#And she held my hand on the ferry

[astral-catastrophe]

Ngl I keep thinking of parts of the east coast trip like a big date for the crush and I

[coco-loco-nut]

loml

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: a journey through your relationship with max

a/n: so for a little background... my ex (he wasn't an F1 fan, it was never gonna work, let's be real) broke up with me the night before this album was released, so writing this series has been very healing; however, this one was extremely difficult to write bc it's the only song i can't analytically listen to and find the deeper meanings yet, especially after losing your first love. sorry for the rant and making this short🙃

tw: emotional abuse, manipulation

masterlist ttpd masterlist part two

________

You and Max were fan favorites, it was evident to anyone with eyes who had eyes. But they say you never know what happens behind closed doors.

“She’s the love of my life,” Max would always say about you, looking at you like you held the universe in the palm of your hand. His fans could recite your love story by heart from how much he loved to talk about you. It only made sense that he could shatter that public opinion.

“Y/n and I have divorced, I would like to ask for privacy as we navigate the changes,” Max posted one day, his socials wiped of everything. Your accounts remained the same, your last post being from the fateful race months ago. You haven’t posted since. The fans should’ve realized when the WAGs and George unfollowed Max.

Your apartment was full of things that reminded you of Max, every time you walked in it reminded you of every memory. He was embroidered in everything. You look at a printed photo of when you first met him. Despite it being six months later, you couldn’t get rid of him.

~~~

All it took was locking eyes with him across the pier for you to fall in love on that breezy summer day. He walked up to you and asked you to join him, and you did. You kissed him at the top of the ferris wheel later that night, and you didn’t even know he was famous all you knew was that he made you feel safe. The breeze reminded you of the warm ocean breeze from that day, one you called the winds of fate.

Despite being young, you married him after a year of being together. Things weren’t perfect even then, he could be incredibly mean, but he was also a standup guy when it mattered. That erased any wrongdoing of his.

“You have made me a better man, you reformed me, the love of my life,” Max had said that fall evening, repeating the one line that brought you back to him every time.

You believed his words, his lies spun to make you believe the hell you were living in was actually heaven. When he takes his anger out at you, doesn’t defend you against his father, you start to second guess him but he calls you those four words.

“I’ll never leave you, Schatje,” Max holds you in his arms, your back against his chest as you both look at a tv in the Paddock. The fans loved that photo, calling your love legendary. They didn’t know about the growing hole in your heart.

Your marriage was looking like one of those black and white movies you and Max watch on snowy winter afternoons. You and Max had been talking about starting a family, but you couldn’t get pregnant and you were watching everything you loved slip away.

“God, Max, you are like a con-man. I feel like I’ve been sold a get-love-quick scheme. What happened to you?” you ask, voice laced with hurt, during an argument about it. Max just ignored you, pushing past to stream with some friend. He ignored the sobs coming from your bedroom. He told the chat that you are the love of his life when asked about you.

“Y/n, we need to talk,” some of the WAGs pulled you aside during a race. They told you how Max was shit talking you to other drivers, saying you were a waste of a wife for your inability to get pregnant, saying he should’ve never married you, pointing out every flaw he told you was beautiful when he was lying to your face. You stand up and leave, not saying a word even when the girls try to stop you. Max is confused but simply responds to your text saying you were sick with an okay.

You are laying in your bed sobbing when Max gets back from the race. You face the terrace, where you and Max would dance under the stars. You can see the ghosts of it through your tears, and you wished you could un-recall when you thought you had everything.

“Please get out of bed,” Max says, his concerned tone laced with venom. Maybe the ghosts of your relationship are embarrassed by the scene on the other side of the glass.

“No,” you cry, mourning the loss of your counterfeit relationship.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Max sighs leaving the room. You sent a text to the WAG group chat who helped you remove all your belongings from Max’s apartment into George’s apartment that he wasn’t using at the moment.

Your phone is flooded with messages from Max, so you turn it off unless you are talking to your lawyer. Max finds a divorce petition and your apartment key on the dining room table when he comes home from training a few days later. The relationship that had such a valiant roar ended with the blandest goodbye.

You sit in George’s apartment with Carmen and Lily drinking wine. You took over George’s lease after they insisted that you did.

“For someone who claims to be a lion, he sure is a manipulative coward,” Carmen says as the three of you comb through the years of lies he spun.

You took the dreams that you thought you and Max wanted and lit the match to destroy them with your divorce papers. Despite your somber eyes, you seem more at peace, even with the sadness you will carry with you until you die.

“He’s the loss of my life.”

part two

[55sturn]

for loser!chris & mean girl!reader, what do you think going to the fair/carnival would be like between them? and the ferris wheel 👀

✮ LOSER!CHRIS AND MEAN GIRL!READER BLURB 0.5

disclaimers: unresolved angst, swearing, reader is a bitch.

the domesticity of it all, the slightly charged atmosphere between her and chris, the simmering tension that was built over the last few weeks beginning to rise to the surface as she sits beside him in her car, stresses her out, a lot. not much could be done to ease her nerves. they had only decided to go because chris had been adamant on spending time together, away from the parties and people throwing their money at chris for the endless supply of drugs he had, especially following the way the dock drop off had gone so wrong. and he had finally forgiven y/n for ratting him out to the authorities, also known as her father.

and as they walk through the hoards of carnival goers clumped all around the fair grounds, her nerves were on fire. she‘s overwhelmed and frustrated by her feelings that she’s trying so hard to push down rising to the surface, but the moment chris’ hand slips into her own, his fingers slotting between hers like they were meant to fit there, quieted her mind instantly.

“y’want anything sweetheart?” he hums, gesturing to the line of food trucks selling various over-the-top and slightly grotesque food combinations that had her stomach turning just at the sight and smell of them, and they were being sold at such low prices to fuel the overconsumption of the world, but in true carnival celebration, she points to the fresh tacos, as she nods.

he gently pulls her along behind as he moves to stand in line, and the elderly couple ahead of them turn around to smile at chris and y/n, and the older woman’s heart melts at the sight of the two younger kids, chris’ arm wrapping protectively around y/n’s shoulders, and the woman can’t help but ask,

“don’t mind my asking, but the two of you look like the sweetest couple, have you two been together long?” the woman hums, catching both chris and y/n off-guard, and as chris goes to gently correct the woman, much to both of their surprise, and slightly to y/n’s dismay, she cuts chris off.

“we’ve been together going on six months.” y/n smiles, and she doesn’t know what took over her, what compelled her, to say that. they weren’t together, they hadn’t even been fooling around officially for six months, but doing that, telling the kind older woman that they were together felt so natural to y/n, and her face warms with embarrassment as she meets chris’ unreadable stare.

“ah, young love, make sure to cherish it, it feels new and fresh now, but in the blink of an eye, you’ll staring down fifty years together.” the woman sighs wistfully, her eyes flitting to her husband’s face as she smiles at him before turning back to face the line ahead of her.

and the silence between chris and y/n is palpable, and her the doubt swirling in her mind is beginning to eat away at her but as if he could read her mind, chris’ arm tightens around her shoulder and he squeezes her bicep gently, as if to let her know it’s okay.

the two eat their food in comfortable silence, watching people go about their evenings before lining up for the ferris wheel. and as they sit in the carriage, y/n leans her head on his shoulder, the two of them finding peace in y/n’s false proclamation. and before they know it, they’re at the top, the wheel pausing as the conductor lets more people off and chris takes this opportunity to kiss y/n.

the kiss is soft, tender, the tiniest bit rushed, but that makes it all the more romantic to her as she pushes into the kiss, but it’s cut short as chris pulls away, looking into her eyes so intently that it forced her to break the contact they held, and chris chuckles as he tilts her head up, forcing her to look at him as whispers an unmistakable confession that has her stomach twisting with guilt.

“i love you, y/n, i have since we were fourteen.” he hums, his heartbeat picking up as her face twists with anger and disgust, it shocks how easily she can switch from being the kindhearted, sweet girl she hides beneath the surface, and the cold, rude, selfish girl she proudly and outwardly shows to the world. and his heart breaks from the way she rips away from his touch, spit firing harsh words with such venom it makes him physically recoil.

“chris, don’t. i’m warning you, do not do this. don’t embarrass me. don’t fucking ruin the night because what i have to say is only going to hurt you.“ she snaps, watching as chris’ brows furrow with confusion and unbridled sadness, he thought that they were finally getting somewhere.

“but you said-“ he starts, and she’s quick to cut him off with a pitiful scoff and she looks at him incredulously, unable to believe that he truly is that stupid and naive,

“what i said to that old bag was nothing but a lie to make her happy, you didn’t actually believe me did you? because if you did, you’re an idiot. we’re not together and you know that, i know you do. i don’t love you, i don’t want to love you. i’m only with you for two things, the sex and your drugs. that’s it. i can’t be with you, i don’t want to be with you, you’re such a fucking loser chris, i can’t believe you thought i meant what i said.”

the way y/n narrows her eyes at him, her posture rigid as she speaks to him, the way her anger begins manifesting from every pore has him scoffing and shaking his head in shame, he can’t believe that she still fights what she feels for him, when it’s so blatantly clear that she feels the same, and the words she spat at him in that moment proved that maybe, just maybe, his friends were right.

“you’re such a selfish bitch. every time one of my friends tell me t’get over you, to let you go, t’give up on ever getting through to you, i tell them that you’re worth the fight. every time they tell me you’re just another selfish druggie tryna to find her next high, i defend you, i tell them that they don’t really know you but the thing is, they’re pretty fuckin’ spot on. but m’done, don’t fucking text me, don’t call me, don’t even fuckin’ think about me until you sort your shit out y/n. find a new fuckin’ dealer.” chris spits, watching the way she physically recoils from the strength and truth to his words, before turning away from and watching the crowd below them as the ferris wheel lowers.

as they’re let off the ride, chris is quick to walk ahead of her, maneuvering his way through the crowds of people, leaving y/n stranded behind him, her arms winding tight around her body as the reality of what just happened sets in, regret and guilt settling deep in her bones, and she’s quick to curse herself for being so cruel to chris. the image of the hurt flashing across his face being the only thing replaying in her mind.

STARS CORNER oops! also you’re not getting the story in chronological order bc i feel like it’s more fun that way! and i know i asked for fluffy asks but i couldn’t help making it angsty bc it hurts so good in their story

MASTERLIST HERE

[official-cvntified-gay]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅ amusement park date with wanda

☆⋅ inspired by @wandaslittlehorns post

It was a crisp fall afternoon, and the amusement park was buzzing with energy. The smell of funnel cakes and popcorn filled the air as families and friends wandered around, hopping from one ride to another. You held Wanda’s hand as you both walked down the lively midway, her fingers tightly laced with yours. She looked as stunning as ever, the gentle breeze tousling her hair, her warm smile lighting up the day.

Despite her calm demeanor, you could sense the unease radiating from her. Her eyes flickered nervously between the towering rides, her grip tightening ever so slightly on your hand whenever a rollercoaster rushed by with a deafening roar. She tried to hide it, though. Wanda was always good at that—protecting you, never wanting to seem vulnerable. But you knew better.

"You okay?" you asked, giving her a soft nudge with your elbow as you led her toward the ticket booth.

Wanda gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Of course, detka. I’m fine."

You raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that she was far from fine. Wanda had never been fond of amusement park rides. Heights? Speed? Being flung around at breakneck pace? Definitely not her thing. But here she was, with you, because she knew how much you loved it. That was just Wanda—always putting your happiness first.

"Are you sure?" you teased lightly. "We don’t have to go on any rides, you know. I’d be just as happy walking around, maybe sharing some churros with you."

She chuckled, a deep warmth in her voice. "No, no, I’m not going to ruin the fun for you. I’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve been looking forward to this all week. I’ll survive a few rides."

Her words were brave, but the nervous glance she gave the massive Ferris wheel made you bite back a laugh. It was cute, in a way—this powerful woman who could bend reality, yet was nervous about a carnival ride. You wrapped your arms around her waist, standing on your tiptoes to place a kiss on her cheek.

"Okay," you said softly. "But if you get too scared, just squeeze my hand. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do."

Wanda smiled again, more genuine this time, as she leaned into your touch. "Deal."

The two of you started with something simple—the carousel. Wanda seemed more at ease there, sitting beside you on one of the elegant horses, laughing as the ride gently spun. She looked radiant, the sunlight catching the auburn strands of her hair, her green eyes bright with happiness. It was a peaceful moment, and you could tell she was enjoying herself, the tension easing from her shoulders as you both laughed and chatted.

But then came the rollercoaster. You felt her hesitation as soon as you pointed it out. It wasn’t the biggest or fastest one in the park, but it had enough dips and loops to make even seasoned thrill-seekers nervous. Wanda’s eyes widened slightly as she looked up at it, and you could see the conflict in her expression.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" you asked gently, squeezing her hand.

Wanda took a deep breath and nodded. "I want to. For you."

Your heart melted a little at her words. "You don’t have to, you know. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable."

But she shook her head, determination shining in her eyes. "I’ll be okay. I want to experience this with you."

As you both climbed into the seats, Wanda's grip on your hand tightened. You could feel her pulse quicken, and you gave her a reassuring smile.

As the rollercoaster slowly ascended, you could feel Wanda’s grip on your hand tighten. The clinking of the chains echoed ominously as you both neared the top, the view of the entire park sprawling out beneath you. You glanced at her, noticing her face pale just a little.

"You okay?" you asked, trying to suppress a grin.

Wanda gave you a tense smile, her eyes glued to the track ahead. "Yeah, yeah. Totally fine."

But the moment the car tipped over the edge and plummeted into the first drop, Wanda let out the most high-pitched, terrified scream you’d ever heard. Her hand clamped down on yours like a vice, and her other hand was gripping the safety bar as if her life depended on it.

The ride whipped around a corner, and her scream turned into a frantic, breathless laugh that was more nervous than anything. "Why did I agree to this?!" she yelled over the wind, her hair flying everywhere.

You were trying not to laugh—really, you were. But seeing this powerful, composed woman reduced to a screaming mess was almost too much. As the rollercoaster hurtled through loops and twists, Wanda continued to scream, her eyes squeezed shut, the occasional "Oh my god!" escaping her lips.

When the car finally came to a screeching halt, you were breathless from laughter, while Wanda sat frozen, still gripping the bar for dear life. Her hair was a mess, and she blinked rapidly as if trying to process that it was all over.

You turned to her, grinning ear to ear. "That was amazing! I can’t wait to try that again."

Wanda slowly turned her head to look at you, her wide-eyed expression a mix of disbelief and horror. She didn’t say a word—just stared at you like you’d suggested jumping off a cliff.

You chuckled and squeezed her hand. "You’re alright?"

She nodded stiffly, her voice small. "I think I’m gonna stick to churros for the rest of the day."

You grinned, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Thank you for doing that with me. We can stick to the easy stuff from now on, I promise."

She chuckled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good. I think I’ve earned that churro now."

[superblysubpar]

<- part six | part eight -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: No more bets.

the song: Read Your Mind by Sabrina Carpenter

also for your listening pleasure: Girl Can't Help It by Journey, Open Your Heart by Madonna, U Got The Look by Prince, and The Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh

5,328 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of scars-previous head injury / SPICE/SMUT - really just some dirty talk and a teensiet tiniest start to oral (reader receiving) | my blog is 18+

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

  His hand was in yours, and then it wasn’t. 

  “Well, well, well,” a voice sneered in front of you as you blinked at the boy who just dropped your hand at the sound of it. “What do we have here, Stevie?”

  A group of boys around your age leaned against a falling apart fence just outside of the ride, eyes surveying you up and down, then looking at Steve Harrington standing next to you. The leader of the pack a face full of freckles and a grin that made your stomach unsettled when he pointed it at you and took a step forward.

  “I’m Tommy, and you,” he grinned wider, like if he showed off more teeth, he’d placate you into thinking you enjoyed his company, “Well, you must be new to Hawkins. Think I’d remember a face like yours.”

  “Knock it off Hagan,” Steve grit out of his teeth, a fist clenched at his side. 

  “I’m…I’ll…” you stuttered out at the boy named Tommy, backing away and looking at Steve as you did. “It was…I’ll see you around?”

  You scrambled away from the boys as Steve took a step towards you, but Tommy’s voice rang out, making his head turn. 

  “Does Harrington have a little girlfriend? Gonna share all the juicy details with us, Stevie?” 

  “What? No!” He answered too quickly, cheeks pink, no longer looking at you. “She’s just some stupid girl, I got stuck with her on the ferris wheel…”

  You didn’t stick around to hear more, swiping at your wet cheeks with the back of your hand. 

  Glittery green and gold smeared across it, freshly smudgable after Steve Harrington held your hand until it was over. 

A house on Cornwallis Street - Sunday

  Your hands shifted on the steering wheel, even though the car was in park. Clammy and shaking as you rubbed them on your denim shorts and took a deep breath. With your window rolled down you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Journey coming from the backyard, the large splash that followed the shout of ‘Don’t you dare Henderson!’. Peals of laughter and the distinct smell of something grilling only added to elements encouraging you to join them. 

  But you were still sitting in your car. 

  You didn’t question it, when after the party last night, Eddie didn’t drive you home, but to the shop, dangling your keys in front of a shocked face as he proclaimed it was finally fixed.

