#I've never been anything else and never will be

[ellewritesx]

terms of service

(part two of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: Before he can break you in, he needs to know exactly where you break.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, fingering, oral (f!receiving), use of vibrator, mention of handcuffs, blindfolding, a panic attack, repeated use of safe words, a ton of ''good girl'' (oops), dom!Harry, it just gets kind of intense guys

A/N: i had so much fun writing this and i've got sooo much still in store for the series! i have no idea how this ended up being almost 5k words cause it feels shorter than anything else i've written but yk what i'll take it. let me know if you like this x

Word Count: 4,870

...

The morning after that first night with Harry, you wake up to the shrill buzz of your phone, a new notification lighting up the cracked screen. Bleary-eyed, you swipe it open and freeze. Your stomach drops. You blink once. Twice. But the number doesn't change.

Ten thousand dollars.

Deposited directly into your checking account at six o'clock in the morning. For a moment, all you can do is sit there, fingers trembling slightly where they clutch the device, heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to punch its way free. It feels unreal, like a glitch in the system, like some impossibly generous mistake you should scramble to correct.

Before you can spiral too far, another notification rolls in.

Harry: For your trouble. Don't get any ideas, it won't always be this generous.

You don't know if he's joking.

Still in your pajamas, still half-numb, you stumble over to the kitchen table and open your laptop. In a daze, you pay off two months' rent in advance. Clear the electricity bill that's been relentlessly stacking up with threatening red letters. Kill the last of your credit card debt, the looming, gnawing anxiety that's been a permanent fixture in your life for as long as you can remember. With one click, it all vanishes. Just like that. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You sit back in the wobbly wooden chair and stare at the zeros. No debts to pay off. Rent covered for months. You blink slowly, feeling weightless and heavy all at once.

You should cry. You'd expected you would. But no tears come. Only a heavy, eerie kind of calm. Like you were standing on the edge of something vast and bottomless and have just taken your first step backwards, away from the deep end.

Later that afternoon, your phone pings again.

Harry: Quit the fucking cafe. Waste of time.

You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the screen. It would be so easy. To type out a resignation email, walk out of that dingy little shop with its sticky counters and fluorescent lights that make your head ache, and never look back. To let Harry sweep you up and off your feet and stay at home, maybe pursue a hobby.

But you don't. You type out a short, almost defiant reply. Can't. I like it.

You don't explain that working keeps you tethered to yourself. That hard work isn't just something you do; it's part of who you are. You've never had anything handed to you before. You've worked for every scrap, every small victory, every breath of air above water. Walking away from that would feel too much like walking away from yourself, even if a selfish, aching part of you wants to.

You wonder if your answer will piss him off. You wonder why a wicked little part of you wants it to.

When he doesn't reply, you expect to be iced out. Canceled. Game over before it even begins. It makes your stomach churn in fear. But the next day, after a particularly exhausting shift, a message comes through, curt and demanding:

Harry: Come to mine tonight. 9PM. Need to finalize terms.

His tone is sharp and professional, but something about it makes a subtle anticipation bloom between your legs anyway. You spend an hour picking out an outfit, second-guessing yourself the whole time. In the end, you settle on something simple. Comfortable, but soft. Easy to take off. You tell yourself it's practicality, but the fluttering in your stomach calls you a liar.

You take the bus to his place, cringing at the cost of a ticket until you remember that you've got more than enough money now. Hell, you could've ordered a limousine if you'd liked.

You never visit this part of the city. The people here wear designer sunglasses that cost more than a year's worth of your salary (besides, what's the point of wearing sunglasses when it's nearly pitch-black outside?), peering over them at you like they can sense that you're not like them. That you don't belong here.

When you knock on his door, Harry answers immediately, like he's been standing just behind it, waiting. His lingers in the doorway, broad shoulders framed in a loose black hoodie, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his curls damp like he's just stepped out of the shower. The faint smell of vanilla and mint clings to his skin, warm and heady in the cool night air.

He leans against the doorframe, appraising you silently for a moment with those unreadable green eyes, and something tightens inside your chest. You wonder if he notices the dark circles under your eyes you've tried covering up, exhaustion having clawed its way into your skin, unrelenting. You wonder if he resents it, a reminder that you aren't fully his yet. That you still belong, even a little, to a life outside of what he's trying to build around you.

''Come in,'' he says finally, voice low and gravelly. It's not a request.

You step inside, heart hammering.

"You're late," he says without looking at you, voice dry, turning his back on you and walking back into the apartment like he already knows you'll follow.

Your breath stutters. "Five minutes."

He only shrugs, like it doesn't matter, like you don't matter, and maybe you don't, but something in the way he leaves the door open, wide and waiting, soothes the sting a little. An invitation, even if it's a sharp-edged one.

The apartment smells like expensive cologne and the faintest trace of smoke, like he aired it out but not quite enough. The lighting is low, casting long, moody shadows across the heavy furniture: sleek, cold, and obscenely rich. Dark leather sofas. A steel-and-glass coffee table. No rugs, no paintings, no photos. No personal touches at all. You take a few cautious steps inside, pulse thrumming, letting your eyes roam while he moves into the kitchen.

The place feels like a model home. It's sterile. Hollow. Like a space meant to impress but never to be lived in. There are no family portraits, no framed snapshots of drunken nights with friends, no messy piles of mail or keys on the counters. Just the necessities. Barely even that. You wonder what kind of person chooses to live like this. You wonder if he even notices the loneliness curling in the corners of the room, or if he's too used to it by now to care.

You hear the clink of glass behind you; Harry fixing himself a drink. Something amber and expensive sloshes into a crystal tumbler. Without asking, he pours a second drink, slightly lighter, and sets it down on the counter with a muted tap.

Decided for you, like everything else. You take a small sip. It's good. He knows you better than you think.

When he finally turns back to face you, he's cradling his drink lazily in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants. He cocks his head, surveying you like you're something he's bought and isn't quite sure he's satisfied with yet.

"Clothes off,'' he orders without ceremony, without even offering the barest pretense of conversation or kindness.

You blink, caught off-guard by the bluntness of it, the complete lack of foreplay, not sexual, but social. No small talk. No polite lies to smooth the way. Just a command.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, the blood in your veins boiling unpleasantly with offense. It's not like you didn't know what this was (you agreed to it, after all), but still, something about the way he dismisses any human interaction and social norms you're used to stings a little more than you're prepared for. Like you're less a person, more an object now. A thing he's purchased fair and square, and can use however he sees fit.

For a split second, you hesitate. The frown that flickers across your face is small, barely there, but it flashes quick and instinctive before you can school your features.

And Harry sees it. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, a glint of something unreadable flickering behind the casual facade. He lifts the tumbler to his mouth, sips slowly, never breaking eye contact.

But he doesn't apologize. Doesn't explain himself. Doesn't soften the command. He just lets the silence stretch, heavy and deliberate, until the only thing you can hear is the faint hum of the busy bustling outside and the sound of your own breathing.

Still, something shifts almost imperceptibly in the air between you. Like he's offering you a choice, even if it's silent. Testing you. Waiting to see if you'll push back or fold.

Your fingers reluctantly move to the zipper of your dress, fumbling slightly. The fabric feels heavier than it should, thick and stubborn under your touch. Your cheeks flame with heat as you let it pool around your ankles, the air cool against your bare skin. You don't dare meet his eyes. Your panties come next, sliding down your legs in a slow, humiliating crawl.

You stand there, naked and flushed, heart jackhammering, feeling less like a goddess offered up on a velvet throne and more like a product left bare on a shelf for inspection.

Harry finishes his drink in one long swallow, sets the glass down with a sharp clink. Then he moves, slow, deliberate, until he's standing right in front of you, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Two fingers tilt your chin up until your gaze locks with his.

"Color?" he asks quietly, almost gently, surprising you.

The simple question unravels something in you. You swallow hard. "Green," you whisper, the word catching slightly in your throat.

His mouth curves, not a smile, exactly, but something close. Satisfaction. Approval. Good girl.

You don't know if you're trembling from the cold or from the way he's looking at you like a man starved.

"On the bed," he orders, voice lowering, rougher this time.

You hesitantly walk toward the bed, your nerves buzzing like an electric current, your skin prickling under his watchful gaze. He follows behind at a leisurely pace, his steps deliberate, as though he owns every inch of the space between you two.

When you sit, knees pressed together tightly, a nervous instinct, you can feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. He doesn't say a word, but his stare is almost suffocating, like he's dissecting every tiny twitch of your body. You think you're hiding it, the tension coiling in your gut, the sharp breath you can't quite control, but Harry notices. He always notices.

"Spread."

You hesitate, just for a second, but that's enough. A flicker of amusement passes over his features, the kind that tightens your chest even more. You obey, reluctantly, the cool sheets beneath you feeling too uncomfortable, too foreign, your breath stuttering as you do what he says. He slowly kneels before you, like he's got all the time in the world, his hand casually holding something you hadn't even seen him grab: a slim, black vibrator, sleek and intimidating.

Your stomach flips. You open your mouth, but the words get stuck somewhere between wanting to beg him to stop and wanting to prove yourself.

"We're gonna test your limits," he says simply, his tone darker, more serious now. "Gotta know what you like. What you don't."

You swallow. "I thought we were... going to talk about the arrangement. Finalize the terms?"

He smirks, slow and cruel. "We are, baby. This is part of it."

Your heart races as he rolls the vibrator between his fingers, eyes glinting as he examines you. He's studying your every reaction, every subtle change in your body language.

You shift uncomfortably. Your hands are trembling, but you try to control it. You're not good at this, not good at admitting when you're not okay, not good at showing your hesitance.

The vibrator hums to life with a quiet buzz, low at first. He starts slow, teasing the inside of your thighs, moving closer to your hips, barely brushing against where you need him. Your body clenches, straining towards it instinctively. He watches you, eyes focused, reading every tiny twitch in your expression, every sharp intake of breath, every subtle, desperate movement of your body.

"No lying," he says, voice serious now. "I'll know."

You nod shakily.

His fingers hover near your skin, just enough to make you ache for his touch, but not enough to relieve the pressure building inside you.

"Beg."

"Please," you whisper, barely audible.

"Please, what?"

"Please touch me."

His smile deepens, satisfied, and he presses the vibrator firmly against your clit. Your hips jerk violently at the sensation. You need more, so much more, but it's too much at the same time. Your body can't decide what it wants.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and guttural.

He keeps the vibrations steady at first, gentle pulses that send waves of heat and discomfort through your body, your breath ragged, eyes shut tight. But then he turns it up, gradually increasing the intensity, and you feel like you're losing your mind.

Your body is already sensitive, already overstimulated from a long day at work dealing with insufferable customers, and the more he pushes, the more your thoughts scatter.

When the toy brushes lower, teasing your entrance, your body tightens reflexively. You flinch. You can't help it. The discomfort, the anxiety, it all hits at once.

He immediately pulls back, eyes narrowing as he watches you, still calm, still in control.

Your breath is shallow, your chest rising and falling too quickly, too erratically. You're embarrassed. This is not the reaction he was hoping for. He's watching you, scrutinizing you.

"That's a no, then?" he asks, voice still cool, but there's a hint of something else, a hint of curiosity.

You blink quickly, nodding hesitantly as you try to steady your breathing. Your chest is tight. Your hands are still fisted in the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it's hard.

He clicks the vibrator off, the absence of the buzzing almost as deafening as the silence between you. He moves up the bed toward you, his gaze softening just a little, but the dominance in his posture remains.

"You should tell me when you don't like something," he tells you, voice low, almost like he's lecturing you, but there's no harshness in it. ''It's not my job to guess what you want. You've gotta speak up when things aren't okay."

Your throat tightens. "I didn't want to... disappoint you."

He laughs softly, not unkind but with an edge of exasperation. ''You're not a fucking robot, baby. Don't play me for one. I'm not paying for you to pretend.''

His bluntness cuts through the shame, leaving you raw, exposed.

"Let's continue," he announces, the smirk tugging at his lips. You nod, dazed, unable to think clearly.

He presses his lips to your neck, nipping at the skin with sharp little bites, and you gasp, your whole body reacting to him.

He doesn't give you time to recover before his hand disappears under the bed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. The cold metal glints in the dim light, and your stomach plummets, dread pooling at the pit of your stomach. Your eyes flick to the cuffs, to him, to the way he's watching you, waiting. You don't want to seem weak. But the panic is rising, bubbling just under the surface.

He sees it. That flicker of fear. And to your shock, he tosses the cuffs aside without a second thought.

"No?" he says, arching a brow, the coolness of his voice making your heart beat faster. ''That's alright.''

You don't know whether you're relieved or disappointed. But you're grateful, more than anything, that he noticed. That he cared.

He shifts you, gently but firmly, positioning you on your stomach, ass up. He pins your hands behind your back, his grip firm but not painful, his fingers like iron. You can't move, can't escape, but it doesn't feel like punishment.

"This," he mutters, low and dark with satisfaction, his voice laced with something rough and possessive. "This I know you like."

You can't help the soft whimper that escapes your lips as his body presses against yours, grinding slow and punishing, drawing out each movement. Your mind starts to unravel as he moves over you, your body arching into him automatically, desperate for more.

Harry's hands let go of your hands and stroke slow along your arms, down your sides, grounding you in the bed's soft sheets. His touch is almost tender, but his voice stays steady, purposeful, like he's still holding back, still working toward something darker.

''Wanna try something,'' he mutters, his mouth brushing over your ear. ''Think you can handle that, baby?''

You hesitate, heart jumping a little too fast in your chest. But you nod, eager to please, eager not to disappoint him, even if there's a pit opening up inside your gut.

He notices the slight delay in your answer, a flash of reassurance passing over his face before he pushes up from the bed and retrieves something from one of the drawers in the nighstand beside his bed: a long strip of black silk. Smooth, intimidating.

You tell yourself you're fine. You tell yourself you can handle it.

He straddles your hips, pinning you lightly to the mattress with the weight of his body, and your breath catches when he brings the silk to your face, letting it ghost across your cheeks. He watches you, studying every twitch of discomfort, every tiny tremble of your lips, but when you don't say anything, he smiles, slow and satisfied.

"Good girl," he breathes, tying the blindfold tight around your eyes.

Darkness falls immediately. Your world narrows to the sound of your breathing, too loud in your ears, and the rough scrape of Harry's sweatpants against your bare skin.

You feel his hand trail down your side, but you can't see it coming, can't prepare for the way it jolts through your body, can't anticipate where he'll touch next. The loss of control makes your heart hammer faster, panic starting to simmer under the surface.

It's fine. It's fine.

Except it's not.

You can't see him. You can't read him. You can't breathe.

The air in the room feels too thick, too heavy. Your chest tightens, your hands gripping at the sheets helplessly, your body locking up beneath him. You try to stay quiet, you try not to ruin it, but your breathing gives you away, short, ragged little gasps that stutter out of you uncontrollably. The harder you try to stop it, the worse it gets.

At first, Harry doesn't notice. His hands are moving, teasing, rough and unrelenting, dragging noises out of your mouth you don't even recognize. But when you whimper softly, not in pleasure, but in fear, you feel him freeze above you. His body goes stiff. You realize, even through the roaring of your rapid heartbeat in your ears, that he's gone completely silent.

''Take the blindfold off,'' he commands sharply.

You struggle to move, shakily reaching up, but he swats your hands away and rips it off himself, tossing the silk onto the floor. His face is right there, inches from yours, his brow furrowed, his mouth drawn into a hard line.

''What the fuck do you think you're doing?'' he demands, voice low and cold and furious.

You flinch, shrinking down into the bed, heat flooding your cheeks in shame. You don't know what to say. You don't know how to fix it.

He sees the panic still written all over you, the way your hands are still trembling, the way you're practically vibrating with anxiety. His mouth curves into something crueler, something sharper, the fire of burning frustration clear in his eyes.

He's disappointed. You've responded poorly to nearly everything he's into. You bet he's offended. You bet he regrets picking you.

"You think I'm mad you're uncomfortable?" he growls, voice harsh enough to make your stomach drop, like he knows exactly what you were thinking and he doesn't like it. "I'm not mad you didn't like it. I'm mad you didn't fucking say so."

Your throat closes up, tears stinging behind your eyes, but Harry doesn't let up. He grabs your chin roughly in his hand, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

''You have a mouth. Use it. I'm very fucking strict about my safe words. You hear me?''

You nod quickly, shame burning through you, but it's not enough for him. Not nearly enough. He sits back on his heels, looming over you, voice cool and clinical like he's disciplining a disobedient pet.

"You're gonna sit there and answer me properly," he says, voice sharp enough to cut. "And you're gonna think about what you say. Understand?"

You nod, small and desperate.

"Use your fucking words."

"Yes, Harry."

"Good," he mutters, eyes narrowing.

He leans in a little, his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding. His thumb strokes lazily over your pulse, feeling it race.

"What do you say," he begins, voice low, "if I've got my hand around your throat... just like this... and I'm fucking you slow, deep, making you feel so full you think you're gonna split apart... and it feels good, but my pace is leaving bruises? Hm?"

You blink up at him, breathing shaky. "Yellow." Slow down.

His mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile. "Good girl."

"What do you say if I'm making you suck me off, not letting you breathe, holding your head down, spit and tears dripping off your chin, and it starts feeling like too much at once?"

You shiver, heat flooding through your body at the image, even as shame creeps higher up your throat. "Yellow," you whisper.

"Louder."

"Yellow, Harry."

He nods, satisfied, squeezing your jaw in his hand.

"And what if I decide to cuff you to the bed," he murmurs, "and leave you there for hours. Touch you, tease you, never let you come. What then, hm? What if you realize you fucking hate it?"

Your breath stutters. "Red." Stop.

"Say it like you mean it."

"Red!"

"Good girl."

He shifts closer, his knees spreading your legs wider, his hand sliding dangerously low along your stomach, stopping just before your core.

"What if," he growls, "I'm slapping your clit, making you sob for it, and you're struggling to breathe?"

You flush so hard your vision blurs.

"Yellow," you stammer.

"Good girl," he praises darkly, the words sliding over your skin like a brand. "Now, what if I'm spanking you... so hard you can't tell if you love it or hate it... and you panic? What do you say?"

"Red!"

"And if you want to fucking leave?"

"Red, Harry, red!"

He pulls back finally, still watching you, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

"You don't ever sit there like a dumb little doll and hope I notice," he says, voice cold and cutting. "If you feel it, anything, you say it. If you even think about feeling it, you say it. Got it?"

"Yes, Harry," you breathe.

His hand cups your cheek roughly, thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth until you open obediently for him. His face softens, barely, the smallest flicker of reassurance in his gaze.

"Good girl," he mutters. "That's better."

He doesn't touch you right away, just sits there, watching you through hooded eyes, the heat of his body wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Your chest is still heaving, nerves buzzing just under your skin, but you force yourself to stay still, to breathe. You've earned that tiny nod of approval, the glint of something warmer in his expression. You don't want to lose it now.

"Lie back," he says finally, voice low but not sharp anymore. You obey immediately, heart hammering, limbs trembling a little with the aftershocks of your panic and the brutal interrogation that followed. But he doesn't punish you for it. He doesn't mock you or push. Instead, his hands slide over your thighs, slow and steady, coaxing them apart with a patience that makes your breath hitch.

The first touch of his fingers is almost unbearably gentle, just the barest ghost of contact over your folds, tracing the wetness there like he's reacquainting himself with you. His thumb brushes your clit so lightly you barely feel it, and a broken sound escapes your throat.

"Shh," he murmurs, voice soothing. "We go slow. Yeah?"

You nod, desperate to be good, to show him you can handle it, and he rewards you by pressing a little more firmly, circling your clit in those slow, devastating spirals that make your hips twitch off the bed. His free hand anchors your thigh down, keeping you open, keeping you grounded.

He works you open with maddening care, two fingers sliding in eventually, curling shallowly inside you, his palm keeping constant pressure against your clit. Every movement feels deliberate, measured, for you, not for him. There's none of the bruising pace from before, none of the overwhelming force. Just the steady building of heat, the way your body starts to bloom under his touch.

