#I COULD draw him when he’s cool but where’s the fun in that

[royal-chandler]

thanks as always for the tag, @tailsbeth-writes and @onthewaytosomewhere ✨

today, i've got tidbits from my morning after!paris fic and my little scavenger hunt kidfic featuring bianca fox claremont-diaz that don't want to be written...and yet, i'm very impatient for gift exchanges 🙃

--

morning after

Over Henry’s shoulder, the kiss is cool with mint and honeyed—sweet, thick, and lazy. It starts with little sighs, like they’re both relieved to have met like this once more. The middle is fun and easy and plentiful with grins—teasing each other and mouths scuffing with quiet laughs as Alex tickles Henry’s ribs and Henry nips him in retaliation, grabbing at Alex’s hands and threading their fingers together to keep him still. The middle is long with repeats, kisses within a kiss. And when they recede from each other, it’s warm and slow and with their eyes half-sloped, playing catch up to its end.

“Good morning,” Henry whispers, squeezing their held hands.

“Is that commentary or a very delayed hello?” Alex asks, his lips more seeking than the question as he quickly snatches another kiss.

“Both,” Henry determines, crooking a smile against Alex’s, “but if I’m honest, it heavily favors the former.”

“I think this swanky ass shower can probably fit the two of us. Make a good morning even better,” Alex suggests, arching a brow for punctuation.

--

kidfic

While Bianca has advanced past the point in her lessons where she plunks the keys for half the hour and then spends the remainder of it listening to Henry play, she rejects Henry’s suggestion that she could riff a new song on the piano, bypassing the bench in favor for the shelf of vinyls in their music room.

“That will take ages,” she protests. “And we have to get all the way to number five.”

Henry looks down at her. “You are more than capable, you know.”

“I know,” Bianca says, chewing on her lip and the polished tips of her fingers drawing out records midway before pushing them back in.

“Do you still enjoy it?”

“Yeah, a lot. I just wish that I was better at it. I want to be as good as you.”

“Bianca,” Henry says softly, prying her attention away from the shelf and meeting her eyes. He lowers to his haunches and takes her hands in one of his. “You’ve only just begun, sweetheart. When I was your age, I was absolutely dreadful. It took me loads of practice with my dad. I would get frustrated too but he’d always remind me that I should be kind to myself. Will you be kind to yourself for me?”

“Yes.”

“And if you don’t like playing any longer, you’ll let me know?”

“Yes.”

“And remember that you can always tell me anything and I’ll listen?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in a very agreeable mood,” he teases, poking her. She grins at him. “One more question, little love?”

“Sure!”

“Would you want to hear the first song that your Papi and I ever danced to?”

“From the story of when Papi rescued you from the palace?”

--

send me good vibes to get these completed soon 🤍

[shrugsinchinese]

We finally got Verin!!! Love him so much

[puppyeared]

is this your card? ♦️♣️♥️♠️ it isnt but you dont wanna hurt his feelings

[sysig]

They’re both so cute, what’s up with that (Patreon)

[topicaltropic]

oops! all wips

[beauzos]

sometimes I feel bad about having a fascination with Custer or the Indian Wars era but then I hear this and feel better about myself because I’ve never once entertained treating a fucking historical figure like a fictional blorbo. If I ever get to this point you can fucking kill me

[sleepymarimo]

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣!

summary: the first time you make their heart skip a beat, w/ monster trio + law! pairing(s): luffy x gn!reader, zoro x gn!reader, sanji x gn!reader, law x gn!reader cw: none! an: ahhhh idk how to feel about this one but i hope you enjoy :') 👐

luffy

there are a lot of things that get luffy's heart racing.

a good meal. a cool looking fish. a killer party. all of it makes this captain happy, because he revels in the adventure. he lives for the moment. he feels deeply and strongly, a trait that acts as a double edged sword.

like now, as a torrent of anger and worry swirl in his chest and weigh him down. he's running through some dense woods, bursting through trees and falling down hills, a look of determination on his face.

an enemy had managed to sneak up on the crew.

what's worse? they ran off. with you.

luffy doesn't think twice. he pushes through anything in his way for the sake of finding you before things got too rough. as he runs, he finds the enemy's actions cowardly. someone using you to draw him out makes him irritate. he doesn't care if he's falling into some trap; he'd deal with whatever was put in front of him so long as he could rescue you.

he's worried for your well being, of course he is. even though he can't see you, he can feel you. his observation haki lets him know how frightened you are, a fact that makes him all the more angry.

then finally, in the distance, he catches sight of you.

you're in a clearing, the enemy looming over you. they're raising a weapon in your direction, much too close.

luffy feels his blood boil. he grabs ahold of some trees, running backwards and preparing to launch himself in your direction as fast as he can. his rubber arms grow taut as he stretches, his mind set on rescuing you.

an annoyed huff leaves him when he hears the enemy taunting you, threatening your life and mocking your ambitions. it has luffy's anger rising, because there was no way he'd let your dreams get made fun of. by anyone.

his thoughts become hazy, his strong feelings taking hold of his actions.

then, luffy hears it. it's like a melody, absolute music to his ears.

your laugh.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his head clears.

he can feel a big smile curling at his lips. his grin is all teeth, his eyes shining with equal parts pride and mischief. it's like a fire has been lit in his soul, like he's a toy that's just been wound up to the max.

even in your current predicament, even when you're utterly terrified, you have faith in yourself. in him.

if you can laugh, then so can he.

finally, he yells out his signature move, launching himself at the enemy and landing a punch so hard that it makes the air itself tremble.

"luffy!" you call with some tears prickling in your eyes, your limbs still shaky from the adrenaline. your smile falters at the edges, relief flooding your body. "you made it!"

your captain comes to life upon seeing your smile up close, his heart beating like a drum. his rubber arms wrap around you and he squeezes you to his chest, his laughter ringing in your ears.

"of course i did!" he grins, grabbing you by the hand and urging you to run with him to the ship. his grip on you is tight and secure. glancing back at you, he can't help but feel grateful to have you with him on this journey.

he snickers, letting emotion run through him without restriction. "you made my heart feel funny!"

zoro

after another victory, the straw hat pirates found themselves reveling in drinks, food and company.

for a while, the swordsman finds himself amidst the other heavy drinkers. he grins and knocks back bottle after bottle, content with listening to the animated conversations around him and observing the party.

eventually though, he craves some solitude. and so, he heads off towards a less occupied area where he can drink in peace.

he basks in isolation, until you manage to find your way to him. a big grin is on your face and he can't help but reciprocate with a small smirk when he notices your inebriated state. unceremoniously, you plop down next to him at a respectable distance.

“hey zo', gimme some!” you nod towards the large bottle he holds, completely immersed in the light, upbeat atmosphere. one of your hands even reaches out, making a sort of grabbing motion.

he possessively tightens his grip on the bottle, his expression hardening slightly as his brows furrowed. "hah? this is mine, go grab your own bottle."

"i don't wanna full drink, jus' need a little more and i'll be good." you answer, well aware of your limits. your tone becomes pleading as you look up at him with puppy dog eyes. "one sip. please?"

with a groan, he relents. he grumbles something about you being lucky that he's in such a good mood, before extending the bottle in your direction.

yet, it appears that you have some more tricks up your sleeve.

instead of grabbing the bottle, you simply tilt your head back and let your mouth hang open. you make an 'ah' sound, waiting for him to bestow you with the gift of alcohol.

he's a little taken aback at first. seriously? you wanted him to pour it for you? ugh, fine...

he rolls his eye and uses his free hand to firmly hold your jaw steady and open, bringing the bottle up and pouring the sake into your mouth.

your hand rests on his, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over his knuckles.

it's all fine at first, until his eyes lock with yours. in that moment, he seems to acknowledge the intimacy of the act, something primal stirring in his gut as he looked down at you. his cheeks redden.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his muscles tense and he goes almost still. he gets so distracted that his hand moves upwards, effectively drowning your face with sake. your head snaps back into its natural position and you start to cough, the alcohol burning your nostrils.

you give the swordsman an incredulous look, wiping the excess sake from your face. “what the hell was that for?”

“you’re the one that moved!” he sharply replies, even though he knows damn well that you were sitting good and still for him.

focusing inward, he seems pleased to feel that his heart is once again thumping steadily. unwavering. what an odd feeling it was, to have his strong heart skip a beat.

i'll deal with that later. he thinks, not at all wanting to open that can of worms.

so, he takes another swig from the bottle and uses one of his large hands to pat you on the back as you continued to cough up sake.

“oi, don’t waste good booze.”

sanji

the cook wasn't used to being spoiled. he's always been a giver, someone who provides and never takes.

he basked in the smiles that formed on the faces of his crew mates, his family, whenever he made them a good meal or protected them. he never asks for anything in return. however, that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be shown appreciation every now and then.

currently, he's on night watch.

a thick blanket is wrapped around his shoulders, the cold wind nipping at his cheeks and painting them a reddish color. a cigarette hangs from his lips, his breaths coming out as white puffs against the dark sky.

out of the corner of his eye, he can see light pouring out from the kitchen window. how long has that been on? his brows furrow in suspicion as he makes his way over, half-expecting to see luffy attempting to crack open the pantry.

yet when he opens the door, his posture immediately relaxes and he practically melts as he sees you. you're in your pajamas, hunched over the stove with a focused expression. he takes note of the cookbook laid out on the counter, guiding you as you prepared a dish.

he calls your name, his limbs turning to mush as he approached you. "what are you doing here so late? if you're hungry, i'll make you some-"

his nose twitches as he catches the scent of what you're making.

he knows it well because it happens to be one of his favorite dishes. coincidentally, it was one of your least favorites, the scent of it rather unbearable to you.

"you're... you're making..." his cigarette threatens to tumble out of his lips as he gives you a bewildered expression.

he can see your nose briefly scrunch up before you give him a smile, one of your hands holding a wooden spoon and mixing up ingredients on a pan. "yeah. i hope i'm making it right. i mean, it won't be as good as yours anyway, but still."

"mon amour, you shouldn't. i know how much you can't stand the smell of it." he tries to usher you away, placing a hand on yours and insisting that he didn't want you to be queasy. "why're you making this, mon amour? did someone ask you to?"

you shrug and keep a firm hold on the wooden spoon, replying like the answer was obvious. "because i thought it'd make you happy."

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his cigarette does fall to the floor. the hand that's over yours tightens, perhaps his way of grounding himself. he's speechless for a moment, something shaking him down to his very center.

he could almost cry.

"sanji?" you ask, a little concerned for the chef as his eyes seemed to glaze over.

the blond snaps out of it, giving you a smile that's so warm it makes you wonder if the sun had just come up. there's none of that surface level attraction or lust in his gaze, only an authentic appreciation.

thank you. he thinks, feeling light. thank you for caring.

his eyes close as he once again takes in the scent of the dish you're preparing. "it smells great, mon amour. better than anything i've ever made, i’m sure of it."

