#sorry for not posting anything in a while

[beanarie]

wip wednesday

tagged by @dharmaavocado @geddyqueer @rcmclachlan @setmeatopthepyre @frogsinflannel and y'all are tagged back along with @leashybebes @fyrehose @andforyouevan @bidisasterevankinard @typicalopposite @hereghostslive 😘

more of my post 8x15 fic new rules

~

It comes out while they're in bed, Evan shuddering and stifling sobs. Tommy wakes up, groggy but geared toward one goal. Be there. Evan isn't alone, not now or any other time Tommy has the ability to do something about it.

He wraps his arms around Evan, pulls him close, and to say he hurts for him isn't quite accurate. He feels a greed unlike anything he has ever felt before.

Give it to me, all of it. Let this black hole inside me be of some fucking use.

What the fuck.

Oh, he thinks, and the words march themselves out of his mouth. "I love you."

Evan makes a sound like Tommy punched him and starts hyperventilating.

"Shit," Tommy says, his chest tight. He lets go, backing off just enough to let Evan feel comfortable enough to make the next move, whether it's to walk away or come closer. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's okay."

Evan turns over, his eyes shining faintly in the weak light. "Did you m-mean it."

"Yes, of course, I-"

"Then wh-what are you apologizing for."

Tommy should have a good answer. The English language is full of words he could use. But it's three twenty-six in the morning, and he can only give the obvious. "Timing."

[usedpidemo]

Cherry ((G)I-dle Minnie)

For you, nothing compares to seeing your favorite artist live, doing what they love the most.

For Minnie, nothing compares to the continued echo of a roaring crowd screaming her name.

But when it’s all said and done, nothing compares to the sound of her one and only fan shouting her name while he’s giving every last inch into her.

—————

Checking your phone, you see the posts on social media. While everyone else is still inside that stadium, Minnie is nowhere to be found, disappearing right after her 30 minute set, no-showing the arbitrary farewell walk around to the fans. Not that everyone cares or will give her heat for her sudden absence, but her presence leaves quite a noticeable hole in the venue.

Judging by how she’s opening the door to her hotel room, you can guess as to where she’s gone. 

Looking through your recorded footage, her eyes kept a steady track on you, as if she personally singled you out. Giving you flirty winks, subtle flying kisses in your direction, smiling at you even as she hosts the rest of the audience between transitions—the signs were there all along. You were caught up in the moment of her performance to properly notice.

That, and your intrusive handmade banner is quite easy for her to notice.

Speaking of—Minnie’s been holding your banner the entire ride back, finally setting it aside on the dining table. With every glance at your simple ‘I love you’ message, her gummy smile only widens. It’s heartwarming to see your effort be rewarded in quite the grandiose manner. A simple acknowledgement would have been enough—a simple heart, a wave, a general glance in your direction, anything.

You never expected to share a ride back to her hotel before she personally guided you inside her personal place.

She always points out how cute your handwriting is. That you went out of your way to write in Thai, even if it's evidently using Google Translate, saying that she’ll keep it in her place in appreciation. 

And so, you have to address the elephant in the room:

“Why me?” you ask, as your gaze wanders around her hotel room, quite simple in design and only meant for simple overnight stays. You can see the venue you were in minutes ago from the large window, a lifetime away thanks to the nighttime traffic. 

“Because I saw it!” Minnie replies, grinning, falling into her usual idol posture like muscle memory. Hands folded together, classy, even if her still-worn stage outfit says otherwise. Casually flaunting off her tight figure and toned little belly just for you. It’s hypnotic. “Flew in from far away just to see me perform here? You’re committed.”

“I mean—you haven’t performed in my country in years,” you remark, bitter at the thought. One of your driving motivations is to at least see her if the worst happened. Fortunately, they’re here to stay a little longer. Nevertheless, your patience was far past its breaking point, and you had to take matters into your own hands. “You have no idea how long I waited for you to come back.”

Minnie frowns, apologetic and empathetic over your plight. “Sorry. We want to reach out and perform everywhere, but—”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve heard it all the time, no need to remind me,” you interrupt, unwilling to hear the same rote excuse for the umpteenth time. Of course it’s the company’s fault, and not you for living in an unprofitable market for international artists to perform. “But that doesn’t matter now. If you ever go and tour, I’ll try flying out here again, like I did just for you.”

Almost immediately, her downcast expression shifts into a look of joy. “Aw. I hope it doesn’t mean you’re going broke for us. It’s not worth it.”

“Of course not,” is your reply, as if you anticipated this exact response. “I wouldn’t even think about going on this trip if I knew I’d be eating cup noodles for the next month.”

“Sounds fun,” Minnie jests, approaching you and brushing loose strands of your hair covering your forehead. Cupping a hand on your cheek, she whispers against your other cheek, her breath hot: “I’ll pay for whatever you need. Flight tickets, hotel accommodation, transportation—name it and I got you covered.”

“Everything’s been accounted for, but I appreciate the thought,” you remark, your eyes following hers. Staring into each other’s gaze intently, her warmth and sincerity in full bloom, you’re falling deeper in love with her. “I—I just didn’t think this would ever happen.”

“No one does,” is her remark, tone sensual, pulling your head closer against hers. “Now I want to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“Of course.”

Her breath tickles your ear, sending chills down your spine. “What’s your favorite song I did tonight?”

You pause, give her a subtle smile, which she immediately reads. Like she already has a clue.

“I think you already know the answer.”

She breathes against your skin in the shape of a chuckle and a smirk. The song begins to play moments later, courtesy of her own phone.

Minnie quietly mouths the lyrics in your ear, and you can’t help but lean closer to get a feel of her lips kissing your skin. You sense the ripple of her waist against yours, a gentle rustle of her shrinking skirt. You engross yourself in the moment that you don’t notice her hands dragging you with her in the direction of the living room couch.

Pushing you onto the sofa right as the second line hits, Minnie continues mouthing the words to her own song effortlessly, dancing before you so sexily knowing she’d never try on stage in a million years, even with their group’s more risque concepts. Her eyes demand every bit of your attention—not that you had anything else in mind but her. 

A private performance, meant only for you. Turning her hotel room into a club, you’d be throwing what little money you have for her if you had anything left. 

And by God, she loves it. Relishing how whipped you are for her. Doesn’t matter if it’s one or thousands, she lives for the attention and praise.

As the chorus hits, Minnie drops to the floor, stomach down ass up, kicking her heels up in the air, her stare remaining fixated at you all throughout. Rehearsed and practiced, yet looking so natural. You can only watch in awe, wondering how long she’s been waiting for the opportunity, how many times she’s done this before to others, and how the stars perfectly aligned for you to have this personalized moment.

It’s torturing you right now that you can’t reach out and touch her, even if you wanted to.

Picking herself off the floor, she saunters toward you, your nerves tensing with every moment, every step forward. Fingers digging deeper into the fabric of your pants, it’s all purposeful how she moves: every sway of her hips, her hands running down her svelte figure, the twirl when she’s standing right between your legs, flaunting her petite ass peeking through her skirt before squatting down in front of you, an arm’s reach away.

The lyrics perfectly describe the situation: 

“Oh no, here we go. Watch me shake it low.”

It’s like she’s daring you to take her and make her yours.

Her ass lingers far longer than what you can perceive. No matter how desperate you are, you can’t bring yourself to move a muscle, do anything but admire and watch helplessly even as Minnie offers herself to you on a silver platter. Not for lack of trying; your mind can’t handle what’s happening right now.

She looks over shoulder with a wicked grin, as if this isn’t the first time she’s left someone victimized with her deliberate teasing.

As if that wasn’t enough, when she spins around to face you, she drags your hands off your pants, replacing them with her own. Leaning forward, her hot breath reacquainting with your skin, followed by the faintest of air kisses. Slowly but surely, she clambers onto your lap, creating unbearable heat between your legs. 

There’s no denying it now. 

Instinctively, your hands find purchase on her ass, squeezing them hard, drawing a moan out of her. Minnie responds in kind, rolling her head back, grinding her hips on your lap, fanning the flames. Her tummy right in your face, you bend forward and kiss her, tracing a path up to her crop top, resting between her chest. Her fingers find their way around your neck, inching herself closer to you till you can hardly breathe.

“Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do this,” she sighs, breaking herself free from the immersion of her own performance. Glancing down to find your face between her bra, she pulls on your face, drawing your gaze to meet hers. “Like what you see?”

“Fuck yes, I do,” you huff, returning to kiss her bra. “But I’ve got a feeling this wasn’t the first time.”

Minnie laughs. “No shit.”

“Just you, or do the others—”

“You already know,” she interrupts, cupping your chin and redirecting your eyes back on her, shutting you up. “Now can we go back to the moment?”

Without another word, she leans down and meets you for a passionate kiss. Eyes closed, letting your feelings do all the talking. At that moment, you’re not fan and idol, but two lovers finding solace in each other’s arms. The only break is when she pulls back to lift your shirt over your head before you’re passionately making out to her own song again.  

She doesn’t even bring up the fact that your hands have been on her ass the whole time. If anything, with every squeeze, she moans softly into your mouth, making music.

But you can’t stay like this for long. Not when you’re both close to reaching your natural climax.

Breaking off the kiss for a second time, Miinie takes a moment to admire you, smiling. Her face, flushed with crimson and lust, keeps you in place while she silently unhooks her top, slipping it off her shoulders before tossing it to the floor and joining your shirt.

Before she tries to kiss you again, the sudden music stoppage snaps both your attention. 

“Ah, fuck me,” Minnie whines, quickly climbing off your lap to reach for the phone on the other side of the living room, buzzing loudly as she races to shut it down as quickly as possible. Giving you a proper look at her half-naked body while she hurriedly mashes buttons on her screen, you’re imagining that’s what she normally looks like in the mornings. 

“Well tell them I felt nauseous and had to rush to the hospital,” she says while clicking her tongue seemingly giving instructions to someone over the phone. When her eyes find yours, she grins cheekily, playing off the situation as nothing but a minor inconvenience. “No one’s gonna find out, surely.”

Like you weren’t casually singled out by staff, escorted out of the venue and riding inside one of the artist’s cars before being told to wait inside for a good 30 minutes before you could finally get out. Under any other context, this would have been a kidnapping case.

“Just give them the usual statement,” she whines, annoyed that she’s getting calls at such an unfortunate time. “I did my set, no? That should be enough. No one’s gonna care by tomorrow,” she adds, before cutting the call and the music picks up where it left off.

“Sorry you had to hear all that.” Minnie sighs as she casually lets her skirt fall to the floor, leaving her in only underwear as she saunters back to you. “I probably should have listened when they said this wasn’t a solo concert.”

To save her from further embarrassment, you remain quiet, but your face can’t hide your amusement watching it unfold in real time. One way or another, you’ll never look at her the same way again.

“Gosh, I gotta ask Yuqi how she does it,” she huffs, setting down her phone on the living room table. “Anyway, where were we?”

You don’t know exactly how to respond, nor do you have the answer to her question. And yet you have an idea as to where this is gonna end.

—————

The song continues to play on loop in the background as Minnie guides you to the bedroom, hand in tow, skirt lost somewhere on the living room floor, before falling onto the bed belly first, spreading her legs wide and baring her holes for display. Showing her pussy to you, she is wet and leaking. 

“Fucking use me,” she huffs, looking over her shoulder, voice raspy, losing herself to her most feral desires. “I know you want this as much as I want it.”

“Fuck, Minnie, I—” Not even your half-assed attempt at reluctance stops you from unraveling with her; it’s  laughably unconvincing. Lining your erect cock against her aching core, drawing a prolonged whine from her needy lips, her passionate sigh makes you shiver in anticipation. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You wouldn’t be positioning yourself behind me if you didn’t,” she remarks, pointing a finger toward your cock. “And that thing wanted me the moment I climbed onto your lap.”

She’d plunge your cock straight into her needy cunt if she could.

Instead, she reaches for the tip, gives it a gentle flick, causing your breaths to go haywire. Sparking a fire within you, Minnie only has one purpose in mind: to set you ablaze. You see it in her inviting smile—her eyes—drawing her fingers back, daring you to finish what she started.

Plunging into her cunt without hesitation, Minnie’s cry of pain and pleasure immediately fills the room and beyond. Obscene, obnoxious, you’re making a statement to everyone that you’re gonna fuck her—hard.

Fingers clamped on the headrest, and then onto the pillow, hanging on for dear life. Her muscles tensing and her hips bucking against yours. All while you’re still trying to adjust inside her; you haven’t moved a muscle since entering her. The only thought permeating your mind is how goddamn tight she feels around you.

The idea of unloading everything into her right then and there floats around your mind, but you begin dragging your cock out, now lathered in sheen and slick, before pushing back into her invigorating heat. 

And fuck, Minnie takes every inch effortlessly. Letting you take charge, giving you free reign over her body. With every stroke, every thrust deeper, she fucking screams. Doesn’t matter that you’re leaving gaping imprints on her skin or that you’re hammering into her with reckless abandon, she only cares about the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her veins.

Like a man possessed, you’re throwing your all into her, pounding her balls deep like your life depends on it, like this is your one and only chance—which it may as well be. 

“So incredible—can’t believe you’re letting me do this—” you rasp, pumping into her so hard the bed begins to quake. Both your hands rest on her svelte waist, wrapped like a vice as you deliver one devastating stroke after another. You can only imagine how she looks, but you get a sense that it’s pornographic and salacious.

“It’s been so long—” she whines, her voice cracking and jumping with every word in response to your thrusts. Her own fingers are gripped to the pillows, lifting her head to keep herself loud and clear, like she isn’t making quite the commotion this late at night. “So goddamn big—oh fuck—more—”

With her ass bouncing and rippling with each thrust, you’re left in a state of trance. God, she looks so good with your cock impaled in her pussy, with cum leaking and dripping from her holes. Accompanied by the filthy sounds of flesh slapping flesh, there’s no better sight for your dizzy, tired eyes. It only serves to spur you on, to keep you moving—as if you need any more motivation.

Giving her no respite, maintaining quite the chokehold you have on her, you lean forward against her ear, and your erratic breaths—your little vibrations—sends her into upper heaven. You haven’t uttered a single word, yet your looming presence drives her crazy.

“Pull on it, baby. Please—” Minnie cries, pertaining to her hair, barely held together by a loosened tie and prayers.

As much as you want to say anything back, the vice grip she has on you is just as strong, if not stronger. So intoxicatingly tight, gathering your thoughts into something coherent proves to be an immense struggle. It gets to a point where you don’t know who’s truly in control here.

And seeing as you’re doing exactly that—pulling on her hair as you kiss the helix of her ear, unable to keep up with her tempo—you sense the end is coming. And fast.

Still, there’s no relenting. She feels too good to slow down for even a moment, fearing that if you do, this unreal bliss is lost forever. So you hold on, redirecting all your focus on everything else about her body: exploring her back, lifting her on her fours, twisting her body in your hands—anything to keep your mind off the idea that you’re falling apart. 

Your unrelenting pace supersedes every effort you’re making. It’s a relief that Minnie is fucked beyond coherence right now, losing herself in her own ecstasy. Nevertheless, you’re mentally counting down the little time you have left.

“Almost, Minnie—” you coo into her neck, rolling her on her side, lifting her helpless figure, squeezing on her breast. Fighting with the dying remains of your resolve to keep the fire alive before it fans out, Minnie looks absolutely drained, her body pushed far beyond its limit. “I’m so close—”

“Inside—” she barely manages to whine, palming your back, pulling you into a warm embrace, unwilling to accept any other outcome. Eyes completely shut, just letting pleasure freely flow in and out of her veins, rolling her hips up as you thrust into her, your grip on reality collapsing in real time. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna—”

Her voice goes high, breaks her train of thought as you sense her crumble underneath you, her climax hitting at the apex. The heat of her walls suffocating, putting you in an inescapable chokehold, her legs wrapping around yours—the intention is clear: you’re gonna stay there, cum inside, and lay it all on her. 

It’s only right that your own orgasm follows. 

Holding her through your own end, every second an eternity in itself, as you bury yourself balls deep, letting Minnie milk you for all your worth. Shuddering as your bodies intertwine as one, bracing as every spurt of cum you give her with hits with the same level of impact as the previous burst, like fireworks exploding. Can’t make out a clear visual as your vision goes blurry, so you take solace in her arms as the pulse in your loins gradually dies.

Until the only thing you can hear is each other’s heartbeats.

Minnie’s a delicate treasure, one of one. Despite fucking her into shreds mere moments ago, you can’t go out like this: pressing your weight on her, dangerously close to passing out under the afterglow of your own orgasm.

Fortunately, Minnie sees the scene differently, smiling: “Wow.” 

She’s roaming her hands down your arms, warily glancing at the aftermath between your legs. A fresh puddle has formed on the sheets, now stained beyond repair. “That’s—a lot more than I thought,” she remarks, laughing at herself.

“That’s what you do to me,” you say, brushing her hair side, softly kissing her. As you try to pull back, Minnie sinks further, keeping your lips locked a few more precious moments longer. 

You need to take a breather; blink a few times to let everything sink in: that she’s the one who made the advance. Every single opportunity.

And as the mood slowly dies, as both of you stare into each other’s eyes, uncertain of what happens now, her phone rings loudly in the background again.

You give her this look, as if to say: ‘Seriously? In this ungodly hour?’ To which Minnie merely smirks before rolling out of bed. As if this was expected. Hell, she looks surprised that it didn’t happen mid-climax.

Limping out of the bedroom, making a strong case not to fly out tomorrow, even though she won’t have activities for the next few days. Learning from earlier, she hides herself out away from your view before she returns with her phone in hand, throwing it right in your direction, falling short of landing on your face.

“Not this time,” she remarks, wagging her finger, reading your mind. “And for the record, they completely bought it.”

You can only laugh and shrug as Minnie climbs onto your lap, falling into your arms. —————

(A/N: Kind of a quick one, apologies, not really much time to write filth when you're almost graduating. Currently stuck in thesis hell with only a few weeks left before the semester ends, so please bear with me a bit longer. A few months into 2025 and Blind Eyes Red is still one of my favorite K-pop songs released so far, who knew the lyrics were horny as fuck? That made the rest of the idea a lot simpler. Thank you for reading!)

[piplup335]

Mafioso x reader! (platonic)

*ahem* HELLO, F E L L A S so uh my sch started ;-; meaning I may or may not be active bc of school but I'll try to write as much as possible since I still need to feed you guys :,D also bc i like writing lol- ANYWAYYYY I'm gonna use both dream game and forsaken tags, there don't seem to be any frozen soul tags as of making this post (as far as I can see, I didn't check ;-;) and I'm using their mafioso in forsaken's context, sorry! if the developers of any game said anything about this please do lmk and I'll change it :,) also pls gimme feedback, this is my first time writing for this dude and I may have messed up in some parts, particularly since it was a pain in the ass to find lore for this dude- I cooked this up for my friend but I also need to feed you guys so uhhh enjoy! :D

… *cries*

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You didn't know how it happened. And you sure as hell didn't want to know.

Were you all in debt in one way or another? Did that gambler...whatever his name was...aggravate the mafia? By taking out one loan too many?

You had just been tossed into that forsaken realm, flying out of the sky and landing right in front of that old, run-down cabin.

When the inhabitants of the cabin...survivors, they called themselves...opened the door, they dragged you in and immediately started blasting you with information as though they had no time to spare. You could only look around, hurriedly registering faces and voices as everyone's incessant chatter filled your ears, eventually fading into nothing but an incoherent buzz.

A young man in a pizza delivery uniform. A middle-aged guy with a soldier's outfit. A guy wearing...a burger on his head? Wait, was that an actual head on top of the burger? Was it alive?

Before you could open your mouth to ask anything, your vision faded to black.

You could hear the faint sound of a radio starting up and a stern voice.

"I see one of them."

It sounded hostile. Strict. Whoever was speaking was clearly dedicated to his job and determined to hunt down "them", whatever people that referred to.

...and just like that, you woke up in an unfamiliar place.

No elaboration, no nothing. Just the radio, the voice, and you were back to normal in who knows where.

After walking around aimlessly for a bit, though, you realised that the place was more familiar than you thought. The hotdog stand, the fountain, even the Drakobloxxer exhibit...it all seemed too familiar. The name of the place was on the tip of your tongue...but you just couldn't reach it.

Then again, some things changed too. You didn't remember this carnival being that old and run-down. The last time you were there, you saw children running around, playing tag with each other while other families would queue up to buy hotdogs from the various stands...

Now all you heard was silence, save for your quiet breaths and the occasional sound of footsteps against the concrete floor.

A few more steps here and there. A Ferris wheel. An ice cream truck. More and more memories resurfaced, from the time you went on the Ferris wheel with your parents to the times you'd constantly beg and plead with them to buy you ice cream. Everything felt nostalgic.

You still couldn't remember the name of the carnival, but you did know that it was rather cool.

You jumped as you heard something whizz past you. It hit the wall with a soft squeak and fell to the floor.

"What the...?"

You ran towards whatever that was and picked it up. It was a small bunny.

"...nooo, who threw you? Are you okay?"

The bunny seemed to be perfectly fine. In fact, it seemed to be happy, almost as if it liked being thrown as fast as a speeding bullet.

The fluffy little critter sniffed your hand, giving it playful nibbles like it was trying to get used to you. When it finally registered that you weren't a threat, it started to try climbing your arm. 

"Hey...no, that's dangerous!"

You placed your hand out in front of the bunny, satisfied as it scuttled into your palm. Bunny in hand, you held the little fella in front of you. It glanced at you with those beady black eyes, those eyes filled with innocence and curiosity...

You couldn't help it. You needed to pat the bunny. 

With your free hand, you started gently scratching the bunny behind the ears, trying to gauge its reaction. The bunny let out a happy squeak. Instead of trying to bite you, it was relatively docile, sitting in your palm and letting itself get scritches.

"Aww, you're such a cutieeeee..."

You kept petting the bunny. Its soft, snow-white fur felt like heaven to touch. No matter how much you petted it, it didn't seem to mind. In fact, it seemed to like all the attention you lavished on it.

You were so preoccupied with petting the creature, you didn't notice the presence of someone behind you.

"Having fun now, eh?"

You turned your head to look at the individual behind you.

For starters, this man was tall. Really tall. He donned a black suit with matching trousers, and his tie was neatly adjusted as if he was going for some formal occasion. His fedora cast a shadow over his eyes, but everything else didn't matter to you. He looked...familiar.

"I don't recognise you from our list." He stated bluntly.

You gave him a blank stare. List? What list? You got thrown into some cursed realm less than an hour ago, and now you had some weird list to worry about?

Noticing your blank stare, the man shook his head.

"...never mind."

