ourselves?”

”I’ve got a couple ideas,” Joel grunts as he pushes the door open with his back, careful not to jostle you too much. “Startin’ with makin’ up for lost time.”

This time, he kisses you like you’re unbreakable. Like he’s diamond and testing your hardness, and you’re determined to meet his standards. You meet his lips with ferocity and take the initiative to slide your tongue over his bottom lip, reveling in the slight uptilt of his lips as he parts them for you.

You’re still in tune to his reactions, even after so long. You still know exactly where to pull his hair to make his hips buck towards you, where to kiss his neck to make him moan, where to place your hands so he’ll pull you impossibly tighter against him. He’s a puzzle you solved long ago, and even after taking the pieces apart you know where to put them back together again.

Joel’s head is all but spinning as he pulls you deeper inside, ignoring the urge to explore the unfamiliar surroundings for now in favor of finding a place that’s suitable to take you. He’s feverish and hurried, far from gentle because he knows he doesn’t need to be. You’re taking everything he’ll give and more. Later, there will be time for the gentle love-making that he admittedly prefers sometimes. For now, it’s desperate, wild, overwhelming in the best way possible. It’s getting reacquainted after so much time apart—old lovers using old tricks.

His hands have gotten rougher and even more calloused, but they remember you like it’s only been days since they were last on you. His palms trace every curve like you’re precious art. He holds you like water, like the slightest mishandle will send you spilling away from him; in complete contrast to the way he kisses you, harsh and nearly biting. It fogs your mind, sends you into autopilot. Your muscle memory takes command as you strip him bare and toss his clothes to the side, appreciating how little he’s changed besides the length of his hair and the extra gray that’s sprouted. He’s still your Joel, even after being apart for what seems like a lifetime.

”I never appreciated you enough,” he whispers into your neck as he unhooks your bra with a snap of his fingers. “Never worshiped you the way I should’ve.”

”I’m not a god,” you tell him, breath heavy even after parting from his lips.

”You are to me,” he mumbles into your skin, contrasting the honeyed praise with a stinging bite to the precise spot that makes your back arch.

He trails gentler bites down the flesh of your torso, leaving marks that contrast his statement. Gods aren’t meant to be owned, and yet he claims you in every way he can. He lays on you any little trace of his possession he can, because he knows how easily it could be taken away from him. He lost you once before, marks faded from your skin completely. He doesn’t ever want it to happen again.

The scent of you is heady, mouth-watering to a mind that was so sure it would never have you again. He knows he’s pressed for time, and he really does consider taking all of it to drink from you; to get his fill and leave himself unsatisfied if he has to.

But you’re whining and squirming, tugging at his hair in a feeble attempt to pull him up to you, and he knows he’d much rather give you what you want.

You’re wet enough to take him, but it’s still nearly painful when he pushes his full length into you for the first time in so long. He growls at the sensation, at every little pulse and flutter of your cunt around him as you struggle to accommodate him.

Your breath is airy and whiny as you glance up at him. ”Joel…”

”I know baby,” he coos, fighting for restraint so he doesn’t hurt you. “I know it’s a lot. But you can take it pretty girl, can’t you?”

You would take literally anything so long as he keeps talking to you like that.

You nod up at him, but it’s not enough.

”Words, honey. Tell me you can take me.”

He doesn’t miss the way your cunt contracts around him as you vow, “I can take you, Joel.”

”Atta girl.”

He starts off easy, slow enough not to overwhelm you but deep enough to nearly make you choke. His hips are flush with your ass at the base of every stroke, like he’s trying to push even further with each thrust of his hips. Maybe he is. Maybe all he wants is to get deeper and deeper until there’s nothing left out—until you’ve consumed him completely. He already feels halfway there as it is.

Your legs wrap around his waist in a desperate attempt to que him in on what you need—not long, languid strokes but hard, fast thrusts that’ll get the job done quickly. There is a time constraint to factor in, after all.

He grants your wish instantly, glad for the invitation because he’s finding it hard to continue his facade of self-control. He ruts hard and fiercely, one hand trailing from your waist to your knee so he can prop your leg up and allow an even deeper angle.

With the slightest shift of his hips he finds it—the spot that makes you writhe and scream for more. He revels in all the noises you make for him as you toss your head back and forth, like the pleasure is so overwhelming that you want to squirm away yet press closer simultaneously.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbles as his free hand finds its way between your entangled bodies. It’s almost like you’re magnetic, his fingers find your clit so easily. The small, firm circles he rubs against it with his calloused fingers are almost too much, but also almost not enough. Not until he picks up his pace, drilling into exactly where you need him with a fervor you didn’t even know he possessed.

It takes all the effort you can muster to warn him, ”S-so close…”

”I know sweetie,” he purrs, breath heavy against your ear as he shifts his hand to hitch your leg just the slightest bit higher over his hip. “It’s okay. Let go f’me.”

You’re nothing if not obedient, and Joel knows it. It’s only confirmed by the way you squeeze around him in a vice grip, legs shaking in his grip as your eyes practically roll back in your head. It’s bone-shattering pleasure, like he’s pulling you apart stitch by stitch and sewing you back together again with newer, more pleasurable fabric.

He’s quick to pull out, maybe a little prematurely as you’re still twitching with the aftershocks of your own orgasm, but even his pleasure-addled brain knows the risk he runs if he stays buried deep inside you any longer. He gives himself two, three firm strokes, then allows himself to spill over your stomach in thick, hot ropes that make you moan all over again.

He doesn’t hold himself up much longer before collapsing on the too-soft mattress with a heavy grunt.

”Missed this,” you murmur next to his ear as he drapes an arm over your waist. He pulls you in close and hums at the way you nuzzle your face into his neck despite how sweaty he must be.

“How much time we got left?”

You take a peek at your watch, then groan. “Five minutes.”

”Shit.” He’s not ready to let you go yet, but he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of the bed anyway.

”We could just skip dinner,” you suggest with a hopeful pout to your lips as you stretch out further over the floral bedspread.

As much as he wants to… “Can’t. Gotta grab Ellie. Can’t leave her alone all day.”

”You must really care about her.” There’s no malice to your tone—it’s more surprise. 

He simply grunts in response—he’ll never admit it, but he can’t deny it either. “C’mon. Clothes on.”

He gathers the pile from the floor and tosses it to you, practically burying you where you lay.

”Forgot how bossy you are,” you grumble but follow the instruction nevertheless.

It’s a little awkward, sitting across the table from your lover’s family like your legs aren’t still a little weak from being so thoroughly fucked. But Joel’s hand is a constant on your thigh, and you even catch him smirking a little as Ellie grills you with a million questions—mostly about your relationship with Joel. 

For once, everything feels normal. For once, you forget about the crumbling world around you. In this bubble with Joel, everything is stable and secure. There’s a future on the horizon and a chance to write your own story.

You drag Joel back home at the soonest opportunity, patiently biding your time while he settles Ellie in for the night. You hear heated conversation bordering on an argument, but he doesn’t say anything about it when he enters the room for the night.