"i doubt that." you laugh, downplaying his compliment. with a nod, you resume cooking. "it'll be finished by the time you're done with your watch. i can handle it."

sanji thanks you once more, his heart feeling full. returning to his post, he allows you to do something kind for him. he allows himself to take, without worrying about having to repay you.

he quells any lingering thoughts of insecurity and self-doubt, focusing instead on the meal that's sure to be waiting for him in the morning.

law

it was a couple weeks ago that law made the decision to educate the crew a bit more on medical practices.

the surgeon knew that he couldn’t always be around to provide assistance to the crew, so it was only logical that he trained everyone in basic first aid, including you. day after day, he trained everyone, one at a time.

was it a lot? yes. however, law liked to be prepared and felt comfort in being thorough with his teachings, regardless of how tedious it was.

so, finally it was your day to be trained under his watchful eye.

you could tell how passionate he was about his work, how knowledgeable. if you had any questions or wanted to know more about a topic, he took the time to explain it to you properly.

he was quite patient, something you were thankful for since you knew he could sometimes grow frustrated.

when it's all said and done, he quizzes you. he sits atop the exam table, his expression apathetic.

"i'm a patient suffering from shortness of breath, chest pain and dizziness." he flatly says, watching your every move. "what comes to mind? what do you check first?"

you bite at your lip, your head scrambling to come up with any ideas of what your 'patient' could be suffering from. "arrhythmia?" you answer, uncertain. he gives you a pressing look, urging you to continue. "and i... check your heartbeat?"

"good." with a nod of his head, he gestures towards the stethoscope. "go ahead, then. check it and let's see if you get the reading right."

pushing past your initial hesitance, you grab the stethoscope and put it on, gently holding the bell in your hand. placing it on his clothed chest, your expression turns frustrated as you struggle to hear a beat.

he rolls his eyes and calls your name lightly. "you can't place it over fabric. it needs to go directly on the skin."

oh yeah, you needed to place it directly on his chest.

you click your tongue, embarrassed by your slight error. "yeah, yeah, i got it."

with that, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt.

however, instead of holding up his shirt and and placing the stethoscope directly over his heart, your hand slides upward from his abdomen and all the way to his chest.

your fingers inadvertently graze along his skin, tracing a warm path from his navel to his heart.

you're too focused on your task to notice his widening eyes and how his breath hitches.

a content smile forms on your face when you catch the sound of his heartbeat.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

you look up at him, slightly concerned. “i think there's something weird-"

"you're hearing things." he's quick to say, placing a hand over yours and promptly removing it from his person. standing from the exam table, he adjusts his shirt and takes a step back to put some much needed distance between the two of you. "good job today, you did well."

he turns in the opposite direction, not wanting to let his cracked composure show. steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and shakes off any residual feelings of unease.

it was just a fluke. he's quick to think, wanting to be rational.

in the end, he looks over his shoulder and gives you a nod before heading to his study.

[ssahotchnerr]

Hello, I have a request. How about Aaron going costume shopping and Aaron loses her FOR A MINUTE before he finds her where all the princess and fairy costumes are. Like she is completely mesmerized by costumes that she doesn’t notice Aaron picking her up and saying “I’m reconsidering making you a leash kid, you know” but he doesn’t really mean it and she’s just pointing at a costume “I want this one, daddy!”

jumpscares

i changed this up a tiny bit but the overall concept is still there <33 cw; fem!reader, protective girl dad!aaron (small angst), jack calls reader mom, references to your usual cm violence, halloween and fluff!! wc; 1k

"Dad, c'mon." Jack whined in slight impatience and excitement, prying the door open and hanging back slightly on the handle.

"We can only move so fast bud." Aaron responded, maintaining his current pace. We as in Ellie. Her tiny legs limited her speed, she was practically skipping to keep up with just him. "The costumes aren't going anywhere."

With the holiday quickly approaching and Jack's insistent worries the cool costumes will be gone soon - while you ran necessary errands of your own, he had been tasked with taking the kids to the Halloween store.

Upon entering, Aaron lost Ellie's hand almost immediately as she halted, causing it to slip abruptly from his grasp.

She was frozen in place with her gaze directed forward, keeping a generous distance from the frightful animatronics greeting the three of them at the entrance.

A scowl was on her face; it didn't appear she wasn't necessarily scared, but a mix of disgust and worry were vividly present instead.

"They're not real sweetheart." Aaron tried to reassure, his gaze softening. "They're just decorations."

"I don't like that one." Ellie grabbed his hand, using her other to point at the menacing, horrific clown. "He looks mean."

"He does, doesn't he?" Aaron agreed, his mouth drawing into a pensive line as he played along. "But that's okay. They're meant to be for fun."

"They're not very fun."

The three began wandering through the display of frightful animatronics, led by Jack, a good idea in theory. Jack disciplinarily left Aaron's mouth a few times, as he attempted to get his sister to step on the sensors in order to get spooked.

Ellie ended up in his hold, gripping onto the collar of his t-shirt while Jack indulged himself in getting delightfully jumpscared. She merely watched, each burst of sound causing her to scoot closer into her father, more like her shield.

"Alright, let's find what we came here for." Aaron placed Ellie down, Jack beginning to browse as they reached the costumes. "It is a school night. We can't be out too late."

Selecting a costume, or even brainstorming an idea was bound to a lengthy task, the two of them utterly indecisive. Ellie adored every costume they passed, had to stop, look and point it out. Jack, on the other hand, was pursuing a more silent, observational strategy.

"Anything sticking out?"

"Maybe Spiderman?"

"You never stick to Spiderman." Aaron reminded him with a small smile, the fond memory of when Jack dressed up as him coming to mind - easily within his top five Dad moments of all time.

"Yeah... so maybe not that." Jack breathed out a huff, his eyes continuing to peer around. "Or we can all be superheroes." He poked an adult Batman costume, causing it to sway. "You can be this, and then Mom can be Wonder Woman or something."

Aaron nodded slowly, although he personally didn't plan on dressing up. But could he be persuaded by you and the kids? Maybe. "That could be fun."

"And then Ellie could be Spidergirl-"

Speaking of Ellie, she had grown suspiciously quiet - her chatter stopping altogether. Aaron's eyes shot down, only to find Ellie not besides him.

Jack was the one who verbalized it, his eyebrows crinkling in confusion. "Where'd Ellie go?"

Panic immediately swept through him, his heart rate heightening and his body succumbing to a numbing freeze. Fuck.

Suddenly, he didn't know whether or not his knowledge of child abductions were an advantage or disadvantage; knowing how to act quickly, but also the unfortunate outcomes.

his mind instantly shot to the conversations he had with victim's familiies with what felt like daily. The scenario had turned- he was in their shoes. And just as they all stated in their interviews: He should've been paying closer attention. He only looked away for a minute. He knew these things - why did he look away?

Attempting to push the statistics in the back of his mind, he was on the move, Jack following right at his heels.

"Ellie?"

Luckily the fear was short lived; she was two aisles over, captivated by the girliest costumes one could imagine, very Ellie-esque.

"Eleanor." Aaron breathed out in relief as he saw his piggytail-headed daughter, sweeping her right off her feet again. "You know better than to wander off."

"I wanna be this." Ellie pried a princess costume off the rack, Aaron paused as he lifted her so she could remove it successfully. "Can I Daddy? I really wanna."

"Well, let's make sure it's your size." He took it, doublechecking and allowing his heart rate to calm down. Upon confirmation, his eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure you want to be this? Or do you want to be a superhero with Jack?"

"I wanna be a princess." Ellie insisted, a pleading tone within her voice. "Pretty please?"

"Sure, if that's what you want. We'll have to find you a crown too, or use one from home, it doesn't seem to be included." She nodded as Aaron tucked the packaging under his elbow, allowing him to hold both it and her. However, his demeanor switched over to one more serious. "But hey, look at me please."

Her adjacent brown eyes met his own; a touch of fault, and sincereness. She knew she had disobeyed in one way or another. And whenever she did, it was written all over on her face.

"No running off, okay?" He instructed sternly, but gently. "It's really important I can always see you, and you can always see me. We don't want you getting lost, yeah?"

She shook her head. "That would be bad."

"Very bad. Mom would not be happy with me if I came home without you." Aaron affirmed, eyebrows raised. "Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes we do." She replied cheerily, oblivious to the heart attack she had just given her father. "No running away."

"Thank you." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, exhaling and the tension in his shoulders alleviating. Ellie was fine. No need for further panicking. Everything was fine.

And Jack, ever the dear, comically inputted, a witty grin plastered on his face. "Maybe Ellie should be the Flash instead."

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐅𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓! ꒱ 김동현

summary : you’ve been bored of your boyfriends calm demeanor, so you decided to prank him just to see if he’d start a fight—however, it gave you something much better

genre : kinda angsty, suggestive, leehan x afab!reader tws : language, kinda toxic behavior, suggestive content author notes : sorry this took a while i’ve been supah swamped but i hope you enjoyed the direction i took your request in !! word count : 1.4k

you don’t know why you were doing this. even as you applied the black, green and blue makeup, you couldn’t think of a valid reason. yet, here you were, sat on your couch scrolling through your phone, just awaiting the opportunity to prank your sweet, unsuspecting boyfriend.

maybe he’d gotten too comfortable in your relationship. hell, you used whatever excuse to try and justify it. but, the truth is, you wanted to see if he had it in him to get mad at you. he was so damn peaceful all the time—you loved that about him, really—nonetheless, deep down, your heart raced with the thought; the anticipation when he’d finally catch a glimpse of your artwork that he’d deem someone else’s.

this was fun.

you knew it’d work. you’ve never let leehan purposefully leave marks on your skin, not because it didn’t feel good to have him kiss you, but simply because you’ve always found them tacky and a hassle to cover up. you’d wasted so much makeup in the past trying to do so, so whenever he’d come close to leaving purple patches, you’d tell him to stop. he’d even bargained with leaving them in places only he could see, but you still refused. especially if you couldn’t return the favor.

you knew this was an evil way to push his buttons, that you oh-so-desperately wanted to see pushed. it was selfish, really, however at this moment in time the plan was already set into action. you wanted to start a fight, just to see if he could.

he’s never gotten mad at you. he’s never yelled at you. he’s never dared put a hand on you. and that was a dream, but somewhere deep down, you knew it was also just as boring as it was desirable. you wanted him to yell at you. at least once. manhandle you— consensually, of course. you wanted so much, and maybe this wasn’t the right way to bring it up, but it didn’t matter anymore as his voice broke through the silenced air.

