#and forever owe somebody something

[rokurookajima]

waking up ready to cry but also .. with a cruel angel’s thesis stuck in my head lol

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Dawg Mentality

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

POV: First-Person

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Basketball, Protective Paige, Established Relationship, UConn Women’s Basketball, Tournament Game, Trash Talk, Revenge Arc, Soft Moments, Humor

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: don’t mess with what’s Paige’s… or you’ll get hurt…

🏷️: @yailtsv , @elalfywhore , @azziswrld , @paige05bby

Flashback – March 2024

I stared at my phone screen, rereading the email for the tenth time.

“Dear [Y/N],

We are pleased to inform you that your transfer application has been accepted. You are officially enrolled as a sophomore student-athlete at the University of Connecticut for the upcoming academic year.”_

My breath hitched.

This was real. I was officially out.

The toxic cycle, the whispered apologies that meant nothing, the empty promises that “it would get better”—I was leaving all of it behind.

I was leaving her behind.

A weight lifted from my shoulders, and for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe.

I went to her dorm the following week to break things off.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

My voice wavered slightly, but I kept my chin high as I stood in the dimly lit dorm room, arms crossed over my chest. My (now ex) girlfriend sat on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched, eyes burning with something between disbelief and irritation.

“The fuck are you talking about, bro?” she scoffed, shaking her head as if I had just told her the sky wasn’t blue.

I exhaled, already feeling the familiar exhaustion that came with every argument. The manipulation, the guilt-tripping, the way she always found a way to make me feel like I was the problem—it was a cycle I was finally breaking.

“You,” I said, my voice firmer now. “I’m talking about you. The way you treat me. The way you act like I owe you my patience when you don’t even try to meet me halfway. I’m done.”

She laughed, the kind that wasn’t really amused. “You’re really about to throw this away over some dumb shit?”

I shook my head. “This wasn’t love. This was you using me as a crutch and tearing me down when I didn’t bend to your will.”

“You deadass just gonna leave?” she asked, voice laced with irritation.

I exhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

“You think UConn’s gonna make you happy?” She scoffed, stepping closer. “What, you think Paige Bueckers gon’ save you or something?”

I rolled my eyes. “This has nothing to do with Paige.”

She leaned in, tone dropping to something more condescending. “You’ll be back.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, I won’t.”

I turned on my heel and walked out.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt free.

Big East Tournament, Semifinals – March 2025

The energy in the arena was electric, the crowd buzzing as we battled for a spot in the Big East Championship game. I had worked my ass off since transferring to UConn, determined to prove myself, and this moment felt surreal.

My ex scoffed. “You still soft as hell, huh? Thought running to UConn would make you somebody.”

I had already ran back to defense so I heard nothing even though it was directed to me.

Paige, however she heard it clear as day. Now with just over five minutes left in the quarter, my ex sagged off Paige, daring her to shoot.

Bad idea.

Paige took one dribble, stepped back, and let it fly. The ball swished through the net so cleanly it barely touched the rim. The crowd exploded.

And then it happened.

That’s when she turned, eyes locked on my ex, and let it rip:

“Fuck is you talkin ’bout?”

The TV broadcast caught it too, her expression sharp, unimpressed—borderline disrespectful.

Paige didn’t care though. She was already back on defense, jaw tight, locked in. The clip however was already trending before the quarter even ended.

And the crowd’s reaction to her 3 pointer was instant. The bench was on their feet. Even the commentators took a second to process what they had just witnessed.

Even thought they couldn’t hear it they knew, that it was to someone on the opposing team.

Paige wasn’t the type to get into it with opponents. Unless we’re talking about Hopkins Paige; or Paige who constantly at the refs for a “genuine conversation”, but this March Madness Paige. She was calm, calculated, a silent assassin.

But when my ex had the nerve to call me out my name, Paige flipped a switch.

And now? Now she was playing even more like she had something to prove, the she already was.

By halftime, we were up by 10. Paige had 21 points. She was playing angry. Not sloppy, not reckless—but with a different kind of edge. One that sent a message.

And the message was clear: Don’t fuck with mine.

I had been on the bench the third quarter enjoying Paige be a menace, but came the fourth quarter i was my time to shine again, at least what was left of it.

The fourth quarter had been nothing short of chaotic, but in the best way possible. The team was buzzing, and the energy in the gym had only amplified as the game came to a close. With the game already in our hands, Coach let me take the court for the final 2 minutes, alongside Caroline, KK, Jana, and Allie. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I jogged out onto the floor, ready to contribute in any way I could.

Caroline had just drained a three-pointer with 1:22 left, and the crowd erupted into cheers as our lead grew even more solid. There was a certain magic in the air. I could feel it, the weight of the moment. But as the final seconds ticked down, I was more focused on something deeper. Something personal.

My ex, every time I glanced at her, I felt a sense of resolve settle in my chest. She’d never thought I’d be here, playing on this stage, with a leading and trusting team. She thought I was weak, but now? Now I was stronger than I ever was with her.

The clock wound down. The energy in the gym was buzzing, everyone anticipating the final moments of the game. KK had the ball, and it was clear we were running down the clock. But instead of taking the last possession herself, she did something unexpected—she handed me the ball.

“All you, girl,” KK said, her eyes flicking over to me with a smirk. “Finish it out.”

I nodded, my fingers curling around the ball as I took control. The play was simple: run out the clock. But as I started to dribble, something else took over. My gaze locked with my ex’s across the court. The moment felt like it was frozen in time. She was looking at me, trying to project that same sense of power she once had over me, but I wasn’t the same girl who had left her a year ago. Not anymore.

I dribbled slowly, letting the seconds tick away. But I wasn’t just running out the clock; I was making a statement. My ex could keep trying to undermine me, but I wasn’t going to let her affect me anymore. I wasn’t some girl she could push around. I was here, at UConn, playing in a championship-caliber game. I was thriving, and she had nothing to do with that.

The crowd started to chant, the cheers growing louder with each second that passed. My eyes stayed locked on hers, unwavering. I could see the frustration building in her expression as she realized that she couldn’t touch me anymore, couldn’t control me.

With 22.6 seconds left, I kept dribbling. I stared her down. And just as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game, I let the ball bounce a little more before gently passing it to the referee.

And just like that, the game was over.

We’d won, but more than that, I’d won. The girl who once doubted me, who tried to tear me down—she was nothing now. Because the only person who mattered was me.

And Paige. The girl who had been beside me every step of the way. The girl who made sure I knew that I was worth so much more than what my ex had ever made me believe.

As I turned to the bench, I saw Paige waiting for me with that look—soft and knowing. She’d seen it all. And without saying a word, she pulled me into a quick hug, her smile saying everything. We did this.

The energy on the bus was high. Azzi and KK were clowning Paige for her outburst, Ice was scrolling through Twitter looking at all the reactions, and CD… well, CD was trying really hard to pretend she hadn’t heard it.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I smirked. “Because you’re insane.”

She shrugged, a small grin tugging at her lips. “She started it.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t fight the warmth blooming in my chest. “Still. That was so unnecessary.”

Paige turned in her seat, eyes locking onto mine. “Nah,” she said seriously. “Nobody talks to you like that. Not on my watch.”

My stomach flipped, and before I could overthink it, I leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Paige grinned, her hand immediately finding mine and lacing our fingers together.

“You love me,” she teased.

I scoffed. “I tolerate you.”

She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Wow. After I just risked getting fined for unsportsmanlike conduct? This is crazy.”

I bit back a laugh, shaking my head. “You were wild for that.”

“Worth it.”

Before I could respond, CD’s voice cut through the chatter on the bus.

“Paige.”

I winced as Paige turned in her seat, facing CD, who was now standing right in front of us.

“You know I should be chewing you out for that little… exchange back there.” CD’s expression was stern, but there was something almost amused in her eyes.

Paige, to her credit, looked somewhat remorseful. “Yeah… my bad.”

CD let out a long-suffering sigh pinching the bridge of her nose, before shaking her head. “Just don’t make it a habit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“No promises, though.” Paige muttered under her breath as CD had made it back to her seat. She nudged me. “She let me slide.”

I laughed, squeezing her hand. “She knew why you did it.”

Paige smirked. “Dawg mentality.”

I snorted, nudging her. “You wild for that, you know.”

Paige turned to me, expression softer now. “She shouldn’t have said that shit to you.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” Paige interrupted. Her voice was firm but gentle. “You don’t deserve that. And if she thought she was gonna talk crazy and get away with it? Nah. Not happenin. Especially not bout my girl.”

I smiled, leaning into her. “My hero.”

Paige smirked. “Always.”

I rested my head on her shoulder, exhaling as the adrenaline from the game finally started to wear off.

She kissed the top of my head, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I got you, ma.”

“I know, baby.” I say left my eyes flutter shut as we go back to the hotel.

The hotel room felt like a calm oasis after the chaos of the game, and I was grateful for it. The only sounds filling the space were the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft clicks of our shoes against the floor as we moved through the room.

Paige and I had just finished our game day recovery routine. She was lying back on the bed with a towel draped around her neck, still a little sweaty but relaxed now that the intensity of the game had worn off. I, on the other hand, was sitting on the edge of the bed, carefully pouring myself a glass of Cheribundi Tart cherry juice. It was part of my usual recovery routine — carefully concentrated with melatonin and magnesium, the perfect way to help my body unwind after such a grueling game.

Paige, curious as always, watched me pour the juice with an eyebrow raised.

“What’s that stuff?” she asked, scrunching her nose in curiosity.

I took a sip of my drink before looking at her. “It’s Cheribundi. Tart cherry juice. Helps with recovery and sleep. It’s part of my routine.”

“Let me try some,” she said, sitting up and leaning toward the glass.

I handed it over, and she took a hesitant sip, her face morphing into one of exaggerated disgust. “Whoa. That’s… strong.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I told you, it’s tart.”

She took another sip, this time cringing a little less. “Okay, I mean, I can get behind it, but only if there’s like… a bunch of sugar in it.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” I teased, taking another sip of my own drink.

She shook her head. “I’ll stick to my smoothies.”

I smiled and leaned back, feeling the warmth of the moment wash over me. For the first time in a long while, I realized just how healthy the love I had with Paige was. No drama. No chaos. Just simple, genuine affection and understanding. She supported me through everything, and I felt the same for her. I never knew it could feel this safe, this right.

After finishing our recovery routine, we both collapsed onto the bed, too tired to do much else. The lights were off, but we kept the TV on in the background.

Paige was flipping through the channels when she landed on SpongeBob SquarePants, a childhood favorite of both of ours. We exchanged a look, and I could tell Paige was about to make some smart remark about it, but instead, she just let out a little laugh.