At one point, you feel his mouth replace his hand, the scrape of his stubble against your inner thigh, the warm flick of his tongue over your clit making you whimper. He's thorough, almost clinical about it, not showy or indulgent, just focused, relentless, coaxing you higher and higher until your body locks up, shuddering through a release so gentle it almost feels like floating. He licks you through it, slow and steady, until you're gasping and twitching under him, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

He pulls back then, finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at you, really looks at you, like he's checking that you're still whole.

"You did good," he says quietly as your eyes flutter closed. You feel the mattress shift when he gets up.

You barely register him moving around the room, but when you blink open your heavy eyes, there's a cold bottle of water being pressed into your hand. You clutch it gratefully, gulping it down while he disappears into the ensuite. A few minutes later, he comes back, tosses a towel onto the bed without a word, and jerks his chin toward the open bathroom door.

"Shower's yours."

You stumble toward it on shaky legs, grateful for the excuse to hide your face. His bathroom is ridiculously luxurious, heated floors, fluffy towels, expensive soaps that smell like cedarwood and spice. You take your time, letting the water wash away the sticky remnants of your anxiety, trying to piece yourself back together.

When you return to the bedroom, he's already under the covers, scrolling lazily through his phone like he hasn't just shattered you and stitched you back together in the same hour.

You hesitate for a moment, but he flicks the blanket up wordlessly, making room for you. Your heart swells a little, and you slip in beside him, careful not to touch him unless he invites it.

For a long moment, there's only the soft sounds coming from his phone, the quiet hum of the city outside his window.

But you can't help yourself. The questions bubble up, tentative and trembling, before you can think better of it.

"Harry?" you whisper.

"Hm?"

You pick at the edge of the blanket, voice barely audible. "Are you... seeing other people?"

He doesn't look at you. Just scrolls once more, then locks his phone and sets it on the nightstand. He turns his head toward you.

"No, baby," he says simply. "I told you this arrangement is exclusive. You're the only one."

Your breath catches.

"And... and how often would I... I mean, how often would you want to... see me?"

"Couple times a week. More, if you're okay with that."

"And... the payment?"

He smirks slightly. "We'll work that out. Money. Gifts. You can have whatever you like."

You chew your lip, heart pounding. "And if I... if there's something I can't do? Or I... I can't—"

"You say no," he interrupts bluntly. His voice is firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "You use your fucking words. I don't want your obedience unless you're giving it to me freely. Understand?"

You nod quickly, throat tight.

He watches you for a long moment, something shifting in his expression, almost imperceptible. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he says:

"Don't like when people fake things with me. Had enough of that for a lifetime."

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. You don't know the story behind those words. But you know it's not a conversation you're meant to push. Not tonight.

So you just murmur a soft "Okay", and burrow a little closer under the covers.

He doesn't touch you. But he stays close, close enough that the heat of him soaks into your skin, close enough that when you finally drift off, you swear you feel the edge of his pinky finger brush against yours, the smallest, secret tether.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502

...

[mad-hatter-teacups]

WHERE TF THIS ANON GET THE AUDACITY ON SALE.

You know what this fucking sounds like???

"HEY! Chop, chop! Been waiting all day for you to put up the next chapter. I've been patient!" You know how that would sound in the customer service industry?

SHITTY. Entitled. Like absolutely fucking crass.

Writing and fanfiction isn't like binge watching a series that's had all its seasons put out already. You absolute thoughtless cunt. GTFOH.

You're not gonna get anything meaningful or anything remotely with a personality when reading something or viewing something "written" or "scraped" by fucking AI.

You're tired of waiting? People are tired of having their shit stolen. People are tired if being harassed to finish things up and tired of being treated without one shred of human decency.

I hope you never have to experience what it's like seeing your own works torn from you thanklessly and you get NOTHING from it while someone else makes money off your work.

Go touch grass. Several lawns in fact.

Maybe if people updated more we wouldn't turn to ai

You’re a pathetic, impatient loser. Fanfic writers owe you nothing, and their writing is their own, not yours to do with as you choose, you entitled brat.

[ashwhowrites]

Hello hello my wonderful friend!

I’m not sure if you’ve done one of this trope before, you’ve written so many so it wouldn’t surprise me! But this may be a little different? I’d like to request sex pollen trope with Eddie and then some miscommunication and angst with a happy ending. ❤️❤️

I was thinking maybe they’re in the upside down and some weird plant/mist/etc down there does it? Or honestly it doesn’t have to be so literal. Whatever way to get the sex pollen effect you like best. But basically the whole older group is affected, whatever happens with the others is off-screen. Reader and Eddie have both been in love with each other forever but she doesn’t think Eddie likes her back and Eddie thinks she’s way beyond his league and wouldn’t ever want him. The sex pollen happens and then after when the group is embarrassed and getting ready to move past it a few comments are made by the others like “I’d never have done that in my right mind” or like joking comments about “let’s forget this ever happened”, “my eyes - I need bleach!” Basically trying to make light of it and move past it. And Eddie makes some kind of joking comment as well, sure that reader is mortified to have done that with her best friend. Reader is devastated because she hoped that it might have meant something and that he’d meant what he’d said to her during as much as she had meant what she said to him. She distances herself from Eddie which upsets him but he understands (thinks it’s because of the pollen stuff, not his comment). He’s talking to Steve about it one day, unsure what to do to fix it and Steve is confused. Apparently the others (minus Jonathon and Nancy or whoever you prefer to ship as an established couple) all just touched themselves with the exception of the established couple. The pollen didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do, it just made you crazy horny and more uninhibited. It also didn’t make anyone else say things, or compel them to say things. They were in control completely. Cue realization. Eddie goes to reader, confronts her (“did you mean what you said?”), she’s like please don’t do this, you said yourself *insert joking comment*. He reveals what he learned from Steve. Reader is embarrassed and blushing but realizes Eddie said some things during too. Actual confessions happen, happy ending, tears and kisses.

I feel like I did an awful job of explaining but don’t feel like you have to stick exactly to that mess above. I just wasn’t sure how else to describe the idea I’m going for? I’m just wanting the Ash spin on sex pollen trope that has your signature delicious miscommunication angst and then happy ending. Full creative control is yours obviously and I’ll be happy with it because you wrote it and you’re my fave 🥰

My first take on sex pollen trope so 🤞🏻 I hope I do it justice. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting ❤️

Mysterious plant

⚠️smut

It was summer break, Y/N, Robin and Eddie just graduated, Nancy and Steve needed a break from the work life, so they all decided to take a camping trip. They packed all their stuff into Eddie's van and hit the road before sundown.

The trip was everything they needed. Time in the sun, time away from responsibilities, and a whole lot of drugs and alcohol. They only spent a few nights there, before they headed back. None knowing they were bringing something back with them.

"Yo, is this poisonous?" Eddie asked as he reached forward to touch a strange looking plant.

"Don't touch it!" Y/N warned him, slapping his hand away. She looked down at the plant, truly having no idea what it was.

"Nothing I've seen before. But we are in the woods so we probably shouldn't touch it," Nancy said as she looked down at it.

They all surrounded it as they looked at it. A gust of wind came and ripped the roots right out of the ground. The dirt flew up and made them cough as it filled their nose.

"Welp, at least it's dead now," Robin said as she coughed. The strange plant caused them to cough for a good few minutes as they packed everything up.

As Eddie drove them back, he felt a little funky. His body was getting really warm and he could feel himself sweating.

"Is anyone else hot?" Y/N asked from the passenger seat. She cranked up the AC.

"Yes," Steve groaned as he uncomfortably shifted in his spot in the back. Nancy and Robin groaned in agreement.

Eddie couldn't help but speed as the air continued to get thick and hot.

~

"Finally!" Eddie groaned as he walked into his trailer. He quickly tore off his shirt, throwing it in the bathroom as he walked to his room.

Y/N ran a towel under the sink, putting it on her forehead as she tried to soak in the cold water. She closed her eyes as she took deep breaths. She heard Eddie walking around and the sound of him running the sink. She kept her eyes shut as she focused on not getting sick from how overheated she was.

Eddie splashed the water on his face, letting the droplets run down his naked chest. His mind was blank as all he could feel was how hot he felt.

He turned off the sink, quickly tying his hair up. "You want to change? I've got some boxers you can throw on," he asked. For the first time since leaving, he looked at her.

And this different feeling ran through his body. A shiver up his spine. He always had the hots for her, it was obvious she was attractive. But he'd never make a move on his best friend. Not after all the years they spent together and the friendship they created. He knew he had feelings for her, but his body was practically aching as he looked at her.

She opened her eyes to answer him, words stuck in her throat as he stood in just boxers. She gulped as her body seemed to have a mind of its own. She felt her face burn as she shifted, feeling a pool of wetness between her thighs. She knew for a fact it wasn't because of the heat.

She had a thing for Eddie for years. Started as a little schoolgirl crush and developed into something much more when they both went through puberty. He grew into his body and she's been dealing with falling in love with her best friend for a while now.

Eddie was nowhere near the type to be in a relationship. So, she figured not to bother wishing on a star he'd feel the same. She was always so good at keeping her composure, which is why she was shocked that she couldn't form words as he stared at her.

He must have felt something too. Because the longer they stared at each other, the longer their bodies craved each other.

"Uh, sure," she finally got out. She pushed herself away from the counter and walked to his room.

Eddie didn't feel in control of his own body as he followed her. He was a nice guy, he knew to give her privacy. But it was like he had no choice, in a trance as he walked in. She could feel his eyes on her, and she loved it. Normally, she would push him out but something in her wanted him to watch her.

She turned as her body smacked into his. She gasped as she could easily feel his hard cock against her. She looked into his eyes as she stripped off her shirt. She held her breath when his hands wrapped around her, palms against her back as he slid up and unhooked her bra.

She didn't feel nervous or self-conscious as the material fell to the floor. His hands skimmed to her hips, holding her softly. All his mind was focused on was the burning heat in his stomach and the throbbing of his cock. He wasn't worried about it being his best friend, he wasn't taking the time to be in awe of her naked chest in front of him, he needed to fuck her.

The only thing both of them could think about.

He was fast as he smashed his lips on hers. The simple kiss brought moans out of them as they gripped each other. The kiss was messy and desperate, trying to relieve the sexual tension they felt. But it only edged them on. Their tongues danced with each other as he pushed her down on his bed, keeping his mouth on hers.

She rubbed her thighs together, the amount of wetness she felt was indescribable. She had never been this wet before. She could physically feel her cunt throbbing and her clit ache to be touched.

When he pulled away, a line of spit connected them from his lips to hers. His eyes bored into hers and it was as they were communicating without words.

In quick movements, they stripped each other. Their hands were fast and uncoordinated as they tried to feel every inch of each other.

Her hands burned as they ran up his chest and then down his back. The feeling of his skin drove her insane and she wanted to feel more and more. He shivered as she touched him, his hands moving to her chest.

His cock twitched as he massaged her breasts, fingers rolling her nipples as precum leaked out of him. She thought having his touch would settle the fire in her stomach but it only fueled it more. They both understood there was no reason for foreplay, too impatient as their bodies ached.

Eddie could barely think straight as he shoved himself into her. Loudly moaning in bliss he felt her wrap around him. She whined as she felt him fill her up, wasting no time as she moved her hips.

He pressed his lips against hers as he began to thrust into her. He felt insane as he fucked her as fast and hard as possible. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as he hit every spot inside of her. Their sweaty bodies rubbed against each other.

He pulled away as he panted into her face. Both had no control as their moans filled up the room. He could feel his toes curling from the way his balls slammed against her. It was something he wanted for so long and it was way better than he imagined.

"More, please. I need more," she whined as she clawed at his back. His body felt perfect against her. She was addicted to every part of him. The smell of sex and sweat made her arch.

She shivered as he laughed. A dark mocking laugh.

"Yeah? Fucking beg for it, slut,"

She figured she'd gasp at his words but all that came out was a loud moan. She should have known he was dominant and rough.

"Fuck. Please! You feel so good. I just need more. I'll take anything just fuck, please, something," she begged.

Eddie kept his focus on fucking her as he reached for his nightstand. He yanked it open, mindlessly searching. Y/N felt her cunt pulse with excitement as he pulled out a small vibrator. She wasn't surprised Eddie would have sex toys hiding somewhere. She tried to make a mental note to look back at the nightstand in the future.

She jolted as he pressed it against her clit, the vibrations adding more pleasure.

"Moan for me, beautiful. I've dreamed of hearing you moan my name," he whispered as he flicked the vibrator on a higher level.

She gasped as her bundles of nerves reacted to the new vibration. She also loved knowing he thought about this before.

"Eddieeeeeee," she moaned as she clawed at his back. Her back arched as she felt herself cumming. She's positive this was a record speed for how quickly she needed to cum. "I need to cum, Eddie."

"Good girl, cum for me, baby. Let me fuck you through it," he encouraged as he allowed himself to get close. "Can I please fill you up?" He begged.

Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she continued to cum. Her ears loved the sound of his choked begs.

"Yes,"

The second she said it, his stomach snapped. He tossed the vibrator to the side as he used his fingers. She squirmed as her clit burned. Moaning as he continued to fuck her.

"Oh my God, FUCK," she screamed as her cunt grew sensitive. Every thrust and circle pained her as another orgasm started building.

He dropped to his elbows as he gave his final thrusts, hot spurts of cum painting her insides. Both moaning at the feeling.

She figured the heat and burn would disappear, but nothing changed. Her cunt was soaked and now pulsing for more. Eddie noticed it within himself too, his cock already hardening inside of her.

He looked up at her, a sexy smirk as he slowly began to slide himself in and out of her. He watched her face to see how well she'd take him again. And he didn't see a slight bit of discomfort. She moaned, moving her hands down to his chest as she softly clawed.

"I'm not ready to be done with you, can you handle more?" He asked, halting his movements in case she wanted to be done.

"Yes, but I want to ride you," she admitted as she placed her palms against his chest and pushed. He slowly slid out of her.

A huge smile crossed his face as he dropped on his back, wrapping a hand around his cock. He slowly jerked himself as he looked at her. "You're breathtaking."

She blushed as she moved on top of him. She placed her hands on his hairy thighs and sank down on him.

"You'd kill me if you knew how many times I've thought of you in this position," he moaned as she began to bounce on him. He gripped her hips and helped her move her hips.

"I probably should but this feels too good to care," she moaned. Her body was feeling things she had never known before. She couldn't get enough of how amazing he felt inside of her.

He laughed, sitting up as he wrapped his arms around her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she used the new balance to bounce faster. He sucked on her neck, loving the taste of her sweat. She yanked out his hair, letting his curls fall on his shoulders.

"Why did we never think to do this before?" She asked as she shivered in pleasure. They could've been doing this for years at this point, instead of robbing themselves of how amazing their bodies worked together.

He released her neck as he pulled back to look at her. He was sure it was an in-the-moment comment, but he thought the same thing for months. "Didn't think you'd ever see me that kind of way."

Her hips slowed at the honesty in his voice. Her heart melted for him. She rolled her hips forward as she brought her arms around his neck. The closeness made the moment more passionate as she looked into his eyes. "I see you in the best kind of way."

He smashed his lips on hers, thrusting his hips up to fuck her as she moaned into the kiss

It didn't matter how much they touched each other. Or how deep he was in her. The burning desire for each other wasn't lessening. It was making them want it more and for it to never end.

She rocked her hips against him, feeling a familiar burn in her stomach. Eddie felt every strand of his hair soaked in sweat, sticking to his face.

"Fuck you're so beautiful, so wet, so perfect around me," he praised, biting his lip as he fucked up in her as hard as he could. "I could fuck you for the rest of my life."

Her heart pounded at his words. Breath hitching as she bounced on him. "Yeah? You promise?"

"Is that what you want? To be wrapped around my cock forever?" He whispered as her breath fanned his face. Her body reacted to him by squeezing around him. "Fuck do that again."

She repeated the action, loving how he let out a long moan. "Tell me you want it too," she whispered, her lips inches above his.

"I want you for the rest of my life," he admitted. He shocked himself by saying it but he meant it. "I think I'm in love with you."

She froze on top of him, blinking a thousand times. Did he just admit he was in love with her?

"No, I know I'm in love with you," he corrected. His hands ran up her back, holding the back of her head as he brought her lips against his.

She kissed him back. She moaned into his mouth as his left hand moved down to her clit. She pulled away, smiling in pleasure and bliss.

"I love you too," she confessed. Her forehead was against his as she felt her orgasm building. She rocked her hips against him, soaking in the feeling of his fingers on her clit. "Make me cum."

"My pleasure," he smirked, cockily circling her clit as she began to fall apart.

She felt her stomach burn with the familiar feeling, she leaned down and sank her teeth into his shoulder as she came again. Eddie growled out at the feeling, loving the harsh sting as she broke his skin.

~~~

Eddie woke up to the sound of a phone ringing. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around. His room was a mess, everything scattered everywhere, shit was falling off his walls, and his desk was no longer together properly.

The ringing continued, and Eddie felt a body next to him move. A reminder of who helped him create the mess. He gulped as he looked over at her. She was still asleep, on her stomach as she faced the other direction. He slowly got up, hissing as he stood up straight. A burning sensation ran all over his back, he wrapped his sheet around him and he practically limped as he walked to get the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Eddie. I talked to Robin and Nancy, and we all think something was up with that plant. We are going to meet up to talk about it, can we meet at your place? Call Y/N too," Steve said. Eddie agreed to meet them and hung up.

He walked towards his room, Y/N awake as she held a blanket around her body as she looked for her clothes.

"Morning, um, Steve wants us to meet here to talk about something," back to his shy self, Eddie turned around to give her privacy.

"Okay, yeah. Just gonna go get ready!" She squealed as she gathered her clothes and ran towards the bathroom. Once the door slammed, Eddie changed into new clothes. His body was sore which made everything harder, he was curious if her body was in any pain.

He held his shirt in his hand, waiting for her to exit the bathroom.

"Oh! You um, still are...not dressed," she said as she awkwardly tried not to look at his naked heavily marked chest. She felt her face burn as she saw all the hickies and scratch marks.

"Yeah, I kinda need help with my back. Could you put this on me?" He stood up and handed her the small tube of ointment. She gasped as he turned, his back far worse than his chest.

"Oh fuck, is it bad?" He asked upon hearing her gasp. She was embarrassed for what she left behind, but also enjoyed having her mark all over him.

"Just a lot of them. This might sting," she warned as she began to rub the ointment along his skin.

Just like that, the same fire burned in his stomach as she touched him. But this time, his brain was awake and active. Making him think logically that whatever happened yesterday only happened because of that damn plant.

He couldn't get excited by the feeling of her hands rubbing his back. Or how her breath hit his skin and made his spine straighten.

After she finished, he turned around. As they stared at each other, the air got thicker. She blew out a nervous breath.

"Can we talk quickly? I want to talk about some things we said last night." She asked

"Maybe after?" Eddie asked, feeling like he needed to throw up. He was nervous about what she wanted to say and he wanted time to deal with it.

"Um, yeah," she nodded. Her stomach turned with anxiety. She didn't want to wait. She wanted to clear the air about what happened and she needed to know how he felt about it. She turned around and walked out to his living room, needing to be out of his room and the aftermath of themselves.

Eddie took a few deep breaths and walked out. He walked to his front door and left it unlocked. He wanted to sit next to her but he felt terrified. So, he sat on the opposite side. Y/N felt the blow to her chest but tried not to show it. They never sat this far apart. The air was awkward as they sat in silence.

A loud commotion came from outside as everyone traveled in. Steve, Robin and Nancy all stood in front of the couch.

Steve awkwardly coughed as he started, "So, Nancy and I did some research about the plant we saw. I'm going to be blunt, I did things I wish I never thought of."

Y/N scrunched her face, uncomfortable with the idea of her friend sleeping with each other.

"I can't even look at myself," Robin laughed as she tried to make light of the situation.

"Moral of the story," Nancy said as she rolled her eyes, "It was a sex pollen plant. And we are moving past it and nothing happened!"

"Sex pollen?" Y/N questioned out loud, "Never heard of it."

Eddie was silent as he listened. It was confirmed that the plant was the reason all of that happened. He knew he wanted to do it because he liked her. But she did it because of the damn pollen.

"Wanna go get food?" Steve asked as he clapped. Everyone nodded, ready to move on from the awkward conversation.

Y/N grabbed Eddie's hand before he walked out, "We still need to talk."

"It was the pollen, it's okay. We can move past it like they all did," he explained. She dropped his hand and accepted his answer. Clearly, there was nothing else behind what happened.

She was absolutely shattered. And it hurt that he refused to talk about it. He admitted he was in love with her and now wanted to pretend it never happened.

