#I'm not nearly as bitter as this sounds

[bee-the-whovian]

if I had a nickel for every game where my only contribution was my character being called at an ungodly time of morning to be asked a question she didn't have an answer to which both players in question knew she didn't know but had to ask because it would make sense for her to know it... I would have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's.... it sure happened.

[thekimspoblog]

Demon trying to feed on my insecurities: "You're a bad driver"

Me: "Of course I am. I hate driving. Going 80 mph surrounded by tons of metal is nerve-wrecking. I try to do it as little as possible. Of course I'm bad at it"

Demon: "You're a bad writer"

Me: "Well that part's simply not true. I never claimed I was the greatest author of my generation, but when I put pen to paper I know what I want to communicate and I usually do it well. If someone isn't impressed with my work, that's unfortunate but they're entitled to their opinion"

Demon: "You're a bad leader"

Me: "Well I don't know about that! I mean there was that one time when... Ok look just because people don't see me as an authority figure doesn't mean... 😠 You know you can be a real asshole, demon!"

[sophieswundergarten]

MBS Characters as Neat Words I Like

So. Listen. Some of these words are going to have fitting definitions. And some of them are just based on how they feel/look to me. Do with this what you will, and I hope you at least learn some fun new words :)

Mr. Benedict - Esoteric: requiring or exhibiting knowledge that is restricted to a small group / of special, rare, or unusual interest

It's very green and a bit orangey to me, like the scenes in S1 where he's sitting in the cabin, or a very nice rock. Maybe something with a fossil in it. But it's a good, slightly rough but ultimately quite pleasant texture. It's got the layers of an old book with age-stained pages and uneven edges because of how often it's been read. It's a really comforting word, and it's warm and inviting, like the feeling of walking into Mr. Benedict's house and seeing all the light come through the glass and the smell of books and the very clear evidence that it is lived in and full of love. If it had a physical form, I would keep this word on my shelf and look at it every day because it makes me smile.

Number Two - Librocubicularist: someone who reads in bed

Definitely a yellow word. It's got some nice light blues, like sunlight on a clear day streaming through a window, and a couple hints of green in there, but this word feels very warm and a bit like running your hand along the hard carved edge of a bookshelf. It's very square and cube-y, like a stack of little building blocks or one of those geometric M. C. Escher kind of designs. (Also I can see her just sitting on her bed and reading when people would want her to sleep when she was a kid)

Milligan - Hugger-mugger / Gallimaufry: Respectively, "secrecy" and "hodgepodge"

The first one is an automatic choice, because it basically sounds like a warped version of the words "hug" and "Milligan". It's a very warm, soft word that's a dusky orange-and-pink, like an old jacket or scarf that's being used to muffle a sound. The second word is chosen more for its meaning, as Milligan himself is a bit of a jumbley hodgepodge when we first meet him. It's coloured like moss covered stones along a riverbed, like the colours of that screenshot in Episode 1 where Milligan emerges from the secret tunnel in the yard. The tumbling of the word also mimics the curved brim of his hat.

Rhonda - Sophronise / Kismet: Respectively, "to imbue with moral principles or self-control" and "a hypothetical force or personified power that determines the course of the future events, fate, destiny"

"Sophronise" is because of how wise and quick-witted she is. She's a role model for the younger kids, and it was a really nice sunset- night-sky kind of ombre, a hint of deep magenta (Like that jacket she wore outside the cabin in S1) and the barest touch of yellow-orange, quickly moving into royal and midnight blue, and a whisper of silver that can almost be stars. "Kismet" is similarly multicoloured and beautiful, but more swirly like a wind-chime or suncatcher made of many different pieces hung just so, in such a way to catch the light and reveal glimpses of what's hidden deeper. It's a mostly wine-magenta and blue kind of colours; jewel tones.

Kate - Rawgabbit: somebody who speaks covertly about a subject of which they know nothing

This one's silly, because it just came to me because of its look. The definition doesn't really fit her at all. It's a helter-skelter word that is racing, fast moving and fidgety. It's a full kaleidoscope of colours, red and fierce and yellowy lemon gold and green like sun through new leaves and blue like daubs of fingerpaint all swirled and tumbling over each other, much like Kate's jacket.

Miss Perumal - Pluviophile: one who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days

This is a very soft word, and it is a soft, watercolour kind of pastel. It's lavender and cherry blossom pink and a light sky blue, and it feels exactly like one of her nice sweaters or jackets. The lapel of a good, strong, felted jacket kind of feeling, like something you'd find at a thrift store and know that it was well loved, but taken care of so respectfully that you'll be able to wear it for years too. A pragmatic word. It is also very round and swooping, in much the same way her cadence of speech is.

Sticky - Uhtceare / Kenning: Respectively, "lying awake before dawn and worrying" and "a metaphorical compound word or phrase (such as swan-road for ocean) used especially in Old English and Old Norse poetry"

The first word is more because of the meaning, but it does have some hints of his shades of blues. The "uhtc" part is like glass as a lens, and the last part is like little round bits of blue sea glass, all tumbled and smoothed. It's a very pensive and reflective word, and it catches light in many different facets, something to be studied from many different angles in the solitary silence away from other people."Kenning" I chose because of its neat, rhythmic sound, like very even stitches through a piece of stormy blue cloth. It is a deceptively simple sounding word, but it has such a deep history, and I think that's something Sticky would really enjoy learning and knowing.

Constance - Fudgel: pretending to work when in reality one is not doing anything

Come on. This word is perfect for her. It has that hint of sweetness with "fudge", and yet it sounds stubborn and obstinate. It's a "fighting word", so to speak. Stout and short and compact, like a dense piece of wood that someone can heft and throw. And while I would not originally say that it has any of Constance's colours, there are parts of it that can be malleable, and there's definitely a hint of pink in the middle, a reflection and glimmer that comes from it being placed next to her name.

Reynie - Wergild: the value set in Anglo-Saxon and Germanic law upon human life in accordance with rank and paid as compensation to the kindred or lord of a slain person

This word came to me immediately. It isn't coloured so much like Reynie (Being mostly kind of deep purple and shaded forest green with the barest hint of gold, like brambles that have grown and woven themselves into an intricate shape), but for some reason it fits him. Maybe it's the complex depth that's hinted at in the heart of it. It's a wild word, but also very warm and trusting in that it expects the other person to honour their promises. Its etymology is basically "man" + "payment", and the idea of it being the value of a person when in relation to Reynie, who values every person as incredibly important is intriguing. Also, the first time I read it was in a fictional context as part of a spell or binding magic that connected people to one another, which is a much more vague and subjective reason, but it's a little more positive than "murder debt"

SQ - Welkin / Wanderlust: Respectively, "the vault of the sky / the upper atmosphere" and "strong longing for or impulse toward wandering"

Now. These words both start with "w" because "w" and "q" are coloured somewhat similarly to me, especially since there's an "s" involved. "Welkin" is a complex word, like running your hand over a particularly detailed and well-crafted mosaic. It's a very light baby blue fading into purple, a very mystical and soft word, like if you could tough fog. It speaks of walking softly down a grassy hill at dusk, looking up at the stars as they wake up and being able to trust that you won't trip. It's also got these kind of two curves, like the top of the "S" right next to the "Q". "Wanderlust" is dreamy and full of stardust. It's got that bluey-purple touch, but it sparks at the end, gold and shimmering and falling out of sight like a shooting star, just beyond the horizon, where you know you can follow it.

Curtain - Sanguine: marked by eager hopefulness, confidently optimistic / bloodred / consisting of or relating to blood

It's not quite the correct colour for Curtain, but the feel for it is right. It has a bit of dark blue, but it's also slimly and squelchy the "gui" bit makes it kind of greasy and hard to keep a hold of. It also fits him because of the different meanings; originally, "sanguine" meant "cheerful" because of the medieval concept of the four humours governing the human body, and it came from the Latin "sanguineus" which means bloody. The seemingly jarring differences between "happy" and "bloody" are a good representation of Curtain's duality.

Garrison - Gerrymandering: the practice of dividing or arranging a territorial unit into election districts in a way that gives one political party an unfair advantage in elections

This word also came to me really quickly. I kind of "see" spelling in my head, so even though the "g" in gerrymandering is pronounced like a "j" instead of how it is in "Garrison", it works. The word is coloured very much like her: light, dappled green and a little pink and some specks of orangey-red. It's also a strong word, a tiny bit mischievous but with hard lines that won't be crossed, no matter how much trickery and metaphorical dancing around delicate topics is involved to attain a goal.

[screampied]

#TRYNA FUCK ME I'M LIKE OKAY! g. suguru

☆ sum. suguru geto wasn’t used to losing a race, especially to a fucking rookie—but you’ve got him confused, intrigued, and… hard? long story short, ever since he hit it he’s never been the same.

wc. 6.8k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, 2 fast 2 furious references, bratty reader, rivals to lovers ( ? ), geto has a dīck piercing, big size kink, riding, he fucks you on the hood of your car, cunnīlingus, sore loser geto gets humbled lel, overstim, squīrting, dirty talk, praise, petnames.

an. chase atlantic inspired me again </3 same au as this one.

second fucking place. he got second place and he lost to you, a newbie—the newest racer with the prettiest trendy wheels, flashy rims, and a hot pink 2001 honda s2000. stupid, stupid, the reality of losing left a sour taste in geto’s mouth. he can’t remember the last time he’s lost, ever. .

the moment he saw your car bolt in front of him at those last few milliseconds of the race with fiery pink smoke coughing from your steel pipes dusting near his front window, he just knew he lost to you. geto scoffs. “tch,” he’d mumble, slamming his car door shut, and releasing the straps of his custom-made helmet. you leaned against your slick hood, innocently fanning yourself with a pamphlet of the track’s course layout that was given to every racer before glancing at geto. he was quite tall and he looked down at you with a look of intrigue and bitter annoyance. “cheater.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow. you knew damn well who he was, suguru geto—one of the if not the best street racer in tokyo. notorious for his wins and extremly cocky ego - except this time, your win against him bruised that little detail a bit. a small grin spreads across your glossed lips before your eyes rove up and down his dark leather ripped clothes. “you said somethin’?”

“you heard me, sweetheart,” he utters, bringing a gloved hand up to his face. doing so, geto tucks his sticky black tresses back inside his helmet. he’s so close, that he practically has you cornered against the hot hood of your car and his eyes stare at the medal that’s pinned near the left side of your chest. that gold medal that was supposed to be his. “besides,” and you nearly gasped once you felt your rear tap against the front of your vehicle. “your ‘riding’ could use a ‘lil work, rookie.”

you saw the look in his eyes. he’s challenging you, geto sees you as a potential threat and he wasn’t fond of losing.. ever.

it just wasn’t in his vocabulary.

you don’t know why but beating one of tokyo’s top street racers made cocky pride swell right up in your chest. the same kind of cocky pride that he was used to, and damn were you a force to be reckoned with. he just had to learn that the hard way.

“do i?” you reply, reaching an arm inside of your car to twist the keys out of the ignition. with a roaring sputtering growl, your engine gradually turns off and the sounds of whirring wind fill the air.

geto’s got his hands buried in his pockets as his tall lean body stands still. he’s checking you out.

his head slightly tilts to the side with his helmet cracked open and you can feel his eyes trailing up your entire physique.

he’s studying you - trying to figure out just who this pretty girl that just dusted him in a race.

you’d be lying through your teeth if you didn’t idolize him just a little bit. he was well known not just in tokyo but worldwide. the fangirls loved him, and the racers despised him with envy.

beating the suguru geto was a rare fever dream of itself.

“or are you just upset you’re not in the spotlight for once?” brat.. though your comment made him scoff with a sly smile curling against his thin lips.

“mm. for a new racer you sure have a smart mouth,” and his eyes quickly dash toward your car.

hot pink, it even looked freshly new and painted. and just to put the icing on the cake, it also has a pretty character design painted near the sides with the addition of a cheetah print wheel.

he lost to . . that?

geto’s quietly admiring your ride though—it looked like it was straight out of a movie. once he looks down at you again, he speaks in a gruff intimidated tone, finishing his sentence. “it’s only your first win, don’t be cocky.”

“i’ll be cocky if i want,” you murmur, and there’s a loud competitive tension between you both.

people started to leave the car meeting spot until it was just the two of you. your car’s parked near one of the garages where geto’s car was coincidentally parked also. you’re still leaning against the pink hood of your car before walking up to him. you close the awkward distance between you both, being just a few inches apart.

you’re bold, and he liked your spunk although he’d never flat-out admit it.

just . . . who were you?

geto didn’t like losing—that’s already been established. but now, he’s starting to realize he probably has to deal with you in future races, and oh- he knew you were gonna be a problem.

and he was right, because perhaps he’d finally met his match.

“besides, even if i did cheat,” you retaliate, your tone sounding more and more coy and foxy. playfully, your arms wrap around his shoulders and you tap against his sheer black helmet that had ‘s. geto’ autographed in bold purple near the other shell. vexed, mousy eyes glare at you through the protective gear and you lean up all the way close. “what are you gonna do about it, suguru?”

famous last words,

because one moment you’re being nothing but a mere brat and the next, you found yourself bent over the hood of your pretty blush-colored honda.

well, fuck.

suguru geto didn’t take disrespect lightly . . although, he liked the brat in you. a nice change of pace, even though it pissed him off a bit - a lot.

“s- shit,” you gasp, feeling your thighs squeeze together. geto’s domineering aura sends you chills, the kind of chills where it runs through your entire soul.

he’s so close that you could almost taste his loud cologne on your tongue. it’s a manly scent, you’d probably guess one of the main ingredients was oak moss. as you’re pondering deep in thought, still trying to get over his loud smell—a hand gingerly starts to brush down your skimpy lace-up chaps.

his touch felt good. . and sure, maybe you’ve fantasized about this exact moment once or twice while watching his races broadcasted on live television. geto’s pressed up against you as you’re idly hunched over, biting your lip. with a huff, you’re so close to your tinted window that you were practically having a staring contest with your rosy windshield wipers. “aw. you planned to spank me over my car?”

“not exactly, pretty girl,” he tsks with a clicked tongue, and that’s when you feel it. something poking against your rear — oh, he was hard.

it was something hard and you don’t quite think it was his helmet..

that couldn’t have been anything else other than a raging boner, and it makes you smugly hum. geto groans once he feels your ass wriggling against his skin-tight leather jeans. “think you’re funny, yeah girl?”

“a bit,” you utter in a breathy tone, feeling his fingers zig-zag down the exposed straps of clothing that reveal a bit of skin. you didn’t mind his touch - in fact, you only wanted more.

the inside of the garage was widely spacious—big enough to fit your car and geto’s iconic skyline gtr. it’s a gorgeous midnight dark purple that glimmers in the dead of night, akin to a raven’s wings.

with the garage lot being empty, it was just the two of you, the witching hour steadily approaching. all that could be heard was the occasional squawks and chirps of squaking birds and loud cars honking near the far distance by the freeway. as he’s still got you pinned over, you bite your pointer finger with a cheeky hum. “hilarious even.”

but, you don’t find anything funny moments later when the street racer’s tongue is shoved right between your splayed, plush thighs.

not at all, in fact- the only ‘words’ that came from your mouth were babbling inaudible whimpers, and he made sure you’d eat your sentences… just like he’s eating out your first place cunt like the starved man he was.

with widened eyes and a stretched jaw hanging open, you stare back with a hand on your ass, giving your skin a soft squeeze. geto grunts, on his knees as you’re hauled right over your pretty decorated hood.

hell! you figured he’d ask to rematch but this..

it seemed like all he wanted to do was take out his loss on your pussy… with his second-place tongue.

and that’s just what he does too.

not that you were even complaining—suguru geto was a nasty man to no one’s surprise. he’s nasty on the road and he’s even nastier with his tongue recklessly driving up and down your slobbering twitching cunt.

you feel a crooked nose sloooowly drag its way like a trail against your entrance. geto starts near the bottom and then makes his way up, making sure to have his button nose dripping with your mess. letting off a sweet whimper, it doesn’t take long before he’s starting sucking against your swollen clit.

“hng,” a needy whine dashes from your throat, and you can already feel a shaking judder spasm between your legs. geto’s unapologetically sloppy with his mouth too. as he’s repeatedly flicking the pointed pink tip of his tongue in crazed different directions, a throaty hiccup leaves from your glued lips. “fuuck, do you usually mhm--do this to your opponents who hah, beat you?”

“only the ones with the smart fuckin’ mouths,” he replies with a quickness, taking a moment to spit right on your sticky cunt. it’s a loud ‘ptui’ and it’s a filthy slimy trail that dribbles past his lips, polishing near the creasing crevices of his mouth.

a rubber-gloved hand snakes toward the crack of your pried open thighs and he spanks your pussy, causing a cute shrieking squeal to leave out your strained cords. “also, a reminder again. you didn’t beat me. i let you win. big difference.”

“s- sure,” you sheepishly moan, feeling vapid air circle around you both.

the night was eerily and silently dead—you swallowed thickly, praying no one would see you bent over your flashy pink hood getting eaten out by one of the most famous street racers in the world. although, the thought of getting caught made you throb in a way you didn’t think it would.

he’s mean with his tongue.

geto was competitive in everything he did, including with how he ate it.

your strapped pants were pulled down along with your panties lazily sticking toward the side of your feeble quaking thighs.

within minutes his jaw would angrily ache, growing slack and locking from how it was reaching soreness - but he didn’t care.

if he didn’t win his race, the least he could do was win by eating you out…right?

geto’s designer mauve-colored helmet probably costed thousands and rests near the side of him. he took it off before he started to feast himself between your sprawled legs.

through hazed doe-like peripherals, you stare at it and admire the designs that paint across his visor.

everywhere, there’s writing and designs—and again, you spot his famous autograph that’s nearly written near the side. typical, of course, he’d autograph his helmet.

he’s suguru fuckin’ geto.

regardless though, you’re still nothin’ but a whining mess though, and as he continues to eat you out, you let off a sweet ‘ooh!’ as soon as he bites near your pearly clit.

it’s soft and tender, but it still makes you babble out a sobbing moan. his teeth gently nibbled against your pussy . . . leisurely slithering his tongue between your flooding flaps.

so good, each time you hear the wet smacks from his lips, you can hear geto huskily groaning out satisfying ‘mmmh’ ‘s.

it’s a feeling that makes your legs stagger within the firm hold of his hands. geto’s still wearing his gloves and each time the stretchy rubber rubs onto your skin, you moan. “fuck, fuckk,” you whine, and he’s groaning right against your sobbing cunt. his hair’s pinned back into a high messy ponytail - a few ravened strands running down the sides of his face. pretty long lashes of his were closed as he was slurping you clean.

so damn sweet . . . he wonders why he’s never seen you on the track until now. well- you were new. maybe he has seen you, but geto’s never been one to pay attention.

either way, you were a meal he didn’t wanna stop tasting, ever.

and despite the bitter taste of defeat continuously lingering on his flat tongue even still . . your cunt sprinkled a bit of flavor to it, an aftertaste of vying rivalry . .