“what’s that?”

“what’s what?” you asked, acting obliviously as you scrolled through twitter and instagram in turns.

he shrugged, and you don’t know if it was the fact that he seemingly didn’t care, or if it was that maybe he just brushed it under the rug as anything else, that began to piss you off.

nonetheless, you decided you were in it for the long run. after all, you wanted to see if he’d start the fight.

and throughout the rest of the afternoon you’d catch leehan staring in your direction, shifting his gaze when you’d make eye-contact. he kept a calm demeanor, never asking again what the purple marks on your neck were. he’d even hugged you before he left for practice, getting all up close and personal with the artwork.

you were finding it hard to believe he hadn’t noticed.

maybe he was gathering his thoughts. maybe he was trying to decided why you didn’t smell like another man—why he knew you wouldn’t do that to him. maybe as much as his buttons were pushed, this was it for his stemmed anger. maybe dance practice was his way to relieve the stress you caused from time-to-time. maybe the cool, calm and collected leehan was the only version of your otherwise, smiley, boyfriend.

maybe you were beginning to feel bad because you had no idea the feelings he had towards this prank. did it upset him? you wouldn’t be none-the-wiser to it if it had. he was good at shielding emotions, and maybe that’s where you needed to draw the line. maybe that’s where your conversation should’ve began, instead of whatever the hell tiktok had inspired you to do.

you kept looking at the clock on your home screen, counting down the minutes until he’d come back to you. and just as you had decided to end the prank, opting for a civil—adult-ish—conversation, a text illuminated your dark screen.

it read: we need to talk.

yet you couldn’t decipher the hidden meaning. of course you knew what it was about, that’s the only thing that’s been wrong throughout the last few months between you two. what else could it be? and why, now that you were finally getting what you wanted, didn’t it feel good?

you didn’t answer him, partially because you didn’t know what to say; it was a prank. i just wanted to see if you’d get mad at me. i’m so bored of this. nothing seemed correct, or frankly, truthful.

you also knew that he wasn’t far. he wouldn’t have texted you otherwise, just to torcher you—though it would’ve been deserved. so, you waited by the door for your boyfriend to get back, the thought of washing away the eyeshadow long gone.

then, it finally opened with the pattern of your key code. the air became thick and you found it hard to swallow with a lump in your throat. were you sorry? yes. did you feel bad for being immature? yes. was a tiny part of you still curious to see how this would play out?

yes.

"y/n," was the first, and only, thing he muttered for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes. you watched as he put his bag down, eyed him as he took his shoes off, and almost burst when he ran a hand through his hair. maybe leehan was able to torture you, even if unintended.

his eyes finally met yours, but then they drifted to your neck, and further to your collar bone. he knew. he's known since the first question left his lips hours and hours ago.

"what's that?" his arms snaked between each other, and you found it wrong to think it was hot, but you very much did.

almost like deja vu, the same feeling crept up from down within you. "what's what?" you reenacted. although this time, he didn't let it go. he approached you quickly, too fast to get away before you were sandwiched between the plaster and his body.

his hands were slow with movements. those oh-so-stupid-fucking-hands that had you, literally, at his fingertips. one forcing your head by your jaw to expose your neck, while the other brushed away the hair that disguised the marks from his view.

you fronted being indifferent, but truth be told, if he wasn't holding you up your knees would have buckled already, leaving you as a mess on the floor in front of him.

"you must think i don't know you," he voiced, holding eye-contact as he pushed his thumb between your lips, gathering just enough saliva to then press the digit to your neck and swipe. and it smudged with enough force, despite being labeled as waterproof. "tell me why you felt the need to paint these on. i couldn't think of one good reason all day, princess."

and the nickname he always called you—innocently and less than—had your heart in absolute shambles; the anticipation was just as good as if he'd raised his voice, you thought.

maybe your vanilla-scented boyfriend had finally gotten the hint that you wanted more, despite going about it in a less than thoughtful way. and maybe you realized that you didn't hate that he was always nice, no you loved that about him, but sometimes it was okay if he wanted to be a little bit meaner with you. after all, he could always say my... anything he wanted, and that would still mean that he saw you as his forever only.

"i-i," you couldn't think straight when he attached his lips over the previously (fakely) marked spots. his breath was hot, lips gentle then firm as he sucked against the spots he knew you'd rarely let him have his way with. "i—uh, fuck. leehan,"

his voice was low against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and a whimper up your throat. "if you wanted something, you could've just asked me, baby. i'd give you anything."

the eyes that you've grown comfortable with always seemed to be there despite the firm placement he had you in. you knew he loved you more than anything, so you knew his words were true. and his demeanor broke when he kissed your lips, almost giving you whiplash.

his palms laid flat against your cheeks, thumbs rubbing sweetly. "if you wanted everyone to know that you're mine, let me do it myself."

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

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[clovers-housetree]

Activities for Regressors Without Caregivers! (or just fun regression activties!)

(Although you're always welcome here if you'd like any form of comfort anyway! ^w^)

This one's kind of a long one, after the few tips I list, I've mentioned an app I use called Finch, which will be talked about below the cut.

Since that's the case, I'll put my little ending message here instead:

Knowing how to take care of yourself can take a lot of work and practice, but I believe it's worth the effort, because then you'll be a happier and healthier you! Especially if you can find ways to make it fun!

I'm more than happy to be here for you and offer my support in any way I can, anyhow! I'm proud of you for doing what you can, I know it can be very hard.

I myself don't have a caregiver for when I regress, so most of the time I end up taking care of myself! Here are some fun activities and things I do when I regress to keep myself calm and happy! ^w^

Paci mentions/pics not long after the first section for those of you who'd rather not see 'em.

♥ Arts and crafts! I absolutely LOVE coloring and making bracelets with beads, something not too complicated for little hands, but also something fun!

With coloring, you can buy coloring books, or draw something of your own to color in- even printing out a page you find online, coloring digitally, or tracing over something to color in could work! I prefer coloring more than drawing personally because I don't draw all the time, but I bet I could learn a little thing or two from the artists around here!

For bracelets (and other jewelry), strings can be hard to knot with little hands (at least they aren't those small, slippery clasps!!), but the beads shouldn't be too hard to handle if you're careful! Even just planning out patterns is fun!

Here are some My Little Pony bracelets I made, and the decorations I did for my pacis!

♥ Making playlists! Dancing is fun, and a good way to get the zoomies out, but you can just make playlists for any occasion! I have playlists that help me pet-regress, songs with sounds I like, adventure playlists... (Well- a lot of these are still in progress, but- you get the point!)

I also love those playlist videos on YouTube! Animal Crossing, Super Mario Galaxy, Minecraft and music box music are typically my go-to to help me settle or just make for comfy background music! Here's one of my favorites, shadowatnoon has lovely Nintendo music mixes!

♥ Playing with your plushies! You can take them on adventures, or make your own!

Like Toby, climbing The Great Pillow Mountain!

(This is Toby by the way, he's one of my best friends and a VERY good hugger!)

You can play games with them, too! Toby's REALLY good at hide and seek... Maybe you can find him for me? :0

♥ Finding shows to watch! I really like Paw Patrol and Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles at the moment. Plus, you can look at agere content and fics from shows you like! People make really cool stimboards and moodboards, for example, and I like reading through all the fun stories people write!

Here's a silly picture of Rocky I found! :3

Finch

Finch is a self-care app where you take care of your very own little bird friend by taking care of yourself!

You can set daily goals, or for each day (or more specific ones as well I think.). By completing these goals, you give your bird energy to go on adventures! They usually come back with a funny little story or silly questions, because they're learning, too!

Through completing these goals (or daily, at least), you can get Rainbow Stones, which you can use to buy clothes for your bird, make them different colors, or give them furniture for their house!

They're also LGBTQ+ and disability-friendly!! :3

This is my little bird, Honeydew! You're welcome to friend me as well if you'd like, my code is: Z3E2T7VRK6

It's helped me learn a lot about taking care of myself and keeping track of my goals, and I get little rewards for it! I've used the app for several months now, and it's helped me out a lot!

"Fluttershy protects this blog! SFW interaction only, please and thank you! ^w^"

"Wouldn't show a kid? Doesn't belong here!"

[the-maddened-hatter]

Alright so I pretty much said all of this verbatim on a reblog of someone else's post, but I wanted to put it here on my blog too.

As I've mentioned before, I would *very* much like to see Peri canonically having a disability that causes him to use his wand/cane and not just have it be an accessory, and so I analyzed the episodes he's in that I've been able to see so far and came up with a few observations:

As much as I'd be unopposed to seeing it portrayed, leg issues don't really seem like a major deal to fairies in general given as Cosmo misplaced his for most of an episode and a pair of sticks were a good enough replacement for him to have fun at the arcade in human form (without even drawing human attention)

And Peri can apparently use his powers as listed above without his cane since he doesn't always immediately have it on his person (especially since Dev & Hazel took his cane in Lost in Fairy World and he didn't have any power or mobility problems)

But!

I *could* easily see him having some kind of magical fatigue issue or magical equivalent of hypotonia or balance disorder, since he's shown to be

very tired after a morning spent magically creating cupcakes (a probably small but very repetitive task that leaves him running low on energy)

When his stationary float is disrupted he remains seated instead of floating back up again

3. A minor contact/startle reflex is enough to disrupt his hover and cause him to immediately fall pretty hard if not very far

4. speaking of distance, he is shown to sometimes float a bit lower than his parents, which, while not consistent and likely just an animation choice, could tie in with the other points to support the diagnosis theory

However, pain may admittedly be more of a factor than the above images suggest,

he may not just be tired from shape shifting like I'd thought since right before that he was walking (albeit in horse form) and afterwards (low) cloud float is apparently easier and faster for him than just quickly trotting past his parents

He also didn't really seem to be having too much of a problem at all before he hit the ground

Where it goes to a definitely tired and possibly more pained look.

Maybe he didn't want to tell Dev that it was painful either out of pride or because he didn't want to potentially upset him and just went with "tired" because that was what he assumed. It'd be interesting to see if it happens again in a different form.

Personally I think it'd be cool to see both and have it be a chronic condition (directly magical or otherwise) that he already had before the series began (diagnosed or not).

If he's the first fairy kid born in a long time he probably would have been monitored very closely, but it may have taken a while for doctors to notice a problem since there was little reference for comparison and may have even caused some potentially serious problems that gave Comso & Wanda a bad scare, which could tie in pretty well with their developing a high amount of over protectiveness of him, and that in turn leading him to try and behave too far in the other direction (not seeking help when he really does need it, pushing himself way too hard and suffering the fallout which he then tries to hide, ect)

If he's undiagnosed but having the problems it could be interesting to see sort of an inversion of the "character must learn to accept their disability" storyline wherein he's more connecting certain events & symptoms and we get to see him adapting to accommodations and letting himself try different approaches moreso than to having new symptoms (though we as the audience may see these symptoms more or behaviors contextualized as symptoms where they weren't necessarily before).