~~~

A few weeks passed and Y/N tried to be okay with not expressing how she felt to Eddie. She tried to fake it and return to normal. It seemed everyone else did.

Robin, Nancy, and Steve didn't seem like anything happened between any of them. Y/N was never going to ask for details so she had no idea who got involved with who, and she was fine with not knowing.

Y/N walked up to the small diner as the gang was meeting for breakfast. She walked in and everyone was already sitting. She slid in on the end next to Eddie.

"I wish I could bleach my eyes so I wouldn't have the vision of it anymore," Steve laughed. The table laughed with him and Y/N wasn't sure what the topic was.

"I know. I'm ashamed of my own body. I didn't think it could do all it did," Robin shivered.

"Me too. I feel like I can never go to church again," Nancy groaned as she covered her face.

Y/N figured it was about the recent event they all moved on from, except her.

"All I know is if I see that plant again, I'm walking away because I never want to experience that again. Horrified from that night" Eddie laughed. The table joined in but Y/N felt a kick to her gut.

She hugged herself as she felt embarrassed. Was having hours of sex with her that horrible? She'd be fine to do it all over again but that's where they were different. She was in love with him and he got infected. She meant what she said and confessed, and it was all a joke to him.

"What about you? You haven't said anything about what you did," Steve said as he looked at her. Y/N felt her body burn as everyone turned to look at her.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it," Y/N said. She didn't want to say anything after the horrific comment Eddie made.

Eddie gave her a side glance, slightly relieved she didn't say anything. He was sure she was horrified by what she did with him. And wanted to take back everything she said. Which is why he kept hiding from the conversation he knew she wanted to have.

They accepted her answer, finally moving on from the topic.

~

The second Y/N got home she allowed herself to cry in the comfort of her room. She admitted everything to that boy and he wanted to erase the night from history. She felt crushed and heartbroken.

She should have known Eddie wouldn't touch her that way without a substance. She should have known he wasn't the type to say how he felt and that everything he said wasn't true.

