#but i really do want to get better. i suppose i just don’t know how

[rafesbabygirlx]

✧ Blurb- toxic!rafe runs into his exgf!reader at a bar

✧ Warnings: MDNI 18+ smut (public sex, squirting) mention of smoking, mention of past mental manipulation

✧ .8k words

✧ 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 | 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to see him. He wasn’t supposed to catch you alone in the dim hallways at the back of the bar. You had gone back there to smoke really quick not wanted to step outside the bar, when he appeared behind you.

“Whatcha doing all by yourself?” He walked over, pressing his back against your chest. You could see the smirk without having to turn around.

“I was just leaving.” You go to brush past him but he grabs your arm yanking you back. His nose grazing through your hair. Giving it a slight sniff.

“I missed you.”

“Sure you did. Just like when you’d leave me for days to go see Barry. Where is your boyfriend?”

Rafe chuckled at that. “You fell in love with a mess. Don’t act all surprised when I act like in. Just admit it.”

“Admit what?” You try your hardest to yank your arm from his grasp.

“That you miss me too.”

“I miss no part of you. Not that way you’d manipulate me, or make me doubt myself, or use my vulnerabilities against me, or make me feel small so you could keep me like a little puppet. Should I keep going?”

A small flare erupted in Rafe’s expression. In a split second you were now pinned between him and the wall. “I’m pathetic, I know,” he rolled his eyes, hinting at the clear sarcasm. “But I know you think about me, I know no one can make you feel as good as me. I’ve been doing better y’know?”

He was right and you hated it. You missed him no matter how shitty he was. You missed the good in him that constantly pulled you back in. The bad outweighed the good, but the good was so good, that’s what made you not care.

Before you knew it your lips were on his. Gripping the back of his neck so hard, you were sure it’d leave a bruise. His mouth traveled down your neck. Leaving behind a bruise of his own.

He spun you around, your face pressing into the wall. He tugged up your dress, exposing your ass to the humid air of the stuffy hallway before giving it a harsh slap. His lips brushed against your earlobe as he whispered,

“Let’s see how much that little cunt is dripping for me.”

His fingers dove underneath your panties and into your folds. Not surprised to see how soaking wet you were. “Always fuckin ready for me.”

He removed himself from you and you heard the clanking of his belt as he freed himself from his pants. He spread your thighs with his knee before rubbing his tip, coating it up in your juices.

He buried himself balls deep inside you, while letting out a loud groan. The music from back in the bar was loud, no one would know what you’re doing. He immediately back to thrust in and out of you. Gripping your waist like you were going to slip away.

“S’ fuckin tight baby, I bet you haven’t had anyone else in this pussy. No one could compare to me and you know that. All for me. Even when I’m crazy.”

All you could do was moan. Because once again he was right. This was one of the things you missed about this man. The only one who could make you feel this good. You felt his hand snake up your back and into your hair. He pulled you off the wall and into his chest. His breath in your ear.

“Tell me. *thrust* This is pussy is mine. *thrust* That right?”

His continuation of his thrusts made you gasp. “F-fuck yes. Always Ra-Rafe.”

“That’s fuckin right.”

You felt your body tense. The coil in your lower stomach about to burst. Rafe’s hand came around to your front making tight circles in your clit. He knew what was doing and what worked on you.

“C’mon baby let that little cunt soak me.”

And it did just that. Hard. Your legs shook as the juices rushed out of you. Rafe came just as you started, pulling out but still rubbing circles on you making sure to get every last drop. Your breath was heavy and you swore you saw stars. The pants that sat on his thighs now soaked and it ran down your legs pooling around your heels. You can hear him slurp the excess off his fingers behind you.

He tugged down your dress and spun you back around to face him. Like a flip of a switch his eyes were soft, his expression full of admiration and longing. His fingers softly stroked your cheek as he looked down at you. “I wish you were still my girl.”

You were not shocked by the sudden change. It’s what he did. You wanted him so bad but you hated what he could become. You steadied yourself and walked off to a bathroom without saying a word. Half broken hearted half confident that he’ll get you back all Rafe could you was chuckle.

