#IF YOU FIND A GOOD READER STICK WITH THEM

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[d3arapril]

[reup] CHAMA | p.b

pairing: paige bueckers x f!reader word count: 2k warnings/tags: MINORS DNI! porn w zero plot, top!paige, mirror sex (ish), paige the eater returns, fingering (r!receiving), spit, language. i think that's it. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ it took some time, but look at this lil ol' thing i found in the depths of tumblr. happy early christmas :D reblogs & feedback appreciated!

"Come on, look."

Your back is slick with sweat, skin sticking to Paige’s chest as she keeps you pressed against her with a hand on your stomach. She's sat with her back against the wall, pillows haphazardly thrown on the floor and across the bed in a haste to get into position.

You're not sure how you both got here so soon, heated touches quickly turning into something more as soon as you'd entered her room.

"You look good," she'd said, those stupid rizz hands rubbing together as though she was plotting an elaborate plan to get you naked.

Of course, she was successful.

Now, you're forced to be face to face with your dishevelled appearance– eyes blown out wide and chest heaving as you watch Paige's two fingers rub at your clit in slow slow circles which are enough to make your hips shift, ass pressing back into her. Her grip against your stomach tightens, blunt nails digging into your skin.

"Quit moving," her lips are against the shell of your ear, breath fanning over your skin. "or I'll stop."

You struggle to read if she's teasing or being serious, especially given the fact that you've been sat in the same position for the past 15 minutes. Your gaze flickers up to her face and she's already staring at you, brows furrowed as she focuses on making you feel good.

It's always a struggle to see who'll cave in first– if Paige's head will drop between your legs first or if you'll turn to her, straddling her lap as you whine in her ear that you want to cum for her.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No." it's measly, the way the word leaves you. You feel weak but part of you enjoys it– enjoys the way she can so easily take you apart and put you back together again.

The hand on your stomach trails down to your thigh, pushing your legs apart wider and trapping them underneath her own. You're spread out and it's embarrassing but you find it hard to care when Paige's fingers slip between your folds, soaking wet as she rubs her fingers back and forth, back and forth until you can hear how wet you are, see your pussy practically glistening back at you in the mirror.

"Fuck," her lips part as she breathes out, chest heaving against your back as she watches her fingers working you in the mirror. "you're so fucking sexy."

Before you can stop yourself, you're covering her hand with yours as you push her fingers inside you. The stretch isn't too much but she's not exactly giving you the chance to adjust before she's thrusting, fingers curling as her thumb moves to press against your clit.

"Good, huh?" her voice is low, quiet against the back of your ear.

"Mhm," you nod, fingers digging into her thigh beside you as you struggle to hold yourself together. "so good."

She keeps her gaze focused on your cunt, watching as her fingers slip in and out of you. The sound is wet and messy, her other hand is pressed against your thigh and her touch is like fire, burning into your skin and keeping you held open. You're staring at her in the mirror, eyes so wide you feel like they might pop out of your head.

She's starting to sweat, you feel it against your back and see it beading on her hairline. You know she's getting off on this too, probably soaking through her boxers right now; always the giver.

You start to feel that familiar feeling below your stomach, the cord tightening as Paige fucks into you faster, harder, wet sounds practically now echoing around her room as you whine out into the air. The hand that was on your thigh snaps up to your jaw, clammy fingers pressing hard into your skin.

"Sshhh," her lips press against your cheek, soft kisses left against the heated skin. You feel like you're suffocating, eyes screwed shut as you climb higher and higher.

"Look." she murmurs, and you do, nodding as your eyes open slowly.

Your neck is strained, chin jutted upwards from the strength of Paige's grip on your jaw keeping you in place.

You do as she says, eyes heavy as you watch your reflections. Your gaze flickers between Paige's face and her fingers fucking into you, toes curling at the sheer dirtiness of it all. Her fingers slip out of you entirely to opt for solely rubbing at your clit, fingers sliding around messily from how wet she’d made you.

Your thighs start to tremble and you know Paige notices it because you hear her scoff in the back of her throat, knowing. "Y’wanna cum?"

A wrecked sob leaves you. "Yes, yes—"

"Say please."

"Please make me cum, please."

She doesn't utter another word, just rubs tight circles against your clit harder, faster until you’re panting. You catch her face in the mirror; jaw clenched and cheeks flushed and she’s watching your face, eyes hooded and just like that it's over, legs fighting to shut against her hand as you cry out, voice cracking at the sheer pleasure and pussy clenching around nothing as you fall apart.

The hand on your jaw presses against your mouth, muffling your noises as you sob into her palm. Her nose drags against your cheek and you think she’s talking you through it but you can’t hear her over your own cries. Her other hand doesn’t slow, riding you through it with slow circles until your hips are canting up against her hand.

"P," a trembling hand wraps around her wrist, pulse heavy against your fingertips as you look for a reprieve you’re not even sure you want.

"Wan' me to stop?" The light slap she gives your clit makes your breath catch in your throat.

You can't find it in you to say no, not when you look at her in the mirror again and she's looking at you with those eyes. You falter for a second and that's enough for Paige to know you're not done. She slips out from behind you and you whimper at the loss of her warmth behind you.

She settles between your legs, nudging you backwards until your shoulders hit the mattress. Paige spreads you open again, blonde hair cascading over her shoulder as she leans down.

“Look at you,” she murmurs, mostly to herself more than anything, hungry gaze roaming over your pussy and the smeared release across your inner thighs. She bites her lip, a low appreciative moan vibrating in her throat. "look so good.”

You want to say something, respond and tell her she looks good too but the words get stuck in your throat. All you can do is whimper in response, hips shifting restlessly under her gaze.

Then she’s leaning down, body sliding down the bed until she's flat on her stomach. Her hands hook under your thighs and pull you closer, toned arms bracing your thighs open enough for her to dive in.

Her tongue runs flat over you, dipping inside of your pussy and dragging up to your clit, once, twice as though she's licking you clean. She's moaning into you, vibrations running through your body.

You crane your neck up just enough to look ahead in the mirror, almost startled at your own dishevelled appearance. You're soon distracted by the sight of Paige between your legs, blonde hair trailing down her back. You watch her work with hazy eyes, muscles tensing and flexing underneath her skin with the effort of keeping your legs apart.

Your head thuds back against the mattress and you let your eyes slip shut, hands finding home in Paige's hair. "Shit, you're so— fuck."

You feel her chuckle against you more than you hear it and it makes you whimper, hips canting up towards her as she pulls your clit into your mouth and sucks hard, tongue flicking across as she pulls back.

"So wet, baby." she murmurs, more to herself than anything.

"For you." you manage to say, voice shaking.

Good response, she thinks. Her right hand leaves its place on your thigh and slips between your legs, three fingers dipping through your folds and pushing in all the way to the last knuckle. Despite her already having her fingers inside of you earlier it's still a slight stretch, pussy pulsing around her digits.

Paige leans her head on your inner thigh, eyes hooded as she watches herself finger you, pressing and curling inside of you. Your pussy squelches against her with every curl of her fingers, clinging against her digits like she was made to be inside of you.

"Fuck, I love this pussy," Paige's voice cracks as she says it, eyes not leaving the way your pussy swallows her fingers. "she's so good to me."

Before you can register what she's said she's got her lips wrapped around your clit again, tongue circling the bud as her fingers fuck into you harder.

Your thighs start to quiver again, stomach tightening and toes curling as you pull at Paige's roots in attempt to ground yourself. It feels different this time, like your orgasm is going to swallow you whole. "Oh shit–fuck, Paige," you're patting at her head, not certain if you're trying to pull her off you or push her in closer.

The blonde makes that decision for you. She groans against you, knowing, fingers pumping in and out of you as she massages your clit with her tongue. Her eyes flutter open and you're already staring down at her, your expression enough to make her cum alone.

"Don't stop–fuck," your eyes are shut now, the image of Paige between your legs too much to handle. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum." the words tumble out of your mouth as though you can't get them out quick enough.

You feel Paige’s mouth pull away and panic surges through your chest, lips parting to protest—Why? Why now?—until you hear it; the distinct ptu of her spit hitting your clit. It trails down, mixing with your arousal, sliding over your folds and further down to where her fingers are buried inside you. It drips lower, toward your ass before soaking into the sheets.

Your breath hitches in your chest but Paige is leaning forward again before you can complain at the loss of her mouth on you, finding your clit again with a hunger that makes your head spin. She’s relentless with it, tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, teasing it as her fingers curl deep inside, pressing against that perfect spot. You think you might actually die, hands tightening in her hair as you pull her in. Her head shakes against your pussy, moaning into you and the chord snaps.

"Fu-uck," it comes out as a cry from the depths of your chest, orgasm pulling you under as your back arches and heels kick against Paige's back as she fights to hold you down. “Yeah, fuck—yes, yes, yes,” you chant breathlessly, voice breaking as the pleasure overwhelms you. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as your muscles spasm, body trembling from the force of your orgasm.

Paige finally pulls back, her mouth and chin slick and glistening, and she stares up at you, nothing short of amazed. You look completely wrecked—head thrown back, chest heaving as you gasp for breath, your body still shaking. She clambers over you, hands wiping against the sheets as she comes face to face with you.

“Damn, you're a mess,” she murmurs softly, almost like she hadn't been the one to do this to you. Her hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away the stray tears that streak your hot skin. She's gentle, as though you'll break if she touches you too hard.

Paige leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, but the sensation is slick and sticky. You wince at the feeling, brows furrowing and her lips twitch in a small smile as she pulls back.

“Sorry,” she laughs softly, a breathless sound, before she rubs the residue away with her thumb. “better?”

You nod weakly, still struggling to catch your breath, and a glimmer of amusement dances in her eyes. She licks her lips, a playful smirk forming. “So,” she whispers, voice low and teasing as she holds herself up above you, “out of ten?”

"Maybe a 4?"

"Okay, fuck you!"

@iamsamxo this ones for u. thank u for reminding me this fic existed lmao!!!

[therealmylesmorales]

Loser!Vi Headcannons pt 2

Y’all gave so much love, I feel like I had to reward you guys ☺️

Warnings: uhhh same as last time, I guess. I’m too lazy to check what it was, masc4masc relationship

WC: 700

⭒ Vi is a chronic biter. You learned that pretty early in your relationship. And yet, you never know when it’s coming until it’s too late. She would act like she would be leaning in for a kiss…until she bit the closest part of your body; your cheeks, your arm, your ass

“OW— fuck Vi!”

”That didn’t hurt, you're being dramatic.”

⭒ Another cute but annoying thing Vi does is that she fake boxes you. Her fists will never come in contact with your face or body but she still finds it funny. She’ll even make sound effects while doing so. But the second you lightly punch her stomach to get her to stop, it’s the end of the world.

⭒ She cried like a baby when she got her nose pierced. You were with her and by how hard she clutched your hand, you would’ve thought she got shot. You made fun of her the entire time.

”Not only do you have a big ass back tattoo, you also have one on your face.”

“That’s DIFFERENT!”

⭒ Vi’s major changes every few months. She just loves doing new things and will get obsessed with it and unfortunately be bored with it in not too long after. However, she would probably get a degree in business so she could take over Vander’s bar once he decided to retire.

⭒ Sticking with the college theme for a second; you’re known around campus for being chill and somewhat friendly to others. Vi, on the other hand…people think she’s brash and her temper definitely doesn’t help. But people have noticed that when she’s around you, she’ll siphon off your energy and is a lot more pleasant to be around.

⭒ Vi likes kissing you more than actual sex. She’ll still never turn down the offer, but kissing you feels calming to her. After a day of classes or dealing with whatever, it is her favorite way to unwind.

⭒ Vi loves horror movies, and loves when you watch them with her (even if you hate them/are scared easily). Her favorite franchise is probably Friday the 13th but Ghostface is her favorite slasher. The only problem with her watching horror movies is her inability to easily fall asleep afterwards. Normally, it takes her five minutes to be knocked out.

”Cupcake, are you awake?”

”Vi, PLEASE go to sleep.”

⭒ Surprise to no one, she cuts her hair on her own. Every few weeks you’ll find her in the bathroom with scissors and a shaver in hand, trying her best to get her hair looking good. You help her with the back of her head and she appreciates you for that.

⭒ Vi is literally obsessed with you. Her entire camera roll is filled with pictures of you both or just you; pictures she took on dates or just candid ones. Her wallpaper is even one of you, a rare selfie you took and she cherished it as soon as you sent it. Vi even gave you a special ringtone and whenever you text or call her, she can’t help but kick her feet.

⭒ Like everyone, Vi has red flags. But her most noticeable one is that she’s hardheaded. She doesn’t like to listen, especially when she knows thinks she’s right. She will stand on business until she can’t…and when that happens, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs, hoping you’re not too mad at her.

“Hey…are you mad at me?”

”Did you learn your lesson?”

”I did. I’m sorry.”

A little something extra for my black!readers 🫶🏾

⭒ No matter how hard both you and Mel tried to teach her, she nor Jayce still understand Spades. Viktor got it down within thirty minutes, but those two were still clueless. So, you all decided on a more easier game, Uno!

Uno was banned that same night after you two almost broke up and she and Jayce almost got into a fist fight.

⭒ And someone said that Vi would take the fuchsia bonnet with the black headband, and that was totally the one I was talking about (cause I have the same one). She refused to give it back at that point so the only logical solution was to buy another.

[saltnsugarbear]

congrats on 200! love your writing <3

i'd like to request “Oh God, yes, just like that. Keep— keep going.” with carmy pls

im so fucking insane over this

word count: 0.6k

content warnings: MDNI!!! pervy roommate Carmy, stolen underwear, getting off with that underwear, pillow humping, sort of voyeurism?? maybe??, reader is having sex but like across the hall behind closed doors so

side note: this came to me in a flash I wrote this in like an hour holy shit

He didn't mean to get a hold of your underwear. Carmy was doing his laundry, folding clothes and hanging them and it just fall out.

He remembers it very clearly. When he was putting a hoodie on a hangar and a small piece of fabric fell out. Imagine his embarrassment when the fabric was a pair of black panties covered in little cherries. God, he can still feel the warmth from how flushed his face got, cheeks and ears probably bright pink.

And the problem is Carmy can't just sneak into your room to put it back. He can't because whenever he is home, you're home. You're asleep when he's leaving for work and you're up when he's getting back from The Beef, there's never a good time to put it back.

So Carmy just hid it under his bed, letting it sit in the dark where he could forget about it.

And he did forget about it. For a while.

Until tonight.

And it's not your fault, truly not your fault, that the walls are thin. It's not your fault that Carmy can hear you through the walls. And it's certainly not your fault how his body is reacting or the fantasies that are running around his head.

At first he thought he could get away from it, distract himself with dishes and food over the sounds your making across the hall. Keep his mind off the stirring in his boxers by any means.

But it got to be too much at your first cry of frustration. The quiet pleading that came after, your sobbing and begging to come.

Carmy's hand flew to his erection almost immediately, rutting up into his palm when he makes contact. He tries to pace his hand movements in time with your moaning, but it's not enough.

Something in him remembers. He doesn't know what part but Carmy is rolling over quickly, sticking his hand under his bed and patting around until he makes contact with fabric. He wraps his fingers in the material and brings it out from under as he shoves off his boxers.

The idea of wrapping your underwear around his cock isn't enough. He needs something solid, something underneath him.

He's moving automatically as he grabs his pillow and lays your underwear over the side. Carmy lays one arm above his head and one in front of his face, perfect placing just incase he has to quiet himself. Positioning himself is easy, keeping one leg tucked up as he pushes his hips up against the pillow.

The pressure of pushing himself against the fabric is maddening, causing him to grind into it. He slowly finds the rhythm of your moans and applies it to his grinding. He's surprised by how fast it is, whining at the rough and quick drag of the fabric under his cock.

It doesn't even register to him that he's being a little loud, his own quieter moans being masked by yours across the hall. He presses his muttering into the fabric, almost trying to melt into the mattress.

"Oh, yes, just like that," Carmy mutters into the mattress, bucking his hips up against his pillow. "Keep- Keep going.."

His words get more slurred the quicker he grinds his hips. Soon he's nothing but a whining, moaning mess against his sheets. And he's hoping to God that you or the person you've brought over can't hear him.

"Fuck- fuck- shit.." Carmy mutters when he feels the band in his stomach snap. He bites the fabric under him to muffle his whines, stomach clenching at the warm spurts of cum against his skin.

His breathing settles as his hips twitch at the slight overstimulation from him grinding. Carmy huffs as he lets go of the fabric in his mouth, laying back against the bed as he comes down.

He groans when it hits him. The reality of it all. Carmy shoves his pillow off the bed before rolling back don't his stomach, covering his eyes with his arm.

He's going to have to wash his sheets.

[huggybearhughes43]

Best friend Quinn doing a favour for reader and helping her take spicy pics for her only fans when she convinces him to get involved for some photos/videos by letting her suck his fingers or filming while she begs for him to touch her and play with her pussy (leads to smut)

Just me, okay?

A/n: this is also for the person who requested the number 13 for my drafts (unfortunately but also fortunately was not Nico Hischier, so sorry)

Warnings- smut, finger sucking, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), recording, daddy kink but only for the fans, raw dawgin but he pulls out

Summary- in the request but a teeny tiny bit different

Word count- 1.3k

Quinn’s sitting on the other side of my couch with my feet resting on his lap. His focus was on the tv that played highlights of his most recent game. The gears in my head were turning as I scrolled through my new subscribers on my only fans. I huff and puff realizing that I hadn’t posted anything in a hot second. Quinn’s eyes flicker to me and his brows furrow, “What’s wrong?” I explain to him and he sighs, “I can leave if you want?”