Instead he drags you to him in a heated kiss, his large hands practically engulfing your face as his tongue sweeps into your mouth to re-familiarize himself with known yet long-unexplored territory.

He hates having to tamp down your moans, but he loves being able to swallow them with his own mouth as his fingers trace through your slick folds. You’re still puffy, wet, and sensitive from his earlier onslaught, but it doesn’t deter you one bit. He revels in each little whimper and gasp, all the involuntary squirms and twitches as he brings you to the brink on his thick, calloused fingers. He swallows every little sound with a fevered kiss until your lips are swollen and red—and then you turn the tables on him. You take him in your palm, whispering praises about how your hand can barely close around him while stroking him with the gentle, languid movements that you know drive him crazy. He fights to keep his sounds down as you settle close in his lap, chest pressed to his and legs locked tight around his thighs until the moment he has to pull your hand away from fear of finishing too fast.

This is the exact foil of the way he fucked you earlier in a frenzied, desperate passion. Now it’s soft and languid, more like searching and exploring than trying to find the end goal. It’s hot and sweaty and sticky from where your skin is pressed so tightly against his, but his strong hands only drag you closer and closer and you really don’t even consider pulling away—not when he gently tugs your hair to tilt your head back for a deeper kiss, not when he lifts you up so effortlessly to help you sink down on his achingly hard cock, not even when his hands squeeze your hips hard enough to leave bruises at the feeling of bottoming out in your soaked cunt.

You couldn’t count the minutes you’re on top of him even if you cared to try. It’s an eternity of softly rocking hips and open-mouthed kisses, like if he breathes air from anywhere besides your lungs it’ll poison him. He doesn’t even care that it practically feels like torture—like not enough but simultaneously far too much as you do nothing more than rock on his length. It takes a lifetime before he loses his patience and anchors your hips in his capable hands so he can fuck you properly. He guides you to bounce on him, hitting deeper with each perfectly matched upward thrust of his own hips.

You’re falling apart before you even know what’s hit you, biting your lip almost to the point of drawing blood to keep your sounds under control as you fall limp in his arms.

And Joel—sweet, sweet Joel—has the foresight to check in with you before he does what he has to.

”Good, baby? Feel okay? Wanna stop?”

You shake your head, and it takes you a moment to find breath enough to tell him, “Don’t stop. Come in me.”

The demand is so unexpected that it hits him like a tidal wave—and before he knows it, his cock is twitching with forceful spasms as he paints you from the inside out until you’re dripping his spend out around his softening length.

Evidently, you’re not the only one caught up in this bubble of paradise within the walls of Jackson.

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls onto his side so he can hold you closer without his cock slipping from your warmth. That’s exactly how you fall asleep—him snuggly inside you, kissing your hair and whispering the sweetest of nothings into your ear.

When you wake up, you feel empty in more ways than one.

There’s dust particles swirling in the sunbeam streaming through the far window, and your stomach sinks when you reach over and feel Joel’s side of the bed completely cold.

You try not to jump to conclusions, but you know exactly what you’ll find even before you read the note left on the nightstand.

Easier not to say goodbye. I promised I’d take Ellie to the Fireflies, and you know I always make good on my promises.

I promise I’ll come back for you.

Joel

It’s not a promise that he can make with complete certainty, and you know it. You’re sure he knew it, too; and yet he did it anyway, promised you the impossible. 

You remember far too suddenly that there’s risks involved with literally anything done in this crumbling, broken world—and just like that, the perfect little bubble you’ve lived in for the past sixteen hours has popped. There’s no fairytale endings here, no happily ever afters. 

There’s you, alone and aching, hoping beyond hope the man you love will return to your side.

And there’s Joel, out in the wilderness somewhere, wondering if he’s even worthy of returning to your side.

Maybe he’s not. But maybe making good on this promise—dropping Ellie off so they can find a cure—will tip his scales. Maybe he’ll be worthy of finally settling down with you the way he wants to after this one last job. He knows he’ll have to spend hours upon hours apologizing to you for it, but it would be worth it to know that he finally made the world at least a little bit better rather than worse—to know that he’s finally done something for you to be proud of.

He knows he has to prove himself one way or another before he can return to your side. And he will.

After all, Joel Miller is a man who always makes good on his promises.

THE END

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[rebouks]

Robin’s first day at school after the winter holidays was just like any other; painful, overwhelming, and slightly boring.

There was a myriad of reasons he didn’t want to be here, but Oscar and Courtney were adamant it was somehow important-.. and mandatory, so Robin didn’t have a choice. They’d become immune to his avoidant shenanigans over time too, no longer were they so easily fooled, even when he’d made himself sick on purpose.

 He’d given up eventually, the worried glances they’d exchange each morning proving to be as tiresome as school itself. Pretending to be fine was better than being shipped off to some snooty shrink again; one who wouldn’t believe him anyway, who couldn’t even imagine the nonsense he was subject to on a daily basis, despite their fancy certificates hanging behind their fancy desks.

Robin was completely mute whilst at school, save for the odd whisper to Jude or sometimes Jacob, if necessary-.. but never Juniper. She was too condescending with her concern and far too obvious. He wanted to fade into obscurity, not be thrust into the limelight by an overzealous cousin trying to do the “right” thing by speaking on his behalf.

He’d resorted to telling her off in the end, her lip quivering as he explained how she was only making things worse. Robin wasn’t sure what had surprised her more, the fact that he was so vehemently opposed to being defended, or that he’d spoken to her at all. She’d acquiesced though, so that was something.

The only person he spoke to properly was nurse Wiles, or Silvia, as she insisted at this point. The cacophony of voices and Robin’s general disdain for being trapped in this hellish building for six hours a day usually resulted in a pounding headache and a disgusting, dissolvable aspirin; he was her most frequent visitor, discounting the child that was practically allergic to everything in sight.

He kept to himself as much as he could, scrawling out enough work to avoid being pulled up and listening to music wherever he could. He had a solid collection of tiny I-pod shuffles and headphones by now, enough to rotate between classes as they inevitably wound up being seized by exasperated adults.

His favourite deception were the decoy headphones, their obnoxious size drawing immediate attention and victorious confiscation. He’d huff and hand them over in defeat, only to thread a smaller more inconspicuous pair beneath his shirt and tuck them under his thick, curly mop as soon as their backs were turned; they were none the wiser, content with their perceived punishment. Robin thought teachers were supposed to be smart…

Though Robin’s long tangle of curls were useful in some ways, they also drew their fair share of unwanted attention. As if being provoked, shoved, tripped, and called “Mutey” wasn’t enough, he was often referred to as a girl, particularly by the other boys.

He wasn’t entirely sure why it was so hilarious, or why it never got old, especially since it was painfully obvious by now that he didn’t give a shit. He was used to being the proverbial punching bag. Being as different as he was obviously made him an easy target, almost as though he had a bullseye permanently woven into the fabric of his jumper.

He’d surmised that they had their reasons for picking on him though; some had parents who were just as cruel, some had none at all, some were desperate to fit in, and some were just too stupid to know any better.