Meanwhile, you were still trying to figure out what his name was. You didn't catch many names in the wooden cabin. You knew Elliot as he was the only one with a relatively normal name, Dusekkar because of his pumpkin head and...uh...yeah, no. You only remembered those two. Regardless, with that fedora and suit, you were almost positive that he was one of the survivors, but just to be sure...

"...are you one of the survivors?" You quipped. 

The man took notice of your completely clueless expression. He put two and two together...and knew that you had no idea who he was. He did find you interesting, and the bunny squeaking in your hands only softened his heart. He wouldn't want to kill you, lest his bunny become upset. So, he played along with it.

"Affirmative. I go by Mafioso. Do not let the name deceive you, I do not cause harm."

You nodded in understanding. Mafioso looked down at the bunny in your hands, and his stoic expression cracked into a smile.

"I believe it likes you. That bunny is mine, by the way."

You glanced up at Mafioso with horror on your face.

"You threw that poor thing at a wall-? Why?"

Mafioso laughed- a deep, hearty chuckle. The sound of it was comforting, to say the least.

"Relax...it's okay. It likes being launched at walls and always makes these happy little noises. Am I right?"

Mafioso gave the bunny a few head scritches, and it squeaked happily.

"Told ya."

You watched in disbelief as Mafioso picked up the bunny, the small animal not resisting or showing any signs of pain. It liked him, and he liked it back. Mafioso smiled at the bunny, watching it scurry around on his palm.

He set it down on the ground, watching with a small smile as it explored the area with little hops and jumps.

"Adorable, isn't it?"

Mafioso flashed you a charming grin. You smiled back, now a lot more comfortable around this once-unfamiliar stranger.

"Yeah. This is...nice..."

A loud gunshot rang through the area. Another male stood at a distance away from you, with a black tuxedo set. He had an old gun in hand, and he donned some cool black shades and a pair of headphones- wait.

There was only one person with a tuxedo in the cabin as far as you recalled. Then who was the other person? Or rather, was Mafioso not a survivor this entire time?

"Oi, new guy! Run! Mafioso's the killer- are you trying to die?!"

Oh. That was your answer.

Mafioso's smile was wiped clean off his face. He tenderly picked up the bunny and dropped it into your hands, the ball of fluff staring up at you with curiosity in its small eyes.

"Take care of the little fella, will ya? And cover your ears. Do try to cover my bunny's ears too, princess."

Princess? Did he seriously call you that?

You didn't have time to question further as Mafioso chased after the unknown person, and all you could hear as he ran off was a single phrase. Not directed towards you, but your fellow survivor.

"I love knocking out teeth."

You gently covered the bunny's little ears, stroking its soft fur as pained screams rang out through the carnival grounds.

Looks like you've managed to make an unexpected new friend.

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and that's it! I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you all soon! ...at least, I hope I can get back to writing...

[azulpitlane]

epilogue l fc43

epilogue for we can't be friends💘: in which you are coparenting with franco while he's still trying everything to prove his love for you

part one, part two

🔒yourusername

liked by francolapinto, alexpriv and 286 others

yourusername so in loveee

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user bring her to argentina already i wanna meet her😩

user too cute

francolapinto amazing, gorgeous, perfect😍 oh and lucia is there too

alexpriv ?!?!?! is this your version of your compliment

yourusername thank you for insulting our daughter

alexpriv get his ass

francolapinto WAIT NO THAT CAME OUT WRONG ARGGHHH

alexpriv so nice and peaceful like why would a man be there

francolapinto 😐

francolapinto

liked by alexpriv, lando and 1,639,027 others

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user no caption or anything like okay!

user idk why this being posted with no context is sending me

user OMG A Y/N SIGHTING

user i thought y/n went public for a second

alexpriv mine

francolapinto 😡

user how does she look so good postpartum omg

yourusername ?

francolapinto you just looked beautiful here

user awww this is actually soo cute (whens it gonna be my turn😔)

user franco's loverboy era, thought id never see the day

user does bro know the qatar grand prix is in less than a week

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yourusername posted a story

193 views

alexpriv WE MUST STAY FOCUSED BROTHERS WE MUST STAY FOCUSED

alexpriv REMEMBER ALL THE EVIL CRIMES HE COMMITTED

yourusername 😭😭😭

yourusername am i stupid to think hes actually sorry?

alexpriv you’re not stupid. you just have a really really really soft heart. especially for him🤢

yourusername i hate it here

alexpriv ill be honest and give him SOME credit (even though its physically hurting me) but i do think hes sorry too. that doesnt mean you have to forgive if you dont want to though

yourusername yeah i told him i cant promise anything just yet

alexpriv good. hes gotta earn it

yourusername then he proceeded to invite me to the abu dhabi gp😭

alexpriv um what

yourusername he said i deserved a small break and offered to fly me out, have someone watch lucia, and just let me relax. like we used to.

alexpriv ugh. thats actually really thoughtful. i hate thats hes being a decent human rn

yourusername same

alexpriv my first instinct was to tell you not to go. but if you do go…

alexpriv does that mean lucia will be mine for a whole weekend😍😍😍

yourusername obviously. who else?

alexpriv then that sounds like an amazing idea!

yourusername fake loyalty.

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francolapinto

liked by yourusername and 930,529 others

francolapinto p3. nice way to end the season🏆

view all comments

user don't ever get rid of y/n😭 she's your lucky charm liked by author

user bro knew he had to show out in front of his girl

user was this masterclass fueled by y/n's presence be honest

user love how all these comments are about y/n

user you guys are so cute, im following you home🤣

user do you guys need a nanny, i volunteer

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yourusername posted a story

382 views

alexpriv this looks like a date night outfit...

yourusername shut up😭 other people will be there

alexpriv whatever you sayyy

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🔒yourusername

liked by francolapinto and 238 others

yourusername chat i folded😔

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user I KNEW IT

user i honestly could tell since high school this was how it was gonna end

alexpriv NOOOOOOO

alexpriv i knew something was off when you came back home

yourusername i was gonna tell you i swear

alexpriv i feel like i just got shot

yourusername 😭

francolapinto mine forever hehehe liked by author

alexpriv girl whatever

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francolapinto

liked by yourusername, lando, and 1,392,329 others

francolapinto my favorite girls

view all comments

user arghaghfgh someone tell baby y/n and franco that they now have a baby of their own

user WAIT HE FINALLY CONFIRMED THE BABYS GENDER AWW

user future f1 academy champion lets gooo

user i love it when hot people date

yourusername you wanna do your favorite girl a favor and change your other favorite girl's diaper?😊

francolapinto fine...

user LMFAOO i love y/n

user my parasocial relationship with these two is getting out of hand cause why did i tear up of the thought of them raising a baby together

user the way it was suppose to end🥹 so cute

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[darqx]

Pick up the receiver I'll make you a believer

���️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

After doodling the first image that hug body slam meme immediately came to mind and i couldn't help myself 😂

Thanks very much I'm glad you are enjoying my art and characs! :D

To put the answer simply, Rire used to work for the prior King as a Collector (of souls) and he was that King's only Collector and so got the brunt of his ire for any related, perceived fault. Aside from that personal connection Rire also really disliked him because he viewed the prior king as a useless glutton who failed at ruling a sector (conditions were tanking/had tanked for ages), and which the Royal powers were wasted on.

Almost all of his sunglasses are actually normal human sunglasses, he can just see better than a human can 😎

Anything can be a kink, anon :d

Boring victims are often exceptionally weak-willed victims so that's something in particular he dislikes.

Yes he can play the piano and violin, and horseback ride and ballroom dance etc. Put it this way he has a lot of particular small skills that he picked up during his Earth visits so he could hide in plain sight with the upper echelons XD

Not like how a snake or cat hisses which is what I'm assuming you're implying XDDD He can't bite off a limb (his mouth ain't that big) but his teeth are very sharp so he can feasibly take a chunk out of someone or like, completely bite off something smaller (finger, ear...)

I havent added to it in a while (since I dont often find songs I like enough to actually download lol) but this is my current playlist for him in no particular order:

Anon, the fact you capitalised "Aliens" made me think of Xenomorphs and I had to immediately stop thinking 🤣

On a side note, I can't actually tell you either way because he hasn't encountered an alien (that isn't a demon or a human) lol. He'd probably initially treat an alien much like he would treat a common demon, if they are obviously not human, and then if he realises they are also not quite a demon this could peak his interest.

Pointing you in this direction because regardless of the canon answer this proves he could look good in one LMAO

Sorry to burst your bubble but no :d Though I suppose he could simulate the effect by reverting parts of them to their "liquid" state 🤔 DO WITH THAT INFO WHAT YOU WILL.

It is theoretically similar to a human's.

If you can remember his age then that is how old he is :d I'm not really like other creators who give their characs a definitive "birthday" down to the year, mainly because I don't often have set "time periods" in my stories lol.

His birth date falls somewhere between late October - late November though.

In the context of BTD; they just don't like each other XD Well I can't actually speak for Cain, but Rire not liking Cain is partly a riff on general angel/demon rivalry dynamics, and partly because Rire would see Cain as more of a threat since canonically Cain is way more OP than him.

Most of the time when i draw them Cain is also actively getting in Rire's space whilst Rire is actively trying to avoid him, so there's also that XD

It...depends. On which aspect of "ownership" you're implying. For those that he has deals with, he'd calculate what exactly the value of the deal lost would be and in this situation he'd likely write them off as Cain would be more annoying to handle then they'd be worth (he can always make more deals).

If someone was specifically marked by Rire, that's a different level of possessiveness and he'd actually try cos like

Hey guys some offence but why are some of you sending me asks formatted as if i were ChatGPT

Is there one for like, personal ambition or cunning or something cos I don't think he'd be any of those listed lol.

Rire doesn't have a mobile phone and he doesn't need one because he has a demon power that basically CCTVs all his citizens to himself. And really, if he wants to find you he'll find you.

He's somewhere in the middle of that scale through the sheer fact that he's been around long enough to see technology change and would've kept up with how to use things to blend in better, but also doesn't need to use the electronics to the point that he'd need to be an expert at it.

Is this cos Gato is Canadian cos I don't remember a country location being specified when we did it? |D Personally I figured most of the settings were in the US since the US has the most documented serial killers

Also sos no i dont anon, you'll need to either ask Gato or EP or dig through any of their lore posts they might have left.

Think kind of like Rire (he did learn a lot from her after all), but with a more Elizabethan era socialite vibe. Possibly a black widow but we dont have any proof about that.

Has/had a p good relationship. I use both terms because I still never decided whether she was currently dead or not lol.

Lol a misconception but Rire doesn't actually perceive humans as trash XD Trash suggests that he hates them and they wouldn't be worth regarding at all, whereas Rire usually finds them more like...novelties. Or like whatever that feeling that is associated with viewing ant farms or animals performing tricks is. Rire's mother would view them as more like working animals or livestock.

[msmk11]

hey! I’m kinda new to requesting anything so sorry if I mess it up 🤦🏽‍♀️

I was just wondering if you could write some angst + fluff about poly! marauders + Lily x fem reader. I love your writing style 💕 I don’t have any specific trope, maybe the miscommunication one?

Have a nice day 💕 thank you in advance

Hi lovely! I’m so sorry this took wayyyyyy too long for me to respond to, but here is my best try!

If your partners ask, you’ll deny it. But, yes, you are, in fact, hiding from them right now and sulking.

Why?

Because you’re too clingy. Apparently. You know they hadn’t meant for you to overhear it. They thought you were still asleep. But you did.

“They're clingier than Pads and Prongs combined” Remus had said, “and my limbs starts to hurt after a while when I can’t move with them on top of me.”

“I get so hot too,” Lily complains, “it’s too warm in the summer for cuddling but they insist.”

They hadn’t needed to name names, you knew Remus and Lily were talking about you. And you felt awful. You’d always worried you were too clingy and annoying and now it’d been confirmed.

You’re back in bed again, buried under the covers with a sleeping Sirius next to you. Of course, your skin itches to curl towards him, but you ignore your screaming instincts. Instead, you grip onto the pillow beneath you even tighter and huff frustratedly.

While you lay there agitated, you hear the door to your shared bedroom open. By the footsteps alone you know it’s James returning from his morning workout to take his shower. His heavy trod pauses near your “sleeping” body and then you feel his warm fingers dust across your cheek. Against your wishes your eyes flutter open and you’re met with James’ handsome face and lovely curls slicked with sweat.

Despite his protests that he smells after the gym, you quite like his musky scent of cologne and sweat. You always demand at least ten minutes of cuddle time with James post-gym before he showers just so you can soak up his scent.

So when you don’t instantly reach out to pull James down on top of you into bed, he frowns.

“What’s wrong, angel? Are you sick?”

He presses a kiss to your cool forehead.

“Nothing is wrong,” you murmur into the pillow.

“You’re not begging for your morning cuddles,” James pouts.

You wanna kiss that pout off his lips.

“I’m just not in a cuddly mood this morning.”

A voice behind you scoffs and Sirius’ tattooed arm suddenly snakes around your waist, pulling your back against his chest., “that’s bullshit. You’re always in a cuddly mood.”

“And your post-gym cuddles are always my favorite part of my morning,” James adds, “What’s going on, angel?”

“Tryingtobelessclingy,” you mumble under your breath.

Sirius kisses your bare shoulder, “you gotta speak up sweet cheeks.”

“I’m trying to be less clingy!”

James’ eyes widen and Sirius’ grip tightens at your petulant tone.

“Why the hell would you ever do that,” Sirius responds, his voice heavy with horror, “are you trying to kill me?”

“What he means,” James clarifies, “is that we love your clinginess. What put the idea in your head that we don’t adore how much you wanna touch us?”

You go quiet and bite your lower lip.

“Well?” your most dramatic boyfriend huffs impatiently.

James gives him a scolding look.

“Rem and Lils,” you nearly whisper.

They both go incredibly still and silent- more than you’ve ever seen them- and then Sirius is clambering over you and taking two steps at a time down to your living room. You sit up startled and James wraps his arms around you, pulling your head back against his chest. He kisses your temple, “I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this.”

Despite the feigned indifference on your face, you’re quite relieved by James’ embrace and Sirius’ quick action.

Three sets of footsteps pound up the steps and you’re suddenly being fawned over by four pairs of hands.

“Dove, please let us explain!”

“Baby, you only heard part of the story.”

“I’ll always cuddle you as much as you want.”

“Let them take a breath.”

The last is said by James and your other three partners freeze and drop their hands.

“Sorry, dovey,” Remus murmurs softly.

Lily tentatively sits by your knee with pleading eyes, “just let us explain.”

“Not sure if you both deserve to explain,” Sirius answers stubbornly.

“It’s okay my love, you tell Sirius,” and you pull him down on your lap as you sit in James’ lap.

He nods quietly and takes your fingers into his, playing with them gently.

You watch Sirius as you murmur, “it’s okay if I’m too clingy. I’m sorry that I’ve made you both uncomfortable.”

A pair of pale fingers that belong to your girlfriend hook under your chin and force you to look into her green eyes.

“Baby, don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong, I promise. You just caught the wrong part of the conversation.”

Remus clears his throat, “yes, we were calling you clingy.”

Your heart drops.

“But,” Remus insists, “we didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“You said it hurts your limbs when I lay on you for too long. And Lils said she gets too hot.”

They both have the decency to look embarrassed.

"Both are true," Lily confesses, "But that doesn't mean we want you to stop. We all love your cuddles very, very much."

"I just don't want to be a burden."

Your girlfriend places a kiss between your brows, "you're never a burden. Just think of it like this- sometimes Sirius' yapping gets a little much, or Jamie's worrying, or Rem's grumpiness, and my stubbornness. But you love us all the same, right?"

You hesitantly nod, "of course."

Remus squeezes your free hand, "there you go. It's just the same. We may whine a little, but that doesn't mean we want you to stop."

"And you better not, or I'll never let you hear the end of it," Sirius promises.

You believe him, and you believe Lily and Remus too. How could you ever distrust one of them when James is holding you so tightly, Sirius is touching you so softly, Lily is saying such pretty words, and Remus is looking at you so warmly?

[the4shoes]

i'm sorry i didn't post anything for a while, it will happen again

[muddyorbsblr]

pieces of me

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: While staying over at Loki's place, you get woken up with violently painful period cramps, having you apologizing to him in a panic when your mind starts flashing back to a night almost exactly like this from a previous relationship

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warning/s: blood; Reader going through her period; mentions of a previously abusive relationship; language (nope not sorry, Rogers) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: start of steamy moments at the end; precious green flag bf Loki hours

The timer went off with four beeps, and you turned down the brightness of your laptop, rubbing your eyes as you leaned back on the seat of the couch. You groaned into the dark quiet of the living room, stretching your arms and letting your eyes rest for a few minutes before you had to go back in and work on the post-mission report again.

"Darling, what did I tell you about working in such a horrendous position?" You barely had time to react to the sound of Loki's voice, or the gentle yet admonishing tone of his voice, before he scooped you up in his arms and cradled you against him as he sat on the couch.

"You should come to bed," he told you, a soft chuckle escaping him when you instantly relaxed in his hold. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Your mission report can wait until the morning, little mortal, you need your rest."

"'M fine…" you mumbled your protest, words muffled when you nuzzled your face into the crook of the god's neck. "M'almost done…just fifteen more minutes."

He let out a long sigh before tilting your chin up to face him, placing a soft kiss to your lips before moving you off of his lap and reaching for your timer, setting another fifteen minutes to it. "Alright, Y/N. But after this I'm taking you to bed." The way your eyes lit up had him breaking out into an amused grin, reaching over to hold your hand and kiss your knuckles. "To sleep, darling. I prefer you awake and alert when it comes to our lovemaking."

Your boyfriend sat quietly next to you as you resumed work on the report, waiting patiently for the four beeps to go off again. Unfortunately there were still a few fields left to fill out right as the timer went off. He wrapped his hand around yours, placing your laptop down on the coffee table before easily scooping you up in his arms again, this time carrying you to his bedroom.

"You know…I can just go back to my place," you offered. "I know this wasn't exactly what you had in mind when I said I'd sleep over for the night so maybe I can come by tomorrow--?"

"Do you truly think that that is all I want you for, precious mortal?" He sat you down on the edge of his bed before crouching down, his face now level with yours. "I cherish any time I get to spend with you, regardless of what we do." He held the side of your face, weaving his fingers through your hair before closing the distance and capturing your lips in a tender kiss. "Lay down, my darling. Tonight I am more than content simply holding you while we sleep."

Sleep took you as soon as he settled down on the bed beside you and he laid on his side to drape his arm over you. It honestly surprised you how quickly you could drift off ever since you and Loki started seeing each other. Back when you were single you practically slept with one eye open, always ready to spring into action, a fully loaded gun in your nightstand, just in case someone ever made the mistake of going into your apartment and trying something with you.

And it wasn't any better in your previous relationship. Spending the night with your ex mostly consisted of making sure you slept at the very edge of the bed to make sure that his arm didn't accidentally land on you while he flailed about. God help you if it did, it was an hour long tirade about how you "messed up his sleep experience for the night", and he outright demanded that you would "make it up to him" by giving him head.

That was what had you feeling so…foreign in this new relationship with the Asgardian. When he asked you earlier tonight if you wanted to stay with him after coming back from a mission that separated you from each other for the last week, you immediately assumed that it meant part of the night would have been spent naked in bed and most definitely not sleeping.

Not like you would have complained, of course. To say the sex was otherworldly was an understatement.

So having him prioritizing your rest, holding you close at the center of the bed while still wearing the lounge set he laid out for you when you entered his apartment nearly ten hours ago, was entirely uncharted territory. In just a few short months, the god had crafted a blissful little bubble for you that had you so thoroughly and stupidly content. That had you feeling so…safe.

If only the figurative needle that burst that bubble hadn't come tonight in the form of a sharp ache in your lower stomach that had you waking up with a violent start. You lurched away from Loki, clutching your abdomen in pain and pressing your face into the mattress to muffle your groans.

No no no, you thought to yourself in a panic, recognizing the violent clenching as period cramps. This wasn't supposed to be for another week.

The sound of your boyfriend mumbling your name had you scrambling out of bed, mortification and dread flooding you when soft warm light washed over the room and you saw the tiny patch of blood on the mattress. "Darling, what's happened? What's wrong?" He followed your gaze to the spot on the bed. "Oh, my dear heart…"

"I-I'm sorry," you stammered, already reaching for the sheets and starting to work them off of the mattress. "I'll--I'll get the spot out and get these back to you." The words started to spill out from you, as if you couldn't get them out fast enough. "I'm so sorry Loki please don't be mad--"

The feel of his hand gently wrapping around your arm had you jumping to stand up straight and turn to face him. But instead of the ire you'd braced yourself for when your eyes met his, instead you found concern. Tenderness, even. "You will do no such thing, darling," he told you, his tone the gentlest you'd ever heard from him. "You will stay right here and I'll be back in a moment."

When he guided you to sit back down on the bed, you began to protest. "But the blood--"

"Is just blood," he insisted, pressing a kiss between your brows. "Nothing we need worry about." He sat you down on the bed, lightly touching your chin before he disappeared from the bedroom in a flash of green.

Barely two minutes later he returned. In one hand was a change of clothes from your closet. In the other was the little acrylic basket you kept in your bathroom cupboard decorated with shark stickers. He set the clothes down on top of his dresser and held his hand out towards you to take.

He led you to his bathroom, placing the basket on the countertop. "Get yourself cleaned and sorted, darling. I'll take care of the bedsheets," he told you before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You really don't need to I'll be done in a few minutes--"

The frantic tone in your voice stopped him from closing the door. "Y/N, what paltry excuse of a partner would I be if I didn't do what I could to alleviate what stresses your body is forced to suffer?"

Loki's response, especially the sincerity that came through with every word, had you floored. He said it like it was the simplest, most basic thing in the world. Like it didn't even need a modicum of common sense to come to that conclusion.

And yet your history was more than enough proof that the answer to his question would have been 'the kind that I've always had'. He must have seen the words forming all from the glazed over look in your eyes as you thought back on former boyfriends, and he let out a sigh, crossing the distance between you again and framing your face in his large hands.

"Darling, I may not completely understand Midgardian anatomy quite yet, an issue I will see to it that I remedy after tonight. But this? Ensuring that you need not add to the stress that you must already bear? This I can do. How could I allow myself to simply sit back and not offer my aid where it could benefit the woman I love?"

Both of you froze, stunned silent, at the words that came from the god. Love. It was a word you didn't dare to use even in the solace of your own thoughts. Sure, the last few months that you'd been with him were nothing short of a wonderful dream that you wish you'd never wake up from. Of course you loved him. Even before your first date, you already had it bad for him.

"You love me?" you blurted out, your words barely louder than a whisper.