“mmph,” he grunts, feeling you push him further into your cunt with one hand. with a twist, you turn your torso just a bit to look down at him, bringing his face further. geto’s slick wet tongue slides across your nub before he’s sloppily thrusting it in and out of your weeping flowery entrance.

you whimper once he reaches that spot, feeling a sudden heave of a breath snatch its way out from your puffed lungs. geto’s dark brows amusingly knit together and he’s already nose deep—the hooking bridge that smears against your pussy makes you nearly wail out a needy weep.

he’s smearing his face everywhere, and wet splotches of your juices started to coat his clear face.

but he doesn’t mind - geto’s always been one to get a ‘lil dirty during a match.

two slack lips munch against your clit wholly before his lengthy tongue reaches toward your winking hole. “pff,” he clicks his tongue, letting off another husky groan once he feels the tint in his pants arises.

fuck, you made him hard—even more, now that he was eating you out.

the louder you were, the more his dick twitched underneath the rough fabric of his jeans. it’s almost painful- the way his hardened bulge prods its way against the leathery fabric makes him suck his teeth. he needs you.

geto’s lips remain glued against your cunt before he uses a gloved thumb to peel your pudgy sweltering folds apart just a biiiit more.

his tongue creates a downward slope that trickles its way below your clitoral hood that’s frantically throbbing right in his mouth.

ba dum, ba dum, ba dum. . .

pulse pulse pulse after fucking pulse,

a smoky chuckle echoed from his lips as his shoulders slightly shake and fuck- it vibrates against your pussy. “god, she’s a ‘lil crybaby isn’t she,” he breathlessly mumbles as his thumb peels your soaked flaps all the way down. he’s intently staring inside, studying all the pretty nerves and your twitching nub before spitting right inside yet again.

airy cold breath fans over your nude slit and you whimper, feeling his tongue douse itself back inside. “were you drivin’ around this wet the entire time, princess?” and you moan, feeling the rubber of his palm smear a few circles around your clit. “drivin’ around, tryin’ to beat me with a pretty pussy this fuckin’ soaked?”

with a shivering whimper ghosting past your splintered lips, you snivel out a soft mewl.

“sugu—fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” and as your breath gets caught in your throat, you feel him grab a nice chunk of your ass.

at his very grip, he gives your rear a rude spank and the recoil makes him hum in amusement. so soft, the way it bounced just from his palm alone.

oh, and spanking you became his favorite thing to do, especially since you were so fucking noisy.

as a shrilling whine prepares to race out your strained esophagus, you nearly yank his head forward again, hearing him groan against your clit. “d- did you hear me? ‘m close, gonna cu—”

“yeah yeah girl, i heard you,” he swats your hand away, and the low grit that rumbles from underneath his tone makes you throb for the nth time.

geto brings a few digits up toward your cunt to rub against your runny folds, and he starts making out with your pussy - with tongue.

sloppy smacks slosh out from your crying folds and you gasp, feeling him impishly nip your clit with his teeth once more. “mmf,” and his eyes start to become low and hooded.

he’s pussy drunk, very much so.

geto eats you out until you’re abruptly coming undone on his tongue, letting off a sweet euphoric battle cry with your toes curling in your knee-high boots. fuck, and even as he’s savoring the syrupy taste that pours on his flat flushed tongue, he’s still eating you out.

with brief circular maneuvers of his tongue, he’s got you whimpering from the sensitivity. as a staticky twinge pulses through your pussy, your hand grabs at his hair hard, tugging near his roots, having to literally pry him apart.

your cunt was so sensitive, throbbing a plethora of pulses as your mouth fatally goes dry. “f- fuck,” you moan, and you can feel your legs stick together once they instinctively close shut.

“tsk. drama queen,” he soils his lips together that were now perfectly glossed from top to bottom with your juices.

oh, his chiseled chin was just shimmering with such sparkling sap that it even poured a stream down the lower part of his face. his tongue slides near the cracked corner of his right lip, and he’s just luxuriating at the treacly taste of you. if you tasted this good, maybe the second place wasn’t so bad after all. .

as he’s still lapping up his lips with a wolffish grin, geto notices you openly gawking at his bulge and he snickers, patting his fly with a gloved hand. “it’s rude to stare, sweetheart.”

“it’s rude to walk around with a bulge that big.”

“oh yeah? how ‘bout you fix that problem for me then, rookie?”

a brat, almost as much of a brat as you.

geto gets silenced once you slam your lips onto his, not even batting an eyelash that you’re tasting yourself on his tongue that’s swirling around yours.

it’s intense, you could feel your heartbeat start to match the exact pulsing pace from between your legs. his lips were icy, and you moaned—tasting a bit of mint that resides on his tongue.

his breath is freezing cold, it’s an almost sweet candied taste and you whine in his mouth once his hands start to roam up and down your body.

geto’s feeling you up- feeling up the pretty girl who just beat him in a race.

rough protected hands drag down your frame, taking in your curves before toying with the leather straps that droop against your pink lace-up chaps.

it’s as if even the kiss was far more competitive than the actual street race.

both desperately fought to win, swerving through each tongue like swerving lanes.

geto grunts, lightly pushing your ass back against the hood of your car. as tongues twist and tango in lewd unison, he seductively sucks on your pointed tip.

as geto’s eyes open halfway, you open yours, and he’s just staring at you with a look of feral - a carnal smug grin tweaking on each side of his lips.

“turn around again, pretty. hands on y’r hood like…this,” and once he spreads you apart, you moan once he rubs his bulge against the middle fabric of your pants. “good hah- messy girl.” his bulge was so damn hard, it felt like a brick.

the more he rubbed himself against you, the more your body ached and yearned for more.

oh..

his hands, geto kept his racing gloves on the entire time. as the stretchy rubber sensually crawls down your waist, you hear the jangling of his studded skull belt. with a few shuffles, he leans up close, pinning your hands behind your back like you were under arrest.

“just for the record again, you didn’t ‘beat’ me, you cheated,” and you scoff, feeling frigid air waft between your inner thighs. oh- here he goes again. talk about a sore fuckin’ loser.

“sur— mmph,” and he cuts you off, placing a gloved palm over your mouth.

“quiiiiet, you’ll get your turn to talk,” he cuts you off, and you let off a moan once you feel his bulbous tip smack against your sopping cunt.

it’s loud..

dozens of paps and squelches leave it right away and he plants a wet kiss near your exposed neck.

the rubs from his blushing reddened cockhead make loud noises that constantly replay through your empty mind.

“see? let her talk,” and you swallow thickly, feeling him use an extra hand to pry your legs apart further. clammy, big hands glue against the pink hood of your car before your tongue tastes the metallic fibers of his glove. “so eager. poor baby,” he coos against your ear, feeling you trying to swallow and gulp him down right away. your twitching pussy’s aching, and you can’t help the pathetic whimpers that hiccup from your lips. you even try to wriggle your ass but he rubs a hand underneath your clit. “aw, impatient are we? what’s the sayin’, princess? slow ‘n steady wins the race?”

‘okay…but i beat you,’ was what you were saying in your head… but you sort of forgot his hand was covering your mouth. duh girl.

“mmph—” you let off a muffled moan against the palm of his hand, trying to wriggle your ass against him harder.

geto lowly groans and then you groan, feeling what was a piercing that attaches toward his pre-creamed dewy frenulum. geto strokes himself a bit, fisting his cock. with hooded, jaded eyes, he watches his loose skin peel back before arising up again and he hisses. the frenulum perfectly hooks itself over his tip, and oh- how you wished you could have seen it.

you couldn’t see but, fuck did you feel it.

you’re so wet, your swollen pussy lips resemble a blossoming flower as he spreads you apart with two scissoring rubber fingers.

his dick piercing almost tickles once it starts to rub against you some more. he swipes it all against your clit, teasing it near your opening before pulling it right back out. “fuck,” you whine once he finally removes his palm from your mouth, glossy strands of your saliva coating the entirety of your hand. “h.. hurry up, suguru. ‘m gonna fall asleep at this rate.”

geto rolls his eyes, and that’s when with a semi-loud thud, your chest lands against your hood.

“oh please..” he murmurs, a brow twisting upward in annoyance. one of his hands still has its grip on your wrists and you bite your lip in anticipation.

geto’s tip leaked with creamy coating pre, and you felt remnants of it sprinkle against your entrance. with a raspy grunt, he drags his angered pierced crownhead down your drooling folds before roughly smacking it against your cunt.

more sloppy wet splats! of squelches spurt out from your folds as if it’s saying its own kind of lewd language and he grunts.

geto makes sure you’re arched over the hood of your car before whistling at your presented frame. “so damn…pretty,” and within seconds, he’s easing his way inside.

immediately, your eyes widen with your jaw collapsing down like earlier—fuck, he’s big.

from the countless times, you stared at his bulge, you figured as much. geto’s vast head had a rosy-pink tint of vermillion with how close it mirrored to being a pinkish red.

sucking in a greedy breath, he watches as he’s gradually disappearing inside of your cunt. his pierced dick made things even more sensitive, and you moan once you feel the piercing softly graze its way inside of your fluttering orifice.

pasty gummy walls welcome him, and now it’s his turn to bite his lip.

“hng, f- fuckin’ big,” you try to inhale a single breath, and he raises your leg just a bit. it now sits over your hood- and damn it, the angle he has was just brutal.

you just knew you were gonna feel him everywhere.

geto’s obelisk-like girth was wide ‘n fuckin’ tall, you felt him fully and the shaft ring that’s on top of his top continues to kiss against your sensitive throbbing nub.

prince albert to be specific!

it decorates his tip perfectly, making sure to tickle inside of you as he’s feeling you clamp down. “shiiiit,” you slur out your words in a mere whiny syllable, gasping at the curved column of his fat dick search through your walls like a maze. he’s expanding through you and you can’t help but part your lips, squealing before letting off a cute, ‘ooohh!’

your hand prints stick against the pink-stained hood of your car due to the insane amounts of perspiration and you whine once he gives you one biiiig thrust.

just one- and ah!

it rocks your world - literally.

you let off a cute squealing shriek, your legs shimmying a bit from his pressed-up weight.

“atta girl, bare ‘round me, good girl—fuck,” and the warmth you envelop his dick with makes him groan. your pussy was clingy, already so eager to devour him whole.

within a few punctuated thrusts to start, geto’s finally fucking you and each vigorous piston of his honed snatched hips makes your crossed eyes roll back in needy rapture.

his hands now stick toward your sides and you’re just whimpering from his size over and over again.

weighty inches pound into you at full speed, giving you whiplash every time as he impales your sweet greedy cunt. “fuck, mhm,” you bawl a fist against your car, gritting your teeth. riiiight there, the moment his tip smooches its way against that pretty bullseye spot, it’s over. there, he locates a spongy texture with the mushroomy pierced crown of his cock and it earns out a sobbing whimper from you. “ahng! right there, fuck. faster, there sugu.”

“right there, fuuuuck. faster there, sugu,” he mocks your whiny babbles, fully exaggerating.

to hell with him, you didn’t even sound like that but oh, did he enjoy getting on your nerves. just like you did- cute.

geto’s hefty sack smacks back against you from each nudging thrust he creates with his hips. every time, it makes him groan at how your body cutely slams back against him. with how sharp your ass pounds on his dick, those pretty wet sounds singing straight from your cunt- a sound way better than screeching tire wheels. “god, so fuckin’ warm. hah, squeezin’ all around me,” and as his irregular breathing patterns pick up, he leans in to kiss a slope down your neck. “bend over just a bit more- hah. there we go, m- my good girl.”

as your chest continued to lie flat down against your car’s hood now—he’s got you at such an angle to where you feel his cock expand everywhere.

it reaches every depth and rummages through every open orifice or just about near it. “oh my god!” you whimper out, hearing the sloppy sounds of your cunt whistle through the silent night. geto’s hitting you deep, slamming his keen hips into you with such rhythm, and each time he does, your brain short circuits.

tiny invisible stars circle and float over your head as you’re completely dumbfounded, thinking about nothing but how big his cock is and the way his pierced tip just plummets its way in and out of your drooling cunt.

speaking of drooling—you were starting to drool from the slit cracks of your mouth. you couldn’t help it- his dick was out of this world, and maybe you were exaggerating but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. ever.

geto’s hastily rearranging your insides with just a few inches and it felt oh so good.

it was so good that you forgot the two of you raced together. you forgot about street racing as a whole, and instead, he had you dumb from his dick. “biiiiig fuckin’ stretch baby,” he’d grunt, starting to witness viscid stringy strands glue against each slapping thighs. geto’s dick slips out for a minute and he groans, gradually sliding himself back in.

it’s a sloppy ‘pop’ that rings between your cunt and it’s cute. you were wringing him dry, and with how wet you were, it wasn’t exactly helping things.

geto’s hot breath brushes against the open part of your neck before he gives your ass another playful swat. “fuck, that’s it. fuck back against me, don’t get lazy, uh huh. work those hips baby, f- fuck.”

as you weakly try to sway your ass into him to coordinate in sync with his crazed hips, he holds you in place—pumping inch after inch into you.

his cock sheaths inside between your syrupy-coated pussy almost effortlessly, and you let off a melodic moan the second his tip starts making out with your g-spot.

the pierced bulbous head dared to french kiss against there—making you writhe around him, on the verge of losing composure. you don’t think you’ve felt more sensitive than ever.

geto’s silvery dick piercing probes up and down your pearly clit every few seconds and he grunts at the gripping friction. “suguru…..fuuuck!” and as your words start to get bouncy, more sweet whimpers rose out of your sore throat. “more, more.”

“ungh,” he purses his lips together as he feels your cunt hungrily swallow his cock from top to bottom. with a rough pound, your ass smacks against his base—right near his tender plump testes and he groans.

such power-

even geto’s stunned for a moment, and his head throws itself back. the air surrounding you both starts to feel thick as smoke, and his eyes glance at your exposed backside that’s oh-so-pretty while arched.

all for him, and him only.

geto’s hips were simply maddened, and even he didn’t care about the race anymore.

well actually, maybe he did a little..

your pussy was brimmed with cock — sooo full, and you felt yourself starting to pant quicker and quicker. it’s as if you were having a literal street race with your breathing. geto’s getting lost inside of you, and it’s only a matter of time before his hips turn wildly sloppy.

gloved hands still reel you back into him as he’s breaking sweats within each long millisecond that passes. “pheww,” he’d wipe a sheet of sweat off his forehead, veins bulging in his beefy tatted arms. the drenching grip you had on his dick had him craving more…more of you.

the stoutness of his shaft jackhammers inside of your walls repeatedly until you’re on the verge of breaking yet again. geto grunts, the loud quick snap of his hips bringing him back to reality every time he’s about to go into another fantasm.

“fuuuck, ‘m gonna cum,” his words come out in a quiet rasp, and he claws a hand near the back crown of your head. “god,” his jaw tightens, and geto leans right up close to your neck, panting heavily against the outer shell of your ear. as long tangled tresses of hair freely cascade past his shoulders - all ruffled and messy from his helmet, he groans. “where do ya want it, sweetheart. tell m—”

“insideee,” you whine, barely giving him time to finish his husky words. your legs slightly raise against your headlight as it’s still stretched up and over.

geto’s still hitting you deep - so deeply good, swollen tip massaging every part of your clit and all. dozens of your toes curl up in erotic excitement as your tongue lolls out. you probably looked a sight. “inside, sugu, in- fuckin’- side.”

sassily smacking his lips together, he spanks you. “tch, dumb girl,” and the racer brings a hand to wrap around your neck. with a firm safe grip, his gloved thumb caresses a trail up your neck before he drills into you much quicker.

each snap of his hips draws out harmonic whines from you, gargled moans following out of your throat shortly afterward. the burn that’s twinging near the undersides of his thighs grows more and more intense before he geto lets out a guttural growl.

so……damn….. wet..

your flooding cunt’s slathering all over him, dripping near his base and he can’t help but snicker. “hah, fine. better hold still though.”

“fuck,” you whimper in response, feeling his sharp hips pound into you at such a pace. his rhythm was insane and there was no way in hell you could match his pace.

when it came to geto’s speed- yeah, you’d always lose. sure, you may have won today but when it came to his cock- you were losing with the hasty speed of his hips drilling into you at such miles per fuckin’ hour. .

as his turgid fat tip gives its final thrusting pumps inside of your cunt, geto’s body starts to violently shudder.

oh.. you were about to wring him dry. with a mewling slosh sound leaving the front your folds, you gush out yet again.

but at the same time…. so does he.

geto’s head remained tossed back with his round adam’s apple bobbing out of his throat. gnawing in the inside of his squishy cheek, he lets off a low grunt. his abs cockily flex through the white tee that tucks underneath his half-on leather jacket.

geto pulls out though, and it’s quick like the flash. he doesn’t finish inside to your devastated surprise, and a downturned pout forms on your lips. he huffs, watching such creamy-white amounts gush ‘n goo out in ropes and he sprays it on the outside of your pussy.

“damn,” he murmurs, feeling the awkward needy fidget of your hips. cute. darkened eyes remain on you the entire time and he grabs ahold of his veiny cock, aligning hit pierced tip against your pearled throbbing clit. “heh.. ain’t that a pretty sight,” and he smears it all against your pasty-creamed entrance.

now . . it’s painted with his color, white.

and geto came a lot because it’s still trickling out in ribbony globs, filthily oozing from the thick girthy sides and all like an erupted volcano. his teeth get caught by his quivering bottom lip as he watches such immoderate ropes of cum leave out of him. “such a- hah, messy girl,” and as he’s still lathering his sloppy seed that’s pouring out, sticking wads of splotches between the heat of your thighs, geto squeezes your ass. “awww,” he huffs breathily, noticing a few ivory stains splattered near the pink bumper of your car. “oops. might wanna clean that, sweetheart.”

hours passed . . many hours, and to say that you got fucked stupid was merely an understatement.

suguru geto had the stamina equivalent to a toyota supra MK4. his horsepower was his hips- with the added addition of his cock driving in and out of you.

but oh- you knew he wouldn’t be running out of gas soon.

or would he?

so. . many rounds, geto had you questioning your insanity the entire time, all because of his dick. if it was one thing he knew how to do, it was to fuck.

whether it involved his tongue or not, he knew how to make you feel good. it was one of the many things he excelled at, truly.

the only thing that got in the way was his cocky smug ego. every few seconds, he’d boast and remind you for the umpteenth time that your win was an unruly cheat, a hoax, or that he just couldn’t see the finish line because of your pink fucking smoke.

of course, geto didn’t say that part, that would have been him admitting that he lost the race and his pride couldn’t let him admit that he lost fair in square—

but your pussy could.

“hngh,” he falls back against your front cottony plus seat. geto grunts with a scowl entrapped in his thoughts. you pushed him - the audacity.

both of you were still sensitive but you had a tiny trick up your sleeve. “got some.. nerve,” and with low-dropped eyes, he watches you align yourself on his swollen pierced tip yet again.

he’s soft-flaccid, and he was pretty ran down. maybe now, geto was finally starting to run out of gas. with sweltering reddened lips smearing together, he watches you pick back up his expensive helmet, putting it over your head. “oh, gonna ride me while wearing my helmet, yeah? do your wors— oh.. fuck.”

his priggish words come to a not-so comedic halt the moment your cunt slams down on his cock. geto was still sensitive and he slouches back against your programming warming seat, dark eyes rolling back.

“goddamnnn,” and as your hips swerve around in circles identical to 360 car donuts, he sees you touching yourself while wearing his helmet. “fuckin’ brat—god.”