My eyes light up as a thought comes to my head, I was a genius. “Can’t you help me?” Quinns face flushes and I think for a moment that maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. Quinn and I had been friends since he got to Vancouver but we’ve never even shared so much of a peck on the lips. “Well- uhm, I mean… you don’t have to? I just-“ “I’ll help” he laughs, “What do you want me to do?”

My mouth gapes but then I close it, “Uhm, first help me pick out something to wear?” He leans back against the couch and nods. I get up and go to my bedroom just a few steps into the hallways that sprung from my living room. “Okay I have three choices.” I mutter before slipping into my room. I rummage through my drawers and find three sets of lingerie. A dark red, a dark green, and a blue. I figured I’d save the one he’d like the best for last.

I walk out of my bedroom with the green lace, it was close to sheer, you could clearly see anything if you looked hard enough. Quinn looks up, his face turning dark red, “I wanna see all of them before I choose” “yes sir” I turn back and change into the dark red one piece that had cutouts in just the right spots for access. The second I walk out Quinn hastily reaches for a pillow to place on his lap. I giggle and he clears his throat, “last one?” I nod and go into my room to change into the blue one, a blue that was almost the exact shade of his team colors. It too had cutouts, the top was sheer and the bottoms had a slit. Again, for easy access.

He groans at the sight but tries to cover it up with a clearing of his throat, “I like this one the best.” “Thought so” I smile and plop right down on the couch next to him and hold out my phone with it switched on video. He stands up and puts the camera right in front of my face, making me move to sit on my knees. Before he got the chance to ask, I pull his hand and stuff two fingers in my mouth. He takes this as his queue to begin recording. The second I hear the video start I begin to move my head back and forth, making seductive sounds around his fingers.

My eyes droop but I manage to look up, not at the camera but at Quinn. I stick my tongue out and pull his hand away, making sure I got the trail of spit connecting the two of us on camera. “Touch me, daddy…” I whisper, fluttering my eyes lashes at him. He has to bite his tongue to hold back any sound that threatened to escape and give away his anonymous position. His hand moves down to my throat, squeezing softly which earned a whine out of me.

Quinn slowly drops to his knees, spreading my knees apart. He makes sure to get all the good angles on the camera. His wet finds trail up my leg and he looks up at me to make sure it was still okay that he was the one doing it. I nod, my jaw slacking the second I feel his fingers poke at my entrance. I don’t mask my moans as he forces his thick fingers into my hole.

I’d never had another person help me with any of my videos. In reality, the whole concept was just for extra money, I hardly ever slept around with anyone. Quinn was the only exception, but he was a close friend anyways. My back arches off the couch when he begins to move his finger back and forth. He angles the camera so you could see the pleasure on my face as well as his fingers stretching me out.

The urge to moan out his name strained in my throat, his fingers pulling me over the edge. My legs shake and I moan loudly, “I’m cumming, daddy!” His fingers are soon coated in my cum. Quinn sat back on his knees, switching the video off before licking his fingers clean. “Quinn…” I whine when I see his dirty actions.

While I was catching my breath I failed to notice Quinn setting my phone up on the coffee table, recording the whole couch. I jump slightly and look down when I feel Quinn spread my legs again. "Tell me if you want me to stop" he days softly before dipping his head in between my legs. I throw my head back, my hands rushing to grasp Quinn’s hair.

His tongue moved strategically through my folds. He licked and slurped like he was a starved man. His skills plus the lingering past orgasm quickly catch up to me. “Quinn- I’m close again-“ his movements don’t stop. My back arches causing my cunt to press harder into his face as I cum all over his mouth. He pulls back, licking the juices from his lips, not wanting to let any go to waste.

“Lay down for me.” Without another word, I do. I never thought of Quinn this way but now that I felt it, I didn’t think I’ve ever felt anything better than him. He pulls off his shirt, followed quickly by his pants. He crawls on top of me, peppering kisses along my shoulders and collar bone sweetly. He checks the camera to make sure it was set up right. Once he got the confirmation, he looked up at me.

“Is this still okay? We can stop if you don’t want to go this far-“ “please,” I interrupt him, “I need you so bad Quinn.” He smiles goofily at my words and lets out a quiet, “okay.” Before spitting in his hand and reaching down to use it as lube. He lines himself up, slowly pushing in. I gasp and throw my head back.

Quinn smirks and once’s he’s bottomed out, he begins thrusting right away. He lifts my legs to rest on his shoulders, creating a new position to reach deeper. Quinn’s hands fall from my legs to rest next to my head, nearly folding me in half but providing me with something to hold onto. “You’re so fucking wet” I moan, trying to find the words to respond, “all for you.”

These words seem to be Quinn’s breaking point, his thrusts begin to be sloppy but harsher. “Fuck-“ he moans out, throwing his head back. The mere sight pushes me into my third orgasm of the night. My juices come out in squirts, soaking all the way up to his mid abs. The feeling causes Quinn to break. His abs twitch and he pulls out and jerks his cock harshly, releasing his load onto my stomach.

He reaches over to stop the video. His head turns to me and he smiles, “send this to only me, okay?” I smile and nod, “I will, can I post the other one?” He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “That’s what I was here for.” He sets my phone down and stands up, not bothering to redress quite yet.

I had an idea of what he was doing as he left, so I stay quiet. My suspicions are confirmed when he returns with a damp rag. He approaches and takes his spot back above me, wiping up the mess he made. The second he finishes, he tosses the rag somewhere that I didn’t care about before plopping down on top of me. I laugh and wrap my arms around him as we cuddle.

[race-to-spac3]

Steb x Avian! Reader

Headcanons for an Avian! Reader (technically Vastaya? idk)

Content: Gn Reader, Reader’s an enforcer, like 2 really lazy bird puns if you squint, 

Pre-relationship:

From grand wings wide and long, to tiny ones that fold neatly against your back– clothes compatible with them are far and few in between– much less the standardized uniform of the enforcers.

The time and effort it took to get a special request to custom tailor your shirt and jacket wasn’t worth the trouble, moreso considering being an enforcer wasn’t exactly something you cared too much about. 

Though you had to admit it was a decent enough job so you decided to stick with it anyways, and luckily you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have met your favorite person.

You hardly fight the way your feather-tipped ears would perk up at the sight of him, not bothering to hide the toothy grin that overcomes your face as you bound over to greet him at the beginning of your shared patrols.

Since you didn't particularly put too much care in your stance as an enforcer, you tended to get into mischief often, and to your surprise– Steb was too– though you still don't get the sentiment considering his poise and respectability.

Something you two quickly find to appreciate about the other is yalls ability to turn your professionalism on and off like a switch, escaping the trouble of getting caught because of it. You two are quite the pair of clever rascals, your sly tricks flying over the heads of those none the wiser.

The bird and the fish, the sea and sky.

Whether your wings are colorful and intricate or monotone and basic doesn’t change how Steb will take any chance to get a good look at your feathers. His studying gaze matches your own that trails the streaks of dark cyan along his face.

While you weren’t exactly trained in any medical work, you proved to be perfect when needing a steady hand, well articulated and precise from having to learn how to navigate your sharp talons carefully. 

So anytime he needs a second pair of hands, you’re the first person he asks. An honorary assistant, you like to jokingly call yourself, though he makes no effort to comment otherwise.

Sometimes when you’re on break and sitting next to each other you’ll splay your wings in a stretch, purposely flitting a few feathers to mess with his hair on the chance that his helmet is off.

He’ll scrunch his nose and flick your feathers out of the way in an equally playful manner.

While standing guard at a post, the moment it starts raining you’ll wordlessly unfurl your wing and use it as an umbrella for him, he’ll try to deny or stop you but you ignore him with persistence.

In an established relationship:

Mornings you have off are necessary lazy times.

Steb doesn’t have to admit how much he adores these times with you, you can tell by the way he’ll soothingly slide his nails across the keratin shaft of each feather, smoothing out all your plumage with such a gentleness it makes your heart soar.

Steb is oftentimes a busy man, preferring schedules and management to handle his daily life with the sole exception being you of course. Even when his attention is drawn elsewhere, he’ll notice that your wings have been a little neglected lately (not to say that they’re shabby no– far from it, it’s just that he has the eyes of a hawk)

Then when you least expect it,  also being caught up in work, he'll pull you away from the stress, making you sit down at the edge of your bed and rest when you’re finally home, not letting you delve back into paperwork or the likes. ”Doctors orders” Steb signs, giving you his signature look that makes you slump in your place, half-heartedly defeated as you watch him settle beside you.

Steb opens his arms out invitingly, letting you tug him down and drape yourself across him. making sure you’re as comfortable as possible before he adjusts himself to be propped up against a pillow, giving him a clear view of your wings before he gets to work.

He’ll preen your wings with such tenderness, even if you insist that he doesn’t have to, Steb will shut you up with a series of light kisses, making you relent to his care.

A/N: throws this and runs away– 

Very short I know, but I just wanted to get something out there cause I been neglecting my writing already 

[the-froschamethyst4]

Tree Decorating

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Soap x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐Warnings: Fluff, language, children, married couple, kissing, teasing,

𖤐Summary: After picking out a tree the MacTavish’s decided to start decorating it and going down some memory lanes with certain ornaments

————

————

"Mama, can I have hot chocolate?" Kiara pulls on her mothers sweater sleeve.

"I don't see why not? Come on, Ryker," she takes both her children's hands and walk to the little booth. Maria wanted a peppermint hot chocolate and Ryker wanted a s'mores hot chocolate. Both kids thanked the workers and their mother for giving them the hot drink.

They went around the trees to look for their father aka Y/n's husband, John MacTavish, John and his family were here to pick out their Christmas Tree.

John has talked with 4 different employees to get the best tree for his home.

"We have-"

"A rare blue pine tree, I know, someone's already told me about it, had it last year and shedded everywhere was still finding pine needles in September, I don't want one of those again," he says.

"O-Of course."

"Are you scaring the salesmen again?" Y/n walks up to her husband wrapping her arm around her husband's waist.

"No," he says. "Where the kids?" He asked, expecting them to be behind their mother.

"They went to go play," she says motioning to them playing in the corn pit.

"Ah well...what tree speaks to you, bonnie?" He asked her, taking her hand as they walked around for a little bit. The living room where the tree will be sitting has a high enough ceiling to stick an 12ft tree, and the windows will show off their big tree once it's done being decorated.

As they walked around Y/n stood in front of one that was full, tall, and she knows would be perfect for the living room.

"This on, bonnie?"

"Yes...this one is good," she says.

"We'll take this one," Soap says to the salesman who just nods his head and gets a saw to cut the tree down.

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

Soap straps the tree to the roof of his truck and heads back home. Kiara wanted to hear Let It Go for the 40,000th time, Ryker was getting annoyed with the constant singing and the terrible song in his opinion.

"It's a Christmas song!" Kiara argues with Ryker.

"No, it's not!" Ryker yells back.

"Okay, okay, that's enough both of you," Soap says.

Pulling into the driveway, the kids got out first and ran inside the house, Soap got the tree off the roof and Y/n opened the door for him to set the tree in the living room. Y/n sees her daughter trying to pull the big Christmas decoration tub, Ryker on the other side pushing it as well.

"Thank you, you both," she says, bending down kissing their foreheads and helped her husband set up the tree. Soap had gone into the garage a found their tree stand they use for buying a real tree, he screws the pics in and Y/n made sure it was straight.

Kiara like clock work already knowing the drill on setting up the real tree, she gets the big bowl that holds the water and puts it under the tree trunk.

Getting a tree was always a tradition for Y/n and Soap when they were dating and living with each other, when they got married and had their honeymoon it was in the Alps and they celebrated their marriage and Christmas together, and now their tradition will keep going with their children.

"Mama, can we hang this one?" Kiara holds up her ornament that she made when she was a baby, only using her feet.

"No, no, mine," Ryker holds up a ornament with Ryker's face in the clear ornament and crazy glitter glue.

"We can hang up both there is enough room for both of your ornaments."

Y/n, Ryker and Kiara would go through the big box of ornaments and would hand them to Soap to put on the tree. Kiara found a few girly ones, Ryker some boyish ones and Y/n...old memories.

"Mama, what's that one?" Kiara asked, pointing to the one in her hands.

"Oh this?" It was one Soap had given her when they celebrated their 1 year of marriage, it held great memories and showed that Soap loves and cares for his wife. "It's one your, father gave to me...when we first got married," she says, Kiara with no question took the ornament and handed it to Soap.

"Make sure it's front and center, daddy!"

"You got it, honey," he says with a smile on his face.

"Mom, what about this one?" Ryker held up one that was actually Ryker's first made ornament. He made it when he was first born like Kiara's with his feet prints in blue paint with 'Baby's first Christmas'.

"Yes, baby," she says and Ryker handed it to Soap.

Picking a choosing was great, Y/n had no sort of aesthetic to make the tree, Y/n or Soap didn't grow up with blue Christmas, black Christmas, white Christmas, it was always...Tacky Christmas. Cluttering the tree with unnecessary ornaments, some with meaning, no meaning, some that confuses the kids on how it's even suppose to be hung up. That was more Christmas and nostalgic and that's what they want their kids to do when they get older, make it fun for their children.

"Mama, can we put candy canes on it?" Kiara asked.

"Sure, baby," Y/n had picked up some candy canes a while ago, just to have around for her kids to eat, but guess she can hang some up on the tree.

Y/n even opened two for Ryker and Kiara to have. For the rest of the time Y/n and Soap were decorating the tree, the kids either watching them or watching Christmas movies, they found on Disney+.

"Mama, can you turn on Frozen?"

"No, not Frozen!" Ryker groans falling back on the couch.

"Why not a movie you both can agree on?" Y/n says as Ryker took the remote and started going through all the movies they can watch.

Ryker wanted to watch Home Alone, while Kiara would rather watch Mickey Mouse,

"Home Alone!"

"No, that's boring-and it doesn't make sense," she crosses her arms.

"We watch Mickey Mouse every morning!"

"If you two don't settle on something, I'll turn the TV off," Soap threatens. Both kids started to settle down and just kept switching movies to look at.

Y/n looks up at her husband who held the star, it was a few years old and their first one broke, and Soap ended up finding a similar one so it'd seem like the old one never broke.

As Soap and Y/n were done they stepped back to admire their work, Soap smiles at his wife and brought her in for a kiss.

"Eww~" both kids said. Soap rolls his eyes as Y/n giggled.

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

The kids have gone to bed and Y/n and Soap were still getting decorations set up, Soap then pulls out some mistletoe, he forgot they even had this, he thought Y/n threw it away after the amount of kisses Y/n was getting from him and he thought she was annoyed with it, but guess not.

"Bonnie," he says, she stops and turns.

"Yes?" She asked. She then sees him lift up the mistletoe and hung it over his head.

"Oh no, I am stuck under the mistletoe, I wonder if a beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, hot mama will come and kiss me," he says in the a joking, sarcastic, bad acting sort of way.

She giggles, shaking her head and walking to him, she grabs his face and brought him close in for a kiss, he closed his eyes enjoying the kiss, moving his hands down to her waist just to hold her tightly against his body.

"I thought you threw the mistletoe away?" He asked.

"I thought about it, but just didn't, like the mistletoe, even though you drive me crazy with it," she giggles.

"What? No, way," he says, laughing.

"uh-huh, we just need the light on the roof," Y/n says.

"I'll do that tomorrow, I wanna have a night with my wife," he says, biting his bottom lip and picking Y/n up taking her to their bedroom.

[short-honey-badger]

Doll 6

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: The crew finally leaves the island, and you realize that you're finally free

Doll Masterlist

As promised, you find Mel the next morning and give the other woman a big hug. She pushes a freshly baked loaf of bread into your hands and tells you to keep it from Shanks and his bottomless pit of a stomach. You laugh and swear to the woman that you'd write to her when you could, but both of you know that it would be difficult to keep in touch with how much you'll be moving around the Grand Line.

Shanks meets you outside the bakery and waves goodbye to Mel. He leads you down to the docks, and the two of you stand before the Red Force. Standing there, staring at the ship, reality crashes into you and you feel frozen, feet refusing to move from the docks and Shanks stays right by your side, a solid, reassuring presence next to you.

Were you really about to do this? Get on this ship with some of the strongest men in the Grand Line? Or would you chicken out and run back to the bar, begging them to take you in so that maybe you could become a ghost among the people who live on this island? Hope that no one would ever recognize you and the brand that is seared into your skin? Or would you get on board this ship and change your life for the better?

“Sweetheart, we can stay another day if you need to.”

Shanks can see the fear that lingers in your eyes, the uncertainty that makes your feet stick to the wooden planks. He steps closer to you, reaching out to curl his hand along your shoulder and squeezing softly. Shanks doesn't want to rush you, but as Captain, he also has to take care of his crew, and they were beginning to get antsy after staying on this island for so long.

You suck in a sharp breath and set your shoulders back. No. You were done running. It was time that you took your life in your own hands and did what you wanted to do. And you wanted to get on this ship with Shanks and sail the Grand Line.