Idk either way I just think it would be cool (and I've probably put away more analysis into this than will ever pay off lol)

also to everyone who draws him as a disabled mobility device user: ILY please draw more of it it feeds my soul

[ckret2]

Chapter 55 of human Bill Cipher finally having a little fun for the first time in over a month of captivity in the Mystery Shack:

Bill does his level best to teach Mabel everything he knows about everything as fast as possible (while Ford eavesdrops). In the process, he finally reveals something about his home dimension!

But not everything about his dimension.

"Did you have rainbows in Flatworld?" Mabel had started drawing her shapesona again at the bottom of a fresh piece of paper. The heart was holding out one hand with several strips of glue shooting in a beam out from the palm; Mabel started shaking glitter onto the glue strips to make them rainbow.

"Not natural ones."

"Awww!"

"We could make them with flashlights and prisms, though."

"That's something." Still, it wasn't as cool as a real rainbow. She started carefully drawing Bill floating above her shapesona. (She probably should have drawn him before she put down glitter. She had to push up her sleeve and lift her wrist to avoid smearing the glue.) "When's the first time you saw a real rainbow?"

Bill didn't answer.

Mabel glanced at him. He had a hard look in his eyes. "Bill?"

####

For the first time in his life, the triangle was up—up but not north—in space, in the third dimension, looking down but not south at the plane where he'd spent his entire existence. It shuddered and rippled and cracked, contracting, as the entire universe crunched together around him.

Great walls of pale blue flame half a googol light years wide erupted into third dimensional space, where stars were caught and crushed between the quickly collapsing cosmic tectonic plates. He hadn't known his flat universe had stars of its own.

His home world shattered and crumbled, shrapnel and rubble spraying out, stone instantly pulverized into dust. Distant oceans rode the waves of the convulsing universe, flinging billions of gallons of water into space in a fine thin spray, glittering in the sunlight.

As the triangle watched, a great flickering rainbow ring formed in front of the ejected ocean, like the hollow eye of a hostile god staring at him in judgment.

He stared back.

And he felt himself fill with more and more and more power.

####

"Bill?"

"Sorry, I was trying to remember!" Bill sat back, laced his hands behind his head, and shrugged, "It's not coming to me. But I'm sure it was after I took charge of Dimension Zero. From time to time planets with weather systems would fall in through a wormhole, I must've seen a rainbow on one of them!"

"Oh." The answer disappointed her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She puzzled over it as she drew a fireball shape around Bill's hands in glue and shook on pale blue glitter.

Bill nodded at the page, "So what are we up to?"

"Fighting evil! With rainbow lasers and... whatever that magic fire thing you do is!"

"Hey, superheroes! Sounds fun. Who are we killing?"

"Superheroes don't kill people!"

"Fine. Who are we sending to the hospital with third degree burns?"

"I don't know, I haven't made up a villain yet." She almost asked Bill what kind of monsters existed in his world; but the question died in her throat. That might be too depressing a question. She added a heart-shaped glue outline around her shapesona and shook on a glitter rainbow, and set the picture aside to dry. She grabbed a fresh paper and tried to imagine what a two-dimensional butterfly would look like. Would it just have flat little stick wings since that was more aerodynamic? That sounded boring. She started drawing a two-dimensional squid instead.

Bill studied Mabel's latest finished work—the glitter-outlined heart, the glitter rainbow laser, the glitter fire, and the plain him. After a moment, he casually mentioned, "I used to wear body glitter."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Earlier you asked me about glitter in my dimension," Bill said. "Body paint was makeup to us. I wore it when I went dancing."

"WHAT!"

"And I'd cut open glow sticks to paint my arms and legs!"

"What color glitter did you wear?!"

"Usually gold."

"What?! Bill!" Mabel laughed. "You're already yellow!"

"But I didn't glitter. That's important!"

"You're boring."

"Shut up! I was gorgeous and I knew it! Why mess with perfection?!" He gestured down at himself, perfection, as though he'd momentarily forgotten what body he was in. "Listen, club fashion gets repetitive. If you've seen one equilateral in cutesy primary color gradients, you've see 'em all. There's beauty in simplicity—not a lot of shapes can pull off a solid color with a little light highlighting and still look flashy!" He'd sat up straighter, chest puffed out proudly, as he talked about how pretty he thought he'd been. "Buuut sure, sometimes I highlighted my points for fun. And to keep from stabbing people—it's hard for other people to judge distances with strobe lights on."

"What colors."

"Usually red, blue, or purple. You know—nice contrasts with gold."

Mabel grabbed another paper and started drawing Bill dancing. He leaned closer, elbows on the table, watching with more interest now. Mabel asked, "You had clubs with strobe lights?"

"Of course we did, we aren't barbarians." Bill picked up yellow and black markers out of Mabel's supplies, leaned over to her drawing in progress, and started adding a decorative border around the nearest edge of the paper in dots and dashes.

"What kind of music did you listen to?"

"It was... It's closest to the music in— You've never been to that dimension. Well, it kind of sounds like... I'll never hit those notes with human vocal cords." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Hold on. Let me get Questiony's piano."

####

It turned out that Flatworld club music sounded kind of like a broken tornado siren.

"It doesn't sound very good on a human piano," Bill said, giving the electric piano balanced on his knees a disapproving look. "The intervals between notes are tuned wrong, it's about four octaves short, and it's missing that tympanic membrane shredding tremolo when the treble jumps."

Mabel regarded the piano with some dismay. "Do you know how to play anything else?"

Bill sighed.

He played "Don't Start Un-Believing" for her. He even did that cool thing where you drag a finger up half the keyboard at once.

####

By now, Bill seemed a lot happier to answer Mabel's questions about his world; but she quickly worked out which ones he'd actually give a direct answer. He was the most free with science-y questions, hit or miss on the fun cultural questions, and instantly evasive when asked about his own life or uncomfortable political issues.

When she asked if shapes and their houses just kinda floated unattached to anything because they didn't have a home planet, Bill said they did have a home planet—hundreds of miles below, marking south by its gravitational pull—and they lived in the sky in between their planet and its rings. When she asked what kind of clothing they wore, Bill said they usually didn't wear anything, unless it was for practical purposes (gloves for gardening; goggles for chemistry; elbow-, knee-, and corner-pads for spelunking), and when she asked about his top hat he said slyly, "You mean my telescope?" and gleefully refused to explain further.

But when she asked if it was true that equilateral triangles were the lowest rung you could stand on before getting knocked off the social ladder altogether, Bill said that was a pretty rude question to ask a triangle. And then he said his world didn't have ladders.

When he casually let slip that he'd been able to see the third dimension when nobody else could, she asked how that was possible. He'd paused, looked up from his seventh completely incomprehensible drawing of an animal (she'd asked him whether Flatworlders had pets), and, with an eager gleam in his eye, he asked, "How much time do you have?"

####

Ford heard Bill's voice the moment he opened the door—"All right, star girl, pop quiz, let's see how much of that you kept in your noggin."

"Oh, I'm so ready!"

Baffled, Ford leaned in the living room doorway. The room was absolutely plastered in crayon-covered papers—illustrations, lists, mathematical and scientific diagrams—stars, cells, planets, vehicles. At the moment Bill was pointing at six papers taped together with a diagram on them that Ford thought was a Punnett square that had been expanded into a four-dimensional tessaract. "A polygon's sides are determined by...?"

"Genetic inheritance!" Mabel announced, the proud student who knew all the answers. "You have however many sides your parents have genes for!"

"And the idea that polygons increase by one side each generation...?"

"Is propaganda! Because if everybody hides their kids without enough sides, and they only talk about the kids that did go up a side, it makes everyone think that's what always happens and their family is the only one that's failing!"

"Perfect! And the highest natural amount of sides a shape can have?"

"Twelve! Decadoggins!"

"Close enough, dodecagons! But this isn't Greek class, I'll give you full points. So, any shapes with more sides than that got them through—?"

"Random mutation!"

"Correctamundo! Meaning the only way to get shapes with hundreds of sides is..."

"Crazy bonkers inbreeding! Because the same rich families just keep marrying each other!"

"With consequences including—?"

"Um..." Mabel puffed out her cheeks as she thought. "Skeletons getting all crackly, having a hard time making babies, and high—uh—infant morality!"

"Mortality."

"Lots of dead babies."

"Yes! And remember: when a mutation makes a body produce so much more of something than it needs that it starts harming the body, that's called...?"

"Cancer!"

"Meaning circles are...?"

"Tumors!"

"And what do we do with tumors?"

"EXECUTE THEM!"

"YES!" Bill ripped the Punnett tesseract off the wall. Behind it was a piece of paper that read, in blood red crayon, ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCISM. "You're ready to man the guillotines! A+, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"Yes!" Mabel peeled a sparkly purple star off a sticker sheet and stuck it on her cheek. Her face had over twenty star stickers.

Ford leaned against the living room doorframe, watching the scene inside with wonder. He was more than a little iffy about the political lesson—he, personally, was incredibly opposed to the idea that it was morally imperative to execute anybody with extra body parts, nobility or not—but the presentation of it was certainly captivating. It had been a long time since Ford had seen Bill like this. (It had been a long time since Ford would have trusted any lesson out of Bill's mouth.)

"Now let's get back to biangles." Bill picked up a fake crystal ball that he'd drawn various lines and shapes on with a marker.

"Awww, again?!"

"Hey. Listen," he said firmly. "I believe in you. You'll get it this time, I know it."

Ford looked around the room, taking in the scene more fully. The floor was scattered with drawings of aliens. A few of them were various polygons—regular and irregular, with the irregularities further broken down by whether they otherwise showed radial or lateral symmetry—each with thin limbs and an eye on a corner. Most were fantastical alien animals, a few that Ford had seen or been warned about on other worlds. Some had been scribbled out and redrawn when Bill's limited artistic capabilities didn't live up to his unknown standards; a few were in Mabel's art style, meaning Bill must have described them to her while she drew.

Twenty pieces of paper had been taped together on the wall behind the TV, with a drawing of a planet surrounded by a circular ring of small blobs—a planetary ring?—and a moon further out. The empty atmosphere between the planet and the ring was filled with squares and rectangles, which were grouped together in red blobby circles that were each labeled by letter: "Country △," "Country B," "Country C," "Country D (communists)," etc. A badly-drawn sea serpent slithered along the outside of the ring with the words "Here There Be Monsters" written over it.