  “But…I didn’t pay you, I thought you couldn’t…” 

  Eddie had waved you off and smiled, “I’ve been working a lot.” He dropped the keys in your lap and grinned wider, “Besides, Harringon’ll be paying me three hundred bucks tomorrow.”

  You looked down at your thighs, thinking about who’s hands had just been pushing them apart a few minutes ago as Eddie quietly probed, “Right?”

“Of course.” You nodded, telling yourself that technically you and Eddie had won the bet.

  Nobody had slept with anyone. 

  Which is what you tell yourself again as you take another deep, bravery seeking breath and step out of your car. 

  Each step on the sidewalk then up the driveway is a little easier, your chest feeling a little lighter as the laughter and music only gets louder.

  But then you see the sign. 

  The same color of the suit you have in your bag.

  The same color he told you he can’t concentrate when you wear it. 

  Bright, bold, outlining four white letters.

  SOLD. 

  You’re still looking at it when the door swings open, Robin greeting you, dripping wet from the pool and a slice of watermelon in her hand.

“Finally! I’m outnumbered, and Max is too busy canoodling with Lucas and I need more girl power!”

  She grabs your arm and pulls you into the Harrington’s foyer as a louder call of, “I told you, as soon as Lucas apologizes for what he did-“

  “And I told you, that I cannot apologize for something if I don’t know what I’m apologizing for!”

  The pair walk out of a room on one side of the foyer as they argue, Max mumbling under her breath as they exit your sights and into the den.

  “You know exactly what you did.”

  Robin rolls her eyes and points up the stairs, “This downstairs bathroom is all packed up and,” she makes quotes with her fingers around the watermelon as she recites, “ ‘It’s cleaned and if any of you idiots fuck it up, you’re dead’ , but there’s one by Steve’s room, change and come help me seek vengeance on the boys!”

  She’s gone as fast as she arrived, the silence of the house now overpowering, but at least it gives you space to take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts.

  Steve’s moving. 

  Why didn’t he tell you?

  Your fingers glide on the wood banister as you climb the stairs, something sitting heavy in your gut from the more important question that’s gnawing at you.

  Why does it matter that he didn’t? 

  Once you find the bathroom, your fingers tug on red nylon and strings. The suit you rummaged around for in your drawer this morning pointing out the glaringly obvious answer. It matters he didn’t tell you because-

  It was a good suit, that was the only reason why it was picked for today.

  Not because of where you were wearing it.

  Not because of the boy who lived there. 

  Because he definitely still does live there, at least for the time being.

  It’s easy to spot his room when you exit the bathroom, bare feet padding across hard woods as you tug the hem of your white tshirt over your hips a little lower. Worried you shouldn’t be walking around the house so uncovered despite the fact that you’re about to be even more so outside in the pool, when you catch your reflection in the mirror above his dresser. 

  The room is in shambles, half packed you assume. Boxes open, and only half filled, litter the floor, the white plaid wallpapered walls bare, whatever hung on the nails left behind now packed away. Your fingers linger on the top of the dresser, thumb catching on his watch, a Polaroid of him and Robin, the worn brown leather of his wallet. A tight squeeze pulls at something in your chest when the slip of paper with the name ‘Brit’ and a heart shifts beneath it. 

  You can’t help but wonder if he called that number that night like he said he would. 

  Wonder if he took her out to a movie, held her hand, let everyone know that Steve Harrington was on a date with her.

  Your bag drops on his bed that’s unmade with sheets that match the walls as you wonder if she was here too. As you wonder how many other girls have been in this room, this bed. 

  A loud shout outside, just below his window makes you jump, pulling you out of the spiral of doubt you’ve fallen into and down the stairs. 

  The cream carpet is plush beneath your bare feet, the framed photos are gone, the desk as well, so nothing stands between you and the sliding glass doors out to the pool.

  It’s a different view than the last time you were here. The bright turquoise littered with even brighter inflatables and swimsuits. It’s warm, it’s light, it’s loud, as bodies splash in it and compete with the radio playing top hits for the loudest thing. Eddie’s shaking his curls out back and forth all over Robin who’s shrieking and running past him. 

  The thought of stepping outside and arriving late has you turning into the kitchen, searching for something your hands can fiddle with before joining the party. 

  Which is how Steve Harrington’s lungs finally give out, and he dies. 

  He knows he’s not actually dying, but he’s sure that the process has to feel eerily similar to this.

  He rounded the corner to find his fridge door opened, the glow of the interior light silhouetting around your curves hidden under a white shirt making his breath stutter in his chest. And as you bend at the waist, red fabric cut high and only climbing higher, reveals the perfect swell of your ass and his lungs fail to function, like one’s collapsing because he’s been shot, or he’s taking on water and they don’t know to expel the air anymore. 

  “Jesus Christ.”

  It slips out of him much like the yelp the words startle out of you, the shoot up of your body involuntary, causing your head to smack into the top of the fridge and a litany of curses to tumble out of your lips. 

  Steve rushes over as you hold your head and spin, blinking and looking dizzy.

  “Shit, shit, sorry.” He’s across the room in seconds, hands cupping your cheeks and tilting you gently while his eyes focus on your forehead, inspecting. He frowns and moves to the left slightly, towards the sink,  though he leaves one of his hands in contact with your skin. 

  The furrow of his brow deepens as he dampens a towel and you try to breathe out of your nose and in with your mouth so you don’t focus on how his normal smell is stronger with his shirt off and mixed with sunscreen and chlorine that clings to his skin. Skin that shines with a sheen from each, that’s somehow not gross, but tantalizing. So much of that skin on display revealing more freckles than you can fathom counting. Skin that looks more tan from the dark chest hair curled against it or the swim trunks that sit low on his hips. 

  Steve looks at you with raised eyebrows and you realize he’s asked a question and you absolutely didn’t hear it. 

  “Um,” you swallow, your tongue taking up too much room in your mouth, “Wh-what?”

  Steve’s lips twitch as he stands fully in front of you again, damp cloth raised as he whispers, “Something distracting you, honey?”

  Your throat has something stuck in it, and no amount of clearing it seems to fix the problem. You focus on the freckle just to the left of his lips instead of his smug eyes as you admit, “Can’t concentrate when you wear that color.”

  The reward of his low laugh and smile has you wondering if someone hand sculpted his lips and cupid’s bow. 

  “I’ll be sure to wear it every chance I get just to torture you then,” he murmurs while fingers adjust your chin into the light. Your back rests against the center island, legs sandwiched between his spread ones so he can raise the cloth to your skin, apologizing with his eyes as he tacks on, “Only fair, since you woke up and decided evil today.”

  The damp material of his swim trunks sends a shiver up your spine when it hits your thighs, and your hands grab his waist in a wince when the cloth makes contact with your still fairly fresh head wound. You’re in a staring contest with a gold chain around his neck as you fib, “This is the only swimsuit I own. Just happens to be red.”

  Steve finishes with your forehead, but two fingers curl under your chin and lift so you have to look at him as he speaks through a smirk.

  “You’re pretty cute when you lie.”

  “Come on Steve,” you whisper, fingers curling into his hips without thought, “You’re better than cheesy lines and rookie moves like this. Besides, the bet’s over. We can go back to hating each other now.”

  He shakes his head, nose bumping yours as he does and he exhales, “Never hated you.”

  Your swallow is loud as he leans closer, one hand on your hip and fingers playing with the so to speak fire of the strings holding your suit together as you offer, “Despised?”

  Another shake of his head, another step closer so your lower halves are pressed together and your eyelashes are fluttering. Your head falls back with a gasp as his mouth trails along your jaw, hot breath and wet lips against it as you stutter out, “De-detest?”

  He responds into your skin, just below your ear, something that sounds like the word, “Never.”

  His name leaves you breathlessly as his tongue lightly licks down the side of your neck, lips following in a delicate brush. 

  “Steve-”

  He hums into your collar, nose dragging around the curve of it while your hands grip his sides. “Stop saying my name like that honey, or I’m gonna get down on my knees and make you say it much,” he nips at your earlobe, “Much, louder.”

  The space between your legs throbs, thighs push even tighter together at the thought of Steve’s mouth there. 

  “Steve,” you scold, cheeks warm, body even more so in all the places it touches his. 

  “Baby,” he groans, nose knocking your cheek, “What did I just say?”

  He starts to lower himself, hands drifting so too, on the outside of your thighs. Brushing bare skin and aching to push it further, cup your ass and roll your hips against his. Especially when your fingers hold his jaw in place so he has to look at you. Only slightly distracted by how kissable your lips are as they say, “You’re moving.”

  Steve shakes his head no and you laugh again and he wonders how many more times he can make that sound come out of you. 

  “Harrington, there’s literally a sold sign in your front yard.”

  He leans in closer, unable to resist the chance to taste your lips again, to feel their lingering sting against them all day. He’s got this insane thought that he wishes you were wearing lipstick, so it could be smeared against him, marking up his mouth and neck, shit, even his dick, so everyone knows he’s yours, it’s yours.  

  “You worried I’m gonna be too far away?” He somehow manages to ask through the fog of images of your lips surrounding his cock, big eyes blinking at him as you-

  “I’m actually worried it isn’t far enough,” you swallow around the tight feeling in your chest.

  His forehead knocks yours, hands squeeze your waist and then climb higher on your curves as he tsks, “Even cuter. You gotta quit lying baby.” But he relents some of the upperhand, the thought of you being worried about him leaving making him admit, “I’m crashing at Robin’s for a bit. And we’re trying to save up for a place together.”

  “Oh,” you nod, distracted by the way his nose traces the bridge of yours, how his eyelashes flutter and the freckles on his cheeks stand out more from a morning in the sun as he does. “Th-that’s good.”

  “Yeah?” The corner of his lips rising in a smile making them brush yours. 

  “Mhm,” you hum, “So you can take Brit on that date still.”

  “Who?” He blinks, cheeks turning pink as your fingers scrape up his stomach and through his chest hair. 

  “Brit,” your eyebrows raise, “Smells like peaches, and giggles and dots her eyes with hearts? The picture perfect girl to take out around town and proudly hold hands with?”

  “Again,” Steve leans the few centimeters closer, whispering against your lips, “Who?”

  You push at his chest, as much as it pains you to do so, needing the distance from the intoxicating mouth that smells like mint and lemonade. But

Steve remains strong in his position, fingers curl around your ear and hold your neck in place gently as he speaks like each word might spook you into running.

  “I’m staying in Hawkins. I have no idea who you’re talking about. The bet is over. Can you stop being so stubborn and let me kiss you like I’ve been wanting to since we were twelve?”

  Your heart rumbles low and slow, like thunder rolling in, it cracks in your chest like lightening hit it. Every ounce of your body is buzzing, like the strike tore your body in two. One part that can’t believe you’re hearing him say it and another that wants to run even though you know it doesn’t strike the same place twice. The fear of being caught in the storm with no way out has you stalling. 

  “Ask me nicely.”

  Steve laughs, and you wonder how you never noticed how much you like making that sound bubble out of him. 

  Or how much you like the way he licks his lips before he says something important. 

  “Please,” he murmurs against your mouth, “Can I kiss you?”

  Your lips part the same time a shriek calls from the den, “Steve! The food is burning!”

  He curses under his breath, hand grabbing yours as he pulls you through the kitchen and into the den. 

  His frown only grows as the smell of burning food does when the two of you exit the sliding door. He tugs you with him across the warm pavement of the patio, the cool summer breeze has goosebumps arriving on your legs as he shouts at the curly haired boy fanning a smoking grill.

“Henderson! You had one fucking job, man! These aren’t just burning they’re-“

  “Scorched,” Lucas supplies around a cough, smacking the air with his hat. 

  “Torched,” Mike pipes up, squinting and pinching his nose closed.

  “Dead,” El delivers morosely.

  Will snorts and covers his mouth and Max mutters under her breath, “Imbeciles.” 

  But then she’s smiling at you.

  Then they’re all smiling at you, even Eddie and Robin who stand just beyond them, staring at Steve and yours intertwined hands. 

  The attention on it makes your hand feel too heavy in his and you go to slip it out, but Steve only squeezes it tighter, waving his other at them, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer. Now get lost, or I’m not making more and you can eat these disgusting things.”

  The “kids” take off and Steve turns to you, thumb swiping over the back of your hand, cheeks pink and swallowing loudly. “Um, about my really nicely asked question that was rudely-“

  “Yes.”

  The just as interrupted response stuns him as much as it does you. But when he smiles, and takes your cheeks in both of his hands, and leans in slowly, you’re sure the answer was the right one, the storm clouds dissipate, the threat of another crack gone. 

  This kiss, is like rain. 

  The good kind of rain. Slow. Steady. Steve’s lips capture yours sure, calmly, breathing out just as the pair of his mold around your top one. He holds them through an exhale against your cheek as your hands fall to his chest naturally. You can feel the thud of his heart beneath your palm as his mouth parts to do it again, deeper, stronger. Each beat against your skin the rain hitting a window until it’s so natural, so steady, it’s a simple background noise. 

  It’s only when loud whoops and whistles break the calm that you hear yours in your ears and feel his heart again, the calm disrupted. Your cheeks warm beneath his palms as he kisses you again, a chaste and over too quick peck around a smile. 

  That pesky thing is still stuck in your throat, suddenly unsure how limbs and words and human things work anymore. You stumble a step back and trip on a pool noodle when your stomach flutters with a swarm of butterflies intent on trying to escape. He catches your waist before you fall as you gesture to the water, “Alright, well, that pool’s not gonna swim in itself.”

  Steve smiles, but he narrows his eyes, squeezing at the outside of your thighs, “Honey, I thought we were done being mean to each other.”

  Your eyes blink at him, confused, butterflies constructing a roller-coaster in your stomach now as well, as you ask, “How is me swimming being mean?”

  “Kissing me like that then parading around in a little red bikini?” He swallows as his fingers play with the strings of said suit, whispering, “Mean. Incorrigible, baby.”

  This feels surreal, his hands on you, calling you baby while your friends are only a few feet away and absolutely watching. Even more so when you whisper, “Big brain word.”

  Steve taps your chin, lifting it as he asks, “What’s my prize?”

  Looking into Steve’s, Buttercup’s description of Westley’s eyes being like the sea after a storm can’t help but float through your mind. But Steve’s are a lot more like the forest after one. Wet and darkened earth soaking up all it was just given, richer in color and waiting to be explored. 

  “What do you want?” 

  Steve grins, his mouth parts, but then you’re both being drenched with water, two buckets dumped over your heads as you shout in protest against the cold. 

  Robin and Max yell something about the fire in the kitchen being too hot and they needed to put it out as they run away from you both with laughter. 

  You peel off the white shirt that clings to your body now as you mumble something about payback. Steve groans at the reveal of your body in only the suit. It’s easy to look over your shoulder as you walk away from him and ask, “Tell me later?”

  Even easier to shove a grinning Eddie towards the pool as you walk past and mumble, “Shut up.”

  He grips at your shoulder as he flails, pulling you in with him, your double splash drowning out your shriek and the beginning of Madonna’s Open Your Heart booming out of the stereo. 

  When you resurface, swiping water from your eyes and laughing, you turn to find Steve again and aren’t surprised when he’s already looking at you. Your arms rest on the ledge when you swim up to the side and mock his voice, calling up to him.

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer!”

  He sticks his tongue out at you as you laugh and swim away, but he can’t help but wonder where he packed his Polaroid, and if he can get you alone long enough to snap several his eyes only photos. 

  He’s still thinking it, later, as the sun inches closer to the other side of the sky, and you’re relaxed on a lounger next to Robin. 

Eyes hidden from him behind sunglasses, hands resting on your stomach, brushing back and forth over your skin as you roll your neck. 

  Prince’s U Got The Look fills the now much quieter backyard, the kids all having disappeared under the excuse of getting movie snacks and a video rental from Keith an hour ago. Robin’s voice interrupts the lyrics with, “How much you wanna bet they’re at the arcade and they aren’t coming back with the snacks?”

  You groan and sit up, “No more bets. But,” a sigh leaves you, “Yeah. I’ll go order a pizza? Steve’s got a billion contraband rental’s downstairs too. I’m sure there’s something halfway decent in there.”

  “Ha-ha,” he says dryly, watching you stretch has him sinking lower in the pool so only his eyes show. He squeezes them shut when your top slips just a smidge higher as your arms raise, the curve of each breast peeking out from the bottom and giving him a heart attack. 

  He’s certain that’s exactly what’s happening when he opens them to find you slipping your white shirt on. Only it’s not your white shirt.

  It’s his.

  Steve watches the collar linger on your nose, then slip over your chin as you smile at him and hook your thumb over your shoulder, “I’m - phone…pizza.” Stumbling over your words and shuffling towards the house quickly. 

  He waits exactly sixty seconds before he’s swimming towards the ladder and climbing out. Eddie’s voice taunts from the tube he’s floating in, with his arms behind his head, even with closed eyes he looks smug, “And where are you going?”

  “To…help. With the calling for pizza.” He towels off quickly, Robin snorts and Eddie makes a booing sound. 

  Robin calls from her lounger, “Don’t say we never did anything for you, Dingus!”

  Steve slides the glass door on their snickering, the house quiet and much cooler than the Summer outside. He glances in the kitchen, the hallway, searching for you, when he hears a creak upstairs. 

  He finds you in his room, in his shirt still, sunglasses pushed onto the top of your head as you sift through a bag and pull out a pair of denim shorts.

