#(dresses lighter when swimming)

[azurebolt-fr]

paradisium is helping too!

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。—will i ever bring you peace? | gojo satoru

wc: 1.4k

summary: gojo can’t give you a quiet life. no matter what. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, hurt/comfort, jealous!gojo, more of gojo’s internal thoughts, mentions of an oc, gojo deserves all the luvin!!

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (the prev part), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (this one), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! reading the other parts, while not necessary, will add more to the experience (some references are made)! song i listened to while writing this was peace by taylor swift! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5a. this feeling inside of me— <- you are here -> +04. take my time (i'll spend it all on you)

“Would you ever want a quiet life?” 

The pond below you ripples as the koi fish swims away. 

You turn to face Gojo, hands hanging over the bridge railing, remnants of soft youth in his cheeks at 24. 

“I’d say it’s pretty quiet right now.” he answers, signature teasing lilt to his tone. He gestures around him, focusing your attention to how tranquil it is right now—sun beaming and the sound of nature in birds chirping and water trickling.

You roll your eyes; it’s always the distractions and non-answers with him. 

The silence between you is the product of years spent getting closer to reach this point; a silence of knowing that gives Gojo the space and time to reveal things on his own. 

“You already know my answer to that.” he says after a while, looking back down to the pond beneath you. 

And you do—with his small smile, almost resigned. There’s no point thinking about it. Just like when you’d asked him about love. It’s just not meant for him. 

“Would you?” he throws the question back at you, turning to you when he asks it. 

It’s a silly thing, to let hope like this bloom; you both know it’s well past that point now, too deep into chasing his vision for the future of jujutsu society—but it’s free to dream, right?

“I would, I think. Some peace from all this.” 

.

.

.

Gojo’s starting to hate that sinking feeling in his stomach lately—knots twisting before they burst into fits of pop! pop! popping!

It’s uncomfortable and annoying, seemingly getting worse the more he sits in these political meetings with you and ‘Kazuo’—or whoever this politican is, pulling your seat for you and making you laugh; the gentleman etiquette. He even lets you call him by his first name. 

There’s a slight tic to Gojo’s brow as he sits across you, leaning on the back of his chair with his arms crossed and leg propped up on the other. Obviously, you’re just being nice, nodding and smiling as you listen to Kazuo run through the document for this meeting beside you. 

But it still makes Gojo ache. 

He hasn’t been to many of these meetings, but he’s gathered enough to know what kind of guy this Kazuo is: well-dressed, good smile, good teeth–all things he has himself–but also, a gentleman, good-natured and hardworking, kind and gentle, and most of all at peace. Rumor has it that he’s looking to settle down soon, away from the politics to a nearby town just on the outskirts of the city—not too far but also not too close.

Seeing you smiling with him now just brings it back, that conversation you had years ago at 24 gnawing at him. 

“Would you ever want a quiet life?” you had asked, and when he threw it back to you—

“I would, I think. Some peace from all this.” 

It aches.

.

Gojo waits for you at the end of the meeting, watching as you and Kazuo continue to exchange pleasantries. He knows there isn’t anything to it, but there’s that knot in his stomach again, pop! pop! popping! and it worsens when he hears the secretaries gush about how you and Kazuo look so compatible, perfect—fit to get married. 

How disrespectful to your relationship, Gojo thinks. 

He huffs, quiet enough not to cause a scene but loud enough for you to hear him—to know that he isn’t in the mood for any of this. And in the perfect way you’ve synced yourself to him all these years, you smoothly transition into giving Kazuo your well wishes, accepting his handshake as your eyes meet with Gojo’s for him to do the same. 

When you both step out of the room, you make sure to hold his hand tightly, surely, in all the loving ways, but he grips back only lightly, leaving a small space–that infinity–between your palms on the way back home today. 

.

When Gojo thinks about it, it isn’t even because he’s lacking. He’s worked hard and continues to do so everyday, treating you well, loving you in the ways you deserve. 

But will it truly ever be enough? 

How can it be when you deserve more, so much more than this life you’ve been chained to since you were young?

Jujutsu society has been so rough to the both of you, that he thinks you, out of all people, deserve at the very least, some peace. Now that his vision is turning into a reality, maybe you can take a step back and afford a little more leniency. 

A good life, with a good partner, who will love you in peace. 

Someone like Kazuo.

Not him.

The thought is unusual; Gojo’s never really been one to feel insecure, but he thinks that, when you love someone this much, you’ll always want the best for them, even when you realize that the best might not be synonymous to being yours. 

Gojo can’t give you a quiet life. 

No matter what. 

Who he is is so intrinsically linked to this society and the direction it's taking that it’ll follow him wherever he goes.

He sinks deeper into his pillow. 

“You okay?” you come out of the bathroom, dressed in the matching pajama set you both got a few weeks ago—his, buried somewhere in the mishmash of your laundry clothes.

The thought sears itself into his mind, how your lives now are so intertwined.

He doesn’t answer. 

How can he ever let this go?

It aches. Again. 

The bed dips as you get into it, lifting up the comforter to snuggle into him. His back is facing you, unmoving, but your heart beats against the warmth pressed to your chest. 

You hope he feels it, how it’s for him. 

“Wanna let me in your head a little?” you wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling your nose at the nape of his neck. You use the same body wash but Gojo has always retained a scent that is distinctly his own—a bit sweet like the strawberries he loves eating and something close to baby powder, as unassuming as it may be. 

His breath hitches before he starts fiddling with your fingers resting on his waist. He’s biting his lips, you know. 

“Do you still want a quiet life?” he mumbles, almost a whisper. You wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t so pressed up against him. 

You’re confused, a little shocked, but mostly confused because where did this come from?

Gojo holds his breath, waiting for your answer. He can’t turn to look at you when you do, afraid that what he’ll find—what you’ll want, won’t be something he can give you. 

“Doesn’t sound too bad, I guess.” you answer, lips tickling his skin. He can’t release his breath; it’s the answer he’s been dreading. 

There’s silence, a stretch that feels too long but only spans a few seconds. His mind plays an endless loop; the single thought that that isn’t the life he can give you.

Should he break up with you?

How is he supposed to tell—

“I like this life now better though, with you.” you squeeze him tighter, kissing the side of his neck that you can reach. 

He stiffens in your hold, but you can feel the thrums of his heartbeat. It comes slowly, but he releases the breath he was holding before relaxing a bit, something you hope is from relief.  

“You sure?” he asks, trying to sound teasing, but you hear through it. Of course you do.

“You’ll be stuck with me forever, you know.” 

You can swear he sniffled. 

“Doesn't sound too bad to me.” 

He shifts, turning to face you, and when he sees you—

—it’s like falling in love with you again, he thinks. 

The ache is still there, but it’s different, replaced by something burning, almost bursting; the feelings he can’t contain—he wants to say it: I love you; thank you for loving me, but the words are lodged in his throat and his eyes are watering, collecting like pools of rain along his lash line before spilling. 

Gojo doesn’t cry often, but when he does, you try to kiss away every hurt, every pain, that comes with it. So there, by his eyes, are your lips, soft and tender, kissing away his tears as you cradle him to your chest, letting him hug you for however long he needs to be held like this. 

It’s relief, he wants to tell you, that you don’t have to worry; these are good tears—grateful that he gets to have you in this life because you like it better. 

But there’s no pressure, there never is with you—you’ve always been like that. You don’t question him right now, trusting that he’ll tell you all about it tomorrow like he always does. 

For now, all you want to do is hold him, quiet down all the noise in his head and keep him right by your heart, loving him close.

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the first part is lighter and just overall good vibes if you're up for that!

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[yandecifi]

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back —

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.

[pitchsidestories]

The Bitch is back II Lucy Bronze x Reader

a/n: based off this request.

"I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, oh, the bitch is back Stone-cold sober, as a matter of fact I can bitch, I can bitch 'cause I'm better than you It's the way that I move, the things that I do, oh-oh-oh."

~ Elton John, The Bitch Is Back

barcelona women masterlist I word count: 1591

You always knew that your professional tennis career would be filled with ups and downs, with periods of injuries and streaks of unbeatability.

You knew you worked hard, harder than most other competitors. So it didn’t feel fair when your lowest low came; your knockout in the Olympic Games 2020 before you had a chance to take a medal home with you. Your memory of this game was very blurry.

All you really remember of this day were the tears and your girlfriends strong arms around you. Your eyes were red and swollen from crying so much when you plainly stated; “Lucy… I failed.“

“You didn’t fail, you lost. Those are two very different things.“, she had answered while trying to wipe away some of your tears with her thumbs.

You tried to push out her hug, annoyed; “Oh, and that makes it so much better?“ But Lucy had never let go, “Yes, it does.“ “Why?“ “You will get it when you get over the pain.“

Then you remembered finally losing your tenseness and sinking deeper into her hug. New hot tears were welling in your eyes; “But it hurts so much right now… Maybe I should end it here, let the younger tennis players take over.“

“And then?“, Lucy had asked.

“I don’t know. Giving up seems like the easiest way to stop the pain…“

She had determinedly shaken her head, “You’re not done yet.“ “I need to think about it…“, was all you said because it was the last thing you wanted to talk about, you wanted to get out of the conversation as soon as possible.

You just needed her to hold you. And Lucy could feel that; “Take your time before you make that decision.“ “Alright.“

With a serious face the male tv journalist was turning to the expert who was watching the game with him: “Do you think it was the last time we saw her at the Olympics? She said she’ll think about it in her post-match interview?”

“Yes, I think that’s it for her. She’s at the peak of her career. It’s only reasonable to stop playing now.”

“Don’t worry for everyone who’s watching now we’ll keep you updated on that but for now we’re heading to swimming where the next medals want to be won.”, he continued, the smile returning to his face.

Those men thought you were done but you knew better, their sureness about you giving up only fuelled your passion to keep going and try again next time.

The gold medal was in reach, closer than ever and knowing this motivated you the upcoming years.

Something you and your girlfriend had in common was the mindset of always wanting to win.

2024 The Olympics in Paris

“Will you be watching my tennis match later, Luce?”, you asked the defender.

Of course Lucy knew how important this half final was to you, so she reassured you with her reply: “ Sure. I might be a bit late. I’m coming straight from training. But I’ll watch.”

“Thank you.”

Knowing the football player will be watching made the pressure on your chest felt a little lighter.

Shaking her head softly, Lucy said: “It*s nothing.”

“Who knows, we both might end in the Olympics final of two different sports.”, you winked through the video call with your girlfriend.

A warm laugh escaped from the defender’s lips: “Who knows. Everything’s possible at this point.”

“See you afterwards.”, you told her after looking at the time.

A huge grin was appearing on the Barcelona player’s face as she answered:“ See you.”

While you were warming up for your match, your girlfriend was just ending her training session with her team. She took a quick shower and started to get dressed. With a glance towards the clock in their dressing room, Leah reminded her; “Luce, you got to hurry up to see your girl play the match of her career!“ “Yeah, I know.“, Lucy replied calmly, slipping into her shoes. Millie watched her in disbelief; “Then what are you waiting for?“ “Yeah, I’m basically running.“, she laughed and grabbed her bag. Before she could leave the dressing room, Jordan kept up with her; “Wait, we’re coming with you to support your girlfriend.“ “Alright, but we have to hurry now.“ Lauren James nodded obediently; “Let’s go!“

Your match was just starting when the football players reached their seats. After the first serves, Leah bent over to Lucy; “She will win it this time, Lucy.“ “You don’t know that yet.“, she shook her head, never taking her eyes off you.

Lucy watched most of your match in silence. She was too tense, hoping and wishing that this game will end in your favour and that all the hard work will finally pay off.

Again, it was Leah who spoke as soon as the last ball hit your opponents side of the court, sealing your win. “I told you so!“, she yelled at Lucy, genuinely happy. Clapping and cheering erupted from the football players.

The excitement that Lucy felt deep in her chest for you, didn’t reach her face yet, so she just stood up to leave her seat; “Excuse me, girls.“

When you saw her standing there, right between your dressing room and the court, you couldn’t stop yourself from running into her arms; “Lucy!“ “You made it!“, she finally smiled. Now that she had realized what just happened, her face could barely contain her pride and happiness.

“Yes, and you were right, I’m not done yet.”, you whispered excitedly into her ear.

Beaming the defender stroke one wild string of your hair back: “I know you! I knew there was more to come for you.”

“I’d never have been here on the way to the final if you, my coach and family did not believe in me.”, you confessed, heart still pounding loudly in your ear.

Determined Lucy shook her head: “No. This is your win.”

You knew you were required to answer some questions, so you quickly kissed your girlfriend goodbye for now before heading to your media duties: “Sorry, I got to go and give a few interviews.”

The football player knew this all too well because she was an professional athlete aswell, that’s why she released you from your hug even though Lucy would have preferred to hold you a little longer: “I’ll meet you afterwards.”

Confidently you faced the press: “Well you did not see the last of me and you all were so convinced I’d never come back but here I’m.”

“I guess we were wrong about that.”, one journalist shouted back.

A bit less cocky you announced: “So I’m ready to answer you guys’ question.”

“How does it feel?”, a female reporter asked.

Your eyes looked dreamy while you replied: “It feels amazing. I always dreamed of being in the Olympics final and I still can’t believe that this dream is coming true.”

