#DID YOU LEAVE SCUFF MARKS IN THE HALLWAYS?

[soulreapin]

happy valentine’s day klancers here’s our favorite tragedy getting to be happy for once. xoxo soul

—

Keith wakes up to the sharp, pungent smell of roses in his nose.

That’s not always as alarming as it is right now, sometimes Lance gets flowers from the farmer’s market and sets them in delicate clear vases all over their apartment (Keith will always hate the smell of daffodils), but the farmer’s market hadn’t been in town for a number of weeks.

He sits up in bed, pushing the red flannel comforter down from where it was safely tucked up underneath his chin and looks around wildly. Their comfortable bedroom has a vase of red roses on every surface, even on the vanity tucked in the crook between the wall and the door of their ensuite bathroom.

They look fresh, vibrant and sweet in the low light.

He glances to his side and Lance’s side of the bed is noticeably empty. That should’ve been clue number one that something was up, not the smell of roses, but apparently it hadn’t been long enough since his time in the desert that waking up with his arms wrapped around himself and his knees tucked into the crook of his chin wasn’t considered abnormal yet.

A splay of his palm against the sheets tells him Lance has been up for some time. Something ugly and foreign squeezes itself around his heart, but Keith, under any circumstance, does not give himself time to figure out what it is and slides out of bed, stepping into his red lion slippers and following the apparent trail of red rose petals on their usually pristine wooden floor.

His slippers scuff on the wood as Keith trails down the short hallway into their living room, and if he thought their bedroom was bad, this is catastrophic. Floral arrangements sit large and pretty on their dining table, on their kitchen counters, on the coffee table where instead of fake fruit they set their feet in the middle.

Varying shades of red and pink and white flourish in the home Keith worked so hard to build for him and Lance, the life they hold on to with tight grips and locked elbows decorated with pretty scalloped petals and white lace keeping them all standing at attention.

On the center of their dining room table, where there are pencil marks thoroughly worn into the wood from hours doing homework for Lance to get his masters, are several fake candles set up around a red envelope, and from this distance Keith can’t tell if it’s sealed with wax or not, but he’d bet his braid that it was.

As Keith is walking over to the envelope, he panics. “What did I forget? Our anniversary isn’t until October, his birthday is in July, it’s February—oh. It’s February.”

He reaches the letter at the same time he has the realization. Today is February 14th, it’s Valentine’s Day, and Keith did not forget. There are reservations in his name tonight for their favorite mexican restaurant, the one Lance picked himself because it tasted the most like home, and he’s got a heart-shaped box of chocolates and a hand-written card tucked into the back of their closet because he knows Lance doesn’t look back there.

So he picks up the envelope with steady fingers, pops open the definite wax seal and before he can judge it, presses a kiss to the cold wax with the reminder that Lance’s careful hands had poured and pressed it into a heart shape, and slides a thin, white paper card out of the envelope.

In Lance’s scraggly, all-caps looking handwriting, he’s written, ‘good morning, keithy cat! happy valentines day. i know you freaked this morning when you saw all the flowers. mad i missed it. anyways i didn’t have to go into work like you were thinking. you’re going looking for me but because im SO GRACIOUS and an AMAZING HUSBAND ill give you your first one free, go down to nightsky florals. love, loverboy,’

Despite it all, it brings a small smile to Keith’s face. He folds the note delicately and tucks it back into the envelope, deciding to leave the battery-powered candles running.

“Damn you, Lance,” Keith mutters, but trudges back to their room and changes into simple, loose-fitting Lucky jeans and a red sweater. ‘Tis the season, and all that.

–

A small bell rings over Keith’s head as he pushes the door open to Night Sky florals. Shiro must have installed that after he went off to college, but the rest of the shop was still the same. Wooden bins of flowers sit on racks going all the way up to the ceiling, there are displays in the center with red roses and assorted bouquets on them, and greenery climbs up the sides of the racks and up the counter near the back of the room.

It’s light and homey. Keith spent a lot of time in Night Sky florals, sitting behind the counter and doing his AP Lit homework, staring daggers at To Kill a Mockingbird and scribbling down Quizlet-approved bullshit answers.

Now, Shiro is sitting on a stool behind the counter, assembling a small array of red roses, baby’s breath, and camelias. He looks up and sees Keith standing in the doorway, “Hey, kid!”

“Hi, Shiro,” Keith grumbles, smiling despite himself, skirting around the center displays to get to the counter, “How’ve you been?”

“You were at my house for dinner a week ago.” Shiro stands up and comes out from behind the counter to wrap Keith in a hug that basically breaks every rib in his body and eliminates a need for a chiropractor. “I think you know how I’ve been.”

Keith shrugs in his hold and hugs him back, “I don’t know, it might have changed in the week I haven’t seen you. Forgive me for caring about my brother.”

After a few more bone-crushing seconds, Keith is let go and allowed to expand his lungs to full capacity again. Shiro tosses over his shoulder as he turns away, “Denied. Back to the desert with you, creature.”

“You’re so odd,” Keith shakes his head and picks at a piece of stray fuzz on the sleeve of his sweater, “I was here for something. Lance sent me here. Is there something here for me?”

Shiro’s face lights up and he disappears off into the back. “He stopped by this morning! This is so cute, Keith I almost kind of hate it, I’m so glad you guys are happy together—aha! Found you, fucker.”

“I’m almost a little nervous about it,” he admits, “Like, he’s doing this for me, what if dinner and chocolates and a card isn’t enough?”

Something clatters to the ground in the back and Shiro reappears holding another red envelope with a pressed wax seal and a small, thin piece of paper. “Keith, I promise you, if you got him a pair of socks and a bag of cherry cordial Hershey’s Kisses, he’d love you forever.”

He accepts the letter and the small piece of paper, his face screwed up, “Those are absolutely disgusting, they taste like cough syrup. The peppermint ones are so much better.”

“Cough syrup aside,” Shiro comments, shaking his head like he can’t believe Keith has a correct opinion, “You know what I meant. He’s happy just having you.”

Keith sighs, a little dejectedly, and slides his thumbnail beneath the wax circle.

It reads, ‘congrats, keefers, you made it! this is the place we met for the first time. i bet you remember it. i came in to get funeral flowers for hunks robot and you insulted me various times all while giving me the most beautiful flowers i had ever seen. i thought you were beautiful too with your shitty ponytail and your silly looking apron. you had a pansy tucked into the pocket i think. ‘

“It was a rose.” Keith says, out loud, without even meaning to.

Shiro glances up from his bouquet in progress, “Congratulations?”

“No, um,” Suddenly embarrassed, Keith scratches the back of his neck, “The day I met Lance here, I had a red rose tucked into my apron. He said it was a pansy.”

“Are you blushing?” Shiro exclaims.

“Shut up, Shiro, go back to your flowers. In the time you’ve spent insulting me three more people have either died or gotten engaged and you are holding them back from their floral arrangements,” Keith sasses, looking back down at the letter.

‘whatever it was i thought it was really cute. im glad we ran into each other that day. rip hunk but if his robot hadn’t died i wouldnt have married this beefcake so who really won here (me its me i won). anyways. the little white paper shiro should’ve handed you will give you a little clue as to where to go next. love, lancelot.’

He slides the letter back into the envelope and flips the small paper over. On it are two dragons intertwined, one small and red and the other bigger, black, and missing its right wing. Keith knows this image; this image sits squarely over his spine.

“So, where are you off to next?” Shiro asks casually.

Keith glances up at Shiro, missing his right arm, and offers a small smile. “Ocean Waves Tattoo Parlor.”

“That’s right across the street from us–oh, that’s where Lance used to work when you two met, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. I’d better be off now. I’ll see you for dinner next Wednesday?” Keith starts to move around the store, picking flowers out of bins and collecting them in his right hand.

“Same day, same time,” Shiro confirms, “Adam’s making pasta salad, I think–what are you doing?”

Keith has gathered a full bundle of red roses, pink carnations, greenery, and forget-me-nots. He drops a handful of cash onto the counter that seems like a vague approximation of what the total should be and waves goodbye, hurrying out of the shop before Shiro can throw his money back at him or realize Keith had probably underpaid.

—

After his brief stop at Night Sky Florals, Keith went to two more places. Ocean Wave Tattoo Parlor, where Lance used to work and coincidentally where he got his back piece done in Lance’s chair, the ice cream shop where they went on their first date to receive another letter from Romelle, and even at the library on the other side of town where Keith had dedicated hours of his life to helping Lance review for a final (that he passed with flying colors).

He ends up at Fortune Coffee House, their favorite spot to grab a drink or a muffin and just eat breakfast together before they go their separate ways. Keith had stopped at home first and dug the card and chocolates out from the back of the closet, since he had a feeling he’d be seeing Lance here, as this was supposedly the last location.

The door creaks closed behind Keith as he steps into the warm air of the coffee shop, a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit cordoning off the counter from the rest of the shop. Fortune Coffee House is decorated in warm shades of brown and cream, reminiscent of Keith’s college days.

“Welcome in–Keith Akira Kogane, where have you fucking been?” Pidge yells from behind the counter, pushing her glasses up her nose.

Right. Pidge Holt, Keith and Lance’s oldest shared friend, had ended up with a job at Fortune Coffee House, and Keith had been neglecting going out for a beer with her, Hunk, and Lance. Copyediting kept him busy, what can he say?

He sighs and walks up to the counter, flowers, card, and chocolate all balancing very precariously in the crook of one arm. “Hi, Pidge.”

“Don’t hi, Pidge me, you dirty fucker. I missed you!” If she could, Keith would bet every dime he had that she’d throw her pen at him. “Your hair is longer.”

Automatically, his hand shoots up to fidget with the end of his braid. She’s right, it has gotten a little longer, the tail now dangling over his heart instead of at his collar. “I guess it is. What’s new with you?”

“I got into AST.” She says nonchalantly, looking up at Keith with a devious grin.

“That’s great—holy shit, that’s great!”

AST, or Altea State Tech, was the best college in the entire area if you wanted to work on rockets one day, which Pidge did. Her grin is so bright, it blinds him a little, but he leans over the bar and wraps his free arm around her shoulders in an awkward hug.

“I know, isn’t it?” She gushes. “I start in September in the astronautical engineering program, the one Matt did, it’s going to be so, so great!”

“You’ve gotta tell me everything once you start,” Keith says when he pulls back, shifting all of his items between arms, “Has Lance stopped in today?”

“Basically used an entire giftcard stress-drinking iced green teas. He’s been here since eleven, so not very long.” Pidge snorts and picks up her mug with some silly science joke on it, taking a sip of whatever she’s concocted now. “I think he might’ve worn a hole in the floor. Same table as usual.”

“Oh, great,” an exhale rushes out of Keith’s chest, “Can I get a—”

“No, shut up. On the house.” Pidge points at an admittedly very large sign that says, Coming in with a special someone? Your first drink is on us!

“Well, I tried. Seeya, Pidgie. Have fun at AST.” Before Keith leaves, he drops a five dollar bill into the tip jar and slides between tables to get to the second, library-like room.

Fortune Coffee House had two spaces, the actual coffee bar and a second room with tables, an assortment of armchairs, and couches for studying, worship, or just to chat quietly. Keith slips through the doorframe and sees Lance sitting in his usual armchair, tucked into the alcove created by two windows. An empty plastic cup sits on the low table behind them.

Lance looks just as beautiful as the day Keith met him. His hair is longer and curlier, better taken care of, and freckles make their homes loud and proud across his face, but the Pacific ocean that sloshes around his pupils never changed, nor did the tilt of his smile or the slight scrunch of his nose when he laughed. Keith has kissed that scrunch on several occasions, to no fault of his own.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, blue,” Keith says as he approaches Lance, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “Got these for you.”

“Keithalicous, Keith, god, you scared me!” Lance exclaims but accepts both the kiss and the gifts he’s handed, running a gentle finger over the rose petals. “Did you get here okay?”

Keith thinks back on all the running around he’s done today and can’t tamp down the laugh. “As okay as I could’ve been. I liked the little game you sent me on. It was nice to go back to St. Taffy’s. Romelle still works there, yaknow?”

“I was just there this morning, goober.” Lance reminds him gently, setting the flowers and the chocolate on the table, working on opening the card. “I’m glad you liked it. I wasn’t sure.”

He remembers what’s written in the card. It was written late at night when Keith couldn’t sleep and instead spent precious minutes watching Lance’s sleeping face shift. “Right, yeah, ‘course, ah, I knew that.”

“Wow, did your code just stop working?” Lance jokes as he finally gets the sealed white envelope open (it was spit-sealed, Keith didn’t fuck with wax,) and pulls out the card.

Keith had found it months ago. It was a deep green and pictured a featureless white deer, standing small amongst towering trees. He found it pretty, and by the way Lance traced a reverent finger over the spiny branches of the trees, he did too.

The card itself wasn't a problem. It was what was written inside the card, or more rather, how much was written inside the card. Keith had used every available inch of space from the top edge of the right side to where the small inscription was on the left.

While Lance reads, Keith pulls at a loose thread in his sweater. It pools in his hand by the time Lance glances up at Keith and slowly folds the card shut. His crystal-clear eyes are glassy and wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up,” Lance cuts in, “Shut all the way up. You’re such a gifted fucking writer, oh my god. That was beautiful. I love you too, Keithers.”

His hammering chest eases up and is replaced with birdsong and unbridled joy. “I’m glad. Did you…have a favorite part?”

Lance pauses, “Hm. I think it might’ve been ‘The stars could love me and the moon could cry for me, but I’d still choose you. Every time.’ Or ‘You are my north star over the ocean guiding me home and there is nowhere I would rather tilt my chin than up to your light.’ I told you, Keith, you’re a brilliant fucking writer.”