A tall column of taped together papers was covered in examples of alien writing systems—some of them Ford recognized from his travels through other dimensions. From the ones he understood, it looked like the words were demonstrations of Mabel's name in dozens of alien writing systems. Sometimes Bill spelled her name Maybell or Mabelle.

And there were so many papers scattered around the room with little graphs and symbols and arrows Ford couldn't make sense of. And in the center of it all, Bill, alive, energetic, his full attention enthusiastically focused on his student.

Bill had to be up to something; but Ford couldn't imagine what, based on the bizarre assemblage of information in front of him. What nefarious purpose could be behind showing Mabel how to spell her name in alien languages? Unless his goal was to so enchant her with tales of other worlds that he could persuade her to help him open a new portal...? No, even for Bill that felt like a stretch. 

He looked at the wall again. Surely, that wasn't Bill's homeworld. Ford had spent years of his life trying to find the world Bill was from; surely Bill hadn't just drawn it in the middle of Ford's living room. Had he?

"Okay, let's start with spherical geometry from the top," Bill said, polishing the crystal ball on his leggings to rub off the marker lines. "Don't tell anyone I can do this." He held up the ball, tapped it twice on the bottom, and it hovered in place when he let it go, freeing up both his hands to hold a ruler and marker. (How long had he been able to do that? Had he even noticed Ford was standing right outside?) He drew a line across the surface of the ball, "Pretend it's a planet. If you draw a line on a sphere, it's obviously curved, right?"

"Right," Mabel said.

"But now pretend you're on the planet. The surface of the world is a flat plane to you. From your perspective, you can walk in a straight line from point A to point B."

"But it's actually a curve. From space."

"Now you're catching on. That's what makes spherical geometry a little weird: when you're on the sphere you treat everything around you like it's 2D even though when you're off the sphere you can see it's 3D." Why in the world was Bill teaching Mabel about spherical geometry?

Bill drew two more lines to connect to the first. "So! You can draw a triangle on a sphere, no problem, right?"

"Right."

"And something you can only do in spherical geometry... is... pretend this is the North Pole and the South Pole..." Bill carefully rotated the ball under his marker as he drew a straight line from one "pole" to the other, and then drew a second straight line from pole to pole next to it. "Ta-da! If a tri-angle has three angles, a bi-angle has two angles. You've got yourself a two-sided polygon. Right?"

Mabel hesitated. "Right."

"You with me so far, Shooting Star?"

"So far," she said, with a tone that suggested she expected that to change very soon.

"But if you try to transfer that shape from spherical geometry to Euclidean geometry—" Bill turned to an expanse of still partially-uncovered white papers taped to the wall like a makeshift whiteboard, drew two points, and drew two straight lines, red and blue, between the points, "—it just doesn't work. You can't see a biangle in a flat world."

And now Mabel was squinting suspiciously at him.

Bill said, "I lost you."

"But where does it go!"

Bill shrugged. "You lost it when you lost the third dimension."

"But you said when you're on the sphere it's two dimensional!"

"From your perspective it's two dimensional, but there's still a third dimension enabling the sphere to exist."

"Then from my perspective when I'm on the planet shouldn't a biangle look like that?" Mabel pointed at the two straight lines on the piece of paper. "Since everything looks all 2D to me? But it doesn't! It's like flying from the North Pole to the South Pole through America and then flying back through China! China and America don't just squish together into the same place just because you're going in a straight line on a sphere!"

"I'd kill to hear you give a geography lesson to a Flat Earther convention."

Mabel gave him her best angry scowl.

"It was a compliment! I think you'd inspire some hilarious arguments, that's all!" Bill put two dots on the paper and offered Mabel the marker. "Look, try it for yourself! Draw a biangle."

Mabel took the marker and, after a moment of thought, drew two curved lines between the points, making a football shape.

"Those aren't straight lines, kid."

"Argh!" Mabel pulled the paper off the wallpaper, bent it into a curve, and shakily drew a straight line between the two points; but no matter how else she twisted or bent the paper, she couldn't find a path that would let her draw a second straight line between the points without overlapping the first line she'd drawn. She crumpled the paper, tossed it on the floor, and whispered, "It's witchcraft, Bill."

He burst out laughing. "I could name a few horror writers that felt the same way about non-Euclidean geometry."

"But whyyy does the biangle disappear when it goes from a sphere to normal flat paper."

"Because..." Bill groped for an explanation he hadn't already tried. He crossed an arm across his chest and tapped a knuckle just under the bow tied in his hoodie's draw strings the way some humans might tap a hand to their chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. How many times had Ford seen him make that exact same face in his true triangular form, whenever Ford was struggling to understand a lesson on portal physics and Bill was struggling to find a way to translate it into concepts Ford had encountered in his human education? "Let's try this another way."

The scene made Ford ache.

Look past the paper and the crayons, and the graph- and figure- and writing-covered walls looked so much like the advanced physics lessons and blueprints that Bill had coated Ford's starry blue dreamscape in during his sleep. Look past the flesh and bone, and Bill moved and gestured and spoke the way he had when he was teaching Ford how to build a bridge between worlds.

It was the first time since Bill's death that Ford had seen 100% of his personality shining—unhindered by grief, secrets, or a disdainful human audience. It was the first time in decades that Ford had seen Bill at his best.

In that moment, for a split second, Ford forgot how to hate Bill. He couldn't see Bill the traitor, Bill the invader, Bill the homicidal party animal. The only person in that room with Mabel was Bill Cipher the Teacher, Mentor, and Muse that Ford used to know so long ago. Like an ancient god who'd chosen to spend a day roleplaying as a giddy professor—Bill was holding back a tsunami's worth of vast, ancient, unintelligible alien knowledge so that he could drip out revelations at a faucet's pace, slow enough for his student to catch each drop in her hands.

Over thirty years ago, there had been moments when this Bill peeked out behind the above-it-all façade—and that had been the Bill that Ford was happiest to see, the Bill that Ford had thought of as a friend rather than a mere teacher... but each time, it hadn't been long before Bill seemly caught himself and turned off the faucet for the night.

Because he couldn't let Ford learn too much, or he would have seen through Bill's ruse.

Hatred tiredly crept back in.

"I've got it!" Mabel triumphantly flung her hands in the air. "It's like orange slices!"

"Orange slices?" Bill repeated.

"Be right back!" Mabel zoomed to the kitchen, shouting, "Hi Grunkle Ford!" as she passed.

Ford watched her go, then looked back at Bill; Bill had glanced at him for the first time. But all he did was frown and mutter, "I don't remember inviting you to audit this course."

Before Ford could decide whether to retort, Mabel charged back into the living room with an orange and a sharp knife. "Okay! If you draw a triangle on the orange," Mabel said, doing so with a marker, before cutting into it with the knife, "and then you—you cut it out all the way to the center..."

"Be careful with that," Ford said. Mabel was holding the orange in one palm and stabbing into it from the opposite side.

Bill said, "Lay off, Six Fingers. I'm keeping my eye on her, she's not gonna hurt herself."

"I'm being careful!" Mabel was struggling to get an even wedge cut all the way to the center of the orange; she eventually gave up and  dug into the orange with her fingertips to tug out a messy mangled handful of fruit, attached to a roughly equilateral patch of orange peel about two inches to each side. She shook orange juice off her fingers. "Pretend I cut that out better."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Bill said. "It looks flawless."

She pointed at each corner of the peel triangle. "Okay so, these are the three corners of the spherical triangle, right?"

"Right."

"And if you want to make a regular flat triangle, you can... try to cut a straight line between the corners, like..." She squeezed the rest of the orange between her knees, held the edges of the triangular peel with her fingertips, and sawed off the orange pulp underneath, trying to cut a flat level plane as near to the triangle's corners as she could. Ford almost warned Mabel about the knife again, but glanced at Bill's face and his expression of unworried, keen curiosity, and kept quiet. Bill reached out and caught the sawed-off chunk of orange pulp before it hit the ground.

Mabel held out the peel slice. "There! Right? Spherical triangle on top and flat triangle on the bottom!"

Bill considered that, one hand on his hip. He popped the orange chunk in his mouth. "All right. So far so good."

"But if you make a biangle..." Mabel drew two lines between the top and bottom of the remaining orange, and cut a wedge free. "There isn't anything extra to cut off to let you make a flat shape. There's just a straight line between the two points!"

"Ha! Okay, all right, that works! Brilliant! What do you need me for? You just taught yourself the whole lesson!" Bill ruffled her hair so enthusiastically that he knocked her headband askew.

She shoved him away, laughing, and straightened out her headband. "Bill!"

"What did I say! Didn't I tell you you'd get it?" Bill was beaming at her, impressed, delighted, proud. "Congratulations, you've just mastered college-level geometry."

"Wh—What? Are you serious? This is college stuff?" She shook her head. "No way, you're lying."

Bill pointed at Ford without looking at him. "Tell her."

He felt a little like a dog being commanded to bark; but he said, "He's right. I didn't start studying spherical geometry until my second semester in college." He was sure he could have studied it sooner, if his high school had offered it; and he doubted Mabel had absorbed an entire semester's worth of spherical geometry; but he didn't see any reason to point any of that out when Mabel's face lit up in excitement.

Bill said, "There you have it! Way to go, star girl! Two big stickers."

"YES!" Mabel peeled off two jumbo-sized star stickers with smiley faces and stuck them onto her earrings. "So does that make a biangle a girl or a boy?"

And Ford was immediately lost again.

"No," Bill said.

Mabel sighed loudly and tried again. "Does that make a biangle a line or a polygon?"

"Still no, but for a different reason. Externally, they look like lines to anyone who isn't psychic. Internally, their anatomy usually functions like a polygon's. But socially, you've gotta ask. Some of 'em consider themselves lines, some polygons, some claim biangularity is neither linear nor polygonal. Personally, I say they're whatever they say they are. Because," he said grandly, "I'm just that open-minded and accepting."

Ford stifled a derisive snort. But Bill's self-aggrandizing aside, Ford's mind was reeling trying to keep up—spherical geometry, the (gendered?) socialization of shapes, Flatworlder anatomy—what did psychics have to do with anything? Ford's fingers itched for a pen. He wished he had his journal with him.

Bill grabbed several papers off the floor and the floating crystal ball and climbed on top of the wooden TV cabinet. He left the ball hovering behind him seven feet up in the air, tossed aside several papers he'd already used both sides of to let them flutter back to the floor, and taped the rest to the wall with their blank backsides turned out. "Now back to remote viewing." He drew a grid in blue lines on the papers, said, "Toss me that triangle wedge," used a marker to draw an eye on the triangular orange peel, tapped it twice like he had the crystal ball, and stuck it against the grid, where it sat unmoving.

And the entire time, Ford watched with his arms crossed tightly.