  “Hi,” he whispers, when you look up at him.

  “Hey,” you smile, voice quiet too, “Why are we whispering?”

  “I-“ he starts quiet and clears his throat, returning to a normal volume, “I don’t know. Guess I thought if I spoke too loud I might wake up from this great dream.”

  The grin spreads on your lips and you shake your head, “Wow. That’s bad, even for you, Steve.”

  He takes a few steps towards you as you continue to shake your head with a smile, only stopping when he asks, “Say my name again? Please?”

  Steve takes the shorts from your hands, dropping them on the ground as you murmur, gently, “Steve.”

  His tongue darts over his bottom lip before he says, “Can I tell you what I want for a prize now?”

  You’re only able to manage a small, “Mhm,” between pressed together lips as your hands sweat and your stomach burns, and your chest constricts while his fingers toy with the strings of your swimsuit bottoms. 

  He kisses you, slowly, licking out over the seam of your lips until you open for him. His hands guide you backwards gently until he’s climbing over your body on his bed and Prince’s voice fades into Chris de Burgh’s. 

  His body presses against yours, weight heavy and making your eyelids flutter as his hand cups your cheek, then traces your shoulder, the curve of your breast down to your hip. Your stomach burns with want, fingers dig into his hair as he releases your lips and kisses your chin, your chest through his shirt. He only travels lower, pushing it up and kissing your stomach, along the seam of your suit. Your legs rise on either side of his head, fingers leaving his hair to curl into his sheets that surround you and fill the space with a cedar and mint haze. 

  “St-steve,” you hiccup as he nips at the inside of your thigh. 

  He moans, palms pressing you open wider, mouth leaving a wet and hot trail of kisses and breaths up each leg. This wasn’t the plan, he wanted to take it slow, but he can’t help it anymore. He speaks into your stomach, kissing your skin between every few words. 

  “Baby, please, can I taste you?” His fingers tug on the strings of your suit and his vision blurs when you make a sound that sounds like a whine and roll your hips, searching. He’s gone fully blind as you tug on his hair again, drunk off of you without a single taste. 

  “Yeah? Gonna let me put my mouth on you?” He noses at your cunt through the suit, dragging it up against the fabric, babbling anything that comes to his mind without a filter. “That what you want, honey? To come all over my tongue?”

  Your palms press to the bed as you sit up, fingers tugging at the mess of brown waves between your thighs when his tongue licks over your suit.

  Your mouth parts in a gasp, eyes fluttering from the barely there friction, the minimal release of the tension you’ve felt since the kitchen downstairs hours ago. 

  Steve looks up at the sound and nearly comes in his shorts, the image of your dazed eyes and pouting lips, the heave of your chest under his shirt having him really thinking about where his camera is again. 

  “Oh,” his voice falls into a teasing lilt, playing with his food before he eats it, “Look at you. You’re already fucked dumb and I haven’t done a thing.”

  Your body is engulfed in flames at the taunting words, somehow turned on and irritated in the same sentence.

  A Steve Harrington special skill, you think. 

  He curses the words almost immediately after they leave him, thinking he’s pushed it too far too fast but then you’re saying his name like that again, saying the word please so softly, so sincerely, his vision goes white and scratchy like the tape of all of his abilities to think clearly was just ejected from his brain. 

  Steve sits up with a groan, backing away from the bed with the shake of his head. 

  “You’re trouble,” he rasps, breathing heavily from across the room, back against his dresser.

  “What’s wrong?” The mood shift jarring and making your legs close, your arms cross over your chest in a hug, wondering what you did.

  “This,” he says then immediately waves his hands, “No, not like that! I-“ he cuts himself off with another groan, a hand swipes through his hair only making it messier. You clench around nothing at the wild hair, the pink cheeks, the dark chest hair and tan skin as he paces.

  “I wanna-“ he starts.

  “Harrington! Quit making out up there and bring down some of what I gave you! I’m tapped and the pizza guy’s here.”

  Steve curses and he spins on his dresser, grabbing his wallet.

  His wallet. 

  Bring down some of what I gave you.

  His shoulders hunch as he swears again, “Those…brats. I swear to god I’m gonna kill them.”

  He spins to find you yanking your shorts on, muttering, “I cannot believe I fucking fell for this.”

  “Fell for…what are you talking about?” Steve steps closer and you back up quickly, waving your hand at him.

  “Save it.” 

  He watches you storm out of the room, confused, and then looks down at the wallet and quickly rushes out after you, “No, no, no, honey it’s not-“

  “Don’t,” you spin on the stairs, voice icy, “Call me honey.”

  Steve takes another step down, pleading with his eyes as Eddie, Robin, and a stranger stand in the foyer, blinking up at the two of you. “Eddie didn’t give me money for that. He…” his hand swipes through his hair again, tongue over his lip as he lowers his voice, “Can we please go somewhere else to talk about this?”

  Your arms cross and Steve sighs.

  “He gave me money…for a different bet. Sort of bet. Bet is a bad word for it.”

  Something rumbles in your chest once more, though no storm was forecasted, you should have known there was bound to be more. 

  Steve’s lips pout as he waves his hand while explaining in a ramble, “After the bet started, I told them how much I actually liked you. And they agreed to help me. And if I got you to actually give me a chance, with their help of course, Eddie’d pay for a real date and Robin would cover our shifts when we went.”

  The explanation should be sweet, but all you can focus on is that Steve didn’t just have the guts to tell you right away. That your friends all helped manipulate you and lied. You start to wonder if the power even went out, if Eddie knew Steve would be at that party, if Robin put In Your Eyes on on purpose, the diner, your car being busted - all of it. 

  What was real between you and Steve, and what was made with movie magic? 

  The storm cracks in your chest, letting the first drops fall down your cheeks. 

  “I have to get out of here.”

  The calls of your name and his steps behind you on the stairs ignored as your vision blurs. 

  Leaving a boy standing in a yard on Cornwallis street while you disappear without your shoes again. 

BICFTF TAGLIST: don'thatemedon'thatemedon'thateme there's still two chapters left! As always, thank you for your support!

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[gorgeys]

Madison request maybe a first date kind of thing, based on her recent fair post

you look so good in this light ★ madison beer

Madison Beer x femsinger!reader

your first date at the county fair is picture perfect

Warnings: SUPER fluffy, kissing

Word Count: 600

Note: i'm so obssessed w femsinger!reader so i did that again. but there's only one part in the fic where i really mention that reader is famous.

also send more madison requests 🫠

everything felt strangely normal.  walking arm in arm around the moderately empty fair almost felt too natural and easy. a little voice in the back of your head was waiting for something terrible to happen.

but that bad thing would never come. instead, you lean into madison's side and laugh along to made-up back stories she creates for all the different people you passed.  one of your arms is wrapped tightly around hers, like a toddler refusing to let go of their mommy in fear that she would magically disappear, and the other holding the giant teddy bear she won you at a sharpshooter game.  safe to say you were pleasantly surprised by her skill with the water gun.  but, judging by the proud, all-knowing smile she sent you after the victory bell rang, she wasn't.  you picked out the pink bear with red hearts in it's eyes and proudly held the bear up in front of you, staring into the hearts.

"don't worry, buddy," madison said to the bear while draping a loose arm around your waist.  "i look at her the same way."

your heart swelled in your chest as you turned toward her with the cheesiest smile.  you couldn't help but squeeze her in the tightest hug you had ever given another human being.

"you're the best," you mumbled into her shoulder, just loud enough for her to hear it and smile.

and that was only a fragment of your perfect, official first date together.

you shared pizza and fried oreos, almost threw up on the tilt-a-whirl, and now, you would watch the California sunset from the top of the ferris wheel.

you had let the brim of your tattered high school baseball cap fall low in front of your eyes to avoid being noticed.  miraculously, no one had approached you all night, allowing you some normalcy.  if this is what it felt like to be a regular person, on a regular first date, you would trade fame for regular any day.

but now, as you sit across from her in one of the ferris wheel cars, almost at the top, you remove your cap and smooth out your hair.  when your eyes meet madison's, she's already fixated on you.

the setting sun is perfectly hitting the skin of your face.  you're in your golden hour.

"you look so good in this light," she says so delicately, leaning forward onto the edge of her seat as she studies you like a renaissance painting.

it's impossible to restrain your dumb smile.

"you're straight out of a movie, you know that?" you say, resting your elbow on your knee and your chin in your hand.  you look at her as if she's a rom-com character come to life.  "you're my patrick swayze just way cuter and prettier and...well, better."

she chuckles softly, then places a hand on your knee.

"you know what'd make this a real rom-com?" she asks, that familiar proud expression returning to her face as her nails scratch gently against your skin.

"hmm?" you give her a subtle nod.  the quirk of your lips shows you have a pretty good idea of what she means.

she doesn't have to say anything else. she leans into you and her pink lips make their mark on yours.  her hands move to hold your cheeks, while your own hands loosely hang around her arms.  all is perfect as your car halts at the top of the ferris wheel and the sun tucks itself away into the horizon behind you.

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Accident

David Howard Thornton x Y/N - drabble - 853 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: reader gets hurt on accident, actor reader, hospital, guilt, apologies, pretty fluffy tbh just watch out for the beginning because its Terrifier so ya know.... gore - ALSO, L/N just means last name

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

You struggled against the sadistic clown above you. Blood covered you head to toe, your arms felt weak as you pushed against Art’s arms. He pressed the blade further, his strength outmatching yours. You begrudgingly grabbed the blade itself, blood dripping from your hands.You screamed as you felt the knife starting to press into your shoulder, the clown above laughing silently at your pain. The further the knife pressed the more you screamed, kicking and twisting underneath him to no avail as he straddled you. 

“Stop!” you said, your voice hoarse from screaming. Your hands finally slipped the knife through as your blood made it too slippery to hold. The knife plunged into your shoulder and you let out a real, gut wrenching scream.

“CUT!” yelled Damien as he rushed over to you.

You rolled to your side clutching your arm as you sobbed.

“Somebody fucking page medical now! Call 911!” Damien yelled, his hands hovering around you; wanting to help but not knowing how.

David jumped off you, sitting in shock next to you. He didn’t know what to do, he was absolutely shocked. That knife was supposed to be a prop knife but it was hard to distinguish between them, it was the prop masters job to make sure the real knives for show never got mixed up between real and fake. David watched as the puddle of real blood emanated from your shoulder. This horrible pit in his stomach formed and he felt absolutely awful. He snapped out of it when you stopped moving and your eyes fluttered closed. He tossed the knife away, moving to you quickly to check your pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt it. Strong but fast.

“They probably passed out from the pain…” Damien said as he held pressure around your wound, keeping the knife in place.

Medical arrived and took over before the EMT’s loaded you up on a stretcher and took you to the ambulance.

“What hospital?” David asked as they started an IV and put an oxygen mask over your mouth and nose.

“Lenox Hill, we gotta go.” said the EMT before slamming the doors shut. The sirens turned on and before he knew it you were gone.

Set was eerily quiet, “I… I didn’t… It was an accident…” David stuttered. He could see the sympathy on everyone's faces.

Damien clapped his hand on David’s shoulder, “I know. Go get cleaned up and go to the hospital. Were done for the day. I’ll look into it all, trust me, somebody's getting fired.”

David nodded sullenly. Hair and makeup was a quick removal, they moved especially quick knowing David would want to get to you ASAP. He took the ferry from Staten Island to Manhattan, the 25 minute ride having him nauseous at the thought of how much pain you were in. As soon as the ferry docked he pushed through the crowds and rushed towards the hospital. The receptionist could see his worried face.

“Y/N L/N they were brought in by ambulance,” he said quickly. 

“Fourth floor room 831, they’re in recovery. What is your relation to them, it’s only family visiting hours right now.” said the receptionist.

“Husband.” he said without hesitation.

“Alright, go on up. Elevators are around the corner.” she said, pointing.

David nodded before walking over and repeatedly pressing the elevator button. As soon as he arrived at your room he pushed his way in.

Your bright face smiled at him, you looked a little sleepy but that was all. “Hi baby.”

David stood in shock for a moment before shutting the door and walking over to the bed. “Honey I’m… I’m so sorry.” he said, his voice watery.

You held his face in your hands, “It was an accident. It was blunt enough that it only cut my muscle a tad, three inches deep, nothing more. No arteries or bones. Ten stitches and some pain killers and I’m good as new.” you moved your gown off your shoulder slightly, it was wrapped up but you just wanted to show him to show you were ok. 

“I’m so sorry.” he whispered, his hand coming to rest on top of yours.

“Think Damien will put that shot in the movie?” you asked with complete seriousness.

David laughed before kissing your hand. “I bet if you ask he will. That scream was something else.” 

You smiled, “I hope so. They said I can return to shooting in a few days, just have to take it easy. They’re getting my discharge paperwork ready as we speak.” 

“My perfect little scream queen. So dedicated.” he joked. 

You rolled your eyes before bringing him up to your face for a sweet kiss. You could feel how sorry he was. You kissed him over and over again sweetly.

“We should stop before your heart monitor alerts the nurses.” he said, both of you listening to the quickened beeping. 

You both laughed, your cheeks tinted with an embarrassed blush. He kissed over your neck a few times, making heat drip over your most sensitive areas. “Later.” he smiled deviously.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! I hope ya'll like the new addition of our favorite boy who plays our favorite clown! Idk how to really write for Art so send in a request if you have an idea, I'd appreciate it! I feel like David is so underwritten for fanfics so I might pump out a few more for him in the near future. Thank you for all the love and support! XOXOXOXOXOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[hazelfoureyes]

HAZEL IT'S MY BIRTHDAY 🎉🎂🎂!!!

Happy birthday from the hazbin babies I’m capable of writing for! 🎉

💚Alastor💚

A quiet moment alone, his long legs allowed his feet to rest on either side of one of your own as you sat across from him. Comfy reading chairs, a heatless fire. You didn’t notice him watching you from over his paper. Then one of those purposely placed feet knocked against yours and stole your attention. He pointed to the garish cuckoo clock above the fireplace and let his grin soften. As the bird sprung out to begin its 12 chirps, he’d set the paper down fully and pull your chair closer to him with his shadow. “Happy Birthday.”

💛Lucifer💛

From the moment you woke up, he was staring at you with stars in his eyes. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Sang into your hair the second you lifted your head from the pillow. As he pulled your through Lu Lu Land after hours he’d grip your hand tightly and run to the Ferris wheel. When the car reached the top, he’d direct your attention to the window behind you. The fireworks would erupt and light up the otherwise shadow-filled space gently rocking you both front and back. You’d turn to ask if this was all for you, but be stopped by the shining lights staring back at you from his eyes. He’d kiss your nose, and smile wide. Of course it was.

🩷Angel🩷

He knew exactly what you needed and was eager to provide. The blindfold made you nervous, naturally. He could remove it to reveal you were in Consent or he was spread naked on a table covered in sushi and purring. Not that it hadn’t been a fun Thanksgiving. All were fine just not what you had been hoping for. But the walk from door to the surprise was quick and the smell of lavender and roses met you before your eyes were uncovered. “I know you’ve been real busy…” he said it almost meekly, as if he was worried this wasn’t enough, “and we never get much time together.” He let the blindfold fall to the bathroom floor. A large tub full of rose petals, long stem glasses and lavender candles in the sides, and two soft robes neatly folded on the counter. “No interruptions! No phone! I’ll keep all my appendages to myself!” He raised his arms, “unless you say otherwise.” A wink. “Happy Birthday pookie?” He tried to read your face in the darkness. You immediately began undressing, desperate to sink under the petals and just melt, “The happiest of birthdays, Angie.”

❤️Charlie❤️

You knew it’d be a surprise party, as Charlie was as predictable as people came. You hadn’t expected it to be off hotel grounds though. Charlie held her hands over your eyes as the car came to a stop, keeping them there as she directed you into the establishment. You could hear whispers then shuffling of feet and scooting of chairs. “Sit right heeeeere,” she adjusted the seat after you were settled, trying to get it into the best spot.

A pop song began to play, then clapping and hollering from more people than you were sure you knew. As she pulled her hands back and rose them into the air, a chorus of “Happy Birthday!”s rang out from friends and loved ones. And a special someone, already on stage.

“Charlie— is this?”

“You mentioned you’d never seen her show before and so I pulled a few strings.” You looked down at the table to see a pile of ones, the sight of Luci on them a little odd as you looked back up to see Hell’s top drag queen and Lucifer impersonator, Queen Loose For Sure, holding her hat out for a tip.

🤍Husk🤍

A speakeasy was unnecessary in Hell, given that having a tipple was encouraged. But you knew Husk dug the vibes. Though he risked running into Alastor, he offered to take you. You were more than thrown off guard when you were handed a menu and at the top of the cocktail list was your name. ‘An extra special, one day only concoction” was the description, no price listed. “Well what’ll it be?” Husk didn’t make eye contact, but his smirk and wagging tail made it crystal clear he was behind the new drink. “I think I have to try the one day only cocktail, it’s got my name on it after all…”, you looked at the bartender and Husk tapped the bar twice. Husk slid the napkin under the drink as it was set before you, a handwritten “Happy Birthday” across the red paper.