"I do," he sighed, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. "I have for a long while, my darling." He ghosted his lips up the bridge of your nose before pressing another kiss between your brows. "Get yourself cleaned," he repeated, murmuring the words into your skin. "I'll have tea waiting for you when you finish."

Once you were clean and you'd changed into the clothes Loki brought over for you, you stepped out of the bathroom, your heart warming at the sight of the god having placed a tray with a tea set on the storage bench in front of the bed. He shifted he way he sat at the edge of the bed, stretching his arm out toward you to invite you to sit on his thigh.

"Do you feel better, sweetheart?" He wrapped his arm around you, securing you against him as his hand worked its way under the hem of your shirt, thumb softly stroking at your skin. You only nodded your response before leaning over and giving him a kiss. He hummed contentedly against your lips, playfully nipping at your bottom lip before he pulled away. "What was that for?"

"I love you, too," you told him. "I realized while I was in the shower that I didn't say the words back. Like an idiot. But I do…love you. I don't think I even remember a time that I wasn't--"

He quieted the rest of your words when he pulled you into another kiss, weaving his fingers through your hair and holding you in place. "My precious little mortal," he sighed against your lips before he stole another kiss. "Why did you think I would be angry with you over something so…paltry?" You shifted to move off of his thigh, which made him hold you tighter. "You need not hide from me, my love. I need you to know this."

"It's just…" Your voice grew faint as you tried to find the right starting point to even start telling the god about the scars that had stayed with you from the ghosts of your past relationships. "I don't know how to even start finding the words," you said lamely, picking at the stitching of the hem of your top. "But maybe…maybe I can show you."

Loki's eyes widened as you placed your hand over his and brought it up to touch your temple. "Are you certain?" he asked, breathless.

"Of course," you said softly, giving him a tiny smile. "I trust you, Mischief."

You rested your forehead against his, bracing your hands on his shoulders as the memories flooded your mind, nearly knocking the wind out of you. All of the times that your last boyfriend before him mistreated you, neglected your needs and only called you over to stay the night when he wanted sex.

The time when you woke up on a night just like tonight, with painful cramps that came a week early because of the stresses of passing your SHIELD exams that were a part of your final assessment to be taken on to the Avengers team. You'd left a small patch of blood on his sheets and he had an absolute meltdown.

Even just the memory of his words had you flinching in Loki's arms.

Dammit those sheets were a graduation gift from my mom, you dumb bitch. You better clean that up and it better be fucking spotless.

Baby I'm sorry, it's just you know how important anything from my Mama is to me. I mean how would you feel if I just went and pissed on those journals your dad gave you for Christmas last year? What do you mean of course it's the same thing. But that's not what's important, pookie bear. What's important is making it up to me. I mean, you did disrupt my sleep experience.

"I've seen enough, darling," Loki snarled pulling away from you, pure fury in his eyes upon seeing that bringing those memories so vividly to the surface had made your cheeks wet with tears. "I should have his head for his abhorrent mistreatment of you."

You gave the god a half-hearted shrug. "He's someone else's problem now, thank fuck."

"He should not be anyone's problem."

"We can't just get rid of him, he's a civilian," you grumbled, already hating that you had to argue against his sentiment even though you actually agreed with him on a fundamental level. "He's not worth the legalities that we'd be facing. Trust me, I've considered it. From setting his house on fire to hacking his car to drive off a cliff. He's not worth facing the consequences."

Loki pursed his lips, wrapping his arms around you a bit tighter. "I suppose you're right, my love." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Then the only course of action now is taking care of you. Putting those awful memories far in the back of your mind."

He guided you to lay back down on his bed, holding you against him with your back to his chest. He splayed his hand across your lower stomach and used his seiðr to warm the area, relieving your cramps.

It didn't take long before you relaxed against one another, sleep once again sinking its hooks into you.

The next few days felt like something out of a dream, the raven-haired Asgardian going above and beyond, ensuring that you were well taken care of and that you weren't doing anything that could cause you additional undue stress. If he so much as saw you stumble or touch your head while you walked, he scooped you up in his arms and brought you back to his apartment, telling you to rest for an hour. You made a throwaway joke when he laid you down for a nap, calling him "Doctor Loki" right as you fell asleep.

On the fourth day of your period, usually the last day if you were to rely on your history, you got a text from the god telling you to meet him in his apartment for a "routine check-up". It seemed he caught on to your joke and wanted to play along.

However the last thing you expected was to walk into his bedroom and be greeted with the sight of him dressed in only dark slacks and a white doctor's coat, his eyes framed by a pair of angular square glasses. He smirked as his eyes raked over your figure, standing to his full height before making his way to you. "Hello, darling."

"What's all this, Mischief?"

"Well, the symptoms of your…condition seem to have abated," he answered, fighting back the playful smile that threatened to stretch across his face. "Aside from those pesky little headaches that seem to plague you every now and again. Luckily I have a quick and…rather enjoyable remedy for this."

He took your hand in his and started to guide you toward the bathroom.

"And what exactly is this treatment you have in mind?"

"Easy, my love," he said, casually shrugging off the white doctor coat, putting his well-defined chest and abs on display before pulling you into his arms with a gentle tug. He traced a finger down the bridge of your nose before tilting your chin up so he could lay his lips on yours, the kiss quickly becoming more and more heated with each brush of his lips. "Pleasure." With a wave of his hand your clothes and his disappeared in a flash of green and he led you into the shower. "Sweet, decadent, overwhelming pleasure."

A/N: Another request from the 500 follower celebration done! I had such a cozy lil time writing this kind of Loki where he just takes care of his bb and just makes sure that she feels safe and loved 🥹💖

I've got another 4-day weekend ahead of me starting tomorrow and hopefully I can use this time to knock out some stories from both my neverending Tumblr and non-Tumblr TBRs, getting some stories either properly planned out or actually written out, and just overall being productive 🫡

Already working on the next request from the 500 follower celebration list and…it's a Hiddles x Reader story that involves a mango ride 😈

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @huntedmusicgardenn @steaa90-blog

[sillydizzybxtches]

rare film , r. george

★ WARNINGS ; smut, camgirl!switch!regina, switch!reader, recording sex ☆ ⸺ SYNOPSIS ; whenever regina invites you over, it's usually to film and post for her followers—this time, though, she has something different in mind. ˇ ⋆ ╱ AUTHOR'S NOTE ; fem!reader + regina is 21 or older, 6.5k words—if you can't tell, i got really carried away ... so, enjoy this 6-thousand-word manifesto of utter filth!! this is literally pure porn.

A few footsteps forward, and you were there again—on her doorstep, waiting for her: Regina George.

You didn't know what it was—but whatever it was intimidated the fuck out of you and you didn't know why; even as you stood before a double-doored, secure mansion in a gated community, the anxiety clung to you like a second skin and made your stomach hot. Or, maybe it was the anticipation. You honestly couldn't tell anymore.

It wasn't like it was your first time here, either. For the last 6 months at least, you've shown up on Regina's doorstep per her command. It wasn't anything weird, at this point—it was just routine. She called you, and within 20 minutes, you were back at her door with the same feeling. Everytime you came here, there was always the same nervousness that melted away the moment you step foot inside. And—

The door clicked open, pulling you out of your thoughts; all your worries peeled away when you saw Regina standing in the doorway, her smirk wide and gaze narrowed down at you like she was judging you. She was clad in a satin pink robe and was nursing a glass of, what was clearly and unsurprisingly, expensive wine that probably cost a small fortune. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders and her fingers were tightly clenched around the glass. Bitchy and magnetic, that's what she was.

"Hey, loser," She scoffed, tilting her head slightly as she looked down at you. "Are you gonna keep staring, or are you gonna come in?" Without giving you a chance to say anything, she turned around and walked back in, to which you hustled behind her.

"Shut the door on your way in!"

You shut the door before wandering behind Regina and moving into the kitchen, wonderfully decorated and organized in all its glory. Her back was turned at the bar and you watched her move around, and you cleared your throat to inform her of your presence. "Hey, Gina," You hummed, the nickname rolling off your tongue like it was nothing; mostly, because it was nothing. According to her, when it came to you, she didn't care what you called her as long as you called.

"Hey, baby. Thirsty at all?" She echoed in response.

"Mhm, but I'll take whatever you give me," You responded as you came up behind her, trying to peek over her shoulder to see what she was doing. Before you could get a good view, she turned around and faced you with her refilled wine glass and that same smirk. "You always take whatever I give you," She scoffed playfully; you resisted the urge to roll your eyes to avoid however she'd use that against you later. "You can have some of mine. I'm almost out, otherwise, I would've poured you a glass," She hummed before turning on her heels, to which you followed like a lost puppy—that was kind of just how it worked between you two, though. You followed her command with little question, just how you both liked it.

You followed her to the living room, watching as she sat down on the couch and leaned back. Red wine on a white couch? She was either drunk or just didn't care; news flash, it wasn't the former.

You plopped down beside her and hummed, and she threw her legs over your lap while wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You swallowed as her robe loosened a bit, riding up on her soft thighs and revealing some of her cleavage. You accidentally stared for a moment before you felt her freshly-manicured fingers grip your chin, redirecting your gaze. "Ah-ah, babe. My eyes are up here," She teased, her smirk cocky. "Oh, shit—sorry," You sputtered, to which the blonde giggled in amusement before rolling her eyes. "Just shut up and take a sip."

She put the glass to your lips and you felt her other hand come up to grip your hair, gently tilting your head back to let the sweet beverage flow into your mouth. You felt that feeling in your lower stomach again at her sense of control—God, she was just hypnotic. "There you go," Regina hummed lowly, watching as you slowly downed it before she pulled the glass back and gave you air. You swallowed the drink and blinked as your head began to buzz slightly—it was sweet, but strong. You could see why she was trying to preserve it.

"Did I get here too early?" You hummed as the taste lingered on your tongue, surprised by how relaxed and comfortable she was—well, in a natural way. She always managed to present as though she had a settled composure, but you knew her enough to know that she wasn't in a rush, this time; she wasn't as serious, as quick, or as stoic. She was just there.

"No, what makes you think that?" Regina shrugged as she brought the glass to her own lips, humming as she did so. You shrugged. "I don't know—it just feels different, today? I could just be delusional."

"Well, it is different today," She deadpanned but didn't give further details. Before you could say anything or even ask about it, she pressed the wine glass to your lips to shut you up while she spoke. She tugged your head back a bit more roughly, and you gasped slightly before taking a few more sips. "It's no big deal—I'm just not working today," She hummed, her tone relaxed. You expected her to let you go, but she kept the wine flowing into your mouth, keeping you busy so she could keep talking. "But don't worry, baby—we're still recording. It's gonna be just for me this time, though. Got it?"

That was when she let up, removing the glass from your lips and letting you take a second; now, the glass was empty. She set it on the coffee table before turning her attention back to you.

You nodded in agreement as felt your brain buzz a bit more, but not enough for you to really be tipsy. For the second time, her fingers found your jaw and forced you to look up at her. "Words, baby."

"Yes, ma'am—got it," You repeated, to which she smirked. "Good."

There was a suddenness with the way she kissed you; she roughly turned your cheek before crashing her lips onto yours, humming softly as she felt you freeze up in surprise before melting against her lips. You let out a low groan and your hand found the back of her neck as you pulled each other closer, desperate to have more of her now, even if she'd have it her way. Regina had no problem taking what was hers.

Her fingers tightened around your jaw as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss, clearly trying to take control and suck all of the air out of you; oh, she'd leave you gasping for air until you saw stars, and she fucking loved it. Without warning, you felt her hand that was in your hair move to your sternum to guide you onto your back, forcing your elbows to sink into the couch as you used them to prop you up. As she crawled to hover over you, she reconnected your lips and kept that firm grip on your jaw, her nails digging into the soft skin. She pressed herself closer to you and you felt your noses clash from the intensity, to which you leaned forward in desperation while she pushed you back down and kissed you harder. You moaned softly at her dominance, and you felt her grip you tighter and kiss you harder—you were at the point where you didn't want to stop, but you couldn't fucking breathe. If you died like this, you definitely would've been happy; she wouldn't let that happen, though.

Regina pulled back a bit to give you air and to catch her own, and fuck, you swore you couldn't wait to touch her anymore; her stunning emerald eyes were blown with lust; her cheeks were flushed from the intensity of it all and from the simple fact that she damn near suffocated you both, and her lips were swollen and parted as her chest heaved. You probably didn't look too much different from her. She was fucking perfect, and it so was unfair. You felt lucky to even get to see her like this, of all things.

After a few seconds of catching her breath, she pressed another kiss to your lips, but lingered only for a moment and started turning your head to press kisses along your jawline. "Did you miss me, baby?" She purred breathlessly, and fuck, that did things to you. Of course, you fucking missed her; she was perfect. "Yes," You whined out as she tilted your chin up, kissing down the curve of your jaw and causing you to shudder as her lips found your neck. "Tell me what you missed, then?" She hummed. What were you supposed to say? You missed it when she kissed you like this? Or when she'd suffocate you with her thighs? When she made you beg for her to let her use you?

"I missed how you taste and how you feel," You sighed as you felt your heartbeat continue to race at a high rate that was probably unhealthy. "I miss worshiping you—how you sound when you cum on my fingers. I miss that privilege."

"Oh, yeah?" Regina giggled as she continued to kiss down your neck, pausing for a moment before licking a stripe up the side of it. "You miss being allowed to touch me and fuck me, is that it?" She spat, yet there was no venom in her tone. Suddenly, she bit down on the side of your neck, eliciting a whine from you and prompting you to answer as she sucked on the area. "Yes, Regina," You whined. "I miss it so, so much. I miss you, and I miss being yours."

You shuddered as you felt her smirk and groan against your skin at your tone, her hands beginning to feel along the curves of your body as you laid beneath her. She moved away from the area she bit after soothing it over with her tongue, kissing along your flesh before nipping at your pulse point, her teeth scratching at it. "Mine," Regina repeated, sighing softly before finding a spot on your collarbone. One of her hands slid under your shirt, resting on the soft skin of your abdomen before moving up to your breast, squeezing softly. Her tongue made its way against the side of your neck again before she pulled away. Just as you were about to whimper in protest, your complaint was quickly replaced with a yelp as her other hand got tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, angling your gaze up at her hungry, needy gaze. She leaned forward and brought her face close to yours, her breath fanning over your lips as she spoke.

"You wanna be good for me, baby? D'you wanna be good for Mommy?" She hummed lowly, to which you nodded desperately before remembering the rules. "Yes, ma'am," You sighed. You moaned softly as you felt her other hand continue to massage your tit, her thumb running over your nipple as she watched your reactions intently. She smirked when you gasped, and she bit her lip. "Then, you're going to go upstairs to my room, since that's where I want to film today," She hummed. "And you're going to wait and do nothing else. Got it?" You nodded, but when you didn't answer, a harsh tug on your scalp prompted you to respond properly. What? It wasn't your fault her beauty made you forget how to speak. "Got it."

She climbed off of you and ran a hand through her hair, her dilated eyes watching as you got up and hesitantly went upstairs, tracking your every move as you did so. God, she was going to make you ruin her.

Not too long after you practically flew up the stairs out of impatience and excitement, Regina followed you up; when she pushed the door open and looked at you with those sharp, tempting eyes, her head was tilted slightly as she looked you up and down. She was quick to shut the door and turn on the pre-set camera equipment before turning on her heels toward you, her bottom lip taken between her teeth as she scanned you, perched on the bed. Ready for her.

Silence clung between you two for a moment; then, without a word, she grabbed your collar and pulled you into a bruising kiss. You couldn't do anything but melt into her touch, groaning softly as she moved to straddle your lap. Your hands quickly found her hips and pulled her down against you, to which Regina whined before promptly taking a handful of your hair and yanking it back, causing you to yelp in surprise. "Did I say you could touch me?" She spat with narrowed eyes, her smirk prominent on her lips. "We just started, and you're already breaking rules, hm? I expected better from you," She scoffed, and you couldn't tell if she was just teasing or being serious. "Sorry, ma'am—" You corrected. "Can I touch you, please? I promise, I'll be good," You whined. She glared down at you and you watched her smirk widen—God, she loved the power she had over you. You were so fucking easy.

"Since you're so desperate for it, babe, why not?" She scoffed. "You're lucky you're even allowed to touch me." In an instant, she reconnected your lips.

You could tell it was different this time—not just because she was filming in her actual bedroom instead of the one she had designated for filming or because she was recording just for herself, but because of the way she kissed you. She was more possessive and forward about what she wanted from you—she kissed you senseless and literally marked you as hers (not that you minded). All of it just seemed much more desperate than usual; not like she was hungry for you, but fucking starving. You didn't know what this was, but fuck, you could tell you needed more of this version of her.

Her hand moved from being tangled in your hair to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer to her while your fingers dug into her hips. She whined softly and quickly shoved her tongue into your mouth—claiming what was hers with no mercy. She pressed herself against you like she was trying to become one with you—like she fucking needed you, and God, that made your already-buzzed brain feel even more drunk off of the ecstasy. Neither of you thought, you just felt.

You didn't know what the fuck was going on other than the fact that you loved it.

The kiss was so, so messy—your tongues danced, your lips locked, and you felt her trying to press closer to you, to get more of you. You took advantage of the opportunity to begin to guide her against your thigh, your pace slow and steady—fuck, she was soaked. Was this all for you, all because of you? God, you needed more; she clearly did, too.

Regina pulled away from the kiss to regain her breath, gasping softly as her hips rolled against your thigh, the friction making her brain fuzzy. She looked down at you with glossy eyes and parted lips, her hands moving to your shoulders as she swallowed. "Fuck me, baby," She moaned in your ear, tilting her head down at you. This? This was fucking insane—she knew how to disarm you with just the right tone and glare. Maybe you were easy, and if this was where it got you, then you'd take it.

Without hesitation, you moved your hand to tangle in her blonde locks and tugged her head back gently—and she let you, pressing kisses to the soft skin of her neck. Her eyes fluttered as she let out a low hum, her cunt dripping on your thigh. "You missed this, right, baby?" She hummed as you ran your tongue up the side of her neck, to which she moaned softly. "Yes, ma'am," You sighed against her neck.

"God, you're so, so perfect," You hummed lowly as you quickened her pace, your teeth scraping against her neck and eliciting a whimper from her. "Y-Yeah, baby? And how am I perfect?" Regina cooed, her smirk widening as her hand found your hair again and pulled you back to make you look at her. Oh, she had to hear this.

Fuck, how were you supposed to answer that? It was all just her—she was fucking perfect.

You swallowed as she looked down at you expectantly. "Use your words," She commanded firmly. You hummed, looking up at her with wide eyes, "Just every part of you, ma'am—your eyes, your smile, your body ... how needy you are." Subconsciously, you began to rock her at a quicker pace, biting your lip in thought. Fuck.

Regina chuckled softly at your reaction, watching as your brain began to turn to mush—just how she liked you. "Oh, baby—" She crooned, her other hand sliding under your chin. "You think I'm needy, after you were just begging to fuck me? That's so cute," She scoffed, her eyes narrowing down at you as she took her lip between her teeth. The hand on your chin moved up so that her thumb could tug at your bottom lip, her lashes fluttering and her tone low. If looks could kill, she'd have fatal attraction.

"Open your mouth," She hissed, and you obeyed knowingly, letting your mouth fall open for her. "Good girl," Regina purred in satisfaction before pushing two fingers into your mouth. You wrapped your lips around her digits and began to suck, gripping her hips tighter as she began to push them in and out of your mouth. "You're so pretty like this; so eager to please," She rasped , her expression and eyes conflicting; her smirk was wide and prideful, like she was proud of the control she had, but her eyes flickered with desperation, like she was struggling to keep control over herself. She was trying to stay put together, and you wanted to make her fucking fall apart.

"Anything for you," You whimpered, to which she shut you up by shoving her fingers back into your mouth. You took advantage of her vulnerability and gradually began to increase her pace, your hands steadily guiding her hips against your clothed thigh while she finger-fucked your throat, subtly gagging on her digits every now and then. Her gasps and groans grew louder and more frequent, her pace picking up as she seized some control while she looked down on you with those conflicted green eyes; fuck, this was perfect. Regina had you gagging on her fingers, showering her with praise, and following her every command—and you were more than happy to do it. And, fuck, the friction against her aching cunt felt so fucking good. God, what if she just came like this right now—for you? Fuck, that got her off. It'd be so—

Shit.

You were caught off guard when the blonde suddenly yanked your hair, and hard, making you yelp while she glared down at you with pointed eyes. What? Your hands kept her pace steady, but that was the fucking problem—she was too close, too soon.

"Fuck, baby—Y/N, stop," Regina snapped, biting down on her lip as she tried to slow her pace and regain self-control. You whined and gripped her hips to a bruising point, slowing her to a stop. What happened? Did you hurt her? Was she already tired?

You looked up at her with concern as her chest heaved from the sudden interruption, preventing her orgasm seconds before it happened. Fuck, she needed more of that. She slowly withdrew her fingers from your mouth, panting a bit as her almost-high feeling began to level out but settle in her bones, making her crave more.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" You hummed, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear with care. "I'm fine," Regina huffed, her dilated gaze fixing back on you. "Did you expect to be allowed to make me cum that fast? Oh, no, baby—you have to earn it," She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she dragged her wet fingers down the column of your throat. She watched in mesmerisation until her fingers landed by the collar of your shirt, giving her an idea. "Take this off, and get rid of those," She spat curtly, her head tilting down at you. You quickly obeyed and pulled your shirt over your head and your pants off, tossing them to the side and leaving you exposed to her in a bra and underwear. She clicked her tongue as her gaze fell over your nearly bare body and her smirk widened as her gaze hardened. She suddenly climbed off of your lap, leaving you to whine in protest as her warmth left yours.

She walked a few feet short of the bed, turning toward you as she hummed. "On your knees, now," Regina growled and pointed at the ground before her, tilting her chin up with a wide, cocky smirk. God, the chokehold this fucking woman had on you; she could step on you, and you'd thank her. "Yes, ma'am," You hummed as you walked over before kneeling down, tilting your head in curiosity.

"How about you help Mommy take this off?" She purred as she gestured to her robe, but it wasn't a question—and even if it was, the answer was fuck yes either way. You swallowed and sighed, taking your lip between your teeth. "Can I touch you, please?" You hummed, but it came out as more of a pathetic whimper—fuck. Regina's smirk widened and she hummed before reaching out to tilt your chin up, purring, "Of course you can, baby—you're so desperate to please Mommy, aren't you? Such a sweet, pathetic little thing."