Either way, Robin had decided a long time ago that he’d rather they mithered him with their so-called bullying than risk upsetting some poor schmuck who wasn’t privy to the concealed insecurities that diluted their venomous words and wicked laughter.

Most of Robin’s classes were raucous, yet dull. He could barely hear himself think over the combined clamour of diligent workers and class clowns, and since he could usually glean the answers to any questions from his classmates or the teachers themselves, he never saw much point in trying.

He knew it probably wasn’t great to miss out on the “working out” part of the work, but it was too hard to concentrate even if he’d wanted to. Oscar always helped him with his homework after dinner anyway, so a least he wasn’t going to end up completely lacking in the brain cell department-.. hopefully.

Swimming lessons and PE weren’t so bad, but art was his favourite class of all. Most people got too caught up in what they were doing to daydream noisily or obsess over potentially incorrect answers. There was no right or wrong when it came to creation, and Robin was actually good at drawing, painting, or whatever else his sticky fingers fancied throwing together.

His art teacher even let him wear his headphones during class too, so he’d get to sit at the back of the room in a blissful cocoon of loud music and pencil shavings, wishing every period were this laid back.

All in all, school was utter shite; and at the end of each terrible day when the bell finally rang, Robin was beyond glad that it was over.

Previous // Next

[halfmoth-halfman]

Preserve Your Love In A Field Of Tulips

Pairing: Kento Nanami x GN!Reader Word Count: 3.9k Warnings: fluff, whump, bruises, blood, injury, shibuya aftermath, nanami survives shibuya A/N: we got the winner of the last fic poll!! it's my first fic in a while so i hope y'all enjoy it, and if you notice typos...no you didn't lmao

You grow up next to a field of wildflowers, in a house that smells of summer and honey.

It’s been in your family for generations, a cozy two-story away from the noise and chaos of the city. As a child, your mother told you stories of it being built by a grandfather of a grandfather trying to find a place for himself in the world. The story changed each time, every retelling more fantastical than the last. Sometimes she claimed he came to this field to escape a great evil that haunted his family home. Other times she claimed that he’d fallen in love with a spirit that lived among the wildflowers and built his home here in hopes of seeing her again.

Your father’s explanation was far more practical, and probably closer to the truth. A simple story of a man wanting to see the world and build a legacy of his own without the overbearing opinions of his family. 

Whatever the truth, the house is yours now. 

Your little paradise, a space lovingly carved out of the world and meant just for you.

You do your best to honor their memory, to care for this gift you’ve been given properly. You tend to your mother’s herb garden, care for the shubunkin and tamasaba in your great uncle’s pond, and leave little pieces of yourself throughout the house to make it your own. 

You don’t mind the routine, finding peace in the feel of the sun warming your skin and the soft glow of fireflies at night. You know this is a gift meant to be shared, something made to pass on to your children and their children after. There’s no rush, you tell yourself. You’re content in your solitude, satisfied with the few close friendships you’ve nurtured over the years. Of course, those friendships were from your time spent abroad with no one close enough to actually meet with in person.

Maybe the isolation can be a bit much, but it’s not like you can’t visit the city at any time. 

“You have your whole life to find love,” your mother once told you while you helped her wash dishes, a knowing smile on her kind face. She’d taken a moment to lean down to you, glancing at your father as she whispered conspiratorially into your ear, “And this place has a way of sending you exactly what you need when you least expect it.” She winked at you then, returning to the dishes while humming a soft tune.

She spoke about your home like that often, as if it were a living, thinking thing. You struggled to believe her even as a child, sharing in your father’s more “practical” line of thought.

You should’ve known that even in death your mother was always right. 

Seven summers after you inherit the house, a week of harsh rains and unnatural winds leaves your land a mess of mud and branches. You spend far too many days trying to salvage your flooded herb garden and saving your fish from their overflowing pond. Only when the land is somewhat cleared does the storm return, disappearing and reappearing in patterns that purposely inconvenience you. 

You’re fed up, sitting hopelessly on the rain-soaked steps of your porch as the storm rages around you when a stranger appears.

Umbrella in hand, wearing a tan suit and strange sunglasses, the man politely ushers you inside “for your own safety”. It’s the only thing he says to you, offering no explanations for why he’s here or how he found this place. Sealed inside your house, no light except for the lightning flashing through your windows, you rush to the living room, climbing atop your couch to peer through your curtains and search for the stranger in your yard. 

It’s not hard to spot the blonde of his hair even through the heavy downpour, but your attention is immediately drawn to the massive creature swatting at him from the clouds. It’s grotesque, a twisted form of sharpened teeth and bloated, purple arms. The man is seemingly unbothered, dodging its swings with ease. The creature roars, echoes of thunder rattling the walls of your house. The skin on its many arms burst open, bolts of lightning shooting from its veins. The light is blinding, its roar pressing painfully into your eardrums until you’re crouched on your living room floor with your eyes shut and hands squeezing against your ears.

You don’t realize it’s over until a warm hand is laid on your shoulder, and you find the man crouched in front of you. He’s soaked, dripping red-tinted rainwater onto your floor, but he looks at you with genuine concern. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. 

So many questions swirl around your head: Who are you? What was that thing? Did you kill it? How did you do that? How did you know to come here? 

“Did that thing hurt my fish?” Is what leaves your mouth. The man blinks, surprise briefly flashing across his face. 

“I don’t think so.” 

You sag forward without thinking, your head coming to rest on his shoulder with a relieved sigh. Already you can feel exhaustion creeping in, your eyes sliding closed as you mutter a soft thanks. 

The man clears his throat, shifting awkwardly beneath you.

“The garden will need some work, however.”

He’d introduced himself as Kento Nanami, politely offering to help clear out your garden before he left. You’d declined, exhausted and defeated, but thanked him nonetheless. He helped you to your feet, guiding you around the puddles on your floor as he brought you to the stairs. It took three times to assure him that you could make it to your room by yourself, and he still waited until you were at the top of the steps to take his leave.

It only takes you a day to convince yourself it was nothing more than a vivid dream brought on by stress and too little sleep. It’s easier to believe, far easier than the idea of a handsome stranger showing up in the middle of a storm to fight a massive sky demon in your front yard. If something so crazy had actually happened, surely there would be evidence of it. Yet, there are no stains on your living room floor, no destruction in your herb garden aside from some extra mud, no giant, bloated sky demon corpse lying around.

There’s nothing but your memories of an admittedly wild dream…

Nothing but your memories, and the handsome, blonde man dressed in a tan suit standing at your front door a week later. He ignores the stunned look on your face, holding up a blue gift bag decorated with cartoon goldfish and a talking turtle. You wordlessly take the bag, peering inside in equal parts curiosity and disbelief.

Lights shaped like white lotus flowers, polished rocks, and two yellow duck figurines. 

“A few pieces from your pond were damaged,” he explains. “Fish can get stressed if there are extreme changes to their environment.”

“You…” You blink up at him, trying to come to terms with the fact that the handsome man from your dream is, in fact, real and bringing you decorations to calm your fish. “It's Kento, right?”