Keith doesn’t respond, but he does reach across and link Lance’s hand up with his. Lance tightens his grip, the gold metal of his rings digging into Keith’s fingers, and pulls Keith forward into a kiss that he wasn’t entirely sure was coffee shop appropriate.

“Can you cut that shit out? People read the Bible in here.” Pidge calls from the doorway.

“Sorry, Pidgie,” Lance says sheepishly, pulling away from Keith, “Thanks for the coffee.”

His mouth tastes like Lance’s strawberry Carmex and green tea. Keith accepts the hot strawberry mocha that’s handed to him and takes a sip, but he’s watching Lance like he’s the only star in the sky.

To Keith, he might as well be. There wasn’t room for much else in Keith’s night sky, anyways.

[mochi-mika]

"I'm not upset."

The worn linoleum floor squeaked under sneakers as the students navigated the labyrinth of lockers lining the hallway. The faint smell of floor cleaner mingled with the familiar aroma of adolescent sweat and cafeteria food. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, casting a harsh glare on the polished surfaces and the occasional scuff mark that told tales of hurried footsteps.

Students bustled around, their voices merging into a cacophony of laughter, gossip, and the occasional shout. The walls were plastered with colorful posters announcing upcoming dances, club meetings, and sports events, each one a vibrant testament to the lively spirit of the school.

Isagi squeezed past the hurried students so he could get to the cafeteria. Lunch had started not too long ago but he was held up by the teacher for his far from great Science grade. No matter what the teacher tried, the boy seemed set on making a subpar grade. He honestly couldn't be bothered to get anything better in the subject because he already came to terms with the fact that he was pretty terrible at it. At least he knew he wasn't destined to find the cure for cancer.

He soon made it to the cafeteria and grabbed his lunch tray. His mother always offered to make him lunch but his always politely declined and settled for cafeteria food. Well that and whatever you'd bring him. That's right. Where were you? He started scanning the room as best as he could as he grabbed a bottled water and left the servers.

He walked around for a bit before coming to terms with the fact that you weren't in the cafeteria. Great. Now he'd have to go searching for you. He took the bottled water and the wrapped sandwich and ditched the lunchtray on a random empty table before leaving the Cafe. Maybe you were in the regular spot.

He exited the building and walked around till he was at the back of the school's main building. There were a couple students there, nothing compared to how many were inside. He looked around for a bit before he spotted you chatting with one of your other friends, causing him to smile a bit before approaching.

"(n/n)! Couldn't you tell me you'd be back here?" he greeted with a smile. You turned and waved at him. "I did tell you that, you just didn't listen to me." you replied before turning back to your friend to continue chatting. He sat on the grass near you and leaned his back against yours before he finally began eating.

It was nice. The soft grass against his fingers and the light breeze brushing through his hair. It was comforting. What wasn't, however, was the fact that you just didn't seem to want to stop talking to your friend or even include Isagi in the conversation. That was definitely making him tick a bit but he tried to ignore it.

Isagi had fully come to realization over the past month that he had feelings for you. Which feelings specifically were difficult to pinpoint exactly. And these feelings of his just couldn't accept the idea of you ignoring him. To be frank, he hated it when anyone ignored him and that feeling only intensified when it came to you.

The bell rang to end lunch and you were still yapping your face off to your other friend. Talk about annoying. Isagi got up from his seated position and dusted off his uniform. You turned to him and stuck out your hand for him to help you up which caused him to roll his eyes. "Oh, now you wanna acknowledge me." he huffed before pulling you up. You cleaned off your skirt before making eye contact with him. "What are you talking about, Ichi?" You asked with a quirked brow. "Nothing. Let's just head to class." he spoke as he grabbed your backpack and started walking.

You both shared the last classes together so you were able to notice his pouty little expression. Honestly, you thought it was cute but decided to leave it be for the rest of the school day.

Hours passed by and school was over. The students filtered out of the building in record time. Both Isagi and (y/n) left the compound together except somebody was pressed. "Ichi, what's wrong?" you asked as you both walked. "Nothings wrong." he spoke as he looked up at the sky. He was never a good liar. "You're a terrible liar you know. You're clearly upset." you battered as you fanned him off. "I'm not upset." he spoke lowly as he frowned a bit. "Right, and that's why you're pouting." you retorted earning a scoff from the grumpy boy.

The sun was scorching down on you both and you guys were sweating. "Let's take a break." he suggested as he sat on a bench just under a mostly shady tree. You down next to him and pulled out your hand fan from your bag before switching it on. "So, you wanna tell me why your not upset?" you asked sarcastically. "I am not!" he huffed again making you laugh. "Sure you big baby." you teased.

A few moments of silence passed before he leaned his head down to rest on your shoulder. "You were ignoring me earlier." he mumbled, knowing that sooner or later he'd tell you. "When?" you asked as you angled the small fan at him a little. "During lunch, when you were talking with your other friend." he frowned a bit again as he spoke the latter part of his sentence.

"Jealous?" You teased earning an elbow to your side and causing laughter to erupt. He loved that sound your carefree laughter. He didn't care how weird or irregular your laugh was, he loved hearing it because you left you. "Okay, okay. Maybe that was a bit harsh." you spoke with a smile. "I'm sorry for ignoring you. I know how much of an attention whore you are." you giggled a bit before he pinched your arm. "I should unfriend you for the way you treat me you know?" he replied with a amused smirk forming. "Oh please, Ichi. Who's gonna talk to you then?" you spoke with a smug expression.

[montrealmadison]

Tater 27 please ?

i have never written tater before - ever! - so this was incredibly fun! thank you so much for the prompt and for helping me stretch my writing muscles a little bit ❤️ the only things i know about patater are inspired by a frankly shocking quantity of sidgeno rpf so make of that what you will

27. tater + i’m so tired by lauv & Troye Sivan for @shygryf

Strangers, killing my lonely nights with strangers And when they leave, I go back to our song, I hold on Hurts like heaven, lost in the sound Buzzcut season like you're still around Can't unmiss you, but I need you now

Tater’s letting some girl he doesn’t know shoot tequila out of his belly button when he gets the text.

Kent Parson: you awake? Kent Parson: sorry know it’s late

It is late, three or so, and the club’s fun but the idea of not being here is just as good. Maybe it’s rude, but he doesn’t care; he props his elbow on the table for better leverage and sends back, yes, and then ok?

Kent Parson: no Kent Parson: popped my achilles Kent Parson: we're out

Shit. That means the end of their playoff run, which in turn means about five hundred other things. He doesn’t even have the chance to formulate a response before Kent adds, will you come?

A cold thing settles in Tater’s chest, a weighty purpose that he doesn’t stop to examine. Maybe it's the shots making this seem like a good idea; of course he will, and that’s the end of it. There’s something about clambering up off the table, tequila soaking down into his open fly, and shouldering his way to the exit without a word that makes him feel about a thousand feet tall.

read more below or on ao3 | request a fic here

Kent lives in a nice building. Not nice enough for the security guy downstairs to make any real effort to stop Tater from getting in, but then, Tater is six foot seven and built like the desks that lesser men hide behind. He hits the button for the elevator and zips upward, chewing on his lip, watching the numbers tick higher.

This is stupid. This is an absurd way to spend a thousand dollars and God knows how many days, catching a frantic red-eye to Vegas like he’s going to be able to do anything the Aces’ trainers haven’t already tried. It’s more absurd that he stands in the hallway with his fist poised to knock on Kent’s front door for at least five minutes, wondering if he should have brought food. Does the kid even eat? He’s awfully tiny.

He finally gets over himself and knocks. There’s a voice from inside at once: “Open.”

Tater does.

The apartment is nice, modern. It’s also a complete fucking mess. There are ostentatiously dirty shoes scattered all over the entryway, possibly-related scuff marks up the bare white walls. Tater has to do this dainty hop through a minefield of Yeezys just to make it to solid ground, and is very glad that no one can see him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Parson?”

“In the living room.”

Tater drops his bag in the kitchen and heads for the voice. The close little hallway seems much more inviting than it did in the dark last time he was here, and the living room is spacious and airy without a couple hundred bodies packing it. There’s a big TV on one wall, running something trashy. In the middle of the room is that ugly couch, brown suede and covered with cat hair, and in the middle of the couch is Kent.

Relief spreads through Tater at once, numbing the tingle in his hands. Okay, so maybe he spent the whole five-hour trip picturing the worst-case scenario. Guys in their line of work are not, as a rule, great at handling their injuries, especially later in the season; Tater only has to look at Jack for proof of that one. But Kent’s eyes are clear, if tired and a little wet-looking, and he’s sprawled out comfortably with his hand in Kit’s fur and his wrapped ankle carefully supported by a pile of throw pillows. He’s wearing ratty old sweats, white socks gone gray on the bottoms, a couple days’ worth of scruff that marks his sorry excuse for a playoff beard. 

“Shit, man,” he says, seeing Tater in the doorway. “You came.”

“You call.” 

It’s not quite that simple, but somehow, faced with the fact of Kent’s obvious, boneless relief at having him here, it feels like the right sentiment.

“I did,” Kent says. He sounds croaky, exhausted. The deep shadows under his eyes make them look more green. Tater wonders if he’s slept, or how much. “Thanks.”

He has this weird impulse to poke the bear, which maybe isn’t fair to Kent, but it’s all he knows how to do. 

“You miss me?” he asks, slouching further into the room. Kit lifts her head imperiously to watch him settle a polite distance away on the couch. “That why you ask me, not teammate?”

This is the dynamic they built at the bar, in the darkness of Kent’s bedroom: push and pull, catch and release. Things are still too new, too fragile between them; they’ve never implied a sense of belonging to each other, or at least not the kind that prompts something like this. 

As it stands, Kent doesn’t play along with the teasing, and that’s what finally gives Tater a sense of how shitty he feels. 

“Let ‘em grieve, right?” he says listlessly, tipping his head into the back of the couch. “Shit game. Didn’t wanna bother them.”

You were okay with bothering me, Tater thinks but does not say. A guy you’ve hooked up with twice who lives across the country. What the fuck does that mean?

He knows what he wants, what he wants it to mean. It’s part of what caught his eye in the first place: this kid is so, so young to be a captain, to bear this weight. The Aces are out of the playoffs not because they played their hardest, but thanks to a non-call and an injury that’ll have Kent in PT all summer. Now he’s curled up on the couch in his disaster of an apartment with only the cat for company, his teammates pushed away or otherwise nowhere to be found. It’s incongruous with the spitfire who finds a reason to drop gloves every time they share the ice, who likes to have his wrists pinned down and kisses with too much teeth and, holy hell, called Tater in Providence when he got hurt.

“Bother me anytime,” Tater says before he can bite down on it. He scoots a little closer, clasping his hands briefly between his knees. “Poor Parson. Need friend when teammates being sad.”

Kent’s laugh turns into a cough and Kit scrambles off his chest, affronted. 

“Is that what you are?” he asks. “My friend?”

“Maybe,” Tater hums, pretending to consider. “Well. Maybe not yet.”

“Not yet,” Kent echoes. He sounds puzzled. “Okay?”

“We not really know each other,” Tater says. Maybe it’s mean, the way this is lighting him on fire. Kent likes to bottom, but never to lose control; even in bed he runs his mouth like everything that comes out of it is gospel truth. Opportunities to catch him on the back foot are few and far between, and—well. Tater likes to take care of his people, likes to show them love, and above all likes a challenge.

“We don’t—”

Tater decides to take pity on him. “Sex not knowing, Parson. Think maybe you think that way.”

Okay, yeah, this is definitely mean. Kent’s breath is coming faster, and the line of his jaw is set and trembling. But Tater wants to push him a little bit, get his money’s worth for the flight, the worry; Kent can pay him back in kind, and will. Tater just has to help him get there.

“So what if I do?” Kent asks. His laugh is tiny. “Man, I’m confused. Not like we’ve had much more time to figure each other out.”

And yet you asked me here, Tater thinks, and decides to play his trump card.

“It’s summer. You not play, I’m not play.” Tater spreads his hands wide, goes for broke and scoots in close to curl a hand slow and sinuous around Kent’s good ankle. “Need rest, someone to take care. Seem like good time to me.”

Kent’s breath catches in his throat. He smells sweaty and kinda gross, but his smile is soft, a fragile thing, and Tater knows he’s gotten it right. 

“Captive audience,” Kent says, barely a whisper.

“Yes,” Tater agrees, and leans in to meet his mouth.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's minific is for @mistressorinoco who requested 'Chores are Everyone's Business'

Greez arrives at the engine room door with a bucket and a mop. “I don’t care if you lived in a hovel full of rust, mold and damp on Bracca – you live on my ship now, so you live by my rules, and Benduday is chores day.” He looks around the deck, no doubt noting the new scuff marks and boot imprints. “Yeah, you can start off in here. Then I want the hallway, the galley, and the lounge squeaky clean.”

Cal stares at him from the workbench where he’d been double-checking his repair job on BD’s leg. “I did live in a hovel full of rust, mold and damp. I still kept it clean.”

“Great! No excuses then!” Greez leaves the mop and the bucket by the door. “Oh, and don’t you go getting any ideas about using your space wizard powers to clean. I don’t want you blowing anything up back here.”

BD says exactly what he thinks about that. He also tells Greez about Cal’s plans to take a nap, but he is not understood in the slightest. Greez jabs a pair of fingers at him. “I can still flush you down the refresher, droid!”

Cal gets between the pair very, very quickly. “It’s fine,” he says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll clean up.”

“Alright, good.”

Greez heads out. Cal offers BD a shrug, finishes his checks, and then gets to work mopping. It’s strangely soothing, watching the dirt wash away. There some distant lesson in his mind about moving meditations. Master Tapal could turn anything into a lesson when he wanted to… which was always. When Cal reaches the galley, he finds Cere unpacking the dishwasher. She stares at him, chuckling at his bemusement.