She hated that she was the only one who seemed to have true feelings about what she did. The rest of the gang clearly could move on. Eddie didn't mean anything, and she was stuck feeling everything.

~~~

Y/N had to distance herself a bit from Eddie because everything was still hurting. She couldn't face him knowing she meant everything she said and did. He'd probably laugh in her face if he knew that.

Eddie noticed the distance, but he understood why she needed it. She fucked the freak and now had to deal with the thought of it. He was disappointed that the events ruined their friendship because that's what he was scared of the most. He spent days ignoring how he felt for her so she didn't leave. And now, she is gone.

He went from spending every day with her to nothing at all for two straight weeks. He missed her.

He called Steve over for help, which meant he was desperate.

"Y/N has been a ghost to me for like two weeks. I don't want to rush her or anything, but I mean, we are all in the same boat. We all were infected by that pollen and did things with each other. But you three all moved on like nothing happened. How did you do it? How can I make it easier for her?" Eddie asked question after question.

Steve looked at him, confused, "Wait, did you two sleep with each other? Like as in you and Y/N had sex!"

"I don't understand how you are confused by that," Eddie rolled his eyes, "obviously we had sex otherwise there wouldn't be an issue!"

"Wow," Steve said, a slow smirk forming on his face, "you guys really fucked? Was she any good?"

"I'm about three seconds away from decking you in the face," Eddie growled, "You have Nancy, don't worry about how Y/N is."

Steve backed up from the threat but laughed at Eddie's clear jealousy. "Alright, calm down. Clearly, she's all yours; I got that. Nancy, Robin and I were all alone when we dealt with the pollen. I did research on it and everything. It's basically just a pollen that makes you crazy horny, barely able to satisfy it and that's why it continues on for hours. None of us had sex with each other. It doesn't make you desire whoever is with you. That's not how it works. So whatever you and Y/N did, came straight from your guys. Just with a push," Steve explained.

"But maybe it's because we were together when it happened! So we desired each other" Eddie tried to explain.

"I was with Nancy in the same car when I started to feel it. Touching her or sleeping with her never crossed my mind," Steve said as he crossed his arms. He leaned back against Eddie's couch, "You my friend are in love with her and that's why it happened."

"Woah now," Eddie laughed, "I never said anything about love."

Steve rolled his eyes but a playful smile on his face. "Don't bother trying to cover it. I told you, I did all the research. It doesn't make you feel anything you haven't already felt. And it doesn't make you say anything you didn't mean. Whatever happened between you two, happened because of how you guys already felt."

Eddie soaked in his words, his stomach fluttering as he thought about everything they said during their time together. "So, let's say she admitted to loving me and something like that. That's the truth? Not the pollen?"

"Bingo," Steve smiled as he leaned forward, "So, seriously, how was it?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, but a smile broke on his face. Steve shoved him as he saw the smile.

"You totally are into her!"

"Oh shut up!"

~

Eddie was terrified to face his feelings but he wasn't going to be the reason he lost her. The only way she's allowed to leave his life is by her decision. He'll never drive her there and he'll beg before she does.

All he had to do was admit he was in love with her. He was doubting himself, but losing her forever scared him more than any confession. He already had the suspicion she felt the same, if what Steve said was true. It gave him comfort he wouldn't be shooting in the dark.

He softly knocked on her bedroom window, the moon his only form of light. She took a deep breath as she flipped her lamp on. Only one person knocked on her window, and truthfully she missed him. She quickly got out of bed and walked over, unlocking it and allowing him inside. She shivered as she felt the cold night air, shutting the window.

"Well, at least you are prepared for me to stay. That has to be a good sign," Eddie tried to joke as she closed the window, instead of leaving it open for an early exit.

She smiled at him and walked to sit on her bed. "You don't have to be so nervous," she said as he stood in one spot. "You can sit. I won't bite you."

"Liked it last time you did," he joked back as he sat next to her. The joke landed flat as she awkwardly looked away. "Moving on. I just want to check on you. I understand things are a little weird for us. But I don't want you to think I'm not here for you."

Her heart swelled at his words, she turned to look at him with a soft smile. "I appreciate that. I'm sorry I've been weird. I just needed more time to move on. But I've missed my best friend."

He ignored the sadness he felt when she called him her best friend. He was glad he was, but he wanted to be something more to her. A best friend that's in a boyfriend.

"Did you need more time to move on because you meant what you said?" He threw the question out there like a grenade. No warning as it landed in her lap.

She hugged herself, looking down at her lap. "We don't need to do this, Eddie." She heavily sighed, "You said it yourself that we can move on like they all did and I don't want to make you relive such a horrifying memory of what sex is like with me."

Eddie kicked himself as the words were tossed back at him. She remembered what he said; that meant it stuck with her, and he felt like an asshole.

"I found out from Steve that none of them had sex with each other. It was just us," he explained. That caused her to look at him.

She shrugged as she thought it over, "probably because we were with each other."

"That's what I said. But it turns out, the pollen makes you crazy horny and nothing else. Steve said everything we did and said was because it was already in our body, the desire and tension. The pollen was just a push."

She looked at him horrified, her body burning in embarrassment. "That was far more than a push!" She covered her face with her hands. She liked the idea of blaming the pollen for the crazy shit she did to her best friend. It was embarrassing enough to have a crush, but now she did every sexual fantasy she thought of with him, and it was because she wanted to.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to die more because he knew she loved him or because he knew she wanted to fuck him.

"But isn't it nice to know we wanted to?" He asked, trying to remove her hands but she wouldn't budge.

"No, Edward. I want to cry in a hole and disappear. Because now, you know how I feel and I can't even blame it on that fucking plant!" Then it hit her, he couldn't blame the plant either.

She slowly removed her hands as she looked over at him. He was bent down as he tried to look into her eyes. His brown eyes looked at her with worry and softness.

"You...you said things too!" She gasped, pointing at him. "You! You told me you think about me sexually all the time. And that you-"

Eddie covered her mouth with his hand, "Yeah, I was there, gorgeous. I don't need you to remind me." He blushed embarrassed. "I meant the other things I said too."

She had never seen Eddie so serious. Not a single twinkle of tease in his eye or a twitch of his mouth. He slowly removed her hand.

She couldn't believe it. Years spent thinking about how good they'd be together, how much more love she could offer him if they went past friends. And it was truly something that could happen. She teared up at the thought. All the hurt she felt pining after him and it all was worth it.

He cupped her face as the first tear dropped. He wiped it away, licking his lips. "Are you okay?"

"Do you want to do this?" She whispered, looking down at his lips.

"Yes," he said without hesitation. Then finally, his lips pressed against hers. She eagerly kissed him back. She had been craving to do this again and she figured she never would. But fuck, she's glad she was wrong.

Eddie softly pushed her on her back as he crawled on top of her. The kiss deepened as he moved his hands down her body, swinging her leg around his waist.

She ran her fingers through his hair, head in the clouds. She pulled away, moving her hands to rest on his shoulders as she looked up at him.

"I love you," he whispered as he leaned in to press his forehead against hers. His eyes staring into hers, his warm hands on her hips.

"I love you too," she smiled, leaning up to softly kiss his lips.

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[satorupi]

new to posting on tumblr, but currently thinking ab innocentgf!reader asking experiencedbf!satoru how to give him a handjob?? hear me out hear me out

you're still not quite sure what on earth brought on the urge to ask the question.

scratch that, you actually are sure -- you'd been dating satoru for over a year and some at this point (almost two) and the furthest you'd gone were heavy make out sessions and nothing more.

it's not like you don't want to do stuff with him, because of course you do. he's your boyfriend. he's kind, great on the eyes, so sweet to you. of course you want to do more than just kiss him.

you've been dating long enough and the trust is mutual...but the idea of being that intimate just feels so unreasonably embarrassing. it's so hard to get out your own head.

steam billows out the shower satoru currently occupies, swirling near your feet, a thin fog that leaves surfaces damp in the lightest bit of condensation. the words feel lodged in your throat, already flushing at the faintest outline of his naked body through the partially frosted glass.

if you're already embarrassed at the prospect of seeing him naked, how would you even ask the question?

it takes everything you not to retreat, really. your pacing outside the bathroom for 5 minutes before you'd worked up the courage to come inside couldn't be taken for granted.

why chicken out now when you're already in here?? you'd practiced this, it wasn't a big deal.

"satoru?"

"baby?" he responds over the sound of the water, glancing backwards like he'd be able to see you through the glass. "something wrong?"

"no. no, I just uh..." your fingers toy at the edges of your shorts, rocking on your heels, "I wanted to ask you something."

"oh?" you can see his hands slow in his hair before starting back up, "well, i'll be out in a minute so-

"no!" the words come out in a rush, high enough to embarrass you. your hands squeeze at your sides, working up the needed courage to keep from retreating, "I mean, I should probably ask you now. kind of important."

there's a pause, only the steady hiss of the shower filling the damp air.

"...alright then," he said, a little slower this time. "what's up?"

the words come out one big breathless, too loud tumble before you can regret it. the way they always did when you got nervous. "how do you...how do I, you know, give you a handjob?"

your body flares hot with panic with the clearly startled noise that leaves him, molten hot in the cheeks, already spinning on your heel to bolt. "never mind!" "wait-- babe! don't run-- shit, ow!" you're already slamming the door behind you and making a beeline to the bedroom. a beat and a half, muffled from the distance,

"wait! i've got soap in my eyes!!"

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

the bedroom door slams behind you with a solid thud, throwing yourself into the bed and yanking the covers over your head like it would stave off the mortification. great, just great. you should've chickened out like you wanted to. dating the most effortlessly perfect man alive and you'd just propositioned...whatever that was. sex 101?

the bathroom door flying open and hitting the wall is noisy even with all the distance. "babe! where'd you go?"

maybe if you stay really, really still he might think you'd left. maybe you could just play dead, actually.

it's mostly silent, sound of your heart throbbing in your ears louder than anything else.

...then the bedroom door flies open, frame rattling on its hinges. "did I hear you wrong?" and he sounds so bewildered that part of you feels bad. "are you seriously hiding?" that part at least sounds humor filled. oh, so he thinks this is funny? there's the wet slap of his feet against the hardwood, getting closer and closer to you till the part of the mattress near your head dips with his weight. "..you embarrassed? is that it?"

you bury your face deeper in the sheets, teary with just how hot your face was getting, a pathetic little whimper being your answer. of course you were embarrassed, who wouldn't be?

"you're okay." satoru wonders if you know how cute he finds this all. his hand finds your head over the sheet keeping you hidden, smoothing his hand up and down just to soothe you. you drop a bomb like that then run away from him while he's incapacitated? how evil. how cute. "you were asking how to make me feel good, right? you can talk to me."

your nod is weak under the covers, mortification easing up with all his reassurance.

"come on out, sweetheart." he murmured, tugging lightly at the blanket. "c'mere. lemme see you."

maybe if he wasn't being the absolutely sweetest you'd put up more of a fight...but since he is, your head pushes free from under the cover, peeking out just enough to see him. your eyes find his face before anything else. crystal blues turned stormy, hair still partially sudsy w/ shampoo, a mess of strands sticking up in different directions.

and then?

then your eyes drop, you're not sure how you hadn't locked on that first because his towel is all low on his hips like he'd haphazardly wrapped it around himself, a very clear, thick imprint straining against the white cotton.

oh.

"didn't get to wash my hair out properly.." the words break you out your momentary stupor, now glossy gaze lifting to eye him again, blinking slowly. as if you care about his half washed hair right now.

"you wanted to learn right?" his hand still strokes the back of your head gently and you nod, fighting the innate urge to glance down again. to get your first proper look. you'd felt it when your kissing got too heated sometimes but never...not this. "i'll show you then."

and that's how you end up on your knees between your boyfriend's parted thighs. the pillow under your knees had been his idea to keep your knees from rubbing against the carpet, hands on your lap idly picking at nonexistent lint.

and satoru...well, satoru's still on the bed. on the bed with his dick in his hand.

minor detail.

the towel's parted and resting on either side of him, cock hard and heavy in his hand as he grips the base, pearly droplet leaking from the tip.

from 'just kissing' to seeing him stroking himself while you watch -- what a jump.

you can count how many times you'd had to look away since you two had gotten in this predicament and it'd only been 2 minutes at best.

"no looking away." he murmurs, voice low, coaxing. wrecked already just from the heat of your gaze. "you wanted to learn, baby. so you need to watch."

his free hand lifts to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing along the bone before it's sliding down to cup your jaw. he tilts your face just enough so that you're watching, eyes instinctively dropping to his dick again.

the rush of wetness in your panties makes you twitch, unable to look away now that you seemingly had no choice. "good fuckin' girl. eyes on me." you barely register the little rush of air that leaves your lungs with his first upwards pump, stuck on his only shaky sigh, hand squeezing your jaw gently.

"feels good," he says, breath hitching when he strokes down and back up again, thumb swiping lazily over the slit. "s'much better with you watching. you're so pretty down there." satoru strokes himself from base to tip, letting his cock slip heavy through his fist. his head tips back just a little, exhale shaky with the effort of keeping his pace slow to demonstrate this properly for you. in all honestly, he felt embarrassingly close. didn't peg himself as some sort of exhibitionist, but, the more you know.

"not...not too tight, and then you can twist jus' like this.." and he does exactly that, breathing out a curse as he works himself lazily. his thumb smears precum over the sensitive tip, aching to be touched properly -- by you instead of himself. his gaze drops back down to you, watching you as you watch him. all curious, thighs squeezed a little tight, lip caught between your teeth. "you can touch it too."

you're not even embarrassed at how eager your nod comes, letting him lead your hand up to wrap around his cock where he's thickest in a tentative hold. it's silky and warm against your skin, heat pulsing between your thighs. your stomach curls at his groan at your curious squeeze, swallowing lightly.

"easy now.." he doesn't let you know that it'd been slightly too tight, he just wraps his hand around yours to ease your hold, stroking your hand with his own. once, twice. very careful. "doing so good, baby. just like that."

okay, you could do this. it's just a dick. a dick wouldn't bite you. not his at least.

a little emboldened by his praise, you shift a little higher to get closer to him, hand lifting from your lap to ease his hand off yours over his and doing the job all on your own. firm even strokes, slow enough to feel the throb of his veins and his dick jumping in your hand. it's a slick slide with all the messy precum he'd smeared, hand doing the twists he'd done on his own, eyes up on him.

if his head being tipped back meant anything, you'd say you were doing a fine job. "is it good, 'toru?" the brush of your thumb over his tip is a little clumsy compared to how he did it, but his hips buck anyway, moan warming your body. you stare is full of fascination at the deeper flush of the head, how another hot little spurt drools out just from your touch to coat your thumb.

"y-yeah. oh god, yes. it's so good." his breath punches out his throat in a gasp, jaw falling open. "keep doing that."

you're almost desperate to keep it feeling good for him, to make him feel even better. your hand pulls along his cock in firm even strokes, riding the high of all the previous praise, drinking in all his sounds. his the twitch of his hips, the silent calls of your names, him asking for more. you're properly getting drunk on it, riffling through your thoughts to find more ways to drive him crazy.

your mind mostly draws a blank save for one idea, not second guessing as you rise higher on your knees to lean in. the side of his shaft is far soft against the wetness of your tongue as you drag the appendage along the rosy pink flesh.

the reaction is almost instant, tongue not even making it all the way up. his jerk in answer makes you rear back completely, eyes wide as your hand releases him.

you freeze, horrified at the look on his face. his panting. oh god, he'd hated it. "sorry! sorry, did I do it wrong?! I thought it-" "no! fuck no, it wasn't wrong. holy shit--" he rasps, lips twitching up into a grin, laugh bursting out of him. wrong? how could it be wrong if his orgasm near raced up on him with the press of your tongue? "where the hell did you learn that?"

you blink up at him, all sweet and pretty, rubbing your lips together to savor the taste of him. "a video! the lady did the same thing."

he laughs again, all amused and carefree like your hand hadn't just been wrapped around his cock, like you hadn't just embarrassed yourself. "a video. you watched a video on this?"

you nod like it's the most obvious thing, "I wanted t'learn how to do it."

he can't fathom that you'd seek out porn to figure out how to touch him well. "fuck, you're so perfect."

his hand eases yours back upward, kissing your knuckles to assure you that no, you licking his dick had not at all turned him off or anything remotely similar. that has you more than willing to start back up again, more confident in your strokes this time. still a little clumsy, it's inevitable with your inexperience.

you know what he likes now, at least partially -- so you're in his space again, mouthing the side of his cock, tongue dragging along wet, hot flesh just as you'd seen. trying to remember parts of the video you'd been to embarrassed to even finish.

the pump of your smaller hand on him sticks to near the tip, lost in his noises as you kiss and lick near the base, nosing at his flesh. he always smelt so good but that freshly showered scent mixed with that of his flesh this close has your mind all foggy. your thighs squeeze together tighter to ease the building ache, panting warm against the side of his cock, stroking a little firmer.

"god, you're a natural. please keep doing that." if the twitching in your hand was a clue, it'd lead you right to the conclusion that he was close. about to cum for you. your head lifts to look at him, lashes fluttering lips parted as you eyes him in awe. "so pretty--haah--love you, please."

you make proper use of both your hands, stacked one on the other to stroke and twist. it's that same pattern again and again, fingers coated in slick that smears down his cock over and over. "I-I know. I know it feels good." his sounds rise, hips bucking into the touch of your hands, one hand cupping the back of your head. "love you too. are you close?" "yeah, gonna cum...gonna--oh fuck." you barely know what the fuck you're doing but instinct had yet to fail you, his reaction proof enough. head tipped back, his helpless groans. all because of you -- you can't get enough of it. the shaft is occupied by eager hands with your stroking, head left too neglected for your comfort so you at least attempt to use your mouth there like before. no different than how you'd been kissing him and licking earlier. you barely get to wrap your lips around him really. it's nothing more than a wet kiss, a little lick at the tip. hands squeezing between firm strokes, mouthing where he's weeping for you. "babe- baby," he shakes his head, eyes rolling, delirious, "wait, don't. i'm gonna--" he'd tried to warn you, really, but he falls apart just like that. snaps like a livewire, pulsing in your hand as his hips back, wrecked sound tearing out of him. the hand at the back of your head tangles in your hair, you barely have time to lean back as he falls apart. cum streaks all hot and messy ropes across your lower face and your hands, enough to make you choke on a gasp. your cheek, the corner of your mouth. a little catches on your jaw.

you freeze up, hands slowing their stroking to a stop, quivering at how filthy it is. how hot it is. god. and you can't look away from him, not for a second. his stomach flexes, cock twitching with the remnants of cum emptying from his balls, dribbling down the length of him.

"woah."

the prospect of making him cum has arousal washing you so intensely that you have to close your eyes for a bit to get a hold on yourself, whimpering before you can hold it in.

your panties are properly soaked, clinging to you with how turned on you are, thighs squeezing together instinctively. doesn't help at all, unfortunately.

"holy shit." he finally gets out, still breathing heavily from his orgasm and the fog it left behind, hand loosening in your hair and sliding to cup your cheek.

the dampness against his fingers has him glancing down at you, matching the bewildered look on your face. "oh shit--" and it comes out like two octaves higher, it's almost laughable. all her gets is a surprised huff in your daze.

his hand flies out to clean the mess he'd left on your face, only smearing it on your face a little more. he hates the traitorous way his cock throbs again like he isn't panicking a little internally. this was out your comfort zone already now he'd gone and came on your face? "i'm sorry, pretty. thought i'd have time to warn you-"

you're hands still hold his softening cock, too stunned to even give him a proper reply. "didn't mean to-- i'll clean it up, you don't even need'ta touch it."

maybe it's the surprise that has you not flustered from this? you're not sure, all his finishing on your face had done was gotten you wet.

you don't really think about what you're doing, looking at him through your lashes from down below, curious tongue poking to the side to taste some of what had landed.

sweeter than you'd expected, a salty tang on your tastebuds. maybe you should've just let him do it in your mouth? "tastes good though.." you murmur, rubbing your lips together, shifting on your knees. his rambling stops after that one comment, gaping down at you, red rising up his face, tips of his airs flushing with color too. mouth opening, then closing uselessly. looking like he's 2 seconds from cumming again.

then he whines, whines like you'd struck him, flopping backward onto the bed as you blink up at him in confusion.

"babe?" your hands pull off from where they're holding him, placing your damp palms on your thighs as your mind races. "did I say something bad?"

bad? if bad meant perfect, maybe. if bad meant...meant absolutely soul crushing, spirit healing, spectacular--

"no." he croaks, shaking his head, cock already stirring. how do you not get what you're doing to him here. "no, you're perfect. nothing's wrong."

satoru sits up so he can look at you again, heart throbbing at your confusion. the little crease between your brow, the stick remnants of him glistening on your skin. god, he's so in love with you that it hurts.

large hands grab at you without warning, tugging you up into his very naked lap to straddle him, frantic kisses pressed to your cheeks. fully uncaring of the mess on your skin. "nothing wrong. you did everything right. fuckin--'" he smacks a kiss to your mouth, hands cradling your face, "soo perfect. perfect, pretty baby."

the laugh that leaves you is breathless, letting him dote on your for whatever reason, arms banding around the back of his neck as soon as you get a chance, knees on either side of him. gentle fingers take their time to wipe your face clean, transferring the mess collected on his thumb to his towel, kissing you here and there. "so messy."

it all makes you feel ridiculously shy more than ever, slapping at his chest, own fingers fixing the mess on his head. "need to get you back in the shower to wash this out properly." you still can't believe he'd been in such a hurry to follow you that he'd left his hair half washed.

his laugh has him shifting under you a little and it's a pain trying not to move. an even bigger pain trying to not acknowledge the heat low and building in your belly. if it was bad when you were knelt on the floor being handsy with his cock, this is 100 times worse.

the air between you two is unsettled as is even if you'd been joking since he'd gotten you in his lap. you swallow gently, smiling down at him. dipping to give him another kiss. "I should probably go wash my face...or something. I think"

you're trying, you really are -- but it's so hard not to move. so you do, a tiny forward tilt of your hips that makes you core heat, toes curling in your socks. subtle but he notices, mouth tipping at one side. "not too much shifting. I'll probably get worked up again."

your nose scrunches up, leaning into him to hide your face in his neck like that would help in playing it off. "just getting comfy." satoru hums, hands lowering to your waist to ease you properly on his lap. no expectations of anything at all, just making sure you're steady, pressing a kiss to your temple.

he doesn't mind all your shifting, not really -- but they aren't doing him much favors. he figures you're just restless after earlier, still shy about the intimacy of it all. "you're fine. we can stay like this as long as you want."

it would be great if it was just that but the throb is almost uncomfortable, only moving on his lap seeming to help. you can’t help the way you tuck your face tighter against his neck, breathing him in--clean, soapy, warm. even his scent has your cunt throbbing hard. "sorry. just...trying'ta.."

satoru isn't dense, he knows you're turned on. shifting to seat yourself better didn't feel the same as deliberately rubbing yourself on his cock through your shorts. he knows. but he stays where he is, lets you snuggle up into him, careful not to push too fast. even when you roll forward more deliberately this time as though testing how it feels he's careful not to react, just squeezing your hips lightly. "you're good, go ahead."