“See you soon baby!”

an: not my typical format but I think my blurbs aren’t bad this way. I kinda like the idea that longer works get their own looks but little blurbs and maybe requests always stick to my blog theme

Tags: @rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @runawayrafetrain @currentresidentinhell @slut-4-rafey @akobx @rafesheaven @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @larema121 @sc05 @k4yr14 @nemesyaaa @littlelamy @inthelibrarybtw

[hhdolly]

Reassurance

Boyfriend!Ghost x Fem!Reader | 1.1k words | Fluff to Smut

Content Warnings: Light pussy slapping, creampie.

It had been a fortnight. Two weeks since you’ve started distancing yourself from Simon.

Instead of going into detail about your day like you usually would, all that would be said was a deadpanned “It was fine.”

And that drove Simon crazy. He pondered while watching you cook, cleaning, or even just sleeping. What did he do to make you so aloof and dismissive? When he told you about the halfwitted joke Soap made, you didn’t even care to laugh.

He missed the way you would ramble on about how stupid your coworkers are. He missed the way you would jokingly make fun of his sense of fashion, and he most certainly missed when you would stay up late talking to him until you fell asleep, even if eighty percent of your words were indecipherable when it came to that point.

He tried to give you the space you needed, but when you didn’t even acknowledge your one-year anniversary, that broke the straw on the camel’s back.

He strode up to you, “What’s been up with you?” He furrowed his brows, cornering you in the corner of the counter, leaning in so far you thought your spine would crack from how far it was bending itself. You slid to the right, attempting to slip out of this confrontation.

But he stepped alongside you, tilting his head, “Hm?” He looked down at your eyes, you’ve never felt so captivated—or is it that you felt like you were being garroted—by his overawing eyes. Brown eyes are the most common and deemed the most ‘plain-looking’ of all eye colors, but could other eyes reflect the worry his eyes reflected?

You shrugged. And that irritated him further. “How am I supposed to make you feel better if you just fucking ignore me?” You stayed silent, opening your mouth like you were going to say something, but your vocal cords felt frozen. You stared, trying to outstare him; Maybe he’d back off then.

But no… he kept staring, leaning closer and closer, until the tips of your noses touched, and his palms, he placed them both onto the counter. Now, you really couldn’t escape.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

What is this? A romcom? When did the lights get so dim, and when did your heart start beating so fast? When did the sun start setting and casting a golden light, painting the kitchen a daffodil shade of yellow? When did he get so beautiful? You don’t recount his lashes being so lush, in which you more or less felt jealousy rather than attraction towards, and him smelling so redolent, like a forest after a heavy rainstorm.

“If I tell you, you’d definitely get mad.”

“Love, it’d be impossible to piss me off more than I already am.” His palms lifted, and he leaned back, crossing his arms, waiting for your response.

You couldn’t think of an excuse. So you let it out, “You don’t love me anymore.” You bluntly stated, like it were a fact.

The fact that you stated it like it was a fact and not a thing you were accusing him of, truly did piss him off more than he already was. “When did I say that? Or imply that?” His eyes squinted in confusion.

“I felt it—and you said you weren’t getting offended.”

“No, love, I said I wouldn’t get pissed.” He chuckled at the hilarity of the situation. “You don’t even know your own emotions sometimes, and you want to try and guess mine? You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Same thing.” You got quiet again. “So… you do love me?”

“I would’ve kicked you to the curb if I didn’t.”

Your arms enwrapped his body, relieved as you felt his warmth. He leaned his head down, kissing your neck and picking you up to the bedroom.

He threw you onto the bed. You protested, “Don’t you want dinner?” He hummed, “No. I’ve missed ‘er— and you, of course.” He leaned down, kissing your inner thighs, and you softly sighed. A light slap came down onto your pussy, earning a whimper from your lips.

“Want this cock?” He asked, rubbing your pussy through your pants. You nodded, shaking from how long it’d been since he’d been intimate with you. “Yeah?” He condescendingly asked again, “Gonna stretch you out, and fill that womb up, love.” He said as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He pulled your pants down, pulled your panties to the side, and fingered you to keep your walls stimulated, his cock dripping with pre-cum, maybe it was your heat radiating off of your clit.