“Chores are everyone’s business,” she explains, placing a stack of plates in a cupboard.

Cal looks beyond her, but Greez is nowhere to be seen. BD is not impressed.

“He’s in the refresher,” Cere explains. “Greez is very particular about it, and I suggest you don’t question it.”

“He doesn’t let you clean it?”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Cal continues swabbing. “Is it a Greez thing or a Lateron thing?”

“Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.” Cere finishes in the galley and pulls a duster out of the storage locker. “I’m going to clean off the holotable and the cockpit readouts.”

“You’re allowed to clean the cockpit?”

“Oh, only the screens.”

Cal scrubs at a particularly stubborn splash of juice under the galley table he knows he left there during breakfast. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Do not, under any circumstances, move Greez’s cleaning supplies, and whatever you do, don’t sit on the couch immediately after he’s cleaned off the potolli weave. You’ll never get the stain remover off your clothes.”

Cal looks at his well-worn uniform. “Would you even notice?”

“Definitely,” Cere says. “It dyes every fabric it touches a bright white. Think about the parts of your body that would touch the cushions.”

“Oh.” Cal can feel his skin flushing.

BD giggles.

Cal continues scrubbing the deck. “Cleaning was never this complicated on Bracca.”

[coffeeghoulie]

Kinktober #20: Public Sex/Dry Humping

The Ghostober prompts were put together by @kroas-adtam, and divider made by @gothdaddyissues, thank you both so much!

Pairing: Swiss/Dew

Summary: What happened immediately after the Ritual where Swiss jerked Dew off on stage.

(this was originally going to be a Swiss/Rain fic, but as soon as I picked my jaw up off of the floor after seeing the footage of Swiss jerking Dew off, I rolled out of bed at 2 am and changed the entire outline)

Contains: Trans Swiss, cunt, cock and dick used for what he's working with, degradation, Dew calls Swiss a dog but there's no pet play, the meanest I've ever written Dew

Read under the cut or on AO3!

"What the fuck is your problem?" Dew growls, pulling Swiss aside in a long, quiet hallway backstage. "You are out of fucking control, asshole."

Swiss grins, and it's all that Dew can see, the tinted lenses, hard plastic, and grease paint blocking out the rest of his expression. "Thought you liked it when I bite you, when I touch you."

"Not while I'm playing, jackass!" Dew snaps, acrid smog billowing out from under his balaclava as he blows smoke, the way the clouds of stolen vape hits do. "Not while there are cameras, and thousands of people watching you fucking jerk me off!"

"Oh, spitfire," Swiss hums, still grinning like a fool as he crowds Dew against the cinderblock wall. "I could feel you," he laughs. "I felt your little dick get hard, don't tell me you didn't like it."

Dew snarls, grabbing Swiss by the vest with both hands, spinning them around and slamming Swiss into the wall, the back of his mask thudding against the brick. Dew hopes it scuffs, gets Swiss in even more trouble with Papa about how many times he's broken the damn thing. Swiss grunts, the air leaving his lungs. All Dew can smell is the spiced scent of Swiss's arousal, and he can't lie and say that it doesn't make him feel crazy.

"You fucking shut up. You need to be put in your place," Dew snarls, shoving a skinny thigh in between Swiss's, pressing hard into his clothed cunt. "You wanna fuck with me so badly? You want to play dirty where anyone can see? Come on, I know you wanna hump my thigh like a dog, Swiss."

Swiss snaps his teeth, snarling as he shoves at Dew's shoulders. They both know that Swiss is strong enough to break free if he really wants to, and Dew cocks his head, shoving his thigh harder against Swiss's jeans.

"Oh, you do want it," Dew coos condescendingly. "Be grateful I'm even giving you my thigh, Swiss. Go ahead, sweetheart. I know you want to."

Swiss growls, but grinds his hips against Dew's thigh the same way he violates his mic stand. Dew grins, his smile pulling at the balaclava he hasn't yet pulled down.

"Oh good boy," he says, still pushing Swiss hard into the wall by his vest. "So needy you'll take what you can get out in the open, where anyone can walk in on you, so they can see just how much of a desperate whore you are."

Swiss drops his head, letting the plastic of his mask click and scrape against Dew's. He mouths at Dew's shoulder, not unlike the way he did on stage. Nothing was ever hard enough to leave a mark. Swiss moans into the velvet, pulling at the fabric with his teeth as he ruts against Dew's thigh.

"Needy fucking dog," Dew groans into the side of Swiss's mask, feeling the warmth of his cunt even through both pairs of their jeans. "Can't keep his hands to himself to save his life. So desperate to get pushed around and used. Don't think I don't see the way you let Aurora put you on your knees."

Swiss whines, hips stuttering. Dew laughs, letting go of Swiss's vest and wrapping his fingers around his belt. "Come on, puppy, grind like you fucking mean it. You don't really want to be caught, do you?" He questions, pulling and pushing his hips using his belt as leverage. "I'm being so generous, Swiss, giving you my thigh. Fucking hump it."

Swiss gasps, fingers curling around Dew's waist as he tries to hang on, Dew dragging his cunt over his thigh. He moans, high and reedy, as his dick catches on the seam of his jeans, the friction making his vision flash white.

"Dew," he whimpers, head falling back with a clunk against the wall. "Fuck, Dew, please, need more."

Dew tsks, continuing to move Swiss's limber hips up and down his thigh. "I told you, puppy, my thigh is all you're getting from me. This is still punishment for you groping me on stage."

"Sorry," Swiss groans, arching up off of the wall as he continues to grind. "Dewey, I'm sorry-"

"We both know you're not sorry," Dew says, scoffing. "We both know this will happen again. You'll get needy, so desperate for attention you'll come up off of that stage and grope one of us, or you'll get on your knees for Rainy again, or you'll pretend to eat Rory out again. She's too good to you, puppy. She plays along with your bullshit. Such a good girl, unlike you."

"I can be good," Swiss whines, hips still mindlessly searching for friction. He gasps as his cock catches on the seam of his pants just right again. "Dew, I can be good."

Dew shakes his head. "Not today, you couldn't. You naughty fucking slut."

Swiss keens, hips stuttering against Dew's thigh, the degradation enough to send him crashing over the edge. He cums with a shout, muffling it into Dew's shoulder, smearing grease paint against the velvet of his vest.

Dew works him through it, grinding his thigh into Swiss's cunt until his knees start to shake, feeling the warmth and wet stain his jeans. Even though they'll be laundered before the next Ritual, it's hard to get the scent of slick out of the denim, and Dew will have to smell it, relieve these memories. He takes a step back, letting go and shoving Swiss's hands from his waist. Without Dew's support, his knees give out, and he slides down the cinderblock wall into a panting heap.

He cocks his head, staring down at the mess of a multi-ghoul. "You gonna behave now, dog?"

Swiss pants, leaning his head back against the wall, body still trembling. His fingers clench and unclench. "Fuck," he breathes, eyes closed behind the lenses of his mask. "Dew?"

Dew leans over, taking advantage of the rare height difference reversal. "I asked you a question, Swiss. Answer me."

He keens, slumping down further against the wall. "If this is what I get when I grope you on stage, I might just keep doing it," he laughs, chest heaving.

Dew scoffs, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in defeat. "You're insatiable. We need to be on the bus in fifteen. I expect I'll see you there on time."

The fire ghoul storms away, leaving Swiss on the floor in some hallway backstage, laughing under his breath.

[neon-kazoo]

Former Hero Gets a Wheelchair

Today was the day.

After months of hardly getting out of bed, months of fighting the agency’s insurance plan, months of insisting that the hero’s condition was, in fact, service related, they were finally getting a custom wheelchair delivered.

Today, they got their independence back.

The doorbell rang and Hero had never moved faster on their cane, rubber tip taps and accompanying footsteps echoing through their entryway as they reached the door. Opening it, they were greeted with a beautiful sight. A smiling worker stood behind their brand new chair.

The rigid frame was coated in a metallic blue, with shining push rims to match. Black metal completed the footrest and backrest support, blending into the black wheels and side guards. It looked sleek; It looked perfect.

Waved in by the former hero, the worker lifted the caster wheels over the door frame, pushing the chair up and inside before locking the small silver brakes.

“You ready to take her for a spin?” They asked, and the hero grinned from ear to ear. They took a seat, sliding back till their hips were settled. The worker pointed out the buckle and Hero clicked it shut.

“Safety first,” they nodded and the worker chuckled in response.

Brakes unlocked, they pushed, and they glided like they were on a cloud.

They sighed at the ease of movement, moving down the hallway with little pain. It had been so long since they could just move. They missed moving just for the fun of it, for the rush of wind in their hair and adrenaline coursing through their veins. They missed jumping across rooftops, turning their feet on a dime, climbing walls, and starting fights that they could actually win.

Overwhelmed with the return of that feeling, they found themselves increasing their speed more than what may have been advisable around the house. Consequently, when they tried to turn around, they clipped the doorframe, leaving a scuff mark on the plaster and a slight damper on their confidence.

“Takes a little getting used to,” the worker assured.

Hero continued, slightly abashed at their excitement. The worker watched, then suggested they raise the footplate a little to accommodate Hero’s thin soled shoes. After a moment with an Allen wrench, Hero was properly fitted into their new wheelchair.

Now, it just needed a name.

In their time as a Hero, they had practiced restraint when fighting countless villains. They never aimed to maim or hurt more than necessary, even if the villains pointedly did not return the favor. Ever since being forced to retire, Hero carried that sentiment into their civilian life too. However, there were times when they wished to be a little petty. Sometimes, when people blocked ramps or stared at them a little too judgingly, they wished warm pillows and bad hair days upon them. Their prayers for minor inconveniences rose especially when they saw news of a certain villain, who Hero suspected to have a set of very crushable toes.

Maybe, Hero would have to pay them a little visit, with the help of the brand new Metatarsal Muncher.

They couldn’t wait to get out of the house, to be able to function on a daily basis. They were going to get groceries, get out to retirement-events, go outside with a sense of focus not being spent on trying to stay upright, shop without a mind clouded with pain.

If only it hadn’t taken them this long to accept what they needed.

The worker showed them how to disassemble the chair. The ultra-light wheels came off with a button press in the middle, the cushion was removed so the back could fold down. Hero got to assemble it back themselves and, satisfied, the worker bid them goodbye with some maintenance and care instructions.

Far too excited to wait, the former Hero loaded their chair into the car and headed for the park, thrilled to go watch the robins and blue jays hop between the trees. Once, the former hero had envied their freedom, the ease with which they traveled and lived their lives. They had wished they could soar above the sky and dive down back to the ground. Now, as they followed the smooth concrete path through the oaks and the birches, they made peace with their own kind of freedom.

It may not look the same as it once did, but life moved on.

If they had earned nothing else in their time as a hero, it was the right to live their life in the least amount of pain possible. Despite any reservations, they would use this tool to help them, and if anyone had a problem with that, they would meet the wrath of the Metatarsal Muncher.

[its-chili]

Mold

I read a strange book once in elementary school about a girl and her cat. Something about ghosts or shadows and a curse I don't particularly remember the name or nature of. I only got about halfway, as those sorts of things tended to freak me out, and I would have rather read I Spy or Ripley's Believe It or Not. But, for some reason or another, I have never been able to get the setting of that book out of my head. It took place in a house that wasn't hers- or at least a house she hadn't lived in for her conscious years. I remember how it was described as this massive organism whose cells and organelles consisted of hallways and bed bugs. How living in its bricked walls was to invoke the experience of being digested, and with every passing day, parts of you would congeal into the furnish. Your flesh would start to peel, needing another coating, while your bones would creak and cry out for oil. I remember the terror that the book instilled in me. 

I don't know when I left or how I got there, but I wake to find myself in front of a house, simultaneously my own and someone else's. 

There is an infinite expanse of blotchy gray-green in every direction, only varying in size but never shape. A skeleton of a picket fence, overgrown with weeds and vines, the only thing separating me from the great beast of brick and mortar. I turn my head to look behind me, expecting to see a road of some sort, but nothing. Nothing but Daisy, my old truck, and her faded mustard skin and bulging blue headlights. I don't remember driving. Where are my keys? I dig a hand into my pocket, rustling around only to pull out some cotton knots and… I want to leave, but Daisy smiles, encouraging me forward. I don't think she knows where to go, either. Or if she is even capable of leaving. Last time I checked, she was on empty, and her left back tire was about to burst like a rubbery piñata 

I turn again. The house remains. Motionless. The exterior has been painted cream. Or white. Or something of the like that maybe once looked pristine and shiny and new but has long since lost its luster. I try to remember a time when it looked shiny and new. It has always looked this way. It has never looked this way.

Despite myself, my feet begin trudging forward, carrying me like an unwilling passenger forced upon a train headed for what could only be certain doom. I feel the strain of weeds tangles against my boots. It feels like ripping sinews. 

The journey takes hours. I appear at the steps in minutes. Where did the railing go? 

Flashes of my grandmother shoot through me. She smiles as she holds out a tray of apple juice and chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven. Then she frowns as the tray hits the ground. She's staring at me. Her ankle doesn't look right. 

There is supposed to be a railing. 

I go to open the door- but there isn't a handle. Where did the knob go? Did someone steal it? Who in their right mind would steal a doorknob? Does it have that much value? Or was it the only shiny thing left, and whoever stole it figured that that was the only thing that could possibly give them anything worth the trouble. The urge to run suddenly spikes through my chest. I turn again. Daisy is gone. Everything is gone. It's just the infinite sea of blotchy gray-green.

I hear a creak behind me. The door is open. 