“I can’t believe we’re watching SpongeBob,” she muttered, settling into the bed beside me.

“It’s a classic,” I said, chuckling. “Plus, we deserve a chill night.”

“Fair point,” she said, shifting so she was closer to me. “You’re right. This is what we need.”

As the TV played softly in the background, I grabbed my phone and opened Instagram. I took a quick photo of the screen—Paige and I both slumped in bed, half-watching, half-listening. I posted it to my spam story with a caption: Post-game recovery with my girl 💕 #tiredbuthappy and tagged Paige in it.

Paige grinned at me when she saw the post. “I can’t believe you just put that on your story.”

I smirked. “Hey, I’m documenting this beautiful moment of us bonding over SpongeBob. You should be honored.”

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t seem bothered. She scooted even closer to me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I’m honored, I guess.”

I smiled and rested my head on her shoulder, letting out a contented sigh. There was no place I’d rather be than right here, with her.

We spent the rest of the night laughing at the absurdity of SpongeBob’s antics, until my eyelids started to feel heavy. It was the kind of peace I hadn’t known before.

“Goodnight, ma,” Paige murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Night, babe,” I whispered back, feeling my body relax completely.

The screen flickered, the quiet hum of the show still in the background, but I was already starting to drift off to sleep, my body and mind finally at rest.

And as I fell asleep with Paige beside me, I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[rioromanoffroses]

"Isn't she gorgeous?"

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Requested

Warnings: 18+ content, breast sucking, fingering (R receiving), orgasm denial, strap-on use (R receiving), cock-sucking, vaginal sex, degrading, praising, profanity

Summary: Your husband, Steve Rogers, has been romantically and sexually starving you ever since he became an Avenger. After borrowing money from notorious crime leader, Natasha Romanoff, she breaks into your house to get what she's owed. However, when she finds you, his gorgeous wife innocently asleep next to him, you catch her interest and her plans change instantly.

Pairings: top dom!Natasha Romanoff x bottom sub!reader, Steve Rogers x Reader (nothing romantic or sexual happens)

Trigger Warnings: blood, gun wound, reference to implied SA (blink and you'll miss it).

“Y/n?” you nearly sent the plate in your hand flying to the floor, dropping it into the washing bowl before spinning around to see your husband in the doorway. You shook your head, sure that your eyes were deceiving you. He was never here even when he promised, never mind three weeks early. 

“Steve,” you said, drying your hands and rushing over to him but before you could pull him into a hug, he caught a hold of your shoulders to stop you. His touch sent a stab of pain into your chest and you were snapped back to reality, falling away from the lingers of a past moment you had momentarily forgotten wasn’t your present. You straightened your figure and took a step back, looking up at the man that had once been the light of your life, a guide in the darkness, someone special to share all the good with but now, he could’ve been a stranger.

You had been married for three years, together for five and the first few years would be the most treasured moments of your life. But ever since he had become an Avenger, it had consumed his sole purpose. 

Steve was always out fighting, carving his mark, making the world proud of his heroism while you stayed at home doing chores and completing mindless activities to pass the time. There was once a time where you could’ve sworn you saw Universes in his eyes. Now, his skin had been drained of colour and his eyes were rimmed with red as if he were a ghost that was forever cursed to haunt his loved ones. “What are you doing here?” you quizzed.

“I’m sorry," he said, bowing his head, “I’ve got into a bit of trouble, I wanted to make sure you were safe.” You frowned. 

“What trouble?” you questioned, “is there a villain after you? Can’t the Avengers help you?” You didn’t even bother hiding the bitterness in my voice. They were clearly everything he ever needed, what use were you to him? He sighed.

“Not exactly,” he said, “we should probably sit down.” You followed him into the dining room with caution in your steps, not taking your eyes off him. The walls were a fading, off-white, elaborate flowers twisted between leaves and detailed patterns, wooden panelling running along across the bottom. The light fixture in the centre was brass with three upturned light bulbs, the dining tables and chairs a polished rosewood. Steve had wanted the room like this because it reminded him of his Grandmother. It was awkward to clean and there was always a build of dust in here. You took a seat opposite him.

“What’s going on?” you said. He scratched the back of his neck.

“I know what you’re going to think but… alright I’ll just tell you. I took out a loan from someone a bit dodgy and I haven’t quite paid them back.” You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s ‘haven’t quite’ supposed to mean?” you said, raising your voice. 

“I haven’t paid them back, okay?” he exclaimed, “look, all I wanted to do was buy you a new house, I wanted to make you happy since you hate this one so much. I don’t see anything wrong with wanting to spoil my girl.” Generosity – the easiest attainable remedy for guilt.

“Well, I see something wrong with borrowing money you can’t pay back, especially from somebody that can put you and other people in danger,” you said, pushing yourself onto your feet, “what were you thinking Steve?” He slammed his fists onto the table and you jumped, your heart thumping against your ribcage.

“Listen, I thought I would have the money by now. It’s not my fault I can’t see into the future, you know I wouldn’t have even thought about it if I knew.” You closed your eyes, exhaling a long breath, trying to keep your composure. There were a hundred things you wanted to say to him right now but it wasn’t worth it. You either lived in peace or chaos; either way, nothing changed. 

“I thought I knew a lot of things about you but they turned out to all be wrong,” you said, “so I don’t know anymore. Nothing you do surprises me.” You stormed back into the kitchen, not wanting him to waste anymore of your time. You had dishes to do and by now, the water would’ve gone cold. 

“Y/n, come on. You haven’t seen me in three months and this is how you’re going to treat me?”

“I have dishes to do,” you said, picking up the plate you had dropped before, polishing it until it shone in the dim light peeking through the curtains, “someone has to keep the house clean.” And clearly, it wasn’t going to him. You felt a firm hand on my shoulder and all the muscles in your body tensed.

“I know you’re mad at me.” You scoffed. Mad wasn’t the right word – it was an array of messy emotions tangled together that had been fraying for years. There was more than just anger here, that was just an old friend that had withered and grown back into something much more cruel now. “Just please… let me make it up to you. I could die on a mission one day you know, you never know when one of these moments could be our last.” He had tried guilt tripping you before – it was a simple yet effective way of shifting blame onto the other person to ease your conscience. These games were getting so predictable. 

“And I’d be the last one to know,” you said, “maybe if I was lucky, I’d see it on the news.” You placed the last plate on the drying rack, emptying the washing-up bowl before walking away to leave him standing in the kitchen, alone. 

..........................................................................

You had avoided Steve as if he were the plague for the rest of the evening, only tolerating him in the same room as you when you went to give him his dinner. If you were nothing but his little housewife, you may as well play the part and poke it in his face. While you were getting ready for bed, you had paused by his chest of drawers, remembering the divorce papers you had hidden beneath the shirts he had outgrown or didn’t like anymore. Most of them had been bought by you and you could recall a memory with your husband in every single one. Maybe another day.

You couldn’t sleep but you kept your eyes tight shut when you heard him enter and move around the bedroom. Why didn’t you just sleep in the living room?, you thought as he slipped under the covers beside you. You figured he’d probably leave before you were awake so in his mind, you wouldn't even know. Dickhead. You didn’t know how much time had passed but you must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing you see is blinding white.

“Steve, turn the lights off…” You let out a scream when a gunshot sounded through the room, colliding with your husband’s cry of pain. Your eyes flew open and immediately fell on the figure standing at the end of your bed, her ravishing, blood-soaked hair curled onto her shoulder, her eyes glittering with shattered pieces of jade. Your heart seemed to freeze in your chest. Natasha Romanoff – the most notorious leader of crime in the world. And she was here, in your bedroom. 

You turned to Steve and let out a strangled sob, the sight of scarlet soaking into the bed sheets making you dizzy. You heard the click of heels behind you and Natasha took a fistful of your nightgown before you could even process what was happening, pulling you away from him as if you were a mere feather. You screamed again and if it wasn’t for her strong grip on you, you would’ve collapsed to the ground.

She waited until you were steady enough to stand on your own two feet, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against her body. She was wearing a dress that emphasised all her curves and showcased most of her skin, your body flooding with dread. This woman was able to shoot Captain America without any protective clothing like it was nothing. There was no way out of this situation. We were doomed. I felt something hard in her crotch area, confused as to why she was carrying such a bulky item in her pockets.

“Leave her alone,” Steve whispered, his voice faint and overshadowed by anguish. 

“Get on the floor and don’t say another word unless I ask you a question or she’ll have to watch you die,” she snapped, “neither of us want that to happen, do we?” With resentment, he hobbled away from the bed, stumbling over to the wall and sliding himself down it, his hand clutched to the gun wound in his stomach. “Good.” She ran a finger down your cheek before beginning to trace your features, her head tilted to the side. “You didn’t tell anyone you had a wife, Rogers. Isn’t she gorgeous?” You shivered in her hold, her voice low and seductive. “What’s your name, pretty?”

“Y-Y/n,” you trembled, wishing you could strangle the butterflies in your stomach that her touch had provoked. This was insanity – she had just shot your husband and she was threatening to murder him yet she was making you nervous, in a romantic way. God, if only Natasha wasn’t so beautiful, this would be a whole lot easier. 

“Y/n Rogers?” she said, giving you a fake pout, “that doesn’t sound very nice, does it? Y/n Romanoff has a much nicer ring to it.” A crease formed between your eyebrows. What the hell was she implying? “Rogers, I’m willing to strike up a deal with you. But first, I’m going to fuck your wife until the only name she’ll remember is mine.” His eyes widened in horror and you let out a cry. 

“Natasha, that’s assault. You can’t,” Steve said. She smirked.

“Oh there won’t be any need for that,” she said, “it won’t take much for her to beg me for more.” She pushed you down onto the bed and straddled your lap, a pool of wetness already forming between your legs. This was so fucked up. “Give me consent and I’ll make you feel so good baby, better than you’ve ever felt. All you have to do is say the word.” 

You considered all your options but it didn’t take you long to decide since you only had two. You either let Natasha fuck you or you watched Steve die. You could treat it like a one night stand, you thought. You had never experienced one yourself but you’d read it in books so surely you would be able to do it.

Though you knew deep down, part of you wanted this. You were desperately touch starved and the thought of Natasha fucking you made you groan, heat rushing to your cheeks as the sound escape your mouth. You nodded and she gripped your jaw.

“Words bitch.”

“Yes,” you said, looking away from her in shame but she forced you to look back at her.

