#I sure like to put them close to the front

[kateschi]

a language only you speak

synopsis: wife privileges with bakugou katsuki are very much real.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the agency is bustling with its usual chaos—sidekicks rushing from desk to desk, phones ringing nonstop, and the occasional explosion from the training hall shaking the walls.

in the center of it all, katsuki katsuki sits at his desk, arms crossed, scowling at the stack of paperwork he’s been putting off all morning.

his brows twitch in irritation, but before he can push the papers off his desk and call it quits, the door swings open with a force that makes a few nearby interns jump.

“katsuki!”

your voice slices through the noise, effortlessly commanding attention.

sidekicks freeze mid-step. pro heroes pause in their conversations. even kirishima, who’s used to your entrances by now, watches with barely contained amusement.

the only person who doesn’t seem at all surprised is katsuki himself.

he exhales through his nose, tipping his chair back just enough to get a good look at you as you stomp toward his desk. his scowl softens—just a little.

“the hell are you doing here?”

“you forgot your lunch,” you say, placing a neatly packed bento box in front of him with a pointed glare. “again.”

there’s a beat of silence.

katsuki clicks his tongue, eyes flicking from you to the box. his fingers tap against the desk like he’s debating whether to take it, but the hesitation is brief.

with a grumble, he snatches it up, pulling it toward him like it’s a classified mission briefing.

you cross your arms and watch him open it, waiting for his reaction. it’s all his favorites—seasoned rice, grilled fish, a few side dishes you made just the way he likes.

he doesn’t say thank you, but you know him well enough to recognize the way his eyes linger on the food, the almost imperceptible shift in his posture.

he’s pleased.

you reach over, brushing your fingers against his collar, smoothing out the slightly rumpled fabric.

the agency watches in stunned silence, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but it never comes. katsuki lets you fuss over him without so much as a grunt of complaint.

that’s when kirishima, ever the instigator, speaks up.

“hey, dynamight,” he calls from across the room, arms crossed with a grin. “how come you let her do that, but if I even breathe near you, you tell me to ‘fuck off’?”

kaminari jumps in immediately, pointing an accusatory finger. “yeah! I tried to fix your mask that one time, and you nearly murdered me.”

katsuki pauses mid-bite, eyes flicking up. the office is dead silent, waiting for his response. his expression is unreadable for a moment before he speaks, voice low and deliberate.

“is your name y/n?”

kirishima and kaminari exchange glances. “uh…no?” kirishima ventures.

“are you my wife?”

kaminari snorts. “pretty sure we’d know if we were.”

“then shut the fuck up.”

the office settles into a stunned silence after katsuki’s blunt response, eyes darting between him and you like they’re watching a rare phenomenon unfold.

kirishima leans back slightly, arms crossed, brows raised in something close to admiration. “huh.”

kaminari tilts his head. “so that’s just...how it is?”

katsuki doesn’t answer immediately.

he focuses on his food, chewing deliberately, as if debating whether this conversation is even worth his time. you know he hears them, though.

you can always tell when he’s listening, no matter how much he pretends not to.

kirishima rubs his chin thoughtfully. “that’s so manly, bakubro.”

katsuki scoffs, finally looking up, crimson eyes sharp.

kirishima waves him off, unfazed.

“nah, I mean it. I always thought you just had rules about personal space, but it’s not that. it’s just—you let her do whatever because she’s her.”

a pause.

katsuki clicks his tongue, shoving another bite of rice into his mouth, but his silence says more than words ever could.

you smile, resting a hand on his forearm. “he’s a little soft, but only for me.”

he glares at you. “I’ll kill you.”

“you won’t.”

his jaw ticks. you’ve won this argument before it even begins.

kaminari shakes his head like he’s watching something unfathomable. “man…you’ve got it bad.”

“I don’t ‘got’ anything,” katsuki grumbles, shoving his chopsticks into the rice with unnecessary force. “i just don’t see why you extras are actin’ so damn surprised.”

“you literally detest people touching you,” sero points out.

“yeah, people,” katsuki snaps. “she’s not ‘people.’ she’s my wife.”

and that’s the thing.

to them, it’s unusual. to them, it’s something to gawk at, something to be shocked by. but to katsuki, it’s just natural. it’s not about ‘privileges’ or exceptions—it’s just the way things are.

he’s never even thought to explain it, because there’s nothing to explain.

he doesn’t let anyone mess with his uniform, but you can straighten his collar.

he doesn’t let anyone borrow his things, but you can use his shampoo.

he doesn’t let anyone get too close, but you can curl up beside him and steal his warmth like you belong there.

because you do.

katsuki quirks an eyebrow, setting his chopsticks down. “you done interrogating me now?”

the others exchange glances, like they’re debating whether they’ve gotten enough material to fuel their endless teasing for the next month.

kirishima seems to understand there’s a line he shouldn’t cross—not because katsuki would explode (though, let’s be real, that’s still a possibility), but because this is something real.

kaminari, on the other hand, is kaminari.

“so, like…” he leans on the nearest desk, a slow grin spreading across his face. “if y/n asked you to wear, I dunno, a stupid matching sweater or something, you’d do it?”

katsuki barely spares him a glance. “no.”

kaminari looks at you. “he’s lying, right?”

you tilt your head, pretending to think. “hmm. well, he did wear that ridiculous apron I bought him last week.”

the entire office perks up.

katsuki’s expression darkens. “you said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone why you wore it.”

and the office rises in roars.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[gooobraghhh]

Somno as a way to brat tame is so underrated

Imagine a brat, tired from a long day of acting up, never truly giving in the whole time but they’re completely exhausted after putting up a fight for so long. They innocently fall asleep, proud of their defiance and you just let It happen because you know their training is about to start.

After a while, long enough to where they’re deeper in sleep, it’s all to easy to pull their clothes aside and start gently teasing wherever they’re most sensative. For some that might be their chest, but more commonly clit/ tdick/frenulum will do the trick. Carefully start circling it and tracing it up and down at a painfully slow pace. Normally this would be torturous but their sleeping body is gonna take whatever you want to give it, no complaints. Then just take your time and have patience. You get to enjoy the show of hearing their little soft breathy moans and seeing their face wince between whines. An honest expression of how good they feel, a refreshing change from the normal defiance and snarky comments.

The goal from here on out is just to tease them for as long as possible. Enjoy feeling as they get miserably hard or messy. You want to toy with them an amount they absolutely could not withstand if they were awake. Just be careful not to push them over the edge and actually let them cum, they need to ride that line for as long as possible. Once they’re sufficiently primed and you’ve gotten a good eye and earful of their embarrassing involuntary reactions just fix their clothes a bit and pretend to roll, or nudge into them in your sleep. Not so much that it’s obvious you’re doing it on purpose but just enough to wake them up inconspicuously.

If all goes well they’ll groggily get up and get hit by a wave of crippling arousal. Almost as if they’d been getting denied for hours. It’s hard to even rationally with how deliriously needy they feel but your brat will quickly realize they have a decision to make. Do they wake you up so you can help relieve them, or do they try to get themselves off without you knowing. Going back to bed is nearly impossible at this point so it’s going to be one or the other.

If they wake you up make sure to really rub their face in how embarrassing this is. Have them communicate in detail how desperate they are and make them beg, apologize and humiliate themselves for your help. They should be essentially broken by the beginning thanks to your hard work. You can either not mention that you toyed with them in their sleep and just start letting them believe they’re so much of a slut waking up desperately horny is a new trait they have or around the time you get them close to finishing you can tell them all the details of what you did, and how cutely they reacted, let them realize how easily they were trained to obediently come to you for relief.

If they try to get off themselves that works too. Just pretend to sleep while you listen carefully to their moans and whines. When they start getting more frequent and hectic, letting you know they’re close, simply wake up and catch them red handed. Then you get to tease and make fun of them for being so much of a pervert they tried to get off next to you while you weren’t awake. You’ll watch their face get all red and shy, a lot more pleasant than the usual defiance. Then they are faced with another decision, do they keep going and jerk off in-front of you like a depraved whore, or do they now start begging you for your help. I think that’s definitely the most humiliating combination of outcomes. But after all that teasing and almost getting close themselves, they’re just gonna be desperate for bodily relief, dignity at the wayside. You can really make them beg after that level of humiliation. Then you can hold how desperate they were over their head. After all, that was all of their own volition, as far as they know you didn’t do anything, only have themselves to blame. You can keep up consistent night training if you really want to ensure their obedience. generally just consider adding somno to your routine brat training, it really messes with their head more than most other methods and has them convinced they’re a total needy pervert.

[arachnixe]

I might've gotten a bit carried away with this one...

The Sister-in-Law

As soon as I heard them coming, I put a kettle on the fire. The crows always let me know when I have visitors, and now they call out to announce I must entertain houseguests again. Three short caws in rapid succession, followed by a longer fourth—two people, then. No time to dawdle, but enough time to avoid haste, I clear the table of clutter, sorting my work into nearby shelves, closing my book and setting it aside for later, and… oh no, my half-finished spinning still rests on the seat of a chair. I huff in annoyance at my own laziness, sweeping an arm to slide spindle and forgotten tangle into a basket, discreetly shoving the whole mess by foot into the far corner of my cottage.

Three dainty raps at the door inform me that my window to tidy is at its end. Good enough, good enough. The table is clear, and fully three chairs are usable.

“Come on in then,” I call toward the door. “Don’t be afraid; come in!”

With a nasty squeal of hinges that really must be oiled again—maybe I’ll remember to take care of that after these two leave—the door opens just enough to catch a glimpse of my little sister’s face.

“Marina? God’s rotten t—” I bite my tongue. Shouldn’t swear in front of her, of all people. “Is something wrong? You’re not supposed to— I mean, isn’t there supposed to be—?”

Before I can choke out a coherent question, the door finishes its arc, showing me a face I’ve never seen before. Long, dark hair falls straight down, framing a head of delicate, almost elfin beauty. The smile gracing the stranger’s bloodless lips does not touch eyes of pitch that smolder like an inferno barely kept in check by will alone. Atop her head rests a carmine crown forged of no metal known to mortal smith.

Yes, my sister’s companion looks human enough, but it would take a fool not to see that this woman is not what she appears to be. I also cannot help but mark the conspicuous absence of those original companions with whom she left this place.

“Plum!” My sister greets me with enthusiasm bordering on surprise. “Is it really you? No, nothing’s wrong, hey, quit fussing!” She pulls her head away from my grip after I make sure her eyes look normal enough. No sign of blanching fever, at least. “It must be you, only you would—stop that!” I grip her wrist until I satisfy myself that her heart rate is perfectly normal for someone becoming actively annoyed at me, and then I release her. “Happy now?”

“No,” I huff. “I’m never happy. But I’m more pleased to see you return than I was to see you go, which I’ll call good enough.” I back away from the door again and wave them inside. “Come have a seat, leave your boots and cloaks and swords and masks and whatnot at the door, and I’ll brew some tea for us while you tell me what in the seven hells is going on with you. And introduce me to your friend!”

I set about searching for the tea, swearing under my breath as I remember it had been right here on the table, and I’d tidied it away with the dried herbs. Now where were the spare teacups? Ugh. It’s a good thing all that traveling gear takes forever to unstrap and unlace, gives me plenty of time to trawl through my own clutter. By the time they sit down, I manage to cobble together a downright competent tea set, brewing in progress.

“So, uh, Plum�� You actually live at Agathea’s old house these days?”

“My house now.” I wave a hand to indicate the slouching building and all its chaotic piles as my domain. “And don’t change the subject. Who’s your friend?”

“Plum, this is Zee. Zee, this is my sister. We’re, ah, getting married… and…” She trails off without finishing. I blink impatiently at her, waiting for the rest.

“And…?” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for Marina to stop stammering and get to the point. What is wrong with her? She was all bluster and confidence last I saw her, and now she’s acting like I’m the greatest challenge she’s had to face.

“I need your blessing,” she finishes at last, punctuating the request with the tiniest cringe.

“My what.”

“Because mom and dad are dead, and you’re my only family left, and…”

“My blessing? What is this—? Actually, no. Back up.” I jab a finger at Zee. “Do you talk?”

“I do.” Zee’s thin lips barely part, just enough to slip words between them like parchment through the gap under a door.

“Great. Don’t stop now.”

“Plum, don’t…” Marina whines, but I wave her complaint away with a waspish flick of my wrist.

The thing in the shape of a woman turns her palms up toward me. “What words shall I utter for you?”

I snort. “You can start with an apology. This? This whole thing?” I tilt my head to indicate her. “Rude. Terribly rude.”

“She hasn’t even done anything! Why are you acting like this?”

“Masks!” I spit. “I asked you to leave the masks at the door. I would think someone ostensibly trying to win my blessing might choose to let me see you. At the very least!”

The woman calling herself Zee bares her teeth in an expression not much like a smile, countering my demand with a question. “Are you really Marina’s sister?”

My sister hisses through her teeth, but she doesn’t contest the validity of the question. A sigh escapes from me. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to do this, that my various idiosyncrasies sufficed as proof of identity. Alright, you want to address this topic? I’ll address it.

“You think I’m Agathea.” Zee’s impassive expression contrasts Marina’s wincing discomfort, but neither one denies my statement. “Maybe you think she’s conjured an illusion of me to catch you off guard, or maybe you think she, I don’t know, possessed my body as part of some evil scheme for immortality, is that it?”

“I just expected…”

“You expected me to be still living in that shitty hovel within the city walls, of course. Thought you’d pop by, maybe use your fancy Chosen One powers and your Fated Quest wealth to save me from poverty, and I’d be so full of gratitude I’d say something like ‘oh, dear sister, however can I repay you?’ And then you’d hug me tight, just like I did for you when we were small and all alone on the streets, and all we had was each other, and you’d tell me that all you really want is for me to bless your marriage to this lovely woman who helped you help your poor, older sister who was never blessed with divine destiny.”

“It’s not like that!”

“But I wasn’t there. You asked around, probably like you’ve done a hundred times before on one quest or another, who knows, I don’t care. You heard a rumor about someone matching my description here at Agathea’s old cottage, the very place where you once had to save me from her wicked clutches. But oh no!” I clap my hands to my cheeks in mock surprise. “Now none of this is playing out the way you imagined, and you’re hoping that I’m not really Big Sis Plummy because it would be so much easier to handle me if you could just draw that holy blade and put me down. Maybe you could fight another big battle, save your real sister and get back on the Gratitude Route to your happily ever after, hmm?”

Marina’s mouth hangs open in horror, suggesting I got close enough to the truth of what she was thinking. Her lower lip starts trembling, and her eyes well with tears. Oh, hell’s rancid tonsils, I forgot how sensitive she always was to my cynicism. Or maybe she’s just ashamed of thinking those things about me.

An internal timer prods me to pour the tea, and so I stand and serve my guests. I take a moment to breathe and calm myself. I don’t like being jealous or angry with Marina. I grind the sharp edges out of my voice. “No. You know it’s me.”

“Sword’s gone anyway,” my sister mumbles, swallowing to control her quavering.

That stops me in my tracks. “What?!” I scan the heap of traveler’s detritus at the door, and sure enough the only sword there looks perfectly mundane, if well-crafted. “Something went wrong, I knew it. What happened? Is that why the others aren’t with you?”

I chew my lip, concern making me forget my dignity in front of the inhuman stranger. For a moment, I’m just the older sister again, mind racing to cobble together a scheme to get Mari out of trouble, trying to understand the situation so I can fix it all for her. “I thought that big lout of yours was insipid, but he had a talent at acting the part of ablative flesh defense. Did he trip when he should have been in front of you? Or the clever one with all the knives, good head on her shoulders, that one; she should have kept you out of trouble. Or the clown, good for a distraction at least while you swing that sword…”

Marina’s eyes dart to her left, to Zee, looking to the mystery woman to answer while she wets her lips and clears her throat, stalling for time. My eyes narrow. Something strange is happening here.

“How did you come to inherit this estate?” Eyes like lightless pools fix themselves on mine. “An answer for an answer.”

A standoff. My sister’s fiancée versus her older sister. A contest for… what, exactly? A marriage blessing? I sip my tea to stall for time to think and to allow that familiar aroma to coax my muscles into the relaxation of a predator in her own territory, not the tense bundle of nerves that would mark me as prey.

“An answer for an answer is an equal trade,” I allow. “But our exchange at the moment is an uneven one. You’ve entered my home wearing a mask. I have asked you twice now to remove it. I will tell you my story. In exchange, you will remove your mask and tell me your story. That is my first, last, and best offer.” I keep my tone relaxed, but I permit just a touch of anger to color my words at the edges. “You may decline, of course, but doing so closes the door on my blessing forever.”

Silence walls my side of the table from theirs. I don’t bother counting the seconds, choosing instead to sit back and sip my tea. Look, I have all the time in the world out here in the woods. I’m not the one with a mission, a time limit, and a missing relic.

When at last someone speaks, it’s Marina, angry enough to spit fire, shouting, finally sounding like herself again. “You are impossible, Plum! I—!”

But Zee somehow smothers her declaration, interrupting with a breathy rasp.

