#almost seemed like they were hacked or something

[missmarveledsblog]

I gotcha cap ( Steve Rogers x Reader )

Summary: it wasn't lost on anyone that Steve was a technophobe, who wanted to gain a grasp of the modern world, it just didn't help the little infatuation he had on his teacher.

Warnings : none , fluffy, mutual pinning , idiots in love. this is 2 or 3 parts

If anything America's golden boy and one of Earth's most prolific heroes needed improvements on was ...well the technology. Even though he'd be out of the ice long enough, the modern inventions just were something he didn't get the hang of. Of course, he'd asked his fellow Avengers, bucky was just as clueless as he was so was Thor to be fair. Natasha just outright refused her only argument for the rejection was simple

" For my sanity and your safety "

Tony was a no-go for his safety. The kid well he did try but ended up more confused at the slang the kids were using these days needing maybe a whole new lesson.

The best was of course last, Y/n. the newest addition although she'd been there two years now. She was up there with Tony probably even better when it came to anything electronic. She was able to hack the billionaire, only being caught because she wanted to. The company she was working at wasn't fully what she thought but hey it's why she took the job. She was an independent investigator that well noticed the fast rise of a company that seemed too perfect. So she got a job jumping through the hurdles, using her charm and charisma to integrate into the company and earn their trust then slowly she began to uncover the seedy secret they tried so hard to keep away. The wannabes were trying to be Hydra 2.0 only they didn't expect this newbie, the new office pet to uncover it all and drag them down with the click of her keyboard. The rest was history, now here she was living in the compound working in the lab with Tony and Bruce getting them intel and making missions that bit easier. The daughter of a former doomsday prepper and the skills she acquired of being alone well it was all that made her qualify and her enhancements helped to although that was a new title when she was growing up it was mutant. her father was one to hence why he was so paranoid , so ready to live in a bunker for safety of his family only to be the problem.

Y/n was sweet, she was friendly and patient. She was also funny, bold not afraid to speak her mind, strong worker. The beauty was everything and more that Steve Rogers could want so that infatuation had him almost nervous, yes nervous to ask her to help him with his problem. Thanks to Natasha's meddling he didn't have to ask because she took it upon herself to do so for him. A rare day off here he stood at the door of the main living room watching her setting up the various machines on the coffee table. The smile on her face was so bright and warm when she turned it made Shakespeare's words make sense. The way that smile was like a summer day. She was just simply an angel of perfection in his eyes, one that made his old self, the man before the serum who could barely look a dame in the eye or one that made his words jumble or stumble and stutter in a normal conversation. Professionally he was ok although he was still nervous but he was able to communicate clearly. Now here he was for a private lesson in modern technology with a woman who could render him speechless. This was gonna be hell, he was sure of it. Just as sure he was gonna make a fool of himself.

" hey steve ... cap?" she called making him stand straight .

" yes , yep hey " he smiled although forced through the flush of his cheek , in the start of what would be a barrage of self beratement .. internally of course .

" you ready " she smiled looking down at the table slight fixing the things laptop , phone and game console ? .

" yes sorry nats making you do this " he sat near her not too close but thanks to his enhanced senses he was encase in her scent .

" she not making me do it , dont worry cap i got you " she laughed . " ok i know you can write a report on the computer" she asked .

" y-yeah i can do the report but i because it like already there , tony made sure it the only thing so i just click , type and send " he nodded rubbing back of his neck .

" what about texting ? " she asked .

" no really well sort of " he shrugged .

" ok well we can go over the basics, if you don't understand anything don't be afraid to tell me so we will start with the phone from functions to standard apps " she smiled pulling the box out . " here this is for you " she handed it over .

" you got me a phone " .

"yeah, and I got you this ... open it " a mischievous smile on her face as she handed it over. Opened the paper and saw the blue red and white stars. It was like his shield but like a phone case. " I was gonna get you one online but I thought I'd make one a lot more sturdy and super soldier-friendly i got bucky to test it out in the testing phase".

Steve was speechless for maybe longer than he should of and for a new reason. Almost bashful looking down at it in his hand. So touched by the fact she took the time to craft and test this. The fact she took time to personalize it just for him.

" this is amazing thank you really " .

" no need to thank me cap i gotcha " she winked making his cheeks heat up.

The two sat while she slowly helped him set up the new phone, patiently step by step guiding him through what to do. In that time the space between the two, closer and closer while looking down at this device. The way she explained it to him and if or when he got confused she would show him again and again til he did. At one point the team stood at the door out of view of the two all sharing a knowing look. Peter took a few pictures maybe one to show them later in life. The way her attention was solely on the man although she could sense the extra eye and sure that the man at her side could feel them too.

" hey wanna continue this in my office" she smiled softly .

" yeah let's get this stuff " he stood quickly grabbing the different things scattered around them almost dropping them in his quest. Walking side by side and out of prying eyes they got to continue the lessons. He took a look around her office, her personal space. Little knick-knacks, pictures that all screamed her . Then when he looked at the computer slightly embarrassed in his own knowing how simple everyone had made it for him, how Tony made things easy from comms and devices nothing complicated more things only with a button or two. All the different little pictures or icons he recently learned scattered about. Now he knew he wasn't going to be some tech wizard but at least he wouldn't be clueless. More and more time he was less nervous he still was to a certain degree.

Weeks and weeks turned into months of lessons scattered between missions, meetings and public events. Although his knowledge of this was rusty, it was also still a vast improvement. Their communication improved and made her giggle when she would see at the end of each text -steve rogers. She tried to express that he didn't need to sign off on messages but she found it endearing in a way and completely, utterly adorable. She looked forward to the lesson, being in such a close space as Steven Grant Rogers was like a dream.

The blonde adonis was maybe the first and only crush she had had in such a long time. From his smile to his muscles that strained against the fabric. From his sweet and soft manner of Steve, to the strong protective manner and commanding presence that was Captain America it was virtually impossible not to fall for the man. Often thinking would he be Steve or cap between the sheets til she berated herself for thinking of a coworker, a teammate and a friend in such a way but on the same page she couldn't help the thought be in her mind.

next part

[solacescastleglow]

Cultural Capital #1: Intro + The Basics

One of the biggest privileges I had growing up was access to cultural capital. My parents were expat teachers, which meant that we had access to a lifestyle well above what we would've had if we had stayed in Australia. I got to travel, meet people from various cultures, go to private school, and I subconsciously absorbed that lifestyle as an expectation. This has given me a huge advantage, and since I don't believe in gatekeeping, here's how you can gain some of that knowledge.

0. A note

Some of these are things I strongly disagree with, but this is the way it is. One shouldn't have to change oneself to get ahead, but we often do. This is just a list of western upper-middle class cultural signifiers, and my listing them out doesn't diminish your own culture if it is different from this. Your own cultural capital is just as valuable as what I'm going to share. But we do live in a world where you can get benefits from knowing the dominant culture's valued information, so this is a guide to hacking that system.

1. What is cultural capital?

When people move to a certain place, be it a neighbourhood or a workplace, they need to understand the language, references, and customs of the people around them, otherwise they might be treated negatively. This is cultural capital. Your ability to fit in with the dominant class and culture can benefit you in work and social situations. Your education, who you know, how you speak and dress, which cultural references you make and understand, etc. are all class signifiers, and contribute to cultural capital.

2. Free ways to gain cultural capital

Confidence and vibe. I'm not the best at this, and there are plenty of resources out there for learning it that would probably be better than me. What I will say is that people can tell when you're used to settling for less, and that lowers your cultural capital in these spaces.

Go to a library or Google for research. Topics to research include: major religious stories and Greco-Roman myths, art and music history - especially from the 16th-19th centuries, different cultures and global geography, common idioms and expressions in French/Latin, jargon for your field as well as those of art/dance/music/business, fancy brand names (Quick, is a Ferragamo a shoe or a car?)

Read literary fiction and non fiction. Making references to classic novels shows rich people that you're well read, which in their minds translates to education and therefore intelligence (which isn't true but you know). It's also a shared experience, which gives you something to talk about. Use Libby for free audiobooks, and your local library for print books.

Expanding your vocabulary and speaking with care. The more you can articulate yourself, the more likely people will be to listen to you.

Going to public museums or galleries (if they have them where you live). They're almost always free, and are a great way to spend a weekend.

Watching videos, reading scripts, or listening to recordings of theatrical performances. These can be pretty easily found on the internet and give you material to reference when talking someone up.

Study philosophy. If you want something accessible and fun, watch The Good Place. Philosophy Tube makes excellent, thought provoking videos for free, and I'm sure there's more out there. Expanding your thought process and recognising the literature out there about 'deep' topics can help you not only seem smarter, but actually be smarter.

Learning to eat politely in multiple cultures. What do you eat with your hands vs a fork vs chopsticks? For western cuisine, you should know which fork to use, how to pour wine, what you do with your napkin, etc.

General etiquette. Handshakes, when and how to hold a door, you get the gist.

3. Ways that cost money

Cook something from a different culture every [week/month]. Expanding your palate and becoming familiar with things outside of your immediate circle will make you more 'cultured' in the eyes of people who care about that.

Special exhibitions and paid museums and galleries. Sometimes, a museum will cost money, and if it's interesting and within your budget, it's well worth it. Museums are an engaging way to learn more about history and culture, which will give you knowledge you could benefit from having.

Going to the theatre. Seeing a play, musical, opera, or ballet, especially if it references mythology or is iconic in its own right, can expand your views on universal themes like love, life, death, and revenge. It's also just really fun. You don't have to spend a huge amount either; see what's available in your area.

Dressing professionally. This means having a baseline knowledge on clothing terms and what fits you well, buying well made clothes that will outlast trends, and keeping them well maintained. Tailoring should be considered if it's in your budget; nobody likes an ill fitting suit. Some tips: second hand shops are a good place to start, avoid fast fashion, and remember that a 20 year old Chanel piece has more cultural capital than a brand new H&M piece.

Grooming. Smelling good, looking put together, and having good hygiene will help you immensely. A perfume that suits you is well worth the money, but don't be afraid of dupes if it's not in your budget.

Travelling. This is by far the most expensive thing on this list, but having those new experiences will completely change your viewpoint in a way that other people can recognise.

4. Signifiers that take a long time/effort

Accents. This matters more in some places than in others, but being able to fake a 'posher' accent gets you privilege in certain contexts. My school taught us only in RP English, but the social circles were run by the US military families, so I have a more neutral accent by default. I can also switch between the two, which gives me an advantage here in Australia, where proximity to an RP accent signifies wealth.

Learning a language. Knowing English automatically gives you a ton of cultural capital, since that's the lingua franca for most fields nowadays. But if English is your first language, knowing more than one means education. The unfortunate double standard is that if English is your second language, you need a third to be considered educated, usually a European language.

Straight teeth. This one is up to luck for some people, but having straight teeth usually means you have the money to straighten them. It also takes years and hurts. In my opinion, it's only worth it if your teeth are causing medical problems in your life, in which case you might as well straighten them while you're at it.

Getting a specialised degree in something. Don't worry about seeming silly (arts, humanities) or cold (business, sciences) when choosing a degree. Someone will be weird about it no matter what you pick, so pick one you like.

---

Remember, this is specifically for fitting in with the culture I grew up in and around (rich people). There is nothing wrong with the way you are now. This is just for people who are considering adapting to an environment where behaving like this allows for social mobility.

[iidsch]

also more codelyokoposting but I really really dig XANA as a villain. It's not a person with a complex background that led them down the path of evil, it's not a morally grey character you sympathize with but condemn. It's a powerful AI capable of controlling almost anything in the real world. It doesn't have a face or a body, we only know it for its symbol and for the monsters it controls in the virtual world. It's willing not just to kill people through various methods (poisoning, drowning, car crash, fucking space lasers too?) but also Earth as a whole (it tried to blow up a NUCLEAR PLANT and crash two trains with toxic chemicals in them). And we don't even know why it does this, at least not for now. It may not even have a particular reason, just some sort of virus or malware in the form of an AI that seeks nothing but destruction without any goals in mind. This "pure evil" characteristic doesn't come off as childish, like in some children cartoons, it's just kind of scary to think that such an incomprehensible and destructive force exists, almost feels like a natural disaster

[rivaiin]

watched some of the dav previews and the amount of these people that just admit they havent finished inquisition or just played origins a fucking decade ago............ seething with rage to be honest

[gutsby]

Stupid Prizes

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Before you head back to college, your dad wants to go on one last family outing: the county fair. The only problem? Your secret fuckbuddy, Joel, is there.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky, unprotected p-in-v. Joel pining for you while your dad is beside him, oblivious for now. Semi-public sex (on a ferris wheel—don’t ever do that). Gross misuse of a candy apple. Age gap. Jealous Joel. Teasing. Angst(!) Mentions of infidelity/abandonment.

Word count: 10.0k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

The gingham dress was your best idea yet.

For Joel, nothing could’ve been worse.

He’d cum down your throat no more than ten minutes ago, and with just a glimpse of your new getup bounding down the stairs—you’d had to change after he painted your last one white—Joel almost inhaled his Heineken.

He coughed and sputtered and hacked the beer back up while you strolled past the sofa and grinned at your dad.

“Ready to go, old man?”

It was just a short red frock with a sweetheart neckline.

The fabric cinched at the waist and flowed with every step you would take. Turning slightly to toy with the hem, and teasing the only eyes on you, you corrected yourself:

“Sorry…old men, I mean.”

Something like amusement flashed in Joel’s eyes.

Didn’t seem to mind this old man’s cock down your—

“I was born ready, kid,” your dad answered, still messing with something on his key ring, “How ‘bout you, Miller?”

“Yessir.” Joel stood.

He recalled you saying something similar before opening your mouth in the guest bathroom just fifteen minutes earlier. Joel’s cock twitched in his jeans at the memory, and his cheeks might’ve tinged a little, remembering how fast he’d cum. You’d only smiled and sucked your thumb, getting a taste of the residue that had missed your chest.

“Quite a mess you made there, Joel.”

And you repeated those words, at length, with only you and him to know what it had meant to you both before.

You gestured to the smattering of crushed potato chips on his shirt, and your grin got bigger. Joel grew redder.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, brushing the crumbs off his front. He wasn’t nearly as fast with the comebacks as he was with other kinds of comings and goings, and he knew it. He set the bag of Lays aside and seemed ready to leave.

But when he’d licked the salt off his lips and caught you staring—when he saw his friend go back to the kitchen:

“I had to be quick,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, “You know better’n anyone what a messy eater I am.”

Of course you knew that. Joel winked at you, and you winked back, mostly making fun of the boomer move. He reached for you—the edge of your skirt scarcely hanging a fraction of the way down your thighs—and he opened his mouth to speak again, when there was the sound of heavy boots at the threshold of the room. Joel leaned past your body and snagged the bag of chips instead.

“Food for the road?” He turned to his friend.

“All you,” your dad replied, smiling and waving the chips off as he went for the front door, “I swear your stomach’s a bottomless pit, man. Eatin’ me outta house and home.”

Joel looked at you when your dad was past you both.

House and home ain’t the only thing I’m gonna—

“Let’s go,” you chirped, fast, “I call shotgun!”

This would be a long, long day, no doubt.

The county fair had been his friend’s idea. One last day of ‘family fun’ before his little girl went back to school out East, and Joel hadn’t seen Bellville in years, so he’d asked him if he wanted to join. After a shared, brief stint in abstinence camp, the answer should’ve been clear:

‘NO.’

But Joel hadn’t learned very much from the Fireflies in the less than 72 hours he’d spent living—and also fucking you—there, so he’d nodded and said ‘Okay.’

Now you were twenty minutes out from the fairgrounds with a near-depleted tank of gas in the truck, obliged to make a quick pit stop at a Texaco. It was the first time he’d been alone with you since you’d set off from Austin. The second his friend was gone and headed inside to buy a pack of smokes, he heard a seatbelt come undone.

Earlier, he had raced you and beat you to the car to lay claim on the passenger seat, so you’d been in the back this whole time. He barely saw you before he felt you, climbing over the center console and then into his lap.

Straddling him while the Eagles played faintly overhead.

“Feel fucking insane not being able to touch you right now,” you huffed against his lips, kissing him hungrily.

Joel groaned. Felt your lower half grind into his. Almost rutted his hips up and yearned to have you seated on something other than just his denim-clad crotch when he sucked in a breath and remembered where he was. He nudged your hips and fisted the fabric in his hand.

“You in this dress ain’t helpin’ me either,” he growled.

You grinned against him, then hiked the red-and-white material up your legs a little more. Joel felt something like a shockwave when he saw what was underneath it.

Or, rather, what wasn’t there at all: your panties.

“Bathroom quickie?” you said, already breathless, “I’ll tell my dad I got cramps. I’ve been so wet this whole ti—”

“Darlin’.”

Joel’s eyes had drifted down to the place where your body and his were touching—rubbing—now. Even from this limited vantage point, he could see a glistening patch sticking from your bare seam to his jeans, and it was pooling on the fabric. Practically oozing out of your cunt while you rocked your hips and begged him please.

“Please, just one. I’ll be good the rest of the day, daddy.”

“Fuck,” Joel hissed.

His pupils were wide, and his mind was seriously considering it. Stupidly so, he reckoned; your dad was bound to be back any second, and surely you couldn’t both be gone for more than five minutes without raising suspicions. It was a reckless endeavor, he already knew.

And when he saw his old friend strolling out the front doors of the Texaco, his decision was made for him.

He watched you scramble off his lap and back to your seat, body quick and lithe and giggling the whole way.

“Gonna get me murdered, girl,” Joel panted, gruff.

Your own smile didn’t waver; you just settled back into the middle seat and let your gaze trail out the window, trying to fix your eyes on something to calm you down.

You already had the sense that nothing would. Your teeth bit your bottom lip between them to forestall the threat of another laugh while your dad approached the vehicle.

From the radio, ‘Life in the Fast Lane’ kept playing.

As old as they were, Joel Miller and your dad had a funny way of acting more like kids than you ever had, at any age. As your trio approached the wide, gleaming gates of the Austin County Fair, you saw your dad nudge Joel, and Joel shoved him back, and somewhere in the midst of all the ribbing, you heard your dad say, clear as day:

“If I’m takin’ a whole day off work, I’m gettin’ hammered.”

You knew by that tone this would an interesting afternoon, to say the least. You held your ticket tighter.

And for a moment, you wished you’d worn underwear. It’d been a split-second decision to peel them off before skipping downstairs, and it had worked well enough—Joel walking with a limp all throughout the parking lot and trying to shield the tent in his jeans—but now you were the one in greater danger still. Seeing your secret family-friend-with-benefits in his tight, light, heather grey shirt and jeans, hips adorned with a hefty belt and moving deliciously with each new step he took, you were transfixed. Left to watch him and gawk and grow wetter between the legs with every passing second, there was nothing you could do about it now. Likely sensing this, Joel raked a hand through his grey-flecked hair and hummed to himself. His bicep bulged through the sleeve.

“Nice little view, ain’t it?” he asked, nodding to the outline of a dozen shining rides and attractions ahead.

Go fuck yourself, Joel.

“Can’t wait to ride that.” You pointed to the ferris wheel, though the finger in your mind was aimed closer to him.

“Funnel cake,” your dad beamed, eyeing a nearby stand.