“You’ve been waiting for this for four years now. Your opponent was the favourite in these Olympics. Does it make this win even better?”

You waited a moment to gather your thoughts before you told the journalist: “It kind of does, especially because she’s currently the number one in the world and I really admire her talent. So yes, it makes this win taste even better. And the fact that my loved ones were here to watch this means the world to me.”  

“We saw a few of the lioness’s watch. Including your girlfriend. She must be very proud.”, one of them remarked, with a mischievous smile on her lips.

“Yes, I think Lucy is quite proud. Actually, she’s very impatiently waiting behind the cameras for me to be done so we can celebrate my win together.”

For a moment you could see your girlfriend grinning about the comment you made in front of the press, Lucy was not known for her patience.

The journalist opposite you couldn’t contain a smile; “In that case, we won’t keep you any longer. Congratulations on that win again and best of luck to the lionesses for their game tomorrow as well.“ “Oh, don’t worry. Lucy will do anything to win the upcoming games with her teammates. Good night to you all. See you after the final. Hopefully smiling again.“

With a confident smile, you left your place in front of the press and were immediately greeted by Lucys hug. She carefully kissed the top of your head with as grin; “Hey.“

“Hey.“, you smiled back.

Clearly amused, she raised her eyebrows; “Advertising for our game after your own win?“

“Of course. And I’ll be there cheering for you girls in the stands too.“, you laughed. “That’s real sportsmanship.“ You nodded; “As it should be! Girls support girls.“ “What about girlfriends supporting girlfriends?“, Lucy asked with a smirk on her lips.

For a second you grimaced, “I guess they know that you’re my girlfriend now… Hope you don’t mind that.“ You could feel your cheeks flush, but Lucy calmly shook her head; “I don’t. We never made it a secret anyway. And now I can do that.“ Before you knew what she was talking about, she pulled you closer and passionately pressed her lips on yours.

You laughed into the kiss; “You could not wait for this, huh?“ “No.“ “Lucky for you, me neither.“ Lucy took that as a signal to take your hand and nod in the direction of the exit; “Want to leave? And celebrate your win?“ “Yes, please.“, you replied as you let her drag you along. “Let’s go then.“

[bleue-flora]

Was gonna do everyone, but I'm feeling lazy so here's what I got so far for the playdate au character details:

Name - Make Believe Name(s) - Age - Favorite Color - Physical Appearance - Other

Phil - Philza, Dadza - 16 - dark green - greenish blue eyes, gingerish blond hair - when he decides to go outside and play with the kids he tends to wear a silly looking striped hat (mostly though he tends to stay inside and text his girlfriend, Kristen)

Wilbur - WilburSoot (or also Ghostbur, Revivebur) - 13 - Blue - pretty fit and tan (because he’s on the school’s swim team), tall and lanky, brown hair and eyes - almost always wears his colonial style hat and when it’s cold enough his favorite yellow sweater

Sam - Awesamdude, Sam, Sam-nook, The Warden - 12 - green - naturally light brown hair he dyed green, brown eyes - has glasses, wears yellow tee-shirt and green cargo pants that he fills the pockets of with all kinds of handy tools and things, including rocks that he loves to collect, has a fake ruby necklace he loves to wear as well as his crown

Clay - Dream - 11 - lime green - green eyes, dirty blond hair - as he’s autistic he wears comfy clothes only like gym shorts and soft tee-shirts for example and hoodies when it’s cold enough (he will not be caught dead in jeans), used a paper plate with a smile on it to jump scare Tommy once and now it’s his Dream aesthetic

Luke - Punz - 11 - blue - bright blond hair and blue eyes - has a gold necklace he never takes off, his ears are pierced with some gold studs,, his favorite outfit is his ripped black jean shorts and white tee-shirt

Alex - Quackity - 10 - Red - dark brown eyes and black hair, kinda more short stubby - him and his family are mexican, tends to wear classic dark blue and black and doesn’t mind getting dressed up for the occasion, always wears a beanie though, carries a pack of candy cigarettes he pretends to light with a lighter he found, tends to carry a deck of cards and his dad’s old pocket knife, knows a little more than a kid should, has a little scar over his lip from falling face first that Techno turned into a whole lore point

Alexander - Technoblade - 9 - red - blue eyes and dirty blond hair though he tried to dye it an edge red to be cool and it turned out pink instead - he loves to wear his red cape and crown all the time, someone once called him a pig because of his pink hair and after that he added pig ears and nose to his Technoblade look, he also often is seen riding his stick horse steed named Carl, he has glasses that George often steals

Mark - Ranboo - 8 - purple - brown hair, green eyes and super tall and lanky - entire wardrobe is black with lots or variations of black and white, often see with sunglasses and face mask on to be mysterious and of course his crown

Nick - Sapnap - 7 - Orange - brown eyes and unkempt hair that’s just long enough to be annoying that he keeps out of his eyes with his white ninja headband - favorite outfit is black athletic shorts or pants with a flame themed shirt, when it’s cold he’ll wear the same shirts just with a long sleeve black shirt underneath, often carriers around a katana and pretends to be a stealthy ninja

Karl - Karl Jacobs - 7 - purple - light brown hair and blue eyes - when it’s cold he loves to wear his iconic hoodie, he wears lots of fun colors and patterns like the stereotypical stylish gay guy, he has a old stopwatch he likes to carry around

Thomas - Tommy, Tommyinnit - 6 - red - blond hair, blue eyes, tall (for his age) and lanky - likes to wear khaki and that two toned classic tee-shirt, often see with red bandana around his next like some western outlaw and appropriate red devil horns

Toby - Tubbo - 6 - green - bright blond hair and blue eyes - Niki gave him bumble bee barrettes he wears to keep his bangs out of his eyes, he’s very attached to his stuffed pig, can be found wearing cuffed jean shorts or sometimes overalls

George - Gogi - 5 - light blue -  brown eyes and messy hair - always carries around his mushroom patterned blanky, likes wearing his favorite iconic blue shirt and jeans

Current families developed in age order:

Dream, Techno, Sapnap, George

Phil, Wilbur (and surely Fundy needs to be the youngest)

Purpled, Quackity, Slimecicle

Punz, Vikk and Lazar (4 year old twins)

(Ya know based off appearances alone maybe Tubbo and Tommy should be twins?…)

 Others TBD...

[fluorescentbalaclava]

training season's over

Chapter 4: C.R.O.W.

Summary:

Crow / C.R.O.W. A derogatory term derived from the First World War, which refers to a new recruit or inexperienced soldier or Combat Recruit of War. The title is given to the newest members of a regiment.

TF141/female reader

spy reader, forced bonding, slow burn, slow build, militar inaccuracies, sugestive language, language, canon typical violence, second chance, they hate you at first sorry

previous: chapter three "Foxtrot Oscar"

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The days before the mission were uneventful, they went back to the old silent treatment, which made you think that your request for professionalism was as productive as talking to a concrete wall. Three concrete walls to be precise.

You spent the nights studying the scarce intel about the island you’d received in a manila folder, and you made your own contingency plans in case you were effectively left to take care of yourself.

The five of you were up for this mission, the Bravo team as you were told once you sailed. There were a few jokes thrown around to the fact that Price was dressed as a fisherman as he was staying behind in the rented boat to keep it ready in case you had to escape if things went wrong. You were all geared up to make a swim to the shore, and the equipment they used felt heavy on your body. It's been a while since you used this kind of heavy military gear, usually opting for a lighter one and keeping only the strictly necessary in your bag, back in KorTac. But it seemed like in the 141 they wanted to go all in, heavy vest, utility belt, and an even heavier bag containing other useful things was being carried by Ghost. How they didn't sink into the bottom of the ocean carrying all those things was beyond you.

An annoyed but soft, or so you thought, sigh left your mouth as you were now inside the complex in the middle of the island, leaving a trail of dead hostiles behind you both.

"What's wrong?" Gaz whispered to you as both of you were going down a hall, empty so far.

"Nothing important" You whispered back, walking some steps in front of him, opening yet another door and firing twice, the shots were muffled by your gun's silencer. "Clear"

"Corporal, talk to me" He whispered again, guarding the door as you went through the papers in the office you just cleared to see any hints of the stolen materials. Nothing useful.

"It's just...I hate missions that involve swimming first, especially in the ocean. You have to walk around dripping for the whole thing, your skin is sticky with salt water, your clothes weigh more, and your hair is disgusting until you get a shower" You answered trying to peel the wet fabric from around your neck, grimacing at the feeling. Gaz let out a sudden chuckle, clearly not expecting that answer and probably waiting for another kind of complaint.

"Yeah, it's annoying..." He admitted, before you came out of the office in front of him again, finally close to the wider door at the end of the hall, which led to a deposit, you looked back at Gaz, and he gestured for you to go first. Of course.

You pushed the door with your body, the weapon still prepared to fire, and you felt your sergeant’s presence behind you. Only shipping containers could be seen, as well as two trucks to transport them, some other tools were scattered, as well as blueprints and oil spills on the floor.

"Ghost, this is Gaz. Everything clear around here, we found shipping containers, and we'll go through them. How's your front?" Gaz said pressing his comm, and after some cracking down the line you could heard some gunshots.

"Yeah, you're good there because everyone came to greet us" Soap said down the comm, before the line buzzed again and a deeper voice came out.

"We're taking care of them" Ghost said, not sounding phased by the situation.

When you glanced back at Gaz, you noticed a red pointer, aiming from his head. You quickly ran to him, to which his eyes widened surprised but before he could react or say anything you harshly lunged against him, successfully tackling him behind one of the shipping containers, both of you falling hard against the floor as he grunted at both the fall and your weight on top him, your face clashing against his vest and you could feel the steel chest plate under and his gun in between your bodies. Behind you, you heard the delayed bullet impacting against the wall, followed by another one, that was lower, clearly trying to hit you as you moved to take cover.

"Fuck...thank you" He looked at the bullet on the wall. You quickly pulled away from him, rising from the floor and you peeped around the corner to get a peak of who shoot, but you couldn't see anything. Hidden sniper, great.

"It's nothing" You said looking back at him, before peeping again, as you hide your head behind the container another bullet hits the metal, missing you. "I can't see the bastard."

"I'll go through the left, go through the right so we can corner them" He said in a commanding tone, and you nodded.

He made a run through the fire range, until he was hidden behind another container, not before another shot barely missed him, clashing against the wall.

You made another run, and two other shots missed you, but you saw him, just one guard. Once you were out of the sight, you pressed your comm and whispered through it.

"One male. M14 rifle. Twenty round magazine, must have fourteen left."

"Let's try to get him while he reloads." The comm buzzed back, he was hidden, but he poked out and fired back, making the man hide before he shot three bullets this time, missing again. Eleven left.

You run again, now hiding behind a truck, moving closer in light steps but your movement earned shots that followed your path, one gazing your arm and making you hiss as you hid again. Seven more to go.

Gaz pushed a small trolley from behind his hideout, making the tools fall from it and the clanking sounds echoed through the deposit, followed by three shots that thundered even louder. Both of you are still moving closer, with calculated steps, lurking. Just four.

You poked from behind the truck, and so did Gaz, both of you shooting, not really to hit but to scare, to put him on edge, make him nervous, make him slip. And he did. He shot back like a madman, until the distinctive sound of a trigger pulling on an empty chamber was heard, you came out from behind the truck but Gaz, who was closer, was already making a run for him, and then one single shot put an end to the encounter.

"Good work, corporal" He said as you approached, both of you breathing hard through your noses. "Let's find those robots."

After carefully inspecting each closed container, careful enough to check first if they weren't rigged with traps, you finally found one filled with closed wooden boxes with the US logo, you mutter a lazy "Found them" to Gaz, and he goes to meet you, before pressing his comm "Captain we found them, we are in the deposit" and you kept looking around, to check if there was anything else worth mentioning, while you heard a Price answer "Copy. A job well done, muppets. I'll tell Laswell and move closer; it's going to be a while before they come take their stuff back so get comfortable. The coast is clear?"

You quietly told Gaz that you were going to check the perimeter and he nodded as he was mostly listening to Price, and you opened a door in the deposit that led outside, the fresh sea hair sending a shiver down your spine when you felt it against your moist skin, you heard Soap said "Everything good from here, cap. We tucked everyone and they're sleeping tightly. Gaz, we're coming to you".

You heard some noise coming from a shed close to the door, something moving inside.

Lifting your gun again, you heard Gaz answering "Copy that" as you approached the door, opening it with a kick, before looking inside, no movement to be seen. You entered slowly, your weapon before your body, your senses in alert.

Abruptly, a strong grip was holding your wrist, trying to take the gun out of your grip. You positioned yourself between the aggressor and your weapon, using your body to avoid him getting a hold of it, but in the middle of the struggle it fell across the room. The figure then tried to wrap his arms around your neck, but your elbow connected hard with his side, and you threw your head back, brutally connecting with his nose and making him back out.

"Sage, what's your position?" Gaz said through the comms, as you tried to make a run for your weapon, dropping on your knees through the floor, and you heard a pained "Мой нос...сука" behind you, before a hand grabbed your ankle, dragging you back to him, your hand barely missing your weapon and all you could grab was barbed wire, before you were pulled. "Corporal, position. Now." Ghost said through the comms, already sounding livid. You turned around on the floor, laying on your back, the man's hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing tight, fuelled by hate. As blood droplets from his broken nose fell in your face while you felt yourself getting red at the lack of oxygen, your free hand reached up, burying your thumb mercilessly inside his eye. Thank God I'm wearing gloves.