You were quick to stand on your knees and get to work on the belt of the soft robe, tugging at the knot until it loosened and watching it cling to her shoulders. Regina hummed and gestured for you to get up to finish the job, which you obeyed; standing on your heels and gently pushing the delicate fabric off of her shoulders. And, fuck, you couldn't help but stare and admire the perfect woman before you; her curves, muscle, and everything in-between—fuck, you were lucky you even got to see her like this. God, you wanted to touch her so, so badly. The blonde giggled softly as she watched you stare before grabbing your chin and pulling you in close, her breath ghosting over your lips. "You like what you see, baby?" She cooed, her eyes darting to your lips and lingering for a moment before looking back up at your wide eyes. You nodded with a whimper, to which she squeezed your jaw. "Don't fuck up now, you're doing so good," She hissed. "Use your words."

"Yes, ma'am—fuck, I like what I see," You gasped as you ran your tongue over your lips. Regina tsked and hummed in response, and you felt her hand slide from your chin to your shoulder. "On your knees," She repeated; you sank down onto your knees before her, watching her cocky smirk perk up at your position.

Regina stepped a bit closer to you before letting her hand slide into your hair, slightly tugging your head back. "Open for me," She purred, and you let your mouth fall open and your tongue stick out. "God, you're fucking desperate," She scoffed with no real venom to her words. She admired for a moment then proceeded to spit into your open mouth, the glob of saliva sliding down your tongue and toward the back of your throat. You flinched slightly but didn't hesitate to swallow, whimpering as her grip on your hair tightened a bit upon watching. "We aren't done," She hissed. "Keep your mouth open—you're going to make Mommy feel good."

Once again, you didn't hesitate—that was just something you didn't do when it came to her. You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out for her, to which Regina hummed in satisfaction before bracing herself. She took her lip between her teeth and mounted your face, her throbbing cunt aching with need against your tongue. Fuck—you groaned lowly at the taste before temporarily pulling away to press kisses to her inner thighs. Oh, you were going to savor this and spoil her.

Your lips worked against the soft flesh of the blonde's thighs, your hands gripping them as you moved upward, the faint taste of her arousal lingering on your lips from when she was on your tongue. Regina tugged at your hair in impatience and hissed, her vixen eyes narrowing down at you and silently telling you to hurry the fuck up; you hummed and moved your lips higher until you finally pressed a kiss to her aching pussy before diving in. You licked up her wet folds and felt her shudder above you at the contact, a soft groan escaping her lips. Okay, fuck it—you were too impatient, and so was she. You didn't care.

You licked a stripe from her entrance to her clit before dipping your tongue inside of her, her wetness dripping on your lips as you collected it on your tongue. You alternated between tongue-fucking her and flattening your tongue against her, and once she started grinding against your tongue, you felt your smirk widen and your grip on her thighs tighten.

"Fuck, baby—" She groaned, whimpering as you continued to work her. "I need more," She hissed as she tugged at your roots harder, pulling you into her. You moved your hand and went to work, circling her entrance with two fingers before slowly pushing them into her. She let out a moan as you didn't hesitate or tease, pumping in and out of her. You flattened your tongue against her weeping cunt before wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking, hard—to which Regina let out a pitchy moan and pulled your face impossibly closer. "Fuck!" She cried out, her hips rocking against your face at an utterly desperate pace. She whined, "Oh, shit—don't you fucking stop!"

You didn't want this to end; you had half a mind to edge her again, if it were up to you and if you weren't so desperate to have her cum for you over and over. Fuck, you didn't know what it was, but your brain was mush. You didn't think, because you couldn't. All you could focus on was how Regina George tasted and how she rode your tongue and fingers like it was her fucking lifeline; how you could barely breathe, but didn't care because you needed this so, so bad. You needed her to cum in your mouth while her words slurred out of the pure ecstasy that you brought her—you needed to bring her pleasure, over and over again, until she scolded you for being so desperate but praised you for being so good. You just fucking needed Regina George—you didn't care.

You picked up your pace desperately, your tongue alternating between flattening against and sucking on her clit while your fingers pumped until you started curling them, your digits ramming into her G-spot time and time again until she was fucking shaking and clenching around you. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—God, baby, please—" She pleaded.

"Please, what, Mommy?" You asked in confusion, your words muffled by her cunt.

"Let me cum, please."

Was she begging to cum for you? That was new.

Like, really new. Regina George didn't beg.

But you didn't care; your fingers curled at an impossible pace and you sucked on her clit, desperate to bring her over the edge. "Cum for me, Gina," You whimpered, and fuck, you almost came from watching her. The moment you gave her permission, she clenched around your fingers and screamed your fucking name, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as she convulsed and kept fucking herself on your fingers and tongue to ride out her high. You slowed your pace but didn't even think about stopping, doing your best to prolong her pleasure until she grinding slowed to a stop and she just stood there weakly, breathless with your fingers nestled inside of her momentarily. Fuck. You'd fucked before, but that felt different.

Her grip on your hair slackened. After you two caught your breath, you pulled your fingers out of her cunt; God, you were drenched in her. Her cum coated your hand and chin, along with her own inner thighs, but you got the most of it—was it slutty to say that you couldn't be happier?

"Get up," Regina said breathlessly, tilting your chin up to look down on you, her eyes clouded with lust and confusion. God, you really were pretty like this. It made her want to return the favor.

You wanted to melt into her palm, but instead, obediently stood up as she commanded. Her hand found your jaw, and, without warning, she pulled you into a kiss, moaning and getting greedier as she tasted herself on your lips. You moaned lowly and pushed her back, causing her gasp as her back hit the wall. Her tongue pressed into your mouth with an urgency and her hands freely roamed your body, stopping once they found the clasp of your bra to un-clasp it and toss it aside. Your slick-covered hand gripped her waist as your nails bit into her soft flesh, leaving crescent moon-shaped indents in their wake. Her hands continued to feel your body until they landed on your tits, which she teased and massaged. You moaned softly and pulled away from the kiss for a moment, melting into the feel of her hands on your body and leaning your forehead against hers. Your eyes met with hers; cloudy, hungry, and desperate. Still conflicted, but you didn't know why.

Her hands continued to toy with your breasts, alternating between her thumbs rolling over your nipples and pinching them between her fingers. She moved a hand to tilt your head up so she could press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, her lips moving down the column of your throat. "God—you're so, so fucking good for me," Regina practically moaned before sinking her teeth into your neck, moving her hands to roam your body while she continued to suck a bruise into your skin. You groaned lowly, moving a hand to one of her angel-sculpted tits to reciprocate her actions while the other squeezed the plush of her ass. She drew away from your neck and ran her tongue over the bruise before continuing down to your chest, kissing and nipping at the skin there. "Aren't you? My good, desperate girl?" She asked, her tone raspy and greedy.

"Fuck, yes—yours," You whined out, squeezing her tit and eliciting a moan from her. She continued to kiss down your chest until she reached your tits, then your navel, and then just at the hem of your underwear. She took a finger and tugged at the elastic until it snapped back against your skin, causing you to let out a small whimper. "Aw, do you need something, baby?" She cooed, pressing her fingers against the damp spot of the fabric, feeling how fucking soaked you were. "Yes, please, ma'am," You whined pathetically. "God, are you this wet from fucking me?" She scoffed. "Pathetic—but I think you deserve a reward, since you've done been so good for Mommy."

Regina's teeth bit into the hem of your underwear before pulling them down to pool around your ankles, and you kicked them away eagerly as her smirk widened. She stood back up and pulled you into another kiss, and you stepped forward so her back hit the wall again. You felt her fingers dance up your side and her knee pushed your legs apart, your arousal dripping down your thighs and your cunt aching for attention. Without warning, the blonde palmed your pussy and pressed the heel of her palm against your clit, making your hips buck and pulling a whine of desperation from you. You fucking needed her.

"Please, Mommy," You whimpered, resisting the urge to grind against her hand. She tsked and smirked against your lips, her fingers slowly running through your folds. "Since you asked so nicely, baby ..." She purred before plunging two fingers into you, and fuck, you let out a throaty whine.

Her pace started off slow and steady, tortuously pumping in and out of you, her thumb finding your clit and rotating over it. God, you were impatient; you needed more, and Regina knew what she was doing. After seeing that you were willing to wait and listen, she was quick to increase her pace—her fingers curling into your G-spot deliciously, your walls clenching around her fingers as her thumb continued to torture your clit. Within seconds, you were grinding against her palm and riding her fingers desperately—your head hung and legs shaking. Fuck, she was insane.

"Ma'am, I-I'm close—" You whimpered, to which Regina slowed her pace. "Not yet, baby," She cooed in your ear, her tonight flicking against the shell of it. You whined at her teasing but took it without complaint, squeezing a handful her ass. Whatever she gave you was a blessing.

And having you like this got her off—enough to where she took your hand and held it against her pussy, her eyes silently begging for more of you. You nodded and had no problem obeying her command—you teased her entrance before beginning to pump your digits in-and-out of her, and as you picked up, her pace began to match yours, bringing you closer.

"F-Fuck," You whined and trembled around her fingers, your clit grinding against her palm while she fucked you; her forehead was pressed to yours while she rolled her hips against your digits, your thumb pressed against her clit making her legs want to give out. Fuck, she was close. Her fingers began to curl into your G-spot at a merciless pace, and you practically fucking screamed in pleasure. You reciprocated her actions and your moans began mix, your breaths picking up while you both got close. Neither of you thought, just felt—and you couldn't fucking wait anymore. You were fucking Regina George against her bedroom wall, about to cum with her, And all after God-knows-how-long of fucking.

"Fuck, I can't—" You choked out, your teeth sinking into your lip. Regina's fingers wrapped around your chin and forced you to look up at her flushed face, her emerald eyes hooded and glossy. "I don't care—cum with me, please," She pleaded; both of your moans got throatier, and you couldn't wait anymore. You felt it in your whole body—the bottom of your feet, your chest, your stomach—fuck, you were coming with her and for her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—!"

Just as you came, she did, her cunt convulsing around her fingers while yours did the same, her name and obscenities slurring from your pretty lips while she continually fucked you through your orgasm. You continued to curl your fingers and didn't stop until she did, her cum dripping down your hand again. Fuck, you were spent.

You two slumped against each other for a moment, breaths fast-paced as you two panted and basked in the aftershocks. Before you could fully relax, Regina lifted your chin to look at her; her eyelids were drooped—she was exhausted. She carefully pulled her fingers out of you and put them to your lips, smearing your slick against them until you took her digits into your mouth and sucked your juices off of them. You moaned softly and did the same for her, pulling your fingers out of each other's mouths once they were clean. Fuck. Did any of that really just happen?

You didn't care. You took Regina's hand and guided her to the bed, tugging her down to lay beside you. Her arms wrapped around your waist and she snuggled up against you, burying her face in the crook of her neck. Neither of you said anything; you just dozed off.

When you woke up, it was way later than you intended—it was literally nighttime. You turned to see Regina stirring awake, her emerald eyes slowly fluttering open to look at you—you giggled softly. "How long have you been watching me, creep?" She scoffed, running a hand through her messy hair. "Not long, unfortunately," You pouted, to which Regina playfully rolled her eyes. "Whatever, baby."

The room fell silent again, the darkness securing your bubble of warmth. She looked at the window, blinking in surprise. "Have we really been asleep that long?" "Yeah, I guess so."

You sighed, scratching your shoulder. "That was amazing," You hummed, rolling over and facing her. She moved a hand to rest on your wide, her smile soft and warm. "Tell me about it—I still owe you more from how hard you made me cum earlier," She giggled. You rolled your eyes, "You're insane."

"And you love it."

You two laid in silence for a moment before it dawned on you—you probably had to go, now. All of that, just for it to be over.

You rolled off of the bed and gathered your clothes, and you heard the sheets ruffle beside you. "What are you doing?" Regina asked in confusion, her brows knitted. You swallowed, turning to her. "I've been here a while—I'm sure you want the house to yourself," You hummed, though it hurt more to say it; it made it more real.

"I never said that, though," She hummed. "You don't have to go."

"No, don't feel pressured, Gigi. I understand if you don't wan—"

"I do," She cut you off pointedly, crawling over to the edge of the bed and holding your hand. "Stay, please."

You swallowed and looked back at her, feeling a warmth blossom in your chest. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been surer," She whined, gently tugging at your arm.

You nodded and dropped your things in a pile, crawling back into bed with her. Her arms found your waist again and tugged you close to her, her face buried in your neck and taking in your scent.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Gina."

You two forgot the fact that the cameras were still rolling.

[minswriting]

DAYLIGHT - SPENCER REID X READER

About: Toxicity comes in any shape or form. You and Spencer, on what is a seemingly healthy relationship, share undertones of sadness and unresolved emotions. Issues that only get pushed away and temporarily forgotten about when the two of you use sex to ignore the he problems.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, angst, toxic relationship but not abusive, sex as a coping mechanism, unprotected sex, oral (f), unresolved feelings, etc.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Please comment and reblog to support your writers! I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @aureatelys for reading it before i posted it so i can make sure it’s all set heeheehee.

Telling myself I won’t go there

Oh, but I know that I won’t care

Tryna wash away all the blood I’ve spilt

This lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can’t atone from a lone prayer

Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt

It all began at a coffee shop. You had just moved to Washington, D.C., were still figuring out your surroundings. And that day, you had found your new frequent coffee stop.

There he was, standing awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of his satchel as the two of you shared a passing glance as you were making your way towards the exit while he was waiting in line.

You weren’t someone that believed in love at first sight, at least not until that moment. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest, as your gaze met with those beautiful chocolate brown eyes. It was nothing more than a brief look, one that only lasted less than a few seconds. And yet, it felt as though it had been an eternity. In that moment, you knew that was the man you were going to fall for.

Everyday you went to the coffee shop, ordering your coffee and exchanging glances with the man that you felt drawn to. There were days, however, he wasn’t there which often left you a bit disappointed. It took about two months before either of you had said anything to the other. The man accidentally bumped in the doorway while you were on your way out and he was on his way in.

“Oh!” He exclaimed, eyes widening as he began apologizing profusely. “I-I’m so sorry,” He said.

You were careful to ensure your coffee didn’t spill, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of the hot man. “It’s okay,” you smiled. “I-uh-I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Spencer,” He grinned goofily.

And a beautiful friendship foraged by coffee and a love for life came into fruition.

You’d love to say that your relationship with Spencer was a happy and loving one. With his eidetic memory remembering anything and everything about you, how you reminded him to be himself, and the way the two of you cared for one another was admirable. The fact that for your first date, Spencer took you to a bookstore and the two of you browsed around before getting dinner certainly set the bar for romanticism in your relationship.

The first time you realized you were in love with Spencer was the day he ran to your apartment in the rain after he had gotten back from a rough case. He was standing outside your door, drenched and shivering. “I just-I needed to see you,” was all he said. It was all he needed to say before you pulled him into your apartment. It was the night the two of you also had sex for the first time.

When you guys eventually said “I love you” to one another, Spencer was the one that said it first. You had come over to his place after your own long day at work, stressed and in desperate need of comfort from your boyfriend. And as Spencer held you close to him, rubbing your back, he simply murmured “I’m always here for you. I love you,” into your ear. You didn’t hesitate to say it back to him.

There's darkness in the distance

From the way that I've been livin'

But I know I can't resist it

Relationships, as amazing and beautiful they can be, can quickly turn into something completely different once the couple gets too comfortable in them. You began noticing Spencer’s flaws about a year and a half into your relationship. The subtle disagreements the two of you had would become something more. And there were nights that you went to bed sad and angry.

When Spencer was on a case, you hardly expected much out of him. He would promise to text you when he’d land, promise to call you once he’d get to the hotel, and make sure you’d know when he’s on his way home. And for the first year the two of you were together, he did exactly that. But one day, it just stopped and you weren’t sure as to why.

It saddened you, to say the least. You knew his work was important, it’s why you never pushed him. Being a profiler in the FBI was not easy work and you couldn’t imagine yourself in such a position. Even so, however, you couldn’t help but feel as though you no longer were a priority in Spencer’s life. Everything else always came above you and that very thought is what led you to confront Spencer about it, or at least try to.

You had been sitting on the couch, dressed in nothing but one of Spencer’s shirts, as you waited for him to come home. You fiddled with your fingers, anxiety had been eating up at you as you processed your emotions. As you heard a jingle of keys outside the apartment door, you knew Spencer had just arrived home. It wasn’t too late at night. He had left for his case just two days prior and now it was only eight o’clock in the evening.

Whenever Spencer would come home, you would usually jump for joy, greeting him at the door with a hug and a kiss. But that too was something that hadn’t been happening as of recently. Spencer wasn’t sure as to why. Perhaps you didn’t know either. But instead, Spencer was met with your form on the couch, looking contemplative as you looked at your lap.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

“Hey,” Spencer greeted, his voice hoarse from not being used in the past few hours.

You looked up from your lap, turning your head to look at Spencer, who was standing in the doorway. “Hey,” you replied before looking back down.

That action itself caused Spencer to frown. He kicked off his converse and placed his satchel down next to the door as he closed the door behind himself. He made his way over to you, kneeling in front of you. He looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes as your gaze caught his, the ones you’d never been able to resist. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Spencer asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Tears pricked at your eyes, the softness of Spencer’s tone adding to your already high strung emotions. “I-“ You tried to speak but your voice got choked up. You took a deep breath. “You didn’t call or text,” you whispered, looking at Spencer tearfully.

Spencer stayed silent for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. He swallowed, looking down for a second before looking back up at you and grabbing your hands with his. “I’m sorry,” he replied. He didn’t give a reason, he didn’t make an excuse, he simply apologized. “I-I’ll do better,” He exclaimed.

You didn’t respond, except for with a tearful sniffle. Your gaze fixated in your lap once more, your hands still intertwined with Spencer’s. “I don’t want to be on the back burner,” you whispered after a little bit.

Spencer didn’t respond immediately as he let go of your hands, placing his on your thighs. “You’re not,” he replied before leaning down to press a kiss onto your left knee. You knew what this was insinuating. Whenever you and Spencer had any sort of conflict as of recently, the two of you resolved it by having sex. You should say no, to stand your ground and allow yourself to be heard. But instead, you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to your boyfriend.

Spencer let out a small hum before kissing your knee once more and working his way up. He was grateful you had only been wearing one of his shirts and nothing else as it made for much easier access. “My beautiful girl,” Spencer murmured against your inner thigh. His eyes met yours for just a moment. You were still crying, he didn’t really give you a chance to let your feelings out. Regardless, Spencer just wanted you. He wanted to consume you, to show you that you meant a lot to him, even if he wasn’t being the greatest right now.

You took a shaky breath, looking down at Spencer with glistening eyes. And without any further hesitation, Spencer dove in. He licked your slit, from your hole to your clit, a small whimper escaping his lips. You gave a soft moan, as your hands moved to grip the cushion beneath you. You shouldn’t be turned on, you shouldn’t be allowing Spencer to taste you in such a way, not when you’re feeling upset. And yet, all thoughts are gone the moment his lips wrap around your clit.

Spencer began slowly, eating you out with a precision and delicacy that he usually lacked. When he would eat you out, it was often like he was a starved man, depraved from water and food. Tonight, however, it was as though he was apologizing to you. His own form of an apology and how can you be mad about that when it feels so good?

Spencer’s tongue moved around in figure eights, gathering all of your juices with his tongue. You couldn’t help the small whines and moans that left your lips. Spencer was always so good at giving head. Your hand moved to Spencer’s head, entangling your fingers with his curls. You tugged at his hair, causing him to moan against your pussy. The vibrations sent a shiver up your spine.

His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub as he brought his middle finger to your entrance. You gasped unexpectedly, moaning a bit louder when Spencer inserted his finger. He pumped his finger slowly, getting you used to the feeling before suddenly curling the digit, hitting your g-spot dead on.

“Oh fuck,” You whimpered, throwing your head back in pleasure as you tugged at Spencer’s hair.

It wasn’t long until you were cumming from Spencer’s mouth and finger, thighs clenching around his head as your back arched and you moaned his name in that pornographic way that had always had him ready to burst right then and there. And when you were finished, you relaxed against the couch, breathing heavily as you looked down at Spencer.

His eyes were filled with lust, his face glistening from your juices, and you could tell how turned on he was. And so, the rest of the night was filled with having sex around the apartment. You didn’t think about your issues with Spencer until early in the morning when you woke up sore and with a sunken feeling in your chest, a feeling that things were likely not going to change anytime soon.

Tellin' myself it's the last time

Can you spare any mercy that you might find

If I'm down on my knees again?

Deep down, way down, Lord, I try

Try to follow your light, but it's night time

Please, don't leave me in the end

The following week, it happened again. You knew change didn’t happen instantaneously which is why you waited until the third time it happened. And then the fourth. Spencer wasn’t putting in the effort to stay connected with you anymore, to let you know he was okay. You guys didn’t message each other while he’s away, he didn’t call you, he was indeed not doing better.

Spencer came home late one night after a week-long case. He was exhausted. The case was much more emotionally taxing than he’d care to admit. As he walked into the apartment, he wasn’t surprised to see you weren’t in the living room. It was past twelve in the morning, you were likely asleep or getting ready to go to sleep.

He knew he hadn’t been calling or texting you. During cases he just gets so caught up in what he’s doing that everything else no longer matters to him. He supposed that’s what your issue was. The fact that he indeed puts you to the side in order to focus on his career.

Spencer made his way to your shared bedroom, gently opening the door. There you were, quietly reading and looking as beautiful as ever. You were lying on the bed, the blankets covering your lower half. You were wearing the silk nightie that Spencer always adored on you. But the moment you noticed Spencer, you frowned and closed your book, placing it on the nightstand before turning off your lamp. You turned to your side, facing away from Spencer’s side of the bed. That’s how Spencer knew you were mad at him. He hadn’t spoken to you in a week, after all.

A small sigh left his lips as he undressed himself and crawled into bed next to you. He got under the covers and scooted closer to you before pressing small kisses along your shoulder blades.

It didn’t take a profiler to know that you had been thinking about leaving him. The way your heart wasn’t in it like it used to. Maybe it was all Spencer’s fault. He wasn’t treating you the way you deserved to be treated. But he was selfish and his love for you was more important to him. And therefore, he didn’t want to lose you.

His kisses moved upward from your shoulder blades to the back of your neck, gently nipping at your skin. He knew exactly how to turn you on, to make you forgive him for not being the man you deserve to have. Without saying anything, Spencer gently pulled you onto your back. You looked at Spencer with those glimmering eyes, a sign that you were close to crying once more. And Spencer couldn’t help but feel shitty.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured before pressing a kiss onto your lips.

“Are you?” You replied.

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. His job is his livelihood, you knew this. And yet, he also knew that you weren’t asking for much. You were simply asking for him to just check in on you even just once or twice while he’s away. Rather than responding, Spencer simply buried his face in your neck as he crawled on top of you. “Need you,” he breathed, his breath hot against your skin.

“Then have me,” you whispered back.