The three of you weren’t walking for much longer before he insisted on buying one. Joel had had a hankering for lemonade himself, so he’d fallen in line behind you and your dad. When it was your turn to order, you paused.

Then, pointing again:

“Can you get me one of those?”

You’d had to stand on tiptoes to see it inside the display, but from Joel’s own height, he was certain to have seen what you meant. While your dad shilled out the cash, not batting an eye, the man behind him clenched his jaw.

Candy apple, hon? Real fuckin’ mature.

Your eyes met his as soon as you’d turned, treat in hand.

I thought you liked seeing big things in my mouth, Joel.

He would’ve scowled if he wasn’t next in line—and your dad wasn’t walking so close behind, sniffing his food.

Joel ordered his drink, drank it fast, and found his thirst no better quenched than when he’d started. You’d sat across from him at the table and made sure of that.

You dragged your tongue up the sugar-coated apple just like you’d done to his shaft that morning and blinked, savoring the taste. Feigning innocence as he looked on.

And what else could he do? If not watch you, then peer at your father, furtively, and make sure he wasn’t able to see so much as a second of this little show you were putting on now. Joel glanced around you, too. No one else seemed to notice what was going on, even when your lips left a soft, sweet suction near the top of the apple, and he could’ve sworn he’d heard you moan.

It was just in his head. He was remembering how you’d done it that morning, mouth sinking down his length and whimpering when you’d reached the base. The way your eyes had watered, your free hand had reached between your legs, and your lips had welcomed him in; it was all burned in his memory, and not retreating any time soon.

Neither was the blood rushing to his dick, he reckoned.

You didn’t seem to care. Even when a bright pink river of spit and sugar trickled out of your mouth, you didn’t flinch. You let it slide down to your chin. Right before it reached the end of your face, and you were certain Joel’s gaze was glued to the spot, you licked a little bit of it off. You didn’t get it all in one go, so you shifted your snack to the other hand and then swiped your thumb under your lips. You brought it up to your mouth and sucked it, just like you’d done with Joel’s cum on it earlier that day.

Joel chucked his cup in the trash. Your dad took another bite of his deep-fried pastry and, talking between chews:

“That was fast.”

“Need’a stretch my legs,” Joel announced, abrupt.

He turned to you, and your thumb came out of your mouth. The frown on his face was unmistakable, though your father probably thought it was just from having to squint against the sun. Not because he was incensed.

Out for revenge.

“Ready to get wrecked, kiddo?” he asked you.

Your eyes widened, and your tongue quit licking.

What?

Then you saw him nod to some spot over your shoulder. You didn’t have the nerve to follow his gaze as he did.

Faintly, you could make out a smirk crossing his lips.

“Arcade’s over there. Unless you’re too scared.”

Your dad raised a dumbass, not a quitter.

You’d accepted Joel’s proposal without a second thought, and your father seemed pleased to have the chance to peruse the food stands and beer carts to his heart’s content. You’d set off quickly. Your candy apple was still in your hand when you saw your friend lean over.

Joel opened his mouth, and he took a big, angry bite.

“You’re insane,” he said after, words muffled by fruit.

You took your first steps inside the dark, cool building littered with machines and fun activities of every kind, and deep down, you were happy you’d had that treat. You took a bite yourself, then discreetly patted his ass through his jeans and told him, ‘Only for you, Miller.’

You weren’t sure why you’d said it. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you regretted it, no matter how stupid and playful the message was meant to be read. But then Joel nudged you back—actually wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

His mouth was close to you, and you could feel the smile:

“Just how I like it.”

Your cheeks heated a little. You weren’t so fond of the intimate move—in public like this, even as dark as the arcade happened to be—but you couldn’t deny the flutter in your stomach. You swallowed the rest of your apple, and with it, any shred of emotion, or so you were hoping. You nudged Joel off of you under the guise of trying to point to something new, and his eyes followed.

“C’mon. At least pick something you’ve got half a shot of winning,” he said, swiftly. Sounding smug as he spoke.

You plodded on anyway, not hesitating at all.

“I’ve got more than half a shot,” you assured him, tone arguably twice as conceited, “Now if you’re scared—”

“You can’t use my own lingo against me, little girl.”

“Then nut up or shut up, old man.”

Joel scoffed. You chewed. The two of you approached the Skee-Ball machines with near identical looks of ambition and zeal, and sensing this tension wouldn’t dissipate with any more shit-talking, you got to work.

The first game was close. You beat him by less than ten points, and you guessed that that had been due in part to Joel’s own will. You saw him make more than two pitches so outrageously bad that you’d had to have guessed he was going easy on you. As soon as you felt that, you’d scowled. Pointed angrily at the scoreboard.

“You can’t just let me win, Miller!” you said, shrill.

Joel’s hands went up, and you knew he’d deny it all.

“No need to gloat, now, honey—”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, all while fighting back a smile, “Gimme your A game or don’t bother playing, honey.”

And he did.

The next game left you destroyed, roughly 900 to 320. You stepped back from the machine, feeling a frown start to form on your lips but knowing you’d asked for this, and just as Joel was about to lean in to offer a conciliatory hug, he had to stop. Both of you turned.

Somewhere behind you, you’d heard a voice.

It was young, male, and audibly amused.

“He really whooped your ass, huh?”

Your eyebrows raised as soon as you saw the source. Your scowl morphed into a smile, and your eyes were bright—too bright, almost. You ran over to hug the boy.

He was a boy, after all. Likely no more than half Joel’s weight soaking wet and wearing the biggest, dumbest grin that could only belong to a guy your age. He hugged you back, and his arms tightened around you. Comfily.

“Wade!” you gushed, squeezing him hard. You stepped back and looked him over, as if in shock, “It’s been…”

“Forever,” Too-comfy-cozy Wade finished for you.

Joel frowned.

“And here I thought you were gone away for good!” you laughed, “Went off to get that fancy Stanford degree—”

“—and you, in Boston—” the boy chimed in.

Before the reminiscing could go on much further, you remembered yourself and turned back to Joel. Still beaming as bright as you’d been when you first saw the kid, you gestured indistinctly, tongue-tied for a second.

“This— Joel, this is Wade Pritchett, one of my friends from high school,” you introduced him. Letting the two men—or, rather, mustached boy and muscled man—shake hands. Evidently, you were too stoked to notice.

“He moved out to Sacramento our senior year, and none of us thought— well, we— we figured we’d probably never see him again. Fuckin’ west coast hot shot he is.”

You smirked as you nudged his ribs, and something in Joel turned to month-old milk: sour, rancid, and heavy. His stomach turned inside him, and he hardly knew why. All he noticed was that he didn’t like the eyes you were making at him, and he hated the face Wade had for you.

Joel was just looking out for you, really.

You could do so much better than this douche.

“This is my friend,” you said to Wade, motioning back. Then, reconsidering just a second, “My dad’s friend.”

Joel didn’t like that.

Wade gave him a brief once-over and hardly seemed to see him at all. In that millisecond of a look, Joel saw it:

‘Old family friend. No worries there.’

Foolishly, Joel wished the chump could’ve seen what you’d been doing the night before—impaled on his cock and riding him as hard as your knees would allow you:

‘Daddy, please, daddy, daddy, daddy.’

“Joel?” Your voice cut in his mind like a knife.

Joel blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Okay if Wade joins?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”

Not that it mattered now. Royal pain-in-the-ass Pritchett was already getting the machine next to yours set up.

Joel eyed him once more and tried to swallow his pride.

Somewhere along the way, it got stuck in his throat.

Three rounds was all he could take.

You on Wade, Wade on you—goading each other on in the most sly, flirtatious ways. Or maybe it was just Joel imagining that. Regardless, the man didn’t feel guilty at all when, at the conclusion of the third game, he’d tried to feign a casual tone and told you your dad would be expecting you back any minute, better wrap things up.

“He texted me like twenty minutes ago saying he’d be neck-deep in craft beer for an hour. I think we’re good,” you replied, and the indifference in yours didn’t have to be faked. You grinned at Wade, and Wade grinned back.

“Well, he texted me a second ago that he was holding a spot for us in line at the ferris wheel, so let’s roll, kid.”

That was a lie.

Joel didn’t like himself for doing it. But, again, he didn’t like Wade Pritchett even more, and he reasoned that he was doing you a favor, anyway. He searched for the exit.

“It’s alright, my mom’s probably looking for me, too.”

We get it, Pritchett. You’re a mama’s boy.

“Ah, okay.” You almost sounded sad.

Don’t be, baby. You’re daddy’s girl, remember?

Wade pulled you in for a hug; Joel wanted to deck him.

“I’ll be in town all week if you wanna—”

“I wish. My flight leaves tomorrow,” you cut in. Now your tone was really despondent. Your mouth was pouting.

It was just Joel’s eyes. He was seeing things. He was thinking you cared for this guy more than you probably ever did, and he was getting himself worked up over nothing. He clenched one hand into a fist by his side and waited for the anger to subside. Sadly, it was slow to go.

“Maybe we could…go out for drinks later or something?”

That suggestion didn’t make things any easier on Joel.

“I’d love to.”

Your reply didn’t exactly set his mind at ease, either.

At last, he decided he’d had enough. Turning on his heels, he bid a terse goodbye to shithead Pritchett and walked out of the arcade. He didn’t stop until he’d hit one of the bar carts your dad had been raving about outside.

He contemplated buying a drink. Maybe two. In fact, he’d just been eyeing three cans of Coors Light and was fishing for his wallet when he heard your voice again.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?” His tone was clipped.

If you felt it, you didn’t show it.

“Are we riding the ferris wheel or not?”

He probably should’ve given a verbal answer in the affirmative. Instead, he’d just nodded his head and started off the other way, expecting you to follow.

The walk was short. You’d had to weave through a sea of fairgoers, including schoolkids, college-aged drunks, and more than a fair share of loved-up couples, but that wasn’t too bad. Joel just ignored each one and didn’t stop until you’d reached the line for the ferris wheel.

Or what was left of the line, anyway.

Unlike what Joel had told you, there was no wraparound queue for you to join. Your father wasn’t there. Once you’d passed a look over the dozen-odd people waiting patiently for it to be their turn on the ride, you felt your stomach turn. Joel had never texted your dad at all.

“He’s not coming, is he?” Dispensing with the obvious.

Joel still wouldn’t look your way. He’d just sidled up behind the last people in line—a group of older folks who all seemed eager to get on the ferris wheel. You scoffed when you saw Joel’s expression harden, and you planned to turn away. Then the people up front started to move. For a moment, you were torn between telling him off and leaving him there. At length, you settled on saying, low:

“You lied.”

Joel followed the moving line, and a few more people started to trickle in behind you. Before you could even think to speak again, you were nudged ahead by the force of that crowd, and had only to keep glaring.

“Hey—” you hissed, only five steps away from the platform now. The ride attendant was scanning the line, appearing to count the people approaching the gate, and when his eyes landed on you, you made out a little grin.

“Aww, your daughter scared’a heights or somethin’?”

He’d said it to Joel, sounding cheeky. His teeth gleamed in the light of a hundred different neon bulbs, and you had to avert your face to keep from revealing its disgust.

So everyone else still thinks he’s my dad. That’s nice.

You couldn’t see Joel’s expression, but you imagined it looked the same. You shuffled ahead, reluctantly, and heard a lady behind you laugh; the sound had a tipsy lilt.

“My kid’s the same way—you’ll be fine, hon,” she slurred.

Heights aren’t the issue here, you’d wanted to snap back, for no other reason than your own disdain for Joel and the present situation. He walked in front of you, still refusing to meet your gaze, and soon you were perched on the platform, sandwiched between two semi-rowdy throngs of fairgoers with no clear means of escape. You crossed your arms and stared up at the back of his head. The look you gave him probably could’ve burned holes in his skull if irritation had been the means of achieving it.

You were seated on the ride in minutes. The compartment was surprisingly large, and its walls high, with glass on every side. Under a waning afternoon sun, the views you expected to see were bound to be pretty. All that was left to detract from its splendor was Joel— hunkered down opposite you and manspreading. Wide.

Sitting in total silence with his denim-covered legs split in a ‘V’. Watching you and rubbing one thigh, absently.

“You’ve got some nerv—” you started in.

“Yeah, no. No. That kid was gettin’ on my nerves—”

It amazed you how fast Joel was to return your words with a hostile quip of his own, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What’d he even do?! He’s my friend— my best friend—”

Fury flitted to something like discomfort, momentarily.

“Oh yeah? Just friends?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?”

In your own expression, rage flared unchecked. You didn’t particularly care what Joel thought now if he was immature enough to act like this, and the walls of the compartment were thick enough to prevent anyone else’s hearing a word of it. The ride continued to rumble along, letting on new passengers with each new stop.

Joel might’ve paused. Could’ve stared out the window for all you knew—everything but the wheel itself seemed to be moving at lightning speed, and time was sliding.

“Because I— I— I give a shit, kid. I care.”

“And that makes lying to me alright?”

“I was just worried for your—”

“Bullshit. What would you need to be so worried about? Me playing Skee-Ball with an old friend and maybe getting drinks? You can fuck right off with that.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it when the ride suddenly jolted to a stop. It sputtered. Then, after a long, tense moment, it slowly ascended again. You took this lull in speech as your own chance to re-intervene:

“That’s not ‘care.’ Or ‘worry,’” you continued, words dripping with condescension, “That’s controlling.”

“Controlling?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Joel Miller always did.

“It’s not—”

“It is—”

“Protecting you from assholes like him—”

“—he’s not—and I never asked you to do that!”

“So I just sit by and watch him touch what’s mine—”

“I’m not yours, Joel!”

Your last words echoed through the car like a shotgun’s report. You’d said it with such force—so emphatic for him not to be mistaken in what this was, or whose you were—when you hardly even knew how you felt yourself. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and one that Joel knew only too well. The last time you two fucked, he’d begged the same: ‘Say you’re mine,’ and no matter how close you’d been to release at the time, you simply couldn’t say it. Now, clear-headed and mostly clothed, you still despised those words. Emotions. Uniquely juxtaposed with Joel’s jealousy over Wade, you’d never wanted to say it louder:

“I’m not yours, and I never will be. So just stop.”

More cruel.

“Are we clear?”

The car came to a halt near the top. When Joel still hadn’t deigned to answer, you leaned in closer.

“I said, are we fucking clear, Miller?”

Then you didn’t have to wait.

“I hear you.”

Of course he heard. His face was hard. His eyes were like two brown stones in the sockets, and the line of his mouth was tight. Whatever use you might’ve had in trying to decipher that look was ignored for the time being; you were still too angry. And, perhaps owing to this state—with a white-hot look fixed on him and your head full of blinding, bitter thoughts—you were more than susceptible to surprise. You jumped when you felt it.

Felt him with a hand moving from his leg to yours.

It went quick but was almost too ridiculous to fathom—how swift Joel was in reaching for you, hoisting you into his lap, letting your limbs straddle his hips with all the ease of old, welcome habits. It might’ve worked just as well, were it not for the tension in your legs. The short, sharp, ‘Joel’ and a look flitting out to either side of you.

“What?” he grunted.

You heard a fly unzip.

“We’re on a—”

Before you could finish, and as if to furnish the answer for you, the ride shuddered back to life. Its descent was slow, but any movement now made your stomach churn. It didn’t matter that most of the cabin was encased in metal, the rest semi-tinted plexiglass, or that your space was almost entirely shielded from the view of other cars—it was too much of a risk, as was everything with him.

Joel remained blind to it all. Your cabin came to a stop, still high in the sky, and then you felt him grip something between you. In one swift motion, he had the head of his cock rubbing your seam. You sighed; his eyes were cold.

“C’mon then…show me what ain’t mine,” he murmured.

His voice was low. You hated those words. This was more than just that. Your cunt slid and accepted him anyway.

For a second, your gaze was level with his. Your hips hadn’t stirred, and he was crawling inch-by-inch inside you, pulling you down. The act could’ve been intimate, had the words that passed before not been so harsh—and the place not been a fucking amusement park.

When the ride resumed its slow, rumbling circuit, he didn’t make your bodies part, but instead flipped you around. Your back was flush with his front, and by all appearances, you were innocently perched on his lap.

What the tens, or dozens, or hundreds of strangers ambling around down below couldn’t see was that a cock was nestled inside you, too. That with every gentle bump of the wheel, a man several decades your senior was filling you to the hilt, sending waves of pleasure through your body and his while he stuffed you tight. What your dad didn’t know was that this was his friend. That the nose nudging the skin between your sleeve and your neck belonged to Joel, and his breaths were short.

Trying to calm the flutter of his pulse and the pull of his lungs, he flattened his hands on either one of your thighs. He rubbed his palms back and forth, and you glanced down to find the insides of your legs extra shiny.

Slick, pretty, and full of him. He tilted your chin back up.

“Nice and quiet for daddy—nice and still. No squirmin’.”

He nudged your hips forward, and his cock brushed a wet, spongy ridge inside you. You had to purse your lips to swallow a noise. You felt your cunt drool even more.

The car swung low, in the line of sight of far too many eyes, and then it stopped again. You weren’t at liberty to move at all, and still, the feel of Joel inside you was raw.

Grating, almost.

It made the prospect of conversation seem the tiniest bit easier, though—forced to face away from each other and act civil now. Right before the ride started up again, you gripped the armrest and anchored your feet to his boots.

“Feels…good,” you whimpered.

“That so?” Joel murmured back.

“So—oh.”

Your words fell apart at the next brush of his hand, sliding down to your heat and taking his index and middle fingers to the precious, pulsing bud in between.

Soon the car was up at a comfortable height. You sighed.

Your legs pressed together over Joel’s, and you felt him rub the tips of his fingers even harder, circles tighter.

“I know,” he said, sensing your words before they came, “I know it feels nice, baby. Keep that chin up for daddy.”

Don’t let them know I’m inside you. Stay quiet.

But his girth was so much. The tug of his smooth, throbbing manhood between your walls was almost more than you could take. You laced the fingers of your free hand with his over your thigh, and you held them tight as your hips wriggled back. You couldn’t help it, feeling a welt of pleasure start to blossom in your belly.

“Joel—” you started.

“Don’t talk,” Joel grumbled, stern, “It’ll draw attention.”

You sensed there was more to it than that. Your fingers threaded even deeper through his, and he squeezed them back. Between your bodies, there rose a soft, gentle tap, tap, tap with the thrusts Joel was able to deliver now that you were back up high and out of sight. If there was any time to speak, this was your window.

Joel probably wished you hadn’t, but you tried, anyway.

“You know it’s been years since—”

“Since?”

Now you didn’t want to say it. But you knew you had to.

“Wade’s been my friend since—”

Another influx of something soft and tender inside you. Joel holding your hand, pushing himself deeper, and trying not to groan when you clenched around him. Hating that he had to hear that name, most likely.

You despised the words even more before you said them:

“—since my mom left.”

It was an awful time to be bringing this up, admittedly. Both of you on the brink of release with Joel’s cock buried as far inside you as it would go, his fingers entwined with yours, and the ride drifting lower.

And lower, lower, lower still. Joel’s breaths picked up.

The car shuddered to a halt almost halfway down. You didn’t have to see his face to picture it a little more rigid than it’d been before. He’d known your dad long enough to remember the time his wife had walked out on him.