“I accept your terms,” she says, and with a glance she silences my sister’s objection before her tongue can speak it. “But you will speak truthfully or the deal is forfeit.”

“Truth is easy.” My turn to smile. Finally, we can make progress in this farcical confrontation. “Lies are more work anyway. But come on now, drink your tea. If I try to finish this pot all by myself, I’ll be pissing under the table before you finish keeping your end of the deal.”

Marina huffs in a mirror image of my own mannerisms before sipping from her cup. I can see in the set of her shoulders that the tea helps calm her despite her irritation at me. Zee throws her whole cup back in one shot, and I freshen both while gathering my own thoughts. Where to begin?

“I was here for more than a whole day before you and your comrades-in-arms found me—you know, back then—and Agathea could have done whatever she wanted to me in that time. You know that, right? Scared as you were, scared as I was, she could’ve done whatever she wanted to me that whole time.”

“I thought about that. So why didn’t she?”

“Oh, she did!” I cackle. “She very much did everything she wanted to me. The same thing she did to all the other girls she took.”

My sister’s eyes widen in sudden horror. “Goddess above, Plum, I didn’t know…”

“No, not what you’re thinking,” I hasten to cut that thought off. “Nothing physical. She just told me things. Planted a lot of seeds, the old witch did. Knew they wouldn’t all grow, but planned to keep her eye out for the ones that could. She spoke of the Wheel, the true name of the sin at the heart of creation, the mad inversion of harvest and rot and the wisdom of insanity.”

Even now, I can still smell the old woman’s musty breath as I recall her words. “Cornball witchy shit like that, you know? The other missing girls, they all went crazy from hearing it. Ran off into the woods to be eaten by giant vipers or crushed by lithovores or something.”

I couldn’t help laughing again at the memory. “I just told her she was wasting my time, that she might as well just kill me and spare me the lectures. Oh, Khazik Cyst, I was such a little shit back then.”

Ah, well, so much for sticking to polite language. But Marina can hardly lecture me for swearing when she went and lost her sacred blade. In the grand scheme of things, that must be way more offensive to her goddess, right? I make eye contact with my sister, and sure enough she doesn’t even react to my vulgarity. Huh, I guess some things do change after all.

“You lived because you didn’t find her witchy secrets interesting enough to go mad over?”

“Kinda trivializes her whole deal when you put it that way,” I reply, grinning. “But not far from the truth. Anyway, you know what comes next. You and your friends track us down, challenge her to a fight, she doesn’t leave a corpse, and you whisk me back home. The end. Hero saves the day again. Not that I wasn’t grateful, I mean. I was scared as hell, for all I was smart-mouthing my captor.”

“And then…?”

“Then you had to go. Didn’t need your big sister anymore. You were still a kid like me, but the goddess decided you were all grown up enough to face your destiny.” I heave a sigh. I don’t make eye contact this time. I don’t want to see her pity. “You were gone for six years, Marina.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I didn’t mean to abandon you, it’s just… the time crystal—“

“Yes, of course, the time crystal.” I snort, my mouth filled with bitterness. “You can hardly be blamed for getting trapped in a time crystal while everything in the world goes to rot and ruin, the king is assassinated, and creepy cults pop up in every town.” Despite the bitterness in my voice, I hope she hears the sincerity in it too. I reach across the table and touch my sister’s hand. “I… really don’t blame you for that. Khazik Cyst, you were just a kid.” The more I think about it, the angrier I get. “You were just a kid, fighting some shit-taint chronomancer for the fate of the world armed with pluck, a sword that glows in the dark, and the power of hells-damned friendship.“

I pound the table with my fist, rattling the teacups. “You know I went searching for you? Threatened a capital librarian until he dug up some old prophecies. There was one about that whole fiasco with the time asshole—may that festering pustule rest in piss—written all fanciful and opaque like they do, but I recognized it immediately. That’s how I knew when you’d show up again and where you’d be.”

“And we weren’t kids anymore. You kept saying that again and again. That we weren’t kids anymore.”

My tea has already gone cold. Too caught up in old memories. I gulp it down and freshen everyone’s cup again, giving myself time to choose my next words carefully.

“I got to live a whole real life in those six years, Marina. You just had those years of your life deleted. I don’t think I can ever forgive your goddess for that.” I take a shuddering breath and press on. “And we had, what, that afternoon and one night at the inn together before cultists tried to assassinate you all? Best I could do was pull off a distraction so you and your friends could escape and go save the world.”

“I’m sorry, Plum.”

“But…?”

“But nothing. I’m sorry.” Naked sincerity on Marina’s face. She doesn’t launch into a speech about her duty to the world, the importance of sacrifice, or any of it. I glance over to Zee, who remains content to watch and listen in silence.

“But you had to save the world, didn’t you?” I gesture out the window. “The sun still looks haunted to me, though, so something must have gone wrong.” Haunted is maybe a too-cheeky way to describe how the great ball of fire hangs in the sky, a bloated, half-lidded eye that barely climbs past the horizon, even at noon. The color is all wrong, too, a festering yellow that tastes like disease when it falls on the tongue.

My sister shrugs. The gesture feels strange coming from her. “Maybe I shouldn’t have,” she answers cryptically. “But the house?”

“Right.” I can wait for her answers. “As I was saying, six years is a long time. I was thinking about a lot of things while you were gone. Thinking about how much I hate your goddess for taking my sister away from me, putting you in danger, all that. Thinking about the ‘sin at the heart of creation,’ and starting to feel like the idea made a lot of sense, actually. Like maybe it wasn’t all garbage.”

I take another sip of tea to steel my nerves for this confession. It’s not like I ever intended to keep the truth from my sister anyway. “I came back here. To Agathea. She offered me a place to stay. She taught me the virtues of herbs, how to mix them to make medicine or poison. She taught me how to listen to animals and make myself known to them. She taught me to speak the words that bind direction, to chain north so that it may not become east, to constrict up such that it may never be down. She taught me everything she is. The Witch of Everblood’s Call must be renewed by youth, you see. There is a time for harvest and a time for rot, and it was time for her to become me.”

“No.” Marina shakes her head in aggressive refusal of my words. “Absolutely not. You’re saying Agathea did steal your body? That you were her even when we escaped the time crystal and saw you again? I don’t believe it! Everything you say… all the ways you say it… you’re Plum. You’re my sister. I don’t know what this is. Trying to scare me away? No. No. I refuse.”

“Good! Refuse!” I bark a laugh. “You know it’s me. Not even I can convince you otherwise. Besides, it’s less like Agathea took my body and more that I took her mind, but there it is. I’m the big scary witch of the woods in truth, in command of the exact same power as Dread Agathea, no different from her except in all the ways that I am me instead.” I turn my best sinister grin across the table and cackle most menacingly. “And now that you’ve drunk my tea I can…” pause for dramatic effect, “brew a new pot, if you’d like!”

Marina gives me a look like she’s already exhausted of my gnollshit, which I find unfair considering how long it’s been since she’s had to indulge my sense of humor. Zee, of all people, laughs. Or at least she produces a sound that’s in the neighborhood of laughter. “I have decided I like your sister,” she says to her fiancée. “I think I shall keep her afterward.”

“Keep me, then.” I raise my teacup, holding on to the last dregs of tea, in a mock toast, feeling more relaxed and playful than I was earlier in the conversation. “But I’m keeping Mari, and she’s keeping me too, one way or another.”

“The deal is struck. Your story, I accept. I bind us through the keeping of my side.”

With each word, Zee shifts, human limbs shifting and twisting as though bereft of internal bones, skin turning thin and transparent, revealing inhuman muscle shot through with veins of putrid yellow. Her torso extends, losing definition and towering from floor to ceiling like a grotesque parody of a tree made of hairless skin. As she shifts, a putrescent odor fills the air nearly making my own eyes water. Muscular tendrils coil around Marina, and to my shock, I see my sister nuzzle one such inhuman limb with affection, utterly captivated as though by an indescribable beauty.

The Zee-thing continues growing, face vanishing into a toothy maw within the main trunk, legs splitting and extending into roots across my floor and weaving a tapestry of fleshy branches across the ceiling. The whole creature throbs in rhythm with an alien heartbeat, each beat spreading this creature’s parasitic embrace a little farther. Before too long, there will be nowhere for me to run.

“Hmm.” I grunt in thought. “Zammora the Unclean was the name of the ancient evil Marina was Chosen to slay, wasn’t it? Begins with a letter ‘Z.’ Weird coincidence, I’m sure.”

“Clever little creature. Full of lore, are you not?” Zee’s voice is even less human than before, slamming me with a sound like a swarm of wasps. “Why do you not fear me?”

“Because you’re in my house,” I answer simply. “My house, my rules.” I point to my sister. “So, is she being mind-controlled or what? Because the smell is a bit intense, even for me, and I’m intimately acquainted with rot, while Marina’s always had kind of a delicate stomach. So tell me the truth. Mind control?”

“She accepted my leash upon her mind willingly, witch. As will you.”

“Don’t count on it.” Running through my options here, and I don’t like what I’m finding. Legendary evil, no legendary sword. But a legendary evil in my house, which is either a sign of ridiculous overconfidence or a regular tactical blunder on her part. “The deal doesn’t count if I don’t get to hear Marina’s unfettered words.”

“I did not agree to that,” the horrid, quivering thing hisses.

“You don’t have to.” I snap my fingers for dramatic effect and snip the connection between my sister’s mind and her destined foe.

Immediately, Marina’s body revolts. She retches and heaves, emptying all the tea in her stomach onto my floor. She staggers, and to my surprise, the tendril holding her close allows her to stumble a couple paces away. I ignore Zee’s nightmarish growling and rush to my sister’s side. “Hey, Mari. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

She isn’t listening to me, though. A panicked gurgle escapes her throat, rising to a scream of horror. “What did you do to my mind? What did you do?“

“Shhh, shhh…” I wrap her in my embrace and feel her arms hold me back. “You’re free now. And Zammora can’t claim your mind again while you’re here. And we’ve got a deal,” I raise my voice to make sure I’m heard by the other thing in the room. “I get to hear the story of what happened with your sword and your friends. She cannot take either of us without violating a witch’s pact, at least for that long. Then we’re gonna let you make the plan, okay, Chosen One? I’ll follow your lead.”

Bloodshot eyes filled with queasy misery meet mine. “The deal. Of course. I’ll tell you everything. Let me… just give me a second.”

I’m more than happy to give Mari as long as she needs. The more I stall, the more time I have to chew on this problem. I look at Zammora, growing into the narrow gaps between my floorboards, pale tendrils reaching, grabbing, anchoring themselves to the wooden beams up above. Yes, “parasite” seems to be an apt classification, but what exactly is the nature of her parasitism?

“Zee came to us in her—urk—human form.” Marina does her best to stifle her reflexive retching. “Grau and Verle were suspicious of her, but Bernie, you know him, trusting to a fault.” She pauses again to take a deep breath and collect herself. “But she was scared. Said some dangerous people were out to kill her. And I don’t like to judge people on appearance. You know that. So I made a promise. I promised to protect her.”

An icy grip takes hold of my heart. I know better than most that a promise from some people is more powerful than words alone. Truth is one of that goddess’s virtues, after all, and her Chosen is necessarily bound to that ideal. From Mari, a promise is an unbreakable vow. That it may have been born of deception hardly matters—gods are always so damn unyielding about their principles.

“I asked Zee why she was being hunted. She told me, hhhh…” Mari’s eyes close. She pauses to take a few deep breaths again. “Told me she’d made an enemy of someone powerful and cruel. She’d been kept in prison for a long time and just recently escaped. She wanted help, and I couldn’t bear to tell her no.”

My sister turns away from me, looking back at the twisted abomination that can no longer pass for the kind of scared and trembling maiden that always tugged at Mari’s heart. I watch her mouth twist into a grimace, fighting nausea, her brow drawn into a knot with the effort of staring down Zammora’s true form. It must be a struggle to even look upon something so incomprehensibly inhuman if one is not a witch like me, well practiced in dredging the very sump of creation.

There is a beauty in rot, in parasitism, that most people struggle to see. All life is essential to life itself, however uncomfortable the feelings they may inspire. Truth be told, I’d have been willing to help Zee too, if she came to me with her honest face and directly asked me to help her kill Mari’s goddess—powerful and cruel indeed—and what is being Chosen except its own kind of prison? Yes, I certainly begrudge the goddess enough for everything she’s ever done to Mari.

“She tricked me,” my sister says. “But she didn’t lie. She never lied. So my vow held. Even when she told me who she really was, I couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t even tell the others because I knew that would put her in danger.”

“Devious. Hells below, I do respect that,” I admit. “It’s a real shame you chose to fuck with my sister, or things might turn out differently for us.”

“She did more than eff with me.” Mari coughs. “But that’s… beside the point. Things got weird. My friends noticed I was spending more time alone with her, that I never strayed from her side. They got suspicious. Worried. It put a strain on our friendship. Isolated me so that Zee felt like the only one I could even talk to.”

“We talked,” scrapes the voice from the throbbing trunk of flesh in my house.

“Of course you talked. I love talking. Marina loves talking. You’re not a beast of many words, but I have no doubt in her power to make anyone engage her in conversation.”

Mari smiles just a bit at my comment. We may not be kids anymore, but I’m glad I can still help her deal with stressful situations with some levity.

“Yeah, we talked. She asked me how I felt about the goddess. Zee hates her so much, and… well, it felt easier to confess some of the things I resent. Stuff I couldn’t say to my friends, who needed to believe in the power of the Chosen One.”

I blink, surprised yet again by this turn of the conversation. “You resent your goddess? You?“

Still embracing me with both arms, her hands clench into fists at my back. “My whole life, she’s been watching me, whispering in my ear, grooming me to be her perfect Chosen One. When our parents died, she told me it would make me stronger. When we were starving and homeless, she told me it would teach me compassion for the less fortunate of the world. When you broke your leg, and then it got infected, and you were fighting a fever for months while I scrambled to feed us both and get you medicine, she told me I would learn to stand on my own.”

My sister trembles in my arms. “But she didn’t just whisper. She did those things. All of them. To teach me her lessons. She broke your leg to teach me to rely on you less. She made us orphans on purpose! She told me it was all necessary, and I believed her.”

“Until we talked,” Zammora adds.

“Until we talked.” Marina nods, her head against my shoulder again. “It was seductive. A part of me wanted to believe none of our suffering was necessary. That part of me wanted an excuse to hate her for the things she did to us. I think that part of me won when I decided to tell my friends the truth about Zee.”

A mental model starts to form; I begin to grasp the nature of Zammora—what kind of parasite she is—and start imagining how to counter her. Not merely a parasite of bodies, not merely a physical thing, she infects at a conceptual level, maybe even at the level of pure ontology. Without saying much at all, her presence alone infects thought, probing for weakness, turning minds toward herself. I cast my eyes over the spreading mass of tendrils claiming my home. And she’s in my house, which could be a problem.

“When I told my friends the truth, they all assumed I was under her control. I wasn’t—not yet, anyway.”

Or so Marina believes. I’m not so sure. Big Zee probably can’t be slain, not without the kind of sword that slices through thought as well as it does flesh and bone, but maybe…

Hmm. I can close the house. Trap all three of us here permanently, removed from the real world. It would accomplish the goal of saving the world from Zammora, at the cost of my life and Mari’s. An eternity trapped here with Zammora the Unclean? No, I don’t believe in heroic sacrifice, nor in sacrificing my own sister. Not an option. So then what?

“But I should have known that no matter what I said, they’d try to fight her.” She hesitates. “Maybe I did know. Maybe that’s what part of me wanted. I was oath-bound to defend her. I… you know, it’s weird I never made a vow to protect my friends? I guess we never thought that kind of thing needed to be said. We took it for granted.”

My breath hitches. “You killed them?” Oh, Mari, no. “That must have broken your heart.”

Marina’s face buries itself deeper against me. “It did.” I can’t see her tears, but I know her well enough that I don’t need to. “And when it was over, I broke the sword. Didn’t need it anymore. With them… gone… I was the greatest threat remaining to Zee. But only as long as I still had the sword.”

“The trade is complete, witch,” Zee pronounces. “I will have Marina’s mind again.”

“Not until you explain this ‘marriage blessing’ farce,” I snap. “You won, didn’t you? Your enemy’s Chosen is disarmed and neutralized. You’re free to do whatever it is a thing like you does when it runs rampant. What could possibly have compelled you to come here telling me such nonsense about wedding each other?”

“Plum…” My sister disengages from our embrace to look me in the eye. She’s a mess—her face wet with tears, snot running from her nose, and a touch of drying vomit on her chin, where she failed to wipe it all away. It’s an expression that reminds me of some of the hardest days when we were kids and all we had was each other. “Plum, it’s not nonsense. It’s… a plan.”

“A plan.” I repeat deadpan.

“Marriage under the auspices of the goddess. I don’t exactly… Zee, you tell her.”

I raise an eyebrow at my sister’s—apparently for real—fiancée.

“You understand infection, witch.”

“Do I, now?”