🩶Vaggie🩶

The cursing in Spanish was all Vaggie left available for you to figure out what was going on. It was food related, given she had banned you from the kitchen. But Vaggie wasn’t known to cook. This knowledge coupled with the swearing didn’t put you at ease. It was hell though, what were the chances you could get food poisoning when you were already dead? To your delight (and relief), she emerged with the ugliest cake you’d ever seen. “H-happy birthday, babe…,” she set it down in front of you, candles alight. “Handmade. Mostly.”

💙Vox💙

You knew it was love because he took off the entire day for you. Even his phone was set to vibrate. Which was a big deal for him. The most expensive restaurant, table by the window to see all of the Pride Ring. He clinked your glasses and toasted to you. And as you shared a large piece of cake, and looked out onto the city, you didn’t notice him staring at you with eyes of adoration when be said, “Happy birthday, darling.”

💜Valentino💜

Anything that wasn’t sexual or violent was a shocker from the tall moth overlord. But he had a third passion that didn’t involve blood or nudity. Not traditionally, anyway. A secret he only let a few see him indulge in. As he spun you around again and again to the live cumbia beats, he whispered the kinds of things only Val would think of mid-dance. But as the music ended and you leaned into him for a breather, his hands found your hips and pressed into you, “A very happy birthday, princesa.”

💖A much dirtier menu of hazbin stories💖

[westcoastcollectives]

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs - billie eilish x fem!reader

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs - angst w happy ending, allusion to homophobia

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ - in which y/n is afraid to come out to the public about their relationship or in which billie & y/n love each other despite other’s opinions

ᴀ/ɴ - soooo, i used to post on this account (username bilsluvr) but i deleted everything and revamped the account 😭. this is an old fanfic that i wrote in 2022 , but in honor of the new album i’ve decided to repost it :) i hope you guys like it <3 (also this is based on billie’s song “come out and play” so i recommend to listen to it while you read.)

“wake up and smell the coffee”

“good morning bil” y/n spoke softly as she held her half full cup of coffee and smiled at the black haired girl in front of her. “hey baby” billie leaned over to peck the girls lips.

“but i love it when you’re awfully quiet”

“sleepy?” billie said as she placed her hand on y/n’s cheek. “yeah..” y/n leaned on billie’s hand. “i love you, you know that right?” billie said tenderly. “yeah, i do.” y/n whispered, turning her head slightly to peck billie’s palm, looking at the deep blue eyes lovingly.

“you see a piece of paper, could be a little greater”

“whatcha doin’?” billie asked as she took a sip of her hot tea. the warm ambience of the busy café making them feel like they were the only ones there.

“drawing” y/n giggled. billie looked at the napkin, feeling content with the day. “drawin’ what?” billie asked, smiling at the girl.

“mmm, i don’t really know,” y/n looked at the napkin. “what i feel i guess,” she finished. the napkin held a sketch of a snowy night city with a ferris wheel. “are you cold..?” billie questioned. “no billie!” y/n laughed.

their moment was interrupted when a teenage girl walked up to the smiling couple. “oh my gosh! hi! can i get a photo?” she asked excitedly.

“yes, of course” billie held a tight smile, feeling more tense. as soon as y/n noticed, she placed her hand on top of billie’s resting one. almost instantly, billie felt more relaxed just by the touch of her significant other.

“and you don’t have to keep it quiet”

the fan noticed and quickly asked, “are you guys like together or something?”.

billie’s eyes widened and y/n snatched her hand back. billie opened her mouth to answer, but y/n was too fast. “what? of course not,” she said hostilely. “we’re just friends.”

billie looked at her rather confused, but quickly switched to a sad, tight lipped smile. “yeah” she murmured.

billie was so confused. even though they weren’t out, why would she answer that way? so, abruptly.

“let’s take that photo, yeah?” billie said.

“yes!” the fan said, oblivious to the fact that she had just created a dent within the couple.

“and i know it makes you nervous”

they have been driving for a while now. LA traffic not being so light.

“why’d you answer that way” billie finally broke the silence that had been clouding the car.

“what?” y/n said surprised. “you heard me.” billie said, feeling just a tinge of anger, but not much due to the amount of love that she is filled with for the girl.

“you can’t blame me billie. we’re not going to come out to a random fan on a sunday afternoon.” she said a matter of factly.

“i understand, but i didn’t expect you to answer so fast, almost instinctively.” billie stated. feeling insecure about their relationship.

y/n sighed, looking down at her feet, fidgeting with her rings. “no billie, i’m just…” she hesitated. “nervous.”

“but i promise you, it’s worth it.” billie said as they were pulling into the drive way of their shared home.

y/n turned to billie to find her already looking at her. “can you wait for me bil?” she asked nervously.

billie held her two hands and placed them on her lap. “always.” billie said while looking at her eyes.

“look up, out of your window. see snow, won’t let it in though”

“oh my gosh..” y/n said, feeling surprised.

“what?” billie questioned as y/n urgently ran out of the room.

“it’s snowing!!” y/n came back with a big jacket that engulfed her and a beanie that was almost falling off her head.

“oh,” billie chuckled, walking up to her, fixing the beanie on her head. “you scared me, baby.” she said with a small smile. “sorry” y/n said with a wide, genuine smile.

“get out there,” billie suggested, nodding her head towards the door. “you don’t wanna come with?” y/n asked, slightly furrowing her eyebrows.

“nah, i’m already cold. go have fun.” billie smiled. “i’ll watch from in here.” she finished. “okay,” y/n said. “i love you.” she spoke before leaning in to peck billie’s lips softly.

“cause it's colder here inside in silence”

y/n opened the door excitedly, letting the cold wind blow throughout the home, making billie shiver. “sorry,” y/n chuckled. “s’okay, be safe!” billie shouted.

billie watched as the girl rushed to get to the front of the house to play with the snow. as billie watched through the front window, she noticed how truly quiet and cold it is with out the girls warm loud presence.

while watching y/n laugh at how small the snow flakes were, billie realized how grateful she is for y/n. just merely young, dumb, in love teenagers who didn’t care what people thought about them.

what changed? society’s pressure did. and billie hated that it had affect their relationship.

“and you don’t have to keep it quiet”

“what’s got you so quiet y/n/n?” billie asked, leaning over the counter, careful not to spill the iced tea. “just thinkin’” y/n replied, staring at the picture of the two perched on the mantle.

“about..?” billie said hesitantly. “us.” y/n said. “oh, good things i hope” billie nervously chuckled.

“if we come out about our relationship, do you think we’ll get hate?” y/n said sharply. billie’s head snapped towards her, “woah, where did you get that from.” she asked. “i told you, i’m just thinkin’” y/n spoke, feeling helpless.

“i think we’ll get hate no matter what we do,” billie said. “no, i mean,” y/n hesitated and sighed. “i don’t know, never mind.”

“but-“ billie started, “never mind billie.” y/n ended the conversation.

“too shy to say, but i hope you stay.”

“y/n” billie spoke into the silence. “yeah bil?” y/n said softly, looking back at billie from her seated place on the couch.

“i don’t want to hide anymore.” billie spoke confidently. “what?” y/n questioned, feeling rather confused as to where this came from.

“i want to be able to hold your hand in public, post you, love you without being afraid of someone ‘catching’ us.” billie said, finally expressing her feelings. “i love you, and i think that’s all that matters.”

“okay.” y/n whispered. “okay?” billie questioned, feeling invalidated. “what do you mean ‘okay’?” billie said, walking up to the girl and taking the spot next to her on their couch.

“i agree with you billie.” y/n said, not making eye contact with her. “then? what’s wrong?” billie asked, holding y/n’s hand, caressing it.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” y/n said, looking up at the love of her life. “why would you-“ y/n cut billie off, “i don’t want to hurt your career.” y/n spoke.

“oh.” billie murmured. “i don’t care about that.” billie spoke strongly. “i care about you and our future together.” billie was slowly getting more confused.

y/n leaned in for a hug. not saying a word, but feeling the love around them.

they held each other for the rest of the night.

“come out and play”

after hearing the last chords of the song, y/n looked up at billie with tear filled eyes. y/n found herself reminiscing each memory that correlated with the song.

“i’m sorry.” y/n sobbed, hugging billie. “why baby? don’t be sorry.” billie said. “i only want the best for us.” she smiled reassuringly.

“i’m ready.” y/n said, pulling herself away from billie and wiping underneath her eyes. “you’re right. our opinion is the only opinion that matters. it’s our relationship, not anybody else’s.”

billie could explode of happiness if she were able to. she hugged y/n hard, “i’m so happy you finally feel this way.” billie held y/n’s face and leaned in for a kiss full of love and joy.

-

the couple couldn’t be happier.

sure, they got some hate here and there, but not enough to tear them apart.

[nevernonline]

✧.* what’s your number?; kmg

synposis: after finding an online article about the number of sexual partners a woman should have, your day with your neighbor turns into him being lucky number eighteen.

paring/s: model! mingyu x afab! reader, ft. little brother! chan.

genre/s: humor (sort of lmao), neighbors2lvrs vibes, fuckboy&girl reader and gyu.

warning/s: alcohol consumption, sexual content (minors - dni), talks of broken bones, oc has female genitalia

word count: 3.8k

content: seggsy times, idiots being besties, reader loses her job, all the vibes.

note/s: loosely based on one of my fav movies, what's your number with anna ferris. lmao enjoy. also def unedited so srry. xo.

“Miss. Y/L/N. I’m very sorry but we have decided to let you go.” 

Your boss put down a brown cardboard box that once held wine from a staff party about a week ago. You stood in silence, why were you being fired? You’re one of the only executives who does their job. All of the other employees sit around and drink whiskey and flirt with the other women on your floor on company time, go home to their wives, and make six figures. 

“Sir, can I ask why?” 

“Budget cuts, sorry honey.” 

Honey of course. Not only is he himulating you, he’s also being condescending. 

“Why not fire Ted? He does nothing but use his company card for ‘business expenses’ like taking his different fucks to exotic vacations and restaurants.” 

“Our female clients like Theodore. Sorry it has to be this way. Here’s a check to keep your rent underway and for any troubles. Good luck.” 

You picked up the brown cardboard he handed it to you and dumped the white envelope into your bag as you stormed out of his glass chamber. 

Perfect timing, your brothers getting married and you’re getting fired. Your mother will surely love to hear about this. 

After gathering the contents of your desk you found your way back to your white and gray covered apartment, sinking down into the perfect couch you bought yourself as a reward for your first month in the job. 

Pulling your laptop from the pocket of your work bag, you scrolled through the news on your side widget . Coming across an article written in some stupid lifestyle magazine about ‘the appropriate number of sexual partners for women.’ 

“Okay, so society is regressing.” 

Curious enough you scrolled through to a small section with a quiz, childish, but probably suitable for women over 50 or under 21. 

Following your finger down the various categories that pertained to you until it came to the bottom of the page pointing out your result. 

“15 and over, women with this number often have difficulty finding a spouse and are unlikely to ever settle down. Are they fucking serious? Men can fuck 50 women and still are fine.” 

A vibration came from your phone, a text from your neighbor. 

[3:44pm]. 

Mingyu: Mind helping me out? New girl won’t take the bait about my “emergency” 

Y/N: what’s the issue with her this time? 

Mingyu: nothing, just too clingy. I’m expecting you in five, say our dad fell in the shower. Thank you, owe you. 

Y/n: got it see you in five. 

Mingyu and you met often when you were ushering out hook ups or crazy exes show up to your door. You didn’t know much about his life, other than he’s a model, and obviously has bad luck with women. 

Pulling yourself up off your couch and throwing a blazer back over your shoulders you strode off down to the other end of the hallway. 

“Mingyu? Mingyu seriously answer your phone? Hello!” 

The door opened revealing a semi-naked girl, she was pretty sure, blonde, tall, nice eyes, but boring. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“Mingyu’s sister, who the fuck are you?” 

“Oh my god! So sorry, hi so nice to meet you, I’m Ailee his gir-“ 

“My friend, y/n. What’s wrong?” 

Letting yourself passes the bra sporting blonde you looked Mingyu straight in the face and pulled out your best crying face, it was easy today being that you’re pissed about work and that stupid fucking quiz. 

“It’s dad, he fell. I don’t think it’s good, we have to go.” 

“Oh. Okay, let me change.” 

Mingyu pulled in his jeans and a white t-shirt, grabbed his fancy leather wallet from the counter and pulled you through the front door of his condo. 

“Ailee, let yourself out okay?” 

“Call me?”

“Uh, maybe it sounds like this is bad, maybe we should stop seeing each other? I’ll call you.” 

The truth is Mingyu was never going to call her, he said that to all the others. Yet, you never saw them again. 

Silently you open the door to your place and shut it behind you. 

“She seems nice.” 

“Yeah trust me, she’s not.” 

“Noted. But, better than that crazy red headed girl, Cass was it?” 

“We don’t have to talk about her.” 

“Missing that jacket still?”

“Yes.” 

Mingyu took his place on your leather armchair and sipped the coffee you had initially made for yourself. 

“What is this? What’s your number?”

“Oh my god. Stop looking at my shit.” 

You whipped the lid of your laptop close and stole it out of his hands

“Do you really think anyone cares how many people you sleep with? Isn’t that kind of fucked up?” 

“You can only say that because well, one your a man and two you’ve fucked basically half the women in this city.” 

“Not true, we haven’t fucked.” 

“Right and we will not.” 

“Sure, sure keep telling yourself that. So what is it? 12?” 

“Do you really need that answer?” 

“Yes. And I will bother you until you tell me.” 

“17.” 

Mingyu laughed, not because he felt bad for you or that you were going to hell for fucking 17 people, but because he didn’t see the big deal. 

“Oh come on, that is not that bad.” 

“What’s yours?” 

“Maybe 20?” 

“We are way too close in number for me to not feel weird about it now.” 

“Because it doesn’t matter, why do you think you couldn’t get a husband or boyfriend or whatever the fuck you want because of that?” 

“I don’t know, I didn’t until today I guess.” 

“Bad day?” 

The dark haired man’s head nodded towards the unpacked cardboard box sitting on your dining table. 

“Weird day. And now I have to go see my family at an overly fancy party and sit around clutching cocktails and lie that I didn’t lose my job, just until their precious boy is married off.” 

“Ah, the black sheep of a rich family huh?” 

“Shut up, no. They’re just judgmental is all. Well, my mom is anyway.” 

“I see. What are you wearing?” 

“I don’t know? What’s wrong with what I have on now?” 

Mingyu looked you over in your semi unbuttoned dress shirt and oversized trousers, sexy and sophisticated, but a little boring for a party. 

“Actually you look good. But, it’s not exactly giving a cocktail party for the sister of the groom. Especially if your mom is as judgmental as you say.” 

“Okay, go in my closet then. Work your weird model magic or whatever, Mr. Jeans and white tee.” 

“Anything for you, rich girl.” 

You walked Mingyu through your bedroom into the oversized walk in closet, filled to the brim of clothes, half of them with tags still on. Gifts from boyfriends, friends, your mother. 

“Wow, I didn’t expect this.” 

“And what did you expect?” 

“A closet turned into an office and like five pairs of the same pants, maybe matching pajama sets. But not this.” 

Sitting down on the small stool you let the man rifle his way through the various colors of fabric. 

“Okay, so this black dress. It’s tight but not overwhelmingly, it’ll show your figure and still make you appropriate. These tall black boots, sexy to show off your long legs and make you look even taller, a nice bag, maybe.. this red one? Or the green, just for a pop of color. Put it on.” 

“You finish quickly .” 

“Never had a woman say that to me before. Hurry up.” 

Smirking, you run back into your bedroom, out of sight from the man tapping his fingers on the marble countertop of your dressing room, sliding into the outfit he picked out. 

“Okay, I look-“

“Beautiful.” 

“Really? Don’t you think this is a little much? I mean, for this?” 

“Not at all, it’s actually really simple. May I?” 

He held up a silver chain necklace in his hands and waited until you nodded as he strung it around your neck. 

“Perfect. Now, leave your hair up. Maybe a nice bun and curl the front pieces? You look nice without makeup on, but do that cute winged liner look you do with a nude lip.” 

“Okay, since when did you become a stylist?” 

“I’m a model, I know what I’m talking about. Come on, chop chop.” 

“Okay, mom. Jesus.” 

“Dad. Daddy, actually.” 

“That's never happening.” 

Doing his instructions as he asked, you curled the front pieces of your hair letting it softly dangle in front of your face and placed the rest up on the crown of your head in a loosely tied knot. 

“Okay. So maybe you’re good at this.” 

“I know. If you need my help further, you know where to find me.” 

“You’re leaving?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

Holding up your phone you realized how much time has passed and grabbed your keys. 

“Right. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure. See you soon, y/n.” 

“Bye, Gyu.” 

Walking up to the front steps of your parents luxurious brown stone, you felt the cold sweat under your armpits before walking in the front door. 

“Y/N holy shit, where have you been? Mom is going to kick your ass.” 

“Sorry, Chanie. I had something going on. Where is she?” 

“In the dining room with Marnie and Seungcheol. Talking about wedding stuff, please save us.” 

Coming to your brother's rescue was part of the job of being an older sister. Seeing him settle down and get engaged to a girl like Marnie was amazing for you, she was everything he needed, and it was nice to have another girl in your family. 

Grabbing  a glass of champagne from the silver tray of a waiter, you strode up to your mother in your childhood home, still as nervous as you would have been as a little girl to be under her gaze. 