“I apologize for the abrupt visit–”

“Where’d you put the body?” 

You’ve stunned him into silence once more, Kento staring at you with his mouth slightly open. He composes himself quickly, straightening with a small cough.

“The body?”

“The sky demon. That was real, right? I didn’t dream that? I don’t think I did ‘cause that would mean I dreamt you up, which…well, I might have – you seem like the type I’d dream of. But you’re standing in front of me right now, and I’m definitely not asleep. Unless I’m hallucinating…” 

You reach out without thinking, snatching your hand back the moment your fingertips meet the solid muscle of his torso. “Nope, you’re real and I’m...making a fool of myself.”

“It’s a lot to process,” he nods. You nod in return, eyes bouncing back between him and the bag in your hands. “I’m sure you need time–”

He takes a step back, and that’s all you need to snap back to reality.

“Yes, well no…” He pauses, waiting patiently as you take a deep breath to gather your words. 

“Thank you for the gift and the–” you gesture up to the clear, blue sky, “–demon…thing. If you’d like, you can come inside for a bit.”

Kento raises his brows, and you think you catch the brief twitch of his mouth. “That’s not necessary–”

“It’s more for me, really. I think I’m still trying to process…everything, and I could use the company.” 

You notice the way he glances down, a short look to the nervous smile on your lips to the shaking of your hands around the handles of the gift bag. If the rambling doesn’t give your nerves away, the rest certainly does, but Kento is polite enough not to mention it. 

“Alright,” he nods, lips pulled into a small smile. 

Over the afternoon, Kento eases you through a simple explanation of the curse – not demon – that had tried to make a home in your skies. The explanation leads into a wider conversation about curses as a whole and his role in dealing with them. He’s vague but patient, answering your questions in a calm manner that soothes your anxiety without going into detail. There’s more silence than there is conversation, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re sure he feels sorry for you, watching you try to navigate as your world gets flipped on its head.

Guilt sets in by late afternoon when you realize that his work is far more important than wasting time comforting you. You thank him for staying, letting him leave with more thanks than he’s probably comfortable with. He offers to come back in a few weeks if you need, but you assure him you’re fine. 

He gives you a smile, one you’re coming to understand means he sees right through your lies, before gesturing to the gift bag sitting on your coffee table. 

“I look forward to seeing what you do with the pond, then,” he says. “Since you’re sure you’re alright.”

He’s walking away before you can argue, and you swear you catch the hint of a smirk. 

Kento visits three weeks later, keeping his word as he heads straight to your pond.

You took a trip to the city and bought a few more decorations since his visit, working on getting the pond back to normal as a way to distract your mind. You think you’ve come to terms with the idea of curses, though the feeling of being watched has spiked your paranoia.

“Not bad,” he hums, crouching down to assess the duck figurines you have next to the small waterfall.

“The fish seem to appreciate it,” you shrug, watching your fish happily circle the pond. He gives a contemplative hum, running a finger along the water’s surface to watch one of the tamasaba follow along the ripples. A comfortable silence stretches over the pond, broken a few moments later by the ringing of Kento’s phone. 

He stands, taking a few steps away before answering. You take his place at the pond’s edge, content to watch the fish circle along the gentle waves and listen to Kento’s murmurs into his phone. He hangs up with a deep sigh, rejoining you at the pond. 

“More demon stuff to deal with?” you ask teasingly. 

“Next time I’ll bring something for the garden,” he says, watching the fish circle for a few seconds before looking to you.

“Next time?” 

He nods, and you smile wide, “Next time, then.” 

Kento visits two weeks later, a bag of star-shaped lights that he spends the afternoon stringing along your garden fence. He sticks around until after the sun sets – just to make sure the lights work, he claims – promising to fix the loose step on your porch before he leaves. 

Once your step is fixed, he insists on fixing the missing piece to your porch railing. 

After that, it’s the way your kitchen window squeaks when you slide it open. 

Then, it’s the loose knob on your front door.

Then the uneven chair at your dining table.

The bent bottom shelf of your bookcase. 

The crooked picture in the upstairs hallway.

Fixes turn to small talk turns to long conversations turns to lunch in the herb garden turns to sunsets by the pond. 

“What happens when there’s nothing left to fix?” you ask, watching the last of the sun’s light disappear beyond the horizon. “You have to be running out of stuff by now.” You try not to sound anxious, try not to worry that this may only be a passing fancy for him.

Kento pauses, finger still on the pond’s surface. He thinks for a moment, soft breeze ruffling the fabric of his blue shirt. A shiver skims across your skin, and you pull his jacket tighter around your shoulders. 

“Nothing to fix…” he mutters, pulling his hand from the pond to pick up one of the duck figurines. He glances at you before holding the duck up and letting go. You gasp as it breaks against the stone next to him. Kento’s gaze slides to you, a smirk stretched across his handsome face as he picks up another duck. A playful hum as he pretends to think, letting the second duck drop and break. 

“Looks like you need new ducks.” 

You don’t try to hide your laughter, playfully shoving against his shoulder as he sweeps the figurine pieces into a small pile. 

He stays an extra ten minutes that night, cleaning up the broken ducks and double-checking that nothing got into the pond. When you hand his jacket back, he refuses to take it. Instead, he makes you promise to return it when he comes back with new ducks and departs with a kiss on your cheek that has you too stunned to argue. 

After seven months of fixing, then breaking, then fixing again, you stand across from Kento in your living with nothing left for him. Nothing to break nor to fix. You’re sure that won’t stop him – you can see him already eyeing your bookcase – but you’re tired of your things caught in a constant state of not quite usable.

You have a much better idea. One that’s been stewing in your brain since he first appeared at your door with a bag of pond decorations. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip when his back is turned, pulling at the skin until it gives and you taste iron. The sting makes you hiss, and Kento turns to you with a startled quickness. His eyes immediately fall to the blood on your lips, watching intensely as your tongue darts out to lick it away. 

“Any way you can fix–”

One hand on your jaw, the other on your neck, Kento pulls you forward until his lips are on yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, the sting pulling a sharp gasp from your mouth. He swallows it with another kiss, a desperate groan as his hand slides from your jaw into your hair. 

You part from him with a soft push, but he refuses to go far, leaning his forehead against yours. The hand on your neck moves to cup your cheek, thumb gently tracing the cut on your lip. 

“Better?” he rasps, pulling his fixated gaze from your mouth to your eyes. 

“Not sure,” you breathe, leaning in until your lips brush against his. “You might have to do it again.”

Over the next two years, you learn just how difficult life can be loving a Jujutsu sorcerer. 

While each moment spent with Kento is nothing short of bliss, it makes his absence all the more painful. Nights without him are spent worrying over his safety, doing everything in your power to not call the one number he’d given you in case of emergencies. Pain lingers in your chest every time you watch him walk out the door, threatening to squeeze your heart until it pops. 

Despite your feelings, you let him go every time.

And every time he returns to you. 

Most of the time he’s exhausted, and you’re more than happy to take care of him, to get him fed and washed and safe in bed. Sometimes he returns with new bruises or the occasional stitched wound. You fuss over him, and, despite his insistence that you don’t need to, he lets you do it.

