#at the same time I know I can't let this one go. I like the record it is of things I like and care about

[sevsgiirl]

Omg okay I can't stop thinking about needy lovesick Sevika with a younger femme partner (you can totally do a continuation of the fic you wrote) so what if, she's a little needy&insecure for their age gap? That her girl gets bored/annoyed with her? (She doesn't have this type of thoughts all the time, but the seeds of doubts grows when she hears other people talk, not directly about her and reader, but in general but it does linger when others points out how different they are) or in her own way, she start craving more compliments, affections from her but dunno how to do it and at the same time she's trying to gauce if her girl still likes her (she does!!) yet just the thoughts/doubts hurts Sevika like so bad, because she would do anything for her darling, what she has to do to make her girl still love her and not leave her?

— sevika with a younger partner and feeling insecure

synopsis: sevika doesn’t have a type. whether they’re older or younger, just as long as they could keep up with her that’s all mattered. but ever since you two started dating, she starts to wonder if she’s the one who could keep up with you and how deep down, it scares her that you might find a problem with it eventually.

note: I just had to post this before going to sleep because the idea is too good. I love the way your brain works and again, thank you for sending in the req <3 love you and I hope you like this.

you were a beacon of light in the cesspool of chaos that is sevika’s life.

to this day, she still doesn’t understand how you and her got into a relationship but here you are now, going strong for almost a year and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you two rarely get into arguments, when you did she never hesitates to reach out and fix the situation right away because she can’t stand being on bad terms with you for long.

you two are on the same mental wavelength, which sevika appreciates given how you’re a lot younger than her. she’s in her 40s and you were in 20s, but sometimes she forgets because conversations always run smoothly between you two.

but just because she forgets that doesn’t mean other people fail to bring it up.

when you started dating, it was a bit difficult given how it wasn’t received well by a lot of her peers. not that they judged her for it because they could never unless they wanted to have their face busted in. but it was the occasional remarks that had a hint of judgement in them that made sevika uncomfortable.

things such as “she’s a bit young, isn’t she? you better keep an eye on her especially because you’re always at work. it’s hard being in a relationship with someone who’s at a different stage in life as you.”

both of you had jobs but her work compared to yours was hectic. you work as a waitress at jericho’s meanwhile sevika is paid to get her hands dirty for silco. the job was tedious and draining and sometimes she comes home, tired to the bone that she could barely catch up with you. which she feels immensely guilty for.

you’ve reassured her that it isn’t a big deal and that you understand her status in zaun is far more important than yours. you’ve always acknowledged sevika’s role in the under city and why she was feared by many, that’s what attracted you to her in the first place. she was loyal, devoted and her endurance was insane.

but still, despite how sevika’s job is her number one priority, it still doesn’t slip her mind that she may accidentally neglect you and your needs without her knowing.

and she knows it takes a toll on you too, you just don’t want to bring it up because you respect her too much. and she was right because when she came home early one night you weren’t there, and it was almost midnight when you finally returned and you were shocked to see sevika sitting on your couch waiting for you. usually she’d be back around 2-3am.

“hey, you didn’t tell me silco would let you off the hook early,” you said but your words became background noise because she was too focused on your appearance. you were dressed up and from where she sat she could tell you’ve had a lot to drink.

it’s not that it upset sevika you went out, you could do whatever you want but it saddens her that you didn’t even go out of your way to tell her about it assuming she’d be coming home late. is this what you do when she’s not here? go out with your friends and have fun? it’s not that she expects you to wait for her in your apartment all day while she’s away for work.

still, the thought bothers her as she wonders what you must’ve been up to while she was gone. she tries to set the thought aside, not wanting to think bad of you because she knows you’d never go against her back. but certain thoughts crept up at the back of her mind. did you meet someone while you were out? were you offered drinks? did someone invite you out to dance?

“sev, baby, you there?” she didn’t even realize she zoned out until she felt you cupping her cheek “are you tired? you shouldn’t have stayed up for me.”

she shook her head “it’s alright. but yeah, silco let me off early and I wanted to surprise you.”

your shoulders sagged “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d come home late again so I decided to just go out with friends. had I known I would’ve waited so we can stay in and cuddle.”

despite your flattery words, the only thing that stuck to sevika was you implying she’d be late again. you didn’t mean it maliciously, there was no bitterness in your tone but instead there was just… acceptance. which frustrated her because people were right.

perhaps being at different stages in life does this. you needed a partner who you can home to and have fun with but instead you got her who’s always late, is already asleep when you probably want to stay up and have sex at night. she would force herself to push through just for you but she isn’t getting any younger and it shows.

maybe it’s because others have planted it in her head that you two are just far too different that’s why she’s overthinking like this, but it’s becoming more and more evident that they were right and if she doesn’t find a way to fix this, god knows before you start seeing the cracks and the dents as well.

and so in the following day she asked silco if she could cut off her usual hours at work to get back home early. at least for a few weeks and silco was shocked for a second because if there was anyone who’s extremely dedicated to their job, it’s her.

but it’s because of that he deliberates on the request “very well,” he answered “but if the matters are urgent I expect you to come in either way,”

well, it’s better than nothing, sevika thought. what matters is she’ll try to find some time to spend the following weeks with you and to hopefully regain the spark in your relationship.

not that she’s saying it’s lost but she’s scared it will. because if her days don’t consist of work, she’s either at the bar playing cards to blow off some steam, which isn’t exactly a productive way of spending one’s time.

unlike you, you have tons of friends who you go out with at clubs and sevika just doesn’t want to think about all the people you meet there, who are probably the same age as you, and have wanted to ask you out but you turned them down because of her.

meanwhile, she’s here and she can’t even keep you happy like how you deserve.

it eats her up alive that’s why as soon as she comes back from work a lot earlier than usual, she immediately engulfs you in a back hug when she sees you cooking in the kitchen.

you gasped, not expecting her “sev, you’re home.” you were surprised as you turned around “did something happen?”

she shook her head, smiling “no sweetheart, silco just let me off early again. plus I’ve been meaning to spend more time with my girl…”

you still weren’t used to the disruption of the routine, because she’s normally away at these hours, but you weren’t complaining.

and with that, you spent most of the evening cooking and catching up with each other. you didn’t miss the way sevika followed you around the house like a lost puppy when you started cleaning up to get ready for bed.

you raised an eyebrow when she wrapped her arms around your waist while you were washing the dishes, noticing how she’s awfully more needy than usual.

“baby, go rest. you just got back home from work.” you giggled and she just shook her head.

“I just want to spend more time with you. I feel like I haven’t been the best partner.”

that halted you in your tracks and you angled your head so you can face her “baby, what makes you think that?” your eyebrows were furrowed and she just held you tighter.

she lets out a breath, tired and awfully nervous about vocalizing her doubts. what if once she points it out you start seeing the red flags too? and then these affectionate gestures just won’t be enough? what then?

“I know with my job and the responsibilities I have, I haven’t been able to fulfill your needs. you have so much ahead of you and I’m always at work and I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m wasting your time.” she said and you just stood there, letting her words sink in.

“you’re young and you could be with someone whose head isn’t always stuck in a bunch of paperwork or is running around the lanes doing silco’s dirty work.” her jaw clenched and she starts to wonder if admitting to all of this was a good idea.

“I’m sorry, princess. I just don’t want to bore you by leaving you here at home all by yourself…”

you immediately swiveled around in her arms and took her face in your hands.

“sev, look at me.” you said, your voice stern “I could give less than two fucks about people my age. you think when I got into a relationship with you I didn’t know what I was signing myself up for? of course I did and I don’t regret any of it. I know you have responsibilities and I accepted all of your duties the moment you became mine.”

“I could never be bored of you, baby.” you told her, thumb caressing her cheek “you don’t treat me any differently because of my age so why should I? I love it that you’re so hard at work and that you provide for me. the fact my salary at jericho’s isn’t even enough to pay half of our rent but you don’t mind because you provide for us both, why would I find that boring? that’s fucking sexy.”

she couldn’t help but let out a snort “oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re staying with me because I’m basically your sugar mommy?”

you grinned “amongst other things,” you said before capturing her lips with your own.

the kiss was hot, heavy and slow as sevika gripped your hips and pulled you against her. pushing her knee up and sliding it across your thighs and she started rubbing against your clothed cunt, making you whimper.

“so you’re not bored of me? or mad?” she asked as she pulled away to look at you.

you rolled your eyes “you could be 23 or 75 for all I care and I still wouldn’t get bored of you.”

your finger drew circles around her chest as you fluttered your eyes up at her “plus you fuck me like you’re 23 anyway, so I don’t see why I would look for someone my age.”

she couldn’t help but laugh, swooping you up in her arms and you circled your legs around her waist as she walked you to your bedroom “god, you’re such a handful.” she said.

you smirked “but you love it.”

[alchemistc]

my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

Tommy blinks awake and immediately wishes he hadn't. This is his third time waking up, and apparently they listened to him when he asked them to slow down his morphine drip because everything hurts.

The busted leg he remembers - they'd kept him awake long enough to explain that they'd do everything they could to keep it but... Well. No buts, in the end, just titanium and enough pins to make sure he'll never get through TSA quickly ever again. Thank fuck most of his flying he does on his own.

Christ, if he has to get recertified...

Fractured ribs, a punctured lung, three broken fingers but thank god his arms had survived relatively intact.

The bruising on his face screams before the rest of it does, which is just - it's silly, actually, that somewhere in his head he's thinking about how awful he must look. Of course he looks fucking awful, he survived a helicopter crash. Why would he look great? He should look as bad as he feels.

On a scale from 1 to Fuck Off he's very firmly toeing the line into Go Screw Yourself.

The knock startles him.

The startle wrenches something in his neck area, and Tommy groans through the pain. Shit. Screw his dad just that little bit more for providing the perfect genetics for a proclivity for addiction.

Evan.

He's standing at the door, looking apologetic, head ducked a little like he does when he either wants something, or thinks he's done something wrong. Puppy eyes, he'd heard Hen call it once, while she mimed barfing, because Tommy thought it was adorable.

He still thinks it's adorable.

Fuck.

"Hey," he says, in his Hospital Voice. (Tommy is new to this voice, but he's growing more used to it, now: third time awake and it's the third time Evan's been there. In a chair at his side, flirting with a nurse while he wrote on Tommy's chart, now perched in the doorframe looking... a bit grungy if Tommy's being honest. Like he hasn't slept in days. Like those are the same clothes Tommy first saw him in.

Evan dances in the door and it's the first time he's noticed that one of his arms is tucked behind his back. "If that's a bouquet you should know I'm allergic," Tommy says, and doesn't hate the way his voice sounds quite as much as he has in recent memory. He's almost managed to get back the ironic lilt.

Evan's smile widens. "You're lying, and besides, you can't be allergic to every flower. Are you allergic to the corpse flower?" He pauses. Narrows his eyes like he's heading Tommy off at the pass. "You can't say the smell is as bad as the allergies would be."

"I feel like a corpse flower," Tommy intones, and he wonders - is that - is this what - they're just not gonna talk about it? What he'd said, in the air, with half the public servants of the city listening in? Or the fact that Evan hasn't left this hospital in two days? Or whatever he's still hiding behind his back?

Evan steps into the room. Rolls his shoulders with a shit-eating grin. Brandishes the item he's been hiding - a stuffed chicken. There's something sticking to the end of one leg, and Tommy squints to try to make it out. Looks like -

"Bobby got it for you! He said you'd know what the knife was for."

Tommy groans, tips his chin against his pillow, groans again because the pain is radiating throughout his body. Evan steps closer.

"I really wish you'd at least let them give you the muscle relaxants," Evan murmurs, closer, so much closer. Hand on the bed, fingers lifted like he's thinking about squeezing Tommy's thigh, and god - god, he wants that. But they can't just - they're in this whole mess because they talk around shit instead of about it.

Evan sets the chicken on the table next to the bed. His smile is loose and light, but his eyes are worried.

"I'm still pissed they put me on a morphine drip that first day, Evan, it's in my chart not to -." Evan bridges the gap, distracting Tommy thoroughly - fingers soft and light, careful, sliding across his thigh and dangerously close to the crease of his groin. Even if he weren't in a hospital bed he's in way too much pain to even think of getting it up but it's compelling. It's distracting. Tommy never wants him to move his hand.

"Hey," he says, and Tommy blinks. Frowns. Drinks in the sight of Evan's plaintive head tilt and tries to breathe. He hasn't really been this lucid, before. "I have one more thing for you."

Tommy raises a brow. Clenches his jaw. Tries not to freak the fuck out when Evan reaches for the pocket of his likely rank flannel and pulls out a suspiciously small box. No. No, absolutely not, has he learned nothing from Tommy's multiple attempts to get him to slow down.

Evan pops the lid.

Tommy feels the hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest and tries to push it down because laughing right now would jostle so many fucking things and he can't -

"So. Um. I know we - I know we still need to - to sit down and, like. Talk. About things," Evan says, while Tommy stares at the metal-on-velvet. "A-and this isn't me asking for anything. I'm just..." He presses a fist to his eyes, rubs, fingers opening to rub at the scruff on his jaw. "So. I have a spare room. And you won't be able to manage stairs for a minute, and - and I have, like, so much PTO, Tommy, an insane amount of it, and I just thought. While you get your bearings..." Tommy watches him, still quiet. "It really sucked being on my own dealing with a bum leg. And - maybe - maybe we take some time to talk. Crack open that champagne once your doctor clears it."

Tommy stares. Tommy contemplates. Tommy sucks in a deep breath and swallows hard.

"You want me to sleep in the spare room?"

One of Evan's hands is still on his thigh. The other is still palming a house key. His grin is wry. "I would like nothing less, but I thought I'd offer."

Tommy's hand has been creeping steadily towards the one on his leg for a minute now. He makes the final effort, curls fingers around Evans wrist. "Please tell me your mattress is off the floor."

"There's even a top sheet."

Tommy feels his lip quirking. It had been an almost-argument, a generational gap they couldn't bridge, something so small and silly it hadn't seemed worth the time to fight about it when there were better things they could be doing with the bed. He wishes they'd fought about it. He hopes they have a thousand fights ahead of them.

Tommy releases the hand circling Evans wrist, palms the key. Evan beams.

"It's not exactly traditional, but, uh - you have the one watch you refuse to take off for anything, and I wasn't gonna make you like, a paper crane, so..."

"Traditi - Evan, what?"

His smile goes a little coy. "I know there's like, a break in there, or whatever, but - uh - happy anniversary."

Tommy wants to cry. He wants to grin until his lips hurt as much as the rest of him. He wants -

"Come down here and kiss me, you lunatic," Tommy says, and Evan grins as he obliges.

[yueebby]

head over heels – jason todd

synopsis. jason todd is smitten and everyone is tired of it 

contents. fluff, ooc?, so much banter and pining its painful, like can they just kiss already

notes. short moments i had written but decided to combine into one fic. maybe i'll make a pt 2. not proofread...

There have only been a few occasions where Jason’s family has seen him smile. And even then, it was usually a sick smirk as he wreaked havoc on his enemies. So, imagine their shock when they watch their brooding, battle-hardened brother smile at you, of all people.

You.

His sworn enemy. A dramatic title, sure, but fitting. Ever since the two of you met, you had butted heads at every opportunity. Your strong personalities clashed and neither of you were willing to back down. In fact, you had become a fixture in each other’s lives. Two forces of nature neither could ignore.

And right now, the storm was brewing once again.

"You were in my territory again, asshole!" You jab a finger into his chest, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

Jason scoffs, arms crossing as he looms over you. "Your territory? Last time I checked, Bruce took it away after that drug ring went out of control. Don't think you can handle it alone, sweetheart."

Your jaw drops. "Excuse me?!" Your voice pitches up, outrage and disbelief mixing together as your hands curl into fists at your sides.

On the sidelines, Dick nudges Damian toward the exit of the Batcave. "We should go before it gets violent."

"That, or they're finally going to kiss," Tim mutters, eyes glued to the scene. It’s like watching a car crash– horrific, yet impossible to look away from.

Jason doesn’t acknowledge them. He’s too busy watching you, his entire focus drawn to the way your face contorts in frustration, how your lips part as you struggle for a retort.

"You heard me," Jason says, tilting his head slightly, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "You were wounded when we found you. Wounded, and alone."

You huff, crossing your arms as if that could protect you from the memory. "I was fine."

Jason gives an exasperated laugh, running a hand through his hair. "You call a gunshot wound fine?"

"Just a gunshot wound," you correct, jaw tightening. "Nothing new around here."

"Just a gunshot wound?!" Jason repeats, incredulous. "I had to carry your stubborn ass out of there!"

"I didn't ask you to!"

Jason exhales sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring. "Yeah, well, it’s not like I wasn’t going to!"

The argument should feel tense. But instead, there's a crackling undercurrent, something unspoken lingering in the space between you.

What you don’t see, what everyone else in the Cave does is the way Jason is looking at you. Not with his usual scowl, not with the biting irritation that fuels your bickering, but something softer. 

A smile ghosts across his lips. It’s subtle, but there nonetheless. Like a cat discreetly preening under attention, soaking in every word, every ounce of energy you throw his way.

And the moment his siblings notice, chaos erupts.

“Holy shit,” Tim whispers, eyes wide.

Dick sucks in a breath like he’s just witnessed something forbidden.

Damian, ever the blunt one, sneers. "Disgusting."

Jason barely notices. He’s too busy watching you, fighting the way his lips twitch up again as you huff and look away, cheeks a little warmer than before.

“You are absolutely insufferable, Todd.”

His smile widens, “You know you love it.”

Turns out, you and Jason can't even be within a fifty mile radius of each other without making everyone around you feel strangely uncomfortable.

Dick makes a mental note to never let the two of you spar again. At least, not with an audience. Whenever you and Jason were in the same space, the rest of the world might as well not exist. And the tension. It was painfully suffocating.

The Batcave was dead silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and the sharp clash of fists meeting blocks. Everyone had been watching for the past twenty minutes as you and Jason fought, your movements sharp and teetering between training and an actual fight.

To be fair, no one expected the two of you to take it easy on each other. You never had before.

Jason wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after you landed a solid hit to his jaw. Instead of being pissed, though, he grinned. It was a dangerous thing that made your stomach do an annoying little flip.

"Not bad," he admitted, rolling his shoulders.

You smirked. "Starting to sound impressed, Todd."

Jason lunged, and before you could dodge, he swept your legs out from under you. You barely had time to brace yourself before your back hit the mat, the air leaving your lungs in a sharp exhale. In the next second, Jason was above you, his body caging you in, pinning your wrists down on either side of your head.

And suddenly, everything felt different.

The heat between you wasn’t just from exertion anymore. The way he was looking at you with his weight pressing down just enough to make your breath catch, it wasn’t just about winning a fight.

"Not starting to," Jason murmured, voice lower now, more serious. "I’ve been impressed."

Your throat went dry.

You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, but you didn’t dare look away from Jason. His pupils were blown wide, chest rising and falling against yours, and… 

Oh. Oh no.

He was smiling. And it wasn't a smirk. It was a real, genuine smile.

And worst of all, you found yourself smiling back.

The two of you stayed locked in a daze until you heard a cough in the background, a sharp reminder that the two of you were not alone. It knocks you out of your trance.

You take his short moment of weakness to headbutt him, leaving the male in a daze. Without wasting the split second advantage, it was your turn to pin him down.

“I guess I could say the same for you,” you shrug. “Could be better, but satisfactory.”

Jason groans at the impact of your forehead on his, “Has anyone ever told you that you have a hard head?”

“Yeah,” you snort, looking down at Jason. “You.”

Jason lets out a breathy chuckle beneath you, eyes still unfocused from the headbutt. "Yeah, well. Doesn't make it any less annoying."

You shift slightly, keeping his wrists pinned to the mat, and his grip tightens under your hands. It was instinctual, a sign that he isn’t actually letting you win. His chest rises and falls beneath yours, warm despite the cool air of the cave.

And then, there it is again. That rare, infuriatingly soft smile that no one ever sees.

You freeze for half a second. It’s barely noticeable, but Jason doesn’t miss a thing. His smirk stretches just a little wider, eyes gleaming in that way that makes your stomach twist.

"What?" he drawls, voice lower now, amused. "Distracted?"

You shove off him with a huff, standing up as fast as possible. Jason barely has time to react before you're already a few steps away, arms crossed, pretending like that moment didn’t just happen.

But Jason is still on the ground, propped up on his elbows, looking far too pleased with himself.

Dick, who had been trying very hard to mind his business, sighs dramatically. "For the love of God, just kiss already."

You whip around, glaring. "Gross! Nobody asked you, Grayson!"

Jason, still grinning like an idiot, finally hauls himself to his feet, rubbing the spot on his forehead where you hit him. "Y'know, for someone who acts like they hate me, you sure do love touching me."

You glare at him for enabling their behavior. "That's not true, and you know it."

Jason steps closer, slow, deliberate. Not enough to be threatening, but enough that the air between you tense again. Enough that you feel the heat radiating off him.

He’s still smiling.

Your breath catches.

Jason tilts his head. "Something wrong?"

You curse under your breath, shove past him, and stomp out of the Batcave without another word.

Jason watches you go, still rubbing his forehead, still smiling.

Tim exhales, shaking his head. "That was painful to watch."

Jason just chuckles. "Yeah," he mutters to himself, grin still lingering. "It was."

2 a.m. stakeouts were the worst.

It was cold and boring, the kind of hours that made you question why you even did this hero thing in the first place. To make matters worse, you were stuck on patrol with Jason, so there was no semblance of peace in the quiet Gotham night.

By the time you and Jason finally wrapped up surveillance, both of you were starving. There wasn’t a debate about it, just a silent agreement as he gunned his motorcycle toward a late-night diner on the outskirts of Gotham.

Now, you were sitting across from him in a vinyl booth, watching in mild horror as he absolutely demolished a double bacon cheeseburger.

"You eat like you just got out of prison," you observed, idly stirring your milkshake with a straw.

Jason wiped his mouth with a napkin, raising an eyebrow. "And?"

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your shake. "Nothing. Just surprised you have manners at all."

Jason chuckled, low and warm, shaking his head. And then, before you could process it, there it was again.

That damn smile. It was the kind of expression no one ever saw on him. The kind of smile that didn’t belong to Gotham’s deadliest vigilante.

The kind of smile that, apparently, only appeared when he was with you.

You felt your pulse stutter in your throat, caught completely off guard.

Jason must’ve noticed, because his smirk returned instantly, cocking his head, surging with a newfound sense of confidence. And you're not sure if you like that. "Like what you see?"

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "You wish."

Jason leaned back against the booth, arms stretching over the seat as he regarded you with amusement. "Yeah," he said, way too casually, "I do."

You nearly choked on your fries, “Geez, Todd. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were flirting with me.”

Jason raises an eyebrow.