I can't move. Everything in me screams. I want to laugh. I do laugh. I laugh so hard my sides hurt, and tears start to form in my eyes, and I have to bend over and hold onto the railing that isn't there to steady myself. 

I bring a sleeve to my face to wipe away the tears and the blurred lens of my reality, and I almost relish in the salty sensation of the tiny droplets that manage to sneak their way onto my tongue. I relish the soft fabric of my sweater. I don't remember if I have washed this. Do I need to wash this? I smile as I bring my arm back down, only to find myself standing in the middle of my kitchen.

A table carved with indentions and scuff marks sits illuminated by a single golden orb. I can't see past the head of the table. I can picture my father's beaming smile, slightly shaded by a tangle of salt and pepper strands of scruff. I hear my mother's voice whisper a wordless prayer. It resonates with me. I sit at the end. A plate is in front of me, but I don't know what's on it. Mashed potatoes? Squashed Eggplant? Whatever goes into the cafeteria food I had to consume in college so I wouldn't starve? My fingers grip a knife I didn't realize I was holding. The mass does not make a squelching sound. It does not vibrate slightly like rotting jello. It does not stare up at me with one giant, congested, verdant eye whose veins pulsate to the rhythm of my racing heart… It does not roll back to gaze at the other end of the table. It does not focus on the figure at the other end of the table.

At one point in my life, I think in my junior year, my family and I had to temporarily move out of our house because we had discovered a patch of black mold behind my parents' bed. The cleaners knocked out the wall, prepared to place the plagued patches in the trash, and called it a day. The wall came down. 

The bones and organs of my entire house were black.

During that time, my mom had been designing the interior for my uncle's townhome, and thankfully, he let us crash there until the mold was dealt with. My mom's immune system could be compared to a wet Kleenex, as almost every food category was in the danger zone, and she couldn't get nutrients and immune support from just salads and chicken broth alone. I spent that entire summer in that tiny house–having to drive back and forth 30 minutes from there to my job back home to back again to my friend's houses to my grandparents to back- The gas prices always seemed to rise every time I pressed on the pedal. We were given the all-clear at the beginning of August and promptly huddled back into the hovel we had carved in the shape of ourselves…. 

Two years later, my mom started coughing while we watched Sound of Music in her bed. She got sick…very sick. She was ill to a point where fish lips chewed on her eyes, and blue worms wiggled beneath her taut skin. I remember the crystal snake that curled around her arm and off the bed, feeding back into a plastic bag hanging ever halfway empty beside her. I remember the drip. Drip. Drip of it. I was a floor above them, but I could still hear it underneath my covers. I swear I could see the tube sometimes slithering beneath my bed. 

And then, one spring, the drip just… stopped. 

It was sunny outside. 73 degrees. No chance of rain. 

We tore down my parents' room a few months later…and faced a black hole of spores as the wall came down. 

My eyes focus once more, or at least as focused as they can get with the dim lighting. I stare at the "not mashed potatoes" before me. I want to look at the other end of the table. I need to look at the other end. But my body refuses; there's an anvil pressing in my throat, forcing down every syllable and scream and panicked breath, and my hands are clamming up like they've turned into a kid's bad science project. I feel the neurons firing; I can picture myself craning my neck as if my head didn't feel like a sloppily attached bowling ball. But nothing. I am utterly paralyzed. 

The sound of wood scraping against wood echoes in my ears as the shadows shift just out of sight, dancing at the edges of my vision. The floor creaks. Closer. And Closer. Uncomprehendingly heavy and light all at once. And from the darkness, a fragment of a long, wiry appendage slowly begins to-

[kazekothestrange]

"... and the last time I saw him before he went missing, he was talking crazy about this beautiful girl he HAD to ask out, like, he didn't sound normal crazy about it, I mean CRAZY crazy!" The young woman in the demon costume exclaimed, gesturing. "It seriously freaked me out!"

The older woman nodded, listening carefully. "Really...? That sounds worrying..." She trails off, threading her fingers together and fiddling with her thumbs.

"Right?? He acted like he was actually gonna die if he didn't meet up with this girl... I called his sister after school and, poof! No more Junpei! He's been gone ever since!"

"I see..." Kazeko replied thoughtfully, looking down in thought. So there was a mysterious female figure involved... "Thank you, sweetie, that's good to know. I hope your friend comes back soon."

"H-hey, you're not actually looking into this mess, are you-?? That's- ... ...... 'sweetie'? ... wait, how old are you-?" The girl squinted at her, leaning in. "26? ... 30-?"

"A-ahaha, well, you see-"

"KAZ, OVER HERE!"

"Ah-!" A sudden shout from down the hallway called her attention, saving her from the sudden awkward questioning. "I-I'm sorry, I have to go~" She waved, leaving the confused college student and heading in the direction of her older sister's voice.

"Did you find something, Kazu?" She came to a stop in front of Kazuno, who was crouching on the carpet.

"Right. Check this out... lots of scuff marks in the carpet, right next to the railing. Looks like someone's been coming and going on this spot a lot."

"You think someone's been using the balcony to sneak in?" she asked, tilting her head."

"Probably? Maybe? Not sure, really..." Kazuno stood up, and pointed at the railing. "But that's not the only thing... this one's a little freakier..."

"What... is that?" Kazeko's eyes widen a little.

"Looks like some kind of claw mark!" the elder sister exclaimed.

"Stand, supernatural thingum, wild tiger on the loose... I don't know, but... whatever's going on here isn't just a normal missing persons case."

Credits:

Kazeko, Kazuno, Yuki: Me

Mano Aloe: pailmond

Stage: はぎの

Skydome: MMDAnimatio357

Effects:

Autoluminous4 and SvSSAO: Sovoro

HgDiffusion: Harigane

Dream Shader: Ianami

[americankimchi]

last night while playing pathfinder:wotr daeran DRAGGED A FULL TUB into my commander’s room. the tub was fucking HUGE. it wasn’t one of those claw foot ones either this shit was a full slab of stone with a depression scooped out of it and was like eight feet long and five feet wide. how did you get it in there. you don’t have the strength score for this. who helped you. how did you do it with nobody noticing. How Did We Get It Back Out Of The Room.

[obeymeoasis]

Demon Bros React: MC Defends Them From Nasty Remarks

Warnings: Explicit language, MC being mildly violent (throwing/kicking things).

Lucifer

Lucifer had just finished some paperwork for Diavolo and was on his way to R.A.D to deliver it.

In the hallway he could hear two demons talking and laughing. As he got closer he heard them say "Lucifer" and instinctively ducked into a nearby alcove.

"Lucifer's such an asshole." "I know, right? He acts like he's so much better than the rest of us when really, he just has a huge stick up his ass. It's no wonder he doesn't have any friends. Even his own brothers don't like him!" "He'll probably spend the rest of his life being Diavolo’s little bitch."

He would be lying if the comments didn't make him angry. But it was far from the worst thing he had heard about himself and would definitely not be the last time someone spoke ill of him.

With a weary sigh, Lucifer turned toward the south entrance where he could walk in order to avoid the demons. He could have strode past and glared at them menacingly. He could have made them grovel on their knees. But he was honestly exhausted and looked forward to this day being over as soon as possible. Plus, it would reflect poorly on Lord Diavolo if he started a fight with some lesser demons over this.

Suddenly, the chatter of the demons was interrupted by a loud thumping sound followed by the sound of one of the demons screeching in pain.

Lucifer quickly turned around to see- Oh no. You were standing in front of the demons, rage clear on your face. The demon who had yelled in pain was crouched on the ground holding his bruised shoulder. A History of the Devildom textbook was open on the ground, pages crumpled.

Did you... did you just throw a textbook at a demon?

Before he could even move, he heard your angry voice. "Listen here you fuckers. How dare you talk about Lucifer like that. He's one of the kindest, most intelligent, most thoughtful beings I've ever met. And you have no right to speak of him like that! I love him!"

Lucifer's heart burst at your declaration, his cheeks warming in pleasure. The two demons however, who had been gaping at you in shock, were now beginning to look murderous. The injured one stood up and slowly inched toward you, a vicious grin on his face. "Oh, is that so? And what the hell is a weak human like you going to do about it?"

You opened your mouth to speak but before you could say anything, Lucifer picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. "Love, I appreciate how you stood up for me. There's not many people who have done so for me before. But any more would cause trouble. And also, please don't throw textbooks at others, no matter how much you think they deserve it."

With a smug smile on his face, Lucifer began to walk toward the dorms. You, however, were struggling to turn your head around, still yelling and pointing angrily at the demons. "This isn't over! Sleep with your eyes wide open! You'll be hearing from my lawyer!"

He really did love you.

Mammon

Mammon was at the casino on a Monday night. It was lively as always, crowds of people playing group games and others drinking and mingling.

But for some reason, Mammon felt like being alone. He was in one of the more quiet corners, playing the slot machines.

He honestly should have been back at the dorms doing his homework. He was here because he felt like he had to, but his heart wasn't really in it. Mammon thought about packing it up early and texting you to see if you wanted to hang out.

The sudden sound of glass shattering broke through his thoughts. There was some sort of commotion going on and Mammon could hear angry yelling and cursing, some kind of argument.

Like many of the other customers, Mammon drifted toward the noise wanting to see what had happened. His heart sank when he saw you in the middle of the crowd, still in your R.A.D uniform, arguing with an older demon who Mammon recognized as a regular. They had played some games together before that always ended in angry accusations. The remains of a drinking glass lay shattered on the floor.

Mammon quickly rushed to your side. "MC, what the hell are you doing here?! What happened?" Up close he could see how livid you looked, you were trembling with fury.

The older demon opened his mouth while gesturing at his ruined clothes. "This bitch threw a drink at me! I should have them arrested! Do you know how much this tuxedo costs?" Ignoring him, you turned to face Mammon.

"Mams, Lucifer told me to check up on you and you weren't answering my calls. So I decided to come in person to make sure you were okay. But then I heard this asshole saying terrible things about you to his friends, calling you a liar and a cheater and all kinds of horrible names that you're not!"

Mammon was shocked to see you were struggling to fight off your tears, your lower lip quivering. "I know how caring and genuine and loving you are and I couldn't stand by while he said those things about you! None of it’s true!"

Overcome with emotion Mammon embraced you fiercely, shielding you from the other demon. "Oh, babe. Ya really are a special one.” Mammon gently stroked your hair and whispered in your ear. “I don't care about what he said, but thanks for sticking up for me. I love ya so much."

"Now let's make a run for it so that demon doesn't kill us."

Leviathan

Levi was slowly getting used to being in a relationship with you in public. At first, interactions were limited to the privacy of his room: cuddling and watching movies, gaming together, reading manga together. But now he looked forward to waiting for you after classes and walking home with you while holding hands.

His face got really red and he had a hard time making eye contact with you but still, he thought it was an improvement.

Right now he was waiting for you outside your classroom, scrolling through his D.D.D to kill time. Suddenly, he heard someone call your name.

“MC, you’re dating Levi right?” At the sound of his name he peeked in the window to see you cornered by three demons. He saw you nod. 

The demons began to barrage you with questions. “Why are you with a loser like that? Doesn’t he like never leave his room?” “He’s honestly the ugliest out of his family. I don’t believe that Levi and Asmo are related.” “You don’t actually find him attractive, do you?” “Are you with him ‘cause he’s like the easiest to control?” 

Each word felt like someone was piercing his heart. These were all things that he had thought or wondered himself, days when the darkness seemed to win over his mind. But to have them spoken out loud, especially in front of you, it was unbearable. It was as if his lowest and most shameful thoughts were being justified.

He was afraid to hear what your answers would be. Biting his lower lip, Levi turned to head home by himself but flinched at the loud sound of something slamming into the wall. He peeked inside the window again and saw you standing there, furious, your hands clenched into fists. You had apparently kicked one of the desks into the wall, black scuff marks clearly visible against the white paint.

“Alright, listen here you despicable fucks because I’m only going to say this once. My relationship with Levi is private, meaning all of your questions can be answered with ‘none of your damn business’. But since you’ve gone out of your way to waste my time, I’ll let you know this: Leviathan is more beautiful, inside and out, than any of you will ever be in your entire miserable lives. I honestly don’t think you deserve to breathe the same air as him and I hope Levi summons Lotan to devour the three of you."

Levi’s jaw was on the floor. He had never heard you speak that way. He had never had someone defend him so fiercely. His thoughts were interrupted by the classroom door suddenly slamming open as you walked out."

“Oh Levi, tell me you didn’t hear anything just now.” Your eyes were wide and you looked at him nervously.

Levi grabbed your hand and held it tight between two of his own. “I did, but it’s alright. Thanks for what you said.”

“Anything for my Lord of Shadows.”

Satan

Satan was heading to the library, your usual after-school spot. Some days you two spent hours there doing homework, reading, or just chatting quietly about your day before heading to dinner.

As he approached the table he saw you sitting down with a stranger seated opposite you. Leaning closer he was relieved to see it was a classmate you were friendly with, someone he knew you hung out with occasionally.

Satan was about to say hello when he stopped at the mention of his name. "MC, are you sure it's wise to be this involved with Satan?"

He quickly ducked behind a nearby bookshelf. Satan usually wasn't one to eavesdrop like this but the question concerned him.

"MC, I'm asking you for your sake. Satan is dangerous. He's violent and cruel. There are rumors about him beating up other demons and doing horrible things to them. What if he tries to hurt you too?"

Satan flinched. Sure his wrath had led him to do some destructive things before, but it was never without reason. Is this how you saw him as well? His thoughts began to spiral. What if you grew scared of him? Of his wrath? What if you flinched at his touch? That would hurt more than any of the rumors that swirled about him. 