“Aw, my baby. Finally arrived. Hello.” 

“Hi, Mom. Hello, guys.” 

You mom hugged you giving a kiss on both of your blushing cheeks passing you along to greet your brother's future wife and his friend Seungcheol. 

“Y/N, you look amazing. Where did you get this beautiful dress?” 

“Thank you. My friend helped me pick this out actually, I don’t remember where it’s from.” 

“Friend? Which friend is this, darling?” 

“His name is Mingyu, he’s my neighbor.” 

“Gay? He has wonderful taste.” 

“No, not gay mom. He’s a model.” 

“Oh wow, can I see a photo? Why didn’t you bring him?” 

“Maybe next time.” 

After downing the first glass of alcohol you quickly look for another, Seungcheol already holding a glass in his hand for you with a wink. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

“Y/N, can you go find your father? Now that you're here we can start dinner.” 

“Yep.” 

Strolling throw the various rooms full of priceless knickknacks and photos of your youth, you stop at the open oak doors of your fathers study, looking at him for a moment, behind his desk, glasses on, reading his book. 

“Hello, Dad. May I come in?” 

“Y/N, yes of course. Just hiding out here until I can eat some dinner. How are you?” 

“I’m okay, mom sent me to get you to come eat. What are you reading?” 

“Oh, just some Orwell. Relaxes me.” 

“Shall we, sir?” 

“Yes, my girl.” 

You held your arm out for your father, he was always your best friend, someone who no matter what supported everything you wanted to do. He was stern, but even after parenting you he would end it with a hug and a piece of candy, seeing him grow older had your heart in pain. 

Searching the table for your placecard, it sat you right in between your brother and Seungcheol, his best man and best friend for longer than you could ever remember. 

“Are you coming to his bachelor mixer?” 

Seungcheol’s long eyelashes fluttered in front of your face and you noticed how much more mature he looked, he was always cute, but it’s grown on you now. 

“Are you going to embarrass me?” 

“I’m not the one who got drunk in college and broke her arm trying to dive into the fountain.” 

“Ouch. At least I haven’t shit myself drunk as an adult and embarrassed myself in front of the girl I liked.” 

“I did not shit myself. It was a fart.” 

“A fart with a little poop, a shart if you will. What did they call you? Shart Seungcheol?” 

Your mother interrupted the light flirting you two were enjoying and gave a speech about how lovely it is to see her baby marrying a second daughter and so on and so on. 

After everyone downed their salmon and fancy finger food, you got into the silly party bus along side the rest of the bridal party, moving on to the night of drinking ahead of you. 

“Guys let’s play a game on the way to the bar.” 

Your brother's fiancé spoke, turning down the music and passing around multiple bottles of tequila and glasses. 

“Everyone right down a confession on your paper. If we guess whose it is, they have to drink, but if you get it wrong you drink.” 

Looking down at the small pink sheet of paper you wrote about your day, your sex number, and you losing your job. Maybe nobody will get it, maybe nobody will care because they’ll be equally as drunk. 

The game went on as your anxiety grew and nobody had chosen your confession yet, that was until your brother pulled one of the last sheets of paper out from the bowl. 

“Today I lost my job, I let a stupid magazine article tell me how women who have sex with more than 15 men means they’re unloveable and unwanted. I can’t wait to get fucked up. Congratulations! Well that’s my sister.” 

“What? How did you guess that?” 

“I know your handwriting dumbass, drink, everyone drink.” 

Your night continued, nobody mentioned your failure as a person, they just celebrated the happy couple. 

More and more drinks in, maybe the same amount of people you’ve had sex with. You took it upon yourself to get people on the dance floor, when you felt a pair of hands coming up on your hips, turning around to curse them out, you recognized the eyes staring back at you. 

Mingyu. 

“What the hell are you doing here!?” 

“Birthday party, we always come here. What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Mixed sexes bachelor party.” 

Mingyu's hands were still resting on your hips, on top of the very dress he helped you pick out hours before. 

“Exciting. Want to get a drink with me?” 

“I have one.” 

You held up the half empty glass of your Negroni and Mingyu snatched it from your grip, downing it for you. 

“You’re paying.” 

“Yes. That was the plan.” 

His hand pulled out off the dance floor and back over to a pair black leather bar stools, waving the bartender over. 

“Two whiskey sours please.” 

“No, one whiskey sour. I’ll have a whiskey neat.” 

The bartender nodded working his magic for the two rocks glasses. 

“Here you go, tab Mingyu?” 

“Yes, thanks John.” 

“Wow first name bases?” 

“I told you we like to come here. Who’s the pale dude staring at us?” 

You turned around to look at your brother, cheering you from across the bar. 

“My brother, Chan. His wedding party.” 

“Yes, I remember. I meant the one next to him?” 

“Ah, Seungcheol. Best man.” 

“He wants to fuck you, maybe he’s lucky number eighteen.” 

“Maybe he was lucky number ten back in the day.” 

“Do you remember his number?” 

“No, but I’ve already fucked him. In college.” 

“Ah, I see. Still on the hunt?” 

“Not at all actually, I’m celabte now.” 

“No way, I bet you could find many dudes who’d want to fuck you here.” 

“It’s a matter of if I want to fuck them no?” 

“Touchè” 

“What about him?” 

Mingyu pointed to a tall blonde, long hair, and pretty lips. 

“Gorgeous. But not my style. I’m not really in the mood to get laid.” 

“And let my work go to waste?” 

You smiled, sipping your drink and feeling the warm liquid enter your body. 

“You didn’t give me my beautiful face and fat ass, you just put it in a dress. And as my dad says, leave them wanting more.” 

“You’re a very funny drunk, she shocks me even more.” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Do you ever get tired of having me save your ass from all those girls? Don’t you want to settle down and not have your neighbor coming over to rescue you all the time?” 

“Maybe the reason I do it is so you’ll save me.” 

“Shut up.” 

“No. I’m serious. I like hanging out with you, I enjoy seeing you, and you’re very entertaining. I like role play.” 

“I see, you have a kink.” 

“All jokes aside, I like seeing you.” 

You were surprised by his gentle voice and nature, you always knew him from the outside, a beautiful guy who has bad luck getting girls out of his apartment for whatever reason. 

“I like seeing you too.” 

Mingyu's hand rested on your thigh as he looked towards the same dance floor he pulled you from before, basically begging you with his eyes to come back out with him. 

You agreed, holding his hands through various sweaty bodies, some you knew and some you didn’t. Dancing along with them to the rhythm of the song, holding yourself up on Mingyu's large frame 

“Surprised to see you in something other than jeans and a tee.”

“You like?” 

“If I say yes are you going to fuck with me over it?” 

“Maybe. Are you going to let me be your lucky number eighteen?” 

“If you promise you don’t have some random girl barge in your door tomorrow to get me to leave?” 

“She’ll be tied up.” 

“Let’s go. I have to say bye to my brother first. Come on.” 

Walking towards the door you spot Chan playing darts with Marnie, who was obviously kicking his ass. 

“Hey! I’m going to head out, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Is this Mingyu?” 

“Oh shit, yes Marnie, Chan, this is Mingyu. Mingyu, this is my brother Chan and his fiancé Marnie.” 

Mingyu outstretched his hand to the couple, shaking it kindly. 

“Nice to meet you man, my sister talks about you a lot. Be good to her.” 

“Chan, shut the hell up. Love you both, mwah mwah.” 

“Mingyu if you’re free tomorrow, y/n has a plus one. We’d love to have you.” 

Smiling and whisking Mingyu out of the front door, you began to run together through the light rain falling, two blocks to your apartment. 

“Sorry, my brothers, an idiot.” 

“He seems nice, his wife to be too.” 

You felt your hands shaking in nervousness riding up the elevator to your shared floor. Stepping off and standing in the hallway between your two front doors. 

“Your place or mine?” 

“Well, I picked you up didn't I? Come to mine.” 

Mingyu led you through his familiar front door and helped you out of your wet clothes, throwing them in his washing machine. 

Now standing in his living room, just in your black lace bra and panties, feeling like all those other girls before. Almost in fear of someone knocking to kick you out of his dimmed apartment. 

“Come on.” 

You giggled as he picked up your half naked frame and carried you into his bedroom. 

“Lay down. Off the edge of the bed, trust me.” 

You didn’t say anything just followed his instructions as his fingers came and wrapped themselves around your lace underwear, blowing on your clit with his soft breath as he pulled them down your freshly shaved legs. 

“Fuck.” 

His lips came in contact between your heated center, splitting his kisses between your aching parts and your thighs. 

Your hands working their way through his hair as he used his tongue to work his way around your clit and between your folds, pushing you closer and closer into your own euphoria. 

Maybe you understood why girls didn’t want to let him go, if this was his head game, you can’t even imagine what could come next. 

“You taste so sweet, I should’ve known better to be careful, I might get addicted to you.” 

“Stop with the niceties, Gyu. Can you please fuck me?” 

“Eager are we?” 

“Yes.” 

Mingyu pulled you up by the back of your neck, forcing your head near the top of his dick, waiting for you to wrap your mouth around it and get it sopping wet so he could enter in between your legs. 

“Oh, baby, that feels so good. I love watching you on my dick, but we have to stop before you get me going too much.” 

Your head turned up at him, mascara slightly spilling under your eyes, as you opened your mouth searching for the feeling of his lips on yours, before he planted in on you he spit into your mouth, and inserted himself between the same thighs he was kissing before, slowly entering inch by inch, making you wait to feel him fully inside of you even more. 

“Comfortable, baby?” 

“Yes, faster please.” 

“So polite, but as you said before, leave them wanting more and more. I want you to get riled up.”  

“Yes, sir.” 

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” 

His thrusting became more rapid with your soft moaning, kissing your neck in the process, riding out your high with you, you felt him begging to slow down as his teeth wrapped around your hard nipples, sucking softly at them. 

“You’re so delicious, I don’t think I can last much longer.” 

“Me either, but it’s only round one.” 

“Do you want to do this again?” 

“Eighteen has always been my lucky number, now fill me up.” 

With your final words, Mingyu rode the rest of his high before finishing inside of you, placing a soft kiss on your perfectly pink lips, and dipping his head back down to your center to clean you up with his mouth. 

“Want to stay?” 

“Is that alright?” 

“Yeah, come on. Let’s shower.” 

The tall man led you into his beautiful marble bathroom and turned the water on in his shower built for two. 

“I meant what I said at the bar, you know. I like being with you.”  

Your long arms reached up to his hair, massaging his scalp with shampoo. 

“I meant what I said too, lucky eighteen.” 

“So I’m your lucky number?” 

“Yes, don’t tell my mom tomorrow.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her that you called me sir and the ass she gave you is indeed perfect.” 

You planted a soft kiss on his lips, before pushing him back under the warm water of the shower head. 

“I dare you.” 

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Emil Ferris’s long-awaited “My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book Two”

NEXT WEEKEND (June 7–9), I'm in AMHERST, NEW YORK to keynote the 25th Annual Media Ecology Association Convention and accept the Neil Postman Award for Career Achievement in Public Intellectual Activity.

Seven years ago, I was absolutely floored by My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, a wildly original, stunningly gorgeous, haunting and brilliant debut graphic novel from Emil Ferris. Every single thing about this book was amazing:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/06/20/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-a-haunting-diary-of-a-young-girl-as-a-dazzling-graphic-novel/

The more I found out about the book, the more amazed I became. I met Ferris at that summer's San Diego Comic Con, where I learned that she had drawn it over a while recovering from paralysis of her right – dominant – hand after a West Nile Virus infection. Each meticulously drawn and cross-hatched page had taken days of work with a pen duct-taped to her hand, a project of seven years.

The wild backstory of the book's creation was matched with a wild production story: first, Ferris's initial publisher bailed on her because the book was too long; then her new publisher's first shipment of the book was seized by the South Korean state bank, from the Panama Canal, when the shipper went bankrupt and its creditors held all its cargo to ransom.

My Favorite Thing Is Monsters told the story of Karen Reyes, a 10 year old, monster-obsessed queer girl in 1968 Chicago who lives with her working-class single mother and her older brother, Deeze, in an apartment house full of mysterious, haunted adults. There's the landlord – a gangster and his girlfriend – the one-eyed ventriloquist, and the beautiful Holocaust survivor and her jazz-drummer husband.

Karen narrates and draws the story, depicting herself as a werewolf in a detective's trenchcoat and fedora, as she tries to unravel the secrets kept by the grownups around her. Karen's life is filled with mysteries, from the identity of her father (her brother, a talented illustrator, has removed him from all the family photos and redrawn him as the Invisible Man) to the purpose of a mysterious locked door in the building's cellar.

But the most pressing mystery of all is the death of her upstairs neighbor, the beautiful Annika Silverberg, a troubled Holocaust survivor whose alleged suicide just doesn't add up, and Karen – who loved and worshiped Annika – is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Karen is tormented by the adults in her life keeping too much from her – and by their failure to shield her from life's hardest truths. The flip side of Karen's frustration with adult secrecy is her exposure to adult activity she's too young to understand. From Annika's cassette-taped oral history of her girlhood in an Weimar brothel and her escape from a Nazi concentration camp, to the sex workers she sees turning tricks in cars and alleys in her neighborhood, to the horrors of the Vietnam war, Karen's struggle to understand is characterized by too much information, and too little.

Ferris's storytelling style is dazzling, and it's matched and exceeded by her illustration style, which is grounded in the classic horror comics of the 1950s and 1960s. Characters in Karen's life – including Karen herself – are sometimes depicted in the EC horror style, and that same sinister darkness crowds around the edges of her depictions of real-world Chicago.

These monster-comic throwbacks are absolute catnip for me. I, too, was a monster-obsessed kid, and spent endless hours watching, drawing, and dreaming about this kind of monster.

But Ferris isn't just a monster-obsessive; she's also a formally trained fine artist, and she infuses her love of great painters into Deeze, Karen's womanizing petty criminal of an older brother. Deeze and Karen's visits to the Art Institute of Chicago are commemorated with loving recreations of famous paintings, which are skillfully connected to pulp monster art with a combination of Deeze's commentary and Ferris's meticulous pen-strokes.

Seven years ago, Book One of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters absolutely floored me, and I early anticipated Book Two, which was meant to conclude the story, picking up from Book One's cliff-hanger ending. Originally, that second volume was scheduled for just a few months after Book One's publication (the original manuscript for Book One ran to 700 pages, and the book had been chopped down for publication, with the intention of concluding the story in another volume).

But the book was mysteriously delayed, and then delayed again. Months stretched into years. Stranger rumors swirled about the second volume's status, compounded by the bizarre misfortunes that had befallen book one. Last winter, Bleeding Cool's Rich Johnston published an article detailing a messy lawsuit between Ferris and her publishers, Fantagraphics:

https://bleedingcool.com/comics/fantagraphics-sued-emil-ferris-over-my-favorite-thing-is-monsters/

The filings in that case go some ways toward resolve the mystery of Book Two's delay, though the contradictory claims from Ferris and her publisher are harder to sort through than the mysteries at the heart of Monsters. The one sure thing is that writer and publisher eventually settled, paving the way for the publication of the very long-awaited Book Two:

https://www.fantagraphics.com/products/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-book-two

Book Two picks up from Book One's cliffhanger and then rockets forward. Everything brilliant about One is even better in Two – the illustrations more lush, the fine art analysis more pointed and brilliant, the storytelling more assured and propulsive, the shocks and violence more outrageous, the characters more lovable, complex and grotesque.

Everything about Two is more. The background radiation of the Vietnam War in One takes center stage with Deeze's machinations to beat the draft, and Deeze and Karen being ensnared in the Chicago Police Riots of '68. The allegories, analysis and reproductions of classical art get more pointed, grotesque and lavish. Annika's Nazi concentration camp horrors are more explicit and more explicitly connected to Karen's life. The queerness of the story takes center stage, both through Karen's first love and the introduction of a queer nightclub. The characters are more vivid, as is the racial injustice and the corruption of the adult world.

I've been staring at the spine of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book One on my bookshelf for seven years. Partly, that's because the book is such a gorgeous thing, truly one of the great publishing packages of the century. But mostly, it's because I couldn't let go of Ferris's story, her characters, and her stupendous art.

After seven years, it would have been hard for Book Two to live up to all that anticipation, but goddammit if Ferris didn't manage to meet and exceed everything I could have hoped for in a conclusion.

There's a lot of people on my Christmas list who'll be getting both volumes of Monsters this year – and that number will only go up if Fantagraphics does some kind of slipcased two-volume set.

In the meantime, we've got more Ferris to look forward to. Last April, she announced that she had sold a prequel to Monsters and a new standalone two-volume noir murder series to Pantheon Books:

https://twitter.com/likaluca/status/1648364225855733769

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/01/the-druid/#oh-my-papa

[cassiebones]

Character Analysis: Rio Vidal

(because Aubrey Plaza currently has a chokehold on my psyche)

It hasn't been confirmed on the show, but we all know that Rio is Death, correct? They're not even being subtle about it, so I'm gonna take it from that angle.

Okay, so Rio is ageless. She prefers to take the form of Aubrey Plaza because Aubrey is a hot motherfucker. Agreed? Okay.