“When we were, like, thirteen—” You continued, as if you needed to remind him of any of the particulars. Joel hardly knew you back then, though, “—he was my friend. Wade’s been one of my— my closest— he was there—”

You couldn’t be sure if it was the subject of discussion or simply how close you were to cumming that kept your tongue from forming a coherent string of words, but here you were. Joel’s grip on your hand had loosened, and the movements of his hips had slowed considerably. You hoped he’d be too lost in his own pleasure to care.

“I remember,” he returned quietly.

That was all he said for a moment. Out of habit, your legs parted more for his touch, and you whimpered, feebly, as the fingers kept circling your clit. The ride started again.

“You don’t have to—” And again, his voice was low.

“I’m not saying that as an— as an excuse or anything.”

You didn’t know why you were saying it at all. You just wanted Joel to know he didn’t need to be jealous. That Wade had been a friend through a dark and bleak season of your life, and that was all it had ever, or would ever, be.

While the car was still suspended in air, and the sights below all relatively small, you got the sense you’d have to deal with this budding bliss inside you a bit quicker than anticipated. Joel was all wordless encouragement. You almost wished you could’ve seen his face as he urged you to come undone, keep making yourself feel good, that’s it, cum for me, but frankly, it was probably for the best you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. Beyond just needing release, you wanted him to see you in a more vulnerable light than you’d ever been—facing away seemed the least painful position to have that happen.

With your fingers and his still interlaced and your hips moving a little more quickly, Joel could feel your pleasure soaking his jeans, and he pulled you down closer to him.

He nudged the back of your neck with his nose. He panted against it gently, tenderly. Then he kissed it.

“Don’t need’a say anything else, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

Under any other circumstances, an apology from a man would have been the last thing to send you over the edge, but today, you couldn’t help it. Just as the car started up again, you hit your peak with Joel still stuffed inside you, and you gripped his hand as hard as you could. You fought to keep the moans contained behind your lips, but it was hard—and Joel’s constant, tender caresses with his lips and fingers made it that much worse. He trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder and told you gently, ‘That’s it, good girl, that’s my girl.’

My girl.

Again.

You almost didn’t mind it being said this time around.

Almost.

In truth, you didn’t have half a mind to think much of anything in that moment. You just curled your toes and pressed your back into Joel while the warm, euphoric waves coursed through you, and you let yourself be content with what he’d said. Whatever he meant by it.

In the minute that followed, you sensed he was perilously close to finishing, too. So, as soon as you’d made it down from your high—and the ride, too, was circling back and making its way through the final cycles—you crawled off of Joel. You got on your knees. For the first time in what seemed like hours, you locked eyes with him; your mouth moved lower still. You’d barely latched your lips onto the head of his cock before he was shooting off rope after rope after rope of his cum. Warmth splattered down your tongue and throat, and you swallowed it all obediently.

You didn’t need to be told when the ride was over. You heard a buzz, felt it jolt, and, unfortunately for you and Joel, your car was one of the first to be let off. You had to hurry off your knees and back into your seat, across from your panting, silver-haired friend, just seconds before the door to your left swung open. You began to stand.

Joel followed you out. His spend was still stuck to your throat in some places, the scent of his skin and his stubble and his extra heavy load all fresh to your senses. You wiped one corner of your mouth and kept walking.

And it was in this state you remained another second or two. You were just about to take your first steps off the platform, mind floating over somewhere tranquil and warm, when your thoughts were presently interrupted.

Your steps, too, were cut short. Joel had stopped you.

Then he grabbed your face, and he kissed you.

Your world froze a moment. You didn’t have time to think, or react, or even kiss him back, so you just stood there and let him hold you to him. It was over in a blink.

And one glance over Joel’s shoulder after he did it, to the ride attendant and nearly every last person in line, said they were just as stunned. Some sick, by the looks of it.

‘He’s NOT my dad!’ you wanted to yell, out of habit.

Seeing the eyes Joel had fixed on you—the smile that followed—their suspicions didn’t matter to him at all.

You walked off together, still considering those words:

My girl.

A month wouldn’t be so bad. Two was tolerable, even.

The next few hours spent with Joel made it seem like you could go a year or longer without seeing his face, and nothing between you would change too much.

He was a friend. A good friend. Not just your dad’s old companion, but your own. Whatever else was left beyond that could be explored down the road, but for now, you were content to just let him hold your hand in places you weren’t likely to be seen, and kiss you in those he hoped your dad wouldn’t be. Maybe fuck you on a ferris wheel.

At the thought of going back to college tomorrow, not seeing him again until Thanksgiving or Christmas at the earliest, you didn’t feel too sad. You did get an extra burst of yearning when Joel’s hands would find your hips and push you off to some shaded, semi-discreet area and he’d tell you, softly, ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do without ya, kid’ before kissing you with a hunger all over again. That made you think you might miss him a little.

You’d warned him not to lie to you again. He promised he wouldn’t. You believed him, at least as far as your general mistrust of men would allow, and you had left it at that.

Now the tips of his fingers were brushing your own, and his mouth was grinning—coated in all sorts of sauces from the barbecue you two had been devouring. It was approaching six o’clock. He held the last Carolina-style pulled pork slider up to you, and you shook your head.

“I’m stuffed,” you said, pained.

Really, you were. You and Joel had decided to join in on the fair’s 25th annual BBQ and Chili Cook-off an hour ago, and now your stomachs were suffering immensely.

You made a face in disgust when he tried to push it closer, ‘Joel, I’ll projectile vomit if you don’t— don’t—’

You squealed when he leaned in, thinking he was planning to smush the patty in your face—you’d done that to him with some coleslaw not too long ago—but instead, he dropped the burger. He pressed what non-sticky parts of his hands he could get on your face and, cupping your cheeks between his palms, he kissed you.

Then he kissed you again, and again, and again.

This time, it felt more like an attack. Not an attempt at being affectionate, which he’d shown himself amply capable of all day, but really just a way to smear your lips and chin with sauce and get you extra pissed off at him.

It worked. You bit his lower lip at the last kiss.

And, instead of wincing in pain or biting you back, Joel surprised you by groaning a little bit against your mouth. His grip loosened from your face, and he leaned back.

‘Behave’ was all he said. Smirking.

If any one of Joel Miller’s quasi-fatherly lectures had ever met with success before, this would not be one of them. You only rolled your eyes and were about to reply with some variant of ‘Make me’ when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to see the new notification.

Nothing more than a reminder to check in for your flight. But that sight also roused some awareness in you that it was just then starting to get late, and you hadn’t heard a word from your father in hours. You and Joel had been extraordinarily fortunate that day in hearing that your dad happened to run into some friends at the livestock show, and had been occupied—plastered, most likely—ever since. You hadn’t thought to question it before, just happy to have your dad out of your hair for the afternoon, but now that it was late and all the shows were long since over, you had to wonder if it wasn’t time to shoot him that text. Bring your last happy, fun-filled night with Joel for the next two months to an end, and head home.

You started to send him a message. Joel peered over your shoulder, absently wiping his hands on a napkin.

“He said he was headed over to a concert last time we talked. Some band he likes,” he hummed, “Wanna go?”

You weren’t too keen on seeing the likes of any Creed-adjacent artist your dad so loved to listen to himself, but if it gave you an excuse to stretch your time with him and Joel, you didn’t mind. You nodded, then deposited your phone back into your pocket. You were just about to stand when Joel held you back. He’d snagged your hand.

“Hang on, ya got a little—” he said, soft. Then he lifted his napkin and started wiping at the sides of your mouth. His motions had all the crude, brute force of a man who’d never wiped a person’s face before—he seemed more concerned getting the vinegar-based glaze off your cheeks than impressing you with how tender he could be—but the gesture was received well enough. For once, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and just smiled.

“You’re taking me to the airport tomorrow, right?”

“Long as it’s alright with your dad.”

“You could spend the night, too.”

Joel paused. He flitted a look from your lips to your eyes, then, finding a sly playfulness in both, only hummed. Stopped wiping long enough to kiss you on the cheek.

“We’ll see—”

“I’ll be real good—”

“Oh, I bet you won’t.”

But by the end of it, Joel was grinning too. He didn’t protest when your lips returned the favor from his, and they left an equally sweet and clean kiss on his cheek.

He didn’t bat an eye when your hand slid up his leg either. He just squeezed yours back and helped you up.

“Gonna get me murdered, I’m tellin’ you,” he murmured in your ear as you stood, just like he’d said to you earlier.

You figured if he’d had his pick of ways to risk his life, sneaking into your room tonight wouldn’t be the worst possible option. You threw your trash away and started off for the entertainment pavilion, following the music.

It was almost like you could feel Joel contemplating whether to sling his arm over your shoulder while you walked. Not once, but twice did his fingers twitch beside him, and he looked around you both from side to side. He decided against it, at length, and contented himself instead to just nudge your elbow and tell you that he liked that dress a lot—he hoped you would wear it again.

Come up for a football game, and you might see it then, you’d urged him back. The red of your dress wasn’t quite the perfect match for your school’s hundred-year-old crimson and black color scheme, but that was alright. You’d bend the rules for him. The two of you were just approaching the outskirts of a big, noisy crowd when Joel was about to respond. Your eyes glazed over a sea of people, surprised by its size, when you cut back in:

“We’re never gonna find him in here.”

Joel assessed the crowd. Checked his phone. Heard the wail of a guitar from somewhere up at the front and instantly surmised this was a Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band—and that your dad wouldn’t leave until he’d heard every song. Silently, he kicked himself for suggesting coming to look at all. He could’ve taken you on a few more rides, filled your overstuffed belly with a little more cotton candy, popcorn, or ice cream, if you’d been up for it, but instead, you were obliged to find your old man. It wouldn’t have been awful if it wasn’t so hot and—

“Hey,” Joel broke in, before he could think.

His eyes had landed on a person—a pair—in the crowd that you hadn’t seen, and his heart clenched in his chest.

You’d barely tilted your head to him, “Yeah?”

“We should go,” he told you. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so rushed, or strained, but it was.

He couldn’t help it, especially when your gaze had shifted fully to him. Your eyes searched his, curious.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I…” Joel trailed off, looking around. Scrambling to procure an excuse of some kind, “I gotta…go piss.”

“Then piss. I’ll wait here,” you replied.

You didn’t get it. Really, there was no way you could. You hadn’t yet seen the short-sleeve, turquoise-colored PFG shirt at the back of the crowd, the beaming face Joel spotted above it. You hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of the man’s profile, much less the full, wide smile on his face, the beer in his hand, or the woman by his side. She was either laughing, or singing, or nudging his hip. They looked happy. And yet, you shouldn’t see it.

Joel would kiss you—that was it. It would be the riskiest thing he’d done, but at least it’d save you from seeing.

So he tried. Joel leaned in and ventured to press his lips to yours, gripping your face, but the second he did, you pushed him away. Your eyes were wide. Cheeks heating.

“What the hell, Joel?” you hissed, “Dad could be—”

Your gaze darted to the side, and then you stopped.

The eyes grew wider. Your lips stayed the course, as if to keep going, but no sound came out, and all that was left of your mouth was a round, stunned ‘o.’ You blinked, like you couldn’t believe it: the two people were kissing now.

Joel reached for your arm, but you were far too fast. You shot off to get away, toward them, and didn’t stop until you’d made it to the edge of the crowd where they stood. The music was loud, the audience was rowdy, but still, even at a distance, Joel could hear you as clear as day:

“Dad?!”

The man and the woman split as quickly as they could.

You were standing there, watching them watch you in utter shock for a second or two. Joel wasn’t counting, but he did find himself next to you before he could blink. He was reaching for your arm again, then stopping. Looking to his friend, whose gaze was plastered on his daughter with all the markings of awe. Embarrassment.

“Honey—” he started.

“What the fuck is this?”

Bad question. Terrible timing. Joel knew what it was—clearly his friend knew it too, but you weren’t supposed to find this out yourself for at least another month or two. That was what he’d told Joel back then, anyway.

“Sweetheart, this is my—this is Helen.”

You looked like you wanted to be sick.

“I know who she is!” you spat. You waved an angry, inarticulate hand in Helen’s direction. Helen looked away.

“Why don’t we go someplace quieter?” That was Joel, cutting in over the thumping bass and the strain in the air like he might’ve been a father to you himself. Wanting to shield you from what was coming next if he could help it.

Once more he reached for you, and still inflamed, you shoved him off. Your eyes were too hurt to turn away.

“What? This is y—your—” you started back, stammering.

“We were going to tell you, honey, I swear.”

In all the years he’d known him, Joel had never seen his friend look so contrite—or fucking moronic. The man had ditched his beer, was wringing his hands trying to pace a little more carefully your way while he spoke, but you weren’t having it. Or anything, really. When Joel brushed his touch against your elbow the slightest bit, about to murmur words low in your ear, like, ‘We’ll talk. C’mon,’ you’d jerked your arm away from him entirely.

He didn’t need to see your face to hear the pain in:

“Fucking stop, Joel!”

That caught your father off-guard. He didn’t hesitate before he cut back in, looking more pointedly at you.

“Hey. You don’t talk to your Uncle Joel that way,” he said, sharp. Joel winced. He went on, “I’m the one who told him not to say anything, okay? Now just calm down—”

And whatever effect his friend had intended to produce created just the opposite in you. Instead of focusing on your dad, your eyes shot to Joel, and in an instant, your body was turning. Your face was half-hatred as you did.

“You knew?!”

“Honey, I told him—” your dad tried saying.

But your look was too enraged. Your jaw was too tight. Your mouth could barely form the words you wanted to say, and your eyes were like two bloodied daggers. Joel was amazed you could speak a syllable at all, but when he heard it, he got a sense for why that was. He had to.

“You knew?”

You were hurt.

When you left, he followed. He wasn’t sure what he’d bothered saying to your father as he did, but it sounded like an excuse—‘It’s fine. I’ve got her.’ He didn’t, though. You were gone quicker than he could turn around, and by the time he’d made it far enough away from the crowd to yell your name, you were too removed to hear it. He saw the top of your head through a whole new cluster of strangers, and he yelled it again. You kept walking.

Joel was fast, but you were adept, all things considered. You slipped through the crowd with ease and gained more and more distance than he could attain in twice the time. Joel bit the inside of his cheek and kept going. He didn’t reach you until you were approaching the front gates, when he called out for you again, out of breath.

You probably wouldn’t have turned if you’d had a choice. But as it was, you were up against a bottleneck effect of more people trying to leave than the exit could fairly handle at once, and everyone at the back was at a standstill. Your jaw tightened when he said your name.

“Darlin’— hey— baby, just let me—” Joel had weaved his way around your neighbors, but the area was cramped.

You didn’t move. Your gaze was trained elsewhere.

“—explain. Let me explain, and I promise, I didn’t—”

The line shifted forward, and you moved with it. Your body was turned; while you kept walking, shuffling, Joel earned a few uneasy looks from the people around him.

“I didn’t mean—” he forged on.

But as soon as he reached for you, he knew he’d overstepped. Confirming every onlooker’s suspicion that you didn’t want to be disturbed, you snatched your arm away, and your eyes flared with anger. You faced him.

“Fuck you.”

Before he could reply:

“Leave me the hell alone, Joel.”

And, while the words were still fresh on your tongue and no one else tried stepping in themselves, you walked off.

You left him again—for what other place, Joel wasn’t sure. You just made off the other way, breezing past carts and stands and now-shuttered booths and more faces than either one of you could count. You kept walking until you found an open space a tolerable distance away from all the noise, then went further.

Your face was fixed in a hard, immutable stare when Joel approached you again. The look behind your eyes was worse; he could tell in a second you were about to cry.

“Darlin’—���

“You knew this whole time,” you said. Seething.

“I didn’t—”

“My dad’s been dating the woman he cheated on my mom with and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?!”

“I thought—”

“Not ONCE?! Huh?” you screamed it this time, “Known you my whole goddamn life and you hide that from me?”

Joel winced. He knew the tears were coming before they even filled your eyes, but the sight still made him hurt. You wouldn’t let him near you, either. You just shook your head and swallowed a lump and blinked hard, and he felt stupid. Whatever favor he’d thought he was doing your father—and you—seemed infinitely small to him now.

That knot you’d tried pushing down in your throat kept you silent for a minute. Joel opened his mouth to insert a word or two himself, but then you looked keen to keep hold of the conversation, no matter how much it hurt, and you were starting again. Blinking harder. Hating it.

“She’s the reason mama left,” you said, hoarse, “Helen was her best friend, and then she went and— and— and— fucked my dad, and because of that, I didn’t have a family for half my fucking adolescence. You knew that.”

Another beat. Joel’s own throat constricted considerably as he considered his next words, but there was no need.

“You saw how much I hated my father, and her, and myself for years, thinking there was something just…wrong with me not being enough to make her stay. And you knew all that, and you still kept it a secret from m—”

“I know, baby. I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I know.”

He’d also known your dad was in the wrong. That hadn’t stopped Joel from trying to rationalize his friend’s actions while they happened: it was a one-time hookup with Helen, then a casual, no-strings deal that the man only indulged when he was feeling extra lonely, then a thing, a relationship of two, three, six months now. Joel had known all along what kind of profound ramifications these decisions would have if you were to ever find out. But his friend wasn’t so easily swayed from old habits, and Joel couldn’t stomach having to break it to you.

Then the roadtrip from Boston happened.

You seemed to be remembering the same.

“Was fucking me a way to make yourself feel better?”

Your words had never struck Joel with more deliberateness or force. He croaked ‘No’ in a moment. You took a step back, and there came the look again—more spiteful than before and repulsed to its core.

“Is that why you offered me a ride back in the first place? Just felt guilty for all the stuff you knew my dad was—”

“No. No, no, honey, I would never, ever—”

“Then why hide it?! Why all this? Why bother?”

You gestured between his body and yours; you didn’t seem to know what you meant. Your cheeks were wet with tears. You had to scrape your palms down your face, sniffling and struggling to clear your own vision, but the efforts appeared to be in vain. You couldn’t stop crying.

“For you,” Joel said, and he hated the way his own voice was splintered. He didn’t know how to make it better, “You were off at school when it started, then— then Boston. Just thought it’d be safer…for you…for us—”

Somewhere in his brain, he’d meant to say that he didn’t want the news of your father to hurt you, or else jeopardize a shred of something Joel had had with you.

It was stupid. Your instantaneous reaction said as much.

“Us?!”

Joel blinked. The eyes across from his were alight.

“Us, Joel?! Are you fucking kidding me? There is no us.”

Their brilliance wasn’t appreciative by any means. If anything, the words made the flow of your tears even worse. You pressed your hands to your face, rubbing your cheeks and trying to shield your eyes, and saying again, ‘There is no ‘us,’ Joel, that’s not an excuse—you knew!’

With his insides in knots, Joel wanted to hold you again. You were still in pain, and your scowl wouldn’t move, and when he tried to touch you, you stepped back in disgust.

He knew better than to think he could reach you now.

“Whole thing was a mistake,” you spat, unfeeling.

“Baby—”

“You and me. Dad and Helen.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Anything you need to keep a secret probably isn’t worth keeping at all, right?” And when you said it, he could tell you’d meant it to hurt him. As if the tears and the time and the sheer resignation in your eyes didn’t say enough.