“And if I was?”

“I would have to check to see where the real Jason is.”

“He’s right here.”

You eye him suspiciously. 

Jason watches you carefully, his smirk still in place but not as sharp, not as mocking. There’s something else there. It’s something you can’t quite place, something that makes your pulse stutter.

"You’re acting weird," you say, pointing a fry at him. "Where’s all the unnecessary aggression? The brooding?"

Jason exhales, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t feel like fighting tonight."

You raise a brow, popping the fry into your mouth. "That’s a first."

He leans back against the booth, arms stretching lazily over the seat, but there’s tension in his shoulders, in his fingers tapping idly against the vinyl. "Yeah, well," he muses, eyes flicking to you, "arguing with you is exhausting."

"You love arguing with me," you counter easily, leaning back to mirror his posture. "You start half of them."

Jason hums, tilting his head as if considering it. "Maybe," he allows. Then, after a beat, "Maybe I just like getting a rise out of you."

Your breath catches for half a second. 

Jason’s watching you now, really watching you, his gaze too steady, too knowing.

You force a scoff. "So what I’m hearing is, you’re an instigator."

Jason grins at that, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "You always read too much into things," he says, but there’s no real bite to it. If anything, he almost sounds amused.

Your stomach twists uncomfortably. You blame the fries.

Silence stretches between you, not awkward, but charged. There’s an awareness now, a shift in the air, like something unspoken lingers just beneath the surface.

Jason looks at you, and for the first time tonight, his smirk fades—not completely, but just enough.

Just enough that the teasing falls away. Just enough that you catch a glimpse of something softer.

Something terrifying.

You don’t know who looks away first, but when you do, your heart is hammering a little too hard against your ribs.

Jason clears his throat, reaching for his drink. "So," he says, back to casual, back to easy, "you gonna finish your fries or what?"

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you push the basket toward him. "Knock yourself out, tough guy."

Jason takes one, popping it into his mouth. He doesn’t say anything else, but when you glance at him again, there’s that damn smile.

It’s subtle, but it was just for you.

Across the comms, Dick sighs, exasperated but entertained. “Do they have any idea we can all hear them?”

[kiwisa]

Romcom Worthy ✪ LN04

━━━━ PAIRING ! Lando Norris x Fan! Fem! Reader

IN WHICH... A face reveal turns your life upside down.

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yourusername Lando wins the Australian Grand Prix !!! He's now leading the championship. Mark my words, it's coming home this year 🧡✴️

1 hour ago

user1 23min FUCK YESSSS

user2 1h a great day to be a papaya stan 🥭🧡✴️ ♥︎ liked by author

user3 47min OMG GIRL HE LIKED

user4 19min he notices Y/N like three times a week yourusername 10min and yet it never gets old user4 8min tell me about it girl omg i wish i knew how it feels yourusername 3min manifesting this for you girlie 🧎🤲🏼

user5 37min if we don't win this year i'll kms

yourusername 17min noooo don't kill yourself your so sexy aha (same.)

user6 1h the way you posted before McLaren... DEDICATION.

user7 1h McLaren's CM works hard but Y/N works harder ♥︎ liked by author

user8 3min Meanwhile Oscar is still mowing the Australian grass as we speak

Liked by lando and others

yourusername Still can't believe this happened. Thank you McLaren for the invitation and congratulations to Lando for P2 !!! We're leading the championship, baby !!! 🧡✴️

2 hours ago

user1 2h CONGRAAAAAATS YOU DESERVE IT SO MUCH 😭 (i've never been so jealous in my entire life)

user2 2h omgggg is that lando in the last pic??? girl you're living the life

yourusername 2h my hands were shaking so bad

user3 1h beauty privilege is wild frr

user4 49min pls let's not erase the fact that she is the biggest Lando update account on this platform. it was bound to happen either way.

mclaren 34min It was a pleasure to show you around the paddock, Y/N! ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 31min Thank you so much guys!! You made my dreams come true 🧡

user5 1h you already got the wag look down

user5 1h GUYS LANDO LIKED MY COMMENT?????!!!! OMMGGGGG

lando 2h Too bad we couldn't talk more ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 2h Perhaps next time!! lando 2h I'll hold you to that ♥︎ liked by author user6 2h look at her being all composed and shit but we all know she's dying inside user7 1h he commented so fast omgggggg chill lando frr the post is not going anywhere user8 1h why are they flirting??? chat am i the only one seeing this? user9 42min no no you're not @/user8 i feel like i'm intruding

user10 21min How does it feel to live my dreams?

user11 17min guys smile we are witnessing history

Conversation 218 Comments

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Marylin 27 March, 2025

For fuck's sake. Let people live in peace. They don't need you to comment every aspect of their life.

Johann 27 March, 2025 You do that OP. Meanwhile, the rest of us will enjoy life and bask together in this drama straight out of a fanfic.

Paul 27 March, 2025

It's so hard seeing other people live my dream.

Liked by lando and others

yourusername Getting the news directly from the source now !! 🧡✴️

1 hour ago

user1 1h just woke up and oomf is dating my fav driver might just go back to sleep and pray to never wake up

user2 1h the hardest launch that ever launched

yourusername 1h what's a soft launch? never heard of her.

lando 1h Love you 🧡✴️ ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 1h Love you too 🧡 user3 1h omg he used her emoji combos 🥹🥹 user4 47min god we're so chronically online it's embarrassing user3 38min y/n was chronically online and looks where that got her. so excuse me but i'll continue. ♥︎ liked by author

user5 21min Y/N doing god's work and giving every fangirl hope they can date their fav

user6 1h What in the fanfic is this???

mclaren 10min Cannot wait to see you back in our garage! ♥︎ liked by author

user7 19min imagine if she hadnt posted her face reveal??? the way her life would be so different rn

user8 1h she better not distract him from winning the season

user9 1h Y/N would literally breakup with Lando if it meant securing his and McLaren's wins ♥︎ liked by author

user10 5min They better adapt this story into a romcom. The material is right there.

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

greening out | bitchkiller

feat Sirius Black x fem!reader x Barty Crouch Jr. cw: MDNI 18+, friends with benefits, intox kink, branding masterlist

“Oh, treasure, you're in your own world aren't you?” Barty cooed, petting your hair out of your eyes.

You couldn't respond, your tongue thick and stupid from the smoke hanging heavily on the air. You were leaned against Barty, his arm slung over your shoulders. Sirius was perched in the window, taking a drag from the offending joint between his long fingers.

“Poor darling,” Sirius hummed, blowing the smoke in your direction. “Got a little ambitious, did we?” He slid off the window sill, prowling towards you with familiar glint in his eye. He crouched down in front of you, beautiful and threatening as a lion. “Look at me,” he ordered, and you tried, you really did, but the room spun as soon as you lifted your head from Barty's shoulder.

“Let me help you, baby,” Barty grasped your chin, his fingertips digging into your cheeks as he turned your head towards Sirius.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Sirius said, his pale eyes searching your face. “You look awfully pitiful.”

“Helpless,” Barty purred, shaking your head a little to punctuate his point. You head spun, unable to keep your heavy eyes focused on Sirius like you knew he wanted.

“Perfect.” Sirius smiled at you, more vicious that friendly, his canines looking extra sharp in your addled mind.

“Siri,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes, doll?” He asked, knowing the nickname would get you all flustered, butterflies tickling your ribs.

Barty's lips found your neck, charting a path along your jugular to your pulse, where he sucked your skin between his teeth. Whatever you were going to ask Sirius drained out of your brain with a sinful moan, Barty's touch making your whole body tingle.

“Dumb little thing can't remember what she was going to ask me,” Sirius chuckled. “That's alright, doesn't matter anyways. There's only one thing you need to remember—” he rose to his full height, towering over you and Barty on the couch, “Right?”

You nodded, blinking up at him, his black hair haloed in the candlelight like saint.

“Tell me,” Sirius ordered, his dominance sending a thrill down your spine, your soupy brain submitting without resistance. Docile as a lamb.

“Open up,” you mumbled, heat singing your cheeks, like it always did no matter how many times they made you say it.

“Not so dumb after all,” Barty praised, digging his fingertips into the hinge of your jaw and forcing your mouth open wide.

Sirius smirked, taking another drag off the joint. Barty, with his free hand, began pawing at your shirt, tugging the buttons out of their little slots until your lacy bra was exposed, blouse falling off your shoulders to pool at your waist and around your wrists.

Sirius leaned forward, and instinctively you emptied your lungs for what you knew was coming next. He blew the smoke into your mouth, slowly, sensually, and you breathed it in obediently, letting the acrid warmth fill your poor body once more.

“Hold it,” Sirius instructed, so you did, your chest painfully tight, throat burning. He crouched down once again, pushing you back against the couch and sliding your skirt up your thighs. You whined in protest, lungs screaming for air, your head swimming. “Let it go,” he hummed, and you did. At the same moment, Sirius stamped the cherry of the joint against your inner thigh, branding you, and you yelped, jumping backwards into the couch. He held you in place though, shushing you with gentle kisses around the mark he left behind.

“Well done,” Barty cooed, wiping a tear as it rolled down your cheek. “So tough, huh? Such a brave girl.” Barty pet your hair, holding you close as you trembled, adrenaline pumping through your blood and creating a heady, delicious cocktail.

Your thighs flexed under Sirius’s hands, your clit throbbing against the fabric of your panties, and you whimpered, clumsy hands fisting Barty’s shirt.

“Oh, I think she liked that,” Barty hummed, tracing a feather light circle around the mark with his index finger.

Sirius tugged you roughly to the edge of the couch, grazing his thumb over the gusset of your panties. You jerked at the faint contact, a strangled moan falling from your lips. “I’d say so.” He pet you again, applying a little more pressure, and you bucked into his hand, gasping into Barty’s neck as pleasure shot through you.

You were so high, it was difficult to pinpoint where they were, whose hands were whose while they explored you, stripping off your clothing until you were bare and sprawled out on the couch. Sirius's head was still between your thighs, blowing another plume of smoke over your drooling cunt before laving his tongue through your folds. You cried out, your back bowing off the couch as the sensation washed over you.

Barty stood above you with a bottle of wine, his middle finger down the neck of it. He tipped it back, coating his finger in burgundy liquid, and held it over your chest, droplets of cool wine rolling down the valley of your tits. Moving quicker than your sluggish brain could process, Barty lapped up the mess with his tongue.

Not one to be left out, Sirius grabbed Barty by the hair and dragged him down, connecting their mouths in a hungry, sloppy french kiss.

When they broke apart, Barty lifted the bottle again, pouring a generous glug into Sirius's open mouth, some running down his chin to mix with your slick smeared there. Barty lapped it up, moaning at the taste.

Sirius dove back into your cunt, slurping at your entrance before swirling his tongue around your clit, unhurried and self-indulgent.

“His mouth feel good, love?” Barty asked, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

You nodded, breathless moans spilling freely from your lips.

Barty lit another joint, holding it out for you to hit. You took a tiny one, blowing the smog down towards Sirius, who glanced up at you through his long lashes, smirking against your clit.

“Insatiable, isn't she?” Barty said, taking a hit himself and chasing it with a swig of wine.

“Down right greedy,” Sirius agreed.

“I know just the thing for greedy little sluts.” Barty kneeled on the couch by your head, his cock straining against the fabric of his trousers, the invitation clear.

With half-numb fingers, you worked to undo his belt and zipper, freeing his pretty cock from its fabric prison. He shed his t-shirt at the same time and his length slapped up against his stomach, smearing precum over the tattoo below his navel.

You opened your mouth automatically, saliva pooling under your tongue at the sight of him looming over you, lazily pumping his cock with his fist.

“Look at her, mate. Fucking desperate.” Barty chuckled, tracing your lips with his cockhead, the salted taste of him making you dizzy.

Sirius hummed in approval, his eyes trained on the two of you while he worked your pussy with his tongue.

Barty fed his cock between your lips, thrusting until he hit the back of your throat and you winced, fresh tears springing your your eyes.

“Shh, there's a good girl. I'm gonna fuck your face now, alright? And you're going to lay there and take it.” It seemed they were both feeling less than kind tonight.

Distantly you felt Sirius move away from you, the radiating pleasure from your lower half fading, but you couldn't see him around Barty. But you didn't have to wonder where he’d gone for long.

Sirius tapped his cock against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine, sawing through your slick to coat himself before notching at your entrance.

Barty, sensing Sirius's plan, eased back out of your mouth, tip resting on the tip of your tongue.

“Tell me again, doll,” Sirius cooed, bringing your thigh up to wrap around his hip.

“Ophen umph,” you slurred, the weed and Barty's cock inhibiting your tongues ability to function.

“Gold stars for you, treasure,” Barty said, winking at Sirius.

In unison, they thrust forward, stuffing your mouth and cunt with hard, relentless cock. Your cry was muffled around Barty, Sirius's length splitting you down the middle, your skewed senses feeling everything at once. Sinful, debilitating bliss.

“Now that's a pretty sight,” Sirius said, grinding his pelvis against yours, the squelch of your cunt making your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Like a center-fold whore.”

“So fucking perfect,” Barty praised, stroking your hair out of you face while he slowly thrust into your mouth, taking pity on you.

Sirius only hummed, groping your ass roughly before slapping it three times in rapid succession. You whined around Barty, trying to get your stupid limbs to cooperate and grind back on Sirius, get him to start fucking you, but you could barely keep your head up for Barty, your eyes open.

“You can do it, pet. C’mon. I know you wanna bounce on that cock,” Sirius chided, an edge of mockery in his voice. He pulled back, leaving just the tip inside of you, and laughed when you struggled to sink back onto him. “Pathetic, aren't you?”

Barty giggled, fucking your mouth a little harder so you couldn't talk back, his cock hot and heavy on your tongue, your eyes rolling back at the sweet moan spilling from his mouth. “There you go, just take it, baby,” Barty rasped, his head tipping back on his shoulders as he succumbed to the feeling. “Feels so fucking good.”

“Need a little help, sweetheart?” Sirius asked, voice dripping with condescension.

You nodded, tears rolling down your cheeks while you gagged on Barty's cock, desperation cloying under your skin, mixing with the weed to turn your thoughts to static, your mind to horny mush.

“C’mon, Black. You want it just as badly as she does, quit playing,” Barty chastised, though his eyes were teasing.

Sirius chuckled. “That's true, Junior. I do love this slutty little cunt.” He pushed back into you, and you mewled around Barty, walls clenching tight as if you could keep Sirius from withdrawing again.

The boys synchronized their thrusting, filling you completely before leaving you empty, over and over again. It was so intense, too intense, your body rapidly oscillating from overwhelming sensation to tingling numbness, pleasure and pain, until you felt that peak start to build in your core, raveling tighter and tighter.

Barty tightened his hold on your hair, thrusts going rougher, less rhythmic. “Fuck, baby. Open that throat for me—shit, good girl. I'm gonna—yes, tres, fucking take it.” His cock pulsed on your tongue, bucking against the back of your throat as the first scalding spray of release jetted from him.

You sucked him through it, eagerly swallowing everything he gave you and more, until he was trembling on his legs, broken moans dripping from his lips like the sweetest honey.

Barty slipped out of your mouth and dropped onto his knees, dragging your face to his for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongue delving past your lips to taste himself. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, laying a smacking kiss on your cheek and making you giggle, a burst of affection glowing in your chest.

“Junior, get behind her,” Sirius instructed, his voice strained, sweat collecting along his hairline. Barty obliged, sliding behind you and cupping your tits, toying with your hyper-sensitive nipples and kissing along your neck.

You leaned your weight on him, letting his body support you while Sirius railed into you, merciless in chasing his release. You weren't far from your own, completely adrift in the feeling of their bodies wrapped around you, climbing higher and higher.

“Gonna come for us, baby? Doesn't he feel so good stretching you out, dominating that greedy little hole?” Barty murmured in your ear, his hand snaking down to rub tight circles around your clit.

Sirius groaned, his grip growing painfully tight. “Don't make me force it out of you. C’mon, love, give me what's mine.”

You grabbed onto Barty’s arm, nails digging into his tattoos as your orgasm crested, taking you higher than any hit. Sirius fucked you through it until his own orgasm took hold and he pulled out, splattering your abdomen with streams of white.

The three you collapsed into a sticky heap on the couch, a tangle of sweaty limbs and half-discarded clothes, breathing hard in the foggy room.

“Anyone up for another?” Barty asked.

© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[squiddy-god]

Hi squiddy

I just noticed that your requests were open and I really like your work. If you don’t mind, could i request overstim with blade, boothill, and jing yuan?

Have a great day!

Tee hee yes i absolutely can do this for you! Hope you enjoy this, ngl boothill is one of those characters i STRUGGLE to write for

Request open Cw : overstimulation, overstim both for the reader and for characters, gn reader no pronouns or genital description this is for all <3 blade is a freak. Jing yuan is a closet freak. Boothill is boothill. Maybe a little body horror in blade but that is par the course- nothing extreme. Slight blade favoritism 

Blade 

I think that blade is absolutely one who is into overstim, on purpose or on accident 

I am a feral blade truther so like, i firmly believe this man gets so lost in the sauce 

Frankly if you aren't both overstimulated he isn't doing it right 

One of the main things he does is after he's done absolutely rearranging organs, he is laying on top of you, panting like a dog- but he dosnt stop, hes still fucking into you- hes determined to get hard again as he bites into your neck and shoulder

And it happens over and over and over again 

Dont ride him 

Leg day is leg hell with blade because he will use your thighs as his personal stress toys as he keeps you bouncing on his cock- hes slick, messy and flushed a angry red but he just can't stop because its like his eyes glaze over 

Do I think his blessing of abundance changes things? Yes, yes i do and ill die on that hill 

Big fan of blade “i need you to sit on my face” 

He frankly works himself up to this point, i don't think he knows the meaning of “casual” and i don't think he intends to learn 

“Casual?” you mean eons of torment passing between the seconds away from you? 

There is a part of his brain you itch just right, something deeply rooted and twisted in him at the thought of being your tool, a blade. Because he knows you see his personhood, his humanity and that you won't discard him…but watching you fuck yourself against him? Seeing the way your eyes screw shut and you start to wince and twitch. The way your leg jerks as he pushes it back again. 

His hips start to stutter even with the shallow thrusts, it starts to sting, every slide and wet squelch burns. Every time his pelvis slits against the curve of your ass there is a twinge of pain because both of you are rubbed red and raw. He kisses over the bites on your neck and shoulders, but his teeth ache and he nips at your nape again. He’ll be fine, five minutes tops before his skin is back to its original pallor no longer marred with the red burn of his own insatiable greedy movements. His skin has broken slightly, and that is his que to finally, finally wrench himself away from you. He’ll sit there letting you breathe without the air being slammed out of your lungs, if only for a moment before he's gathering you into his arms to bathe. Insidious haze lifted from his mind, finally letting himself bask in the thing he craves just as much as the overstimulation- that being you clinging to him, shaking against him letting him help with the ache and sting while you sooth his soul. 

Boothill 

Something something cyborg robo dick 3000

He lives vicariously through you and so can you blame him when you just sing so pretty for him? 

Now that is assuming he cant feel but honestly i think he probably has some sense of feeling 

It isn't the same as it used to be, but it's feeling 

But that being said i think boothill gets overstimulated kinda easy, he travels alone as a galaxy ranger at least until he met you, so he isn't exactly beating the touch starved allegations any time soon 

Boothill also has a biting problem but specifically he is going to absolutely wreak havoc on your chest, he is biting licking sucking and groping until you get in that over sensitive state where even the breeze has you twitching 

Then he'll move on until every part of you is like that 

Don't let him bully you 

Kiss him silly, tease him, check out those ports wink wink 

Yk what i am not going to figure out the logistics of horseback sex, danmei novels have already got that on lock but i will be leaving that there as a little thought yeah 

Jing yuan 

The brightest smiles hide the biggest dicks :’( or however the saying goes 

I know this :3 mf has a nasty mean streak in him 

Heh 8 page full jing yuan closet freak hcs like i did with neuviliette?? 

I will not be convinced this man doesn't do marathon sex, honestly i don't think there is a person associated with the xianzhou that knows what “casual” means, least of all its generals 

Jing yuan may present the air of a laid back man, a casual air that seems to naturally take the space around him but do not be fooled this man knows not the meaning of casual 

Don't get me wrong, he's a huge fan of lazy morning sex…until it turns into lazy afternoon sex and you're shaking because he is bullying you, truly. Laughing like he hasn't been knocking the air out of your lungs for hours relentlessly 

And you can't tease him! You cant even tease him back because he just takes it as a challenge

No teasing him about the sleepy kisses he lazily plants across your skin, not a peep about the deep languid thrusts where he keeps that slow torturous pace for hours

None of that because if you thought that was overstimulating you are not prepared for what you've brought upon yourself 

He laughs, that gentle smile disarming you as he plants a kiss to the crown of your head. He goes to work, carries out his duties and you forget your little teasing but jing yuan remembers. When he walks through the door, grabs your hips and wraps one sturdy arm around your middle you realise very quick that perhaps you might be slightly (read very) outmatched in terms of stamina 

I think jing yuan is hard to overstimulate, he ist feral like blade, jing yuan keeps pace and has at least a thin thread of control to not maul you like a curtain individual (blade) 

So chances are you will hit your limit long before jing yuan dose. 

He thinks its funny, in a sweet way, when you try to hit his limit either by pushing past yours, or by trying to focus on him 

Either way he makes you WORK for it 

What's worse is when he does hit his limit you look like you've been hit by a bus and he has that stupid smirk on his face as he curls up with you in his arms.

[stareiiez]

You're Mine, Now and Forever

chapter one

notes: shorter chap this time, the gym and 3D art critiques tired my little brain out.

warnings: MINORS DNI

The wind drowns out your screams for help. Considering how fast this Invincible is flying with you tucked tight to his chest, you wouldn't doubt that anyone down below you could hear you now. Anyone still possibly alive wouldn't give half a rat's ass to save the damsel in distress, screaming at the top of her lungs because she's being kidnapped against her will. Your limbs are tired from the slaps and punches you gave to the male when he first wrenched you from the car and pinned you to his stone rock body. You're weak compared to his alien bloodline; it's like he's being pelted by very soft feathers. It's only making you cuter in his eyes, even if that cuteness will turn tiresome if you keep this stupid shit up.

His eyes roll behind his goggles, sighing out while you inhale another lungful of air and scream for the umpteenth time. He hopes to god, this war shit was good enough for Angstrom to send him home now. Or else he's going to pop that stupid-looking excuse for a head off his skinny body and play kickball with it when the other variants come back. Childish delusions aside, he's quite happy with himself for finding you on sheer luck. You still use the same kind of shampoo that you used to, god, he's never letting you go again.