you’re not doing anything wrong. you’re just so sweet and worked up, trying so hard to stay still that it has his mind reeling.

you swallow hard, fingers pressing into his skin, whimpering softly as you rock forward.

yeah, he can't exactly leave you to your own devices when you clearly need something. "what's wrong, hm?"

he pulls back to look at you, heart near stopping at the glossiness of your eyes, the clear strain in your expression. still rocking your hips like you can't help yourself. "satoru," you whimper softly, eyes closing, shaking your head, "'nothing, but.." you're hot all over and your cunt refuses to stop pulsing even as you're grinding on him -- so turned on that you could cry. "it's not working." your hips rock forward again, the hardened line of him creating perfect fiction against your clit that only leaves you more desperate, drawing a low groan out of him. "I know, I know. you're okay--" his hands squeeze at your hips, drawing soothing circles over the fabric of your shorts. focused on keeping you settled and staying calm himself even as his cock stirs back to life under your clothed cunt. "just worked yourself up a little, 's all."

you duck your head again, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “i dunno,” you whisper. “just…feels good. wanna keep--" your voice cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut. "just want you to help me."

you swear his breathing stops too with how quiet it goes, keeping your face in his neck to hide your embarrassment. afraid you'd said something wrong.

"or..or not. I can just get--"

"--are...shit--are you sure?" he interjects, voice a little strained, hand coming up to cup the back of your head. you're already worked up as is, the last thing he wants to do is overwhelm you when you two had never gone this far before. "we totally don't have to--"

"--I want to." your head lifts out his neck, hips still rutting gently, lips parted. the sensations have you focused just on how thick and hard he is under you, how much your cunt is throbbing. "want you to help me. please."

he doesn't think any other words are as devastating as those. "yeah. yeah, of course." he whispers, hands sliding up your hips, squeezing your waist. getting high enough to cup your face to kiss you again, keeping a slow pace. "gonna make you feel so good."

well, a second lesson wouldn't hurt.

sena's note: slept on it and it sounded okay on a fresh mind so here we are 🤧

desktop optimized, did it in dark mode but MIGHT look better in light mode bc of the red hues ‹𝟹

[chaotic-toby]

Writing. Is. Supposed. To. Be. Fun.

Can it be stressful at times? Yes, but it's even more fun to overcome that writer's block or whatever to finally write down what you've been trying to write.

Even if it's a school essay. You'll never learn anything if you constantly use ai. I don't understand how some people just don't like learning stuff. I loved writing school essays (except the one basketball essay I had to do I don't know jack shit about basketball) It helped that I've been writing for years so I had experience but it felt nice when teachers complimented my writing ^-^

Ai gets you nowhere. People won't like you if you use ai. Learn to write, just like I and everyone else did

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling Apart & Torn at the Seams [4/5]

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.5k [Series Masterlist][Jax Fic Masterlist]

warnings/tags: 18+; pregnant!Reader, angst with an eventual happy/hopeful ending, emotional hurt, threat to abort (because it's Clay), angry Jax, Clay being Clay

a/n: So glad to see how much y'all have been loving this little thing that grew into far more than just the two parts I'd initially planned (which is why I just gave this thing a masterlist). I've decided it should end at five now, but it's because y'all enjoyed it so much that I expanded on more parts of it, so thank you for the comments and reblogs, they really are always appreciated!

tag list: @kmc1989 @hiddenwritings-adventures @shadyshadyy @cwallace02sblog @staley83 @steviebbboi @bonni-98   @aria725 @mmarysha @secretlysamcro @f1samcro @dollface-xoxo

Roughly pushing open the clubhouse doors, Jax stalked inside the main room, his steps slow and purposeful. He fixed the chapel doors on the opposite end with a dark glare, his fists tightly curled at his sides as he moved past the pool table and the bar. The room was oddly quiet without the usual noise of a party underway, the space eerily devoid of its usual loud laughter and even louder music. It was a Wednesday night and the guys weren't here. 

But Jax knew that Clay was, and that's all that mattered right now.

With his jaw clenched so hard the muscles in it ached, Jax made his way over towards the closed chapel doors, his body tensed and ready for a fight. Clay had been conveniently difficult to find ever since Jax had broken into your apartment and confronted Gemma about your disappearance yesterday afternoon. Which meant Jax had more than an entire day to sit in his quiet rage while it festered, causing him to only further grow vengeful and furious when he thought about what Clay had done to you. His imagination supplied the missing pieces of the puzzle, because Jax could guess what threats Clay had made against you.

But while Jax had been itching for the chance to get Clay alone and confront him, he’d also been busy making his own moves. He'd still spent that time trying to figure out where the hell you could’ve vanished, but it didn't matter how often he kept trying your phone, it always went straight to voicemail–as if it was turned off now. He’d tried leaving you a handful of messages, but he never heard anything back from you. 

It was going on five full days of you being gone without a goddamn word. The silence from you was maddening. All Jax could think about was you out there somewhere pregnant with his kid, completely alone, and probably scared because of Clay. He fucking hated the thought of that. It had him tearing apart both his room at the clubhouse and his own damn house. 

Jax had tried to focus his mind and energy on doing what he could in the meantime–sending out Chibs and Juice to interrogate your landlord in an attempt to figure out whatever they could. While they’d been tasked with that, Jax had spent the day planning something else with Opie. Because he was going to bury Clay for what he’d done, that much was certain. But even that still didn’t feel like he was doing enough right now. 

As Jax approached the chapel doors, he could hear the faint sound of voices coming from within. His teeth ground together, his anger barely being held back inside of himself as he stood there attempting to keep some level of composure. He needed to see what answers he could manage to get out of Clay, to see if there was anything he might say that could give Jax some idea of where you were. But of course Clay was here late plotting things behind closed doors and the backs of the whole club. 

He wasn’t going to keep getting away with this shit, though. Not anymore.

Uncurling one of his fists, Jax reached out and twisted the door handle before pushing the door open so hard it flung backwards and smacked into the wall with a sharp bang. Both Clay and Tig instantly fell silent at the interruption, their attention shifting straight towards the door. Jax stood there with his eyes locked on Clay, a vicious gleam in them as his lips curled back into a sneer.

If he could have ripped Clay’s head off with his bare hands right now, he absolutely would have.

“Whoa, Jax, man,” Tig began, brows furrowing faintly together as he took in the sight of him. “Easy there. What the hell are you doing?”

Clay didn’t look remotely fazed at the sudden enraged entrance, almost as if he’d been expecting it. The way he so comfortably leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, folding his hands in his lap as he focused on Jax like he was completely untouchable, only pissed Jax off further. But it was clear on Clay’s face–he knew exactly why Jax was here just by looking at him.

“Get the fuck outta here, Tig,” Jax snarled, his glare remaining fixed on Clay.

In the chair beside the Sons’ president, Tig focused his attention on Clay, giving him a questioning look. With his own eyes never leaving Jax, Clay gave him a single nod in response.

“Leave us, Tig,” he ordered, flicking a hand dismissively. ���‘S’alright. I got this.”

Tig hesitated in his chair for a moment longer, clearly aware of the tension between his president and vice president but not making the connection as to what it was over. Eventually when Clay didn’t say anything otherwise, Tig quietly slid his chair back and rose to his feet. He gave Clay one last look before he slipped past Jax and out of the chapel, closing the door after himself on his way out. 

And then it was just the two of them.

Jax stood there for a moment longer, seething as he stared back at the man who’d just spent one afternoon five days ago blowing up his entire life like it was nothing. And now here he was sitting there looking so fucking calm about it, like he hadn’t done a goddamn thing wrong forcing you out of his life and this town.

“Where is she?” Jax asked, voice level but not any less threatening. “What’d you do to her?”

Clay shrugged a shoulder simply, pulling a face at the questions. “I didn’t do nothin’ to her,” he answered. “Just paid her a visit. Had a talk. That’s it.”

Lips pressing together, Jax’s nostrils flared sharply at the response. He knew damn well how much Clay was downplaying whatever ‘visit’ he’d had with you. And yet he was going to sit here and lie to his goddamn face about it, too. 

“A talk about what?” he pushed firmly. “And don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’ve had it out for her since that first night she came to the clubhouse. Don’t tell me it was some friendly visit.”

Clay continued to sit there, casually leaning back in his chair at the head of the table as a silence fell in the room. Jax recognized the calculating look in his step-father’s eyes–he’d seen it plenty of times to know what it was by now. It was the same look he had whenever he attempted to twist the truth or detract attention away from himself.

“She doesn’t fit, Jackson,” Clay finally said, his words breaking through the heavy tension in the air. “In this world, in this club, in your life. I know it. Your mother knows it. And I’m pretty damn sure your little girlfriend knows it, too.”

With a frustrated grunt, Jax crossed the distance from the entrance of the chapel and over to the ornately carved wooden table. His eye twitched as he tried to hold himself back from doing precisely what he’d rather be doing–beating the absolute shit out of the man. But instead, his fists came down slowly against the table’s surface as he leaned over towards Clay.

“That’s not what I fucking asked you,” Jax growled low.

“But it’s what you need to hear,” Clay countered, his own tone matching Jax’s as he leaned forward along the table, his eyes narrowing back at him. “Because ever since she started working at the garage, you’ve been distracted. Everyone can see it. You’re lettin’ pussy distract you from your responsibilities to the club and your family.”

Jax slammed his fist hard against the solid table, his knuckles stinging from the impact. It was taking every bit of willpower for him to resist striking Clay right in the fucking face like he desperately wanted to, but he knew he had to refrain from the urge. He had a plan in motion to deal with Clay and he couldn’t deviate from it. He couldn’t risk tipping the club off as to what was really going to happen to Clay by having a physical altercation with the piece of shit and leaving any evidence of just how badly he wanted him gone. 

“Don’t you dare call her that,” Jax warned him. His lips twisted up into a dark smile, one that contained only danger and threats as he held Clay’s own cold gaze. “She’s not just some club whore, you old bastard. She’s my girl. My old lady. And you were threatening her.”

Clay scoffed, shaking his head at Jax’s words as if they were nothing. Jax could feel himself practically vibrating with rage right now, everything inside of him screaming to unleash what he was feeling on the bastard–to beat him within an inch of his life and watch him choke on his own blood in this very room.

“She’s nothing more than a passing flavor of the month for you,” Clay retorted. “The way you go through girls. She's nothing.”

“She’s mine!” Jax shouted, finally succumbing to his rage. “And she’s carrying my fucking kid!”

Jax’s chest heaved with his sharp breaths as he stood there bent over the table, a wild look in his eyes as he stared down his president. Clay still kept that outward calm as he eyed Jax, clearly unaffected by his words. Which was all the confirmation Jax had needed. Gemma might not have known that you were pregnant, but somehow Clay had. And he’d still fucking pushed you out of Charming anyway. 

Trying to reign in his temper, a bitter laugh fell out of Jax as he straightened back up beside the table. He stared down at Clay, one of his shaking hands coming up to comb through his shaggy hair in frustration. 

“You fucking knew, didn’t you?” he spat. “You knew she was pregnant. That’s why you threatened her, wasn’t it?”

Clay shrugged again. As if it didn’t matter. As if you carrying his goddamn child didn’t matter. His lips pressed together at the realization of just how cold–how fucking cruel and ruthless–the man really was when he wanted something. And Clay had wanted you out of the picture long enough. 

“Yeah, I knew,” he admitted easily. “So I paid her a visit. Told her the truth.”

Jax’s eyes narrowed further into slits at his words. “The truth?” he shot back, his head tilting to the side in challenge. “What fucking truth, Clay? You been doing nothing but feeding the both of us lies for months now. So what goddamn truth did you share with her, huh?”

Clay’s hand raised from the table, gesturing at Jax before him. “That you, my son, are not remotely in the place or the mindset to become a father,” he answered smoothly. “You’re barely taking care of your damn self, you got no idea the first things about raising a kid. And let’s be real–that ain’t the kinda shit you want on your plate right now.”

“Don’t you–” he snapped, pointing a ringed finger sharply at Clay, “–call me your son after the shit you've done. And don't you even try and pretend to know a damn thing about what I want. You got no idea.”

“Don’t matter now,” Clay told him. “Your girl is probably long gone now. She’s got no job since I fired her, so who knows what happened to her.”

Inhaling a sharp breath, Jax’s jaw tightened at the information. He’d fired you–you hadn’t quit. Clay had fired you knowing that you were pregnant. Knowing you’d need a job and money and fucking insurance to take care of yourself and that baby right now. And right now you had none of that, not because you’d made the choice yourself, but because Clay had intentionally taken it all from you.

Attempting to maintain his composure, one of Jax’s hands ran along his mouth. The sharp scratch of his facial hair against his fingers barely registered as he fought to keep himself from knocking the old fuck right out of that chair. That haunting thought of you somewhere struggling right now flashed through his mind, and he physically had to restrain himself by gripping his other hand against the edge of the table.

Clay would get what was coming to him despite how goddamn smug he looked sitting there. Because Jax knew something that Clay didn’t, and it would only be a matter of time before that president patch was stripped from Clay’s kutte and sewn onto his own. 

Jax was going to make damn certain Charming was safe for you, and then he was going to fucking find you and fix everything. It didn’t matter how long it took for you to forgive his stupid fucking ass for not just listening to you that night you’d come to him for help. He would do whatever it took to get you back here and keep you safe. 

Which is what he should have been doing in the first place.

Taking a few steps back towards the chapel doors, Jax’s glare remained on Clay. “You fucked up, old man,” he told him. “You're eventually going to find that out.”

Without another word, Jax turned and exited the chapel, slamming the door shut behind himself as he went. As he stormed his way through the empty clubhouse, his steps swift and heavy, he knew it was foolish to have hoped that Clay might have given him some clue as to where you’d disappeared to. He probably had no damn idea himself.

Stepping outside of the clubhouse and back into the dimly lit parking lot, Jax continued to stride across the pavement. Opie was waiting for him right where Jax had left him a bit ago–leaning against his bike and smoking a cigarette. He nodded his head in greeting at Jax as he expelled the smoke from between his lips.

“Get what you needed to, brother?” Opie asked curiously.

“Of course not,” Jax snarled in irritation. He grabbed his helmet from where it was hanging on the handlebars of his bike, unclipping it before he jutted his chin at Opie. “You get what you needed?”

Opie nodded, tossing his cigarette down to the pavement. He stamped it out with his shoe, his eyes flickering to the clubhouse as he did before he focused back on Jax.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You sure you wanna do this, though?”

Jax’s eyes burned with rage as he stared at the clubhouse, securing his helmet on his head. “He’s taken enough from us, Ope,” Jax answered, an edge to his words. “He got away with what he did to Donna. Now he's trying to push out my girl.” He secured the helmet on his head as he looked back at his best friend. “You wanna give him the chance to find an excuse to go after Lyla next?”

A muscle jumped in Opie's cheek at the question before he quietly shook his head. 

Jax turned and threw a leg over his bike, settling down onto it. “I’m sick of him getting away with this shit,” he spat bitterly. “He's not taking anything else from us.”

[torueater]

ROOMIE BENEFITS UNLOCKED ᝰ.ᐟ

a/n: i've had this in my drafts too long, it's now or never

Satoru knows you hear him when he cums. You know he does.

Brazen white haired bastard, those are the only words you can think of to describe him, though not as eloquent as it can be put.

You’d been as good about it as you can be, it’s not as though he did it day in day out, just occasionally during the week – you’d have your headphones in, volume low. pretending you don’t already have the sound of his moans memorized like a song, like you can’t hear him getting himself off. lips bitten, hand down your shorts to ease to growing ache of pleasure in your abdomen – shit, maybe you’re just as bad as satoru, just not as loud.

He’s always ridiculously shameless about it too  – deep groans, low breathless curses, the wet drag of his fist. Little praises like someone else’s there. It’s like he wanted you to hear him.

Which you do. Every single time without fail.

Once is mistake, twice is a coincidence. But more than 3 times? Pattern, sheer pattern. He has to know, if the knowing glint in his eye when morning came meant anything. His chirpy little ‘sleep well, roomie?’ that has the tips of your ears heating because no, obviously not. Grade a asshole. It’s already a struggle to fight the building attraction but now you know exactly how he sounds when he finishes, how whiny he gets.

Besides that, he wasn’t too bad, you’d gotten lucky in the roommate lottery, you suppose. Isn’t a bad friend either. At least he handles his shit with the door closed, right?

Tonight’s different though. You’d stepped out for a quarter of an hour at best to run to the convenience store -- he’d offered up his card to restock the snacks you like in the communal cupboard. you’d given him a time frame so there’s 0 good reason why his door is cracked when you get back in, fucking up into his fist with gentle strokes, no urgency at all.

"Fuck…just like that.”

Oh?

You halt midstep, frozen -- card in your hand and heartbeat in your throat.

The sight is much more than you’d expected. He’s so fucking pretty -- sweats low and bunched on his thighs, chest bared for the world to see. lashes settled against the paleness of his cheek, snowy strands mussed with a few sticking to his forehead. trimmed hairs that do match the drapes framing a pretty, lengthy—

You know what? Maybe you’d just wait till he finished. Retreat and resign to your room for a little, keeping the card with you. You didn’t need to be here, you shouldn’t even be looking. He’s jerking off and you’re just stood there – gosh, you feel like a perv.

“You just gonna stand there?”

It’s a little lazy sounding, a syrupy drag tinged with amusement. like this is some normal conversation. The card slackens in your hold as your breathing ceases momentarily, mouth parting to get out an excuse, a ramble of apologies.

“Y’re—oh fuck,” and he doesn’t even stop, eyes closed, head tipped to the ceiling now. as he squeezes at the head of his cock to ebb his pleasure. pearly cream smears near the pretty bulb with a light stroke, thumb stroking over a vein at the side. “fine. You’re fineee. come in, ’m not too busy.”

You do, you don’t know why you do. maybe it’s your body working quicker than your mind, one saying yes, other saying no type thing. He grins like he’d known you’d do just that, floorboards giving you away.

You try not to look, you really do but it’s right there. rigid girth held in a light grip, flushed head all soft and rosy. Glistening with what looks like either lube or spit (maybe both), heavy looking in his hand. “g’nna cum to it anyway,” he murmurs, “might as well get you in here to let you see the real thing.” Your eyes follow another pearlescent dribble from his head, eyes growing glossy, willing the dampness pooling between your thighs away. His words register late and you’re all hot in the face as you glance up at him, stumbling over words about needing to give him his card. “huh? I don’t…satoru, it’s not like that at all.”

And he laughs, all deep and rich, not helping the incessant throbbing between your thighs.

“You just happen to touch yourself exactly when i’m getting myself off? the walls are thin, pretty. I don’t think the pillows muffle the vibrations too well.” you wonder if there’s a quick way to dig a hole to just jump into. maybe if you fake a fainting spell he’d drop it? shitty fucking amazon vibrator – those reviews had clearly been a lie.

Satoru’s eyes open, all slow and heavy like he’s already drunk on the pleasure. Fuck, he loves this. loves the look on your face – all stunned, no words to say to explain yourself. “you’re not comin’?” And god he says it so breathily, you can’t help the instinctual press of your thighs, the bob of your throat with a harsh swallow.

“Aw, a little watching got you all wet?” He’d noticed. of course he had. “why don’t we help each other, hm? how about you take your panties off, pretty. let me see how wet I got you.”

It gives you a pause, panties uncomfortably damp, hot with..embarrassment? arousal? maybe the latter more than the former. "Bossy." Your hands are shaky as they skim the edges of your shorts, hooking under the smooth cottony band of your panties.

You don’t know why you’re just following his directives, walking out and pretending this didn’t happen would be just as easy as walking in had been.

But you don’t – you’ve been wanting to fuck him or at least touch him for ages, lying to yourself wouldn’t do anyone favors.

The plain pale gray, turned smoky and the center falls to the floor in a heap with your shorts, pressing the card onto the closest surface with a gentle movement. His gaze drops and he groans at the clear glisten between your thighs, thumb swiping over his tip, hips twitching slightly as he slows his strokes.

“C’mere,” he says again, softer this time.

You take a step, then a few more till you’re at the edge of the bed. his legs spread a little wider, chin angled down in a simple gesture. His strokes get slower, lazier. Teasing now, dragging out every wet sound, every twist of his wrist that has pearly dribbles spilling over his skin. You sink down to your knees so you’re settled between his thighs, fingers clenching and unclenching on the hardwood.

“There you are.” he croons, bringing his free hand back from gripping the sheets to brush stray hairs out your face, tipping your chin up.

“Say ahh, roomie.”

extra a/n: dropping and running. the rest of this was just sex and banter, still in my docs 🏃🏽‍♂️

[lessersole]

The Catch - Part Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: With the criminal gang still after you, and a new plan from the head of the Thunderbolts, Bucky and Yelena have to do even more to keep you safe.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: abduction, being restrained (not in a fun way), mentions of alcohol, creepy/sneaky behaviour (not from Bucky or Yelena).

NO THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS! I've not even seen it yet.

Part one

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

Three weeks later, you’re still dealing with the repercussions of the attempted abduction. Yelena brought you back to the city, but since the location of your shared apartment had been compromised, you couldn’t return to it. Instead her job - now significantly less of a mystery to you - had offered you both a protected apartment in their New York headquarters, the old Avengers tower.

At first the novelty of it had been exciting - you were living rent-free on the 18th floor in the middle of Manhattan, with stunning views across the city in every room. You could order food or supplies from the on-site restaurant and shop on the ground floor, also all complimentary, or visit one of the many gyms around the tower. There was even a small cinema room, a climbing wall…almost anything you could want. Unfortunately, what you couldn’t have was freedom.

The group who’d targeted you were still at large, they knew what you looked like and, according to Yelena’s boss, even where you worked. So until they were found, you were restricted to the tower. You weren’t a prisoner, Yelena had explained, her sulky attitude giving away that she was passing on someone else’s instructions, but they couldn’t guarantee your safety if you left.

At first fear kept you willingly contained in the luxury building, then concern about Yelena, who was still blaming herself, and how guilty she’d feel if anything happened to you. You’d also hoped you might get to see more of Bucky - this was his workplace too after all - but other than a quick visit a couple days after you left the cabin, he’d all but vanished.

Now, you were getting antsy. With Yelena away more often than not, remote work and video calls were the only social contact you were getting, and the closest you had to fresh air was an occasional risky visit to the Tower’s wind-battered balcony.

As you endure another lonely evening scrolling through streaming services in a fruitless attempt to stave off boredom, there’s a brisk knock on the door of your private apartment. You leap up excitedly, glad for the distraction and hoping this is Yelena - with Bucky alongside her if you’re lucky - to tell you the enemy gang has finally been dealt with. Instead, the person who strolls in without waiting for you to answer the door is Yelena’s boss, Val.

You pull up short, suddenly worried she’s arriving with bad news - you’ve seen her a few times, but she’s never visited you - you’ve never actually spoken to her before.

“Val, hi. Is something wrong? Are Yelena and Bu- is everyone alright?”

Val narrows her eyes at you, mouth pursing in a way that could be either thoughtful or disdainful. “How very familiar of you,” she purrs. Definitely disdainful. “Let me start by introducing myself. I am Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine, head of this organisation and your friend’s boss. You can call me Director.”

You’ve heard enough about the Contessa to expect this sort of behaviour, but her icy calm relieves some of your worry - surely she wouldn’t be this petulant if she was giving you bad news.

“Director. Sorry,” you defer. “Is everything alright? Everyone’s safe?”

“What an interesting little place you have here,” she mutters airily, ignoring your question and casting a patronising eye over your relatively tidy living space, her gaze lingering on the dinner dishes still stacked in the sink.