Almost a month ago, Bill had given Ford his manipulative trap of a birthday gift, a miniature grimoire, five pieces of paper, margins filled, two rows of text per line, packed with as diverse an array of magical spells and occult knowledge as Bill could fit. It wasn't a gift, it was a boast and a taunt: look at everything I know that you don't; look at what I could teach you if you let me live. 

It was something Bill could have given him all along—effortlessly, with no cost to himself—but didn't, until Bill wanted something from him. 

On his birthday, Ford had wondered, furiously: when this was what Bill could have been—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—why did he choose not to be?! It was an internal scream of rage, the howl of a wounded victim at the condemned criminal as he was marched to the gallows: you monster, you monster, you monster, when it would have been so easy for you to be something better, why instead are you a liar, manipulator, torturer, murderer, life-ruiner, world-ender? Answer for yourself: why are you this instead of someone better? How dare you?

It had made Ford want him dead even more.

This was the exact opposite of the grimoire.

The question in Ford's head wasn't a scream of rage anymore. It was grief. It was a plea. It was one last desperate attempt to understand:

Instead of being who he was, why couldn't Bill have been this person? This charismatic, energetic, ecstatic muse who ruled like a king over a classroom he'd constructed himself, eager to share a trillion years of collected wisdom with a fragile mortal mind, lighting up with joy whenever she grasped something that was trivially simple to him? This guide to the vast wonders beyond Earth, competent and encouraging and funny, delighting in the weirdness of the wide wide universe? The Bill that Ford had once liked so much—the Bill that he'd called his friend?

"Okay," Bill said, all sunshine and excitement, "Back to how to view the third dimension from the second dimension—"

Mabel said, "Can you view the fourth dimension from the third?"

Bill hesitated a split second, but said, "Sure! You can view any dimension from any dimension! You've just gotta bend your eye the right way to see higher ones!"

"What does the fourth dimension look like?"

"Well—hm. Imagine the way that the third dimension looks different from the second, and that's the way the fourth dimension looks different from the third."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"Eddie wrote an entire book about a square meeting a sphere because that was the closest he could get to telling other humans what seeing the fourth dimension is like! If I could still visit dreams, I could just show you, but..."

"Isn't the fourth dimension time? Blendo showed us the time stream! Is that what it looks like?"

"Nnn—close! You're close. The fourth dimension isn't time, but time is in the fourth dimension."

"How's that different."

Bill pointed at the floor. "If the carpet's the second dimension and the lamp's shining on it, the third dimension isn't light, but light is in the third dimension."

"Ohhh." Mabel gasped. "That's why you called some weird thing flying around in a higher dimension an eclipse! Because eclipses were in a higher dimension in Flatworld!"

Bill's face lit up in surprised delight. "All right, skip three lessons ahead, why don't you! In a week's time you'll be teaching people how my dimension works." He turned back to his papers and started drawing a branching river. "So! That time stream you saw isn't time itself! It's a visual metaphor being generated so humans can see time too—sort of a hologram projecting from the fourth dimension into the third—have I explained that the universe is a hologram yet—"

Why weren't you this person, Ford wondered. Why did you choose not to be this person? When it was so easy for you to be this? When this made you happy, too?

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why are you only like this now, when you're about to die?

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed Infodump: The Chapter. This is one of those chapters with something hidden in it that'll unravel the whole fic if you happen to find it, so have fun searching for that. Let me know what you thought of this week's chapter! And get excited—we've got Big Things coming up... soon.)

[luveline]

hey love!!!! i hope you are doing well 🫶🫶🫶 if you feel so inclined could we get another coworker frenemies james?? i loveeeee him ☹️

thank u for requesting 💌 fem, 1k

James can’t fucking stand you, but in a fun way. You feel worse about him, he’s sure. He’s sitting in his car waiting for you to get out of yours, pretending to look for something rather than have to share the elevator up to the office with you. 

He hasn’t figured out a good comeback yet for what you’d said about his rugby pictures yesterday as you left, and he hates when you win, because you smile all smug and he finds it adorable. You don’t deserve a smile like that, you’re insipid, and annoying, and you take a full day to reply to his emails. 

He digs his hand into the door handle and pushes it out. The winter cold hits him hard and immediate, makes him wish he wore his thick coat with the hood even if Remus says it makes him look like he works in the deep arctic. 

There’s less slow on the ground than there has been for the last few days, snowdrift melting in the day and turning to ice at night when the temperature drops. There’s no sun out yet to warm him. He shoves his hands into his pocket and begins a careful trek from the parking lot to the stairs leading up to the office. 

You’re taking steps slow as his further in. He’d hoped you’d be gone. He’s stupid for not looking, now you both have to do an awkward shuffle where the other can see, what if he trips? You aren’t looking his way, but he’s sure it would draw your attention. If he trips in front of you he might quit, he—

You’re about two steps away from the flat entrance to the office building when you slip. 

In honesty, it's not as bad a fall as it could’ve been, your foot slips on the step and your knee hits the stone, then the other, your hand tight on the handrail but unable to save you. Your gasp is horrible, tight and too quiet, considering the surprise. 

James pauses. 

He could pretend he didn’t see. But if you turn at any point and see him, you’ll know he’s witnessed it, and that’ll be ten times as awkward as if he were to just keep on walking. 

He can’t walk past you. He never could. You don’t get along, but James isn’t the type of guy who can leave someone kneeling on the wet ground. 

Foregoing caution, James hurries across the last stretch of slushied ground to grab you. He feels cruel at first, his hand under your armpits and yanking you up, but the ice is dead slippery and you can’t find purchase, letting out another strange gasp as he rights you.

You turn your face to identify your saviour. 

“Oh,” you say, breathing funny, “of course.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“What?” you ask.  

“Are you okay?” he frowns at your frown, though they’re of two different calibres. You look angry. James is concerned. 

“What do you think, James?” 

You yank out of his arms and turn away from him. 

He shouldn’t have grabbed you without asking. He probably hurt you a little with the force of it, but he’d thought picking you up would be best. Less humiliating, perhaps. 

You sniffle. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. He wishes he could say he spoke gently, but your annoyance churns his own, and he’s starting to sound mad too. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Listen, sit down. You have a long coat, just sit for a second.” 

Your shoulders tighten, but you sweep your coat under your thighs and struggle to sit down on one of the icy steps. He can imagine the cold of it under your bum and your palms as you begin to fold in on yourself, and it’s only then he notices the blood on your knees. “Oh,” he says. (And later, years in the future, he might admit to sounding heartbroken). “Your knees.” 

You pull at your skin. “Awesome. That’s really cool.” 

You sound upset. James finds he can’t ignore that, either. He feels like a dick standing over you and so he crouches, and that feels worse, but he stays like that, facing across from you, hand begging to touch your poor scratched knees. Your eyes widen ever so slightly in response, their waterlines heavy with tears, shimmery and waiting to fall. 

“The last time I fell up here I thought I broke my arm.” 

A tear breaks free from your lashes, streaking heavy and slow down your cheek. “What?” 

“I smashed my arm coming down. It hurt for days, and I had a bruise in a line.” He raises his arm to draw a line across his sleeve. “Right here.” 

“I thought you were better coordinated than that.” 

“That’s not what you said yesterday about my photos,” he reminds you. 

You laugh under your breath. A second tear tips down the other cheek. 

“It’s easily done. The ice is pretty bad.” 

“Don’t patronise me,” you say. Your voice is missing its usual disdain. You just sound sad. 

“I’m not patronising you! You just take everything I say the wrong way.” 

“Then don’t say it the wrong way.” 

“Maybe we should go inside and find the first aid kit. How does it feel?” 

“I slipped,” you say hotly. “I’m fine.” 

Then why are you crying? Floods of tears on your cheeks, your hot breath a cloud that kisses your nose. If it were Remus sitting here in tears, James would already be hugging him. If it were Sirius, he’d have patted him on the back by now. It is so, so odd to see you crying. So weird. It makes his chest twist. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I’m fine! Just go upstairs and tell everybody already.” 

“Tell them what?” 

“I don’t know. That I’m a baby.” 

He tilts his head, can’t help it, leaning in mildly too close. “You’re a baby?” he asks, fondness leaking into his tone. “Because you fell? Everybody falls.” 

“‘Cos I’m crying,” you mumble. 

“I’m not going to tell anyone. Then you’ll tell everybody I cried when I nearly broke my arm, it’s a lose-lose situation.” 

He’s stupid for talking to you like this. Like you’re friends, and like you can stand to be near him. You don’t look disgusted as his finger brushes your leg, just below your sore cut, and you’re not mad anymore. The ferocity drains from your face and leaves behind a sniffly, embarrassed frown. 

“Won’t tell anyone,” he says quietly.

“Thank you.” 

James didn’t fall up the stairs the last time it snowed. He didn’t hurt his arm or cry, he’s too remarkably coordinated for that. He lied, and he’ll lie to Remus when he asks why it took you both as long as it did to get upstairs. You slipped and he helped you. There were no heart-hurting tears. It’s a secret he doesn’t mind keeping for you. 

[eupheme]

So I finally watched Fallout. Really cool. Loved the main characters a lot. Totally going to be normal about it all 🫠 Also, if you're still taking requests, what about #10 "Spread your legs wider" with The Ghoul but in two different contexts? One where he's (begrudgingly) teaching reader how to shoot and another that's spicy.

ooh hi anon, I love this idea! 👀💖 these were such fun scenarios to explore together, I hope you like this! thank you so much for sending it in!

— on target

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

Tags: weapon practice, pining, flirting, big dick cooper howard, parters-with-benefits, mutual mast, rough PiV

Two times the Ghoul tells you to spread your legs, and two times that you listen.

"Again."

You frown, a sideways glance from over your shoulder, "But I hit it."

A neat mark pierces clean through in the outlined target. Low and to the left, but still within the boundaries. A win in your book, compared to the mess where you started.

"That'd just slow a fella down, not kill 'em." The Ghoul snaps, "If you were aimin' for a head, you'd have missed. Again."

You sigh, as you peer down the sights. Somewhere along the way, your desire to learn became a desire to prove him wrong.

That you could be - would be - good at this.

Enough time spent watching him - drawing and firing before you can even blink - to know, out of anyone in the Mojave Wasteland, that you wanted it to be him to teach you.

But the Ghoul had been reluctant to show you how to shoot. Seemed content enough to handle things himself, when shit went down. A sneering curl of his lip, when you had asked.

"Shoot your own damn foot off, sweetheart," He scoffed, "Then were'd we be?"

You had pushed. Never begging, you wouldn't stoop to that. Just needling - a reminder of how much use you could be to him if you could truly have his back.