“Good girl,” Natasha said, lowering herself onto you and colliding her lips with yours, setting all your nerves alight. Her lips felt like velvet against your own, melting against you and setting a slow pace, letting you get used to the sensation. You couldn’t remember the last time Steve had kissed you, never mind like this. 

When your hand moved to her chest, she knew she’d won and she began kissing you with more passion, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You gasped and she took the opportunity to slip her tongue between the gap in your teeth. You didn’t even bother fighting against her, wanting Natasha to take full control and use you however she pleased. 

She separated your lips and began kissing your neck, her teeth ruthless against your skin as she began to mark you, leaving a trail of garnet blotches that would be seen by everyone. “Tell him how much you like this.” As much as you wished it wasn’t true, you were very much enjoying this. It was a terrible thing to admit to your husband but you had to remind yourself that his life was at stake here.

“I love it, I love being marked by you,” you said, “please don’t stop.” She pulled away when she reached your chest, reaching down and taking hold of your nightgown. 

“Can I take this off angel?”

“Please,” you said, ignoring that Steve was in the same room as you. You wanted this, you needed this, you hadn’t had sex in so long. Too long. She lifted herself off your waist for a few moments so she could discard you of your nightgown before continuing her path down your chest, stopping right before she reached your breasts. 

“So beautiful,” Natasha said before taking one of your nipples between her fingers and rolling it, earning her your loudest groan yet. She began to fondle the other roughly and the pain was soon replaced with pleasure that went straight in between your legs. You were a moaning mess beneath her, your forehead glistening with sweat and your breaths loud and sharp. “Listen to that, Rogers. Does she make these sweet, sweet noises for you? Do you Y/n? Tell me.”

“No,” I said, “only for you.” She tutted.

“Oh sweetheart, he doesn’t deserve you,” she said, “it’s okay, I’m going to take care of you now.” She ran her hands down your stomach and attached her mouth to your hardened nipple, your mind unable to decide what to concentrate on. She slipped her fingers beneath your panties and began snapping it against your skin, causing you to start bucking your hips into her. 

“I need you,” you said. You expected her to make you wait but her expression softened as she began sliding your panties down your legs, throwing them in Steve’s direction. “Look how she ruined them for me. If you weren’t so neglectful, this could’ve been you, Rogers. Don’t you ever forget that.” You gasped as the palm of her hand pressed against your cunt, brushing against your swollen clint. “So wet.”

“Natasha, please…”

“Beg,” she said, running her fingers through your folds and collecting your arousal, “let him hear you.”

“Please Natasha,” you said, “I need you to fuck me so bad. I need you inside of me, please make me cum.” Your words made her groan and you whimpered as you felt her push two fingers inside of you, giving you only a few seconds to adjust before she began thrusting in and out of you at a quickened pace. You felt a burning sting, grabbing her wrist to try and slow her down. “Nat, it’s too much, it hurts.” 

“What do you mean sweetie? Does he have a small cock?” There was a cruel glint in her eye when the realisation dawned on her. “He hasn’t fucked you in a longtime has he? How long has it been?” You were struggling to form coherent sentences at this point.

“Six months,” you admitted. He visited so little and he was always exhausted when he did, hardly even giving you any affection, never mind fulfilling your physical needs. You had shamefully been trying to fuck yourself for over a year now but you were either too embarrassed to keep at it for long or you were eventually forced to give up, too inexperienced to make yourself cum. You had never used more than one finger so you weren’t used to the stretch at all.

“You’re telling me your husband had access to this cunt anytime he wanted but he chose not to fuck you for half a year?” What a waste of such a perfect pussy,” she said, “shh, it’s okay, it’ll feel so good in a minute.” As if to prove her point, porn-worthy moans began to spill from your mouth as you were drowned in overwhelming bliss. She knew she had found that one spot inside of you when your noises became more intense and more wetness gushed from your entrance, the squelches of your arousal echoing around the room. You took fistfuls of the duvet beneath you in your hands, your walls began to clench around her fingers. But just before you reached your high, Natasha slipped her fingers out of you.

“No,” you cried, “I was so close.” She placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Not just yet,” she said, “I want you to cum on my cock.” You blinked up at her in confusion, not understanding what she meant. Was she perhaps intersex? “Get on your knees.” You scrambled to obey her command, your thighs glistening with white and she smirked. “Such an obedient thing. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” You did so without hesitation and she lifted up her dress and threw it on the floor, leaving her in a lacey bra and boxers. Your eyes fell onto her breasts that were full and sat perfectly, wondering how they’d feel in your hands and in your mouth. You were too distracted to pay attention to Natasha pulling down her boxers until a large, red strapon sprung into your face.

You were sheltered and didn’t have many friends so your knowledge on how two women had sex was low. You had accidentally come across some brief information about strapons while scrolling through social media, closing the app immediately and uninstalling it. You had never told anyone you liked women so any mentions of the topic made you panic and run in the opposite direction. Natasha noticed your hesitation.

“It’s just like sucking a cock,” she said, “you’ve done that, right?” You shook your head. Steve  was a very traditional man so you’d never done anything outside of the very basics. You had always wanted to explore more interesting options but you were too ashamed to ask or discuss any of your preferences with him. “God, so vanilla. Once I show you what you’ve been missing you’ll never want to go back. Do you want to try симпатичный (pretty)?” Her Russian Nickname for you sent a lustful thrum through your body despite the words being foreign and unknown to you. You knew there was only one correct answer to her question but you liked being able to show Natasha how much you desired to follow her orders.

“I’d love to try,” you said, “anything to please you.”

“Good girl,” she husked, nudging your mouth with the strap-on. Her other hand dug into your shoulder as she pushed it inside of your gaping mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Natasha kept going even when you started choking, tears slipping from your eyes and smearing your makeup. The sight of you, a perfect housewife she had ruined and made a mess of, only made her thrust the toy into your mouth faster, desperately turned on. When she was satisfied that you’d wet it enough, she pulled out, showing enough mercy to let you catch your breath. “You’re already such a good cock-sucker.” She ran her thumb over your plump lips. “Aren’t you glad I put these lips to good use, hmm?”

“Yes,” you gasped, “thank you Natasha.” She placed a kiss on your forehead.

“So polite. Get on all fours and look at your husband.” You hesitated a little this time, suddenly remembering Steve’s presence. You turned around and followed her commands, your gaze meeting with his. Steve’s pupils were drowned in pain and clouded his emotions so you couldn’t identify them, blood still gushing from his gun wound. 

“Natasha, I think he’s going to die,” I said, “his stomach…” She looked over and saw that he was on the verge of passing out, his blood loss now critical. 

“I fear you’re right,” she said, “I thought we’d have more time with him, shame. Don’t worry милый (darling), he’ll be alright soon.” You heard footsteps thundering up the stairs before the door was flung open and several men dressed head to toe in black burst into the bedroom. You wondered how she had summoned them so quickly but you were too horny to dwell on the thought for long. 

You tried to cover your exposed body, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden but Natasha slapped your hands away. “They won’t look my angel, they wouldn’t even dare. Don’t let them distract you.” You felt something prodding your entrance and you whimpered.

“Please,” you breathed as she circled your entrance with the toy, collecting your arousal. 

“You’re somehow even wetter,” she cooed, “did you really love your face being fucked that much?” Before you could answer she began to push the tip inside, your soaked walls showing no resistance. She didn’t give you anytime to get used to the stretch, pulling out before slamming back into you seconds later. The pain only lasted a few moments before it dissolved into pure pleasure as Natasha pounded into you like a wild animal. You arched your bark, the dirtiest sounds you had ever produced spilling from your mouth and echoing through the room. You somehow managed to lift an arm and point it towards Steve’s shirt drawer.  

“There’s divorce paper,” you strung together between gasps, “in that drawer. I already signed them.” The men followed your finger and moved towards them, aimlessly throwing Steve’s shirts onto the floor. You saw a pang of hurt in Steve’s expression but you didn’t care. He should’ve seen this coming and even if he didn’t, it was his fault anyway.

As the divorce papers and Steve were dragged away, you moved your hips in rhythm with Natasha’s to try and get the strap-on deeper into you, every brush against your walls sending electricity through your body. She gripped your hips, encouraging your movements, grunting each time you slammed back against her. Your groans changed when she found your g-spot again and after that, she made sure to keep hitting it, a knot beginning to tighten in your stomach for the second time that night.

“I need to cum,” you said, “can I this time, please?”

“Such a slut,” she said, “soak my dick baby. Go on.” You screamed her name as you released all over her cock, stars blinding your eyes as your body shook with bliss, each new wave stronger than the last. After the longest orgasm of your life, you finally finished cumming, liquid staining your thighs. But Natasha didn’t stop, moving her hands up to your ass and massaging your cheeks. 

“Natasha, I’ve already cummed,” you said, expecting her to finally pull out but instead, she tutted.

“We’re not finished yet,” she said, “If I wanted to, I could have you cumming all over this cock all night. We’re done when I say we are. You are all mine after all, gorgeous.” After the initial discomfort faded away, you were soaring back up to cloud nine, ready to do whatever Natasha wanted.

“Of course,” you said, “I’m all yours now.”

[midnite-c6]

would you perhaps write patrick teaching reader to jerk off? i loved your childhood friends fics btw!

childhood bsf!patrick zweig x reader warnings: 18+ fem!reader, fingering, jerking off, mutual masturbation, friends with benefits

lol this ones short and sweet, this ones kind of based off the scene where patrick talks abt how he taught art to jerk off~ ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠) other childhood bsf patrick smut is this and this !

～ˆつ⁠｡⁠☆ your best friend, patrick zweig, finally got back home for the summer from his fancy boarding school for tennis, and you'd be absolutely ecstatic. especially since you've missed him. he's out there doing big boy tennis outside the city and you're still living in your child-hood home, trying to figure out what to do in life!

though it was tradition, every time he comes back from boarding school the two of would always be inside your house and in your room hanging out. this summer was nothing different, though he'd try to convince you this time that you and him were both too old for silly slumber parties! yet you begged patrick to visit you for the last time, he owed it you anyway, being gone for so long.

the following night would end with the two of you tiring each other out rambling on about life stories about his fancy tennis school and your own school, both sleeping next to each-other in your tiny bed. only for you to wake up in the middle of the night. the light shining from the window allowed you to see patrick sitting on the end of the bed. his feet on the edge, his standing cock sliding in and out of his right hand, the sloppy and wet sounds of the movement were barely muffled. his shirt was lifted up so he could bite the end of it, silencing his own whines in case you wake up, in which, you did.

you slowly sit up, rubbing your eyes with your hands, trying to un-blur the sight in front of you. "pat'...?" he stops in his tracks, caught red-handed, he'd internally curse himself on why he would do such a risky thing, but it's patrick, of course he'd do it, he has no shame.