“If you can’t handle two fingers, maybe we shouldn’t make love today.” He teased. “No, noo…” You whined. “Please, don’t. I can take it,” your orgasm crashed over you, and you held back the moan. “I’ll take your word for it, love.” He lined up his eight-inch cock, the girth making it more menacing.

You were lying, it hurt, it was only half way in, and the tightness of your cunt was even making him weak. “Fuck, baby.” He groaned, rocking his hips back and forth, his palms tight on your waist. You couldn’t speak; if he went any deeper, he would be in your guts, or it felt like that.

“Oh, oh my gosh, Simon!” You choked out, repositioning yourself to straddle on top of him, still only taking in half his cock. Your hips moved by themselves, not wanting to stop the immense pleasure coursing through your body. Your clip rubbed against his shaft as you bounced up and down, doubling the stimulation.

His hands reached your hips, roughly pushing you down, making you take all eight inches. “Take it all.” He roughly spoke. He chuckled at your loud mewls, it was more amusing to see you quietly oblige, your body shaking.

“Just like tha’, baby.” His head tilted back, he tried not to moan as well. Your divorced neighbor wouldn’t appreciate your loving sex at midnight.

“I love—I love you…” You breathed out, leaning forward as your reached yet another climax, kissing his lips as his dick moved in and out of your walls, hitting your G-spot as it slipped back in.

“Now you love me, mm?” He pulled you back as you leaned back up, opening your mouth and passionately French kissing you. You noticed he started to pant raggedly. “Are you close?”

He nodded, grabbing your hips once again, lifting you and roughly pushing you down onto his cock, your tits bouncing, a weird sensation to feel.

“Oh..!” You closed your eyes, leaning back as he spilled his warm seeds into your womb. He pulled out, lying next to you.

“Talk to me next time, yeah?”

[specific-dreamer]

thinking about there being a tension in the curtis house that’s been building for a few days and over dinner one night grouchily pony says “jesus darrel it’s like you hate us or something” and darry, who is so completely not here here bc he’s trying not to holler or do something he’ll regret, accidentally says “god if only” in the most wistful tone that has both his brothers snapping their necks to look at him

and soda, in a low voice that sounds like it’s taking everything in him to not panic, asks “what does that mean?”

eyes widening darry forces a laugh out and a fake smile that hardly reaches his cheeks let alone his eyes. “i didn’t mean to say that”

ponyboy waits, “but you did, so.” his voice is steady in the way that only a fresh teenagers could be; ready to be angry, better yet, ready to force his actual feelings down because it’ll be easier to hit and holler than feel upset. “what the heck does that mean”

there’s no escaping. he knows this, which might be part of why darry huffs through his nose and leans back in his chair. they’re silent for a moment as darry looks around; soda’s looking down at his plate, obviously having lost his appetite. the clock says it’s 6:36 pm, a later dinner than usual but eating dinner as a family isn’t a tradition that’s supposed to go away anytime soon. ponyboy’s doing his best to stare darry down, but darry knows his baby brother well enough to know that the kid’s staring into space in an ill attempt to not feel anything.

unfortunately, he’s done the same thing too many times to be able to do it again tonight. “i’m not saying i do hate yall, i just think it’d be easier if i did.” and he probably shouldn’t add the next part, but it’s only fair to be honest. “at least that way i wouldn’t be working myself into a stupor for feeling guilty.”

“what are you guilty of?” soda asks in that same melancholy tone he’s been harboring all week.

darry doesn’t want to admit this, but he’s been having these dreams where he’s still in school and the boys aren’t anything more than an afterthought. if he’s truthful those are one of his favorite dreams because it’s the only time he ever wakes up with a smile.

but then, once he gets out the bed and starts getting ready for the day, reality sets in and he’s quickly disappointed. and then he gets those chest stabs that always come along with guilty feelings.

all because he felt disappointed. because shouldn’t he be waking up with a smile everyday since his brothers aren’t living in a foster home with random strangers? shouldn’t he be happy that he got to keep his brothers even if he had threw all his goals away? even if he did “throw it all away” he’s got them and that ought to count for something right?