Thankfully, you've grown lightheaded enough to remain quiet for the rest of the short trip back to Angstrom's rendevous location. The bastard is sitting on a sad excuse for a throne of twisted metal and glowing scraps when the two of you land with a harsh thud in front of him. "Send me home, now." His voice states bluntly, his hands bruising your bicep and hip. he talks like you aren't even present. The other man doesn't attempt to question your safety, you doubt bad guys have that bone in their body to harbor empathy for the weak.

'You're not done yet, the variants are still fighting those heroes. You can't quit now." Angstrom quirks a misshapen brow, his skull pulsates in a sick fashion; like his brain is melting into his skin to become one sick brown-colored flesh sac. Your nose wrinkles.

"You promised me another world, but I found a new one." The Invincible squeezes you, to prove his point. It sounds fucking cheesy, but he knows what he meant. Even if the words make the back of his mouth taste sour.

"And so you have, I didn't think your kind was capable of positive fluctuating emotions."

Your neck quirks when you're grabbed so viciously tight again, and your breath squeaks against the shell of his ear. You swear you feel your vertebrae pop, but maybe that's just due to your joints being stressed and you're not seconds away from being squeezed to death because this Invincible hasn't gotten his way yet as if it would have been easy in the first place.

"Send me home, or I'll do what your Mark couldn't and wipe you off the face of the E-" His voice gets cut off by the sound and the strong apparent suction of the green portal that opens up behind him. Both of your combined yells are abrupt and cut off just as quickly as they were let out when you were pulled into the neon green void. Angstrom was wiped out of your view in a matter of seconds.

That was the only way to shut up yapping feral dogs that bit and nipped at his ankles, by giving them what they want so they never bother him again. Your eyes blink

rapidly, at the change of scenery. You can't tell what's different from your home, it looks like you never left; however, everything looks slightly off. The color of the grass is a little too green, and the cars driving by honk a little too loud. You're beyond overstimulated and overwhelmed, that suffocating in this Invincible's arms would be a paradise for you. The male hums, satisfied with this outcome. He's thrilled to be back home that smile you start to hate, when he aims it at you, flickers down onto your pale pale expression. You look like you're about to pass out, and he couldn't be happier.

The air screams in your ears when he takes off without warning. Your arms wrap around his neck on instinct, thanks to Mark taking you out for ' fly dates' every other night when he's not a superhero around the world and beyond. Your heart drops in your stomach at the thought of your boyfriend. For all he knows, he thinks you died in whatever is going on back home. How you wish you could have told him you loved him back in that one short phone call, now who knows when you'll ever be able to say it to him again?

Houses, streetlights, skyscrapers, and cars blur beneath the both of you. City life goes on peacefully from what you can decipher in watercolors that whirl below teary gaze. You blame the wind for that, and not the dread and homesickness that makes your arms wrap tighter around the male. You hate how your body reacts to your kidnapper, just because he has the same build and the same figure as your boyfriend. Maybe in some sick delusion, he would sound like him too if he was nice to you and touched you better.

You're jostled in his arms when the two of you descend rather roughly in front of a house. His house. It looks perfectly fine, with nothing outta place. The color of the shingles and paneling still matches Mark's home back in your world. You swallow thickly, hating how perfectly normal his world looks. You thought someone like him would be born and bred in nothing but hellfire and misery. So what went so damn wrong for this superhero to end up fucked and abnormal in attitude.

"Home sweet home." He speaks, cheery with a sort of raspy twang in his tone that makes something in your spinal column curl inwards. You hate it. His arms, still wrapped around you, shove you forward.

You stumble your way forward, as the invincible guides you forward like smelly dumb cattle. You haven't dared to open your mouth, not yet. Not when you fear to make a fool of yourself to this version's mother and his father. Who knows what this Omni-Man was capable of in this world? Time travel, dimensions, and realities were still fresh to you. Mark never spoke in such detail about them, just due to how worried or uneasy you looked when he had to describe just how different alien anatomies are from your own. You did like the mementos he brought, however, the weird rocks he'd pocket somehow in the nonexistent pockets of his suit. The crumbles of alien flora, or pretty architecture pieces he'd slip in the confines of his boot for safekeeping so he can show it off when he's back in your bed and telling you the very few stories he had about his time in space or whatnot.

Your eyes droop down on the corners, heartache wracking your chest at possibly never getting to giggle over Mark's terrible impressions of the species he'd meet, just so he could see you smile after you were done worrying over him.

"Watch it." You hissed under your breath when you got pushed forward again. The tips of your shoes tripped over the only step to the Graysons' front door.

He ignores you, 'cept for putting a gloved hand on the back of your neck while his other hand reaches over your shoulder for the doorknob, and pushes the door open after a twist of his wrist.

Where you expected to be greeted by Oliver running around, or gossiping to his mom about his older brother sneaking out in the middle of the night to see his version of a girlfriend or partner. You're met with stomach-dropping silence, and the house looks empty. The house doesn't even feel like a home that Mark Grayson's home typically felt like when you visited it often. It felt more like a prison, and your jailer was guiding you by the neck inside. The home felt cold, blinds pulled tight enough to hide the outside world from your wandering gaze. Your arms wrap around your middle and squeeze to try and conserve what little body heat you have.

The door of your cell closes behind you, and you jump too high, much to the chagrin of the Invincible that held you collared. He exhales from his nose, sliding the deadbolt of the lock with his other hand.

He doesn't give you much time to play spot the difference between the living room and kitchen of the house before he leads you up the stairs to the bedrooms. His fingers are a constant reminder as they brush up and down over the pulse point of your neck. You take the steps one at a time, choking down another bout of nausea when his supposed bedroom door stares you in the face. You brace for the worst, thinking that this is where you'll die. This sick bastard just likes to play guard and prisoner with his victims before he tears them in half and goes to sleep in their blood and gore.

His bedroom looks just the same, clean and untouched. The bed made, the posters of Science Dog and other comics have been stripped from the walls. Anything that screamed childlike and so young adult have been scrubbed from the small bedroom, it's so sterile and bland. Another shove and you're sent taking a few steps roughly into the bedroom, catching yourself before you trip and fall.

"Get to liking it here, I don't care either way." The male leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest while his eyes trail over your figure behind black lenses. "I'll be back later."

Your eyes widen, and the thought of being left alone makes your whole body seize up in a wash of unease. "Wait! You can't just kidnap me and leave me here, I don't even know you."

"Watch me." In a blink, before you can comprehend the audacity of it all, the bedroom door closes and locks in front of you. The invincible is gone in a flash, his footsteps thudding away and down the stairs methodically slow.

Panic seizes in your mind, and stupidly you rush forward, trying your dumb luck at wiggling the doorknob frantically. Your breath comes out in faster beats, you're on the brink of hyperventilation when the door doesn't open, and you turn on your heel to give a try at the open-faced windows. The window sills don't budge an inch when you try and wrench slightly dusty glass panes open, your muscles quiver and strain. Your face turns fuchsia in the worthless effort he's gone ahead and planned for you to try and run. He's nailed or glued the windows shut. The walls feel like they're closing in as you grow light-headed with all your wasted strength to fight a losing battle against stubborn window panes. At some point, you're begging for mercy under your breath. Hoping some god, any god, would take pity on your nightmarish situation and save you as best they can.

But they don't. You wear yourself out before any higher being can be bothered to hear your reverent prayers. The walls of the bedroom close more around you, the oxygen in the room grows thinner, and your heart beats harder and your chest even tries and keep you functioning. You're spiraling into a panic attack, or maybe even a heart attack, with how your arms feel prickly and sharp under the layers of skin and muscle. Either or, you hope one of them kills you before you come to accept that you're a prisoner now. At some point, your ass thuds down on the hardwood floor and you end up curling in on yourself. You form into a tight little ball of tears and snot, you're crying. You've panicked yourself enough to crash down hard and let your weary body sob and scream into the folds of your clothing. Your cries bounce off the walls of Mark Grayson's bedroom, it's a mockery of what was once your safe space.

[nexomy]

Hi! Your intro made me think you're interpreting this as an argument. I'm just having fun spewing theories and headcanons, and I actually LOVE the thoughts you're sharing! I hope it's all good.

With that said, while I understand what you're getting at, that "caring is not an advantage" is the opposite of what John would say, that... Doesn't go against my point. At all. In fact, it very much IS the point. Let me explain:

John's character is one who, intentionally on the writers' part or not, is mainly motivated by one thing and one thing only; self-hate. John hates himself, to his bloody core. His psychosomatic limp seems to be more about survivor's guilt than anything else, and as soon as he's put back in action, as soon as death is still an option, he's fine. Which is INSANE, by the way? That this man fears life more than death? Sherlock certainly isn't like that. He loves the thrill, yeah, but to medicate his ADHD, he prefers to be in some kind of control over the situation. Meanwhile, John genuinely is just along for the ride. All the times he gets most pissed at Sherlock aren't when Sherlock is careless, or drags him along in a dangerous situation. He's upset about lies, and more specifically, when Sherlock shows even a hint of real emotion.

In THOB, what does John get truly mad at? Being drugged? Nope. Sherlock being mean to Greg? Again, nope. One might say it's the "I don't have friends", but that's not something he usually holds against Sherlock, and it's also not when he starts getting mad. It seems to me that John is upset at Sherlock for being scared in the first place. For having a panic attack.

Often, I see people wonder how John, the soldier with PTSD, didn't see it in Sherlock, when he had a panic attack. But he saw. Of course he saw. But Sherlock having a panic attack isn't reason to comfort him. It's reason to scold him. Why? Not because John doesn't care about Sherlock, or doesn't care to see him happy. Quite the opposite.

When I write a character, I choose their "default emotional response" before almost anything else. This is the thing they fall back on when they're overwhelmed, when they don't know what to do, or how to interpret things. John's default? Anger. It is always anger.

So when he sees Sherlock, this person he idolizes, this person he often uses as a self-harm tool (because I genuinely believe that that is part of the reason why John is a Sherlock addict, he's using him to hurt himself) because of how cold they can be, fall apart, well... John panics, too. A part of him can't accept that Sherlock cares, can't accept that Sherlock is human. That's the same part of him that can't accept that he's deserving of any love, let alone that of a genius. And that part? That part needs to preserve itself, in the face of Sherlock's vulnerability, by antagonizing him.

And with the Fall, the logic is the same, only accentuated. I think there's many conflicting reasons why John is upset, because humans are complex, but one is this: This is how he views their relationship.

I hate myself for not being "normal" => I want to be in pain => Wanting to be in pain isn't normal => Have to find an excuse => Sherlock doesn't care about me => That hurts => He's my friend => It's normal to have a friend, and always forgive him => I get to punish myself and still be normal

It's part of why the gay accusations hurt him so much.

But then, if Sherlock DOES care, the chain breaks. Sherlock can no longer be John's punishment, in fact, quite the opposite. John adores Sherlock, being adored back is better than what he could wish for. He cannot accept it. So the chain CAN'T break, or John would need to accept that he isn't normal, at all.

John scolds Sherlock to be more considerate, not because he wants Sherlock to be more considerate. The scolding itself is the point.

So, BASICALLY:

- If Sherlock did the Fall for selfish reasons and lied to John realizing it would hurt him, the part of John that genuinely sees him for who he is, the human, and that genuinely treasures their friendship, will be betrayed and hurt. "I thought you were more human than that, how could you? Did I waste my love on someone who felt nothing?" Ergo, anger.

- If Sherlock did the Fall for selfish reasons, but DID recognize John's feelings, then Sherlock basically intentionally hurt John for fun. The same part as point 1 will be hurt. Ergo, anger.

- If Sherlock did the Fall for SELFLESS reasons, and suffered from it, it shows genuine care, and breaks the chain beyond repair. That thought is too overwhelming for John's subconscious, ergo, anger.

I could go on. When you said that there's nothing Sherlock can do, you were right. Because John's anger isn't about Sherlock. It's a proxy. The only way for then to heal is for John to heal, and accept that he's not normal. The closest we got to that is "because you chose her". That's why the hug happens. That's the moment that should've changed things. But it didn't, because Moftiss are cruel with Johnlock.

I think John loved Mary, because she was his tether to normalcy. In part, at least. And that's why he's pissed at Sherlock because he killed Mary. It's not a literal death, and it's not literally Mary and Sherlock. It's normalcy and weirdness.

Of course, in my mind, this all happens on a subconscious level, so John would never be able to articulate all of it. But it's the only lense through which I can make sense of his character.

John is always at war with himself. On some level, he knows Sherlock cares. He knows he's not a sociopath. He knows his friend. He loves him. He wants him to find true, genuine happiness.

On another, he has to believe Sherlock doesn't care. Sherlock is the only person he can let himself cling to, the only one that feels real, because he has the benefit of the doubt. Anyone that actually cares must be lying, John isn't worth that. But Sherlock? Well, who knows if he cares or not.

The ambiguity, the constant back and forth, Sherlock's mask, it's a feature, not a bug.

(And a small point I couldn't fit in anywhere else, yeah, John doesn't care that Moriarty had to be stopped. He cared that he had to be ditched. But even that, Sherlock doesn't fully explain, and I get that John had an outburst, but John has handled Sherlock's outbursts more than once. Although I think Sherlock is doing his best, I think you're putting too much of the onus on John to fix things, partly because you understand Sherlock's perspective more than John's, because John's writing is less consistent.)

Sherlock, 4.02 The Lying Detective

[twstwizard]

Your artwork and fanfics are awesome! Can I ask for a diasomnia with the reader who is Crowley or Cruel's daughter?

Family relations

Type: Headcanons, SFW, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic (Lilia is more Platonic)

Characters: Malleus Draconia; Lilia Vanrouge; Silver; Sebek Zigvolt; F!Reader

AN: Reader is Crowley's child here for comedic reasons

AN: Thank you so much for your kind words <3

Malleus Draconia

-Oh my, another fae blood in school? To which clan do you belong to? Oh... His condolences.

-While Malleus personally doesn't have any quarrels with the headmage, the prince is not blind. The man can confidently say that Crowley is not a father material whatsoever, let alone to someone who's important to Draconia as you.

- Malleus will do everything within his power to help you, be it money or simply lending an ear for you to rant about your no good flimflamer father. The man actively encourages you to spend more time in Diasomania, or even permanently move in there for general safety, or rather to be less bothered by your father.

- While Malleus understands that no parent is fully perfect, after all there's no thing as perfection in general, yet he does know that the opposite of a parent is Crowley. Draconia will be blackmailing or simply threatening if Crowley doesn't step up. Malleus is a prince for Seven's sake, what good is he if he can't help those close to him?

Lilia Vanrouge

-Oya? Crowley's girl you say?... Do you need a different father? Just kidding!... Unless you do want a different father-

- Vanrouge knows how hard it is to raise a child, been there done that. By no means does Lilia claim to be better, yet looking at Crowley makes him think that perhaps he is THE parent. Good for him, less good for you darling girl.

- The fae is genuinely worried for how well you're being take care of, judging by how responsible Headmaster with the College Lilia is afraid to ask if the old crow even remembers that he has a child. Ask anything you want of him! Vanrouge'll bring cookies if you wish. The old fae will pull on some strings too, to get Dire to become a better parent to you, after all what's the point of being a general if you can't do that?

- Lilia cannot help himself. A child with no parent, or in this case with Crowley for a father, which is basically the same thing, is his greatest weakness, he has to take care of you, even if you're somewhat against it.

Silver

-Oh you're also family with the Fae? Oh... It's Crowley. Oof.

-Silver doesn't belive himself to be an expert when it comes to raising children or being a parent in general, yet he knows that Crowley isn't good at it. Would you like to become his sibling or perhaps move into Diasomnia? His father won't mind, nor will Malleus.

- The young man tends to ask you more often about your overall being: how are you feeling today? Do you need anything? And etc. Silver sees how Crowley likes to dump his responsibilities onto others so he worries for how much you may have on your plate. Silver sticks around you longer, even when he falls asleep it tends to be near you now. Wake him up if you need any help.

- While the young man won't forcefully try to make Crowley do anything to make your life better, doesn't mean he's above making snarky remarks on how poorly the fae treats you or how neglectful he is. Pettiness is also a wepon if used correctly.

Sebek Zigvolt

- Ah! Another fae amids undeserving creatures that go to college- Wait, Dire?!

-While Sebek is very verbal about his views on faes in general, he's not blind. He has standards, Zigvolt knows who deserves his respect and who should be ashamed of themselves for marring the fae race by their ways of living.

- It is now his personal mission as a knight to fix such atrocity, he cannot allow any blemishes on faes reputation, so if poor parenting has to be fixed by someone, he shall do it! No, Sebek isn't aware that no one will think less of fae because of one stupid crow. Sebek now practically drags you into Diasomania, arranging a semi routine for you that is supposed to mimic a families schedule in a way, trying to ease your burden of being a daughter of the headmage.

- Zigvolt is still devoting most of his time to Malleus, yet some of his free time is full of concerns for you. His position as a student doesn't really stop him from making remarks to Crowley about older man's treatment of his daughter. He will not stand for such outrage.

[hanniescookie]

a guide to applying lip balm - lsm

pairing - seokmin x f!reader

genre/warnings - best friends to lovers, fluff, lots of kissing, implied makeout session, cursing, use of petnames

wc - 1.3K

summary - your best friend asks you to teach him how to apply lip balm, but that spirals into something else.

A/N - seokmin applying lipbalm with one hand and then blowing a kiss will never leave me, but i failed to Inspire this fic completely from that. nevertheless, i am happy to finally post 😣🤍

| @maestro-net

“That is not how you apply lip balm, Seokmin.”

You remark with a sigh, watching your best friend move his lips around as if trying to catch the balm, rather than smoothly gliding the stick across his lips. It's a bit awkward and humorous but cute at the same time.

He grins, popping the lid back on and turning to you. “Teach me how to apply it then.”

You can't help but laugh at his request, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he hands the lip balm to you. You stare at it for a second longer, before mindlessly scooting closer on the couch.

“Okay, let me show you," you say, taking the sleek tube from him without much thought. You twist off the cap, revealing the soft, shiny balm inside.

"First, you want to make sure your lips are clean and dry," you explain, gently wiping Seokmin's lips with your thumb. He sputters a little at the contact, and only after seeing his expression do you realize what's happening.

Your first instinct is to blush furiously, and your hand falters against his jaw. You refuse to look straight into his eyes for more than a second because the look that he's giving you makes your stomach flip.

How could you be so dumb? Why in the world were you teaching him how to apply a stupid lip balm?

“You can use tissue paper,” he says in a low voice. His lips move against your thumb and your whole hand vibrates. It's nearly like an electric shock.

It dawns on you rather late that he's implying he wants you to go on and also that his lips are messily moisturised because he applied lip balm some minutes ago.

You don't want to go on. You don't think you have that kind of self control—being in such close proximity to your best friend who you've loved for years and not kissing him.

You swallow, backing away a little to find some tissues but he's already holding one for you to take. Though you can't tell when he grabbed it, you take it and carefully begin dabbing it on his beautiful lips.

Once the balm is somewhat removed, you hold the stick up to his lips. "Next, you want to apply a small amount of balm to your lips," you continue, demonstrating the correct technique. "Just glide the stick across your lips, making sure to cover them evenly."

You hope he fails to catch the way your hand is shaking, but you successfully see how his cheeks have turned pink. It gives you a little boost of confidence. Is he affected too?

"Now it's your turn," you say, handing the lip balm back to him. Seokmin takes it, his fingers brushing against yours, and you guide his hand to help him apply it smoothly.

However, he stops. You raise your brows questioningly.

His words are all over the place when he speaks, his finger pointing to his mouth. “I— uh I already have lip balm on, so…”

Your eyes widen slightly, realizing that you indeed just applied it for him.

“I'll wipe it off.” He reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table, and you don't know what, but something stirs inside you. Something so intense that you grab his wrist to stop him.

“I have another way to wipe it off.”

Stupid stupid stupid. Why would you say that?!

Seokmin genuinely looks confused, his eyes turning bigger as he stares at you. He looks adorable, and much more kissable now. You want to dump every common sense in your body and do what your intrusive thoughts are telling you.

Stupidly, you do exactly that.

You lean closer to him, fingers tightening around his wrist as your lips press against his glossy ones. You can't believe the sigh that leaves your mouth at the touch—you feel like you have starved for his lips.

Seokmin seems a little frozen at first, his eyes widening even more if it's possible. Then he shuts them tightly, his heart pounding uncontrollably in his chest. He can't seem to move, because as much as he has wanted it for years, he can't take any risks. Not with you.

He waits till you pull away without kissing him at all. It was just a firm press of your lips together, and both your ears are hot.

The look on his face makes you assume that you have fucked up. Your heart drops and you sputter out apologies that he can't hear. Seokmin is too busy staring at your lips, and reminiscing how they felt against his own.

Your train of apologies is interrupted by his sudden voice. “I think my lips aren't completely wiped yet.”

You pause. Everything in Seokmin's living room feels dead still. The whole world falls silent. Until he speaks again, his voice so low you fear you would've missed it. “You could–you could try again.”

Your lips find him in the next second. This time, you can't tell if it's his sigh or yours, because you're too engrossed in the feeling of his soft, glossy lips gliding against yours.

It's a gentle kiss, soft yet urgent in a way that tells you he's waited as long as you. Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls you closer by the waist, almost in his lap.

By the time you pull away, you're both breathless. His forehead rests against yours as you both try coming down from the high.

Now it hits. You've crossed this line that you both had carefully drawn over the course of your friendship.

You pull your head back a little, staring at him. His lips are slightly puffy, and his hair are messy on his forehead. He looks more kissable—it almost feels insane. But you do not let your intrusive thoughts win this time.

“Seokmin.” You call out gently. He hums, big eyes meeting yours in a way that makes him look incredibly small. You have so much to say, yet what comes out is entirely stupid and baseless.

“Do you want to continue learning?”

“Learning what?”

“How to apply lip balm.”

Seokmin giggles. The sound makes your head cloudy. You don't know what has caused him to laugh like that, but you know you would do anything to continue making him laugh.

His large hand cradles your face, suddenly making you feel smaller. “Will you wipe it off like this again?”

You fail to control the smile that takes up your features. It's a little shy, a little goofy and mostly surprised. “Does this mean you like me?”

He raises his eyebrows, his warm face lighting up more. Slowly, he nods, making you gasp.

“Fucking hell, dude.”

He bites his lip, and tries to contain his beautiful smile. “Don't dude me. I prefer baby now.”

You stare at him in complete shock, unable to believe how things have spiraled in a matter of few minutes.

It's stupid of you to look like a deer caught in headlights after kissing your best friend and hearing his confession, because now he's starting to look unsure.

“I mean—you don't have to call me baby. I was just saying it as a joke. I don't—do you even like me?”

It's your turn to giggle. You all but throw yourself on him, holding his face in your hands and pecking his lips. “I have liked you for years, baby.”