“aw,” you mock the exact faux caring tone he did to you earlier, making him touch you by bringing his shaky rubber hands toward your chest. geto’s fingers feel against the cropped top you wore, squeezing at your jiggling neglected breasts. “c’mon, sugu. i gotta guide your hands now too?”

“tch, shut up,” he groans, his heavy-sunken base sticking near your skin. dried splotches of cum glue against your sheeny ass as your hips continue to whirl ‘n rotate. you were unpredictable—you moved and jerked while he sat there with the most pussy drunken expression. geto lowly grunts, already feeling his balls starting to tighten up. he was trying to stop a sleazy grin from forming and oh.. was your cunt just making it impossible. “shit, ‘m not gonna last. s- still fuckin’ sensitive…. fuuuckk.”

the pink honda’s loud grumbling engine resounds through the echoey walls of the isolated garage with only the sounds of sheer skin slapping and a mixture of grunts following afterward. without thinking, you lift his helmet off of you, leaning in to kiss him and he returns the gesture almost right away.

geto’s lips were a tad bit delayed once they pressed onto yours. its a small yet cute detail- how he’s so pussy drink that he could barely crash his lips onto yours. as he’s moaning from your hands feeling on his burly tatted arms, his tongue sloppily delves into your mouth with no rhythm whatsoever.

maybe you were crazy, but you think you heard a whimper leave from his lips as he tried to nibble on your tongue. geto grunts, feeling that same pressure from earlier build up and fuck.. you were about to make a mess out of him . . . again!

his dick stills itself inside of you and his hands continue to roam down your body, further and further away from your jostling bouncy tits. “fuck ‘m cumminggg,” he’d moan between sultry kisses as stringy strands of saliva entangle with one another.

wetly, they form a web of sheeny lustrous cobwebs. geto’s foot rests against your bedazzled hard brake pedal before within seconds, he cums again.

this time, inside.

but it’s different this time- so so different.

it feels tenderly warm..

such hot gooey amounts dribble inside of you, spraying further inside your precious womb and you hum at the feeling.

his pierced cock fitting real nice and snug inside and you moan into his mouth, cocking your head in different directions as you trap his lips with another steamy kiss. “mmph.” a muffled whimper gets caught against your lips and you can already start to feel the whiteish searing ropes of fresh cum trail down the insides of your thighs. geto feels you slowing down on his lap—still buried balls deep, and he grunts in defeat..

soon, embarrassment overtakes him once he realizes how early he finished.

it’s a lot, again.

a thick load splatters heavily inside and past the inner lining of your cunt and he’s shivering underneath you. once you finally break away from his lips, your eyes meet his.

geto’s staring back at you, and you don’t see that cocky sly look in his eyes that everyone else sees.

right now, he looks…needy, and you think you broke him.

“what . . ?” he grouses, his hands still attached to your waist. his grip- it was gentle and tender a rubber thumb softly caressing down your curve. geto wasn’t ready for you to leave the garage, at least not yet.

“say it, pretty boy,” you whisper, pressing a kiss near his chin. your touch - it drove him mad.

never in a million years would he, suguru geto- have thought he’d get humbled by a rookie . .

humbled by you.

geto’s shooting straight daggers at you, but you can tell how flustered he is because he breaks eye contact a second later. you’re making him nervous, the same feeling he was making you at first when you had your first encounter with him.

as geto’s still warmly buried inside, he grunts once you take it upon yourself to softly wrap a hand around his throat.

oh- you were a mere tease, mimicking his exact movements from earlier. slightly wide-eyed and all, geto stares at you. and as he does—there’s that familiar glimpse of brattiness glimmering in his irises again.

you fucking turned him on..

“heh, f- fine then,” he stammers, heaving every few seconds to catch his irregular breaths. his body felt like it was on empty. no more gas left in him and that same cunning grin that plastered on his lips slowly started to fade.

geto’s not so cocky now, and in fact— he lets off a soft quiet whimper once you start to grind against his lap.

shakily, his hand squeezes your ass before finishing his sentence in a shaky defeated rasp.

“you . . fuckin’ win, sweetheart,” and you let off a sweet gasp once a loud smack! interrupts the moment, his hand swatting against your ass. “mhm,” geto grunts, “didn’t s- say stop. finish ridin’ me, sweetheart,” and his gloved finger swirls itself inside of your stuffed full cunt before pulling it right back out.

again, he’s filthy.

and even while being in such a state, geto brings his fingers up to his lips, slowly poppin’ them into his mouth before tasting the concoction mixture of both bittersweet messes. your syrupy cum and his.

quickly, he presses the tips of his rubber fingers toward his uvula, before staring at you with a greedy smug expression. he’s panting harshly, still trying to get over how you just outrode him literally, and he laps up his fingers right in front of you.

geto reclines your seat back a bit as you still straddled him, and he gives your ass its final spank before tiredly huffing,

“best- two out of three, what do ya say, r- rookie?heh..”

[luludeluluramblings]

tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

[beloveds-embrace]

I'm sorry, but I'm a big angst lover and i just read the angsty spinoffs of the duchess au. Kinda combining the general Jonny-purposefully-fucks-up-the-food, and the duchess gettin sick Can i ask what would happen if the illness wasn't from the weather but from eating raw food (ex chicken). Assuming she lives, i doubt she will touch Johnny's food again - leaving price with the option of hiring duchess reader a new chef or letting her starve and hope she relents. Anyways, i just wanted to say i love your poly 141 fics, so if you don't feel like writing this ask, it's completely fine. Thank you for all your work in writing!

Thank you sm anon!! 💕🫶🏻

Dukedom masterlist

All I can think about is the abysmal shame Johnny would be feeling. Yes, he served you bad food on purpose but fuck- flat out raw? And in that time period it might as well nearly be a death sentence on its own and they all know it.

John sits at your bedside, his face carved with an unreadable expression. Guilt flickers in his eyes, barely veiled by his usual stoicism, though he says nothing at first. He’s been here for hours, watching over you, but you’ve hardly acknowledged him.

A tray of food rests untouched on the small table near the bed. You haven’t looked at it, haven’t even turned your head in its direction even when it was brought in steaming, and the silence stretches thin and sharp between you.

“Duchess,” John finally says, his voice a low sigh. “You’ve got to eat. You won’t recover if you don’t.”

You shift your gaze to him, dull and tired. For a long moment, you just stare, your chest rising and falling with the effort of breathing. When you finally speak, your voice is hoarse, almost as numb as you feel.

“I’m not eating anything from Johnny.”

The bluntness of your words lands like a physical blow. John straightens slightly, brows furrowing.

“You don’t mean that,” he starts, his tone more defensive than he intends. “He-“

You interrupt him, your voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“He served me raw food, John. And none of you noticed. None of you cared.” Your tone is flat, devoid of anger or venom, but it’s the emptiness behind it that makes his chest tighten. “I got sick because of him, and not one of you thought to check on me until I couldn’t get out of bed.”

He opens his mouth to argue, to defend, but the words die before they reach his tongue. Because you’re right, of course.

“I won’t eat anything from him, not anymore,” you repeat, your gaze falling away from him and back to the ceiling. “Or from the chefs in this manor. I don’t trust any of you to care enough to make sure I’m not poisoned again.”

“Poisoned- ?” John recoils slightly, faltering.

You let out a bitter, hollow laugh, the sound scraping against your raw throat painfully. “What else would you call it? Carelessness? Neglect?”

The silence that follows is suffocating, just as you’d hoped it’d be. John leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw, guilt now a tangible weight pressing down on him. He knows you’re justified- knows that your trust, fragile as it was, has been shattered by their collective apathy.

“I’ll… I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he mutters eventually, the words heavy with shame. “I’ll handle your meals myself if that’s what it takes.”

You don’t respond beyond a derisive huff, don’t even spare him a glance. You’re too tired. His promises feel like empty air now, incapable of undoing the hurt and mistrust that has settled deep in your bones and now landed you sick in this cold bed.

All you can do is close your eyes, shutting him out, and hope he gets the message.

Johnny stands just outside the cracked door, his back pressed against the wall as your words seep into the hallway like a cold wind. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop- at least, that’s what he tells himself- but when he heard John’s voice through the door, something made him pause.

And now he wishes he hadn’t.

Every word cuts deeper than he thought possible. The way you said his name- not with anger, but with the hollow finality of someone who has already given up- makes his stomach churn. You don’t trust him.

He can’t even blame you. He made- a terrible mistake. An unforgivable one. His parents would likely never forgive him if they ever heard of what he’d done.

His hands tremble at his sides, fingers curling into fists. He wants to step in, to apologize, to defend himself, to say it was a mistake- a terrible mistake he regrets more than anything. But what could he possibly say to undo the damage? Nothing.

The knot of guilt in his chest tightens as he hears John try to reassure you, his own voice betraying his shame. Johnny doesn’t wait to hear more. He turns and walks away, each step feeling heavier than the last, his heart pounding with the weight of what he’s done.

How is he meant to ever find pride again in what he does best?

[yourstrqly]

✰ LET ME ANSWER, L. HAMILTON

[ preview ] the possessiveness comes to the light when your ex won't stop calling you during sex

[ tw ] smut, sir kink, description of a female body, answering the phone during sex, piv, riding, possessiveness

. minors do not interact .

lewis raises his eyebrows. four times, for the fourth time your phone screen light up on the nightstand, the name 'ex' showing, causing you to reach out, hands that claw on his strong back letting go, to decline the incoming call. it irritates him but the disturbance won't stop him from pushing inside your pussy again.

"give me the phone, darling", is all lewis says, shortly pulling out to sit himself against the headboard.

he looks ridiculously hot like this, tattoos glistening under the sweaty film on his skin, a single braid having found its way from the ponytail. there's a smirk on his face as he pumps his length and you want nothing more than for him to say what you should do now.

And then he does. "Ride me."

You hand him the phone and grab the base his cock to hold it in place, so you can easily slip the length inside.

A loud wail escapes your throat when his heavy cock scrapes up your inner walls, and you slowly start to ride him. he slides a hand under your ass, forcing you to bounce faster in his lap. your back arches, leaning against his chest and your hot breath fawns on his neck, where you bit softly into it. his throbbing dick stretches you out, leaving a burn when he reaches the depth of your wet hole.

You don't notice lewis pressing the green button, accepting the face call.

"hi baby, look I—who the fuck are you and where's my girl?", the guy on the other side asks, voice gruff and laced with anger. you try to keep quiet, but lewis has different plans, bending his knees to fuck himself roughly in your spongy walls that make lewd, squealing sounds. the trill of humiliating your ex turns you on; you thighten around your boyfriend's fat cock, feeling an orgasm incoming. nails dig into his shoulders, your vision is blurry and you moan, head thrown back with the mouth agape.

"tell him darling, who's making you feel this good?", lewis grunts, seeing your creamy pussy leaving a white ring around the base of his cock.

"you, sir", you whine, "you feel so good."

needily you rock your hips in his lap, ignoring the fire in your legs; his thick tip gazes the g-spot over and over again, causing you to choke out mewls and cries of pleasure — you nearly have forgotten your ex. "who the fuck do you think you are, huh?"

"i'm the boyfriend", lewis bits out. "You hear that?" You let out a high pitch cry, legs trembling as you cream his cock and drench his balls and tights. "that's the sound of my girl coming around my dick. every single day."

limp in his arms, you rest your head on his shoulder to make room for him to mark you up; you feel warm at his possessiveness, taken care of and loved. lewis' pillow lips nibble on your throat while he chases his high, chanting curses before he pulls out, throwing you on your back and spill on your pudgy stomach. you reach for the white liquid, skoping some on your fingertips before licking them clean, sucking gently the bitter taste of him, making lewis groan. "my dirty little girl, hm?", he whispers, the naughty smirk he still wears changing into proud one.

"for you, i'm everything, sir."

having not forgotten the face time call, you grab the phone to face your ex, who looks straight out of a comic with his harden gaze and red-from-anger cheeks. with mischief on your mind you angle the phone and press an open mouthed kiss on his lips, all tongue and teeth. it's messy like that and you love it.

breaking apart, the screen is black.

"didn't know you could act like this, lew", you grin happily. the man only laughed in response as he got up to get you a cloth to clean you and himself; he knows that you're turned on by this side of him, and maybe, just maybe, he'd do it again, even though the thought of someone else hearing your sweet moans make him jealous. wordlessly, he puts on sportify, the voices of temptation singing his girl, and he goes down on you, ever so softly whipping your pussy.

humming from inbetween your legs, lewis states: "you're made for me, darling."

"I know", you reply, slowly drifting to the lands of dreams.

rina speaks • ₊° ✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ . . [ 🪐 ] based on this requests! hope I did it justice x

[fastandcarlos]

Whole World On Your Shoulders : ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton

summary: with the pressures of his upcoming move weighing down on him, lewis counts on you to reassure him that he's doing the right thing

Your eyes followed Lewis carefully as he walked through your home, watching him drop his bag with a thud, brushing his hands over his face. You placed your phone down, studying him closely as you noticed the frustration that was evident in his expression. 

“Everything alright?” You asked, offering Lewis a soft smile, only for that to drop when he didn’t return it. Instead, he scuffed his feet on the ground, throwing himself down beside you. 

“I can’t win,” Lewis sighed, feeling your arms quickly wrap around his frame, pulling him into your chest. “I’m doing well with Mercedes but people keep making me feel guilty about leaving. And now I’m winning again, Ferrari are telling me about all these expectations they have for me.” 

“I'm sorry," you whispered, pressing a kiss against Lewis' head as he cuddled himself into your side, desperate for a touch of comfort from your hold. 

Your head rested on top of his, entangling your legs in with his own. “I’ve got so much pressure on my shoulders right now, there’s so many people who I need to try and impress, what if I mess up and just end up disappointing everyone?” 

“That’s not going to happen Lew, you’ve not disappointed anyone in nearly twenty years of racing.” 

It broke your heart seeing how frail Lewis was as he held you, struggling to maintain his composure. For quite some there had been a little bit of pressure, it was only natural for someone who was about to sign with Ferrari, but as contract start came closer, the pressure was only mounting more. 

“What am I supposed to do baby?” Lewis nervously asked you, tilting his head back slightly to try and look up at you. 

His voice sounded as if it was on the verge of desperate, a tone from Lewis that you hadn’t heard for quite some time. He liked to be composed and not let you in whenever he was struggling, but today it seemed as if he had decided that he was going to do the complete opposite. 

“No matter what I do I’m upsetting someone, it’s bitter for Mercedes but a joy for Ferrari that I’m doing well right now,” Lewis continued to huff, “they keep telling me they’re happy for me, but I know they don’t mean it, they don’t want me to go.” 

Your hand brushed gently over the top of his head, “you don’t need to worry about all of them, you need to focus on doing what’s best for you, regardless of who you upset.” 

Lewis hummed in agreement with what you had to say, he’d spent so long working as part of a team, but now his new decision was a selfish one. His career didn’t have much longer left and he wanted to make the choices that would be best for him, not for anyone else. 

The biggest cheerleader for him when making that decision was absolutely you. You’d encouraged him immensely to make the call that was best for him. Whether it was Mercedes or Ferrari, you were going to support him with it regardless. 

“Thank you,” Lewis whispered, “for always being here for me to help me out.” 

You never wanted to be thanked by Lewis, you never expected it from him either. All you did was care, and if you were needed to pick him back up and give him a boost, then you were going to do that without even having to think about it. 

“You know, people would dream about being you,” you told him. 

“They'd be stupid too," Lewis scoffed, "I wouldn’t want anyone to have to work under the pressure that I'm working under. The only reason I manage it most of the time is because I have you here.” 

“I’m nothing to do with this,” you laughed, only for Lewis’ head to shake as you spoke. 

He wished you saw more of the impact you had on him and how helpful all of the little things that you did were for him. “Just you being here means the world love, the feeling of knowing I’m not alone makes such a difference,” he admitted. 

You could feel in Lewis’ hold just how much he wanted, or needed, to have you there. He was terrified of you letting go, the one person who he could always count on leaving him. You didn’t even need to do or say anything, just being there was more than enough for him. 

“I’m incredibly proud of you, I don’t tell you that enough,” you mused. 

Your words were like music to Lewis’ ears, the perfect pick up that he needed. At times it felt like no one was proud of him now, they were disappointed, confused, some even angry, but they didn’t understand Lewis like you did, they didn’t understand why the decision needed to be made. 

“Will you be there at the last few races?” Lewis tentatively asked, taking a tight hold of your hand. “It’s going to be tough, and I’d really love for you to be there, for me.” 

Without even thinking, your head nodded in response to his question. If he was honest, he was terrified of leaving Mercedes, leaving everything that had become so comfortable over the past decade, it was a goodbye that was going to be far from easy. 

“I don’t say it enough, but I really am thankful for all that you do,” Lewis told you once again, “not many people could put up with someone like me.” 

It had its difficulties dating Lewis, you couldn’t deny it, but that was far outweighed by all the positives. You didn’t want the easy life, you enjoyed the challenges, the highs and the lows, all the boring bits and the exciting bits that left you thrilled. 

“I’m going to be right here to ease that weight you’re carrying on your shoulders,” you insisted, “you don’t ever have to worry about carrying it alone.” 

“I know,” Lewis smiled, “that’s what makes us such a good team.” 

You hummed in agreement with Lewis, you two clicked perfectly together, you had such a clear understanding of one another and knew exactly how to be there for the other. 

“I don’t quite know how the next season is going to pan out, I can’t promise that next year will be easy, but I’m still going to be there and putting you first,” Lewis assured you, kissing against the top of your shoulder. “It’s going to be a rollercoaster, but that’s how we like it.” 

“You always promised me life wouldn’t be easy.” 

Relief hit you as a chuckle came from Lewis, “I’ve no doubt it’s going to be amazing, because we’ll be right there together.” 

Ferrari was going to be new to everyone, but you had every confidence that it would work out, if anyone knew how to overcome a challenge, it was definitely Lewis. 

“Try not to worry about everything that’s coming our way,” you whispered, “for once, we’re going to be selfish for a while.” 

Lewis nodded in agreement, “it’s about time that we put ourselves first for a little while, don’t you think?” 

“I couldn’t agree more, we’ve got to be our number ones for once.” 

“Screw what anyone else thinks anyway.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[cool-fancier]

Bitter Devotion

Karina(Yu Jimin) x Female Reader

Synopsis: When love blossoms between two women, one finds salvation while the other hides a sinister agenda. Lies unravel, hearts break, and a single betrayal threatens to destroy everything.

Word Count:2.2k

— — — — — — —

The first time you met Karina, it was as if the universe had finally decided to show you mercy. You were drowning in the suffocating world your parents had created—a world where love was measured in favors and worth was tied to success. The charity gala was one of many events you'd been forced to attend, another chance for your mother to parade you like an accessory. You'd perfected your role over the years: polite smiles, graceful nods, the right words at the right times. But inside, you felt like a hollow shell.

Karina shattered that the moment she walked into your life.

It was a fleeting interaction at first. She'd introduced herself with an easy confidence, her voice like silk against the din of polite chatter around you.

"You look like someone who's good at pretending to care about all this," she'd said, smirking as she tilted her head toward the ballroom full of polished guests. "But I can tell you don't."