“Do not dissemble. I see it in your mind. You wear your mind as a house. It is plain to me. There.” A tendril points at the shelf where I keep my unfinished knitting. “You see me as parasite.”

No hiding my thoughts from her as long as she’s in my house, I suppose. My face flushes with embarrassment at having underestimated my houseguest.

“Correct, there is nowhere to hide.”

I try not to think too hard about how much of this place—a reflection of my own mind—she’s already colonized. It’s not too late yet, but I must take care.

“Alright, then. I’ve been playing my cards face up for this whole meeting. I accept that.” I shrug. “In some ways that simplifies everything. If you truly want my blessing, tell me your plan. The real one, please. You can see I don’t have my sister’s values.”

“Yet you value truth as much as she.” Zee rumbles, vibrating the whole building with her voice.

I turn my palms toward her in a gesture of openness, mirroring hers from earlier.

“Then hear me. We are to be married according to Her foul tradition. In doing so, Her temple will incept me within her aegis. She will be unable to aim Her divine intent against me, forevermore. I will be free to enact my design while She may do aught but watch in helplessness.”

Ah, that makes sense. Zee is exactly the right kind of parasite to pull off that scheme. It absolutely requires my sister, whose position of privilege as Chosen One makes her vows uniquely binding through connection to her goddess. It’s an elegant plan, really, but for one small problem.

“Marina would have to love you, or the marriage would be flawed at its foundation. That would be exactly the sort of crack her goddess would use to escape your trap.”

I pause in thought. “Oh.”

“The mind control.” Mari says my own thought aloud. “She can make sure I love her completely, despite my…”

“Revulsion,” Zee finishes for her. “A natural human instinct when witnessing my true glory.”

Is that enough, I wonder? Ugh, I’d need to do more research to be sure. Intuitively, though, I suspect it may not suffice.

“Please. This hurts, Plum.” Mari grips my shoulders to pull my attention back to her. “I hate looking at my Zee and feeling this… nausea. Even memory, remembering the things we’ve done together…” She shudders. “Once happy memories are tainted by this gross feeling. Please, Plum.”

“Please what? Are you asking me to let her restore the chains on your mind?” It’s an unsettling demand. How can I do that to my own sister? “Just force you to love her again?”

“I do love her!” She shouts, and I wonder how much is meant to convince me, and how much to convince herself. “You don’t know what we’ve been through together. My heart loves her, Plum. It’s just my traitor brain that doesn’t understand, no matter how hard I try. It’s stupid animal instinct, that’s all. I love her, and I don’t want to touch her, but I want to want to touch her. Do you know how much that hurts? I love her, and the thought of kissing my own girlfriend makes me want to vomit! I hate feeling like this!”

Her brown eyes shine with the same intensity they always did when she set off to do something that scared her. I know her better than anyone, but I cannot tell myself I know her better than she knows herself.

“Alright, Mari.” I run my hand across her cheek, brushing away a tear. “Far be it for me to tell my sister that her wife can’t tie her up if they both want.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, the thread binding her to Zee snaps back into place. All at once, the tension leaves my sister’s body, and she pauses only to give me one quick hug of gratitude before flinging herself back toward her fiancée and planting a succession of kisses along her throbbing trunk. Tendrils wrap themselves around her and pull her tighter into the embrace.

Zammora speaks again, a scaly rasp on my mind. “Do we have your blessing, then?”

I chew my thoughts some more, a plan congealing in my mind as well as over my hearth. Zee can surely read the room, but I speak the words aloud for Mari’s sake.

“I can do you one better, my future sister-in-law.” I grin. “Allow me to write both your vows.” To Mari, I ask, “is that permitted in the ceremony?”

“Yes? No reason why it wouldn’t be. Why?”

“I know the words that bind direction. I know the true name of the sin at the heart of creation. Forget hiding merely within the goddess’s aegis, how would you like to get inside her very immune system?”

“I am listening,” Zee says, her voice now tasting like a caress.

“Let’s aim higher than just the sun. Infecting the goddess herself with disease sounds like fitting revenge for all three of us. Better than a blessing, I'll give you a curse. How does that sound?”

The rumble that fills my cottage might as well have been the purr of a monstrous cat. “I will have your words. And I will keep you as well, Plum.”

I seal the new pact with a rap of knuckles on wood. “You beautiful thing, as long as Mari’s happy, and I get to stay by her side, I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.” I exhale in satisfaction. The long nightmare of our lives is finally over, isn’t it?

“How about another pot of tea before we get planning?”

You are the elder sibling of the Hero. They want your blessing to marry the Villain they originally set out to destroy; now sitting across from you at the same table.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 18+ How Filthy Are You: Raw & Naked ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

💌Welcome to 7 Days, 7 Posts! In honor of Valentine’s Day on February 14th, I’m releasing seven blog posts dedicated to love, intimacy, passion, and everything that ignites the flames. Join me on this journey as I share my insights on astrological placements that spark attraction, create chemistry, and merge souls.

If you enjoy my content, be sure to follow me, explore my other posts, and check out my paid services! 💌

Aries Venus: Tongue kissing, aggressive neck grabs, smacking, biting, pulling hair, aggressive fingering, gagging on it, talking extremely dirty, throwing the other person down, standing up while the other is on their knees, spanking, and ordering the other person around.

Aries Mars: Aggressively pulling your lover closer to you, so close their breath creates steam. Not in it for your lover's pleasure, purely in it for yours. Every stroke is closer to your orgasm. You slow it down, so you can build your orgasm, then faster, faster, faster. Until the orgasm comes, then you lie down, “I’m not finished,” you utter. You catch your breath, then get back up. Now it’s all your lover's pleasure. You start off slow, building your stamina, then faster, faster, faster; every moan they give you inspires a harder and more powerful move, until they’re shaking, begging you to stop, and you do your final move and they orgasm.

Taurus Venus: Watching porn, putting on lingerie, putting on makeup, taking a shower, slow lip kisses, massaging the most intimate parts of the body, putting oil on, lighting a candle, dry humping, licking the body in a trance, eye contact until the other folds, long session of head, extending time just cuddling and kissing.

Taurus Mars: Whispering in your lover's ear, “You ready?”, teasing them, putting it in then pulling it out, licking their pussy then kissing their thighs, playing with their nipples, then back to thrusting, back to licking. Slow and steady, no rush; the more they moan louder, the less you do. You’re trying to work them to their orgasm, not get them there immediately. Thrusting more and more with your fingers on her clit, pushing your body so close to theirs that every movement is felt. At the last minute, doing that one thing that turns them on so much, then watching them orgasm as you kiss them gently while they shake.

Gemini Venus: Watching porn, masturbating and making the other watch, dressing up, using sex toys, creating a plot, feeding your ego (telling you what you want to hear), teasing you with their words, fingering you, grabbing your neck, spanking, playing porn on the TV while getting or giving head.

Gemini Mars: A mixture of slow and fast-paced. One minute you’re making out, teasing the other playfully. Pause; you have a long make-out session again, telling the other person how good they look, how good their body looks, how much you crave and want them. Then you wait until they say they want it or are begging you for it before you slowly and carefully move towards them. Every thrust and lick comes with eye contact, then back to being preoccupied with pleasing. Each movement devours the other person; their moans are like long passive screams. The Gemini Mars can’t get enough; they want to finish in the naughtiest place they can and ask how they did afterward.

Cancer Venus: Cuddling, deep eye contact, holding hands and intimate kisses, long finger strokes across the most sensitive areas of the body, telling the other how much you love them, how special they are, the amount of care you have for them, kisses in places to mark one's territory, long sessions of head, licking and sucking nipples, playful teasing.

Cancer Mars: Relaxing, scented candle in the background with warm, freshly cleaned sheets, sitting in front of a TV as the movie plays in the background, a romance movie. Not wanting to do anything because you’re nervous, but glancing at the other over and over again, seductively. Slowly taking off clothes, leaning in for kisses, and grabbing on the most intimate parts of the other’s body. Backing up, taking a break and returning to the movie, then your lover becomes insanely horny and pushes you down on the bed from behind. You like this aggression; it makes you sweat, it makes you wild. Getting closer to your lover and kissing, tongue kissing, kissing all over their body, slowly working your way to the main session. Slow strokes, caressing their body while pleasing their spot. Saying I love you, I want you, I crave you, whispering in their ear all the way until they finish. Afterwards, you lie in the bed, sleepy, while you cuddle your lover.

Leo Venus: Playful teasing, playing a sex playlist, tongue kissing, complimenting the other, making them beg for it, making the other as horny as possible, slapping their ass, biting on their nipples, staring intensely, dominating the other, praising the other, using sex toys, pole dancing, stripping, giving head like there is no tomorrow.

Leo Mars: Having a good conversation, laughing, teasing, being overall playful. Staring at the other with a smirk, knowing what’s about to go down. The other person can’t stop touching you; you push them away, you make them earn it. This is not something you’re just going to give up easily; the person has to crave you, not superficially, but crave your dominance, crave your kind of pleasure. You let their eyes wander, you let them touch you where you want. You tell them what to do, and they do it. When you say more, they give more; when you say louder, they moan louder. They follow your commands, and they make you feel powerful. When you say, "say my name," they say it. Hot, sweaty, like a workout, you do what you need to make the person fully satisfied.

Virgo Venus: Taking a hot, steamy shower, drinking water or tea, or an energy drink, cuddling in bed, long, deep conversations, holding hands, tracing circles on their body, massaging their body, playing with the other person's hair, playing soft music in the background, slow, soft kisses, licking all over the other's body, slow and methodical head.

Virgo Mars: Eating a hearty meal together, having a talk about the day, unwinding, making small jokes, staring at the other, being nervous, playful hits, giving compliments to your lover as you make your way to the bedroom. Washing your hands, putting on some sounds to block out noise, then getting serious, pulling out the toys, the lotion, the oil, the sweet smell of the candle that you light while teasing your lover. Building intensity, slowly and methodically starting at one point of the body, moving all over slowly, taking time, making sure to please one spot before moving on to the other. Getting intensely pleasured at how much your lover is moaning, feeling satisfied. Having the stamina and lasting a long time, even your partner begins to beg for you to stop. You give in, then push back and give more until they finish. You finish off with taking a hot, steamy shower and putting on some fresh clothes.

Libra Venus: Wine and dine, soft kisses, playing in the other's hair, words of affirmation, gazing into each other's eyes, playful teasing, creating the ambiance, passionate holding of the other's body, warm embraces, fingering, giving head, staring into the other's eyes.

Libra Mars: Gazing into your lover's eyes, surveying their entire body, small kisses, soft strokes, deep analyzing of where you want to begin and what will build the most tension. Slow, taking it all in, heavy breathing, soft moans, building up momentum slower than fast, discerning the pace based on your lover's satisfaction, different positions, using toys, intensity as the orgasm builds, and holding onto the orgasm until the person can’t do it anymore, then holding your lover afterward.

Scorpio Venus: Intense staring, whispers, moments of silence, dark settings, candlelight only, under the covers, in lingerie, sex toys, whips, chains, handcuffs, blindfolds, gags, paddles, hot wax, aggressive play, pulling on the other's hair, dominating foreplay, gagging, intense head

Scorpio Mars: Intensely staring into each other's eyes, lip biting and caressing your tongue into your lover's mouth, spitting in their mouth, then smacking them intensely, pulling on their hair while you pin them down. Once pinned down, honing in and focusing first on their most intimate and scared areas of pleasure, slow and precise, licking, teasing, caressing, kissing. Then back to kissing and pulling your lover closer, so close into your body. You want to feel every ounce of them on you, and you thrust every ounce of you onto them: long strokes, powerful blows, intense movements, consistently until your lover gives in to orgasm, only to continue afterwards—continue to thrust, hold them, bite their ear, and make sure their pleasure extends beyond the orgasm.

Sagittarius Venus: Having a good time, drinking wine or liquor, getting high, free and anywhere, outside in nature, in public in a corner, at someone else’s house, fully naked and free, wild and untamed, licking nipples, playing with balls, giving soul-sucking head, playful teasing, filming, masturbating in front of one another, eating ass, using sex toys.

Sagittarius Mars: Having a blast, hazy feelings, laughing, teasing one another, trying to dominate your lover while your lover tries to dominate you, a power play game. Starting off with full intense thrusting, rapid pounding, fast, then faster, slow it down, then back to pounding, thrusting hard. First orgasm. Moving back into giving phenomenal head, the kind that doesn’t stop lick after lick, suck after suck, non-stop, barely breathing, second orgasm. Then it's time to switch up to asshole play; the third orgasm is the knock-out. And then fall asleep.

Capricorn Venus: Intense staring, silence, reading body language, inching closer, holding hands, kissing on the cheek, then moving to the chest, then moving to the genitalia, hair pulling, nipple biting, ass smacking, hand on the other's neck, telling them you want to fuck, feeling on their body, aggressive and long session of head, tongue kissing.

Capricorn Mars: Smirking while you rip off your lover's clothing, straight into it, heavy breathing and moaning, pressing hard against them, having them feel your body parts, your wetness, your hardness. Starting from the head, finishing at the feet. Kissing, forcing your dick into your lover's mouth, sitting on their face, nipple play, biting then licking your lover's boobs, intense sessions of head staring into your lover's eyes, strong thrusts, booty recoils, digging deeper and deeper into your lover. Ultimately waiting and waiting through the moans and screams for the ultimate orgasm. Acting completely normal after an hour of being nasty.

Aquarius Venus: Threesomes, orgies, watching others have sex, masturbating in front of the other, anal play, using sex toys, golden showers, choking, vibrators, lingerie, role play, bondage, cuckold, outdoor sex, gagging during oral sex, squirting, fingering, fisting, spitting in each other's mouth, pegging.

Aquarius Mars: Dedicating an ample amount of time to your love to explore all that you desire. Restraining yourself prior so that you can be extra horny and prepared. Watching your lover masturbate while you play with yourself. Teasing your lover, you walk to them and bend them over, anal play, eating their ass, fingering their ass, fingering their pussy then their ass, using all the holes available, mouth on pussy, mouth on dick, fingers in pussy, giving the dick a handjob while sucking on the balls, getting down and dirty, filthy, clothes ripped off. Going from aggressive head to small strokes on the clit for an orgasm. Going from gagging on the dick to riding your lover's face. Mixing different moves, pulling out the sex toys, trying different positions. Restraining from orgasm, as it inches closer you pull back, then start again. Sticking it in the asshole, then in the mouth. Fingering the pussy while eating it. On and on, slowing down when the orgasm inches closer then going back to it until both you and your lover orgasm.

Pisces Venus: Romanticism, cuddles, soft kisses, long gazes, expressing feelings, tight hugs, warm embraces, tracing circles on the other’s skin, a warm bath, a soft bed, compliments, nipple sucking, slow, deep breaths, a good playlist in the background, slowly removing clothes, whispering, toe sucking.

Pisces Mars: A cosmic dance with your lover, nothing harsh, simply a merging of the two of you closer to each other. Quiet glances, looking up and down, small gestures to emphasize that you crave your lover, a hand on their thigh, gripping it, a smirk as they grab a part of your body. Staring but then looking away, your lover comes to you. Holding their hands, kissing them slowly, soft kisses on the neck, down the back, near the spine, soft moans that one cannot hear loud, but it’s there, intense breathing. Merging closer and closer, on top of each other, feeling the other's breath. Caressing their dick, massaging their pussy, licking and sucking with ease and calm, back and forth with a rhythm. Getting into your favorite position, staring at your lover in awe, moaning, looking away, taking your time, not so fast, not so slow, but sometimes faster when it feels so good. Right there, right there you say as you continue to feel the intensity of the build-up of an orgasm. Letting the orgasm build until you can’t take it anymore and orgasm, then fall over for a nap, or sleep.

[robertsfloyd]

can you please write something with owner oscar and bunny reader?

bunny is a lil cute and silly but i love her

oscar didn't look like the kind of guy to own a hybrid. he'd grown up with dogs, fully fledged, on all fours dogs, not hybrids.

but then he saw you.

lounging in a shop window, ears over your face. a pink bow had been tied around your ear and your little bunny nose was twitching as a kid approached the fence separating you from them.

you raised your head, and oscar watched as you approached the fencing. painted pink. everything around you seemed to be pink. you were gentle as you took the carrot from the child's hand and bounded back over to the window.

you didn't see him as you nibbled on your carrot. but oscar saw you and he couldn't let you go.

the adoption process was lengthy, but that wasn't a bad thing. they were making sure you were going to a good home. you were going to the best home with oscar. he got you everything you could have needed.

a nice big bed with plenty of blankets and pillows, a collar (mandatory for hybrids), fridge stocked with all of the food a bunny like you could need.

and then he went to go and pick you up.

you were paraded out, hand holding that of someone that worked there. he had your paperwork already. all he needed to do was take you home with him.

you stared at him, wide eyed.

"off you go," the employee said and patted your shoulder, sending you on your way.

you walked over to him, never taking your eyes off of him. "ready to go home?" he asked.

you nodded and reached for his hand. oscar stared down for your hand for a moment before he placed it into yours. you kept hold of him as he led you out of the adoption centre. standing so close to him that you nearly tripped him up.

you were quiet for the car journey. oscar kept gazing at you as you sat there quietly, obediently.

he led you from the car and into his apartment. clean, not all that homely, though. no rug on the floor. pillows all perfectly against the cushion.

this wouldn't do.