“Uh, yeah,” you’re not sure how to reply to her, “Thank you for letting me stay here. But is everyone-”

“Yes, yes, everyone’s fine,” she answers with a dismissive wave of her perfectly manicured hand, “And I’m so glad to hear you’re grateful for us giving you a home.”

Now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes at her carefully manufactured smile.

She continues, “I’m sure you’re so eager to repay us for our generosity. And to get out of here before you die of boredom. Or old-age. Or being crushed beneath a toppling pile of dirty dishes.”

“Yes?” you respond, apprehension turning your answer into a question.

“Oh I’m so glad to hear that,” Val steps closer to you, “After all, it’s not just Yelena who’s working overtime to ensure your safety. Sergeant Barnes seems strangely invested as well. I heard he even came to visit you here, check you were okay. Such a softie. He usually hates coming to the Tower, which can be very frustrating, logistically.”

She grasps your shoulders, making you jump. “But now you’ve agreed to help, this can all be over so much faster.”

Her smile widens.

—

You try to put all your frustration into your punch as you slam a fist into the solid leather.

“Woah,” Agent Rumlow laughs, “what did that punching bag ever do to you?”

You huff out a breath and wipe your arm along your forehead, catching the sweat before it drips into your eyes. “It can take it.” You tell him, stepping away from the bag to take a pull from your water bottle.

The catch to Val’s suspicious offer became clear almost as soon as you’d accidentally agreed to help. It turns out she had almost all the intel on your would-be abductors, except the location of their base.

“We started to think they were hiding in a cave or something,” Val had chuckled mirthlessly, “But we checked all those, and they weren’t.”

What they had discovered was that the base was so well-hidden and so impregnable, that they took all their hostages there, since it guaranteed they wouldn’t be found or rescued.

“Which means…” Val trailed off suggestively, encouraging you to make the connection.

“You need bait.”

“Bingo.”

At first, all you’d had to do was leave the Tower. You’d been given access to the back stairs and told when to go out - times that synced up with the guard’s shift changes, so it would look convincingly like you were sneaking out - but over a week later you remained entirely un-abducted.

You could tell Val was getting irritated, reminding you in an increasingly terse tone that you needed to forget a lifetime of safety instructions and walk alone down dark alleys, keep earphones on, go headfirst into any risky situations, but the criminal gang were nowhere to be seen. All that had happened to you in ten days of living dangerously was an attempted mugging that you’d only narrowly escaped, and the small tastes of freedom weren’t enough to make up for your continued confinement or Val’s bad moods.

After that near-miss, you’d doubled the amount of time you spent in the gym, building up your strength as a way to feel safer. When one of Val’s agents had offered to give you some tips, acting as a personal trainer-slash-self-defence coach, you’d gladly taken him up on the offer.

It also helped to have a friend you could talk to about your bizarre new life.

Agent Rumlow - Brock - smiles understandingly. “Being stuck inside when you’re not dangling on Val’s line getting a bit much?”

“What makes you think that?” You joke breathlessly as you adjust the wrappings on your hands that have come loose from your furious swings at the punching bag.

Brock chuckles, coming over to help re-wrap the tape around your knuckles, “Look, I get it. I had a stake-out once that took six weeks. Six weeks of being stuck in a tiny run-down apartment in a half-abandoned building with another agent I didn’t even like. At least you’ve got modern amenities, and good company.” He winks at you, using your hand to pull you closer so he can casually bump your shoulder with his.

The action makes you wonder, not for the first time, how serious his flirting is - if he might ask you out if you were actually free to go out on a date.

He’s not a bad-looking guy, tall and muscular with thick, dark hair, and you would have considered saying yes, if not for the still-vivid memory of your kiss in the cabin with Bucky. Nearly a month since you’ve seen him, you still can’t get the supersoldier out of your head. And every time Brock’s brown eyes hold your gaze, you can’t help but compare them to Bucky’s bright, intense stare.

“But if you are getting really tired of being stuck here with me - I have an idea for how we can speed things up,” Rumlow suggests.

You look up at him, curious. “I’m listening.”

He gives you a knowing smile. “What I learnt on that stake-out was that sometimes you can’t wait for them to come to you. Sometimes you have to put yourself right in their path.”

—

Taking a deep breath, you step out of the limousine and nervously smooth down your silky floor-length cocktail dress, trying to look more confident than you feel and pushing down the thought that things have got seriously out of hand.

Brock had told you that the team had discovered the head of the target gang was going to be at an up-scale art gallery party in Long Island. Even if they weren’t certain he’d be heading back to their base after, they knew he’d be surrounded by bodyguards and lackeys, none of whom would pass up a chance to impress their notoriously fickle boss by finding and snatching one of his targets - you.

So now here you are, on the arm of a tuxedo-wearing Rumlow, attempting to blend in with the obscenely wealthy and largely criminal crowd. He’s assured you his cover for the night is secure, posing as a wealthy hedge fund manager looking for a few investment pieces, with you as his date. He’d even insisted on running into you on one of your Val-sanctioned trips outside the Tower, buying you a few drinks and getting your number so he could make a show of inviting you here - “in case they’re watching.”

As on your other trips outside the Tower, you have location trackers hidden all over you - in the shoes, necklace, bracelet and ring Rumlow gave you when you were getting ready. You’d also added one of the trackers Val had given you, a miniature transmitter that tucked away in your hair, hidden at the nape of your neck.

The preparation doesn’t help your rising nerves, knowing that your abduction is the aim of the evening.

As you reach the top of the grand entrance stairway, Rumlow nudges you ahead, pulling his phone out to snap a photo of you. “Gotta make it look real,” he mutters with a grin as he rejoins you, “And if I’m out with a girl as hot as you, wearing that dress, I’d be taking a lot of pics.”

You blame your nerves for how off-putting it feels, having his eyes rove over you. Rumlow gave you the dress, and his reaction makes you suspect he picked it out himself. It’s more revealing than you’d typically choose, the thigh slit reaching almost to your hip, and with a low cut front and back that forces you to go braless, which you know hasn’t escaped his notice. You shiver in the chill evening breeze - he hadn’t thought to give you a wrap - and urge him inside with a hand on his arm and a smile you hope looks natural.

Inside the grand hall the two of you mingle with the other guests, Brock keeping hold of you at all times in a way you assume is meant to be reassuring, as you sip champagne and pretend to admire the art. Mimicking the other guests, you force your face into an expression of detached interest, but you’re wound tight with tension, the expensive wine like sandpaper in your throat, and Rumlow’s hand unpleasantly clammy on the bare skin of your back.

You have no idea what these gang members might look like, but as you glance around you’re surprised to not see any faces you recognise from the Tower. On each of your previous trips out there have always been one or two agents surreptitiously loitering nearby, ready to act fast if anything goes south. For an event as big as this, it would be easy for them to blend in amongst the crowd - surely Rumlow’s not the only person Val sent here?

Brock leans in close to you, his dry lips brushing your ear, “It’s showtime,” he whispers, before kissing your cheek and straightening up. “I’m going to the men’s room,” he tells you, loud enough for those near you to hear. “Feel free to have another drink, while you wait for me.” He grins wolfishly, snatching a full champagne flute from a passing waiter and pressing it into your hand before disappearing into the crowd.

You sip from the glass and focus on your breathing, hoping your shaky legs won’t tilt you off your too-high heels. The next part of the plan is for you to follow Rumlow to the bathroom - you’re more likely to be snatched out of the public view. You wait a few moments, gulp down most of your drink, then make your way to the women’s restroom at the back of the hall.

The gleaming white bathroom isn’t empty, but there aren’t many people around. None of them spare you a second glass, so you try to act natural - entering a cubicle, washing your hands, then leaving. Still, no one approaches you.

As there’s still no sign of Brock either, you pull your phone out of the small clutch you were provided and send him a message.

Everything ok?

It’s read instantly, and followed by the dots that show he’s typing.

Yeh, his reply comes, where r u?

You frown, but before you can reply another message pops up.

U cm to the back bathroom? The left?

You glance around you, and sure enough there’s a thick wooden door ajar at the end of the corridor. Maybe a staff area, or more private bathroom. You’re a little apprehensive - something feels off, but you can’t tell what. This whole evening is too weird for you to trust your own instincts.

The heavy door swings open silently, and you’ve barely taken a few steps into the dim hallway before an all too familiar sharp sting on your neck makes you flinch. Muscles instantly weak, you can’t even turn before your body folds and you collapse into darkness.

—

The first thing you notice when you come to is the uncomfortable cramped position you’re in, and the swaying feeling that isn’t just in your head. Despite your lingering grogginess, your inability to even sit up makes you realise you’re trapped in the trunk of a car.

Panic surges up in you, and you shakily take a deep breath - this was the plan, you remind yourself. Eventually, the car will stop, you’ll be rescued, and the whole gang will be taken out, freeing you to go back to your normal life.

Unfortunately, your brain can’t convince the rest of your body. Your breaths hitch and your heart pounds, so in another attempt to reassure yourself, you focus on the location trackers that are your lifeline - and a hot surge of nausea pulses through as you realise you can’t feel them. The cable tie trapping your hands behind your back is the only thing circling your wrists, and your necklace, ring and shoes have vanished. You can only hope the final tracker in your hair is still there.

—

Bucky cracks his knuckles. This whole operation had felt wrong from the start.

He and Yelena had been assigned to stake out the gallery party, following Val’s information that the head of the gang would be there. What neither of them had known until he saw it through his scope, was that you would also be there. Bucky’s eye had immediately been caught by the sight of you ascending the steps in a slinky dress and his body was flooded with conflicting emotions. It had been too long since he’d seen you, and you looked stunning, but why were you here, of all places? And with Rumlow? The party intel was top secret - way above Brock’s clearance - and yet here he was, leering and pawing at you like he owned you.

“She’s here,” Bucky mutters into his comm device, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, “with Rumlow.”

There’s a shocked pause before Yelena responds, immediately knowing who he means. “What? She isn’t supposed to leave the Tower! And Rumlow is not on this mission - you and me are the only ones Val told about this.”

“I know,” Bucky growls, “but that asshole is here, acting like they’re on a date or something. You didn’t know anything about this?”

“No,” Yelena replies darkly. “I’m calling Val. If this is some extra secret crap she’s pulling-”

“She would have told us.”

“She keeps secrets from us all the time!”

“But hiding this makes no sense,” Bucky points out, “We’re guaranteed to see them, and blindsiding us doesn’t help the mission,”

Yelena curses, “So what’s going on here?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t like it.” Backing away from his hidden vantage point, Bucky goves in to his first instinct. “I’m going in.”

“No!” Yelena’s response is immediate, “That won’t help.”

“I can sneak in through the back. Into the bathroom. Get her out-”

“And if you’re seen?” Yelena hisses, “It will be even more dangerous for her.”

As much as he hates it, Bucky can;t argue with that. Instead, he stays crouched in the hills overlooking the venue, Yelena on the opposite side of the building, both intensely focused on the arriving attendees, and the glimpses of the party they can get through the windows.

In the weeks since he’d met you, Bucky had been unable to get you out of his head. He’d been immediately intrigued by you, and that kiss in the cabin - that kiss he couldn’t stop reliving - had been electric. He didn’t date much, but he knew that alone couldn’t explain the fire that had ripped through him at the touch of your lips, and pulsed hotly in his body whenever he thought of you.

He’d insisted on helping Yelena track down the people who had threatened you, and the weeks of frustrated deadends were wearing on him. All he wanted was to eliminate the person who’d put a target on your back, wrap you safely in his arms and make sure no one ever thought of hurting you again.

But now here you were, not just in the path of danger, but laid right at its door, with Brock Rumlow’s slimy hands holding you there.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, he hears Yelena’s voice in his ear again. “She’s moving! Tech has five trackers on her, plus one on her phone. All but one are still in the building, but the last shows movement, fast, heading west on the highway.”

Bucky’s up and on his bike in seconds, skidding onto the road in a plume of dirt. As he and Yelena follow the tracker, she fills him in on what headquarters had told her after she reported your appearance at the party.

“Val’s been sending her out of the Tower to try and draw them out - using her as bait. But just in the city. She hadn’t authorised anything tonight. Rumlow’s gone rogue - she said trying to get a promotion or something maybe - four of the five trackers were checked out by him earlier today. The fifth is one Val’s team gave her from when she started leaving the Tower.”

“And let me guess,” Bucky snarls, “that’s the one we’re following?”

“You got it.”

“You think Val really believes Rumlow’s doing this for a promotion?”

“I think she said that so we don’t kill him before she can talk to him.”

“Too bad.”

“Точно,” Yelena agreed.

—

Bucky’s got the throttle of his bike in a death grip. The only thing stopping him putting finger-shaped dents in the bar is the knowledge that breaking the thing would stop him pursuing the bastards who took you.

“It’s gone!” Yelena’s panicked shout crackles into his earpiece, followed by a string of Russian expletives “The last tracker signal - it’s - it’s disappeared.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches so hard he swears he hears a tooth crack. 

After chasing the tracker for miles, until long after the sun set behind the mountains in front of them, they’ve lost their only heading.

Sitting on their idling bikes a few minutes later, they pour over Yelena’s mapping screen.

“The signal must have been lost inside the mountain,” Bucky assesses, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Not if it’s a normal mountain,” Yelena frowns.

“Maybe it’s not.” They share a look, “Maybe that’s why we haven’t been able to find them all this time.”

“Дерьмо,” she swears, “More proof they’re not just a small-time gang then. At least that narrows the search area. Look, there’s only one road into the mountain, over this bridge, through the tunnel and out the other side.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“It’s never that simple,” Yelena groans, “How about I go into the mountain the obvious way, you look for something else? Some other way they could have taken her.”

Not wanting to waste any more time discussing tactics, Bucky agrees. As Yelena speeds off over the bridge, he skids his bike down the steep side of the hill to the ravine underneath it. Racing over the rocky ground, he keeps his eyes focused on the steep mountainside.

“Bucky, can you hear me?”

“Yes, have you found anything?”

“No,” Yelena’s disappointment is clear over the line, “Nothing promising. But if you’re still hearing me then it’s not the mountain blocking the tracker signal.”

Bucky’s silent. This isn’t good news.

“The only thing I’ve found is a road tunnel. It was kind of disguised, so I thought, maybe - but it just goes outside, down to the base of the mountain.”

“That’s where I am,” alertness drowns out his foreboding, “What side of the mountain?”

“South,”

“There’s no road down here,” he tells Yelena as he speeds up, “So a road down from there -”

“Is suspicious,” Yelena finishes.

Sure enough, as he rounds a spur of the mountain, Bucky spies a flattened path in the dirt leading towards what looks like just a crack in the cliffside. Leaving his bike far away enough that the engine won’t echo within, he silently approaches and peers inside. The darkness of the night outside helps his enhanced eyes adjust even faster.

“This is it,” he whispers to Yelena through his comm, “I’m going in. Wait outside.”

“Buc-” The rest of Yelena’s reply is cut off as he uses his vibranium arm to push the false rock face open enough for him to slip inside - whatever stopped your tracker working has silenced his communication device. Pulling a knife from his holster, confident that he’s found your location, he sneaks into the bunker.

—

You shudder violently as another chill wracks your body. You’re still bound by cable ties - ankles together and hands behind your back, and shivering just makes your muscles ache more. The black sack over your head stops you seeing anything, but you can feel the hard floor beneath you, cold and damp through your thin dress.

After a painfully bumpy journey being knocked around the trunk of a car, you were dragged out, squinting in the sudden light before your captors forced a bag over your head and lugged you away to your current location. The only clues to your surroundings were the echoey footsteps as you’d been carried away, and an alternating pattern of bright and dark that reminded you of walking down poorly lit tunnels. A sharp turn ended with you being dropped to the floor, the clang of metal on metal and receding footsteps making you certain that even if you broke out of your bonds, you wouldn’t be able to escape.

At least your body could only sustain the adrenaline rush of panic so long, and you focused on breathing, telling yourself that having your eyes covered meant they probably weren’t planning on killing you.

Unless they’d hidden your face to make your execution easier on them.

Shutting down that thought, you wriggle upright, leaning against the rough wall. It scratches your bare back but you feel less vulnerable when you’re not lying down - you can hear men’s voices not too far off, and can just about make out enough lewd comments to know they appreciate the dress Rumlow put you in.

Was he in on this? It would explain the loss of your trackers, the lack of other agents and the general unease you’d felt all night. Anger flares at the thought, and you grab onto it, desperate to feel anything other than fear and despair. Eventually even that peters out, leaving you numb - and with nothing to do but wait, alone in the dark.

It feels like long hours later, once your frozen body has become as numb as your mind, that a sudden hush from the men makes you sit up straight, attention focused. The moment of silence is rushed away in a chorus of shouts, yelps and swishing, thudding sounds that you can’t identify. You jump as gunshots ring out, ending with a strangled cry and heavy thud.

Fully alert, every muscle is tense and locked, your eyes wide as you pant into the fabric. Before you have time to react, a welcome voice, gravelled with emotion, calls your name.

You gasp in relief - Bucky! You wince at a metallic screech, and an instant later the bag is pulled from your head and your sensitive eyes meet Bucky’s relieved ones.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, ripping the cable ties from your wrists, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Your arms scream in pain as they’re released from their cramped position, but that doesn’t stop you flinging them around Bucky’s neck as he removes the ties from your ankles.

“Thank you,” you gasp, sure that you’ve never meant those words so much in your life.

Bucky simply shakes his head, restrained emotion pressing his mouth into a straight line as he wraps his arms around you, squeezing gently as he lifts you to your feet.

“You’re freezing,” He breaks away to take off his jacket and wrap you in it, his concerned eyes noticing your shiving body, from your sack-mussed hair to your bare feet. Without hesitation, he picks you up and moves back through ripped apart iron bars into what you can now see is some sort of underground tunnel system.

Stunned, you cling to him tightly.

“We have to be quick,” he tells you, “Yelena’s outside, but the entrance is a long way-”

“You found her?!” This close even you can hear Yelena’s ecstatic shout in Bucky’s ear as his comm device bursts into life.

“Yes,” he answers, not breaking his stride, “I’ve got her. Where are-”

“I’m inside,” Yelena answers before he can finish his question, “in a control room. Left!”

“What?”

“There’s a fork in front of you, take the left.”

“How do you-”

“This whole place is a Faraday cage, inside it I can see her tracker signal. I know where you are, go left.”

Bucky turns left, moving silently and rapidly through the tunnel with you in his arms.

“There are too many people between you and the way you came in-”

“Not any more,” Bucky growls.

“-this is the only other way out and it’s closer to you.” Yelena explains.

A few twists and turns later, Yelena’s directions lead you to a half-concealed hatch high up in the wall of the tunnel. Once Bucky yanks it open, you can see the starry sky and feel a soft breeze - as well as hear a distinctive hum coming from the silvery mesh covering the opening.

“Don’t touch it,” he warns, switching his hold so he’s grasping you around your thighs, lifting you until you’re practically sitting on his right shoulder, feet against his chest. Yelena explained the rest of her plan to him in rapid Russian, so you know he’s waiting for something. Just as you open your mouth with a question, a deep boom resonates through the base - and the mesh stops buzzing.

Instantly, Bucky rips it away with his vibranium arm and pushes you through the hole with the other. Startled, you find yourself on a dusty slope, steep enough that you’re immediately sliding down it - but luckily not for long enough that you gain too much speed.

Managing to avoid the rocks littering the hillside, you land in a heap on the flat ground and turn to check on Bucky. As you do, you hear a sharp zap and see him tumbling down the hill after you.

“Bike.” he gasps as he lands almost on top of you. “That way. Quick.”

You follow his nod and set off, speeding up once you check that he’s got to his feet. You can tell from how he moves that something’s off, but if it’s not slowing him down, you won’t let it stop you either.

Round a bend you see the same black motorbike he picked you up on months before. Bucky catches you up and mounts it, reaching across himself with his right arm to pull you in front of him, and you realise his metal arm is hanging limp at his side.

“Bucky,” you gasp.

“It’s fine,” he insists through gritted teeth, “It’s temporary. But I need you to work the clutch.”

Imitating his grip on the right, you grasp the left handlebar, fingers over the lever. “Got it,” you assure him.

“Keep hold of me with your other arm,” his voice is gruff in your ear as he slides closer to you, pressing his legs tightly over yours, “And grip with your legs. I’m not letting you fall.”

You grab his forearm as the bike takes off.

—

Following Bucky’s instructions, the two of you zoom safely through the night, ending up at a small motel off the main road. After parking in a secluded spot round the back, Bucky leads you into a room, securing the door behind you.

“You promise Yelena’s safe?” You ask as soon as the last lock clicks into place.

“Yes,” he assures you. You’d already checked on the drive, but you wanted to make sure.

“You said you’re okay too though, and-” you trail off, gesturing to his vibranium arm, still motionless at his side.

With an efficient click and gentle whirring sound, Bucky detaches the arm and lays it on the small table with a sigh. “It’s not a problem. Just needs to recalibrate.” His searching gaze turns back to you, still only wearing his jacket and the silky gown you wore to the party - now decidedly worse for wear. “You probably want to clean up. And warm up - bathroom’s through there. And there are clean sweats in the bag, help yourself.”

He nods to a black kit bag on the bed; the one bed, you can’t help but notice. After dropping his jacket from your shoulders and draping it over one of the small chairs by the table, you open the bag and pull out a t-shirt and sweatpants - they’re soft and clean, and clearly Bucky’s clothes rather than something brought for you, and you have to resist the urge to bury your face in them and inhale deeply. Instead you thank him and move to the bathroom, glad to scrape the grime and dirt from a very long and terrifying day off your skin.

Bucky swaps places with you when you’re done, and you curl up on the bed, exhausted in a way you’ve never been before. Anxiety dances at the edge of your chest, but a combination of the adrenaline crash and the warm scent covering you from Bucky’s clothes leaves you relaxed, almost boneless where you lie - until you hear a series of muttered expletives from inside the bathroom.

Concerned, you slide off the bed and pad over to knock gently on the door. “Everything alright in there?”

“Yep,” comes the immediate reply. You sit back down, not entirely convinced as the grumbles and soft grunts from the bathroom continue.

“You sure you’re okay?” You call out hesitantly.

You hear a resigned sigh before the door swings open to reveal a grumpy and slightly embarrassed Bucky.

“I’m fine, it’s just - goddamn buttons,” he grunts, gesturing vaguely at himself. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that clings to every muscle in his chest, stomach and arm, and black tactical pants that puddle at his socked feet - and hang open below his hips.

You swallow, hard. It’s probably a good thing you’re so exhausted or you’d be jumping him right now. His dark hair hangs damp in his face, and the heavy brow and slight pout making up his shamefaced expression is unreasonably attractive. Not to mention the visible bulge straining against his boxers beneath his open fly.

“Can I help?” You ask, voice huskier than intended.

An unreadable expression flickers across Bucky’s face as you step towards him.

“Uh,” he bashfully pushes his wet hair back from his face, drawing your attention to his arm again, “If it’s not too-”

“It’s fine,” you tell him a bit too quickly, your voice cracking, “It’s kind of my fault your arm’s not working and – oh,”

You realise why, despite living so long with one arm, Bucky’s struggling now – the palm and fingers of his right hand are red and scorched in a pattern that matches the mesh he ripped though to free you, leaving his motion limited, stiff and visibly sore. Electrical burns, you realise.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s fine,” he sounds nonchalant as he mirrors your response, but you can’t tell if he’s actually unbothered, or if he’s acting that way to alleviate your guilt, “The serum speeds up healing. It’s already better than it was. I’ll be back to normal by the time we’re back in the city.”

You nod but bite your lip, guilt and worry shining on your face.