Satan saw you take a deep breath before speaking. "Well, I appreciate you talking to me about this. I know you meant the best and were just thinking about me. But I promise you, you have nothing to be worried about. Satan would never hurt me."

He saw your friend shake their head, exasperated. "But you don't know that! What if one day he can't control himself and has an outburst or something?"

You replied carefully. "Satan is gentle. Incredibly so. He always treats me with nothing but respect and kindness. And Satan's not some kind of monster. He knows how to control himself and his powers. I love him. I really do. And until he decides to stop loving me, I want to be by his side."

He saw your friend huff irritably and get up to walk away. "Suit yourself, MC. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Satan took this as his cue to walk over. Your eyes brightened at the sight of him and you started to ask him about his day, acting as if nothing had happened. Satan played along for a bit, but then reached across the table for your hand and began playing with your fingers.

His hand was shaking. "I'll never stop loving you, you know. For as long as I live you're the only one for me. I love you, MC."

Asmodeus

Asmo was thrilled when you said you wanted to go dancing with him because he was usually the one pestering you to do things. He was having so much fun with you tonight, twirling you around on the dance floor and marveling how beautiful you looked under the shimmering lights of the club.

He was beginning to feel a bit hot, however, and excused himself to the bathroom, making sure you were safe on of the couches with a bottle of water in your hand.

Asmo had just finished touching up his makeup and adjusting his outfit when he heard two demons near the entrance of the bathroom gossiping loudly about him.

“Did you see what he was wearing tonight? He might as well have come naked instead of wearing those scraps of fabric he thinks counts as an outfit.” “My friend slept with Asmo once. She said he’s super easy, he’s willing to pretty much sleep with anyone.” “I bet him and that human won’t last another week. Once he’s done with them he’ll trash ‘em and move on to the next one, like he always does.”

Being the Avatar of Lust meant that Asmo had heard these kinds of comments before, whispered in the hallways at R.A.D or the dark hallways of nightclubs. It never really got easier listening to them though, and he realized he was biting down hard on his lower lip, his nails digging into his palm. 

Asmo contemplated what to do. He didn’t want to keep you waiting by yourself outside but he also didn’t want to run into the demons talking about him. Their comments affected him more than he thought they would. Maybe it was because you were involved. He wouldn’t do that to you. You knew that right? He would never treat you like a plaything.

Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves Asmo schooled his face into an expression of careless indifference. He took a step outside, ready to greet his "fans", but was surprised to see that you had gotten there first.

And what a sight you were. Despite being much shorter than the two demons, it seemed you were the least bit intimidated. Your glare was ice cold as you gestured wildly at the two of them, and moving closer Asmo realized you were screaming.

"How fucking dare you say such vile things? You don't know the first thing about Asmo. You're really going to shame someone for what they wear?! For what they do in the privacy of their bedroom?!"

You pointed angrily at the demons, who seemed too stunned to move or say anything. "People like you make me fucking sick. You're despicable! Talking as if you're so high and mighty when all you do is judge others! How dare you? You cowards!"

Asmo could see you were getting more and more enraged and your hands were beginning to tremble. He leapt forward to stand between you and the demons and put his hands gently on your shoulders. Once he saw that you were okay, he gave you a passionate kiss, his mouth hot and needy against yours.

You kissed him back for a moment but moved away to hiss, "Karens, Asmo! Karens in the fucking Devildom, who would have thought?!"

"I know, darling. Let's head home. We can have a nice, relaxing bubble bath together."

Beelzebub

Beel was looking through the menu, deciding between a couple of his favorite dishes. It was your one year anniversary and despite his insistent protests, you had remained firm in your decision to pay for that night’s meal. Ever since you and Beel began dating, he pretty much always paid for your meals together because of how much he ate. But tonight, you wanted to be the one to treat him for once.

Beel knew you had secretly been saving up Grimm and he’d feel so guilty if you spent it all on him. Which was why he was trying to decide between a couple of different things, when normally he would have ordered everything on the page.

“Babe, please order whatever you want. I can practically see the thoughts turning in your head. I told you that I wanted to pay for tonight and I’m going to keep that promise. I want this to be a special night for us, so don’t worry about it.” Before he could protest, you called the waiter over.

Beel sighed and knew there was no changing your mind on this. You were incredibly stubborn when you wanted to be. He rattled off his usual order as the waiter frantically scribbled down notes, struggling to keep up. Once finished, Beel handed over the menus and smiled at how cute you looked, a mixture of pride and smugness on your face.

But your expression soon turned sour as you heard the conversation from a couple sitting a few tables over. Their voices were intentionally loud and they kept sneaking glances at your table as if to watch your reactions.

“Oh my lord, honey did you see how much food that guy just ordered? What an absolute pig!” “I saw, darling. I honestly pity his date right now, they must be soooo embarrassed.” “Is there anyone who wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen in public with such a selfish glutton?”

Beel’s heart felt like it had sunk. Embarrassed? Was MC embarrassed to be seen with him? Panicking, Beel thought back to all of the dates he’d had with MC so far. He realized that they ate out a good majority of the time they hung out, with Beel eating his normal enormous portions each time. Oh no, what had he done?

Head bowed, Beel slowly looked up at you, afraid to see what kind of expression you were making. But to his surprise, you didn’t look embarrassed or ashamed at all. You looked like you were going to murder someone.

He watched as you cleared your throat and then began speaking even more loudly than the couple had been. “OH BEEL, MY HANDSOME, KIND, LOVING, STRONG, SEXY, TALENTED BOYFRIEND. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH! YOU’RE HONESTLY SO AMAZING AND ONE OF THE QUALITIES I LOVE ABOUT YOU MOST IS THAT YOU’RE NOT A JUDGMENTAL ASSHOLE WHO MAKES RUDE INAPPROPRIATE COMMENTS TO STRANGERS ABOUT THINGS THAT ARE NONE OF THEIR DAMN BUSINESS!” 

Beel felt his lips inch into a smile and he flushed with amusement and happiness. But you weren’t finished just yet. “EXCUSE ME WAITER?” 

Your waiter practically ran to the table and looked between you two nervously, then at the couple glaring daggers in your direction. “COULD YOU PLEASE BRING US ANOTHER MENU? MY BOYFRIEND WASN’T FINISHED WITH ORDERING WHAT HE WANTS. OH BEEL, I LOVE HOW MUCH YOU EAT. HOW COULD SOMEONE BE EMBARRASSED OF A WONDERFUL GUY LIKE YOU?”

Beel took the menu and began listing some more foods at random, not really paying attention. He was too busy thinking about how much he loved you, how nobody aside from Belphie had ever stood up for him like that, had protected him like that. His cheeks felt like they were about to split from how much he was smiling.

When the waiter finally left, looking frazzled, Beel made his way over to your side of the table. He knelt down and nuzzled into your neck before giving you a tender kiss on your forehead. “MC, you’re amazing.”

Belphegor

Belphie had to admit, the gardens were a pretty nice place for a nap. Earlier in the day you had practically dragged him outside claiming that you were bored of sleeping in his room. As if that was even possible.

At first he was pretty annoyed that you were making him get up and move around. But the newly washed picnic blanket, the cool breeze rustling through the trees, and the light smell of flowers in the air all contributed to a very nice environment for a nap.

Belphie rested his head on your lap, already feeling his eyelids growing heavier. Your fingers gently combed through his hair, lightly scratching against his scalp, and he practically purred.

He guessed he had been asleep for about ten minutes when he awoke to the sound of your voice and something prodding against his knee.

Irritated at the disturbance, Belphie looked up to see two R.A.D students he recognized for always causing trouble. He looked over to see you scowling and guessed you had been telling them to leave so they wouldn't wake him up.

One of the students leered down, blocking out the light, and used the tip of his foot to poke Belphie's knee again. "Well the two of you make an odd fucking pair, huh?” He sneered, “Personally, I don’t date people who have MURDERED me in the past but what do I know? Love works in all kinds of mysterious ways.” You flinched as if someone had slapped you and Belphie growled, his hands curling into fists.

The other student leaned down to clap Belphie on the shoulder. “I gotta admit I didn’t know you had it in you, chief! I always thought you were...” He gave Belphie a once-over before adding “Well, everyone thinks you’re a bit fucking useless, eh? But I’m glad to see you’re capable of something.”

Belphie opened his mouth to reply venomously but was interrupted by the most horrifying sound coming from your mouth. It sounded like a combination of wailing and screeching as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. It was difficult to hear what exactly you were saying because of how hard you were crying, but Belphie could make out “How could you say that?!” and “Leave him alone!” among the screams. 

The two students had their hands over their ears, their faces twisted into grimaces of pain. One shouted, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Worried, Belphie put a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you down but you shrugged it off, continuing to cry and wail. Pretty soon other students began gathering around you, whispering amongst themselves and looking to see what all the noise and commotion was about. It was difficult to ignore you when you kept yelling things like “You’re horrible! Horrible! Leave us alone!” 

The two instigators looked at each other for a brief moment before deciding to run off, not wanting to get involved any further. And as soon as they left, it was like a switch had been turned off. You stopped crying and screaming immediately. If he hadn’t been there from the beginning, Belphie never would have guessed that you had been crying. Your face was perfectly calm and you sat relaxed with your hands folded, the picture of innocence.

“Belphie, don’t worry about what those two idiots said. We’ve talked about it enough and we’ve both worked it out, haven’t we? And you’re not useless. You know how much I love you and care about you. You mean so much to me.” 

Belphie leaned over to take your hand in his trembling one. He reached down to brush a stray leaf out of your hair before whispering, “MC, you’re fucking terrifying sometimes. I love you.”

[spencerswhoreclub]

I HATE YOU

By- Spencerswhoreclub

I LOVE THIS TROPE, it's enemies to lovers so enjoy

This chapter contains- arguing, degrading, praise kink, mommy kink, choking, sub Spencer, dominant reader, over stimulating, orgasm deprivation, (male) anal fingering, (male receiving) oral sex, (female) penetration, and a sub drop.

Wc- 2280

—————-

Your POV

—————-

Spencer and I have had it out for each other since day one. When I first met him and he refused to shake my hand. I wasn't too worried because I knew he was a germaphobe and was going to refuse, but it didn't hurt to try.

To my surprise every single time I talked to him he would brush me off. He would come up with an excuse like him being swamped with work or he would get up to get coffee.

But when every time I would even look in his direction or even open my mouth to say something to someone I could hear him scuff like I just insulted his mother. That is when I decided I'd give him the same energy he gave me.

So then every time he talked I would roll my eyes or let out a small laugh. He obviously caught onto it because he decided to escalate his antics.

Soon after he started closing doors just before I could walk through them or even interrupting me in the middle of my sentence. So I decided I'd make sure to time when I got to work just right so I could shut the elevator doors before he arrived. If he came earlier I came earlier, it was a vicious cycle.

It escalated to the point where everyone on the team noticed, they would even pull us to the side and constantly ask what's wrong and of course we both just said it was nothing and chalked it up to us being tired of having a bad day.

Eventually after three months of us hating each other hotch had enough of us. When we were in the middle of bickering about what the unsubs motive was he intervened.

"Y/n, Reid, the team and I are all tired of you going back and forward. I don't know what happened to cause this feud but until it's resolved you guys will be sharing a hotel room, I don't care how long it takes so you better play nice"

Both Spencer and I tried to defend ourselves but it was no use hotch had made up his mind.

After a long day of arguing with Spencer I had to go back to my shared hotel room with him. When we finally got to the hallway I did what anyone In my position would do.

I took off sprinting down the hallway, he obviously caught onto what I was trying to do because he ran after me. Just before he caught up I unlocked the door and shut it behind me.

"Y/n you know I have a key too right"

He sounds out of breath from running, why is it low key hot- no, y/n you hate him

My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. Before I could realize what was happening my back was against the door and his body was pressed against mine.

"What the fuck was that"

Are you fucking serious, did he really ask what that was after he went from icing me out to being just plain rude to me.

————————

Spencer's POV

————————

I asked her what was up but honestly I knew I had been a jerk to her from the moment she stepped into the building.

In the beginning she really just did catch me at a bad time. I had planned on properly introducing myself the next day but after I had time to think about it I figured I wouldn't be able to shake my first impression so I decided I'd just stick with being an ass.

But to be honest I did really like her, she had always been in the back of my mind. I constantly imagine her tying me up or edging me until I had tears in my eyes. But I also want more than that, I want to be the reason she smiles, I want her to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night

I was thrown out of my daydream when I felt her push me off of her

—————

Your POV

—————

I pushed him off of me and started yelling at him pushing him further and further while doing so

"WHAT WAS THAT? You mean what you're been doing to me since you met me, for a genius you're really fucking stupid. I've don't nothing but match the energy you gave me"

I finally pushed him down onto the bed and I heard him whimper making me smile.

"God I fucking hate you"

I smashed our lips together and we ripped each other's clothes off eager to see each other naked after being deprived of each other for months.

Once we were both in our underwear I attached my lips to his neck and grabbed the growing bulge in his boxers, then he let out a loud moan.

"Damn baby boy I've barely touched you"

"Ik m-mommy it just feels s-so good"

Before I could even register what he said his eyes went wide and he tried to sit up

"I- I'm so sorry I don't know what I was-"

I cut him off with a kiss, I tried to put as much love as I possibly could into it just so he knew it was alright

"Baby it's fine, I wouldn't want you to call me anything else"

I made my way down to the bed so that I was eye level with his dick and slowly pulled down his boxers. Of course his dick is like the rest of him, absolutely beautiful.

I take my time kissing everywhere around where he truly wanted me, I could lie and say it was to tease him but I really wanted this to last as long as possible.

Finally I gave in and wrapped my lips around the tip. I brought my head up and down, taking more and more each time earning more small whimpers from him.