That was all Spencer needed before reaching between the two of you. He gripped his cock while you spread your legs for him. He guided his cock to your cunt, using the tip to spread around your wetness. The both of you let out tiny whimpers. “You’re always so wet,” Spencer murmured.

You didn’t respond as you simply just looked up at Spencer. There wasn’t much you had to say. You could tell that he knew exactly how you felt. Even so, you know the best way for the two of you to communicate is through your bodies. The two of you looked at one another. You reached up, placing a tender hand on Spencer’s cheek. And in that moment, you could tell that Spencer truly felt bad.

You leaned up, capturing Spencer’s lips with your own. The kiss was soft and tender as your lips moved in sync with each other. Spencer aligned his cock to your entrance, gently pushing into you. Your breath hitched before you whined into the kiss. Spencer let out his own noise, a groan of some sorts as he eased himself into you. Once he was fully inside of you, Spencer let go from the kiss, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. “You okay?” He whispered softly, his breath fanning your face.

It was a bit of an adjustment. He had been gone for a week and therefore, the two of you haven’t had sex in that time. You nodded your head, giving yourself time to get used to his size. After a few minutes, you took a deep breath and relaxed. “You can move,” You breathed out before biting your bottom lip.

That was all Spencer needed before he began moving his hips slowly, bringing his cock out before thrusting it back into you. The feeling caused you both to let out your own moans. “You feel so good, princess,” Spencer murmured hotly, looking down at you as he continued moving his hips gently.

Your lips were parted as small moans left your lips. “Feels good, Spence,” You whispered, looking up at him.

Spencer hummed in response, gaining a bit more rhythm in his thrusts. The feeling of your cunt wrapped around his cock was exactly what Spencer needed after such a long case. To just be close to you, to feel your presence with him. Your pussy was so warm and wet, your skin so soft, and you were the most perfect person he could ever be blessed to be with. Which is why he felt so bad about being a poor communicator. He knew you deserved the world, you deserved everything great.

Spencer leaned down, bringing his lips to your neck as he peppered your skin with kisses. He continued moving his hips, his cock thrusting into you rhythmically but not too fast. It was still tender and loving, a contrast to how you felt emotionally in your relationship. “Please don’t leave me,” Spencer said vulnerably, his voice just above a whisper before he buried his head in your neck.

You paused for the briefest moment, realization hitting you. Of course the profiler knew about the thoughts you were having. Perhaps it’s been in your behavior. Your hands made their way to Spencer’s back, gently clawing at his back as he fucked you. You turned your head slightly to look at Spencer. Your eyes met each other’s and in that moment, you knew you would never actually leave him. “I won’t,” You whispered.

You could see Spencer’s eyes glistening, a relief in his expression that you hadn’t realized he had been holding in. “Good,” He said hoarsely before capturing your lips once more.

When the two of you eventually came, your orgasm was brought on by Spencer’s repeated attack on your g-spot with his cock. It was much more intense than you could have anticipated. The way your toes curled, the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and the way you clawed at Spencer’s back. Your cunt clamped around Spencer’s cock, causing him to bury himself deep inside of you before cumming as well.

Sex, although not a healthy coping mechanism, was your way of communicating with Spencer. The way the two of you understood what the other was saying. The ability to be emotionally vulnerable while also seeking pleasure from each other was one that you loved and hated. Because although it’s a way to communicate, it is also a way to just slap a band-aid on the situation. Band-aids do nothing more than just stop the immediate bleeding.

You don’t know if the term soulmates is true or not. To have a bond so strong that it was just pure destiny for the two of you to find one another. You’d like to believe that Spencer is your soulmate. Your connection with him is more than you could say about any of your previous partners. And yet, there’s this system the two of you go through where neither of you want to acknowledge the other’s emotions regarding certain situations.

You and Spencer love one another more than words can truly put together. And that’s why you’ll never leave each other, even when things get too hard. Your love for each other is too strong. But at the end of the day, love alone just isn’t enough in a relationship.

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

You and I drink the poison from the same vine

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

Hidin' all of our sins from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

From the daylight, runnin' from the daylight

Oh, I love it and I hate it at the same time

[brittle-doughie]

Okay, this is probably going to be over detailed or something but bare with me.

(Also, sorry if this feels very early. I just saw birthday talk in your posts and got inspired.)

Basically, Y/n has refused to tell any cookie when their birthday is. No one knows and no one is able to read Y/n's mind deep enough to get the correct date.

Reason why Y/n doesn't tell when their own birthday is? It's because their birthday is literally the day right before new years eve and they do not want to bother everyone who's probably already busy planning a huge party for new years eve yet also still recovering from Christmas.

And yet, there's a small tradition that Y/n does every year on their birthday without fail. They go out to a restaurant and get dinner for themselves.

How would the Legendary Cookies, First Cookies, Beast Cookies, and Ancient Cookies react to figuring out when Y/n's birthday is?

(Reduce the amount of cookies if you want to. I'm mostly curious about the cookies who would basically be planning Y/n's birthday. Like Wedding Cake Cookie, First Sprinkle Cookie, and any other cookies that could be associated with parties or celebrations.)

Hope you have a nice day/night!

-❄💗🖋

First of all, you can’t have anything birthday related without turning to the Cookie that’s an expert on them, Birthday Cake Cookie! Once she found out, she’s already planning ideas on how the birthday can go!

Wedding Cake Cookie, while not as much of an expert as Birthday Cake, can try her best with her intuition of what a Cookie might want their gathering place to look like. She might butt heads against Birthday Cake for what you could possibly like. She shouldn’t keep you waiting for long!

The special entertainment can fall on First Sprinkle Cookie when she finds out, she’ll make sure your gathering is full of laughs and smiles with her many tricks under her sleeve!

[gracie-eilish]

Can you write something like reader working on a song off of hit me hard and soft with billie ? First time requesting anything so sorry if its not specific enough or something

chihiro

warnings: none, vocal anatomy talk in the context of singing (i’ve been taking vocal lessons for years hehe apologies for my slight nerding out)

pairing: singer!reader x billie

an: they’re working on that one section towards the end of the chorus, where billie specifically is in her head voice (“away from meeeeeeee” .. y’all know what i’m talking about lol)

The late afternoon sun poured into Billie’s home studio, bathing everything in a golden haze. It made the dust motes dance lazily in the air, catching on the edge of her monitor, her notepad, the well-worn wire looped around the mic stand. You sat cross-legged on the little couch pushed against the wall, half-watching Billie as she fiddled with her soundboard, half-savoring the simple beauty of being here with her.

“Okay, okay,” Billie muttered, pulling the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands as she bounced a little on her toes. Her hair was a little messy from running her fingers through it, her glasses sliding down her nose. “This line is gonna be the death of me.”

You smiled softly, watching her with fondness. She was in the thick of it—frustrated but determined—and you knew better than to jump in too soon. Instead, you waited, head tilted slightly, until she finally let out a groan and threw herself dramatically onto the rug in front of you.

“Help me,” she whined up at you.

You giggled and leaned over, offering your hand. “What exactly are you stuck on, superstar?”

Billie let you pull her upright, then pushed her glasses up and dragged you over to her desk. She pressed play, and the new track—Chihiro—floated into the room. It was dreamy and haunting, and you could hear where she wanted to take it: the verses brushed like silk, intimate and breathy, while the post chorus needed to lift—higher, lighter, almost otherworldly.

When it came to the section she was struggling with, you could hear it: her voice hesitated, dropped out, like she couldn’t quite catch the breeze she was chasing.

“I need it to feel…” Billie waved her hands in the air, searching for the right words. “Like…airy? But controlled? Like it’s barely there, but still, like, warm? I dunno. I just can’t get it to sit right.”

You listened carefully, already feeling a familiar itch in your muscles. A memory stirred—standing in your college vocal lessons, shoulders back, diaphragm lifted, reaching for those impossibly high, delicate notes. Singing like you were exhaling a secret.

You smiled, a little mischievously. “You know,” you said casually, “when I was in college, I was like strictly a soprano.”

Billie blinked at you. “Wait, seriously?”

You shrugged, pretending not to notice how her face lit up with excitement. “Strictly. Floating up into the rafters was basically my job.”

Billie looked at you like you’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Dude! Why didn’t you ever tell me that?!”

You laughed and squeezed her hand. “Guess it never came up. But…if you want, I could help you?”

Billie grabbed both your hands, her smile wide and grateful. “Are you kidding? Yes. Save me, please.”

You pulled up a second mic and moved to sit beside her at the desk, close enough that your knees touched. You asked her to sing the tricky part again, and she did, biting her lip afterward like she was bracing for criticism.

Instead, you said gently, “You’re almost there. You just need to think lighter, like…instead of pushing the note out, let it float up. Like it’s not your voice at all—it’s just your breath, carrying it. Really get that soft palette lifted so you have more room for air back there.

You demonstrated, singing the line back to her, your voice lifting so effortlessly it sounded like it was made of smoke. Billie’s mouth dropped open a little.

“Okay, wow,” she whispered.

You giggled, feeling a warm rush at the way she was looking at you, like you’d just handed her a key she didn’t know she needed.

“Now you,” you said encouragingly.

She tried again, her eyes fluttering shut, her shoulders relaxing under your hands as you placed a hand on her back keeping her sitting up, and another on the top of her neck, keeping her throat upright just like your old voice teacher would do. You watched the tension melt from her posture, saw the way the sound smoothed out into something soft and glowing. She nailed it.

When she finished, she opened her eyes and looked at you, stunned.

“Baby,” she breathed, laughing a little in disbelief. “That sounded…good, right?! That was good!”

You grinned. “It was amazing. You just needed a little soprano magic.”

Billie tackled you into a hug, burying her face into your neck. “I swear to God, you’re my lucky charm. My secret weapon.”

You wrapped your arms around her, squeezing tight. It felt so good to be able to give her this, to make her feel as incredible as she made you feel every day.

A little later, after you’d finessed the section a few more times and Billie had gotten more comfortable floating up into that high, whispery register, she spun around in her chair, grinning mischievously.

“You know…” she said slowly, “you sound really good. Like, really good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Miss Eilish.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “No, I’m serious. Would you—would you want to record some background harmonies? Like, super subtle? Just to layer behind me? Hidden in plain sight?”

Your heart flipped. “Me? On your album?”

Billie shrugged like it was obvious. “Duh. No one’s gonna know it’s you except me. It’ll be like our little secret.”

You beamed at her, warmth blooming in your chest so big you thought it might spill out of you. “I’d love to.”

She grinned and set up a second track, her hand brushing yours in silent thanks as she slid you the microphone.

Recording with Billie felt like magic. You matched your voice to hers, tracing the edges of her melody like you were painting in watercolor. She sat on the other side of the table, watching you with wide, shining eyes as you sang higher and softer, exactly what the song needed.

When you finished, she rushed to wrap you up in another hug, whispering into your hair, “You just made this song, like, a thousand times better.”

You tilted your head back to see her, brushing your nose against hers. “We made it better.”

She smiled at you like you hung the stars, her fingers brushing your cheek. “Thank you. For helping me. For helping me find that part of my voice.”

You cupped her jaw, feeling a giddy, dizzy happiness settle into your bones. “Always.”

Later that night, when you were curled up together on the couch, Chihiro playing softly through the speakers, Billie nudged you with her nose.

“You’re my favorite sound in the whole world,” she murmured, half-asleep, her fingers tracing lazy circles against your back.

And with your voice hidden inside her song, tucked away like a secret between the two of you, you knew you would always, always be a part of her music—and of her heart.

[blastzachilles]

— Photograph .ᐟ

CHARACTERS: STANFORD BUTCH!ART x FEM!READER WORD COUNT: 1.6k CW: SMUT 18+, afab reader, oral (f!receiving), mentions of death

a/n: happy late challengersversary!! enjoy my loser butch baby <3  link to main post!

— She’s never missed anyone like she’s missed you. 

Art still keeps the locket you gave him with your picture in it, and hasn’t been able to get rid of the photos he took of you. Those are still hanging up on his bulletin board, like he’s expecting you to walk in the door any moment now. Expectations that are more like prayers. 

She’s lost without you, her only memories of you those captured forever on a polaroid or embedded into an SD card. 

The breakup was messy. Screaming, crying, all of it. Art hasn’t moved on. She hopes you haven’t either. She thinks you haven’t, if the info she gets from your mutual friends in photography class is enough to say anything. Art doesn’t know for sure, though. You blocked him on everything, and while it stung, he gets it. 

At least she tells herself that when she’s still, months later, sobbing herself to sleep. 

Art’s always replaying all the memories in his head. From the first day you met in that god awful math gen ed, to the day she finally worked up the courage to ask you out on that picnic, to the day you both made it official, while she was showing you how she develops her film in the dark room. 

Those same memories are currently replaying as Art takes her nightly walk through campus, enjoying the breeze that comes with dusk. Those same memories that make her think you’re just a hallucination, that you’re not real, until she walks right into you, sending you flying forward. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry!” she exclaims, quickly reaching out a hand to help you. 

“No, no, you’re okay—” You begin with a chuckle, but it quickly silences itself as you grab the offender’s arm, looking up at them, a blank expression writing itself onto your face. “Art.”

You let him help you up, but are quick to retract your hand from his arm. Especially when you feel blood start to rush to your cheeks. And your hands go sweaty. And your mind go fuzzy. 

“Uh… hi?” she manages to get out awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“Hey. You still go on these walks?” 

Shit. You started these nightly walks with her. One day, when you two were cuddled up in her twin bed together, you mentioned wanting to see the stars. She suggested going out for a walk, and when you said something about light pollution and being unable to see the stars here at Stanford, you both just laughed. God. He misses that laugh. 

“Oh—uh, yeah. You too?” 

“Yeah.” 

You nod back, the air tense and awkward, filled with both too little unsaid and too much said. The words she wants to blurt out, that she still loves you, that she never stopped, that she still wants you. But the words she spoke to you during the breakup are those she’ll never be able to take back. No matter how much she wishes she could. 

“Well. Nice seeing you, Art.” you break the silence with your goodbye, and turn around, beginning to walk off. 

Which sends Art into a frenzy, running after you to catch up, before she grabs your wrist. 

“Wait!” 

“Art, seriously. What do you want?” You fight the urge to let your face soften the way you so badly want it to, but if you gave an inch, you know she’d take a mile. 

But she’s always had an exceptional eye. 

“I want to show you some things. I have some more photos I’m developing of you, and want you to come pick up the locket and old photos of us.” 

“Art—”

“Please?” 

You never could let her lose. “Fine.” 

The walk back to her place is silent, save for the sounds of the night, the air still awkward. The crickets sound like they’re mocking you, the cars driving past inviting enough for you to get into should you wish to leave, and the sounds of other people roaming campus comforting to have as background conversation. 

Art lets you into the unfamiliar townhouse, and you both slide off your shoes before she leads you into her basement.

“Since when did you set up your own dark room?” 

“Since we broke up and I found my own place.” He chuckles, but it’s strained, like the words hurt to say. 

She wasn’t lying when she said she still had developed photos to give you, as she turns the red light on and walks over to where they’re hanging. unclipping the dry photos and handing them to you. Art thinks they’re his best work. You’re inclined to agree. 

Her shots of you always had the most emotion. Like you could feel the love you both shared in that one little screenshot of life. 

“Art, these are…” 

“You think?”

“I know.” 

Art smiles, trying to fight the giddy feeling creeping up on her. Your compliments always mean the most. 

“Art, I—” 

She cuts you off, face soft as she stares at you. 

“Do you remember our first kiss?” 

“Art, please.” 

“Under the lamppost?” 

“Art.”

“It was so dark everywhere else, like, four am. And we had just left Pat’s house.” 

“Art!” Your voice is a little louder now, and it snaps him out of his thoughts. 

“Sorry. It was just… it was beautiful. Don’t you think?” 

You know he’s won at this point, sighing as your face softens. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.” 

His smile grows when he sees your face. She knows she’s won too. 

“I miss you so much.”

The words immediately wipe the smile off your face. 

“Art…” 

“Please.” 

Your face softens a touch more, gaze shifting down to the photos in your hands. Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath, and then look back up at Art. 

“Okay.” 

And it’s all she needs before the photos are dropped to the floor and she’s wrapped her arms around you, as though you could disappear at any moment, her lips crashing against yours with the desperation of someone who’s lost themselves in months of being alone. Your hands rest on her cheeks, and you kiss her back with that same passion and fervor. 

“Art—” you gasp, and it’s all she needs before she’s walking you backwards into the stairwell, setting you down on the staircase and kneeling a few steps below, her hands reaching for your hips. 

“Is this okay?” she blurts out, voice low with desperation and desire. 

“Yes, god, yes.” you huff, watching as Art makes quick work of the clothes on your lower half. 

“Missed you so much. Missed you so fucking much. I love you, god, I love you.” She repeats like a mantra, sitting up as she remembers to kiss at your neck, leave a few hickeys, gently brush against your collarbone. 

Her movements are slow and reverent, like you’re something to be worshipped, to be bowed to. In her eyes, you might as well be. 

Art slowly kisses down your abdomen over your shirt, until she reaches your inner thigh. Then she kneels once more, and kisses upwards to your cunt, knowing exactly what to do when she hears your moan. 

Shut up and work. 

So that’s exactly what she does. 

His tongue works up through your folds, before circling around your clit and adding just the slightest amount of pressure against it. When you cry out, the sound of your head falling back and softly brushing against the staircase, she knows she’s still got it. 

And when one of your hands grab onto her hair for some semblance of support, she moans into your cunt, grinning against it as she looks up to see your currently wrecked state. 

Her tongue dives inside you, and she thinks that she could die right here, and this would be heaven. She doesn’t need anything else than to be able to see you fall apart for her. And when your legs shake, ankles locking behind her neck and knees hooking over her shoulders, she only indulges in more, like this is her first meal in years. 

You let out a loud moan, and your legs begin shaking even more violently. “Art, Oh! I’m coming, I’m coming!—” 

He moans into your pussy, lapping up your release and easing you through your orgasm like letting anything drop anywhere would be a crime punishable by death. 

Once it’s all over, you collapse against the staircase, smiling as you see Art lean her cheeks against your thigh, peppering kisses all over. 

“I love you. I love you so much.” she whispers, pleading in her voice. 

“I love you too, Art.” you reply with a smile, unable to lie anymore. “I do.” 

She helps you up from the staircase, taking your discarded clothes with her, and leads you to her bathroom to clean you up. Once you’re all clean, you both make your way to her room, where you fall into bed with her, wrapped around her like a koala, and you’re quick to fall asleep. 

You wake up well-rested and disoriented the next morning, unsure of where you are until you feel the warm body beside you, smiling when you see Art’s face, the sun shining through the window leaving an angelic glow on her face. 

Yeah. You’re definitely getting back together after this. 

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Sugar and Skin

6. Residue || Previous - Next

the event is finally underway unfolding as slow as molasses —glances, brushes, something quietly blooming beneath the noise. but warmth isn’t the only thing that lingers. maybe, it’s what’s missing that stays behind the longest.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (6kw)

TW: 18+ MDNI; slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, subtle jealousy, thigh touching, lingering tension, implied past relationship, alcohol use, introspection, soft angst, emotional ambiguity, proximity, unspoken feelings, sudden shift in tone, minimal to no use of y/n, minimal character description,

a/n: just gonna post this like it hasnt been two months since i last updated this... pls don't hate me.......... sorry if there're any typos/errors

It had only been a few days (...), but something between you and Bucky had definitely shifted. 

Not in a way you could name, not exactly. Just… quieter.

Since that night… the dinner, the wine, the way his eyes lingered a little too long… there were still those moments. His hand brushing yours when you’d hand him something. The way he stood close, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the faint trace of smoke and something earthier. 

And the way his eyes always seemed to find you, even when they weren’t on you. Like when you’d walk past him, and without even looking, you could feel it—that quiet pull. That heaviness in the air, the kind that made the back of your neck prickle, made your breath catch for just a second. And when you glanced up, just out of curiosity, he’d already be looking somewhere else. But still... you knew

And now, in the blink of an eye, the boys’ big event was finally here.

The shop buzzed around you, everyone caught up in the early rhythm of setting up. Sam was outside already, dragging tables onto the sidewalk. Peter wrestled with a half finished balloon arch, cursing under his breath as the sun poured in through the windows. Inside, you knelt on the floor, hands buried in a box of tangled ceiling decorations, the tile cool beneath your knees.. 

The bell above the door chimed softly. 

“You’re late,” you sang out softly, not bothering to look up, thinking it was Steve. Your voice came out softer than you meant, like the stillness in the room had seeped into your throat. 

Boots, steady and deliberate, moved across the floor behind you. 

“Didn’t know we were supposed to be on your schedule,” came the low, familiar voice. 

You paused, your fingers still tangled in strings of plastic you were supposed to be organziing. Slowly, you glanced over your shoulder. 

Bucky stood in the entryway, leaning against the wall with that usual unreadable look on his face. No leather jacket today—just a black t-shirt that clung a little too well, jeans worn at the seams. His hair looked messier, like he hadn’t bothered, and somehow that felt more personal than anything else. 

His eyes met yours, steady and calm, but something flickered there. Something that made your breath catch just for a second before you masked it, looking back at the mess in your hands. 

“Thought you were Steve,” you murmured, continuing to untangle the strings, your focus suddenly harder to hold onto. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said, though there wasn’t an ounce of apology in his voice. 

You heard the sound of his boots as he moved toward you, slow and heavy. He crouched down beside you without a word, one hand resting on his knee while the other reached for a piece of the plastic mess in front of you. His fingers brushed yours, brief but enough, and you felt the warmth  of it, lingering… tingling. 

You didn’t move, didn’t pull your hand back, not right away. His touch had already passed, but the ghost of it stayed, like a warmth that didn’t quite know where to go. The string slipped from your fingers, catching on one of his rings as he worked the knot loose, slow and patient.

“You’re good at this,” you said, the words leaving before you really thought about them.

He glanced at you, eyes catching the light through the window. “At untangling things?”

You gave a small shrug, a half smile tugging at your lips. “Better than me.”

“Don’t know,” he murmured, fingers still working the knot. “Looks like you were doing just fine.”

The space between you felt smaller now, like the air itself had leaned in to listen. You could hear the faint sound of Peter still cursing under his breath outside, the soft hum of music playing from a speaker somewhere behind the counter—but none of it seemed to reach here. Not where you sat, not with him.

He let out a low breath, almost a sigh, as the last knot came loose, holding the string up between you like it meant something. His hand stayed there, suspended, before he let it drop gently into your lap.

“See?” he said, quietly. “Barely needed my help.”

Your fingers closed around it, more to keep yourself grounded than anything else.

“Thanks,” you murmured, eyes flicking up to him. He was still crouched there, close enough that you could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his shirt clung to the curve of his shoulder, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

He didn’t move and neither did you.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice cut through the air, sharp and too loud.