"shit- yeah. what?" he says as he puts his dick back inside his shorts, rubbing the residue of his pre-cum on the thin fabric. ew. he's glad you wouldn't notice.

"you're... doing something." he pushes you with his 'clean' hand back to lay down on the mattress. "yeah, i'm doing something. go back to sleep." you immediately sit back up. eyes wide and curious as you finally take in what he was doing. "you're mastur- masturbating." the words leave your mouth like it was a curse, something that you don't usually say. something that you can't say at all.

"just go back to sleep, this is adult stuff." he couldn't look at you, being very confused. he'd think you'd be running outside of your house by now, telling on your parents and eventually banning him from your life forever. but you're not. you're even asking questions! "you're only a year older."

"but i know what i'm doing." you frowned, something he could still see despite the barely-lit room. "i know you're jerking off."

"why are you?" this was all too conflicting for patrick, because he was immediately turned on, by whatever the fuck you were doing to him, he knows you weren't asking these questions to mess with him and that you were actually curious, but that only adds up to the thrill. his right hand would now move past his waistband and try to find his twitching cock again, rubbing on it slightly as he grunts.

"because i can't... sleep." reasonable explanation, everyone does it once in awhile. "what do you think about while you do it?"

you. he almost says, though thank the heavens he groaned instead, due to being annoyed by your countless questions, and that he's unmistakably getting closer to the edge, "nobody! or, somebody. just what do you want? go back to sleep, this isn't what you wanna do right now."

"how do you jerk off?" you never fail to ask patrick the most stupidest questions, questions that make him ache even more against his hand. "what. you gonna start doing it too?" and you stare at him deadpan, nodding. "fuck off." he turns away from you and you tug on the collar of his shirt from the back to make him look at you, "pat'! i'm serious!"

he fully turns to face you, eye to eye, making you take a good look of the aching cock that he's holding, a tight grip from frustration, not moving like he was edging himself. "just touch yourself!" his eyes would roam to your thighs, covered by your pajamas, "but, how? how do i touch so it'll feel good?"

"just touch yourself... you'll know when it'll feel good, i don't know everything!" you sigh, your own hand coming to move to the in-between of your thighs, rubbing slightly on your clothed core, though it didn't feel good, you felt nothing. patrick would stare, you were doing it wrong, he thinks, but was he even supposed to look at you like this? it feels like he should shut his eyes or turn away, but he couldn't. he just couldn't. "it doesn't feel like anything."

"do it under your panties, idiot." you take off your shorts and underwear so that he could slightly see a tinge of what you were touching. yet you were still doing it wrong. ugh. "not like that." he takes your hand that was working in-between your legs, positioning your index and middle finger onto your clit. "rub that." you do as he says, finding it to be working, it finally felt good, unfamiliar yet delicious. "oh... yeah." your eyes were turning glossy, your breath was more rigid, and patrick could notice every time you were slowly coming undone. you were too easy, really.

"you're not done. you have to put it inside your... hole." he wasn't taught to teach this. to you out of all people. "both?" "if you can take it. then yeah." you shove both your middle and pointer finger inside. he's glad he didn't have to guide you there too. a high-pitched whine comes out from your mouth. you whined his name. fuck, out of everything you could whine about. "do i move?" he could only nod, fear of embarrassingly moaning in-front of you if he did speak. your fingers barely had a rhythm, it looked like it didnt feel good for you.

"then... what do i think about?" you huffed, "... uh... any crushes?" you shake your head, your dizziness was blurring your vision "i don't know..." he smiles, "then, just, look at me.. yeah?" and you both stare down into each other's eyes, panting heavily, breathy moans harmonizing with the need to cum, conveniently in-front of your 'best friend forever', "look at my dick." he orders, "you see what i'm doing?" he gestures about the way he was moving his hand on his dick, with an incredibly tight hold (maybe replicating the way you'd be so tight), in a slow yet rhythmic pace. "copy that, but with your... fingers moving inside."

you do as he says, you're body was responding well with your hands, grinding against your tiny fingers as your hips move back and forth, your tongue slipping out from your mouth trying to concentrate. barely able to reach his own pace he ordered you to do. "feel good?" he checks in, even though he was wrecked himself as he pumps his dick faster and faster, so you would further speeden up the pace on yourself. "yes. yes. really..."

"you feel something in your lower stomach? that's when you know you're gonna cum." you squirm, indicating you were close, the room was suddenly too hot, and everything felt ten times more messy. "oh-my- i'll make' a mess." "it's okay." he gives you permission, like it wasn't your bed that you were messing up.

you finally cum, sweat beading down your forehead as you catch your breath, looking at patrick who also cums right after you. white residue would make your shorts and bedsheets damp. you look at him all concerned and worried, your eyes asking for approval of: "did i do it right?" and he gives you a signature shit-eating grin,

"you can do better." maybe you guys weren't too old for sleep-over's and slumber parties after all.

～｡⁠☆ 🎾

to the ppl who r requesting challengers ILY i need more challenger fans

[chbvalentine]

4. SOMETHIN’ STUPID

song #4 of sometimes (a leo valdez x daughter of dionysus smau)

NOTE! i don’t know if I mentioned this in previous chapters, but y/n is female / uses she/her pronouns. also, there’s some writing in this chapter, so don’t skip past it!

Leo sat on his bed, waiting very impatiently for his friends to arrive. His palms were sweaty and his throat seemed to close up at the mere thought of confessing, but it hurt even worse when he pictured you dating somebody else. Why was he so nervous?! He had asked out plenty of girls before.

Although, none of them had ever said yes, but that was just a minor detail. Also, he had never been in love with any of them, and none of them had been his best friend for years. Whatever. Not important. The point was, he was practically a pro at talking to girls, so this shouldn’t stress him out at all. The sweat trickling down his forehead was probably the result of confidence, or something along those lines. 

“Leoooo! Open uppp!” The familiar voice of Percy echoed from outside the cabin as his fist repeatedly knocked on the door. Leo quickly jumped up, opening the door to reveal his three friends, all eager to help. He smiled, pausing momentarily, although it didn’t last long.

“C’mon! What are you doing just standing there?! We have a confession to write! Go, go!” Percy ushered himself in, Jason and Frank following behind. They immediately got to work, pulling out some paper and pens and brainstorming what to write. 

After what felt like forever, the final copy was written neatly on a piece of clean notebook paper and was sitting pretty on Leo’s desk, next to all of the scrapped versions that had been crumpled into paper balls. 

“Ow!” Leo yelped as Jason brushed his curls, trying to get him looking sharp for his grand declaration. “You can’t do that when my hair is dry!”

“Right, right. Sorry. I don’t really know how to do this,” Jason replied sheepishly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.

“Let me see the brush!” Percy shouted, snatching it out of the blond boy’s hands. “Annabeth taught me how to work with hair like his. Leo, you just continue practicing your speech.”

He nodded and continued quietly reciting the clever lines, trying to get every word perfect. He was sitting in a chair in front of a floor-length mirror, with the three boys hovering behind him and fixing his appearance. Finally, Percy spoke up.

“We’re almost done. Text her and ask her to meet up in around ten minutes.”

Leo picked up his phone, opening your contact and sending a simple message while the boys peered over his shoulder to watch your responses. 

“Oh, gods. I’m so sorry,” Jason broke the silence after reading your replies. Everyone just stared at the phone, absolutely gobsmacked. He had been too late. 

Tears welled up in Leo’s eyes as he looked up from the phone for the first time in minutes, staring at the speech that lay on his desk, practically mocking him. He swallowed his sadness back, trying to lighten the situation as if it didn’t just shatter his heart. 

“It’s no big deal! Hahaha, no biggie. There are plenty of other girls that love the bad boy supreme! All da ladies luv Leo, right?” He attempted to joke, frantically shoving the letter into his desk while the boys just stared with pity. 

“I don’t really care for her that much anyways! It’s fine! Everything’s fine!” Leo continued, throwing away the rough drafts and clearing away any evidence of his feelings. No one knew how to respond to his lies, so they remained silent as he freaked out.

“Okay then, fun hanging out with you guys! Bye!” The boys sent him confused glances as he practically shoved them out, tears beginning to flow down his cheeks as he smiled emptily.

“Wait-“ Frank started, but Leo was already shutting the door. The three stood on the porch awkwardly, wondering what the hell they should do. After a minute, they hesitantly walked away, coming to the conclusion that he needed some space for a minute. 

Gods, Leo hated himself right now. And he hated Cameron even more.

-

TAGLIST (comment on any post in this series asking to join if you want to be added!): @eclipse-777 , @thebestsetter ,

TRACKLIST // NEXT

[tathrin]

Oh no help, why is my brain suddenly full of an RAF (or RFC) AU where Legolas is a pilot who gets the nickname “Greenleaf” because of how lightly and acrobatically he flies (and also he should probably be Irish or Scottish so the Brits can be derisive about his “more dangerous and less wise” people hmm? ooh or Indian! doesn’t really matter as long as he wears a lot of green so the nickname makes sense lmao) while Gimli was too short for the army but is a fucking amazing mechanic and basically single-handedly responsible for how amazing this unit’s planes are and how no matter how wrecked their planes are if they can get them back to base at all he can fix them, and Legolas fell in love basically the first time he saw Gimli work his miracles with that wrench and Gimli is not in love thank you, he is very very annoyed by this chipper pilot who keeps getting holes shot in his fucking wings and he definitely doesn’t like him at all and certainly doesn’t go out of his way to tinker with Legolas’s plane all the time and make sure it’s the absolute best machine in the air oh no nope definitely not dammit and he certainly doesn’t fret every time Legolas flies off into battle or comes back with his engine smoking again that fucker oh how Gimli loathes him! until one day he finally hops out of a just-barely-landed-successfully plane that is literally on fire Legolas what the fuck you idiot and oh and he stumbles what’s wrong oh no is he hurt oh no and Gimli runs over to help him up and instead they kiss right on the runway oh fuck—!

And the whole unit has been taking bets on this forever, so Commander Strider has to come break up the fistfight between Éowyn-who-definitely-isn’t-using-her-brother’s-ID-and-the-whole-unit-doesn’t-know-she’s-secretly-a-girl-NOPE and Boromir over who now owes whom money before Boromir’s little brother, the only one in the unit who hasn’t figured out that Éowyn is a girl yet, does something stupid trying to stop his brother fighting with “the fellow” he definitely doesn’t have a crush on Boromir please—!