"hungry, bunny?" Oscar asked as you sat at his kitchen table, hands folded in your lap.

you shook your head. "What's your name?" you asked in a moment of bravery.

"oscar," he answered as he pulled a ready made salad from the fridge.

"oscar what?" you probed, watching as he pulled off the plastic lid. now it was in front of you, the food was tempting.

he pulled out two forks, sharing it with you. "oscar piastri," he replied and stabbed a slice of cucumber.

"yes please."

he furrowed his brow at you. "huh?"

"I'd like a pastry, please."

he laughed at you, his bunny teeth on display. "it's my last name," he answered.

"oh," you mumbled and put your fork down. "your name is Oscar pastry?" you asked and he laughed again.

"close enough."

***

it was three days before you joined him on the sofa. you rearranged his pillows and settled down beside him, legs tucked beneath you.

you were still quiet, but your personality was beginning to shine through.

your ears were so expressive, giggles so cute. your nose twitched at something you didn't like, ears flopping down when you got sad.

when be brought you that pastry you wanted, you lit up.

every day he learnt more and more about you. you hopped around when you were happy, loved to rub your nose against his, loved to kiss him when you walked past.

at first, it had terrified Oscar. why were you kissing him? did you need a bunny companion and sought out the next best thing? (I.e. him)

but then he googled it.

you were happy, that was why you were kissing him. you were happy and you liked his company. that much was clear when you climbed on top of him in the evenings, nuzzled your face against his shoulder.

Oscar was so find of you, he held you through the night. he pet your soft ears, straightened your collar and kissed you back.

his bunny.

my dinner sucks and I wanna order in but I also don't wanna bc unhealthy but I'm gonna be hungry but I should save money but

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

neighbor!reader x simon 'ghost' riley pt 8

masterlist

You began drinking your tea a little stronger, a little less sweet than usual, after the night that Simon saved you from eating shit on the icy pavement all for your emotional support water bottle. The snow removal off of your car before first light became something you were used to, though still thankful and grateful for. He still got toffee or other treats as thanks.

It was a few weeks after your slip-on-the-ice fiasco. You were still slightly embarrassed by the memory, but it didn’t plague you like it did before. And guess what? You hadn’t forgotten your water in your car since that fateful day.

~

This was a first for Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. In his years of service, he had never hesitated before leaving for an extended mission. But that was before you.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was just something about his smiling next-door neighbor. It was his first extended mission since meeting you, and he was dreading informing you that he was leaving.

Tomorrow.

It wasn’t completely out of the blue for Simon to show up to your door with wine. The fact that he brought two bottles this time didn’t seem odd at first, even though he usually only brought one. You had just figured he was extra thirsty that night or something. One bottle was his favorite, and one bottle was yours. He remembered.

“Evenin’, love- busy tonight?”

God, that smile made him weak at the knees. “For you? Never, come on in- I think Izzy knew you were coming, she’s been warming up your spot on the couch all night.”

My spot on the couch, he echoed in his head. Was he really here that often?

It didn’t take long for you to figure out that something was up. Even with his balaclava, which he never took off even in front of you, you could always read him like an open book. Or, you seemed to be able to, at least. Ghost wasn’t sure if he could rule out mind-reader just yet, as terrifying a thought that was.

“What is it?” you asked him idly as you put down a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of Simon.

He hesitated. “What is what?”

“Simon,” you said, raising an eyebrow in his direction. “Is that really how you’re gonna play this?”

Oh, he had to try now. “Play what, love?” he asked, trying to sound innocent.

It didn’t work on you. He could tell from your eyes. They were just so expressive.

When you didn’t say anything else for fifteen seconds, Simon let out a sigh of defeat. He wasn’t going to spend his last evening with you before his mission in silence because of his stubbornness.

“When are you leaving?”

Simon’s eyes shot up at you in surprise. Had he been that obvious?

“Tomorrow.”

You set your mug of tea down on the coffee table next to the plate of cookies with a soft sigh. That sigh was like a stab to Simon’s chest. “You’re leaving tomorrow... and you’re just now telling me?”

Simon visibly winced at your words. “Found out this morning, love, I swear it-”

“How long are you going to be gone?”

The silence after your question was deafening. With each passing second, your stomach grew tighter and tighter.

You weren’t looking at him now, instead looking at the way your hands were folded in your lap. God, he wanted to just wrap his arms around you, to tell you everything was going to be alright- but he couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. He was just your neighbor.

And you were his.

So why the hell did it hurt so bad?

“Four to six months, give or take.”

Simon was not prepared for the small gasp that escaped you.

He was on his knees in front of you, eyes searching yours, his gloved hands resting on your cheeks, his thumbs gently brushing away tears as they began to fall before you even realized what was happening.

“Shh, it’s okay, love,” he murmured. Even with his balaclava, you could still feel his warm breath against your face, he was so close to you.

He brought his cloth-covered lips to your forehead, resting them there for a few seconds before you wrapped your arms tightly around him and buried your face in his neck. One of his hands made its way to the back of your head, and he began to rub the pads of his fingers against you as his body rocked you back and forth in his lap, his other arm around your waist. You weren’t sure how you ended up in his lap, but you were there, and he wasn’t about to let you go.

Simon was going to be gone for about the same amount of time that he had been in your life. He knew that, you knew that. Months and months. It felt both like forever and like no time at all in the same breath. Looking at it through the lens of him being gone, being away from you, made it feel even more like forever.

“It’ll fly by,” Simon mumbled against the top of your head. It was obvious he wasn’t just speaking to you. He was telling himself that, trying to convince himself that the time apart wouldn’t actually kill either of you.

“Liar,” you grumbled, sniffling against his neck.

Ghost continued to rub against the small of your back, his eyes closed as he inhaled against the top of your head. Oh, how he wanted it to be true. Maybe if he told himself enough times that it would just fly by. Maybe he’d believe it himself.

Probably not.

“I’m… I'm gonna miss you, Si,” you managed to mumble. He could feel your lips brush against the sensitive skin of his neck as you spoke, your warm breath, even the dampness from your tears.

He had wanted to hold you like this for so long. But not like this.

first

previous

[jeanjauthor]

One of my friends in the SCA (medieval society) told me of a time when they were coming back from a day-trip event where they had served as "bodyguards to the king & queen" of our local kingdom. They were hungry, so they pulled into a Denny's. Since it was a day-trip, they were all wearing their medieval clothing, etc. This, of course, wouldn't be the weirdest thing to walk into a Denny's, but it was still important to be polite about it.

Unfortunately, the driver's car had a busted side window that was just plastic baggied over until the owner could get it replaced, so they couldn't fully secure the vehicle. This was a problem. They had been in garb (medieval outfits) serving as bodyguards (aka wearing visible weapons, aka lots & lots of cutlery way sharper than a table knife). So they didn't feel it was right to leave, y'know, weapons in an unsecurable car. Thgey could hide the axes under the front passenter seat, but pretty much nothing else.

So they just wore it into the Denny's.

My friend said, "God bless Denny's Restaurant waitstaff, they don't blink at anything." The woman just asked them if they wanted a booth or a table. Not wanting anything at their backs (they were wearing cutlery in back sheaths), they asked for a corner both, three big burly guys in leather and chain armor, and a petite waif of a lady-in-waiting in a lovely Renaissance gown (my friend).

Well, they sit down and get their menus handed to them, and just as the waitress walks off (way too soon for anyone to have called), a pair of cops walk in. They greet the waitress, who seats them at a booth across the way. They, too, receive their menus, and start to look...when the cop facing the corner booth looks over and does a double-take at the three medieval warriors and medieval milady perusing menus while wearing...cutlery. Sheathed, but the very sharp kind.

Naturally, he catches his partner's attention, they both stare, then get up and cross to the table. My SCAdian friends all smile and nod greetings, and ask, "Anything we can help you with, officers?"

"Why are you wearing the swords and knives in this restaurant?"

The driver immediately pipes up, "Oh, that's kind of my fault. We were at a medieval event, serving as bodyguards to the king and Queen. Unfortunately, my window was cracked, and then someone finished busting it out last night, and I can't get it replaced until Tuesday--this is a weekend, and all. So it's only taped over with plastic. None of us wanted to leave these things in an unsecured car, and we're all hungry, so we kind of have to keep an eye on everything. Technically, there are also two hatchets in the car, but they're hidden under the seats. Anyway, that's why we're keeping a close eye on them in here, instead of leaving them out there. It just wouldn't be responsible. You can't exactly hide a longsword under the front passenger seat."

The cops eye them over, and my friend said it looked like they respected that reply, but then the other cop says, "Could you put them all on the table, please?"

She and her three friends kind of eye each other, eye the table--it, at least, is a big corner table--eye each other and the cops again. And my friend asks, "All of them? Are you sure? We have a lot on us, and this'll take a bit of time."

He taps the tabletop and says, "All of them. On the table."

"We're going to have to get out of the booth to get at some of it, sir," one of the men says. "Is that alright?" The cops nod and back up, so they start sliding out one at a time and divesting themselves of weapons. Not drawn out of their sheaths (if they can avoid it, some were booth-sheath types), and not dropping them loudly on the table either, just neatly laying them down one after another. The men were each carrying over a dozen weapons.

My friend...was still going. She gets to twenty, including having to hike up her skirts and petticoats to get at thigh-sheaths as discreetly as she could. She then grimaces, and says, "Do I really have to take out all of them and put them on the table? Because I've got six more weapons serving as boning in my corset, but I'll have to go into the bathroom to get undressed, and then I can't put my dress back on without having problems getting it laced back up, and I don't want to have to come out with my clothes gaping open or my dress fully off. I'll do it if you insist, but I'd have to walk out here either half undressed or entirely in my underthings. We may be the only ones in here right now, but there are cameras, and anyone else could come right in. I really don't feel comfortable about having to do that."

The cop who had demanded all of the weapons be put on the table turned beet red, and the other cop quickly said, "Uh, no, ma'am. If you say you have six more weapons, we'll believe you--how many weapons do you have?"

"Eleven." "Thirteen." "Twelve on me and two hand axes in the car." "Twenty-six."

The beet-red cop rubs his eyes and said, "Jesus Christ! This lady is like watching a clown car of cutlery!"

His comment busted up the group, and he waves his hand.

"Okay, okay. You don't have to bring it all out, ma'am. I'll take your word for it you got six more that you can't get to quicklyk. I, uh, wouldn't ask a lady to do that. Go ahead and put it all back on, keep good track of it, and you folks have a good night. Enjoy your meal, and drive safe."

"You, too, officers!" They started putting everything back on as the cops go back to their table, and of course it takes longer to do that than it does to get it off. Then one of the cops comes back over. They all kinda freeze mid-re-cutlery-ing, and the driver asks, "Can we help you with anything else, officer?"

"Just out of curiosity, what do you all do for a living, when you're not being bodyguards in a medieval play? And do you know how to fight with this stuff?"

My explained it's not a medieval play, but a medieval society, where people do arts & crafts--such as making all the stuff they're wearing--plus non-choreographed fighting, albeit with completely different materials and a whole bunch of safety regulations.

Then my friend says, "I'm an EMT, and I do fencing and archery. He runs a construction company, and does fencing and heavy fighting--rapier versus sword-and-shield. Our driver's a computer tech, and also a heavy fighter. And he's a chef and an archer. Also my husband. He doesn't fight in the SCA, but he does spar with me, so he can, but he doesn't enter any tournaments.

"I don't get to enter as many tournaments as I'd like, because I'm usually stuck doing the Chiurgeon work--that's basically first aid folks, since it's a fancy medieval word for 'surgeon.' And everyone wants someone competent on hand for that, for which I qualify, obviously. But with thaat said, these boys will all behave with this stuff, because they all know what my bedside manner is like with fools. Especially when I'm off the clock, so they don't dare hurt themselves or others."

I talked later with her husband about it, and at this point in the story, he said "Yeah, it was the funniest shit! The three of us all just nodded quickly in confirmation with expressions of, She is the scariest one of us all, officer. And he looked at us like, Are you kidding me, she is the scariest? But then he looks at the pile of weapons on the table, forty percent of which is hers, and raises his eyebrows in that kind of Well, I guess she is, isn't she?"

My chef friend continued, saying the cop then added, "Do you always carry a weapon on you, ma'am?"

Her husband told me she gave him one her flat Are you being a fucking idiot? stares (tiny petite woman, scary death glare), and said, "I am an EMT. I carry all manner of things that could be used as a weapon. Mostly I wield them on clothes to get them out of my way in an emergency, but even a pair of scissors can be used as a weapon." With, her husband said, a look of, As you should very well know as a cop, you dumbass. Her husband was laughing by this point in his explanation, and said that the cop walked away looking like he'd been swatted on the butt and sent to a corner like a toddler who knew he'd done wrong.

Anyway, the rest of the story had one more twist: They finished putting on their cutlery, slid into the booth, and a few minutes later, the waitress came by to take their orders, along with offers of coffee. She then added, "Y'all get a free slice of pie on the house for dessert, too, for here or to go. Compliments of the night manager, because y'all just gave the whole crew a helluva laugh with your 'clown car of cutlery' trick! Just don't use any of your cutlery on our food. Health regulations, you know."

My chef friend said he knew that technically wasn't true, but they weren't about to get their weapons dirty without proper cleaning materials on hand (you never put a dirty knife in its sheath, because that's a recipe for disaster later on), so they just went on with ordering their meals.

At this point, other people did come in to have midnight meals, mostly long-haul truckers, and they were doing double-takes. One of them even kind of sidled over to the cops, and they couldn't hear the conversation, but my friend said she overheard, "No no," and "Twenty-Six," followed by the funniest wide-eyed double-take from the trucker fellow looking her way, then he quickly sidled off to go eat a quiet, peaceful meal at a far table.

Admittedly most of what they were wearing were knives in length, but each of them had on at least one sword, and my friend even had a second one (more of a short gladius in size, though not in shape) in a spine sheath, similar to what Wonder Woman wore in the movie, but this was literally over two decades before that movie came out.

She had to have help getting it back into the sheath, because she couldn't see where the mouth of the sheath was to put it back, and also didn't want her snood (that woven net thing at the back of the hair) to get caught on the quillions, so her husband had to do that. Drawing it wasn't as much of a problem, just putting it back. Also, unlike the movie version, her sword hilt was completely hidden by the back neckline of her chemise and gown, and she said it startled the cops when she pulled it out.

When the movie did come out (again, decades later), she complained heartily about how badly that sword was placed, not very well hidden at all, and very much about to get tangled up in all of those lacings. I had to agree. It was the only place she could hide the sword, but it definitely would have tangled in the lacings.

How many weapons is it practical for a fantasy character to carry?

Assuming no magic is involved, the answer might be more than you’d expect!

Patreon - everything else

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi there! Many apologies if I put my foot in my mouth here.

Do you have any rules for when to use BIPOC vs POC? I personally don’t like the term BIPOC for a number of reasons, most of which match the Newsweek article I link at the end, but since I’m nothing close to an expert, I wanted to check if you had an answer for what to do on that front. Possibly separately or possibly as part of the same question, do you have a preference as to which is used in your inbox? Happy to do either, even if the surge towards only ever using BIPOC makes me a little squeamish since I really struggle to find anyone championing it who doesn’t eventually turn out to be white when I look them up.

PS - I feel like I see both PoC and POC, but never BIPoC. Is there a reason for that, or are people just making inconsistent guesses at capitalization?

Newsweek article in question: https://www.newsweek.com/bipoc-isnt-doing-what-you-think-its-doing-opinion-1582494

I think it's really just a personal choice, fr. I have never cared for it, really 😅 I have better battles to fight (the proper use of 'NOUN of color'), and I get what they were trying to do, but... I tried and I just... I don't care for it.

It feels self serving to me. It's redundant and yet it sort of lumps Black and Indigenous folks together in a way that... It doesn't address that while we do have similarities and overlaps, we're not the same and shouldn't be dismissed so easily.

And also, "indigenous" doesn't necessarily mean 'Indigenous to the Americas', so without that added context to the conversation, you could be talking bout anywhere and those indigenous people could very well be white 😭 and if your point by then is "well I mean the ones of color" then by then you could have just said "people of color" already! 🤣 But that might be me overthinking it.

You could just refer to people by their names 😭 I'm not just an amorphous POC, I'm Black! So when you enter my inbox, say Black. No, don't refer to me as a POC/PoC or a BIPOC, you know what I am and what I've asked you to refer to me as. It's honestly incredibly insulting when I make posts specifically discussing Blackness and they get hit with the #poc #poc things. I do love my folk of color and will show solidarity ofc, but when I'm talking about Black people, I do mean Black people. And I'm pretty sure I can tell who's leaving those tags 😬

We're not all one lump solely defined by "not white"- when you know our identities, use them!