"Lass? Where are you?" Soap tried. The man screamed, loud enough for the three men inside the big deposit to hear something in the distance. As he jerked back from you, his hand covering his eye, you got up.

Moving by inertia and the adrenaline going through your veins, you grabbed the barbed wire, some of the spikes puncturing your gloves and perforating your skin, but you didn't care as you wrapped it around his neck, squeezing it with all your might. His body fell on top of you as he chocked and struggled, which made you squeeze tighter. Your grip was becoming sloppy as his blood covered your hands. After some faint noises, he stopped moving, and you let him go, panting heavily. His limp body slipped from your body to the floor.

The first to enter was Ghost, fuming, probably thinking you were trying that something he warned you not to, but instead he was greeted by a gruesome sight, blood quickly pooling on the floor. You just looked up at him, strands falling from your bun, your eyes like a deer caught in headlights. You were looking like a mess, breathing heavily, sitting on the floor with his blood still on your hands and face.

Then Gaz arrived, making a disgusted gesture with his face, and next to him Soap, who just whistled, walking towards you, not bothering to avoid stepping on the blood. Your body relaxing slightly when you noticed they were not a threat.  

"You good, Carrie White?" He said extending a hand to you, helping you back on your feet.

"Peachy" You said sarcastically, grabbing the hand to stand up. "Did you read Carrie?"

"I watched the movie" He said shrugging, a soft breath left through your nose, amused at his reply.

Ghost stared at the man who attacked you, laying lifeless on the floor, his factions barely distinguishable with the broken nose, the blood coming from it and from his eye, and the pool of blood from the slice on his throat running down on the floor. Then he looked back at you, the eye contact was slightly unsettling.

"Your hands?" Ghost said, making you look down at the body, almost to remind yourself about the barbed wire, before looking away from it with a hint of disgust.

"They're fine, the gloves are thick. The spikes went through them but didn't feel that bad" You took off the dirty gloves with difficulty, your hands had small cuts, as if you gripped a thorny rose. Your gloves, however, were broken.

"Go to the infirmary when we're back" It wasn't advice, it was an order.

Back at base, once you filled all your paperwork and visited the nurses so you could chat with someone who didn't see you as a burden and get your cuts checked, you went back to your usual afternoon routine. A quick meal on the mess-hall before going to the gym.

Punch after punch, your senses focused only on the music coming out from your headphones and on the bag in front of you, blind to the world around you.

You should know I...

And then the usual thoughts came back, how you had a house, you were comfortable. You felt like you were on top of the world.

I need someone to hold me close, deeper than I've ever known.

And now you had an ankle monitor, forced to walk around the base over and over like a chained dog until someone decided you were useful enough to take you out for a walk.

Whose love feels like a rodeo, knows just how to take control. When I'm vulnerable, he's straight-talking to my soul.

Your punches become more frequent and harsher. The cuts on your hand stinging. The dry blood on your face, his hands around your neck, the oxygen being cut. His blood growing cold.

Conversation overload, got m---

And suddenly, your music stopped.

When you let the bag catch a break to turn around to your phone, you saw Gaz, bent over enough and his finger on the screen over the pause button. He was wearing gym clothes as well, probably having the same idea as you of having a quick lunch and taking advantage of the emptiness of the gym while everyone ate.

"By the way you're hitting that I can't tell if you love or hate Dua Lipa" He said with a slightly teasing tone, which made you chuckle.

You didn't realize how sweaty and agitated you were becoming by the exercise, so the laugh came out a bit breathier than expected.

"Needed to blow some steam" You answered taking a deep breath to recover your breath, before reaching for your water bottle. "Wasn't expecting company."

"Well, it was me distracting you or the bag" He said walking over to you, gesturing with his head up, and you saw that the bag was on the edge of getting unhooked and falling. You took a sip from water as you followed his movements.

With an enviable ease he lifted the bag, putting it back in place.

"Oh, thanks...sorry, I didn't realize."

"Ah, it's okay, old equipment" He said sounding actually amicable, and he stood behind the bag, grabbing it from the sides. "I can hold it for you, if you want."

"Are you sure, sergeant?" Confusion in your tone, as you looked back at him.

"I am sure" He said still sounding friendly, and you narrowed her eyes looking back at him, and started to punch again the bag, this time a bit softer. "And no need to call me sergeant here, I was the one to check your hard drives. I might not know a lot about you, but you sure know a lot about us, so no need to play dumb."

Ah, there it is. But still, it wasn't in a hostile tone like the first weeks, and plus he was still holding the bag. A small smirk appeared in the corner of your mouth as you kept hitting the bag.

"I didn't think you'd feel comfortable with me calling you Kyle out of nowhere" You said in a slight teasing tone.

"No more than I'm comfortable with having you here" Ouch.

"But Gaz could be a start" Better.

next chapter: chapter five "R&R"

if you like it leave me some kudos or suggestions on ao3! <3

[a-d-nox]

web of wyrd: the heart charkra

the numbers we are focusing on today are based on the green bubbled numbers in the web then the sum of the two equal your emotional number - ex: as you see above and in previous charts, my energetic number is 22 and my physical number 21. so to get the emotional number i have to sum the two: 22 + 21 → 43. recall that numbers must be summed a second time if they total 43 (i.e. 4 + 3 → 7) and above.

but what does this number mean?

the chakra set we are examining is the heart chakra (anahata); it signifies our love, feelings, sincerity, compassion, altruism, patriotism, duty, ability to feel, awareness, acceptance, and spiritual values. bodily it governs our heart, circulatory system, breasts, respiratory system, lungs, and ribs.

so let's talk about some examples:

7 - the chariot

physically 7s are hardy people. this arcana is ruled by cancer so naturally these people have tough ribs, like a crab shell, and it is likely that they have bigger and/or denser breast tissue due to cancer being ruled by moon. however, they might have very delicate lungs and a fragile circulatory system. these people aren't made for running because of this - it is just too hard on their bodies. try to aim for a lighter aerobic exercise like water aerobics, wall sits, swimming, tennis, etc.

energetically 7s are often very altruistic - they rally when getting things done for the greater good. they tend to be very selfless - they know what it is to be in charge and have people looking up to them and trusting them to do what is best for them. they don't do anything lightly; they like to have a plan and reason - but when they are out of balance, they can be very impulsive or too hesitant. mainly they have a strong sense of duty - they are one hundred percent the people who will serve their country because it is "their duty to protect their country". they are very patriotic in that regard. they value forward movement and intention - they feel it is important to continually progress for the betterment of the future.

7s emotionally are very guarded. they don't easily share their feelings. they have a lot of love to give, but they can easily frighten people with their defensiveness and emotional remoteness. cancer's, and thus charioteer's, have a hard exterior but a soft interior. they are guarded and defensive for a reason - they are protecting themselves. these people tend to have large emotional wounds that originate in childhood - from that moment on, they dress for war when dealing with emotional situations and situations where they can potentially get hurt emotionally. they are very aware of others emotions which is why they tend to make their intentions incredibly clear.

21 - the world

21s physically have great breasts - it is like the card itself; they enjoy being braless. it is something about this card though - it sort of reminds me of cancer awareness ribbons. maybe it is a cause they support - heart, breast, or lung cancer research - or maybe someone close to them struggled with the disease. this is a card of celebration after a long fight/journey, so maybe they themselves have experienced some form of chest cancer. in time all wounds heal given the card. something else i noticed with this placement is that these people really consider chest surgery - i wouldn't be surprised to find this arcana on this charka for people who had breast augmentation or removed a set of ribs.

energetically 21s want to see the world flourish and improve. they are often very involved in the realm of politics and search for candidates that are willing to get things done in their country. they want people in charge who are mature and responsible. they want someone like themselves in other words. other then that, they empower others and generally want to see others rise up - they are the best cheerleaders a person could ask for. frankly, this is a great leader in general because they want what is best for the people who look up to them.

emotionally 21s experience a very wide range of emotions. emotionally they are extremely vulnerable and don't fear what the world sees from them emotionally. they have been through a lot and fear nothing when it comes to expression and sharing. in fact, they enjoy letting others know how they feel because it sets them free in a way. they are very emotionally mature and tend to take into account how others react to their reactions and how they can best articulate to others how they feel.

22 - the fool

22s physically remind me of either good or poor circulatory flow. uranus is the ruler of this arcana and has the tendency to mix things up. these people could have a rare blood disorder, a lack of an rh factor, need to take medication for rh factor when pregnant, etc. you can never predict what is going to happen where this person's blood is involved. they also have a tendency to get stitches in their side or feel like there is a sharp pain when breathing. and not to be extreme but i have seen these people break a rib (especially, the floating one) and/or have a sudden heart issue, like a cardiac arrest.

energetically 22s are willing to try anything once. altruism is something they do once, but if they see that they are being used for their generosity, they are quick to cut ties. they are easily blind to being used at first, but as soon as they see it, they will leave and aren't afraid to go ghost. they aren't the most patriotic person - often they will dream about leaving their home country. these are not the type of people to be relied on in terms of duty; they can either be extremely flighty or they will do what is expected of them before it is asked.

love is blind - emotionally 22s are the type of people who take a chance when it comes to romances. they have a tendency to let people back into their lives because they believe that change is possible and that it is never too late to start again. they listen to their heart more than their intuition at times; which can be a dangerous game because they often associate the two together then they wonder why they can't trust their intuition.

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[ghoulangerlee]

the cumulus is in a rut and cirrus is in heat fic :)

contains: cunnilingus, fingering, ladies in love, the concepts of heats and ruts without it being overly there, a very brief mention of cirrus's breeding kink but it's only a mention, and wings :)

WOMEN!

==

Cumulus feels...heat, uncomfortable, a pressure building in her lower stomach—all encompassing.

Dutifully, she checks her calendar, the small hard cover planner she keeps with her, flipping through well worn pages until she finds the right date and well.

Well. She's at the beginning of it, her rut. Five days. The first two make her skin feel uncomfortably tight, like she's being stretched thin over her own bones. The third one is when she starts to really feel it. When she needs a partner to help her satiate the hunger.

The fourth and fifth day, well, she doesn't want to think about those right now, already feeling on a sort of hair trigger since she'd rolled out of bed this morning.

She goes on about her day, mostly, feeling a bit listless as she does—she catches a sympathetic look from Dew, allowing him close enough once to scent her, a low purr rumbling in his chest.

"It'll be okay, Cu," Dew murmurs, and he's never been terrible at comfort despite what he thinks, his arms settling loosely around her shoulders in a hug.

Cumulus allows herself to lean into it—they're not incompatible, but her body yearns for something that Dew can't give her right now. She's grateful though, for the comfort, his steady scent not spiking in any way, arousal or otherwise.

(She's only mildly afraid of what she could be capable of if she were to catch the scent of arousal so soon.)

"I was going to go down to the lake, it's a nice day out. Do you wanna come?" Dew murmurs into her hair.

Cumulus wants to shake her head, pull from his embrace and go lock herself in her room for a bit while the fire in her belly licks tantalizingly at her very being.

"It'll be good for you," Dew needles her gently, he's not pushing but he's not backing down in her silence. "You know how stinky the church gets when everyone starts waking up for the day. Do you really want to subject yourself to that?"

She doesn't, is the issue, and Dew knows this.

"Yeah, okay, at least let me pack a bag first so I have a few things." She finally settles on, briefly mourning the closeness of Dew when he finally pulls back.

"Sure thing," he says, smiling at her. "I'm going to go pack a lunch. I'm feeling like a nice relaxing day at the lake is in order. Probably won't be able to drag myself out of the water for lunch, later."

Cumulus nods and allows herself to calm down at the prospect of being only surrounded by nature and the one ghoul who's nearly perfect at keeping his scent in check.

They split ways, only long enough for Cumulus to pack a few things; a book and a towel, she throws a swimsuit in as a last minute thing, just in case she gets needled into swimming with Dew—she also changes into something lighter, a flowy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, the material soft and comfortable against her skin.

When she exits her room a little bit later, Dew's waiting at the end of the hall, a brown basket sitting at his feet and a blanket folded over his arm; he's also dressed down, casual in swim trunks and a tank top—he's glamoured, much like she is, so his skin is pale and lightly freckled from his time in the sun.

"There you are," Dew says with a smile, soft and friendly as he scoops the basket up again, "Ready?"

She smiles in return and goes over to him, nudging her shoulder against his, "Ready."

Together, they head down to the lake, only running into a couple of siblings who offer waves to them before carrying on—Cumulus is glad for this, unsure if she could stand the small talk today, already so on edge from the heat running through her veins.

The lake is peaceful and quiet, there's a slight breeze though the sun shines high in the sky, warming the entire area—quietly, they set everything up, Dew spreading the blanket out on the pier, placing the basket on one of the corners and motions for Cumulus to make herself comfortable.

She does, her rut still burning below her skin, in her veins, a steady reminder that it's there and setting in, but she's able to lie back on the blanket, eyes fluttering closed as the sun bears down on her.