Strider is so tired. He didn’t sign-up for herding idiots in love, he’s just trying to win the damn war, do you lads MIND???

Lord Mithrandir is sitting in his office watching the show from the window and laughing so hard, he fucking loves his deranged pilots so much. He has pulled  so many blatant cover-ups for their hijinks, and everybody in high command knows that he’s tossing aside regulations left and right, but his units are the most successful pilots in the damn skies so nobody can do anything about it dammit. (He’s also definitely in cahoots with General Galadriel, who pulls his ass out of the fire every damn time somebody tries to bestow some kind of reprimand or punishment, and who gets regular “briefings” about his pilots that absolutely aren’t just gossip in disguise, and which she certainly doesn’t pass along to her granddaughter who’s engaged to Commander Strider, who definitely isn’t royalty in disguise, nope nope and also nope.)

[violettduchess]

A/N: This won the poll and it was such fun to write 💜

Clavis x Reader

Prompt: Kissing While Laughing

WC: ~560

“Where do you think you’re going? It’s about to pour!”

“Ack, Jin! My goodness, you scared me. I wanted to bathe and wash my hair but realized I don’t have any more soap. I was hoping to hurry into town and buy some quickly before it starts raining.”

“Look, the first drops are already falling. C’mon. I’ve got something you can have. Clavis gave it to me a few months ago for my birthday but I’ve never even opened it.”

“Really? Aw, you’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much!"

Half an hour later

“CLAVIS!!!!!”

“I’m here, sweet wife, but I thought you said you wanted a moment’s peace in order to— Oh......Oh my……”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“Me? I-my goodness, that certainly is……a look.”

“I borrowed the shampoo you gave Jin for his birthday and now I look like this!!!”

“You did what? Oh….oh....oh dear, my sweet lamb, my darling. W-why would you do that?”

“Clavis, stop giggling! This isn’t funny. LOOK AT MY HAIR!”

“I-It’s a most fetching shade of……what can we call it? Sunset? Marigold?”

“Clavis! IT’S BRIGHT ORANGE!! I look terrible….."

“Oh no, no my sweetheart. Don't sob. Come here, come to me. That’s right. Let your fantastic husband offer you the sweet comfort of his embrace and–ow!”

“WHY WOULD YOU GIVE THIS TO JIN?!”

“Because it's funny! Don’t tell me the notion of that ladies man suddenly having hair the color of an orangutan isn't funny!”

“I LOOK LIKE AN ORANGUTAN?!”

“No, no my dearest one. No, you don’t. Come, let’s sit on the bed. That’s right, here’s a tissue. Come here, my love. Right here, let me hold you close. Ahhhh, isn't that better?”

....Sniffle....

“Now, let’s wipe away those pesky tears from your angelic face. While it certainly is a change….I can assure you, the color will fade in a few days.”

....Sniffle.... “Promise?”

“Yes, my sweet lamb. I made it myself. I know it will. Now.......come here, Mrs. Lelouch, and let me kiss you.”

“I look like a carrot," you whisper sorrowfully, barely able to get the word "carrot" out.

Clavis bursts into soft laughter, cupping your sweet but oh so glum face in his hands, gently wiping away the last stray teardrops.

“You are a most ravishing carrot.” He presses a kiss to the corner of your eye, cradling your cheek in his palm.

“I’m a pumpkin.” But your voice is wavering with the threat of laughter, a shadow of a smile on your lips.

“You are absolutely the most alluring pumpkin that has ever existed.” His mouth is by your ear, his teeth playfully nipping at your earlobe.

“I’m a clownfish.” You can't hold back anymore and your voice breaks with laughter on the word "clownfish."

His laughter intertwines with yours, creating the melody of a happy couple. He nuzzles your damp but still extremely orange hair. “You are the most attractive, beguiling clownfish in the whole sea.”

“Oh, Clavis.” You can’t stop giggling as you shake your head. He leans forward, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips.

“My beautiful sweet potato,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “My exotic tangerine.” With a gentle push you fall back onto the bed and he is above you, a tender hand brushing the bright locks away from your face, his golden eyes aglow with affection.

“My darling, my sweetheart….let me show you how very much I adore you, always and forever, no matter what color your hair may be.”

Taglist 🧡 @bellerose-arcana @alexxavicry @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @queengiuliettafirstlady

@redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey

@mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight

@ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics

@justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating

@portrait-ninja @starlitmanor-network @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381

@whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly

[damthosefandoms]

Wherever you go, that's where I'll be

(ao3 link)

Summary:

"You know good and well he's not conceited. He can't help it if he's good-looking; to tell the truth, I don't think he knows he is. You're jealous, Bryon, because Angela dumped you to make a play for Curtis, and he was smart enough to leave her alone."

- - -

It's Johnny's seventeenth birthday. Or, it would've been, and Ponyboy’s not really feeling anything at all.

———

March 1st, 1968.

The date taunts him, glaring up at Ponyboy from his notebook. The clock ticks, and his teacher drones on, but all he can think about is Johnny. He would’ve been seventeen years old today. Only a year away from freedom of his parents forever, from getting out of that house. 

At the end of the day it wouldn’t have mattered, really. Johnny would’ve stayed there anyway, kept going back because all he wanted in the world was for his parents to care. To love him, to be there for him—it didn’t matter how much the rest of the gang loved him. That was what he had wanted most. He was a dreamer, same as Pony. But Johnny Cade’s parents never changed. They never would.

Sometimes when he walks past the Cades’ house, Pony swears he sees a shadow looming by the front window, a figure on their tip-toes peeking in to see if it’s safe to go inside. He’ll blink, and that figure will be gone, but the imprints of converse sneakers in the dirt remain. Nobody in the neighborhood ever seems to notice. Nobody in the house seems to care, but Ponyboy does. He always will. 

The bell rings, and Pony’s attention is pulled back to reality. He shoves everything on his desk into his backpack without a care in the world and takes a left turn out of the classroom door instead of a right. By the time he notices he’s gone the wrong way, he’s missed the first ten minutes of lunch. 

He’s standing in front of Johnny’s old locker. There’s a chill in the air while Pony tries to remember the combination. The lock feels like ice under his fingers as he turns it. The door pops open.

Everything is still there, just as Johnny had left it. No one bothers to get his things from the hospital after he dies. Nobody bothers to empty out his locker. 

Maybe that one’s on Pony. It’s been almost six months. He should’ve come by here sooner to look. 

Johnny’s long-sleeve denim jacket is hanging up on the hook, just like it had been that Friday afternoon before they went to the drive-in. He’d left it there in favor of his favorite denim vest, the one Steve helped him cut the sleeves off and that Pony’s mother had helped him embroider. It had been beautiful, once; he’d gone to her for help in recreating a pattern he saw on a blanket he thinks his grandmother must’ve made. She’d let Johnny take the lead in the design, but made sure he was able to stitch it right. Now the vest was packed away in Pony’s closet, burnt and bloodied, a memory of what once was.

Pony pulls the jacket off the hook with shaking hands and holds it close. By some miracle, it still smells like his best friend. Like cigarettes and grease and something he can’t explain. For a moment, he truly feels like Johnny’s still here with him.

There’s more in the locker. A pack of cigarettes, some spare change—probably saving up for something, Pony guesses. Maybe lunch money he scraped together or won from a game of poker. 

Pony pockets the change and tries not to think about the lump in his throat. He still owes Johnny for all those poker games he lost back at the church. He pockets the cigarettes, too—no reason to let them go to waste. He hears footsteps coming down the hall, somebody’s voice, but it’s all background noise to him when he sets his eyes on the only other thing in the locker: a sketch of Johnny himself.

Pony recognizes it, of course. He drew it ages ago. He’d ripped it out of his sketchbook and tossed it in the trash before anybody could see, but here it is, uncrumpled and taped to the back wall of Johnny’s locker behind where his jacket was. 

Pony gently pulls it off the wall and wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. Some tuff greaser he is, crying in the school hallway, but honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to him in the last six months. Johnny was never supposed to see this, but here it is, in all its unfinished glory. The shading’s all off. It barely looks like him. But it’s here.

Wow.

What breaks him out of his stupor is a sound like a shrill laugh, or maybe a witch cackling, and something pulls at his shoulder, trying to turn him around and get his attention. He jabs his wrist into his eyes to dry them and prays it’s not noticeable when he turns. Angela Shepard is standing there, and Pony quickly crumples up the picture of Johnny and shoves it into his pocket.

“What?” He says, and maybe it comes out wrong, he doesn’t know. Angela looks annoyed, but he figures she’s usually annoyed, although… she doesn’t usually talk to him. Especially when her brothers aren’t around, and Pony doesn’t see Curly anywhere. Sure, he and Angela are friendly too, he’s known her forever, but he can’t possibly imagine that she’s just come up to him to ask if he’s okay because she saw him crying. The only time she’s ever done anything like that before was at his parents’ funeral.

The world comes back to life around him, and he realizes that, oh yeah. He’s at school. There’s a lot of other people gathered around them. He thinks he sees a few guys that he knows Angela hangs around with down the hall. Maybe she was asking if he’s okay? But a lot of people are looking at them right now, and he’s only just pulled his head out of the clouds (and shut Johnny’s locker door to face her).

“I said, we’re going to drive down the Ribbon tonight. Christ, can’t you hear?”

He stares blankly at her. It’s the first he’s heard of this. 

“Huh?” 

“Oh, you’re lucky you’re cute, Curtis.”

“I—what? I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

It wasn’t supposed to come out the way it did. Clearly, Angela would agree, because there’s a look in her eye that he thinks might mean she’s genuinely hurt. Doesn’t she realize what day it is? Doesn’t she care that Pony’s been hurt so much worse?

There’s a cruel laugh from down the hall, and some tall greaser kid—a guy that Pony vaguely remembers Curly pointing out to him once as Angela’s boyfriend—turns and walks through the door to the stairwell. There’s another familiar-looking greaser right on his tail. 

Pony blinks. For a second, he could’ve sworn that was—

“Dallas?” 

Please, no. One's enough.

He only mumbles it, but Angela hears him. She tilts her head at him for just a second, then turns to look in the same direction. When she turns back, her eyes are soft, just for a second, and she whispers, “That wasn’t—Ponyboy, are you…?”

Pony shrugs helplessly, and Angela watches him sadly for just a second. Sometimes he forgets that she and her brothers knew Dally almost as well as his own gang did… almost.

Angela frowns. Pony thinks maybe it was hope that flickered in her eyes when she had turned to look, but he can’t place the look she’s giving him now. Confusion? Pity, maybe?