“it’s not fair,” he ends. “it’d be a lot easier if i did hate yall because id be able to just walk away, guilt free. but that’s never gonna happen,” he adds. darry’s started collecting their plates before he catches sight of ponyboys quivering lip and the shininess of sodapops eyes. “because i don’t hate yall. i love you. both of you. and that ain’t never gonna change no matter how much i wish it on a bad day, hear?”

he feels that guilt creeping up again when pony gives him a look that he hasn’t seen since the kid was five years old and darry shoved him away to go play with the big kids. his eyes are all squinty and his mouth is frowned and he’s taking shallow breaths like it’s all he can do to keep from sobbing. “you promise?”

a quick glance tells him soda ain’t fairing no better. he’s got his head laid on the table, not even bothering to wipe the tears cascading down his face.

darry sighs and leaves the table to put the plates in the sink. turning the tap on he says, “you know, when you were born soda cried his eyes out.”

“really?”

“mhm. that christmas, he made me write santa asking to exchange you for a real pony.”

he can hear pony’s wet gasp and the distinct sound of someone’s chair getting kicked. “soda!”

“darrel!”

it takes everything in him not to laugh yet as he scrubs the plates. “yeah, he told mama he hated you and wasn’t gonna love you unless you became a real pony.”

“darry, you said you wouldn’t tell him-“

“it’s alright though,” he says when he turns around and sees the crestfallen look on ponyboy’s face. “cause i said the same thing when soda was born.”

“you did?” they ask at the same time.

“yeah, i followed daddy around everywhere right? and when they told me they were pregnant with soda, i said i didn’t want a brother because then i’d have to share daddy. fast forward, im holding a baby soda in my arms and i look at his tiny face and say ‘i didn’t want you’ then mama asked why and i said ‘cause i hate him!’ and you know what mama did?”

he’s never seen them both so silent and still, but they’re clearly enraptured by his story because neither make an attempt to answer. “she laughed right in my face. she laughed and she’d said ‘no you don’t. you can dislike him all you want, but sodapop is family and you don’t hate family.’ mama was right, of course. later that night daddy said he found me in the crib with soda, both of us knocked out but i had let you use my arm as a pillow.

and christmas day, pones, you spat up all over my new sweater and soda ‘bout laughed himself silly declaring he loved you and you were his new favorite.”

the plates are drying on the counter with darry takes his seat again. both the boys have shiny eyes but also have a small smile attempting to grow.

darry doesn’t mean half the shit he says when he’s feeling stuck. he’s changes his mind on things every second of every day, because this his first time being a real adult or a guardian, but the only thing he hasn’t changed his mind on is loving his brothers.

even though he wishes he were still in college, darry hasn’t for a second regretted loving them enough to give up his dreams to be their legal guardian and keep them all together.

sometimes he has to remind himself that he doesn’t regret it, and sometimes he has to remind them, but that’s alright. because at the end of the day, they’re all together. at the end of the day he’s got both his brothers and (if he takes the time to spray their perfume and cologne on their pillows) it’s almost like he’s still got his parents too

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: how do the tkdb boys react to being hooked up to the menstrual cramp simulator?

WARNINGS: talk of menstruation, eating troubles in sho's.

COMMENTS: tried to keep in mind that most boys dont have periods on their minds like . most of the time i would assume.

Jin never doubted that you were in pain, but he has no doubt he’s made you work while you have your period. Going through the simulator, he sits there with his back hunched after level six. Once you get him out of the machine, he tells you to take the rest of the day off. The next time he sees you he asks what you need to minimize the pain.

Tohma is as cool as a cucumber until the very last levels. It’s a bit unsatisfying that he doesn’t really give you a reaction, but he does acknowledge that it hurts. Mentions that if you ever need assistance with your cycle, he would be more than happy to help out. It sounds sketchy but...well, that’s up for your interpretation.

Luca will see it through. You can keep upping the levels and he won’t tap out, he will stick to it until the very end. The second you turn it off and he takes off the pads, he’s immediately apologizing. Luca swears up and down that he will do anything to help you out with your period from now on.

Kaito starts flinching and whining after level four. Three, even. He has a low pain tolerance and HATES pain, but you know, he’ll do anything for you. Apologies over and over and taps out officially after level six. He’s sniveling and whining at your feet for the rest of the day.