You blinked, breath catching as you pulled back slightly, standing up with the string still in your hands.

“Coming!” you called, clearing your throat.

Bucky stood too, slower, brushing his palms against his jeans. His eyes stayed on you for a beat longer, steady and calm again.

“Later,” he said simply, and then he turned, moving toward the back without waiting for a reply.

You watched him go, fingers still curled tight around the plastic string, something tangled up in you now that didn’t have anything to do with decorations.

The rest of the morning passed in a kind of haze, everything moving around you, the voices, laughter, the scrape of tables being shifted across the floor, but none of it seemed to settle. Not really. Not after the way Bucky’s fingers had brushed yours, not after the way he’d looked at you like that. Like he was trying to figure you out. Like he already had.

You slipped out with Sam and Peter not long after, the sun already climbing higher, washing the street in gold. The walk back to the café was filled with their usual banter with Sam grumbling about how he should’ve charged Steve extra for “manual labor,” Peter still going on about the balloon arch—but you stayed quiet, letting the rhythm of their voices wash over you.

Your mind was still elsewhere.

—

The hours at the café passed quickly, like they always did on days like this. The familiar hum of the espresso machine, the warmth of the oven, the scent of sugar and coffee grounding you just enough to keep moving.

But by noon, everything was packed and ready.

You stood at the counter, surveying the trays of food, the carefully wrapped containers, the boxes of treats you’d promised Steve. Your fingers ran absently along the edge of the table, mind drifting back to the way Bucky’s hand had felt brushing yours.

You shook the thought away.

—

The place was already buzzing when you returned, the music louder now, the street outside alive with people weaving in and out, laughter spilling from open doorways. You pushed through the front, carefully balancing the trays in your arms, the soft chime of the bell barely heard over the hum of conversation. The air inside was warmer than before, charged in a way it hadn’t been this morning, and you felt it immediately, the vibrance, the shift. You caught Steve’s voice somewhere across the room, half-turned in your direction already.

“Need help?” he called, stepping to move towards you with that easy grin.

You shook your head, managing a smile despite the weight in your hands. “I’ve got it. Just need to know where Sam dropped the rest of the stuff.”

Steve tilted his head towards the back, barely pausing in his conversation. “Kitchenette. Left of the fridge.”

You nodded, weaving your way through the small crowd, careful not to bump into anyone, though your mind felt distant, half-focused on the task at hand. As you passed Steve’s station and reached the hallway, Steve called out again, his voice light.

“Smells good.”

You glanced over your shoulder, lips tugging up faintly. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The hallway was quieter, the sound of the event fading slightly with each step. You shifted the trays in your arms, nudging the door open with your shoulder, not thinking much of it, until you stepped inside.

The door clicked softly behind you, sealing you into the stillness of the room, and there he was. Leaning against the far counter like he’d always been there, arms crossed over his chest, head angled just enough that the light from the small window caught the edge of his jaw. His eyes were already on you, watching, the kind of gaze that made your skin feel warmer beneath your clothes, made the air feel heavier somehow.

You froze, only for a second, adjusting your grip without thinking, but it was enough. The weight of the tray in your hands felt suddenly heavier, grounding, but not enough to stop the way your heart gave a little stutter against your ribs.

“Bucky, hi.” His name slipped out before you could stop it, breathier than you meant, like it had caught somewhere in your chest and needed to get out. The sound of it in your own voice made your skin prickle, and you shifted slightly, letting the door ease shut behind you as you stepped fully into the room.

He didn’t move, just leaned there against the counter like he’d been waiting for something—or someone. His arms still crossed, forearms flexing slightly beneath the ink that curled along his skin, and his eyes were on you, steady and calm, but not empty. Never empty. They had a weight to them, a heat that pressed against you even from across the room, and for a second, you couldn’t think of what you were supposed to say next.

“I didn’t think anyone would be back here,” you said, your voice softer now, trying to fill the space between you with something that didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. You set the tray down carefully, fingers brushing the edge as if to make sure it wouldn’t slip, though your grip had already left it.

Bucky didn’t answer right away, but his gaze didn’t leave you either. He shifted slightly, uncrossing his arms, and for some reason, that small motion made the room feel smaller. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he said, his voice low, the kind of low that sat in your bones.

You shook your head, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, trying for casual. “You didn’t,” you murmured, though it didn’t sound convincing, even to you. There was something else in the air now, something thick and unspoken, wrapping around the edges of the quiet like it belonged there.

Your hands moved without thinking, straightening the tray, adjusting things that didn’t need adjusting. Anything to focus on except the way he was looking at you. Except the fact that he hadn’t moved from that spot, hadn’t looked away. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty—it was suffocating, full of the way he made you feel like you were standing too near, even when you weren’t.

“You brought all this yourself?” he asked after a moment, and you glanced up, caught off guard by how close his voice sounded.

You nodded, trying for a smile. “Yeah. I said I would.”

Something flickered in his expression, subtle but there. “Always keep your word?”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t know the answer, but because it felt like more than a question. Like he was asking about something else entirely. “Most of the time,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, softer.

His eyes held yours for a beat longer, then drifted down to the tray, to the food you’d brought, like he was taking it in for the first time. He pushed off the counter, slow and easy, the movement deliberate in a way that made your breath catch. He crossed the room without a word, stopping beside you, enough so that you could feel the warmth of him again, that ever present faint trace of smoke and something dark curling around your senses.

“Let me help,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you meant to. The air felt heavier now, thick with something that hummed beneath your skin, something that made your hands feel clumsy as you reached for the containers. His presence beside you was grounding, steady, but it also sent something fluttering low in your stomach, something restless and warm.

Bucky’s fingers brushed yours again as he took one of the trays, and you felt it—sharp, immediate, like a spark catching on dry tinder. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react, just moved to set the tray down on the small counter tucked against the wall, but the space he left behind felt colder somehow. Like he’d taken something with him when he stepped away.

You followed, arranging things in silence, or at least trying to. The noise outside seemed distant now, muffled through the door, and all you could hear was the soft sound of him moving behind you, the rustle of bags, the quiet clink of glass as he set things down. Every little sound seemed louder, sharper, and you hated how aware you were of all of it—of him.

“So…” you started, more to fill the silence than anything else, “How’s everything been out there?”

His voice came from behind you again, suffocating now. “Good. Busy.” There was a pause, and then, “Steve’s in his element.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, glancing over your shoulder. “That’s not surprising.”

When you turned, you didn’t expect him to be so close. Just a step behind you, his eyes already on yours, steady and quiet. You felt your breath catch again, felt your heart skip in that way it did when you weren’t prepared for him, for this.

His gaze flicked down, just for a second, and when it returned to yours, there was something softer there. Something that made your fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the counter.

“You look nice,” he said, and it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t offhand or teasing. It was slow, deliberate, like he meant every word.

Your throat tightened, and you felt the heat rise in your chest, blooming up your neck. “It’s just—” you glanced down at your clothes, at the simple outfit, the cardigan you’d thrown on before leaving the café. “It’s nothing special.”

Bucky’s head tilted slightly, and that same flicker of something passed through his eyes. “Didn’t say it had to be.”

The words settled between you, warm and heavy. You didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know how to respond to the way he was looking at you like that again. Like you were something he was still trying to figure out, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want, but did anyway.

You swallowed, forcing your eyes away, back to the trays. “Thanks,” you said, barely above a whisper.

You lingered in place for a breath too long, the air still thick with something you didn’t have a name for. Then, with a quiet inhale, you turned toward the counter, your movements slower now, more deliberate, as if you could will your heartbeat to settle just by keeping your hands busy. You didn’t need help—not really—but the weight of Bucky still behind you, the way his gaze pressed into your back like a hand, made every small task feel amplified. The sound of paper rustling as you peeled back the bags. The soft click of plastic lids being set aside. Each sound echoed in the small room, filling the quiet between you.

You didn’t have to look at him to know he hadn’t moved.

Your fingers brushed over the edge of the serving tray, smoothing it out as if it needed to be perfect. The pastries were still warm, the scent curling up into the space between you—sweet, rich, familiar. You arranged them carefully, stacking them just right, letting your hands fall into a rhythm, something to ground you. But there was no escaping the awareness, the way your skin seemed to buzz, your senses sharpened, tuned only to him.

You could feel him there, behind you, not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel. His silence wasn’t empty. It was full—thick with the same weight you’d felt that night in your kitchen, when neither of you had known what to say but neither had wanted to leave.

“I’ll just—” your voice came out softer than you meant, like you were afraid of disturbing whatever this was. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes catching his, and something in your chest pulled tight.

As you reached for the next tray, your fingers brushing the edge, you felt it before you saw it���his hand, steady and warm, closing gently over the side before you could lift it. You glanced up, startled, only to find him already moving, already taking the weight from you like it was nothing.

“I got it,” he murmured, voice low, rough around the edges but quiet in a way that made your chest ache a little.

You opened your mouth, some kind of protest ready, but it never made it out. His fingers grazed yours as he lifted the tray, and your words slipped away, caught in the space between his touch and that look in his damn eyes—calm, certain, but something else too. Something you still couldn’t quite name.

You let your hands fall back to your sides, watching as he carried it with ease, the curve of his shoulders stretching beneath that worn t-shirt, the faint flex of muscle as he pushed through the door without another word. Like he did it all the time. Like it was just instinct.

When you followed him out, sunlight spilling across the floor, it hit you all at once—the noise. Voices layered over each other, laughter spilling from the open doorways, the buzz of music from the speakers tucked into the corners. After the quiet hush of the kitchenette, it felt almost jarring, like you’d been pulled too fast out of something softer, something slower. The small, stolen moment between you and Bucky fractured, slipping away into the louder rhythm of the day.

Bucky barely glanced back as he set the tray down at the display table near the windows, his movements still careful, deliberate, but his shoulders squared a little tighter now, his stance pulling in. Like the crowd had reminded him he wasn’t alone. Like it reminded him to be someone else again—quieter, guarded.

You noticed Sam and Peter already there, their sleeves rolled up, half-empty coffee cups perched dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table as they joked and nudged each other, still riding the high from closing up the café early to help out. S Steve appeared a second later, flashing you a grateful smile as he moved to adjust the signage you’d brought, already waving off your attempt to help before you could even fully step toward him. His attention was pulled almost immediately by a pair of walk-ins—eager voices rising as they gestured toward designs displayed on the wall—and within seconds, he was moving with that easy confidence, already slipping into the smooth rhythm of handling customers. And maybe that was why Bucky pulled back too, at least at first. Maybe it was the reminder that he had a job to do, that he wasn’t supposed to be part of the crowd hovering around the food tables and decorations. You saw the way his shoulders stiffened slightly, the way his hand flexed once at his side before he turned, blending into the slow churn of the shop again.

But still, he didn’t quite stay away. Almost like he couldn’t.

You caught it in the little things, the small, silent ways he drifted back to you without meaning to. The way his fingers brushed a fallen napkin from the corner of your serving tray as he passed by, the way his hand steadied the edge of the display table when you leaned over it to rearrange the food, the way his eyes—always his eyes—found you again and again between conversations, between tasks, like a habit he hadn’t even realized he’d formed.

It wasn’t constant. It wasn’t obvious. But it was enough. Enough to fill your lungs with something warmer than the late spring air sneaking through the open doorways. Enough to make you feel it every time he drifted just close enough to catch the faint scent of whatever cologne clung to the collar of his shirt—something clean, something woodsy, something that already felt familiar in the depths of your lungs.

Maybe that was why, when you heard your name being called—light, easy, familiar—you turned with a smile already tugging at the corner of your mouth, expecting Bucky or maybe even Peter or Sam, only to be met with someone entirely different.

Scott Lang stood there, grinning in that wide, disarming way he always had, one hand shoved deep into his pocket, the other waving casually through the air like he'd never missed a beat. His hair was slightly longer than you remembered, his jacket slung half-off one shoulder, and something in your chest tugged at the sight—nostalgia, maybe, or something weaker. Something more foolish.

"Hey, stranger," he said, his voice warm, his smile easy. Like no time had passed at all.

You blinked, the noise of the room rushing back all at once, the thrum of laughter and music and the hiss of the tattoo machines kicking up behind the front counter. You stepped forward automatically, a pack of napkins clenched in your hands, and Scott leaned in for a quick hug—a brush of arms, a faint squeeze at your waist.

You returned it out of habit more than anything else, but you noticed—God, you noticed—how it lacked the warmth it once carried. How his hand fell away just a little too quickly. How the spark that used to light easily between you now flickered and faded before it could even catch.

You smiled anyway, polite and soft, shifting the tray slightly between your hands to give yourself an excuse to take a small step back. "Scott, hey," you said, voice light despite the strange ache blooming in your chest. "What are you doing here?"

Scott laughed, raking a hand through his hair, his easy confidence filling the small pocket of space between you. "Helping out a buddy of mine—he’s doing some networking. You know, room full of artist people and all." He glanced around, taking in the shop with an appreciative sweep of his gaze. "Didn’t expect to run into you here, though. Looks good—you look good."

You laughed softly, ducking your head, feeling the familiar weight of practiced charm settle over you like an old coat you hadn’t worn in a long time. “You haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” he said, and there was something softer in it now, something a little too fond.

Your hands tightened slightly on the edge of the table, grounding yourself as he leaned a little closer, eyes still on yours. He kept talking, about his work now, about the last time he’d seen you, about how you’d both meant to catch up but never did but it all blurred, fading into something distant. Because your mind, traitorous as it was, kept drifting.

Out of the corner of your eye, past Scott’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of the tattoo stations again. The soft hum of machines, the low murmur of voices, the shifting blur of clients and artists moving through the space like a slow, steady current. You didn’t mean to look. You really didn’t. But your gaze flickered anyway, drawn toward the familiar shape of him, like a compass swinging north.

And there he was.

Bucky, hunched slightly over a client’s forearm, the smooth, practiced motion of his hand steady against the girl's skin. She was young, laughing at something he said, her head tilted toward him in that easy, thoughtless way people did when they were flirting without realizing it. Bucky didn't smile, didn't really react—but still, the sight pulled at something low and uncomfortable inside your chest, a tangle of heat and something colder, something bitterer.

You dropped your gaze quickly, focusing instead on Scott’s face as he kept talking, the words barely registering. You laughed when he did, smiled when he paused, nodded at the right times—but none of it felt natural. None of it settled. You were too aware of yourself suddenly, too aware of the invisible string pulling taut between you and someone who wasn’t even looking.

When Scott finally clapped you lightly on the shoulder, flashing you that familiar, boyish grin one last time, you smiled back on instinct alone.

"Good seeing you," he said, his hand squeezing your arm just briefly before he stepped back. "Don’t be a stranger, alright?"

You nodded, a quiet "Yeah, you too," slipping past your lips as you watched him disappear into the growing crowd.

The door swung shut behind him, and for a moment the noise of the shop seemed to dull, the laughter and chatter fading into something muted, faraway. You stood there, the bundle still held awkwardly in your hands, blinking against the strange, sudden stillness that wrapped itself around you.

And when your eyes drifted back toward Bucky’s station—empty now, the chair half-turned, the light above it stretching long and soft across the floor—you felt it, subtle and immediate.

Not some gaping hole, not some grand absence, but the quiet shift of something that had been there and wasn’t anymore. Like noticing a weight you hadn’t realized you were leaning against until it was gone.

You set the napkins down without thinking, your fingers lingering just a moment too long on the edge of the table. The noise around you blurred, folding in on itself, and for a few seconds, you simply stood there, unsettled in a way you couldn’t quite name.

Maybe you’d imagined it, the way his presence seemed to thread itself into the corners of the room without ever demanding space. Maybe you hadn't.

Either way, it lingered. Enough that when you finally moved again, you felt the absence of it trailing behind you.

You moved without really thinking after that, weaving your way through the crowd with half-empty trays and lingering scraps of conversation trailing after you. The event was winding down now, you could feel it in the air—the buzz shifting, slowing, softening. Laughter was looser, movements lazier, the heavy scent of food and wine and too many bodies pressed into a small space hanging low in the shop.

You disappeared into the back for a little while, busying yourself with stacking used plates, bundling up leftover napkins, anything to keep your hands moving, your mind from drifting too far back toward the empty chair you kept accidentally glancing at.

It wasn’t until you finally stepped back out into the main floor that you saw it: the shop had thinned out, the crowd peeling away until only a handful of familiar figures remained. Steve, Sam, Peter, all slouched somewhere around the main waiting area—propped up on chairs, the sofa, balancing plates on their knees as they nursed the last of the snacks and half-drunk cups.

And Bucky.

He sat tucked into the corner of the worn leather sofa, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, boot propped against the coffee table in a way that looked effortless but somehow still guarded. Like he belonged there and didn’t at the same time.

You hovered for half a second, plate still balanced against your hip, feeling the slip of hesitation catch in your chest. There was only one open spot left. Right there—between Bucky and Sam.

You swallowed, adjusting your grip on the plate even though you didn’t need to. Before you could second-guess it, you straightened your shoulders and made your way over, feeling the drag of Bucky’s gaze before you even looked up.

“Thought we could use one last thing,” you said softly, setting a plate full of the leftovers down on the low table in front of them, the bottle tucked under your arm catching the light as you placed it carefully beside the plate.

A low murmur of appreciation rippled from the guys as you set the plastic champagne glasses down on the coffee table—a surprise you had stashed away: a fresh batch of still-warm mini pastries, savories and a bottle of wine, tucked between paper cups and leftover napkins. Steve let out a low whistle. Peter’s eyes widened like a kid at Christmas.

“You’re a goddamn angel,” Sam declared, leaning forward to already uncork the wine without shame.

You hovered there a moment longer, palms brushing nervously against the seams of your jeans, heart beating a little too loud in your ears despite the low murmur of the room around you. Peter cracked a joke you barely caught, Steve let out a tired, loose laugh, and Sam was already elbow-deep in trying to pry the cork free with dramatic flair. The music played on, softer now, a steady hum beneath it all—something old and sweet and just a little bit sad.

You shifted your weight, glancing down at the only empty spot left—the narrow sliver of space between Bucky and Sam, just barely wide enough for you if you tucked yourself in carefully. You hesitated, fingers curling lightly at your sides, before leaning in just slightly, voice barely above the music and the low thread of conversation.

“Is it okay if I…?” you asked, your words trailing off into something breathless, almost shy.

Bucky’s eyes stayed on yours, steady and unreadable for a second longer than necessary, before he gave a slow nod, the barest dip of his chin. "Sure," he said, voice low, quiet, but warm. He shifted—not much, not enough to create any real space—just enough to make a show of it, just enough to let you think he had, but not enough to stop the inevitable when you lowered yourself into the narrow gap between him and Sam.

The couch dipped under your weight, the cushion giving way immediately, tilting you ever so slightly toward him. Your thigh brushed his, and this time there was no mistaking it—no pretending it was anything but what it was. Warmth seeped into your side from the point of contact, a slow, steady pulse that made the rest of the room feel impossibly far away.

You held your breath without meaning to, trying to shift subtly, to find a position that didn’t have you pressed so firmly against him, but the sofa had its own ideas, dragging you back toward the steady line of his body like a tide you couldn’t fight. Bucky didn’t move away. Didn’t so much as flinch. His arm stayed draped along the backrest, fingers curling slightly against the worn leather, close enough now that if you leaned even a fraction back, your shoulder would brush the inside of his arm.

For a long moment, you just sat there, staring at the plastic cup cradled in your palms, heart hammering too hard against your ribs, aware of every breath you took, of every inch of space that didn’t really exist between you. You didn’t dare glance sideways—you didn’t need to. You could feel the steady weight of his attention, like the heat from a fire you weren’t supposed to get too close to.

The conversation rolled on around you, light and easy and oblivious, Steve laughing at something Peter said, Sam cursing softly under his breath as wine sloshed onto his jeans. Normal. Casual. The kind of background noise that should have grounded you. But none of it touched where you sat, where Bucky sat, where the narrow press of bodies and the heavy silence between you both hummed with something you couldn’t quite name.

You took a small sips of your wine that Sam had poured, just enough to feel the warmth of it settle low in your chest, to let it loosen something in your spine. The sugar from the pastries still lingered faintly on your tongue, and paired with the soft glow of alcohol, it gave you a strange kind of clarity. Not the kind that made things sharper, exactly, but the kind that softened all the edges just enough to make them feel less dangerous. Less sharp.

So maybe that was why, when you shifted slightly to get more comfortable, you didn’t bother trying to avoid the line of Bucky’s thigh against yours. And maybe that was why you let your shoulder graze just lightly beneath the crook of his arm, brushing the worn fabric of his shirt as you leaned back against the sofa, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

It wasn’t much. Nothing overt. Nothing that would ever be commented on. But it was enough. Enough to feel the way his breath caught, just barely. Enough to notice how his arm tensed for a second against the back of the couch before it eased again—how he didn’t pull away. The conversation at the table moved around you in slow waves, words fading into laughter, into murmured commentary, into long stretches of silence that felt earned. And you let yourself exist in that quiet, just for a moment. Let yourself breathe next to him. Let yourself be still.

And then a buzz. Sharp. Sudden. Unwelcome. It cut through the air like a thread snapping taut, and you felt it before you even realized it had come from him—felt the shift in his body, subtle but immediate. The muscles beneath your shoulder went rigid, the arm that had rested loose and easy behind you drawing in slightly, just enough that the warmth you’d leaned into dimmed like a light covered by a shade.

You blinked, turning just slightly as Bucky sat up straighter, his other hand already pulling his phone from his pocket, thumb dragging across the screen. His eyes dropped to the display, and though you couldn’t see what it said, the stillness that came next said enough. Something in his jaw flexed. Just once. Then again. His expression didn’t shift much—Bucky never gave you much—but you could feel the change in him like a drop in barometric pressure. The way his posture went still, too still. The way his lips pressed into a line that hadn’t been there before. The way his thumb hovered for a second too long before finally tapping the screen, locking the phone again with a click that felt louder than it should’ve in the low hush of the room.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t speak. Just stood suddenly, movements stiff and strangely quiet for someone so solid, his hands bracing on his thighs for a brief second before he pushed himself upright. The cushion beside you shifted with the loss of his weight, the warmth he’d left behind already fading into the worn leather. The space where he’d been felt emptier than it should have, in that quiet, echoing kind of absence that settled beneath the skin. The air, once again finally humming with something warm and unspoken, felt thin now, colder. Just enough to notice.

You swallowed, eyes dropping to the rim of your cup, the soft hum of conversation still moving behind you, but all you could hear was the static in your ears, the memory of the way his body had tensed, the way that single vibration had changed the entire shape of the air between you.