The worst is when not all of him makes it back. It’s rare – Kento isn’t one to let his work affect his home life – but it does happen. On those days he sits by the pond, watching the fish go in circles for hours on end while you tend to the garden or pick wildflowers to decorate the house. 

He comes back to himself slowly, always apologizing with overwhelming affection when he’s more himself. There’s no reason for him to be sorry, you’ve told him so countless times. He’s here with you and that’s all you need.

He shares his plans with you late those nights, dreams of the two of you on a beach in Malaysia. You’re lulled to sleep by the whispered fantasies of the ocean breeze, the sun on your skin, and a ring on your finger. 

The first time you meet Takuma Ino, you slap him.

You don’t mean to – you’ve heard so many good things about him from Kento – but he appears on your doorstep, face bruised and spirit broken, and the words come spilling out of his mouth as thick and harsh as his tears. 

Curses. Attack. Shibuya. 

Burning. Kento. 

Not sure if he’ll make it.

You act before you think, leaving yet another mark on his already wounded face. You apologize immediately, but he takes it in stride. A pained smile on his face, Ino helps you pack a bag and brings you to Jujutsu High for the first time. 

Your introduction to Shoko is the stench of cigarettes and being bluntly told there’s little chance of Kento surviving his injuries. You’re too tired to worry, only desperate to see him. She gives you a pitying smile, allowing you and Ino into the infirmary. 

Your strength leaves you the moment you lay eyes on Kento’s bandaged form. Ino keeps you steady, a hand grasping your arm to keep you upright while he slides a chair over for you. You collapse into the chair, eyes fixated on your love.

You’ve seen him injured, but never to this extent. Only his upper half is visible to you, his torso and left arm completely wrapped in bandages. Those bandages extend up the left side of his neck, packed with gauze as it covers the left side of his face. 

You reach over, gently brushing a piece of his hair from his face. His face contorts, a pained groan escaping his lips. You pull your hand back, heart-shattering at his labored breaths. 

You’ve seen him soft, vulnerable, hurt, but never weak. 

He groans again, muscles tensing, hand fisting into the thin sheet over his lower half. You set your hand over his, tenderly running your thumb across his knuckles. Murmurs of praise and love rush past your lips as you try to comfort him. 

Ino sets a hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. A silent question if you’re alright. You look back at him with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You give his hand a light squeeze, a million thanks on the tip of your tongue. 

He moves your bag next to your chair, eyes glancing to the infirmary door. 

“If you need anything…” he says softly. You nod, watching Ino give Kento one last look of deep anguish before he forces himself away. 

His footsteps fade. The door clicks shut. Kento groans, blood staining the bandages on his face. 

You weep. 

Recovery is long and hard. 

The first weeks back home are spent struggling to adjust, Kento to his slow healing injuries and you to his attitude. He’s never angry or short with you, always appreciative of your efforts, and far more considerate of your feelings than his own, but you can see the exhaustion in his face. You catch the way he deflates when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way he frowns whenever he passes by a mirror, the way he politely avoids your affection.

He may not voice it, but you know he feels defeated. 

You keep yourself in good spirits, telling yourself that your optimism will catch on eventually.

And it does.

Months pass and Kento learns to move more, talk more, smile more. Ino visits on occasion, the two of you playfully bullying Kento into getting the rest he deserves while you make dinner. Shoko once a week, then once every other week, then once a month, keeping an eye on Kento’s recovery. Her visits aren’t long, and she’s still terribly blunt with you, but you go out of your way to ensure she knows how grateful you are to her, and she gives you a rare smile just before she leaves.

Things are good for the most part. Bad nights still happen, as they are bound to after what he’s been through. Nights when Kento’s trapped in his memories until you manage to wake him. Nights when he can’t sleep, sitting out by the pond until long after the sun has risen. Nights when he flinches at even the softest of touches from you. 

You worry. How could you not? But you’re there for him every step of the way, supporting him when he needs you there and giving him space when he doesn’t. 

He kisses you again six months after Shibuya. After a particularly bad nightmare, you coax him back into the waking world only to have him collapse into sobs against your chest. You hold him, soothe him, let him finally have this release. He sobs through apology after apology, to you, to Ino, to people you’ve never heard of. Everything spills out of him, every worry, every impossible dream, every fear, the neverending paranoia that one day you’ll regret wasting so much time on him.

“Never in my life would I regret you, Kento Nanami,” you tell him, hand softly cupping the ruined half of his jaw. “You’re stuck with me forever.”

He kisses you then, desperate and wanting, and you spend the night showing him every way you could love him now and forever. 

A year and a half after Shibuya, you lay in the field of wildflowers near your home with your fingers woven through the mottled and warped ones of your husband. It’s a peaceful afternoon spent gazing at clouds, sharing carefully sliced oranges, and basking in the warmth of the sun.

Kento turns, watching your eyes explore the sky as you smile and point at a cloud that’s shaped like a fish. Golden light on your face, petals stuck to your hair, you’ve never looked more beautiful to him. You catch him staring, laughter spilling out of you as you snuggle up to his side. You kiss his cheek, lifting the hand clasped in yours to point him toward your fish-shaped cloud.

He never sees the cloud, too distracted by the way your rings sparkle in the sunlight. 

It isn’t Malaysia, no. It’s far, far better.

[delzinrowe]

They Find Your Toys [PART A] - HEADCANON

A/N: I have nothing to say about this... WARNINGS: May be considered NSFW. Nothing explicit. F!Reader SUMMARY: Self-explanatory. Their reaction when they find your toys. [Established relationship]. INCLUDES: ★ Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, Yuta, Toge, Maki, Takuma ★ → PART B

YUJI ITADORI... This boy, as sweet and naive he can be, he’s not an idiot. He’s seen magazines, he’s got access to the internet, of course he knows what those toys are and how you use them. But considering you’re his girlfriend, he values and respects your privacy. Therefore, no matter how he found it (possibly by changing your bed sheets because he wanted to do something nice for you) this sweet green flag would simply put the toy back to where it was. He wouldn’t even mention it because he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or embarrassed (there’s no reason for it anyways).

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO... Among the students Megumi is pretty much the one that blushes the easiest. Finding your toys, for whatever reason, would render him frozen in place for a good five minutes. His mind would go blank. Does he think you’re attractive? Absolutely. Has he had inappropriate thoughts of you? Yes, even if he would never admit it. But does he feel even remotely okay finding your toys? Hell no. He’d put it back so fast, and leave your room immediately. Maybe even the building. Hell, he’d probably leave the entire city in a heartbeat before his face gets any redder. And don’t you dare mention to him that your toy was suddenly placed somewhere else. Poor Megumi would suffer a heart attack from embarrassment.

NOBARA KUGISAKI... She’d most probably be torn about what to think and what to do. As a girl herself she’s extremely curious. With all this sorcerer nonsense she barely even has time for a beauty face mask, much less to take care of her stress in that way. She might even try it out after properly cleaning it. (Always clean your toys before and after use!!!) Afterwards she’d clean it and put it back. She’s not too shy to bring it up, although she does blush when she mentions it. Once the initial awkwardness fades away for the most part you two would potentially make your own experiences with the toy together.