Sidebar, I also always misread it as "Bi and Indigenous people of color" 😭 Lmao you managed to accidentally hit on something I'm very passionate about but rarely speak on 😅

[m4iya]

I like your accent, where're you from? Suna Rintaro

@moochiwoochi - from my 50 followers event

When a new student transfers to your school, his lack of an accent - rather, its difference to yours - takes you by surprise.

"When are they going-ta just leave him alone? He's not a spectacle." Your friend groaned from beside you before taking a bite of her food.

At the front of the classroom sat a student who had transferred into your high school not long ago. Since he'd arrived, a bunch of your classmates had been hanging around him like he was some celebrity.

Though today, their excessive chatter and laughter made you feel increasingly irritated as your head had started throbbing from all the noise. You began to wonder if your classmates even brought lunch with them, seeing as their entire break seemed to be occupied in effort of gaining his attention.

Though he didn't seem too intrigued by the crowd, often trying to escape them. You'd also recently noticed that he'd developed a habit of randomly disappearing during breaks.

"Whatever, It'll probably die down in a few weeks". You replied, standing up from your table.

"Where're ya going?"

"Just-ta get some fresh air."

Your school was relatively large, with various places for students to spend their breaks. A courtyard, open rooftop and many outdoor seating areas. Though even with all the extra space, many students still preferred to stay indoors, eating their lunch in the cafeteria or spending their breaks in their classroom.

You too spent most of your break time inside class with your friends, but in moments such as these, you needed to take a breather and rest your brain for some time.

In the courtyard was a large patch of grass, shaded by a few trees. It was behind one of the buildings, so it wasn't completely quiet, but it sure was a break from all the noise inside the classroom.

Purchasing something to drink from the cafeteria, you made your way over to the place you usually sit at. Though as you inched closer, you noticed a figure lying atop the grass. You initially had no idea who it was, but a few steps later, you noticed it was the new student who - when you last saw him - was being swarmed by classmates. You wondered if talking to him was an option, finding it a little awkward to strike up a conversation even though you hadn't said a single word to him since he'd transferred.

Though, as you made the decision to leave, a dry leaf crunched under your foot, causing him to sit up; eyes immediately landing on you. You shot him an awkward smile before proceeding to turn around, only to hear his voice pop up from behind.

"Wait."

Turning back around, you see him sitting cross legged, patting the patch next to him. You proceeded to sit down, wondering what on earth he wanted.

"Did ya need something?" You asked, poking the straw into your drink, attempting to maintain a semblance of nonchalance.

"We haven't met yet. You're in my class, aren't you?"

You'd heard him speak before, although only once during class introductions. Though hearing it up close caught you off guard. It wasn't something you heard everyday.

"Um.. Yeah, I am." You replied.

"Well, at least you aren't swarming me." He muttered, bringing his knees up to his chin. "Like, I've never heard a western accent in person either, so what makes me so different?"

You listened to him frustratingly complain to you - who was also someone he had just met - about the swarms of people clinging to him. The two of you ended up getting carried away in conversation, finding things in common with each other. Though, the ringing of the bell eventually sounded throughout the school, putting a lid on your conversation.

However, as you both made your way through back to class together, he still had one more thing to say.

"You'll have to teach me the slang one day."

"You'll probably pick it up on yer own." You laughed.

Taking each other’s contact details, you’d begin messaging over text, meeting up after school and continuing to hang out during breaks as well. Eventually, the crowds around him fizzled out as they got used to him.

He’d joke around with you, saying: “Aw shucks, I’m not popular anymore.” and you’d laugh about it, responding with: “Yer five minutes of fame are finally over.”

other works

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Playing for Keeps

Fandom: Women's College Basketball (LSU, USC, UConn)

Pairing: Juju Watkins x Reader x Paige Bueckers

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Heavy angst, jealousy, territorial behavior, unresolved tension, eventual poly relationship

Summary: Being close friends with both Juju Watkins and Paige Bueckers was already a lot to handle, but when they both caught feelings for me? It became a full-on war.

Both were competitive. Both were used to winning.

And both, apparently, had decided that I was worth fighting for.

"You sitting courtside for me, right?" Juju had asked, leaning against my desk in my LSU dorm like she had all the time in the world. "I need my number one supporter looking good in red and gold."

I opened my mouth to answer, but my phone buzzed.

Paige [4:35 PM]: Hope you’re packing some navy and white, ma. Can’t have you out here in Trojan colors. Wouldn't be a good look for you.

I groaned, tossing my phone onto my bed. Juju smirked.

"That her?"

"Don't start," I muttered.

Juju chuckled but didn’t say anything else. She didn’t have to. We both knew that she and Paige could barely stand to be in the same room, and the fact that I was friends with both of them only made it worse.

The game between USC and UConn was already set to be a battle. But for them, it wasn’t just about basketball.

It was about me.

Sitting courtside felt like sitting in the eye of a storm.

Juju was putting on a show—deep threes, crossovers that sent defenders stumbling, celebrations that felt just a little too directed at Paige.

Paige? Oh, she was taking it personally.

Every time she made a play, she looked at me. Every time she scored, she smirked like she was reminding me why she should be my favorite.

And then came the third quarter.

Paige went up for a layup. Juju was right there. They collided mid-air, and Paige hit the ground hard.

The whistle blew, but neither of them cared.

Paige shoved Juju’s shoulder as she stood up.

Juju shoved back.

And suddenly, they were chest to chest, jawing at each other.

I saw it before the refs did—the pure, reckless need to prove themselves.

Over me.

"Man, they’re really about to fight over you," Taylor muttered beside me.

I buried my face in my hands. "I hate them both."

"Sure you do," she laughed.

They both got hit with a tech. The game went on, but the tension never left.

Three days later, I was still recovering from the absolute embarrassment of watching my two best friends nearly get ejected because they couldn’t stop competing for my attention.

So when I heard a knock on my dorm room door, I should’ve known it was them.

What I didn’t expect?

For them to show up together.

I folded my arms. "Y’all better not have come here to argue in my dorm."

Paige sighed, rubbing her forehead. "We’re not."

Juju nodded. "We figured it out."

I blinked. "Figured what out?"

They exchanged a glance. Paige spoke first. "We’re gonna share you."

I stared. Then laughed. "Hilarious. Get out."

Neither of them moved.

Oh. They were serious.

Juju shrugged. "Look, we get it. You’re not gonna pick between us. And we’re not about to sit here and act like we don’t both want you."

Paige leaned against the doorframe, smirking. "So instead of fighting over you, we’re just gonna make it work. Together."

My head was spinning. "You—what?"

Juju smirked. "What, you can handle both of us, right?"

Paige grinned. "Or are we too much for you, ma?"

I glared at them. "I hate y’all."

Paige tilted my chin up. "No, you don’t."

The worst part?

She was right.

I thought the madness would end after they worked things out.

I was wrong.

Because now, instead of fighting over me, they were ganging up on me.

And that’s how I ended up at my lacrosse game, standing on the field, watching both of them sit front row in LSU gear.

They looked way too comfortable. Juju was leaning back in her seat like she owned the place. Paige had her feet propped up on the railing, arms crossed like she was analyzing my every move.

Taylor, sitting on the bench beside me, snorted. "Yeah, that’s not normal."

"Tell me about it," I muttered.

The game hadn’t even started yet, but they were already making themselves known.

Juju cupped her hands around her mouth. "Yo, baby, don’t let me down out there!"

Paige smirked. "She never lets me down, Watkins. She’s built different."

Juju scoffed. "Please, she’s my girl too. We’ll see who she winks at first when she scores."

I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. "I’m actually gonna die."

Taylor patted my back. "Nah, girl, you’re just stuck between two of the craziest ballers in the country."

"That’s supposed to make me feel better?"

She shrugged. "You picked them."

I sighed. "No, they picked me. And now I have to deal with—"

The ref blew the whistle, signaling the start of the game.

And before I even ran onto the field, Paige and Juju were already yelling for me.

Loudly.

Taylor smirked. "Yeah, you’re never escaping them."

After the game, I barely made it to the locker room before Juju and Paige cornered me.

Juju draped an arm around my shoulder. "Not bad, superstar. But next time, point at me when you score, yeah?"

Paige scoffed. "Oh, so you didn’t see her looking at me after that goal?"

I groaned. "Can y’all not?"

Juju grinned. "Nah. We’re invested in your career now, babe."

Paige smirked. "Exactly. We gotta make sure our girl knows we’re here for her."

I exhaled. They were never gonna let me live this down.

Taylor walked past, shaking her head. "Man, y’all are something else."

Paige and Juju high-fived.

I sighed.

This was my life now.

And honestly?

Maybe I didn’t mind it so much.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■���■■■■

       -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[onceinamillionposter]

Black!Reader x Sylus Headcannons

a/n: another one… i’ma just get through em because black history month! Meanwhile I have to think about the whole band thing and plan that out so fantastic!

- You are in heaven, I wish I was kidding. This man makes sure you are spoilt to the bone, if you are ever in need for a new fit or a really big spending spree- you are using his black card no buts ands or ifs! His wallet is yours to destroy, go crazy with it.

- That being said Sylus makes you run by every choice with him (not that your complaining) he just wants to know what your up to with your style choices, you can do whatever be y2k, full glam, or soft girl vibes. He just wants you to pose after getting your hair done, or new outfits maybe even the nails.

- On that note, is a heavy fan of mafia wife aesthetic, literally lives for it so when you go that route, he is folding in half. Sylus gets obsessed with you so just beware to not go for it unless you plan to not be able to walk for a couple of days.

- Do not introduce him to your parents unless you run through stuff with him- (black parents do not play) , he better be the upmost respectful and tame person know to man because he can be messy sometimes

- Aunties are scared of him and ask you about him while Uncles love him to a degree , not in front of their wives though. Kids are horrified and babies actually scream when they see him because he is scary as hell. If you bring him to church, keep him by you because he will naturally cause problems wherever he goes.

- Cultural food is something Sylus is used to considering deals he had to make with those of other cultures, but would not mind having food with you- ALSO making them with you! It’s bonding time in this house, please let him help you.

- Putting on your jewellery is a norm at this point, hoop earrings on, necklace, rings (it’s practice for the real thing). Being close to you in any way possible is perfect,

- He is obsessed with you, everything about you so please don’t be doubting he will hold your hands in public only letting go when he hands you his black card and Sylus waits outside of the hair care store while you go on a rampage.

Sylus has a strange fixation on your hair, like obviously like others but he loves when you have a full afro out, especially when covering your eyes. He thinks you look drop dead gorgeous in that.

a/n : black history month is currently plaguing my mind rn with the whole Kendrick performance oh my goodness me LOL

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

New You Gym - 19

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Michael watched Kylee as her short frame waddled in front of him, large infantile diaper sagging wetly between her legs. Michael wondered to himself whether she even knew her diaper was wet.

As Michael's eyes lingered on his wife's padded ass, he could feel his member growing, making his pants tighter. Michael knew he should be concerned for his wife and maybe even disgusted by the fact that she can't keep her pants dry. However, Michael could feel a new fantasy being awaken in him.

Imagining Kylee humiliated, diapered, and treated like nothing more than a un-potty-trained toddler made him feel more aroused then he could ever remember.

However, as Kylee turned the corner towards their bedroom, Michael tried to shake off his feelings. He knew that Kylee had to be mortified by the situation, and that it was his job as her husband to support her through the struggle.

Readjusting the new pink gym bag Emily had handed him, he put on as supportive face as he could muster, suppressed his growing arousal as best he could, and followed Kylee into their bedroom.

As Michael walked in, he saw Kylee standing, legs spread, inspecting her diaper closely with both hands. As Michael looked at her, he noticed tears starting to form in her eyes.

"I… I'm… I mean… It… The diaper… It's wet?" Kylee said, turning to Michael confused.

When Kylee went to untape her diaper, she noticed for the first time that she had wet herself sometime during her trip home from the gym. The fact she was unaware she had pissed herself scared her almost more than the fact that her husband was seeing her in a wet diaper.

Michael walked up to Kylee and embraced her in a hug.

"Yeah, baby, it looks like you had another little accident today. But, I'm sure it was just from the stress of the gym. Do you want me to help you get out of… um… that?" Michael said, gesturing vaguely towards Kylee's diaper.

Kylee wanted to say no. She wanted to run away and hide in shame. She wanted to be anywhere else but here, with the man she loved, dressed like this.

But, she also wanted his attention. She craved experiencing that close, vulnerable feeling she had when Julie had changed her diaper earlier that day, with Michael. She also knew that if things kept progressing as Julie told her they would, it wouldn't be long until this was going to be a more common occurrence.

So, with her mind made up, Kylee's cheeks turned red as she answered her husband. "Yes, please," she said.

"Alright, sweetheart, why don't you lay on the floor. Do we have any wipes anywhere?" Michael asked.

Kylee blushed again. "I think you'll find everything you need in my new… uh… gym bag."

Michael grabbed the bag and looked in. It was now his turn to blush.

The pink satchel clearly wasn't the gym bag of an adult. The only thing it could be reasonably described as was a diaper bag.

Despite the warning he'd received from Emily, Michael hadn't really put together that Kylee would be required to wear diapers to the gym for the foreseeable future. The idea of his wife being forced to continue to wear diapers caused his penis to swell again.

"Oh, wow! They really, uh, set you up here," Michael said, grabbing the wipes from his wife's diaper bag while trying to hide his growing erection, "I know Emily said you'd need protection for the gym, but they really set you up with a lot of dia… I mean… protective underwear."

Kylee turned her head to the side, looking away in embarrassment.

"It's okay. Call them what they are… they're diapers," Kylee responded, trying to bravely face her predicament, "How can I call this wet thing wrapped around my ass anything else?"

"Should I grab out another one… uh… diaper? Or, do you think you can keep your panties dry?" Michael asked hesitantly.

Kylee glared at Michael, her embarrassment overtaken by her indignation.

"Can I keep my panties dry? Of course I can! I'm not a child!" Kylee growled.

Michael raised his hands defensively, then gestured towards Kylee's wet groin.

"I mean, it seems like a fair question, given the circumstances," Michael said, a little more confidence shining through in his tone, "I am not the one lying on the floor, waiting for my husband to change me out of a wet diaper."

"Fine! If you're going to act like this, I don't need your help!" Kylee said starting to sit up, face scrunched in disgust as she felt the wet padding surrounding her crotch squelch as she shifted her weight.

Michael, wipes in hand, kneeled down next to Kylee, placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down.

"Oh, hush! No need to throw a tantrum. Lay down so I can get you out of that wet thing then you can put your panties back on," Michael said, his assertiveness growing along with erection.

Being given this excuse to baby his wife really turned him on.

Kylee complied with his direction. As she laid down, she also found that, despite her embarrassment and anger at her situation, she was also being turned on by the "Daddy" energy her husband was starting to exhude.

"Fine," Kylee said as she laid back down with an exaggerated huff.

"Good girl," Michael responded.

Those words sent a shiver through Kylee's pussy.

Michael patted Kylee's diapered crotch twice and stated, "Let's do this."

Michael carefully ripped open the tapes of Kyle's diaper and pulled the front of the diaper open. The smell of ammonia and rash cream quickly hit his nose, causing him to briefly scrunch his face in disgust before continuing on. What he saw when he opened the diaper though, he wasn't expecting.

"Kylee! Your skin is so red and angry down here? What's going on? Is this what's causing your sudden accidents? Do we need to see a doctor?" Michael asked, staring at the diaper rash covering his wife's most intimate areas but too inexperienced in diapering to know what he was looking at.

A fresh wave of embarrassment pulsed through Kylee, who suddenly remembered the diaper rash she had from her earlier, poopy diaper. Julie's cream really worked wonders on her discomfort, Kylee thought to herself.

"No, it's, it's not causing my accidents," Kylee said, quietly. "I, I fell asleep in a diaper earlier at the gym and woke up with a… uh… rash because of it."

"A diaper rash? Seriously, Kylee?" Michael guffawed. "Let's check your bag. Ah, here it is, some rash cream," Michael said, pulling out some diaper rash cream from Kyle's gym bag. "Are you sure you don't need another diaper? How many times have you wet yourself today?"

Kylee looked up at Michael as defiantly. "Only a couple! But it was just because of stress at the gym! I don't need another, stinking diaper!"

Micheal couldn't help but laugh to himself a little. Kylee, despite her demand to the contrary, sure looked like a woman who needed a diaper. She was laying on the ground, legs splayed apart, rash covered ass laying on a wet diaper, waiting to be wiped clean by another person.

"Sure, baby," Michael said as he began to wipe Kylee's tender skin with the baby wipes.

As Michael wiped the urine off of Kylee's waist, Kylee couldn't help but be surprised from his delicate, caring touch. As Michael wiped, Kylee squirmed as it became clear she was still very sore from her diaper rash. However, Michael did a good job at both being thorough and gentle with Kylee's delicate skin.

Then Michael made his way to Kylee's slit and she started to squirm for another reason. The feeling of Michael's fingers through the wet wipe felt so good to Kylee. It brought back the recent memories of Julie's 'special' changes back at the gym. She started to buck her hips into Michael's hand.