You didn’t ask—of course not. Whatever had surfaced in him after that message wasn’t yours to pry open, and you weren’t the kind to dig for things that didn’t belong to you. But it stayed with you anyway, uninvited. A heaviness that clung to the air, to the empty cushion beside you, to the warmth on your skin that had nowhere to go. You felt it in the shift of his gait as he moved away, in the silence that followed, a silence that didn’t just settle but seeped. It was the kind of absence that wasn’t loud or dramatic, but the kind that tugged gently at your ribs, that made everything feel a few degrees dimmer. Not a vanishing, but a residue—an echo. A presence gone quiet, but not quite gone. And somehow, that felt worse.

---

a/n: i'll accept beratement as a form of punishment for not having posted in 5ever..... PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!) : @cheezemanz @shirukitsune @miharuwrites @multifandomkid @violetpassionfruit @sapphirebarnes @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @angelbabyyy99 @theendofmaterialgworl @venuslovey @blackhawkfanatic @lazyneonrabbitt @singsosworld @danzer8705 @xamapolax @otterlycanadian @that1geek06

[lewismcqueen]

could've been. 2/2

lh44 x black!reader

start from beginning summary: things between you and Lewis escalate quickly, and you learn to become a very good liar. wc: 6k...sigh cw: girl they fuckin a/n: you can low key tell when i got tired and just started saying anything but shhhh. open ending because why not lol

Lewis texted you not long after the party ended. Your phone flashed in the car on the ride home.

Lewis: hey, you seemed a bit uncomfortable back there. 

Lewis: sorry if i ambushed you lol. Just got a bit excited to see you after so long

You stared at the messages, not wanting to start crafting a response just yet. Instead, you looked up at Joshua.

“That was fun,” you sighed. “Nice to see some familiar faces.”

Joshua didn’t have to turn to you for you to hear the self-satisfaction in his voice. “You saw Lewis there, right? I really don’t know how, but I managed to get him on an off-day—more of an off-afternoon, really, you know those drivers—and he said he’d just love to catch up. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise. Did you manage to speak to him?”

Leave it to your husband to answer your questions before you’d even asked them.

You nodded, your mind already elsewhere. “Yeah, we had a…a chat.”

Joshua’s eyes became crescent moons in the rearview mirror, and he laughed.

“That’s great. See? And all it took was a phone call!”

“M-hm.”

You watched trees whizz by, becoming progressively smaller and skinnier the closer you got to your neighborhood. Elbow resting by the window, you let your mind drift towards thoughts of deep brown eyes and tattooed fingers.

One week ago…

Joshua was off traveling for work again, a fact that you were only made aware of after he called you from the airport. The man had apparently “assumed you knew the deal by now”. As evening fell, you paced around the empty penthouse, no longer quietly seething like this morning, but still terribly bored. You’d cleaned the kitchen twice in a sudden whirlwind of restlessness, now spotless and smelling of a cocktail of cleaning products that nearly gave you a headache. There was nothing on television or Netflix; you'd checked. So you decided to give up and hop into bed early. 

You pulled your bath robe over your shoulders, freshly-washed coils dripping water as you sat beneath the heavy blanket, laptop sitting in front of you with YouTube pulled up. 

Formula One interviews had become your bread and butter; it was a comfort to quietly pick apart strategies and post-race analysis, to delineate between who had a good head on their shoulders and who was just bullshitting for the cameras. In the corner of your eye, a thumbnail for a post-race interview  featured a familiar face. 

He looks so different now.

You can't help yourself. 

Neat braids tied back in his usual ponytail, with two loose strands framing his face. Lewis pulls up the collar of his coat to shield from the cold. The boyish way that he tilts his head while gazing at the interviewer brings an old memory forth from the back of your mind. You remove your robe halfway, suddenly feeling too warm. 

The longer you watch Lewis’ shifting expressions—intense focus, then a knowing smile after telling a joke—the harder it becomes to register the words coming out of his mouth. Something about stewarding, said more eloquently than the younger him would have ever been able to manage. He's gone and gotten a nose piercing, which somehow suits his face so well that it feels like he's always had it. You can't tell if the moisture on your skin is from the shower or your own sweat.

A noise outside—a trash can—startles you and you abruptly shut the laptop closed with a sharp clap. As if you were afraid of being caught. But caught doing what? Surely, watching sports interviews was perfectly legal. 

Maybe it's because you realize that your mouth has fallen open while watching, and that your fingers are now beneath the blanket, squeezing and pinching your inner thigh while your other hand gently squeezes your breast. You begin imagining that they're someone else's hands.

I just miss Joshua, you tell yourself. It makes you feel less guilty for reaching beneath your robe and rubbing the pads of your fingers against the soft fabric of your underwear. It's already sticking to you, creating a bit of resistance as you try to slide them off. You only get them down to your knees before running out of patience. You massage two fingers up and down sensitive folds until they come away wet and glide easily. Easily enough to finally slip inside, making your breath hitch. 

When you shut your eyes, you stop trying to imagine your husband’s fingers in the empty bed. 

They turn into Lewis’—first clear of ink before they become covered in tattoos that you want to ask the meaning of—then you imagine his lips. It doesn't take much imagination to dredge up the feeling of them, trailing fire along your skin before sending burning pleasure coursing through your system as they caught on the bundle of nerves between your thighs. He'd be unrelenting with his tongue once you gave him permission. Would he smile kindly at you now, or smirk at how easy it still was to make you fall apart?

Lewis’ soft voice echoes around your head as you inch closer to the edge. The words start out as things he's said to you before. You speed up as the tension in your middle builds.

The more you lose yourself, the more your mind starts weaving together sentences that you might never hear him utter in your presence. Soon, he's talking you through it, breathy and polite as ever as your fingers make disgusting sounds that you cannot hear over your rapid heartbeat.

“You're doing so well, sweetheart, that's it.”

“I missed you.”

“You're so close, that’s a good girl.”

“Let it go.”

Soft moans spill from your lips as your back arches, and you release in waves.

With a clear head, you realize that there's a darkening wet spot beneath you. You hadn't felt yourself squirt, but it seemed you had. With a deep breath, you decide to take another shower. Cold this time.

Present day.

The blue light of your screen illuminated your face. It was close to midnight when you finally decided to reply to Lewis’ texts.

You: you didn't make me uncomfortable, no worries! Josh just didn't tell me you were coming to ‘surprise’ me 

Lewis: 🤣 were you sufficiently surprised?

You: I nearly had a heart attack when I turned around lol

“What's giving you the giggles, hun?”

“Just messaging a friend,” you held your phone close to your chest, even though Joshua was rolled over in the opposite direction under the covers. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“That's alright. Your stuff’s all packed for tomorrow?”

“I've just finished packing the last of it.”

You feel the covers shift as he turns to face you. The moonlight filtering through the window reveals the outline of his face, allowing you to make out a gentle smile.

“Good. We've got a tight schedule.”

You chuckled. “For a vacation?”

“You bet. I take fun very seriously.”

-

You foolishly thought that a trip to Monaco would take your mind off of Lewis, but he managed to find himself invited to nearly every single dinner, outing, or poolside hangout.

Every. Single. One.

You had begun to ask yourself if Joshua was somehow fixated upon the idea of reconnecting you with your childhood friend, or if he just really wanted to be seen around Lewis Hamilton. Based on the number of times he raised his phone to take a selfie with the man, you were beginning to suspect the latter. 

“Another one, mate? Don't you have enough?” Lewis laughed as Joshua grabbed his phone off of the wooden table sitting between the two men's lounge chairs. 

“Just making memories, man!”

Your husband’s arm lowered to examine the photos. While he wasn't watching, Lewis glanced over him to make eye contact with you. He gave you a questioning look. You smiled, and shrugged. Joshua’s shenanigans were just another Tuesday for you. 

“Alright folks, I'm gonna go get us some margaritas. Wish me luck!” 

Joshua rose from his seat and gave a two-fingered salute before turning to leave, making a beeline for the poolside bar. You rolled your eyes, silently begging and pleading to whoever could be up there that he would eventually tire of the cool guy act and take you home early. 

Lewis seemed to be chuckling at something. When you turned your head, you realized that he was watching you intently.

“Is he like that at home?” He asked. He had one hand behind his head, and the other idly resting on a bare torso. It took a great amount of focus not to stare at the ink in the middle of his chest: a compass. 

“Ah, well, he's…definitely calmer at home,” you replied while rubbing your temples. “But it never really stops. Love him, though. What can you do?”

It might have been the sun, but Lewis seemed to narrow his eyes just slightly, his grin faltering a bit. Had you not known any better, you’d say he looked skeptical. He put on his sunglasses and said nothing.

You fiddled with your hands before getting up. “I'm gonna go for a swim before Josh gets back. He takes eons to order.”

Lewis stopped you as soon as you approached the pool. 

“Oh shit, hold on—do not move another inch.”

You froze with widened eyes, immediately fearing the worst. Did you put on normal underwear instead of your bikini and forget? Was there a massive bug on your shoulder? 

He was behind you in a moment. 

“What is it? What's wrong?”

“Your bikini strap’s come undone.”

Relief washed over you. You were still covered despite the string that tied behind your neck being loose, but you soon wouldn't be if it wasn't tied quickly.

“Thank you,” you gestured towards your back. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, what are friends for?”

You immediately regretted your decision. Not because Lewis did a poor job (he tied the string at an impressive speed), but because the brush of his fingers against your skin sent a shudder down your spine. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne—an understated, clean musk today—and feel his breath hit the nape of your neck, making the tiny hairs there stand on end. You stepped away as soon as you could.

“Thanks for…” 

You trailed off as soon as you spun around. Your noses were nearly touching, he was so close. The sun glinted off of the stud in his nose. You wanted to trace the pigment lining the edges of his lips with your finger. Thank God he had his glasses on.

“Are you alright?” Lewis’ voice snapped you out of your daze, brows knitting together with concern.

You briskly pushed past him. “I'm fine. Thanks for helping.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have returned with refreshments!”

The sight of Joshua’s face had never felt like nearly as much of a relief as it did just then. Lewis glanced between you before awkwardly settling back into his chair, unsure of whether to address what had just occurred between yourself and him, or to greet your husband.

If there was one thing about Josh, he may have been brash and loud, but he was not oblivious. His lips contorted into a frown.

“Everything alright over here?”

You quickly put together an explanation. “Nothing wrong, love, it's just that, uh…Lewis has just informed me that he doesn't drink. He forgot to tell you, right Lewis?”

His lips quirked up in amusement, but he played along. “Yeah, I don't do alcohol anymore. Sorry, mate. I let you buy one for me by accident.”

Joshua looked genuinely shocked for a moment before regaining his composure, as if he had been introduced to a new concept. He shrugged despite the tray of delicate drinks in his hand, million-dollar smile returning in full force.

“All good, brother. I might quit the drinks myself at some point, to be honest,”

He passed Lewis and moved to where you were so that you could take your own glass. “Just not today. One of us is gonna have to take one for the team and down an extra glass, right, honey?”

Joshua winked at you. Caught off-guard, your mouth opened and closed before you resigned yourself to your fate. It was certainly not the worst thing you'd ever had to endure. You smiled awkwardly.

“Sure.”

You were now holding two small but vibrant lime margaritas in both hands, the chilly condensation dripping all over your fingers. You made quick work of them both, prompting a whoop and a fist pump from your husband after you set the empty glasses back onto the tray.

“Thanks sweetheart.”

“I aim to please,” you said flatly before descending down the steps into the pool.

As it turned out, the poolside drinks were a pregame for the a restaurant visit later that evening. You sat in front of the vanity in your hotel room while Josh shaved in the bathroom. Still in your robe, you rubbed shea butter cream between your palms to melt it before slathering it over your arms and chest. You bent down to get your legs when he emerged, freshly shaven. 

“Your skin’s always so shiny,” he marveled. This was the quietest his voice had been for the entire trip. He gave you a timid grin that you returned.

“It’s just body butter. Makes your skin shine even when it dries.”

He scratched the back of his neck, chuckling softly. “I’ve just got my Aveeno lotion in there. You seem to have it all figured out.”

You smiled sadly to yourself. If only that were the case.

It was 8pm, and you were nursing a glass of sparkling water while your husband spoke to (or spoke at, rather) Lewis. Save for the racer, who wore a bright yellow polo shirt, the place was filled with flowing evening dresses and button-up shirts. The men sure did love their watches, heavy metal weighing down the wrist of nearly every single one. Joshua called your name, interrupting your thoughts.

“You haven’t touched your alfredo at all! Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

Your head snapped up. Both men seemed to be observing you. Mustering your most photogenic smile, you brushed it off, waving your ring hand dismissively. “Oh, my appetite’s just not particularly large tonight.”

Lewis looked like he was holding back a laugh.

He chimed in, looking at you despite addressing Joshua. “I remember my dad used to take the two of us out to eat after race weekends when we were kids. Didn’t matter where we were at, it was shrimp alfredo no matter what. She hasn’t changed one bit.”

Too late, you tried to cover your mouth as you burst into laughter. 

“There’s no way you actually remember that!”

“You were such a picky eater, it was ridiculous. Remember that one night when you took so long to pick something off the menu to order that the place closed?”

You reached over and smacked his arm, making the both of you laugh even harder. “I did not. Stop lying in front of my husband, Hamilton!”

“Mate, it was after I taught you how to drive in that dirty parking lot!” 

“It's coming back to me now. We just grabbed fish and chips after and went home, right?”

A cough came from the opposite side of the table. Joshua had gone quiet over the course of the exchange. He turned to Lewis with a strained grin. 

“You taught her how to drive? I hope you didn’t have her street racing, my friend.”

Lewis was too busy looking at you fondly to notice. “She’s a good driver. Got her first license the week after. Wouldn't let me drive her anywhere since.”

You twirled the alfredo onto your fork with a half-smile spreading across your face. “The rumors are true, I’m a natural talent at parallel parking.”

Joshua chuckled, “I wouldn’t know, I’m usually the one in the driver’s seat. Right honey?”

Picking up on the sudden terseness of his voice, you made a point of turning to him, giving him full eye contact and placating. “Yes, you're quite the gentleman, love. I do still steal the car to go shopping on the weekends, though.”

“You’re not speeding down the road just because Lewis taught you to, I hope,” 

He looked at the man like he was aiming at a target. “I hear he's a bit of a thrill-seeker.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, unsure what to say to that. Lewis stopped smiling as soon as he caught a glance at Joshua’s expression, quickly turning back to you.

“...Anyway. Speaking of cars,” Lewis carefully changed the subject, “Do you still want a tour of the factory? They’re working on a new model.”

Predictably, the phrase ‘new model’ made your eyes light up as your attention immediately snapped back to him. “Did they finally change the front wing?”

“Yup, side pods too.”

“My goodness, people, English!” Joshua interrupted with a laugh that sounded too obviously forced. “Not all of us are racers.”

Your smile faltered a bit. “Right. We can discuss later, then.”

With an arched eyebrow, Lewis’ eyes darted between you and your husband. He suddenly looked down at his watch.

“Well, it was nice chatting with the both of you,” he announced as he rose politely from his seat, “But I should get back home. Manager’s been blowing up my phone all night.”

You gave him an apologetic look. “You'd better get to it, then. Goodnight.”

Josh gave him a curt nod. “‘Night.”

-

After an awkward dinner, you rode back to your hotel. The car ride had been uncomfortably quiet. Anger simmered in your chest, but it would be impossible to tell Joshua why without making things worse. What would you say? That you’d prefer some alone time with a hotshot racer to him? It would sound incriminating no matter how you put it. In spite of the tense air between you, though, he still attempted to make stiff conversation.

“So…he’s giving you a factory tour, huh?”

“Of Mercedes, yes.”

“You’re really into the car stuff. Makes sense.”

You rested your chin on top of your hand, staring blankly out of the window. “I was planning on becoming an engineer in one of those factories, a long time ago. Changed my mind.”

Joshua kept his eyes forward, expression unreadable. He seemed deep in thought.

“You never told me you wanted to go into F1 specifically. Interesting.”

“Yeah.”

That night you lay awake, staring up at the ceiling while Josh snored beside you.  It wasn’t the loud, obnoxious kind of snoring. More of a low rumbling, like an engine. On your nightstand, your phone flashed with a text message. Something told you you knew who it was. You reached over and grabbed it without hesitation.

Lewis: still offering that factory tour if you’re still up for it

You: I’d love to. I’ll let you know when I’m available :) 

You: Also…Sorry about dinner. Idk what set Josh off like that. 

Lewis: I have an idea lol but I won’t say

You: I also have a theory, but I’m not sure how to bring it up to him

You bit the nail of your thumb. Was it strange to be telling Lewis about the state of your marriage right now? 

Lewis: He's not gonna be too upset if I ask you to hang out with me tomorrow? 

Lewis: It won’t be long. I just want to catch up with you without stepping on any toes 😅

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears. It sounded so innocent on paper, hanging with a childhood friend. But it felt more like plotting.

You: It’s not like he can keep me inside, lol. Where are we going?

Lewis: How does doing donuts in an empty parking lot sound? Like the old days.

A smile threatened to split your face in half.

You: Hell yeah.

-

Josh seemed determined to fill the next day with as many impromptu activities as possible, as if he wanted to keep you from thinking about doing anything else. By the time you finally managed to get all of the Louis Vuitton packaging through the door, the sun was already setting. You set down the last of it by the bed and sighed. You were close to sweating in your velour tracksuit, glad that you had taken running shoes. Josh sank into the bed while still in his shirt and jeans, equally if not more winded from helping you carry half of the bags. The time was now.

“I’m gonna head back out, babe. I’ll only be a couple hours,” you announced with both hands on your hips.

The man sat straight up, running a hand through ruffled, jet black hair. “Why? Where’re you going?”

“For a walk. I’d like to slow down and enjoy the scenery a little.”

You don’t know why you lied, but he seemed to relax. He flopped back onto the bed, looking about ready to knock out for the evening.

“Alright, have fun.”

-

“Oh, come on, you definitely used to go faster than that!”

Lewis smirked at you from the driver's seat. “I can, but I don't want you losing your lunch in my car.”

“That was only one time, Lew. Let that shit go.”

His face softened.

“Back on nickname terms, are we?”

You shrugged. “I don't see why not.”

Like a kid at an amusement park, you screamed with delight as Lewis whipping the car around in rapid circles. He looked serene by contrast, finding solace in the eye of a storm while he spun the wheel and wrangled the shift lever with expertise. The window was open so that the wind hit your face while Lewis drifted. 

There were other little thrills to it, like getting to watch the rings on his fingers gleam as the last rays of sunshine caught on them. Or his thick lashes coming together a bit when he squinted at the sunset. Adrenaline with a healthy dose of admiration. 

Your throat was sore from all of your whooping and hollering once Lewis finally brought the car to a smooth stop. He slowly pulled out of the lot, giving you time to fan yourself off. 

“I missed this,” you breathed.

Lewis had one arm resting behind the head of his seat, steering one-handed as he twisted to watch for cars behind him, earrings dangling with every movement. He stole a brief glance at you, then smiled. 

“Me too.”

The drive back was comfortably silent. Both of you were coming off of the adrenaline rush, and whenever you tried to think of something to ask him, the questions became too many for just one car ride. So you said nothing.

The texts came at the same time every evening for the remaining week of your vacation, and you became an expert at lying. 

“I'm just going shopping.”

“Headed to a museum, babe!”

“There's a lovely ice cream shop just around the corner.”

Driving with Lewis became drifting then grabbing a bite to eat after, which turned into grabbing a bite to eat then having long talks in his car. It wasn't long before he stopped picking you up in his car at all.

Loose curls with fading blonde highlights fell just at his shoulders when he removed his helmet. You carefully stepped off the motorcycle, afraid that you might somehow cause it to tip over.

“How do you like the motor?” Lewis asked, tucking the helmet beneath his arm. He wore a black sleeveless shirt with a silver bracelet fastened around his wrist beneath the usual watch. At that moment, you thought he'd be a shoe-in for an action movie role.

You removed your own helmet and dusted your jeans off. “Fun, but I think I prefer driving still.”

As the sky darkened outside, the two of you got lost in conversation. Lewis aired out his frustrations without needing to worry about how the media would spin it, you dreamed aloud about how you wanted more than just garden parties and small talk. At one point, the discussion turned to reminiscing on Lewis’ karting days.

“Do you still have the helmet?”

Lewis nodded. “It’s in my room on a shelf somewhere. D’you wanna go take a look?”

He led you to his bedroom, surprisingly cozy for some luxury home in Monaco. His walls were covered in candid polaroid photos, minimalist shelves filled with memorabilia. He lifted the bright yellow helmet off the shelf closest to one of the large windows, and gently deposited it into your hands. You turned it in the low light; had it always been this small?

“I loved watching this thing zip past me,” you said wistfully with a tiny smile. “Even if you lost the race.”

You handed the helmet back to Lewis, who returned it to its place. He asked, “Do you still watch me race?”

“When it’s not at 3am in the morning, sure. I try,” you replied, reaching out to brush his hair back. It was out of the blue, but the movement felt like instinct.

He watched your fingers gently tug at the end of a strand until it was straight and taught, then release it so that it bounced back.

“I’m glad you started getting your hair braided. I don’t think I could’ve handled the blonde any longer.”

Lewis laughed. “It was a weird phase, I dunno. I think your braids are even nicer than mine.”

“Oh, stop,” you waved him away with a smile. “They’re all frizzy and grown out now.”

The space between his eyebrows creased, and he gave you an earnest look. “You don't have to be fake polite, y'know. It's just me.”

A pit began to form in your stomach, the awkward display at dinner last week returning to you. You looked away and briefly saw your reflection in the window. Heat rushed to your face at the image of your two figures as he drew closer. The image feels right. Like a peek into an alternate timeline where everything went the way you’d planned.

You really shouldn't have, but you turned to face him. He was close enough that you could count every lash and every pore, and see the slight crease between his brows. His eyes were filled with uncertainty, but he leaned in anyway. You didn't move, just closed your eyes.

The kiss was light, exploratory. Testing the waters. Allowing your lips to part, you seemed to give him permission to explore further. When he pulled away he searched your eyes for any sign of apprehension on your part. He found none, which relieved and worried him all at once.

“Before I do anything even more stupid, can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you…love him?”

You sighed. “Lewis, now is not a good—”

He said your name, gently but firmly, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“I need you to answer me, and answer honestly. No bullshit. The man you're married to.

Do you love him?”

You gnawed on your bottom lip.

I like when he smiles at me like it's the first time we met. I love his compliments when they're soft and genuine. I like running my hands through his hair.

But none of these were the answer to the question. 

“No,” you replied so quietly that Lewis had to ask you to repeat it. You shook your head very slowly, and like a doctor delivering bad news, you said it again. “No.”

A stormy expression passed over his features. He appeared to struggle to put his thoughts together, until finally shaking his head and beginning to back away.