She doesn't see Dew, but she can smell when he removes his shirt, dropping it into a pile near her; not close enough for his scent to bother her, but close enough that it offers some sort of comfort to her—and then, there's a splash, a whoop of laughter as Dew comes up to the surface of the water.

She can smell his happiness, the warm and rich scent making her purr softly, she's not providing for him, she doesn't provide for another who goes into rut, but being part of his happiness, of his own way to relax on a day off makes her happy too.

Cumulus dozes on the pier, warm and happy in the sun as the sounds of Dew splashing around the lake fade into nothingness.

It's the first reprieve that she's had since waking this morning to the burning beneath her skin.

At some point, she wakes up—slowly, like all of her limbs are underwater. She stays horizontal and rolls over onto her side, Dew's sitting a distance away from her, bare chested and watching the clouds float through the sky. There's an unwrapped sandwich next to him and a bottle of water.

Her stomach growls and Dew glances over at her, a serene smile on his face, "Hey sleepy head," he says, and then he tilts his head towards the basket, "Food's in there. Should still be good. Cirrus packed you something special when I told her you were coming down here with me."

Something clenches in her belly at that, a low rumble of a purr in her chest as she slowly sits up, stretching her limbs out.

In the basket, there's something wrapped in a checkered napkin, and Cumulus can smell the remains of Cirrus's scent on it when she pulls it close—she doesn't think too hard about the date written in green sparkly pen in her calendar, the one that matches up with her own in matte blue ink.

It's just a sandwich, but it's a somewhat indulgent one with pepper spiced turkey, lettuce, tomato and green apple slices, a light spread of mayonnaise on one side of the bread and the barest hint of cream cheese on the other.

It's her favorite.

She tears into it with a ravenous hunger, the bread, meat, vegetable and fruit melting away under her teeth—it's easily the best thing she's ever eaten, fisting the napkin in one of her hands as if hoping the rest of Cirrus's scent would rub away into her skin.

"So, tomorrow, you think you'll be okay? I mean, I could make more time for you, obviously. Maybe go bird watching or whatever it is you air ghouls like to do," Dew says, humor in his tone as he teases her. "But, I do have a hot date with a water ghoul later, so if I'm needed it'll have to be early morning."

"Swiss likes bird watching and he's mostly an outlier," Cumulus says around a mouthful of food. "But no, I think this time may be different." She squeezes the napkin tighter in her hand, "I believe I'm being courted."

Dew gives her a funny look, "Aren't you and Cirrus already mated?" He asks, narrowing his eyes. "You do that whole mated pair thing already."

Cumulus snorts softly, "Come on, Dew. Don't tell me you've never tried to spice things up with someone you've been together with for a long time." She says, and then she smiles, soft and gentle, "It's a thing we do. Every couple hundred years. Sometimes I court her when she's about to go into heat. Sometimes she courts me when I'm going into a rut. Depends on what we're feeling."

"That's disgustingly domestic of you two. Though I think you ladies may be the outlier here." Dew says with a shrug. "Personally, my longest courting has been since I've been summoned. So, for only a few years. I don't think it's been long enough to do it again." He gets a sort of thoughtful look on his face, "Might take Aether by surprise if I started trying to court him again."

Cumulus finishes her sandwich and folds the napkin up carefully, tucking it into the collar of her shirt, "I forget that compared to us, some of you are babies," she says with a little laugh.

"Uh huh," Dew says with a roll of his eyes, before he fishes out another bottle of water from the basket and tosses it in her direction.

Cumulus bares her teeth at him as she catches it, "I'm just saying, it's nice sometimes, to fall back into old habits with someone you care about."

Dew has a thoughtful look on his face, he's not looking at Cumulus anymore, but towards the sky, "Huh," he says slowly. "You and Cirrus have been together for...a while, yeah?"

"Millennia." Cumulus says, as if she's talking about some small and insignificant number of years. "Swiss too, but he was. Well, he was later. A couple hundred years later." She smiles, a soft and private thing, "Cirrus and I have seen the rise and fall of many civilizations, both here and in the pits."

"Huh." Dew says again, "Maybe you are onto something, birdy."

Cumulus laughs then, light and happy, feeling warm and content as she settles back onto her back again. "Guess you better listen to me then, waterbug."

Dew scoffs at the name, but soon the conversation grows quiet and Cumulus's eyes flutter closed again, another round of tiredness pulling at her.

-

The next day she wakes up warmer than before, naked and pressed against Cirrus's back, nose right against where her scent is thickest.

A chirp, soft and content, Cirrus's hand coming back to comb through her unruly hair—the haze of heat overtaking as Cumulus leans into her touch.

She can smell the scent of heat just burning under Cirrus's skin, the need to provide calls deep from in her bones as she presses closer, rolling them until Cirrus is on her front and Cumulus can stretch out across her back, blanketing her—pressing her down against the bed as she does.

Cirrus purrs loudly, content to let Cumulus keep her there. She folds her arms and pillows her head on them, face turned to the side—her features lax and open, happy.

With an answering purr, Cumulus leans down and nuzzles into her jaw, feeling soft downy feathers against her own as she does—before her brain goes too much, she makes a note to have Cirrus sit up later, have her wings on display so she can properly groom them, the most basic act of love of their kind.

Cirrus angles her head, tipping it to the side, purring louder as she puckers her lips, urging Cumulus down with the pout of her lips—she's eager to comply, pressing their lips together sweetly in a chaste kiss.

For a while, they stay like this, trading kisses back and forth, Cirrus's purrs loud and content as she lounges under Cumulus—basking in the weight against her back, the press of bare skin against bare skin.

Warmth surrounds the two of them, scents thickened with pheromones; at some point, Cumulus urges Cirrus up into a sitting position, coaxes her to drop her glamour fully so her wings are out.

She starts at the base of one wing, careful as she coaxes the messy feathers into order until Cirrus is warm putty under her touch, sagging forward as her wings twitch with each pass of her fingers through the feathers.

It's quiet except for the low song that Cumulus is humming, something she'd written on her own, a gentle ode to her love for Cirrus—there's no words, but neither of them need words to convey feelings anymore.

As she finishes one wing, she moves onto the next, spends a considerable amount of time putting all the feathers into order, plucking out the ones that have become a nuisance, Cirrus's scent is warm and sweet, her eyes drooping and sleepy; a true sign of trust and intimacy.

Cumulus keeps an eye on Cirrus, knows when her heat hits that she goes mostly nonverbal, choosing to mostly speak through their bond if she needs to, prefers to give into her instincts—she keeps such a front up when around everyone else, a proper shoulder to lean on, someone who can be firm, a leader.

But here, when they're together, when the press of heat is under her skin, when she's in Cumulus's arms, she allows herself to give up control, trusts that Cumulus knows what she needs, what's best for her.

Knows how to take care of her.

At some point, Cirrus finds herself stretched out on her back, her wings spread out under her while Cumulus's own flare out behind her.

Cumulus has a knee between Cirrus's legs, draws her into a sweet kiss as she shifts closer, presses the heft of her thigh right against Cirrus's cunt.

Cirrus makes a noise into the kiss, claws at Cumulus's arms, at her sides, presses her fingers into soft skin as she grinds down against her, panting as the heat overtakes her, as her mind goes hazy and dumb with it.

It's such a treat, to have her like this, desperate and needy, wet and sticky, messy and Cumulus deepens the kiss, reaches down between her legs and presses her fingertips against the stiff point of her clit—the sudden pressure making Cirrus shudder, a wounded noise tearing its way through her chest as she comes.

Always so easy the first time, Cumulus thinks with some delight, happy that she's able to provide this for her mate. It makes the low burn of her own rut flare up, she doesn't need anything just yet though, content to take Cirrus apart over and over again.

When Cirrus's legs stop shaking, Cumulus pulls her fingers away, brings them up to her lips and takes a moment to taste, humming happily as the thick scent of her mate coats her tongue, worms its way into her senses, her very being.

"Cu," Cirrus mumbles out loud, half delirious, one hand shoved against her shoulder, trying to urge her downwards, "Your mouth, please," she manages to get out.

Cumulus shushes her, kisses her again and they share the taste of Cirrus's slick for a moment, Cirrus's hand getting more insistent and pushy as she tries to redirect Cumulus once more—so she goes, easily, pulls away from the kiss and slinks down the bed, settles on her chest between Cirrus's legs, mouthing kisses along her inner thighs.

There's a litany of praises, of pleases in Cumulus's mind, all coming from her bond with Cirrus as she moves higher and higher until she's able to mouth over her cunt, drag the tip of her tongue along the seam of her lips, a little bit of a tease as she uses two fingers to spread them just enough to drag the flat of her tongue over Cirrus's clit.

Cirrus's hand drops to her hair, not tugging or pulling though, just resting there, keeping her close even as Cumulus continues to tease her with slow little kitten licks, gentle touches even though Cirrus feels like she's burning up from the inside.

Only when a white falls from Cirrus's mouth, sad and despondent, does Cumulus give in, firming up her tongue, each pass along her clit now slow and sensual as she works two fingers into her slowly, curling them upwards—it's just enough to fill Cirrus up, just enough to sate her need but not enough to get her off just yet.

It's perfect, in a maddening way as Cirrus's fingers pet along Cumulus's scalp and she hooks a leg over Cumulus's shoulder, using her heel to pull her closer until Cumulus's face is right against her, her hand squished between them even as she continues to undulate her fingers inside her.

She's begging, she realizes, unsure if out loud or through the bond, the fire in her veins calling for more and Cumulus provides, she happily provides as she presses another finger into her, stretching them and curling them, pressing upwards as she sucks at her clit.

The force and suddenness of this orgasm catches the both of them off guard, Cirrus gushing around Cumulus's fingers, wetting her chin and throat easily, her wrist, her entire hand.

Cirrus makes an urgent noise, tugs, tugs, tugs until Cumulus comes up, knees over her and Cirrus hooks a leg around her waist now, pulls their lower bodies together as she offers up her mouth in a filthy kiss, licking the taste of herself from Cumulus's tongue.

They make out for a bit, Cirrus making happy noises into each kiss, her hand tight in Cumulus's hair to keep her their as their hips rock together minutely—Cirrus can feel the tell-tale signs that Cumulus is affected by all of this, by her own rut, by Cirrus's heat.

It doesn't happen often, only when their cycles line up like this, but Cirrus can feel it, the way Cumulus's clit is hard, peeking out from between her folds, engorged and hot, it nudges between her folds, against her clit with each grind upwards, she's making noises into each kiss, soft little uh uh uhs that have Cumulus purring happily, too content to part ways.

They don't really need to breathe anyway.

She doesn't push even if she wants to, wants to beg Cumulus to fuck her, to fill her, to breed her, make her belong to Cumulus once again after all these years together—she has to stop the train of thought, before it spills over into the bond, but it must anyway because Cumulus laughs softly, musically, pulls away from the kiss and whispers soon against her slack mouth, grinding down against her like she's already trying to make room inside her.

It's wet and slick between them, Cirrus can smell the thick scent of Cumulus's arousal now mixed with her own, she wants to bury her face between Cumulus's legs where the scent is the thickest, take her into her mouth until she's ready to fuck—she whines out loud, grips tight at Cumulus's hips as she comes again, the insistent nudging of Cumulus's clit against hers too much to handle.

She clenches around nothing and briefly mourns, but Cumulus is once again a beautiful, wonderful mate because she reaches between them and stuffs three fingers into Cirrus again, quickly brings her off once more so Cirrus has something to clench around.

It's bliss. True and utter bliss.

"Lovely, lovely," Cumulus murmurs, kissing along her hairline as she comes down again, shuddering as she leaves her fingers inside, curling them just enough so it feels like she's able to hold them. Like they're going to plug her up and keep her full until the heat subsides.

Cirrus purrs happily, loud and content as she allows Cumulus to smother her in kisses, little pecks along her skin as her heat subsides for now, now that she's come and she's full.

Cumulus presses one last kiss to her mouth, pulls back and smiles down at her, "Good?" she asks, she keeps her arm as still as she can, there's an ache in her wrist, in her elbow but she settles down against Cirrus again, pressing her into the bed, "Good, mate?"

"Good," Cirrus mumbles back, turning her head to nuzzle Cumulus's cheek. "Sleepy now."

"Of course, love," Cumulus murmurs, feeling her own rut start to sink its claws into her, but she pushes it down, ignores it for now, "Rest now."

Later on, she'll have Cirrus present for her, she'll grind against her, fill her up until the two of them are locked together as one while Cirrus goes pliant and soft underneath her.

For now, she presses one last kiss to Cirrus's lips, soft and sweet and full of love and drifts off into a light sleep.