YUTA OKKOTSU… Listen, pre Shibuya/Culling Games this boy would be an entire blushing mess, stammering to himself after stumbling over your toy while helping you clean your room. When you’re not in the room he would quickly put it back where he found it.

Now… Post Shibuya/Culling Games, he lost a lot of his initial shyness, having learned a lot through his short time surrounded by mature adults. Also, this boy has access to the internet, let’s not kid ourselves. After Culling Games he matured a lot and his confidence is stronger, he knows there are some spots he might not reach well, or probably neglected, which is why he’d use his next chance with you to try out a bunch of things he googled. Most of them have you forget that you even had a toy to begin with. And with him constantly learning new tricks, you might not ever need your toy at all anymore.

TOGE INUMAKI… Oh this boy is pouty and upset as can be. He can’t seem to understand why you would need a toy if he tries so hard to satisfy you. He might not look like it, but he’s sensitive, and he’d take it to heart, as much as he’d try not to. He’d start wondering if he is doing something wrong or if he’s not enough. You notice that when he’s even less vocal than usual, not even using his rice ball ingredients to troll people. When you ask him he can’t help but “blurt out” (with unintelligible speech) about the toy he found. It takes you a while to understand but eventually you’re blushing like crazy while reassuring him that you never used it (lie) because it was a stupid gag present from Nobara (another lie). He immediately calms down and seems happy again. You are far too embarrassed to tell him that you used the toy regularly before getting physical with him, but not having touched it since, because he's treating you so well. You’ll just put the toy in a box to forget about.

MAKI ZENIN… Depending on how far your relationship has progressed, this would be a turning point. If you’re not even close to being physical, she’d be decent to put it away and not mention it. If you’re touched base and gotten handsy, she’d use it as an ice breaker to advance further, albeit with a certain level of understanding and a bit of romance. If you’ve gotten very physical before, she’d hide it somewhere close and take out your toy during your passionate love making, adding it to the session and intensifying both your pleasure.

Either way, Maki wouldn't be too shy when finding it in the first place, she'd most probably already have one or two toys of her own. At most she'd be disappointed in your choice of toy.

TAKUMA INO... For being the oldest of the youngest he’s definitely not the most mature one. He reverts back into a stupid horny teenager the instant he finds your toy. Just imagining his gorgeous girlfriend using that on herself is enough to rile him up extremely. Whatever you’re doing right now, it has to wait. He’s bombarding you with messages about how he misses you, how he wants you home, how his little friend misses you. When you ask him why he suddenly seems so overly horny, all he replies with is a picture of your toy, with the words “I don’t have any toy I can use when I miss you”. Oddly enough, that’s strangely romantic. He almost expects you to reply “use your hand”, but come on, who could resist our favourite skater boy? Of course you’d excuse yourself from whatever you’re doing and rush home to him. After he shows you just how much he missed you, you tell him that the toy doesn’t even come close to him, because you know that secretly his pride is a little wounded at his girlfriend having to use a toy. At which she smiles brightly like a golden retriever.

[moneymartin]

MAY I REQUEST FOR LOTTIE WITH A SKATER GF HCS

🦌-lottie with skater!gf hcs

k this has been sitting in my inbox for like a week im sorry zzz also pulling stuff out of my ass cuz im so sleepyt

rich girl yes, she def buys you your gear and shit

if you ask her for a new deck she will literally get it for you no hesitation even if she already got you one

even the clothes and shoes like okayyyy (all brand name clothes for skating r so expensive too omfg)

offering her some help cause she wants to learn just for you

one day before she asked for it though she came home with scratches and a few bruises here and there cause she was trying to learn while you were out of the house :(

cannot balance thats why it happened

when you do end up teaching her though she is gripping onto you so tight it feels like your shirt is gonna rip 😭 she’s terrified of falling in front of you it is literally her biggest fear

teaching her tricks is a whole new level like she cannot pop up the tail properly and always holds on to you cause she sux!

you probably get her the skate trainers so she can do them when you’re gone ☹️

idk if ppl are gonna know what i’m talking abt but having her stand on the board while you hold her hands and she jumps so you can make the board underneath spin

please tell me you guys know what i’m talking abt or i’m gonna sound fucking crazy…

when she gets what she considers good she always calls you out so you can see her do a silly lil pop shuv or a strawberry milkshake 😭

when you sucked at skating you would get hurt ALL THE TIME!!!

lots of blood thats for sure.. lottie tending to your wounds and calling you ‘stupid’ for not wearing a helmet

you tell her “it looks dumb on me” and she ends up smacking you in the area where it hurts just so you know not to do it again and wear the damn helmet no matter how dumb it looks 😒

makes up for that tho fs! kisses your little scratches and bruises while you sleep so they magically feel better in the morning

definitely gives you massages too like she is such an angel oh my god

i think if you broke her arm or leg she’d FREAK!!!

she sees your hand twisted in that weird way but you’re just sitting on the floor holding up your wrist while she’s literally sobbing and calling an ambulance 🤧

same thing with the leg me thinks… your ankle twisted or something like that

when you get your arm casted up she helps you do everything like dress and cook and all that shebang

also she writes all over the cast like she makes it hard for the other yjs to sign it cause all there is on there is her name a bunch of times and a million hearts and doodles

one space on there where the yjs have their names cramped up while lottie’s is everywhere 😕

when it heals and you start to skate again lottie makes you wear a big ass sweater with a shit ton of padding underneath

probably makes you wear big old pants too so she can pad them up as well

gets you a big dumb helmet too so you don’t get hurt

but in reality she just cares about you too much and hates seeing you in pain 🙁🙁🙁

[adventuringblind]

Drive with you Forever

Chapter Nine: Find me at your doorstep

Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc x Lando Norris x Reader

Chapter summary: summer break is interrupted, Guenther is exasperated, Seb is a father to four kids who can't communicate, and the reader reveals an interesting piece of information

Warnings: kidnapping, medical abuse, physical abuse, drugging, lack of communication, throwing up, sickness, blood, mild gore, Jos Verstappen and his great parenting skills, mentions of SH

Notes: Listen, Y'all, this is probably one of my favorites so far. It's definitely not as comical as others, but it's dramatic and has some action.

Previous &lt;-

Masterlist

She probably shouldn't have been alone. She got comfortable in the safety of their apartment. Her newfound willingness to not let her father get to her.

She shouldn't have left that day as she walked down the streets of Monaco. Pascale had invited her over for lunch, and although she could have driven, she wanted the fresh air.

It was stupid to leave the house, she thinks, as her body refuses to work. Her useless visions apparently don't show what happens to her directly, just what happens around her.

Now she's in a strangers car, her phone broken, and the energy that had doubled since her dad stuck her with the needle not working.

Her healing had gotten better, and she'd discovered how to make new things out of old things. Her visions are clearer and more consistent, and the telekinetic abilities made her feel more like a Jedi from Star Wars every day.