“I didn't think so.”

You caught his wrist before he could put any meaningful distance between you, the metal of his watch digging into your palm as you pulled his body flush against yours. Releasing his wrist, you grabbed his face and kissed him desperately, as hard as you could remember how. 

He responded just as quickly, grabbing your waist with one hand with the other sliding below it. A breathy moan escaped you when you felt him tighten his grip, hard hands digging into soft flesh.

A flurry of discarded clothing, and soon you were falling back onto the king-sized bed, braids undone from the bun they had been in and spread across the sheets in black rivulets. The quiet air was disturbed only by your gasps and labored breathing. 

Because old habits die hard, Lewis had left reddened marks all over your neck, chest, and up your thighs. A red dotted map of everywhere he’d just been. He gazed up at you from between your legs while he planted a kiss on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“D’you still remember the first time I tried to eat you out?”

How could you forget?

“M-hm,” you ran a hand through his soft curls. “Can't say you were the best at it, but it's the thought that counts.”

You felt Lewis laugh against your skin, his lips parting to reveal that adorable gap toothed smile, sharp white canines on full display.

“Fair enough. Let me make it up to you, then.”

He sucked on the spot he'd just kissed, letting his tongue dart out to lick it while he maintained heavy eye contact with you. You looked down with half-lidded eyes and a lazy grin.

“Go on.”

Make it up to you he did. He had your legs trembling within ten minutes, having to hold them up so that they wouldn't collapse onto the mattress. He would not let you come down from the high of your orgasm, lapping up the mess you were making with the flat part of his tongue before going right back to stimulating already-tingling nerves. Your stomach already ached from the muscles squeezing so much, your vision speckled with tiny stars.

After a minute or two, Lewis finally let you breathe. The sound of rushing blood in your ears eventually subsided, and you realized that Lewis was snapping his fingers in front of your face. You furrowed your brows to try and concentrate on the sounds coming out of his mouth. 

“...okay? Are you alright? Come back to me, love.”

You blinked once, then twice. “I'm…fine,” you replied, your voice thin. “Better than fine, really.”

You heard soft laughter from above you. “Good to know. You got a bit quiet there. I was worried.”

Lewis’ face shone with what you presumed to be sweat and the results of his hard work, his lips especially shiny as if he'd applied Vaseline to them. They were parted slightly as he released quick, shallow breaths, his tongue swiping over them.

You realized that he had switched on a small bedside lamp while you were still returning to Earth. It cast a warm glow over his features, reflecting in his eyes.

“You're really pretty,” you remarked suddenly, still partially in a daze.

The dimple in Lewis’ cheek made an appearance. “Alright.”

“What? You are.”

“Yeah, yeah. It's getting late,” he dismissed as he adjusted himself to a sitting position on one side of the bed. “I should get you back to your room, unless you wanna take a cab.”

You pouted at him like you were eighteen again. 

“That's it?”

Lewis’ brow lifted slightly. “Did you not hear me? It's getting late. As in, ‘Joshua’s gonna be worried about you’ late.”

You sat up, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at the man suddenly regaining a conscience. “Right. I'll see you tomorrow, then?”

Lewis pressed his lips together.

“We shouldn't make this a thing.”

-

“Tell me you love me.”

Lewis’ breath hit the shell of your ear as he held you against the kitchen counter, his thigh wedged between your legs as he plunged two fingers into you beneath your sundress. Gasping, you had your arms wrapped around his neck with your underwear balled up in one hand.

“I-I love you,” you managed to get out. “So much.”

You heard your phone vibrate beside you and made the mistake of glancing at the screen. It was Josh. “Be there in an hour. Pick a movie ;)”

Lewis grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye as he hooked his fingers upwards and hit your favorite spot. “Say it like you mean it.”

Torn between figuring out how you were going to get him out of your room unnoticed within an hour and your rapidly approaching orgasm, your voice was crackly and uncertain. So Lewis made you repeat it over and over again as you finished, hips bucking uncontrollably with nowhere to go.

“Lew, he’s gonna be here in an hour,” you attempted to sound assertive, but it came out more like a whine or plea. “We can’t—”

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress an embarrassing whimper, feeling his palm travel up your thigh to squeeze your ass. He kept holding your chin, an amused grin playing on his face.

“Can’t what?”

Lewis pecked your lips when you fell silent, giving you a small amount of wiggle room so he could turn you around. “Thought so. Bend over.”

Your dress was now hiked up to your waist, and his pants now hung below his. Lewis had a thick gold ring on his pinky finger that dug into your skin just slightly as he wrapped his hand gently around your throat to keep your head up. Your knuckles were beginning to ache with how hard you were gripping the opposite end of the counter. His other hand was still holding your hips, making sure you stayed where you were and keeping your back in an arch. He had pushed so far into you that you felt him pressing against your middle, as if he had entered your stomach. Once in a while, he’d pull out a little farther just to overwhelm you with the additional force, ripping out raspy, broken moans from the depths of your throat.

In between thrusts, you began to wonder how you managed to get Lewis to go this far with you every time. What was it this time? The way you switched your hips whenever he was behind you, or when you sucked on the soft spot behind his ear after telling him you “just wanted to smell his cologne?” Either way, he gave in like he always did. 

You rocked on the soles of your feet and pushed back into his hips as if it could make him go any deeper, focusing on nothing else but the warm feeling gathering and releasing from deep within you as you came a second time. Every muscle seemed to contract and shudder at once as your vision went white. You would’ve fallen over if Lewis wasn’t still holding you upright.

“Stay with me love,” he encouraged. His own voice became rough, wavering the more he sped up. “Almost there…”

You clenched around him just as you felt something hot release inside you—it wasn’t certain whether or not it came from you or from him. Judging by both the clear and the milky-white running down your leg after he pulled out, you’d finished at the same time, or something close. The belt buckle hanging from Lewis’ jeans made a clinking sound behind you as he pulled them back up.

After Lewis helped clean you up with a nearby roll of paper towels, your legs nearly gave way beneath you as you struggled to slip your panties back on. Your phone flashed again. 

“Joshua gets back in fifteen minutes,” you said breathlessly. “You gotta go.”

He gave you a lopsided grin. “You’re kicking me out? Ouch.”

“I’ll talk to you later. Tonight.”

“Promise?”

You planted a kiss on his cheek. “Promise.”

Just then, the sound of a car honking cuts through the air like a warning signal. Your stomach dropped. You’d know that car horn anywhere. It was your car, after all. Frantically, you unlocked your phone to check the timestamp on Joshua’s second text message. He’d sent it ten minutes ago.

Lewis gave you a worried look. “What’s wrong?”

You began to slip your sandals back on. “He’s here early.”

[wiserteriaoverbarefeet]

I might loosen my grip, but I won't ever let her go

little!jackie / autistic!jackie, cg!nat - post rescue and living together CW: minor ptsd flashback, some references to childhood trauma, accidents word count: 3196

Nat comes home to dimmed lights and the sound of animated voices crackling on the television. As she kicks off her boots and drops her bag by the door, she can hear Jackie murmuring something to herself. It’s a soft familiar voice, scripting out the tangential dialogue Nat’s become everso acquainted with these past few months. It’s all she needs to know exactly what headspace Jackie is in right now. 

Nat turns to the living room, brushes her hands on her jeans, and smiles when she sees her. 

Jackie’s sitting on the floor in front of the sofa with all her Calico Critters on the coffee table. They’re made up in an arrangement Nat’s sure has some sort of significance, and an episode of Powerpuff Girls is playing on the TV. 

Nat approaches the smaller girl from behind and lightly touches her shoulders. As she sits beside her, she can already feel the day's stress beginning to melt away. The argument with her boss over the recent scheduling debacles and the angry customer who’d cursed her out over a fucking Nirvana record of all things - it’s all moving behind her. All that matters now is she’s content in the home she never thought she’d have with the person she loves more than anything.

“Hey, Jackie.”

Jackie grins at the sound of Nat's low voice. It takes her a second to react - she’s always a bit slow like this - but soon, she looks away from her toys and over at Nat.

“I made a new story,” she says. “This one-” Jackie picks up a kitten wearing a blue button-up and dress pants. “He just got caught having an affair. So now his wife - she’s taking all the kids and they’re leaving. They took the car and all the money and everything.”

Nat widens her eyes and resists the urge to laugh. Jackie’s stories have always been on the dramatic side. She’s spent countless hours by now rambling on about secret pregnancies, love triangles, and even murder. For as silly as it is, Nat would be lying if she said she wasn’t invested too.

“They’re gonna move to Sac-a-meno while he’s at work. And he has no idea.” 

Nat stifles a snort at the mispronunciation. “Shit… that’s pretty intense.” 

Jackie nods. Her eyes are wide in thought as she looks back at her arrangement. 

“Bad word, Natty.” 

“Right, sorry, Jack.”

“But, you can play too. Or you can watch.” 

Jackie’s voice is flat and gaze stays on her critters. With her tongue poked out in focus, she carefully places the ex-wife (a deer in a frilly dress) and three baby fawns into a pink plastic car. 

Nat smiles. For a while, she had thought the apparent disinterest was something to worry about. She used to tell herself it was a sign that Jackie had become bothered by her presence and just didn’t know how to say it. Now, after months of living together, Nat knows it’s the opposite. She knows it’s the Jackie that’s spent years hidden beneath a carefully curated mask - tied to her knowledge that she can flap her hands and bounce on her toes and still, Nat will be there. 

“Who can I play as?” Nat asks. “Can I be…” She picks up a grey kitten wearing a collared shirt, tie, and argyle pants. “A cool butch love interest?” 

Jackie purses her lips and furrows her brow. Her eyes trail to the kitten in Nat’s hand, then over to Nat herself, who’s looking back at Jackie with a cheesy grin. It takes everything Nat has not to laugh at the sight. Because sure, she already knows rejection is coming, but she can’t help it - she likes to tease. She likes seeing Jackie work through the process of figuring out how to let her down easy. Or, on the rare occasion that Jackie isn’t so patient, she likes to hear her idea of a seven-year-old insult. 

“Um…” Jackie bites her lip. “Actually, maybe you can just watch.”

She takes the kitten from Nat and sets him on the floor beside her, off limits. 

Nat sighs, but accepts the suggestion. She pulls her knees into her chest and watches in silence as Jackie goes back to mumbling to herself and the critters. It goes on for a few minutes before the younger girl turns to her once more. 

“Natty?” 

“Yeah?” 

“How long would it take to drive to Sac-a-meno?”

“Uhhh…” Nat pauses. “I don’t know. Like a few days, maybe?” 

“Oh.” 

Jackie frowns. “Then we need a hotel. They can’t just be in the car all night. ‘s not safe.” 

“Well, what about…” Nat grabs the stack of magazines Jackie keeps under the coffee table and places it on the surface. “This? If they’re behind the magazines, we can pretend they’re in the hotel.” 

Jackie contemplates the idea for a moment. She tilts her head as she inspects the structure, then nods. With a quiet vroooom-ing noise, she rolls the car up to it and unpacks the animals. She’s quickly interrupted, however, by the sound of TV static crackling. 

“Fuck- again?” Nat grumbles. 

Jackie doesn’t get the chance to correct her before Nat is walking toward it and fiddling with the knobs. 

“This piece of junk…” 

They’d gotten it at a thrift store a few weeks after moving in. It was cheap - too cheap - and had been giving them problems ever since. Still, money was tight and replacing it was low on their list of priorities. So long as they slapped the screen every so often or mindlessly spun around the knobs at the bottom, it seemed to mostly resolve itself. 

Thankfully, this time is no different. After a few minutes of tampering - the image reappears - now on the weather channel. 

“That’s boring,” Jackie groans. “Where’s the other show?”

“Don’t worry, I’m finding it.”

Nat twists the knob again. She freezes, however, when she sees a flash of their old soccer team come across the screen. 

“...almost two years since flight 2525…” 

Nat swallows. She can see the reporters and how their mouths are moving but she can’t hear anything beyond it. There’s ringing in her ears and something’s echoing behind her - screams or something like them. It’s crashing down with the metal walls that once collapsed around her and swallows her whole. Nat’s spent nearly six hundred days trying to wipe it all from her mind yet it still attacks at full force. It drowns out any remembrance of what she’d been doing before - the only thing she can register now being the sound of fleeting sparks and frantic breathing. 

Nat’s eyes harden as instinctive tears fill them. She tries to catch the air around her, tries to remind herself where she is and what she was doing. 

Home, she thinks. Home with Jackie. 

Nat’s toes curl into the carpet and soak in the scratchy sensation. 

If she closes her eyes, she can vaguely see that day at the furniture store and the notepad she’d carried to add up the expenses. The numbers were so much higher than she’d been used to but Jackie said they were getting a good deal. It hadn’t felt like it - not in the slightest. But Jackie knew these things better than she did, so Nat let her take the lead. 

Fuck - Jackie. 

Nat opens her eyes and lunges forward to turn off the tv. The millisecond of silence is quickly replaced with the return of city clamor - honking cars and sirens from the streets below. It’s enough to make Nat spiral even further until she hears the sound of Jackie’s whimpers. 

Nat rushes over and crouches down beside her. 

“Jackie, I’m so sorry,” she breathes, voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I- fuck, I didn’t mean to keep it on.” 

Jackie’s eyes are so wide as Nat cups her cheek. Silent tears fall and her chin quivers viciously but she refuses to let herself really cry. It’s almost painful to watch. Jackie’s gasping for air through tiny, restrained breaths and all Nat can think is it looks just like the quiet anxiety attacks she used to have back in the cabin. 

“Hey, Jack, look at me,” she says. She takes Jackie’s hands and squeezes them as she sits in front of her. “Take a breath with me.” 

Nat does her best to take a deep inhale, dramatizing the movement to make it easier to follow. But Jackie falters in return. The panic in her eyes only increases as her lips part to try and grasp whatever oxygen she can.

“It’s okay,” Nat says. “It’s okay, let’s try again. Just one deep breath, alright?” 

She puts Jackie’s hand on her chest and layers her palm on top of it as she models the breath once more. This time, Jackie’s somewhat able to follow along. It takes the slightest weight off of Nat’s shoulder - the confirmation that she’s doing the right thing all she needs right now.

“Good girl,” she praises. “You’re doing really good. Just keep breathing, okay?”

Jackie manages a nod and continues to follow along. She focuses on the feeling of Nat’s steady heartbeat against her palm and the pressure of Nat’s hand over hers. When her own breaths finally level out, Nat smiles and gives a sigh of relief.  

“You okay?” 

Jackie makes a noise. She looks away with her brow knit and does her best to process the question. Eventually, she turns back to Nat and whimpers once more. Nat squeezes Jackie’s hand and follows her gaze down to the smaller girl’s lap. She can’t help but sigh when she sees the wet spot slowly spreading across Jackie’s thighs. 

“Oh, Jack… that’s alright.” 

Jackie shakes her head. Her lips pull heavily into a frown as the tears she’d been fighting so hard to keep at bay finally spill. 

“You just got scared,” Nat reminds her. She reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind Jackie’s ear, but Jackie squirms away. Nat tries not to let it sting but the effort is useless. The ache in her chest is making itself known whether she wants to acknowledge  it or not.

“And you were already feelin’ small. Accidents just happen sometimes - it’s okay to be embarrassed but it’s not your fault.” 

Jackie shrugs, unconvinced. She looks away for a moment with her eyes glazed over and withdrawn before reaching a clumsy hand toward Nat’s shirt. 

“Come on,” Nat says, offering a small smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

---

Jackie stands with her arms folded over her chest, sniffling and frowning as Nat digs through her drawers. She’s taking too long. She’s standing too far away and doing the wrong thing - why doesn’t she realize she’s doing the wrong thing?

Frustrated, Jackie whines and wipes at her eyes. She wishes she had the voice to say she doesn’t care what pants she wears - she just wants Nat to be with her again. The dresser feels a hundred miles away and it’s making Jackie’s stomach twist and turn all weird. It’s like that time she rode the teacups in Wildwood with Mari when they were eight and Mari spun them so fast Jackie almost puked. 

“How about these?” Nat asks. She holds up a pair of pastel blue pajama pants patterned with bunnies. Normally, they’re Jackie’s favorites. But today, she shakes her head. 

“Jack…” Nat sighs and looks at the pile of all the other pairs Jackie had rejected. “Come on, work with me here, kid.”

Jackie makes a noise and pulls her shoulders up to her ears. She’s trying! She wants to tell Nat that she is. But it’s so hard to focus when Nat’s so far and her legs are so cold and damp and itchy. And it’s even harder when Jackie knows the bunny pants would be too hot but the flannel pjs would be too scratchy and the sweatpants would be tight on her ankles and she isn’t sure she can handle that right now. 

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m–” 

Nat closes her eyes and puts her forehead in her hand. Jackie can’t help the influx of tears it causes - she doesn’t want to make Nat mad, she doesn’t want to be difficult. She just can’t handle it. The wet legs and the distance between them and the bad pants. It’s too much. 

“I know,” Nat breathes. “It’s not- it’s not because of you. I’m not angry, I'm just– I’m stressed. We’re both stressed. But it’s gonna be okay. I believe in us.” 

Jackie sniffs and slips her thumb between her lips, hoping Nat won’t deter her the way she normally does. Thankfully, Nat just puts her hands on Jackie’s upper arms the way she does when Jackie needs help grounding herself. 

“What about my clothes?” Nat suggests. “Would you be okay with a pair of my pants?” 

Jackie nods. She always likes wearing Nat’s clothes. 

The response gets a smile out of Nat, who takes Jackie’s hand and guides her to the other dresser. After another minute of deliberation, Jackie picks out a pair of Nat’s boxers. It isn’t really pants per se, but Nat doesn’t push it. She helps Jackie clean up in the bathroom then changes her into a pull-up (much to Jackie’s dismay) and shorts.

“Feelin’ better, bug?” Nat asks once they’re done. 

Jackie shrugs and looks past her. She slips her thumb in and out from between her lips while her free hand pulls down at her t-shirt.

She thinks she feels better. Or at least, she thinks she should. She isn’t wet anymore, she’s got Nat’s shorts, and the scary stuff from the TV is gone. But the knot in Jackie’s stomach is still present as ever and she can feel a weird, frustrated energy shooting through her limbs. 

Jackie makes a face and throws her arms beside her. She whines, glancing over at Nat, and flaps as hard as she can. She wants Nat to understand - Jackie isn’t sure what, exactly, but she knows Nat is supposed to. 

“Hey, Jackie, come with me,” Nat says. Her voice is soft as she guides Jackie out of the bathroom and back into the living room. “Have you eaten yet?” 

Oh. 

Jackie shakes her head. She’d been too focused on her critters to remember it was time for lunch. And by the time Nat had gotten home - weren’t they supposed to have dinner? She can’t remember. 

“I bet that’s why you’re still havin’ a hard time.”

Nat smiles through the words - her voice kind and reassuring. And still, Jackie can’t help the way she protests them. She makes a small noise and looks at the ground, stuffing her hands back into the bottom of her shirt. She knows she’s supposed to be getting better at that… she’s trying as hard as she can. It’s just so easy to forget when her stomach doesn’t rumble the way it used to and half the things in the cabinet make her feel like throwing up. 

“Hey, c’mere,” Nat whispers. 

She takes Jackie over to the sofa and carefully pulls her into her lap. Jackie instantly curls into her - her knees tucking around Nat’s frame as her hands reach for the hem of Nat’s shirt. 

“I could make you the yellow mac and cheese,” Nat suggests. “With the Arthur shapes - does that sound good?” 

Jackie shakes her head and presses it into Nat’s shoulder. She does want the Arthur shapes, but if Nat makes the yellow mac and cheese - she’ll be all the way in the kitchen. It’ll take a hundred years and she’ll have the stove on which means she’ll have to focus extra hard and Jackie will be all alone again. 

“Dino nuggets and smiley fries?” 

Jackie whines and tightens her grip on Nat’s shirt. The nuggets have to go in the microwave and Nat would have to use that alone. And even if she didn’t - it’ll make a loud beep when it’s done and Jackie can never tell when the beep is coming.

Burying her face even further, Jackie slips her thumb between her lips. She wishes she could tell Nat why it’s all wrong but even if her voice could make it out of her throat right now - it’s more like alphabet soup than real words in her head. 

“What about…” Nat pauses. Her hand runs up and down Jackie’s back in a comforting motion. “Curly noodles?” 

When Jackie shakes her head again, Nat can’t help but sigh. It somehow hurts even more than if she’d yelled - like a hammer coming down after being held above Jackie’s head. Because Jackie doesn’t want to disappoint her - she doesn’t want to make her mad. But it feels like all those times back home when she was actually this small. All those times her mother snapped because she was too quiet, too slow, too difficult, too Jackie. 

Jackie doesn’t even realize she’s started to cry until she feels Nat's thumb carefully brushing away her tears. 

“Hey, Jack…” Nat breathes. “I’m not mad at you, okay? I know you’re trying.” 

The reassurance only makes Jackie cry harder. She presses her forehead back into Nat’s shirt and clings to her as tightly as she can. Quickly, Nat hugs her back - her strong arms holding her with the tightness Jackie needs as her hand continues to stroke her spine. 

“It must be hard when you can’t talk,” she says. “You’ve got all those thoughts in your head and they’re just… stuck in there.” 

Jackie nods. She chokes out a sob and sniffs back her snot. 

“But just… just because it makes it harder for me to understand, it doesn’t make you a bad kid,” Nat adds. She looks down at Jackie and adjusts her on her lap. “You know that, right?”

Jackie doesn’t respond. She sniffs again and nuzzles even closer to Nat, trying to hide her face in bleach-blonde hair.

After a moment, she manages to tap Nat’s chest with her free hand. 

Nat looks down at her, confused.

“What is it?” 

Jackie taps her again. 

“You want me?” 

A nod. 

“Oh,” Nat says. A smile spreads across her lips, slow and soft before she kisses Jackie’s forehead. “Well, I knew that, silly!”

But when Jackie taps a third time, Nat gives a longer, more decisive oooh.

“You just don’t want me to leave, is that it?” 

Jackie nods. She can feel something swelling in her chest - the joy of finally being understood as she taps Nat even harder. She taps and she taps - over and over again until Nat has to move her hand away so she won’t bruise her chest. 

“God, I should’ve figured that out sooner,” she murmurs. She looks back at Jackie, still smiling, and tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere, bug. I promise.” 

“Hey, we can get take out,” Nat adds, laughing when Jackie’s stomach rumbles. “And you can sit here with me while we wait. We won’t have to move at all.”

Jackie manages a smile at the sound. She looks up at Nat, watery eyes now glistening with reassurance. It was all she’d ever wanted, she thinks. To be here together; safe and secure.