[randomshenaniganery]

Mairon to Finrod (info dump time)

I am going to draw Oleander when im not busy but I did want to show why it took me three days to finish up everything

Me diving into the outfit design and slso Finrod's opinion on the boys its in the bottom tho skksks

ALSO ALSO if u make vespersonas i will be friends pls let us lore dump together

real name: ??? I haven't picked one akskkaskskaskas

Age: 29 (they pretend they're older as Vigil)

Height: 5'7 cm

Gender: enby

Sexuality: Asexual biromantic

Weight: 73 kg

Traits: Street smart, scrappy, observant, liar liar pants on fire

Skills: Swimming, sewing, sword fighting (shield user), puzzle solving, running,

Weaknesses: when they don't want to do something they'll be stubborn about it, can't jump very high,

Backstory timeline:

Has had Fractum Anima for at least 2 months now (same as all Vespers)

In the surface their job was being part of a group of private guards, they mainly escorted people or goods

Ran away from home due to domestic abuse at the age of 12 before joining the guard for training

Worked there for 17 yrs before they got diagnosed and went under

Met Cirrus they were like okay weird but whatever if there's a lunar ichor alternative we gotta try that, saw Cirrus punishing that dude went nope try again later, they did try again later and got the Cirrus grew bored of you route with Ark

Set the pleasure den on fire by using the lotions and oils that were left in the room. Fun fact if you dry lotion on fabric it's VERY flammable and since they don't have synthetic fibers in this game, plus considering what kind of ingredients they'd be using for lubrication, lotions and oil; it's really easy to set things on fire.

After running away and grabbing a new face, they broke into their old room and left their medallion before returning as 'Finrod'

met Oleander while avoiding the guards because they were feeling antsy

became Vigil and is balancing new work, how do I kill Cirrus thoughts and I might need to steal lunar ichor when it pops up in the market.

Habits & hobbies:

Whenever Finrod gets too overwhelmed they use pain to calm their mind, to them pain is clarity. So, sometimes when Finrod stews on bad memories they'll end up harming themselves in some way to force themselves to calm down

Really, really quiet when it comes to pain, crying or having a crisis, high pain tolerance basically which is good because of their flare ups

Sometimes Finrod doesn't really laugh even though something is funny so they learned to fake laugh as a way to show they find something funny

Whenever something is really funny to them they have the habit of covering their mouth

When they're unsure, nervous or feeling awkward they'll scratch their nose

Doesn't have a tell when they're lying cause they do it so much

Finrod has the habit of bringing everything they think they need with them at all times (matchsticks/lighter/strike-a-light/flint, knife, scissors, needle and thread, bandages, map, a magnifying glass, paper and ink) this is because of having to live on the go for their job. scouting behavior etc.

When Finrod is happy/relaxed/calm they'll start humming or singing this applies to games, when they have their plan all finished and they're confident they'll start singing to themselves

In a fight Finrod will throw themselves at people like a battering ram if needed, not that they're big but that they're good at knowing how to use their momentum and weight.

Likes massaging/caressing/tracing their friends' hands as a way to soothe themselves

Can finish dressing up and arranging all their things in under 4 minutes (habit from being a private guard on the go)

Name stuff:

Chose Mairon for their first half because I thought it would be appropriate since this is their first go at the mountain. Finrod is their second go because of how Finrod died and the betrayal stuff that happened to him.

Outfit Design:

Mairon's Clothes

Wanted it to come off as simple and formal more reminiscent of their time as a private guard. The most color you'll get from them is their belt and matching cuffs. Very neat appearance more npc looking since they want to blend in. They use the standard black mask in the game as well.

Finrod's Clothes

I gave it more color because Finrod had to ditch their old clothes due to the fire, it's a mix of things they grabbed or bought after the fire. They kept their belt and cuff because it's sentimental and also just useful to them. Although they wear more colors It's mostly dark shades so that they don't stand out in shadows. A lot of their body is bandaged and when they met Oleander half their face was bandaged under the mask too.

Opinions on the boys:

REaLLy wants Cirrus dead doesn't care if they get hurt in the process

Slowly growing an obsession over Oleander but they're very good at hiding it, their banter helps calm them down

Likes to mess with Kier otherwise neutral but i think storywise they haven't met

Francesco reminds them of a friend from the surface they bump into each other time to time

[docholligay]

Choose Your Own Adventure: September

Finally getting into some real spooky shit. I hope you like at least parts of it ahaha. Enjoy! 3100 words.

The moonlight didn’t pierce this far into the house. Darkness surrounded every corner, and only the wavering flame of Haruka’s little lighter cast anything into the night. Haruka held it far from her face, ignored it as the tip of her thumb got hotter and hotter. But the black of it. It seems to be more than just the dark, it seemed to almost swallow the light. 

“Lena? Uh, Commander Oxton?” 

It was like the hallways and floor were covered in thick carpet, her voice not echoing at all, but stifling, quieting, into the walls. Everything beneath her was so hard, and only her voice seemed to come softer and softer, even as she looked. 

Where would she have run? It was hard to be sure. It occurred to Haruka, in that moment, that she diodn’t know Lena all that well, and that any kinship she felt between them was probably all one-sided, and that it was definitely weird to be the one going after her. But she still kept creeping forward down the hallway. 

She had to apologize for Minako. It felt odd to say it that way, but she felt it all the same. Mina wasn’t usually like that, she might say, and it might even feel true. Other than, of course, the fact that Mina was always like that. 

No, but that was wrong, too. Mina could be like that, but she was funny and usually she didn’t--the whole thing confused Haruka. Not that it took much, she snorted to herself. But as many people she’d seen Mina put on the defensive, and even as mean as she had seen Mina be, there was something about the way she’d attacked Lena that made no sense to her. Lena hadn’t even done anything, as far as she could tell. 

Was the hall getting darker? That seemed impossible, it had been so dark already. Maybe it was just the darker was getting fuller. The flat darkness was turning to one she could feel, plush, soft, like one of Michiru’s winter dresses, or the pillows on the couch at the country club. Something so thick it could suffocate you in its luxury. 

But that was stupid. Dark was dark, and mean was mean, and it was just another day of Minako Aino picking on someone because she felt mad or threatened or bored or whatever. That was it. That was all. Her lighter was just running out of butane. That was it. That was all. 

There was a break in the dark, like a door appearing in some dream, a bright block of light with an arch at the top. Her lighter flickered, and then died, leaving her crushed in the blackness, swimming through it, almost able to taste the salt of it as she walked toward the shimmering silver of that light. From somewhere off, she heard singing, a woman’s voice, high and clear as when her cufflink hit a fancy wine glass. 

She walked toward the light, and stepped through the door

----

“Lena.” 

You’re dead, she thought, but the words wouldn’t come. How long had it been since she had managed to keep a stray thought inside? Why had it been this one? You’re dead, she thought, but it felt so untrue, as he smiled at her, the same broad, crooked smile she wore on her own face, a keepsake passed from Oxton to Oxton. His eyes were bright and animated in the firelight, the crow’s feet around them only highlighting how often he had smiled in life. She had her mother’s eyes, but the freckles on her face were a mirror to his, two parts of a shared Milky Way. 

He was dead, and impossibly alive, and in the mental collision of these two facts, Lena could do nothing but wrap her arms around him tightly, and throw her body into his. 

“Dad.” 

Worse, then, or better, the knowledge of his death fading away as her cheek slipped against the comforting sameness of his tattered grey cardigan, the one only minutes before she would have sworn was laying across the back of her couch. How could he be dead, when she could smell the spice and wood of his cologne, that hopelessly dated thing she’d sprayed on herself at fourteen? 

“Everything’s all right now, love. You’re ‘ere now.” 

He ruffled the back of her hair, and there was something in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t hear it over the sounds of laughing and chatting behind her. She was home for Christmas. This was where she’d always meant to be, with her family, the only somewhat sloppily constructed puddings and the smell of warm meat. The brandy punch and mediocre beer. The happiness. 

It began to surround her, to fill her ears and her eyes and her throat like honey, sweet and perfect and suffocating. . 

“Right.” She pulled away, but only to drown herself deeper in the comfort of the moment. “Dad, I--” 

“None of that matters now,” he shook his head, “You’re safe, and you’re ‘ome. Well--” 

“Florrie’s.” Lena completed the thought, looking around. Hadn’t it been a bigger room? Hadn’t it been flocked in deep wallpaper and dark wood, just a moment ago? No, that all seemed so far away. Just a nightmare. It had always been a warm, cheerful, living room in West Ham, too small for the crowd but none the worse for it. 

She touched the strap of her accelerator, running her fingers against the strap until they wandered to the piece itself, as small as Winston could have made it. She sat down on the ground next to her father’s knee, trying to sort it all out.

She came in the door. She came in the door, and she didn’t come from the station. She kept shaking her head. This couldn’t be her cousin’s house. The last time she was at her cousin’s house, with her father, was before the Slipstream. Her father had died when--she willed herself not to look at him--he had died before she was found. Fight back. This was a dream. This was a wish. This was a particularly mean trick. She had to go. 

Lena turned her face upwards. There was the thumping of feet as a little herd of children came to her and tackled her to the ground. 

“Aunt Lena!” 

“You going to play with us?” 

“I missed you!” 

The alarm in the back of her mind sank under the weight of joy, and she grinend as she picked one of them up and ran toward the tree. 

---

Haruka was trapped in a snowglobe. Or so it seemed. The light refracted like glitter off the glass panes, little cracks here and there only making brighter flecks of light. Had she seen this from the outside? It was just a greenhouse, one of the fancy ones attached to old houses, but she thought she might have seen it from outside. Wouldn’t it have shone? 

She didn’t remember the moon being this bright, when they’d walked here. Yeah, it was raining. She’d been freezing in her leather jacket, and she’d be pissed that the water might ruin it. But now the moon was bright and full, and it pierced through the gloom to shine down on Haruka, walking toward the middle of the great glass structure. 

It must have been beautiful when it was still used. It looked dead now, the planters all withered and quiet in the moonlight. But it was still a bright spot in a dark house, and maybe Lena had found her way here, same as Haruka. 

“Commander Oxton?” 

The hallway had swallowed her voice, and the glass garden amplified it. Amplified it, echoed it, tossed it back and forth between the walls so many times it began to sound strange, began to say different things. The old stands where plants had once grown seemed like skeletons in the light, just the bare bones of what had once been a lush forest. 

No response. No one here. There was no way Lena could have avoided hearing her, as loud as the echo had been. She should leave. Look somewhere else. 

There was the clank of metal, and Haruka whirled around to follow it. Behind her, rising and twisting like a plume of a smoke, was a great dark staircase, iron turned and bound into complicated curls by the will of the house, twisted into a neat spiral up toward a balcony, and a litte door into another room. 

“Lena?” 

The echoes came again. Lena. Lena. Leave. Lena. Leap. Leap. 

Maybe she’d gone up there. It looked like the kind of place Haruka might go to be alone, if she’d had the kind of shake Lena’d had. She could tell Lena she gets upset sometimes too. Sometimes she doesn’t think she deserves to be here either. Like Lena told her she didn’t do school. It was okay. You didn’t have to be perfect to be good. She’d say that. 

“Commander Oxton?” Commander Oxton. Commander Oxton. Fucking Simpleton. Commander Oxton. Committed Moron. 

Haruka blinked, and shook her head. Her hearing wasn’t that good, true, but this place had a strange sound to it. Some of the echoes came back, and they came back wrong, and they came back inside her. They seemed louder than the others. But there were only echoes. They were still in her own voice. It was just the way the house was built, right? There had to be something about the way the the greenhouse seemed to curve into forever that made her voice say something different. She’d read about that happening in caves. 

No she hadn’t. But it sounded like something that might happen in a cave. Maybe she’d seen it in a movie. 

A scent grabbed her nose, pulled her face closer to that staircase. Everything in here was dead, it was cold and it was uncared for, and there was nothing here. But it smelled fresh and sweet, almost like Michiru’s perfume, flowers Haruka could not identify but knew were the kind kept in vases at the entrance of a fine home. Even in the bright grey of the moonlight, the skeletons of plants seemed to darken and green. 

She put her foot on the bottom stair. The clink of it echoed across that glass universe, a sneaker on the stair, a dress shoe against the steel, a knife against a fork. It caught in her throat, that sound. Hand on the black steel snake curling up toward the ceiling. Foot on that wrought, inky step. Stopped for a moment, a character in that snowglobe, light glittering around her. 

Haruka almost felt like a doll in its house, moved around by the whims of a child, unable to stop herself as she climbed that stair, still convincing herself she was looking for Lena at the top of it. 

Somewhere in the night, under glass, a flower bloomed, and a slender bit of rope began to slide from the ceiling. 

----

A perfect Christmas, that’s what it was. Better than any she could remember. They still hadn’t run out of pigs in a blanket. The children’s voices were sweet, and there was hardly any yelling, even from the adults, and all of it was in play. The pudding, by some miracle, had not been overcooked, even with the size of it. The night was magic and warm and seemed never to end, and Lena didn’t want it to.

This was it. The dream she clung to so many times as she carreened through time, as she lay in a hospital bed, as she fought her way back one more time. It was all for them, and it was all for this, the happiest she ever was, in a life full of happy moments. 

She giggled as she tumbled around on the floor, a child jumping over her back amd flipping onto the floor, Lena obligingly diving in to eat her tummy as she squealed. She always had such fun with them. It was a part of her important function in the family, being silly Aunt Lena. Maybe someday she’d have some of her own, if she was lucky. 

A flash, in her mind. A pretty redhead, waiting for her. Emily. How could she have forgotten? She and Emily had talked about having children--it would be no easy task, for the two of them, but it was something they both wanted desperately. It gave Lena pause, the forgetting.

“She’s only running a bit late, Lena.” 

His smile radiated at her from near the fireside. He’d read her mind. Well, of course he had, she’d been with her Dad all her life, and just the two of them for so much of it, as much as any Oxton can be only two. 