Again, it's all useless now.

~

"Has anyone heard from y/n?" Shouts Charles from the living room where he had been lazily lounging on the couch.

"No. Why?" Max pops his head out of the kitchen. It's grown on Charles to see the Dutch being domestic. He's protective of his kitchen and Charles being the number one threat is not allowed anywhere near it when he's cooking.

"She was supposed to be at my mom's house by now, and apparently, she's not there."

"She did walk there, so maybe she just took the scenic route?"

"But an hour late feels like a lot for that." The anxiety in Charles’ voice is evident.

"Let's not worry about it for now. She knows how to take care of herself."

~

Nobody had heard from her that night. Or the next morning.

The boys couldn't sleep. On the phone with anyone who might know where she is.

Nothing. It's like she disappeared off the planet.

"Do you think it's her dad?" Pipes Lando. The Brit had been pacing a hole in the floor, and both Charles and Max had made him slow down to breathe properly multiple times.

None of them wanted to consider the possibility, but it could be a likely option.

"god I hope not."

~

Her room hadn't changed. The small window is still letting in a cold draft at night. The only thing telling her how long she'd been here.

Five days. Five horribly long days.

The ties around her wrists ached. Her body hurt from being repeatedly drugged and tossed around like a sack of potatoes.

There were more people here now. More then she remembers there ever being at least. She knew there were people, men, who would come in and out but she was never allowed to speak with them.

For what it’s worth, whatever they were doing to her was making her stronger. She’d been able to transfer the wounds from one person onto herself. It’s keeping her captor at ease for now but she knows he wants more.

It’s not ideal and it’s painful. It’s like she can’t get past a mental block that will allow to simply heal. She can feel it somewhere deep within. She knows she can.

Bringing someone back from the dead however, that’s not healing.

Maybe if she’s able to bring back the corpse of her mother, they’ll trade places. Her soul finally giving into the peace of permanent unconsciousness. At least then her boys wouldn’t have to worry. They could move on without her. Find solace in each other.

Maybe, she thinks.

~

Sebastian is going to lose his mind. His daughter is missing and it feels like the only thing the journalists are writing about is how she probably ran off to be a slut for a different group of guys. He was going to have the heads of whoever wrote that if he ever sees them.

The boys had been staying in Germany with him. It hadn’t taken long for the authorities to determine she’s not in Monaco. They’d come here in hopes of reevaluating. Though they were at each others throats when they got here.

Seb had practically forced them to sit down and communicate. They started working together after that.

Hanna had been forcing them to eat proper meals. Seb made sure at least one of them slept at a time. Lando had recovered from four separate panic attacks over two days. Max is trying to look strong but his puffy red eyes give him away. Then there’s Charles; the monegasque had been blaming himself for not walking with her when he could’ve.

Seb had a feeling they were going to find her. She’s a fighter. The when part is much harder to figure out.

And for all their sakes, he hopes it’s soon.

~

Two weeks.

Two weeks of this nonsense.

She wonders if everyone is racing again. Or at lease getting ready too. This was not how she intended on spending her break.

She was getting closer to giving her father what he wanted. She was pulling herself to the edge of no return every time she worked in that rotting corpse of her mother.

Tonight, though, may be her only chance at escape.

They’d forgotten to drug her before leaving her in her room. The alcohol in their systems already taking effect.

She’d been able to slide off her restraints with ease. Her abilities strength coming in handy at the current moment.

Now she quietly is pulling out her window frame. It have never been sealed but she can’t help but feel satisfied when the screen pops out with a satisfying click.

She could care less how far the drop is. She’s two stories up with grass beneath her. She push herself out the window, her body facing the wall and hand gripping the ledge.

She swings herself outward and hits the ground with a soft thud.

Then she runs.

~

She had a destination in mind. Someone at the gas station she stopped at was nice enough to let her use their gps to see how far away she was under the guise of hers being stolen. Technically, she didn’t lie.

The walk to the Haas headquarters was six hours. But she didn’t stop until she got there.

Now she can’t help but lean herself against the front door, hoping someone notices her.

~

Guenther whistles a tune to himself as he arrives at work for the day. The sun is out and the birds are chirping. The definition of a great morning to him.

The familiar female figure slumped on the ground in front of the front door completely changes his tune. He quick to get her inside and find some fresh Haas shirts lying around for her to change into.

Once she’s awake and refreshed he sits her down in his office.

“Are you going to tell me why you spent the night outside the front door?” He sounds like a stern parent. She curls into herself. It’s reminiscent of how she was when he first got her when she was fifteen. Scared, shaking, and so quiet.

He’d known she went missing a little over two weeks ago. It was the reason the summer break had been extended. The FIA had been trying to get more security measures set in place.

“I need to call Seb, please.”

~

The boys were there the next day.

Guenther had taken her to his house despite her adamant refusal. The girl had been to tired to fight and eventually gave in.

It’s not long before she padding softly down to the dining room, halting in her tracks when she sees everyone. She doesn’t say anything. She can’t say anything. The boys don’t either. They don’t know how to approach her.

He led the four males inside and sat them down at his dining room table. “She’s sleeping right now.” Questions come flying at him from the three younger men. Seb shoots them all a look that says shut up and let him explain. “I’ll warn you that she’s a bit of a mess. Her father did a number this time around.”

after an hour of sitting, the anxious boys see the female peek her head around he corner. none of them know what to do. They don’t want to scare her away after what she’s been through.

Seb goes to her first. He approaches her slowly taking her in his arms. Then everything in her snaps. It’s just like when she had night terrors and was finally able to wake up from it. This time however, it had been real.

~

She spends the night in bed with Max. The house they're staying in lacks a bed big enough for all of them.

They had played a game of rock paper scissors, which Max won. He claimed his spot next to her with his signature winning grin.

Charles and Lando decided not to take a different bedroom and are curled up at the floor at the foot of the bed instead. Their soft snores confirm that they are, in fact, asleep.

Max holds her close. Every second with her precious. She'd been crying since they arrived. No matter what they did, she seemed to have a never ending supply of tears.

He'd been the first to assess the damage done to her body.

Diagnosis: terrible. He had half a mind to get Guenther to show him where the hell her father is staying so he can personally drag him to hell.

The cuts and incisions along her torso and chest are still red and puffy. The bruises that littered her skin are awful shades of blue, black, and yellow. Her eyes are dull with dark circles beneath. Her body seemed just as fragile as the day he first met her.

He felt himself slipping back into memories from years ago. Gentle touches so he didn't scare her, slow movements because she flinched away from anyone who moved fast.

Quiet until someone tried to say something mean to him or Seb.

Now she lays on his chest. Tears still fall onto his lightly colored t-shirt. And he finds himself wishing he'd have found her years before he met her, if only to tell her he'll be there for her. No matter what anyone says, he'll always find her.

~

Seb watches carefully as she picks at her piece of toast. According to Guenther, she hadn't been able to keep much down since he found her.