"Mommy I'm about to cum"

"Oh no you're not, not yet at least. You've been such a bad boy and bad boys get punished. Turn around and get on your hands and knees."

He does so immediately not wanting to make it any worse for himself. I leaned over him while pushing his shoulders down so that his back was arched.

"Is this okay?"

I whisper in his ear while pushing two fingers against his entrance

"Y-yes pl-please mommy I need it"

I applied more pressure, slowly pressing my fingers into his hole earning a loud moan. At first I went slow then I started going faster and deeper until I hit his prostate.

"Fuck- mommy can I please cum"

"Of course you can baby"

Even after he released I kept going, I figured I'd fuck with him more. Since he was already sensitive it didn't take him long to get close.

"Mommy I'm close, please can I cum"

"Yes baby boy"

Even after he finished again i still didn't stop

"Please mommy stop, it's too much"

He saw with tears streaming down his face

"No, you're going to cum for each month you insisted on being a dick to me"

"B-but I c-cant"

"Yes you can, you want to be my good boy don't you?"

"Yes m-ma'am"

"So cum for me"

His legs started shaking and he finally released onto the bed for the third time of the night.

"Turn over onto your back, I'm going to ride you and you're not going to cum until I do, got it?"

"Yes ma'am"

"Good boy"

As soon as he got onto his back I wasted no time taking off my bra and underwear, he was so busy staring at my tits he didn't even notice me climbing on top of him

"Hey my eyes are up here"

I said while snapping in his face

"Sorry mommy you're just so pretty"

"Yeah yeah shut up so I can fuck you"

I took his dick in my hand and teased him by rubbing his tip up and down my opening

"P-please mommy"

"Fine, but only because you're cute when you beg"

As soon as the words came out of my mouth I sunk down on his length earning a loud moan from Spencer. I started bouncing up and down but I couldn't help but notice his hands balled into fists gripping the sheet so hard I'm surprised it didn't rip.

Then I realize I never gave him permission to touch me, he's trying so hard to be a good boy for me.

"Baby boy it's okay, you can touch me"

His hands were immediately on my waist gripping hard enough to leave marks.

"How do you think the team would react if they say you like this huh? What do you think they'd say if they saw how much of a little slut you are"

He opened his mouth but all he could get out was high pitched moans. So I wrapped my hand around his throat

"I asked you a question, what do you think they'd say"

"I-I d-don't know"

"They would say you're pathetic for letting a girl take over and use you"

I leaned forward to get a better angle and he saw this as a perfect opportunity to suck on my tits.

"Shit- baby boy if you keep this up I won't last"

"Please cum for me mommy, I want it so much"

I reached down and rubbed my clit in circles then I felt a familiar feeling in my stomach

"Fuck Spence I'm cuming, please fill me up"

We both came at the same time and I collapsed next to him. I went to get up to go pee but he pulled me back down.

"Spence I-"

"Please, please don't leave, I-I'm sorry I was so bad to you I didn't mean it. I really like you a-and I just didn't know how to-"

That's when I realized he had been crying

"Shhh Spence it's fine-"

"No it's not fine-"

"Don't ever interrupt me again"

"Yes ma'am"

"Good, now I understand Spencer and I promise I won't leave you. Come here"

I scooted back on the bed so I was leaning against the headboard. I sat there with open arms waiting for him to come to me.

He crawled up to me and curled up on my chest. He looked at my boobs and back at me silently asking permission and I nodded my head. He took my nipple in his mouth and started sucking.

This poor boy has some serious mommy issues and abandonment issues.

"Spencer I understand why you did what you did and I'm not going to hold it against you"

Then I felt something wet roll down my chest

"Baby why are you still crying"

"B-because I want t-this to be more than a o-one time thing. Just because you forgive m-me doesn't mean you like me"

"Spence look at me"

Grab his face and kiss him softly

"I promise you're not the only one that wants this to be more than a one time thing"

"Really"

"Yes Spence, I'd love to call you my boyfriend if that's alright with you."

"Yes please"

He attached his lips to my neck sucking harshly

"Baby boy we have to be up early tomorrow and if you don't stop I won't be able to resist fucking you again."

He still didn't stop so I shot him a glance as a warning and he stopped, god I love how submissive he is.

Before I knew it I was getting woken up by my alarm. I took a second to admire how cute he looked before I woke him up but eventually I had too. We had to meet the team downstairs for breakfast.

We both took our time in the shower, and ended up fucking so we had to rush to get dressed. So much so we both forgot about the marks we left on each other.

When we finally got downstairs the whole team was there, all was normal until Morgan noticed something.

"Damn pretty boy I didn't know you had it in you"

"What, what are you talking about"

Spencer asked

"You and y/n over here both have marks, y'all definitely fucked last night."

His face turned a deep shade of pink and as cute as it was I had to step in.

"Okay and? We fucked this morning in the shower too"

Unfortunately this barely phased him and he kept talking

"So y/n how's his dick game"

"I wouldn't know, I was the one in charged"

"No way"

"I'll prove it"

I walked over to Spencer and slightly pinched his butt and he let out an involuntary whimper

"Mommy"

It was barely audible but it was just loud enough to the entire team to hear

Now it was his turn to be speechless

But eventually hotch finally broke the silence

"You know this isn't what I was expecting when I made y'all room together but anything is better that that bickering"

This time the entire team chimed in

"Most definitely"

"Agreed"

"Yes."

I was about to defend myself but Spencer interrupted me

"Hey-"

"Y/n it's fine"

"What did I say about interrupting me"

"I'm sorry, ma'am"

"Good, now let's go solve this case"

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

NO

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

*

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

*

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

*

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

LE

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

*

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

*

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

[bluegarners]

Hi!! I was wondering if you had any Talon!Dick headcannons :)) By the way, I LOVE your writing!!!

Ahhhhh thank you sooo much, darling anon!! That means so much to me 🥺💙

Now, I’m unsure if I’ll be doing this correctly, but I do believe I have a few head-cannons! Here goes~

As Talon, Dick is often mistaken for being a meta-human with flight like abilities. He still subconsciously uses his acrobatic abilities in fighting, the famous quadruple flip giving him away, and his “Flying Grayson” origin and knack for flinging himself off tall buildings gives the illusion that he can fly. If he hurts himself after landing from leaping from tall buildings, it doesn’t show because of his tolerance for pain and his healing abilities, adding to the illusion of flight where no such thing exists

Dick is highly competitive to the point of bordering obsessional. Perfection was everything to the Court, and if one did not succeed flawlessly, than it was considered a failure, no matter the outcome. When he is rescued from the Court and introduced into more familial settings, Dick subconsciously competes with everyone to be the best at everything, including, but not limited to: fighting (there is no such thing as sparring, if he is swept off his feet, then he is a failure opponent; arguing also falls into that category, but he always ends up feeling worse when he feels like he’s won), target practice (darts are the Batfams least favorite boredom game because of Dick’s uncanny and unnatural ability to be so precise [he once pinned a mosquito to the board standing twelve feet away]) , memorization (no one likes to play card games with him either because he knows exactly which cards have been played and also likely knows the cards everyone else is holding), baking (he once tried to out-do Alfred and it was then that Dick experienced his first failure when it came to baking a scone; his always came out too hard), and pranking (he studies everyone very closely, looks for the very thing that ticks someone off, and when challenged, he is merciless in pursing the perfect trick to annoy them for days but leave no lasting harm)

Dick was trained to understand people and how they work, think, and plan. He understands human flaws and weaknesses probably more than anyone else, purely because he himself is so deeply flawed and recognizes this. However, he was never taught how to interact or understand animals. The first time Titus licked his hand, he spent hours researching what it meant (he was too confused and embarrassed to ask anyone because he knows that isn’t normal) and was left stunned for days when he came to the conclusion that it meant affection. When Alfred the cat leaps into his lap and purrs, and he again looks up what this means, Dick is overwhelmed at the undeserved friendliness he is receiving. As a Talon, Dick had had to earn everything in his life, including trust. He had never been given that without having to do something for it. Now, Dick takes every opportunity he can to keep that trust the animals have placed unto him (see: buying and feeding them treats, brushing their fur, giving them gentle affection)

Dick has great interest in things like skin-care appliances. The Court had only ever allowed him a bar of soap to wash the blood away, and he had never truly needed anything else, but when Steph gives him a bottle of lotion because “his skin looks ashy enough to make snow”, he finds he can’t stop lathering himself in it. His skin has always felt rough to the touch; callouses formed over the years of labor and hilts of sharp blades in his grasp. After a week of usage, Dick marvels at the fact that his hands feel soft. It is the first time he has ever thought of himself as being anything but hardened and ruined, and bath & body works quickly becomes an online shopping favorite

Sometimes, Dick forgets where he is. He’s still adjusting to “normal life”, outside and away from the Court. The Court was easy in the way that he never had to truly expect anything new. He walked the same hallways, the same rooms, the same sewer paths all his life; walls bare, plain, and white with only his reflection and the screeching cries of the Courts victims to decorate it. So, when he moves into the Manor, visits the Cave, and sees each wall covered in mirrors, pictures, clocks, trinkets, and little ornaments, he memorizes each placement and finds his way from there. But on cleaning days, when Alfred reorganizes, or when something gets broken and removed, Dick gets lost within his own head and searches in vain for land-markers and tells he was sure was once there. He knows that Bruce’s bedroom is down the hallway with the double mirror and portrait of a woman wearing deep blue, but how can he be sure when the portrait disappears one day and is replaced by a stool and some flowers? Surely he must be confusing things because Tim’s study is right across from the library door, which is always open and has a brass doorknob, but is that really true when the door with the brass handle is actually closed? There are two sets of stairs, one that leads into the kitchen and one that leads out to the back of the Manor, but Dick can’t tell the two sets apart anymore because the banisters got polished and he could only tell which was which because the one to the kitchen had a scuff mark on it from when Damian slid down its railing once. On those days, where everything and nothing is the same, Dick sits down in the middle of the floor and waits for someone to find him. Whoever finds him, and they always do, always look sad. He can’t quite understand why, but he’s just happy he’s not lost anymore

Every time Dick dreams, he feels the strong need to tell someone about them and keeps a journal to help him remember them. Because of the electrum serum administered to him since he was young, the element largely took care of every human weakness Dick ever had, including the physical need to sleep. The Court only ever took him out of cryo when he was needed to assassinate, and even then, every waking moment was spent training, learning, and traveling from place to place to do the Parliament’s bidding. When he is rescued, and for the first time ever given the choice to just sleep and do nothing, Dick dreams for the first time. It startles him because the dream felt very real, almost like a memory, but it’s horribly difficult to recall and he panics because memory-relapse and loss is scary when he knows he’s supposed to recall things perfectly. Jason ends up suggesting that Dick to keep a dream journal, as he too has trouble remembering what is a dream and what is a memory; the Lazerous Pit and being dead certainly did things to the brain surrounding remembrance. It helps to ease his anxiety, even if writing down “nightmares” (as everyone calls them) leaves him feeling worse than before

[socheckitout-mikey]

Could you do some headcanons or a short story where Dallas meets his soc girlfriend’s parents?

heya birdie! i love dally sm, like whenever i get a request for him i get so hyped. okay, these are kinda bad bc i just got inspired to write them, but i hope you like them! thanks so much for requesting these (': - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Dallas Winston Meets his Soc s/o's Parents for the First Time:

° Lmaoo rip to your parents bc they're about to have a real big storming coming their way. 

° So upon seeing Dallas, they don't really have the best first impression because they're not dumb, they know this kid from the papers because he's always doing rough stuff and getting arrested.

° And they honestly don't want you anywhere near that kind of guy, but your teenage angst filled heart has decided this hood is the one for you. lmaoo you're so dramatic istg! 

° Although Dally is the resident bad boy of Tulsa Oklahoma, he can't deny that he's actually bricking it, because he does really like you and maybe there's that dumb little part of him that might actually want to make a good impression on your folks… just don't go hollering that stuff out at him because it'll just make him mad. 

° For once he shows up at your front door instead of your bedroom window and Dally's wishing he'd swiped another pack of Cools from the corner store back on his side of town because he's all out of cigarettes which has made him feel pretty jumpy and restless.

° Meeting someone's folks just isn't really his style. He couldn't give two shits about what your folks thought of him, but it had been your damn puppy dog eyes that made him cave.

° Lmaoo he's silently cussing you out under his breath as he rings the doorbell.

° And he's just standing there like a bump on a log, totally standing out from the expensive home and possessions outside. He's wearing his best shirt and pair of jeans that weren't stained, and his leather boots had the minimal amount of scuff marks on them, so he was literally trying here. 

° He's kinda sweating it, but his expression is difficult to read as you open the door to let him in. But he takes in your figure and he totally wishes y'all had gone out instead on your lonesome bc boii do you look like a whole snack. 

° "You sure you wanna drag my half dead lookin' ass in when you look like that, babe?" He grinned, dipping in for a kiss but you retracted sheepishly. "What? Too much of a chicken to have your folks see you actually kiss trash like me, huh?" He taunted you. 

° "It ain't like that, dumbass…" 

° "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, sugar?" 

° You just grabbed his hand and yanked him into the hallway, his eyes roaming your figure as he finally got to have a swell look around your home for once. He was just used to your snazzy room.

° His eyes were travelling all over the expensive furniture before he let out a low whistle and that's when your parents saw Dallas Winston.

° Your dad choked on his cigar smoke and your mother choked on her wine lmaooooooo

° "What's he doing here, y/n?!" your mother shrieked. 

° "Yeah, honey, I thought we were meeting your boyfriend?" 

° "This is my boyfriend…" 

° Dally had been expecting this bc ya boii is used to this sort of judgement and he's honestly just in his element, but trying to keep that shit eating grin from plastering itself on his face and a smart ass comment from leaving his mouth is harder than he thought it'd be. You'd smack him upside the head if he did that, and he wasn't itching to get on your bad side.