And yet. 

She sat still in the middle of the room, a few children still collapsing over her. Why wasn’t it too loud? Had there ever been a Christmas where Lena hadn’t stepped outside for a moment? It was a small room, and there were so many of them, and they were, loud, abrasive, proper East Enders, but to see this room, to hear it, more like, seemed closer to a Dickens Christmas special on the noble everyman. 

She stood, ignoring the pleas of what seemed to be her cousins’ little children, and walked over to sit next to her father. 

“Something’s wrong.” 

He laughed. “Know it’s a bit odd to ‘ave things go well for us, Lena, but it’s not wrong. Don’t always need to make us God’s chew toy. You can stay ‘ere.” 

He took her hand, and there was a pause as the fire crackled, and even the children seemed to quiet. 

“Do you like it? Are you ‘appy?” 

“Yes.” She immediately wished she could take it back, sensing the poison in it. “I’m--”  

She shook her head, even as she felt something twist inside her, begging her to stay where it was warm and the food was plentiful and her father was blissfully, impossibly alive. Flashes came, again. Fareeha. Fareeha was trying to get funding for things. Some partnership. She was meant to be helping. 

“I ‘ave to go.” She stood, looking for the door. “I can’t be ‘ere. This--” 

“Love, why? ‘Aven’t you given enough? “Aven’t we? Don’t you deserve this? Let it ‘elp you.” 

“Dad,” she took both his hands, pleading, “There’s things in the world, right--things that need fixing, and I ‘ave to go do it. Someone must. People all over the world, in trouble, and--if we go now, we can ‘elp. It’s lovely, this room, this place. But what of everyone else? Right?” 

“What is it to you, Lena?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “If the world falls to bits? What ‘as it done for you? Blame you? Put you on a pedestal, to drop you from it? You owe that world nothing.” 

Lena laughed. Clarity like a knife. Painful, bright, immediate. 

“You’re not me dad.”She stepped back and shook her head, the fire growing darker, “He would not fucking say that. Not Bert Oxton, not in ‘is worst moment.” 

She strode toward the door, as the Christmas tree crashed behind her, spilling glass confetti onto the floor in silvers and greens and reds. The chatter became a complete silence, the Christmas pudding letting off that sick-sweet burn of melted sugar as it lit aflame, but Lena grabbed the doorknob and twisted, hard. 

“None of this is real.” 

The thing pretending to be her father began to laugh behind her, louder and higher in pitch, until she turned. 

“Leeeennaaaaa” the end of her name turned back into the laugh, peakling and falling over itself. 

His voice began to warp, wrist, melt, into something that seemed both posher and wilder, an overgrown rose climbing the ruins of a stately home.

 “It can give you the carrot Lenaaaaa, or it can give you the stick.” 

She pulled hard on the deoor and  thundered into the hallway, her mind clearing completely as she did so, the intoxicating brandy and laughter falling away from her as she hurried through the darkness. She had to get back to the rest. They had to leave. The house knew things, the house was building things, it was still building after all these years. 

The hallway bucked and lifted and Lena flew up into the air and slammed to the floor.

 It blitzed a bright blue, and ages crowded in around her before snapping back. A fuzzy static buzzed around her, in the distance, “Tracer, what is your position, Tracer, come in Tracer.” 

It can’t be real. It’s only a trick. The house builds things, the house builds things, the house--the hallway began to shudder and groan, the metal grinding against the forces of time and losing the battle. She reached out for the control wheel, even knowing the cause was lost, a kind of turbulence she’d never felt. 

“Mayday,” she mouthed, and then shook her head, “It’s not real, it’s not real, I’m in a bloody--”

The hallways shuddered again, breaking apart,and a shriek of freezing cold surrounded her. 

“Tracer! Position!” 

She curled up with her hands over her head. ‘No no no no no. Not this. 

“Stop it! Stop it!” 

In a dark hallway not far off, armed with only a flashlight, Fareeha Amari stood, utterly annoyed. 

Everything had gone wrong. Lena was her first priority, It was too cold for her to be off by herself, and she hated the disorganization of it besides. There was, of course, the matter of what Mina had said. It was wrong, of course, and it had been exceptionally cruel to say. It was a sore spot, for Lena, and not a matter to be joked about. Not that Mina had been joking. 

But how to put it to Lena? She should have brought Angela. Fareeha was hopeless on these matters. She began to recite what she would say, in her head. Of course Mina was incorrect. No reasonable person could have expected you to assess bullet trajectory. She certainly would have succeeded if Lena hadn’t intervened, so it was better than at least the world saw Overwatch making an attempt. Lena did damage her position somewhat by later sleeping with the enemy in a very literal sense, and how did she--no! There it was again, the inevitable criticism. She would attempt to comfort Lena and make it worse. She was a red pen made flesh, and it was an unstoppable flaw, that she could not simply be kind. There always had to be a post-script to any kind word

There was a noise, soft and far away. 

Fareeha shone her flashlight down the hallway, and nearly called out when another cry, louder now, a scream, came up behind her, East End inflected and tortured. 

“YOU’RE ‘URTING ME!!”

Very important poll here

[galaxiadreams]

Say yes to Heaven.....(Zhongli x reader)

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Word Count: 923

Synopsis: In the age of Gods and Monsters, Rex Lapis and Y/n, Goddess of Spring are brought together by the strings of fate.

a/n: This is a little prequel to my other Zhongli imagine: The final Blessing. Please go read it if you would like to! I apologize in advance if there's any grammatical errors! This fic is inspired by "Say yes to Heaven" by the one and only Lana Del Rey! Enjoy!

The goddess of spring. One who brings life, peace, and abundance to all of Teyvat. Y/n was somewhat of a minor god, but no less important, and just as strong as the major archons. She’s strong willed, fierce, and determined to bring prosper to her people. Yet her voice was melodic, her heavenly laughter could melt the coldest of hearts. It was her compassion, love, bravery, and intelligence that captured the heart of the Geo Archon. 

“Morax, staring is rude you know. If you really like her that much, go and interact with her.” The cloud retainer teased, sipping her tea watching the man sitting beside her. Moarx quickly averted his gaze from your running figure in the meadow with Guizhong and stared disapprovingly at the adeptus, a faint red painted on his cheeks. 

Morax sighed, “I don’t think I’ll ever have the courage to tell her my true feelings…” 

“Oh Celestia! You’re the Lord of Geo, God of contracts, why could you possibly be afraid of? Plus, I’ve the way y/n looks at you, I’m sure that girl is smitten too,” Cloud retainer reassured him before giving his shoulders a squeeze, “Go on, talk to her.” 

Morax stood up from the stone bench and wandered towards the meadow in front of him. The two women gave him a beaming wave as they noticed his approaching figure, your starry eyes gleaming in the sunlight. 

“Morax! Me and y/n are heading towards the lake to have a nice swim! Would you like to join us?” Guizhong asked. It’s true Rex Lapis once harbored feelings for the Goddess of Dust, but ever since the day he met you, his feelings for Guizhong melted away, the Archon’s soul was completed. Despite not knowing each other that long, the string of fate already entangled the two souls together completely, an unbreakable bond. Walking towards the two, Morax’s breath hitched when he felt your soft hands grasping his. Beaming at him, you dragged him towards the lake, he couldn’t help but admire your face as she sprinted towards Guizhong in front of them. Relishing simple mortal activities like this were difficult in an archon’s life, especially with hundreds of thousands of people to care for and lead. So Morax pays special attention to moments of enjoyment, memorizing every detail to reminiscence later on, peace never lasts forever. 

“Weeeeeeeeeee!” You let out shouts of glee as you jumped into the lake beside the waterfall, laughing as you resurfaced again. Morax jumped in after you, just to be tackled by the Goddess of spring. The two of you started to get handsy as both tried to win against the other fighting underwater. Laughter of joy and surprise echoed throughout the countryside. After a while, Morax relented and you won the battle. The two swimmed up to the surface and took a deep breath of fresh air. Morax couldn’t help but admire your beauty as water cascades down her face, the wet dress clung to your skin, and your eyes, ohhhhh those eyes. He has never seen a pair of eyes so mesmerizing and ethereal as your’s. Y/n’s eyes were the color of the galaxies, the reflection of the universe. Deep blues and purples balanced each other perfectly, with bursts of lighter shades dotted across your iris exactly like the stars in the night sky. 

“'Cause I've got my mind on you

I've got my mind on you”

Time stops. Both of you were entrenched by each other at this moment, unable to break from each other’s gaze of desire. You’re the half of his soul, and he was yours. Eyes are the windows to the soul, the poets say. And you spot nothing but love and admiration in those eyes of gold belonging to Morax. 

“Would you like to join me for tea later this afternoon? It’ll be a pleasure.” You blushed at the deep, rich tone of his voice. 

“Of course! I would love to!” Oh heavens, you’re in love.  

.............................................................

The little moments over the years brought the two of you together. His acts of chivalry and respect everytime made your heart ablaze. 

“If you dance I’ll dance.”

Falling in love with each other’s charms and flaws, it was a perfect match made by fate. Standing beneath the yellow ginkgo trees, the two of you signed the contract of your love and future. Saying yes to him was saying yes to heaven. Officially sealing the bond between the Goddess of spring and the Geo Archon. Husband and Wife, the two of you will lead your people to glory and prosperity, and nothing will change that.  

“If you go, I'll stay

You come back, I'll be right here

Like a barge at sea

In the storm, I stay clear"

No matter what will come in the following centuries, your heart and soul belong to him, and his belongs to you. No war or famine can separate the two of you. No matter what trials and tribulations blocked your way, he was your pillar of stone. No matter how much pain or anger he’s in, your voice will heal his soul. Your love for each other ran deeper than contracts, deeper than lovers. No matter what happens, the two of you will find each other. Be it in the afterlife or in the next life, the unbreakable string of fate will always tug the two souls together. 

“I've got my eye on you

I've got my eye on you

Say yes to Heaven

Say yes to me”

[strawberryisstarving]

A few things I’ve noticed and LOVE about losing weight.

1. Thighs not touching as much when walking, standing, moving, sitting, swimming, working out, dancing, hugging, stretching.

3. Sitting in a car, on a plane, at a restaurant, on a bed with a boy, on the couch with friends feels so much better being smaller

3. not having your gigantic thunder thighs and swollen butt smooth any time you lean on anything, sit, squat

4. Tucking your legs into your chest

5. Fetal position

6. Mini skirts

7. Feeling your hipbones

8. Looking at your slimmer frame in the mirror

9. Skinny upper arms

10. Underwear, pants, skirts, dresses, everything being looser

11. Less hungry means more time for other things

12. Less food noise, less food shopping, less to pay at restaurants

13. Feeling lighter because you’re never stuffed snd your stomach is smaller

14. Better skin

15. Discipline euphoria motivates you in other aspects of life

16. Designer clothes are made for skinny people only

17. Oversized clothes look better

18. The ability to wear shorts or jeans and not look obese

19. Legs look longer, whole frame looks taller

20. Skinnier fingers, toes, neck

21. No more gross knobbly fatty knees

22. Less cellulite

23. More attention from men and women

[livwritesstuff]

i know halloween was like 2 weeks ago, but i was just reminded that my brother and i once insisted on dressing up as our parents for halloween when we were in elementary school and that got the wheels turning in my brain

So if you’ve read this (i.e. the origin story for the harrington fam in this verse), you might know that they go all the fuck out for Halloween, all the way down to homemade costumes that take weeks to put together. When their daughters are little, Steve and Eddie come up with the costumes on their behalf, but as they get older, it becomes a collaborative effort. Once they hit elementary school, they typically follow the girls' lead.

Which is why, when their two oldest daughters come to them saying they want to be their dads for Halloween, Steve and Eddie are inclined to agree.

Steve knows it’s because the girls had just seen a picture of the two of them from back in the eighties (that sweet spot after Eddie was released from the hospital but before he’d cut his hair short), and though he’s totally down for the idea, he assumes they'll either switch gears to something else or forget about the idea entirely, but as Halloween of 2010 approaches, it becomes clear that their little minds are set in stone.

In the end, it’s kind of spectacular. Robbie’s curly hair is nearly the exact shade of brown as Eddie’s, and the perfect length, and though Moe’s hair is blonde (dark blonde, but still way lighter than Steve’s hair), it’s cut short (just below her chin), and with her bangs, Steve has enough to work with to get it styled into something that resembles how he’d done his hair as a teenager (which isn’t all that different from how he does it now, though maybe a little less dramatic).

Robbie wears black skinny jeans and a Metallica t-shirt (because Eddie is pretty sure the girls’ elementary school wouldn’t appreciate it if they sent her in wearing a shirt that said Megadeth), and because he’s 90% sure they got all the blood out of it, Steve digs Eddie’s old battle vest out of storage to complete the ensemble (after they use electrical tape to cover some of the more questionable pins and patches).

Moe wears a striped polo and Levis and Nike blazers and she absolutely swims in Steve’s letterman, and Steve drills another hole into the wristband of an old watch so it’ll fit around Moe’s fourth-grader wrist, and on the whole it’s pretty incredible.

The girls are over the moon, and Steve is kind of in disbelief that he and Eddie are raising a family so full of love that their daughters want to dress up as them for Halloween???  