Now Joel felt an ache in his bones, worse than it’d ever been, and he still couldn’t touch you. Where the heart demanded comfort of a kind you couldn’t give, the head knew better than to ask, and his hands fell limply at his sides. He saw you cry and had only himself to blame.

You turned back to the fairgrounds’ exit. The crowd was as big as it had ever been, but anywhere away from him seemed to be as welcome as anything else, Joel guessed

He’d try something stupid. Again. Even more desperate.

Never in his life had he said the words to someone else, and he sensed it wouldn’t do a thing to change your mind right now, but he’d say it anyway. If not to extricate himself, to let you know what he felt beyond every thing that had taken place tonight. He reached for you again.

“Darlin’, I lov—”

But before the words could register with you, the simple act of pressing his fingers to yours made you blanch. You hadn’t heard him at all, and seemed only concerned with jerking yours away as fast as you could, then shrieking:

“I HATE YOU, JOEL!”

Then you choked back a sob, trained your glossy gaze on him in one last pitiless look, and left him. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to. Sights and sounds and the ground underneath him seemed apt to swallow him whole, and still, he couldn’t move an inch. Somewhere ahead of him—too serendipitous, really—he heard you call a name.

Of course, it wasn’t his. You weren’t running to him.

It wasn’t Joel in the crowd making its way out the gates. It wasn’t him standing a little ways off to the side, eyes wide and confused as he watched you rush over. Almost stumble over yourself falling into his arms and hugging him, burying your face in his chest. Joel watched it all with a raw and hollow heart and wished it were him.

But it was Wade.

Wade hugged you back and held you close, and the look on his face was too bewildered and distraught for Joel to blame him. He hadn’t been the one to hurt you. Joel had.

He watched you leave.

There was nothing more to say.

[hargreeves-duncan]

Hey! I saw that you’re taking tua requests and after season 4 I’m in desperate need of fluff fanfics. May I request a Five x Y/N where Y/N looks exactly like how Five envisions Delores but they haven’t met yet and right when Five and Lila were about to kiss in the greenhouse, Y/N appears with a gun because this two strangers invaded her greenhouse and Five would be utterly shocked and immediately let go of Lila and went to Y/N calling her Delores and she would say something like “I don’t know who Delores is but the two of you better start explaining what you’re doing in my greenhouse or I’ll bury a bullet in your skulls.” And after that it could be all fluff with a happy ending. Maybe Five takes her to meet his family when he finds a way back?

a/n: thank you for your lovely request! the idea of reader as a dolores variant is so sweet, i just had to write this! i hope you love it!!

summary: five mistakes you for dolores, you turn out to be quite the opposite

warnings: reader has a gun😟

word count: 2.4k

Trying to traverse this damn subway was driving Five insane. If he had been keeping track accurately, he and Lila had been stuck down here for seven years. For someone that had made it through forty years alone at the end of the world, you’d think that he’d be able to hack it, but a couple of key factors had changed since his first time around.

1. This time he wasn’t alone.

When he’d brought Lila down to the station, the thought of getting stuck there hadn’t even crossed his mind. Every other time Five had visited the subway, he’d made it home with no problems whatsoever.

It was typical that when he was accompanied by the one woman he’d never want to be around for a prolonged amount of time, that the universe would screw him over and trap them there.

He did have to admit, the more time that they had spent together, and the less likely getting home seemed, Lila had become tolerable. He might even go as far as to say he liked her now.

She was smarter than he’d given her credit for and painfully determined in working out their way home. Lila had always kept them both going, insisting that if they’d gotten there in the first place that there had to be a way out. Five wasn’t so sure anymore.

2. Dolores wasn’t here.

Whilst Five could pretend that if he stopped looking for a way out and settled down with Lila in a new timeline he would be happy enough, he knew that in reality, he wouldn’t be. There was no way that his friendship with Lila would ever measure up to the company of Dolores and the love he had for her.

She had been his everything for more of his life than not and his connection with her had truly meant something to him. Unlike whatever circunstancial friendship he had built with Lila.

For a long time, Five’s daily routine had revolved entirely around making sure that Dolores was cared for and making sure that they were always one step closer to finding a better way of life. Because he would be damned if his girlfriend had to live a life with anything but the very best.

This time, without the motivation of holding Dolores in his arms at the end of a long day, Five had found little reason to keep searching for a way to get home. He was beginning to lose all hope entirely as he and Lila had got off the subway for the fiftieth time that day.

As they stepped out into the sun, it became clear that of all the timelines they’d been to, this one was, without a doubt, the most peaceful. They were surrounded by woodland that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Somewhere above their heads Five could hear birds twittering. That was a good sign, this timeline was still habitable, many of the last ones hadn’t been.

Five walked out into forest. The trees there shot up almost 70 feet into the sky. It was breathtaking.

Somewhere along his stroll, Lila, had ended up off course, discovering the new world around them, “Wow.” She whispered to herself.

Five chuckled and raised an eyebrow as he walked towards her, “If you’re done here, there’s something much more interesting that we ought to take a look at.”

He pointed to the bottom of the hill that they stood on, where a small cottage sat. It looked as if it came from a fairytale, with its thatched roof and adjacent greenhouse, that housed all sorts of plants and flowers.

A small seed of doubt planted itself in his head the more he looked it over. It looked too nice. What if it was some sort of trap?

Lila clearly didn’t have the same trepidations. She gasped with excitement, then turned back to him, saying, “What’re you waiting for? Let’s go.”

As suspicious as he now was, he wasn’t strong enough to crush Lila’s hopeful expression. He hadn’t seen her look this spritely in weeks and if this didn’t end up being what they wanted he needed her to be okay to keep going. So, he followed her down the hill.

By the time he’d reached the bottom, Lila was already waiting, hands on her hips as she laughed at him, “Come on, old man, what is taking you so long? I want to explore this cottage before someone comes and tells me that I’m imagining it.”

She reached out, pulling on his arm impatiently and he couldn’t help but smile back at her. He supposed he could entertain this fantasy of normality for a while.

Lila grinned as she led them up the steps, peering in through the glass at the throng of shrubbery packed into the building. With a tug on the door, Lila led them into the greenhouse.

Five had to appreciate the organisation of it. One corner of it hosted a mix of plants and herbs, another held flowers, another for vegetables as well and even one for- “Strawberries!” Lila gasped, dropping his arm and rushing over to them.

In that moment, there couldn’t have been a better sight in the world than home-grown fruit. It’d been a painfully long time since they’d last eaten real food and Five suddenly felt starving.

He watched as Lila picked a strawberry, taking a bite. She groaned in pleasure, closing her eyes. Mouth still full, she beckoned him closer, “Five, come here, you have got to try these.”

Five obeyed, walking over to her. Lila took another enthusiastic bite, as she declared, “I think these might be the best things that I’ve ever eaten.”

Tossing the hull of the strawberry behind her, Lila reached for another. She smirked at Five, waving the strawberry in front of his lips tauntingly, “Open up.”

Five rolled his eyes, trying to repress the smile that was creeping onto his lips as he relented, opening his mouth. Lila pressed the strawberry to his lips and as he bit down…

Click.

Five froze, eyes snapping open. Lila spun around and her lips parted in shock as she took you in. There, you stood, shotgun cocked and pointed at the pair of them.

You were a sight for sore eyes, with your tousled hair around your shoulders and polka dot dress that fell effortlessly around your hips. Five was completely mesmerised.

Your soft hair, the polka dots that covered your dress, it was all so familiar to him. Your presence felt like a greeting from an old friend and he smiled lovingly at you as he said, “Dolores.”

Lila’s presence was entirely forgotten as you stood in front of him, just as beautiful as he’d remembered. Lila raised an eyebrow, asking, “You know her?” at the same time as you asked, “Dolores?!”

You looked them both in the eye, stepping closer and aiming the barrel of the gun at their heads, “I don’t know who Dolores is but the two of you better start explaining before I shoot you both.”

You had to admit, you were slightly intrigued by the appearance of the two of them. More specifically, the man in front of you. Even more so when he audibly laughed at your words.

You raised an eyebrow at him, smirking with amusement as you said, “You do realise that you’re trespassing, right? That I’m well within my rights to pull this trigger and put a bullet through both of your skulls?”

Five was still looking at you as if you’d hung the moon and the stars and not just threatened to shoot him.

Lila shoved her elbow into his chest and he groaned, clutching it, “Jesus… Lila!” He said, glaring at her.

“What?” Lila groaned, looking over at him with a huff, “She asked you a question.”

“Yes, thank you.” You said with a small nod as you watched her. She nodded back with a pleased smile, holding her hands behind her back.

You look back at Five, expectantly, gun still raised, “Well?”

He smiled saccharinely at you, being sure to emphasise his words as he said, “Me and my friend here just got a little lost, that’s all.”

“Hm… getting lost is what we’re calling breaking and entering now?” You challenge and your combative demeanour only made Five want to get to know you more.

He grinned, shrugging his shoulders innocently, “It would appear that way.” He said, making it impossible for you to ignore the cockiness in his tone.

You simply laughed at him, lowering your weapon slightly, “And Dolores?”

“She’s…” He paused, thinking it through. He couldn’t exactly say who Dolores really was, you���d think he was crazy and that was the last thing he wanted.

If he ignored the fact that you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, he could also tell that you were exactly the kind of woman he wanted to know and he was not going to mess up any chance he might have with you, “…my ex-girlfriend.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue, he thought to himself. Lila’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Slowly, a look of realisation spread across her face and she stifled her laughter as she asked, “Hold on, you don’t mean that manne-“

“Please, excuse my friend.” He hastily cut Lila off with an infuriated glare thrown in her direction.

“She has terrible conversational etiquette.” Five offered, smiling politely at you as if he hadn’t just completely shut Lila down, “I’m Five, and that over there is Lila.”

You nodded in return. Lila smiled but made no more attempts to initiate a conversation as she wandered off deeper into the green house.

Five, happy to have the chance to speak you alone, stepped closer, “It’s a nice place.” He said, putting his hands in his pockets.

You lowered your gun, slinging it over your shoulder and offering him a warmer smile, “Thanks, I think so too.”

You were funny. He felt himself grow more smitten with every word you said. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, raising an eyebrow at you, “What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t.” You answer, brushing off your skirt. His eyes followed your fingers as you did.

You walked by him to pick up a bag of compost and dropped it onto the countertop beside you. Five walked after you, placing a hand on the table in your eyeline, practically begging you to keep the conversation going.

The last time he’d gotten so quickly attached to a girl, he’d been with her for forty years and he was already thinking about what that might look like with you, “Are you going to tell me it?” He pushed, tilting his head to the side as he smiled at you.

You stopped breaking up the soil, laughing softly as you looked over your shoulder at him, “You know, you’re very interested in knowing about me for someone I just caught breaking into my house.”

“I thought we’d agreed that we were just lost? I can confidently say that there was no ill intent on my part.” He replies, smirking at you.

“Maybe not.” You say, smacking your palms against each other to dust them off, “But there is intent of some kind.” You bend down, pulling out an empty plant pot from below the counter.

“True…” Five hummed, tapping his finger on the counter as he watched you place the pot onto the table and begin to fill it with compost.

He looks around the room some more - noticing the lone chair and table in the observatory by the back door, “You live here alone?”

He asked, watching your nimble fingers form a well in the centre of the pot. He looked over his shoulder to where Lila was prodding a venus flytrap and then back to you for your answer.

“I do.” You reply as your fingers continue to press deeper into the soil. Five nodded, rolling his sleeves up and leaning them on the countertop with a sly smile.

You dust off your hands again and go back to kneeling on the floor. Five watches with interest as you sift through pots and packets of different flowers.

“Okay and why is that?” He asks, bending down beside you as you consider which flower to pot.

You look over at him and notice how his eyes lingers on the bright, yellow marigolds tucked away to the left. You take them out.

“Because…” You say, hauling the smaller pot onto the counter again, “I’ve never been much of a people person.”

“Hence why you live in the middle of the woods.” Five nods along, smiling to himself. He was beginning to get an idea of what kind of girl you were and he liked it.

“Exactly.” You nod, gently prying the marigolds from their original pot and settling them into the divet in their new one.

You scooped some compost into your hands, sprinkling the marigold with an extra layer of dirt, “That’s me, but what about you? What makes a guy like you take a wander in the woods?”

A guy like him? Five glanced down at himself, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of his dirtied appearance. He hadn’t looked in a mirror in a while but he couldn’t imagine that seven years without a shower had done him any good.

Then again, your arms were buried elbow deep in dirt right now, so he figured he couldn’t look that awful, “It’s a long story but… simply put, my friend and I are looking for a place to stay.”

“I see.” You hum, touching up the marigolds. You pull open a drawer, taking out some pruners and making tiny adjustments to the flowers.

Five appreciated the precision with which you worked on them, he imagined that you treated all of your plants with the same amount of time and care. He was beginning to feel a little jealous of them.

You tilted your head to the side as you looked back at him, “So, you just thought that you’d crash here?”

Five looked slightly embarrassed as he stood up straighter, searching for the right answer. Lila smiled, yelling from the other side of the room, “Yeah, pretty much. It’s a really nice place.”

You laugh at her bluntness, placing down your pruners and dusting off your hands again, “Good to know.”

Five chuckles and looks back down at the counter. Taking in the sight of the finished marigolds, sitting plump and pretty in their new home, he smiles, “They’re beautiful.”

“Consider them a welcome gift for the two of you.” You say, pushing the pot towards him. Then, you wink, walking past him and back into the house.

Five is rendered speechless.

[heich0e]

ever since you were young, you've fallen victim to at least one terrible cold per year.

it's not your fault—your almost laughably fallible immune system is seemingly genetic, as your family was always the same growing up—but even that biological truth does little to make you feel better when you're in the thick of cough and cold season, waiting for illness to inevitably strike. one faint, meagre consolation from your predictably lacklustre immune response means that you at the very least have a fairly well-practiced routine for when you fall ill. you know the brands of medication that work best, the fever patches with the most reliable adhesion, which teas seem to help decongest you better than others. you've got soup recipes, and hot water bottles, and fuzzy socks tucked away at the ready for when you need them, because you know that you eventually will.

but this season, there's a wild card in the mix. a variable you haven't had the opportunity to plan for in years past.

shouto.

you met shouto last summer at a going away party to which you were a plus one of someone who didn't even know the person who was going away particularly well. you'd been beyond shocked when you turned up to the gathering only to see half the top pro-hero ranking list gathered before your very eyes. even more shocked when the most handsome one in the room—in the world?—bothered to speak to you.

your relationship with shouto built slowly. you were casually dating last cold season, so he hadn't had to witness you at your lowest, but this year you're living together—having moved in rather suddenly just shy of your one year anniversary since your lease was ending and shouto's apartment was more than suitable for two.

so now here you are, languishing in the bed you share with your still unfairly handsome pro-hero boyfriend, drifting in and out of consciousness in a decongestant fuelled haze, with a (now tepid) fever patch stuck to your forehead.

and there is a god awful racket coming from outside your bedroom door.

peeling yourself up from the loving embrace of your mattress is a nearly herculean task, but once you're upright it's not so hard to stuff your feet into your slippers and stumble your way to the the door. your head feels heavy and your cough is still in the nasty hacking stage, but you suspect your fever's dropping, which means the worst of your illness is likely over. any relief you may feel is decidedly shortlived as you turn the corner to the kitchen and freeze in place.

"shouto—" your voice is so raspy it sounds foreign to you "—what are you doing?"

in the kitchen, standing in the eye of what can only be described as a culinary hurricane, is your apron-clad boyfriend. he has one of your barrettes clipping his two-toned bangs up off his forehead, and a smudge of something (presumably edible) across his cheek. his eyes are wide as he turns to face you in the centre of this disaster, a carrot in one hand and a potato masher in the other.

"i," shouto pauses, and though you know it's not for dramatic effect it sure sounds like it is, "am cooking."

you start coughing, and rush to cover your mouth—turning away and bending a little at the waist from the force of it. you see shouto step towards you in your peripheral vision, but with the hand not covering your mouth you wave him away—you should have gotten a mask before you left your bedroom, but in your haste you'd forgotten to grab one.

"you sound terrible," shouto remarks and then follows up his own commentary with another, somewhat reproachful, "that's not very nice."

you look at him curiously, confused as to what he's just said and he points to his ear where he has one wireless earbud in.

"that was bakugou," he explains, and you realize he was only relaying the comment of his friend on the phone. "i'll call you back," he says again, and this time you don't need to wonder who he's speaking to before he plucks his headphone out of his ear and sets it (and the carrot and potato masher) down in the very limited counter space left.

shouto fidgets with his hands now that they're empty, inching a bit closer to you—slowly, like he know's you're going to wave him off again and is trying to avoid it.

"how are you feeling?" he asks.

"a bit better," you say, even though you don't sound it.

"why are you out of bed?" he follows up his first question with another, concern in his gaze.

"i heard... something," your eyes scan the room as you take in the very something you speak of. "why are you cooking?"

"i'm making you soup," shouto says, and then looks around the room at the scene you'd just surveyed. then he looks back at you again with a somewhat grim expression. "i'm trying to make you soup," he corrects himself.

and maybe it's the fever, or the decongestants, or the fact that he's possibly the sweetest man you've ever met in your life (on top of being the most handsome), but suddenly you feel like you might cry. or laugh, maybe. you aren't entirely sure either of them is off the table.

"what kind of soup?" you ask him, and this time your voice is croaky for an entirely unrelated reason.

"chicken soup," he answers, and he's suddenly closer than he'd been at first—having continued creeping closer to you when your guard was lowered. "with ginger. you said you like that."

"i do," you answer, and when shouto reaches out to wrap his arms around you, you have no will left in you to push him away. you tuck your face against his chest and relax against the firm, familiar shape of his body pressing into yours.

shouto peels the old fever patch from your forehead and tosses it aside, replacing it with the delightfully cool palm of his hand. he's been doing this since you fell ill, and was more than a little affronted the first time he came home from work and saw that you'd put a cooling patch on in his absence—as though jealous that it wasn't his touch that you were turning to for relief.

"was bakugou helping you make soup?" you ask, leaning into his hand.

shouto hums, and you feel the sound reverberate through his broad chest. "i don't know if helping is the right word."

"why did you have a potato masher out for chicken soup?" you then ask, remembering the utensil he'd been holding when you first walked into the kitchen.

"potato masher..." shouto says, realization heavy in his tone. he'd clearly had no idea what it was to begin with. "i was looking for a slotted spoon."

you laugh, and then cough a little.

"you should get back to bed," shouto insists.

"just another minute," you sigh, reaching up to hold his wrist and keep his hand in place. shouto freezes, and you feel his eyes on your face, peeking up at him through your lashes.

"what?" you ask him curiously.

in place of an answer, shouto wraps his arm (the one you don't have in your clutches) around your waist and hoists you up, balancing you against his hip like an overgrown toddler.

"sho-shouto! wait!"

he doesn't wait. in fact, he barely acknowledges you've said anything at all as he trots back in the direction of your shared bedroom. before you even manage to get your bearings, shouto's placed you gently back into bed, shucked his apron, and crawled in alongside you under the covers. you hardly have time to miss the cool weight of his hand before it's returned to its rightful place against your brow.