You'd blinked at her, startled. It wasn't often someone saw through you so quickly.

"And you're different?" you asked, your voice teasing but cautious.

"Completely," she said without missing a beat, her eyes locking onto yours. "I'm here for the wine and maybe one interesting conversation. Looks like I just found it."

It was bold, unexpected, and utterly disarming. For the first time in years, you felt the weight on your chest lighten, if only slightly. That night, you laughed more than you had in years. Karina's humor was sharp but never cruel, her insights revealing a depth that left you wanting more.

And more you got.

— — — — —

Karina became a fixture in your life almost overnight. She texted you after the gala, her messages casual but consistent, like she'd known you for years. Lunch dates turned into late-night phone calls, and before you knew it, you were spending nearly every waking moment with her. She was warm in a way no one else had ever been. She remembered the little things—how you liked your coffee, the books you loved but never had time to read, the way you hated the rain but loved the sound of it against the windows.

When you told her about your family—how your mother's cold ambition had shaped your entire life, how your father followed her lead with quiet detachment—Karina listened without judgment. She didn't try to fix anything or offer hollow platitudes. Instead, she gave you something you'd never had before: a safe space to just be.

"I don't know how you survived growing up like that," she'd said one evening, her voice soft as you lay tangled together on the couch. "But I'm glad you did. I'm glad I found you."

Those words had stayed with you, burrowing deep into your heart. For the first time, you felt like someone saw you—not the polished version your parents had crafted, but the raw, unguarded you. Karina made you feel special in a way you didn't think was possible.

— — — — —

The proposal came a year later, under a canopy of stars. Karina had taken you on a surprise trip to a secluded cabin, the kind of place where the world seemed to fall away. You'd spent the evening by the fire, sipping wine and sharing dreams for the future. When she knelt in front of you, holding out a delicate ring, your breath caught.

"I love you," she said, her voice trembling. "More than I ever thought I could love anyone. You've given me a reason to believe in happiness, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel as loved as you've made me feel."

Tears blurred your vision as you nodded, barely able to get the word "yes" past the lump in your throat. That night, you felt like you'd finally found the family you'd always longed for.

— — — — —

A year into your marriage, Karina suggested a dinner with your parents. It had been a while since the four of you sat down together, and you hoped it was a sign that things were improving. Karina had been distant lately—her once-effortless affection replaced with brief, almost obligatory gestures. You told yourself it was work stress. She'd been expanding her business, taking on larger clients and more demanding projects.

The dinner started well enough. Your mother was in high spirits, no doubt pleased to have such an impressive daughter-in-law to show off. Karina played her role perfectly, charming your parents with her wit and business acumen. Even your father, typically reserved, seemed taken with her.

"So, Karina," your mother said, swirling her wine. "What's next for you? Surely someone as ambitious as you has a grand plan."

Karina smiled, the picture of grace. "Oh, always," she said lightly. "But right now, I'm focused on building something lasting. Both in business and in life."

Your mother nodded approvingly, clearly pleased with the answer. You felt a swell of pride, convinced once again that Karina was the best thing that had ever happened to you.

— — — — —

Later, as the conversation continued, Karina excused herself to use the bathroom. It wasn't unusual, but something about the way she glanced toward your father's office before leaving the table stuck with you. You brushed it off, focusing instead on your parents' rare moment of warmth.

It wasn't until much later, after dinner had ended and your parents had retired for the night, that you noticed something strange. Passing by your father's office on the way to the kitchen, you saw the light was on. Curious, you pushed the door open slightly and froze.

Karina was at the desk, rifling through papers. She looked up sharply at the sound of the door, her expression unreadable.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice low and uncertain.

She straightened, closing the drawer she'd been searching. "I was just looking for a pen," she said smoothly. "Your father mentioned needing to sign something earlier, and I thought I'd save him the trouble."

It was a plausible excuse, but something about it felt off. You wanted to ask more, but the exhaustion of the evening weighed on you, and you let it slide.

— — — — —

Unbeknownst to you, Karina had found exactly what she was looking for. Among the neatly organized files were documents that confirmed her suspicions: years ago, your mother had manipulated Karina's family out of their fortune. Karina's mother had been left destitute, forced to rebuild from nothing while your mother profited from her downfall.

Karina had spent years climbing her way to the top, meticulously crafting the perfect façade to get close to your family. And now, she had everything she needed. Bank statements, contracts, correspondences—proof of your mother's deceit. With this, she could destroy your mother's empire, just as her mother's had been destroyed.

But as she stood there, holding the evidence in her hands, a pang of something unexpected twisted in her chest. She thought of you—your smile, your laugh, the way you'd looked at her when she proposed. For the first time, she hesitated.

— — — — —

Her hesitation didn't last. A week later, your mother was arrested for fraud, her assets seized, her reputation ruined. Karina had orchestrated it all, her plan unfolding flawlessly. But her triumph was hollow. No matter how much she tried to justify her actions, she couldn't shake the image of your tear-streaked face when you learned the truth.

And you would. Because secrets like this never stayed buried for long.

— — — — —

After your mother's arrest, everything changed. Karina didn't seem triumphant or even relieved—she just seemed different. The warmth she once radiated, the way she would reach for your hand without thinking, the lingering kisses that used to make you feel cherished—all of it vanished. She became distant, like a ghost of the woman who had promised to love you forever.

At first, you tried to rationalize it. The stress of the past few weeks, the pressure of running her business—surely those things were taking a toll. But as days turned into weeks, her coldness only grew. She was no longer the Karina who brought you coffee in bed or whispered sweet nothings in the quiet hours of the night. Instead, she snapped at you over small things, ignored your attempts to connect, and retreated into her office for hours at a time.

— — — — —

One evening, after another strained dinner, you tried to confront her.

"Karina, what's going on?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and sadness. "You've been so... distant. Did I do something wrong?"

She didn't even look up from her phone. "You're imagining things," she said flatly, scrolling through emails.

"I'm not imagining it," you pressed, your chest tightening. "You barely talk to me anymore. You don't even look at me the same way."

Her eyes flicked to you, cold and unreadable. "Not everything is about you, you know. Maybe I'm just tired."

Her words hit like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless. Tired? That was her excuse for the growing chasm between you?

"Karina, I love you," you said softly, desperately. "I just want to help. Please talk to me."

She sighed, setting her phone down with deliberate slowness. "Maybe I don't need help. Maybe you should stop trying to fix things that aren't broken."

The words were like daggers, and you felt tears prick your eyes. She had never spoken to you like this before, and the pain of her indifference was almost unbearable.

— — — — —

The weeks that followed were no better. Karina became colder, her dismissive tone and distant attitude leaving you reeling. She started staying out late without explanation, her phone glued to her hand whenever she was home. The intimacy you'd once shared was gone, replaced by a suffocating silence that made your heart ache.

One night, unable to sleep, you wandered into the kitchen to get some water. As you passed Karina's office, you heard her voice through the slightly ajar door. Curious, and more than a little desperate for answers, you paused.

"No, everything went according to plan," she was saying, her tone sharp and businesslike. "Her mother's assets were seized, and the old woman's in prison where she belongs."

Your blood turned to ice.

"She never saw it coming," Karina continued, her voice tinged with something cruel. "It was almost too easy. Playing the devoted wife was the perfect cover."

Your stomach dropped as you clung to the doorframe for support, your mind racing to make sense of what you were hearing. Playing the devoted wife? What was she talking about?

"Yes, I used her," Karina said, her voice colder than you'd ever heard. "She was just a means to an end. The perfect way to get close to her family."

Your heart shattered as the full weight of her words sank in. Every tender moment, every whispered promise—it had all been a lie. Tears streamed down your face as you stood frozen, unable to move or speak.

Karina's next words cut through you like a knife: "No, I don't regret it. Her family got what they deserved. And she... she was just collateral damage."

That was it. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, your breath hitching as a sob escaped your throat. Before you could stop yourself, you pushed the door open, your voice trembling with pain and fury.

"Tell me it's not true," you demanded, your tears falling freely. "Tell me I didn't just hear you say that."

Karina's head snapped up, her face a mask of shock and guilt. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words, but the coldness quickly returned to her expression.

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

Her dismissiveness made something inside you snap. "Eavesdrop?" you repeated, your voice rising. "Karina, you used me! You lied to me, to my face! Was any of it real? Any of it at all?"

For a brief moment, you saw something flicker in her eyes—regret, sorrow, maybe even love. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the icy mask you'd come to dread.

"It doesn't matter," she said quietly. "What's done is done."

You stared at her, your chest heaving as the weight of her betrayal crushed you. "You promised me forever," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I loved you. I trusted you. And you used me like I was nothing."

Karina looked away, her jaw tightening. "You were never nothing," she said, almost too softly to hear.

But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

— — — — —

You turned and stumbled out of the room, your vision blurred by tears. Karina didn't follow you, didn't call your name. You made it to your bedroom before collapsing onto the floor, your sobs echoing in the empty space.

In the silence that followed, one thought consumed you: Was this love ever real, or had it always been a beautifully crafted lie?

And in her office, Karina sat alone, her phone still in her hand, staring at the door you'd just walked through. For the first time in her life, she felt the weight of her choices—but pride kept her rooted in place. Even if she wanted to chase after you, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Not yet.

[little-annie]

How they got stuck sharing the only remaining bed in the Hopper-Byers family home when they came to visit, they'll never know. (It involved some meddling on both Robin's and Dustin's behalf….. and Joyce and Hopper and Jonathan and El and Will, and literally everyone else who thinks they just need to figure their shit out and get together already.)

But they did.

And Christ if they weren't pissy about it.

They were roommates for God's sake, they saw enough of each other as is. But noooo, they had to get stuck bunking with each other for the weekend too.

They'd began bickering almost immediately when they'd entered the room and saw the state of their situation.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, no. Fuck you Harrington. I'm older-’

“By like a year -”

“I'm older and my poor boy bones are brittle. I get the bed.”

“Poor boy bones.” Steve huffs to himself, taking one quick glance at Eddie and beginning to strip, hoping that if he gets into bed first they won't have to continue this argument.

Eddie catches on almost immediately, undoing his stupid handcuff belt buckle with little struggle and kicking himself out of his jeans so fast he nearly eats the edge of the dresser to his right. “You're young.” Eddie states while trying to catch his breath, “The floor will do you just fine.”

They're both down to their underwear in a matter of seconds. Belts clanking, denim dropping and fabric flying. Eddie in his boxers, Steve in his white briefs that he's sure he hears Eddie snicker at even in his apparent displeasure.

Soon enough they're both trying to climb into bed, pushing and shoving, throwing elbows when the other one kicks out a bony knee. Both scrambling to get under the covers and claim their right to the bed.

Pulling the lone pillow swiftly beneath his head, Eddie grumbles. “What are you doing?”

“Getting into bed.”

“It's a twin Harrington.”

“Yeah and my hips hurt.” Steve answers, driving an elbow with regrettable strength into Eddie's ribs as he continues to try to gain some purchase on the narrow bed. “I'm not sleeping on the floor.” He wiggles around some more, at the moment hoping Eddie might just fall off onto the floor. “Shove over.”

Maybe they can manage to share.

“It's a twin!” Squawks Eddie while bracing himself against the nightstand, pushing Steve back with cold feet to his shins.

“And give me some of the blankets.”

“There's only one pillow!”

“So share.”

Both huffing, wriggling around, pushing and shoving, pulling at the single blanket and the only pillow, they try to get comfy on their backs. Which won't happen because they can't fucking fit that way. The goddamn bed is too narrow and Eddie's bony ass everything is digging into Steve's side as he hangs with half of his ass off of the bed.

“Lay on your side.” Eddie grumbles with a shove.

“What? Why?”

“Because we don't fit like this, Princess. Roll onto your side.”

Ignoring how that nickname makes his cheeks flare in the moonlit room, Steve starts to roll over, leaning to his left and moving to put Eddie at his back. Maybe that way he'll actually get some peace and qui-

“Not like that!” Eddie all but screeches, shoving at Steve's back so hard he nearly falls off, "You want my dick pressed to your ass all night?”

Truthfully that doesn't sound as awful as Eddie's making it out to be. The prick. Steve thinks he has a rather nice ass and Eddie would only be so lucky.

“Well you want your dick pressed against my dick all night? That's the only other option, Munson.”

Eddie clenches his jaw, sighs dramatically and mutters something to himself that Steve's not quite able to catch, before he actually speaks, “Fine. Fine! Just roll over so you're facing me, but just keep your hips back.”

‘Keep your hips back,’ as if Steve would just roll over dick first and press himself right up against Eddie.

Steve tries and fails to muffle his irritated groan as he rolls over to where he's facing Eddie on the same flat pillow.

God they're close.

Noses nearly touching.

In his moment of bitterness and just pure irritation at the situation, Steve had forgotten how pretty Eddie was.

His eyes are so dark in the moonlight.

The rest of him blanketed in a hazy midnight blue, his freckles akin to a star speckled sky.

Steve could never get tired of this view.

“Better?” Steve whispers, trying and failing to ignore the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

Eddie's eyes search his for what feels like aeons before he answers. “Fuck you.” There's no real heat to his words, tone more so matching Steve's as he smiles with a lopsided smirk.

Steve rolls his eyes, teasing, if only to see Eddie sputter, “Mmmm, I'll take a rain check on that.” He delights in Eddie's choked off gasp before he continues, “But I will warn you, I'm a cuddler.”

“Course you are.” Eddie grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest and closing his eyes with a flutter of his long dark lashes.

After a moment of quiet Steve takes a chance and presses his foot to Eddie's, soft beneath his sole, and so fucking cold.

Eddie doesn't pull away.

“G’ night.” He whispers instead, pressing his foot just a touch closer, the breath of his words falling against Steve's lips.

“Good night.”

—

The next morning they wake in a tangled mess.

It's hot and sweaty and they're physically stuck together at all points where naked skin meets.

Which is pretty much everywhere.

Eddie's one hand is in Steve's hair as if throughout the night he felt the need to play with it, and his other is so tightly grasped to Steve's bare waist it almost hurts.

His nose is otherwise buried in Steve's neck where he can hear Eddie's faint snores and is sure there's the wetness of drool lying along his clavicle.

It's all a little disgusting.

But also kind of wonderful.

His one arm is numb where it lies beneath Eddie's head.

Steve shuffles enough to separate at least some of their sweat damp skin, noticing in the same instant how where Eddie's plastered against his hip, he's also obviously hard.

So much so that when Steve looks down there's a damp spot in his underwear.

Oh.

Maybe he'll take that rain check sooner rather than later.

Eddie groans in his sleep, hot air breathed against Steve's neck as he rolls his hips and this time lets a soft moan escape.

Yep, definitely taking that rain check now.

Maybe they'll figure their shit out sooner than everyone had anticipated.

“Get off of me, I wanna suck your-”

😉 The End

[clarkeybabey]

❝ i wouldn't give these nobodies no sympathy ❞

# summary; somethings do really get under his skin

# playlist; luther - kendrick lamar (ft. sza)

# word count; 748

# note; ive seen some distasteful comments on our bf lately. leave my man alone, he's the chillest guy. #parasocial. lazy ending im so sorry

Arthur absolutely adores his job, who wouldn't just want to hang out with their mates all day or film themselves reacting to Reddit posts to pay their bills? None of this was on his life bingo card, but he didn't think he'd change a single thing about his current situation. That was until he started collaborating with larger YouTubers.

Their fans always found a way to make him out to be the butt of the joke 24/7. He's been on social media for a while now, and of course, he understood that being unreasonably disliked came with his job, he just wished that he could express his feelings without being seen as 'soft'. It's almost as if the more he tries to ignore it all, the more comments emerge.

Some of his friends who recently began to gain traction were nearly completely dodging the brutal comments and he couldn't figure out why. Not that he wants them to experience it, because it's awful, he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemy, but what do they have that he doesn't?

When you return from grocery shopping, he's sat in his desk chair tapping a socked foot. You take immediate notice of the furrow in his brow he seems to be scrolling through something, "You okay, baby?" Arthur startles a bit, seemingly having not realized your presence, he hums wordlessly, not bothering to look up at you.

His lack of acknowledgment makes you frown slightly. You let your purse slide off your shoulder, landing with a thunk in a pile at the end of his desk. You place a hand on his knee, bringing his anxiety-riddled movements to a halt. Finally, he looks up at you just in time for you to speak again, "Tell me."

His reply comes out sounding almost offended, "Tell you what?" He's playing stupid, but it's not going to work, not even he's been convinced by his words. You've been to him before he even knew you were home.

Your head tilts to the side and you fold your arms over your chest and without another sound from you, he knows he lost, "Just people on the internet, that's all." He's bitter and hurt, which is very evident as he continues, "Don't think they realize I'm human too."

A glance at the glowing screen in his hands tells you what he's been doing since you left a half hour ago. You take the phone from him, setting it on top of his mousepad, taking a second to situate yourself in his lap, "Listen, I know you really wanna know how people feel about you." You pause momentarily to place a chaste kiss on either cheek, "We've talked about how bad it is for you."

"It's so difficult to pretend I don't care," He begins, stopping when he feels like his throat's going to close, uncontrollable tears dot his waterline, breaking your heart. "I wish I could understand more, but I just don't know what its like, 'm not sure if I ever will be."

Your index finger finds his stubbled jaw, stroking it as you do your best to console him, if only you could take everything he's feeling and place it onto yourself even if only for a day, he deserves a break. "Those people are nobodies, they're just jealous." He leans into your touch, "You'd think I'd be used to it all by now," he mumbles against your palm, pressing a kiss to it.

Shaking your head involuntarily as he pours out all of his thoughts, but when he says that it pisses you off, "Shouldn't have to be used to it, the internet's a joke. You're a wonderful, intelligent person with opinions and feelings that are allowed to be expressed," words tumble from your lips so fast you can't control them he just sits there, a hand on your side drawing shapes on the skin where your top had ridden up, taking in all you say.

"I'm a chronic people pleaser, but I think you have me beat," you say wagging your brows, playing with his hair, finally he cracks a smile. A sigh of relief escapes you at that, "Think we should lower your screen time."

"Yes, mum," he salutes you, and a loud laugh bubbles up through him making you giggle, he pokes your tummy, "or maybe we can just run away together," he suggests kissing the upturned corner of your mouth.

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

[redvexillum]

@nyx91 Here's my take on your prompt, baby! 😘 Also, please check out these awesome writers - @whatswrongwithblue who wrote her prompt HERE and @redfoxwritesstuff version HERE! @inuhalfdemon I'm pretty sure Nyxy sent you this one too. Now, we are all waiting on yoOoooOooOu 👻

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, gentle s♡x, love making, established relationship, relationship on the rocks, alastor is bad with feelings, hurt/comfort

Your fingers clenched the glass with a force that belied the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The cool rim pressed against your lips, the burn of the hard liquor a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in your chest.  

As the amber whisky slid down your throat, a shudder rolled through you, the heat searing into your veins, but it couldn’t touch the icy rage you felt. Slamming the empty glass onto the bar, the sharp sound echoed in your pounding head. You ground your teeth together, more in irritation than from the sting of the alcohol.  