“And to be clear,” he adds, leaning towards you to emphasise what he’s saying, his eyes catching yours from only inches away, “None of this is your fault. The only ones responsible for any of this are the scum who took you.”

He holds your gaze, and you can smell the clean scent of his body fresh from the shower.

“Got it,” you answer breathlessly, reaching for him. When your eyes drop and your fingers brush the edge of Bucky’s pants you feel him tense, as though trying to keep himself under control. You’re warmed by the thought that this is affecting him as much as it is you.

Pulling the waistband tight over his hips, you fasten the top button with ease, then continue down the others. Despite trying to touch him as little as possible, you can’t help the tingling pulse in your core at being this close, this intimate with him.

Aware that you’re staring a bit too hard, you make the mistake of looking up at him as you close the last button. Above the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the hard set of his jaw - as though he’s trying very hard not to move - you’re captivated by the dark heat in his eyes. You both freeze for an instant, your knuckles still grazing the front of his pants, when you feel a delicious throb beneath your fingers.

Bucky starts back. “Thanks.” His voice is husky.

“No problem,” you respond, audibly out of breath. There’s a beat where you both just stare at each other, before he moves past you into the room, shoving his feet into his boots in an attempt to distract himself from the way he’s reacting. You realise at the same time he does that he’s not going to be able to tie the laces with one hand, and smile slyly at him, nodding to his feet. “You need a hand with those too?”

Bucky looks at you like he’s forgotten what shoes are. “I, uh-” his shoulders relax slightly as he takes in your expression, “I guess - if you don’t mind…”

“Not at all”, your smile widens and you hear his breath catch in his throat as you drop to your knees in front of him, taking your time as you carefully lace him up, pretending not to notice his hand twitching by his side, or the quiet expletives he mutters under his breath.

You look up at him coyly once you finish, not failing to notice how the buttons on his pants now strain tight.

“All done,” you confirm as you stand.

“Thanks. Again.” He doesn’t move back this time, and there’s barely an inch of space between your bodies.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him softly, “Besides, I’d like to thank you. For rescuing me.”

“There’s no way I wouldn’t have.” Bucky replies, his tone deepening as his eyes drop to your lips, but followed by a spark of amusement. “And it was really a team effort.”

“Even so,” you slowly, gently, place your hands on Bucky’s chest, feeling it swell beneath you as he takes a deep breath, tilting his head down to yours. Your lips meet as you capture each other in a kiss that thrums through you from your toes to your scalp.

The delicious press of him against you pulses through your veins as he wraps his arm around you, pulling you close, licking into your mouth. You graze your teeth along his tongue, his lips, needing and wanting him more than anything you ever have, thrilling as you’re rewarded with a deep groan that reverberates out of him.

As you reluctantly surface for air, his lips trail down your neck, the moan that spills from you making him grip you even harder, his arm across your back, hand tight on your waist  - before you remember the angry red burn you saw on him moments ago.

“Wait, your hand,” you manage to gasp out, “Is it hurting?”

He pulls back with a lazy delight at your concern clear in his eyes, “No,” he assures you, tenderly pressing a soft kiss to your flushed lips before pulling back further to look at you with an easy smile. “But thank you for caring.”

“Any time.” You return his dazed smile.

A teasing look crosses his face, “So do you intend to thank Yelena like that as well, or-?”

You laugh, tugging gently on his hair as rebuke. He grins back at you, a broad, open smile you’ve not seen on him before, and you swear you feel your heart swell. “No,” you tell him firmly, using your grip on his hair to pull him back into the kiss.

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

Probably more to come with these two!

Tags: @yesshewrites1 @lcolumbia1988 @vxllys @starfly-nicole @luvr-bunnyy @greatenthusiasttidalwave @oneofstarkskids @ye-olde-trash-panda @rockyeatrock @raelikesdinosaurs @freyathehuntress @whitewolfluvr @xoxabs88xox

[4-the-l0ve-0f-art]

"Caleb becomes a wet rat (and gets unpixelated?!)"

Chapter 6: Homecoming Wings

Pairing: Caleb x GN Reader

Word count: 1180

Genre: Reverse isekai, fluff, romance, comedy, supernatural, angst, slow burn

Rating: General Audiences

Triger Warnings: none

A/N: I recommend replaying through Homecoming Wing's first part of chapter 1 while reading this !! i've also made a tag for this fic called fic: wet rat caleb which will be used to post updates on the future chapters and bonus content related to this story, just for fun

<< previous next >> Tumblr Chapter List Ao3 Link

---

Caleb was knocked out of his thoughts by your excited chattering.

“Let’s goooo!!! Caleb’s chapter released!” His head whipped towards your direction.

You looked up, sensing the stare. “Oh, not you, Caleb. I meant, like, Caleb-Caleb, you know? The actual Caleb from the game.” You lifted up the ipad to show him your screen. It was only for a brief moment, and Caleb was unable to catch what was written on the screen.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. This was his chance.

He walked over and jumped on the couch, sitting right next to you. He glanced at the ipad and then back to your face.

You were staring at him in shock.

Oh. Oh my god. He’s sitting next to me.

He blinked at you with his purple eyes, not saying anything. His tail flicked to his side.

Okay. Okay. Stay calm. You don’t want to scare him away by reacting too loud.

“You really are interested in Caleb, huh? I knew it.. Even cats are going to like him.” You turned your focus back to the ipad in your lap, which was currently on the chapter selection menu for the main story.

Are we really talking about me? This much enthusiasm.. It’s unsettling. 

Caleb was a bit confused. He knew for sure that the man on the screen was him, but he didn’t understand why you were so excited when you saw him. Both of you had watched the same video.

There was still a lot Caleb didn’t understand about the video. The man was him, but it wasn’t him. 

“Did you honestly think I would always be the kind hearted boy from your childhood?”

He was talking to someone. Someone from his childhood?

There was no one. No one worth remembering, anyway.

What disturbed him more was the experiment report.

[They are the optimal weapon for destroying each other. This experiment is never to be restarted.]

One thing he was sure about was that there was no one, absolutely no one, who had been turned into a weapon the same way he was. That is how he rose to the ranks of Colonel, and that is how it’s supposed to remain. There was no one who had been able to endure the experiments long enough to be as powerful as him. 

And that is why he didn’t understand what was going on in the video.

Or what was going on in general, to be fair. He had turned into a cat. A cat!

And here I thought things couldn’t get any worse when grandma was killed.

Snapping back to reality, he read the text on your ipad screen.

Homecoming Wings: Vanishing Skyward.

He watched your eyes twinkle.

“The background is so beautiful. That’s Skyhaven, I think..” 

You were right. It was a picture of Skyhaven from a distance. He could recognize the layout of that island anywhere, it was his base after all. Or his prison. Depends on how you look at it.

“Let’s find out what you’ve been up to while MC has been suffering, Caleb.” You poked his head gently.

He narrowed his eyes on you. It was amusing how you talked to a cat, but the cat was still him. The situation was somewhat laughable, he thought.

You tapped on the block titled “01 Story: Infiltration”.

He read the text on the screen alongside you. It looked like it was written from someone else’s perspective.

“She’s dreaming about the explosion?” You muttered, focused on the screen.

Caleb’s eyes widened as the words “Aether Core”, “Ever”, and Bloomshore District Explosion” appeared on the screen one by one.

The scene seemed to switch from an office to the scene of an explosion. 

Reporter A - “It’s been a week since the explosion in the Cascade District. The Farspace Fleet still has the region under lockdown.”

Caleb was baffled.

…

You stared at the screen in silence for an entire minute once the cutscene ended.

“Did you see that?” Caleb wasn’t sure if you were talking to him or yourself. Frankly, he didn’t care. He was just as shocked as you.

“I think infold really loves to introduce their characters while they kill someone.” You said, referencing a certain white haired man with a crow.

Caleb, on the other hand, was lost in thought.

The scenes that had just unfolded on the screen hadn’t happened too long ago to him. He had killed the man who had tried to sink his ship in the deepspace, on his first mission as Colonel. It had been a couple months since then and Caleb had adjusted well to the endless attempts at people trying to dethrone him, courtesy of Ever.

It was a weird experience watching it unfold from a different perspective, however. And even weirder when it’s from an ipad screen of a random person who didn’t know he was right there, next to them.

At this moment, his life felt like a fever dream.

…

Currently, you’re having the biggest crash out you’ve had since you started playing this game. And a cat was witnessing it all, sitting at his place next to you on the couch.

“Girl, oh my god..” 

“You did not just get drugged by that guy. You did not—” You cut yourself off.

You looked at the cat next to you.

“Caleb, Do you see this shit? Do you???”

Caleb did, in fact, see the shit. And saying that he was flabbergasted would be an understatement. 

“They deserved a better reunion scene. What the fuck was that?? “It really is me.” Who says that after being declared dead?” You mimicked Caleb’s voice line, clearly annoyed.

“And the MC just.. Accepted it? And then proceeded to stay at his home?”

That was not what Caleb was worried about. He was more so focused on the fact that he was a video game character in this world. And with a story which was eerily similar to his own, at that.

Just without the hunter.

I have no idea what you’re talking about. Caleb continued watching as you ranted.

“There's so much shit going on in this story, man..”

Strangely enough, Caleb didn’t think that his actions in the story were out of character for him. He didn’t resonate with the need to protect someone like the MC in the game, but in the end, he had still ended up in the same position as the other version of himself, regardless of whether that hunter was in the picture or not.

He had been forced to survive on his own either way. The only difference was that he had no one waiting for him at the end of it all. His desperation was fueled by his need to feel even a semblance of control over his life, which had been thrown into disarray since he was young.

And it was happening once again. This time, with an obviously cat-shaped dilemma.

Yet, maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind it as much.

A certain someone sitting next to him was altering his reality, oblivious to it all.

And he was starting to accept it.

---

Taglist: @roseapov @mangooes @zukini-01 @browneyedgirl22 @mavix @staristoo @hohoooowhy @pirana10 @lunia-likes-pomegranet @bertieorangy @heyimseli @xxnessinessiellexx @mcdepressed290 @mentaltrouble2201 @stardustsunflowers13 @I-lover9 @destheoren @ixloom819 @super-nerder @mazlodowki @friedmagazineprincess @celestialzdiviner @deadghosy @fishwasher8 @dummiebunny @etsuniiru @wegottastayfocus @astraecho

A/N: You can DM me or comment if you want to be tagged in this series and it'll be done in the future parts !!

[adderundergrowth]

I just read an interesting post about someone who specifically practices witch-flight. I've been doing something similar if not identical in nature for years, but tbh reading other people slap warnings about losing pieces of yourself, getting lost, or needing some protective charm on your person before heading into the Otherworld has me probably looking like the most reckless witch ever. I mean, I have a "waystation" that I return to, and I use it at the end not only as a return point, but to check myself for hangers-on, re-ward, or cleanse before fully coming back. My protection otherwise is the presence of my familiar and rarely anything else. If I'm feeling anxious every once in a while, I throw some oil blends with protective qualities into the bath I'm likely floating in.

I suppose my question is: what do others mean by the specific dangers of witch-flight/hedgeriding/etc when they say things like "getting lost" or "getting hurt?" I definitely get the notion of things following you or clinging to you if you're not careful, but is the worry about metaphysical pieces of ourselves that won't return with us? Warnings about leaving the body itself unattended without protection implies some vague threat there as well. What are the visible signs post-flight--the symptoms, if you will--that even tell us something has happened? (The post I was reading mentioned something like lethargy and wooziness if they didn't wait and check for all the pieces of themselves to regroup before returning.) If you screw up, how do you do damage control or restore yourself?

I have my ideas of the answers just from my own experience and some informed guesses, but I've never directly asked, especially given the gravity sometimes heaped upon the potential dangers. I'm curious what others have in their own heads.

[zepskies]

ehehe I know I'm on the right track if I can make you laugh, Wayne! 😂💜

Ah yes, classic man with his "I'm fine." He'd probably still say, halfway through bleeding to death 😂

😆😆 Dean:

Hahaha such a good point! Hard to argue with that 😆

lol right? If he's not complaining about someone else driving his Baby, then something's clearly amiss. 😂

Yup, and have Sam stich you up with tooth floss, right, big boy? 😂

ahhaha "big boy" took me out, but yeah that floss is really gonna cut it 😂

While she's filling out his form, I had Ross and Joey in my head, too 😂

omg YES, that's the idea lmao. And you found the kidney stones gif!! 🤣🤣 I raise you with:

Awww, yeah ❤️‍🩹 But that's such a good point! Since Dean survived the finale and nothing ever happened in that barn, he has to face his mortality in a way. The "Fuck, what happens when I'm old and wrinkly" phase 😅

Quite literally all of that (glossing over 15x20 like જ⁀➴), and I just like the grounded humanness of Sam and Dean having to deal with the potential resulting health issues from decades of hunting, getting knocked out and stitched back together again, living on the road, etc. 😂

The ending was so wholesome! And I imagined the reader from Midnight Espresso. She was so warm, caring, stubborn, and sassy, too. Totally gave me the same vibes! 😭💜

You know how to get me all warm fuzzy like, friend! loll I'm so glad this made you think of the Midnight Espresso-verse. 🥹💜💜 She's very much all of those things, and like Dean, a natural nurturer, so he has someone in his corner really looking after his wellbeing in the "healthy and cared for" sense. Not just the "ya good?" 😂

Oh, Beau... Not the prostate exam 😂🫶 Btw, I loved how you switched up the different doctors for each of them! The kind of doctor fit their personalities so well too and made it even funnier 🤣

ahaha I thought it was fitting for him!! 😝 Aw thank you for pointing that out! I try to fit each situation with what's best for the character, and on this one I felt like showcasing different kinds of medical situations would be a fun way to do that. For some reason Beau always gets the (hopefully) funny everyday domestic issues 😆

Aaaah, I love that you incorporated this!!! Totally sounds like something he'd do too. Probably Jenny, Denise, and Cassie heard the same thing. He went on about it for days lmao

You've been on a roll recently giving me such good tidbits! lol Omg yeeeees he'd be complaining the whole week of post-man flu, probably even asking Denice if she can spy anything weird down his throat 🤣

Ugh, so true... Been trying to get my husband to go to one (and also been trying to get him to have a weird mole checked out for ten years. The argument: it hasn't changed in all that time, so it's probably fine 🙈😂)

oh my Goooood - men. 🤣 He needs to get that checked out! And isn't/wasn't he a military man? What's he afraid of?? 😂

Dead 💀🤣🤣🤣 (And on a side note: that aspect should be more featured in fics lol)

*snorts* not gonna lie, I was pretty proud of this line lmfao (idk why it's the first time I've referenced that kind of thing - maybe bc I'm not personally turned on by it that much, but I agree that it's a legit thing that isn't focused on as much in fanfic lol)

Oh, I'd make so many jokes when he comes back. Probably buy him donuts and other hole-shaped treats 😆

DEAD. Deceased. 🤣🤣 But I love how your mind works lolll. HC that she "rewards" him by buying him a dozen 🍩🍩🍩

Fuck, Alex... Ben fucking killed me! The fact that you picked a therapist was just hilariously delicious 😂

Girl I haaad to! 😜 Like, he would never go to the doctor anyway because he probably doesn't get sick enough to have to go, but a therapist? He definitely needs that appointment lol (or 12)

So true! I imagine it's hard staying level-headed with this man-child when he throws a tantrum. You almost have to talk louder to get through all of his white noise 🙈

Literally! It's like trying to be heard while a vacuum is going off. 🙄

But I'm really glad you thought his behavior in this was in character lol. He's kind of tricky as a character, but also predictable in some ways 🥲

That broke my heart a little, although it's so true 😭❤️‍🩹

Oh yeah, I broke my heart a little too on that one. 💙 I feel like that would be one of the few ways to get through to him in this situation.

Pffff 😂 Reminds me a little of that Rick & Morty episode where Rick refuses to go to therapy. I already feel bad for that psychiatrist 😆

LOL oh yeah, definitely feel bad for Dr. David on this one. He's gonna get an earful 😂😂

And of course Russell, much like Dean, is too "tough" for a doctor. A bullet wound you say? Nah, totally heals itself lol

Michelle said it in the comments -- there's a reason why women live longer in general lmfaooo

Hahaha I fucking knew she was checking him for injuries! Would've done the same thing 😂🫶 (Also, Russell, what did you expect? Sex? In this condition????)

Oh 100% she was after she clocked the way he was coming in 😂😂 (Russell's clearly an opportunist! 😆)

Again:

You need a hospital not a hardware store, you big idiot!!! God 😂🙈

LOL this comment had me deadd 💀

But he's got pliers! And dental floss! And an old bottle of whiskey in the trunk! (which functions as both disinfectant and a pain reliever: 2-in-1!) 😝

Yes, honestly, please quit. I wouldn't be able to sleep dating that man. What if he never comes homes from a job? 😢😭💔

Right?? It would be so heartbreaking. Ooh or the angst of an "almost." 😬 I actually have a long distance relationship Jacklesverse bingo square that I think I'm gonna have to use on Russell 😅❤️‍🩹

And I'm really curious what her punishment would've been. I'd make him eat veggies only for a month. That would break him 😂😜

lmfao that'll do it! No meat or sweets? He'd break for sure. I can hear him already, half desperation and half his usual self -

"Sweetheart, man can't live on spinach alone. That's how you get kidney stones." 😆

These were all so wonderful and so effing funny, friend! You nail these HC every time!!! ☺️💜

Awww you're amazing, thank you!!! 🥰 I honestly love doing these HCs! It's always a nice little creative reset for me. I'm so happy that you enjoy them! 💕

HEADCANON: Doctor's Appointment

HC: How would Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw react when you try to take him to the doctor?

Pairings: Dean x Reader || Beau x Reader || Soldier Boy x Reader || Russell x Reader

AN: This one is a request from my lovely friend @spnbabe67 over on Patreon! 💜

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, literal man children, medical stuff, angst, mentions of PTSD, hints of spice, fluffff

Dean Winchester

"I'm fine."

Ah yes, the same two growly words you've heard for an hour already.

"You're not fine," you testily reply. "You're not even 'Winchester fine.' You wanna know how I know? I'm driving the damn car right now!"

Dean shoots you a warning look.

One, you can tell he wants to say watch it on how you talk about his Baby.

Two, he doesn't want to admit that you're right.

He shifts in his seat with his arms crossed, trying to cover up a wince. It's the only tell that he's uncomfortable, even in pain, other than the fact that you've managed to hijack his car and take him to this damn doctor's appointment.

Dean can count on one hand the number of times he's been in a doctor's office for a genuine ailment, and not just trying to fish for information while impersonating some form of law enforcement.

That's because he's more of a "pour some whiskey on it," patch it up, and forget about it kinda guy.

And if we're talking about hospital stays, then that's usually a "one step away from death's door" kind of visit.

But when you first noticed something was off with Dean (confirming with Sam on the side of your suspicions), you did your damnedest to convince the man that he should see a doctor.

You even make the appointment for him as convenient as possible, around midday, so he doesn't have the excuse of it being too early to disturb his morning, or too late to mess up his afternoon.

Dean is a grumbly grizzly bear who only rolls his eyes in the waiting room when you offer him the clipboard to fill out his medical history.

"This is stupid," he says. "It’s probably just gonna clear up in a week or so anyway."

"You don't know that," you say. And you heave a sigh. Sometimes this man requires every last ounce of your ever-thinning patience.

You reclaim the clipboard and do this part for him too, filling out his fake-ass insurance information with his fake-ass name.

You detail his history and current symptoms to the best of your ability, and you make sure to jot down certain visits to free clinics in his past that he'd probably gloss over.

When the nurse opens the door and calls him back to see the doctor, Dean still glances over at you, mostly annoyed. But underneath, you sense his hesitation.

You slip your hand into his and get up with him. You grace a kiss over his knuckles — a moment of solidarity — and you go with him to one of the back rooms.

You later have to bite your lip against the vindicated urge to say I told you so.

The doctor informs Dean that he likely has a kidney stone.

If possible, Dean is even more sour the whole car ride home. He's convinced all the vegetables you've been trying to get him to eat are the culprit.

"This is what I get for eating fucking rabbit food," he grumbles. He levies a finger at you. "See? I told you. Nothing good comes of it."

"Right," you snort. "Zucchini is what's got you're, uh, pipe all blocked up."

But seeing the disgruntled look on his face, you remember just how much pain he's been trying to cover up for the past week. How many times you've found him hunched in the bathroom, dreading a piss.

You reach over and try to soothe him, gently stroking his thigh.

"It's okay, baby. We'll get the official test results soon. In the meantime, just keep drinking lots of water and get some actual rest."

"Whatever," he mutters.

But underneath the embarrassment, the shit, I'm getting old bit cropping back up again, and the Dean Winchester quirk of not wanting to be fussed over, not wanting to be seen as weak or ridiculous — what finally surfaces past all that is you.

Specifically, how much you push him to take care of himself.

Besides Sam, you're the only one who manages to keep him in check, the only one who cares that much, that you'd literally try to steal his car.

Yeah, I love you tends to cut through pretty much all the other bullshit.

Dean might not always express it words, but he does it now, taking your hand off his lap and pressing a kiss to your wrist, right over your pulse point.

You briefly take your eyes off the road to glance over at him, smiling. He's going to be out of commission for a while until this little problem clears up, in more ways than one.

The great Dean Winchester.

Beats Death itself, too many times to count.

Felled by pebble in his...well...proverbial shoe.

You try to hide your amusement, if not your affection. You bite your lip hard.

"Shut up," he warns, even though his lips twitch upward.

Your snort of laughter escapes before you can reign it in.

Beau Arlen

Beau is resistant at first, but he's probably the easiest to wrangle into seeing the doctor, whether it's yearly checkups or a man flu gotten out of control.

("You know what, my throat still feels weird on the left side, especially when I swallow. Feels scratchy and, uh, kinda hurts. You think I should get it looked at? What if it's laryngitis, or pneumonia, or God forbid, throat cancer. I mean, throat cancer, honey! That's nothin' to laugh at.")

You wish he'd have that "proactive" mentality with other areas of his health too, like not overworking himself at the precinct.

But when it comes to one exam in particular, he's your typical male of a certain age.

No matter how many times you remind him and write down the appointment on the calendar stuck to the fridge so he doesn't forget, he conjures some excuse for why he couldn't make it.

At first it's begrudgingly amusing, but by the third time, you're concerned, and even annoyed that he isn't taking his health more seriously.

"Look, I know it's not exactly pleasant, but this stuff is important. You gotta take care of yourself," you say.

You know you don't have to remind him that he has a daughter, but you will pull that card if you have to.

"Yeah, I know. It's just, uh..." Beau trails off, hands on his hips. He doesn't know what to tell you to make you understand how much he'd rather not go to this appointment.

"It's just a prostate exam, babe. I'll bet it's not half as invasive as a pap smear," you say wryly.

Beau shakes his head at you. "That very well may be, but believe you me, no man wants a latex finger up his..."

You raise your brows and tilt your head with a smile. "Well, you know. Some guys actually—"

Beau waves a hand at whatever you were going to say next.

"You know what, forget I said anything. I'd rather just live my life not knowing what's down there. Really, I'm good."

You utter a laugh, but you sidle up to him and grasp the open edges of his jacket. You turn your face up to him with a more sensuous smile.

"You don't mind when I do it," you tease.

Beau actually blushes. His cheeks and the tips of his ears tinge pink.

He clears his throat, his hands settling on the curve of your waist.

"Well, that's different," he says. His voice pitches lower, his green eyes taking on a slight mischievous gleam. "You're just teasin' the cave. You're not looking for coal."

Laughter bursts out of you like a gut punch. Your forehead falls against his chest as your entire body shakes with giggles.

Beau wraps you up in his arms. He tries and fails to temper his grin, even though his cheeks are still burning.

"All right, fine. I'll go," he says. "But I don't want to hear a damn peep out of you when I get back."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

(Oh, good fucking luck on this one.)

Ben rarely, if ever, gets sick. Of course, he's also nearly invulnerable.

However, you've been trying to get him to see a different kind of medical professional.

"Excuse me?" he growls. The first time you suggest it, he dismissed the idea with a roll of his eyes, thinking you were just trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn't appreciate you bringing it up again. "You better be fucking kidding."

"Ben..." You try to ply him with a gentle hand on his arm, but he shrugs you off, too irritated to curb the impulse.

"I'm fucking crazy, is that it? That what you're trying to say?" His voice raises, notch after notch. "I don't need a goddamn shrink!"