“No. I'm fine. Just got a little nervous is all,” you assure your partner and send him a tilt of your lips. Shanks stares at you for a moment, as if judging if you are being truthful, before he smiles like the sun, eyes crinkled and tugs you up the gangplank.

“Then let’s get on board, Doll,” He sings, and you can't help but laugh at his obvious excitement. The crew is preparing to set sail, bodies shuffling all around the two of you, like a well-oiled machine. Some of them wave to their captain, and others that you hadn't had the chance to meet introduce themselves.

Shanks watches it all with a careful eye. His crew were always respectful, and it gladdens him to see that they welcomed you with open arms. They answered any questions you might have, easily indulging in your curiosity. He snickers when Lucky Roux drags you away to show you how to tie a proper knot.

He feels his first mate beside him before he sees Benn and looks up at the taller man. Benn has his arms crossed, a cigarette hanging from between his lips that he swaps from side to side of his mouth. He is watching her, brows furrowed in concern when he flicks his eyes down to meet his captain's, “Still think this is a good idea?”

Shanks twists his lips and leans against the railing of his ship, “I never said that bringing her would be a good idea, Benn, but I couldn’t leave her behind.”

He considers for a moment and then drops his voice, tone urging, “Look at her Benn, can’t you see what she has?”

The redhead watches his first mate narrow his gaze, dark eyes searching for whatever Shanks is talking about. His sharp intake makes his captain grin, and Benn cuts his gaze back over to him, “She has haki.”

“Yup,” He pops the p, “She has no idea, but I want to train her how to use it so that she can protect herself if I’m not there.”

He watched you turn and look at him, and the pale pink aura that surrounds you flairs for half a second before it dims to something almost clear. Shanks smiles and waves, snickering when she blushes and turns back to the ropes that Lucky Roux is showing her.

“And what about when the dragons find out that one of their escaped slaves has that kind of power?” Benn asks, and Shanks has to temper the rage that bursts inside of him at the thought of the people who owned you using you as a weapon. He clenches his fist and takes a calming breath, eyes shuttering.

“I won’t ever let that happen,” Shanks murmurs and promises himself that nothing like that would ever come to play. They would have to get through him if they even wanted to see you.

“She’ll have a bounty the longer she’s with us,” Benn tells him, and his captains sigh and nod.

“I know. I’m surprised she doesn’t have one already.”

And he isn’t wrong. The Celestial Dragons were a possessive bunch and hated losing anything that they thought belonged to them. Shanks had heard rumors that the worst families would send recovery teams or mercenaries out to recapture their lost slaves. The redhead could only hope that the ones who had owned you weren’t like that. His thoughts are interrupted when Hongo lopes up.

“We’re ready to set sail whenever you are, Captain,” He says, and Shanks nods in thanks, then watches his crewmate lumber off to finish with the rigging. He looks at Benn, “I’ll explain to her about her abilities later. Trust me, yeah?”

Benn sighs and watches his captain lope away, a smile on his face as he goes to hunt the new member of the crew down. Beckman doesn’t have a very good feeling about this, but he’d stand by his captain no matter what.

Shanks finds you near the wheel of the ship, leaning against the railing and staring into the crashing waves. He slides up beside her, wrapping his arm around your back and bumping against your hip, “You ready, sweetheart?”

You lean into his warmth, breathing the salty air in and then nod, eyes alight with that determination that Shanks finds so fascinating, “I’m ready.”

Shanks smiles and kisses the side of your head before he leads you over to the wheel and grips it. You watch with curious eyes, wanting to know everything that your partner shows you.

“Weigh anchor, men! Let’s get outta here!” He shouts, and his crew scrambles to pull up the heavy anchor. The wind catches the sails just right, and you have to steady yourself when the Red Force is pulled out to sea. You close your eyes, the breeze whipping through your hair, and allow yourself to slump. You feel in control of yourself for the first time since you escaped from Marie Geois.

You didn’t have to look over your shoulder, didn’t have to hide away from society like some hermit when you were out here. There was no one aside from Shanks and his crew, and you knew in your core that they would never betray you or their captain. You jump when you feel calloused fingers swipe over your cheeks and open your eyes to see Shanks standing in front of you, a look of concern on his handsome face.

“Why are you crying, Doll?” He asks. Shanks had turned to see tears trailing down your face, but you’d looked so content and relaxed that he couldn’t tell what was bothering you. He gently swipes the next set that wells up and drips down away, brows furrowed.

“Happy tears. I’m… just so relieved,” you whisper and reach out, gripping his wrist and holding it tightly. Your voice is thick with so many emotions that you caouldn’t pick them out even if you tried. You meet his gaze, lips trembling even as you smile, “Thank you, Shanks.”

[nhlclover]

GINGERBREAD WARS RUTGER MCGROARTY

— event masterlist !

pairing: fem!reader x rutger mcgroarty

summary: you and rutger get into a not-so-friendly gingerbread house building competition.

warnings: talks of candy, reader and rutger being insanely competitive, mention of weapon as a metaphor kind of?

wc: 1.23k

notes: first work in my 12 days of christmas celebration! hope y'all enjoy this one

The onset of winter had draped the world in a frosty embrace, crafting the perfect excuse to stay nestled indoors. Frost etched intricate patterns on the windows, and the living room glowed with the cozy flicker of a cinnamon and clove candle. The scent mingled with the warmth of thick blankets as you and Rutger sat cross-legged on the floor, transforming your coffee table into a chaotic gingerbread construction zone. Between you sat two unopened kits, brimming with cookie walls, tubes of frosting, and a kaleidoscope of colorful candies, all waiting to be shaped into edible masterpieces.

“We’re doing this right,” you declared, pulling out your phone to set a timer. “One hour. Whoever builds the best gingerbread house wins.”

“Define ‘best,’” Rutger said, smirking as he tore open his box. “Because if it’s sheer dominance, I’ve already won.”

“Best as in structurally sound and aesthetically pleasing,” you countered, leveling a mock-serious glare his way. “No shortcuts, no sabotage.”

Rutger laughed, a deep, infectious sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, it’s on.”

Competitiveness was the cornerstone of your relationship, transforming even the smallest activities into grand battles of wit and will. Whether it was a round of mini golf or a gingerbread showdown, neither of you could resist the pull of a challenge.

As the timer started, the room dissolved into chaotic creativity. You worked methodically, precision your guiding star, as you piped frosting along the cookie edges and pressed them together carefully. Rutger, in stark contrast, adopted what could only be described as a “freestyle” approach, squeezing frosting directly from the tube in uneven bursts. He slapped pieces together with reckless abandon, his hands soon sticky with icing and a streak of frosting somehow finding its way across his cheek.

“Looking good over there, babe,” you teased, eyeing the precarious tilt of his gingerbread walls.

“Oh, you’re intimidated,” Rutger shot back, his grin pure mischief. “Just admit it. My house has character.”

You snorted, sticking a gumdrop to your roof. “Sure, if by ‘character’ you mean it’s held together by sheer luck.”

The room filled with a soundtrack of quiet Christmas music, punctuated by your playful jabs and the occasional crunch of misplaced candies underfoot. For a brief moment, there was almost peace — until Rutger’s eyes flicked toward your symmetrical, candy-laden structure.

“Wow,” he says, leaning over to inspect it closer. “Looks… really sturdy.” He hummed as his hand hovering dangerously close. “Would be a shame if something—oops!” He nudged your roof piece just slightly, causing it to slide askew.

“Rutger!” you gasped, swatting his hand away as you shielded your creation.

“What?” he replied, all innocence, though his devilish grin betrayed him.

“If you try to knock my gingerbread house down one more time,” she warned, narrowing her eyes, “I swear, I will smash up your gingerbread house and glue candy canes to your eyebrows.”

His laughter boomed through the room, so loud it shook his already lopsided structure. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” you retorted, brandishing your frosting bag like a weapon.

What followed was an inevitable escalation. Rutger lunged for your house once more, but you were ready, swiping a line of frosting across his cheek in defense. He froze, mock-surrender in his posture. “Oh, you’ve done it now,” he said, his tone low and teasing as he grabbed his own frosting bag.

“Don’t you dare!” you shrieked, stumbling to your feet to escape the impending frosting attack, but found yourself cornered by the fireplace.

What began as a building contest transformed into an all-out war. A dollop of frosting hit your sweater, and you retaliated with a handful of gumdrops. Candies rained down like festive confetti as the two of you dissolved into laughter, the competition long forgotten.

When the alarm finally rang, Rutger threw up his hands. “Truce!” he panted, frosting streaked across his face and a lone sprinkle clinging to his hair. “You win. I concede.”

You stood triumphantly, frosting bag still in hand, your own cheeks flushed from laughter. “That’s what I thought,” you teased, grabbing a gummy bear from off the coffee table and stepping towards him, sticking it onto his frosting-covered cheek like a badge of victory.

He didn’t brush it away. Instead, he grinned and tugged you closer, his hands settling on your waist. “You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “you might be a little insane and intense, but I think I like you anyway.”

Your heart melted faster than the frosting in your hands. “Only ‘like’ me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “I love you, even if you’re a menace with frosting.”

You laughed, your hands resting on his chest. “Good, because I love you too — even if you can’t build a gingerbread house to save your life.”

Rutger chuckled, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. “I don’t need to build gingerbread houses when I’ve already got the sweetest thing right here.”

Your face heated at his cheesy line, but you couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across your lips. “That was awful. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Lucky, huh?” he teased, his eyes flicking to your frosting-smeared cheek. “Maybe I should test my luck again.”

Before you could protest, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your frosting-covered cheek. It was warm and tender, the kind of kiss that made your heart flutter and the world fall away.

“Mm, sweet,” he murmured with a smirk as he pulled back. “Maybe I’m not so bad at this whole frosting thing after all.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laughter betrayed you. “If you’re trying to distract me so I won’t remember the fact that we were in the middle of a competition, it’s not working.”

Rutgers grin only widened as he laced his frosting-sticky fingers with yours. “Nah,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m just reminding you that the best part of tonight isn’t winning — it’s this. Spending time together.”

Your chest warmed, and for a moment, you forgot all about the half-finished gingerbread houses on the coffee table, the candies scattered across the floor, and the frosting war still visible on your sweaters and faces. All you could see was Rutger, his gaze full of affection, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket on a cold winter night.

“Okay,” you said, tilting your head in playful concession. “But for the record, my house was going to win.”

“It absolutely was not.” Rutger scoffed.

“Oh, it absolutely was,” you insisted, your tone dripping with mock authority as you gave him a pointed look. “But I guess I can forgive you since you’ve officially declared me the sweetest thing in your life.”

Rutger chuckled, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you into a warm hug. “You are,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something softer, more sincere. “And I’ll prove it — just wait till next year. My gingerbread game is going to blow your mind.”

You giggled, your cheek resting against his frosting-smudged sweater. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The unfinished gingerbread houses remained forgotten on the coffee table as the two of you sank onto the couch, curling up together under a shared blanket. The Christmas lights twinkled, the music played softly in the background, and the snow outside blanketed the world in peaceful silence.

[toxicmalysh]

Guys hear me outttt

Mommy Wanda with a belly bulge kink...

Word count: 1k+

Content warnings: Top mean mommy Wanda X GN!reader (I tried my best guys sorry) fingering (r recieving), strap on (r recieving), sadism, slight squirting, slight overstim, breeding kink, sexual punishments, ellusions to sexual manipulation. This is just pure filth guys

✧⋆✦⋆✧

Your eyes squeezed shut at the feeling of her fingers slipping in and out of your gummy walls. Wanda groaned at the way you throbbed around her…

“God you're so tight, pretty pet.. mommy will stretch you out..”

You swore she was talking to herself at the way she lowered her voice.

Wanda had wasted no time in getting you to your room after one of Tony's party's.

You had teased her for hours, thinking the most vulgar thoughts, knowing she would be listening.

You were now shaking against your shared bed, on the edge of your third orgasm…

You whined as Wanda spat on your clit,

“Such a pretty pussy…”

She gave it a harsh slap causing you to squirt a small amount, white heat filling your head.

“Oh you like that? You like when mommy spanks what's hers? What a dirty plaything I have..”

She pulled her hand away suddenly, seconds before your much needed orgasm.

“Mommy no-”

You immediately paused your protest as her green eyes pierced yours, a look of disgust on her face.

“Wait here… do not touch yourself.” her tone was cold and firm.

You nodded quickly as Wanda walked into the ensuite bathroom. You could hear the familiar sound of her strap fabric rubbing together. Fuck. The throbbing between your legs was unbearable, your cunt gushing as you tried to ignore your clit begging for relief.

You squeezed your thighs together, rubbing them slightly.. your hands found your stiff nipples, already red and sore from Wanda's sadistic tendencies. Your eyes shut slowly as you pinched and pulled at your breasts feeling your wetness sticking to your thighs.

“Ow!” You called out after a sharp sting traveled from your thigh up your leg. Your eyes shot open, admiring the harm print that was left. You then looked over Wanda stood to the side of the bed.

"What did I say?"

She was wearing her strap as expected but the attachment was new. You gulped as you processed the size of the toy. It was massive, at least 9 inches in length. How were you supposed to take that?

“Not so brave now are we?” You rolled your eyes as Wanda climbed onto the bed. Her knees spread your thighs as her hand wrapped around your throat.

“Mommy doesn't like punishing you. She likes rewarding her good pet, but when you misbehave like tonight I have to teach you there are consequences for your actions. And now you think it's acceptable to roll your eyes at me?”

It was a lie, Wanda loved punishing you, hearing the whimpers fall from your lips, listening to the squelching sound you pussy made especially for punishments, watching the tears roll down your cheeks and admiring the marks that were left on your skin.

She wouldn't admit it but she would find an excuse to manipulate you into thinking showing you when you'd done something wrong just to spank you a few times.

“I'm sorry Wanda I just dont-” you were cut off by a harsh slap on your right breast. She practically spat her words out as she leaned closer to you, her hand still squeezing your throat.

“That's not my fucking name.”

“Mommy I'm sorry..”

Your eyes took in the large dildo as Wanda began quickly lining it up with your sloppy cunt.

“If you want to misbehave and act like a brat, I will treat you like one.”

She didn't bother spreading you wetness or her spit across the toy, she simply slid it into your slippery walls, whilst simultaneously pushing your thighs to your chest into a mating press.

You both watched in awe as you saw the tip of the toy through your stomach. You moaned loudly, feeling the toy in your gut, your eyes fixated on the moving head as she moved back and forth slowly, the bulge moving with the strap.

“Look at that.. such a greedy pussy.. all for mommy.”

You nodded, your hum a broken whimper as you nodded, your lip between your teeth. Holy fuck you felt full.

Wanda wanted to take it slow, and allow you to get use to the size of the toy, but watching it move from your stomach, she gave into her needs.

She growled as she placed one hand on the bulge, you pussy making a “schlick” noise as your back arched,

“Oh my god~.”

Your moan was broken, and throaty as your hands naturally reached for Wanda's back.

You felt tears prick at your eyes from the stinging sensation and the added pressure from Wanda's hand. It hurt, so, good.

And this was Wanda's plan, to mix pain with pleasure. Force guide you into that fuzzy headspace you loved so much, and give you so much pleasure, whilst hurting you, you associated the pair.

You craved pain. Your masochistic side growing from each spank, stretch, and pinch. It was addictive.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you naturally pulled Wanda closer to you. She pulled away suddenly, and you gasped as the toy was ripped from your gaping hole. Before you could complain, Wanda dragged you to the edge of your bed, she stood in front of you, with her hand still pressing your legs to your chest, the other pushing down on your stomach. Her left leg came up to rest on the bed beside you, as she slid the toy back into you. She was able to thrust much harder and faster.

Wanda was grunting as her eyes fixated on the moving bulge, you watched her eyes, her pupils blown and her mouth pulled into a sadistic smirk. The pressure of it all was sending you head first over the edge. Wanda's voice came out as a breathless, condescending tone as if she was asking a child the question.

“What if mommy did something to her cock?”

Your eyes looked down to her strap for a moment still memorised by the visible movement. You wanted to ask her to continue but your mouth opened in a silent moan as her hand moved to your swollen clit.

“What if mommy wanted to cum inside you hm? Oh you'd look so cute, all swollen, full of mommy's pups.”

A rush of red, hot, pleasure coursed through your whole body. You felt a flash of arousal leaking around her strap.

“You like that idea hm? Want mommy to fill your little tummy up?”

You nodded rapidly, your body paralyzed as you were seconds from falling over the edge.

“God, look at that.”

A red wisp of energy flicked your chin up forcing you to look at the bulge in your stomach once more.

You both moaned in unison, growling at the new found pleasure.

“Mom- mommy.. need to cum? Please? Cum?”

You couldn't even get your words out, broken from a consistent string of moans.

Wanda's eyes flickered up,

“Go on, cum for me, milk mommy's cock.”

You almost screamed as a throaty moan clawed its way from your lips. Your pussy spasmed around Wanda's cock, the toy slipping out slowly from the force of your orgasm. Your thighs vibrated uncontrollably as Wanda kept running circles around your overstimulated clit.

“I'm starting to think I need to come up with some new punishments…”

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | previous | next PSA: *look HERE to see their private instagrams!*

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 9. 𝓣𝓗𝓔 𝓜𝓞𝓥𝓘𝓔 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 2.1k cw: smoking

The microwave beeps, yelling at you to retrieve your bag of freshly popped popcorn from it. You choose a drink from the fridge and rush to retrieve your movie snack, then pour it into a bowl for easy access. There is already another popcorn heating up in the microwave as Shoko prepares one for herself.