He had laughed. Hadn't needed someone in two-hundred years to do that. Doesn't know why he'd start to worry about someone watching his back now.

But, he relented. A small pistol pressed in your hand, with a spinning chamber and everything.

The next shot you take is closer, but still too low.

With a grunt, he's manhandling you. A hand at your waist, at the small of your back - moving you into position. His knee pressing to yours, a heavy boot nudging your own.

"Spread your legs wider, now." His voice is low in your ear, making you shiver, "Center your gravity."

Your body is slow to respond. Caught up in how close he is, how his touch feels electric - even through the layers.

"You listenin’, vaultie?" The sharp tone snaps you back, as you do as he says. Thighs inching wider, the curve of your ass pressing against his front.

"Good girl." He hums - the syllables drawing out - and it shoots straight through you.

A heat pounding in your cheeks as his hands still rest at your waist. Solid and unyielding, as he always was.

It takes a real effort to raise your arms and aim again. Inhaling a breath, and holding it.

His voice rough, as he rasps in your ear.

"Now, take the shot."

This time when you fire -

Your bullet hits dead center.

“Well, come on.” The Ghoul’s fingers pinch into your skin, “This was your idea now.”

As if he was no more than an innocent bystander. As if he doesn’t need this as much as you do, with the way he shifted into your wandering palm.

Your back arches, where it presses against the bedroll. Bare knees clamp against his waist. A boot lost to the wastes in your urge to rid yourself of clothing - pants and underwear in a twist around one of your shins.

Torn down after all that pent-up pressure finally came bubbling over.

“Spread ‘em wider, sweetheart.” There’s a tap against your thigh, a command in the low rasp of his voice. “Show me.”

Your heart thunders in your chest as you obey. Legs butterflying as they spread, dipping down as you open yourself up for him.

For once - instead of that laser focus on you, with that distrustful nature of his - those eyes dip down.

There’s a shark intake of breath. His fingers flex when he sees you - damp and glistening, as few things are out in the wasteland. The pretty gleam of your arousal as it drips from you.

Almost as if he means to touch. Sink two fingers deep, bury himself in you until you forget everything else.

Instead, they pinch against your hips. Slipping back up to work open that thick belt buckle. The sun glinting off ancient, yellowed resin as his layers loosen. Fingers closing around himself instead, easing the hard length free.

He’s thick, bigger than you thought. Your pulse spiking at the way his fingers, bigger than yours, just make it around. Ruined and red like the rest of him - though it doesn’t stifle the urge to part your lips and stick out your tongue.

The Ghoul’s chin dips down, when those eyes fix on yours again. A breath passes before realize what he wants - your own hand drifting. Your moan soft as the tips of your fingers press down, slowly sliding to your clit.

Teeth clenching down as your circle, aware of the sounds you make. Not just the hitch of your breath, but the loud, slick swirl of your fingers.

A betrayal, showing how much you need this - aching even before that first brush of his hands, guiding you into position.

His attentions transfixes you enough that you almost miss it. How his fist moves in tandem with yours, copying your rhythm.

It has your hips bucking into your touch, fingers rubbing just a little faster. Your lips parting with a harsh breath - torn between watching him get off to you, and wanting to see the look in his eyes doing it.

The decision makes itself - your eyes lifting until they’re dixing on each other, held until he makes a rough sound.

“Never seen you want somethin’ like this before,” He rasps, “You gonna ask nicely for this, too?”

His fingers tighten with the emphasis, squeezing. The tip gleaming with a pearl of precum, before it dribbles down to smear against his swollen tip.

Reminding you how you had needled at him to teach you, until he had barked a “fine, fuckin’ fine already-”. But this time, you can already feel that strung-tight wire inside you.

An innate knowledge that yes, it would be pleasurable to come with the heat of his gaze upon you - but to have his length buried deep, to come around his cock as he fucks you -

It would be incomparable.

“I need you,” You hear yourself beg.

“You need me to what?” His brow lifts, “Seems like you’re doin’ a fine job yourself.”

Your teeth grit, swallowing down your pride. The pace of your fingers just barely slowing - drawing it out, in the hopes he gives you what you need.

“Please,” The syllables draw out as you keen, “I need your cock, need you to fuck me-”

His eyes glitter in the afternoon sun, the cat that caught the canary.

“Where was this before, hm?” The Ghoul rasps, a twitch at the edge of his lips, “Could’ve gotten what you wanted a lot sooner, darlin’.”

Your answer comes out strangled, his hips moving just as your lips part. Fingers wrapped around his base to angle the tip. Nudging himself just inside the tight clench of your pussy - parting you open - before there’s the sharp forward punch of his hips.

It’s immediately too much.

The moan breaks, the air stolen from your lungs. Going from aching and empty to full in a second, all of your muscles going tight.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He breathes - jaw gritting the same way when he had looked at you, on that last day of practice, “Gonna snap it clean off if you don’t relax.”

That hunger etched so clearly across your face, his hands still resting on your hips. Tired of the teasing. The flit of his hands and the shift of his hips into yours. The rock of his thigh against your core, just as you were about to fire.

“Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, sweetheart.” It had been rough in your ear, a warning and a challenge.

But if you could handle his gun - you could handle him, too.

With your own little snarl and a tilt of your head, you had kissed him. It feels like a dream, now, even though it was only a few moments ago.

And it’s only been a breath since you’ve been full of him, but each second lengthens. Your sounds bleeding into a whine as he starts to move - hands grasping at your hips, the thrusts starting shallow and turning longer.

“Not my fault.” You huff, that sharp sting easing into a syrupy warmth as he starts to move, “Didn’t tell me you were packing a-, a sarsaparilla bottle down there.”

“Is that right?” Lips wide stretch over stained teeth, “Can’t say I’ve heard that before.”

Your strangled laugh becomes a groan, as your start fingers swirl again. This is how it should be, you think - stuffed to the brim with him, as you bring yourself to the brink.

Eclipsing your quiet fumbling in the dark, the bitten-back hiss of pleasure. No more than a relief of tension and a way to sleep. Now, it’s so much more than that. The pleasure mounting, clicking upward - a geiger counter in the wastes.

Only for your cunt to tighten around him - a new wash of desire crashing over you - when the Ghoul inches his thighs wider. Arcing over you - his eyes narrowing when yours go wide, lips parting with a breathless gasp.

You wonder if he’s had as much practice with this, as he has with that gun of his. This new tilt of his hips sends him against a sensitive spot inside you, the tip nudging against it again and again.

He must, with the way he bares his teeth - the rough chuckle at the “oh fuck” that loosens from your throat.

The sound is like the sharp scrape of steel against flint to your ears. It would be startling if you didn’t know him the way you do.

“D-Don’t stop.” You beg again - the heel of a foot hitching to dig into his back, keeping him close, “Oh, you’re gonna make me come.”

“That’s the idea, sweetheart.” He growls - but for once he listens. That pace staying steady, his own chest heaving as you writhe beneath him.

Hips bucking to meet the sharp slap of his. Your touch too harsh, too needy. Pulling you to the edge with the realization that he wants to feel you come around him.

Just like he wanted to see you hit that target.

It’s that flicker of knowledge that sends you over.

The grin he gives you is near feral. Your head tilting back as the pleasure floods through you, sending your nerves endings alight.

Barely able to hear the soft echo of his words before.

“Good girl.”

thanks so much for reading! I have a few more requests I am working on, can’t wait to share them when I am done! 💖

[sysig]

Bad time of it, all things considered (Patreon)

[motherismotheringggg]

Heheh this is the sub Nicholas anon. And if you can’t or don’t feel comfy no pressure at all. Maybe virgin Nicholas with dom experienced reader giving him a blowjob for the first time. Maybe the reader has the house to themselves and invites him over. And he’s had a crush on them for so long and is so excited… he’s so whiny too 🫣

surrendered

summary: see request above, thank you to this lovely anon who suggested this <3

type: dom fem! reader x sub nicholas chavez

tags/warnings: 18+, dry humping, sex while slightly intoxicated, oral (m! receiving), nipple play (m! receiving)

author’s note: my first request 🤭🤭🤭 i really leaned into the sub! thing which made the reader more dom by comparison so this was SO much fun to write!!!

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Nicholas sat across from you at your dining table, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that felt both thrilling and a little shy. He tried to play it cool, laughing at your jokes, but you could sense his subtle nervousness. His dark eyes would drift to the side occasionally, or his fingers would tap his glass, and he seemed to hesitate just a fraction of a second whenever you leaned in closer.

This was your fourth date, and you’d decided on a cozy pasta-and-wine night at your place. The warmth of your space—the candlelight, the soft music, the little quirks of your apartment—seemed to relax him, bringing him into your world. After dinner, he offered to do the dishes, and soon after he returned to join you on the couch, where you handed him another drink. He accepted, but barely took a sip, glancing at you as if he was gathering the courage to make a move or perhaps trying to savor the moment in silence.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to him; everything about Nicholas drew you in. His appearance held a fascinating contrast—a rugged confidence softened by boyish charm. His dark eyes were intense yet warm, and they crinkled at the corners when he smiled, hinting at something vulnerable beneath his steady exterior. His strong jawline and light stubble gave him an air of maturity, though his laughter, easy and genuine, brought out a playfulness you loved. His tousled hair fell somewhere between dark brown and nearly black, and every time he ran his fingers through it, it gave him that effortlessly handsome look that was impossible to ignore.

Settling in beside him, you let the conversation flow. The natural ease between you felt grounding as if you’d known each other far longer than a handful of dates. Yet with every inch you shifted closer, Nicholas grew visibly tenser. His fingers traced the rim of his glass, his shoulders squared up as though preparing himself for something, and he seemed to hold his breath when you brushed against him. You could tell he was torn, the mix of nerves and anticipation almost palpable. His gaze met yours fleetingly, only to dart away again, his lips parting as if to say something before pressing them together, unsure.

Smiling, you leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss against his neck, feeling the way his breath hitched. Emboldened, you let your fingers rest lightly on his knee, brushing over the fabric of his jeans. He stilled, his gaze shifting back to you, eyes wide and captivated.

"Do I make you nervous, handsome?" you teased, your voice low, just playful enough to draw him out.

Nicholas swallowed, trying to maintain his composure with a smile that didn’t quite hide his vulnerability. "Trying to not be," he murmured, though the faint blush rising on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Trying?” you asked with a laugh, pressing another soft kiss along his neck.

He hesitated, then took a steadying breath, and finally opened up. “I’ve wanted you since our first date,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “On our second date, when you wore that mini skirt, I couldn’t stop thinking about you… but, to be completely honest, I’ve… never been with anyone…sexually.”

You leaned back slightly, surprised but gentle, letting him continue without pressure.