Alan doesn’t flinch, but you can see him get progressively sadder. He looks at you like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders this whole time. He thanks you after you’ve turned the machine off, saying that he’s glad he understands you better now. Alan is the sweetest ever about it.

Sho is so, so worried about your stomach when you turn on the machine. Like, this already hurts. How do you eat and digest food effectively like this? The higher the levels go the more in pain he looks, and after it’s all said and done he’s asking you if you need him to make the lightest soup known to man so you don’t get sick and puke everywhere. Worrywart.

Leo would ham it up if it was for a camera, but since you promised you weren’t filming (and he likes you enough to believe you), he gives you his...authentic reactions. Whether you believe him or not is up to you. He looks like he’s in pain from about level five...but how much of that can you trust?

Haru is clutching your thighs, knelt in front of you at your feet, apologizing over and over for all the times he called you over when you might have been on your period. Key word: might. Haru just doesn’t want to hurt you! To think, you suffer so much every month...it’s unthinkable. And yes, Haru could withstand all of the levels and more, but you? This amount of pain shouldn’t happen to you.

Towa doesn’t quite understand it, and he’ll get a little grumpy after you put him through all that pain. But once it clicks that you go through that every month, Towa is politely asking you if there’s anything he can do to stop your pain. (And by politely, of course I mean threatening someone.) He needs to protect you! How is he supposed to do that from an unseen threat?

Ren snorts and says it's not that big of a deal at first, but you can tell that he’s in pain after level six. Once it's over, he’ll find ways to pamper you in subtle ways, because now that hurts like a bitch. He won’t say it out loud, he never does. But you can tell by the way his hands were clenched into fists that he was struggling.

Taiga could go one of two ways: he gets sick of it after level eight and yanks it off, getting pissy because you approached him in a bad mood just to put him in more pain, OR he thinks of it as a fun game and describes exactly how he feels to you while lounging on the couch. Tells you he’s proud of you for being such a tough kitty.

Romeo yells at you to get on with it! if you’re taking too long. He doesn’t take kindly to slackers, and his time is precious, so—OW. Romeo hisses through his teeth, wincing at the sudden stab of pain. Is this really how it feels? He demands to know. How could you not tell him your cramps hurt like this!?

Ritsu is as attentive as always, doing prior research beforehand. He comes to you with what he believes cramps may feel like and asks for clarification, only to be hooked up to the machine. He does well for the first half, then starts to furrowed his brow after level seven.  Damn Sinostra and their good pain tolerances!

Subaru is ready and willing to connect with you like this. It’s an honor and a privilege to be someone to you, and so he will do his best to tell you what he honestly thinks. For the first few levels, his expression is mostly blank. The fourth level is when a small gasp escapes his throat and his eyes go wide. Another one who apologizes immediately after you get the machine off of him.

Haku takes it easy, allowing you to hook him up to the simulator. Whatever his princess wants, he’ll get. Something about the way you look at him tells him that you’re getting a kick out of this—so he’ll tell you what he honestly thinks, and then proceed to ask you more questions about your cycle.

Zenji wants nothing more than to understand you and your pain. If you ask him, this is a logical solution! If anything, he asked if there was a way to feel your pain first. Another one who cries when it gets past level four. You’re so strong, he’s going to compose ballads about your bravery!

Edward is a little shit about it. I can’t decide whether he wouldn’t know anything about periods or whether he’d watch random YouTube videos about it because he’s weird. Probably the latter. Assuming he knows, he’d ask you about your symptoms and pain levels WHILE the simulator is going. Once it’s over and he’s given you zero reaction, he tells you he can smell it on you whenever it happens. He’s so weird T0T

Rui will wait on you every month after this. He’s devastated that you have to go through something like this every month, and he can’t even hold you. I’m not even kidding this man will start to CRY. He’s so sad that you have all this pain. It should have been him. WHY WASN’T IT HIM.

Lyca wants to feel what you feel. Literally the meme “it’s uterUS.” If you’re going to go through this pain, he should know how to feel to better help you, obviously. Now, Lyca doesn’t regret that decision, but he does have some words for the fucker who made you have those cramps. What do you mean it just happens!?