"what about your soup?" you ask him, but even in spite of your own words—and the fact that you've been keeping him at arm's length for days out of concern for his own health—you find yourself curling up against his side in bed, snuggling closer.

"i don't think it was going to taste very good anyway," shouto remarks somberly. he pouts a little. "bakugou said he'd drop some off for you later, because he was worried my soup was going to kill you."

you laugh, and then cough, and then rest your cheek against his chest.

shouto's heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear. his hand stays cool against your skin.

you may not have planned for him, but you think you might keep him around.

[angelic--kitty]

𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌

𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖓!𝖑𝖆 𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖔𝖗𝖆

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, siren!transfem signora x sub!fem reader, dark content, kidnapping, oviposition, cunnilingus, handjob, penetration, breeding kink, biting, blood, size kink, dacryphilia, exhibitonism/voyeurism, reader is a uni student

a/n: apologies for the late post!! i have been super busy and sleepy lately with my rotations and opening another blog. thank you all for your patience, mwah ♡♡♡ also please note, this has a dark content warning !

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗

a fall-break research trip studying ocean acidification and its impacts. that was all it was supposed to be.

you all laughed when your professor, in jest, told you not to fall into the water, lest you meet your icy demise. after all, it was cheapest for your school to get a boat big enough for 20 when nobody wanted to actually be on said boat.

you thought your stupid little life vest would save you. surely the scariest thing was the water itself?

if only drowning really was the most dangerous thing you'd encounter...

it was all a blur, really. one minute, you were in bed, sea and homesick, and the next, you found yourself stumbling up onto the deck, lured by some strange and soft melody.

it called to you, and only you, it seemed, by the lack of other people being disturbed.

you hadn't known; you couldn't have known. but she was watching you. she spotted you on the deck earlier in your little trip, hungry eyes tracing over you from a distance as she spotted that sweet spark of innocence and curiosity.

if you were a man, perhaps she would have already pulled you into the depths, feasted on your flesh, and tossed you back into the sea for other creatures to feed on the scraps.

but you were soft, gentle, she wanted to keep you, protect you, only to ruin you herself.

you lean over the railing, confused, eyes glazed over as you continue to tilt forward, on your tip-toes now. so close, she could almost taste you when she opened her mouth wider to sing.

you look down at her in the water. she was beautiful. your brain was too fuzzy to register the warning signs that your body desperately wanted you to see.

her claws. her teeth. the blood still lingering on her skin. how her singing made you completely oblivious to it all.

you tipped over the edge, only gasping and coming to when you hit the freezing water. you immediately panic, but something comes over you, a darkness that flood your vision at the same time hands wrap around you, carrying you far, far away from your little ship before anyone could notice you were missing.

hopefully, you had said your adequate goodbyes. after all, you wouldn't be speaking to anybody other than her ever again.

but would that be so bad? she had every intention of keeping her new pet comfortable and taken care of. she'd keep you company, keep you well-fed, light a fire when your feeble human form couldn't stand the cold. which was awfully generous for her.

you only came to when you'd been deposited into a cave, hacking up sea water from your lungs while you lay weakly on your side. your arms tremble as you lift yourself up slowly, trying to get a grip on reality.

your... everything hurt right now. your head was swimming, eyes stinging, body aching. you wondered what happened, where you were.

specifically; where were your clothes?

letting out a soft yelp, you cover yourself, despite believing to be alone as you curl up against the cave wall, looking down at something shiny on your ankle.

a string of pearls and glittery jewels chained around your ankle. a matching set had been strung around your neck, almost like a collar?

she watches you, just barely peeking out of the water as you grow acquainted with your new home. she had picked a relatively warm cave, with comfortable waters that come in handy later on when she would finally mate with you.

she gave you just enough time to stand up before announcing her presence, approaching you carefully. like a little lamb, you cowered, crying and scampering away, kicking out feebly despite the sheer power and size difference between you.

"stop making such a fuss. do not make yourself more trouble than you're worth." she spits, her voice still sweet-sounding to you despite her brash tone.

you blink up at her, chest rising and falling, frightened as you cower. "what are you?" is all you can muster. "where am i?"

she hums thoughtfully, swimming to your side. "you shouldn't worry your pretty little head about such trivial things." she grins, sharp teeth glinting in the low cave light. she reaches out to touch you, clawed fingers gently lifting your palm up.

she traces the lines in your skin with a delicate finger, smiling happily to herself. oh, you were perfect. so docile and sweet. she could only imagine how wet and warm you'd feel when she finally had you wrapped around her.

your breaths were shaky as she lifted your palm to her lips, gently nipping at your wrist as you yelp, trying to pull away in a futile manner.

the blood dripped slowly, only stopped by her tongue as she licked up the crimson trails, moaning to herself. "you're so sweet... it seems it might just be an excellent choice in itself to maintain you rather than to gobble you up all at once." she muses, lapping the wound to stop the bleeding.

as time goes on, you grow closer to her, and you've learned never to question her. anything about going home, your friends, your school, what she planned to do with you; they were all off limits. unless you wanted her to remind you of your place.

you were to be her sweet little pet, and eventually her mate. though, she began to grow fond of you, much to her own surprise. she enjoyed having you around much more than any human she's ensnared previously. she likes speaking with you. she likes bringing you shiny little gifts. she... preens when you tell her you like them, her chest puffing out when you put the jewelry on display.

she kept you stark naked at all times, of course, enjoying the view. when you'd lean over, she'd get the perfect view of your cute little pussy. when you'd sit on her lap, your jewelry would brush your nipples just so, teasing you while perking the little buds up so she could trail her claws across them.

you liked it too... teasing such a powerful creature, unknowingly having her wrapped around your finger. you'd open your thighs more for her, showing off before climbing into the soft nest she made for you. your back would arch more than usual when stretching to make her look at your tits. you'd look up with such pretty eyes when you knelt beside her, giving her the perfect vision of what you'd look like sucking her off like the perfect pet you were.

it isn't long until her mating season comes, and she has you in the water, nervously hovering over her lap. she coos at you, kissing your cheek and down your neck and chest. she stops to tease your nipples with the tip of her tongue, instead pushing you up and out of the water, thighs spread for her.

you curiously try to sit up, only to have a large hand press you right back down. "sit still, pet." she orders, holding your thighs open for her while she places teasing kisses closer and closer to your center.

her tongue feels like heaven and hell all at once on your clit, your moans turning into squeals as she slides the muscle into your hole, indulging in your whimpers and whines that she "feels so big!" and how it's just "too much!"

you're so cute in how you squirm, tearing up when her nails pierce your flesh, drawing bubbles of blood with how animalistic she is in devouring your cunt.

and, oh, your tears look so pretty, pooling in your eyes, dripping down your cheeks as she pushes you over the edge several times until your slick is smeared across her face and your thighs.

as she leans up, you feel a hardness brush your thighs, looking down with exhaustion and curiosity at her once flat slit. she grins, cheeky bastard, at how your eyes widen.

"what is that?" you ask, almost breathlessly. she guides your hand to wrap around her, hissing as your palm touches her flesh.

her hand carries yours in a steady rhythm, your eyes never leaving her cock as you look at the slick beading at her tip. it seems a lot wetter than a human's would be...slimier too.

your nose wrinkles, and she scoffs, moving your hand faster, coating your skin in the substance. she brings herself right over the edge with practiced movements, spurting across your hand and chest, some splattering onto your face as you blink, shocked.

she cleans you up with a dangerously sharp thumb, making you lick it up off her hand. "that's it, good girl." her voice is low, pleased as she pulls you back into the water, tip prodding at your entrance.

it seems her refractory time puzzles you as you whine while she teases your already over-sensitive clit. "hush." she silences you by sliding her tongue into your mouth, making you taste yourself while she pulls you down onto her.

you mewl, eyes scrunching shut as she stretches you out for the first time together. you feel so full despite only having a few inches of her inside. she completely covers your body, her full chest brushing yours as she keeps you close to her.

once she finally has you seated against her, you're already shaking and whimpering, trying to escape from being so full.

"too- too much! can't-!"

"you can." she asserts. "how else am i to breed you?" she grunts and you whine for her so prettily, arching up against her.

your moans are like music to her ears as she fucks you impossibly deep, nestling into your g-spot while you squeeze around her. she grunts praises into your ear, grabbing at your body while the jewels she's decorated you with clink together with each thrust.

such a prized and pretty pet you are all for her. and what an even lovlier mate you're going to make once she fills you up with her eggs... she can picture it now, the two of you raising your little hatchlings together.

just the thought has her hips stuttering as she begins to put her focus into getting you off one last time. the perfect orgasm to send you into euphoria to distract you from the impending discomfort of depositing her eggs.

you cum so beautifully for her, crying out as you coat her cock once more, giving her the opportunity to push deeper, hearing your startled moan as something round pushes into you.

"what- what's-" you stutter, feebly grabbing onto her shoulders as you look down at your stomach, seeing a strange roundness.

she coos at you, almost condescendingly, as she grunts, pulling you close and depositing the last of her eggs. "you're going to be a wonderful mother, pet. don't worry, i'll take good care of you." she purrs, cuddling you closer as the realization dawns upon you.

but you're much too sleepy, eyes closing as you curl up against her body, letting her bob in the water and lull you to sleep with promises of being a wonderful mate.

[xan-izme]

Double life 13 (ATSV x reader x batfam)

summary: You can't get a break. Not even for a second

TW: Angst, mental health issues, cursing, hallucinations, mentions of death

Bruce was the world's greatest detective. And a father. So, he was bound to pick up on a few things. He had suspicions of you hiding something. But he assumed it was due to it being an effect of losing your mother.

But ever since Jason began to stay at the manor longer than a day or two(which was surprising) he began to notice small things. He began to notice how you two would often be together. Not as often as you were with Damian of course. But wherever you were Jason was there as well.

He assumed you two were just getting along. And he was happy about that. But he would catch you two giving each other small knowing looks. The two of you whispering to each other or giving each other signals.

Yes, everyone else in the house does this with each other as well. But the way you and Jason would do it was more like a secret. A secret only you two would have with each other. Maybe it was some inside joke or some odd bonding thing you two had.

Bruce tried not to pry into your life too much. Especially after the argument you two had.

But the more he sat and thought about the argument instead of sulking. Something he said to you ticked you off. Of course, his words got you pissed, but he has this, itching feeling that his words meant far more than you led on.

So, he put you in therapy. And might have bribed the therapist to install a nanny-cam so he can see and listen in on your sessions. . . yes not his most honorable moment. But that itching feeling just kept growing and growing.

So, every session you had. He was watching. And he was slowly seeing you in a more, brighter light. You would laugh as you crack up jokes. Your smile made him smile. The way you would play with some of the toy's Mrs. Dean had warmed his heart. (He might have bought a few dozen plushies to give to you soon)

You spoke about him. And you had no resentment. You even spoke about how you wanted to apologize to him. How you felt like you were in the wrong.

Bruce honestly felt like he didn't deserve you at this point. You were so kindhearted. You spoke about him and everyone else with so much love.

But don't think Bruce didn't pick up those small moments of hesitations. When Mrs. Dean would try and dig deeper into you in any emotional way involving just you. There would be this, small pause that felt like more than a minute. The look in your eyes. The same look he saw you with at that party with your mother's side of the family.

He knows that look far too well.

You hate yourself.

This realization. Kind of broke him a little. His little girl hates herself. Why didn't he see this sooner? he feels like a fool. He's trying to piece everything together. Why would you hate yourself. Your perfect. A little broken. But that just makes Bruce love you more.

As he's trying to piece things together. To understand fully of what was going on with you. There were always blank spots that he couldn't fill in. This was a puzzle. I not a hard one but not easy either. He was able to dig deeper in on you.

He went as far as to hacking into your phone. Yes. His overstepping it but he wasn't going into your messages or socials. Only your call history and photos. It was very sad to see most of your recent calls were to your mother's number, of course those calls were not answered.

Your photos were filled with family pictures and- odd. Pictures that seemed to be in an almost hidden file was filled with unfamiliar faces. He scans the faces through his system. But he found nothing. That, that was odd.

Tim walked into the Batcave, he wanted to report to Bruce and tell him he was going to be playing games with you tonight instead of going out on patrol. As he walked down the stairs. He hears what sounds like a recording of a woman talking.

He's brow arched up curiously as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Bruce doesn't seem to notice him yet.

"You don't seem to be the type to hold a grudge."

The voice of the woman who spoke just now was unfamiliar to Tim.

"Oh no. I hold grudges."

Another voice spoke. Younger. It sounded a lot like. . .

"If I fully give you my trust and loyalty. I expect it not to be broken or abused."

It was you. A recording of you speaking to someone. Why would Bruce be listening to this.

"Uh . . .Bruce?" Tim finally spoke up. Bruce turns around, looking a little like he was caught off guard. Too focused on listening to the recording. Tim walked closer looking confused.

"What are you-" Tim was cut off as your voice was heard once again.

"If I give my trust and loyalty to someone. I give them my heart."

Tim frowns. He's realizing what Bruce was listening to. "Is that- Are you spying on Y/n's therapy sessions?"

Bruce was quick to shut off the recording. Letting out a deep sigh.

"Weren't you the one who didn't want us to invade her privacy?" Tim was reasonable. You going to therapy is actually a good thing, because at least someone in their family was going to therapy.

But just to find out Bruce was spying on your sessions was just. . . disappointing.

"For a good reason." Bruces statement just angered Tim even more.

"Good reason? Bruce, she's a 16-year-old girl who's pouring her heart out to someone you paid to listen to her problems. If you were going to just going to do this. Talking to her would have been a better option." Tim crossed his arms with a deep frown.

"She won't talk to me Tim. . . she's hiding something." Bruce sighed as he looked back down at the recording.

"That doesn't mean you should be doing whatever this is!"

As Tim and Bruce argued, Dick came down with a box of pizza and a smile.

"Hey, I brought Pizza-" Dick cut himself off as he stumbled upon Tim and Bruce arguing.

"Whoa, whoa. What's going on here?" Dick walks up to the two with a slight nervous smile. Tim doesn't look all too happy.

"He's been spying on Y/n's therapy sessions!" Tim's words caused Dick's smile to slowly drop.

"Oh. . . oh Bruce that's not. . ."

Dick was trying so hard not to give Bruce a look of hard judgment. But in his attempt to do that his face forms cringe.

A school trip to a museum was giving you Daja'vu from your last field trip. Didn't go well due to the result of getting bitten by a spider and having long-lasting trauma from there on out.

You stared at a painting, a spider devouring a butterfly who was unfortunate enough to be caught in its web.

"Kind of a sad painting don't you think?" Someone spoke up.

You turn your head and see Jason. You don't seem surprised; you slowly turn back to the painting.

"Didn't think paint museums were your thing." You say as your eyes stayed trained on the spider eating the poor butterfly. Jason couldn't help but chuckle. "What do you think my thing is exactly?" He asks as he tilts his head while staring at the painting with you.

"Bird cage maybe. Isn't that where a bird like you should be?" You spoke almost mockingly. "Actually, I feel like that painting over there would be more of your taste." Your head jesters to a painting behind the two of you. Jason glanced back to see a painting of a bird being attacked by a black snake with green eyes.

What was painfully ironic about the painting, was that the bird was a robin.

". . ." That was a personal jab. Jason would usually get angry and curse someone out. But this was you, and he honestly understands your hate. Even when you say something cruel, he knows it's not aimed to him directly. But to yourself.

Jason stared back at the painting of the spider and butterfly. Then stared at you. You stared at the painting with, sympathy . . .?

No. Thats not it. Empathy maybe?

"The butterfly, do you feel bad for it?" His body facing you while his eyes stayed focus on your expression.

"It's the spider I pity."

Jason's brow raises from your words. "The spider?"

You stay silent for a moment.

"People hate the spider, for something it can't control. Kind of unfair if you ask me." Your stare didn't seem to be focused on the painting, seeming to be beyond that.

"Your weird" Jason mumbled. Not fully understanding what you were meaning.

Suddenly your spider senses spiked up. You were quick to grab Jason and pull him away causing you two to fall to the ground, right before a bomb was set off.

Jason was quick to get onto his feet

"Stay." Was all he said before running off. You got off the ground and scanned the area before running off to try and help others to get up and evacuate. Your spider senses were going crazy. People were screaming and the building was shaking.

you were so distracted you didn't notice something rolling to your feet. A smoke bomb. But the moment you noticed it, it was too late. Red smoke exploded into your face.

The sound of a ticking clock, the lights dimmed. You were in a chair, blinking a few times. Trying to process how you got here, you look up to see Mrs. Dean. Sitting on the chair across from you.

". . . Mrs. Dean?" Confusion was quick to take over you.

The air felt eerie, and oddly damp. You glanced around and see your in her office. You see Mrs. Dean talking. Her mouth moving but you heard nothing.

"I- I can't hear you-"

"Do you blame yourself?"

You stayed silent for a moment, Confused. You were getting this, unsettling feeling, causing you to grip the onto the chair you seem to not be able to get off from.

"What?" You spoke, almost in a whisper

"Well, it's quite common in this situation for a patient to feel a sort of guilt"

Your brows furrowed by Mrs. Deans statement.

"What situation. . .?"

Mrs. Dean doesn't answer. She freezes almost. No movement. Like she's been paused.

Your surroundings glitch.

And you're standing outside. In the rain, ruins around you. You couldn't process anything. Because you were staring down.

Starring down at a motionless body. The face. She doesn't have a face.

Where is her face. She's supposed to have a face, right? why doesn't she have a face? What is it supposed to look like?-

. . . who is this?

Your supposed to know who this is. But you don't. Why can't you remember? This isn't right. . . .

different faces glitch onto the woman. But none of them were right.

Why can't you remember?

what's wrong with you?

Why can't you remember?

Suddenly your body began to move. Your hands slowly move up to reveal blood. Your breathing increased, panic, dread. Utter dread.

"AAAAHHHHH!!!"

"Shit!" Jason struggled to hold you down. Bruce shouted for Dick to open the pod to get you out of this hallucinating state you were in due to the fear toxin. Your blood curdling screams echoed throughout the Batcave.

Your body thrashed as you screamed and cried. Your screaming was throwing Jason off. And it hurt. It hurt seeing you like this more than he would think. Bruce took hold of you and told Jason to grab a syringe to knock you out.

Bruce held onto you tight. You screamed out.

"Please! No- NO NO PLEASE NO!"

Jason ran back with the syringe and stuck it into your neck. You flinched, your head falling back as your eyelids slowly close.

"Mama . . ." You whispered, only audible for Jason and Bruce to hear. Giving the two men a few seconds of silence before Bruce quickly carried you to the pod.

--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__--__-

A/n: Yup, I'm back. Hope y'all are having a good school year for those in school. Hope y'all liked this one and feel free to give me any tips on making more unsettling seance (I just noticed I reached 1,007 followers. You guys going crazy with this)

@huening-ly,@mariadvorak, @superherosdystopiafreak, @chelluv, @houseissofine, @esposadomd, @greyeyedmockingbird, @1-800-daisy, @c0c0-puffsxxx @arthurswife, @h0rr0r-10ver-69, @josiepapen, @natashanice165, @amber-content, @mahbeanz @azurewisteria, @seraph101, @skepvids, @lara20aral, @iwasveronica, @jackrabbitem, @nickey-diano, @idonthaveanameforthisacc, @sekidekiboombeki, @masters-blog, @lulpeepkins, @sgarrush-blush, @redsakura101, @danart501, @definitely-not-sammie, @khaleesihavilliard, @reallynotsoconfident, @uknowimdumb, @bat1212

[after-witch]

Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto Suguru x Reader]

Title: Fever Pitch [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: Geto’s been hit by a lust curse, and you take what little control you have to avoid him snapping. Follow-up to Bus Stop.