"Oh, baby likes that, huh?" Michael said as he started to pay more attention to Kyle's vagina.

"Don't… call… me… baby!" Kylee moaned out as Michael started to rub her clit more intentionally.

"What should I call you then? Your the one laying here on the ground getting your pissy little pampers changed, aren't you?" Michael asked with a seductively dominant tone.

"Ye… yes…" Kylee moaned out.

"Then what does that make you?" Michael asked as he started to thrust his middle and index finger into Kylee's pussy, while continuing to rub her clit with his thumb.

"A… a… a…" Kylee moaned in rhythm with Michael's fingers.

"A what?" Michael demanded, his cock throbbing at his wife's humiliation and his own sense of power.

"A… a… a… BABY!" Kylee screamed as her body convulsed in pleasure with an epic orgasm.

"That's right," Michael said as he removed his fingers from Kylee and wiped them on a new baby wipe. "But, since you were a good girl and admitted it, I guess we can let you try panties again today," he continued cheekily.

"Thank you, Daddy," Kylee said as Michael finished cleaning her up, helped her stand up, and balled up her diaper.

"Of course sweetheart, why don't you go take a shower though? I got most of it off, but let's not take a risk with that rash," Michael suggested.

Kylee complied.

As Kylee showered, Michael took care of his own arousal. He laid on his bed, put his hand down his pants, and stroked himself, imagining Kylee, sitting in a crib at the end of the bed, looking at him longingly in a wet diaper and childish onesie as he fucked Emily doggy style.

It didn't take long before Michael made a sticky mess in his hand. He used another of Kylee's wipes to clean himself up.

The rest of the day went fairly normally for Kylee and Michael. Kylee put back on a pair of panties, but not before slathering her ass in rash cream. She and Michael went about their normal daily tasks.

The only changes were minimal. Michael would occasionally throw glances at her crotch suspiciously, as if he was making sure she didn't have any more accidents. Kylee also found it a little uncomfortable to sit down due to her diaper rash.

However, with normalcy overtaking her day once again, Kylee almost forgot about the events of the morning when it was time to get ready for bed.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: “One Step at a Time”

Back at the hotel, the shopping bag felt heavier in your hands than it should have. It wasn’t like Marshall had gone overboard—he’d kept it simple, just a couple of things, nothing crazy. But the weight of it felt like more than fabric. It felt like a shift. Like something unfamiliar pressing against your chest.

Marshall had carried most of the bags, barely letting you hold anything, but this one? This one, he made sure you held onto. Maybe he knew you needed to feel it, needed to sit with the reality of it.

He was watching you now, pretending not to as he busied himself with taking off his hoodie and tossing it on the bed. The kids were in the other room, completely unaware of the small battle still raging in your head.

You set the bag on the chair near the window, staring at it like it might disappear if you looked away.

Marshall sat on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. "You gonna put anything on?" he asked casually.

You exhaled through your nose. "Maybe later."

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push. "Alright."

Silence settled between you. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not exactly, but you could tell he wanted to say something.

"What?" you finally asked, crossing your arms.

"Nothing," he said too quickly, then ran a hand over his face. "It’s just… I don’t get it."

You frowned. "Get what?"

He sat up fully, resting his forearms on his knees. "Why it’s so hard for you to let yourself have something. To do something for you."

Your fingers curled into your sleeves. "I told you—"

"Yeah, I know," he interrupted gently. "I just— I don’t know, babe. I wish you saw yourself the way I do.*"

You swallowed hard, looking away. "I don’t know how."

Marshall was quiet for a moment. Then, he stood up, crossing the room until he was right in front of you. He tipped your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"Then let me help."

You searched his face, your throat tight.

"One step at a time," he said, voice low but steady. "Okay?"

You hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

And when he kissed you, slow and deliberate, you felt something inside you shift. Maybe, just maybe, you could try.

---

You hated being here.

Hated being anywhere that made you feel like you didn't belong, but the girls had begged to go visit Marshall's music video set and you couldn't say no. So here you were.

The music video set was alive with energy—cameras, bright lights, crew members buzzing around with purpose. The girls were completely in awe, sticking close to Marshall as he gave them a quick tour between takes.

And then there was her.

Mia.

She was leaning against one of the monitors, all smiles and effortless charm, laughing at something Marshall had said between takes. It was nothing—just casual conversation—but the way she looked at him made your stomach twist.

You knew that look.

It was the way women looked at Marshall when they wanted him.

You tried to push it down, to remind yourself that he was yours. That he had chosen you. But the doubt crept in anyway. Mia was beautiful, confident, exciting—the kind of woman who fit seamlessly into his world. And you? You were just you.

Marshall’s hand found the small of your back when he passed by, pressing a quick kiss to your temple, as if he could feel your unease. But it didn’t erase the feeling that you were on the outside looking in.

That you weren’t enough.

—

The hotel room was quiet, the only sounds coming from the city outside. The girls were finally asleep in the adjoining room, exhausted from the long day, and you should’ve been getting ready for bed, too. But instead, you stood by the window, arms wrapped around yourself, your thoughts tangled.

Marshall was behind you, peeling off his hoodie, yawning as he sat on the edge of the bed. "You okay?"

You turned to face him, watching as he ran a hand over his face. He looked tired. He was tired. You should’ve let it go.

But you couldn’t.

Crossing the room, you climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap before he could react. His hands instinctively came to rest on your hips, eyes flickering with surprise. "Damn, okay," he murmured, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. "What’s this about?"

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kissed him—deep and needy, like you were trying to brand yourself into him. Like you needed to prove something.

He responded instantly, fingers tightening on your waist as he pulled you closer. But when you broke the kiss, his brows furrowed slightly. "Babe…what’s wrong?"

You shook your head, refusing to let doubt take hold. "Nothing."

Marshall didn’t buy it. His hands moved to cradle your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. "Talk to me."

Your throat tightened. "I just…" You exhaled shakily, dropping your forehead against his. "I hate the way she looks at you."

He blinked. "Mia?"

You nodded.

Something flickered in his expression—realization, then something softer. "You know I don’t see her like that, right?"

"But she sees you like that," you whispered. "And I know I shouldn’t care, but—"

"But you do," he finished for you, his voice gentle.

You closed your eyes. "I just needed to remind myself that you're mine."

Marshall was silent for a moment, then tipped your chin up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were steady, unwavering. "I’ve always been yours," he said firmly. "No one else. Just you."

Your chest ached, the weight of your insecurities pressing down. But Marshall just pulled you closer, kissing you again—slow and deep, like he needed you to understand.

And maybe, just maybe, you finally did.

---

The morning was quiet as you made your way into the shared living space of your suite. The girls were already eating breakfast, their voices a soft murmur over the clinking of spoons against cereal bowls. Hailie was scrolling through her phone, Whitney was doodling absentmindedly on a napkin, and Alaina was sipping her juice, still half-asleep.

"Morning," you greeted, sitting beside Whitney.

"Morning, Mommy!" she chirped.

"Morning," Hailie echoed distractedly, still focused on her phone. Then, suddenly, she smirked. "Hey, Mom, come here for a second."

You frowned. "Why?"

"Just look," she said, flipping her phone around so you could see the screen.

Your heart nearly stopped.

It was a picture from yesterday at the video shoot—one you hadn’t even noticed being taken. But the focus wasn’t on Mia, or the set, or even the girls. It was you.

And Marshall.

He was in the background, standing off to the side, but the way he was looking at you…

Your breath hitched.

You had spent the entire day convinced that you were on the outside looking in. That Mia was everything you weren’t—bright, exciting, someone who belonged in his world. You had been so consumed by insecurity that you never even saw this.

But the camera had captured it.

Marshall wasn’t looking at Mia. He wasn’t looking at anyone else.

He was looking at you.

And he looked at you the way Mia had looked at him. Like nothing else existed around him. Like you were the only thing in the world.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you took the phone, staring at the image like it might change if you blinked too hard.

"I don’t know what you think you see when he looks at you," Hailie said gently, "but this is what the rest of us see."

Your throat tightened.

"Mom?" Alaina’s voice was softer now. "Do you get it yet?"

You swallowed, nodding wordlessly, because you didn’t trust your voice.

Marshall chose that exact moment to walk into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face as he yawned. "Mornin’." He moved toward the coffee pot, completely unaware of what had just happened.

The girls exchanged a look before Alaina nudged you lightly. "Go hug your husband, Mom."

You hesitated for only a second before standing up and walking over to him.

Marshall turned slightly just as you reached him, his brows furrowing. "What’s—"

You didn’t let him finish. You just wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest.

For a moment, he was still, clearly surprised. Then, slowly, his arms came around you, holding you just as tightly. "You okay?" he murmured, lips brushing your hair.

You nodded against him. "Yeah."

Because for the first time in a long time, you finally saw what had been there all along.

---

The rest of the morning passed in a blur, but something inside you had shifted. The image from Hailie’s phone was burned into your mind, and for the first time in years, you started noticing things.

You noticed the way Marshall stood near you when you all left the hotel, his body instinctively angling toward you like he was drawn in by gravity. How, even when the girls were talking to him, even when his attention was elsewhere, his eyes still flicked to you—brief glances, soft and fleeting, but constant. You were never out of sight.

And not in the way you’d thought before.

He wasn’t watching you like you were fragile, like he was scared you’d break. No, it was something deeper than that. Needier. He was watching you like he needed to know where you were at all times, like he couldn’t breathe right unless he could orient himself around you.

You weren’t his shadow.

You were his center.

At the café, when you slid into the booth, he didn’t even think—his hand found the small of your back as you passed him, his fingers pressing against the fabric of your shirt for just a second longer than necessary. Not possessive, not demanding. Just assuring.

At first, you thought maybe you were imagining things. That maybe it was only obvious now because you were looking for it. But then, as the day went on, you realized it wasn’t new at all.

It had always been there.

You had just stopped seeing it.

At the studio, while the girls sat on the couch listening to tracks, you stood off to the side near the console, watching Marshall work. He was in his element, focused, deep in conversation with the producer. And yet—

His fingers absently twisted his wedding band.

The same way he always did when he was thinking. When he was grounding himself.

And when the conversation ended, his gaze immediately sought yours, like he was recalibrating, like he needed the confirmation that you were still there.

And every time you were close enough, he touched you. Not in any overt way, not in a way that screamed ownership or expectation—just knowing. A brush of his fingers against your hand as he passed you, his palm at your waist when he leaned in to murmur something in your ear, his thumb tracing absent circles over your knuckles when you were standing next to him.

He wasn’t just putting up with you.

You weren’t some obligation, some duty he felt bound to because of the life you’d built together.

You were his world.

Hailie had been right.

You weren’t on the outside looking in.

You had been at the center of it all along.

The realization stayed with you for the rest of the day, sinking into your bones like something warm and steady. It was strange, noticing all the little things now—things that had always been there but had somehow faded into the background over time.

Marshall wasn’t the kind of man who shouted his love from the rooftops. He wasn’t flashy about it, wasn’t the type to drown you in sweet words or grand gestures. But he showed you. In the way he moved, the way he watched you, the way he reached for you without a second thought.

That evening, back at the hotel, you were getting ready for bed when you felt it again.

Marshall was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, but his attention wasn’t really on the screen. It was on you.

You felt his eyes follow you as you moved around the room, gathering your things, pulling your hair up. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it anymore.

"What?" you finally asked, turning to face him.

He smirked, setting his phone aside. "Nothin’."

"You’re staring," you pointed out.

"So?" He shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You’re mine. I like lookin’ at what’s mine."

Your breath hitched. Not because of the words themselves—you’d heard him say things like that before—but because of the way he said them. Low and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. Like there was no doubt in his mind that you belonged to him just as much as he belonged to you.

You swallowed hard and turned away, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. "Well, stop. It’s weird."

He chuckled, pushing himself up from the bed. A second later, his arms were around you, his chest pressing against your back as he leaned down, lips brushing against your ear. "You love it."

You hated how right he was.

He kissed your shoulder, slow and lingering, before resting his chin there. "You been different today," he murmured.

You hesitated. "Different how?"

"I dunno." He tightened his hold on you slightly. "Quieter. Like you’re thinkin’ about somethin’."

You sighed, leaning into him. "I guess I just… noticed some things today that I hadn’t before."

"Yeah?" He nudged his nose against your temple. "Like what?"

You hesitated, heart pounding, but then you turned in his arms, looking up at him. "Like the way you look at me."

His brows furrowed slightly. "What about it?"

"I didn’t realize…" You swallowed. "I didn’t realize it was always like that."

His expression softened, something unreadable passing through his eyes. He lifted a hand, brushing his thumb over your cheek. "It was always like that," he said quietly. "Always will be."

You exhaled shakily, leaning into his touch.

And for the first time in a long time, you actually believed it.

[scoops404]

for the writing prompts: dnf (or dream team) karaoke??

Hi there!! I have fulfilled this prompt. It's not beta'd so don't hate me

Under the cut, ~2K

“You have to sing, George, what are you, a pussy?” Sapnap asks, leaning back and crossing his arms. The music is blaring in George’s ears, the off-key rendition of Defying Gravity grating on his nerves.

“I’m not singing, idiot,” George says, because he knows his boundaries and he simply doesn’t want to.

“Pussy, then,” Sapnap says with an easy shrug, like he’s always suspected it and now it’s confirmed to be true.

“Leave him alone,” Dream says, coming back and placing three drinks on their table. He insisted on buying the first round and if history has shown anything, he’ll likely be buying all the rounds.

George grabs the vodka cranberry and sips it through the little black straw that came with it. It’s tart and heavy on the vodka. He makes a face.

“Can’t sing karaoke, can’t sip his little fruity drink,” Sapnap lists off, being an asshole. “Tell me, what can you do successfully?”

“I can fuck your mother successfully,” George says.

Sapnap’s face turns ruddy, but Dream puts a hand on his shoulder before he can say anything else. “Alright, that’s enough you two. Settle down.”

“He started it,” Sapnap says, childishly. George almost denies it on principle, eager to make sure it’s known that he did not, in fact, start it. Sapnap did by trying to coerce him into signing up to sing in front of a live audience.

Not fucking happening.

“Well, I ended it,” Dream says easily, a smirk forming around his straw like he’s pleased with himself. He takes a long drag of whatever cocktail he ended up going with—some blue monstrosity that was probably the bar’s special or something.

Sapnap huffs under his breath.

“What are you singing, Dream?” George asks, even though he’s already listened to Dream ramble about this for the last week.

None of them want to steal the stage or anything, but Dream was talking about missing performing and then George was finding a way to give that to him—just a once a month bar that does live band karaoke. And it was a plan. George read all the reviews and learned they needed to get there early for seats and to sign up before all the slots were filled.

Dream lists off a few different songs and then stands up, declaring that he’ll figure it out as he’s filling out the form by the DJ booth.

“You’re not going with him?” George asks Sapnap, taking another sip of his drink.

“What am I, crazy?” Sapnap asks, though he should know better. That’s like giving George an alleyoop.

“Do you really want me to answer that? George says.

Sapnap rolls his eyes and takes a large gulp of his beer, downing at least half of it. He takes a deep breath when he comes up for air and then belches.

“Gross,” George says, but he’s rather impressed.

“No way am I singing,” Sapnap says. “At least not without like ten more of these bad boys.” He lifts his drink up and cheerses George’s glass, like maybe George wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“And yet you wanted me to?” George says.

“Well, yeah, because that would be funny,” Sapnap says, unashamed. “I was going to film it and put it up on Snapchat.”

“Like I’d let you get free content like that from me,” George says, shaking his head.

The night’s entertainment starts. Dream comes back to the table with a fresh round of drinks, prompting George to chug his last vodka cran so that he can get started on this one.

The first girl to sing chooses a Disney song and George pays little attention to it. Sapnap’s been eyeing a girl across the bar with a black crop top on when he thinks no one is looking. Dream’s foot taps under the table, close enough to George’s that sometimes the sole of his shoe lands on top of George’s foot.

“Don’t mess up my shoes,” George tells him seriously.

“I would never,” Dream promises, crossing his heart with his fingers.

A few more people sing and George drinks another vodka cran for lack of anything better to do. Cell service is terrible in here for some reason, so it’s too annoying to do anything on his phone.

“And now, we have Clay!” The DJ host announces, the cue for the next person to stand up and go onto the stage. George turns to Dream immediately. He’s nervously tapping his fingers, but stands up, finishes his drink, and then winks at George.

“Yeah, go get ‘em, baby!” Sapnap calls, hootin’ and hollerin’.

George shakes his head at Sapnap, but his eyes follow Dream’s form up to the stage.

“Singing the song ‘Spotlight’ by artist Dream, here’s Clay, everyone!”

George’s stomach swoops. He’s singing that song. Here. George can’t take his eyes off of Dream. This is nothing like those concerts George went to, that he performed at, this is so different. It’s so much more intimate—just a group of people getting drunk and Dream—Dream is singing this song that so many people speculate to be about George and—and he’s staring down at George.

Time stops, or so it feels. He’s stuck in the music, in the feeling of the room. Paralyzed and hypnotized by the way Dream’s mouth moves and sings the words that George has wanted so badly to be about him.