° So it's safe to say that this is a mega awkward dinner with your father and mother clearing their throat constantly. 

° Lmaoo Dally's just eating his food like he hasn't eaten in 3 days which is probably true. 

° You stomped on his foot bc he'd gotten spaghetti sauce down his chin. 

° "Eat like a normal person, Dal!" you hissed because you knew he was messing with you just to irritate your dad. 

° "Alright, alright!" 

° The onslaught of questions Dallas receives is unnecessary and you're highkey ready to crawl under the floorboards and die. 

° "You been in jail recently?" 

° "Dad!" 

° "Hell yeah I have, I got booked in for-" 

° "Dal!" 

° I think your mum warms up to him first tbh. Like Dallas is charming when he wants to be and he ends up melting her heart for real though! 

° Next thing you know your mum's on Dally's side and has turned on your dad lmaoo. 

° "Can't you just be polite and ask him normal questions? I mean, don't you think you're being tough on him?" lol your mum's highkey savage though. 

° It's safe to say that there's no fancy cigars smoked between your dad and Dallas that evening, although he did steal one for himself when he went to the guest bathroom three hours ago. He's a swiper istg.

° You walk him to your front door and you can hear your mother gushing about how cute he is and you're blushing. 

° "Ugh, I dunno how to tell you this but… I think your mom's got the hots for me."

° "Gross, Dal." You visibly shudder which makes him laugh. 

° "I'll see you later then?" He inquires with the tilt of his head, his eyes blazing with mischief and everything unholy. 

° "Yeah, I'll keep my window unlocked." You smile, pressing a kiss to his mouth. 

° "That's my girl/guy." he grins against your mouth before deepening the kiss. 

° He smoked that cigar in your room that night, I mean props to him for stealing it and all lmaoo. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, share and follow for more! 

requests: open! 

[doubleleoenergy]

ii. Dark Times, The Princess and the Pogue Series

Waking up, half past five, blood on pillow and one bruised eye. Drunk too much, you know what I'm like, but you should've seen the other guy.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, slight mention of blood, mentions of bruises, swearing

Summary: The events at the Boneyard leave JJ with visible evidence of what took place. Thankfully, JJ’s met with a friendly face.

Words: 2445

JJ is startled awake by his alarm clock beeping over and over, groaning as he slammed his fist on the snooze button.

5:30 A.M.

“Fuck.” He cursed, burying his body under the thick comforter. It was the first day of his senior year and he felt like shit. JJ had gotten back to John B’s place a little after midnight and the pair had passed out immediately in their beds.

The alarm went off again, JJ rolling out of bed and unplugging the alarm all together in frustration. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his palms against his bare thighs. The events of last night ran through his head, still slightly hungover and his eye throbbing from where Kelce sucker punched him. His eyes travel to his pillow, dried remnants of blood from the cut on his forehead. He should probably take a shower and at least attempt to clean up and look semi-decent for the first day.

JJ grabbed his towel off the floor, opening the bedroom door and heading into the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of his expression in the mirror, touching the skin that was freshly purpled under his eye. JJ turned the handle of the shower to the hottest setting, letting the water warm up as he shrugged out of his boxer-briefs and stepped in.

The water seeped into his skin, relaxing his muscles and clearing his thoughts for the moment. He normally was the guy to start fights just because he could, or come to the defense of his friends, and it felt different for someone to view him as the good guy for once. Someone like y/n, who knew nothing about him or his past.

He washed his body of the blood, dirt, and sweat from the night before, standing under the water until it ran cold. Finally, he turned off the water, wrapped his lower half in his towel, shaking his blonde locks as he left the bathroom.

“Hey, man.” John B stated, sitting back against the couch, his fingers typing up a message to the gang on when he’d leave to pick them all up for school. John B finally looked up at JJ, squinting his eyes, his face full of pity. “He socked you pretty good last night, JJ.”

JJ scoffed, grabbing a bowl for cereal and pouring the contents in, grabbing the half-used milk from the fridge and filling up the bowl.

“You should see the other guy.” He retorted, a big grin on his face as he stuffed a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“Who was she anyhow?” John B questioned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Y/N? Said she just moved back here from Montana. Used to live here when she was little.” He shrugged nonchalantly, stuffing another bite into his mouth.

“She seemed into you, JJ.”

“Nah, man. She was just thanking me for beating the shit outta Kelce.” JJ claimed, tossing his finished bowl into the sink.

“Whatever, man. The way you’re acting shows me you might be into her too.” John B stood up, walking towards the bathroom to shower before they had to leave.

“We don’t even know if she’s a Kook or not!” He called out, hearing the door shut and the shower start. JJ walked towards his room, peeking his head outside the door. “By the way, there’s no hot water.”

“Fuck you JJ!”

The Pogues pushed through the front doors of Kildare County High School, mingling with the other students as they walked down the hallway towards their lockers.

“JJ, starting the semester off right with that shiner.” Kiara teased, earning a middle-fingered salute from JJ.

“Not funny, Kie.” He called out walking backwards down the hall until he turned, knocking into the person in front of him, sending their backpacks, and bodies, flying into the white vinyl tile floor.

“Fuck!” Y/N cursed, rolling herself off her back and scrambling to get up.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying…” JJ trailed off as he got to his feet, remembering her features immediately. “…attention. Shit, y/n, I’m sorry.” JJ held out his hand to help her up, pulling her to her feet as she grabbed her phone and backpack off the floor.

“Hey, JJ. It’s all good.” Y/N mumbled, smoothing out her dress. JJ thought she looked beautiful, her body clothed in a forest green dress with tiny white flowers, a black belt pulled tight to cinch it in at the waist. Her feet were covered in a pair of plain white sneakers, a few scuff marks on the sides to show that they were worn in.

“Oh, I brought this in case I ran into you. Not that I meant to physically run into you like this.” He dug his hand into the back pocket of his cargo shorts, pulling out the bandana from the night before. “Sorry, I didn't have time to wash it.” JJ dropped the bandana into her hand, locking eyes with y/n. She couldn’t help but get lost in her train of thought, his ocean blue eyes distracting her.

Y/N pulled herself back to reality, a bright blush spreading on her cheeks as she stuffed the bandana in her backpack. “Uh, thanks. Your eye looks…well, like shit.” She announced, chewing her bottom lip between her teeth. Nice response, y/n. JJ noticed how flustered she was, a different side of her than the confidence she exuded the night prior.

“It’s nothing.” Just as he spoke Topper and Kelce descended the hallway, Kelce glaring straight at the two. He looked rough, a few cuts along his face and a line of bruises covering the right side of his face from his temple down to his cheek. Kelce gritted his teeth as he passed, JJ grinning from ear to ear as he gestured towards the man. “He definitely looks like shit though.” JJ proudly stated, y/n turning her head to look at the damage JJ had done.

“I really wish you’d let me repay you for last night.” Y/N insisted, shifting her weight as she stood.

“It’s no big deal, really.” JJ leaned his back against a set of lockers, raising an eyebrow at the woman. “So, what’s your class schedule?”

Y/N huffed, pulling a folded piece of paper from her backpack and opening it up, furrowing her brows as she looked at the information. “Uh, I don’t really know if these are good or bad but…here.” She handed him the sheet of paper, hoping he may be able to give her some guidance.

JJ did a once over of the contents before handing it back to her. “Well, it looks like we have the same first class. Mr. Sunn is a good guy, and a great teacher. I’ll walk with you there, if you’d like.”

Y/N nodded her head, pulling her backpack higher up on her shoulder. “Lead the way.”

The last bell of the school day rang, dismissing the students from their classes, a rush of teenagers flooding the hallways. Y/N had shared two classes of her day with JJ, her first and third periods, and it was nice to know someone on the first day.

She had gotten the same questions: what’s your name, where are you from, why are you here, are you a Kook or a Pogue? The last question was mainly asked by classmates, and frankly, she didn’t know what it meant. JJ was called a Pogue the night before, it seemed as though it had been a slur that night.

Y/N walked silently out the front doors of the school, getting ready for the two mile walk home when she heard someone calling her name in the distance. She turned around, a smile lighting up her face as she saw who it was.

“Hey, how were the rest of your classes?” JJ asked when he caught up to her, pulling his backpack up with his left hand. 

“They were fine, thanks for helping me figure out where they were earlier.” She admitted, walking down towards the front sidewalk.

“Anytime. So uh, where are you headed?” JJ slowed his pace to keep in step with her, looking down at the woman.

“I was about to walk home actually.” Y/N stated, fiddling with the strap on her backpack.

“Walk home? Why don’t you hitch a ride with us, John B won’t mind at all. Plus, I’d love for you to meet the gang.” JJ stepped in front of y/n’s path before she could protest, looking at her with reassurance. “C’mon, you’ll love them.”

Y/N huffed, nodding in agreement before JJ directed her over to where John B had parked his van. The rest of the Pogues were already inside, John B sitting in front with Sarah in the passenger seat, Kiara and Pope waiting in the back of the van, the door slid open.

“Hey guys, I’d like you to meet y/n, thought we could give her a ride home.” JJ announced, gesturing to the woman beside him. “She’s the reason I look like shit today.” He teased, causing y/n to shove him just enough to make him sway.

“Damn, y/n, you’re already not taking JJ’s shit. You’ll fit right in.” Kiara commented, jumping from the back of the van and giving a small wave. “I’m Kiara, this is Pope, John B, and Sarah.” She pointed to each one of them.

“Nice to meet you guys.” Y/N smiled sweetly at them before JJ guided her into the back seat of the van, closing the door behind them. Y/N moved to sit on the plush leather seats, JJ squeezing in next to her, their legs pressed against each other. Her eyes focused on JJ’s thigh pressed against her own, her heart beating loudly in her chest, the roar of the engine coming to life pulling her from her thoughts.

“Where to?” John B asked, backing out of his spot in the parking lot and heading towards the main road. 

“Two miles down make a left on Sycamore lane. It’s the third house on the left.” Y/N instructed, pushing down the cuticles on her fingers, a telltale sign of her nervousness. The radio played lightly in the background as they drove, John B and Sarah talking about their late-night plans.

“So, y/n, you just moved here?” Kiara questioned, shifting in the spot next to her on the seat.

Y/N nodded her head, still picking at her cuticles. “Yeah, I used to live here when I was little, but I don’t remember it.” 

JJ turned his head towards her, his knee knocking against hers as they sat close together. He could smell her citrus body wash filling his nostrils. “You live with your parents?”

The question made her stomach turn sour, trying to remain as emotionless as possible. “I live with my older sister, Bailey.” JJ could tell there was some pain in her voice, and he didn’t want to pry, leaving it at that.

“Well, you’re welcome in the Pogue life anytime.” Pope added, leaning his head against the van window.

“Right...thanks Pope. I kept getting asked today if I was a Pogue or a Kook at school. Care to explain?” She asked, tilting her head to look up at JJ.

“Alright, so we’re all Pogues...well, Sarah was a Kook but now she’s just as shit as the rest of us.” He teased, receiving a glare from the blonde woman. “So as Pogues we are basically the bottom feeders of society. We live in the cut, are regular working-class people, you know, that shit. But we’re obviously much cooler than the rest of the people on the island. Then there’s the Kooks: they live in the figure 8, are the upper-class of the island, us Pogues work for the Kooks most of the time. They think they’re the cream of the crop, but as you know from meeting Kelce, they’re the shittiest people you’ll ever meet. So, are you a Pogue or a Kook?”

Y/N chewed on her bottom lip, shrugging her shoulders in response. “I guess I’m like you guys, if that’s okay. I mean, my sister’s an emergency room nurse at the hospital so she makes decent money but it’s...it’s just us.” Her voice was soft, looking down at her hands. Kiara threw her arm around y/n’s shoulders, a proud smile on her face.

“You’re definitely a Pogue, especially after the way you talked to Kelce last night. JJ told us all about it during lunch.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of JJ talking about her. Maybe he was just bragging about the fight, it didn’t mean anything, right?

The van pulled to a stop in front of y/n’s house, a one-story bungalow-style with a bright yellow front door. JJ opened the door of the van, hopping out and offering his hand out to y/n, helping her to her feet on the sidewalk.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, trying to hide the crimson blush on her cheeks. JJ saw it though, resting his arm against the frame of the van, a warm smile playing on his lips.

“No problem.” 

John B rolled the passenger window down, giving y/n a small wave. “If you’re not busy Thursday after school we’re going fishing, we’d love for you to join.” The gang shook their heads in agreement, y/n meeting JJ’s blue hues as he nodded as well.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks again for the ride.” She gave one last wave before walking up the steps to her front porch, fumbling with the keys before unlocking the door and pushing inside, the van taking off down the street.

“Bailey, I’m home!” Y/N cried out, dropping her backpack by the front door and kicking off her shoes. Her sister appeared around the corner, clad in her scrubs from work.

“How was the first day?” She asked, going to the fridge and pulling out a beer, popping off the cap and taking a swig.

Y/N plopped down on the couch, a smile spreading across her features. “It was actually great. My new friends want to take me out fishing Thursday night, is that okay?” She asked, turning her head towards her sister who was finishing up a pot of hamburger helper on the stove.

“Yeah sure, I’ll be working a double, so you’ll be on your own that night. I’m glad you’re making friends; I promise you’ll love it here. I did when I was little. And mom would be happy that we’re back here too. She never really wanted to leave, there were just…too many bad memories.” She turned off the heat and moved the pot off the burner.

“Now come set the table, dinner’s ready.”