In the living room, your friends claimed their spots among the couch, floor, and futon already. You carry your bowl and beverage into the lounge area to find a place to sit for the movie. Most of the spots are at this point taken: there are a few empty spaces on the floor, a spot beside Utahime you assume is reserved for Shoko as the pair is sharing snacks, and an available spot beside Satoru on the two-person sofa, but not anything else. The large sofa is occupied by Mei Mei, Nanami, and Yu, all comfortably sitting on their phones, waiting for everyone to be ready. Suguru sits on the floor in front of Yu, claiming he prefers it over the couch because it "grounds" him.

You hear your name being spoken across the room and you perk up to look for the source. "Sit here," a low voice you've grown familiar with requests. You watch as Satoru pats the spot beside him on the loveseat with a polite smile on his face. Silently, you return the smile and nod, agreeing to sit next to him.

After walking over to your newly assigned spot, you place your popcorn bowl on the coffee table in front of the couch and grab a coaster for your drink. Before sitting down, you remember you wanted your fluffy blanket from your room, so with a quick be right back!, you rush to get it.

"Thought you were running away from me for a sec," Satoru laughs once you return with your blanket.

"That's actually exactly what I was doing," you flick his shoulder with your pointer finger and thumb. He laughs and steals a hand full of your popcorn as retribution. "Get your own!" you huff.

"Nah, 'm good with these," Satoru leans into the back of the couch, stretching his arms to span the back of the sofa. You feel the warmth of his body heat behind your head and unconsciously lean into it. His hand finds its way to your far shoulder and pinches it.

"Hey!" you swat at the hand attacking you. "You're so annoying."

He mockingly sticks his tongue out at you, but before you can respond, Utahime stands in front of the TV to carry out her hostess duties.

"Does anyone need anything before we begin?" she smiles and you giggle at how seriously she takes her role. When nobody says anything, Hime claps her hands together and continues with enthusiasm, "Alright! Lets watch the movie!"

The Truman Show begins to play, and as much as you love the movie, it's difficult to pay attention when Satoru's hand lingers above your shoulder, his touch whispering against your neck in a tempting promise that makes it a struggle to pay attention to Jim Carrey's acting. You're unsure as to why his touch is so distracting or how his hand brushing against your shoulder sends sparks down your arm, but the tickle of his fingers brushing ever-so-gently across your soft skin is the only thing you can focus on.

You adjust your position, stretching your legs perpendicular over Satoru's when you lay across the couch. He watches you move before stealing even more popcorn from the bowl you set on your lap. Then, he sets his hands down. And even though a fluffy blanket covers them from direct contact with the skin of your thighs, you curse yourself for just as distracted as before. Instead of watching the movie, you watch his hands, committing them to memory for future daydreams.

But whatever, it's fine. Everything is fine.

You repeat that in your mind for over an hour.

Honestly, you're kind of disappointed about the movie choice. The Truman Show is great and all and really brings out the existentialism in you, but a horror movie would be great right now. Maybe if The Conjuring was on, you could jump into Satoru's arms and-

What?

Okay, calm down. Everything is fine.

You hear your name. "Huh?"

"Are you okay?" Satoru laughs. "You've been staring at the screen for like five minutes. I can assure you the credits are not that interesting."

"Oh! Sorry. Just re-evaluating every moment in my life, you know. Because what if this is all a TV show?" you ramble. The true reason for your utter dissociation from reality cannot be revealed to him. "Y'know, you could just be some hired actor, or whatever. What if my entire existence was fabricated-"

"How do I know that you're not a paid actor in a world set up for me?" interrupts the white-haired boy.

"No one in their right mind would sign up for that," Suguru prods.

"Yeah, that's, like, a death wish," agrees Utahime.

"Hey!" Satoru grabs the throw pillow beside you and aims it at Suguru, throwing it as if it were a missile.

"They're not wrong," Kento adds.

"No one asked you, Nanami," Satoru squints his eyes at the blond boy.

"Shit, he got last-named," Mei gasps.

"I need a smoke," Shoko groans, hand slamming against her forehead in exasperation.

"I brought shit if you wanna," Suguru says as he reties his hair into a neat bun, Satoru's missile having messed it up.

"Yes," Shoko claps, and her face screams excitement at the thought of a joint.

"'Kay. Anyone else wanna join?"

"I will," you say, standing from your spot. "Just gonna grab a jacket first."

"When would I ever say no to that?" Gojo grins.

---

It's chilly standing outside in the night's breeze. The wind hugs your body through your fuzzy pajama pants, hoodie, and jacket. Street lamps light your path as the four of you head away from campus toward a local park less than ten minutes from your dorm. You hold Shoko's hand as the two of you walk together toward the outdoor basketball courts, sitting on the asphalt beside each other.

Suguru digs through his pocket and grabs a pre-rolled joint and a lighter. He swiftly lights it and takes a puff, takes another and passes it to Satoru who repeats the process. A cycle of puff, puff, pass begins, the air reeking of the marijuana. As you breathe in the smoke, you feel it course through your system, rushing to your brain bringing along a light haze. Your head feels lighter, your body relaxes, and you become giggly after only a few hits.

The four of you (Yu, Kento, Mei, and Utahime didn't want to go out in the cold) sit on the old, blacktop basketball court in a circle. The full moon illuminates the night, the cloudy sky taking it away every now and then.

Under the moonlight, you learn more about the boys as they open up about their lives. Suguru, Satoru, Yu, and Kento went to a fancy private school together in Tokyo. When Suguru first met Satoru freshman year, he despised him, but Satoru eventually took a sledgehammer to the walls Suguru built and Suguru let him in, semi-willingly. They met Yu and Kento, and, somewhere along the way, the four of them formed an unbreakable bond.

After twenty-or-so minutes of conversation and a text from an irritated Utahime, you decide it is time to walk back. Suguru and Shoko lead the way as you walk beside Satoru, lagging a bit behind the other two.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" Satoru's white hair glows in the reflection of the moonlight.

"Umm, yeah, I'm grabbing coffee with Yu and our other friend from Sociology. Why? You wanna do something?" You glance at him as you walk, his face looking ahead with a thoughtful expression.

"Yeah, but 'sokay," he turns to look at you with a bright smile. "I hope you have fun!"

"Thanks! If you really wanna hang out, we can, though. I'm free later in the day!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay perfect, because there's an arcade not far from here I wanna go to."

"That sounds like so much fun!"

"Right? I think so too!" Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders. "We're just two peas in a pod, then, aren't we? I'm thinking... hm... maybe go there at 6:30?"

"Yeah, that should work-"

"Perfect!" Satoru squeezes your shoulder, pulling you more into his side as he walks. "Can't wait, angel."

Your palms feel sweaty and you are overly aware of the closeness between you and Satoru, so when Shoko yells for you to catch up, you speed your pace to reach her. Suguru says something to Satoru about Kento's hair that morning which gets Blue Eyes talking about how Suguru just has to get an eyebrow piercing, which somehow leads to how the mochi the dining hall serves isn't sweet enough, then to their lack of sweet breakfast options, and then you finally reached the entrance to the dorms and enter suite 12B.

Immediately after you return, Yu declares it's time for Uno, and everyone complies. After a few rounds, though, the cards are forgotten as conversation has taken over.

Mei Mei looks at you beside her, hesitating before she inquires, "How are things with Toji?"

"Frat guy Toji?" asks Satoru, and she nods in response.

"What do you mean?" you tilt your head at her.

"Like... what is the relationship status?" Mei winks at you with a teasing grin.

"Um, well, honestly, he's been giving brotherly vibes recently."

"What?" Suguru laughs. "Your man?"

"I mean, he's not my man, really. We went on a date and had sex once last week - before he was texting me all this overprotective 'Anyone ever hurts you, lemme know' shit," you shrug. "Was kind of a turnoff."

"Really? I think overprotective guys are so hot," Utahime puts the back of her hand on her forehead as if she's fawning over the thought.

"Well, it would be maybe... but something about the way he said it just gave me a weird feeling. Like he's so hot, but I never felt that so-called spark in the first place, and I knew he would be a fling from the beginning. So I'm not too bummed."

"Sounds like you're handling this pretty well," Kento says to you, and Satoru nods beside him.

"There's really nothing to handle. I'll still have him in my life as friends. He's actually a pretty cool guy!" You smile widely at your friends.

Wanting to shift topics, you ask Suguru about a dragon tattoo you saw the other day on his arm, and he dives into the entire background story of it getting it and what it means to him: "As grave as it is, often the most dire dragons we conquer are the ones that reside within us. The dragon reminds me that I am above fear, and even in my darkest days, I am strong enough to get through whatever "dragon" or obstacle I encounter. If that makes sense."

"That's beautiful, Suguru," you say, eyes welling with tears at how passionate he is.

"Very philosophical!" Mei Mei adds.

"Thank you," Suguru says with some hesitation.

"How long have you all known each other?" Kento asks you, Shoko, Utahime, and Mei Mei.

"Hm... well Shoko and I met in middle school," You smile at the memory. "She yelled at some boys who were bothering me and we've been attached by the hip ever since!"

"And you two?" Suguru questions.

"Sophomore year chemistry. We were in a lab group together," Utahime turns to you with a mischievous look. "Wait, remember when Ino caught your hair on fire?"

"Holy shit, I forgot," you bring a hand to cover your mouth to muffle your laugh. "The ends were singed foreverrr."

"Ino?" Satoru looks at you, his eyes saying something you cannot discern.

"Her lousy ex," Shoko waves off. "Old news. Not important."

"What did he do? Cheat?" Yu pokes. When you and the girls stare blankly at him, he quietly continues, "Oh, okay. He cheated, I guess."

"With his childhood best friend, too. The classic movie trope," you elaborate. The room lulls to a quiet that isn't exactly uncomfortable, but there is definitely some tension in the air.

"Should we turn on another movie? I feel in the mood to watch something," Kento breaks the silence, and after everyone agrees, a comedy movie is chosen and everyone settles into the same spots they were in before.

Not too far into the movie, your head leans on Satoru, so he turns to check on you. But you're asleep - you dozed off, cheek smushed against his shoulder. You look so cute.

The smile on his face lingers even long after he falls asleep.

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

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@therealanxiety @kaged-kitty @pellucid-constellations @fuckisthatahotghost

@harryzcherry @briezy04764 @ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

the end was kinda rushed ngl but hope you like this regardless iluuuuu

also no ino hate i love that cutie

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Content Warnings: Adult content, mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator (hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy. Taglist: @alohastitch0626, @jspidey5, @laceandsuch, @kneelforloki

The sun is gentle on your skin—not too hot, not too cold, but just right, like a soft embrace. The rhythm of the waves rolling off in the distance is soothing, and for the first time in weeks, you feel your body truly relax. It's a rare sensation, one that you try to soak in as much as possible.

You haven't been to the beach in ages, and this trip was a last-minute idea. After a week of battling fatigue and pain, you needed a change—the smell of the ocean air, the feel of sand between your toes, the expanse of open sky. It's the perfect escape from the never-ending demands of content creation and the relentless ping of incoming messages.

There aren't many people around, which is surprising given your proximity to the only ramp designed for wheelchairs and strollers. But the solitude is welcome, allowing you to enjoy the peace without feeling like you need to perform for an audience. It's just you, the vast ocean, and the occasional seagull passing by. As you sit there, letting the warmth of the sand seep into your bones, a thought crosses your mind.

A few days have passed since you returned from your brief hiatus, and though you haven't posted anything new on OnlyFans—your fans are being sustained by the scheduled content—you know they would welcome something a little more spontaneous, something that allows them to see a side of you that isn't always on display. And when do you feel this good, this free of pain? Why not capture the moment and show your subscribers that life isn't just about overcoming struggles, but also about embracing moments of joy?

You reach for your phone, tucked away in the safety of your beach bag, and unlock it with a swipe of your thumb. The camera app opens to a view of your sun-kissed skin, looking smoother than ever under the gentle glow of daylight. You're wearing a simple bikini, nothing too flashy or suggestive, just enough to accentuate the curves you've worked hard for.

The photos you take aren't overly posed or attention-seeking—they're snapshots of peace, of contentment found in solitude. You angle the phone just right, capturing the length of your legs stretched out before you, sand sticking to the sheen of sunscreen while the indigo waves kiss the shore behind. A second photo focuses on your torso, the bikini top hinting at the shape beneath without revealing too much. It's all about suggestion, not exhibition.

Satisfied with the images, you switch apps and tap open OnlyFans, the familiar icon signalling a space where you control the narrative, where you decide what to reveal and what to keep hidden. Your subscribers relish these glimpses into your everyday life, finding intrigue in the mundane made intimate. The beach setting is a departure from your bedroom backdrop, from the soft glow of your ring light that usually bathes your videos in flattering warmth.

Caption: Beach day 🌊☀️ Taking some time for myself and thought I’d share this little moment with you all. Hope you’re enjoying your day as much as I am! 💖

Your thumb hovers over the "post" button before pressing down, a flicker of excitement kindling in your chest as the photos upload. It's a departure from your carefully curated feed—a moment of unscripted joy that feels both intimate and invigorating. Your followers will love it.

With a satisfied sigh, you let the phone slip from your grasp, the screen's glow fading against the backdrop of sun-drenched sand. A sense of tranquillity settles over you, nurtured by the rhythmic pulse of the ocean nearby. It's a rare respite from the demands of stardom, a chance to simply be rather than perform.

Minutes turn into a languid hour. The phone vibrates softly against your calf, but you don't reach for it. Not yet. The world can wait. Right now, the sun's touch is more real than any notification.

Eventually, curiosity nudges at your relaxed mind, and you sit up, brushing sand from your legs. Picking up the phone, the screen illuminates with a flurry of notifications—your followers have been busy.

Scanning the comments, you see the usual mix. Compliments on your appearance, expressions of envy at your day on the beach, wishes that they could join you. A smile tugs at your lips, not just at their words, but at the sense of connection they bring. You crafted this community from nothing, and their loyalty is a balm to your soul.

One name catches your eye: Prongs. It's not surprising to see him here—he's always quick to interact with your posts—but there’s a small thrill each time you spot his username. His comments often carry an edge of flirtation that never fails to amuse you.

ProngsPlayground_free: Beach day, huh? 😏 You look amazing. Hope you’re soaking up some of that sun for us too. 💖

You can't help but smile at his comment. There's something about the way Prongs flirts that always makes you happy—it's fun but respectful, never crossing any lines. You've had plenty of subscribers who pushed boundaries, but he's always been different. There's a sense of fun in your interactions, and you look forward to his messages.

It's not just Prongs, though. You know Moony and Padfoot are there too, watching your content with just as much interest. You think about them now, imagining the three of them seeing this picture of you on the beach and how they might react. It's funny how they've become a little group in your mind, and you think of them as a team now.

Your fingers tap out a response, the playful banter coming as easily to you as breathing.

You: Thanks, Prongs! 😘 Wish you guys could be here too—bet you’d love the view. 😉

The message sent, you lower your phone onto your lap, a sense of contentment washing over you. You don't know these people in real life, but they've become a part of your world in their own special way. As you watch the waves roll in, you can almost imagine them on the other side of the screen, faces lighting up as they read your message, huddled together in shared camaraderie.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you lean back into the sand, letting the warmth seep into your body. The rhythmic lullaby of the ocean fills your ears, drowning out the distant chatter of beachgoers. This has always been your sanctuary, a place where you can shed the weight of expectations and simply exist.

But even here, you're not wholly free. Not when thoughts of them refuse to be quieted.

Their names have resonated within you from the moment they subscribed to your page. An inexplicable pull, growing stronger with each passing day, each shared message. You remember watching their own post, feeling something akin to fascination stir within you as you listened to their voices—rich, velvety layers of sound that brushed against your senses like physical touches, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

It's an anomaly, this interest you've developed. You've always prided yourself on being professional, maintaining clear boundaries between the men who subscribe to your content and your own personal life. But with Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot, those lines are blurred. There's something about them, something different that beckons you closer even as you remind yourself of the need for distance.

You glance down once more at your phone, the screen lighting up with a new notification. A direct message waits for you, its contents unknown. You tap on the icon, a small smile tugging at your lips in anticipation.

ProngsPlayground_free: That view, though... 🔥 We're all distracted now. We should be editing, but I think we need a break after seeing that. Even Moony is a bit distracted, and he's usually the sensible one. 😏 - Padfoot

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you read the message, shaking your head slightly. The thought of them being thrown off their game because of you sends a small thrill through you.

Your fingers fly across the screen, crafting a response that matches the playful banter you've come to enjoy with them. It's flirty yet casual, the perfect blend of familiarity and charm that has become your signature move.

You: Taking a break, huh? I can't blame you—it's tough to focus with a beach in the picture. 😉 But don't get into too much trouble. 😘

The message sends, and you put your phone back down, letting out a content sigh as you watch the waves crash on the shore. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm orange glow over everything, and the breeze that brushes against your skin is just the right balance of cool and comforting. It's one of those moments that make you wish you could stop time, a peaceful respite from the usual whirlwind of your life.