She protested eating anything, but Seb is a good negotiator. He promised that when she could keep food down that they would go home to Germany. Not back to Monaco yet because people are aching to get pictures of her.

"At this rate, I'll be old and wrinkly by the time you finish."

She shoots him scowl. "Aren't you retiring? Dosen't that mean you're already old?"

"Old is a state of mind."

She takes another bite. The taste could be that of a brick, but she's so hungry it would still taste delicious.

"I can't stop thinking about the car that got me."

"What do you mean?" Seb asks gently. She hadn't talked much about the whole ordeal yet. Little bits of information here and there but nothing to help him get a picture of what went on.

"The man driving the car. I knew him."

"But he wasn't your father? Or the man at your door?"

"No, he was older than my father and larger than the man at the door." She rubs her tembles in a struggle to remember.

"No need to think about it now. They're not going to get you again. Mostly because I think your boys might start a war if they do."

Their soft conversation is interrupted by Max speaking to his phone in angry Dutch. A clear sign of Jos being on the other end.

"je doet raar." (You're being ridiculous)

Her head perks up at the phrase. A familiar one Max uses with Charles when he is oblivious.

Max hangs of the phone in a huff amd site down with them at the table.

"Can you say that again?" She looks at Max. Her request odd to him, but he obliges. "je doet raar."

"He was on the phone speaking Dutch. He used that phrase." Her head gets a shooting pain, and lights dance through her eyes as she finds herself receiving the car ride.

This time watching scenes unfold in that past. This is new. Both with her and in the context of the situation.

She's in the passenger seat, and next to her is none other than Jos Verstappen.

~

Charles has never seen Max so angry. Which is saying something because Max is angry a lot.

The scene him and Lando walked into had been nothing short of catastrophic.

A female body tucked into Seb on the couch, the German attempting to get the attention of a specific Dutch. Max obviously is not listening and is letting the most foul things he's even heard him say about his father ring through all their ears.

It's interesting in a sense. The other three had never hesitated to show their distaste towards Jos, and Seb had managed to call him a poor excuse of a father to his face on more than one occasion.

There had been a time that Max had a tire malfunction and ended his race in the wall. Jos had gotten more aggressive then any of them would have liked and he is very lucky that nobody aside from Seb had been around to see it.

Seb has a sway with words. He knows how to make them stick. So when he saw Jos' hand land on Max's cheek, he didn't hesitate to step in.

The German gently tucked Max out of the way and faced the older Dutch with fire in his eyes.

"Didn't know a tire failure was deserving of a slap."

"This is between me and my son."

"As far as I'm aware, he's dating my daughter, which makes him mine also. Touch him again, and I'll take legal action."

It was one of the only times Seb had to hold Max comfortingly in his chest. Reassuring the boy that he did not deserve any of that even as Max explained why he did.

Lando is the fastest to act. His arms encircled around Max's body. He can visibly see him relax into the Brits hold.

"Jos was the one who took me originally." The female explains. Her knees tucked up to her chest, and her head rests on sebs shoulder. Charles makes note of how she looks more exhausted now the the last time he saw her.

The words didn't register with him. Not entirely anyway. It didn't make sense. How is it even possible that Jos is in kahoots with the devil?

It would seem they are both devils that somehow raised angels. Charles will only thank them for that, and only after he's killed them.

It's terrible really, the way they look at him. She is teary eyed and apologizing while Max looks clueless. And for the first time since Charles started dating him, Max is pleading with his eyes for help. The Dutch is clueless on where to go from here.

"Knowing that, Max, if you want to leave your dad out of this, we can." Mentions Seb. He knows that the way Jos brought up Max left him confused. His dad praised him and rewarded him one second, then hit him the next. It made thinking fuzzy for him, and since his father was never all bad, he told everyone that it was a good thing. He was attached to him regardless of the circumstances.

This was different.

"If he's going to kidnap my lovers, then he needs to be put away."

"That makes this easier. Know that my home is your home as it always has been, in case things get ugly."

Max nods his head at the German. Really, Seb had been his father figure since he was seventeen. Jos didn't have much say in his life anymore

~

After a third attempt at eating toast, she was finally able to keep it down. It was forced, and she had gagged multiple times, but it was still in her stomach after an hour.

They left soon after that, thanking Guenther profusely for , once again, rescuing her at her worst.

The perks of dating a world champion is that he now owns a private jet. They got home sooner than she expected because of it.

Hanna greeted them at the door and gently latched herself to her daughter. The relief coming in the for of salty tears.

She likes being at home in Germany. Seb had made sure to keep her old room clean. He even got a bigger bed once he heard Lando joined them.

The room feels comfortable and familiar. She's even able to fall asleep when she sits on top of the soft covers.

That is how the boys found her. Snoring softly, draped over the bed with her shoes still on. They carefully slip her shoes of and reposition her where she'll be more comfortable.

Then, they leave the room and shut the door behind them. Their conversation nothing but whisper right outside the door.

"Will she be able to drive next week?"

"I hope so. Maybe Charles will have a chance if she can't, though." The Dutch snickers. Charles hits his shoulder playfully. "I'm not sure how to move forward now. It seems like anything we do only prolongs the inevitable."

"We take it on day at a time then."

~

She managed to get herself to the race track. Driving may not be an option yet, but at least she was there. Christian wasn't going to let her drive until he got her physical report back.

Really it was Max telling him the truth about how she still can't keep down a full meal and is now dropping weight because of it.

She did eat some crackers and was fine. She's proud of herself for that one.

Despite Sergio driving the second redbull, she was happy to be back. The paddock felt similar to home in some ways.

The only new thing is that she's never alone. When free practice 1 comes around, Max dutifully places her on the pitwall next to Christian. She dosen't move until somone comes to get Her.

She feels mildly like a nuisance to them since they have to pay extra attention to her now.

She's stays in their hotel room the rest of the weekend until right before the race. Everyone in the garage is shocked to see her walk in alone.

All her boys end up on the podium, and it's the first time she's celebrated since she came back.

~

Three quarters through the season, and she's still not driving. Still training in more ways than one, but not driving.

She doesn't feel like she can. Her body is still physically decimated. She's able to keep down more then just toast now, but that's on a good day.

Her powers are at the strongest they've ever been. She's managed to learn more about self-defense in case someone tries to nab her again. But with that comes sticky note threats in Jos Verstappens' handwriting.

It's starting to look desperate.

Despite the state of her uncooperative body, she still went to every race. Attempting to be as supportive as possible from the sidelines.

It didn't feel as painful as when she felt as though she lost her spot the first time. This time, she still had purpose. She is doing her best to learn how to keep her family safe. That's all she could ask of herself.

All of them were glad she wasn't pushing to get back in the car. They all know about her aptitude for pain. Christian is amazed by how she's coping and fully supports her decision. Seb seems to be cheering her on in the pits even though he's the one driving.

She doesn't even bat an eye when Jos makes a vaugly threatening statement towards her. Because if she wanted, she'd have his head through the wall in a second.

She doesn’t let herself get comfortable this time. The nagging feeling that something worse is coming a constant in the back of her mind.

~

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