“I thought I’d have more time to prepare,” he admitted, his cheeks flushed. His words began to tumble out a little quicker, the way they did when he was nervous. “There’s this whole idea that guys are supposed to just...know exactly what to do, you know? Like we’re born with some secret guidebook. And it’s not like I haven’t done anything, but I haven’t...gone all the way.” His voice softened, slowing as he looked at you, a vulnerability in his eyes that felt raw and genuine. “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

You watched him, warmth building in your chest. The trust he placed in you felt like a gift, and you found yourself even more drawn to him. With a soft smile, you took his hands in yours, bringing them to your lips and kissing each one. “You talk so fast” you started lightheartedly, to break the tension in the room. “Thank you for sharing that with me,” you said, your tone gentle but reassuring. “If we want, we all have to have a first time, and it only makes sense that yours is with someone you like.”

His expression softened, a grateful smile crossing his lips as he met your gaze.

“If you’re ready,” you continued, voice soft, “I’d love to be your first, and we can go as slow as you need. No pressure.” You placed another kiss on the back of his hand, feeling his fingers tighten around yours as he let out a long, relieved breath.

“And I can even take the lead,” you added, a playful glint in your eyes. “Forget all that stuff about what guys are ‘supposed’ to know. Trust me, you don’t need it. Besides,” you leaned in, your voice dropping to a whisper, you flicked your tongue gently against his ear “I was kind of hoping you’d let me control you just a little”.

Nicholas’s cheeks flushed a deeper red, and he let out a shaky breath, his eyes widening at your words. “O-okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with both excitement and nervousness. His fingers flexed against your waist, clinging to you as if you were his anchor, and he gave a slight, pleading whine, biting his lip and inhaling sharply while you continued to work on his neck.

You shifted closer, removing his shirt to reveal his firm strong chest and perfect body. You straddled his lap, your hands settling on his broad shoulders. His hands rose tentatively, resting at your waist as you leaned in, brushing your lips over his. He let out a soft, needy sound, his grip tightening slightly as if afraid to hold you too firmly. His response was hesitant at first, but as you deepened the kiss, he began to melt into it, a whimper escaping him as he pressed closer, almost desperately. His fingers pressed to your sides, in distress to keep you in your place.

You felt him shift, his grip tightening, as if he were gathering the courage to take a bit more control. Sensing it, you pulled back, just enough to keep him wanting, giving him a teasing smile. “Uh uh baby boy,” you murmured, your voice low and playful, “let me handle it.”

His eyes widened, a flash of that earlier nervousness crossing his face, and he let out a soft, almost frustrated whine. His hands loosened slightly, fingers tracing gently over your waist, his need evident in the way he looked up at you. “Sorry… just, you make it hard,” he whispered, his tone half-apologetic, half-pleading.

“I know,” you matched his pouty tone while caressing his face “but you have to wait, I want you to enjoy yourself. He leaned into your hand with heavy breath, you loved the nervous way his chest rose and fell, he was so desperate and needy for something -- anything in this moment. You started running your thumb over his lips a few times, before parting his lips slightly. You didn’t have to direct him before he you in his mouth.

Of course, that’s what you wanted but his willingness even caught you off guard - not that could show it. He looked up at you, wanting approval. You inhaled through your teeth calling him a good boy. His body responded to the praises, you could feel him grow as you sat on top of him, heat radiating from him.

You leaned in, brushing a slow, teasing kiss along his jaw, feeling his breath catch as you murmured against his skin, “Good. Now, just relax and let me take care of you.”

The soft sounds he made were adorable—small, breathy gasps between kisses, little murmurs when you traced your fingertips down his neck, skimming the sensitive skin just below his ear. The way he reacted to each touch sent a thrill through you, making you want to draw out every reaction, to push him just a bit further, to watch him come undone.

“Can I get a little rough with you baby,” you asked him. His half-lidded eyes fluttered as his body was still riding out the high of you nibbling on his neck. He nodded, cheeks pink, his hands resting lightly on your waist. “Yes, please,” he breathed, voice soft, the need unmistakable in his tone.

Without a second passing, you wrapped one hand around his neck and used the other to balance yourself on his knee. You started to rock rhythmically on his, making sure you made contact with his hardness. He turned into a mess, sweat beads forming on his forehead as he squirmed under you.

“Keep it together for me baby,” you begged him “We haven’t even gotten to the best part.” You teased, he complied letting out more whimpering moans, he was committed to trying. He bit his lip, eyes squeezed shut in a mix of effort and desire, trying desperately to hold himself back. His hands gripped your hips, trembling with restraint as he fought to keep his movements steady, despite the way you rocked against him. Sweat glistened on his skin, his breath ragged and shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly as though every inch of his body was on the verge of losing control.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice strained, “Don’t stop Y/N.” His words were laced with a mix of desperation and determination, his brows furrowed as he bit back another whimper.

You felt the struggle in his movements, the way he held himself back, the intensity in his gaze, and you couldn't help but smile at his effort. “I know, baby,” you teased softly, your voice dripping with sweetness. “I’m almost there and then I’ll treat you right.”

His hands flexed on your hips, his grip tightening, and you saw him swallow hard like he was fighting an internal battle. He nodded, still trying to keep his composure, but every little sound that escaped his lips and the way his body trembled under you told a different story. He was close, so close, and you knew the hardest part for him was still to come.

You rode out your climax on him, coming undone right on top of him. You took his hand and put it on your panties, letting him feel the wetness he created. “Thank you for being a good boy for me baby, now it’s your turn.” He crashed into your lips fast and hurriedly, he was so excited and just as grateful, immediately pulling away feeling apologetic.

You gave him a smirk and a gentle face tap as you shifted your position, guiding him back until he lay against the arm of the couch, letting yourself settle between his legs. He watched you, his eyes wide with anticipation as you trailed kisses down his neck, along his collarbone, taking your time, savoring every shiver and quiet gasp he let out.

Your body drifted lower until you were on your knees in front of him and his breathing became shallow, every inch of him sensitive to your touch. He whimpered softly when you paused, looking up at him with a teasing smile. You only had to give him a look to instruct him to take off his shorts, he did it with a starving hunger. He was in briefs, glaring at you in anticipation. You teased him, rubbing on his thighs getting closer and closer to him.

“For this, you just have to promise me that no matter what, you’ll wait to cum until I say you can - okay?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur. His eyes filled with worry, he felt like he could finish just by your touch alone.

“Please,” he whispered, “I…don’t know if I…please” There was a desperation in his voice, a need so pure and open that it made your heart race.

“Shhhh,” you put your hand up to his face to calm him “You’re my good boy right?” He nodded his head. “And you want me to take care of you right?�� he nodded his head again, “so you can do this for me right?” he nodded again, still nervous but ready to obey.

You took your time, savoring every second as you let the moment unfold slowly. Each touch was deliberate, designed to heighten his anticipation, to make every sensation feel more intense. You hovered just close enough to him, letting the tension build between you, before your fingers traced down his chest, brushing lightly against his skin. His breath hitched, his body rigid with need, and you couldn't help but smile at how easily he was unraveling.

With careful intent, you reached for the waistband of his boxers, your fingers grazing the fabric, teasing the edges. His hips twitched involuntarily as you slowly, agonizingly, pulled them down. The moment he was freed, he sprang up eagerly, his excitement evident in the way he was already so hard, flushed, and dripping with need.

You kissed his red wet tip a few times before taking him into your mouth. A few quick motions on the length of his shaft and he was so beautifully responsive —soft, needy whines escaping his lips, his hands flexing as though he didn’t know where to put them, eventually settling on your shoulders, his fingers gripping you tightly. The way he squirmed, the way his body responded to every touch, every brush of your lips—it was intoxicating, sending a thrill through you like nothing else.

You reveled in the control, savoring the power that came with every move you made. It wasn’t just the way he responded—it was the way his restraint faltered with each touch, every soft press of your lips, every calculated caress. You could feel the tension in his body, muscles taut under your hands, but you remained in charge, guiding him through the moments.

As much as he surrendered to the pleasure, it was something deeper for you. The way his body responded, how he trusted you with his vulnerability—it drove you wild. Each shift in your rhythm, each soft command, had him trembling with need, and you knew you were the key to unlocking every part of him. The power you held over him stirred something inside you, a satisfaction far greater than his pleasure, and it made every moment even more intoxicating.

You were still working on him, giving him praises when you could; “you’re such a good boy”, “you feel so good in my mouth”, “you’re so fucking hot when you moan like that”. Each compliment made him come closer and closer to unraveling. He writhed in pain trying to contain himself.

He responded, “I’m a good boy…I’m your good boy”, he thrusted a few times in your mouth, getting ahead of himself, but you knew what he wanted. You anchored him down on the couch, pressing your hands on his thighs taking him far into your mouth. He whined your name out, truly frazzled. His hair was a mess, he was drenched in sweat, and his lips were swollen from trying to contain his whimpers and moans - you knew he was very close.

“Y/N” he could barely get out between gasps, “I’m sorry but I’m close…so close”, he was pleading with you, “can I please cum…please”.

You kept a steady motion on him, taking his full shaft and using your hands to stroke him too. You acted like you didn’t hear him but he whined out your name again “Y/N please!”

You stopped for a split second to lick from base to the tip, only stopping to ask him “Do you think you deserve to cum baby?”

He threw his head back, his chest rising and falling with each strained breath, unable to form words—only a whiny sound slipping from his throat, thick with need. His body arched toward you, desperate for more. You kept him on edge, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the hard, quick beat of his heart beneath your touch. Your fingers teased over his pecs, then down to his nipples, pinching them sharply as you maintained a fast, steady rhythm with your mouth, drawing every shudder from him.

He gasped, his body trembling, his grip tightening as he fought to hold back. You could feel him unraveling, inch by inch, his desperate whimpers only fueling your control. Every movement, every touch, was a reminder of just how much you had him—completely in your grasp.

His mouth was stuck open, his eyes were shut tight, and he was seconds from it, he just waited on your command and you gave it, “cum for me beautiful boy” you said quickly going back to your motion. It took him no time to meet your request, shooting a full warm load into your mouth.

He let out moans and groans as he came down, you gave him a few last-minute licks around his tip just to make him squirm. He laughed and writhed in pain, leaning down to kiss you, “You’re amazing” he got out between exhausted breaths.

By the end of it, after you got him a towel to clean himself off and he changed into the clothes he brought for the night he lay sprawled against the couch, you nestled into his side and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice soft, a hint of awe in his tone. He seemed almost at a loss for words, still caught in the afterglow, a mixture of relief and wonder shining in his eyes.

You smiled, brushing a gentle kiss along his jaw. “Anytime,” you whispered back, already looking forward to the next chance you’d have to show him exactly how incredible a first time could be.