But even as you try to absorb the tranquility around you, your thoughts keep circling back to the boys—to their messages and how they've woven themselves into the fabric of your everyday existence. You've always been cautious about what you share online, maintaining a certain distance between yourself and your followers. But with Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot, it feels like that line is blurring, like you're allowing them to see more of you, piece by piece.

It's not just about the content anymore. It's about the connection—the ease with which you converse, the way they understand the in-between spaces of your words, the sense of camaraderie that transcends the digital divide. They've become more than just fans; they're friends, in a way that both excites and terrifies you.

And while you can't quite put your finger on when exactly it happened, you realise that you've started to look forward to their responses, find yourself thinking about them even when you're offline. It's a strange feeling, unsettling yet exhilarating all at once. But for now, you push away the questions, focus instead on the fun chats and light-hearted flirtation.

You snap one last picture of the beach—this time without you in it—and tuck your phone back into your bag. A sense of calm washes over you as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink and purple. For now, everything is as it should be.

And tomorrow, when you return to the daily grind, they'll be there, ready to pick up the conversation where you left off.

[satureja13]

As a story teller, what advice would you give to fellow Simmers who want to start a story but struggle?

For example: How did you start story telling and which obstacles did you have to shove out of the way to finally start? What made it easier for you to put yourself out there? Did you gain any personal rewards/benefits by telling your stories? How do you set up a story post? Pics first or plotting the episode? Where do you find inspiration? What did you wish you knew earlier? Or anything else that comes to your mind that could be of any help. I see quite a lot of posts from struggling future story tellers and I thought it would be nice to collect a few tips.

Questions are very welcome too!

(My answers below the cut)

How to actually start:

I do read quite a lot and also watch series and movies - and what really turns me off is an infodump at the beginning. So I try to avoid that. And that also makes it easy to start. All the lore and background stories can happen later and you don't have to plot that out before you start. (Our current story started as a playtest and hundreds of episodes later, we have a lore as deep as the Mariana Trench ö.Ö') So don't let it stop you. It all evolves over time, when you ask yourself: Why did x have to move and go to a new school? Why is y restraining himself to hit on the cute guy? Why is z so annoyed of y and why is he the only one who thinks like this? How do they cope with stuff that happens to them? Why does x react in another way than y on the same event? ... There is a plot behind literally everything if you just take your time and look closely. Like a three year old child: "Why do we eat cute animals?" ö.ö' Showing your character's feelings and why they are who they are also helps you and the reader to form a connection to them. It never ceases to amaze me when story tellers are able to create characters that grow on you even though they are annoying and vulnerable and have flaws. (Like Terry Pratchett for example, or the characters in The Big Bang Theory.)

Which obstacles did you have to shove out of the way to finally start? I have a few obstacles to overcome putting my stories out there. ADHD often keeps me from concentrating and getting things done. It's hard to stick with something when you're distracted all the time. And I have a weird way of thinking. I'm also autistic and writing about feelings and how others think and stuff, is so, so hard for me. My stories are weird because of all of that and I know it. But I think they are quite unique and fun because of that and I wouldn't want it any other way :3 Plus my english isn't very good. Writing in a different language is quite an obstacle to overcome ö.Ö' But I can't write anything in my native language, I even take my notes in english. I have no idea why. Just sounds wrong to me.

What made it easier for me? - starting slowly I started this tumblr over ten years ago to post about my builds. Only a few people saw and liked my stuff so I got bolder and also shared gameplay pics and, after a while, a few stories. - passion I love my Sims, I think that helps a lot. After all these years, I'm still eager to see what they are up to and to tell about their shenanigans and adventures. - keeping expectations low Of you and your audience. It does not have to be perfect and not everyone will like what you do. That's just a fact. You'll get better at your own pace. I think tumblr is the perfect place to start a story, because if someone doesn't like your stuff, they don't have to follow you. - it's an outlet for my creativity. My ADHD brain is running on warp speed. Sitting down and putting some of these ideas and thoughts in a shape and make them real is relieving for me - and exciting! What rewards/benefits did/do I gain? - learning new stuff: I'm still learning english and just a few days ago, I shed tears of joy because I could finally understand an american series without subtitles! Also Photo editing. I kept looking for better ways to edit my screenshots and I learned so much! My Sims even inspired me to craft some stuff in RL ^^' - changing my point of view Telling about 6 different charcters is quite a challenge. Things that happen to them affect them in different ways and they have their own way to cope with stuff. They helped my autistic me a lot to make me see what's going on with people around me and to understand them.

- healing Seeing how the characters in my story cope with hardships and following them through difficult times helped me a lot. I could never express how glad and grateful I am I started all this. But I am. - fun I'm having fun doing what I do. And I think that's the motor that runs this whole thing. I think the readers can feel if you're commited to what you do.

How do I set up a story post? I have a rough idea where the story is going and what's supposed to happen next. Then I go ingame and take the screenshots, my Sims add a few ideas themselves - and I go with it. I write the post around the screenshots and what happened ingame. Like this, it's still surprising and thrilling - even for me, the story teller.

Where do I find inspiration? My brain goes without filters and I need a lot of time to get back on track after challenging days. But this sponge in my head also soaks up so many ideas! I get inspired by anything. Music, series, things I see... Sometimes, that sponge gets squished and I get to see glimpsesof future episodes and I just think 'whoa!' and take notes.

What advice can I give? Use the things that keep you from starting to your advantage - to make your story special and unique. Don't worry too much. Other people don't see things as serious as you might think. Write for your own healing and growth. There are mutuals who will like what you have to tell. You don't have to please everybody. Read others' stories, watch movies/series you like and note what you liked or disliked. That gives you a rough direction of where your story could go (that was a great advice from youtuber Grayson Taylor, link is below).

What I wish I knew earlier? That there are great youtube channels for writers! I know, that's kind of obvious, but I don't feel like a writer. I barely managed to finish school. And I thought those channels might be too sophisticated and dry, you know? But there are aweome ones. Like Grayson Taylor (who is an author) and Bookfox, (who is editor and author), for example.

You'll never know where it leads. Our current story started when I made four of my favourite adult Sims teenagers to check out the Highschool Years pack. That was ~ 2 1/2 years ago - and I hated school from the bottom of my heart, so I was very sure this wouldn't take long and we could go back to our ongoing story (spoiler: we didn't...). And: the first chapters the Boys spent at school were truely healing for me. I didn't plan anything of it ^^'

Don't be afraid. I'm here on tumblr for over ten years and I never got any hate on my stories or the other stuff I post. Though, I turned anon off. You decide what you see on your dash, that's the great thing here on tumblr. You just get as much drama as you invite in. For me, tumblr is my save place and I still say this is one of the best communities I've ever been part of (on and off line). Thank you <3

[jjscrybaby]

prompt 19: ‘here’s my number.’

jj maybank x fem!reader | fluff | (reader has hair, no use of y/n, first meeting.)

not proofread and also not my best, i’m trying to get back into the hang of writing so i figured that maybe if i start posting my stuff it could give me the motivation again. hope you enjoy! :)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

JJ was sure he knew everyone that lived on the island. Whether they were a Pogue or a Kook, 9 times out of 10 he’d heard of them. Whether it was because there had been a scandal about Mr Anderson cheating on his wife with his secretary, or Mimsy hooking up with Topper Thornton at the most recent kegger, he’d heard of them.

So, when he checked over the itinerary for the delivery’s he was doing for Heyward he knew exactly who lived in the house he was heading to. An older couple, been on the island since they were kids, rich but not overly snobby. He walked up the driveway and knocked on the door, expecting the elder woman to open it since her husband’s recently broken his ankle. He had to do a double take when the wooden door was pulled open and the girl that stood there was anything but an old lady.

You were beautiful, hair tied up in a ponytail and pretty eyes that stared back at him. You looked a little tired, sporting a tee and baggy shorts that he assumed still costed more than his rent based on the logo.

“Hello?” Your sweet voice brought him out of his thoughts, mouth parted as he just stared at you.

“Oh, uh, sorry. Maybe I have the wrong house?” He looked around in confusion. The number was right, but last he checked there wasn’t a beautiful girl living in this house.

“Who are you looking for?” You questioned. He said your grandparents last name, making you nod. “You’ve got the right house.”

He just nodded slowly, handing you the two bags of groceries. They always ordered an absurd amount of bread. “Right. I didn’t realise they had a roommate.”

You giggled at his words, putting the plastic bags down — Kiara wouldn’t be happy — and grabbed your handbag from the side to get out your purse. “I’m their granddaughter.”

“Ohhh.” That made more sense. They didn’t seem the type to look on Craigslist for someone in need of a home. You held a twenty out to him. “Uh, it’s already paid for.”

“A tip,” you explained, nudging your hand closer to him. “Can’t be enjoyable walking around in this heat with all those heavy bags.”

“This is my last stop,” he shrugged, still not accepting the money. He wasn’t sure why, normally he’d be grabbing at it with greedy hands; maybe even trying to talk you into giving him more. Thats what he did with all of Heyward’s other customers.

“Just take the money,” you laughed.

“Twenty’s a bit much,” he argued, tapping his foot against the stone floor.

You hummed, giving him a look he couldn’t read. “Then how about you help me carry my last box upstairs. That mixed in with the delivery seems to add up to twenty.”

If any other Kook asked him to do such a thing he’d say no. He’d probably piss on their plants just for good measure. But you were something else, your little smile did something to him that he refused to acknowledge.

“Sure,” he agreed, stepping into the house. He rubbed his shoes against the mat, not wanting to trail dirt on the white carpet.

“Thanks. My back is killing me,” you complained, leading him further into the house where only a few boxes were left.

He read over them. Clothes. Blankets. Teddies. His face scrunched up in confusion. “Are you movin’ in?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Did you need anything? Some water or coffee or something?”

“Water, please.” He followed you into the kitchen, it was bigger than his entire shack. He leant against the counter, watching you reach up to the glass cupboard. “Where are you from?”

“Uh… all over really. My parents never enjoyed sticking to one place. I’ve been travelling for the last year. I was gonna go home, but after finding out my grandad’s getting more clumsy and my nan can’t take care of him herself I figured I could come help,” you explained, filling his glass with water and ice.

“That’s nice of you,” he murmured. He hadn’t seen either sets of his grandparents since he was a baby. His mom’s parents didn’t reach out whatsoever, not since she dipped, and his dads sent him a birthday card with a twenty each year. If they needed help, he’d probably pretend he didn’t see the message.

You just shrugged, taking your hair out of the pony just to re-do it. “They’re the reason I could afford, like, everything. Plus, I’m expecting some good karma.”

“Good karma?” He chuckled, accepting the cool glass from your hand. “Is that a real thing?”

“Who knows. But if it is, I want it,” you smirked. “So, you’re a delivery boy?”

He shook his head, putting the glass down on the marble counter. “Nah. I’m a busboy at the club, but my friend’s dad does the deliveries and I needed some extra cash.”

“Makes sense,” you murmured. “How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” he responded. He crossed his fingers that you were the same age, you looked young, but for all he knows you could be thirty and just really hot for your age.

“Me too,” you grinned. He smiled back toothily.

“Cool. So, uh, the boxes?” He asked.

For the next half an hour, he helped you carry up boxes. Your room was on the third floor, in the attic technically. It was bare, just a bed and a closet with a bathroom connected. He couldn’t blame you though, you had just moved in.

Once you were done, you walked him to your front door and held out the twenty again.

“Nah,” he murmured, waving you off.

Your face fell. “What?”

“I don’t need it.”

“You just helped me out for the money, so take the money,” you argued. “I should probably give you more than twenty.”

“How ‘bout this… you could thank me in another way,” he suggested.

“Like what?” Your eyebrows furrowed, head tilting as you looked up at him.

“Could let me take you to dinner sometimes,” he shrugged nonchalantly, although on the inside he felt like he was going to burst.

Your eyes widened in surprise, staring at him for a moment before a soft smile appeared on your lips. “Yeah. That seems fair.”

“Cool,” he grinned. “You got a pen?”

“Sure.” You walked a bit further inside the house, opening up a draw and handing a pen to him. He took it from you and pulled out an old receipt for gas from his pocket. He scribbled over it, a cheesy smile on his face as he handed it back to you.

“Here’s my number, I’m expectin’ a call,” he stated, giving you a wink.

You laughed, pocketing the receipt. “You’ll get one.”

“Cool. Uh, see you soon then,” he said, walking out the front door with a pleased look on his face.

You watched after him, waving as you closed the door. You definitely hadn’t moved to Outerbanks to find a man, but you definitely weren’t going to complain. You pulled out the receipt and giggled at what was sprawled on it. Below his phone number was a little note.

Call this number. You’ll have no regrets ;) - JJ

[the-clockwork-fiend]

Oho, hello dear customer! What a pleasure to see you on this fine snowy morning! Here, have some hot chocloate to warm up! And I set up a wonderfully cozy corner over there to sip your drink to your leisure. You'll even get a fantastical view of the town through the front window. Isn't that just delightful?

Created 12 - 1 - 2024

❝ Kitchen Mischief ❞

— Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader...

Contains fluff, Lilia's cooking deserves a warning; based on this post's prompt "S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt" "You just can't cook."; December 1st special; not proofread.

I wasn't really sure where to end it so bear with me, it's my first fic on my new account and it's been a while since I've written. I'll admit that it's a little rushed because I have things to do soon but I wanted to get this out before I get too busy and forget. I hope you enjoy!

"Y/N, make sure Lilia doesn't handle too much of the cooking." Silver's words echoed in your head as you helped Lilia gather the ingredients for various Christmas treats. The plan had originally been for you to handle the baking, but after Lilia had dropped into the secret meeting between you, Silver, Sebek, and Malleus and insisted on baking the sweet treats himself, no one had been able to talk him out of it. Afterwards, Silver had pulled you aside and told you that advice. You knew as well as he did that left unsupervised, the kitchen would become unusable for the next week, so you took the duty quite seriously.

"Y/N, how many marshmallows should I use?" Facing Lilia, you saw that the short fae was holding a sizeable bag of the fluffy white cubes. He wore a bright smile on his face, wide enough that you could see his sharp canine teeth. "Check the recipe book," you said, pointing to the open book on the counter nearby. "And stick to the recipe, no deviations." You warned him as though he was a small child. He must have picked up on your tone as well, because he good-naturedly answered, "Fine, fufufu."

Against your better judgment, you turned your back on Lilia to focus on your own project. As worried as you were that he would find some odd ingredient to add in, you couldn't hover over him the whole time. At least you'd compromised with him, allowing him to pick a sweet of his own to make rather than the frosted sugar cookies that he'd had his eye on making. Otherwise, you definitely wouldn't have taken your eye off of him for even a second. But s'mores seemed to be a safe option. There weren't a whole lot of ways someone could mess those up, right? Though, you thought dryly, Lilia would undoubtedly find a way if you didn't watch his progress carefully.

You heard playful giggling behind you and turned. Lilia held a bag of M&Ms and was popping the colorful candies into his mouth as he placed graham crackers on a plate. Relieved that he was placated — at least for now— you finished cutting out the cookies from the flattened dough on the counter and carefully moved them to the pan you had ready.

Once you'd finished, you stuck the first batch of cookies into the oven, casting a quick glance at the timer to make sure it would go off, you went about making the frosting. You'd settled on a fairly simple recipe and, after ensuring Lilia was still occupied, moved across the room to grab what ingredients you'd need.

"Y/N!" Lilia called out. Bracing yourself for disaster, you turned around. Only, the kitchen wasn't on fire as you'd expected. In fact, Lilia was nowhere to be seen, which worried you more than if the kitchen had spontaneously combusted.

"Lilia?" You questioned, looking around. Suddenly, a pair of blood red eyes appeared in front of you, accompanied by a curtain of black and pink hair and Lilia's upside down face, a smile on his face. Startled, you jumped back, but as you opened your mouth in an instinctive yelp, he shoved something in your mouth.

Taking a moment to process what had just happened, you realized what was now in your mouth was a s'more. You were pleasantly surprised that you could at least tell what food you would be ingesting, most of all that it was edible and hadn't already poisoned you.

"So? How does it taste?" Lilia asked expectantly, a proud expression on his face. Taking a bite of the s'more and holding the remainder in your hand, you chewed thoughtfully. It tasted like a s'more should, which meant that he hadn't taken any disastrous creative liberties. You swallowed and gave a thumbs up. "It tastes great!" You said with a grin. Beaming, Lilia laughed. "Thank you! Though, I think a few tweaks in the recipe could've made it taste better." He seemed to be contemplating this idea, so you quickly moved the conversation on.

"Er- the original tastes awesome, don't bother! Anyways, let's get back to work. These treats won't make themselves." You walked back over to your area of the counter and set down the stuff you'd need to make the icing.

Checking the timer, you still had a few minutes, so you got the icing going in the stand mixer while you cut out more gingerbread man shaped cookies with the cookie cutter. You'd just finished putting the last cookie on the tray when the timer went off. You shoved the oven mitts on and opened the oven door, replaced the finished cookie pan with the unbaked one, and set the first one on the stove top.

You realized, a good chunk of time later, that you hadn't been paying attention to Lilia until you heard a sheepish, "Whoopsies," come from your left. You spun around, and apparently your earlier worries were proven to be warranted. Lilia held the smoldering remains of what you could only assume had once been a s'more in his hand, blowing out the small green flames that had presumably been the cause of setting it ablaze. Luckily, nothing else appeared to be scorched, so you assumed that the fire had been magic, and thus started by Lilia.