Word Count: 3200ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, dubcon, sex, some mentions of past degradation 

 It’s funny, the way you can get used to anything. When you were first taken,  you would have sworn--on your heart, your soul, on blood from a cut on your palm--that you would fight, hiss, and spit at Geto until the day you died. 

And now here you are, nestled on a seat cushion in his sitting room, quietly reading a book while he’s off collecting curses and doing favors that aren’t really true favors at all. The person assigned to you today is a familiar face, someone you don’t entirely detest, if only because they are content to keep an eye on you without emanating visible hatred towards your existence at every second.

They were even kind--or what classifies as “kind” here--enough to lend you their scissors a few weeks ago, when someone stuck a wad of sticky bubble gum in your hair as they passed you in a hallway. Sure, they kept an eye on you the entire time in order to make sure you weren’t trying to stab yourself (or anyone else); but they said nothing as you hacked at your own hair, eventually giving yourself a passable pixie cut.

Geto had raised his eyebrows when he came back that day, and had a quiet word with your keeper. But you didn’t get punished, so that was that. Cutting off your hair felt good, even. Like you were cutting out whatever part of yourself was still simmering in pointless anger at  your situation. Why be angry, why be in despair, when nothing you did mattered? You ran once. He found you. If you bothered to run again--not that you’d get the chance--he would find you again. And again. 

It was better to find something like enjoyment instead of wallowing. 

Wasn’t it?

Besides, even Geto had been different since the day he found you. He seemed content for you to be a quiet pet again. He no longer visited you in the night, touching you, forcing pleasures and sounds you didn’t want to experience from his fingers, even as he commanded you to always keep your arms away from him. He was allowed to touch--but you weren’t allowed to touch him. You hated it. 

But he hadn’t touched you in the slightest intimate way since that day. Unless you counted the condescending head pats as intimate, which you certainly did not. 

You hear Geto’s footsteps, and your muscles tense in preparation. You carefully set a bookmark in your book and set it aside; he didn’t like it when you paid attention to a book instead of him. Especially when he’d been gone for most of the day. 

But something’s wrong. Something’s different.

These are not the orderly footsteps of Geto returning to his rooms at the end of a (horribly) productive day. These steps are staggered--hesitant. 

Strange.

Your current keeper stands when Geto enters, but he simply dismisses them with a wave of his hand and an unusually curt: “Leave.” 

They hazard a glance at you--it almost feels kind--before swiftly grabbing their bag and walking away, hurried steps echoing in the hallway that leads to his suite of rooms.

As soon as they’re out of earshot, Geto begins to shed his clothing. Now this wasn’t unusual. He preferred to wear only a casual outfit around you, some trousers and a light top most of the time. What was unusual was the undignified manner in which he did it, simply peeling away his layers and tossing them on the ground, all the while his breath seemed to come in quiet, stuttering pants.

It’s enough to make you break your gaze from the floor and look at him.

Geto looks… ill. His cheeks are flushed and yes, his chest is heaving a little as he takes in short, frenzied breaths. Even the skin of his neck and collar had a slight glow to it, like he’d been exercising vigorously or done something terribly embarrassing. 

“Geto?” You ask, hesitantly. You flick your eyes back down to the floor, where you’re told they belong until he says otherwise. 

He doesn’t answer. The final layers of his robes drop to the floor. 

Normally, he would approach you now, calmly. He might tilt your chin up with his hand and ask what you did today--if you were good, if you behaved. 

Instead he staggers away, catching himself on the corner of a table.

“Geto?” You try again, voice higher, more concerned. 

You look up to see him with both palms splayed on the table, breaths coming in deeper huffs. His skin is still flushed--it’s so strange--and you swear the room feels warmer than it did a few moments ago. 

His fingers curl against the table into a tight fist, then release, then curl again. His breath comes in more ragged by the moment. There’s an unmistakable soft groan--in pain? Discomfort?

“Are you… all right?” You ask, and do the boldest thing possible in your present situation, which happens to be standing up on shaky legs and taking a step towards him.

“Don’t.” The word is practically growled out, and your muscles freeze for the moment, keeping you in place.

He turns to look at you, but instead of looking angry, he looks… desperate. His eyes roam over you and his lips part, and you see the edge of his tongue reach out to lick a dry patch as he struggles to regain control over his breath. 

The expression hits you and it’s oh-so familiar and you don’t like it at all.

Geto isn’t sick. 

He’s aroused.

You reach up to clutch at your shirt, fidgeting with the fabric like it might actually provide comfort in this unsure situation.

“What… happened?” 

He doesn’t answer at first. His mouth twists into something like a grin, but it’s twitchy, uncontrolled. He chuckles slowly.

“A curse. I should have taken a closer look, but--” He lets out a pained sigh and squeezes his eyes shut. “I was distracted. Foolish. Stupid.”

You--perhaps foolish, stupid--take a step forward. Little pieces find themselves fitting together in your brain, trying to create a plan for what will come ahead. It’s how you’ve managed to survive so far, isn’t it? Taking in everything about your situation and acting accordingly to preserve your health and sanity?

“What… kind of curse?” You ask, and take more steps, until you’re close enough that you can feel some of the unnatural warmth from his body. 

He looks at you slowly, his eyes almost rolling in a way that makes your stomach turn. You perhaps don’t need to actually hear the answer. It’s become clear, with the way he’s panting, the way his skin is flushed, the awful warmth from being so close to him. But it’s best for him to admit it, anyway, and confirm it to your whirring brain.

“Lust.”

Something seems to roil through him and he leans down, groaning in an uninhibited way that makes cold fear crawl up your arms, despite the warmth from Geto’s body. This close, you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, and when you glance down, his hardness is evident through his trousers.

Oh, you’re going to be fucked by the end of the night. You know it. It’s an inevitability. 

What if it’s like before? When he would be rough and fast, and it would feel good and terrible all at the same time? When you felt like you had no control over what was done to you, and what you were made to do? The shame that would spread through your body afterward was nearly unbearable. 

No… it was better to take charge yourself, wasn’t it? The only other option was to wait for him to snap. And if he was influenced by some lust-filled curse, there’s no telling what he might do. 

So you’ll take care of him before he can reach that breaking point. 

“Geto,” you say, and your hand reaches out slowly, like he’s a wild dog (perhaps he is) until it rests just above his back. Close enough for him to sense you. Although attempting to touch him without permission would normally have earned you a slap on the wrist and a reprimand, Geto leans into your palm, letting out a soft, pleased noise, as if your palm resting on his back was something far more wonderful.

“Let me… take care of you,” you manage, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth before you force it loose to say the words. He doesn’t answer, breath still coming out in a pant. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You speak louder, more firmly. More sure of yourself, even if a large part of you is wondering if this is a terrible idea after all. But it’s better to get it over with; to do this on your terms, or as much of your terms as you can manage. You can at least admit that.

Geto doesn’t answer, and you’re about to say something else when he grabs your wrist--it’s too tight, his palm is sweaty--and begins to pull you towards the bedroom. Your house slippers scuff on the floor from the unsteady force of his grip, but you manage not to fall.

Later, you will wonder--if you did trip in that moment, would he have simply taken you on the floor? It was a distinct possibility.

But you don’t fall. You make it to the bedroom and he lets go of you, stripping off his clothes with  a frenzy that is completely unlike him. You don’t wait for an order to remove your own clothing. He might not have even been in the right frame of mind to remember that you’re normally supposed to wait for his order on everything. Or perhaps it has been so long since he’d touched you this way, he didn’t even think of giving it in the first place.

When he turns around, both of you are naked. His hardness is evident, erect and pressing against his flushed body. You can see wetness around his tip and something between your leg twinges in both pleasant anticipation and worry at what this curse-induced arousal might mean for the both of you.

“Well?” He says, voice thick and low. 

You swallow against your throat, against the worries that normally come with seeing Geto naked. You remind yourself that this is different. That you’re taking control, as much as you can get, with him so afflicted. It won’t be like before, surely, when he would use you and leave you alone like the toy that you were afterward. 

“Lay on the bed,” you command. Your body flinches instinctively at the audacity of it. “Please,” you add, but he doesn’t seem to mind your forwardness in this moment. He crawls on the bed and leans back against the pillows, keeping himself half-upright as he watches you. 

You glance down at his cock. It twitches, ever so slightly, and you feel yourself twitch between your legs to match it. Was it because it had been so long? Or because you were the one telling him what to do? Or some awful mixture of both, and more besides? 

It was hard to tell what was normal and what wasn’t in the fucked up state of your existence. 

“Get on the bed.” It’s his turn to give a command, and you’re quick to obey it. For as much as you’re taking the initiative, you can’t let yourself forget who owns you, perhaps literally. Even if he’s currently flushed and woozy and subject to the demands of the arousal forced upon him by some wayward curse.

You climb on the bed and crawl until you’re positioned with your knees on either side of his hips. It’s the first time you’ve been above him. It would be out of the question, you think, before. He liked to remind you where you belonged in the literal sense, and that had extended to sexual positions.

Instinctively, your hands go behind your back, folding primly. You’re not supposed to touch him during sex. You know that. It’s been the rule; it was one of the first things he drilled into your head when he began fucking you. He was allowed to touch you in any way he wanted; stroking and pinching and whatever else fell within his whims. But you? You keep your filthy hands to yourself. 

And so, it’s with your hands behind your back that you carefully begin to lower yourself onto his erect cock. 

He gasps and groans, and you do, too. Your twinges were not enough to get you properly wet, and it hurts as you lower yourself down. But the flush on his face and the feeling of being full after so long begins to grant you the warmth necessary to produce your own slickness, easing the passage just a little as you take all of him in. Not enough for it to be painless. But it’s not like that ever mattered before. 

“Fuck,” he spits out, throwing his head back from there mere sensation of your pussy taking in his erection. You feel yourself clench him and he hisses in delight. It makes you feel a bit giddy, to affect him like this, with so little.

Your fists clench behind your back as he bottoms out inside you, and your own groan joins his as you steady yourself, keeping your balance as you sit on top of him. His cock twitches inside you and you let out a sigh, leaning forward. Your hair tickles your ears.

He’s looking up at you, hips writhing in a way that makes you gasp.

“Touch me.” 

You think you must have misheard him.

“I said touch me,” he says, more forceful, the arousal pulsing through him giving his voice a thick tinge. He thrusts his hips and you bump upwards, in discomfort yes, but also a growing sense of your own arousal at the fullness and friction inside you.

“All--” You gasp when he thrusts again, and perhaps the idea of taking too much control was an illusion. “All right!” Your hands slowly come out from behind your back and with a hesitation that comes from months of being trained otherwise, you slowly lower your hands to rest on his hips.

Slowly, you trail your hands up to his chest, eyeing his nipples. How long had they been erect? Was it before or after you lowered yourself on him? It doesn’t matter. You begin to pull yourself up, timing your own movements with his now-shallow thrusting. As you do, your hands rest on his nipples, rubbing them slowly with your palm--the way he sometimes does to you, if he’s not pinching them harshly to make you squeal.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just… just like that. Good pet.” 

And there again, the sight of his pleasure from your touch, his raise, makes you clench… which makes him hiss in pleasure, which makes you giddy. 

It’s a wonderful cycle, and so different from all of the other times he’s fucked you. This is almost nice, in its own way. To be above him, mostly in control of how fast you move, how much of him you take in and out as you lift yourself up and down on his cock.

“Faster,” he says, and you don’t mind obeying. One of your hands still toys with his nipple while the other reaches between your own legs and thumbs at your clit. It’s audacious, really--you’re not supposed to pleasure yourself without his permission.

But he doesn’t tell you to stop. Instead he simply watches the way your thumb rubs against your clit; does he enjoy the sight of his cock inside you, the way your pussy takes him as you use your leg muscles to thrust up and down?

He must, because you can feel your own arousal mixing with his, see the way his chest rises faster. Tell-tale signs that he’s getting close.

“Stop,” he orders suddenly. “Get off me.” His voice is still low, still filled with lust, but there’s something else in it. Something more familiar. 

“Geto?” You ask, confused, your own voice coated with arousal that’s just about to reach its peak. It’s disappointing to stop now, but you know better than to disobey. Even right now, or perhaps, especially right now.

He seems to regain a stronger semblance of himself. “Get off,,” he commands, and you do. 

It doesn’t take long to realize why he gave the order. He swiftly grips your arms and flips you on the bed, your back pressing against the sheets that are warm with his own unmistakable body heat.

Now this is familiar. Geto above you, naked, flushed, aroused. And you, beneath him. But this time your arousal was of your own making, and there’s a sort of power in that, you think.

He’s back inside you and by this time you’re wet enough that it simply feels good to be filled again. His wrists keep your own pinned and you murmur a plea, you were so close, Geto--and to your surprise, one of his hands leaves your wrist to begin playing with your clit.

Arousal builds quickly this time, and you come without ceremony, your muscles clenching around him and legs kicking helplessly on the bed as he continues to touch you through your orgasm.

Familiar patterns set in, and as your own orgasm begins to fade out, you know what will happen now. He’ll fuck you faster and pull out as he comes–he refuses to finish inside you–and then leave you to yourself.. Maybe he’ll have to go another round to deal with the effects of this curse, but whatever change had been over him before, allowing you greater freedom, was surely gone.

Only… maybe not.

Because as you feel the familiar sensation of Geto pushing inside you harder and faster as he nears his release, something new happens. Something different. Something that makes butterflies and battery acid flutter in your stomach all at the same time.

He leans down and presses his lips against yours, tentatively at first, then harder, until you open up your mouth and let his tongue inside.

Geto kisses you. It’s a surprisingly passionate kiss, and you let out a yelp of surprise when he grips your chin and kisses you through his own orgasm. 

He doesn’t even pull out. You feel his seed inside you for the first time, a liquid warmth. It’s uncomfortable and strange and you wonder how angry he’ll be, later on, that he did this. 

He doesn’t stop kissing you until you’re breathing heavily through your nose, and when he pulls away you take in a gulp of air.

He stares down at you with something that looks like wonder. At himself… or you? 

“Good pet,” he murmurs. But there’s no condescension in it today. 

There’s an awful, naked vulnerability that washes over you.

Geto let you touch him. Geto kissed you. 

Geto, Geto, Geto…

Was he going to be mad when this curse effect wore off? Would he get rid of you for making him violate so many of his own rules? 

You don’t have time to think about it, because you realize he’s still hard, and he begins to thrust shallowly inside your overstimulated pussy. 

He’ll have to go another round. 

--

Afterward, sleep came without warning. You had simply closed your eyes when Geto finally pulled out and that was that. 

You don’t know how much time has passed when you open your eyes, blinking away the grogginess of an unexpected nap. 

There’s a soreness between your legs, which you expected. There’s the feeling of your body being used, a low openness that combines vulnerability and humiliation in a bittersweet mixture; which you expected.

You don’t expect to blink and see Geto sleeping beside you, his arm slung around your waist, keeping you in place.

Geto never slept with you like this. He would fuck you and use you and sometimes tell you that you were a good pet if he was in a jovial mood--and he would leave. 

You’re afraid to move. If you wake him, will he be angry? Will he be annoyed that he let himself fall asleep beside you? Annoyed with himself for allowing it, or annoyed with you for being there? 

You don’t move, but it doesn’t matter. His eyes flutter open and you feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he takes in the sight before him, as you just did.

He doesn’t furrow his eyebrows in irritation or fling himself out of bed or reprimand you for existing like this in his space. Instead he pulls you closer, until your face is pressed closer to his chest. It makes you feel something--warmth? Affection? Relief that you weren’t being yelled at for being bad?--and your hand slowly leaves your side to curl up against his chest. 

He allows it. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs.

And you obey.

[princessbrunette]

omg i was doing a little deep dive on your page (cos wtf else would a girl be doing) and i saw you say something about pope and bunny!reader and i cannot get it out of my head like omg????

her throwing a little fit because she messed up her makeup or something and hes just gentle with her making her realise how small that problem is and he just keeps her down to earth

he’d be so gentle and patient oh i’m gonna cry.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 🐰ྀི ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

it almost makes him jump, the whiny “no!” that suddenly explodes from your side of the room as you do your makeup. pope was on his laptop, putting together some finishing touches on the research he was doing for a project that you felt was a little too complex for you to grasp. he blinks, looking over at you huffing as you stare into the mirror, teary eyed with a huge blob of mascara on your cheek.

“i messed it up! i got it over my flawless base so now i’m gonna have to wipe it off and do it again and i’m gonna cry so now my eye makeup is gonna be ruined too!” your voice seems to strain higher and higher as your brows furrow, and your boyfriend knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re throwing a crying fit on the bed. he knew how to work fast, luckily.

“you’re okay, i’ve got you.” he shrugs as he quickly manoeuvres across the room to squat infront of you where you were sat infront of the mirror. “all i’m seeing is a tiny mistake that can be fixed. don’t be upset.” he waves your hands away gently as he cups your jaw gently, tilting your head back into the light. “now if i could just have a little look…”

he inspects you for a moment, mostly just taking in how beautiful you look before his face lights up. “easy, okay — i saw this hack on my tiktok feed where you let the mascara dry and then you just gently rub it with one of those… where is it —” he bends over slightly to look at all your brushes standing in their pot because plucking out a spoolie. “aha— this. you just rub on it a little and it’ll flake right off. totally foolproof.” he smiles, and your heart swells. blinking the tears back into your eyes, you let out an airy giggle.

“you get makeup videos on your tiktok?” you ask as he gently blows at your cheek, ensuring the mascara has probably dried onto your skin.

“hey, i only watch them because of moments like this— so i can help you.” softly, you feel him brush lightly at your skin before pulling back victoriously. “okay, not that i didn’t expect that to work… but that was really easy.” he’s grinning victoriously. you check the mirror before clapping your hands happily, letting out a little squeal. “you haven’t put on your lipgloss yet.” he suddenly announces.

“so?” you blink dumbly up at him.

“so, i get to do this.” he smirks, before pulling you in for a kiss.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 🐰ྀི ୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven 4 (Bruce Wayne x f!reader)

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. And then you asked for more :)

My masterlist is here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Warnings: no proof reading, mentions of fear and worry, pregnant!reader, ansgt

You were happy. You were feeling like everything was as it should be. You even started to forget about this whole story of Bruces being switched from parallel universes. The children too. The Justice League saw a difference in Batman but they didn’t press the subject when they also noticed how the children were acting around him. You were a real family. 

The “new” Bruce was always a little bit worried that the “real” Bruce would come back, but with time, he slowly let his guard down. He had a nightmare about it a few nights ago, but when he woke and found you by his side, he calmed down. He had wrapped his arm around, his hand resting on your belly. You were pregnant with his child and he was the happiest man on Earth. He was certain it was going to be a baby girl. You woke up a little before happily humming into his embrace, intertwining your fingers with his.