Turn off the cameras, now you’re all mine…

He wants that. He wants to be Dream’s so badly.

Sapnap might be trying to say something to him, but George doesn’t pay any attention. He’s hooked on Dream, high on the way he moves, the way the crowd is warming up to him—clapping and screaming. Neither he nor Dream are paying attention.

A superstar in my bed…

Oh fuck.

We close the curtains now it’s our time…

It’s not a very long song, but to George it feels like it’s going by too fast. He wants to live here. He wants this moment to last forever, where he can pretend this is his song. This is Dream’s song for him. He wants to be the celebrity in Dream’s head.

When the last notes play out, the crowd applauds enthusiastically. George’s reaction is delayed, waiting too long before he joins in. He doesn’t want to appear unsupportive.

“Wow,” Sapnap says while Dream hands the mic back and heads to the stage stairs. “That was really ballsy of him.”

“What do you mean?” George asks, though he’s barely paying attention to Sapnap.

“Singing that song,” Sapnap says. Dream’s back at the bar, getting another round it looks like. George watches him like a hawk, seeing the women in going out outfits coming up to talk to Dream. “Especially here. Why didn’t he just chose, like, an Eminem song?”

“You’re dumb,” George says. “Dream shouldn’t sing an Eminem song. He can’t rap. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m just saying…” Sapnap says, throwing back the rest of this beer because he’s also noticed Dream’s coming back with more drinks.

“I liked his song,” George says, hoping he can pass this off as being a supportive friend and not, like, massively in love with Dream.

“Of course you did,” Sapnap says.

Dream clinks drinks onto the table. They must have had them ready for him with how quickly he was served. Not that it takes more than a second to even make a vodka cranberry.

“Hey,” Dream says. There’s some sweat in his curls at his temples.

“Hi,” George says.

“Cool song, bro,” Sapnap says. “I can’t believe you sang George’s stupid song. You should sing the one about me.”

“There is no song about you, Nick,” Dream says, amusement rife in his voice. He sits down heavily in his seat.

“Well, maybe you should fix that,” Sapnap says, but George’s lost the plot because Dream’s words are sinking in.

He hasn’t denied it. He didn’t say George doesn’t have a song either.

“He doesn’t need a song for you, when he has one about me,” George says, the vodka making him brave enough to brush his ankle against Dream’s under the table.

“And I have a song with you,” Dream says. “Our McDonald’s song. That’s epic.”

“You two are disgusting,” Sapnap declares. “I am going to sign up now, I think. I’m hoping they have a song called, like, Fuck You or something. Maybe Get a Room and Fuck Each Other Already, the remix. I don’t fucking know.” And he stalks off towards the booth to talk to the DJ.

“I guess those beers kicked in,” George says and then wants to punch himself.

“The list is already too long,” Dream says. “He’s not getting to sing tonight.”

“I hope everyone here knows how lucky they are,” George says, intending that to mean that they won’t hear Sapnap sing, but in the saying of the words, he realizes there’s another meaning. “They got to hear the original artist sing his song. That’s, like, really epic.”

“I bet literally no one here knew that except you and Sap,” Dream says. “Kinda made it funny, to be honest.”

“It’s not really a funny song, though,” George says.

“No, not a funny song,” Dream repeats. His eyes are dark under the lights of the bar and his face drifts closer to George, ankle hooking around George’s. “Kind of a painful song for a long time”

“What?” George asks. “Why?”

Dream takes a sip of his water before he answers. “I dunno, because the subject of the song, like…”

“What?”

“The subject of the song doesn’t feel that way about me?” he says, and looks down at the table. His hands wrap around his water glass.

“The subject of the song takes offense to that,” George says. “When are the curtains closing? There’s been no discussion of curtains closing, because I would remember if there were. I have—I have things to say behind curtains, Dream.”

“Really?” he asks, looking up.’

“Yeah, idiot,” George tells him. He leans closer. Dream smells perfect—like the cologne he wears when they go out and some fruity shampoo or conditioner. It’s so Dream. He still can’t believe he didn’t know it for so long.

“What kinds of things do you want to say behind the curtains?” Dream asks, voice tight.

“Things like ‘harder’ and ‘right there’,” George says because the alcohol has made him brave.

“So you just want—you just want the bedroom part,” Dream surmises. He’s trying to hide it, but George can sense his disappointment. God, for someone so smart, he’s so dumb.

“Not just,” George says, because he can’t make himself say more, but he can get that part out.

“Really?” Dream asks, perking up.

“Ask me properly and find out,” George says.

Sapnap wanders back over to their table. “Fucking clowns signed up too many duds and now I can’t sing,” he says, throwing himself into his chair.

“Yeah, it’s their fault,” George says, shaking his head. He doesn’t look away from Dream. He can’t. He’s not imagining it.

They’re… getting somewhere.

Outside the bar, the air is chilly for Florida. Dream calls them an Uber and Sapnap yaps away about everything and nothing, and George… George lets himself lean into Dream’s strong body in the car. George watches the lights fly by while they drive home. George waits with Dream after they’ve been dropped off back home, while Sapnap beelines inside to take a slash.

And out here with the crickets chirping and the sound of the Uber driving away, George can hear his heart over all of it.

Until Dream leans over and all he can hear is the question, “George, you wanna go out with me sometime?”

[bonesxbows]

Once Upon A Dream - Chapter 5 (Lucifer X Reader) (Alastor X Reader)

My Masterlist

In a sleeping beauty-inspired AU, a curse is placed over you when you strike up a deal with Heaven to protect baby Charlie, causing you to lose your memory. You remember nothing once the curse takes over; not your marriage with Lucifer, not the family you had with the two of them, nothing. So when a strange smiling demon offers you a place to stay when you can't remember where 'home' is, you take him up on his offer. 

(WARNINGS)

Heavy depressing themes

Loss of a parent (temporary)

Minor assault - Chapter 3 only

Relationship coercion/manipulation - Chapter 4 and onward

this chapter really ran away from me lmao, next one will be shorter to make up for it. I'm having a little *too* much fun writing Alastor into this so next chapter will also be focusing on him, but Chapter 7 will be a major turning point for sure!

Link to Chapter 1

Link to Chapter 2

Link to Chapter 3

Link to Chapter 4

Banners by @strangergraphics

It had been a few days since your arrival at the hotel, and for the most part, the passing time had been uneventful, except for every time you came into view of Charlie. Her eyes seemed to follow you wherever you went around her building, not necessarily staring at you accusingly, but staring at you nonetheless. It put you on edge. Made your skin tingle any time you were near her. 

Alastor had never left your side, seemingly always glued to you anytime you left your room, never letting anyone else get close to you for more than a few minutes. You were starting to get suspicious, but overall you didn’t mind the attention. So long as he played nice. 

One particular day he had approached you, materializing from the shadows in front of you as you were walking down the hall towards your room. You nearly dropped the stack of books in your hands as he startled you. 

“So jumpy, my dear! As if I’d ever hurt such a pretty thing like you. May I ask what you’re reading on such a fine afternoon?” He was leaning all of his weight on his cane, dropping his height to be more at eye level with you. 

You shifted from foot to foot, adjusting the stack of reading material in your grasp. “A little bit of everything, not much to do in this place, and I was hoping reading might jog a memory or something, I don’t know. Might be wistful thinking…but why do you ask?” 

He hummed, as if contemplating what you had told him. “Mind if I join you?” 

“You…want to read with me?” 

“Only if you’ll allow me as company, that is. I don’t mean to impose.” You were beginning to hate that smile of his and the way it so easily hid his true intentions. He sounded sincere, and despite your incessant decorating your room was still rather cold and dreary, perhaps his company wouldn’t be so bad? If only for just a little while. 

“Alright, Alastor. This way.” You began walking towards your room again and he followed behind, his cane clicking off of the hardwood excitedly with each step. 

When you reached your door you arrived at a conundrum; you didn’t have enough hands to juggle a stack of books and fumble with your keys at the same time. You groaned lightly under your breath, shifting to place the stack of books on your hip and hoping you could hold them with one hand long enough to unlock your door. But before you could shift the goods in your hands a green glow had surrounded the reading material and they floated a good few inches out of your reach, taking the pressure of their weight with them and off of your body. 

“I’ve got this, dear. You go ahead and let us in.” Alastor piped up from behind you. When you turned your head back to look at him you saw his pointer finger outstretched and pointing towards the floating books, the same swirling glowing green light dancing around his hand. He tilted his head slightly when he saw you looking at him, making his ears lean to one side, as he gave you a little shooing gesture with his free hand, motioning you back towards your door. You whipped your head back around and dug into your pocket for your key, trying to fight the slight heat rushing to your face. Was his hair always that fluffy looking? 

Once the door swung open and the two of you walked inside Alastor set the books onto your bedside table, the green glow disappearing as each one plopped down onto the other. You made yourself comfortable on your bed, sitting against the headboard with the table within reach and Alastor sat next to you, swinging his legs out and crossing them, with his cane lying against the nearby wall. You picked up the first book. 

“An argumentative on the mortality of sin? I never took you for a philosopher!” His radio-filtered voice sounded…different, being this close. But you ignored that feeling for now, for fear that your face would turn pink again, and instead looked down at the cover of the book in your hands. 

“Neither did I,” You let out a dry chuckle. “But the title felt familiar. I…I have no idea why. Do I seem like the type of person to read stuff like this?” You asked him with a lopsided, self-deprecating smile. 

“We’re all full of surprises, dear.” His voice dropped, a throaty whisper in your ear. The radio fuzziness accompanying his words sent goosebumps down your spine. You cursed silently in your head. His smile deepened, eyes glowing red in the faint dimness of your room. You had been staring. 

Bravado struck, and you decided to seize the reins of the moment at hand. Swallowing your nerves you snuggled into Alastor, propping yourself against his side and leaning against his chest. He tensed under your weight but made no move to shrug you off. You pulled your knees up, creating a platform to prop your book upon, and cracked the spine open to a chapter that seemed interesting. It only took a few seconds before Alastor’s arm found its way looped around your shoulder, drawing you closer to him. You were grateful you were facing away from him; your face turning pink at the thought that your spur-of-the-moment decision was being received so well. His chin found the top of your head, leaning over you to indulge in the book sitting in your lap as you did. 

Focusing on the pages became increasingly difficult with his devilish warmth surrounding you. 

Another particular day you found the little girl you had come to know as Nifty skipping down the hallways, singing a child’s nursery rhyme as she went, the words changed to paint a far more gruesome picture than the original. When she nearly came crashing into you, oblivious, you held out your hands to stop her in her tracks before she could. 

“Oh! Hi, Ducki!” She gave you a small but enthusiastic wave. “Did you like my rhymes? They lure the bugs out of hiding so I can catch them!” She curled her hands into fists, her eye narrowing into a threatening look with a smile that could rival a certain other hotel resident. 

She was…certainly something, you had come to learn. You pursed your lips but still forced a smile. “They were lovely, Nif. Do you by chance know where Alastor is?” 

She kicked her tiny foot, her needle-like shoes scratching the wood. “He’s in the kitchen. Kicked me out and sent me bug killing.” Her eye began to follow the walls and up towards the ceiling, distracted by something that you couldn’t see or hear. 

“The kitchen? Why would he be in there?”

“He’s got a thing for cooking. Likes to keep it a secret from most people. Said it was okay to tell you his secrets though. I think he likes you!” And with that she was off, scurrying down the hall with her giant needle in her grasp, chasing something only she could see. 

You walked off towards the hotel’s kitchen, mulling over her words deeply. It was a gamble if Nifty ever told the truth, she was the hotel’s resident wildcard, but Alastor’s recent actions had been rather…telling, to what she had suggested. And it was known that he was closest to the little bug-killing girl more than anyone else in the building. Fuck, this was the last thing you needed on top of everything else happening to you. 

Regardless, you pushed all of the complicated feelings aside as you approached the door to the hotel’s kitchen. Soft jazz drifted to your ears as you walked inside, static humming accompanying the music. 

And there was a downright wonderful smell wafting throughout the entire room. 

“Alastor?” You called out timidly, not wanting to startle him. Your steps were uneven along the tiles, not entirely sure if you were welcome here or not yet. He had kicked Nifty out, after all. 

A puff of fluffy red hair peeked out from behind a full wall cabinet, followed by an abnormally large smile. “Ah, hello there my dear! I didn’t expect you to find me here, but come in, come in! No sense in you standing there by yourself.” His head disappeared back behind the cabinet and you hurriedly followed after him, walking into the kitchen proper. 

It led to the source of the music, one of Alastor’s old radios, and the source of the smell, the kitchen was a mess with cooking supplies and food. The radio demon was busy practically dancing around the place, hopping from one cooking station to another, all while humming along to the tune of the music. You propped yourself up on one of the bar stools nearby, watching the scene unfold in front of you. 

He looked so different, contently gliding amongst the kitchen appliances. You had never seen him so at peace before. It was an odd sight, to be sure, this usually threatening and ominous demon reduced to domestic work. It was…oddly cute. His smile seemed actually genuine for once. 

You hopped off of the stool and walked over to him, peering over his arm at his latest task; his clawed hands expertly working a sharp knife through a mangled-looking piece of chicken. He stopped when you placed a hand on his forearm, turning his attention towards you. 

“Can I help?” You asked shyly, not quite sure what his answer would be. But when you looked from his cutting board and up to him his smile grew. He flipped the knife in his hand, grabbing it by the blade and offering the handle to you. Once you took it he stepped aside, letting you take over where he had left off. The meat sitting before you suddenly looked utterly intimidating. When was the last time you had cooked? Let alone held a knife to do so. 

Alastor must have sensed your nervousness. With a soft hum, he came up behind you, boxing you in between the counter and his body. “It won’t bite, darling, it’s already dead.” He exclaimed, amusement coating his words. The curve of his chest slotted against your shoulder blades as he leaned over you, taking gentle hold of both your hands in his own as he began guiding your motions. The slices and cuts were clean, accurate, precise. Clear signs of years of skill, even through the use of your hands. You cringed to think where he had learned them from, what else had been underneath his tools besides a dead hellbred bird. 

“What’s all this for, anyway? What are you making with all of this?” You asked, using conversation to distract yourself from the darker thoughts that wanted to poke at your mind. You wanted to kick yourself for asking as soon as you felt his chest rumble against your back with every word. 

“Jambalaya, my dear. A New Orleans classic.” He said it with such nonchalantness but you almost dropped the knife out of your hand. The chicken beneath your blade was replaced with a link of smoked sausage and he was still directing your hands, slicing the new meat into perfect disks using the same fluid motions as before. 

You were oblivious to the change on the cutting board in front of you, instead more interested in the detail you had just learned. He had mentioned the world above. The world you had come from, originally. “You’re from New Orleans?” 

“Born and raised since before the turn of the century!” He sounded so prideful a swell in your heart wanted to ask more, walk down memory lane with him through the world you had nearly forgotten about after all these years. But Alastor seemed like the demon that would close himself off if you poked too hard at personal topics. 

So instead of asking the burning questions sitting on the tip of your tongue you merely hummed happily. “Sounds like a lovely place, Al.”

After the kitchen scene, you spent a lot of time in your room alone, thinking over what Nifty had told you and comparing it to the way Alastor had been treating you. You knew you were special to him, it was obvious by the way everyone else looked at him; they were scared of him. But yet he willingly put himself in your space, spent time with you, was nice to you. Who else in the hotel could say that, maybe besides Nifty?

This feelings bullshit was driving you mad. You liked him…didn't you? So what was making this so difficult? 

You groaned and thudded your head into your hands, forcing your eyes closed in the process. Pain throbbed behind your temples, the inside of your mind set to a spin cycle, except half of the damned washer was missing; a whole chunk of your memories still scooped out and discarded no matter how much you tried to wrangle them back. It was becoming futile. 

A knock rang out against the wood of your door, but you ignored it, too caught up in your emotions to care. It rang out again and you rolled over in your bed with another groan, shoving your face into a pile of blankets. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back tears and willing whoever was at the door to just go away. You’d be out later to talk, you reassured them silently in your own mind. Just go away for now. Please. 

The room suddenly felt colder, a lot colder, and a shiver ran down your spine. You peeked your head up, twisting in place to look back at the door. It was still closed, but you swore you saw something moving out of the corner of your eye. When you looked in that direction, towards the shadows thrown by the lamp in the corner, it was gone, whatever it had been. Another shiver racked your body, but this time not from the cold. 

However, the table next to the lamp had been touched. A piece of yellowed paper sat on the wood, edges crisped with blackened char. You scrambled off of your bed, nearly tripping and face planting into the floor as your feet got caught and tangled in the mess of blankets. When you righted yourself you simply stared at the strange addition to your room, too afraid to touch it. 

The writing on the paper was too well scripted and detail-oriented to be from anyone else but him. 

Dearest Ducki, 

Would you be so kind as to grace me with your presence this evening? There’s something I would like to show you that I think you would find great joy in. Hide away from the others if you would like, but I ask that you at least give me the honor of one final evening with you before you lock yourself away from me as well. Find me in the foyer if you wish to take me up on my offer. I’ll be waiting. 