"Have you been making the s'mores by setting them on fire?" You asked incredulously. The smore you'd eaten earlier hadn't been burnt, so what had happened this time? Lilia's expression was bashful as he explained, "I got a little overzealous..." Half worried that what only deserved the name of charcoal would damage the garbage bag if you tossed it — it still had smoke emitting from it and was evidently still hot — you gestured to it gingerly. "What do you plan to do with it?"

"Eat it, of course!" Came Lilia's response, and he immediately popped it into his mouth. Your look of appall must have been visible on your face, because he said, "S'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt!" You turned away with a sigh of disappointment in your partner. "You just can't cook," you answered. You'd long since dismissed the notion that anything the fae cooked, if it could be referred to as something that was cooked, would harm him. However, you, rightfully so, avoided kissing the fae or sharing anything with him for at least a day after he did this.

"I'm wounded," Lilia said, rather dramatically. "I can cook! I took care of Malleus and Silver and they don't have anything bad to say about my cooking!

You didn't reply, choosing not to mention the whole reason for the secret meeting with them that Lilia had dropped in on. Instead, you pulled the second pan of cookies out of the oven and sent Lilia to grab you sprinkles and the ingredients for brownies.

Once everything had finished baking and cooling, you let Lilia do what he liked decorating the treats. You figured that that was a task that he could manage without setting stuff on fire — again. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Silver's head poke around the doorway of the kitchen. You gave him a slight nod and a smile, hoping that he got the message that everything was going fine, which he seemed to understand, because he gave a brief nod in return and disappeared from view.

"These brownies are very good, Y/N," Malleus said, taking a bite out of his square. Silver and Sebek made noises of agreement as they ate their own brownies.

"See? My baking skills are amazing!" Lilia told to you proudly with a smug grin on his face. Hearing his words, Malleus and Sebek looked shocked and appeared ready to spit the sweets out, but then they seemed to notice that the brownies tasted okay and Malleus, at least, regained his composure. "Lilia, you made these?" he asked. You could tell that he was still dubious as to whether or not he should continue eating. "I was there to supervise," you spoke up.

"I see." Sebek seemed relieved and began eating again, your explanation satisfying him. Silver, for his part, had finished his own brownie without pause, though that was probably because he'd checked in on you earlier and saw for himself that the food wasn't hazardous to consume.

"I can't believe that Christmas is only a few weeks away! I haven't even finished getting Kalim or Cater's presents yet!" Lilia exclaimed conversationally, munching on one of your sugar cookies.

Silver chimed in, "Neither have I for Se— uh, Riddle." He caught his slip up and redirected quickly, his eyes glancing at Sebek for a brief moment before flicking away. It clicked after a few seconds. Silver had gotten the Equestrian Club gifts, and he didn't want to spoil the surprise for Sebek. Malleus seemed to catch this too, judging from the way his smile widened slightly, but he too stayed silent.

"So, Malleus, Y/N, are you getting presents for anyone?" Lilia prompted teasingly.

"Of course," you said with a conspiratorial wink to the dragon fae. You had both collaborated to make a special gift for Lilia, a way of showing your thanks to him. The gift itself would be a horizontal weapon stand for Lilia to place his magearm on, but it wasn't quite ready; you still needed Sam to deliver a few decorative pieces so you could finish it.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me what it is?" Lilia asked, blinking his eyes like a puppy. Malleus chuckled. "That would ruin the surprise."

Lilia pouted but conceded. "Fine." He reached to grab another cookie, but there were none left on the plate. "There are more in the kitchen," you reminded him. The short fae looped his arm through yours and with no further explanation or room to protest, he announced, "You're coming with me!"

Once you followed along, he nudged you in the side with an elbow. "Are you sure—"

"I'm not going to tell you," you said firmly. With that, he sighed and he seemed to actually give up, knowing that if you weren't going to budge, you wouldn't budge. You arrived at the kitchen and you scoped out what baked goods remained. Another pan of brownies and a copious amount of sugar cookies that you would have to give away to other students to get rid of in a timely manner.

"Y/N~" Lilia said. You turned and was met with his face inches from yours. You felt his lips press against yours in a quick kiss. It took you a few moments to register that he'd been hovering, but that honestly wasn't your most pressing thought as you gagged. The taste of sickly burnt marshmallow invaded your mouth, remnant from the failed s'more from earlier. Lilia's eyes lit up in alarm. "Y/N?"

"No more kisses for the rest of the day — or at least util you brush your teeth!" You said, gagging still and grabbing a glass of water to attempt to rid your mouth of the acrid taste.

"Do you want a cookie?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean I can—"

"No."

You're leaving now? Do be careful out there, it'd be unfortunate if you injured yourself by slipping on a patch of ice or whatnot! Oh, here's a peppermint for the road, they're quite tasty! Well, I hope to see you again soon, esteemed patron.

Twst taglist... @h2llish @xen-blank @edith-is-a-cat @nightmare-in-the-woods @floydsteeth @officialdaydreamer00 @cookiesandbiscuits @mermaidfanficlibrary @casp1an-sea @tako-cafe @creatorbiaze @koihanwrites @lyle-my-beloved

Reblogs and likes are appreciated but not necessary!

[mamiya-a]

Playing dangerous

Mother Miranda/reader

Warning for explicit content.

Chapter 13: Birthday surprise

Summary:

Good luck trying to find out Miranda's age. (She doesn't know it herself)

You don't think that something so insignificant and easily overlooked could bring such filled and joyful feelings to your already tightened chest. Yet the waves of excitement , rushing through your body, can hardly fail to make their presence known when you place your toothbrush next to Miranda's in a fluid motion. 

It's satirical , and kind of makes you feel silly, but the look of a very ordinary object, placed so calmly next to something that belongs to her, forced you to smile like a little kid who just got a long-awaited birthday present. Despite understanding that Miranda is a woman , keeping too much on her appearance, her personal bathroom is not as  cluttered with the variety of products as you expected her to be using. You could even say that the first few times you spent exploring the medium sized room , left you disappointed. After all, the woman you now sleep next to almost every night , always has that pleasant aroma wafting after her like a cloak of pleasure, part of you wanted to unravel her secret ways of achieving her enchanting scent and appropriate it for yourself. 

Surely the days that have curled up under the dark , but cosy roof of the now not so sinister mansion are beginning to follow along , making you lose track of time. And yet , the enjoyment of shared moments with the blonde woman doesn't seem to be going away . Everything about her makes your fingertips itch , and the soft pillows of your cheeks warm. It's not just the insignificant toothbrush, but also the hairbrush placed next to hers, the forgotten pieces of outfits at almost every corner of her bedroom- quickly tossed aside after Miranda's decision that you'd look better without them, the few bulging notebooks, that have migrated to her room through which she occasionally runs a darker pen to correct mistakes , even your rarely fully charged phone which she makes sure to plug into her own charger so you can use it when you need to. 

Even her daughters have noticed,  little by little the room originally assigned to you is emptying , while Miranda's has slowly started to welcome another person's warmth. 

The line between the simple job of being a babysitter and the unconscious burden of your role as Miranda's partner has long since begun to thin. You often find yourself lending a helping hand to her daughters, who would normally prefer to seek their mother's advice. Several times now you've had a meal together , prepared from your personal recipe, which the girls have enjoyed and Miranda has praised. Penetrating this little family is a slow but sure process. 

Your fingers run smoothly through your  hair , slicking it back, as you examine your face in the mirror. Your eyes are silent , but there is a small light in them that has been unseen for years. Peace. You can easily admit to yourself that you feel calm and in place. 

A new wave of obliteration assaults the top of your head , born of your frustration over the few hairs sticking out. When you find yourself making the same motion for the third time , now gritting your teeth , you laugh. It's not even a hairstyle you like, but it's certainly out there, hastily acquired by Miranda. It seems like the blonde woman effects you in an unusual way - without both of you even noticing you have began to mold yourself into her own persona. 

A perfect exactly is the current morning. You've never been a person to greet the sun with a enthusiastic smile, yet alone cut a precious slumber session even before the end of night. Miranda, however, is keen on her obligations. And you follow her blindly. She has urgent work , which requires to start at sunrise? Then you wake up with her. 

Your body clumsily begins to move towards the bathroom exit , your skin tingling from the cold in the room , expecting a pleasant wave of heat to spill over it the moment you take the first step  into the bedroom, but your brain fails to remember the unpleasant cold air wafting through it. 

Your pajamas do keep you somewhat warm but you can't help your toes , which curl under the weight of your body or your shivering hands , momentarily wrap  around your top, trying to mimic a heated capsule. 

A pleasant metallic sound chimes past your ears , gently caressing them with a gloved hand , almost instantly accompanied by the inviting glint of jewels , which reflect in your eyes when you decide to turn your head towards the distraction. 

Miranda stands proudly in front of her vanity , her figure slightly twisted forward but not losing any of its glory , at an angle where in an upright position and slightly tilted head she can clearly see the different types of earrings she is trying on and possibly choose the best pair. Although , she looks quite lost in her selection process , she allows herself a distraction and her lips develop into a sweet smile, specially sent towards you. Maybe it's the way her lipstick has soaked into the soft tissue , or maybe it's the whole adorable look , or the simple need for her touch , but after that gesture you quickly find yourself clinging to her , trying to tear away some of her body heat. 

With your chest already pressed against her back, you're easily lost in the crisscross of all the curves of her body, accompanied by the sweet smell of her perfume. The quiet sigh she lets out , influenced by your eager mouth , which is lost along the length of her neck, makes you lock her waist in the trap of your arms, knowing fully well that she trusts you enough to relax  in your tight  embrace. 

You keep kissing her on that significantly more sensual skin until Miranda gives in and relaxes her hands on the surface of the vanity. In one palm she still clutches a beautifully coloured earring , its twin dangling from her left ear, threatening to tangle in your hair. She doesn't protest when your fingers shift to apply pressure to her jaw. Once her head shifts, however, you stare at her begging mouth for yours and pause. You don't want to ruin her slightly reddish lipstick , even if it means leaving her disappointed.

"It's early" -  Miranda comments , her morning voice presenting its magic over you once again. Your gaze whips away from her and instead lingers on a hanging clock, with the time being  just after 7am. - "The bed can still keep you warm." - her statement certainly sounds pleasant, but as soon as your eyes fall upon the furniture's emptiness you shake your head. - "Why don't you get some more sleep, darling?"  

"It's pointless without you" - you stubbornly answer her. Although Miranda's mouth snaps open , ready to protest, a light of interest flickers in her eyes and she deftly raises her eyebrows. Then she smiles, and her voice changes pitch. 

"You want me to feel bad for waking you up or for the fact that I'll have to go out on in less than an hour and leave you?" - the one thing she forgets to mention is her absence will be considerably long. Lucky for you, though, that's exactly what you need. As an initial plan you had set an alarm to wake you , but Miranda's silent, yet  unable to restrain themselves, palms however easily pulled you from your dreams. 

In her full defense, this is the first time someone has managed to wake you up with just the gentle caress of their hands on your face. It was certainly a great beginner sight of the day. 

"I was thinking of getting up early anyway." -  you assure her , placing another soft kiss on her skin. - "But if you're so willing to be my debtor..." the blonde woman hums in approval, trying to follow your train of thought. - "I wouldn't turn down a little study help." 

"Are you still struggling with making diagnoses?" - just broaching the subject makes you snort. The surprise in the woman's voice, however, is belied because your lack of duties over the past few days hasn't prompted you to stick your nose into study materials, but rather to indulge in complete relaxation, which is now starting to put a strain on you. 

"So many diseases..." -  a rush of warm air leaves your lungs , gently caressing ends of  golden hair before you separate from Miranda with a slow step. She doesn't miss the chance to follow your movements with wonder. - "And their symptoms are so identical...tell me, how am I supposed to be able to handle them all?" 

"The domain of my work partly obliges me to be familiar with the topic." -  she explains calmly. Already both her ears show off the lovely earrings, paired almost perfectly with her dark dress. A horribly sly grin appears on her face, accompanied by a cross of her arms. - "How about a quick exercise?" 

Unable to refuse her , you sigh , making a circular motion with your hand to signal your agreement. Miranda smiles at you again , her eyes scanning your body from top to bottom while the brief seconds of deliberation clearly show behind them. 

"Let's say your poor patient  suffers from...fever, fatigue , body weakness... or pain, soar throat and severe cough." - every description comes out of her mouth with a harsh tone. Listening carefully to her spilled words you can't help yourself but notice a furious line building up between her eyebrows. - "If not treated properly the sickness can cause respiratory distress, organ failures or in the worst cases - death." 

Miranda stops her brief presentation , moving her hands through the thin air and forcing the bracelets around her wrists to jangle.  She has exquisitely adorned her forearms with those golden metal branches wrapping upwards around her skin that you love to admire , easily lost in the beautiful portrait of the woman. 

You suck in a breath , gathering your thoughts , so you can give her a solid answer. You know , Miranda wouldn't stab you in the back by making more specific cases , but you don't leave yourself in the proper hands of this shallow thinking. 

"Assuming , that the failure of internal organs is precisely the lungs..." -  you begin to think aloud , causing the edges of her lips to lift. The blonde woman is certainly a fan of situations , in which the two of you can freely discuss your common pursuits. - "I think a safe answer would be Tuberculosis?" 

"No." - although voiced out clearly, the dissatisfying sound of the word is quieter than its siblings, fluidly escaping her lips. 

"No!?" - one might say your reaction is a big overreacted and filled with false hope. Miranda on another hand finds it amusing. 

After a few more wrong speculation shot from your thinking mind , eager to find the answer, you give up and offer her a perfectly green light to award you with what should be the correct response. 

"Spanish flu." - Miranda's smile doesn't dare leave her face once she decides to shatter your hopes for a correct assumption , slow shaking of her head, silently mocking you. 

"That's so unfair, Miranda!" - you barely stop yourself from shouting, clenching your jawline while she obtains a surprised face , born from the usage of her full name. - "At least give me something that's not from a hundred years ago, please." 

"Is...the previous century considered too old for you, darling?" -  as you watch how something specific in her question causes her to place a palm on her chest , you lick your dry lips, visibly chapped from the cold in the room. Perhaps you should try to convince her into adding an air conditioner to heat up her bedroom from time to time. 

"Isn't the Spanish flu extinct?" - you voice out, unable to stay upright and hastily taking a position on the bed. After only seconds, you throw a warm blanket over your lap and legs.  You pat the mattress to signal Miranda to sit next to you. Surprisingly she does , but not looking forward to receiving the precious heat of the sheets you would kill for right now , despite the presence of her short dress. - "I doubt anyone still struggles with it today." 

"You could never be certain." 

Even your most successful attempts to understand her message fail in their work the second her head hovers over you and subsequently lands on your shoulder. You can't stop the joy spreading through your body. Perhaps the thing you like most about the woman next to you is the way that even in an almost dense silence , like  currently, the intimacy and tenderness you have with each other dare not evaporate. 

Of course tender moments like this are easily spoiled , but not because of an unspoken or overly spoken opinion , emotions or misunderstood situations. These external factors - unavoidable commitments always find the cracks in your walls of calmness. Miranda's phone rings, causing her to make an annoyed guttural sound before reaching out to grab it. You appreciate the fact that she doesn't pick up , even a part of you is oblivious at the thought that she considers you more important than her probably ringing colleagues. What you don't like though is that once her screen goes black again she detaches herself from you , destroying every connection to your body with hers. 

"Leaving already?" - strange, it seemed that somehow you had more time to enjoy her morning company. Miranda sighs , her back turned to you, shoulders slumped low. She nods - an answer to your question. 

"I sincerely hope this meeting will be different." -  her quiet words remind you of how this whole visiting different groups of scientists thing started about two weeks ago. The blonde woman was happy to reveal the secret that the email you helped her with wasn't limited to just one person's address. And on the bright side, quite a few of her potential partners were interested. Which often left you alone while she negotiated, but with more time to prepare her surprise. - "Honestly, darling, after so many conversations with...immature disappointments, not even knowing exactly what they want...it would be refreshing if I could find a quality group to finally start my project with." -she pauses briefly between sentences- "and finish it  successfully." 

"Take your time, Miranda." - you find the will power to fight back against the cold , and even though you're reminded of the awful feeling once you step fully on the floor , you manage to walk behind her yet again. - "I know this is something of great importance to you." - her specificity to the topic confirms it. She tenses a bit , while your finger gently run up to her slightly exposed back, past the strange pattern of her skin there. You still think she's searching for a way to fix it , even though she denies this assumption. You place a kiss to the back of her neck just to calm her down. - "I can be patient and wait for you while taking care of the girls." 

"Then I can count on you to handle breakfast?" -  it's normally Miranda who takes on the kitchen tasks. You've noticed it's one of her few hobbies outside of work. Or at least the ones you know about. A lot of it's still a mystery, but you're slowly starting to unravel it. 

"Are you doubting me?" -  your tone immediately makes her turn around. Both of you are met with smiles. What you don't expect, however, is for Miranda to pull you to her and lean her lips against yours without warning. There goes all your worry about her lipstick. 

"I promise to make something sweet for all of us as payback." - she says. Her eyes dart around the room , searching for something. She calms down once she sees her prepared bag on the bed. - "How does that sound?" 

"Lovely." -  you assure her , as she separates from you to grab her needed accessory to her outfit from your shared bed. - "When did you say you were coming back?"