Seokmin thinks he can faint. If somebody were to tell him that the world is ending right now, he wouldn't bat an eye. He will die gladly in your arms with the memory of you calling him baby.

When his lips find yours again, you know that once this high is over, you both will likely have a lot to talk about. But for now, you let the lip balm in his hand poke your back as you kiss him. You'll deal with the practicality as it comes.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x F! reader, reader has an oral fixation, slight blood play, biting, tiny bodily injury (it's all consensual) WC: 771

A/N: It's been a while so I can't remember what exactly spurred this idea on but I thought it was super romantic and I had to write it. Think of that what you will. Enjoy!

It started when you began biting your finger nails when you were younger. The urge only stayed with you, progressing as the years went by, the only improvement being that your nails were no longer marred because you found other things to latch your lips and teeth on.

Eddie knew about it long before you two got together, never showing any judgement even those few times you forgot yourself and left bite marks on the pencils he let you borrow. He used them just the same, even favoring them over his unmarked stationary whenever he mapped out a new campaign or song, running his thumb along the little depressions carved in the shape of your teeth.

And when you started seeing each other you couldn't help wanting to place your lips on him in this way too. For a start, you'd bite him over his clothes, always making sure to be gentle. Then on his bare shoulder, his bicep, his forearm, his waist, anywhere you could fit your teeth over him.

He found the whole thing endearing, lucky for you.

It's always gentle at first, light biting and nibbling to calm yourself. But then you found yourself wanting to mark him too.

At first it was just a bunch of hickeys, like splashes of wine on his alabaster skin but when you sucked on his fingers your mind turned full with thoughts of a particular kind of mark you wanted to leave on him.

A mark much more significant than the rest.

You tried to hide it at first but he could always tell whenever you were holding back. Eddie treated you delicately when he managed to coax it out of you one evening, large, warm hands cupping your cheeks, the sweetest smile on his lips and all just for you.

You were reluctant at first, afraid of possibly hurting him but once you finally let it out, Eddie was onboard instantly.

"Are you sure? it's going to hurt", you tell him, still not entirely convinced this was a good idea.

"Baby, I'm built for pain, look at me", he pulls up his sleeve to show off the puppet master tattooed on his forearm, gesturing to the others as well as a reminder that he's more than capable of enduring pain after all those lengthy stick and poke sessions.

"Okay...but if you change your mind at any point you have to tell me Eds, promise?" you make sure to let him know only for him to reply, grinning. "There's no way this isn't happening, babe. I'm all yours so let me have it".

So carefully, you hold his left hand by his wrist, kissing the pad of his ring finger before you slowly take it into your mouth, sucking lightly on the digit, taking more and more of it into your mouth until you could reach the knuckle.

There's always that whisper of arousal that rises up like smoke whenever he lets you do this to him, the sight of your soft lips circling him so perfectly, the slippery silk of your tongue draping over his callused fingers.

But the best is yet to come.

Your eyes flick up to his face and he gives you the go ahead with a nod, no hesitation evident on his face. Only excitement.

So you bite down, harder than all the times before but still showing some restraint. Copper and salt flood your mouth, confirmation that you've broken the skin and you immediately pull away to look at Eddie's bloody finger. You lick up as much of the blood as you can, red working its way between your teeth.

You both sit there staring when most of the bleeding ceases, a thin, jagged bleeding ring carved into his skin.

If anyone were to ask him which of all his rings he liked best he'd say it's this one - the one that'll never come off. The one that matters the most.

"Okay. Now it's your turn, beautiful", he smiles at you and you smile back all excited, eagerly placing your left hand in his.

When Eddie bites down it feels like the beginning of something new, your ring finger throbbing with a matching bite mark and you couldn't feel happier about it.

Once the blood clears and the wounded skin heals over the next couple of days you look at your matching scars, overcome with emotion because they mean so much more than any band of gold or silver or any of the finest jewels ever could.

Your commitment to each other is bone deep and written it blood and you wouldn't want to have it any other way.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie makes an unexpected appearance in your life, again. Shocker.

wc: 16,550

warnings: violence/description of injury, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of gun violence, mentions of substance use (alcohol and recreational drugs), emotional distress/trauma, smut(afab!reader), first-time mishaps

a/n: this is a long ass chapter. i had to sacrifice multiple teenage soccer players to some entity in the forest in order to publish this. shout out the wilderness (my girl) for proof-reading and helping me with everything <3

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO [WIP]

It's been weeks since you last talked to Natalie. Sure, you've seen her around the halls at school, but she's made it a point not to even glance in your direction. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt.

Time has moved by in a blur of early sunsets, biting wind, and the slow buildup of snow on the streets as New Jersey heads deeper into winter. You’ve managed to keep yourself busy—trying to spend time with the friends you had before Nat, reading whatever books you can get, pouring yourself deeper into your studies, and retreating into the pages of your sketchbook. 

Still, no amount of distractions has been enough to banish her from your mind completely. The absence that she leaves is louder than you thought it would be. 

For such a short time of knowing her, you feel like you've known her much longer; maybe that's half the problem. Every time your phone buzzes, some delusional part of your brain hopes it's her, even though you know better.

You’ve replayed that 'fight' in your head a hundred times, searching for the exact moment things went wrong, wondering what you could have said—or not said—to change the outcome. Should you have just let her kiss you despite the fact you were uncomfortable in that situation? Should you just not have said anything? Should you—

Your thoughts have been spiralling a lot recently.

The snowstorm that arrived earlier this week has only made things worse. You've been stuck at home for days with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to the endless bickering of your parents. It's enough to make you want to scream.

Outside, the snow continues to fall to the ground in large, fluffy snowflakes, blanketing the ground and trapping you in this suffocating stillness. You swear that if the roads don't get plowed soon, you're going to lose your mind.

You sit by your window, head resting on the cold glass. The roads are supposed to be clear come morning, which means you'll be back to school soon, but you find yourself dreading the return. 

You don't know if you could manage Natalie avoiding you for the rest of the term, let alone the rest of the school year. You've thought about texting her countless times. But what would you even say? Maybe apologize for how you acted that night—but what would you even say sorry for? For poking into her information? For being concerned about her? For wanting to get to know her?

Fuck.

She was the one who walked away from you, anyway. Why would—no, why should you be the one to reach out, right?

Fuck.

Even now, as you sit beside your window, you keep your phone in your hand with your fingers stuck hovering over her contact name. You can't even count the number of times you've done this song-and-dance since that day, but it always ends the same way—with you getting frustrated and throwing your phone onto your bed. 

Today is no different.

With a huff, you toss your phone onto your bed and cross your arms, petulantly clunking your head against the window pane. You should be over this, over her, by now, your brain uselessly provides. 

Before you can think deeper into this, your phone buzzes once. Whatever, it's probably just your mom saying dinner is ready. 

Then twice. 

Okay… little strange, but maybe she was just sending a follow-up message to clarify something?

Then your phone starts ringing. Your mom is persistent tonight, huh?

Yet, when you check your phone, it isn't your mom. No, this is much more unexpected. Natalie is calling you.

You can't help it when you just stare at the screen, slack-jawed, wondering why the hell she's calling you now, of all times, six in the evening on a Wednesday. In your shock, you accidentally let the call go to voicemail. Fortunately, she's calling you back right away. She is nothing if not persistent. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you answer the phone on the fourth ring, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

There are a few moments of nothing but static, and you're starting to wonder if this was her idea of a prank call, and then you hear a sharp exhale. "Hey," Natalie says, voice rough and strained. "Listen…" A shaky exhale leaves her lips, "I, uh, kinda need a favour, Princess."

You scoff immediately at that, ready to start listing off all the reasons that you don't owe her shit, that you deserve better than this, that you—

"Please," comes out from the speakers—barely audible, but there. "Please," she repeats, "and bring a first-aid kit, if you have one."

"Woah, woah, wait—" You start shaking your head in confusion despite the fact she can't see you. "First-aid kit? Nat? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What the fu—"

"Princess," Nat snaps, though her voice is still shaky. "I'll explain later, I promise." You hear a grunt of exertion from the other end, "I just… need some help right now. I'm out front."

You run back to your window and see a beat-up Ford Ranger from the eighties idling on the street. "I, uh, I…" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, and you blink rapidly, "Okay, okay. I just… okay. First-aid kit. Out front. Okay. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

The line clicks off as you start throwing on whatever clothes you can find to face the weather outside. Admittedly, a hoodie and jeans aren't going to help keep you warm, but they'll do for now. Hopefully, she has heating in her truck.

Your parents barely acknowledge how you run downstairs and into the bathroom on the main floor, grabbing the kit from the wall before running back out and scrambling to throw on some shoes.

"You going somewhere?" Your dad asks from the couch, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, "In this weather?"

"Uhhhh…" You blink, trying to think of an excuse or reason why, "I just… going crazy inside the house. Gonna go visit… the… Monroe's! Yeah, I'll go visit the Monroe's." 

Your mom waves her hand idly at that, dismissing you. "Okay, sweetie. Say hi to Janet for me. Have fun, text us later."

Well. You suppose having parents who barely care is useful now and then.

A noncommittal nod and you're out the front door—immediately met with the bitter cold and fluffy snowflakes you've been avoiding for what feels like years. Fortunately, there isn't much wind, so it's not as bad as it could be.

You stumble your way through the snow that your father has (conveniently) forgotten to shovel after the last snowfall, grumbling to yourself as you try not to faceplant into a snowbank. By the time you reach Nat's truck, you swear your fingers feel like they're gonna fall off. Maybe you should have worn gloves. Whoops.

Throwing the passenger door open, you clamber inside the cab with a huff, eagerly soaking in the heated interior. "Oh, thank God. It was so cold out—" You turn to look at Nat and see her looking at you with a cut lip, bloody nose, bruised left eye, and a wince. "What the hell happened to you?" Comes out before you can stop it, those damn worries overriding any anger you had about her calling you up just for a 'favour.' 

"Tell you after I stop bleeding?" She offers with an attempted smile that looks more like a grimace.

A beat passes as you stare at her and try to assess her injuries (and how she got them) without touching her before Nat clears her throat awkwardly, "So, got that first-aid kit, or…?"

"Right." You blink a few times before snapping out of whatever haze you were in and fumble with the kit for a moment before popping it open and digging through its contents. "I, uh, have some antiseptic wipes and band-aids…" Sparing a glance back up at Nat to reassess her wounds, you frown to yourself. "Although I really don't know how much help a band-aid would be for what you have going on."

Nat snorts, which causes her to wince in discomfort, then raises her hands for you to see, "Yeah, but it might help with some of the cuts on my knuckles." 

Her knuckles aren't in a much better state than her face is, dark red and purple spots colour her usually pale skin. She has more than a few minor cuts decorating the tops of her hands, but the largest one—a throbbing cut on her right hand—creates a streak of dried blood that runs down her wrist and under the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"What the hell were you doing?" You ask, immediately moving to grab her right hand and inspect the injury. "Jesus Christ, Nat! You need to start—"

"Princess." Nat cuts you off, her face still contorted in barely concealed pain. "I will tell you whatever you wanna know after we deal with this shit, yeah?

With great reluctance, you stop your prodding and pull out some supplies from the kit—antiseptic wipes, band-aids, gauze, and some skin-safe tape. "This…" You sigh, "The antiseptic is gonna sting a little, probably."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Nat rolls her eyes—acting tougher than she actually feels—then proceeds to wince and let out a low hiss the second the wipe makes contact with a cut. "Fucking… shit…" But she doesn't pull away, letting you quietly clean her right hand of dried blood, allowing you to see how bad the cuts are.

As the excess blood is gradually removed, you begin to notice how vigorously Nat is shaking. When you glance up at her face, it almost looks like she's trying not to cry, but you can see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say something about it.

So, rather than speaking on it, you clear your throat and return your attention to cleaning her hand. "Uh… do you want me to clean up the blood that went under your jacket sleeve? It's just a little…" A nervous laugh spills from your throat, "I can't clean it off with your jacket in the way."

Nat blinks a few times in response, seemingly forgetting you were there in favour of not crying. "Oh, nah. It's fine. I don't have any injuries on my arms or whatever. Blood can be cleaned off later. More concerned about…" She grunts and flexes her hand, "I'm more concerned about the shit that's actually hurting."

"Is your face 'actually hurting' too, or just your hands?" You murmur, more to yourself than her, as you look back up at her face and the injuries that reside on it. "Because you've got some stuff up there I should probably clean, too."

A noncommittal groan leaves her lips, and it appears that's all the answer you're going to get to that question. You get the feeling that Nat isn't exactly the type to ask for help unless she really needs it, and although her face is most likely hurting as well, she isn't about to admit it.

When you get her hands cleaned up, it's more evident that her right side suffered the most. The left has some bruising and a few tiny knicks, but nothing that you'd need to put a bandage on. The right has considerably more damage—deep abrasions run across her knuckles; skin split in places where it had taken the brunt of whatever impact caused this. The largest cut is a wicked thing, stretching from her index finger to the base of her thumb, red and raw despite the dried blood you’d wiped away.

Bruises in varying shades of purple and green bloom along her knuckles and the back of her hand, stark against her pale skin. A faint swelling around her middle knuckle suggests she may have hit something—or someone—too hard, too many times. It’s the kind of injury that’s not just painful but one that will linger, a reminder of whatever fight she got herself into.

You sigh as you take a bandage from the first-aid kit, apply some gauze to the wound, and then wrap it to keep it in place. "You'll need to take care of this after I finish here; you realise that, right?" You already know she isn't going to properly take care of this cut after the two of you part, but at least you can say you tried. 

"Yeah, yeah." Nat grumbles, "I'll wash it and keep it real clean, just for you." 

A sharp huff leaves your lips at her statement, "You know, Nat, you really need to start taking better care of yourself." You grab a safety pin to keep the bandage wrap in place, "What would you have done if I didn't have a first-aid kit? Or wasn't here? Or didn't wanna speak to you?" Maybe you 'accidentally' stab Nat's already bruised hand with the safety pin as you put it in place, but she deserves it. Probably. "Like, seriously. What would you have—"

"Okay," Nat cuts you off, pulling her hand back the second the pin is set. "I get it. But I don't need the fucking lecture, yeah?" A tense beat passes before she speaks again, quieter this time. "But… I 'preciate it. You… being here for me, or whatever. After all the shit…" She sighs heavily, glancing down at the empty space in the bench seat between the two of you. "Thanks, or whatever."

You get the feeling that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology and let out a heavy sigh of your own. "Yeah, well…" A shrug, and you're glancing back up at her face. "Do you…" You clear your throat, "Do you, ah, want some help with the marks on your face?"

"Oh." Nat looks at you, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

Grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe, you lean in and begin cleaning her face to the best of your abilities. As you lean closer, you first notice the cut on her lower lip—a thin but angry line, the skin split and swollen slightly at the edges. Dried blood clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth, and when you dab at it with the antiseptic wipe, she hisses and attempts to move her head away.

"Stop moving." You mumble out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to maintain the position her head is in, "It'll only be worse if you keep moving, Nat." 

Her nose isn't fairing much better, darkened with a deep bruise that spreads across her bridge and down to her left nostril. Dried blood is crusted just under where the bruise ends, staining the normally pale skin. From how her nose is swollen, you get the idea that it might be broken, but there's no way to tell.

Unless…

Still holding her chin with one hand, you take your other and pinch the bridge of her nose, to which Nat immediately tries to pull back from you with a sharp hiss of pain, but your grip on her is firm. And, fortunately, "I don't think your nose is broken." You murmur as you release her nose and return to assessing her injuries.

"You had to fucking grip it like that?" As you continue your work, Nat snarls—or attempts to, but she really isn't that scary right now.

"Sure did," is the only response you dignify her with, now turning your attention to her left eye. The aforementioned eye is a striking sight, the skin around it already shifting into shades of deep purple. It’s swollen, but she can still open it enough to glare at you when you press too hard with the wipes.

A faint scratch runs along her cheekbone, the depth similar to one of a paper cut, but appearing as though she just missed a greater injury. Another minor knick marks her jawline, the red line about the length of the switchblade you've seen her carry around.

You work carefully, trying not to flinch at the sight of her injuries, your hands steady even as your stomach churns. Nat, true to form, stays mostly silent, though her jaw tightens with every dab of antiseptic. The tension in the air is thick, but she doesn’t push you away for once.

When you finish cleaning her off (leaving a small mountain of antiseptic wipes in your wake), you sigh as you properly look at her. The usually infallible Natalie Scatorccio looking like a wounded puppy, and it genuinely makes your heart ache.

You close the first-aid kit before attempting to meet her eyes, but she's pointedly looking away from you. "Nat…" You sigh, "Would you please tell me what happened? Why you ended up looking like a side character from Fight Club?"

Nat hesitates, jaw tensing up again as she glances out the windshield. "I…" A deep sigh leaves her nose, and she clenches her left hand on the steering wheel. "Only if I can get us out of here. I… I don't wanna talk here. I feel fucking suffocated in this shitty ass town."

"The roads are terrible, Nat. Where the hell would we even go? And your truck isn't exactly—"

"I have a place." Nat cuts you off, "I have a place I can take us, and I can handle the roads. I can handle the drive. I just… fuck. I need to get out of this town for a little."

Maybe you're dumb for this, but you don't even hesitate when you say "okay."

"Thank you," Nat says quietly as she puts the car into gear and starts pulling away from your house—

"Wait!" You say, fumbling to put your seatbelt on, "You don't have your seatbelt on! And the roads are really bad, and you're already hurt—"

She cuts you off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a snort, "Jesus, alright, I'll put the fuckin' seatbelt on. Relax." And she does, making a display of putting on her seatbelt before continuing to leave your neighbourhood.

"Gonna be a long drive, Princess." Nat grunts, turning the volume up on whatever she was listening to before you sat down in the car with her. "Get comfortable."

It is a long drive.

And Nat doesn't talk the entire time. You try to prod for questions, but she always dismisses you with a grunt, wave of her hand, or just straight-up ignores you. Which, on its own, is very frustrating. But couple it with the last interaction you had with Nat before this? Oh, it is very frustrating.

So, by the time you get to your destination, you're about ready to blow a gasket with how frustrating this goddamn woman is.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell happened to you yet?" As she parks her truck, you huff out, "Or are we just gonna sit here and get nowhere?" 

"You wanted to know what happened?" Nat takes her hand off the gearshift and faces you, one arm resting on the seat behind her while the other stays perched on the steering wheel. "Ask your questions. I'll fucking…" She exhales hard through her nose, "I'll answer them. Just…" Nat reaches across the car and opens the glovebox, taking out a flask. "I'm drinking."

Your mouth drops in shock as she opens the flask and greedily drinks whatever liquid is inside of it, making a face when she pulls away from the opening. "Shit, that burns. What the hell is in here?"

"Nat—you don't even know what you just drank?" You grab the flask from her, looking down into it as if you would be able to tell what is inside of it from vision alone. The liquid—which you can barely make out in the lack of light—appears to be dark brown and has a scent you don't recognize but smells like it is very strong.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the flask back from you, "Relax, it's probably just moonshine or some shit like that." A dismissive wave of her free hand and another swig from the flask before she caps it again, "You gonna ask your questions or just stare at me like I drank lighter fluid?" 

"You might as well have if we're being honest." A deep sigh parts from your lips as you settle back in your seat, "I just… okay. Why were you beat to shit? And… and why does it look like you also beat someone to shit?"

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, leaning her head back against the seat with a groan. "Shit, where do I even start?" Her left hand tightens around the flask, and her knuckles go white momentarily before she loosens her grip.

"Maybe start with the fact someone went to use your face as a punching bag? You know, that seems like a good place to start."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nat sits up straighter, tapping the flask against the steering wheel in thought. "You remember that guy Denny?"

Your jaw tenses at the name, and suddenly, you're back in that abandoned house all those weeks ago. "Yeah, uh… I remember." It's hard to forget, after all. Hard to forget when the name that carries the face is burned into your mind.

"He wasn't too happy with me today." She glances through the windshield, but you get the idea that she's not actually looking at anything but just into the night's darkness.

"Clearly," your voice drips with sarcasm, but the worry that you've attempted to mask with it is unmistakable. "What happened?"

Nat hesitates, still unable to meet your gaze or face you again. "I was supposed to have something for him—money. I, uh, I didn't. He got pissed. We argued. One of his guys tried to step in, and…" She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't take it lying down. I did far too much of that growing up." A bitter smile crosses her face, but it looks more like a sneer than anything.

"You fought them?!" You sit up, face incredulous. "Nat! That guy runs with a crew! You're just one person, and you're already…" You gesture to her bruised features frantically.

"Yeah, I know." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "But I couldn't just… let them walk all over me. I know it wasn't my brightest moment, okay? I don't need the reminders, already got enough of those." Nat flexes her hand underneath the bandage, wincing slightly at the skin, pulling at the cut.

Your lips press into a thin line as your brow furrows, frustration and concern boiling over in waves. "And now what, Nat? What if they show up again? What then? Will you be safe or end up like this again?"

A sharp, humourless chuckle leaves her, "Safe? Oh, Princess. I haven't been safe a goddamn day in my life. I won't fucking be safe until I die, and even then? Who knows." She scoffs, hitting the steering wheel with her left hand in frustration, causing you to flinch slightly at the display of anger.

You swallow, shrinking back into your seat. "Is there no one to help you? I swear I remember them mentioning something about your 'old man'? Can he help?"

Nat scoffs ruefully, "My dad has been dead for years. Who do you think was kind enough to give me this debt?" She takes another swig from the flask, then scowls when she realises it's empty and tosses it onto the dash. "I'm the one left to pick up the fucking pieces."

A frown crosses your face at that, and you genuinely don't know how to respond for a long moment.

Eventually, when words come to you, you try offering something, however small it is. "I may not have the money to help, but… I'm here for you, Nat. I wanted to be weeks ago, but… I'm offering again now."

"You shouldn't have to be there for me." She says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of someone caring for her. "You shouldn't be."

You shake your head, "But I want to be, you know? And… you can't make me not care. You're stuck with the knowledge that I do, in fact, care and want to help."

Despite herself, Nat lets a laugh part from her lips. It bubbles slowly, eventually spilling into a loud sound that you can't help but return. The small space of her car is filled with egregious laughter from both of you, ultimately resulting in tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

When the laughter subsides, that turmoil that had bubbled between the two of you feels lessened to some extent, and you're grateful for the respite in the tension. 

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know?" Nat says quietly, almost like she doesn't even realise she's saying it out loud. "Dead dad who was a deadbeat, mom who spends her days passed out on the couch bitching that the guy that used to fucking beat her daily was actually a 'good guy.' Blames me for his death. Fuck, I blame me for his death. If I just fucking…" She cuts herself off and closes her eyes, jaw tensing once again. "It's fucked up, Princess. My entire life is just… fucked up. You don't need to get involved with it." 