Tagging those who may be interested or who may boost this. Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the tag list: @midnightf, @serendipityrogers, @sokovianheadtilt, @bucksmotel, @blackwiddows, @fuckandfluff, @agentofbarnes​, @astrydis​, @moniamaybank​, @matbarzalschain​, @bigassnocash​

[itstheoneshot]

Oh, Baby

request

Summary: As you make your way into the third trimester of your pregnancy, every day your partner loves you more and more.

Word Count: 3.1k

Pairing: Kris Wu x Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected Sex, Pregnancy/Breeding Kink.

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It is time for you to leave, so you make your way to the front door. You are dressed in a t-shirt and loose cotton shorts, as they are the only things that fit you comfortably anymore. You see your shoes on the ground, and attempt to scuff your feet into them, but leaning down to pull them on properly is impossible for you now. You are 6 months pregnant, and your bump has gotten impossibly large, you have no idea how you are supposed to fit another 3 months of growth into your tiny body.

You feel helpless and stupid, not being able to do something as simple as tying up your own shoelaces, and with the unstable hormones that have plagued you throughout your pregnancy, such a small thing like this tips you right over the edge.

You break down, tears flow from your eyes, and sobs escape your mouth. You are so tired of feeling this way, it is so hard, you used to be proud of how independent you were, but now you can’t do anything at all.

It only takes a moment for your partner to hear you, he is so attentive, and it takes a moment longer for his footsteps to echo down the hallway as he rushes to make his way to your side.

“Oh, my love, what’s the matter?” He asks you worriedly.

You lift your gaze to meet his, finding solace in his beautiful eyes. Your tall, beautiful partner, Yifan, grazes his fingers across your cheek, as his other hand instinctively races to your stomach. You know that his first thought will be that something is wrong with the baby, though that is not the case. You are embarrassed about how upset you are, even more so than you are by your inability to reach your feet.

“I can’t get my shoes on.” You say, feeling even worse after saying it aloud.

Yifan smiles at you, and without a second thought, he picks you up carefully, and carries you into the living room. He gently places you down on the sofa, and kneels at your feet you tie your laces for you. You feel like crying all over again, having only just ceased your tears, as Yifan takes you into his arms once more, and walks you back to the front door.

“You just need to ask, baby. I got you, you know this.” He assures you.

You nod at him, your lips are settled in a pout, and you hear his words, but it is still so hard for you to ask for help. Yifan leans down to kiss you, before pulling on his own shoes and leading you to your car. He checks that your seatbelt is on properly, the sashes comfortable and safe in their position around your stomach, before he begins the drive to the hospital.

It is time for your regular scan, and Yifan took the day off work to be there with you. He does not want to miss a moment of your pregnancy, and you could swear he was more excited about this than you are. He has had baby-fever since the moment you two started dating, so when you finally fell pregnant, he was over the moon, as you were too.

———

You lay on the hospital bed, with your shirt pulled up, exposing your stomach. The sonographer stands on one side of you, while Yifan sits on the other side, with his hand holding yours, and your fingers intertwined. The pair of you watch as the sonographer pours out the ultrasound gel onto your stomach, the cold sensation gives you goosebumps, but you are soon distracted from that, as the screen above you lights up, and you and Yifan get to see your little baby.

“Are you sure you still don’t want to know the sex?” The sonographer asks.

“I don’t want to.” Yifan answers, before you get a chance to, though you feel the same.

“I want a surprise.” You add, “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Well, they are growing well.” The sonographer says.

You smile at this, as Yifan’s grip grows tighter on your hand, you glance over to see him staring back at you, eyeing your stomach, gazing up and down your body. You cough, gaining his attention, and he turns his focus back to the screen, though you stare at him a moment longer to see a blush run to his cheeks. The baby’s measurements are taken, to make sure that everything is going well, and the sonographer has no concerns with what he finds.

“The baby is taller than average, though.” He says.

“So they take after their dad.” You laugh, glancing at the 6’2 man you are head over heels in love with.

As your appointment finishes, you wipe your stomach clean with the tissues provided, and pull your shirt down. The sonographer hands you an envelope with a few photos from the screening, and you already plan on where they will go at home, on your refrigerator, alongside the ones you have received at previous scans. Yifan helps you stand from the bed, and you leave together after paying for the ultrasound.

“Where do you want to go for lunch?” You ask, referring to the plans you two had made last night.

Yifan looks over at you, as he does up his own seatbelt. He seems, flushed, maybe nervous, you are not sure what is going on with him, he does not seem his usual self.

“Can we just go home? I’ll make you lunch, we have plenty of food... I just, I’m not feeling great.” He says, scrambling for words.

“Of course, are you okay?” You ask him.

“I’m fine, baby. I just want to be at home.” He replies.

You do not push him to talk, instead you lean your head back into the seat, and reach across to take his hand. His palm is sweaty, and you wonder whether he has a fever. You did both have your flu shots only a few days ago, so you think that it may be a side effect from that, though you are feeling fine.

Yifan focuses on the road, he is an even more careful driver now that you are pregnant, so protective of you, even if he loves cutting corners, and driving fast, and you keep an eye on him, just to make sure that he is okay. He seems to get more agitated as you get closer to home, and you feel grateful to not live far from the hospital, as Yifan soon pulls into your driveway. As soon as he has parked, he rushes around to open the door for you and help you out of the car.

He holds you around the waist as you walk inside together, his large hand is splayed out across your larger stomach, you feel the baby kick, recognising the warmth, and familiar feeling of Yifan’s hand on you. Once inside, Yifan kneels down to take your shoes off, though his gaze is fixated on your stomach, he really is not his usual self, clumsy with his hands, as if in a trance.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Yifan?” You ask him tentatively.

Instead of responding straight away, he leans forward to kiss your stomach, lingering there momentarily before standing up again.

“Your feet are swollen, baby. Come, let me get you comfortable.” He says, avoiding your question.

Before you can protest, or push him for an answer, he picks you up, just like he did before your appointment, and carries you into your bedroom. He sits you on the bed, and gives you a pointed look, telling you to stay put, as he rushes out of the room, ignoring the confused look on your face as he leaves.

You hear the faucet running in the next room for a couple of minutes, and then quiet, and finally Yifan’s footsteps coming back towards you. You laugh as you watch Yifan walk back into the room, with a bucket full of hot water to soak your feet in. He is careful not to spill it, as he places it on the ground in front of you, and he kneels down to help you balance as you put your feet in one by one.

Yifan leaves the room again, only to return with a glass of water for you, pregnancy has made you so thirsty all the time, and hot, you are always so warm, with all the extra blood running through your body, supporting the growing baby. You sip from the glass, as he kneels down in front of you again, and you watch as he takes one of your feet into his hands, massaging it, hoping to make your pain subside.

God, he treats you like a fucking Princess, you close your eyes and focus on how nice it feels, your boyfriend’s large hands are like magic. He swaps to the other foot, and then uses one hand on each, until you feel that the swelling is finally going down, and you open your eyes again.

Yifan is gazing up at you, his cheeks are red, and he looks flustered. You still worry that he is unwell, as you lean forward to cup his cheek with your hand. The position is uncomfortable for you, with your stomach getting in the way, but you want him to know that you care for him as much as he does for you.

It is only now that you notice why Yifan is acting like this, as your eyes are drawn to his crotch, to the very clear outline of his cock through his jeans, hard, standing at full attention. Yifan notices you staring, and he tries to readjust, not being as inconspicuous as he would like to be, you smirk at him, it is so endearing when he wants you like this.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” You tease him.

“I just... fuck you’re so fucking hot, carrying my fucking baby.” He replies, running his hands up your bare legs.

“Oh, really?” You ask.

“Mhmm,” He replies, moving to kiss up your legs, “Just makes me want to fucking breed you again.”

He bites gently at your flesh, leaving tiny teeth marks on your inner thighs, the sensation sending arousal coursing through your body.

“Would you like that? Daddy fucking you so good, filling your pretty pussy up with his cum? Gonna keep you pregnant forever, I think.” He purrs, now kissing across your tummy.

He lifts your shirt over your stomach, and you raise your arms for him to pull the fabric up over your head. He takes a hand to your breast, fuck they’re sensitive, swollen, already preparing for the baby you are going to be giving birth to in just a few months.

“So fucking sexy, baby, god you’re so fucking sexy.” Yifan growls, reaching behind you to unhook your bra, and you assist by pulling the cotton from you.

Yifan stops momentarily to tear his own shirt over his head, muttering an ‘it’s too hot’, before he leans in to kiss you. His hands explore your body while you run your fingers through his hair, he has one hand splayed out across your stomach, while the other palms your breasts, and then moves down to find position at your core, teasing you through the thin cotton shorts you’re still wearing.

“Let me fuck you, holy shit, please let me fuck you.” He begs, as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him as close to you as possible, despite the awkward bump in your way.

“You really want me, huh?” You ask him between kisses, you nibble on his bottom lip, making him gasp, allowing your tongue into his mouth to taste him.

“Please, baby, Daddy needs his fill.” He moans, instinctively grinding into you.

“Hmm... only because you asked so nicely.” You reply, tracing your fingers down his back, settling at the waistband of the denim he is wearing.

He hastily reaches down to unbutton his jeans, furiously pulling at the tight material, tugging it down his thighs. As he does this, you hook your fingers under the elastic of his boxers, begging for him to help you, his desperation has influenced you, and you fucking need him too.

Yifan helps you remove his underwear, leaving him fully naked and you still in your shorts, Yifan then guides you further back on the bed, rested up against the pillows. You know you are not allowed to lay flat on your back, the midwives remind you of this every time you have an appointment at the hospital, it is dangerous for the baby. So you find a position, half laying, half sitting up, comfortable for you both.

“Fuck, I could cum just looking at you.” Yifan sighs, as you lift your hips up so he can pull your shorts and panties down.

You glance down at your body, pretty pink stretch marks adorn your stomach, Yifan leans down to kiss and lick along each and every one of them, just as he takes a hand to your entrance, teasing your growing wet, making you needy, as he slides one finger in.

“Just fuck me already.” You whine, not wanting to wait any longer.

You lift your hand to your mouth and lick your palm, coating it slick, to take your hand to your partner’s cock. You stroke him, transferring the spit in preparation as lube, Yifan’s breathing staggers, as you tighten your grip on him, before letting go as he places his hand on top of yours.

He lines himself up, with your now dripping cunt, and though you have fucked a thousand times, at least, if not more, you are still breath-taken every time at the sheer stretch required to take his size in. Yifan is careful in his movement, positioning himself just right so that he does not push against your stomach, as he thrusts in as deep as he can go.

“Fuck... Look at you taking all of me, god, you’re such a good girl.” He praises you, as he pulls back to thrust into you again.

“Your cock is fucking perfect, Daddy.” You moan, crying out as his cock hits you where you see stars.

He takes a hand to your breast again, teasing your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the overload of pleasure has you panting, clenching around his cock, as he continues to pound into you.

“Oh Jesus... fuck.” Yifan moans, and you gaze down to where he is staring, at your breast in his hand, you’re fucking leaking.

He leans down, taking your breast to his mouth, his tongue swipes at the bud, clearing away the droplets that have formed, though you are so aroused now you do not think they are going to stop. Yifan hums into you, fuck, you have never seen him turned on like this, you knew that pregnancy was his... thing... but you had no idea just how much it was so.

His forehead is beaded in sweat, and you can tell how hard he is trying to keep it together, you have not cum yet, although you are close, but you feel like Yifan would beat you to it if he let himself go. Though he is not one to cum first, always simultaneously or after, you know him too well, but you do not want to hurt him, so you focus on the pressure building in you, the way his cock thrusts at just the right angle, the way he grinds into you every time he bottoms out.

“Daddy’s so close, baby. Gonna cum, gonna get you fucking pregnant again, you want that, huh?” Yifan grunts, you can tell now that he will barely last another moment, though you too are dizzyingly close.

“Please Daddy, I need you to fill me, want all of your fucking babies.” You cry, feeling your orgasm as it reaches it’s peak and breaks through.

Your words were more than enough for Yifan, as only seconds later he follows suit, moaning in sync with you as he releases, doing exactly as he promised, filling you to the fucking brim, you are both lost in the moment, you can’t think straight as he fucks his cum deep into you, not stopping until he is running on empty.

“Shit, you’re so good to me, baby.” He praises you as he pulls out, though you are not bare for long, as he replaces his cock with two of his fingers.

He thrusts his fingers deep into you, while teasing your clit with his thumb, god damnnit he is gonna make you cum again, you just know it.

“Can’t let Daddy’s cum go to waste baby, hold it in for me, feels good, right?” He asks you, though you are so sensitive right now you can’t even begin to try and answer him.

After only just beginning to descend from your first orgasm, your second builds in record time, though you expect no less from your incredible partner, he knows you better than you know yourself, fuck, you are close again. Your body writhes under his, legs shaking, breathing laboured as you try to stay focused on the unexplainable pleasure you feel.

“Cum for Daddy, sweetheart. That’s a good girl... just like that.” He guides you.

You are done for, you pull Yifan forward by the neck to kiss you, moaning his own name into his mouth as your body convulses to his touch, and his fingers fuck you through your high perfectly, until you can’t take anymore, and you grab his wrist to stop him.

“Fuck, you’re fucking perfect.” Yifan sighs, kissing you again, before taking his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.

“I love you.” You smile, grazing his cheek with your fingertips.

“I love you too,” He replies, “Now stay there, I’ll run the bath, and make your lunch, and... what else do you need?”

You chuckle, because of course he is back to his over-protective, caring self as soon as his head is clear, as soon as he has released the pent up desperation he had. You are lucky, so fucking lucky, you look down at your stomach, and then up at the man in front of you, grateful for all that you have. You reach out and take his hand in yours, guiding it to rest on your bare skin, you hold his hand down firmly.

“The baby’s kicking.”