"Should be before afternoon." - plenty of time to prepare, then. 

You can only think how good of an idea she has given you without realising, all the way down  to the front door, where you wave her goodbye. Although Miranda's taste for food is hard to satisfy ,  she certainly has a sweet tooth. 

Except she doesn't know that she's not the one who's going to have her way in the kitchen. The idea is still swirling around in your head even after her departure , with her book of recipes open  in your hands until you come across something she would surely like. 

***** 

"What kind of bowl do we need?" 

"Make sure it's large, sweetie." 

"Where is the flour?!" 

"The bottom cabinet...on the right..there it is, dear." 

"Are two eggs enough or should I get more?" 

"Yeah, I think it's alr-" 

"Ah! Stupid knife!" - A high-pitched scream quickly throws you off balance. Your body hastily makes a full circle on its axis and you spin towards the direction of the sound. Across from you, a few feet away from the sink stands the mini version of Miranda. Despite their similarities , Eva is still a child, and the kitchen is unfamiliar to her and her sister. The blond , however, is currently holding one hand in the other , and her face is sucked up in a frown. A sharp knife with plastic handle has fallen to the floor by her feet. Once your eyes focus on it, a few tiny drops of scarlet blood trickle onto the surface of the kitchen tiles. It makes you freeze. 

For the moment, you're sulking , not knowing what action to take first. Eva has clearly cut herself and her extra unmoving makes it clear that she is still in shock too. Then a thought runs through your head. These children may not be yours , but the risk of your profession forces you to feel like they are. How would Miranda react...what would her vindicated character do? 

In mere seconds you are both over the sink, her stiff yet easy to lift body is heavily supported in your arms , as you work together to thoroughly clean, her wounded finger. The cut isn't deep , but certainly the sight of the water rushing in with blood isn't one of the most pleasant. After you stop the water flowing, you start to wonder just where Miranda keeps the emergency patches...if she even has any. Luckily for you , another helper comes to your rescue. Eveline quickly opens a distant kitchen cabinet and pulls out sterile bandages , which you use to secure Eva's ring finger. 

The commotion passes almost as quickly as it started. All three of you are now calm and breathing normally. Your eyes slowly slide away from Eva and instead land on the floor , where the fallen knife still lies. You allow yourself to bend down to pick it. As soon as you stand up, however, another part of the incident appears on the kitchen counter in front of you. 

The piece of butter that is sitting there is still visibly frozen...and solid. The puzzle of the happened quickly assembles in your head. Most likely, in the inexperienced and soft hands of the blonde girl , the knife slipped from its main target and cut her finger. 

You focus on Eva again, noticing that she is somehow purposely avoiding your gaze. 

"You know, butter knives exist for a reason?" -  it's comical how even the way the mother and daughter's facial features are almost the same when twisted in anger. Eva's hands are flailing through the air in defense. 

"If I had known would I have-" 

"Just promise me you'll be more careful." -whether you warm her bed or not , whether you hug and kiss her every day, even if you're the only thing close to a friend to Miranda-you don't want to think about what she'd do if something happened to one of the girls ,  on your watch. Then again...you wouldn't feel out of place on your own. Just like now, if you were closer to her , instead of focusing on the written sentences about the recipe....a sigh escapes your heavy chest. - "You really scared me."

"I...I'm sorry, I should have... asked for help." -  you and Eveline  both look at each other , unable to comprehend that it was her sister who decided to say those words. The almost unreal moment is quickly brushed aside as soon as Eva notices your wonderful looks and instead hastily coughs , ending the silence in the kitchen. - "I still think nothing would have happened if we had decided to make a cake."  

"I assure you Miranda will be just as happy with the cookies." - the clock never works in anyone's favor, though. Minutes eaten can't be returned , and what you have is still an unfinished dough mix and a wounded baker. - "If we ever finish them..." 

"I don't get it." - the blonde girl comments irritably , arms now crossed. - "A birthday calls for a cake with...candles and decorations..!" - she twists her wrists and turns to you. - "what's so special about these cookies?" 

You can still recall the day Miranda decided to share this recipe with you, instead of kicking you out of her precious kitchen. It was a rather weird day, vivid...she was awfully domestic, which had a positive side effect to you of course, but also summoned questions, as for why she was suddenly so interested in you. Although this scene had passed quite a while ago, ghostly memories of her hands on your waist or between your own , guiding you through the baking, still linger inside your head. The tips of your ears burn while you open your mouth to give the kids an answer. 

"Nothing...and everything." - you're met with pure confusion, which you immediately understand and after a second the mistake is fixed. - "It's just a nice memory of her...us." 

While Eveline giggles, Eva forces a grimace on her face. It's interesting to be in the company of both your biggest supporter and the one , who probably prays for your breakup with Miranda every night. You shake your head and smile, proposing them to finally get over the baking. 

.

.

.

Soon , despite the size of the room, the kitchen is filled with a pleasant smell , managing to reach every shrouded corner and closed  cabinet. With every passing second , the sink , filled with dirty and used dishes, starts to take back its spotlessly clean original shape, influenced by your eagerness to clean your workplace. 

You can't stop yourself from casting a few glances at the two little girls next to you, who are carefully drawing birthday cards on the kitchen counter, with thousands of colored pencils scattered on it. Near them is a large bouquet of flowers. Artificial of course , losing the beauty of the living nature, but easy to maintain and especially hide. You still remember , you bought them about a week ago , when you were out , to prepare the rest of the gift gestures to Miranda. 

Surely the task of deciding exactly what to gift a woman , who has practically everything, was not easy at all. Lucky for you, though, the solution isn't hiding miles away. This isn't the first time, and you don't think it will be the last, that you have to ask Evelyn exactly what to do with her unpredictable mother. 

After some conversation , reflection and various ideas - the raven black haired girl managed to get your attention by mentioning something about the older woman's past hobbies. Thinking about it now you wouldn't call it a hobby but a lack of faith in the abilities of others. It's clear to you that Miranda is overly particular about her clothing , if it wasn't dramatic and eye catching enough , she wouldn't go out. 

You learn from Evelyn that in past years she herself has tried to achieve this effect but perhaps due to lack of knowledge and time it has remained history. However, a sewing machine has been left almost untouched in the mansion, which is  now  nicely moved to your original room , away from Miranda's sharp gaze.

You hope that all the materials and fabrics you already bought , under the disguise of going for weekly shopping, past the dubious blonde woman will be enough.

Lost in thought , you forget about the mechanical work of your hands and before you know it the plates are already arranged and washed and you are taking the last steps of your shared activity with the girls - to get the already finished cookies out of the heated oven. 

The room seems too empty, however, once you manage to get them all into a large plate, more like a tray but managing to fit them all. With the help of their childish imagination, the girls managed to add all sorts of multi-coloured embellishments to the normally boring looking cookies. Some have faces , others flow from one colour to another , and others are in different shapes - circles , squares or hearts. However, these two pairs of helping hands have disappeared from the kitchen before they can see the finished product. 

Your gaze moves to the ticking clock on the wall , out of sheer interest... 

"She's here! She's here!" 

Eva bursts into your chambers of calmness without bothering to knock. Her words ignite a raging fire in your chest and you nearly drop the biscuits at her surprise appearance. Behind her, Eveline comes hurriedly , but quietly , over to the counter and grabs the bouquet of artificial flowers. She disappears as quickly as the wind. 

Unconsciously you have moved to the window , where you clearly recognize the black jeep parked in front of the mansion. Because of its darkened windows you can't see the silhouette of the woman inside , but your breath hitches the moment the car door slowly opens. 

You let Eva pull you through the hallways to the living room before you can see Miranda get out of her car.

.

.

.

Normally you like the clattering sound her heels make, but now every uncertain step she takes on the smooth floor forces out  a straining echo. It's obvious she's looking for you - both you and her daughters. You swallow hard  once the repetitive waves of sound stop just outside the closed living room door.

It takes Miranda only a moment after she passes the entrance , to freeze in place as if struck by angry thunder. Her pupils dilate to the point that the blue of her eyes is barely visible. Well maybe getting up in front of her with cookies, decorations, presents and yelling wasn't the best idea for a birthday surprise,  given her peculiar nature. 

At best you would have assumed , you startled her, but the way her hand moves to latch around the base of her neck and rub calming circles there, tells you that's not the point. The nervous tic , usual for her, quickly reveals that the woman really has no clue what is going on. 

"Eva?" -  her daughter's name tumbles from her uncertain lips. The girl doesn't wait to be called a second time and after placing the drawings , which she was holding until now, on the table - she shortens the distance between her and Miranda who has already started to squat , shortening the length of her body, in order to be at the girl's level. 

Again you become an external witness to their closeness. First Eva hugs her mother hard across the shoulders , to show her that everything is fine , and then she puts her ear out , so she can hear exactly what she is saying. Miranda's eyes are troubled , the normal emotions in them have evaporated , dead with boredom as they wait for their younger daughter's response , which however is a reply that rumbles around the room . 

"It's a birthday surprise , mommy!" -  she explains enthusiastically , one of her little hands having caught Miranda's. Unfortunately for you , it's the one whose ring finger is wrapped in a bandage , due to the cut from earlier. - "We wanted to do something special for you."

"...But today is not.. my birthday." - Miranda delays her response, visibly confused by the situation. Your fingertips dig into the metal tray in your hands, piled high with cookies. 

"It never is!" - Eveline inevitably joins their conversation, but she doesn't move from her place , close to you. Her mother's attention moves to her, a slight smile on the edges of her lips. - "If you don't celebrate it today, you won't do it tomorrow or whenever...and that's...." her speech slows and she rethinks her words. - "our birthdays are always celebrated , and you say you don't even remember yours...it's not fair to you, mom..." 

For just a second, comfort flashes in Miranda's eyes. She places a loving kiss on Eva's forehead, then grabs her wrist to bring her fingers closer and her lips provide another caress on the wound , wrapped with a bandage. She lifts her gaze to you, almost making you stagger back. The blue of her eyes looks more beautiful than any night sky, and the dark  makeup around her eyelids make the color pop so brightly you come back that she's glimpsed into your soul.

The older woman stands up proudly and begins to walk close to you, followed obediently by Eva. As soon as she reaches her other daughter - she unexpectedly grabs her and lifts her up without a problem. The girl giggles in her embrace, and though her arms hesitate whether or not to turn away , they wrap around her mother anyway. Eveline whispers something in her ear, presumably to congratulate her on her fake birthday, at which Miranda whispers back with a soft kiss on her cheek. 

As you watch them with kind eyes , the tray in your hands grows heavier and heavier, but not as heavy as the lonely heart in your chest. You can't stop a thought , swimming furiously through your mind. If your mother were alive, would she be hugging you like this , would your family be so happy...? You can't deny that you are at least a little jealous of moments like these. But with that comes the other problem, which is the fact that you feel out of place, like waste to this foreign family...

Then you feel gentle caresses around your neck , cheeks and ears. You blink once, twice, before Miranda's face forms in front of you , and the fingers running charmingly across your cheekbones feel real. Almost immediately you relax into her touch, her palms soft as pillows , enveloping both sides of your face. You can even feel her thumbprints gently touch the edges of your eyelashes. 

"Was that all.. your doing?" - as if seeing straight ahead, her question now contained the answer she needed. But you can't take all the adulation for yourself. 

"It was a general idea." -  you answer her, noticing how her white teeth barely grazed the skin of her bottom lip for a brief moment. Miranda, despite nodding in agreement, remains so engrossed in you. Her gaze moves from your eyes , to your mouth and back again. As if she couldn't make up her mind what to do with you. 

When Miranda approaches to kiss you, however, you panic. You don't know how her children, especially Eva, would react to such closeness between you. In an attempt to stop her proximity, you try the cookie tray against her stomach, causing her to look down in annoyance. Then a quiet laugh slips from her throat. Her slender fingers grab a cookie decorated in green and she brings it to her mouth , tasting it.  

Then Miranda just can't hold back and places a quick kiss on your cheek anyway , before totally detaching herself from you. She sits down on the couch, surrounded by her daughters who excitedly start showing her the cards , they made. She is surprised at the fake flowers , but accepts them graciously. You smile, knowing she likes it all. You join them, fingers trembling with desire to show your girlfriend your personal gift.

.

.

.

"Can I open my eyes already?" - Miranda's quiet , concerned voice echoes through the room, a slight note of impatience curving the edges of her words. Her body moves clumsily forward, now stopped just outside the door to your original room. You stand deftly behind her , one arm around her waist, the other gently pressing the handle , causing the wood to creak. 

"Just a second..." -  you mutter, eyebrows arched, stress born of the fact that several pieces of fabric lie carelessly in front of the entrance. You quickly kick them aside so you can pass , without the danger of both of you ending up on the floor. After a few quick glances , in the now lit room from the lamp you turn on, you take a deep breath. - "You can open them now, Mira." 

A rainbow of emotions runs across her face. Her initial look of calmness is replaced by surprise , which quickly turns into a questioning expression...and finally a mixture of disappointment and incomprehension. Her reaction makes you wince. 

"You bought me...a sewing machine?" - Miranda asks  uncertainly, her slender fingers working their way through the air to tangle with yours. As she looks at the medium sized machine on the table in the middle of the room , along with a mannequin and a pile of fabric...all things she once bought , but never used , you don't notice that she pulls your hand closer to her. You take a step back just before she can brush her lips against your swollen knuckles. 

"No, I borrowed it. From you, actually." -  you assure her, praying that someday you too will have enough money to forget what you do and don't own. Still, you feel pleasantly touched by the softness of her assumption that this is her gift. - "I plan on creating something new for you to wear." 

"How did you even think of that?" - her surprised tone adds to the confirmation that rich people like her, whose houses are piled high with unnecessary furniture and ornaments, often forget about their possessions. 

"I certainly got a little...inside help." -  you urge out a smile. She returns a similar gesture, one more provocative than usual. 

"Eveline?" - your head quickly makes a nodding motion to confirm her assumption. A quiet, chuckling 'of course' escapes past her lips as she steps forward. Her index finger glides across the surface of the spreading machine , and her body slowly surrounds it. She sighs , eyes raised to you. - "If my memory serves me right I gave up that little toy , because I found it too...confusing." her pride won't let her call it complicated. - "Do you know how to use it?" 

"When I was younger, I often tried to make my own clothes." - a few fond memories of your teenage years spent in  long nights of sewing various t-shirts pop into your head. - "money was tight , plus my taste in fashion was always changing..." - you chuckle at the way your father used to react to all of  your different phases, the poor man would always try to understand and support you, no matter what. - "Oh and the internet is truly a wonderful gold mine so...I looked up a lot of video guides. " - something in her gaze has softened, you find it incredibly comforting. - "I'm certain in my abilities." 

"Why are you doing this?" - Miranda questions, head slightly tilted, if not allowing herself to be confusing enough she then quietly adds, almost whispering. - "What...do you want from me?" 

"I...what?" - you've expected everything, from her showing no emotions to covering you with kisses, even getting mad...for whatever reason she decides to acknowledge, really everything but her current reaction, which is beyond your understanding. Miranda doesn't take a step further or closer to you, she only allows herself to cross her arms in front of her chest. 

"All of this, of today, everything." - she taps a few times on her skin, as if to gather your attention. - "Why do all of this for me?" 

Your lips are part, leaving your mouth open for a few seconds as you try to figure out her logic. Hasn't anyone ever done these sorts of things for her? Thinking about it , Miranda didn't look so much surprised as frightened at your surprise with the girls. You fall silent, an icy chill spreads through the room. You know her love life story isn't one of the best but you can't stop yourself from wondering how much of a neglect she's been that she wants a reason to be treated well. Or the worse part of the situation is that she probably thinks , she should do something in return for you.  

"I told you, didn't I?" - you take a confident step towards her, keeping your hands close to your body, trying not to scare her. Yet her nose slightly wrinkles once you approach her further. - "I want to treat you right, show you respect and appreciation, I want..." - you stop right in front of her. Due to the  height difference between you , the upright lifting of your head if needed. You find her with weak eyes, darker than usual. - "I feel like I want to give you everything...that's why today is for you and for you only." - finally she breaks, her beloved, soft palms gentle cup your cheeks and you swear you almost melt at her touch. - "I can be good for you, better than...Mia...or Eva's father even." 

"Oh?" - Miranda's curiosity clicks right on time - "Is he part of the competition as well?" 

"Eva shared with me he wasn't the best." - the girl surely showed her hatred towards the man, from Miranda or rather your weird dreams , twisted with unpleasant feelings for him, you know he wasn't the best partner either. - "Yet he was still with you, at some point." 

"For most of our relationship we were forced to be together."  - her hands trail down your open collar , down your exposed neck. It's not long before Miranda leans in , to place her head there, her lips just inches from your collarbone. - "I was married, you know?" -  she laughs , and you try to figure out exactly how she let this happen. - "After that, I didn't even want to look at men." 

The way her hands are clenched into fists you can guess that Miranda didn't have a good husband at all. And yet you can't stop your questions. 

"What was he like..?" - she doesn't answer , not before kissing your skin and then sighing, shooting warm air towards your neck, easily making you arch it to the side , as if she's tickling you. 