I have no idea when she would have come into existence, only because I have no idea the nature of Death in this universe. Is she one of many deaths? She must be, because people die all over and she has enough free time to build this hate/love relationship with Agatha, whom she finds the second the Darkhold stops hiding her.

I think she may specifically be Death for witches. She ferries magical humans to the other side, and has done since magic was first invented.

She was never a child, never a newborn. She was fully grown and cognizant from her inception, born knowing what her job was for her entire life. She existed in ancient times, seen by many mortals as different gods/goddesses. She took the shapes they'd already imagined her to have. She was Anubis, Hades, Shinigami, Osiris, Hecate, Charon...whom were all different entities, but she took their forms to bring comfort to the recently departed.

I feel like Rio had a lot of empathy for the first thousand or so years of doing this job. She listened to life stories as she ferried magical beings to their next journeys. She learned about society, about expectations, about why one might choose not to stay on the mortal coil, or why one might be taken from it by force.

She comforted the ones reticent to leave their physical bodies. She held the hands of too many young witches, taken too soon because of the fear that surrounded them. That's who she had the most empathy for: young, misunderstood witches.

Her empathy fades as humanity progresses. Witches are still persecuted, but many of them get on her nerves. They think so highly of themselves. They think they Death owes them something, that they deserve a second chance at life.

Nobody gets a second chance at life.

And while it's her job, she starts to kind of resent it. The spirits that won't leave piss her off. They disturb the living as often as they can and Rio gets blamed for it. This is why she hates ghosts.

But there's nothing she can do.

And then she meets Agatha. Agatha who is young and powerful and so scared when they first meet. Agatha, who has just caused the deaths of her entire coven. Agatha, who didn't mean to cause so much destruction; she just needs to be properly taught.

So Rio teaches her. I think they would have this kind of relationship where Rio fosters Agatha's talents, where she takes Agatha to places where she can be as destructive with her magic as she wants and nobody will judge or demonize her. And every time Agatha masters a spell or gives Rio that super proud smile, Rio falls a little more in love with her.

She revitalizes Rio's love for her job. And it's not like it's Agatha's fault that other witches keep attacking her. And it's not like she can truly control that siphoning thing every time it happens. It just is what it is.

Agatha feels bad the first time it happens, too. But then she takes on Rio's logic of "well, they shouldn't have done that then," and all is well.

Agatha is alive and safe and Rio gets more bodies to ferry, more work. She actually really loves her work, especially because it means she gets to spend more time with Agatha, who just can't stop getting attacked for some reason...

There are rules to her job, of course.

First and most important rule: Death cannot kill. It is a conflict of interest. It wouldn't be very fair to give herself more bodies to ferry. Soon enough, there would be none left. In theory, at least. It's like insider trading, in a way.

Another one: Death cannot bring back life to one who has died. That is also not fair, and it's actually not even something she can do. She isn't Life; she's Death.

And: Death must ferry souls as soon as possible to the other life. Souls that linger too long become ghosts and it gets harder for them to cross over. It's considered a failure on her part when a Spirit becomes a Ghost.

She regrets ferrying Nicholas. That was her son, too. I will entertain no other theories. She loved that kid. She was just as much his mother as Agatha was. She knew how much it would hurt Agatha, but she also knew that she couldn't allow Nicky to become a ghost. It would be a torturous existence for them both. And if Agatha had her way and reanimated his body, forcing his soul to remain there, it would be so much worse.

It is her biggest regret and the only scar she has.

She doesn't have to lick wounds to heal them. That's just something she does for Agatha. Agatha either doesn't know this or doesn't fight it. I cannot even decide which one is funnier.

Rio is more than her job, though.

She is also a bottom.

Only for Agatha.

Moving on.

When Agatha uses the Darkhold to disappear, whatever beacon spell they'd had on each other since practically the beginning of their courtship is interrupted. She cannot find Agatha. She cannot even see Agatha, not even if she was two inches from her own face. Agatha makes it so they never run into each other, no matter whom she kills.

And then Wanda gets the Darkhold and it's like a fire alarm blaring in Rio's ear. She goes immediately to Agatha's side.

Yes, immediately. You know that was not a three-season delusion that Wanda put her under. "Agnes" had many, many different TV shows running through the spellbound mind. She just wasn't broken out of it until Teen got there.

Herb was so nonchalant about her little "true crime bug" that there had to have been several different medical series, soap operas, firefighter shows, other cop shows, comedies, home improvement shows, reality shows (The Real Housewives of West View?), and a mockumentary or two that came before it.

And Rio was a guest star in all of them, willing Agatha to just wake up. But Agatha didn't recognize her. She just knew that she hated her, in every single mind show. She just hated Rio Vidal.

And Rio was just in a hell of her own making, trying desperately to break Agatha out but not knowing how.

She loves this woman so much. All the threats to kill her and telling others where to find her? Foreplay. I can totally see them trolling each other as they ran around New England, pointing fingers at one another, calling out "Witch!" and snickering as the torches are lit.

Their sex breaks down houses. They have done it in a grave. Rio attempts to murder Agatha at least twice a day at their peak; it's called flirting, Jennifer.

Agatha, obviously knowing that Rio can't actually kill her (and she cannot kill Rio for obvious reasons), feels safest when she's around. Because Rio defends her. She knows the things that Agatha has done and she loves her (not in spite of them, but sort of because of them. Girl's a freak.) anyway.

And Rio hates her mother-in-law, Evanora, with a passion. She definitely has a list of people she hates from all the souls she's had to ferry. A lot of white Puritan men are on that list for their role in the Salem Witch trials. But Evanora is #1 on that list. It's on sight for that bitch.

And I think that makes Agatha soft for Rio. Because nobody has ever defended her against her mother, for her whole childhood. Nobody except Rio.

Which is why Agatha is definitely the one who proposed.

It was a mundane kind of day. Her powers had just killed another coven. Before they attacked, however, one of the witches called Agatha a "Witch-Killer" and said that her mother had always been right about her. She'd heard of how evil Agatha was as a child and this just proved it.

Rio's hands had glowed green and as she took the woman by the throat, slamming her against a tree, screaming at her, telling her about how the true evil was the woman who hated her own child so much as to plan a whole execution after abusing her for her entire childhood. How Agatha was a survivor and so much more powerful than her mother could ever hope to be. And that witches like her had to wake up to it and--then the witch blasted Agatha and it was all over.

Rio huffed as she dropped the empty husk of a body, glaring at the spirit as it floated above it.

"That was your own fault," she said. "If you had just listened to me, none of this would have happened."

The witch just glared and Rio rolled her eyes, collecting the souls of the other witches who had attacked Agatha along with this dumb with.

"I'll be right back," she promised Agatha, who was still thrumming with magic.

"Marry me!" Agatha said as Rio disappeared.

She was halfway through with the job when the words registered in her mind. She got them across in record time, returning to find Agatha on her knees, waiting for her, a purple ring of something she'd made from magic. She was smiling up at Rio, tears in her eyes.

"What did you say?" Rio asked, her heart pounding.

"Marry me," Agatha repeated, her voice tight. "Rio Vidal, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" Rio dropped to her knees and tackled Agatha to the ground, raining kisses down on her while Agatha laughed.

And then they got married and lived happily for a century or two, until they had a son. I have no idea how Nicholas came to be. I have no idea why he is a Scratch rather than a Harkness or a Vidal. But I know he had two mommies who loved him more than anything. Rio probably never thought that she could be a wife to anybody, let alone a full mother, but she loved that boy. And she loves Agatha.

Rio has a big heart and she's a bit intense, but we love that for her.

11/10 character

[stark-raving-romantic]

Since we all agree the Harry Potter is NOT it...here's a fun poll! These are just my picks but if you feel that I've neglected one, tell me and I'll make another poll, the winners can face off or something.

Please reblog to break containment!

Pride and Prejudice: It is a truth universally acknowledged , that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Northanger Abbey: No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be a heroine.

Anne of Green Gables: Mrs. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies' eardrops and traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde's Hollow it was a quiet, well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs. Rachel Lynde's door without due regard for decency and decorum; it probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window, keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.

The Graveyard Book: There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.

Romeo and Juliet:

"Two households, both alike in dignity

 (In fair Verona, where we lay our scene),

 From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

 Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean."

Tuck Everlasting: The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning.

Fahrenheit 451: It was a pleasure to burn.

The Hobbit: In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.

A Christmas Carol: MARLEY WAS DEAD, to begin with.

The Secret Garden: When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Far Out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun.

Percy Jackson/The Lightning Thief: Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood

[galaxysupreme17]

Jealousy at the Fair

Y/n = Your Name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader

The Westview carnival was in full swing, with its colorful lights reflecting off the nearby lake and the faint sounds of laughter and music weaving through the air. Y/n dragged her moms through the crowd, pointing excitedly at every booth they passed. They’d already hit the classic games, winning a stuffed fox and a goldfish in a plastic bag, and Y/n was determined they’d conquer the whole carnival before they left.

As they neared the cotton candy stand, a man sidled up to Agatha, his expression overly friendly and his smile wide. “Enjoying the carnival?” he asked, his eyes not leaving her.

Agatha raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to the cotton candy. “Yes, it’s lovely,” she replied, her tone polite but distracted. She was more interested in their evening as a family than chatting with a stranger, and she was about to move on when the man spoke again.

“Would you like some cotton candy? On me,” he offered with a smile that bordered on smug, gesturing toward the stand.

Agatha’s eyes flicked down to the wedding ring on her left hand, which she wore proudly and openly, a constant reminder of her family and everything she held dear. But the man seemed either oblivious or unbothered by this detail. Just as Agatha was about to give a polite but firm decline, Rio appeared, gliding smoothly into the conversation.

Without acknowledging the man, Rio wrapped an arm securely around Agatha’s waist, pulling her close. She fixed her wife with a warm smile and spoke as if the stranger simply didn’t exist. “What do you think, darling?” she asked, leaning into Agatha with a soft smile. “Should we get caramel apples and hot chocolate, or maybe one of those big pretzels?”

Agatha caught on immediately, leaning into Rio with a smile that radiated warmth. “Caramel apples, definitely,” she replied, her voice softening. The two gazed at each other with such genuine affection that the man might as well have been invisible.

The stranger huffed, clearly unimpressed by being ignored. With a heavy roll of his eyes, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Once he was out of earshot, Y/n broke into laughter, clapping her hands and leaning against Rio’s shoulder. “Mom! That was amazing! You didn’t even have to look at him!”

Rio smirked, tightening her hold on Agatha as she dropped a playful kiss on her wife’s cheek. “No need to waste my energy on someone who can’t even see what’s right in front of them.” She gave Agatha a quick, soft kiss on the lips, making Y/n scrunch her nose in playful disgust.

“You two are like a rom-com waiting to happen,” Y/n teased, feigning exasperation. “Mom, you’re so protective—it’s like you’re making sure no one even thinks about stealing Mama away!”

Agatha chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Y/n’s face. “Your mom’s always had a flair for making her point.” She squeezed Rio’s hand. “It’s one of the many reasons I adore her.”

Rio flashed Y/n a grin, clearly pleased with herself. “Well, someone’s got to keep everyone in check. Right, kid?”

“Absolutely,” Y/n replied with a laugh. “I’m just lucky I’m already family, or you’d probably give me the same treatment.” She glanced back at the now-abandoned cotton candy stand. “Think we can grab one of those pretzels on the way to the Ferris wheel?”

“Only if we get caramel apples, too,” Agatha chimed in with a smile.

With an arm still wrapped around Agatha, Rio steered them toward the food stands, indulging Y/n’s every whim and laughing along at her daughter’s antics. After a few games of ring toss and a round at the balloon darts booth, they were stocked with snacks, prizes, and laughter.

As they strolled toward the Ferris wheel, Y/n suddenly stopped, spotting a booth where a small magical flame danced inside a glass sphere. “Ooh, look! They’ve got enchanted trinkets!” she exclaimed, rushing over.

Agatha smiled, following her, and Rio joined, inspecting the various mystical items on display. The carnival vendor noticed her interest and explained that the flames changed colors based on mood. Agatha raised an eyebrow, turning to Rio. “Care to test it out, love?”

Rio chuckled, stepping up to the orb. She placed her hand over it, and the flame flared a deep, rich blue. “What does that mean?” she asked, half-curious, half-amused.

The vendor grinned. “Blue is for calm. It means you feel… well, at home.” He gestured toward Agatha, who was watching Rio with a smile, warmth evident in her gaze. “And that, I’d guess, has something to do with it.”

Rio and Agatha shared a tender look. Each lost in the other’s eyes for a moment. Y/n pretended to gag, though her smile betrayed her happiness. “Seriously, I can’t take you two anywhere.”

Agatha wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, giving her a playful squeeze. “You’ll understand one day.”

They finally made their way to the Ferris wheel, settling into one of the carts just as the first fireworks burst above them. The colors exploded in a dazzling display, casting hues of pink, green, and gold across the dark sky. Y/n leaned her head back, sipping her hot chocolate as the cart slowly rose, watching her moms.

Rio slid her arm around Agatha’s shoulders, pulling her close as they watched the show. Agatha rested her head on Rio’s shoulder, a smile gracing her lips as she made eye contact with her daughter.

As the ride ended, they made their way back through the crowds, Agatha’s hand tucked in Rio’s and Y/n walking beside them, still clutching her stuffed fox and occasional cotton candy bites. The energy of the evening lingered, and their laughter and closeness filled the night with a warmth that outshone the glow of carnival lights.

As they left the carnival, Y/n looped her arm through Agatha’s and leaned her head against her mom’s shoulder. “Tonight was perfect,” she murmured, a hint of a smile in her voice.

Rio smirked, nudging her daughter. “And we have the carnival’s resident gentleman caller to thank for it, don’t we?”

Y/n snorted, rolling her eyes. “Mom, I don’t think he’ll ever try his luck around you again. You were terrifying.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Rio replied with a wink. “I’ll do it again if it means protecting my gorgeous wife.”

They all laughed, their voices echoing in the quiet night as they strolled toward home. Secure in each other’s love and laughter. They had memories of the perfect carnival night tucked safely in their hearts.

[the-californicationist]

Excerpt from Gunslinger - "Appaloosa"

OMG!! I commissioned this artwork from the incredible @captain-natey who RETURNED TO ME WITH THIS MASTERPIECE!!!! I just wanted to plug their work (their commissions are OPEN! visit their website here!!) and I wanted to post the chapter excerpt from "Gunslinger" (Price/Reader) that it belongs to. Hope you enjoy! Please go show Nate some love! Thanks for reading. TW: reference to past domestic abuse, Reader has call sign and speaks Spanish

Price sat beside you and pulled your chair closer to his, looping an arm around the back of it,

“Look, love, you don’t have to do anything you don’t -”

“Capitán! Quit whispering your sugary words into her ear. This is the woman who survived Miguel ‘El Matador’ Moreno for diez pinche años. She may look like a little lady, but she’s done nastier work than all four of you perritos combined. She is the reason why the infamous Jefe Luis Villagomez doesn’t travel north of the Rio Grande. Charon doesn’t ferry the living very often, amigos. She only takes the dead. Porfa,” Alejandro waved a hand in the air dismissively, unamused by Price’s coddling tones. 

Ale may have been embellishing a bit, but he wasn’t wrong. You didn’t need your hand to be held.

“I can’t leave the animals,” you said, checking to see how far these men had thought this plan through. 

“Laswell called Tony, and he’ll be here Wednesday,” Gaz told you. 

Tony had watched the ranch for you once before. He was a sharp-witted veteran that had run his own ranch for decades, so you felt good about leaving the farm to him. Tony could take care of himself. He did tend to spoil the goats, but there were worse things. 

“How long?” Your question hung in the air like a balloon losing its air, floating, surrounded by silence. 

Vargas and Price shared a look. Price repositioned himself in his chair, not thrilled about having to answer you,

“Not sure, love. Is that alright?” 

It was a test. What were you willing to sacrifice for this man and his makeshift band of brothers? Your peace? You’d fought so damn hard for that peace. You’d survived a devil of a man in order to sleep warm and safe and knowing you could take care of your damn business unaided. After giving up years of your life to unrest and fear, your reward had been the reconstruction of your independence. Price was asking you for your hard-fought freedom. You weren’t ready to give that up. You weren’t ready for sleeping on floors and reloading guns. You weren’t ready to face more devil-men. 

But what else could you do? Price had you, threatening your heart. If you woke up tomorrow to his empty bed, you didn’t know if you could take that pain. You imagined that Kahlo’s Wounded Deer felt much the same; shot through the chest with nowhere to run, stuck between the cliff’s edge and your lover - your hunter - both promising suffering in different ways. No escape. 

The captain studied you like a heeler dog studied its herd, watching for even the slightest movement to strike, to react. He witnessed the fear flash in your face, and in turn, you saw the despair shadow his. It was so slight, that change in his expression, but to you, it was like he was screaming. You, too, were screaming. 

“Okay, but just for this mission. Then, I need to get back to my life,” you decided, making your limitations known, quietly but firmly. 

The relief that washed through Price’s eyes was palpable. 

Vargas served dinner in his chaotic way, family style, sharing plates. Everyone was eating with their hands, cradling the homemade tortillas like little flowers, using them to scoop up meat and sauce that dripped down their palms like nectar, spicy and sweet. 