Alastor’s voice, smooth and syrupy, drifted through the air like poison. He was laughing, entertaining the hotel crew with his usual cruel charm – those passive-aggressive jabs cloaked in that ever-present smile. You could barely stand to hear him, let alone look at him, so you kept your eyes fixed on the empty glass before, staring at the last remnants of whisky as your mind spun. Dizzying feelings of anger and the growing buzz of the alcohol swirled around in your head.  

Shaking your head, you shoved the glass toward Husk, who regarded you with his typical unimpressed expression. His long red eyebrow arched, but he continued to lazily wipe down the glass in his hand, barely giving you more than a glance.  

“You know,” Husk muttered, his voice low and smooth, “you should just talk to him.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, though he delivered them with a shrug, as if they held no consequences.  

A harsh snort escaped your lips. “’nother one,” you slurred, your voice thick with the effects of the liquor. You could feel the heat of it, spreading through you like wildfire, numbing the ache in your chest just enough to make you feel bold – foolish, but bold.  

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Husk asked, though his hands were already moving to grab the bottle of whisky from beneath the counter. He poured two fingers’ worth of the amber liquid, the sound of it hitting the glass like a promise of paradise.  

Your lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Nope, still mad as ‘ell,” you muttered, the words ‘nope’ punctuated with a sharp pop of the ‘p.’ Your gaze cut back to his eyes, “So, no, Husk, not nearly enough.” 

As your fingers reached for the glass, Husk slid it unreachable with an ease that only irritated you more. “He’s been staring at you all night, you know,” he grumbled, eyes narrowing. “He practically wants you to talk to him.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes so hard it made your head spine even more. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction.” The defiance in your voice felt hollow, and yet, you clung to it, desperate to keep the walls up between you and Alastor across the room. He didn’t deserve to meet your eyes tonight, or any other night for that matter.  

You slumped forward, elbow resting on the bar, your head propped in your head as you levelled a bleary stare at Husk. “What are you supposed to be tonight, anyway? A bartender?” You leaned closer, your body swaying slightly as the alcohol pooled in your system, your blouse straining against your chest as you moved.  

Husk sighed, eyes rolling as he muttered, “And you’re drunk.” His tone was flat, but before he could push the drink further away, you snatched it with a triumphant grin, tipping it back with a wink.  

The burn of the whisky barely registered anymore; it was nothing compared to the fury simmering under your skin. You could feel it, crackling just under the surface, mixed with the alcohol that made your limbs feel light and your head buzz.  

Standing up from the barstool, you leaned in close to Husk, a wicked grin spreading across your lips. “Guess what I’m dressed as?” you whispered, the words dripping with mischief. Without waiting for him to respond, you giggled, “That’s correct! A bar wench!” 

Your blouse hung low, teasingly revealing more of your cleavage, but you barely noticed. The tight girdle you wore cinched you in all the right places, but it wasn’t enough to keep the flush of heat spreading over your skin. It felt almost suffocating, the mix of alcohol, anger, and something indescribable all coiling tight inside you.  

Husk muttered something unintelligible, but you pressed on, your mind a swirl of emotions too tangled to untangle now. “You’re right, y’know,” you slurred, the words tumbling from your lips without restraint. “I shouldn’t be down. I should help you tonight – I'm already dressed the part.” You patted his shoulder with a grin, your hand lingering as you tried to ground yourself at the moment.  

He stared at you, eyes narrowing again, but there was something softer there too. “You’ve known him for over a decade,” Husk said, his voice gentler now, more serious. “You knew exactly what you were getting into when you decided to be with him.” 

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, unfortunately sobering you right up. He didn’t have to say Alastor’s name – just the thought of him was enough to make your stomach churn, the bile rising in your throat. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the fury still eating away at you, or the hollow ache of knowing that Husk was right.  

It was probably all of it.  

Your smile faltered, fading slowly as the memory of last week came back to the forefront of your mind without mercy. Ten years. You had been with Alastor just over a decade, but those years were fractured, seven of them consumed by silence and shadows. He had disappeared without a word, leaving you to wonder, to hurt, to grieve the love you thought you had.  

When he returned, it wasn’t the reunion you had once dreamed of. No, instead, you found out that he had traded away his soul for something – something he refused to tell you about. The secret gnawed at you, hollowing out the trust you had clung to for so long.  

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your black skirt, the material bunching between your knuckles as your grip tightened. You thought ...God, you thought you meant something to him. Enough for him to confide in you. Enough for him to trust you.  

But he didn’t.  

He kept you at arm’s length, always. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss, never quite knowing if he’d catch you if you fell.  

Your breath hitched as your eyes blinked rapidly, fighting back the stinging salt of unshed tears. You had cried for him – cried for him night after night when you couldn’t bear to stay in the same room, couldn’t bear to let him see how deeply he had hurt you. Alastor didn’t deserve any more of your tears. Not after everything.  

Taking a shaky breath, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, even though your heart felt like it was breaking all over again. “Anyway,” you said, your voice wavering for a split second before you forced it into a false cheer. “Looks like the Halloween party’s going great! But...there are empty cups in people’s hands!” You threw on a laugh, trying to mask the pain that threatened to claw its way to the surface. “As your best bar wench,” you continued with a grin that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “I believe it’s my duty to serve the customers!” 

Husk’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, his gaze piercing through your forced cheer like he could see every crack in the facade. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he could read you like a book. Husk always had that way of understanding, even when you tried so desperately to hide behind a smile. Still, he stayed silent, though his look spoke volumes – volumes you weren’t ready to face.  

“Well,” he finally said, his tone lightening with a smirk, “I ran out of whisky because someone,” he raised a brow at you, “polished it all off.” 

You rolled your eyes, trying to play along, even though your heart wasn’t in it. “There’s more in storage, Husk,” you replied, puffing out your chest in an exaggerated display. “I’ll just go get more! Look at that, I’m not only a gorgeousbar wench, but also a problem solver!” You tried for a grin, but it felt empty, the effort it took to keep up the pretense was exhausting.  

Husk chuckled, shaking his head. “Just hope you don’t remember this tomorrow,” he said with a snort, though you could see the concern still lingering in his eyes.  

With a heavy sigh, you let out a toneless laugh. “I’m not drunk, just a liltipsy.” The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you turned on your heels before he could call you on it. You needed to get away for a moment – away from Husk, away from the party, away from him. 

As you made your way to the storage room, you caught sight of Charlie and Vaggie dressed as an angel and a devil, the irony of their roles not lost on you. They looked happy, content in their costumes, and for a brief moment, you felt a pang of envy. They didn’t have to worry about the walls that separated them. They didn’t have to question their place in each other’s lives.  

But you didn’t look at Alastor. Not once. You could feel his presence in the room, could almost sense his eyes on you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. Not tonight.  

When you entered the storage room, the dim light from the hallway cast long shadows over the crates stacked along the walls. “Let’s see...” you mumbled to yourself, running your hands along the wooden boxes, searching for the whisky Husk needed. The quiet soothed you, a welcome relief from the noise of the party.  

Suddenly, the door creaked shut with a heavy thud, plunging the room into darkness. You whipped around, heart almost leaping out your throat. “What the-?” 

Before you could finish, you heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place, sealing you in. Your breath caught, the air thick with tension.  

“My, my. Good evening, darling,” came the voice you simultaneously missed and dreaded. Alastor’s voice, rich and smooth, like velvet soaked in poison. It slithered through the darkness, wrapping around you, making your skin prickle with both longing and anger.  

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest, not bothering to turn toward him. “Alastor, I don’t want to play games,” you muttered, the exhaustion in your voice apparent.  

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, echoing off the walls. “Alastor? Oh no, my dear,” he purred, amusement lacing his tone. “It’s Captain Alastor tonight.” 

With a snap of his fingers, green flames flickered to life, casting an eerie glow around the room. The shadows danced wildly on the walls, but it wasn’t the flames that held your attention. No, it was him. Alastor, dressed in a pirate’s costume, complete with a crimson bandana tied around his head. His jacket was adorned with gold buttons and buckles, his black leather booth shining in the sickly light. He looked every bit the part, but the smile that curled his lips was still the same – a smile that could hide an infinite number of secrets.  

He stepped forward, and instinctively, you retreated – one step, then another – until your back met the cold, unforgiving wall. Your heart raced, ever nerve in your body on high alert as Alastor closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming. His looming figure cast a shadow over you, but you refused to look at him, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.  

“What do you want?” you mumbled, the question trembling on your lips. You couldn’t muster the strength to sound defiant, not when his proximity made your breath hitch.  

Alastor’s smile widened, that ever-present unsettling grin that never seemed to face. “What I’ve been wanting since you rudely left my bed eight nights ago,” he answered with a playful lilt, his tone too bright, too casual for the tension building between you.  

Another step. And another. Until his chest hovered mere inches from you, the heat of his body radiating through his pirate’s costume. You found yourself staring at the third gold button on his jacket, unable to meet his eyes. It felt safer that way – safer than confronting the emotions threatening to spill over.  

“Rudely, huh?” you shot back, the alcohol in your bloodstreams emboldened your words, your anger simmering, bubbling up from your chest. “Well, I guess I’m just a rude girl now. So, if you’ll excuse me-” 

You tried to slip past him, but instantly, his arms shot up, trapping you between the wall and his body. The sharp intake of your breath was loud in the enclosed space, and your heart hammered against your ribs.  

“Look at me, darling,” Alastor’s voice was soft now, coaxing, almost tender, a stark contrast to the playful lilt he’d used moments ago. He leaned in, his breath a warm whisper against your lips, his words sending shivers down your spine. “It’s rude not to look at the person you’re speaking to.” 

The tip of his clawed fingers grazed your cheek, feather-light, as though testing the boundaries of your resistance. “Look at me,” he murmured again, his voice a gentle command, his finger caressing your skin like you were something delicate, fragile.  

Your body betrayed you. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the exhaustion of holding your emotions in for so long, or maybe it was the undeniable pull he had over you – whatever it was, you tilted your head up, finally meeting his gaze.  

You wanted to glare at him, to summon all the fury and hurt you felt into one look. But the moment your eyes locked with his, something inside you fractured. Alastor’s grin softened ever so slightly as he gazed down at you, and the intensity of his red eyes stripped you bare. 

Thus, the dam that you were so desperate to hold back, broke.  

Tears welled in your eyes, stinging as they gathered, and your lips trembled despite your best efforts to hold steady. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t cry for him anymore – he didn’t deserve it, not after everything.  

But here you were, standing on the precipice of breaking all over again. The anger you had been clinging to melted away, replaced by an overwhelming, aching sadness. Why did he have to do this to you? Why, after all the betrayal and heartbreak, did your heart still soften the moment you saw him? 

“I need to go now, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, weak and fragile. “Please unlock the door-” 

But before you could finish, his lips were on yours, sudden and firm, silencing the rest of your plea. The kiss stole the air from your lungs, igniting the familiar flames of passion within you. His body pressed against yours, enveloping you in a heat that was all too familiar, a warmth you had craved even when you hated yourself for wanting it. One hand cradled your face, the other settled on your hip, grounding you in a way that made your head spin.  

You should push him away. You should resist. Every part of your rational mind screamed at you to fight back, to remember the betrayal that had shattered your trust, to remember the anger that fuelled you for days.  

But you didn’t.  

Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as you allowed yourself to sink into the kiss, your body – your heart – betraying your mind. His lips moved against yours, tender and desperate all at once, and you stayed – tethered to him by something stronger than rage.  

When he finally pulled back, his breath came in shallow bursts, his forehead resting gently against yours. His thumb brushed away the stray tears on your cheek, a wistful sigh escaping his lips as his eyes searched yours. There was something in his gaze – something vulnerable, something he rarely let you see.  

He grinned, but it was softer this time, almost bittersweet. “Now, miss,” he said, his voice filled with mock grandeur, the teasing note returning. “What will you do now that you’re stuck here with a dastardly pirate such as myself?” 

The lightness in his tone didn’t match the intensity in his eyes. They bore into yours, searching for something – an answer, perhaps, or maybe forgiveness.  

You knew exactly what he was doing. Alastor, for all his bravado and showmanship, didn’t know how to bare himself – didn't know how to peel back those layers of invulnerability. Instead, he hid behind his endless masks, each one more carefully constructed than the last. And tonight, he wore the perfect one for you – the one designed to charm, to coax a smile from your lips even when your heart felt heavy.  

Your fingers trembled as they reached up, brushing against his cheek. The smoothness of his skin beneath your fingertips stirred something delicate within you, something raw and aching. Without a word, you threaded your hand into his hair, pulling him down until your lips met his in a kiss so soft it could’ve shattered.  

You wondered, in that fleeting moment, if Alastor even realized that he didn’t need to be perfect for you. That his strength wasn’t what made you love him – it was the rare glimpses of vulnerability, the moments when the masks slipped, that captured your heart.  

His body softened in your embrace, tension melting away as he pulled you closer, his need for you palpable in the way his hands clutched at your waist. His kiss deepened, urgent now, as though he were trying to communicate all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. And perhaps you were complicit in this – playing along in his games of pretense, the dance of make-believe you both performed so well. Even now, wrapped in costumes, the charade continued, masking the truth neither of you had the courage to face.  

The words that should have been spoken – of hurt, of longing, of the chasm growing between you – were swallowed up in the heat of the moment. Alastor pressed his hips against you, the hardness of him dragging along your core as his hands roamed your body, setting your skin alight. His breath hitched, and soon the room was filled with the rustle of fabric, hurried movements, and the unmistakable clink of his belt being undone. Your skirt was pushed up, your underwear forgotten as it slid down to your ankles.  

But then, just as the urgency peaked, he paused. His eyes met yours, the glow of the green flames flickering around you casting half his face in shadow. His expression was unreadable, half hidden by the darkness, yet you could see the question in his gaze – the hesitation that belied the playful swagger he always wore.  

You lifted one leg, wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer as the warmth of his length pressed against your core. Slowly, you moved, the friction between you drawing a soft moan from his lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure evident on his face as his hands gripped you tighter, his forehead resting against yours.  

Darling,” he breathed, his voice no longer playful, no longer teasing. It was soft, almost vulnerable, and the way he held you now – so tightly, as if afraid you might disappear – felt like the truest moment between you in a long time.  

Your mind, fogged with alcohol and the haze of lust, seemed to slow the world down around you. Every sensation was amplified – the heat of his body against yours, the way he trembled with each stroke, the way your own heart ached even as your body burned with desire. The initial anger that had driven you to this moment began to melt away, replaced by something deeper – an aching sadness, a profound loneliness that slowly eroded the edges of your soul.  

In the silence that followed, neither of you spoke. This act, this intimacy, had become the only place where the two of you could find any semblance of honesty. Here, with his lips pressed to yours, his hands clinging to you like you were his only lifeline, there was no room for masks. It was the one moment where the roles you played for each other dissolved, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered emotion etched across his face. 

And in his face, you saw it.  

His red eyes, glowing and intense, were softened by the flickering green flames around you. He kissed you again, slower this time, murmuring soft praises against your lips – telling you how good you felt, how much he needed you, how right this moment was.  

But just below the tender words, you could feel the weight of everything left unsaid. The weight of the love you shared, the pain, the misunderstandings – the endless cycle of pushing and pulling, hiding and revealing. And as his body pressed closer to yours, as his lips lingered on your skin, you realized that this, for all its imperfections, was the only truth you and Alastor had left. A truth buried in the way he held you, in the way you couldn’t let him go, even when you knew you probably should.  

Slow languid kisses mingled with the heat radiating from his body, his hard length pressing insistently against you, grinding you in a steady rhythm. Each motion sent an addicting pulse of need through you, until the blunt tip of him nudged against your slick folds.  

“Darling,” he murmured, the words drenched in need as his lips found yours once more, dragging the kiss out as he slowly sank into your warmth, his voice trembling as he repeated, “my darling.” 

The sharp gasp that escaped your lips seemed to be all he needed, a soft moan slipping from you as he fully sheathed himself inside you, stretching you, filling you, pressing against every tender nerve. You clenched around him, your body naturally responding to the feel of him, and he shuddered, his breath quickening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. There, hidden from your gaze, he could allow himself to be bare, raw, vulnerable – away from the performance, the masks.  

His hips rolled in slow, deliberate motions, the wet, intimate sounds of your bodies coming together filling the small, dimly lit space. The hardness of the wooden wall at your back contrasted with the softness of his touch, his hands gripping your hips, your fingers tangling in his hair as you held him close. Each slow thrust was a burst of sensation, your nerves alight with every deep, lingering stroke, every inch of his dragging along your sensitive walls. 

“Alastor,” you moaned softly, his name slipping from your lips as if in prayer, and you felt his body tense, his hips pausing mid-thrust. His breath ragged as his red eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him – truly saw him.  

The trickery, the menace, the lies – all gone. In its place was something fragile, something real.  

Are we still okay? 

His eyes, wide and searching, asked the silent question, his gaze never leaving yours.  

Do you still love me? 

The soft brush of his fingers as they tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the tender way he touched you, begged for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to voice.  

Will you stay with me? 

The kiss he pressed to your lips was slow, pleading, as if asking for more than just the physical – asking you to give him reassurance.  

Tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the weight of it all. Tightening your hold around him, you slowly moved along his length, a moan catching in his throat as you took control, your body guiding his. The motion elicited a sharp hiss from him, the intensity of your choice, your desire, giving him all the permission he needed to abandon his restraint.  

His pace quickened, the cold metal buckle of his belt grazing your inner thigh as he began to thrust with more urgency, his hips pistoning into you, driving as deep as his can. The pressure against your swollen clit with his hips sent shocks of pleasure through you.  

His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he lost rhythm, the intensity overtaking him, his body seeking yours with increasing desperation. Each thrust drove him deeper, harder, the friction, the closeness pushing you both toward the edge. Your own breath stuttered, your muscles tightening, your abdomen clenching as your release built, the pleasure mounting with every stroke, every brush of his hips against your throbbing core.  

Your orgasm hit first, tearing through you with a force that left you breathless, a small cry slipping from your lips as your body trembled in his arms. Your fingers gripped the back of his jacket, holding on as your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper into your pleasure.  

Alastor’s moan followed, guttural and raw, his hips stuttering to a halt before resuming their slow, deliberate thrusts, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release filing you in hot, pulsing bursts.  

He slowed, each thrust dragging out the last moments of bliss, his cock throbbing inside you as he emptied himself completely, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless moan. His arms tightened around you, pulling you close, his forehead pressing against yours as he held you there. His chest rose and fell with the effort of his breathing.  

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your shared breaths, mingling in the quiet. No words were spoken, no conversations ventured into the unresolved matters that still hung heavy between you. In this small, stolen moment, it was only the two of you, lost in the aftermath of passion.  

You two were held together by something far deeper than the words you could never quite say.  

As he slowly withdrew from you, the heat of him still lingering inside, you felt the absence keenly—the slow, sticky glide of his cock slipping free, slick with the evidence of your union. His release, warm and thick, trailed down your thighs in lazy rivulets, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you had just shared. But even as your body still hummed with the aftershocks, there was a heaviness in your chest that clashed with the physical satisfaction. 

He gently tilted your chin, his fingers warm yet commanding, urging you to meet his gaze. And when you did, you saw it again—the familiar mask sliding effortlessly back into place. 

The trickster’s grin. 