“All good, my love?” you whispered

“Just checking on my darlings” he murmured back as he kissed your shoulder

“Love you” you smiled

“Love you too” he replied with a smile matching yours

Your bedroom door cracked open then and you both saw Damian peering inside the room.

“Come, baby” you gestured to Damian to come closer

Damian was still a little bit unsure around this new version of his father. Of course, he seemed more caring and more protective, while still being a genius detective and an amazing warrior. But he still felt like he was betraying his original father.

“Everything alright?” Bruce asked

“Just a nightmare” Damian whispered, almost ashamed

You made room for Damian who settled against you. Bruce gently stroked his hair until the child fell asleep under his touch. You smiled even more. Your lover was going to be such a good father to your child.

You were at the hospital for a little check up on you and the baby. Bruce was supposed to join you there once he would be done with a quick meeting at Wayne Enterprises.

The real Bruce Wayne saw an opportunity. He knew his plan was drawing attention and that his other self and children would quickly understand… But he needed to reach you. He easily hacked the security of WE and he made sure that the breach would be seen and a problem to take care of as fast as possible. He hoped it would allow him to come find you while the other Bruce would have to deal with the little mess he created.

You were still in the waiting room when your actual husband showed up. He was glad he had bought several safe houses and that they held enough money and suits for him to look good. Your eyes instantly lit up when you saw Bruce, even though you could tell something seemed different. Bruce smiled back and leaned to kiss you. He so happily cupped your chin to deepen the kiss. He was a starving man who just wanted his wife back. Gosh, he almost forgot how good it was to get his lips on yours. You chuckled before gently pushing him away

“Come on, Bruce. There are people around us” you said, a little bit surprised

“Sorry, love. Missed you so much” he whispered to you

“We saw each other this morning” you replied, you were refusing to understand what this meant

“We really haven’t” Bruce replied

Your first thought was to worry about your lover. If your husband was there, did it mean that he had been sent back to his own world? You felt sick. You felt your phone buzzing in your bag and checked the notification: “Sorry, my love. We’ve got a security breach, I’ll do my best to be at the hospital as soon as possible”. You calmed down a little bit, even though you were unsure about what to do.

“What is going on?” you murmured

Bruce was about to say something when the nurse came to find you. You both followed her. You tensed a little when the man placed a hand on your back and he felt it. He moved closer so he could whisper into your ear.

“Come on, darling, it’s me” he tried to reassure you “Don’t be afraid, I’ll make things better very soon. I just need your help” he added and you didn’t answer

You settled in the room for the echography. Bruce stayed by your side the whole time, until the nurse asked him to go out so she could have a chat with just you. She had noticed you were a little bit stressed out today and she wanted to make sure everything was alright.

You apologised to the nurse.

“I’m sorry, I received a message before the consultation… I’m just going to make a very quick call, is it alright?” you asked and the nurse nodded.

You instantly took your phone and called your lover. As usual, the man answered right away.

“Is everything alright, my love? Are you out of the hospital already?” he asked and your silence instantly worried him “What happened?”

“He’s here” you simply said and your Bruce instantly understood what it meant

“Alright, my love. Take a deep breath, the stress is bad for you and the baby. I promise you I’ll make things better very soon” he told you “I just need you to come back home and relax, okay?” he added

“But he’ll probably follow me home” you worried

“When you’ll get out of the hospital, go find Alfred in the car and call Dick. Give him the emergency code and he’ll quickly come over. Can you do that for me, my love?” he instructed you

“Yes, okay. See you later” you said

“Keep me in check, my love.”

“You too”

You hung up before going back to the consultation. The nurse finished the tests she wanted to do and finally let you go. Bruce was waiting for you. He grabbed your hand and gently kissed the back of it.

“Let’s go home” he hummed and you nodded

Your silence was breaking the man even more

“I know you must feel very confused” he started “and it must be a shock that there are now two Bruce Wayne in town. But I’m your husband, I’m the real one. You have no idea how hard it has been to come back home. And even though the child isn’t really mine, I’m so excited to see you pregnant. I can’t wait for this new addition to the family” he said, thinking you were stressed out because of you discovering you cheated on him with another self

“How do I know you’re the real one?” you asked, you were trying to gain some time. “Look, I just need to call Dick. I promised him to do so after my consultation at the hospital and he’ll worry if I don’t”

“Of course, go ahead”

You grabbed your phone and called Dick, as you entered the car. Alfred was a little bit surprised by your gloomy face before noticing that Master Bruce wasn’t wearing the same clothes as this morning. There was a crazed glitter in his eyes as well.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” Dick answered

“It’s just to let you know that everything is alright with the baby, but I’m not too sure I’ll be able to make it at tonight's party.” you replied and you heard Dick getting up and grabbing his coat

“Where are you?” he replied back

“Soon home” you hummed, relieved your eldest son was always so ready to help

“I’ll be there”

--

PART 5

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

Taglist for this series <3

@bat1212

@karakento

@kneelforloki

Thanks for the ideas & the comments <3

@motherofdragons1998

@silverklaus

@optimisticmoonunknown

@alishii

@kazuko-stuff

@makanirock05

[ellieslittleslutt]

Two Clicks Away

streamer!ellie x streamer!reader

cw: fluff??? idk tbh but mainly js ellie being a loser

When ellie first started out on twitch she didnt have much followers nor viewers. she would sit at her shitty setup playing mainly resident evil 4 and fortnite. she would mainly just be talking to herself cursing out little kids when they killed her. ellie quickly grew over time getting over 500k followers and she had girls practically going FERAL over her “dominate me- WOAH THERE”

during her 500k special stream, she was going through the videos all her viewers sent her some were… questionable. she was sent a video of you. it was a clip from one of your streams basically just you yapping, a viewer in the chat asked you about your opinion on ellie “ thoughts on ellie williams? yeah she’s great! i really enjoy her minecraft and animal crossing streams, it’s so funny watching her rage over tom nook” you were laughing and the clip was basically you fangirling over her you face read and stumbling over your words.

ellies face was RED. she was blushing so much and she trying to hold back her nervous giggles, the truth is that she has had a massive crush on you ever since you started growing enjoying all your streams watching them all too nervous tp talk in the chat. what she didn't know is that you watched al her streams too.

the clip of Ellie getting all flustered on stream was going around on instagram, twitter, tumblr, reddit, anywhere she had a fans on really. it soon caught your attention and you saw how nervous she got at the clip so you decided to dm her on insta

bugwbitess: hey :)

what ellie didn't know is that you have such a huge crush on her keeping a folder of edits of ellie on you tik tok. ellie was doing a stream of shitty roblox horror games and she was scared out of her mind but wouldn’t let her viewers know. she saw the notification ‘bugbitess sent you a message.’ she was taking a break when you sent her the message “hack… fuck.. cough… oh shit.. wheeze..”

after the brief moment of panicking she soon mustered up the courage to reply and tried to seem like she didnt just almost choke because a cute girl was in her dms.

dinodestroyer: heyyy

‘fuck was that too many y’s?’ she mumbled to herself almost shaking holding her phone. “sorry about that chat i’m back” she says with an awkward chuckle and going back to the game.

the second you saw her message your face heated up red. you had no idea how much she was panicking and she had no idea how much you were too. “why the fuck are there so many y’s?” you say a loud with a slight giggle. you thought it was cute like she was nervous or something.

bugbitess: by any chance would you be interested in a colab? ik it’s a long shot but it’ll be fun :)

you thought it was probably very straight forward and soon but fuck it you like her and you’re pretty sure she likes you.

🦖

ellie didn’t reply for a while, first off because she wanted to finish her stream, secondly because she wanted to seem like she wasn’t waiting desperately by the phone (looking back at that she realizes that was probably a dick move). when she did reply it was 2 am so she was surprised to see you awake.

dinodestroyer: yeah ofc i would love that! when were you thinking of?

bugbitess: minecraft sound good?

dinodestroyer: sounds great i’ll call you on disc tomorrow 8 pm :)

bugbitess: see you then!

the truth is that ellie really hated minecraft. like seriously rage quits it too much for a healthy amount.. but since it was a cute girl asking her she of course had to say yes.

the next day when you guys started up the stream the chat was so confused “okay so bugbites is here and we’re playing minecraft today which i’m extremely good at” ellie says proudly and you just laugh “sure you are” you say starting up the game.

“dude what the fuck is thi- AGHH!” ellie screeched her voice cracking, you were saving her from a zombie spawner trying your best not to fold over laughing.

after a few hours of playing together ellie finally rage quit because she suffocated in gravel, “you shouldn’t be able to drown in gravel that’s just stupid!” she complained. “calm down it’s video game logic” you giggle .you guys end the stream but stay on call a little longer just to talk. “ellie?” you ask while she was drawing doing her own thing “yeah?”

“would you like to go out with me?”

an: erm so this is my first time writing an actual one shot so please be nice. I LOVE HER SM OMG OMG KMG

[blackenedsnow]

SHADOW X MOBIAN!READER REQUEST PLEASE

Here’s a funny fanfic idea, Shadow finds out his gf is an active 4chan member so he looks into 4chan to y’know bond with each other more but he finds the interesting content on the sites like When 4chan sent Taylor swift to a deaf kid school, when 4chan tried to send Justin biber to North Korea,Mlp rainbow dash jar,the time they hacked a website so the founder of 4chan would be the number 1 of time 100 etc etc

dark corners

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

NOTE: LMAO. This was such a fun idea to write! Hope you enjoy!

SUMMARY: Shadow, in an attempt to bond with you, stumbles across 4chan.... He just wanted to understand his girlfriend more.

"What is this?" Shadow muttered, his brow furrowing as his eyes scanned the glowing screen in front of him.

He had never considered himself a tech-savvy hedgehog, but recently, he had become curious about something you had mentioned in passing—your involvement in 4chan. At first, it seemed harmless enough, just another strange part of the world he didn't quite understand. But after hearing you talk about it with a strange mix of excitement and amusement, he figured he'd give it a shot.

"I’m sure it’s just a place for people to talk and share ideas," he'd told himself confidently. "It’ll be easy to understand. I’ll know more about her. We’ll bond."

The moment he typed “4chan” into the search bar, he realized that things weren’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped. The first thing he clicked on was a post about Taylor Swift almost being sent to a deaf school. He blinked, rereading it. Did they really do that?

Curiosity gnawed at him. He clicked deeper.

Then there was the one about Justin Bieber almost being sent to North Korea. Shadow's face twisted into a scowl. "What is wrong with these people?"

And then there were the pictures. The ones with Rainbow Dash. In a jar. Shadow leaned forward, squinting at the screen as his mind struggled to process what he was looking at.

His thoughts grew more complicated as he kept scrolling, he found posts about hacking, pranks, and more absurdities. The chaos of it all was overwhelming. He was beginning to feel like he had made a grave mistake, thinking he could understand the appeal of this “4chan.”

"How does this have anything to do with her?" he muttered to himself, trying to make sense of it. "This is pure madness."

Later that evening, you walked into the room, your eyes lighting up when you saw Shadow at the desk.

“Hey, Shadow! What’s up?” you asked, casually flopping onto the couch.

Shadow looked at you, a little uncomfortable. “I… I did what you said. I looked at 4chan. I thought I might understand you better.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And?”

Shadow hesitated, trying to collect his thoughts. “I… I don’t think I understand anything anymore.” He ran a hand through his quills in frustration. “Why would people… Why do they even do these things?”

You blinked, your lips twitching into a smile as you tried to hold back laughter. “Oh, you found that stuff, huh?”

“Found it? I was bombarded by it.” Shadow slumped into the chair, exasperated. “How can you enjoy a place like this?"

You chuckled, sitting up and giving him a playful look. “Yeah, it’s definitely weird. But that’s kind of the fun of it. It’s like... the internet's version of a circus. Weird stuff happens, and we just roll with it.”

Shadow sighed, rubbing his temples. “I feel like I’ve entered an alternate dimension. How is this supposed to help me understand you more?”

You smiled warmly, moving over to sit beside him. "Psh, who cares! Just appreciate it."

Shadow raised an eyebrow. “Appreciating chaos…” He took another look at the screen. “I suppose I did learn that I can’t understand a single thing that happens here. But... I’m still willing to try.”

Your grin softened, and you gently took his hand. "Hey, if you find yourself getting lost, at least you know now why I laugh so hard at this stuff.”

Shadow sighed, looking at the screen again. “If I must… But if I see one more pony....jar.... I swear I’ll…” He trailed off, trying to think of a fitting threat. But he couldn’t help but let out a short laugh. Maybe this was something they could bond over.

[sweatyracoon]

Savior with Fins

Notes: credit for the beautiful dividers by @cafekitsune <3

I know this isn't my best but I just really loved the idea

Warnings: language, mentions of drowning, passing out, sharks, angst

You often went fishing on your own. It was one of your favorite pass times, seeing as you grew up on an island.

It was a small but loving community, and you found solace in it's silence.

You never killed something on purpose, always throwing your catches back into the water.

There was a group of guys swarming around the rent a boat business you came to once a week, and you found yourself scoffing when you were placed on a larger rent a boat with the group.

"Sorry, y/n. Your boat is in the shop. A hole was found in the bottom. But this way, it's a lot cheaper for you,"

John said, awkwardly scratching at his nape.

You rolled your eyes, getting on the boat. The guys mostly kept their distance, too busy playing around with their rods, getting the hook stuck in one of their hoods.

They were immature, and extremely loud and lewd.

Ad the boat drifted into deeper territory, they all started shoving one another, making the vessel shake. Your balance faltered, and you nearly dropped your rod into the water.

"Hey! Do you mind? You scared off my catch, you pricks," you yelled at them, pacing towards the blonde haired boy.

"What are you gonna do about it, princess? If you didn't want to have fun, you should have gotten on a different boat,"

You scoffed.

"Fishing is me having fun, asshole. Your the ones preventing me from doing so," you turned, about to stride towards your side of the vessel when suddenly you felt your shoulders caged.

"If you wanna catch fish so bad, go fetch," you heard the voice say behind you.

Suddenly, the strong grip led you towards the edge, a strong shove sending you overboard.

You yelled as you felt the cold water nip at your skin, the tide engulfing you as you thrashed.

Your head bobbed above water, and you heard the sickening laughs of the teens above you.

The boat drifted off, leaving you stranded in the depths of the sea.

It was miles from the island, you wouldn't make it if you attempted swimming.

Still, despicable knowing that, your survival instincts made you swim, struggle with the push of the waves.

You pushed yourself for what felt like hours, your vision blurring as you inhaled salt water, the burn keeping you alert. Your limbs felt as if they were on fire despite the freezing water surrounding you.

You felt your eyes closing against your will, your body stilling as you floated, exhausted. Black was all you saw as you felt your brain turning to mush, a large crash of the sea slamming itself onto your body, pushing you below the surface.

You woke up, startled, coughing aggressively. You felt the water swishing in your lungs. You lunged forward, feeling it creep up your esophagus, spitting it out. The salt made it burn.

After you were done hacking up bits of the sea, your eyes adjusted to your unfamiliar surroundings.

It was almost like a nook, the ones you would see in the movies behind a waterfall. The rocks were moist and glistening, and a soft sound of water hitting water filled your ears. There was also a pit filled with water a few feet from you.

Your clothes were damp, and your back ached from laying on stone. You weren't sure for how long.

Wait. How did you end up here?

You looked around again, noticing no other life than you and a few bugs.

Splash!

You whipped your head back to the body of water, noticing a large fin smacking back down, the stray water hitting your exposed legs.

You got up to sit on your knees, glancing into the water.

What you saw frightened you.

Despite the large tail you just saw, when you peered at the figure, you saw a human-like form.

It was blurry from the waves, but you saw a pale skinned boy with light blonde hair, his figure shaking with the tide. His pale body seemed to end near his waist, the color darkening immediately to a dark gray.

But that wasn't what scared you.

It was his eyes. They glowed yellow underneath the water.

You jolted back when he appeared to be rising to the surface, your breath quickening.

You scuffed your knee against the jagged rocks that made up the ground you sat on. You winced, eyes drifting immediately to your fresh wound.

Your mind was still fuzzy from the pressure of the water and new found pain on your leg that you didn't notice the creature coming out of the water.

"Hey! Careful, you could really do some damage," you heard the voice say.

His voice was deep. And had a thick accent to it, compared to the people in town.

You were so surprised. Surely, his top half looked human, but you didn't expect him to be able to communicate.

"Hey, you okay?" He asked again.

When you finally looked at him, you saw he was plopped at the edge of the rock where it met the water.

There was no shallow parts there, just a straight dive into the deep.

"What?" You were still confused about the whole situation, suddenly wondering if you were dreaming.

"Are you alright? Do you know your name?" His gaze turned into concern, looking around for what? You didn't know.

"I'm fine, I think...I'm y/n," you stutter, suddenly feeling cold.

"Ah. A pretty name. I'm Felix. You look hungry," he observed, bringing his finger out to poke your knee.

You flinched, pulling back.

"Sorry...I've just never seen a person so up close," he muttered, pushing his body back into the water, his head still above the surface.

"You eat fish?" He asked.

"Yes, I do,"

Without another word, he left.

You were stuck in this dome like cave with very little lighting, since the sun was going down. You took it upon yourself to look around, and was surprised to find some dead plants.

You brought it all to one corner, grabbing some jagged rocks. You scraped them together aggressively, and eventually, you had a small fire.

You hoped it would last.

When he came back, there was a torn net holding at least twelve fish, and you chuckled as he hurled himself up the ledge, sighing dramatically.

"Wasn't sure how much people eat so I got extra!" He grinned.

You noticed his sharp, jagged teeth, but for some reason, it didn't bother you as much as it should have.

"What are you?"

It came out before you could stop yourself. It was weighing on your mind for a while, giving you time to ponder while he was gone.

His smile faltered before he hid it quickly.

"I'm a shark," he said simply with a grin, opening the net of fish.

He grabbed a stick next to him before spearing the aquatic animal onto it.

"Are you sure? Sharks don't really...talk?" You took the stick from him, holding it over your small fire.

"I don't know? Me and my friends are all like this. I mean- they aren't sharks, but we can all talk? My dad called us hybrids,"

"Hybrids? So your half human?"

"I think? I mean I kinda look like you, but then the other half doesn't-"

He proceeded to keep handing you fish to cook, and you continued to while speaking with him.

"So your friends? You said they aren't sharks?"

His eyes sparkled at the mentions of his friends, his posture straightening.

"Nope! We're all different. I mean, one is a dolphin, the other is a squid, another a sea horse. We all couldn't be more different."

You nodded.

"So they aren't scared of you? Your a predator hybrid," you say, curious.

His eyes widened.

"Oh god, no! I have never hurt them or anyone. Honestly we're fearful of Minho, but I'm a playful way. He's the dolphin,"

You smile.

"I hear dolphins are the most dangerous animal out there,"

You both laughed.

"You might be right,"

It became silent suddenly, but it was a comfortable silence. The fish we're all cooked, so now you both ate.

"Do you remember how you got here?" Felix asked after cleaning the mess up.

You stilled, forgetting completely that you don't belong here. But he made you so comfortable, it feels like you had known him for years.

"Uhh, I fell off a boat? I was fishing I think." Your brain once again turned into mush.

"Two boys pushed you off the boat, y/n. I was lucky I got to you in time. The currents were harsh."