Ghost didn’t take his food into the other room this time, feeling secure enough to flip up the mouth of his painted mask to eat. It was like seeing him naked; he was always covered up, so any skin was somehow too much. Soap crowded Ghost from his corner of the table, trying to steal more asada, laughing and joking with Ale. Gaz and Price were huddled, murmuring about something, talking with full mouths in low tones. 

It was almost too serene. There were times in life where you understood that you were in a moment you could never return to. You may have similar ones in your future, but somehow, you knew when certain wrinkles in time were singular. As you watched your guests, you knew that this was definitely one of those moments. 

Price had his arm draped across your chair, keeping you near him. You crafted a bite for him in your hand, pinching the soft tortilla until it held the perfect amount of Ale’s asada. 

You nudged Price with your free hand,

“Toma, come esto, papi.” Here, have a bite, daddy.

He turned away from Gaz and found you there, his bite of food in your hands, and his face lit up like a flame. Bending his head down to meet your hand, he grabbed your wrist in his huge fist, trapping your arm. Then, slowly, he put his mouth around the morsel, lips touching the pads of your fingers, tongue licking the sauce from them. 

Vargas watched your interaction from the other side of the table, open-mouthed. Soap smacked him on the shoulder as if to cash in a bet.

“No, animales! Not at the table!”

The men shared a lighthearted groan and laughed good-naturedly, giving you and their captain a hard time about your little display of affection. 

You smirked, feeling accomplished. Price had wanted to tell them, so you thought a dropped hint or two would be alright. To your relief, he laughed with them, chewing his food before making a comment,

“Sabe buena.” Tastes good. His voice, still badly accented, was mirthful and suggestive, dragging out another round of playful jeering. 

Then, to your surprise, the captain pulled your chair back away from the table, leaning it on its rear legs, holding it at an angle, and kissed you deeply. You let out a little cry of shock, silenced by his mouth. But, you recovered, kissing him back, wrapping one hand around his jaw and the other running through his hair. 

It was all in good fun. Normal. Just a couple flirting with each other, but for Price, you could tell it meant more. It was one thing to bare your souls to each other in front of the farm animals, or to sneak off and rediscover original sins in the quiet of your room, but it was something else to show the world that you chose him. To show his men that you were committed to their captain. That you weren’t just a rest-stop on their long journey. You got the sense that by committing to him, you were also committing to them: his family. 

The rest of the meal passed in that same warmth, filled with laughter and jokes, stories and questions about each other. Intimacy. The whole time, Price couldn’t keep his hands off of you. Your thigh, your hand, the nape of your neck - he was grabbing you like a lifeline. He shared his food, making you try his chili relleno, giving you sips of his drink when yours ran dry, doting on you. 

“Okay, time for dessert, yes?” You asked the others, picking up dirty dishes as you retreated back to the kitchen. 

You heard exasperated groaning, their bellies full and struggling, but you didn’t hear a no. Vargas followed you into the kitchen, pretending to help,

“Dios mío, necesito un cigarrillo después de verlos a ustedes.” My God, I need a cigarette after watching you two. 

“Cállate, cerdito.” Shut up, piglet. You smiled to yourself, cutting up what was left of the cheesecake, giving Price’s plate the largest piece. 

“¿Estas enamorado, morena?” Are you in love, darling? His voice was a quiet whisper. It felt like a gunshot wound in your chest. 

“I don’t know,” you said, in English, not trusting yourself to tell such a lie in your native tongue. 

Your old friend covered his mouth with his hand, eyebrows heading skyward, giving you an obvious look. He replied in English, understanding the secret you’d been trying to conceal,

“You know better, Charon. We are not men who should be loved. I hope you know what you’re doing, mija. ”

You didn’t reply out loud, but on the inside, you heard yourself say, “Me, too.”

Even though they lived in the shadows, you weren’t sold on the idea that they should be priests for their causes. Men like Price typically followed two paths. The love of a woman, if she becomes his family, could break his heart, making him forget his purpose, distracting him from his quest for justice. Or, she would light a fire in him, turning him into a dragon. You were afraid to find out which path he would choose.

You wondered if he loved you. 

You delivered the cake and poured more tequila into all the little cups that were thirsty for it. 

John was rolling a cigar in his fingers absentmindedly, and you could tell he was aching to smoke it. 

“You wanna come outside with me, love?” Price invited you, rubbing your thighs in big, sweeping strokes, making your blood rush through them, somehow knowing what you wanted. 

Everyone else was chatting, or watching Gaz play that video game of his, backseat driving, telling him where to hide and who to shoot. Which gun to use. You slipped out onto the porch with Price, avoiding any more ribbing. 

You stood against the porch railing, facing the yard, staring out at the darkness of the night, the rain finally dying out to a drizzle, casting little blue galaxies in the flooded grass, reflecting the light from a huge moon. Price stood directly behind you, pressed against your body, wrapping one hand around the railing, closing you in. He held his cigar in the other hand, smoking it in circles, trying to make the ashes burn evenly. 

“You surprised me at dinner,” he commented, obviously looking for a response. 

You feigned ignorance,

“Oh, why?”

“Feeding me by hand like that. Can’t be doing that in public. Makes me go a bit hard, love.” His voice was right next to your ear, gravelly and delightfully threatening. 

You smiled sweetly, your words coated in pretend innocence, playing with him,

“What do you mean? I just wanted you to have a bite. One little bite can’t hurt, can it, John?” 

“It’s bloody mental, the way you make me feel,” he took a long drag from his cigar and let the smoke tumble out as he spoke, leaning over you, “I’d fuck you right here, pretty girl, given half a chance.”

He took a deep breath along the side of your neck, smelling your skin beneath your hair, and when he exhaled, a moan was wrapped quietly inside it.

You pressed your ass into his crotch, finding him nearly hard. Touching his hand gently, you took his cigar and stuck it in your mouth, the wet leaves tasting like him. You curled the smoke with your tongue, locking eyes with him over your shoulder, watching him suffer deliciously,

“I dunno about ‘mental’, John. But it seems like you have an oral fixation.

You punctuated your last two words, saying them with a soft, sultry undertone. His eyes narrowed as he smiled down at you in a sinister grin,

“Do I ever.”

He stole the stick back from you and smiled even wider, teeth gleaming, his incisors seeming like fangs in his wolfy smile. 

“Think they’re watching us?” You let your eyes turn over to the window, covered with a sheer curtain, fully aware that the view outside was more visible than your view into the house. Trick of the light. 

He shrugged,

“Not if they know what’s good for them.”

Price’s cock had fully hardened now, and he thrust it up into your body ever so slightly, rubbing himself through layers of clothes, rocking his hips once and then twice like a promise of things to come. It made you feel a deep, primal lust, understanding his need without his words, your bodies engaging in an ancient art that had remained untainted by eons of time. You returned his invitation, rolling your hips back onto him, your ass pressing soundly into his pinned shaft. 

“We should get some sleep. Early start tomorrow. It’s five hours to El Ojo,” Price groaned, whispering, rutting against you mindlessly, burying his face in your hair, staining your scent with his smoke. 

You turned around to face him; he didn’t stop his idle grinding, looking tranquilized by his heady tobacco. Hypnotizing you with his casual eroticism. 

“You don’t seem sleepy,” you commented, letting your hands roam over his chest and belly, tracing his nipples beneath his smooth shirt. He shuddered at your touch, sighing deeply. 

With his cigar perched carefully between his fingers, he grabbed your jawbone, and you could feel the wet end press into your cheek. You could sense the warmth of the ash on your skin. He began to kiss you, all of the smoke and musky scents of him blended together, and his strong, masculine cologne made your head spin. His kisses were controlling and long, moving your head where he wanted it to be, sucking your lips and tongue, keeping them from exploring on their own. He was the guide for your passion, showing you all the ways he would be able to please.

He broke away, but only far enough to keep your lips from touching, his breath hot as it warmed your mouth when he spoke,

“Early. Tomorrow. We have to get up early. We should sleep.”

“Okay,” you sighed, a little dramatically, easing past his grip, removing yourself from him, untangling his vines from your bones, “if you say so, John. Buenas noches.” 

You walked inside, swaying your hips a little more than you needed to, knowing he was looking, his blue eyes burning into your curves. Just before you went through the door, you glanced over at him. In the darkness of the porch, cast in shadow, the smoldering tip of his cigar glowed in his open mouth, the light from it gleaming off of his teeth and coloring his lips and beard a fiery orange. He was grinning, like a fox in a henhouse. When he saw you looking, he made a small show of readjusting himself, pawing at his swollen rod to release it from where it was trapped, and in the dimness, you could see its threatening outline. 

You shut the door behind you, hands shaking. The other men mostly ignored you, but you caught them glancing your way, trying to sneak looks. Soap was not as sneaky as the rest, staring blankly as if he had a secret he shouldn't have.

As you wished them good night, they returned the sentiment casually, but it was then that you noticed the window. Price was still at the railing - in full, clear view, smoking. Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel the flush tingle against your skin with embarrassment. 

An hour or so later, you were already asleep when Price came upstairs. His heavy footsteps pulled you from your slumber. He was pacing in his room, packing perhaps. You went to the bathroom and pulled open the door. Upon hearing you, he opened his as well.

“Hey,” you whispered, squinting from sleep. 

“Hey,” he was breathing heavily, dressed in nothing but the jeans and boots he had worn that day. 

The captain watched as your eyes feasted upon his skin, gazing longingly at his thick waist where his pants were slung low on his hips, showing off just a bit of hair from below his belt line. One of his giant hands gripped the door frame, high on the plank, stretching his chest into a sweeping display of muscle. His armpit, arms, and torso were covered in the thick, dark hair you had let your hands roam across last night during your joining, and you knew how it would feel to touch. 

Price slid his hand down the frame, making a slow scraping noise, stepping fully into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a click, his icy eyes never leaving yours. 

He was enormous in the small space. His body was a powerhouse of visible strength. The meat of him hung heavy on his large bones, and he seemed, in the clean white tile of the bathroom, as if he was a specimen in some sort of display. Some museum exhibit, showing off, in sterile composition, the ideal form of Man. Built to fuck, to kill, to dominate the beasts of Eden from the lamb to the lion. Top of the food chain. 

Still a little shy from realizing you’d given his team quite the show earlier on the porch, you averted your gaze, turning toward the sink. Before you could run the water, he was behind you, quick, crowding your space exactly as he had on the porch.

He positioned himself behind you and, much more luridly this time, began to kiss and lick your neck, grinding himself into you as he did so, slipping a warm hand under your loose top, finding your soft flesh waiting for his touch. You could feel the roughness of his denim jeans through your cotton shorts, and the contrast between his soft, melting kiss and the hard, unforgiving feeling of him trying to fuck you through your clothes was too much to handle. Your body was trying to reconcile the two, splitting your thoughts, making you love-drunk on his ministrations. 

Price pulled off your shirt, raking it over your head, tossing it to the floor. He laced his hand through your hair and began to tug your head back, forcing you to look at yourself, bare to him, in the mirror. There was only the nightlight, more like a small Christmas bulb attached to a plug, so the room lacked any harsh contrast. Your bodies, your faces, the walls - everything began to swirl together, all colorized in the same, peachy glow. 

You felt his hands on your breasts, and you watched him touch you in the mirror. Seeing yourself being pulled and manipulated by such a large man was gratifying. His hands massaged into your softness, leaving warm trails on your skin, the tell-tale feeling of where he had touched and where he still had left to go. The captain saw himself in the mirror for the first time, then, looking up from leaving erotic kisses on your neck and shoulders. 

He sighed, locking eyes with you in the glass. That sigh trailed off into a groan, a ghost of the one he’d given you last night in the midst of his ecstasy. 

“Fucking hell, look at you,” he said in his lowest tone.

Suddenly, he was tugging at the button of his jeans and unzipping the fly, freeing himself and stroking his cock to attention using your plump ass. Through your flimsy shorts, you could feel the burning heat that radiated from him. Reaching behind you, his hardness fell into your palm and you watched the sensation crawl its way through his expression in the reflection. He gasped, resting his head against yours, whispering - yes, yes, yes - into your ear in a hiss through clenched teeth. 

John’s hand found your pantyline and pried it away from your skin with a confident finger, traveling down into your folds, searching for the swelling bundle nestled in the crest of your slit, rubbing it in long, loose ovals.

It wasn’t feverish; it was measured. His was the hand of a practiced man. As he worked, you joined him, rolling your wrist to rub his foreskin up and down in achingly long pulls, letting his wet head graze your skin as you teased him. The thick length was drooling with precome, and you could feel its stickiness on your palm. 

It didn’t take him long to find your particular rhythm, the one you used when staring at Pinterest photos on your phone of Keanu Reeves in his John Wick era; sweaty, bloody, and great with a gun. Price’s movements felt personal, like he’d read about what you wanted in your diary somewhere, as if he was in on the secret. It brought you to the summit very quickly, and he noticed the flush in your cheeks and breasts, only then increasing his intensity. 

You tried to continue to stroke him, but as you began to come in Price’s hand, you could only hold onto his cock, grasping it like the handle in a car driving too fast, careening downhill, rushing to its inevitable crash. 

“Yeah, love, come for me. Just like that, you gorgeous fucking thing,” he watched you tumble over the edge, crumpling in the mirror, reaching for him. 

“John! Please,” you cried.

You felt the tension burst inside of you like a mortar, hot and molten, pouring out of your core and into your body in waves of climactic pleasure. No one had ever made you come that hard, that quickly. It was hard for you to stand. Price steadied you, using his talented hand to hold you to him while you remembered your legs. 

Once you regained your senses, you removed your hand from him to pull down your shorts and panties, letting them pool at the floor beneath your feet. You returned to his cock, now swollen and throbbing, and fed it into you. Your come made his entry smooth and slippery, and he filled you up, your body celebrating his return.

He returned to his slow, grinding dance on the porch, thrusting himself into you rhythmically in aching, rolling motions. It was not the slamming pugilism of two people trying to find release. This was a concerted effort for him to fuck your walls into his memory, rubbing his dick along them to sense every ridge and sweet spot, and to find the ones that made you scream. 

When you let slip a desperate moan, he would pause, reflect, and return, hitting it again and again, watching you writhe and begging for him to help you.

“You feel so good in me,” you admitted, talking to him in the looking-glass. 

His eyes were full of mismanaged control, and his grip on reality was slipping, 

“Bloody beautiful. So warm and wet for me. Goddamnit, I’m not gonna last.”

But, he did. Your beast had stamina. He returned to your clit as he thrust in and out of you, dragging his fat cock through your body, ripping two more orgasms from your lips before he surrendered. 

You watched him come, crying out darkly in his reflection. He had pulled himself from you and was painting your generous ass cheeks with his load. The tacky fluid was searingly hot, and it ran down your skin in drips. 

You smiled, bending back to kiss him,

“Messy boy,” you chided playfully, a naughty tone in your voice. 

“Wanna clean you up,” Price sighed, satisfied and spent.

Do you want 30 more chapters of these two? Read "Gunslinger" here.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

[timidpumpkin]

Can I get a reaction when reader want to go to carnival or other fun places and then they got lost and ended up at their own home

Is the reader going to escape or go back to their daddies TYSM🤗

Hiiii🥰🥰🥰💜💜💜. I loved this idea sooo much and it really helped get me out of the writer's block funk I was in! It’s a litttle bit different from what you asked so I hope that’s okay and you still like it!! Thank you so so much, I loved writing this!!~~~~~💖💖💖💖💖

(pictures are not my own)

Helpless (Stucky x reader)

Pairing: Dark!Stucky x f!reader

Warnings/tags: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Female reader, stockholm syndrome, forced age regression, mention of previous kidnapping, reader gets lost, mild injury to reader, Implied reader has small hands in comparison because Stucky is gigantic (fact), Angst, Fluff, Comfort. Reader baby-talks as well, Lots o' cute nicknames (as usual).

Word count: 4.1k

Tagging a few of the absolutely lovely people who have supported me this whole time. I love you and appreciate you all more than i can express. @haleyhunwritess @ppatricia34me @hoplessfussybambi @canyonmooncreations @sapphyslittlenook

P.S. i'm gonna start a tag list so lemme know if you wanna be added <3

It was getting a bit cooler now. 

The previously bright day had been overtaken by navy shadows that bring nippy wisps of air that catch on your exposed arms, sending chills throughout you. 

“I told you we should have used the long-sleeved one,” Steve remarks to Bucky as he watches you make a tiny shiver.

Bucky rolls his eyes at him, knowing you were the one who insisted on this specific onesie when he dressed you this afternoon. With an eager look on your face, you held it up to him, proudly showing him how it would match perfectly with some leg warmers you found in your drawer. He couldn’t argue with that, not when your giddy smile and sweet eyes looked at him while holding it up as high as you could for him.

“Come here babydoll,” Bucky says, squatting down a bit to get closer to your level. 

You don't hear him for a second. Not even your numbed fingertips could distract you from the bright lights that reflect off your eyes. You’ve been watching the multicolored Ferris wheel since you got here. You wanted to go on it so bad. 

Thus far, you’ve only been allowed to play the ground games. Though, you can’t complain too much now that you’ve collected quite a load of new stuffies to bring home. You’d like to think yourself pretty talented at these games–maybe too talented. 