“Well, I suppose I must whisk you away to my ship tonight, darling,” he teased, voice playful, yet it didn’t quite reach the depths of his eyes. Leaning down, he kissed you lightly, a fleeting brush of lips, more teasing than tender. “You will warm my bed tonight, right, darling?” 

Your head swam, still fogged from the orgasm that left your knees weak, the faint haze of alcohol mixing with the ache of something unsaid. His words were playful, light, but they didn’t settle right in your heart. They rang hollow, echoing against the unspoken truth between you. You opened your mouth, ready to ask the question that ate away at your heart. 

How much longer must we play this act, Alastor? 

The words formed, heavy and desperate, but they never made it past your lips. Instead, something else took over. The familiar script. The comfort of pretending. You rose onto your toes, closing the space between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that tasted too sweet for the bitterness welling inside. It was soft, tender, and yet... it was a kiss laced with unshed tears, a quiet plea neither of you would ever voice. 

And as his arms wrapped around you, as his lips moved against yours with practised ease, you felt it—how easy it was for both of you to slip back into your roles. To hide behind the costumes, the masks. His touch was warm, grounding, but the distance between your hearts felt greater than ever. 

It seemed you and he still weren’t ready to shed the costumes after all. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[zeyris-daydreams]

Imagine being chosen to become Mydei's wife. And it's not any ordinary thing either, as a chrysos heir he has lots of responsibilities on his plate, and so to help with that, the community tries to give back to the heroes.

Many people feel differently about chrysos heir and their influence over Amphoreus, but the facts remain undeniable; chrysos heir is necessary. And so, to show any gratitude, the community prepares a celebration.

You are dressed in their most flowy clothes as you stand near other brides, ready to be wed, and the nervousness eats at you like an eagle eating a titans liver. The women picked the best women for the heir, and you were dragged out of the comfort of your home to be here—and while it's not a general occurrence to have to take such mistreatment, it's not that general population is special like the heir is, either.

You've heard lots about Mydei, of his nature. They call him cruel.

The only kindness you've been given was one of the women informing you who you would be wed to. And you'd rather not know. Why not Aglaea? Why not Phainon?

The two young men entered the hall while bantering over something, and you had assumed they knew about all of this. Why would you be here otherwise? You clenched the white gowns in your hands as they looked over, you should feel honoured. And you should feel happy to be here.

Yet the bitterness in your chest was unmistakeable.

The ceremony was swift, merely a formality, before Mydei took you home. And you've long realised the tales weren't as true as they sounded. Mydei, once you arrived to his home, left you to your own devices.

And maybe you shouldn't be offended to be abandoned on your wedding night, and, well, all the nights that followed. But Mydei wasn't a bad person.

Something must've been wrong with you.

The part which brought you close wasn't a cliche of treating his wounds, or comforting him when he came home. It was when his exhausted self entered the kitchen after a long day of responsibilities, only to find you leaned over the counter, whisking something in a bowl. The flour was spread around, and the movements of your arm were hasty. You didn't notice him, you didn't look at him at all.

And Mydei didn't know how to feel about this, either. A sense of anger born from a strange feeling of affection, and he left the room before you could've realised.

—

The situation between you and Mydei escalated. It was all in his long gazes and off hand comments that to most would be dismissed as sarcasm.

But not you.

It was all in his little mannerisms and intricacies, and you found he was not only shy, but quite shielded as well. And if it wasn't for you taking all the steps forward, he'd linger in the background—but you were his wife.

Slowly but surely you took off his armour, one that he insisted on wearing even at home, exposing his emotional vulnerabilities as time passed on. Mydei allowed you to be close; never too close.

"You can't be serious" a scoff came from your lips, and he really did it this time. He knew it. But exposing himself to danger was something inevitable for a chrysos heir.

He knew he could die. That would hurt you.

"you can't behave recklessly like this!" You threw the rag on his bare chest, looking up at him from your stance. His body and height no longer intimidated you.

Mydei frowned. "I'm a chrysos heir, don't you know that's what I'm meant to be doing?"

"Not at the expense of your health—" you snapped sharply, and his eyes narrowed at you. "I am your wife, and-"

His hand grasped your jaw, and he leaned that much closer to meet your height, his nose nearly poking yours.

"You're my wife, not my commander, nor my doctor.

So act like it."

[obito-in-disguise]

| Arguments with the jjk men |

Featuring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Toji.

Satoru Gojo

Arguments with the blindfolded idiot were rare. Satoru's personality may be annoying to others, but it never to you, until now.

"Is everything just a joke to you?" You stood in front of Satoru seething, you hadn't intended for an argument but it was inevitable at this point.

You couldn't really remember what started the fight but it had led you to the subject of how Satoru never seemed to take your feelings seriously.

When it first started happening, you'd play along with his dismissive attitude and even crack a little joke with him but it got old real quick. Now it was no longer funny to you, it was frustrating, you didn't want to joke around all the time, some things required a level of seriousness.

"You know I'm taking this serious sweets but you're just too adorable when you're mad" he grins leaning back in his chair, using his feet to push it off the ground and back.

You nearly saw red, his dismissive attitude brought out a rage in you like never before. You weren't thinking straight, all you wanted to do was hurt him, wipe that stupid smile off his face if you will, and so the next words flew out of your mouth without caution.

"You always do shit like this, you brush everything and everyone off. You did it to Suguru when he needed you the most". The second you finished the sentence, you felt instant regret.

Satoru had confided in you months after Geto's defection, telling you how he felt his neglectful attitude may have contributed to his best friend's mental breakdown, you comforted him and insisted it wasn't his fault only for you to turn around and use it against him in an argument.

Satoru was motionless, for once. You couldn't tell what his was thinking, his eyes were hidden by his glasses and his mouth set in a firm line.

It worked, the silly grin was gone but at what cost? His silence only stoked the flames of your guilt, it was so uncharacteristic of him to be this silent.

"I'm sor-" he cuts you off as he abruptly turns around and leaves the room. The front door slams indicating he's left the house. You wince collapsing onto the couch, perhaps you should chase after him but you decide to let him be incase he decides to hollow purple you (jk jk).

You don't even realize you've fallen asleep until you jerk awake at the sound of the front door closing and opening. You sit up abruptly hoping its satoru. It is.

He walks into the room with a box in his hand, you stare in confusion as he walks towards you and holds the box out in front of your face, that serious expression on his face the whole time. You warily take it and open it, you stare in shock as you find it's a box of chocolate. "Satoru-"

"I'm sorry" he says sitting on the couch, you're about to protest when he cuts you off.

"I know I don't take these things seriously and I joke about them, but that's only because...." he stares ahead blankly, his striking blue eyes staring ahead "that's only because I hate the idea of us fighting, so i brush it off hoping you'll forget about it" he looks up at the cieling, his snowy locks falling back with the movement.

"but I know now from experience that that isnt the answer, so I'm sorry" he finishes his statement still not looking at you, his voice was tinged with bitterness, the memories of Suguru flooding his mind, he did not want a repeat.

You stare in silence watching as he shuffles closer, pulling you into a hug. You embrace him back as you sniffle.

"Don't think I've forgotten about your little comment, you'll just have to make it up to me later" he returns back to his playful demeanor, if he was offended he's decided to let it go and you're grateful for that, grateful this argument is over.

Suguru Geto

Arguments with Suguru were as common as breathing in air, the only thing is they were never serious.

You could barely even call them arguments, they mostly consisted of intellectual banters and small disagreements here and there. This time however, was different.

It was a few days after the fight with Toji and something was terribly off with him. He was never talkative but even this was too quiet for Suguru, the dark circles around his eyes and skinny figure only added to your worries.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong that's what I'm here for" "just leave Y/N, we'll talk later" he couldn't even be bothered to look at you as he lays in his bed curled up, his back facing you.

You stand over the bed, his words repeating themselves in your head and stabbing at your resolve but you push your hurt away and decide to press further. "Is this about amanai?...Sugu that wasn't your fault-"

"I said leave!" You flinched blinking in surprise, Suguru had never raised his voice at you before, no matter how heated things got. You turn around and immediately leave, not wanting him to see how you were about to burst into tears. Screw this, screw him.

Giggles and squeals can be heard as Suguru stands at the door to your apartment building, he was on his way to your flat to apologize for his previous actions before he encountered a family sitting on the benches outside playing with their kids.

A reoccurring thought had been turning Suguru's world upside down for the past few days, were the people he put his life on the line to protect even worth it?

His tired eyes watch as the parents lovingly interacted with their children, why couldn't they extend this same love to others? Was it just selfishly limited to their own? He grits his teeth as he forces himself to tear his eyes away from the scene.

He enters the building, making his way up to your flat. A few of your neighbors recognize him and greet him, Suguru ignores them. He's jaded at this point and wants little as possible to do with people, yet he finds himself knocking at your door waiting earnestly for you to open it.

The door swings open after a few seconds revealing your neutral expression, if you were excited to see him, you sure didn't show it. "May I come in Y/N?"

You step aside wordlessly, letting him in.

He turns to you as he hands come to rest on your shoulders softly, "I'm sorry, I know you were just looking out for me and I shouldn't have raised my voice. Will you forgive me?" He asks mustering up a smile as beat as he could.

You stare at him warily as he gives his signature closed eye smile, there's something wrong with it, it seems so soulless, so empty.

None of it feels natural as he pulls you in after you nod, hugging you. It all seemed so fake, his smile, his apology, his touch. You sigh deciding you must be reading too much into it, he came here and he apologized after all didn't he?

Suguru watches as you hug him back in resignation, he watches as you push aside your doubts and begin to talk about your day, a small smile making its way unto your face.

Good, he wanted you to remember him like this, as your Suguru. He watches you as you continues to speak, happy that at least in this moment, he could shield you from who he was about to become.

Nanami Kento.

For as long as you can remember, you never argued with Kento, he was just that guy. Whatever disagreements that rose up were swiftly dealt with and put away by Nanami, in a way that made you feel heard and reassured.

He was protective but tried his best not to suffocate you. Being a jujutsu sorcerer, he knew the dangers that lurk and around and would absolutely not be able to forgive himself if you got hurt.

Today was one of those days you got home late from work. The clock read 8pm, three hours since you were supposed to be home and kento was worried sick.

He had sent you several texts and tried to call but he recieved nothing back in return. He was in the process of putting on his shoes to head to your workplace when you suddenly barged into the apartment, giggling as you waved to the person who dropped you off.

Kento stood in the half motion of tying his shoes as he watches you laugh and giggle while he's been worried sick for the past three hours. You shut the door and nearly pass away from fright when you see your husband standing like a statue staring at you.

"Christ ken! What are you doing"

"what am I doing? I could ask you the same thing"

you frowned at his clipped tone, attitude much? "What do you mean?" He sighs rubbing his forehead and shutting his eyes, his attempt at suppressing his frustration.

"Why didn't you at least text me to let me know you would be coming back home late?"

"I don't have to tell you everything all the time"

Nanami's eyes snap open as he watches you in disbelief, what the hell kind of response like that? If this was anybody else, he would've put them in their place without even hesitating, but you were his wife and he was going to deal with this calmly, at least he would try.

"What?" You shrug as you fold your arms defensively

"I just went out with some friends after work, it's not like i went to a night club"

"The issue is not you going out love, the problem is that you didn't tell me"

"oh my gosh ken, can we not do this right now? I'm exhausted"

"I know but-"

" you don't have to be so uptight all the time" you joke but your words hit nanami's heart like an arrow. Everyone around him always called him uptight and bossy, it upset him but he didn't care because he knew the one person he cares about doesn't see him that way, and knows he just hated to see people get hurt, or at least he did.

His heart twists at the cruel words but his expression remains perfectly neutral "you don't think do you?"

Now it was your turn to gawk. "What if something had happened to you while you were out? How would I get to you? How would I even know something was wrong?"

With each word, he takes a step toward you, his voice rising a little. "You think this about some petty jealousy or about being controlling? The world is dangerous, you could've been attacked by a curse. Then what? Would you still prefer me to be lax? Think for once" Nanami is about to say more when he sees the tears gather in your eyes.

Now he feels like a jerk, did you have it coming? Absolutely. Did he have to be mean about it? No.

He sighs as he reaches out to cradle your cheek "don't do that, don't cry please"

"I'm sorry ken, I just-" he pulls you into his chest letting you cry, his hand cradling the back of your head and the other patting your back.

He shushes you wincing internally at the sound of your sobs. Was he really that mean? "Sweetheart I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry", he continues to soothe you and sighs in relief when you crying subsides.

"I was just stressed with work ken, I'm sorry I took it out on you"

"I'm sorry, I raised my voice as well, I was just frustrated" he runs his fingers through your hair. "Promise me you'll always tell me where you are? I just need to be able to keep you safe"

"I promise"

"Good" He reaches out and pinches your snotty nose, laughing at your attempts to swat him away, happy at the reconciliation.

Fushiguro Toji

Toji was somewhat of a grade A asshole, somewhat because he absolutely tried his best not to be when he was around you, you actually meant something to him.

He returned from his latest assignment which was a bust, he failed to kill his target which left him with no pay, which in turn meant he had to scrap by for the rest of the month.

You generously let him stay in your apartment whenever he wanted and told him he could lean on you whenever he was in financial problems.

Don't get me wrong, he absolutely appreciated the gesture but felt slightly emasculated. He wanted to be the one to take care of you not the other way round. The whole situation put him in a sour mood, which meant he had to stay away from you so as not to lash out accidentally.

You noticed Toji had been avoiding you all evening, he didn't give you his usual kiss whenever he returned from work, neither did he answer your questions.

It didn't have to be said, you knew he was having one of those bad days again where he avoids you and doesn't accept any hospitality you offered him, still you wanted to make sure he was ok.

"Toji?" You called out softly from the doorway as he sat on the living room couch watching TV, he grunts in response not even looking at you.

"You know, you don't have to push me away. I completely understand what you're going through. None of what might've happened makes you less of a man or even less of a father like you always think!"

His eyes widen slightly

"I just want you to know, I understand and I'm always here for you" you finish your little speech, smiling sweetly at him.

For the first time that evening his cold eyes lock unto yours "what the fuck do you think you know?"

Your jaw nearly drops to the floor as you gape at him.

He gets up, his face twisted into a scowl. "What the fuck could you possibly know about my parenting or my kids? Because I crash on your couch you're suddenly an expert on my life?"

He laughs coldly as he taps on your forehead with his pointer finger "you don't know a thing doll" and with that the cruelty in his speech and demeanor is gone, now he's smiling at you as if he didn't just humiliate you.

You clench your jaw, embarrassment and anger flooding your veins "get out" you point to the door shakily, tears running down for face as you desperately wipe them away.

Toji sighs as he watches you cry, wincing as you sob. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it just slipped out, I didn't mean it" he apologizes as he cautiously inches closer towards you.

"Get out" you repeat, less firm this time as your voice shakes from crying. He embraces you, wiping at your tears.

"I'm sorry angel, I-" he sighs shushing you as you cry harder "I had a rough day, that's why I didn't want to be around you so i don't dumb shit like this" "shhh I'm sorry".

You eventually calm down, this wasn't the first time Toji jas lashed out but this was definitely the cruelest.

"Why do you always have to say mean things"

"I'm sorry doll, I didn't mean any of it"

The rest of the night is spent being pampered by Toji as he makes up for his behaviour.

Its 1am where I live and I'm literally about to fall asleep but nevertheless! Here are some more jjk scenarios, this time with Toji! Ya'll I had no idea how exhausting it can be to write for multiple characters 😭 it think I'll just stick to these four for now(forever).

And yes, I made the reader the instigator in some of the scenarios, whatchu gonna do about it >:)

Feel free to check out my other Jujutsu Kaisen fics and more stories!

[2crtz]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ A SLIPPED APOLOGY .

CHARACTERS: wriothesley x f!readers

WARNINGS: fluff. fighting. apologies and everything sweet. sigewinne being cute. friends to lovers. childhood friends.   SYNOPSIS: an invitation to a ball hosted by lady furina came to your doorstep, taking it as an opportunity to drag wriothesley along with you find him a wife, but he did not enjoy that idea whatsoever.

WORD COUNT: 1.938 A/N: can you guys tell i'm obsessed with a particular troupe? you'll understand at the end of the post ;)

Having a friend who constantly refuses join in activities with you was beyond annoying. He'd been like this since youth, and his unwavering habits were adding up onto your everlasting list of problems with Wriothesley.

When an invitation was sent to your family home, without another though, you began your trek to the Fortress of Meropide. Each step laced with determination, your mind set on convincing your ever-stubborn friend to join you in whatever the letter contained.

Pushing open the door, there he sat. Your graying friend leisurely sipping on his tea, surprised by your sudden appearance.

"Ah, and what pleasure do I own?" setting his porcelain cup, a familiar, teasing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. As taunting as it is, you found it quite endearing he continued to play childish games with you.

Tossing the wax-sealed envelope onto his desk, his eyes flicker towards it. The seal was unmistakable, a hue of blue so infamous it could only belong to one unique character.

"You got a letter from the Archon. So what?" he dismissed the importance of the letter as he lazily laid back into his seat. The way he went about it so casually left you wondering that the Archon was a frequent sender of his.

"Open it, Wrio." you crossed your arms over you chest.

The seal was already broken, its contents not a surprise to you. As you prepared yourself for an inevitable rejection, your gaze was sharp, studying his every movement.

Wriothesley exhaled a weary sigh before retrieving the letter. As he skimmed through the words, inspecting each part with precision, he could only laugh before discarding it.

"If you honestly believe I would go to a ball, of all places, you are sorely mistaken." his tone laced with dry amusement.

"Wriothesley," you began, your voice softening, holding a weight it lacked when you first arrived. "It is time for you to enter a new chapter in your life."

Your friend could not help himself but to roll his eyes. "And you think the Fortress of Meropide will be beneficial for both me and my "wife". What a joke."

A losing fight you have declared. Yet, that did not stop you from trying. Watching Wriothesley go on his days in solidarity, surrounding himself with the steel walls of the prison was a lonely sight.

"It's because I care for you." you replied, holding up your ground, unwilling to raise the white flag.

"Then stop caring." he retorted sharply. "All you ever do it point out my flaws that I do not care for fixing."

You scoffed, not understanding why he won't listen to you. "You cannot just spend the rest of your life in solitude, refusing to open up for someone."

Wriothesley rose from his seat, palms slamming hard onto his desk with such force his paperwork and books shifted, his tea nearly spilling over. "For gods sake, stop pestering me with these fairytales you refuse to let go of!"

His shouting caused you to flinch, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Just because you were raised in a wealthy family and had everything handed to you on a silver platter does not mean you can bother me." he spat, words sharp with bitterness.

Watching him grow angry at you was entirely unfamiliar to you. Your tongue begged to retort, however you were incapable of producing sound. You were left speechless, caught in his wind of fury.

Without missing a beat, you quickly left his office and back onto the surface.

Why was it that every time you tried to be helpful, push him towards being a better person, he always brushed it off? How can he just accept the fact that he will end up alone, locked away in the Fortress of Meropide?

The questions remained in your mind, forever being unanswered.

────

Wriothesley hadn't intended to shout at you, but your never-ending questions had worn him thin. He did not understand why you wouldn't stop bothering him about finding love, why it mattered so much to you?

He never asked you to carry that burden of constantly worrying about him.