He actually hit the jackpot, Steve’s pretty sure.

[britt-kageryuu]

Donnie is streaming. His model is seated in a purple inflatable chair, dressed in a purple unbuttoned Hawaiian Shirt, black swim trunks with purple circuitry detailing, his mask with science charms, and purple crocs. Shelldon is perched on the arm of the chair.

Donnie is playing a new game he just bought before the stream. "Oh yes, we're looking for our Father who we don't recognize. And this random Adult Man appears and claims to be the Father we are looking for. Yes, hello long lost parent! He says with much sarcasm," Donnie pauses for a second for effect, "Like I'm going to believe this for one second!"

Chat is in agreement with various emoji spam, and 'yes, don't believe/trust him!', though multiple people are attempting to spoil things only to be knocked out quickly by Shelldon with a quickly appearing and disappearing light gun.

"Not to mention he doesn't seem to know about how the device he made works!" Shelldon adds on. "And leading us to believe he's not the assistant."

Donnie nods in agreement with his eyes closed, "It's a pretty standard trope, and doesn't take much thought to see this. But we must not put to much stock, just incase they aren't pulling this." He continues the dialogue and get more of the story.

Shelldon jolts a bit, "Wait, when to inspected the lighter you found with those cigarettes earlier it said B.E.," He seems to vibrate while connecting clues, "so going with this clue, this guy is definitely Bill... unless we learn something else. Right?" Shelldon calms down so he doesn't fall over. Donnie pats him on the head.

"Amused chuckle, let's just continue the story, and get the answers we need. And find those odd QR code origami cranes. Not to forget he was a little dodgy about how our 'Aunt' dissapeared." Donnie says, as he continues the game. Trying to find the random puzzles around the games mansion.

Chat is kinda ignored because Donnie and Shelldon want to focus on important details, and not important details that just add story elements.

---------------

Masterpost, Part Two

I had a bit of inspiration from my new game. It's a remake, and I kind of remember the story, but this is my thoughts on an early part (beginning of chapter 2).

I don't know if I like writing this way, or in the 'chat' style. Opinions are welcome.

[holobandit]

Howdy Neighbor!

Chapter 11: Finally

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Agent Whiskey | Jack Daniels/AFAB!Reader

Read it on Ao3

Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter Art

Warnings: No use of Y/N, Legal Age Gap, Food & Drink Mention, Food Consumption, Alcohol Mention, Intoxication, Smut, Whiskey Dick, Oral Sex, Nipple Play, safe Sex, P in V Sex

Summary: You finally stay the night at Jack’s place for the first time.

You’re finally able to get Whiskey into the passenger seat of his Bronco after getting dried off and dressed. When you sat down in the driver’s side, you had to adjust the seat since it was so far back. Next, was adjusting the mirrors just to see properly. You didn’t realize how big he was until you started adjusting those small things. All the while you were making sure you could drive comfortably back to Whiskey’s place, he was giggling.

“What’s so funny, cowboy?” You raised an eyebrow as you turned the key to start the Bronco.

“Oh nothin’…” Whiskey smirked, “Just thinkin’ bout how you’re gonna love my bed.”

As you started down the dirt road you scoff, “That’s if you can make it to your front door in your drunken state.”

“Oh, I will.” Whiskey set his hat in his lap, leaned his head down to your shoulder and gave it a sloppy kiss, “I’ll make sure I will.”

As you pulled into his gravel pathway, you couldn’t help but feel lighter from the drunken kiss Whiskey had left on your shoulder. Even in this inebriated state, he was still soft and kind to you, never wanting to overstep your boundaries. He held onto you to keep his balance. Moonshine drunkenness is something different then the beer and tequila you were used to back in the city. He never put his full weight on you, always making sure you were able to move. As you made it into his home, he pointed down the hallway and you made your way down there with him. He then slurred his words as you missed his bedroom door. You chuckled to yourself; you had really fallen head over heels for this cowboy next door.

You were finally able to set Jack back down on his bed. He fumbled with his belt and fling it across the bed and onto the floor. He set his hat down on the bedside table and tore off his shirt, his chest hair still damp from the swim in the river. He then pulled his jeans down in one pull, kicking off his boots and tossing them with the belt.

“Lay with me, darlin’,” Whiskey slurred his words, “I’m gettin’ cold.”

You feel your face get hot, “Can I get comfy before I lay down?”

Whiskey leaned back onto his pillows, “As long as I get to watch you, pretty.”

You nod your head as you began to strip only to your underwear. Whiskey eyes took in every aspect of your body. Your perfections, imperfections, everything. He held out his hand and you took it as you laid next to him. He pulled you in close, and you felt his cock twitch underneath his underwear.

Whiskey grunted in frustration, “Damn moonshine. Wanna let you play with my rooster.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “You know you can say cock around me.”

“Yeah,” Whiskey slurred, “But I just wanted to hear that pretty laugh of yours.”

You ran your hand through Jack’s hair, “I need you to sleep, cowboy. Don’t want you to feel too bad tomorrow.”

Whiskey pulled you close and gave you a soft kiss, then went to kiss your forehead, “Alright, but I promise to make tomorrow mornin’ the best mornin’ you’ll have.”

You kissed his forehead and said your goodnights as he pulled you into his chest. You wonder what the morning will bring with this cowboy.

You awake at dawn extremely thirsty. The sun is just coming up, so not enough light is in the bedroom just yet. You look over to your left, and see Jack, still asleep. His soft snores make you smile. You notice his hair is a slight mess, his stash is a little wild, but still perfect in your eyes. This is when you notice the soft dusting of chest hair on him. You want to reach out and run your hand down, but you dare not wake this sleeping beauty of a man. In this moment, you realize how much of a catch this man is. You couldn’t have asked for a better man.

You make your way to the bathroom and get a quick cup of water. You down it as you hear someone stirring in bed. As you come out of the bathroom, you are greeted by a now awake Jack in his bed.

He has taken off his briefs, revealing his erect cock. You couldn’t help but lick your lips. He was packing, no wonder why he has his personality. He leaned back, tilted his head to the side, and a cocky smile grew on his face.

“Like what you see?” Jack winked.

All you could do was nod yes. You make eye contact one last time before you strip yourself of your underwear. You walk over and kneel between his legs. You look up one last time, asking for permission.

Jack cupped your cheek, “Oh honeybee, go right ahead.”

Your lips slowly went over the tip and Jack let out a soft sigh. You slowly worked your way down the shaft, then back up to the tip. You could feel the saliva build up every time the tip hit the back of your throat.

Jack started to pant, “Oh baby, you’re gonna be the end of me,” More pants, “You’re doin’ a great job,” A sigh, “Fuck-just like that.”

He talked you through this. As you begin to bob your head more, your hands went to his thighs, you softly gripped them, and Jack released a lovely moan. He grabbed the sides of your head and shoved you down all the way to the base of his cock. It felt amazing, feeling his cock fill up your throat. Spit began to escape the corner of your lips as you let out a small choking sound. Jack quickly pulled your head back, releasing his cock from your mouth. You look up at him, spit now dripping off your face.

“I didn’t hurt-“ You cut Jack off.

“Use me, Jack. I want you.” You moan.

You take Jack’s cock and gather the spit to stroke him again. You then stuck your tongue out and made Jack’s cock slap against it. Jack’s eyes rolled in the back of your head as the slaps filled the empty room. His moans make you smile, and you wanted more. You got up off your knees, and pushed him back to lay on the bed. You straddled his thighs and began to run your core up and down his cock.

“Oh fuck, darlin’, you got yourself all wet suckin’ my cock, didn’t you?” Jack chuckled.

All you could do was nod your head yes. His cock felt so good, especially as you got to the head and it nudge your clit. It sent shockwaves in your body. Jack reached for one of his nightstand drawers and pulled out a condom. You quickly pulled it from his hands, ripped open the package and slid down enough to roll the condom over his hard on. This is really when you notice how big he really was. There was a prominent vein going across one side, his foreskin rolled back enough just from how hard he was.

Jack noticed the pause, “It’s all for you, honeybee. No one else.”

You position yourself above his cock, you saw his hands slowly come up to your hips and he guided you down onto his cock. When the head past your entrance, both of you moaned. Jack felt how tight you were, how warm you were. You slowly began to rock your hips down to take more of Jack’s cock. All Jack could do was praise you through every thrust. You finally shut him up with a kiss. It was passionate. All tongue, barely coming up for air. You loved it, you loved this man.

Jack placed his feet down on the bed and began to thrust up into you. It took the air right out of your lungs. You tried to call out his name, but all that came out was moans of pleasure. The sounds of his balls slapping against you filled the room. His hand slid down from one of your hips and started to rub on the bundle of nerves. You threw your head back as you began to reach your peak with every swipe of his thumb.

“Let go, darlin’,” Jack huffed, “Fuckin’ hell, let go.”

With one last thrust along with a rub of your clit, you saw white. Your body twitched, no longer in control. You felt yourself let go, and it’s the highest you’ve ever been. Jack quickly got you onto your back and he began chasing his high. Every thrust from him just made yours better. You truly felt like you had reached heaven with this man. The veins in his neck began to bulge out, and Jack leaned in close to your ear.

“I-hell-I love you.” Jack moaned out.

You kissed him, “I love you.”

With that confession, Jack finally hit his climax. His moans filled the room as his cum filled up the condom. You could feel every twitch of his cock inside of you. He fell on top of you, it felt nice. His weight held you down like a hug. You ran your hands up and down his back slowly. Jack lifted himself and slowly pulled his cock out of you, tied off the condom, and threw it in the waste basket next to the bed.

“See?” Jack smirked, still out of breath, “Told ya’ that this would be the best mornin’ you’ll have!”

All you could do was let out a small chuckle and pull him down for a soft, long kiss.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make breakfast soon, but I just wanna lay with you here.” Jack pulled you in close.

You smiled, “That sounds perfect, cowboy.”

Divider by saradika

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

omg i loved your dark bam imagine!!! is there any way we get some more, like how he manipulates the media or her and ends up with her?? sorry i just love it so much and you’re literally so talented!! no rush in it! have a wonderful day/evening/night/morning idk just have a good ig ❤️❤️

Can’t Stand Losing You (Pt. 2)

Whatever was going on between Bam and you was impossible to make heads or tails of. He only seemed to complicate things for you further when he gives you a surprise over dinner.

Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

(Dark, Angst, Fluff)

3.3k Words

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, suggestive content, paparazzi, bribery, possessiveness, lying, kissing

An: Thank you sosososoos much for this request!!! You are so sweet thank you!! I am so happy that my fic captivated you so much! All of your love for my work means so much! <3 I felt like the conclusion of the original fic was a little vague, so I was so happy to expand on it more! I am a sucker for the dark stuff so keep those requests coming! XD (links to parts 1 and 3)

“Hey, is this, like- Star Magazine?” Bam feigned high pitched valley girl upspeak as he pressed the phone against his ear with his shoulder. “Mmhm. Yeah, so I’m at Venice Beach, right? And I see this guy- total dreamboat- and he’s with some chick, and I’m all like, ‘Who’s that?’” Bam thrummed his a against the wheel of his Hummer, parked about a block away from your house.

Summer was brutal in LA, and swimming was one of the better ways you could cool off. Usually, you and Bam blended in with all of the other ridiculously hot people that hung out there, so it wasn’t an issue. You would splash around and Bam would end up chasing seagulls or face planting into the wet sand hard enough that he was sneezing out sand for weeks. Relatively quiet stuff (by your standards).

This wouldn’t be the case for long. “So I go to get a better look and you’ll never guess who it is!” He grinned, hearing the operator lean back and say something to someone just out of reach of the receiver- they were sending people. The operator returned, eagerly listening, “Who did you see, miss?”

“Bam Margera!” Feigning the voice of an excitable female fan, he could audibly hear the guy sit up in his chair as he continued, “And he’s shirtless too! What a hunk!” Taking a second to collect himself, Bam continued with his act, “Yeah! And, like- I think he’s with some model lady too? I dunno…maybe she’s his girlfriend or something?”

Click.

☆彡

“Are dudes really wearing that kinda stuff nowadays?” You joked, peering at the cleft of Bam’s ass crack that showed over his low swim trunks. Never in your life had you seen anyone wear them that low. He shrugged as you walked through the parking lot, past a couple of vans parked right where the sand met asphalt, “What?” He was several shades lighter than the sand you popped your folding chairs onto, his limbs dappled in multicolored bruises from skating and stunts. He looked like a bad peach. Scoffing, you flicked your sunglasses open, replying to Jim in a jokingly sarcastic tone, “You’re practically exposing yourself, Bam. You are such a slut!” Bam sat down in the chair next to you, “Yeah, you’re one to talk.” Well he did have a point there- you weren’t exactly dressed conservatively yourself.

But you couldn’t help it. It was a perfect day, and you needed to get a tan for your next photoshoot for some swimwear company. Reaching into your tote bag, you grabbed the bottle of sun tan oil. The sparkly hibiscus flower on the clear bottle flaked pink glitter off into your hands as you poured some out, rubbing it onto your shoulders and back. From behind you, Bam watched you with fervor as you massaged it in. He chuckled suggestively, “You need some help with that?”