"But I am already." You say quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand in a show of support. "I mean… even without all the bullshit, I'm already involved in your life. We were…" You hesitate a beat before deciding you're already in too deep to care that much, "I think that we were friends, even if you don't. You… showed me your world, Nat, even if it was just fractions and slivers."

Nat's lip trembles, and it looks like she's holding back tears.

You get the feeling she's never had someone truly express their care as you did.

"I asked the questions I did that day because I wanted to know, Nat. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Her eyes close now, and she looks away from you properly, facing out the driver's door window. "Why?" She murmurs softly, voice breaking slightly. "Why? Why do you… fuck. Why do you give a shit?"

A scoff falls from your lips at that, "Seriously? Why do I care? Nat… you're a decent person, despite whatever the fuck you think. Like…" You try to think of an example, remembering when you and her went to that convenience store, "Like that time you stole that Buzz Ball for me! You only stole it because the clerk shortchanged you! Would you have just taken it if he didn't?"

A beat passes in silence before you hear a meek "no…" pass from Nat's lips, followed by a short sniffle.

Is… is Natalie Scatorccio crying? You didn't think that she could, but… well, you learn new things every day.

"I said all that shit to you after Denny left…" She trails off, vaguely wiping at her cheeks, "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe that's true." You smile softly despite the fact she can't see your face right now. "But I'm here anyways. And… I wanna know the shit. The stink. All of it, if you'll tell me."

Nat shakes her head, glancing at you for the first time since this conversation started. "It's a lot of 'stink,' Princess. There isn't much… fresh laundry scent in my life to talk about."

You shrug, "That's fine. I told you I wanted the stink, didn't I? Promise I got a strong nose."

The blonde sighs deeply, clearly battling with her words and debating whether she wants to tell you anything. She rolls her neck and leans back in her seat, a frown tugging at her features.

She finally speaks after a long moment of tense—slightly uncomfortable—silence. "The stink." She murmurs, glancing through the windshield again. "The stink is probably bad enough that it would fucking put a landfill to shame." The words come out harsh, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Fine. You want the fucking trauma?" She glances back at you for a moment, and upon seeing that you genuinely seem to care, she deflates slightly and turns her head away again.

"My dad…" Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. "He wasn't a good guy. Mean as hell. Could make you feel small just by lookin' at you." Her fingers flex around the wheel, turning pale beneath the cacophony of bruises. Her gaze remains pointedly away from you as she speaks, and you get the feeling that if she were to look at you, she'd start crying. "He drank a lot. Sometimes other shit if he could get his hands on it." A rueful scoff, "That's probably where I got it from."

You don't interrupt, letting her get the words out, but a part of you almost aches to comfort her despite the hurt she's given you. She's had it worse, after all, hasn't she? What are some choice words on a single night when she's had the odds stacked against her her entire life?

"Wasn't just mean to me, though." She continues, voice quiet and bitter. "Mom usually got the worst of it. I was just the kid who was too scared to fight back. Until one day, I finally fucking tried to."

Her jaw tightens again, and she takes a shaky breath, a single tear falling from one of her eyes. "I was fourteen. He came home pissed—he always did, but I made the stupid fucking mistake of thinking I could have someone over while he was gone. It's not like I was even doing anything." Her upper lip twitches, a fragment of a sneer. "Just had a fucking friend over. I was painting his nails, and we were listening to music." A moment passes, and she swipes at the tear that fell before continuing. "Was yelling some shit. Mom came in to see what was going on, and he started hitting her." She runs her hand over her face, "I grabbed the shotgun we kept by the door. Didn't even think about it, you know? Just pointed it at him."

"Called my bluff. Went to pull the trigger, and I had the fucking safety on." A bitter laugh leaves her throat, bubbling as another tear falls. "Made a show of showing me how to turn the safety off. Called me and my mom fucking useless and left the trailer." Nat's laugh falters, and her expression shifts from a bitter smile to a vague frown, lower lip trembling in an effort not to cry. "I called out to him that he was the useless one. He turned around to say something and started walking back to me…" She shakes her head, hands trembling as she recalls the memory. "He tripped. Never turned the safety off. A shotgun-sized hole was in his head a second later."

A sharp inhale follows her statement, and you can see the bitter resentment that she's kept just beneath the surface since that moment. "Cops called it self-defense or some shit. Mom didn't see it that way and said I took away the only person who ever cared about her—started drinking more, smoking more, all that shit."

Denny came around a few months later, claiming my dad owed him. Took one look at me and decided that I'd be the one to repay that debt. God knows my mom couldn't give a shit."

The two of you sit in silence for a long minute after that. You don't dare speak; break the silence between you as Nat desperately tries to look like she isn't on the verge of a breakdown. 

"There," she finally utters once the silence becomes too much to bear, "that's the 'stink,' Princess. The fucking shit that got us where we are right now." She glances back at you again, and you can see the water in her eyes just begging to fall. "Still wanna stick around?"

You hesitate for a few seconds before giving her a slight nod, "I think I do, yeah."

"You're too good for this shit, you know that?" She murmurs, expression looking almost vulnerable. 

"Probably," you reply with a faint smile. "I'm here anyway. So… tough luck, Scatorccio."

For the first time tonight, a short but genuine laugh leaves Nat. "You… you really gotta stop pronouncing my last name like that. It's Scatorccio."

"Scatorccio?"

"No, Scatorccio."

"...Scatorccio?"

"No, Princess. Fucking…" She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces when she remembers that it's insanely tender right now. "Scat-or-she-o."

A beat, "I think I'll just call you Nat."

Nat laughs again, "Yeah, just call me Nat. That works, too."

"Is there… can I ask more questions?" You ask hesitantly, then immediately regret the words the second they leave your lips. She just told you what is arguably the most traumatizing event of her life, and you want to ask questions. Fucking hell.

"Yeah. Uh… ask away." Nat nods, "And don't give me that face. I promise you I can handle answering a few questions after that, Princess—I'm not made of sugar, not gonna melt."

You smile to yourself, "It isn't related to… well, it's kinda related to that, but it really isn't. Uhh… it's just questions about the… rumours?"

She sighs and rolls her neck, "Okay. Ask."

"Right, uhh…" You blink, partially surprised she's being so open with this, but… she did just tell you about her dad, so maybe she's just in a generous mood? "I guess I'll start with the biggest ones? Uh… like… you being a massive player?"

Nat frowns slightly, her tone bitter. "What are you asking? If I'm a 'slut'?"

"Woah, woah!" You immediately counter, throwing your hands up defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, Nat. I just wanted to know your side of the rumours, is all."

A heavy sigh leaves her, and she deflates momentarily, "Yeah, I think 'player' is a nice word for it, considering the other words people have used. But… I've only slept with three people. None of the experiences were great. I've made out with a lot of people at parties, but I've only actually been with three people properly."

"Okay… uh… when we went to the skatepark the first time, you told me about some of the shit that you've done. Was that everything? Or is your, uh, rap sheet longer?"

"Mm, mostly what I told you. The Mazda wasn't boosted on a dare, but Denny told me I needed to do it. I don't know how I didn't get caught." She sighs, glancing up at the roof of the truck as she tries to remember everything, "Let's see… shit that I actually got booked for, though? First thing that got me behind bars was disorderly conduct. It was right after my dad died and…" She gestures to nothing, "I was in a shit mood. Got a few nights. The thing that landed me in juvie for the summer was a second-degree robbery—you probably remember it; everyone does. Was when some guys robbed that convenience store, and only one was caught. It's public knowledge I was the one that was caught."

"I'm guessing it was Denny's idea? The robbery, I mean?" You prop one leg up on the bench seat and turn your body to face her, "I'm guessing most of the shit you've done was his idea, actually."

Nat nods, "Yeah. Was one of his 'do this to help lower the debt' ideas. Fuckin' store had less than a hundred in the till, and none of the assholes knew how to crack the floor safe that they used for deposits. Fucking dumbasses." She spits, "I could have sold them out for less time. Knew that they'd make my life a living hell if I snitched, so I kept quiet."

You nod, digesting the information. "Right. And, uh, last one. The whole… 'druggie' thing."

She huffs and cuts you off before you can keep talking, "Yeah, that I shoot H and snort meth rocks? I don't." A beat, then her sardonic smile falters. "I didn't even start doing shit until late sophomore year. Denny and his gang move dope, and I've always had a hard time saying no. So, when it was offered…" She shrugs, "I did some lines. But it's not something I do often."

"How often do you do it, then?"

"More than some, less than others," she says sharply, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of questioning. "I can't afford to be addicted to it. I don't have the fucking cash to throw around."

"Right, right, yeah." You nod, quickly looking to soothe the nerve you've struck. "Can I, uh, ask why you let the rumours go around, then? I mean… if they're all so untrue, why let them fester?"

Nat shrugs, "People don't give a shit. They'll believe whatever they want to. Keeps the idiots I don't want around me at arm's length, anyway. If you're gonna believe whatever is told to you without finding out the truth yourself, then you don't deserve the truth."

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for leaning back in your seat and letting the weight of the conversation settle around you.

"Thanks for telling me," you finally say, breaking the silence. "All of it."

Nat looks at you, her expression softer now, almost... grateful. "Yeah. Thanks for listening, Princess."

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy or suffocating, but... peaceful. It's nice.

You think you could get used to sitting in silence with her.

You aren't sure how long you sit in silence with Nat. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, maybe several. You do know that the silence is comfortable, and you can tell she appreciates having someone she can just sit in silence with.

By the time the two of you return to your house, the snow has stopped falling, and the night has grown darker.

Nat's beat-up truck pulls to a stop in front of your house, and she puts it in park before turning to face you. "Y'know, Princess, I appreciate what you did. Helpin' me, and whatever." She grunts, "Y'didn't have to. So… thanks, I guess."

You hesitate to remove your seatbelt and realise that… you could invite Nat inside. I mean… nothing's stopping you. Your parents have for sure gone to bed by now or are too impartial to care, so you doubt they would even notice. And, after everything Nat just told you, you aren't quite sure if you want her to be alone tonight. Maybe you're a little too empathetic for your own good.

"Did you… wanna come inside?" You offer hesitantly, "You can… I mean… I could make us some hot chocolate? It's still really cold out, and…" A beat passes, and your voice quiets, "You don't have to go back to your trailer tonight if you don't want to."

Nat blinks at you, her brows knitting together like she's trying to decide whether the offer is a serious one or not. "You sure?" she asks after a long pause, voice hesitant. "Don't wanna, y'know… overstay or whatever."

"You aren't overstaying anything," you say quickly, then clear your throat, trying to act like you aren't overly enthusiastic at the idea of her coming inside your house. "I mean… it's just… you're already here. And, like I said, it's cold out."

Her lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl you would find on her face, either. She takes a long look at her bruised hands gripping the wheel, flexing her fingers before nodding once. "Right. Alright. But no funny business, yeah? I'm not tryna—"

"I know!" you wave her off, pushing open the truck door and immediately heading towards your house before your nerves get the better of you. "Just… hurry up before I freeze to death standing out here, ‘kay?"

You hear Nat snort from behind you right before her truck door slams shut, and she quickly catches up with you, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she trudges up the snow-covered driveway.

The house is dark and quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace kicking on. You discreetly toe off your shoes and dust the snow off your shoulders, glancing back to make sure Nat does the same. 

She hesitates momentarily, eyes flicking around the dimly lit space before finally removing her combat boots. She shrugs when you shoot her a curious look at her leather jacket not coming off. "I wear it everywhere. Take it off later." 

"Right," You murmur, turning your head towards the stairs. "C'mon. My room's upstairs."

The climb up your stairs feels like it takes ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Maybe it's because you're inviting Nat into your personal space, and that makes you nervous. Or maybe it's because you've never had someone who's kissed you in your bedroom before, which also makes you nervous.

Okay, maybe you're just nervous.

When you finally reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, gesturing for Nat to follow. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, a little trepidatiously. "I’ll, uh, grab that hot chocolate I mentioned. Be right back."

"Wait, wait—" Nat says, giving you a strained chuckle. "You're just… leaving me alone? In your room? I mean… I could, just…" She scoffs and gestures at your dresser, "I could just dig through all your shit or whatever."

You pause and look at her, confused. "I mean… it wasn't the first thing I thought of? The most you'll find anywhere is my sketchbook, and I've already shown it to you before," you shrug, "I really don't have that much to hide, Nat. I'm not that exciting of a person." A nervous sound escapes from your lips as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I, uh, wasn't thinking about you doing anything like that until you mentioned it."

Nat blinks, likely shocked that you didn't immediately assume she was going to do something 'bad,' "No, I mean… yeah, no, I'm not gonna do anything. I wouldn't… I'm not gonna like… dig through your shit. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just…" She glances around your room before sitting on the very edge of your bed, clasping her hands in her lap and clearing her throat, "Yeah. My bad."

A moment's hesitation passes before you nod and take your leave from your bedroom, heading back downstairs to get the hot chocolate as planned. By the time you return with two steaming-hot mugs (with marshmallows for added comfort), Nat has made herself more comfortable on your bed, brows furrowed as she flips through your sketchbook.

"Hey," you say softly, setting the mugs down on your desk. "Find anything you like?"

She glances up at you, appearing slightly flustered that you caught her, but quickly schooling her expression to one of neutrality. "These are wicked." She returns her gaze back down to the page, tapping on a sketch you did of an old lady on a bus. "You're fucking talented."

Your cheeks flush, and you immediately begin to wave your hand dismissively. "It's nothing special—"

"Don't." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "I mean it. You're talented. Don't sell yourself short."

You sit on the opposite side of the bed from her, pulling your mug into your hands. "Thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, never quite sure how to react to praise.

Neither of you speaks for a while, sipping on your drinks in comfortable silence as Nat thumbs through your sketchbook. For a moment, you're relieved that she didn't select the sketchbook you had spent the past month drawing her face into. That would have taken some awkward explaining. You aren't even sure what you would say to her. 'Yeah, I've just spent multiple days drawing you over the past few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's totally normal, right?'

As you sip your hot drink again and try to ignore the thoughts, Nat finally speaks up. "You meant it earlier? About, uh, being there for me?"

You meet her gaze, startled at her sudden… vulnerability? is that what you would call this? "Of course I meant it," you say without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

The blonde looks down at the mug in her hands, flexing her damaged fingers around it. "You're too good for this. For me."

"Well, too bad," you nudge her shoulder with your own and shoot her a goofy grin. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the slightest flicker of something you can't quite name behind her eyes. You doubt she'd ever be the type to be truly open with her feelings, but you suppose this is enough for now.

"I didn't…" Nat's face falls slightly as she sets her mug down on the nightstand beside your bed, "That shit I said the last time we spoke. I didn't mean it. About me just… 'trying to see you naked,' for the record. I just…" Nat grunts and waves her hand away, not offering an apology, but you doubt you'll ever see one in your lifetime anyway. "I was talkin' about myself. Askin' why I was like that. Not you."

"Asking why… you… kissed me? Or reacted the way you did?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to break the fragile peace you've created between the two of you.

Nat makes a face at that, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "Both? Neither? I don't…" A frustrated huff of air leaves her nose, "I don't know. That's why I was asking—because I don't know why I'm like that–fucking… reckless."

You shake your head, "You say 'reckless' like it's a bad thing. If you weren't 'reckless,' we never would have become friends, you know?" You tentatively scoot a little closer to her, unsure if this is the time to provide a reassuring touch. "I mean… I never used to do half the things I do. What was it you said? That I live in a bubble?" A strained laugh parts from your lips as you rub the back of your neck, "I mean… you weren't really… wrong. I wasn't exactly the most adventurous person before I met you."

Her jaw clenches as the air settles after your statement, but she doesn't look angry. If anything, she seems almost contemplative. "Y're not… mad?"

A light-hearted scoff leaves your lips, and you playfully shove at Nat's shoulder. "Oh, I was mad. For a while." Your smile falters marginally as you consider how to word your following sentence properly, "But… I was more hurt than anything, Nat. I just… I didn't know what I did wrong."

"Did nothing wrong," Nat grunts almost immediately, "I was just… I was being a dumbass. 's weird having someone say that they 'worry about me' since no one has ever really given a fuck."

"And if I told you that I 'give a fuck'?" You ask softly, scooting closer again until your knee bumps into hers. "How would that make you feel?"

"Fuckin' weird," is Nat's immediate response, "I would—nah, I feel fuckin' weird knowing that someone gives a fuck. It's…" She makes a face, something between a scowl and a sneer, "strange." Nat finally turns to face you, her eyes hiding an emotion you can't decipher. "But it still means something," comes out in a whisper, and for a moment, you swear that emotion you can't decipher is vulnerability. 

"Does this mean something?" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, "Us? You being here?"

Nat hesitates, her gaze flicking between your face and the vague space in front of her, weighing her next words carefully. "I don't know," she admits, voice low and rough. "This… whatever this is… it's new. Feels weird."

"But not… bad, right? Like… a bad weird? But more like a good weird?" You ask cautiously, trying to keep your tone light, but you worry she can hear the trepidation in your voice.

Her lip twitches, and for a moment, you think she might brush it off with a joke or sarcasm. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "No," she says quietly. "Not bad."

As the words settle, you both fall into momentary silence again, the atmosphere feeling heavy but not suffocating. You find yourself hyper-aware of the space between you, the way her knee is so close to yours it’s almost touching again.

"You're staring," Nat says suddenly, her lips quirking into a smirk that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Not that I blame you. Pretty hard to look away from this." She gestures vaguely to herself, trying to recapture her usual bravado.

You roll your eyes and can't help the small laugh that falls from your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well…" She shrugs, her smirk fading into something softer. "You don't hang out with me for my stellar personality, Princess."

The words feel like a deflection, and you narrow your eyes slightly at it, refusing to give into that train of thought. "Well, guess what? I actually think I do."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You seriously think that? You don't just… hang around 'cause I drag you into shit?"

You have to hold back a laugh as you shake your head in disbelief. "No, Nat. I hang around you because I want to. Shocking, right?"

Her gaze flashes around the room before meeting yours again. "Yeah," comes out in a hoarse whisper, "I actually think it is."

The weight of her words settles between you, and neither of you speaks for a moment. You can tell she's wrestling with something, and you give her the space to figure it out. Eventually, she leans back, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she looks at you more directly.

"Wasn't it you that said you don't have to understand everything or something like that?" You shrug, hesitating for another moment before leaning forward again. "Something about… bursting my bubble? Well… maybe it's my turn to burst your bubble, Nat. If you've been throwing me into your life for the past few months, maybe it's time I give you a little bit of insight into mine."

Her lip twitches, and she looks down, shaking her head slightly. "You make it sound so fucking easy," she mutters, her voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t quite place. "Like I can just…" She trails off, scowling slightly.

"Maybe it can be," you counter gently, reaching out on impulse to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. The movement is soft and unexpected, making Nat freeze almost immediately. Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and shocked, and the air between you shifts to something more… tense. Not exactly a bad tense, per se, but tense nonetheless. 

Then, a moment passes, and Nat pulls back from your hand with a shocked and confused expression. "Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"

You blink rapidly, immediately dropping your hand to your lap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why I did that or what the hell came over me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She waves her hands to dismiss your thoughts and cut you off, her face shifting back into that unreadable expression. "Why did you… why the hell did you do that?"

"I…" Your voice trails off, and you look down at your bedsheets in shame. "I don't know. I've never… done that before. I guess it just… felt right. Or… I thought it felt right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I don't know why I—"

"Stop." Nat cuts you off, her sharp tone causing your eyes to flash to her face once again. "Just… stop for a second." She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces again when she remembers it's still bruised and tender. "You…" A disbelieving laugh spills from her lips, one that bubbles slowly and dissolves into her next sentence, "After that shit I pulled, you seriously still want to do…" She gestures vaguely between the two of you, "Whatever the fuck we're doing?"

Your brows knit together in confusion—like you didn't just spend all night fussing over her injuries and learning about her upbringing. "I invited you into my house, Nat. I mean… you're…" A sigh leaves you, "You're here. I… yeah. I think I want to do 'whatever the fuck we're doing' if you still do."

The blonde looks at you in confusion, eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or indication that you don't want this. When she doesn't find any, her hand twitches in her lap, and she tentatively reaches forward, placing a hand on your knee. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the quiet atmosphere charged with something more—something that you don't think you've ever felt before. Her hand traces up your arm gently, as though she's mapping it, before coming to rest on the side of your neck.

You should say something. You should look away. You should do anything but what you’re about to do. But then she’s leaning in, and you’re not sure if you’re moving too or if it’s just her, but suddenly her lips are on yours, rough and urgent and so very Nat.

The kiss is overwhelming in every sense of the word. She's all desperation and aggression, and you can feel the built-up tension in her body as she leans into the kiss, as if it's something she needs and has needed since that night all those weeks ago. It takes you a second to catch up and understand what's happening, but you kiss her back this time despite the tachycardia causing your chest to feel tight. 

But then she's shifting, tongue gently probing—no, forcefully probing at your lips, trying to push past the seam of them. You feel her hands on your biceps, squeezing at them as she pulls herself closer to you, settling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck as she finally pushes past your lips, her tongue sliding against yours. You try your best to return the kiss, you really do, but it's obvious she has leagues more experience than you do in this department, but… Nat doesn't seem to care in the slightest about your lack of experience.

Your hands dangle uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do here. You've never had a girl—or anyone, really—sit in your lap. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. Nat seems to notice this, and despite the fact you are returning the kiss, she pulls back to look down at you. "Hey… is this… okay?"

You immediately nod and clear your throat, "Yes. Uh, yes. It's okay. I just…" A nervous chuckle escapes from you, and you glance away in an attempt to hide the blush that's blossoming on your cheeks. "This is sort of new for me."

"New?" Nat asks, tilting her head slightly, like a dog who just heard a sound they weren't so sure about. "You… you've kissed before, yeah?"

A sound of uncertainty parts from your lips, "I mean… yeah, I've kissed. But I've never done anything like this before. The whole… making-out-in-my-bed-with-someone-I-really-like thing, I mean."

Nat mumbles out the words you just said, digesting them, and then her eyes fly open in realization. "Oh," she blinks, then shakes herself out of whatever daze she was in and gently grabs your chin to make you look at her again, "Hey, hey." She says softly, her hand moving from your chin to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, much like you did to her earlier. "No matter… no matter what anyone says, this," she gently rakes her fingers through your hair, "means something to me. Like… it—it really means something." A moment passes between the two of you before she speaks again, voice soft and gentle. "Especially with you."

You nod, a small smile twitching on your lips as you lean forward and kiss her again, the action slowing down significantly compared to how it was before you told her—in a roundabout way—that you were a virgin. She appears comfortable with letting you take the lead now, but provides small encouragements without forcing anything. 