"I didn't say you were crazy!" you say. It's hard not to match his volume, but you manage to stand your ground while he huffs and puffs and eventually storms out.

You get discouraged and frustrated yourself, but you cling to every scrap of patience you can muster up for this man.

It's gonna take a few tries.

You start to suggest that maybe he should start easing up on the weed and the booze too.

Any time he snaps at you, you remind him that for as much shit as you've put up with him so far, this is the kind of shit that'll send you packing. Leaving his ass. For good.

He volleys back with empty words. "Fine, fucking leave."

You know they're empty, because every time you've called his bluff and packed a bag, he stops you.

"All right, enough. You've proved your fucking point."

After that, he tries to cut back on the booze, at least. He watches you pour out the Grey Goose and the Patrón.

Fucking fine by him. He's lost the taste for vodka, let alone that frilly French shit, and the cheap tequila.

But choking off the vein of one vice just makes another twice as strong.

Ultimately, it doesn't fix the problem either.

There's the time Ben blows a hole in the roof of your house (after a nightmare, he refuses to admit).

And there's a second time too. A third close call, and Ben pushes you clean off the bed so you won't get hurt.

If that didn't do it, he finally gets the picture after the second pink line appears on that white stick.

It now lies on your nightstand while you and Ben lay tangled together, bare skin against bare, flushed, sweaty skin.

A celebration, if you will.

His big hand lies splayed over your belly, protective, possessive, and deep down...grateful.

You glance up at the patched ceiling. Ben follows your gaze. His contentment fades into a frown, just like yours.

Both of you are thinking the same thing, if in different flavors of concern. Anxiety. (Guilt.)

"It's different now. You know that, right?" you say quietly. "If we're going to do this, you and me together, then I need you to protect us. Protect us from you."

At this point, you know he won't see a psychiatrist for his PTSD; not if it's to help himself (God forbid he admit that he needs it).

But if it's to protect you and your child, his own child...

Ben swallows a few acidic ounces of his pride.

Despite every cell in body that fights against it, he gets in his car the very next day and shows up for the appointment you made for him with Dr. David.

("What kind of quack fucking doctor goes by his first name, anyway? Christ.")

After the first couple of painfully awkward sessions, it's not so bad, Ben discovers.

He has a willing (heavily paid) audience for all of his stories from "the good old days."

Every gushy detail.

Russell Shaw

Russell is always quick to give reassurances, to downplay, to tell you that he's good.

But the day he comes home from a job with his bag hanging from his fingertips, almost dragging on the floor, his movements stiff as a rail — your heart sinks into your stomach.

"Hey, baby," he greets you tiredly, even tries to kiss you, but you're too busy running gentle hands over his arms and chest. Searching.

"Hmm, someone's missed me. Miss Handsy-yy-ahhh..." His playful quip dies the moment you find it.

Under his jacket lies the shoddy patch job on the bullet wound in his arm, located a few inches below the shoulder, just barely hidden by his sleeve.

"What the fuck is this?" you snap, half in anger, half in worry as tears spring hot in your eyes.

Russell immediately goes into damage control, soothing a hand down your arm and meeting your gaze.

"Hey, I'm okay. It's just a graze."

"Yeah fucking right. You're still bleeding!"

"Ehh, yeah, but no biggie. I've got some tools in the car—"

"No! We're going to the hospital."

"Sweetheart—"

"Right now! Let's go."

The man doesn't have the heart to argue with you too much after that. He knows he should've taken proper care of this before he got home. He really just wanted to, well, get home. To you.

But he regrets scaring you. He regrets making you worry.

He brushes the tears from your eyes and is grateful you don't ask what happened. He can't really tell you, even if he wanted to. His contract work with Horizon keeps his lips sealed for your safety, above all other reasons.

Only now does he begin to realize just how fucking unfair that is.

It really hits him when you sit with him for an hour and a half in the Emergency Department, waiting after the guy who fell off his moped, a kid with a little green army man stuck up his nose ("Hey, retro," Russell whispers to you), and a lady who can't seem to stop hiccuping.

Russell takes in a deep breath. He leans over to your ear.

"You know, we could just fix this up at home. A little needle and thread and some alcohol. Perfect First Aid kit," he says.

You narrow your gaze at him. "We're waiting to see a doctor. And don't think I'm done with you. When we get home, prepare to get punished."

A little smirk tugs at his lips. He brushes said lips across the back of your ear. "What am I, a little kid?"

You smile slightly as well.

"Well, if you're not going to tell me when you're hurt and try to cover it up like a little kid, that's how I'm gonna treat you."

Russell chuckles. His hand slips over your thigh.

"Gotta say, I'm kind of liking the sound of punishment. What'd you have in mind, sweetheart? Gonna spank me?"

And he's willing to give you more ideas.

You roll your eyes. Despite wanting to remain strong, his touch, the sensation of his lips brushing your ear sends a shiver curling down your spine.

"Oh, you just wait."

AN: lol I always have so much fun writing these. Let me know which one was your favorite this time! 💕

@waynes-multiverse You gave me another perfect little tidbit for Beau on Man Flu that made it into this one. 😂

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[my-my-my]

Hey, can you write about Aizen being a girl dad and doting on her. Y/n and Aizen being parents and enjoying that parenthood together. The daughter looking like y/n but having similar wits as him.

Ohhh it's been a long time since I wrote Papa Aizen! Thank you for your request!

CW: this is SFW! Also human Aizen because I've been in a mood for him lately!

At his core, Aizen was a man of science and logic. He knew how genetics worked, he understood it at the cellular and molecular level.

Yet it amazed him every time he looked at his daughter, how she was a spitting image of you. The way her eyes lit up when he picked her up from daycare to the way she smiled or even cried – it was, much to Aizen's dismay, uncanny.

Yet even with your looks, your slight mannerisms (she was her own person after all – that much Aizen and you instilled into her), she was a clever little girl. It amused him and unnerved you.

Children are like sponges – he wonders what else she'll learn from him.

Today though, was just a simple grocery store run. You had asked Aizen to pick up a few things for dinner and your daughter politely asked if she could come along. Manners were important to him, and it is again, of no surprise, she learned them as well.

"Oh Aizen-san, your daughter is so well-behaved!"

"I never met such a polite child!"

He would smile and nod, thanking them for the compliments, but he always wondered about her - was she like him? Perceiving the world around them a bit differently from the rest? He noticed she would be a bit more protective of you, almost like he was.

Strangers would joke and tease how she was a “mini” version of you, but close friends and family knew she was more like her dear father.

Nonetheless, a grocery run with his daughter would provide some interesting insights. She was still small enough to sit in the cart, but he asked her (politely of course) if she wanted to sit. She nodded her head, and she became queen of the cart.

“Do you remember what mommy asked for?” Aizen quizzed her. The way she bit her lip and thought about it was so eerily like you.

“Green onions!”

“Excellent, what else?”

“Hmm… toys?”

Aizen chuckled, "no, I don't think that's what mommy asked for."

She pouted, but without missing a beat, "but mommy loves playing with me."

Interesting, Aizen thought, how she was using a fact about you to cover her own interests. An amused look crossed his face. "If I remember what mommy said, she asked for mirin."

His daughter opened her mouth to say something, but nodded along, clapping her hands. As he pushed the cart down the aisles, he would stop to look at different items. Without fail, he would see, in the corner of his eye, his daughter picking up an item with great interest, and trying carefully to place it into the cart without him knowing.

And now they were in the bakery, looking at the selection of cakes, pastries and other baked goods on display.

"Daddy, up please!" She pleaded, stretching her arms overhead. And who was Aizen to say no? He carefully picked her up out of the cart and steadied her. Her eyes lit up at the assortment of goods that laid in front of her.

Aizen walked slightly away, near the fresh breads and feigned interest in the variety of loaves. He watched his daughter pick up a pre-sliced cake piece and again, place it carefully in the cart.

Once she was successful, she quickly turned around and spotted him immediately. Rushing towards him, she clung to Aizen's leg. Without even a thought, he picked her up, "did you see anything interesting?" He asked her.

She shook her head, placing it on his shoulder. He could see she was getting tired.

"Then lets go home then, mommy must be waiting for us."

Aizen placed her back in the cart, but also began removing some of the items she had placed before. He could see her slowly blink, struggling to stay awake. He gently patted her head as she began to doze.

But he kept one item in the cart - the slice of cake. It happened to be your favourite. He wondered if it was because of you, or if she had also begun to enjoy the taste as well. Curiosity filled his mind as to what was going through his daughter's mind when she was picking up each item.

But Aizen knew better than to wake a sleeping toddler. Although his daughter was well-mannered, she was still a child, and he knew better than to start a tantrum.

But she groggily woke up as soon as they reached home.

"Welcome home!" You beamed, as you picked your daughter from Aizen. "And did you get everything I asked for?" You asked her.

She nodded her head vigorously, "we did! I also got you a bunch of stuff, mommy!"

"You did? Why don't you show me?"

Aizen couldn't help but smile at the sight of his daughter leading you to the kitchen as he carried the groceries. The three of you began to unpack, but your daughter was beginning to huff.

"Daddy," she whined, "where's all the stuff?"

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." Aizen lied, wondering what she would do.

She blinked at him - as if your eyes were staring directly at him. He felt a smidge of guilt but held on to his curiosity.

"I got mommy pretty things." She said, her voice cracking, eyes watering instantly.

You looked at the two of them confused, "oh, you don't have to get me anything!" You cooed at her, picking her up. You nuzzled her cheek to comfort her, as she clung on to you tight.

"Did you mean this?" Aizen asked his daughter, holding the cake slice.

She shot up in your arms, "yes! Mommy's favourite!" She giggled.

"You got this for me?" You asked her, "you're too sweet." You smiled, kissing her on her forehead. “Let’s have it together after dinner.”

Aizen had a slight smirk on his face as he continued to observe his daughter. She seemed pleased with your suggestion.

Dinner came with a show, as you watched with amusement as your daughter tried to shove her food on to Aizen’s plate.

“That’s not very nice dear, food is for eating, not playing with.” You chided her. She pouted as she looked at her mess.

“She’s trying to get me full.” Aizen chuckled. “More cake for the two of you.” He smiled, catching on to what she was doing.

Your daughter’s mouth hung open; eyes wide as she got caught, “nuh uh! Daddy you don’t like cake.”

“I do like cake.” Aizen replied calmly, a smile on his face as he wondered where his daughter would go with this. “I especially like the cake mommy makes.”

“Me too! Mommy makes the best cakes.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “you two flatter me so much, how about we make a cake on the weekend?”

Your daughter nodded her head enthusiastically, clapping.

Once dinner was put away and your daughter cleaned up, you brought out the small slice of cake. You cut a piece for your daughter, feeding it to her, but she only took two bites. Aizen himself, didn’t want much of it. You were also full, leaving the remainder for tomorrow. Although your daughter was full, she was excited, “mommy, when is the weekend?”

“A few more days.” You gently patted her head.

“Can it come sooner? I wanna bake a cake with you and daddy now.” She whined.

It was then Aizen realized, the slice of cake wasn’t what she wanted, but to have the three of you make a cake together. He looked at his daughter, who stared back to him, a small smile on her face.

How amusing, Aizen thought, thinking of what other traps and ideas she would have in store for the two of you.

Thanks for your request! I had an idea based off something that happened between my little sister and dad when she was a toddler, but it was hard to write (and I can't see Aizen at WalMart HAHAHA).

[halfway-happyyy]

would you be able to write girly coming out to frank as bi? :))

combining a couple of asks with this one, so happy reading friends!

though they'd been going steady for a solid six months now, tonight was the first night frank would be spending at her apartment.

she was busy whipping up a quick dinner for them - spaghetti and meatballs, with a spinach salad - when he cleared his throat and asked, "who's this, kid?"

it took her a moment to disengage from the task at hand, but when she did, her breath caught in her throat.

he was staring at the miniscule picture of her and her ex-girlfriend, taped to the front of her fridge. it occurred to her then, that she still hadn't formally come out to frank yet.

she took a deep breath and wiped her damp hands on the front of her linen apron.

"oh," she was at a momentary loss for words. "that is my ex-girlfriend, jules."

the only telltale sign of frank's surprise, was in the arching of his brows.

"I find it to be one of the least-interesting aspects of myself, so I never really think to bring it up, but uh... I'm bisexual, frank."

she didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she released a huff of pent-up air.

"it can't come as a complete surprise, right? you know... on account of my favourite band being boygenius?" she'd started to ramble now. "I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner."

frank shook his head. "no need to apologize, kid." he scratched nervously at the back of his head before shrugging and murmuring - "I only wish you'd felt comfortable enough with me to tell me from the beginning."

she turned the stove off, and made her way over to where he was, pressing a kiss to his bicep.

"you are by far, the most comfortable i've ever felt with a partner, frank." she reached for his hand, interlocking their fingers. "it's just been a piece of who I am for so long, that I think I just forget, sometimes."

silence settled like fine dust between them before she said anything else.

"does it bother you? that i've been with women?"

frank frowned as if to say - no, why on earth would that bother me? - before shaking his head. "not at all."

she cleared her throat, and nodded somewhat triumphantly. "good, then as long as we're honest with one another, I have another confession to make..."

frank's concern didn't rear it's head until just then.

"go on, then."

she tried to ignore the blush warming in her cheeks. "remember that dream I had a couple of weeks ago? where you said I was moaning, and squirming around a lot? and I said that it was just a bad dream?"

frank's gaze narrowed in suspicion before he eventually nodded his head.

"well, it was actually a saucy dream, starring the page portion of nelson, murdock, and page..."

she swore she saw his pupils dilate at the implication of it all.

"you had a sex dream about karen page?"

she wedged her bottom lip between her teeth, and nodded her head in silent confirmation.

"jesus," he cursed under his breath. "that's so damn hot."

she rolled her eyes and sauntered back to the stove, giving her sauce a quick stir.

"you need to take that to your grave, castle." she shook the wooden spoon in his direction, as if by some miracle, that act in itself would put the fear of god in him.

he simply scoffed. "not bloody likely, kid. I think you and karen have a bit more in common with each other than you think."

[otaku553]

What advice would you give to someone who's been drawing for a really long time, but is always frustrated and burned out?

This became quite long, so I'm going to go ahead and put it in a read more!

If you’re frustrated and burnt out, it can help to pinpoint why it is that you feel that way— for me it’s often that I’m unsatisfied with the level I’m drawing at and feel I can do better, or I know I’m getting stuck doing what I know and am comfortable doing but it doesn’t feel like enough. Other times it’s externally motivated, such as finding my pieces aren’t doing so well anymore on social media.

If you fall into the habit of drawing and don't want to stop, I find studies to be the most helpful. This can be anything, but I like to usually draw on photos and reality. I would specifically recommend realistic studies to people who do a lot of rendering and coloring, because it's a gateway into starting to observe reality around yourself and picking out how to draw what you perceive on a daily basis from just looking at the world.

Studies are, in essence, going back to how many of us learn how to draw: copying. I think this is a really good way to feel proud of your work again while also feeling a concrete sense that you're improving! Because when you copy something, it gives you the muscle memory to replicate it again when you need it, like a clothing fold or a specific perspective or pose, or the way light reflects off of something.

This is versatile too: you can focus on drawing any object, maybe isolated clothing folds or accessories, or drawing hands, or maybe doing quick figure drawings. You set the parameters for this yourself, and come up with something that helps you grow as an artist or feel good about your art as needed.

Another way to combat dissatisfaction with your art is to discover something new to love, such that the desire to see this thing drawn overcomes your dissatisfaction. Watch new things! Play new games, maybe draw a character you've never drawn before. The funniest and probably best advice I've seen before on consistently drawing is to become obsessed with one guy and draw them all the time for years. I do subscribe by this! My interests are in flux usually but you can often find individual characters that I take a liking to and keep on drawing until it becomes second nature. When it doesn't feel fun anymore, I find another one.

And that's where the third one comes in: sometimes you have to give yourself time to find a compelling reason to draw again, to fall in love with your own art again or fall in love with someone else's art and want to honor them with your own. It's difficult to draw when you're forcing yourself to draw and staring down a blank canvas, but it's a lot easier when you're in the middle of doing some work or something and the thought of a character or something makes you just want to put down everything if even just to scribble them on a post-it-note, right? Passion ebbs and flows and sometimes you just have to trust that it'll flow back to you in time, even if you can't predict it.

I hope this helps, and I hope you're able to find reasons to love drawing again. :)

[mocking-birdies]

Hypothetically, if Sonadow were to become cannon, which of the two do you think would be more likely to have caught feelings first?

For me? Hmm I think Shadow honestly. Is he happy that he's caught feelings? Of course not. Will he deny them? Absolutely, until it becomes impossible to do so. Shadow, at least how I interpret him, feels emotions very deeply - to the point emotions can be too strong and overpower him. Which is directly at odds with the image he wants to portray of himself. He wants to be the stoic guy, the "too cool for this" guy, the no-nonsense guy that's in control of himself always. But I've always seen it more as a mask than anything - a defense mechanism. Because we do constantly see the contrary - we see how deep and passionate his emotions can be, especially for the people he cares for. Obvious example being Maria. Normally, grieving people don't feel the need to destroy an entire planet in revenge but Shadow's a different story. Of course, there's Gerald's memory manipulations to consider in that argument too but it was very obvious how intensely Shadow was grieving... and how willing he was to go through with it until he remembered her true wish. His attachment, his familial love for Maria was so strong. Another case of how strongly Shadow feels emotions but is slightly more niche is Dark Beginnings. Specifically, the scene where he's alone in the shuttle flying up to the ARK and mourning what could have been. His exhausted, pained expression before almost working himself into a panic before he stops himself so he can focus on his mission. Again it's another case of how strongly Shadow feels. He lets himself feel in private when there's no one else to see it. No one that can exploit it - like many have tried to in the past. Maria said it herself - he has a big heart. It's absolutely true. And I think that would lend itself to any strong feeling of love he could form for Sonic. As much as he'd hate it, he'd be the one falling quicker and falling harder. It's the one race he can beat Sonic in. Sonic, on the other hand, is that chill of a guy. Of course, he deeply loves his friends and his planet but he is rarely ever controlled by those emotions. He's, ironically enough, got the emotional control Shadow wished he had. Sonic is comfortable in himself and how he feels about people. The only instance I can think of at the top of my head of Sonic actually letting his emotions win is Dark Sonic all the way back in X... but even Eggman is quick to snap Sonic out of it and tell him how out of character it is for him. So that begs the question... how can someone so comfortable with their emotions not realize their feelings first. And I think the answer simply lies in Sonic's priorities. He's never looking in that direction - not considering a long-term partner. We see it in his slightly avoidant nature to Amy's affections in canon. He loves her as a friend, but can't even begin to imagine himself in a commitment behind a white picket fence. He's just not that way inclined. He's not going to think about it until those emotions have been left to brew for so long that he physically can't ignore it. He'll keep trying to avoid it as long as he can, after all - he wants to keep his life as simple as friends, adventure, and chilidogs. Anything outside of that realm is where things get complicated and he's not a fan of it. So when he does recognise, eventually, that he's falling for someone, he's gonna lock it in a box and push it away from himself. It'll go eventually... right? Of course, that doesn't mean he can't learn to explore those deeper connections. He's just going to be slower about warming up to the idea. He needs to figure out what a partner is for him. He doesn't need to conform to a white picket fence life to enjoy a relationship with the people he loves deeply. Whether it's Shadow, Amy, or anyone you choose to ship him with.

Basically... he needs to learn QPRs are an option haha. Especially with Shadow because I don't imagine for one second those two would settle in a happy marriage with a kid - as cute as the fanart can be. Those two are not to be contained. Their love can't be defined - it is simply theirs. And one day, they'll figure out what works for them. This was a simple question that turned into a long ramble I'm so sorry LMAO. TL;DR: Shadow falls first imo 😭

[duxearlier]

A RACE TO YOUR HEART

< wanderer x reader x kazuha >

Summery: Its the end of collage and start of summer. Wanderer and y/n started to plan their summer and how they will spend it. Though those plans change after the big argument. Ignoring eachother, y/n's life started to go downhill more and more and wanting to get away from the big city, they run away to old town where they meet kaehedara kazuha. After spending some time with him, they realize that the male likes them more then friends though to make things complicated, They have a crush on their childhood friend, wanderer. Its up to them to figure out if they will accept Kazuha's feelings or decline it and go back to Scaramouche.

Warnings: Swearing, mention of death, yelling, bullying.

Genre: collage au, childhood friends, triangle love, drama, angst, strangers to lovers.

Taglist: open

< < this is it! I will be finally finishing these smau before making the new one. I've been thinking about it and I really want to finish this one. There are a few chapters left, so not many, but I hope you guys enjoy. I did chainge few things as I coudnt find the original photos I've used for the pfp but other then the pictures and few nicknames, it stayed the same! If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! > >

CHAPTER TEN

< chapter nine || materlist || chapter eleven >

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“Why are we watching this? This movie is so bad” y/n laughed, shaking their head as kazuha couldn't help but snicker “I have no idea honestly but we can still laugh at how bad it is” “I guess yeah” they shake their head. It was one of those movies that were bad but you can laugh at how bad it is. “Well it is ending, wanna watch something else?” y/n hummed, stretching out as they didn't notice how Kazuha was somewhat staring at them. “Hm, I'm not sure. Anything you want, I'm fine with watching it” he spoke as y/n chuckled, turning to look at him which surprised them when their eyes met immediately, their cheeks flushed pink. “Honestly, I'm kinda hungry..I want pizza” they sigh “I also wanna build a blanket fout some reason” they spoke, smiling sheepishly as Kazuki hummed.

“A blanket Fort and food? That sounds like a great way to spend the night” he chuckled, standing up as y/n grinned and nodded. They Immediately moved to grab their phone, ordering the pizza and while waiting, they built their blanket fort. An hour later, the two of them were huddled under a blanket Fort with pizza and some other snacks laying around them.

“y'know..in the end I've never met your friends today as you said” y/n chuckled as kazuha blinked, humming “yeah but we can do that another time. I'll text them later and we can arrange it another time?” He suggested and y/n nodded. “Sounds good to me” they spoke as they nibbled on the pizza, leaning back against the pillows. “I wanted to ask” kazuha spoke up, wiping his hands from all the oil “I want to get to know you more, more better” he started off, looking at y/n “maybe to get to know each other, we can ask each other question and then answer them?” Kazuha spoke as he couldn't help but be more curious about y/n. He wanted to get to know them better.. to get closer to y/n.

y/n blinked, making sure to finish Chewing, taking a sip of their soda before nodding their head “yeah, I don't mind! I would love to get to know you better too” they smile softly at kazuha, noting how he seemed to be staring at them but they brushed it off. It was probably nothing right..?

Kazuha smiles and nods, “How about you go ahead and start?” He asked and that's what they did.

For the next few hours they asked each other questions, from ‘what's your favourite colour’ to a bit deeper ones questions. ‘What is the nature of reality?’ The questions were random, very random, something that they thought of at the moment but it was nice, it was nice to know more about each other and get closer. They ended up talking for hours and hours, exchanging questions and options as well. In the end, they went to sleep around 4ish am and maybe, maybe during the night they might have cuddled at one point but who can say.

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