His eyes filled with sadness, his arm reaching up to rest on your calf.

You looked back at him, gauging his words. You remember yelling at the boys, but not being pushed off.

"I forgot," was all you could say.

"Listen, maybe you need some rest. It was a stressful day, after all. I can take you back to the island in the morning?" He tilted his head, his sharp teeth flicking through his lips.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. What about you?"

"I don't sleep much. I can keep the fire going, and go to find something for you to use on the water. If I don't, you'd probably get hypothermia," he grinned, his fin flicking against the water.

You smiled.

"The fire won't hurt you, will it?"

"No. As long as I get back to the water afterwards," he shrugged, scooting over to tend to the fire. "See?"

"Thank you Felix," you laughed, suddenly feeling insanely tired.

The last thing you saw was a heartwarming smile from him before it went dark.

You woke up to the sound of splashing, and fought the sun to open your eyes.

"Y/n? You ready to go?"

Your eyes Open to a cute, wet Felix. Behind him was a floating piece of wood, one that would be able to carry your weight.

"Yeah,"

He led you onto the platform, gently caressing your waist.

"Comfortable?" He asked, his hands hooked onto the sides.

"Yes, Felix I'm okay," you pat his head, watching his face contort into many emotions.

Confusion, denial, acceptance, enjoyment, happinesses.

He liked it.

"Alright, I'll be under the water this entire time, pulling from a rope okay?"

He almost looked like he didn't want to leave you out of his sight. It was endearing.

Wat you didn't know, however, was that he watched you sleep for hours. Not in a creepy way, but he knew it was cold, and didn't want you getting sick or anything. He admired you and your form. He would kill to have legs, and everything else that you do. Life underwater was harsh, even for him. It didn't matter if he was a shark hybrid or not. His caring and empathetic nature wouldn't let him be the predator he should be.

After making sure you were settled, he led you back home.

It took around thirty five minutes before you saw the big piece of floating land, but when you did, you felt your speed slowing down.

"Felix?" You asked, since he didn't come out of the water yet.

The water here compared to the cave was a lot darker. Why? You didn't know. But you were worried the rope cut loose and he didn't know.

It wasn't until you heard water from behind you that you started to worry.

"Felix. What's wrong? Did the rope snap?" You asked, bring your hand up to his wet hair.

He almost looked as if he were going to cry.

"Are you gonna forget about me, y/n?" He choked.

Your heart nearly broke.

"Of course not, Felix. Why would you think that?" You continued petting his head, watching his eyes roll back.

"You'll never see me again,"

"Woah woah woah. Says who? I can still see you, can't I?" You stop him, cursing yourself.

You hadn't even thought that far ahead.

"How would you? We are two different worlds, y/n,"

His eyes were large and shiny with emotion, making you swoon.

"I fish once a week. When I'm on the boat, you come find me, yeah?"

His eyes lit up suddenly, his demeanor changing.

"Really? You'd let me see you?"

"Of course, Felix. You saved my life!" You both laughed.

His light chuckle filled the air, despite being in the middle of the ocean.

"Alright, let's get you home,"

[magicalbats]

Soft Edges (Harumasa x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 3756

Warnings: afab!reader, chronic illness, piv, condoms, angst with porn

⭐

Spring rains bring summer flowers, and the clawing death rattle at the end of the world.

The moisture in the air bothers his lungs. 

You spend some time puttering around in his small kitchenette, preparing a herbal infused tea to help soothe the ache in his throat while he coughs and hacks incessantly in the other room. It makes the one bedroom apartment smell vaguely like an apothecary rather than a hospital bed. 

That seems to come as a relief almost as much as the warm drink does when he sips on it, humming a low sound of appreciation before thanking you for the thoughtful gesture. 

Sitting on the edge of the mattress with him, you study Harumasa for any signs of further deterioration in his condition. There were good days and there were bad days, and today was just unfortunate enough to be one of the latter. The hot tea and its medicinal properties seem to do him some good though. He doesn’t look like he’s in the process of actively dying on you, at least. 

Noticing your lingering stare on him, he lifts his attention to peer over at you. “What? Is there something on my face?” His voice is still a bit raspy. Weak. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Oh, come on. Tell me where it is so I can get it.” His unoccupied hand, the one not currently wrapped around the cup he’s got braced against his knee, comes up to swipe at the corner of his mouth, his cheek. But the knowing twinkle in his eye belies his sincerity and gives him away. 

Laughing despite your best attempt not to, you reach out to gently tug his arm back down. “Stop that. You know I’m just worried about you. It’s not nice to tease me.” 

“But I told you I’m fine, sweetheart. There’s nothing to worry about.” He assures you, his fingers snatching at yours before you can pull them out of his reach. 

Successfully snagging them, he makes quick work of sliding his palm over yours and fitting the digits together like they were a perfectly aligned puzzle snapping into place. 

And beyond the sterile sanctity of his apartment, the pelting rain buffets at the windows, an incessant staccato played to the tune of the howling wind.  

His skin feels clammy, you notice, and you wonder if you should go get the space heater out of the closet in the hallway. It was almost summer in New Eridu but the rain had brought with it an unseasonable chill that had even made you opt for a hoodie before venturing outside. He was probably feeling it worse than you were. 

“Haru - -“ 

“You don’t need to fret over me so much every time you come over,” He tells you gently, his thumb idly brushing over the back of your knuckles. “No matter how much you may want to be, you’re not actually a nurse you know. And for the better, really.” 

“Why is that?” You ask, earning yourself a softly husking laugh from him. 

“You’re way too cute, for starters. I’d never be able to control myself and I’d get into all sorts of trouble. Can you imagine your patient popping a hard on in the middle of you trying to help them get dressed? You’d hate it too, don’t lie.” 

Rolling your eyes at that, you start to pull away but he holds fast to your hand. The way he snickers, low and quiet, like his lungs couldn’t take anything more than that, almost pulls at your heartstrings enough to distract you from his real angle. But at the same time it’s also an intimately familiar sound that you don’t associate with his illness at all, in so much as you could separate one from the other. He often laughed like that when he was in the process of turning your own body utterly against you. 

Warming at the thought, you shoot him a halfhearted look of warning. “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not incapable of dressing yourself then.”

“Mm, perhaps. But I’m afraid that’s not gonna’ stop me from getting a hard on though.”

He throws you a playful wink to go with it and you draw a quick breath to chide him for not taking his health more seriously, for always downplaying his own mysterious maladies. But the words catch in your throat when he suddenly tugs your captured hand across his lap. 

Right into the center is where he presses it, making sure you feel the stirring outline of him through his cozy pajama bottoms. That he’d managed to change into them at all before knocking out under the medicated lull of myriad sleep aids and nervous system suppressing narcotics the night before was likely a small miracle. Sometimes the looming possibility of Harumasa needing help with basic everyday functions like dressing himself did not seem like such a far off what-if.  

It was not yet that day though and he was still in control of his body, at least for the time being. 

Lifting your gaze, you find his eyes underneath the attractively tousled fringe of his bangs where it was slipping forward without the usual headband in place to keep his hair back. He’s smiling at you, a barely there upward curl of his mouth that almost reads of fatigue rather than sly intent. The ghostly suggestion of tension lines on his otherwise blemish free face further solidifies that impression. 

But the way he looks at you speaks volumes, loudly conveying the message of the young man he might have been if he were not so plagued by ill health. He was sickly, yes. There was no getting around that uncomfortable truth no matter how much he tried to write off the severity of it. 

Yet he was by all accounts in the prime of his life, or he should have been anyway. Just a headstrong twenty something with the libido to match. He wanted to live, to experience. You could certainly give him that. 

“Are you sure?” At his nod, you carefully adjust your hand to close your fingers around the slowly stiffening length of him. He breathes a quiet sigh when you squeeze it through the thin layer of his bottoms. Keen and perfectly eager, but as always you were wary about going into it too hard and too fast. Especially after that coughing fit he had earlier … 

“Don’t make that face,” He murmurs. Stretching his arm out to the side, he sets the nearly empty cup on the bedside table right next to the menagerie of prescription pill bottles left out in disarray. “You’re not going to break me or kill me. Promise. I said I’m fine, didn’t I?” 

You think the two of you must have drastically different ideas of what it means to be fine but you don’t say that to him or push the topic any further than that. For his sake as much as for your own. 

And when Harumasa reaches for you, pulling you in against him, you willingly relent and sink happily into the familiar warmth of his lean, athletic frame. He feels sturdy enough that you don’t let your mind linger on it any longer than necessary and instead give yourself over to the searing kiss he presses into your mouth. You trust him to know his own limits, to recognize when something was actually wrong versus when he was just going through a bad flare up or having a shitty day. If he was feeling well enough to initiate this then you were happy to oblige. 

Which was the real crux of it, wasn’t it? The problem with a casual hookup turned long term relationship through some inexplicable means that you still weren’t entirely clear on even to this very day. What should have been a one time exchange somehow became months spent together, and now these sorts of physical exchanges were one of the rare comforts you still had that everything was going to be okay. Somehow, someway, it would all work out in the end. 

Because he certainly doesn’t seem frail and prone to illness when he bodily hauls you up further onto the bed so he can toss you down next to him with an expert flip. Your weight bounces against the mattress once from the momentum and then he’s on top of you, pinning you in place underneath him. The Harumasa you’d met that very first night and the one you make herbal tea for to soothe his throat were sometimes difficult to reconcile in your mind. But there was no mistaking that they were indeed one and the same in moments like this. 

Leaning over you, his mouth meets yours in a slow motion crash, hungry and eager to taste, eliciting a low moan of wanting from you. Kissing him back, you lift your arms to twine them around his neck while his hands slip under your hoodie to feel along your front. The shirt underneath is quickly rucked up to give him access to your chest where he hooks his fingers into the band of your bra, inching it down while his tongue tangles with yours.  

You gladly arch into his touch and your tits slip free to brush against the interior of your sweatshirt unimpeded. The sensation makes you full on shudder. Tearing your mouth away from his, you loose a quaking exhale into the still apartment which he responds to with a soft groan. The sound makes your socked toes curl as he shoves a hard kiss into the soft swell of your cheek, your jaw, then your neck. 

Unable to go any further past the bulk of the hood gathered around your throat, Harumasa pushes back just enough to give himself room to work. Grabbing the hem and shoving it up to bunch under your chin, he quickly brings his hands back down to slip them into your stretchy leggings next. Your achingly stiff nipples strain in the open air now, making the growing knot in your lower stomach tighten even more. 

A new buzzing thrum of anticipation runs through you as you lift your hips up off the bed, allowing him the space needed to yank them down your legs. They’re immediately discarded as soon as he’s got them off, carelessly tossed to the floor before he crawls back up to cover your body with his again. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, lowering himself to his elbows so he can fully cage you in. His mouth finds its way to yours as if pulled by some invisible string and you drag your hands down his lithe frame while you exchange another heated kiss. 

Sliding underneath the rumpled back of his long sleeved shirt, your fingers quickly locate the top band of his pants and tug. The two of you are pressed too tight together in a tangle of limbs, slowly grinding against one another, for you to pull them more than half of the way down. That’s decidedly fine though, and you take to gently kneading over the exposed strip of his ass with encouraging squeezes that just make him press into you even harder. 

The outline of his cock is rigid and unrelenting where it digs against you, moulding your panties to the shape of your labia. You’re eager for the friction of his cock moving inside you, flesh sliding against warm, sticky flesh, and you can tell he is too. Yet he doesn’t rush it and instead takes his time savoringly rolling his hips as if to drag it out and make it last just that little bit longer. 

Or, an unhelpful voice in the back of your mind suggests, maybe this slow tempoed pace is all he can handle right now. 

That chilling thought curbs any impulse you might have to speed things up and take your pleasure from him, allowing Harumasa to set the pace while you simply follow his lead. The first night you’d met after a brief exchange of text messages you’d wrestled with him for dominance in this very bed to see who would come out on top. Now, however, you’re pliant and perfectly in tune with the signals of his body, lessening the demanding pressure of your hands when his breath starts to become a bit too labored. 

Groaning a shuddering noise of appreciation, he nudges himself down to your chest where he covers one pert nipple with his mouth. A roughly calloused palm comes up to grab and pinch at the other while he suckles your teat to aching attention, using his lips and his tongue to lave at the bud. His pulse soon seems to even out again and the shallow contractions of his chest become not quite so dramatic. Still, you worry about him. 

“You should switch me spots, Haru.” You tell him gently as you thread your fingers through his soft, silken hair, cradling him to your breast. “Let me be on top this time.” 

Harumasa comes up off your tit to shoot you an overly confident smirk, one you’re not quite sure he can back up right now. But you don’t protest or tell him to stop when he reaches between you to fist at his pants, shoving them down in the front to let his cock spring loose. “That won’t be necessary. Really, I had no idea I was dating such a mother hen. I’m not made of glass, babe.” 

A mournful chord curls through you, dousing the knotted heat in your stomach by some small margin. 

At the same time the rain picks up outside as if mirroring the tumultuous rising current of emotion in your chest. It smacks at the windows so hard they begin to rattle in their frames, thunder booming loudly somewhere in the not far off distance. The storm was getting worse. You hope the electricity doesn’t go out. 

“I know you’re not.” 

“Well, that’s good to hear.” Keeping his tone light and playful, Harumasa stretches over you to pull open the bedside table drawer. A condom is quickly located and pulled out, the foil wrapper crinkling lightly when he starts to rip it open. “Even if I was on my deathbed I think I could still make you scream. I wouldn’t underestimate me if I were you.” 

“Please don’t joke like that.” You snip back at him, not finding it even remotely funny. But he just laughs another low snickering sound as rolls the flesh colored rubber over his stiff cock almost down to the base. Feeling a mild pang of remorse, you draw a careful breath and say much more gently, “You don’t have to wear those if you don’t want to, Haru. I told you I’m taking birth control.” 

Humming a quiet sound, he gives himself a brief pump of his hand over the latex before settling between your legs once again, his hips nudging close to line up with yours. “Don’t worry about it. This is just fine.” 

You’re not so sure you believe that. But for as long as you've known him he’s always been adamant about using protection and you don’t understand his reasons enough to really argue against it. He’d said once he just didn’t want to take any risks or run the chance of leaving you worse off than when you’d met him. You hadn’t been sure what to make of that then and you still don’t know what to make of it now.

There were a great many things about Harumasa that remained a mystery to you though, like what exactly was wrong with him, what his diagnosis was. No matter how you posed the question he was never outright or forthcoming about that either. And while it bothered you sometimes, undeniably so, you’d found that your feelings for him were much too tender for you to push him on such topics. He’d tell you when and if he was ever ready. 

So you reach up and take him into your arms, pulling him against your chest while he tugs your panties to the side with his thumb. His mouth angles towards yours on a steady, unfaltering trajectory and he kisses you deeply, sinking into you with a stilted sigh of relief. 

The weight of his body coming to rest on top of you prods the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing in on clinging, sticky viscous arousal. You’re keenly aware of the heat of him even through the barrier of the condom and you issue a faint moan against his lips as your legs come up to lock around his waist. The careful squeeze you give him has Harumasa sinking inside you, slowly stretching your inner sleeve to the now familiar shape and size of him. 

Another teeth rattling peel of thunder sounds right overhead, as if the very center of the storm was hovering directly above the building. Perhaps it was watching the scene play out, its destructive energy growing and cresting in time with your pleasure while the two of you move in tandem with each other. Or maybe it had taken offense to the measly little ants getting it on first thing in the morning instead of bowing down and cowering in the face of its mighty wrath. 

Or maybe — just maybe, it was trying to warn you. One of you, both of you. You or him. It was impossible to say when the notion itself was so ludicrous but you can’t quite shake the feeling of existential uncertainty that sits like a lead weight in your gut now. 

It feels good having him thrust inside of you, just like you’d known it would. If you were only a bit more naive, in fact, you might have almost thought Harumasa had been made for you, and you him, given the way he seems to rub against every single pleasure inducing nerve ending along the way. You can’t help but grow wetter for him, tightening for him when your muscles eagerly clench down on the steel of his galvanized length. And you freely moan into his mouth where he’s still kissing you between soft rattling groans but … 

Why was he so dead set on using condoms even at this casually crucial junction of the relationship, after all these months spent together in sickness and in health? Did he not trust you? Did he think you were lying about the birth control and he simply wanted to avoid being stuck with you indefinitely? 

Or — could it actually be that the problem lies with him, resting squarely on his shoulders rather than yours? Did he fear what taking that final step would mean, what the end result of it might manifest when he was always prone to bad bouts of illness? 

Was the looming possibility of the existential end really so close that he needed to worry about such things? 

This was no way for a twenty something to live, and you cling to him all the more fervently for it, desperately clutching him to you like a lifeline. You wanted to save him but you don’t know how, so you open your body to him instead. Shelter, comfort and peace; the safe haven of flesh and blood, and heated breaths swapped back and forth between two locked mouths. 

And Harumasa gladly loses himself in you as if in chasing his release he could also escape the cold, bony fingers that hover just out of reach behind him. His flexing hips quicken, smacking into you with abandon now, and he sobs a frantic moan that you greedily swallow, taking it into yourself before feeding it back to him. 

His skin is so clammy under your hands. Like even the flush of arousal couldn’t completely disperse the chill that’s taken up root in him, and your heart skips a harrowing beat when his labored breaths suddenly turn thick with choking little gasps. His chest positively heaves against yours as your hands fly up to take his cheeks between your palms, carefully pushing him back just enough to look into his face. 

Expression wretched, Harumasa whimpers a low sound as if in apology while his pace slows to a weak crawl, almost a total standstill. He doesn’t completely stop fucking into you though, his cock stiffly nudging through your slick inner sleeve at such a stilted, uneven rhythm you know finishing like this will be impossible for you. But that doesn’t really matter now. It’s the very least of your concerns as you softly shush him, cooing gentle reassurances that make him screw his eyes shut as if he were in pain. 

He barely manages to reach his peak before the coughing takes hold of him again. It doubles him over and makes him collapse on top of you where he proceeds to shove his face into the pillow next to your head. You’re only distantly aware of his cock flexing within you and filling the tip of the condom with impotent seed, the vast majority of your attention fixed on the way he hacks and wheezes through the fit that assails him. It bows his spine into a dramatic, worrying hunch which you gently try to smooth out with your hand. It’s no use though. He can’t seem to get it under control. 

“Harumasa, let me help you.” 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He croaks, very clearly not fine. 

Sucking in a sharp, clawing breath that seems to rip his throat on the way down, he slowly manages to rouse himself enough to pull out and roll off of you. You’re quick to follow him though, pushing up to your elbow so you can look down at him while your hand continues to ineffectively rub over his shuddering back. He sounds like he’s going to cough out a lung. The thought of calling for an ambulance momentarily crosses your mind but you know how he feels about the hospital. Only if it’s an actual emergency, he’d once told you. 

But how the hell were you supposed to know when that line had been crossed? 

Unsure what else to do, you lean further over him so you can reach down and carefully help him take the used condom off. It’s a difficult task in this position, when he’s half curled over on his side like this, still struggling to get his breathing under control, but you manage, somehow. Just like with everything else, you try to make it work. 

And outside the unsympathetic storm rages on. 

⭐

Crossposted: here