"Fuck," he sighed, reclining back into his seat, hands rubbing his face. He understands that you only care about him, but damn, it really annoyed him. The frequent concern, the never-ending push to change.

"I should probably apologize," he spoke to himself, voice muffling in his hands.

────

The night of the ball arrived, but you still felt the lingering aftershocks of your fight with Wriothesley. Days have passed since you've last seen him, and the ache in your heart only deepened.

On the days you didn't meet with him, he exchanged letters with you, brief summaries of his day, keeping you informed with changes within the prison. Yet, none have been sent, a silent reminder that you went too far in your pushing.

The words slipped from your tongue quietly, an admission that weighed you down. "I need to apologize to Wriothesley."

You knew you had to make things right between you, but the thought of facing him after scaring you off, shattering the walls he kept restrained for a long time, filled you with anxiety.

What if he didn't accept your apology?

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you looked down onto the delicate jewelry in your hand, ready to be put on. A symbol of what Wriothesley had said, his voice echoing in your mind, that everything had been handed to you on a silver platter.

Ashamed, you placed the piece of jewelry into it's container, closing it with a quiet snap. With one final glance on your dress and jewelry, you had to fix this, no matter how difficult it will be.

Without hesitation, you felt your feet move.

────

Wriothesley adjusted the cuffs of his sleeve, positioning them nicely around his wrist. He didn't know why he is going to the ball-- no, he knows why. It is to apologize to you after days of deciding.

Perhaps seeing him there will prove to you that he does listen to you, that he understand why you push him towards greatness. It was his way of showing you that, despite his stubborn head, he was trying to bridge the gap between you and him.

Maybe, for a slight moment, you would catch a glimpse of the Wriothesley you had always believed was hidden beneath the surface. One who was listening, one who cared.

In truth, Wriothesley was doing this because he missed you more than he'd ever admit. It was torture not speaking to you, not writing to you, not being near your presence. He needed you to survive, act as his anchor-- as dramatic as that sounds.

If he didn't care, he wouldn't go through such lengths for a ordinary person, but for you, he'd walk on Natlan's lava barefoot just to protect the soles of your feet.

────

You ran up the steps, heart pounding in your chest, each step echoing your urgency. You pushed the heavy doors leading in Wriothesley's office, calling his name.

But as the door swung open, the room before you deprived of his presences. The air hung thick with his absence.

"Are you looking for Wriothesley?" a soft, child-like voice came from behind you, standing in the doorway. Sigewinne gaze fixed on you, a hint of concern in her eyes. She could see the look etched in your face, one that she noted down as disappointment.

Nodding you head slowly. "Yes." it was clear you were upset about missing your friend.

"He just left to the surface, something about attending an event." Sigewinne's hand rubbed her face as she tried to recall where exactly Wriothesley's had gone.

Your eyes widened as she ended her sentence. "The ball?!" you exclaimed.

Sigewinne, with a sudden snap of her fingers, nodded. "Yes! It's strange. He does not usually attend in those gatherings," she spoke softly, pondering the unusual turn of events.

Without a second thought, you hurriedly made your way home, slipping on your dress and jewelry. The realization struck you in awe. He truly was at the ball, and it was for you! Never, in your decade and a half of your friendship, had you ever imagined seeing Wriothesley grace such an event.

────

Wriothesley was well aware why he'd always avoided events. It was nothing but a dating pool for unmarried men and women. The sight was sickly, almost nauseating-- though, perhaps, that sour feeling was from the alcohol.

His eyes scoured through the sea of people, scanning each face in the crowds, his gaze sharp and attentive. Yet, despite his search, his efforts were met with failure. He could not find you.

Perhaps you were engaged in conversations with men, and the thought caused his blood to boil. The mere image of other suitors admiring you, swoon you with their words, might ignite the room from the flames of his fury.

As he seized another glass of alcohol from the tray of a passing servant, the murmurs around him grew louder, the guests' attention drawn to the top of the grand staircase.

There, fitted in the most beautiful gown, was you. Standing over the people as if you were their goddess, answering the silent prayers around you. Wriothesley set his glass down, eyes locked on your being descending the staircase, each step capturing his heart.

Wriothesley watched as your eyes scanned the crowd, searching through the sea of guests as if you were looking for something-- or perhaps, someone.

The moment your gaze met his, you made your way towards him in purposeful strides, your eyes locked onto his sea of blue, your voice tinged with both frustration and relief. "I ran around the world searching for you."

A humorous smile threatening to appear on Wriothesley's lips when you spoke. "Really?" his voice laced with amusement.

"My world consists of the Fortress of Meropide, so yes, really." you replied.

Once noticing the determined look in your eyes, Wriothesley gaze softened, a rare vulnerability flickering in his expression. "I came to apologize," he confessed, voice laced with sincerity. "To show you that your words hold meaning, and that they haven't fallen on deaf ears."

"I also apologize for constantly forcing you in a position you clearly have no interest in," it was difficult maintaining eye contact with him, shame swelling within you. "I miss you, Wriothesley." you whispered, words hanging between you both.

Not caring for the eyes of others, he gently cupped your face in his hands, tenderly and reassuringly. "I've missed you too," he murmured, his voice low and filled with sincerity.

"Wriothesley--"

"Marry me."

His words hit you like a thunderclap, leaving you stunned momentarily. Your eyes widened, unable to grasp on his unexpected proposal.

"What?" you could not mask your surprise.

"I cannot imagine myself marrying anyone else," he confessed, his tone steady. "All the times you asked me about marriage, only you comes to mind. The thought of you entertaining other men stirs something in me, a jealousy that consumes me whole."

Not understanding the grasps of his words, your knees buckled beneath you, threatening to give out as the rush of emotions overwhelmed your senses.

"I should have never raised my voice at you, and I intent on making it up to you, now and for as long as I live." his hands never leaving your face. "So please, do me the highest honor and marry me."

Without a second thought, you nodded eagerly, the words tumbling from your lips with no effort.

"Yes--" you breathed, heart pounding. "Yes, of course, Wrio."

do not edit, modify, or republish.

[allthesethingswillendsoon]

Long, long time

CHAPTER FOUR: Pride Parades and Christmas Dinners

SUMMARY: Paige and Azzi learn about gay people, in severely different situations. Gay marriage is legalized in Virginia, and the girls think about what that means to them. Teenage girls can be absolute bitches, especially the rich ones.

NOTE: This one was meant to have more scenes but as I was writing them I realised that it was going to be like way longer if I did that. So the stuff from that bit will be the next chapter, and then the chapter after that the other stuff I was going to do in this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy this one, feel free to give me feedback as I'm the only one editing my stuff so I might be leaving plotholes and grammar mistakes in. Again, thanks so much for the support :)

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Warnings: Mentions of parent leaving, angst, homophobia, homophobic slurs 6.9k words (lol) Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

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10th of JUNE, 2007

EDINA, MINNESOTA

Paige Bueckers was five years old when she first learnt about gay people.

She had been driving somewhere unremarkable with her mom and dad. She sat in the backseat, watching the familiar Minnesota scenery speed by in a blur. The radio played softly, the sound muffled by the rush of air coming through the open windows. It was a rare thing, the summer heat. Paige had only experienced it for a few weeks a year for most of her life. She had decided she liked the way the sun felt as its’ rays blared down on her face, even if it left her skin pink and tender afterwards. 

Because of the sunshine, and the fact that it was so rare, nearly ninety-percent of the Minnesota population was outside, some hosting barbecues and pool days. Others were simply lying in the sun as they appreciated the rare chance to catch some vitamin D in temperatures above forty degrees fahrenheit. 

Finally, after what could have been hours or mere minutes in the car, the little family had reached their destination, The memory of where and when would be lost to Paige in the years to come. The day had been unbearably mundane, and up until leaving the car, it appeared that it was going to stay that way; that was until their family (in particular her mom) spotted a massive gathering of people.

Looking at the group was like looking at a rainbow. They had fun, upbeat music blasting all throughout the street. It was so loud that Paige’s little body had shook slightly at a particularly strong bass note.

“What’s that?” She had questioned good-naturedly, pointing at the large group

“It’s disgusting is what it is!” Amy hissed back, before she stormed off to the edge of the footpath beside them.

Bob had held Paige to his chest as they both watched Amy spill a slew of hateful comments at the joyful group of people.

“You’re all going to Hell! All you fags and dykes are!”

A young dark man turned towards her, his body shimmering, skin glittering gold under the sun. With his middle finger raised he yelled back, half-laughing,  “Well I guess we’ll see you there, you crazy bitch!”

Her mom went silent then, before she huffed indignantly and power-walked off in the direction of wherever it was they had been going.

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The moment lingered in the back of Paige’s mind as the day passed, the more she thought about it the more she wanted to throw up. 

Even as she laid in bed, waiting for her dad to come in and tuck her into bed, her mind was replaying the moment like a broken record player scratching its way through the same portion of a song, again and again.

She thought back to the words her mom had used. She had never heard words like those before.

“Fags.”

“Dykes.”

In the dark of her room she whispered the phrases. Simply feeling them leave her mouth was unpleasant, they were heavy, and they tasted sour. Despite the bitter taste that lingered in her mouth, seeping into her taste buds, she kept on going, repeating them over and over and over.

They left a weird feeling in her chest, and she could feel her face twisting and contorting at the tart sensation of saying the words out loud.

She thought of the way her mom had looked, on the side of the road. She had been red all over, a vein popping out of her neck with the force with which she’d said the words. 

It was disgusting. 

Paige, in her very few years of living, had never seen her mom like that. Not when she found out that Paige had made a sharpie masterpiece on the living room walls. Not when she had walked in on Paige cutting her long blonde hair off in choppy chunks with the kitchen scissors. Not when Paige had fed her uncle’s dog chocolate, because “He deserves to try some!”. Even in her worst moments she had never ever seen Amy Bueckers that angry. 

It didn’t make any sense to her, the whole scene had been so beautiful, the group of people glowing red and blue and yellow and every shade in between. Big pieces of fabric had been hoisted up into the sky. The sun had shined down on them like a spotlight, illuminating the beauty of the moment.

So why had her mom gotten so angry? Why had she used those words? What did they mean?

Amidst her pondering, her dad walked into her room. He stopped mid-step and stared at her. 

Paige hadn’t realised that as she lost herself in her thoughts, the words had kept flowing out of her, her mouth had gone numb to the venom that came with saying the names. He continued to stare at her for a minute, he watched as she noticed him and slipped out of her trance. Finally, the words stopped falling out of her mouth.

She turned to look at him and smiled, all milky little teeth and youthful innocence. Hearing those words come from someone so beautiful and young was vile. But hearing it from the mouth of his daughter made bile rise in his throat as his heart dropped to his stomach. It was wrong, all wrong.

Bob realised then that he had a choice to make. He had learnt over the years that he couldn’t control Amy’s questionable politics, something he had chosen to overlook for the sake of love. Yet, the thought had never occurred to him that one day Amy’s beliefs would impact Paige. 

He turned, ducking his head into the hall to check that Amy was still in her spot on the couch, watching whatever lifestyle garbage was playing on the TV. He closed the door softly and came to sit on the edge of Paige’s bed.

“Honey, I need you to know something.” He said it with soft seriousness, piquing Paige’s interest  immediately

“What?” She questioned, big blue eyes staring up at him intently.

“Those words you were saying before, do you know what they mean?”

“No, I just know them ‘cause that’s what mom was saying.”

Bob felt a stab of guilt. That’s exactly what every parent never wants to hear, that their five-year-old was repeating slurs in their bedroom because ‘that’s what mom was saying’.

“Well I need you to know that they are very bad, mean words. And I want you to promise me that you will never, ever use them, okay?” He was looking at her like what he was saying was important, and even though she didn’t really understand, she knew that it really mattered to him.

“Okay. But why dad?” Paige had always been one to question authority, a habit that Bob and Amy had worked tirelessly to decrease. But as she asked her voice was filled with nothing but genuine curiosity.

“Well… you know those people we saw today?” He said slowly, trying to figure out the right way to explain to someone so young.

“The ones mom yelled at? With the pretty rainbows?”

It killed him, it really did, it was the last kind of conversation that he wanted to have with her. He should’ve been tucking her into bed, reading her a bedtime story about magical adventures with swords and castles and happy endings. Not reminiscing on the pride parade that her mom had quite literally rained on.

“Yeah, those ones. They were celebrating this thing called ‘Pride month’, which is for gay people.” As Bob spoke Paige nodded along, taking in the information.

“It looked fun.” She smiled. 

“Yeah, it did.” He smiled back.

“So what are gay people?”

“Gay people are boys that like boys and girls that like girls.” Bob explained, trying to put it into the simplest terms he could muster up.

“Hmmm, okay” 

“And I need you to know that they’re just as important as anyone else. Whoever it is that you love doesn’t make you better, or worse than anyone else.” He said the words with conviction, and Paige hummed in understanding. She was the brightest and kindest little girl he had ever met, it was amazing -and slightly disheartening- that a five year old could understand that respecting other people for who they were was basic decency when her own mother couldn’t.

As Paige stared ahead, deep in thought, a moment of silence passed.

“Do you think I’m gay? All my friends are girls.” She asked, brows furrowed as she contemplated. He nearly chuckled at her question. It was so naive, but the good kind. The kind that came from a place of genuine curiosity and wonder, the kind that was endearing and left a warm glow in his chest.

“I can’t tell you if you’re gay or not.”

“Oh.” This seemed to puzzle her. Her dad could tell her what time to go to bed and what she was going to eat for dinner, but not if she was gay? It just didn’t make sense in her little brain.

“But what I can tell you, is that no matter what you are, gay or not, I love you.” His voice wobbled the tiniest bit as he leant down to hug her tight. “I love you to the moon and back, You’re my whole universe Paigey.”

“I love you too Dad” She squealed, squeezing him as close as she could.

“See you in the morning kiddo.” He said as he flicked off the overhead lights and shut the door.

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The best Bob could hope is that Paige forgets the whole day, letting the memories of her Mom’s outburst fall away with the unremarkable detritus that comes with childhood.

But if not, if somehow the memories did stick, and Paige were to look back on the moment in the years to come, he hoped that she would know better than her mom. That she would think back to the radiant group of people and see them with nothing but love. That she would know her mom was wrong in what she had said.

But above all, he hoped that she remembered that he loved her, and he hoped that that could be enough.

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24th of DECEMBER, 2007

RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Just like Paige, Azzi Fudd had also learnt about gay people when she was five years old.

It was Christmas Eve, and the Fudd’s were driving to their Aunt Karly’s house in Richmond. 

The house was beautiful, all red brick walls and white detailings, ivy growing up the sides. In every room there were intricate stained glass windows, and when the light shone through the walls turned a million different colours. There were rooms upon rooms, each with their own color scheme and furniture style. Azzi and her brothers would stay in the room next to her parents, with a triple bunk bed and flowery green wallpaper.

Azzi simply adored the house, but what she adored most was the gardens. 

The house was located on the very outskirts of Richmond, so there was much more land than what was normal for the area. Nearly every inch of the property was covered with grass so green it seemed nearly impossible that it could be real. Trees of every kind -orange, lemon, mango- littered the property. The best bit though, in Azzi’s opinion were the rose bushes, found nearly everywhere, under the windows, around the fence. But the best bit of all was outside the back of the house where the flower garden was. Not only were there roses but hydrangeas and lilies and lavender, all leading up to a little gazebo. 

It was simply magnificent. But it also required  a lot of upkeep, a job that aging Aunt Karly simply wasn’t able to do. So instead Karly had hired a local, recent college graduate to care for the grounds. She had been pleasantly surprised at the young girl’s gardening skills, and even more pleasantly surprised when her daughter, Ruby, had revealed that she was dating their gardener, Peyton.

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After an hour or two they had finally reached the stretch of road that led to the house. Azzi got that same giddy feeling she felt every time they visited, the house felt magical. When she was running around the garden everything was possible, she loved it.

Another moment passed, Azzi’s excitement bubbling in her chest, then, the house finally came into view. It was tall and wide and fenced off, though the gates were never closed, literally and metaphorically.

The house was perfect for hosting the massive, Christmas get-together that was held every year. Generosity was undoubtedly an innate trait of the Fudd family. Not one single member of the family, oldest to youngest, could recall a Christmas that they hadn’t opened their invite to at least five non-Fudds. They would always tell whoever they invited that it was a gift to have them there, that the best part of Christmas was spending time with family both old and new. Most often the people invited had lost their own families to disease, or were far away from home for whatever reason, and they would almost always return for years after that, some even bringing the families they’d built since.

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That year, in light of their new relationship and Peyton’s lack of supportive family, Ruby was bringing Peyton to christmas. Karly had reassured Ruby that Peyton was a lovely girl and everyone would love her, but still Ruby was worried that some of the guests' archaic views would make for an awkward gathering.

She knew she was spiraling, but she couldn’t help but worry that even little Azzi would judge them. 

A few nights before the get-together, on one of their weekly skypes, Ruby had tried to bridge the topic with Azzi.

“So Az, y’know how we invite lots of people to Christmas?” She asked, attempting to start the slightly dreaded conversation.

“Yeah! It’s my favourite bit.” She responded, voice high with excitement. Ruby went to continue before she was cut off by Azzi, “Wait, my favorite is potatoes actually. ”

That caused her to chuckle a little, her little cousin’s youthful sincerity easing her worries, if only for a minute.

“Well… I just wanted to tell you that I’m bringing our gardener, Peyton. She’s my…” As she neared the end of her sentence she lost confidence before trailing off quietly. She went silent for thirty seconds as she stared down at her hands. When she looked back up Azzi was staring at her, waiting patiently for a response. She realised then that she still needed to finish her sentence, “She’s my friend.”

“So she’s the one who makes the garden pretty?” Azzi asked inquisitively.

“Yeah, that’s her.” Ruby responded, her nerves only building from the fact she still hadn’t told Azzi about her.

“She’s really good, I’m so so so excited to meet her!” She grinned wide. Ruby knew how much she loved the gardens, and desperately hoped that Azzi would love Peyton just as much.

As her bedtime grew closer Azzi began to grow sleepy. Finally, after her third yawn she decided to admit defeat and called her dad to tuck her into bed, leaving Katie to talk to Ruby.

Katie and Tim both knew that Ruby was dating Peyton, and Katie could sense Ruby’s palpable anxiety about the whole situation. Jose and Jon weren’t yet old enough to fully understand what it meant to date, but Azzi had just reached the age where she could understand the concept of relationships, and she had become quite obsessed with the novelty of the whole idea.

“You know you can tell her honey, she won’t mind, she’ll probably just want to know when you guys are getting married!” Katie explained with a soft smile.

“I know I don’t have any reason to worry, but I am anyway.” Ruby explained. She had always been close to her aunt, who was just as tough as she was soft.

“It’ll be okay hon, I promise.” The red-haired woman soothed. 

Ruby was still very nervous, but she realised that there was no point worrying about something that hadn’t even happened yet. She also remembered that Azzi was the most loving kid she had ever met, and if anyone was going to be supporting her, it was Azzi.

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 After finally managing to wrangle their three young children out of the car, their family stood knocking at the front door step. They could hear footsteps coming towards them. Ruby opened the door and Azzi flung herself into her, she was tall for her age, but not tall enough to reach past her hips, so she settled for squeezing her legs.