Yours, Alastor

You scoffed, but an amused smile sprouted on your lips. He wrote like a radio broadcaster too. It sounded like something out of a Shakespearean romance novel. Cheesy, but somehow also adorably cute. The shadow you had seen earlier and the mystery of how the note had gotten inside your room with the door locked had now fled your mind, being replaced with the notion of whatever plans Alastor could have possibly concocted for you. It sent butterflies to your stomach, kicking your legs into motion to find something more suitable to wear other than the pajamas Angel had lent you. 

You settled on something more eye-catching, but not too flashy, and rushed out your door. 

You were surprised to find the sun had already set, darkness spilling in through the numerous windows lining the hallways. Had you been sulking for that long? But regardless you kept moving at whirl wind speed, practically flying down the main steps and into the foyer. 

He was sitting there, legs crossed and ears perked up, like he knew you would come. Nerves started to chew away at you again, the sight of him always working you up into fight or flight. You tamped them down.  

“You…wanted to show me something?” Your voice was soft in the open room, the overhead silence suffocating. 

He didn't say anything, but merely stood up and outstretched his hand, offering it to you. You took it and immediately his clawed fingers laced themselves through yours. He pulled you slightly closer to him, and you were about to ask what was going on, but then he tapped the bottom of his cane onto the floor and a frigid cold started to overwhelm your senses. Instinctively you turned to clutch on to Alastor, wrapping your arms around his torso to fight off the sudden cold. His free hand wrapped around your shoulders and rested on your back, pulling you closer to him, just as the two of you were encased in total blackness. You turned your head into his chest, burying it into his clothes as the cold bit at your nose. 

But not three seconds later it was over and Alastor let go of you. You took that as your cue to unbury your head, and when you did you found that your entire perspective had shifted. No longer were the two of you in the foyer of the hotel, instead you found yourselves in one of the many residential rooms, except this was one you hadn’t seen before.

The place was swathed with shades of red and mahogany, dressed up like a hunter’s lodge, complete with a, currently roaring with flames, wood-burning fireplace adorned with a rack of massive deer antlers settled above on the stones. The layout was more or less similar to your own room, except for the entire side wall being gone, replaced with an expansive swamp that stretched as far as you could see. It entranced you as soon as you saw it, the lights of the room gleaming off of the water’s surface drawing you in. It was hauntingly beautiful. 

Alastor followed behind you silently as you walked closer to the bog’s edge, crickets beginning to echo in your ears the farther you got from the hotel room section. A swirl of fireflies circled around your head, making you spin around as your eyes followed them, their glow reflecting off of your face. When they disappeared Alastor was in front of you, his smile warm as your eyes widened at his closeness. But you weren’t frightened. You never were, not anymore. 

“This is New Orleans, my dear. Or part of it, anyway.” His smile seemed to drop on those last words, causing a frown to crawl onto your face. He missed his home an awful lot for someone who rarely talked about it. But he was quick to recover, almost as if his smile had never faltered at all. “Now then, there’s something I’ve planned for you. This way, dear.” He sprung up, energy revitalized, grabbing your hand and gliding you over another section of the bayou. 

It was closer to the water, the grass practically mush under your feet, but a cloth-like blanket had been set out for the two of you, candle-filled glass jars holding down the edges. Fireflies swarmed overhead, lighting up the entire area with a soft yellow glow, revealing what the blanket had been holding; a small feast, including snacks of a varying variety, some of which you knew Alastor had seen you eating at the hotel recently, and some of which you didn’t recognize at all. It was something akin to a movie scene. 

“Oh, Al…you didn’t have to do all this.” You exclaimed breathlessly, your eyes still taking in every detail.

“But I wanted to, my dear. Here, come have a seat. I promise they won’t bite.” He took your hand again, leading you towards the blanket and gently pulling you down into a sitting position next to him. 

You were so caught up in the scene in front of you that you didn't register his words until you were already seated. Your face twisted in confusion. “...bite?” But your question was answered for you when the water started to move. You jolted, wanting to get up and run, but Alastor placed a hand on your thigh, stilling you. You whipped your head towards him, looking for answers, but all he did was smile at you and pat your leg. As if that was supposed to make you feel safe. 

When you looked back towards the swamp you were met with four tiny red glowing eyes staring at you from the water’s surface, small bump-like heads peeking out from the stilled muck. 

You froze. And time seemed to freeze right alongside you in this portaled-from-earth pocket-sized dimension. Your breath caught in your throat as those red eyes stared at you, seconds ticking by. That is, until they started to move towards you, cutting through the water and creating jagged ripples in the dark murky surface, far faster than any normal beast had any right to be moving. You yelped, nearly screaming, and practically jumped up onto Alastor’s back, clutching at him as you buried your head into the crook of his neck. Rightfully putting him between you and whatever horrid abomination he had spawned here. 

He, however, merely chuckled at your fearful antics. But otherwise didn’t seem to mind how grabby you were currently being. 

You kept one eye peeked over his shoulder, trained on the beasts zooming out of the water. It took them only a few seconds to reach the shore, their snouts emerging from the surface first with a loud and dramatic splash. But when their long snouts filled with nasty-looking-razor-sharp teeth were followed up by tiny stubby legs you couldn’t help but poke your head up in curiosity. They took a big uncertain step onto the soft and semi-squishy land, both of the creatures, and they began to waddle over towards Alastor, big fat lizard-like tails dragging behind them. They stopped at his lap, looking up at him with those glowing red eyes, the same eyes that had seemed so terrifying before, but now looked akin to that of a scaly puppy; wide-eyed, pupils blown, and mouths agape with a smile of teeth as they gazed up at their master with affection. 

“…Alastor?” You called out to him quietly, a silent question hanging between the two of you. 

He seemed to understand, his smile deepening out of love for his pets before him. “Meet Odele and Eula, Ducki.” He gestured a hand towards the two animals in front of him. “Aren’t they just the most adorable deadliest little things you’ve ever seen?” He ran a hand over one of their scaly heads, rubbing a knuckle in between the bumps of their jutted-out eyes. It hiccuped from the attention, its mouth falling open into a smile that matched the one on its owner’s face, rows of sharp teeth glistening in the low light. 

The twin became agitated from the lack of affection and snorted, padding her short chubby feet over to you and bopping her snout against your leg with enough force that sent herself stumbling backward. You let out a laugh at the unexpected tantrum and the animal looked up at you with wide happy eyes, appreciation of your praise gleaming behind them. 

Your hand was shaking as you reached out towards her head. Alastor had said they wouldn’t bite, even promised, though you assumed that word meant very little to him, they were still animals. Those capable-of-tearing-flesh-from-bone teeth were still frightening up close, especially when you knew of these creatures back during your time of being alive. But the little thing was patient, plopping back on her hind legs and waiting for her eventual head pats and affection. Her skin was cool to the touch, scaly, wet, but not unpleasant. She began to croak out a hum as you mimicked what Alastor had been doing to her sister. Your body began to relax a little and a small smile creeped onto your face as the little animal melted underneath your touch, turning from a toothy killer into a cuddly softie. 

The thought made you think of the demon sitting next to you; did you have the same effect on him? 

“Oh I just knew the three of you would get along swell! They seem quite fond of you already.” He spoke up, a static-y rumble coating his words as he kept his voice low. 

“They are quite lovable, once you get past the terrifying part. But I never took you for a ‘pet person’, Alastor. Do…do they remind you of home?” You weren’t sure if it was a question he would answer willingly, but you asked anyway, curiosity getting the better of you. You wanted to learn more, uncover what hid beneath that defying smile all the time, no matter how off-putting he seemed some days. 

But he merely hummed in response, not really agreeing, but not really denying your statement either. He gave the little alligator one final pat on the head before letting out a harsh high-pitched whistle between his teeth, which the two creatures seemed to understand as a command of some sort. Within the next second they were both teetering back down towards the bayou’s waters, diving in and gliding off underneath the surface, leaving little more than tiny ripples in their wake. He then snapped his fingers and the silence was filled with the sounds of a radio, records of old jazz playing at a soft volume, mixing with the sounds of cicadas and bullfrogs coming from the nearby forest to create a euphonious lullaby-esque melody.  

“Al…” You started, looking over at him. He had his usual smile stuck on his face, his emotions too hard to read beneath it all. The dim lighting created shadows underneath his fluff of hair, his red eyes casting a soft glow amongst his cheekbones. You swallowed thickly. “All of this is wonderful and all, truly, but…but why bring me here? Why show me all of this?” 

He chuckled lowly, as if you had uncovered some sort of secret of his. “Come now, darling. You haven’t noticed? You’re…what’s the word?” He paused, leaning closer and grabbing your hand within his claw and lacing his fingers within yours with such a featherlight touch you wondered if he was even really there. “Special.” He whispered, finishing his statement, his face nearly inches from yours. The sound of his radio filter coating his words left a white noise buzz echoing in your ears. 

Your eyes went wide, mesmerized by his closeness. Your heart thudded in your throat. He heard every beat, tantalized by the increasing rhythm that he was causing. Seconds passed by, feeling like hours, but you never pushed him away, never flinched from his touch, never looked away from him. 

His smile curled into a smirk before he leaned in even closer, making a move you hadn’t anticipated. His lips were a hair’s breadth away from yours when you finally pulled away, yanking yourself out of his grasp. The static surrounding him turned into an ear-splitting screech, the glow of his eyes intensifying as he narrowed them. 

“Wait, Alastor. I…I shouldn’t. I can’t. I…I like you, I think, don’t get me wrong, you’re wonderful to be around, but…but I…” You stumbled over your words, struggling to get your thoughts out. His actions had left you nervous. In a good way, you had to admit, you wouldn’t have minded kissing him honestly, but every time you thought about it there was a terrible sense of guilt eating away at the back of your mind. Like you subconsciously knew you shouldn’t. 

He looked at you with his head cocked to the side, waiting, patiently, but aggravated. He hated being interrupted. Especially during a hunt. 

So you finished your thought process quickly, before he became more irritated. “What if there’s someone else? From before, I mean. What if I already have someone, and I just can’t remember who they are? I can’t just abandon them like that. It isn’t right.” You looked at him, hoping for understanding. He had been during this whole situation, so far at least. Though that was before you had refused him. 

He hummed, sitting up to his full height and cupping your jaw with his other hand, gently running his clawed thumb over your face. You leaned into his touch despite yourself. “If there was someone waiting for you back home, don’t you think they would’ve come searching for you by now, dearest? You’ve been gone an awfully long while. You deserve far better than that if they can’t even come fetch you when you’re missing.” 

You were stunned into silence by his words, mulling them over in your head for a moment. He lets you think, continuously caressing your face while you do. Was there some sense to his words, or was it just the swamp air and lulling jazz muddling your sense of reasoning? But no one’s shown up to the hotel asking about you. No one’s come looking for you since that day Alastor took you under his wing. Why would they be waiting so long to find you, if there even was someone out there searching? 

No. He had to be right, didn’t he? You were worrying over nothing; there was no one out there waiting for you. You had no one; otherwise, they would have found you by now, surely. 

So you looked up at him, conclusivity shining in your eyes, a newfound softness overtaking your features as you stared at this demon who had found you that day, heartwarming feelings swirling around in your chest. He treated you with such love and kindness, a true rarity down here. 

He leaned in closer again, and this time you let him, meeting him halfway as he pressed his lips to yours. He was gentle, warm, like fire on the very tip of your skin. It was quick, a small and soft kiss, but full of unsaid promises of love. 

When he pulled away he didn’t go far, his nose still tickling yours. His eyes shone brightly, reflecting off of your face as he narrowed them in satisfaction, his grin widening inhumanly. 

You should have been scared. He looked scary. Intimidating. Frightening. Like he would snap your neck in two with his teeth alone within a second. 

But yet you weren’t. That fear had long since twisted into affection. He had you curious. You were left with nothing, after whatever happened to you, but now you had Alastor. Something to fill that gnawing void of emptiness you felt in the pit of your stomach, where something was missing. 

“You taste even more lovely than you look, ma chérie.” 

Static rang in your ears.

To be continued in Chapter 6...

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[dubiousanon]

I literally can't stop thinking about this.

Naruto never says it out loud, but he knows Kakashi knows.

After all, Naruto has never exactly been the shining picture of subtlety. He's always worn his heart on his sleeve, has always radiated his love out like a beacon, bright and warm and painstakingly obvious. He's never had a real reason to hide his feelings before now, and now that he does he knows it's already too late.

He can see it in the way Kakashi sometimes averts his gaze. He doesn't quite grimace when Naruto gets ahead of himself, but there's always a flash of discomfort there that hits Naruto like a slap to the face anytime he catches it. Kakashi isn't stupid, and he's far from dense. Naruto watches, and of course he'd noticed.

It hurts, but it's expected. Naruto hasn't gotten a lot of his wants in life, and this is just another one of them. It's not like he can blame Kakashi for how he feels. He understands the position he's put him in is awkward, that what he feels for his former teacher is objectively wrong. Naruto just... can't help it.

Kakashi-sensei was one of the first people who cared more about him than the fox sealed in him. He's always looked out for Naruto, has kept his best interests in mind, has supported him, taught him, loved him when nobody else would. Naruto isn't sure when or how that love changed on his own end. If maybe it started growing and just didn't stop, or if something specific triggered it and he didn't notice until it was too late. He has no idea.

All he knows is that Kakashi doesn't feel the same way. He's never going to feel the same way. However he does look at Naruto, Naruto is secure enough to know it's not like that. And that's fine— again, Naruto gets it. It doesn't stop the want or the burning fire in him that wants to reach out and consume any scrap it can get, but he's okay.

It's a quiet resignation. An acceptance that for once, he can't change things. Naruto will live his life alone, as close to Kakashi as Kakashi will let him, and that'll be enough. Getting to see him every day will be enough. Talking to him and laughing with him and training with him will be enough. Those friendly pats on the head, and never anything more, will be enough.

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Kakashi's not blind, but Naruto isn't either.

It's because he watches Kakashi so often that he notices it at all. Naruto has always been hyper aware of him in a way he isn't other people, tuned into everything he says and does when he's around. These days, it's rare for Kakashi to hang around long if there isn't someone else there with them. A buffer so he can pretend things are normal, and that Naruto doesn't feel the way he feels.

Lately, though, Naruto has been seeing him what feels like everywhere. Even if it's just peripherally, he knows Kakashi enough to know that things with him are seldom ever a coincidence. Naruto can be doing anything— grocery shopping, eating out, walking home, jogging off to train. It doesn't matter. Somehow, Kakashi always seems to show up.

And it's weird. It's different, but Naruto is so happy for the extra time that he doesn't... he doesn't think about it. He knows he should've looked closer. He knows those brief head pats turning to hair ruffles and an arm over the shoulder should've been flashing neon signs telling him something was wrong. Deep in his gut, he'd know something was off.

It has just been so good. It was too easy to let himself be starstruck. Kakashi actually giving him the time of day with none of the underlying tension, smiling easily with that curious head tilt he liked to do. It was amazing, just like things used to be before Naruto's feelings grew too big for his body to contain and started to pour out.

It's not quite Naruto deluding himself, but it's close. The discrepancies are right in front of him and it's not that Naruto is too much of an idiot to see them, he's just so much of an idiot that he chooses to ignore them. He turns his logic the other way for as long as he can, until—

Until he... can't. Anymore.

It's stupid, the way it happens. Naruto isn't doing anything special. It's a hot day, the kind that has his shirt sticking to his chest and sweat pouring down his back. He feels the sun burn across his shoulders and the bridge of his nose as he stretches, legs split wide apart and body tilting into a forward fold. It strains the muscles in his back deliciously, pulling at all the knots his springy old mattress had put in it the dubious night of sleep before.

Naruto runs a hand through his hair, taking a slow, deep breath. It's by chance he glances up and spots him. This training ground is in Konoha's far eastern corner, under-maintained and hard to happen upon by chance. Naruto comes here for privacy when he needs it— trying to train becomes too much of a spectacle if he does it anywhere else.

Kakashi-sensei is there, perched in a tree, and he's looking at Naruto. Actually, really looking at him. There's none of the usual laziness in his gaze. His stare is sharp, piercing, and Naruto sees now clearer than ever what he was pretending wasn't there before. When Kakashi looks at Naruto, he looks at him like he wants to eat him alive. Like he wants to grab him and never let go. Like Naruto is something he wants.

Naruto's heart drops. The illusion shatters.

This is not his sensei.

Kakashi from a universe where he loves Naruto but knows it won’t be returned is body swapped with the kakashi from a universe where Naruto loves kakashi and knows it won’t be returned.

Naruto manages to sus out the changes first because while things are the same everywhere else, this kakashi actually looks at him.

In the eye when he speaks instead of down at his book, watches when he’s not looking, pays attention to his training…and when he goes to watch kakashi in turn he starts catching his eyes.

It’s…it’s nice to be watched by the one person Naruto has always looked to.

It’s also wrong because nothing he’s done could have earned this attention. This affection in his sensei’s chakra. Not so quickly, not so intensely. It’s not his sensei.