But then she shakes off the memory and her whole demeanor changes.

“I cannot believe you,” Angela snarls at him. She says a couple other things, too, before storming away down the hall with her friends, but Pony still isn’t sure what he did wrong.

Everyone around them starts laughing and whispering, and Pony feels like this must be some big inside joke he’s not a part of. He pulls on Johnny’s denim jacket and heads towards the door to the parking lot, deciding that Angela’s apparent issues with him just aren’t worth worrying about… and that he’s had enough school for today. Maybe he’ll get lucky and Darry will cut him a break for skipping when he remembers what day it is.

When Ponyboy gets home, he digs out his old sketchbook, and does his best to flatten out the crumpled portrait of his best friend, and tapes it onto the next blank page. The lights in his bedroom flicker, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, Johnny might approve.

[dayas]

73 with Rivusa🌚

73. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

This has been in my drafts forever (sorry beloved) but here we go!

—

Riven always looked forward to a good shower after a workout. Sparring with the other Specialists was quite taxing, and though he truly enjoyed it, he also enjoyed the blistering heat and steam that came from a proper cleaning afterwards. He opened the door to his room and shucked off his shirt, all prepared to leave out when he noticed a rather unusual sight. Musa wasn’t the sort to drop her clothes and slip into somebody else’s sheets. Yet, there she was, looking deliciously scandalized, a pretty crimson painting her cheeks. Riven looked her up and down, a rakish smirk on his face as he asked, “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

Ever defensive, she snapped back, “Of course there’s a reason. It’s attached to a really long story, and I’m not in the mood to tell it right now.”

Riven laughed, “You definitely look like you’re in the mood for something else.”

He ducked when a pillow came flying at him, which only caused him to laugh even louder.

“Will you just please turn around so I can leave?”

“Are you going to explain yourself?”

Musa crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“Riven.”

“Musa.”

After what felt like a small eternity, he sighed.

“Fine,” Riven relented. “But I’m getting this story out of you one way or another.” He caught her eye roll as he turned around.

“Close your eyes,” Musa called out.

“What? Why?”

“You know why.”

He shrugged — she had him there. Riven closed his eyes, grinning at the sound of Musa’s feet hitting the ground and flying out of the room. She’d taken his sheet with him. He was owed a new one, and he would come to collect, eventually. But first, Riven headed off towards his bathroom. After all of that, he definitely needed a shower.

[another-goblin]

How Aventurine would process their relationship. Just some fun options to explore. I do ship them, but it will work with them being just friends. (I wrote "just friends" and realized that it would probably be the first time for both of them to have an actual friend, so there is no "just" here.)

1. I can see him possessing enough emotional intelligence to realize what's going on and allow himself to accept Ratio's care and reciprocate his feelings. It's quite a nice and comforting option to explore. It can happen immediately after 2.1 or slowly, with them continuing to work together or hanging out from time to time. It's nice to see that like 95% of all the post-2.1 arts of them are examples of this (it doesn't mean that I don't love the remaining 5% btw).

He might also see it as a giant gamble. ("For the first time in my adult life I allow myself to be so emotionally vulnerable, opening myself to get really hurt, but the risk is worth it.")

2. He said something about only seeing friends as tools. I think he often uses his charm and wits to win people over, to make them act in his interests, to make them think that they actually like him. As a kind of subconscious self-defense mechanism, he would convince himself that Ratio only acts this way according to his own cunning manipulations and should be discarded after he'd outlived his usefulness. (cue angst)

3. Psychological problems. There is a whole sad collection to choose from, all deep-seated and subconcious. Mistaking Ratio's care for pity and getting offended by it. Feeling like he's not worthy of love. "I suffered alone my whole life, where have you been all this time, now it's too late, I don't need you anymore". And countless others. There's no way he's ever going to therapy, so they'll have to sort it out by themselves.

4. The most delicious option (and by that I mean SUFFERING *looks at two previous options* that is, MORE SUFFERING). A big part of his survivor's guilt is the supersticious idea that he owes his luck to his family's death. The only people he ever cared about and who ever cared about him died because of it. Being close to somebody means danger to them.

He knows that Ratio wouldn't accept his superstition based concerns. So the only way to save him is to hurt him emotionally to drive him away. 

But. What if Aventurine overcomes it and discards all these supersticious concerns (as he should). They get closer. And then Ratio does get hurt. It's serious, like, he's in the hospital, he lost an arm, something like that.

Imagine Aventurine's panic: "I brought it on him, I couldn't protect him, the only way to save him from worse is to leave him forever, immediately." And Ratio, recovering from a devastating injury, the first time in his life when he needs (and expects) support - he's abandoned.

It would probably crush his underlying philosophy of doing big good things for humanity (the way he cured that terrible disease, resolved the universal energy crisis, and is currently spreading education because he thinks that humanity is worthy of it). I mean, it's easy to care about humanity from afar, detached from it. It's much harder when your first attempt at a personal relationship ends in devatating pain.

[paperstorm]

Thanks for the tags @strandnreyes @ironheartwriter @heartstringsduet @orchidscript and @tommy-kinard-buckley!

“Benson,” Carlos says, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder and glancing guiltily back towards the bedroom. He tucks himself into the corner by the refrigerator, speaking in as low a voice as he can manage without outright whispering. “Cooper Benson.”

“Okay.” The clacking of a keyboard fills the silence for a moment and then Lexi asks, “What did he do?”

Carlos presses his lips together. He wishes he could do this outside, but TK will hear the sound of the door opening and closing. It isn’t exactly quiet as it slides along metallic tracks. Wincing slightly as guilt settles on his shoulders, Carlos replies, “I’m not sure. Maybe nothing.”

“Who is he?”

“Can you just run it?”

“No, actually, I can’t, not without knowing what you’re up to,” Lexi answers with a snort. “Are you running secret detective missions on your own again? You know the brass isn’t going to keep looking the other way forever, especially if you start going over people’s heads. Men tend to get their panties in a bunch over shit like that.”

“Not this time,” Carlos answers honestly. He lets out a slow breath and lifts his head, holding the phone with his right hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with his left. “He’s just … a guy TK has been hanging out with. I don’t even think he did anything, I just need to make sure.”

There’s a pause, and Carlos knows it’s coming before it does and has his defensive hackles up before Lexi even asks, “You think TK’s stepping out on - ”

“No,” Carlos interrupts, too loud, and then softer, repeats it. “Lex, can you please just run it? And get me his phone number, if you can? I’ll owe you one.”

“Alright,” Lexi agrees, despite the skepticism still in her voice. “What kind of a grown man is named Cooper anyway? Is he a Labradoodle?”

Carlos bites the inside of his cheek to stifle a laugh. “I guess he wasn’t a grown man when somebody named him.”

“Tragic,” she quips, and then promises to text him when she has any information.

Carlos makes sure the ringer is off on his phone and sets it on the countertop next to him. He rubs his hands over his face, digging his fingertips into tired eyes. He’s itching to cross the space between him and TK and climb back into bed with him, drag TK into his arms and hold him whether TK wants it or not. He doesn’t do that, and he won’t, but he wants to.

For a moment Carlos wonders if he’s ever been more scared than he was of the blank look on TK’s face an hour ago, but then his brain helpfully supplies all the other times he’s seen that expression drain the life out of the man that he loves. TK shuts down when things are really bad, Carlos knows that both from experience and from the fact that Gwyn - who knew TK better than Carlos did back then - confirmed it. There are layers to his upset, stages of his pain, but the part where everything turns off and he goes blank and empty is the worst of them and Carlos has never, he’s realizing now with a horrible twist in his stomach, known what to do when that happens.

He tries, with every inch of strength he has left, to keep from concluding that means he isn’t up to the task of loving TK the way he deserves to be loved.

His phone lights up and catches Carlos’s eye. He scoops it off the counter and quickly scans the text from his partner, letting him know the background came up clean and providing Cooper’s number. Carlos presses into it with his thumb, selecting the option to call and bringing the device back to his ear before he can chicken out.

“Hello?”

Carlos clears his throat. He tries to straddle the line between speaking softly enough that TK won’t hear him in case he’s turned his music off, and not speaking so softly that Cooper will think something is weird. “Is this Cooper?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“It’s Carlos. Uh, TK Strand’s boyfriend.”

“Oh! Hey, man!” Cooper says, suddenly cheerful as he’d been the other day when he’d seemed genuinely pleased to meet Carlos. Embarrassment heats Carlos’s cheeks as he remembers the way he’d acted.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“Are you, uh, busy? Right now? Like, tonight?” Carlos holds the phone away from his face and rolls his eyes at himself. He doesn’t know how to do this, and he’s aware wording it that way almost certainly sounds like he’s making a proposition that he definitely isn’t making. “Sorry, not …”

“Is TK okay?” Cooper asks in a wary voice, and Carlos internally thanks God the man understands why he’s calling.

“No. I mean - yes, he’s safe and everything,” Carlos prefaces, forgetting just for a moment what not okay looks like in their world. “He’s just … he had a really bad day. And he skipped -”

“The meeting, yeah,” Cooper finishes with a sigh. “Shit. He texted to say he wasn’t coming, I should’ve pushed him harder on why.”

“Yeah.” Carlos winces, but pushes through his discomfort and forces himself to ask, “If you’re not doing anything, could you maybe come over? I think he needs … you.”

It still hurts. It hurts to think, it hurts to say, it hurts to accept. Carlos still wants more than anything to be able to snap his fingers and take every scrap of TK’s pain away, and it still makes him feel smaller than a bug on the hot pavement to admit that he can’t do that. But just a fraction of the tension in his shoulders does seem to dissolve away now that he’s said it out loud, and he tries to make himself see that as progress.

“I live pretty close to you guys, I’ll be there in maybe 20,” Cooper says.

“Are you sure?” Carlos checks, the manners his mother instilled from childhood reminding him not to put anyone out.

“This is what we do. My old sponsor used to drop everything when I needed her, and one day TK will be solid enough in his recovery that he’ll do this for someone else. We help each other, pay it forward.”

“Okay,” Carlos replies, trying to feel as confident about it as he hopes he sounds.

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringduet

@tailoredshirt @goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @chaotictarlos @lemonlyman-dotcom

@whatsintheboxmh @inkweedandlizards @bonheur-cafe @reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee

@never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng

@fallout-mars @honeybee-taskforce @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @fitzherbertssmolder @safeashousespdf

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[jessource]

prompts:　spotify on repeat.