“Nice to see you too Azzi!” Ruby chuckled as she shuffled them inside, Azzi seeming intent on not letting go.

The rest of her family had dispersed to go say hi to everyone else there. When Azzi finally let go she was met with the sight of an unfamiliar face.

“Hi Azzi! I’m Peyton, I’m Ruby’s girlfriend, and I work in the gardens.” Peyton smiled, kneeling to be face to face with the little girl. She was really pretty, she had short blonde hair and bluey-green eyes.

“Hi Peyton!” Azzi grinned back, her breath minty fresh from all the candy canes she’d eaten in the car. 

Before Peyton knew what was happening Azzi was throwing herself into her arms, “So you’re the one who makes the gardens so pretty?”

“Yeah that’s me!” Peyton chuckled.

Azzi pulled away from her before grabbing her hand and dragging her out to the garden.

Ruby had watched the whole scene with a smile, of course Azzi would love her. When Peyton turned around laughing Ruby mouthed an ‘I love you’ to her.

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After a long dinner of ham and mashed potatoes, all the guests had spread out around the house and the garden, some playing cards, others having wine.

Azzi had been playing with her brothers in the garden, well she was trying to. Jon was only a little bit younger than her, and could almost keep up with her. Jose on the other hand? It was safe to say the almost-toddler had a long way to go in terms of fine motor skills - and also just motor skills in general.

Ruby and Peyton were sitting in the gazebo chatting when Peyton decided she wanted more cranberry juice. The second she left Azzi came barrelling over to Ruby and hopped into her lap.

“So… Peyton’s your girlfriend?” The small girl questioned curiously.

“Yeah.” Ruby answered simply.

“That’s cool” Azzi responded, unusually quiet for some reason.

Ruby just hummed in response before Azzi continued with a smile, “You’re lucky, she’s really, really pretty.”

“I’m super lucky, she is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” Ruby really did feel like the luckiest person in the world. She had no idea how she had bagged someone as amazing as Peyton, it was something she was grateful for each and every day.

 Azzi sat in silence with her comment for a minute, then she added, “So are you guys going to get married soon?”

Ruby bit back a laugh, she did exactly what Katie said she was.

“Well… I think it’s a bit too soon for that. But even if we wanted to, we couldn't.” She responded cautiously. If she didn’t answer right Azzi would be off telling everyone that Ruby and Peyton were actually getting married.

The last bit confused Azzi, “What do you mean? Who’s gonna stop you?”

Ruby tried to explain it in a way that made sense to her cousin’s growing empathetic brain, “It’s a rule the government made. Only boys and girls can marry each other. Gay people can’t get married.”

She nodded along, taking in what she was saying, “So you’re both gay?”

“Uh-huh, we’re both lesbians.” 

“And … ‘lebseens’ can’t get married?” 

“Yup.” Azzi’s little eyebrows furrowed at this, why would anyone stop weddings? It was just silly.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Azzi huffed, crossing her arms in outrage.

“I know right!” It was bittersweet to watch someone so little learn of the cruel and hateful ways of the world.

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna make them change the rules. I promise.” She said it with such conviction Ruby imagined Azzi storming up to the White House for a split second.

“Thanks Az, you’re the best.” Ruby said, before pulling Azzi into a cuddle.

“Then, when ‘lebseens’ can get married, you can marry Peyton, and I can be a flower girl!” Azzi squealed, there was nothing she loved like a wedding.

“Sounds perfect! I can’t wait!”

They heard the soft click of the back door closing and turned to see Peyton walking towards them with two wine glasses filled with cranberry juice.

“Peyton! We’re talking about your wedding!” Azzi squealed, waving her arms wildly.

“Oh you are?” Peyton laughed, flashing Ruby a knowing smirk, before sitting down next to the two.

Ruby was too happy to feign offense when Azzi moved from her lap into Peyton’s.

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16th of OCTOBER, 2014

OAKRIDGE, VIRGINIA

Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd were twelve years old when gay marriage was legalized in the state of Virginia.

It had been a happy day. Oakridge was a predominantly blue town, sure there were a few flag-waving, Trump-loving republicans, but for the most part, it had been a happy day across town. Music played from speakers and chalk-rainbows littered the roads. The gas station gave out a free, small slushie with every transaction over thirty dollars. It was a happy day, but a business day nonetheless.

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Azzi often detailed her intricate wedding plans to Paige. It was one of her biggest dreams, to have a beautiful wedding, she was a firm believer that a beautiful wedding led to a beautiful life. 

She had it all figured out, down to the color of the tablecloths and the thank-you gifts. She knew she wanted the ceremony in her Aunt Karly’s garden gazebo, and the reception to be a healthy mix of indoors and outdoors. Her dad would walk her down the aisle to a live orchestral version of ‘Here comes the Bride’. She would wear a silky gown, off the shoulder, hopefully by then her hair would be grown out, her curls long and thick. 

The one thing she wasn’t clear on was if Paige would be her maid of honor. It was weird, there was no one in the world she loved like she loved Paige, she was her best friend, her world, but the thought of Paige being her maid of honor just didn’t sit right with her. That was the one thing she never mentioned when she spoke of her plans, Paige never pushed it, so she never really thought much of it - she decided that maybe it was better that way.

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The legalisation of gay marriage really did prove to her friends and family that Azzi was a ball of sunshine with a heart of gold.  When the news had come on the night before to announce the news she had sat on the couch and cried tears of joy. 

She cried for Peyton and Ruby, for the gay guys down the road, for everyone really.

She didn’t tell anyone, not even Paige, but she cried for herself too, cried because now she knew that no matter what she would be able to have a beautiful wedding, and a beautiful life. Azzi knew she wasn’t a lesbian, she had crushed on many boys in her grade, but she often felt that she could love a girl too, if the right one came along.

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Paige, on the other hand, expected herself to be rather unmoved on the topic. She had always maintained her position on marriage. She had never had the conversation with her dad, but when the topic came up at school she made her opinions known, she would never ever get married. 

The reason behind that massive, blanket statement was quite obvious to anyone who knew about Paige’s parents. Her mom had just packed up and left, ten years of marriage and a kindergartener just left in the dust. Paige had sworn to herself that she would never be in the position her mom put her dad and herself in.

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Even though she knew she would never get married she imagined the horrid situation often;

She’d be twenty-something and finding herself in some big city somewhere, maybe New York. Sat at a bar he’d sit down at the stool next to her and order two drinks, a whiskey and coke for himself and some flowery, syrupy drink for her. He would be tall, maybe six-foot-two, with broad shoulders, a mess of dark brown hair, and a mouth full of perfect white teeth. It wouldn’t matter whether or not they had hit it off, she’d be in his bed that night, letting herself be touched and touched and touched. It didn’t matter whether or not she liked him. That was how it had to be, she knew that.

In the morning she would wake up naked in a mess of white sheets and stumble into the kitchen wearing one of his oversized white button downs. She wouldn’t have had the chance the night before to take in where she was, the apartment would be massive, all glass window walls and marble countertops. And there he’d be, at the stove frying eggs and bacon, his face serious until he’d see her and the harsh lines of his face would give way to a big smile.

They would sit at the table and talk about whatever it was that you were supposed to talk about when you wake up naked in a half-stranger's apartment. It would be around eight-thirty when he would remember that he had a big, important meeting at his big, important job (that his big, important dad definitely didn’t get him). So he would leave her his credit card and a house key before running out the door as he did his tie. 

Then she’d call Azzi, who would be at some prestigious college, learning about something way too complicated for Paige. They would giggle as Paige regaled the night before and Azzi would tell her how lucky she is and that she should really, really pursue a relationship with him, and so she would. Even in this alternate universe where her dreams of building houses with her dad had and her personal integrity had seemingly vanished, she would still hang onto her best friend’s words like they were gospel.

The days would pass into weeks then months then years. She would end the lease on her crappy apartment and move into his. She would meet his family at a business dinner and laugh and charm them while wearing baby pink heels and a dress that Azzi picked out. A few weeks later, on an impromptu trip to Paris (because that was who she was now), he’d get down on one knee and present her with a massive diamond and ask a question she knew there was only one answer to.

They would get married in a beautiful ceremony, his broad shoulders hugged by an expensive Italian suit, and she’d wear a big, puffy white dress because that’s what he liked and she didn’t know what she liked anymore. When her dad walked her down the aisle Paige would cry and so would Bob, he’d give her hand a squeeze and let her go. Azzi would be her maid of honor, she’d wear a light purple dress, because, as she would have reminded her, purple was her favourite colour. 

At the reception Azzi would give a beautiful speech and both her and Paige would cry and cry and cry. When the festivities had come to a close, the best friend’s would hug and Paige would hold on for a second too long and Azzi would let her. She would know it didn’t mean anything though, because when they pulled apart Azzi would join hands with her husband’s best friend and they’d giggle their way down to their room. 

Then, a few months later, it would be Azzi’s turn to get married. Even in that nightmare world, Azzi planned her wedding exactly as it would have been in any universe. She would wear a silky white dress, off the shoulder, her curls grown out below her shoulders. Tim would walk her down the aisle to a live orchestral version of ‘Here comes the bride’ and Paige would choke back tears in a frilly pink dress as she watched. She’d wince as they kissed, try and fail to keep her composure through her maid of honor speech, then go back to her room and throw up.

She would be two handsome boys and a beautiful girl deep when she realised that she was trapped. She’d know that she had two options, either run away and leave them all behind, the house in the hamptons, the bake sales, the party-hosting, or stay and spend the rest of her life miserable, throwing herself into the lives of her kids and the upkeep of their homes. Of course, she’d pick the latter, no matter what. She would never dream of building a home only to leave it in ruins. But it would ruin her, it really would. Azzi would live next door with her husband and their lovely twin girls and their goldendoodle. They would be happy and they would fuck into their seventies and Paige would listen to a wine-drunk eighty-something Azzi ramble about how good their lives had been, how lucky they both were to have married the men of their dreams and live next to their best friend, then Paige would smile along before excusing herself to go scream into her pillow.

It would only be on her deathbed, surrounded by her loved ones, Azzi holding one hand, her husband holding the other, that she would realise the issue was her. Everyone else in the equation was happy, she was dragging herself down. There would be nothing left for her to want, she had it all, yet it just wasn’t enough for her. Just before her last breath she would squeeze her best friend’s hand and whisper a weak “I love you” into the sterile air and hope that Azzi knew it was for her, for her bestest friend - then again, by then it wouldn’t matter anymore.

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To put it simply, marriage was her worst nightmare. When she was stressed she would actually dream of situations similar to that, a whole, horrible life stretched out before her eyes. Usually she’d wake up screaming somewhere between her first kid and her third annual not-for-profit gala. 

She had always been dead-set on not marrying, but on that day, when girls could marry girls, Paige realised that maybe marriage wouldn’t be too bad.

But then she thought better, pushed that thought to the back of her mind, and doubled-down on her anti-marriage agenda.

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18th of DECEMBER, 2014

OAKRIDGE, VIRGINIA

Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd were thirteen years old when they attended the world's worst sleepover.

Shelley McCarthy had invited ten girls over to her house to celebrate her thirteenth birthday. 

She called it a ‘house’ but it was more a mansion than anything else. It was three stories tall, made of sandstone brick and marble, seven beds and baths, and had what was likely the biggest pool in all of America.

Even though winter was just around the corner and there was a bitter chill hanging in the air, Shelley had insisted on swimming and everyone was too scared to disagree with her.

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They were all in Shelley’s room getting changed - all except Azzi who had texted to say that she would be there in twenty minutes.

Paige was in the corner of the room, a comfortable distance away from everyone else. It was crazy to her that a room could be so large that ten girls could fit in together and she wasn’t within a five foot radius of any of them. 

Growing up for such a large part of her life with just her dad meant she often felt awkward when she was surrounded by girls doing girly things. Azzi was different, they could do anything in front of the other and it wouldn’t change a thing, they were best friends forever and always. But Azzi wasn’t there yet, so she was staring at the ground as she shuffled awkwardly into her swimsuit.

When she turned around she stood face to face with Shelley. Paige smiled at her, unsure of what to say. She had no idea why Shelley had invited her, they only spoke because of Azzi, so she had guessed that she was just being nice and making sure she didn’t feel left out.

Shelley did not smile back at her, instead she looked at Paige like she had killed her puppy and shat in her obnoxiously sized pool.

“Like what you see?” Maya sneered from her spot by the window.

Paige didn’t understand what was happening, what was she talking about? “W-what?”

Shelley smirked before taking a step forward, so close Paige could smell her peanut-buttery breath, “She asked, do you like what you see?”

Everything had become weird so fast, as she glanced around the room she noticed all the girls laughing at her.

“Don’t stand so close to her! She’ll probably try to kiss you!” Tiera snickered from somewhere behind them.

“I-I-I don’t want to kiss her!” Paige half-yelled, desperately trying to think of a way to defend herself.

Before anyone could respond the door opened and Azzi came through smiling. Azzi was like sunshine personified, the tension in the room suddenly dispersed. Everyone returned to normal, except for Paige who was stuck in her spot, staring down at the floor trying to make sense of what was happening. 

Azzi had been at the door the whole time, listening in to the girls torture Paige. It made her sick, it really did. She had always thought that Paige might be gay, but she would never ever in a million years push the topic with her. It was possible she was completely off base with her assumption, and it was also very possible that Paige hadn’t even thought of it herself. Most of all though, Azzi knew that if she was, Paige would tell her when she was ready. 

Azzi begrudgingly pulled Shelley into a hug and gave an obligatory ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ squeal before walking to stand in front of Paige. Her eyes were trained on the ground, arms crossed across her chest protectively. 

Azzi brought her hand up and rubbed soft lines on Paige’s arm, “Everything alright?”

Paige smiled back weakly, “Yeah, glad you’re here now.”

“Me too P. Me too.” Azzi gave her arm a quick squeeze before shimmying her clothes off and declaring herself ready to swim.

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Paige made a point of not saying a single word to anyone in the pool - except for Azzi of course. It was easy enough to do considering the fact that every other girl there was ignoring her. To make the situation even worse Paige absolutely hated swimming, and it showed she was a horrid swimmer. Azzi said she had a gift for making treading water look like the hardest thing in the world.

She was glad no one was talking to her, partially because it meant she could fully focus on keeping herself afloat beside Azzi but mostly because she was pretty sure no one had anything nice to say to her anyways.

Luckily they made it all the way through the cake -three layers of vanilla with buttercream and strawberry jam between- and pizza without any incident. Paige was hoping that Azzi being there would be enough to deter any nasty comments, but she had a feeling her presence wouldn’t be enough.

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It turned out Paige was right.

They were sitting in a circle on the massive fluffy rug on Shelley’s floor when someone decided that truth or dare would be a fun idea.

A few rounds had passed before Maya made Paige her target. The second she called out her name the room filled with tension, all but Azzi watching in amusement, seemingly in on some inside joke the other two weren’t.

“Truth or Dare?” The question was charged. It was either pick dare and be forced to kiss someone who’d act like she tried to hook up with them, or she would pick truth and be asked some embarrassing, mean question. 

She went for the lesser of the two evils. “Truth I guess…” 

Everyone was wide-eyed in anticipation. Paige’s breath had suddenly grown shallow and fast, she felt like the room was closing in on her. She turned to look at Azzi hoping for some reassurance, but her best friend looked just as concerned as her. 

“Hmmm, have you ever kissed anyone?” 

It sounded like an innocent question, unlike what Paige had been waiting for so she decided to answer honestly.

“No I haven’t.” That answer would’ve been good enough, the game probably would’ve continued and she would’ve had more time to prepare before she was asked again. But instead of leaving it at that she decided to continue, “I don’t really like any of the boys at our school.”

Laughter broke out amongst the girls at that. Neither Paige nor Azzi had ever heard laughs of that sort. They were high pitched like hyenas and seemed to echo off the tall, stark white walls of the room. Azzi shuffled closer, their arms touching, and for a moment Paige felt like it would all be okay.

Finally once they calmed down, Tiera chimed in, “So you don’t like the boys. What about the girls?”

Now that was the type of question she had been expecting. “I don’t like girls, I’m not a lesbian.” She tried her hardest to sound sure of herself, to get them to back off, but her words came out wobbly and unsure. She could feel Azzi’s eyes on her, watching her as she spoke.

“Sure you’re not…” Shelley said sarcastically as she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not!” She hissed back, this only made the girls laugh harder. A massive lump had formed in her throat, why did this have to happen to her?

“Shut up, you guys aren’t funny.” Azzi had come to her rescue. Of course she had. No one had her back like her best friend. She was so strong, so willing to defend Paige. 

“God chill out Azzi, what are you her girlfriend?” Maya joked.

“Ha! Paige totally likes Azzi, don’t you Paige?” Paige wasn’t even sure who was talking to her anymore. She felt like the room was closing in on her, like she was being squeezed to death, with the way things were going she thought death by wall strangulation might be the best way to go..

“What? No I don’t!” Paige had turned bright red, her face burning hot. She didn’t cry much anymore, but if she did she would be in absolute hysterics at that moment. All she heard when she spoke was another round of raucous giggles and “Yes you do!”s.

“C’mon Paige, I’ll call my dad, he can pick us up” Azzi had risen to her feet and was grabbing onto Paige’s arm trying to pull her up as well. When she finally stood up they both turned to their bags and shoved their stuff inside as quickly as they could.

The whole time a chorus of insults are being thrown at them. Although ‘them’ was really just Paige.

“Yeah, well good fuckin’ riddance anyway!”

“No one even wanted you here in the first place Paige!”

“You only got invited cause my mom feels bad for you!”

“We’re better off anyway without you trying to kiss us!”

Maybe in a normal situation she would have time to think about what they were saying, to let the hurt sink in. But her situation was anything but normal, and she was too busy being upset about all the other stuff to care about what they had to say about her.

The two girls shuffled out of the bedroom down the glossy marble hallways, past the kitchen where Azzi called out with a cordial “Thank you for having us!” before they leant against the massive mailbox at the front of the McCarthy house.

They waited in silence. Azzi thought of consoling Paige but then she thought better. The blonde was radiating something unreadable. Still, Azzi could tell that whatever thoughts were swirling around in Paige’s mind, were not ones she was interested in sharing.

Tim pulled up after five minutes of waiting, Azzi’s text hadn’t told him why they needed to be picked up, just that it was really urgent. He was going to ask them what had happened, but when he saw Paige and Azzi’s look of concern he decided to wait till the morning.

It was only a short, ten minute drive home, but as the three all sat dead silent in the car it felt more like fifty. The whole time Paige had been severely engrossed in her thoughts. When Azzi turned to look at her she thought that the older girl was staring intensely out the window, but in reality she was staring intensely at herself. When they pulled into the Fudd’s driveway Paige did something that surprised both Azzi and Tim, she mumbled a goodbye and a ‘Thank you’ before walking off down the street.

Azzi knew for sure that Paige was really troubled by whatever thoughts she was having, and she had an inkling that it had a lot to do with the things Shelley and her friends had said.

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NOTE: I hope you guys enjoyed this one, the next two might come a little quicker than normal cause I've already got the plot and stuff for them fully mapped out. Like I said before feel free to leave feedback and stuff in my inbox or in my messages.

Thanks again for reading :)