"He felt like a change. I first met him behind the church where his father worked." you decide to put your arms around her back and waist as she continues to tell her story. - "He was visibly attracted to me, but he didn't dare to become closer to me. I didn't care." - this sentence makes you wonder what kind of childhood Miranda had. She has the appearance of a very calm woman, yet deep down she holds a storm , ready to escalate at any moment. - "After a few more meetings between us, he broke down, threw away his laws and shared his bed with me. He was kind, he lied for me, he committed sins, he cared..." a note of nostalgia rises in her voice, but is quickly replaced. - "That was until I naturally found myself pregnant with Eva. Then he changed and everything...went to hell." 

"He probably judged her as a mistake and-" 

"Eva is anything but a mistake." -  you realize the error of your words as soon as Miranda pushes away from you , leaving your arms empty. It doesn't matter what relationship you have with her, her daughter will always come first. -  "But you're right...he didn't love her like I do. You have no idea how many times he's tried to get rid of her." -  your fingers twitch at the thought, and your eyes slide down to where they can clearly see the scar on Miranda's ankle. - "To keep his pride he married me. That turned out to be his biggest mistake , one that haunted him until his death." 

"I'm sorry, Miranda...I-" 

"What for?" - she cuts you off again, silencing you immediately. The sound of her heels is loud when they drop on the floor next to her. You fail to realise she has bended down to take them off. After that she places her arms on her hips with a bored expression. - "he's in the past, easily forgetting...while you promised to sew me something from scratch, didn't you?" 

Miranda tosses a small object to your direction. Even with a bit slowed reflexes you manage to grab it, squeezing it tight between your palms. Once you take a closer look you recognise a tape measure, which you have earlier placed on the table with the sewing machine. You take it's end , allowing the rest of it to roll to the floor. After that you move closer in order to wrap it around her body - you begin with her shoulders.  Miranda knows her measurements very well , but she allows you to do your things. 

"Today is for you." - you repeat your statement from earlier, while seeking her lips. She kisses you back, smiling. Without her heels, which she took off in order for you to take her proper measurements, she's less tall, yet still hard enough to reach. - "and anything you desire for." 

***** 

Miranda certainly took your words too seriously. After asking for a dress of her own inventive design, which you spent the rest of the day making, making dinner also fell to you. While she decided to take a relaxing bath , you had to protect her daughters, who wanted to help, from any more cuts or burns. Finally you enjoyed a nicely cooked rice with fresh meat and vegetables. Miranda, however, did not appear. Even when you said goodnight to the girls, she didn't leave her room. 

She had you wrapped around her demanding finger from the moment you took a step into her bedroom. After that you found yourself accomplishing her every desire, as promised, naked and under her own revealed body. 

Even though the windows are open, allowing darkness and cold  to enter the room in the form of invisible globes, you feel warm, if you're honest with yourself - burning with flames of flesh and passion. The main ceiling light , which serves to illuminate the entire room , has been extinguished. In its place is a small lamp on the left nightstand  next to the bed. That way you can see every curve of Miranda's neck as she tosses her head in the dim light. You like the fact that her ridiculously huge bed doesn't creak , no matter how viciously she moves. The only louder sound , enclosed within the four cold walls, is her heavy breathing intertwined with your own. 

Miranda is torturing you. When she asked you to quench her intimate thirst , there was no questioning from your part, nor when she asked to climb on top of you. But now...you can  barely stand what is happening. The woman , in all her loveliness, has you pinned down with her terribly strong legs , almost not allowing you to move a muscle. While she is wearing the pleasant black fabric of her nightgown , you are completely naked , body left to her mercy , which turns out not to be entirely gentle , for already several red scars from hard  bites have formed around your breasts.

A soft moan slowly escapes her soft lips , quickly lost around the room , but not before she caresses your ears. You almost loose yourself between the line of allowed and not allowed as your hands clench into pathetic fists , almost crying that they can't touch her. But that was what Miranda had ordered. Just to stand and watch her , while she took what she wanted. You bite your lip , tucking your hands back under your head , trying not to tell her once again that she is beauty in its most divine form as she flicks her hair back with a quick palm through the blonde roots. 

The recently bought plastic toy from the mall easily achieves its purpose of satisfying her. Although not as large as the previous one used on Miranda, she herself said it was softer and nicer. You revel in the fact that she loses herself in her passion with little to no obstacles. If only you had the permission to help her by slamming your hips up, giving her more friction... She makes a back and forth motion with her lower body , her back arching forward as her nails slide over your burning skin. Your name trickles from her throat, making your heart skip a beat. You're sure one day this woman will kill you. 

And that moment may be closer than you expect. At first you only feel her sticky imprints on the base of your neck, but then she abruptly changes the tempo of her movements, managing to wring a broken tone of delight from her straining vocal cords. By then, a scarf of hard palms wraps around your neck , squeezing it as if it's the last thing she's going to do. Her thumbs are positioned right at the end of your jaw just below your ears, at a point she knows is enough to make you dizzy but not stop your breathing completely. Her so far calm movements are replaced in quick , uncoordinated ones as she chases after her orgasm. She squeezes you so hard that the harness straps viciously begin to bite the skin of your lower body.  

She needs just a little more to finish, her mouth remains open , and a thin line appears between her eyebrows. Her hair  spills around her face once she leans forward. You get the feeling that she's going to break into a million pieces, but she's got you fooled. Her breasts glue themselves on yours and she practically sticks to you, barely breathing. A low but pleasure-filled moan sets your skin on fire. The sound is almost like a growl. Then she settles. 

You wonder if she's done for tonight. You have no idea  anymore exactly for  how long she has been riding you , how many times she has made herself orgasm, and fallen on you like that before she getting up and going at it again. The nights of the cold season are long , you worry that Miranda wouldn't want to go to bed at all. 

You think about whether to restrain her almost trembling body with your hands or continue to follow her commands. You almost do, you almost touch her, but another guttural sound slips from her blonde strands of hair covered face , and your hands return to their original position. You shudder when her wet tongue licks your earlobe , and immediately afterwards she starts whispering praises. Her passion-filled pants pour into your system, slowly dripping all over your body before collecting between your legs. 

"You're driving me crazy, you know that?" - you hiss as soon as she decides that the tender skin of your ear deserves to be nibbled on too. - "Everything you do makes me feel so...hungry." - she sighs  and a second later her whole body follows her as  she takes a sitting position, the plastic toy sinking inside her again. - "and I'm greedy, darling, will you give me some more?" 

You have no choice but to swallow hard and nod. You would never refuse the goddess above you. You feel like your cheeks are going to explode, red and swollen with blood, once she starts moving again. Her head tilts backwards, showing her entire bare throat and the sharp elements of it , which pop out as soon as she begins to shudder and moan. You want  to kiss her there, to bite her the way she does , and then run your tongue over her bruised skin. You must be looking at her like a feral animal, because Miranda chuckles darkly at you, gathering your attention. 

"Do you realize how full of sin your eyes are?" - her hand slides over your skin again , but this time it doesn't wrap around your neck, but instead cups one of your breasts. 

"Because you're marvelous." -  you whisper, your eyes probably drained of all color compared to hers which glow brighter than the dim lamp in the room -  "every cell in your body is covered in glory..." 

"Darling..." the way she moans your nickname, unusually louder than her previous sounds, makes you totally lose your temper. She's not the only one starving for the other.

Your hands shoot out , faster than arrows, towards her and her limping body. Your fingers dig like leeches into her waist, threatening to tear the fabric of her nightgown. With the newfound strength in your wrists, you push her down and along with the thrust of your hips upward , you make sure the sex toy has found its way into the deepest and most sensitive areas inside her. She almost screams, suppressing the urge by biting her lip. 

"W-what...what are you doing?" -  Miranda murmurs uncertainly, now coming to the real world. She watches carefully as your upper body straightens and you find yourself in a sitting position , with her on your lap. She doesn't like this at all, the look on her face is a clear sign of that. - "We said no touching-" 

"You're getting loud." - you snap hastily, making her wonder if her moans can really be heard outside the comfort of her bedroom. Your hands move up , folding the nightgown enough to reveal the lack of space where the toy enters her body. You then continue to drag your palms over her clothed body, purposely putting more pressure on her clearly hardened nipples. Finally you begin to copy her , your fingers wrapping around her slender neck but not long enough because soon you are gently caressing her face. Her lips are extremely soft and she willingly parts them to take both of your thumbs in her mouth. - "Do you want me to help you with that, Mira?" 

You can physically feel the curse seeping from her vocal cords. Your thumbs press against her tongue, causing her jaws to close like a quick mechanism. Her teeth dig into the skin of your fingers , but you continue to caress her face with your free ones. After the unspoken clarity that you're going to pull your thumbs out of her mouth she nods and barely part her lips, however it's enough for you to get one hand out of there. You briefly guide it downwards where you gently lift her nightgown again, your saliva-soaked thumb quickly finding her throbbing clit and beginning to slide over the bump. 

You don't know exactly how, or with what force she manages to remove everything you exert on her and immediately after throw herself on your chest. Miranda wastes no time moving on to her favorite pastime when you are this heated and intimate. This time her teeth are relentless. Straight or pointed, it doesn't matter, they all sink right into your skin and manage to break the barrier to your scarlet blood , which almost immediately runs down her tongue. 

"It hurts, Miranda" - a new sound rises from her, almost the equivalent of a scream as she finds herself on her back on the bed. Realizing that you've managed to reverse your positions , she wastes no time in making you regret it. It seems to you that her nails are even worse than her teeth. The combination of both is complete hell. You will never understand how this woman who keeps her nails extremely short , who makes you do the same , has the power to drive what she doesn't have into your back with such force. - "enough, stop-" 

You force yourself to grab her wrists with fierce force and pin them to the pillow above her head. Maybe you're too drunk at the moment, or maybe you're really starting to lose your temper around her, but you could swear her fingers don't look normal in any way. The fingernails , which you swore weren't that long, now look big , sharp and unkempt , and her fingers themselves have grown in length, black as pitch and covered in blood...your blood. You blink and that picture fades from your eyes. You start to pound harder at her, angry at the fact that you don't understand any of what is happening.

Why is Miranda so strange? Why does she always make you feel so...unhinged. If you grabbed her wriggling mouth, filled with sharper than usual teeth right now and made her talk would she? Even if you force her...? You don't have those desires though. In fact, the only thing you really care about right now is how her whole body is writhing in pleasure and she can barely look you in the eyes , because hers are busy sliding towards the center of her head. Your worries flow out of your mind the way her orgasm drips down from between her legs.

Your grip loosens and you quickly pull out of her, leaving her empty. Miranda is a stuttering  mess. You look at her with the kindest look you can bring to your face, working to loosen the belts of the  strap  and toss it aside at  last. You lift her nightgown one last time , not to prestimulate her , but because she is clearly struggling to catch her breath. You want to release her from her factory prison , which has been teasing you all night. You kiss her quivering belly, her rapidly rising and falling breasts , then press your head on them. Despite her heavy breathing and your best efforts to hear it, her heart doesn't seem to be beating. 

Before long, she calms down. A wash of laughter fills the room, startling you.

"Are you angry with me? Do you wish to punish me, my darling?" - she voices out in a strained tone. You feel the weight of her hands on the back of your neck, dragging you down towards her. - "Or do you just really like being rough with me?"

"You have no right to complain" -  you decide to tease her, kissing just the edges of her lips. - "You're the one who leaves me wounded and scarred every time." 

"But you're so beautiful when you bleed for me."-  her hair is so perfectly strewn across the pillow, it's like a golden halo has formed over her head. You scoff, poking her in the rib until she cracks a smile as well. 

"Am I dating a psychopath, Miranda?" 

"Perhaps?" - she brushes her nose along with yours. - "Would you deny her if you were?" 

This time you really kiss her. Gently, as if she would break if you pushed her harder. You're afraid you'd still be with her even if she locked you in a cage. Even though your hands start to slide down her body, you know she's done for the night. Your confirmation arrives on a silver platter as soon as she pushes you off of her. Miranda unexpectedly stands up, slightly stunned by the weakness in her knees, and rolls over to open a drawer beside her bed. From it she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a small purple lighter. You watch intently as she lights the tip of the thin cylinder , filled with tobacco, and slowly takes her first drag. 

"Did I do too much?" -  you run your hand over her shoulder, deliberately avoiding the odd blackness on her back to get her attention. Turning around with her lips slightly parted and a questioning look in her eyes, a cloud of smoke slowly covering them. - "I know you only smoke when you're tense or angry or..." 

"No, actually..." -  she pauses , to flick the burnt part of her cigarette onto the locker. It's interesting how she owns me ashtrays. - "I'm willing to admit it's kind of a guilty pleasure for me." - she runs a hand through her hair , to move it away from her face. - "You know , I stay in my office for so long a day because I don't want my kids to inherit the same bad habit."

You nod your head in understanding. You easily remember the smell of smoke all over her office or the many burn marks on her desk where she probably put out her cigarettes. You remember though , and their taste from that day on the terrace. You had tried cigarettes as a rebellious teenager and had made it clear , this was not for you. But with Miranda it's different, her kind is different. The usual vaporous, bitter taste was suppressed and although you choked a few times because of your quick puffs, the taste of them felt much better. 

"Can I have one?" - you nervously reach for the box. Miranda arches a questioning eyebrow. 

"It's not healthy." - she informs you sharply, gripping the box between her long fingers. You almost don't laugh. The woman, already reaching for a second cigarette wants to convince you , that smoking them is harmful. Well this is already interesting. 

"Miranda." - you try to make your voice sound sweeter than honey too.  

"No." - she replies firmly. 

"Mira..." - you place a kiss on her shoulder. She shivers. 

"I already told you no." - she starts to sound uncertain though. 

"Please, my dear...dearest." - you smile when you feel her physically give in. So nicknames hold almost the same power level as they do to you? Useful information for the next time you're going to find yourself begging her for something. 

Miranda hands you a cigarette , she's even nice enough to light it for you. This time she doesn't want to pull it from her lips, nor is there any hurry , so you let yourself enjoy the taste of it. Miranda is right , the feeling is comforting but you don't think it's something you would do as often as she does. Still, you like the peaceful moment you're in. Once you manage to let her you look around the room , your fallen clothes that Miranda practically ripped from your body and the still wet plastic toy , attached to your belt. 

"Are you sure you don't want more?" - your words are almost lost mixed in the kisses falling on her shoulder. Her hair still manages to smell wonderful, in spite of all the smoke around the room. 

"Are you planning on me not being able to walk normally tomorrow?" -  she snaps back at you, bowing her head. Her voice is dry, you'll probably have to go get her some water, but the fingers running just slightly down the length of your thigh , make you not want to move a muscle. 

"Actually, I wanted to give you an orgasm for every birthday you refused to celebrate." - there's a hint of a joke in your tone, which Miranda latches onto and shoots right back at you. 

"Oh, so you want me dead?"

"Really? That much?" -  she nods, astonishing you. And here again , despite your closeness a new wall of the unknown rises between you. You know , Miranda is older and yet...you have no idea by how much exactly. - "How old are you anyway?" 

"I stopped caring about my age so long ago." - she says hoping to end the subject, but you insist on the answer. She realizes that there's no hard way out so she places her chin angrily in her open palm and mutters. - "I should be about a hundred and thirty something..." 

"Miranda..." - you blink a few times, staring at her. And she's looking at you like a ghost is standing in front of her. The next moment you frown, jabbing your finger into her ribs again. - "I'm not kidding, tell me the truth!" 

"Okay...thirty...no actually forty..." her blue eyes tangle around your body. But you don't give in, her ribs are quickly assaulted and this time she tries to suppress a smile because of her tickle. Maybe the cutest thing you've ever seen. - "Darling...don't make me count please." 

With that you give up. The woman is impossible. 

.

.

.

You find it really unpleasant how the rest of the mansion manages to be so cold , and the room you were shivering in all morning is now warmer than one heated by a fireplace. 

Proudly wearing Miranda's long , night robe , your body is partially protected , but the cold still manages to bite the bare parts of your skin - like your arms , neck or legs . 

You both agreed that you need a glass of water and you, being the less tired of the two, take on the task of walking through the dark corridors of the mansion to fetch them to Miranda's bedroom. 

Your passage is quick. The thing slowing you down, however, are the closed rooms of her two daughters. Some inner , unknown instinct manipulates you into confirming that Eva and Eveline are fine and sleeping calmly in their beds. You barely manage to catch your breath once this fact is confirmed. As if something could attack them in this lonely mansion... 

The only light on the second floor comes from under Miranda's bedroom door. You're not surprised to find her already asleep and wrapped in blankets. Her bed is so comically large that her generally tall figure looks small and frail in the middle of it. Without thinking much you close the wooden door behind you , turning the key, locking yourself from the rest of the mansion. Almost every morning her daughters come in after waking up and if they are lucky enough, their mother is waiting for them with open arms for morning cuddles. This time, however, you decide to reserve that moment for yourself. 

Her body twitches with every step. You're sure she's already awake. She sleeps very lightly and is awakened by the simple opening and closing of a door, your footsteps only adding to the disruption of her sleep. It kind of makes you sad, the thought that she doesn't have enough faith in anyone that she would fall deep asleep around them. That lack of trust is upon you too. 

You turn off the small bedside lamp and quickly slide under the covers. You smile, feeling her wrap her own limbs around you. Like a snake in its prey. In her sleepy states, she looks most beautiful to you. Like a true goddess of eternity, with her white wings clipped so she can roam the earth...with you. You place loving kisses on her forehead. 

"Happy Birthday, Miranda." - she only murmurs in response, but you're certain she's more than thankful.