Her lips curl into a soft smile against yours, and although your heart still feels as though it's beating a million miles a minute, your chest no longer feels as tight. While you learn how to kiss her properly, Nat moves her hand from your hair to your shoulder, then trails down your arm until her fingers intertwine with yours.

"You can touch me, you know," Nat mumbles, guiding your hands to her waist. "I'm not fragile, and I'm not gonna bite… unless you ask, of course." She grins to herself when your hands find purchase on her waist, just under her leather jacket but over the fabric of her thin tee. Even with the cloth barrier, you can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating through it. "Yeah, like that. Don't be afraid."

Deciding to be bold for once in your life, you move your lips to her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her pale skin, and Nat rewards you with a shaky sigh. "God, yeah. Like that. A natural, really." 

She rolls her head back, giving you access to her neck. Who are you to deny such an invitation? You brush your lips lower, tracing over her pulse point. "No marks—" Nat says as she discards her leather jacket, tossing it precariously onto your floor. "No marks, please," she reiterates once her jacket is ditched.

You nod against her neck, tracing your mouth across her delicate skin—the same skin you've imagined brushing your lips again for much longer than you'd ever care to admit. "Fuck, you're a fast learner," Nat says with a breathless laugh, her hands running back up your arms to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them softly in a wordless display of encouragement. 

Spurred on by her words and touch, you let your hands slide up from her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her shirt. The outline of her ribcage shifts slightly beneath your touch as she takes a deep breath, the movement providing the incentive you need to continue. Your lips trail further down her neck, skimming over the hollow of her throat, her scent—something faintly musky with a hint of cigarette smoke—filling your senses.

Your hands hover, momentarily unsure of your actions before you finally gather the courage to slide them under the hem of her shirt. The feel of her skin beneath your fingertips—a mix of soft warmth and a few unexpected ridges of faint scars—makes your breath hitch. 

Nat notices your immediate hesitation because, of course, she does, and one of her hands runs back up to tangle in your hair. "You're good," she breathes out, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're doing fine. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, yeah?"

With her reassurance, your eyes wander along with your hands. Your gaze drops to the curve of her chest, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt but still ample enough that you can make out the swell of her breasts. Your hands, eager to feel that region your eyes have wandered to, continue to drift up her torso, her skin warm and shifting slightly under your touch.

When your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, both of you let out a quivering breath. "Yeah," Nat breathes out, "like that, babe. Keep—keep going…"

Babe, you think, that's a new pet name. One I could get used to.

Despite your sudden burst in confidence, this lingering hesitation rests on the back of your mind—I have no idea what I'm doing. You glance back up at her face trepidatiously, and you're sure your expression is a combination of bashful and nervous. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Nat whispers, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Seriously, it's okay." Her voice is reassuring—gentle in spite of her rough exterior, and it soothes you in a way that you weren't quite expecting. 

"No, I, uh, I want to. I just…" You fumble with your words, trying to find the proper ones to describe how you're currently feeling. "I want to. I just… I don't know how this is supposed to go."

A warm—almost affectionate—chuckle leaves Nat's lips, and her fingers gently rake through your hair. "It's not a test, Princess. There's no 'supposed to,' yeah? Just do what feels right." A beat, "I'll help you out."

She pulls back from you slightly, and you almost whine at the loss of the feeling of her fingers in your hair, but then she's—

Oh.

Oh.

Natalie Scatorccio—the object of your fascination for an uncomfortable amount of time—reaches down to the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head, tossing it in the general direction that she threw her leather jacket.

"Just do what feels good," she repeats in a breathless tone of voice as she returns her hands to your shoulders, one of them moving up to cup the side of your neck. 

You find yourself instinctively leaning into her touch as your eyes fall to her freshly revealed skin, slightly flushed in the dim lighting of your room. You can't exactly make out the fine details of it all, but you don't need to see. You just need to feel.

Even with that thought in mind, your hands linger in their position, which earns a soft huff from the girl currently seated in your lap. "Princess," she grabs your wrists and moves your hands up a little higher so that your palm is placed loosely over the fabric of her red bra, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "Just feel, yeah? Stop overthinking it. This isn't…" A scoff leaves her lips, and she gives your wrists a reassuring squeeze. "Not a test or some bullshit. Feel."

So, 'feel' you do.

Your hands tentatively squeeze her breasts, mouth drying in sheer awe of what is currently transpiring, and you meet her gaze again.

"Fuck," you murmur, then lean forward to capture her lips with your own.

Nat immediately returns the kiss, releasing your wrists in favour of moving her arms to rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck. You lead, but it's impossible to miss how she shifts slightly in your lap and presses herself closer to you with a small sound you could almost call a whine.

Your hands and mouth slowly get bolder as the kiss continues, and between your palm kneading the soft flesh of her chest and your tongue sliding against hers, you feel a familiar warmth begin to pool in your lower gut. The sensation causes you to buck your hips up into hers, earning a gasp from Nat in turn.

"Oh," Nat pulls back slightly, using her hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving back in to continue the kiss. "Yeah, I think we're a little too dressed for that."

Before you can protest it, Nat is pulling off of your lap to remove her pants, and as you sit and watch her nimble fingers pop the button of her jeans out, it occurs to you that you are also overdressed.

A moment's hesitation passes before you begin discarding your clothing, trusting the room's dim lighting to keep your nervousness hidden from her gaze. Your shirt comes first, followed quickly by your pants, attempting to kick them off as fast as possible, causing them to get caught at your ankles, which earns a soft laugh from Nat as she watches you struggle.

"Here," she says, approaching the bed again and helping discard your jeans properly, tossing them in the general direction her clothes went.

Your breath catches in your throat when Nat returns to your lap, her bare thighs coming to rest against yours as she straddles you again. Feeling the warmth of her naked skin against yours for the first time causes your brain to short-circuit for a moment, and all the confidence you've acquired over the past ten minutes immediately goes out the window at this new sensation.

Nat senses your lack of action immediately and huffs out a laugh at your awestruck expression. "Jesus, babe. Just… do what you were doing when I had my clothes on, yeah? Touch me the same. It's just without barriers this time." She grabs your hands and places them on her waist once more before wrapping her arms around your neck, "Remember, no overthinking things."

You nod slightly, swallowing down your nerves at this new situation as you map out the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Every touch earns a quiet hum of approval from her, a sound that stokes the warmth already pooling in your gut.

"Mm, yeah, keep going." Nat hums in agreeance with your actions, tilting her head to recapture your lips in a kiss. Although she's the one initiating the kiss this time, she takes it considerably slower than the first time she kissed you tonight but doesn't fail to provide the occasional teasing nip to your lower lip.

One of her hands shifts to cup your face, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss further while her other tangles itself in your hair. You feel the texture of the bandage you applied to Nat's hand earlier brush against your skin as her thumb gently caresses your cheekbone. As one of your hands idly traces its way up a scar, you don't even realise that it's snaking around to the clasp of her bra until you feel it underneath your fingertips and pause in uncertainty. 

Nat pulls back enough to meet your eyes, her hands never leaving the place they've found themselves. "You're good, she whispers gently. "I want you to take it off, would have stopped you by now if I didn't, yeah?"

With another nod, you begin fumbling with the clasp of her bra with one hand. Quickly realising you're out of your depths, an apology is mumbled to her as your other hand moves to join the one currently struggling in its task of undoing the hooks. Your apparent lack of experience in taking off someone's bra earns a low laugh from Nat, but it's hardly cruel—rather, laughing with you instead of at you.

When you successfully separate the bra clasps, Nat lets the fabric fall from her breasts, and she tosses it carelessly on the floor before placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a look you could only describe as pure, unbridled lust. The sight of her nude tits causes your breath to stutter briefly, leaving you frozen for a few seconds too long.

The blonde leans in, her breath tickling your ear in an effort to break your stupor. "Touch me," she murmurs, "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Promise."

Your hands move of their own accord, sliding around to her front and grazing over the skin as you explore her curves with reverence. Every movement earns a reaction—a soft sigh, a sharp inhale, or a quiet hum that makes your confidence grow with each passing second.

When you tweak a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, you can visibly see your confidence doubling at the reaction Nat gives you—a sharp gasp that leaves her mouth as her head tilts back, hips grinding down against yours once more.

"Keep—keep going, yeah, keep doing that. Don't be—fuck—don't be afraid to touch me. Promise you I want it…" Nat breathes out as her hips roll languidly, her hands having a difficult time deciding where they should rest on your body, eventually just deciding to grip your hair and pull your face close to her chest.

There is no resistance you offer as she guides your head, and despite your previous hesitations, you run your tongue across the nipple that you don't currently have in your hand.

Fuck, your daydreams don't compare to the actual sensation of her skin beneath your tongue, of her nipples pebbling underneath your eager touch.

For a moment, you don't think anything could ever compare to this feeling of Natalie in your lap, your hands on her skin, and her nipple between your lips. 

That is, of course, until she gives you a gentle shove backwards onto the mattress. Her nipple releases from your mouth with a soft popping sound as your back hits the bed. And, okay, maybe this vision of her on top of you is also a really good feeling.

Nat sighs, grinding down unabashedly into you while her hands grip your shoulders for some leverage. Her eyes fall closed as her jaw becomes slack, and her hips press needily down into yours. "Fuck," she hisses, "Jesus Christ, we're doing this."

The words don't sound shocked or surprised, just… want and the slightest hint of desperation; both sounds you aren't exactly used to hearing from one of the most vilified people in school. In the time you've gotten to know her, she's never even come close to expressing any of those emotions around you. That being said, it's a sound you like and crave to hear repeated over and over and over again from her lips.

"Y-yeah," you agree after a long moment, just watching her move atop you, "we are. We, uh, we are doing this."

A breathless laugh comes from the woman on top of you as she continues to move her body, "I need to know who you're trying to convince. Me, or you?" She slides her unbandaged hand from your shoulder to your jaw, running her thumb over your lower lip. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmurs, hips slowing for a moment as the words leave her. 

She appears to consider saying something else briefly, but that consideration is gone just as quickly as it appeared, opting to speak with actions instead of words. The hand that is still on your shoulder runs down your torso, stopping right over your sternum and in between the valley of your breasts. No words leave her as she lets her eyes drift up lazily to meet yours in the soft, lunar glow.

You know what she's asking without words, anyway. She wants to touch you. She wants you to remove your bra. She wants you. Despite knowing these things, you still find yourself feeling insecure about removing the final barriers between the two of you. If anyone were to ask you, you'd tell them that the girl straddling your thighs is a work of art—a masterwork crafted on a canvas that had been beaten down by thousands of small events over the years, but a masterwork nonetheless. A voice tells you that you pale in comparison to her, but you know now, partially thanks to Nat, that you can't keep living life by letting fear control you.

So, you hesitate for a few seconds as you think about all the possible scenarios and outcomes of her seeing your uncovered breasts, then you think fuck it and sit up slightly to remove your bra and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor. 

When you lay flat again, you don't meet her gaze. You can't help it; you know your face is burning at the reveal of your skin, but Nat doesn't seem to be nearly as off-put as you are. 

"Jesus Christ." Her hands move over your breasts, delicately running over the sensitive skin prickled with goosebumps. "You have no idea…" She starts moving her hips at the same speed she was previously moving them at, a soft moan falling from her lips as she kneads your breasts in an exploratory fashion. "No fucking idea…"

Nat never finishes that sentence, much more concerned with moving her hips against yours and feeling the soft swell of your tits beneath her calloused hands. Her touch is exploratory, as though she doesn't have much experience with the actions she's currently taking. Regardless, she seems to be enjoying the learning process.

Deciding that you should also take this opportunity to learn, you start to trace your hands up her legs, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs. There's a contrast between the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her skin. Your movements are tentative initially, but Nat's low hum of approval encourages your boldness. 

You let your hands wander higher, brushing over the curve of her hips and pausing at the waistband of her panties. For the umpteenth time tonight, you hesitate to go further and continue to shed clothing. Nat notices and leans her forehead down to press against yours, stilling the movements in her hips fully. 

"It's okay," she breathes, her lips ghosting over yours. "I want this just as much as you do."

"I just need to know if I'm doing this right. I don't… I don't know what I'm doing, Nat."

A low chuckle leaves her as her hands run up your torso to rest on your jaw. "We'll go slow. It's okay, I'll guide you." She shifts her weight slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that feels somewhat different from the others—less urgent, more intentional.

You let yourself relax into the kiss as her body starts to move against yours once more. Her hands slide down your torso, encouraging you to move your hips against hers. Without even thinking about it, you bend one of your legs at the knee and earn a soft hiss from Nat, who shifts subconsciously to straddle your thigh. 

"Fuck yeah," she breathes out as one of her hands splays across your stomach, "shit, you feel good." 

Your fingers toy with the edge of her waistband, and you pause one last time to get confirmation. Nat nods, lips curling into an encouraging smile. Slowly, you begin to tug them down her hips, Nat shifting slightly to help, laughing softly when you fumble.

"They're just panties, Princess. First your jeans, now my underwear?" She hums and clicks her tongue teasingly, "I'm beginning to think clothes just aren't your forte. Maybe it's a good thing we're out of them, yeah?"

You groan, cheeks burning as you finally manage to toss them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "You're impossible," you mutter, but the humour helps ease your nerves more than you'd care to admit.

When Nat settles against you once more, you gasp softly at the new feeling you're greeted with—her wetness coming in direct contact with your skin. The feeling of slick skin is accompanied by a small, rough patch of hair between her thighs, the dual combinations causing a buzzing sensation to rake up your body.

"Doing fine," Nat reiterates, leaning down to brush her lips over yours again. "We'll take it slow, yeah? Just do what feels right. If something goes wrong…" Her lips twitch in barely concealed amusement. "We can figure it out, or whatever."

"You make it sound like we're assembling IKEA furniture," you deadpan, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

"Some assembly required," she quips back, closing the distance and kissing you again. As she does, she takes your hands and guides them to her thighs. "Start here. Touch me. I'll tell you if something feels off."

You nod hesitantly, swallowing down the nervousness in your throat. Your hands gently squeeze and massage the firm muscles of her thighs, trying to map out what details you can't make out in the dim lighting of your room. When your fingers skim over the curve of her hips—now without the barrier of cloth separating your hands from her skin—she lets out a soft hum and places her hands on your shoulders.

Your hands gain confidence as they explore the curve of her hips reverently, tracing the smooth lines of her body. Nat's breath hitches slightly at your touch, and her fingers dig into your shoulders—not to stop you, but to confirm that she is a fan of the actions you're taking.

When your fingers finally dip between her thighs, Nat inhales sharply, her body shuddering at the contact. "Yeah," she breathes out, her voice dropping lower, "just like that."

Encouraged, you press your fingers through the short tangle of hair and into her slick heat, your breath stuttering at the feeling of her wetness, exploring her slowly but with growing confidence. Nat's hips shift forward slightly, chasing your fingers. The sound she makes—a quiet, almost needy hum—sends a strange buzzing sensation up your spine that causes your fingers to slide deeper into her folds.

"Fuck," she breathes out as one of your fingers teases her slit, "you're—oh, God—doing good. Just… just like that."

Your confidence peaks when you brush a sensitive bundle of nerves with your palm, located at the apex of her thighs. When you press your hand harder against it, Nat's hips jerk subconsciously, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

"Shit," she laughs breathlessly, "fast learner, huh?"

You grin at her, feeling like you're finally getting the hang of things. "I had a good teacher; what can I say?"

One of Nat's hands drifts from your shoulder down to the wrist of the hand you currently have situated between her thighs, and she attempts to guide your touch with deliberate movements. "Here," she murmurs, "try this." She positions your fingers just right, showing you the pace and pressure she likes, her eyes fluttering shut as you get the hang of it.

"Yeah, babe…" She whispers, speaking more to herself than you at this point. "Fuck, that's it. That's good. Keep… yeah, keep doing that…"

You continue to follow her guidance until she decides you've gotten the hang of it and moves her hand back up your arm. "Mm," you watch her head loll back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat, and she removes her other arm from your shoulder to—

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—

Nat runs her hand up her torso, starting on the flat of her stomach before trailing up between her breasts and over her sternum. When she reaches her neck, her slender fingers wrap around her throat gently, and she makes a low humming sound as her hips press into your hand.

Your hand stutters for a moment—only because your brain stutters as you watch her touch herself, which might be your new favourite sight—but you quickly resume your movements, desperate to continue to see her in this heavenly light. 

In your overwhelming need to see her explore her own skin while seated on your lap, you press your fingers in a little too hard, pushing past her entrance and into the damp heat that awaits you. Nat initially seems to approve of this action, letting out a hum that sounds like the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Encouraged by this, you press your index finger into her deeper… until your uncut nails accidentally scratch against her inner walls.

With no warning, Nat immediately hisses and snaps her hand down to grab your wrist, tugging it back slightly. "Fuck, Princess. Warn a girl before you stick something sharp inside of her, yeah?" The words are intended to be teasing, a playful banter to ease your nerves… but they do the exact opposite.

Too desperate and too inexperienced, it seems.

Your eyes widen in equal parts shock and embarrassment, promptly backpedalling and losing all of that confidence you've just gained. "Sh—fuck, Nat. I'm… fuck. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I didn't…"

"Woah, woah—" Nat shakes her head immediately, releasing your wrist in favour of taking your face between both of her hands, warm skin and rough bandage against cheeks burning in shame. "Babe, no. It's okay, alright? It's just… a learning curve or whatever. You aren't gonna be a fucking… Sex God your first time, yeah? It's okay, seriously, dude. Relax. I'm fine."

Even with her reassurance, you hesitate again, not wanting to hurt her. To remedy this, Nat leans down to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly to speak. "Let's… try something else then. Change of pace."

When she climbs off your lap, you have to fight the urge to whimper at the loss of her warmth against your skin. 

But then she's lying down on your bed, looking like the picture of lust and sin. 

"Natalie…?" You find yourself asking hesitantly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at her. "What's… what's going on? Why are you… I thought we…"

She rolls her eyes and snorts, "What we are doing is still having sex, yeah? We're just gonna… try switching gears. Come here."

Then, she's spreading her legs for you. And, yeah. You really can't see her in this lighting, but you don't need to. Just the vague image of her (and the mental ones your brain has started providing you with) is more than enough, seeing be damned.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your brain feels fuzzy as you sit yourself between her parted legs. "Fuck, Nat…" Your touch is slightly more hesitant than it was earlier—mainly because you're worried about hurting her again—but you place your hands on her ankles and slowly but deliberately run them up her long, lithe legs. 

"Mm, yeah, that's the plan." Nat grins at you, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as her eyes follow your movements as you change your position to lay prone. 

From your new angle, you're looking up at Nat once more, but it feels ten times as intimate as it did compared to when she was seated on your lap. From here, you get a front-row seat to a meal like none you've ever encountered: something wet, warm, and deliciously wanton.

She reaches down and pushes some hair out of your face as you wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing the firm muscles as your breath brushes across her center. 

"Don't jump right into it, yeah? Explore, or whatever." Her free hand waves dismissively as if attempting to ease your worries. "Something about the journey, and not the destination."

You squirm slightly but give her a soft nod in acknowledgement. "Right, right… don't just… dive into it."

Nat hums in acknowledgment of your statement, parting her legs a little further on your behalf. "'xactly, Princess. You're getting it."

Your mouth feels overwhelmingly dry, and in an effort to shake the nerves from your system again, you decide to begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her right thigh. You start near the crook of her knee and gradually work your way up her leg and closer to the warm heat that rests at the apex. 

When you reach the point where her leg transitions to her pelvis, you quickly switch to her other thigh and repeat the same ministrations you gave her right thigh. For the record, Nat seems to be equally frustrated and increasingly aroused at how you've begun to take your time with her. But, when her hand tugs on your hair subconsciously, you can't help the small, giddy laugh that spills from your mouth.

"You were the one that told me I shouldn't be jumping right into things, Natalie." 

Although you can't make out the movement of her eyes in the dark of your room, you swear you can hear her rolling them through the irked exhale she lets out at the teasing comment. "Jesus, when did you become such a tease?"

You grin at that, nipping at her thigh like she did your lip when the two of you were kissing earlier. "When I was told to be one, princess."

Nat tugs on your hair again at the bite and subsequent comment, "Don't call me 'princess,' that's your title."

"Oh, my bad, Your Grace."

The scoff that falls from her is less harsh than it is humourous, and she gives your hair a soothing pet to ease the assumed sting from the tug. "You are forgiven, my liege," she says with a terrible English accent that would cause even a tenured dialect coach to have a heart attack. 

A thought vaguely occurs to you as your breath ghosts over her again; you know she told you not to leave marks, but you can't help the part of you that wants to suck a dark mark into her thighs.

Nat seemingly catches the thought in the way you hesitate, and she hums softly. "You can leave one. You know how to leave a hickey, yeah?"

You roll your eyes at the comment, huffing softly. "Yes, Natalie. I'm not that inexperienced. I know how to leave a hickey. It has to do with the blood vessels under the skin bursting when—"

"Mmm," she cuts you off, "didn't ask for the science behind it, babe. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

Before you can talk yourself out of doing it, you press your lips to the pale skin of her left thigh and take it into your mouth, lathing over it with your tongue and earning an approving moan from Nat at the action. 

When you break the suction, you get slightly upset that you can't immediately see if the mark will take; you suppose that will have to be something you revisit come the morning. 

Well, provided she actually stays the night. 

But… that's a thought for future you to worry about. Right now? Well, right now, you have Natalie Scatorccio lying on your bed with your head between her thighs. You can worry about the logistics later.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips brushing her skin as you speak. "How's that for a start?"

Nat chuckles, though the sound is breathless and ragged, something which you would like to think is a testament to how much you're affecting her. "Mm, yeah, not bad. Got some ways to go yet, but… I think with practice… we could get there." Her hand stays tangled in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding herself—or maybe grounding you. It's hard to tell, and honestly, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the way she arches slightly beneath your touch when your mouth trails closer to her center. Her breath catches, and you feel her thighs tense beneath your palms. That's all the encouragement you need.

"You say 'we could get there' like you fully intend on doing this again…" You muse as your breath ghosts over her center, wetness visible even in the penumbra. 

Following her earlier advice, you take your time, pressing gentle, deliberate kisses against the tender skin before finally letting your tongue dart out to explore. The taste of her slick is warm, slightly salty, and wholly intoxicating. You quickly decide this is something you could never get tired of, no matter how long you live.

Natalie's reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp intake of breath, her hips bucking slightly against your mouth as her fingers tighten in your hair fractionally. "Fuck, babe," she murmurs, her voice strained and dripping with lust. "That's… yeah, that's it. Just like that." 

Spurred on by her praise, your hands tighten around her thighs, and you tug her closer to your waiting mouth as you close your eyes and delve deeply into her glistening arousal. Sure, you aren't quite sure what you're doing, but… you took Anatomy and Physiology last semester. So you… kinda understand the basics. 