“ i want to say all bad things end. ” “ can you get it in your brain i’m not playing your games this time. ” “ don’t tell me you need me now. ” “ if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. ” “ i don’t know why i am the way i am. ” “ all of this for what? ” “ at least i had the decency to keep my nights out of sight. ” “ we can’t be friends. ” “ maybe we could’ve been friends, if i met you in another life. ” “ i’ll love you like you need me too. ” “ when i’m back in (city), i feel it. ” “ it's not worth crying 'bout the things you can't erase. ” “ if i’m gonna be drunk, might as well be drunk in love. ” “ you’re a waste of time. ” “ nobody lives forever. ” “ i didn’t think you’d understand me. ” “ usually, i'm fucked up, anxious, too much. ” “ i’m done being yours. ” “ it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this way. ” “ the truth is bulletproof, there’s no fooling you. ” “ i’d rather be tied to someone, even if they’re wrong. ” “ you don't feel remorse, you don't feel the effects. ” “ i can’t lie to it the same way i lie to you. ” “ if i was brave and noble like you i’d have the nerve to just stop stringing' you along. ” “ i guess i’ll never ever know, now that we don’t talk. ” “ i lay in your arms and pretend that it's love. ” “ never take advice from somebody who’s falling apart. ” “ you cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again. ” “ we don’t know how to accept we’re just a product of a chance. ” “ if a man talks shit, then i owe him nothing. ” “ oh, you're so vicious. loved me, then pretend you didn’t. ” “ don't say that i’ve been acting different. i'm nothing if i’m not consistent. ” “ nothing happened in the way i wanted. ” “ there’s something in the static, think i’ve been having revelations. ” “ what do you tell your friends? ” “ you search in every model's bed for something greater. ” “ i don’t regret it one bit, ‘cause he had it coming. ” “ we like grabbing onto anything to feel like we’re important. ” “ i was secondary to everything, i’ve never been so insignificant. ” “ you fit every stereotype. ” “ why’s there a pit in my gut in the shape of you? ” “ you’ll always be a setback. ” “ i never saw him and we never kissed. ” “ your talk is cheap. all you do is leave. ” “ we’re all gonna die, decompose into daffodils and dandelions. ” “ i could have sworn you were heaven-sent. ” “ you made heartbreak look elegant, abused me with intelligence. ” “ nothing in the world belongs to me, but my love, mine all mine. ” “ i know you said that we’re not talking, but i miss you, i’m sorry. ” “ you grew your hair long. ”

[ckret2]

To be honest, it seems so impossible to picture billford actually happening right now. I trust you! But it's hard to envision the path ahead.

I'm not gonna lie the reason it took me months & months to commit to taking the fic that route is because I didn't want to go "no yeah I'm doing this" until I was sure I did have a path, and it is hard to envision lmfao. It's a very twisty and very narrow path that they're only gonna just barely squeeze through.

Without giving any spoilers, as far as I see it, any reconciliation between Ford & Bill—platonic or romantic—requires three things:

a reason for Ford to stop fearing Bill

a reason for Ford to stop hating Bill

a reason for Ford to like Bill.

We don't need anything on Bill's side, he's all prepared to like Ford as soon as Ford likes him. All he has to do is, y'know, give Ford all of those reasons.

#3 is the easiest one! Ford already has reasons to like Bill: they're all of the reasons he used to like Bill. He's an alien with infinite knowledge. That's great. But Bill could give Ford a million reasons to like him and they won't do a bit of good as long as Ford hates him. If you stab someone in the gut and give them a flower, you stabbed them in the gut. If you stab someone in the gut and give them an entire field of flowers, you still stabbed them in the gut. It's actually more insulting to get flowers than it would've been to just get stabbed. Gotta do something about the stabbing.

#1 was also pretty easy to figure out. All it takes is trapping Bill in a scenario where he's forced to demonstrate he no longer wants to kill the Pines, in a way that makes it impossible to think that it could have been an act or a lie. Easy.

#2 is the only hard part. Ford has a lot of very good reasons to hate Bill forever. Why would he even want to stop hating Bill? And that's the key:

4. a reason for Ford to WANT to stop hating Bill

The hardest and MOST IMPORTANT part. A reason for Ford to go, fine. One last shot. If you want me to think anything is different, then show me—and no more chances to slip up. He can still hate Bill at this point! Bill still has to climb that mountain. But now Ford's simply standing at the top of the mountain glaring at Bill with his arms crossed, waiting to see if he can make it to the top, rather than using a long stick to shove Bill back down every time he gets close.

Let's talk about redemption arcs!

There's a thing I believe about redemption arcs and redemption in general, which is that saying "they shouldn't get a second chance unless they deserve it" is impossible. "Deserve it" means they're good now, "deserve it" means they've already done the work to improve themselves and make amends for what they did wrong. But in the real world, somebody needs to give you a second chance BEFORE you deserve it in order to have space to work on yourself and become worthy of it.

That doesn't mean Ford, of all people, owes Bill a second chance. He was never gonna be the first to offer Bill a hand. He couldn't be, he shouldn't be. And nobody owes Bill a second chance—but in order for it to be possible for Bill to have a redemption arc at all, SOMEBODY had to give him one anyway. The whole fic is the result of people extending a hand to Bill so that he can become worthy of the help he was offered. He wouldn't be alive if the Axolotl hadn't given him a second chance. He'd still be curled up in the corner of the attic day after day waiting to die if Mabel hadn't given him a second chance. Over and over he's gonna get chances he doesn't deserve, from people who have no reason to offer them, when he regrets nothing, when he's apologized for nothing—and that's what will save him.

SOMEBODY ELSE had to offer Bill an unconditional second chance first. But—once Ford has seen that Bill might have potential—he can, if he wants, offer Bill a limited, conditional second chance. I just have to get him to want to.

After that it's smooth sailing. Get the two of them as far as "okay we can attempt having a positive relationship again" and past that it really doesn't matter what kind of positive relationship it is, platonic, romantic, sexual, whatever. "Do you think they might wanna bone or not?" is a much less important and much less difficult question than "What would it take for Ford to stop despising the triangle who ruined his life?"

Personally, I want 'em to make out nasty style. But that's far and away the least important part of this whole arc, because it was important to me that that not be a motivating factor in their reconciliation. Like I've said, I'm deliberately playing on hard mode here, and "I'm kinda sorta motivated to forgive him because I'm attracted to him" is a cheat I'm not allowing. I'm too ace to tolerate that kind of plot unless it's in a story about the frustrating folly of desire. The attraction can only come after reconciliation; and it also won't prevent them from continuing to have the kind of ongoing issues you'd expect out of two guys with a long history of heartless betrayal and murder attempts.

[flightnight]

Robin and the suffocating horror of being loved by Sunday.

If there is a person Sunday owes a direct, open, personal, verbal apology to, it's Robin.

Let's face it. He deliberately hurt her in one of the worst ways possible. The way only the person she truly loved could. If there is anything Sunday has been shown to be really good at, it's striking people where it hurts the most, causing the maximum amount of pain. (case in point - if there is a second person Sunday should apologize to, it's Aventurine).

They both knew that the whole "a weak bird should be kept in a cage" metaphor is about her. They knew each other's opposing views on this question (strictly speaking, it boils down to 'should Robin be allowed to be free by her brother'. And if that's a disagreement you have with somebody in your life, run.) Sunday knows that her freedom is one of the most important things in Robin's life. She traveled around the universe, she visited war zones, she saw real life, she's extremely strong (and the idea of her brother seeing her as too weak should be so soul-crushing to her), she survived her injury and became stronger through it. She knew that her freedom might cost her her voice or even her life, and she still chose it. She's all about freedom. She sings about freedom. Even her splash art is her breaking out of a golden cage.

And knowing all of it, he still chose to take her freedom away. Because no matter what she did, she was still too weak in his eyes.

There are some points that are ironic but also make it so much worse:

1. The perfect dream he gave her was about how they nurtured the wounded bird to health so that it could return to the sky. He knew how much she wanted to be free. He knew what he was doing (I presume that all the other people's dreams were created automatically, but I'm sure he was personally involved in creating Robin's dream).

So he knew that most of all she wanted her brother to allow her to be free. And instead of doing it, he captured her and gave her an illusion of that.

2. She was the first who woke up. She knew that him allowing her to be free was impossible.

Imagine living with the knowledge that your brother respecting your autonomy and allowing you your freedom is impossible.

"Robin: I woke up for the same reason as all of you. In the dream, I experienced something that could never occur in reality…" "Robin: …The illusion was so impossibly blissful that I realized it was just a dream."

She literally realized that she can't be happy with Sunday around. She was happy in her dream. That's why she woke up. How horrifying is that?

3. She was the most important person for him to keep in the "cage". And yet she was the first who woke up. Was he about to change the "perfect dream" for her if he were to capture her again, to make it more realistic? So that she didn't escape again? Changing it to him not letting the bird free but keeping it locked up forever? Thus turning her supposed perfect dream into his perfect dream? Making the scenario doubly nightmarish?

4. Despite all of this, she was still prepared to sacrifice anything for his freedom. Unfortunately, the writers don't allow her to be a person around him. Her role is to smile and be agreeable, so she isn't allowed to say or even think anything about this biggest betrayal in her life.

And of course we can't inconvenience Sunday by the realization of what he's done to his beloved sister. No apology, no thank you. But it's a topic for another post.

5. And now he gets to enjoy what Robin yearned for - freedom. You can't be more free in the world of HSR than on board the Express. As Welt said, "Freedom is the only answer the Nameless can offer. I'm glad that Penacony needs it."

By the way, I've heard that Robin gave Jade the info that helped her wrestle Penacony back under the IPC's control in exchange for Sunday.

So his freedom basically cost Penacony its freedom.

But we can't have him realize that. Remember, no inconvenience. We don't want character development to result from that or something.

Meanwhile, Robin is more than ever roped into the Penacony business . She can't drop everything and leave these children in Dreamflux Reef and all the people relying on her. But that's the consequence that comes with being kind, compassionate, and helpful. It can cost you your freedom in a way.

---

But he loves her, right? He did it all out of love, for her safety! She should be grateful (that's called gaslighting, by the way). Let's not talk about the horrifying things an older relative who has absolute power over the person can do to them, justifying it with "love". It hits too close to home for too many people.

Unfortunately, the best example of how he still loves her I've heard is about how he's a fan of her songs (has he ever realized that he nearly cost her her voice?) That's cute, I guess? But she's an interstellar superstar; she has millions of fans, she doesn't need another one, she needs a brother who respects her basic human rights at the very least.