“Haha. Very funny!” You rolled your eyes, “I am more than capable of applying my own lotion, thank you.” Reclining in his seat, he chuckled, “Eh, was worth a shot.” Your eyes drifted along the sands, the sounds of the waves like silk over your ears. It was quiet, as usual, while you people-watched. Mom with her kids, some bitch from the Real World getting into a fight with her boyfriend, guy with a camera- typical stuff. And it seemed that that day, for once in a very long time, that everything was normal. You and Bam made fun of the surfers when they wiped out, he got fly-by shat on by a seagull, and everybody had a really great time.

Bam would have an especially good time a few hours after you left.

☆彡

The silver magazine rack creaked as Bam flipped through it, humming to himself. By now it was night, and the dim light from the dirty little corner store that he stopped in filtered out onto the street though the glass storefront. Tapping his foot impatiently on unswept floors, he scanned through the tabloids for anything with his face on it.

Jackpot! His eyes went wide as he snatched up the thin, papery tabloid. Bam flipped through it, his eyes scanning every page. And there you two were, a picture perfect celebrity couple. A damn sexy one too, he thought, eyeing your exposed skin. The bold, bright pink text screamed at him from the front page, “Just like Paradise! Bam Margera spotted with girlfriend Y/N at Venice Beach!”

Grabbing a candy bar, he got his purchases and had them rang up at the counter. Not even waiting to drive back to his hotel, he kicked his feet up and read by the light of the dashboard. “Hmm…” Furrowing his brow, he thought about slipping that camera guy a twenty next time to make sure he got more flattering photos of him.

★彡

With all the flashing lights and media people, you really felt like a big shot as you walked down the red carpet. All the guests at the premiere were all dressed up so nicely, in their dazzling dresses and fancy suits- and then there was Bam, who was always too good to dress up for anything, especially these kinds of things. It meant nothing, you reminded yourself, as he snaked his arm around you. You two were going together to mess with the media, that’s it. Sure, Bam bought your dress and shoes and made sure you looked like total eye candy when you were with him, but it would be just the same as when Steve and Chris make out on the red carpet- it’s just for fun.

“Hey Bam! Over here!” Some reporter lady with the most egregious hair to body ratio you had ever seen beckoned him over, sticking a microphone in his face. “Who are you with tonight?” His arm around your waist pulled you a little closer, feeling the purple velvet of your dress, “Well, this sweetheart right here is my girl, Y/N. Ain’t that right?” You giggled and smiled, playing the role of a smitten girlfriend well.

What did trip you up, however, was when Bam brought his face close to yours for what you thought was going to be a kiss. Instead, he planted two little pecks on your cheekbone, before licking a hot stripe up from your jaw to your temple. “Ah!” You couldn’t help from exclaiming in surprise as he snickered, the spit rapidly cooling on your face. The lady seemed shocked, but not as shocked as you were. And just as soon as that happened, you were whisked away to the next flock of people asking for photos of you two. You whispered to him, “I swear to god, Bam- if that makes me break out after this…”

☆彡

The premier was fun and all, but Bam decided that the movie sucked and you dipped halfway though. After sneaking pas the other guests, you silently ducked out a side door in the theater, walking down an alley that was illuminated only by floodlights. He looked you up and down, the look behind his eyes unclear due to the cool sunglasses-at-night look he was sporting, “You wanna get ‘somethin to eat?” You thought of what was nearby, not wanting to chance it with the paparazzi that seemed to follow you everywhere recently, “Yeah, maybe…do you have something in mind?” The grin he gave you after your question made you a little uneasy.

Your jaw dropped when you saw where he was taking you. It was one of those romantic, fancy restaurants with lighting so low you could barely see your plate while you were eating. “Bam! This is…you- you can’t get in here without a reservation six months in advance!” He just smirked in response, not hesitating as he squeezed past the crowd of expensively dressed people, leaving you to follow him like a lost puppy. Leaning against the lectern, he smirked expectantly at the Maitre D, “Reservation for Margera?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t-“ Just out of your sight, Bam palmed a couple hundreds to the tuxedo clad man. He paused, thinking for a second before nodding. “Ah, yes! Come right with me, sir.” You gawked at the lavishly decorated restaurant as you walked, Bam’s hand around yours like he thought you couldn’t keep up with him on your own.

It was beautiful- really the kind of place he would pick. You could’ve sworn you were in the castle of some medieval vampire prince as you were seated on the second floor balcony, overlooking the large dining room. Gold candle light danced off of the crystal chandelier in the center of the room, complimenting the purple velvet that was everywhere, from the upholstery on the seats to the large, draping curtains over giant windows. Everything matched, from the dark stained wood of the tables to the black jackets of the servers and the cold, metal railings you were seated near.

☆彡

You listened to Bam as he animatedly told you about his trip to Vegas he just got back in from, “Yeah, it was crazy! I mean-“ He rolled up his sleeve, showing off his most recent tattoo in the low light, “I got this done by Kat Von D.” You leaned forward to get a batter look, squinting at the design. He smirked a little, your forehead almost touching his. His voice got a little softer as he continued, “After that, me and Dunn visited the AVN Expo- had a blast.”

“What’s that?” You sat back, picking idly at your food. He seemed a little surprised at the fact that you didn’t know, his voice returning to its normal register, “You know, the porno convention.” You raised your eyebrows, your eyes widening. He chuckled at your surprise, a glint in his eye, “Yeah! There's pretty much naked chicks everywhere there! If I’m being honest, I think that’d be a great j-“ His attention was turned to the waiter who was with glasses and a bottle of wine for who knows how long, “Oh, thanks.” As he bent down to pour them, Bam paid him no mind, his smirk audible in his voice. “Anyways, as I was saying, it is a hell of a good time. Maybe next year I could get you Ron Jeremy’s autograph.” You giggled a little as the waiter fled, “That would be great! I wish I could come with you!”

“What do you mean?” Bam asked, his tone shifting as he raised an eyebrow at you. You pressed your lips together, “I mean- I'm just usually pretty busy with work. It’s not like I could just take time off.” Chuckling, he leaned back in his seat, glass of wine in hand, “Oh, sure you can’t.You have the money to go wherever you want. I go to Finland, like- three times a year!” He took a sip of his Pinot Noir, “Why don’t you go to…the Caribbean or something?” Idly picking at your food, you replied matter of factly, “Well you know people in Finland. It’s not like I have buddies in the Caribbean. I can’t even get a day off until November!”

Reaching into his pocket, he wordlessly passed you a white envelope over the purple silk tablecloth. Your head tilted to the side as you took it, opening it with your well manicured nails. Bam had an air of coolness, watching you with steepled hands as your eyes went wide. To your shock, inside the envelope were two light blue plane tickets to Westchester, Pennsylvania. The flight was tomorrow. He smiled.

★彡

It seemed that no matter what time of year it was, Westchester was cold. Your LA blood wasn’t used to the chill, forcing you to shiver against Bam, the cab’s heat blasting on you two. “I can’t believe this…” You grumbled, pulling his coat that he gave you around you. The fur on the hood felt nice against the cold back of your neck as you seethed, “My boss is gonna kill me, Bam!” He tsked, affectionately pulling an arm around you. “Oh, shut up. You know you love this.” His voice had an endearing tone as he held you close enough that you could smell him- beer and cigarettes masked under the cologne he wore to impress you. You were too cold and tired to fight, instead opting to try and sap any warmth from him and the car's air vents until you got to your destination.

The windows were steamy by the time you arrived at what he dubbed Castle Bam. You were half awake, exhausted from the long flight while he grabbed not only his but your luggage, quickly scooping you up in his arms and shutting the car door with his foot. There was no doubt you were awake now. “Ah! Bam!” He cackled as he sprinted up the driveway and into the house carrying you.

Someone sitting on the black leather couch in the living room sat up when Bam called out to him, “Hey, Dunn!” You were unceremoniously dropped into the couch, with Bam still wearing his shit-eating grin, “Meet the princess of Castle Bam!” You rubbed your eyes looking up at the stranger across from you, “Mmhm. Hi.” Nodding, he put a hand out to you, “I’m Ryan, nice to see you. God- Bam’s been talking about you nonstop.” You shook his hand and smiled back. He seemed friendly and comparatively normal next to Bam who stared holed into the back of your head with a weird look in his eye. Tossing a handful of clothes at you, he swiftly left and went upstairs, presumably to his room.

“Put these on. I have somewhere to be tonight.”

☆彡

Bam smirked, leading you through a side entrance in the venue through a packed hallway. It felt like one of those things you shouldn’t be doing, but you did it anyway. “Y/N, this guy’s probably the coolest person you’ll ever meet.“ Giving a nod to one of the security guys, Bam led you up a set of stairs, squeezing past people, giving you the rundown.“His name’s Ville Valo, and his band’s called H.I.M. Got that all?” You nodded, trying to show that you were listening. He smiled, reaching a door at the top of the stairs, “Good. Now, don’t make an idiot’a yourself.”

From how much you heard Bam fangirling about these guys, they were kinda…underwhelming looking- you expected something a little bit more Sisters of Mercy. You walked into a room of maybe five guys, just sitting around, drinking beers and waiting to get called onstage. “Hey, Ville! What’s up, man?” He plopped down onto the little floral upholstered couch someone must’ve fished out of a dumpster next to maybe the most beautiful man you had seen in your life as he shot a nod to Bam. You were beaconed over, and you squeezed in between him and the arm of the couch, practically sitting on his lap.

From the far end of the couch, Ville leaned across to you, giving you a once over with half lidded eyes. “Pleasure to meet you” His voice was gentle, with an accent that was remarkably European (though you couldn’t place exactly where- you’re a model, not an encyclopedia). He gave you a lipsticked smile as Bam turned to you while you were distracted, taking your face in his tattooed hand and gripping it hard as he suddenly pressed his face against yours. Your eyes went wide as you felt his tongue against yours, freezing like a deer in headlights. This isn't something friends do. You couldn’t figure out where your mouth ended and his began until he pulled away from the mess of flesh with a cocky grin, “LA’s finest.”

He gave Ville one of those looks that say more than words ever could. Seemingly unphased with Bam devouring you like a lion eating a gazelle on the Savannah, he laughed a little and got up, pleasantly gesturing for you to follow him, “Here. I’ll show you backstage.” And he led you down the stairs and through all these corridors, Bam still holding you close the whole time like he was afraid you were going to float away. “And this,” Ville gestured to a door that was labeled as his dressing room, “is where it all happens.” He glanced back at you, making the kind of eye contact that insinuated things. This clearly displeased Bam, him shooting a look back at him. Ville just chuckled, but before anything rash happened, someone came and got the band to bring them out onstage.

☆彡

The dark, desolate car ride home after the show was underscored by the music playing from the stereo of Bam’s orange Hummer. He had 24 CDs and about 22 of them were H.I.M. The green numbers on the stereo blurred in your vision as you squinted, trying to tell the time. You could see that it ended with ‘Am’. Sighing, you closed your eyes and let your head hit the window as the music washed over your brain like river rocks, the singer going on about his “poison girl”, whatever that means. Behind the wheel, Bam smiled, glimpsing over at you from the dashboard light. So much had been going on, and you just needed to not think too hard for a little. And you got back to the castle and headed upstairs and before you could realize it you were in his bedroom. It wasn’t too bad- his black sheets felt so nice and the room was comfortably dim, exhaustion claiming you. Friends share beds all the time anyways.

But out of the corner of your eye, you spotted something hanging out from under his mattress. You thought to yourself- he was in the bathroom, so it wasn’t like he’d notice if you snooped a little. Quietly rolling off the bed, you bent down and wiggled out the pink, papery object. Your eyes went wide as you stared at it. It was one of those celebrity tabloids- with you on it. Perplexed, you lifted the mattress up more, wondering why in the hell he’d collect this kind of thing.

Oh god. Your heart dropped. There had to be at least twenty under there. Some were from before he even met you, and others were as recent as the previous week- just tucked away down there like prison contraband. Your mind was racing so fast that you didn’t even notice the sound of the bathroom door opening as Bam walked in- not until he leaned over you and put a hand on your shoulder, making you jump. Whipping your head around, you were face to face with the fabric of his gray pajama pants and the bare skin of his stomach, close enough that you could feel his soft skin on your eyelashes as you stared at his heartagram tattoo. You still clutched one of the tabloids in your hand as you panickedly looked up at him, gesturing to your findings. “What- what’s all this…?” He sighed, kneeling down to get eye level with you.

“Y/N- Y/N. Listen.” He took one of the magazines scattered on the floor into his hands, seeming earnest as he spoke, oddly calm, “I only buy this shit cause it’s funny. I mean- they say all this ridiculous shit about us!” Flipping through one of them, your eyes scanned the pages. Everything that was written about you was…oddly sweet, endearing even. Something seemed to click in your head. He liked you- he liked you. He was trying to impress you this whole time. Silently engrossed in what you were reading, you mused “Is it really that bad…?” Bam’s eyes flitted up to yours and you almost seemed to smile as you turned it over to read the cover, “Just like Paradise…Bam Margera spotted with girlfriend, Y/N, at Venice Beach.”

You were just barely- no, less than an inch away from each other as your eyes met his. And you kissed him and it felt good- so much better than that kiss before. It was soft and sweet, in a way neither of you were really expecting it to be.