You're nothing if not eager to make up for your previous mistakes, which shows in how you bury your nose into the neatly trimmed hair on her pelvis. The movements start slow, almost exploratory, careful not to overwhelm either of you at the moment. You let your tongue flick lightly against her folds, testing her reactions and taking mental notes of the little sounds she makes. Each gasp, quiet moan, or whispered "yeah, right there" is a roadmap guiding you, and you find yourself following it with renewed eagerness.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more, but this time, it's less teasing and more… like she's trying to urge you to continue what you're doing. Her thighs tremble slightly against your hold, and you feel a surge of pride at the realization that you're the one making her feel like this.

You hum softly against her, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath and a broken curse from Natalie. The sound is enough to have you digging your nails into her thighs, your own excitement building despite the fact you're the one pleasuring her, and not the other way around. So, you repeat the action to draw the sound again. And again. And again.

As you get more comfortable, your movements become bolder, and your grip grows firmer. You flatten your tongue against her and drag it upward, savouring the way she shudders beneath you. Your lips close around a tiny nub at the top, sucking on it gently and feeling her body jolt in response.

"Oh, fuck—" Nat's voice cracks slightly, and her hips jerk up, thighs instinctively closing in around your head for a moment before she forces herself to relax. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

You shake your head immediately at her apologies, the motion causing you to brush against her in a way that has her letting out a delicious groan. "I like it," you murmur between movements, squeezing her thighs once in a show of approval. "Means I'm doing something right." A beat, "...right?"

Your voice comes out slightly unsure, although you try to disguise it with a sarcastic lilt. Nat, whether she picks up on this or not, doesn't comment on your unsure tone.

"Yeah, babe," she breathes out, her voice shaky. "Doing good, yeah? Try not to let it go to your head, though."

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against her skin, and press on, letting yourself get lost in her. Her taste, her scent, the way her fingers tangle in your hair… it's an all-consuming feeling. Those nerves you were feeling earlier? Gone. Replaced by a confidence that builds with every encouragement whispered from her lips.

At some point, your lips move from her clit to her entrance, and you run a stripe up it with your tongue. You debate using your fingers for a moment but decide against it once you remember what happened when you tried that initially. So, instead, you use your tongue to feel the inside of her.

You nuzzle her outer lips apart with your mouth and nose—which brushes against her clit—and press your tongue inside her, exploring her canal, which feels… strangely like the roof of your mouth. Your tongue isn't very long, so you don't stay for long, but you make a mental note to return to this at a later date. Ideally, when you've cut your nails.

When your lips move back up to her clit, your tongue flicks at it, and you experiment in strokes—a flat tongue, pointing and swirling it, attaching your lips to it, and catalogue every sound or reaction she makes in your mind for… future purposes. You decide the reactions that you like the best come from when you're effectively slurping on it. The messier, the better.

So, you get messy. Natalie's thighs wrap around your head, her ankles locking behind it as she tugs on your hair, a loud groan falling from her lips when you tug her even closer to you—if that was even possible—and get messy.

Your saliva runs down her already slick genitals, mingling with her juices as they coat your lower face and give you a headrush like nothing ever has before. This feels better than the first time you got drunk on your friend Alex's mom's wine for their sixteenth birthday. Hell, this feels better than the little buzz you got from smoking a joint with Nat at the skatepark. This is a feeling you want to experience as many times as possible in your life, you've decided. 

Nat's breathing begins to quicken, and you can feel the way her thigh muscles tense around your head, the way the grip on your hair grows more insistent, and… oh, shit, she's getting close. Your movements double down, your grip on her thighs nearing the point of bruising, and you do whatever you can to bring her closer to that blissful release.

"Babe—fuck, I'm gonna—" Natalie gasps, voice breaking completely as her hips back against you and her head trashes against your pillows. Her thighs effectively cut off all sound at this point, but you don't care about the lack of hearing in the slightest—the movements she's making are more than enough to tell you what you need to know. So, your ministrations don't let up—not until she's crying out and a sudden rush of wetness begins to coat your already slick face.

When her body relaxes from the orgasm that raked her, so does the grip on your head and hair. A soft murmur leaves her lips, something that sounds suspiciously like your name. You press a few kisses to her now-overly sensitive skin before pulling back to look at her.

Natalie is sprawled out on your bed, her chest heaving and a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips when her eyes open to meet yours. Her hair is a mess, her face is just as fucked up as it was when you were patching her wounds up in her truck, and she's never looked more sinful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself again as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Was… that… okay?" you ask quietly, voice tentative as you sit back on your haunches. 

She lifts her head to look at you, propping herself up on her elbows. "Babe," her smirk softens into a gentle smile. "That was better than okay. You sure you haven't done this before?"

You shake your head, blushing furiously. "Uhh… no? It was, uh, my first time…"

Nat's smirk reappears, and she moves to sit up and pulls you back toward her, "mm, well, you could have fooled me. You're a natural."

Her lips find yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected, given how utterly debauched she looks, and it leaves you feeling dazed and fuzzy in the best way possible. Maybe, you think as her arms wrap around you, this leaning curve isn't so bad.

At some point during this kiss, Nat starts encouraging you to lay where she was, and your positions are flipped. She's the one seated between your thighs now. The change in position leaves you a little overwhelmed, and you find yourself breaking the kiss out of nervousness. 

"Nat, uh, you, uh, don't have to… 'return the favour,' or whatever. I don't—"

She laughs. It's hardly cruel, but it's obvious she finds your nerves endearing. "Princess—babe—I wouldn't do something I didn't want to. Although my face is a little fucked up," she starts, using the word 'little' very loosely, "I can still use it. And I fully intend to 'return the favour, or whatever.'"

Her gaze softens slightly when she still sees your hesitation, and she gently brushes a strand of hair that got stuck to your forehead behind your ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice barely audible. So, you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah, uh, I'm good. Just… nervous."

"That's okay." Her hands gently massage your thighs, "I'll take care of you, yeah? Stop me if it gets too much. I won't be, like, offended, or whatever." She waves a dismissive hand before pressing kisses to your lower stomach.

Her words and actions settle over you, and you find yourself nodding despite the nervous fluttering in your gut. You trust her—for better or worse—and that's enough to keep you from spiralling for now.

Nat, far more sure in her actions than you were, hooks her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and pressing kisses along the skin as she goes. Her touch is slow and careful, almost reverent, and it genuinely makes you feel safe. It's a weird feeling, sure, to feel safe around Natalie Scatorccio, of all people, but you wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Her breath ghosts over you, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes as she starts pressing kisses up your inner thighs, then immediately running her tongue flat against your center. 

"Natalie—" you gasp, hands finding purchase in her hair. She hums in response, the sound vibrating against you and making you arch into her touch. When your thighs move to close in around her head, she growls—a sensation that feels as delicious as the hum did—and holds them to the bed.

She doesn't stop until you're trembling, breathing harshly, and your voice becomes a broken mix of gasps and whimpers. When you finally come undone, it's with her name on your lips, your body going taut before collapsing against the mattress. By far, it's a significantly better orgasm than anyone you've ever had on your own. Either you haven't been doing something right, Natalie just knows what she's doing, or it's just better with a partner. Whatever the reason, you feel good.

Nat presses a few soft kisses to your thighs as you come down from that high, her touch gentle and soothing. She climbs back up beside you, her grin equally smug and affectionate as she brushes your hair away from your face.

"So? You good, Princess?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. 

You nod, though your words come out a little garbled from the intensity of it. "Good. Yeah. Good. Just… uh… yeah. Good."

She laughs gently, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Good."

After a moment of stillness, she pushes herself off the bed, scanning the room before grabbing a random shirt off the floor. "Hope you didn't plan on wearing this shirt anytime soon." She uses it to gently clean you up, murmuring some soft reassurances as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation. Once you're taken care of (and, surprisingly, with much more care than you thought was possible from Natalie Scatorccio), she tosses the shirt aside and grabs a cup from your nightstand with some water in it, offering it to you.

"Drink," she says simply, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Once you drink, she finishes the water, murmuring something about 'stale-ass nightstand water,' then settles back beside you.

Once she settles down, her head finds its way to your chest like it's been there a million times before, and she sighs softly as her arm drapes over your waist. Her head tucks itself under your chin, and she kisses your neck softly before yanking the duvet up around both of you. 

This, you decide, is something you could get used to.

a/n: remember when i said it's all downhill from here? <3 also I would apologize for the foreplay being as long as it was but I'm really not sorry. teehee (also lowkey i wrote half of this late at night... if u see spelling errors... pls tell me ajhgbauyhdghbuyag)

tag: @we1rdth0ughts @theprismyyy

[kagaintheskywithdiamonds]

omggggg Ford joining a parenting group (that's basically all women aside from him) because he wants to be the best dad for Stan. I hadn't even thought of that. But he would though. Being a single parent is HARD, he needs all the help he can get.

Which brings me to one of the things I didn't mention in the other post cuz it was already getting so long, but like, as the years go on, Stan's gonna have questions about his mother. I think any child in his situation would wonder the same thing. And even if he's still too young at this point to understand the specifics of where babies come from, he's probably aware that it takes two to tango. Surely he has a biological mother, right? Like, how could he exist without one? But Dad never talks about her, doesn't have any pictures of her, doesn't wear a wedding ring. Something weird is going on

And Ford tries to come up with believable stories to tell Stan but we all know he's a terrible liar. The only reason he's able to keep Stan's real origins a secret is because "hey dad, are you actually my twin brother?" is a question Stanley would never think to ask. but he WOULD think to ask about his mom, and it still catches Ford off-guard every time and he never has a good answer ready.

At one point he considers telling Stan what is technically the truth and saying his mother was a woman named Caryn, until Ford realizes that would put himself in sort of an Oedipus situation and it makes him sick to his stomach. So he thinks up a generic female name (a name that Ford isn't able to keep consistent, Stan notices) and comes up with stories that also don't stay consistent. "She died when you were a baby," "she broke up with me and didn't want to raise you and just left us," "I grew you in my lab" (that last one Ford says half-jokingly, though he realizes in hindsight that it might be the lie he's best able to maintain out of the lot)

And this creates some tension in their relationship as Stanley gets older, the fact that Ford is definitely hiding secrets. But then there's the undeniable fact that Ford still loves him, and that breeds some cognitive dissonance. I'm thinking it plays out a bit like the scene from NWHS where the mystery twins are down in the lab and they have every reason at this point to believe that Stan is a villain, but Mabel points out that photo of her and Dipper and says "but he still loves us". It's a bit like that. Except that the vilification of Stan's parent figure happens much more gradually (as opposed to the mystery twins finding all that incriminating shit about stan over the course of one day lol)

BUT ANYWAY I can't see that causing real tension between them until Stan is like 15 or so. Let's go back to him being younger

YES I was also thinking about Ford working to make sure Stanley's needs are met in school. and ok yeah this version of Stan still isn't a straight-A student, more like a straight-C student, but he still does a lot better than the Stan that Ford grew up with because who'da thunk it, kids perform better in school when they're actually given some encouragement now and then instead of being constantly told that they're a good-for-nothing idiot. I'm picturing Stan coming home from school all excited to show Ford the B- that he worked so hard to get and Ford picks him up and hugs him and ajsdklfjsdkl

and YES the love of sailing. the first time Stan mentions, even in passing, how cool it would be to sail around the world on a boat, Ford has to turn his face away and mutters something about allergy season.

And I hadn't even thought about Ford low-key spoiling Stan but it makes sense, having grown up with such a stingy father himself. I might have to disagree with you on the shark thing though. Like I said I picture this Ford being maybe a biiiiit overprotective. Think Marlin from Finding Nemo. No matter how much you try to convince him that the shark thing is safe, and no matter how much his logic-based brain wants to believe you, you know how parents are with their worrying. No way Ford's letting his child swim with sharks

And that becomes another point of tension as Stan gets older. Ford turns into a bit of a helicopter parent. And while this version of Stan actually makes friends with some kids from school, he has a hard time hanging out with his friends and just being a kid without Ford trying to involve himself somehow. And as much as Stan loves Ford, he does find it a bit stifling. One might even say... suffocating (my, how the tables have turned)

On a lighter note, imagine Ford trying so hard to butt in on Stan's circle of friends that he tries pulling the "cool dad" routine (much to hilarious failure). Imagine Stan hanging out with some friends after school and Dr. Pines comes rolling up on a skateboard (while wearing a helmet and elbow and knee pads, of course, gotta set a good example) and is so distracted trying to correctly use kid slang in a sentence that he ends up falling off a curb wrong and eating shit on the asphalt.

Dr. Pines (if you call him "Mr", Stan will correct you and brag about his dad's 12 PhDs) ends up being a bit more well-known among the student body than most other kids' parents, if only because of his embarrassing attempts to worm his way into Stan's life. And, ok, for that you can call Ford a dork, or a weirdo, but you better not call him a freak, and don't you DARE make fun of his fingers. Stanley will throw hands

Ford gets a call from Stan's school one day informing him that Stan got in trouble for fighting, apparently even gave another kid a black eye, and Ford is shocked and disappointed at this news. But when he learns that what instigated this fight was the same sort of "six-fingered freak" comments that followed him through childhood... Well, he's not sure what he feels anymore. Proud? He probably shouldn't be proud that his son is picking fights, even if it's on his behalf. Logically he knows that he shouldn't encourage this behavior and that he'll have to discipline Stanley somehow, but... goddammit, it really is the same Stan who constantly placed himself between Ford and their childhood bullies. How can he scold him for that?

(I should probably start putting these under a read more if I'm gonna have this much to say each time ^^')

Stanley has an important role in the grand scheme of things, specifically saving the universe. His role is so crucial that if anything were to happen to him it could lead to not only the destruction of his universe, but also lead the destruction of others. So what would happen if Ford had lost Stanley somewhere during the ten years they spent apart, only for Ford to be met face to face with the time police and what appears to be 2 years old Stanley.

His ears feel muffled as he’s handed the toddler.

Death by asphyxiation

Trunk of the car

Far too late

Paradox

The child’s timeline was already gone

The fate of the universe

His hands

The baby coos in his arms babbling as he grabs Ford’s pinky.

[glitchy1938]

(Same anon who asked for the reader who gets visions) oooo I loved the reader who gets visions post, you really know how to make a vision take flight

Sorry for requesting again, but I’ve got another idea floating in my mind. You don’t have to write this if it is too detailed of a concept :)

What about a reader who is a friend and fellow virtue of the ancients or beasts (they’re my favorite groups I’m sorry) and desperately craves to be acknowledged as worthwhile, not exactly jealous and will never say it but they feel like they are never recognized for all the work they do, so obviously they need to do more! And they begin to slowly corrupt with visible cracks throughout their dough, and they start getting more resentful, refusing to stop their work because they think their friends want to steal the glory for themselves, as they are actively destroying themself.

It took a while but I made it, I also made with my OC if that's okay.

Even If I'm Crumbling..... I Need More...!!

[Ancients & Beasts x reader]

Pure Vanilla Cookie

• You were his closest friends with White lily Cookie, and he really appreciate that you want to know more about everything.

• But he feel... Something else in you... Like, everytime he get better at something, you want to surpass him, he didn't quite get it at first...

• You never admit it to him, or anyone, but the more he get of acknowledgement, the more you feel you NEEDED to do more.

• You started to work even more harder then before, even not eating, drinking or getting any sleep ! That doesn't matter to you. All you needed what to prove to everyone that they recognise your hard work.

• Pure Vanilla tried everything... To at least make you eat, drink or get a sleep. But you deny all of that. Saying that you had to surpass yourself more and more and they won't take all your glory to themselves.

• He didn't want to force you, but that change when you saw that your Doug start to slowly crumble.

• This time, he stayed with you all time, refusing to leave your side and forcing you to take care of yourself. He didn't care that you'll hate them, all he wanted was for you to come back to your sense...!!

Hollyberry Cookie

• She's the one who saw first that you truely change, yes, it's good to surpass yourself, but not until you crumble !!

• You're one of her dearest friends and she can't stand seeing you refuse to take care of yourself and only wanted to be more stronger than her to get more glory.

• She'll force you to, even if it means locking your room with her so she'll be here with you and make sure that you won't die of working yourself until death !!

• She will not allow it.

Dark Cacao Cookie

• Now, this man will be impressed by all your work, telling you that you did great. But... That wasn't enough for you.

• As a king, he know that all eyes are on him when he do something impressing. So he doesn't get it why you so need to do more.

• You wanted to take away his crown ? No, he knew you didn't... Than why ?? Why working so hard into the aren to prove you're strong ?

• He didn't want to interrupt you at first, but it's when Caramel Arrow Cookie informed him that you passed out in the training area and your Doug was slowly crumble that he take it seriously.

• He won't listen to your pleading or order to let you go training again, for crumble yourself even more ?!? DON'T YOU SEE WHAT'S HAPPENED TO YOU ?!!

• He'll order his servent or even himself to take care of you. It doesn't matter of you don't want to, he won't lose you like he almost lost his kingdom.

Golden Cheese Cookie

• This diva will NOT tolerate that you're willing to give your life just to prove yourself more.

• Yes, she's greedy and love gold and her kingdom, and also the fame and glory, but she know what's more important and take care of yourself.

• She doesn't allow you go to found the most important treasure or something, she won't let you get hurt or killed.

• She'll pemper you for your hard work every time you're about to do more or your Doug is about to crumble more.

White Lily Cookie

• She's also working herself to get forgiven by the other Ancients, but she's very worried about you.

• She always find yous still in your desk because she's also working a little more ay Night time but seeing there with more knowledge books beside than before, where you there the hole time ?!?

• She doesn't want to force you, she take your hands and pleaded you to stop your work, you only hurt yourself more !!

• If that doesn't work.... She'll apologize but dragged you in your bed and laying on top of you so that you won't escaped.

• She'll hug you tightly as you told her that you won't let her take your work, she doesn't care about that !! SHE CARE ABOUT YOU GOD DAMN IT !!!

• She'll give you all the medecin you need to recover, and to your mental health is back to a normal cookie work.

• She doesn't want to lose you please !!

Sweet Bleu Chocola Cookie (aka Zakia)

• She already saw the Doug started to crumble when she saw you working harder then before. She immediately start to heal you injuries and taking you to your chambers.

• She maybe sweet and all, but she won't let some glory get the better of her friends, and specially not you.

• She'll even ask her uncle or sister to the throne until she's SURE that you'll stop working yourself too hard !!

• If you say to her that she won't take your work away from you, she'll cry and for the first time yell at you to stop your none sence !! DID SHE EVER VALUE GLORY MORE THAN FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE ?!?

• You'll be stuck with her until you recover, end of story.

The Beasts

Shadow Milk Cookie

• Well this man is... already interested in your hard working self, and almost happy that you see him as glory as he also see himself... that, is until he saw your Doug start to crumble.

• He won't tell you to stop, oooh no, he'll just dragge you into his chamber and give you What you need to stop.

• He won't take "no" for an answer when he ask for you to eat or sleep. You'll need all your strength if you want to recover.

• He's not the best at comforting, but you can see that he's trying to.

• His minions also are worried about you, believe it or not.

• Candy Apple Cookie pleaded her master to let her take care of you, seeing you like that makes her heart broke... Same with Black Saphire Cookie, his mission is to look out for you when you try to work again.

• He get it that you want to clam glory for your hard work, but it's not like that that you'll succeed.

Burning Spice Cookie

• This man, as we all know, is THE working cookie then anyone, and he push his army or anyone else who can be useful.

• He's proud to see you working more and more of yourself when your in the training area. But he saw the Doug slowly crumble too...

• He didn't ask you to stop or go get rest, he ORDERED you to stop. But of course, you didn't listen.

• He'll have to dragree you by picking you like a potato bag on his shoulder while you scream at him to let go of you.

• He doesn't care if you try to fight back, the last thing he want is you die because you didn't take care of yourself.

Mystic Flour Cooke

• She's the cookie of Empathy, but that doesn't mean that she's not worried about your health.

• She get it that you want to prouve yourself more, but if that mean you'll die of this, she won't accept it.

• She'll directly tell you to stop and get rest IMMEDIATELY. And if you're being stubber and refuse, she'll take you hand like a child and won't listen to your pleading to let you work

• She'll scold you for pushing yourself just for glory. Saying that it will only hurt you more than it'll give.

Red Chocola Cookie

• This girl won't listen to you saying that you need to know more or be more strong.

• she'll force you to stop doing what ever your doing to go to bed and to think of nothing else.

• The glory must really take your head, did you think she need fame or glory ? hell she'll think you go crazy because of it.

• Even if she's married and want to see her sister and brother, she'll ask- no... Order her husband (Fallacy) to send letters to her sister and brother, and cancel any work or duty she has.

• She'll give you the best medecin you need to recover, food, water, anything you need for stop hurting yourself more.

[klausysworld]

Hi!!! I love your work sm and I love how you capture Klaus!

I was wondering if you could do a smut where reader is sitting on Klaus’s lap and hes just fingering her and reader is begging him to stop because she feels like she’s about to squirt but he’s just encouraging her to let it out 🫶 it’s okay if you can’t!!

Just a Warm Up

Klaus hummed faintly, a smirk of amusement on his face as he curled his fingers for the thousandth time.

Y/N has been sobbing for over an hour, her body shaking like a leaf when he halted his movements before she could cum again.

"No..." She cried, her throat raw and strained. "Nik, please!" She begged, her entire body sticking to his clothes.

"Shh, sh." He hushed her, the smirk on his mouth obvious without even looking. "You're my good girl, aren't you? And good girls don't complain." He teased; mocked.

Y/N was getting closer and closer to snapping, to screaming at him and taking what she wants whether that be pushing his trousers down and riding his dick, holding his wrist still and fucking his hand or fucking her own hand.

It was driving her to insanity.

Her body was sweating buckets, her skin slippery and her limbs so tense yet relaxed at the same time. It didn't make any sense. All she knew was that she was losing it and her body couldn't take it.

"Klaus, I can't." She whispered, her face wet with tears.

His eyes narrowed and he turned her face up, looking at her properly and pecking her forehead. "Come now babygirl, you can and you know it." He encouraged, his tone a little softer now as he kissed a tear off her cheek.

In the same breath three fingers delved back into her, his thumb back on her tortured clit. "Oh god!" She practically wailed but Klaus only rolled his eyes, far too entertained.

"Yes sweetheart I know." He mumbled with a smirk and rocked his wrist back and forth slowly, too slowly. Every inch of her body wanted to move to chase the feeling she desperately craved but she forced herself to stay still, Klaus would stop again if she misbehaved.

Klaus only smiled to himself at the sight of her brows pulled together in concentration. He sighed quietly to himself, shifting slightly and letting his jeans stretch over his aroused cock as he kept toying with her.