In a way it makes the "bird in a cage" metaphor even worse: "I don't care what you want. I like your voice. You nearly lost it due to your injury, so I'll keep you locked down forever." By the way, she nearly lost her voice from him messing with Order and Harmony. Did he expect that she'll be able to sing for him when imprisoned in Ena's dream?

And he was probably not even her only fan who dreamt of locking her up forever in safety and comfort because he "loved" her. Think about it.

[theaawalker]

⌲;꒰ Oh, What the Hell? ꒱ J. Storm

Pairing: Johnny Storm x fem!oc

Song Inspo: What the Hell by Avril Lavigne

Word Count: 1,196

Summary: When Johnny Storm breezes through the Baxter Building lobby like he owns the world, Debbie — the sardonic, gum-chewing front desk receptionist with a knack for cutting through his ego — knows exactly what kind of day it’s going to be. But when Johnny proposes a spontaneous escape from her mundane shift, Debbie is torn between responsibility and the chance to finally let go. One prototype toy, a crushed dream, and a suite booking later, it turns out even the Human Torch might have the charm to melt her routine.

Warnings: Mild language (“shit,” “screw you”), light sexual innuendos, and workplace boundary-pushing

Masterlist: See fandoms (pc-friendly)

The clack of acrylic nails hitting keys echoed through the Baxter Building's marble lobby. Debbie Rush—yes, like the actress, but no relation, she'd say with a smirk—sat at the front desk, legs crossed, chewing her gum like it owed her rent. Solitaire was open on her screen, a barely shuffled mess of red queens and black aces.

Outside, a flurry of camera flashes sparked like fireworks. Debbie winced at the familiar chaos. Without looking up, she sighed.

“Johnny.”

Right on cue, the automatic doors whooshed open as Johnny Storm strolled in. Arms swaying in his leather jacket, shades on despite being indoors, and strutting like he had theme music playing in his head.

He beamed at her and tossed his car keys across the desk.

Debbie barely caught them, yelping, “I’m not the valet, Johnny. We’ve had this conversation ten times.”

“Yeah, my bad,” he said casually, leaning against the counter like it was his property. “Anyway! What do you think?”

He whipped something from his jacket. A toy. More specifically, an action figure. One with an an unfortunately accurate caricature of Ben Grimm, molded plastic and orange, rocky skin. Johnny pulled its arm.

“It’s clobberin’ time!”

Johnny grinned, eyes sparkling. “Catchy, right?”

Debbie blinked at the toy, then at him, blowing a lazy bubble. “Oh, is it supposed to be?”

Johnny groaned, “You have no vision.”

Ding.

The elevator slid open and Ben Grimm stormed out, looking like he wanted to clobber the world.

“Perfect timing!” Johnny called, intercepting him. “Benny, check this out!”

He yanked the toy’s arm again.

“It’s clobberin’ time!”

Ben glared. Grabbed the toy. Crushed it in one massive hand like a soda can. Debbie’s jaw dropped.

Johnny gasped, scrambling for the plastic crumbs. “Dude! That was the prototype!”

Ben grunted and continued out the door.

Johnny threw his arms in the air. “Well, somebody hates capitalism.”

Debbie chewed thoughtfully. “I think that went smoothly.”

Johnny rubbed his face, half-laughing. “You think?”

She smiled dryly. “Oh, definitely.”

Johnny scoffed and leaned closer on the desk. “So. How about you? Me? Dinner? Tonight?”

“Mmm.” Debbie twisted her lips and held up his keys. “Can’t. Gotta park your car, remember?”

“I said my bad!” He laughed, hands up. “You can’t hold that against me forever.”

“Mmm." Debbie hummed in sarcastic thought. "Can. Will.”

Ring.

She cursed under her breath and hit the button. “Thank you for calling the Baxter Building, this is Debbie, how can I help you?”

Johnny leaned on his elbows, watching her with amused eyes.

“Uh-huh,” she muttered. “Uh-huh.”

He leaned in further, trying to peek at her screen. She gave him a quick side-eye. He grinned and backed off, palms up.

“Yeah,” Debbie continued. “You want to book the conference center and check if the presidential suite is... available? I'll check if it is. One moment.”

Johnny whispered, “Please say no... please say no...”

She clicked through a few screens. “It’s open.”

“Damn it,” Johnny muttered, silently punching the air with a goofy smirk.

Debbie rolled her eyes. The man thought he was so funny.

“Okay," she spoke into her headset, "I’ll check on that max capacity and get back to you—hold, please.” She clicked again.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Max capacity? That sounds dirty.”

Debbie gave a deadpan laugh. “Ha. Ha. Original.”

Johnny groaned, hopped up and sat on the counter. He watched her fingers fly across the keyboard.

“You know," he glanced at the barren lobby and shrugged, "you could ditch this shift. This place pays you in vending machine tokens.”

“Can’t. Busy.” Debbie typed on.

“You’re always busy. You work in a building that houses a superhero team. Superhero, Debs! And instead of seizing the opportunity of a lifetime, you’re booking banquet rooms for biotech startups.”

Debbie furrowed her brow, fingers halted. “Are you... asking me to exploit you?”

Johnny snapped his fingers and pointed. “Only counts as exploitation if I don’t know about it.”

She opened her mouth to respond. “You might— crap, I’m over.” She hit a button. “Yes, thank you for holding. I’m still checking that—”

Johnny pressed the hold button again.

Debbie gasped, “Hey!”

“Debs. Babe. Listen to me.” He leaned in, voice low and persuasive. “I’ve seen you run this desk like a machine. Serve annoying tourists, babysit corporate execs, deal with my family’s weird fan mail. You’re ethical. I admire that. Really.” Beat. “But even Beyoncé takes days off.”

Debbie clenched her jaw. Her fingers twitched over the keys.

“Come on,” he whispered, voice rich with charm. “One day. No phones. No bookings. No stupid headset. Just... fun.” He mimed sprinkling pixie dust over her.

She scoffed, skeptical. “Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“That’s where the Human Torch comes in.”

She winced. “Wow. You’re really calling yourself that, huh?”

“It’ll catch on. Get it? Catch on? Like... fire— never mind.” He waved her off. “You in?”

She hesitated. Looked back at her screen. “What about the presidential suite?”

“Book it,” Johnny shrugged. “For yourself.”

“With whose money?”

Johnny slipped a gleaming gold card from his pocket and slid it across the desk. She started to say no. Even lifted a finger like she would.

Then Debbie sighed. “You’re ridiculous.”

Johnny smirked. “I’m aware.”

She took the card, too quick for regret. This was insane. She could get fired. Would get fired. She told herself no. And then she told herself to shut up.

Debbie got back on the call. “Yes, thank you for holding. I checked the suite capacity and...” she glanced at Johnny, who had his brows lifted and fingers crossed, then inhaled, “and it looks like the suite capacity is 50 maximum—”

“Yessss.” Johnny muttered, pumping his fist victoriously.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, we can’t—” Click. They hung up on her. Debbie sighed and tossed the headset down. “Screw you, too.”

She sat back, for the first in what felt like centuries, and sighed. Ran a hand through her hair. Told herself to let it go and take another call.

Johnny nodded, holding out his card like a victory flag. “Screw them all.”

Debbie slowly took it and nodded, determined and pissed. She punched in his information and booked the suite. She finalized the booking, barely finishing the form when Johnny grabbed her hand.

“Wait— Johnny—”

“Too late!” He sang, dragging her to the elevator before it closed.

Inside, she leaned back against the rail, wide-eyed. “What am I doing?”

Johnny hit the top floor and nodded to her. “You’re about to have the best day of your life.”

He leaned beside her, smug and glowing. Debbie turned to him slowly, shaking her head as he chuckled. Chewing her gum, she looked ahead and fought a smile as the elevator doors closed.

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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[ghost-inthe-hall]

Tldr; some of you should be ashamed.

Listen, I'm really not into the dramatics of elation goes on in the Fandom, I have voiced a few key things a few years back but this... this is very concerning.

Not only did some of you in the fandom, which I will say 90% of the time has been an absolute blast, I've made some friends and met some really cool people! The other 10% 😒😒 not so much.

yes I am judging you.

You know why? Because you make us all look bad!

Cause what do you mean you leak their private information on purpose? You unmask them as threats for those that don't want the full anonymity and mystery thrown at their face like a pie! You have pictures of his parents? What??

These are REAL people!

They aren't actors, your OC's, fictional characters in some book you got tricked into buying on Amazon, real people. With lives. Family and friends and you'd risk that because what... you think you're entitled or owed something.

Guess what, they don't owe us anything. Gee I wonder why they don't interact with us! Some of you are fucking banana heads!

Now this!

Are you proud of yourselves?

To any one of your who sat there and typed out whatever it is that you did to make a fan a real fan upset enough to make a video response to the bullying and humiliation you handsomely doled out to a fuckin weatherman!!!

We were all having fun, joining in on conversations, naming a flamingo, plot twists, anagrams, clues, houses divided, obtain, prepare, offerings and you had to ruin it. It's always something. Can't go one week without one of you boneheads doing something shameful.

The audacity to try and call a fan a clout chaser, trying to be somebody HOW DARE YOU? who the f are you jfc? because he was contacted for a bit, a fun little game that they've been teasing since last tour ended. He was excited to be apart of it. We were excited to be apart of it. But because you are impatient and over the wait which I get as well and understand I'm about to tear out my hair for something to gnaw on from them, and it's your opinion and you're allowed to have one.

But for fucks sake, act like you've been outside before!

You're putting on Sleep Token like a fashion statement, you're not really hear for them, you're not even fans if you do this to them. How disrespectful. They've had this all planned out and some of you jerk offs screwed it all up!

You claim to love this band like none other and yet you treat them like gum on your shoe bc you're not getting YOUR way? incredibly insensitive. I can't imagine how Chris feels, he looked and sounded so disappointed and I don't blame him one bit. Bullying him AND his actual viewers... man, no respect for anything.

I can't even fathom how the guys feel after this.

All the work the guys have poured into this, while they've been touring nonstop mind you, to be able to write new music, come up with all of this for the future, signing to a major label (not my fav), selling out a whole ass tour, planning, months and months of planning and the excitement we shared. The band and us and a few numbskulls ruin it for the whole gang. Fucking lame.

Now Chris Michaels has to endure the ugly side of the Fandom and has to make another video for another announcement. So that also means Sleep Token had to step in and move up what they had planned.

You couldn't just sit on your hands for 4 days!

I love it here, the community has been such a fun and exciting place to be and well never get something like this, this woven together again. I'm enjoying the ride but some of you clowns really should look in the mirror and start taking some of the make up off before Vessel hits us with a Nothing Lasts Forever post and their gone.