You’ve all but completely missed the harsh glares Bucky gives the poor workers when they tell you “awh too bad” when you miss the target, but then proceed to hand you whichever stuffed animal or toy you’d been wanting anyway. You’d turn around to your daddies, excitingly showing them your prize and proudly exclaiming “I won! I won!” and Bucky would always tell you how good of a job you did every time.

“Babydoll?” Bucky calls again, bringing you back to reality, his voice sweet, as if he’s teasing you a bit, knowing how much you've enjoyed this outing.

It was a tough call. Bringing you here. They knew how much you wanted to go. Ever since Peter babbled on and on about his trip to the carnival at his birthday party a few months ago, you’ve been begging them ever since. It’s not that they didn't want to take you. It could never be that. They just weren’t sure if it would be safe…

“There’s all kinds of creeps at those things!” Steve argues to Bucky, turning around as if that’s the last word and final say about it. 

“I know. I know. But…she really wants to go. Plus…it’s not like we’ll ever let her out of our sight.” Bucky tries to reason, knowing it was something they would enjoy too. He has several fond memories of dragging Steve along with him through the bustling crowds of people just so he could play–and win–all the games he could, always asking Steve which prize he wanted before promising him he’d win it on the first try. Long before he knew of what true cruelties lived beyond their hometown, Bucky had already mastered the art of staring down unfair showmen who would poke fun at Steve’s then narrower figure.

Bucky just couldn’t help the almost giddy feeling he got just at the idea of holding you up high while you throw one of those balls with all your might to win some oversized stuffed animal that you’d undoubtedly insist on carrying on your own despite it being twice your height.

“We could even get one of those leash things,” he suggests, the idea popping into his mind like it’s the most brilliant thing, remembering how he showed the leashed froggy backpack he saw a while ago to Steve.

“It’s not just that,” Steve admits, brows furrowed as he sits on the edge of the bed, a sad and worried look overtaking his features that makes Bucky want to cave to anything he’d ask. “what if…” he trails off, not meeting Bucky’s gaze, “what if…she tries to run off?” he says quietly as if the fear itself would be brought to life if he spoke it too loudly. 

It had been a long while since you tried to run away. All things considered, you seemed to be fully adjusted now. Every so often you would act up, but only in the way that all little girls would every now and then. They would always punish you appropriately, the way all good daddies would, reminding you that your life with them is your life, and that the horrid life you had before you was one never meant for a sweet innocent little girl like you. 

They saved you. Steve routinely reminded you as such, but he didn’t have to. Bucky could tell you knew it was true now just by the way your bright eyes greeted them every morning. You knew that you were only good and safe with them to take care of you. His little girl couldn't even function without them now. It was exactly how it was supposed to be.

Bucky thinks for a moment, walking closer to Steve and kneeling on the floor in front of him. He pushes his way into him, maneuvering himself between Steve’s legs, and scoops his distressed hands into his, kissing them both before looking back up to Steve. 

“She won’t.” he says, thick air questioning if it's true. 

But his words say more than just that. The meaningful look in Bucky’s eyes tell Steve that no matter what, they’ll always have you. And that there was no way you could get away from them. Bucky knew it wasn't just the fear of physically losing you, but the fear of hurt that they would feel if you even tried. 

Steve smiles a bit, his hands pulling Bucky up so that he’s now standing between his legs. He takes his hands, sliding them down from Bucky’s sides to his hips where they rest for the moment. 

“Alright,” Steve sighs, looking up to Bucky, and pulling him a bit closer by his belt loops, “but any sign of trouble, we leave” Steve states, seriousness in his tone, the same kind of voice he uses when they’re on missions together. 

“As if it would be any other way.” Bucky remarks, a smirk teasing his face as he dips his head down a bit to meet his lips with Steve’s. Steve sighs into his kiss, feeling the tension leaving his body just by Bucky’s stable words and secure presence.

“You think too much Rogers” Bucky teases after breaking from the kiss, thinking of all the times Steve would try to worm his way out of Bucky having to go on a mission with him in fear of his partner getting hurt–whether it be mentally or physically–Steve couldn't bare the thought of having to see Bucky like he was when he saw him for the first time in this new world. 

“Can’t help it,” he breathes, Bucky never ceasing to take his breath away from his all-encompassing kisses. “I love you two more than anything,” he says earnestly as if it’s the only known fact in the universe. 

“I know” Bucky smiles, “I know.”

“Oh-sorry Daddy!” you turn around, not meaning to ignore him. He holds out a sweatshirt and you instinctively hold up your arms so he can help put it on you. “Did you see the Ferris wheel Daddy?” you ask excitingly for the third time that night. Bucky chuckles a bit. 

“Yes, I did,” he answers as if it’s the first he’s hearing about it while putting some soft-knitted mittens he had in his pocket on your hands. “M’not sure if Dada heard though,” he whispers to you, “maybe you should go tell him,” he informs you with a wink. 

You hurriedly run over to Steve, jumping in place over and over again in front of him. 

“Dada! Dada!” you take his hand and drag him a bit closer to where you had the best view of the colorful wheel. “Look!” you point and turn to him with an excited expression. “Can we go? Please? Pretty please? Please please please please-” you babble over and over again while continuing to jump up and down until you’ve all but run out of air in your lungs. 

Steve looks at the contraption suspiciously, not trusting of the achy-sounding metal, and certainly not wanting his little girl near anything dangerous. He catches a glimpse of Bucky though, who’s contagiously smiling at you both, and remembers how often Bucky tells him not to worry so much. 

“Okay-okay” Steve caves, unable to help but smile at your hyper manner right now. “Just this once, then we can go home and get you all nice and warm” he teasingly pinches at your cold cheeks.

“Yayayay!” you literally scream out, not even caring one bit that he said it was only once or that you had to go home after this. You were more than overjoyed that you got to ride it at all. 

You start to make a sprint for it, only getting a few feet when resistance yanks you back, stopping you in your tracks and forcing you to steady yourself from the unexpected halt in momentum. Steve hadn’t even pulled on the backpack at all, it was just your pure running and his not moving an inch that caused you to ricochet back a bit. It’s a wonder you didn't fall flat on your behind. 

“Heh-sorry!” you sheepishly laugh it off and wait patiently for them to catch up with you in basically two full steps for them. 

As you make the short walk to the diminishing line in the late hour, Steve stops to tie his shoe, occupying both of his hands. You swing your arms aimlessly around waiting for him to finish while looking around. 

As you mindlessly scan the area around you, your head does a double take as you recognize something. 

No–someone. 

You watch the stranger in confusion until the remnants of memory come back to you. It was a friend. But this person wasn’t Peter or Wanda…no. It was a friend from…before.

It disorients you, confusion washing over you and placing a pit in your stomach as your life before now was mostly forgotten and placed in a dusty cardboard box in the back of your mind’s vaults. 

You watch as they walk away, towards where you know leads to the parking lot. And as if something takes over you, you start following their footsteps, unhinderedly drifting away from where Steve and Bucky are. 

As you mindlessly follow, several feet behind, memories of your past life replay in your mind. They playback in black and white as if you’re watching one of those really old movies Steve likes to show you sometimes. 

Then you hazily remember when they first found you…took you. Emotions of how scared and confused you were overtake your mind. You remember how they kept you in the house, never letting you leave. 

“Sily girl, Dada can’t kidnap what’s already his,” Steve would tell you every time you’d harshly accuse him of kidnapping you. 

“No one can protect you like we can,” Bucky would shush you after one of his punishments when you had pushed too hard. “Daddy only does this ‘cause he loves you.” he’d brush over your already bruising skin before carefully wiping away the tears that he had ignored for hours before.

Some nights you’d wake from nightmares, the specifics of it not mattering when Steve would find you crying into your stuffie. He never hesitated to pick you up and let you weep into his shoulder. Always whispering that you were okay, that you were safe. 

“It’s okay angel, Dada’s here. You’re safe with me. I’ll always keep you safe. Always.” he’d repeat to you sincerely, holding onto you so tightly, as if the slightest loosening of his grip meant the very air around him would harm you.

To him though, it was true. Nothing could hurt you as long as you were in his arms. He’d carry you downstairs, where Bucky would tell you that nightmares didn’t matter “‘cause they aren’t real, doll…not like me and Dada.” he’d caress your warm cheeks while Steve fetched you some cold milk. They’d stay up with you as long as you needed, not even daring to shut an eye until you felt safe enough to sleep again.

And truthfully…you did. You did feel safe. 

Maybe it was strange…the way you sought their comfort…their touch…their love, when you fought it in the beginning. 

And you did fight…hard. 

But every retaliation you made only ended in harsh grabs. Every effort to push them away resulted in lacerated reminders. Every moment you spent denying what they told you only yielded unrestrained punishments. 

“My sweet girl…you’ll learn soon enough. Fighting us only makes it harder for you.” Steve would stroke your cheek through the bars of your crib. “All you have to do is listen to what we say. We know what’s best for you, angel.” he’d say before leaving you all tied up and alone for hours…sometimes days. 

And then, after you’d more than cried yourself dry, throat scratchy from lack of hydration, he’d appear to you, asking if you’d learned your lesson. Your body would somehow discover new tears as you’d plead with him, promising him you’d be a good girl. 

It’s then that he’d smile down at you so sweetly, lifting your limp body from its cushiony cage and shower you with endless affection. 

He’d drown you with attention, never allowing you to lift a finger. He’d clean you up with your favorite scented soap, and after you were all done, Bucky would present you with a new set of soft clothes they bought just for you for taking your punishment so so well. They’d play your favorite shows and message every sore spot on your tired body after ordering from your favorite type of take out, something you never even told them. There wasn’t a moment where they weren’t touching you in some way, dousing you with sweet words about how much they loved their beautiful helpless little girl. 

Helpless.

A word that reminds you exactly how you felt the very first time you bumped into Steve. All alone and scared, in a place that was dark and unfamiliar. You were lost then. 

Just like you were right now. 

You practically snap back into reality, the one where you’ve found yourself far away from the luminous festival lights and eerily close to where you can’t hear racket of activities anymore. It’s quiet, and you don’t even know where that funnily familiar person you were following went. Dread fills your insides as you realize you’re all alone. 

You turn around hastily, 

Anxiety fills your stomach as you rashly run in the opposite direction, before tripping on a wire that sends you spiraling down to the ground. You clumsily try to catch yourself, mittened hands harshly hitting the pavement, and asphalt slashes through your leggings, exposing the soft flesh of your knees to razor-sharp pain.

The sudden impact scares you, tears that were already forming from before start rushing out of your eyes. 

Instinctually, you cry for Steve. For Dada. But when after too many moments you don’t feel their comfort, you look around and remember they’re not there. Your heart pounds as people rush by seemingly unaffected by your fallen form. You swirl your head around looking for them and are instead met with the haunting image of your green leash’s end, its ghostly emptiness scorning you from where it lays.  

You cry harder, guilt and anguish now thumping alongside the throbbing in your chest that radiates to your body’s wounded limbs and you're pretty sure the only words coming out of your mouth are pathetic strings of ‘daddy’ and ‘dada.’

“There she is” Bucky spots you, both of them rushing over to you, distraught as they notice your scraped-up form. 

“Dada!” you cry, leaping towards Steve and wrapping your arms around his neck as he picks you up. You helplessly weep, not just from the physical pain but from the emotional strain your misplaced detour took you on. You cry for leaving them. You can't tell if it was on purpose, but you feel awful from even remembering your past life and getting so close to being lost.

“Fuck, angel. What happened?” Steve breathes, taking the scuffed mittens off your hands to examine you closer. 

“I-...I-” you try to speak through gasps of crying. They both question you on where you went and why you walked away. You barely manage to tell the story in broken sobs as to what truthfully happened. They listen intensively as you tearfully explain the details of what happened.

“But-but-I-I don’t wanna! Don’t wanna lose daddies! Don’t wanna! Didn’t mean t-to! I-I p-promise-I-I didn’t!” you stagger between breaths, gasping for air as your sob relentlessly in Steve’s arms. 

“Shh, hey-hey” Bucky caresses your head, directing your attention to him. “It’s okay, doll. It’s okay. You’re okay.” he consoles. Steve gently wipes your tears at the same time and helps in calming you. You look at them both through blurry vision and continue weeping apologies to which they both remind you that it’s okay. 

They were scared to death when they only took their eyes off you for a second and you were gone…but they found you, just like the first time. 

They bring you over to sit down on a bench so they can better help console you and check your injuries. Steve rummages through the backpack he was carrying to get a first aid kit, and Bukcy watches through tortured eyes as you miserably cry.

“Doll.” he tenderly tilts your chin up to him. Tearful eyes red from crying look up to him. “Daddy’s proud of you.” he states, earnestly, stern and true. It makes you cry harder though, with confusion written all over your face. Proud? How could he be proud when you almost thought about running away? 

“W-why?” you cry “I-I bad. bad!” you weep pitifully as you feel Steve cleaning your knees. 

“No angel. You’re not bad.” Steve states, only confusing you more, you were sure both of them would be upset with you…considering they had every reason to. 

“You know why?” Bucky asks, stroking your previously cold cheeks that have now been warmed by your tears. You shake your head no as more seemingly endless tears fall. “‘Cause you came back,” he says, wiping them as they come. “You came back to find us. That’s all that matters.” Bucky reassures you. 

It hurts, both his and Steve’s worst fear almost coming to life. 

But it didn't. 

And truthfully, no one understood that more than Bucky. He knew more than anyone what it was like to get confused. To see or hear something otherwise mundane that whips you back to a place where you feel out of control. 

The story you recanted to them rings all too familiar to him. It reminds him of shaky hands and paralyzed tongue that attempted to explain to Steve what it was like to not be in control of your own body. Your own actions. 

It didn’t matter that you wandered away. It didn’t matter where your thoughts went. All that mattered was that you cried for them. All that mattered was your tiny hands curled around Steve's shirt so hard he’d thought you’d hurt your own fingers. All that mattered was the way you pulled Bucky closer while weeping his name as he comforted you. 

All that mattered…was that you needed your Daddies.  

They both reassure as such in ways they knew you'd understand. Besides, it only made sense that their little girl would get confused sometimes. That’s what daddies are for. And you came back because you knew they always made the best decisions for you. And even if on the off chance that you hadn't…that really wouldn’t have mattered anyway either. They would always find their little girl because you belong with them. Always and forever.

“Which ones do you want little princess?” Steve asks you, offering a variety of colorful bandages in front of you. Your hysteria and their sweet strong words have all but distracted you from the pain of the scratches lacerating your knees. You point to the ones you like and Steve praises you for making “such a good choice babygirl.”

Bucky holds you close and lets you bury your head in his chest while Steve carefully puts them on. You feel guilt again when you notice that the soft mittens now have little scuffs and holes in them that match your pants. But Steve reassures you that it’s ‘no biggie’ and that they can always get you another pair. 

“How about Daddy and I get you some ice cream?” Steve suggests, knowing sweets was at least one way to cheer his sweet girl up. 

You sniffle, looking to him at the suggestion. 

“Ice cweam?” you say with a small voice “I-I wike ice cweam” you say softly, not meaning to slur your words. But you never did anyway, it always just happened beyond your control. 

“I think that sounds perfect, huh doll?” Bucky says lightheartedly and sweetly while picking you up from the bench and placing you in Steve's arms.

“Wif sprinkles toos?” you ask, rubbing your sore eyes. 

“All the sprinkles for my sweet little girl” Steve smiles at you while playfully poking at your side making you giggle a bit. 

The cold dessert cools your hot throat and brings a smile back to your face. Of course, what really made you happy was knowing your daddies weren’t upset with you, and even more importantly, that you were never going to lose them.

“Hey what’s that on Dada’s face?” Bucky points directly to Steve, making you turn to examine it closely as you're still in his arms. It gives Bucky the opportunity to steal a lick from your ice cream.

“Hey!” you laugh turning back to Bucky’s not-so-secret move when you realize there was nothing amiss on your Dada’s face. 

“What?” he puts his hands and shoulders up in a shrug of confusion while looking around and feigning confusion. You giggle more as obvious signs of ice cream are on the tip of his nose.

“Looks like daddy’s the one with something on his face” Steve teases, and you laugh with them while they let you finish your little treat.

“You still wanna go up on the Ferris wheel babygirl?” Steve asks after wiping your hands clean from any sticky residue. You look up to him with awe and shock, not expecting him to still offer it. 

“Really?” you question with a hopeful but weary look on your face from not being sure of why you deserve it. Steve nods at you and tells you yes. Maybe he was skeptical before, but nothing was better than seeing his little girl's face light up in a smile. 

Plus, Steve knew you were their little girl. More than that, he knew that you knew. In your heart, you came back to them. You needed them. And that’s all Steve could ever want. 

You’re squeezed between your two daddies as the wheel makes its way up to the top. They watch as you look in awe of how tiny everything looks from up above. This must be what it's like for your daddies to see all the time. You feel as though you’re at the tippity top of the wheel forever. You don’t mind as it’s beautiful and quiet up there with the only people in the world you wanted to be with. You tiredly lay your head against Steve's arm, signaling to him that you’ll likely sleep the whole drive home. 

“I love you,” you say contently, and they know you say it for both of them. 

“We love you too angel. So much,” Steve tells you, smiling down at his sleepy little girl, and looking up to see Bucky’s lightened up face too. 

He takes it all in, remembering the times when just he and Bucky would go out to these things–or really–when Bukcy would drag him to the carnivals. He knew how much Bucky loved this. He knew how much you loved this. And he loved it too. He loved you both, and that was all he needed.