Riling her up like this was one of his favourite things in the world, watching how needy and whiny she got. He could feel how tight her sweet pussy was getting on his fingers again, as though she were imagining milking his cock instead.

He knew as soon as she made that sound that she was ready again, the begging was simultaneous.

"Please, Klaus please I can't-" She sobbed, her hands holding onto him so tense and yet somehow so weakly as she seemed unable to form a proper grip.

"You know that you can." He dismissed easily, his fingers curling again and making her cry. When he didn't stop at the point she expected her hips joined him against her control. Finally able to chase it.

"Oh god" She screamed, her head going back prompting Klaus to capture a fistful of her hair and keep her in place.

"Such a beautiful sight, aren't you love?" He murmured, his voice thick like honey, "Is my sweet girl gonna cum for me?"

Y/N only let out a tearful noise and shook. "Klaus..." She gasped and he hummed.

"Soak me, love." He purred.

She felt as though she were about to die and enter a universe of pure ecstasy. Her jaw fell open and her moans choked down as she screamed out again.

Klaus only grinned at the burst of warmth that went all over his jeans.

His fingers kept going until she couldn't take it, her body completely limp in his lap as she whimpered and whined, begging no more despite her pussy still leaking down her thighs.

Eventually he only held her to him, looking down at her as she continued to tremble.

"Poor baby" He cooed softly though the amusement was not lost. "You know me well enough to know that delightful little scene was only a warm up, my love."

(Sorry it’s only short guys 😔 My time management isn’t working)

[hyuckhyukahansol]

Hold On, We're Going Home

────────────

"you don't even notice the click of him locking the door while he turns the lights off before he curls up behind you, chest to your back as he wraps his arms around you slowly. sensually. mark's breath fans on the back of your neck before he plants several slow kisses there, moving until he reaches right below the shell of your ear. all the while, his large, warm hands can't seem to to anything other than wander under your hoodie to caress your waist and stomach. you let out a breathy and quiet chuckle.

"babe, what are you doing?" you ask in a whisper.

"you know you're mine, right?" mark whispers into your ear, completely ignoring the question, yet answering it at the same time.

your skin heats all too quickly. you know exactly what this is. he's jealous. of what, you're really not sure.”

or

you're a popular soloist and your secret boyfriend is a kpop idol. when your Canadian tour dates line up, you both opt to stay at his parent's home in Vancouver, but even with his parents asleep downstairs, mark just can't seem to keep his hands off of you after your show.

tags -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈  idol!mark, soloist!reader, fem!reader, reader is american, porn with minimal plot, established relationship, childhood room, twin bed, missionary, jealousy, possessiveness, praise AND degradation, mentions of reader being small, ATTEMPTED quiet sex, sacrilege if you squint (theres a jesus on his wall), size kink if u squint, marks parents are mentioned but theres no dialogue with them because im not writing that, reader has her drivers license, implied that reader is not christian, reader's love language is being mean to mark, EXTREMELY unserious

nicknames ┇ his babe yours princess!! baby... etc

date started┇march 20 2025

date posted ┇march 28 2025

wc ┇4.4k

A/Ns ┇ nothing like a good "lets fuck on my childhood bed!" 

room based on the mark's homecoming teasers for firstfruit.

umm mark probably doesnt have a childhood bedroom in canada because he was like 13 when he left for sm and also he lived in new york before that so lets just pretend for the sake of the fanfic that he does ok? ok! >_<

in section 2 i mention bible study as a way for me to skate around actually writing meeting marks parents LMFAOOO um im unsure if this is a popular thing everywhere else but like i know in the south at least its like youth group but for older people where they'll have a like mini religion discussion thing? i dont know i havent been to church in several years and i'm atheist 😭 iykyk i guess

reader's dialogue is based off of me and im a very strange fella and i cannot be serious for one single second so its kind of bad 😭

FINALLY NOTE im completely a virgin like ive never even kissed anyone LMFAO so if the smuts seems inaccurate at all thats on me because i refuse to let a real obtainable man get that close to me 😆

────────────

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

01. prologue

"no way our tour dates line up." 

you were in disbelief when your boyfriend called late at night to inform you that you would both be in the same city at the same time and that it just so happened to be where his parents lived: vancouver.

you were tucked under your warm, plush duvet with an unnecessary amount of pillows under your head and you groan as you sit up from them, cold air hitting your newly exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its chilly wake.

"i'm serious dude, the company usually lets me visit my family when we go for canadian stops. i could see if i can stay at my parent's house for longer.. and you could come with me.." mark's voice got higher as he started adding to the equation. "and maybe you can stay.. and meet some people.."

"you're saying you want me to meet your parents?" you reply blankly, holding in a laugh at your boyfriend's shyness about asking. you lean back in your bed, cotton fabric sighing with effort.

"see? that's my girl, i knew you'd get it." your face heats at his words.

"oh dude you're flirting..." you quote him, earning a sound of annoyance from the other end of the call. you snicker.

"you actually have to stop watching those fan compilations." you giggle at how easily it both annoys and embarrasses him that you keep up with what he does at work.

"okay, i'll stop watching fan compilations of you when you delete your folder of edits of me" you offer jokingly through your fit of laughter.

he scoffs "that's out of the question." 

"okay then i guess i get to keep watching videos of you goofing off at work." 

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

02. the twin bed

several months ago, your boyfriend had asked you to meet his parents in person. both of you living in seoul and being music artists meant that trips home were few and far between, so it made sense that mark would ask you to meet his parents in real life once the finally opportunity arose after two years of only seeing them in 2160p on a facetime screen. mark would've asked sooner if he weren't swamped with schedules — between three groups and solo activities, it was near impossible to find any amount of time to fly home, let alone with a secret girlfriend who's schedule was just as packed as his.

both of your tours had already started and you really hadn't seen much of each other since. you were grateful for the large amount of time you had in vancouver: about three nights of time together before you'd each have to take your separate flights to different cities for the rest of your respective tours. you had your show the first night of the three-day stay and his was the night directly after. 

mark had taken a plane with the rest of 127 and you opted to take a completely different flight; it wasn't worth the trouble of having to deal with both of your own saesangs on one flight as well as risking being caught. since mark's plane departed earlier than yours, he arrived at his parent's house much earlier than you, having already unpacked what he needed and started catching up with his folks when you rang the doorbell on the single-family home. as you were marveling at the normalcy of the house, your boyfriend swung the door open, giving you a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"did your staff already leave?" mark asked after surveying the street outside and not finding any cars. you turn and look back over your shoulder quickly even though you know you won't find a car there either.

"yeah, dropped me off and then sped away." you answer as you step inside. mark closes and locks the door behind you. 

"well, after she got out of the passenger seat because i begged her to let me drive-"

"you drove?" your boyfriend cut you off, eyes wide and eyebrows raised so high that his forehead was wrinkled.

"pfft, yeah?" you roll your eyes dramatically.

"i have my license and i'm a big girl. got here in one piece and everything." you reassure the man as he takes your suitcase and carryon from you.

"dude, you have an american drivers license."

"ooookay? it's basically the same! y'all drive on the right side of the road too.." you playfully push mark's shoulder, pouting as you continue.

"i never get to drive in korea. can't drive on the right there." you switch from a playful pout to a curious expression. "where are mother lee and father lee?" you ask, using your favorite nicknames that his parents thought were so endearing and silly. mark chuckles before answering.

"they're at wednesday bible study, so we have some time to unwind before you have to mingle with anyone other than me." mark explains, walking towards to stairs that lead to the second floor of the house. "my room is upstairs. it hasn't been redecorated since i was, like, 13." 

"oh, how fun." you joke, beginning to walk up the stairs with your boyfriend following behind you. "can't wait to see all the.. um.." after a long pause, you stop at the top of the stairs and turn to face him. "i can't finish my insult because i have no clue what little canadian boys like."

mark laughs and you're sure if his hands weren't full he would start hitting you in his fit of laughter like he usually does, but instead he hunches over a little at the joke before directing you to the last door on your right. 

the room is small and littered with old books, cd cases, and cassette tapes, all lined up haphazardly on painted wooden shelves that were much taller than you, the freshest layer of brown paint peeling in worn spots to reveal the previous paint job done in teal. in the left corner, against the flaky yellow wallpaper, sat a red guitar and in the right corner there was a boombox on a shelf above a bed. on the right wall was a crucifix and ivory jesus stared down at the bed below it with its mismatched plaid duvet and sheets and more pillows than any one boy needs, all with different pillowcases on them, one checkered blue, another white with blue stripes, the other two in solid teal and red. it was cozy, but something irked you and it wasn't the carpeted floor or the popcorn ceiling.

"you didn't tell me it was a twin bed?" you exclaim, turning to mark who looked like he'd just seen a ghost. he makes his way past you into the room, speaking as he sets your bags on the beg and sits next to them.

"yo, listen: you can have the bed to yourself and i can have the floor if it makes you feel better" mark offers, trying to soothe you. you're still stood in the doorway, leaning against it now.

"i dont want your funky ass twin bed? id rather sleep on the cold kitchen floor downstairs." you complain, frustrated at the entire situation. "I don't want to sleep without you but also I'm not sure we'll both fit comfortably." you express. your boyfriend looks at you funny. 

"are you serious?" he starts, getting up from the bed and walking towards you, stopping when he's stood just close enough that you have to look up to meet his eye. "there's definitely enough room. we'll just have to cuddle." he explains. you look up at him through long lashes and pout. 

"i'm starting to think the reason you didn't tell me is because you just wanted an excuse to hold me all night." you accuse. mark holds his hands up in a way that says 'you got me.'

"well, usually you complain that i'm too warm and you end up moving away from me after i fall asleep." mark admits with a slight frown, dropping his hands to his side in order to hang his shoulders in an attempt to sulk. he looks so cute when he pouts, large dark eyes shining at you with a hint of an apology for withholding information. you push yourself off of the door frame in favor of draping your arms on mark's shoulders, fingers touching around the back of his neck.

"okay, but you do get super warm and you know i run hot too." you defend yourself. mark pits his hands on either side of your waist and cracks a smirk and you know he's thinking of a terrible joke.

"yeah, super hot." 

"ew, that's so corny." you scrunch up your nose, making a disgusted face and he giggles, leaning in to pepper your cheek with kisses that you can feel the smile in.

"you're making me reconsider my option of sleeping alone." you threaten, but he only wraps his arms around you and holds you tight instead as if to say that there's no way you can back out of it now. you accept defeat.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

03. the concert

mark's parents were just as kind in person as they had been over video call. they just couldn't stop telling you how you were so much prettier in person and how proud they were that mark had found "such a nice young lady." you told them how lovely their home is and thanked them for letting you stay. the meeting was brief since you had to get to your venue for sound check and other preparations, so when your staff arrived to pick you up and whisk you away to your job, you apologized and swore that you would talk more the next day, assuming they probably wouldn't be awake by the time you got back.

sound check was smooth and you enjoyed seeing your fans for the 45 or so minutes it lasted. afterwards, you had your makeup and hair done and put on your first outfit. you made sure to take ample selfies so you could choose what to post after the concert, what to send to bubble now, and what to send to mark since you had down time. 

you: [image]

markus 😒😋: my gorgeous gorgeous girl

you grin at your phone, face heating to the point you start to fan yourself. you giggle at your own incoming joke as you look through your camera roll for a video to send to your boyfriend. the video is a clip his fans like to use of him with a blush filter on his face. (you know the one)

you: [video]

markus 😒😋: yeah ok im blocking you now

you: NOOOOO ☹️ 

markus😒😋: too late. need to start being nicer to your boyfriend

you: but youre so cute when youre annoyed..

markus😒😋: your fans are like really loud by the way

you: ???

markus😒😋: [2 images]

markus😒😋: your number 1 fan

the images mark sends you are one of the stage you're supposed to be on in about an hour and the other is selfie of him, mask hat, and glasses on, in a seat at your venue.

you'd attended each other's concerts before and it certainly wasn't a secret to either of your fans that the two of you knew each other, having done challenges, tiktoks, and other collabs together, but it still would give you butterflies when he would show up to a concert. 

you: 🥹 i told you if you would tell me beforehand that you were coming then you wouldn't have to actually buy tickets

markus 😒😋: its no fun when you know already!!! 

you: next time get floor tickets so i can have eye candy in the crowd

markus 😒😋: yes ma'am 🫡

the concert went super well. you were on time and your mic was loud enough for once and your costume wasn't itchy and your boyfriend was in the crowd. you were sure multistans had already spotted him there and you hoped that he was having a good time and that everyone was leaving him alone.

during the section of the concert where you walk around and sing into a handheld mic and do fan service, you spot a particularly funny sign. the sign, which was decked out in glittery letters and lots of hearts read: "y/n let me get that nda"

you double over in laughter as the back track plays without main vocals before continuing singing, going over to the fanboy holding the sign and taking his phone to record with it. the fan all but faints when you hand his phone back and blow him a kiss. when the song ends you talk for a bit about your tour so far and read other signs, flirting with your fans (as one does) and drinking water to soothe your throat. you don't particularly even think about what you're doing as you interact with the crowd, simply happy to see them smile.

the rest of your concert goes smoothly and you stay for around 30 minutes after everyone clears out in order to help your staff pack equipment and to make sure you didn't forget anything personal at backstage. when you're changed into a hoodie and some sweats and sitting in the passenger seat of your staff's car, you notice mark hasn't texted you, which is weird. mark always texts you after a concert even if you're going back to the same apartment. you assume maybe his phone died when you shoot him a "how was it?" text and he doesn't respond. you're really too exhausted to think of anything else as the road lulls you into a quick nap as you're driven to your boyfriend's parent's house.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

04. jealousy, jealousy 

mark's parents are asleep when you get back to their home, making for a silent house other than the whirring of the air conditioning and the click of you locking the front door. your boyfriend greets you as you walk through said door with a kiss on the cheek. you take in his already scruffy hair and pajama clad legs as well as the loose t-shirt he obviously just threw on.

"did your phone die?" you ask, worried as to why he didn't respond to you.

"yeah" he rubs one of his eyes with the back of his hand "man, um, traffic was crazy, i only just got here and changed."

mark hasn't been this awkward with you since the first few months you started dating. there's obviously something bothering him but you really don't know how to ask, especially when it's so late and you're still tired despite your nap. 

"yeah, i didn't actually drive back so i was able to take a power nap through it." you reply. mark simply hums and turns around, walking to and up the stairs, abruptly deciding he's done with the conversation. you follow him, face twisted in mouth opened, furrowed-brow confusion whenever he had his back to you. mark lingers by the doorway in his room as you pass him to flop down dramatically on the bed, facing the wall, only bothering to kick off your shoes and socks. you don't even notice the click of him locking the door while he turns the lights off before he curls up behind you, chest to your back as he wraps his arms around you slowly. sensually. mark's breath fans on the back of your neck before he plants several slow kisses there, moving until he reaches right below the shell of your ear. all the while, his large, warm hands can't seem to to anything other than wander under your hoodie to caress your waist and stomach. you let out a breathy and quiet chuckle.

"babe, what are you doing?" you ask in a whisper.

"you know you're mine, right?" mark whispers into your ear, completely ignoring the question, yet answering it at the same time.

your skin heats all too quickly. you know exactly what this is. he's jealous. of what, you're really not sure.

your boyfriend continues to kiss around your ear, moving now to your shoulder, each kiss messier and needier than the last. one of his hands moves to cup your breast while the other sits right below your belly button, tantalizingly close to where you can feel your arousal pooling in liquid form. his pinky dips under the waistband of your sweats and stays there as he toys with your nipple, pinching the bud with two fingers, eliciting a soft whine from you to which he hisses.

"have to be quiet, baby. be quiet for me? for me?" he repeats. you breathe out a shaky "ok" as you move your arm behind you in an attempt to feel up your boyfriend, petting his side.

mark snuggles closer and you can feel his erection against your ass as he continues to massage your breast. his other hand finally dives under the waistband of your sweats, middle finger finding your clit oh so easily as he begins to almost pet you, cupping your entire mound and rocking his hands against it, middle finger pressed ever so slightly between the lips and against your bundle of nerves. you try your best to keep your whines down, your once free hand now occupied with covering your mouth. you buck embarrassingly and helplessly against mark's hand.

"desperate, huh? that why you made a show of yourself?" he coos.

you nod. of course it wasn't the truth and you both knew that. you really still weren’t sure what you even did, but your mind was too hazy to do anything except play into his hands, literally and figuratively. 

mark begins to rub circles into your clit, using the friction from your panties to add to the sensation of it. you struggle to stay quiet and when you let a particularly obscene sound slip, your boyfriend groans, pulling away from you.

"sit up, baby." he commands as he gets off the bed and drops to his knees in front of you. he runs his palms up your clothed thighs when you turn to face him.

"take this off for me, princess?" he requests.

you oblige, lifting your hips to discard your sweats, deciding your hoodie is too much and discarding that as well. you don't know when mark removed his shirt, but between him locking the door and getting on his knees, it had been tossed to the opposite corner of the room, bunched up and barely visible from the moonlight filtering through the window. 

mark pushes your legs open and slots himself between them, kissing the inside of your thigh, face oh so close to exactly where you need him. you look down at him in awe. the way his messy brown hair falls into his prettily-pink tinged face and how absolutely drunken on you he looks when his gaze flicks up to you might be enough for you to cum on the spot. you're practically throbbing for him when he finally presses a kiss to your clothed clit. your breath hitches and you let out a soft whimper at the contact.

"you still haven't exactly told me what i did.." you remind mark as his thumbs hook under the hem of your underwear. they linger there for a moment while he answers.

“i think you know."

you lift your hips once again to allow mark and to slip your panties down and toss them somewhere in the room. the air is cool against the heat of your cunt and you fight the urge to close your legs to keep in the warmth.

"so fucking gorgeous." mark mutters before rolling his tongue against your clit. you let out a loud whimper and he shushes you gently but does nothing more to stop you when he licks a fat stripe up your pussy before sucking your clit and coming off with an obscene pop that has you biting into the hand covering your mouth. he returns to it, making slow circles of it with his tongue while he inserts a finger into you, then two, pumping them in and out and curling them at an agonizingly slow place.

you whimper around your hand for a second before taking it slightly away from your mouth.

"i s-seriously don't know— hah— w-what i did, babe." you manage to get out.

mark pulls his face away from your heat, replacing his tongue with his thumb, increasing to a medium pace.

"touched other people. laughed at their jokes. just missed you so bad, princess. wished it was me.” he melts into the side of your thigh, looking up at you as he answers before focusing intently on the way his fingers move against you. the sound of his fingers inside of you fills the room with nasty squelching. his free hand has been rubbing circles into the outside of your thigh this whole time and you attempt to grab it to hold his hand when he finally speeds up a third time, going a pace that you can finally feel your orgasm building with. he swats your hand away.

"think you deserve it?" he asks

"m'sorry." you reply, opting to place the hand on his sheets instead. you can finally feel your release building and your moans get harder and harder to contain behind your hand.

"mark m'gonna cum, please" you plead with him. for what, you're not sure. 

"that's it, good girl." he coos "let it all out, princess." 

his praise is just enough to make you topple over the edge of pleasure, orgasm washing over you in waves as you let out a silent cry. mark finger-fucks you through it, not bothering to stop even when your thighs threaten to crush his head or your foot hits his back, before slowing and then finally pulling his fingers away once your clenching ceases, bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick it clean whilst you catch your breath. 

"lay down, if i don't fuck your brains out right now i'm seriously gonna lose it." your eyes widen as you reposition yourself so that you're laying on your back while mark discards his pants and underwear. he crawls over you, holding himself up on one forearm as you start making out, tongues melding against each other. he breaks from the kiss to lean back and put one of your legs over his broad shoulder. he teases you, rubbing the tip of his fat cock against your still-sensitive clit.

"nobody else can do this but me right, princess?" he asks and you can hear his breath hitch as he continues to rock himself against you. you shake your head in response.

"need it so bad mark." you plead with him, tired of the teasing and the empty feeling in your core.

mark lines himself up with your entrance and pushes in slowly, inch by inch, coupled with quiet groans. the stretch is something you're never used to no matter how many times the two of you fuck; the way he fills you is delicious.

he pauses when he's fully inside you, leaning over you, causing the leg on his shoulder to fold back on you. he kisses your neck and jaw and nibbles at your ear he pulls out until just the tip remains and thrusts back into you, causing you to let out a loud combination of a whine and a strangled groan, to which mark quickly covers your mouth with his hand. he starts slow, rocking in and out of you at a leisurely pace. his free hand that isn't muffling your noises rests beside you on the bed so that he doesn't absolutely crush you. mark makes sure not to fuck into you too hard, worried the loud sounds of skin on skin might wake his parents up. 

"think you can cover your own mouth for me?" he asks and you nod.

he pushes himself up so that his chest is no longer flush with yours and his hand is no longer covering your mouth. you hover the back of your hand over your mouth so that your voice is still audible enough for mark to hear, commanding him to go faster. you cover your mouth as he obliges, and he starts letting out soft moans. they're not nearly as loud as yours but they're so sexy that you almost can't help the way you try to roll your hips up into him in response. 

"what would all your fans think?" he says. "folded in half for my cock... all for me." he adds, starting to get lost in the feeling of your pussy pulling him in. he throws his head back and you swear you could cum from the sight right then and there. 

something snaps in mark- maybe its how close he is or how warm you are, but he stops caring about the noise and starts making pointed thrusts into you, hitting that sweet spot in you that makes your eyes roll and your back arch off the bed. the sound of his skin on yours is loud and if you weren't so fucked out then maybe you'd care, but your brain is fuzzy and your skin is tingly and the only thing you can think about is how impossibly tight the coil in your stomach is. your hand isn't enough to muffle anything anymore, your fingers keep curling and you're squirming so much that it's hard to contain any sounds you make. mark seems to have forgotten where he is because he just starts praising you like you're alone in his apartment.

"so fucking gorgeous. gonna cum, princess? yeah?" he coos.

through babbles and broken groans you manage to get out a broken "please." his thumb finds your clit and he rubs it in rough circles and you swear you're on fire. your orgasm crashes into you like a crack of lightning and you open your mouth to let out a silent scream. you squirm and kick and mark holds your hips down to fuck you through it, chasing his own orgasm all the while. he cums not too long after you with a chant of your name and a broken, choked moan as he fills you up with ropes of hot seed. your chest heaves and you honestly forget that you even exist until mark's words bring you back.

"you don't think we woke them up, right?"

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A/N ┇OH GOD!!! im actually really scared i hope this isnt as bad as it seems to me i think i just dont like it because im the one who wrote it. i got a bit out of character for mark but like also who knows what hes like during sex. you dont know. i dont know. AHH! um i hope you 🫵 enjoyed it. take a shot every time i said the word you in this fanfic.

I got distracted while editing this because I had nct mvs playing in the background and 90s love came on… winwin I miss you