Yuri knows how periods work—he has students in Mortkranken and other houses who come to him for products and painkillers. But experiencing it? He’s trying his best to remain composed but will tap out after level seven. Cannot handle that much pain, plus his ego is bruised now. Tell him he did a good job. :(

Jiro stares you dead in the face while you up the levels one after another, searching for any sort of reaction from him. Honestly, Jiro has the highest pain tolerance. He’s the type to ask why you haven’t started it yet when you’re on level seven. I’m sorry T0T

[ineedpaigebuckets]

more than a mistake

paige x reader

synopsis: they meet at a bar, your boyfriends off with some girl- so paige lets you know what it's really like, and at a party the next week, you get to return the favor

an: like smut ISH but like not really just like buildup i guess

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

you didn’t want to come out tonight.

but your boyfriend insisted. “it'll be fun,” he said. “we need a night out,” he said. little did you know there was no "we" it was just him.

so now he’s at the other end of the bar, practically drooling over some blonde in a miniskirt, while you’re standing here with an empty drink, your arms crossed, your jaw locked.

you don’t even realize someone’s next to you until she speaks.

“he's not even subtle about it.”

you turn. it's a girl—tall, confident, jeans that actually fit, one hand wrapped around a glass of something dark. paige bueckers, you know her, or know of her, of course you do- everyone does. she's watching your boyfriend with a smirk like she’s seen this scene play out a hundred times and already knows the ending.

you raise an eyebrow. “excuse me?”

“he's trying to impress her with that laugh,” she says, nodding toward him. “the one that sounds like a dying dolphin? classic.”

you blink. the , involuntarily, you laugh- a real laugh, unlike his.

she looks at you for the first time- and she really looks at you- and it’s like her gaze rakes over every inch of you in one slow, unapologetic sweep.

“not to be rude,” she adds, “but what the hell are you doing here with that when you could be doing… literally anything else?”

your mouth opens. “wow. uhm- ”

“too much?” she says, sipping her drink, completely unbothered. “i can dial it back.”

you don’t want her to dial anything back, not one bit.

you glance toward your boyfriend. he's still not looking for you, not even noticing that you now have your own blonde on your arm.

you look back at her. she hasn’t stopped watching you. it's not subtle. her eyes drop to your lips, your collarbone, your waist. they linger.

you feel heat crawl under your skin.

“you always like this?” you ask.

she shrugs. “only when i know i'm right.”

you roll your eyes, but your pulse betrays you.

“let me guess,” you say. “you're gonna tell me i deserve better or some shit.”

“no,” she says. “i was gonna tell you i am better. at least in the ways that matter right now.”

your stomach tightens. you shouldn’t like how that sounds.

but you do.

she tilts her head, voice low now. “you want it- i can see it in those pretty eyes of yours.”

you don’t answer.

she leans a little closer. “he doesn’t know you, does he?”

you inhale, sharp. “you don’t know me either.”

she smiles, slow and sure. “i know how you’re looking at me right now.”

you hate that she’s right.

you hate how your skin is buzzing, how your legs feel a little too warm, how you’re already imagining what her hands might feel like on your skin.

she watches you for a second. “i'll say it plain, since you don’t seem like the type to play games- i want to fuck you.”

your breath catches.

“and i think you want to let me.”

you swallow hard. you look away- once- toward your boyfriend still pretending you don’t exist.

you turn back.

you don’t say yes.

but you don’t say no.

she grins. “come on,” she says. “lemme go remind you what it’s supposed to feel like.”

you follow her into the bathroom without looking back.

the door shuts behind you with a soft click.

you don’t move right away. you're standing in someone else’s space, in the middle of someone else’s night, with your breath shallow and your body already humming like it knows what’s coming.

paige just looks at you.

not like she’s waiting for you to speak. like she’s waiting for you to feel it. all of it.

and god, you do.

your chest is tight. your pulse is loud in your ears. your boyfriend has never made you feel like this- like you’re a storm, like you’re seconds from doing something you’ll never take back.

and maybe for the first time in your life, you don’t care.

she steps forward, slow and deliberate. her fingers trace the edge of your jaw. her touch is gentle, but her eyes are anything but. you feel seen, somehow. like she’s already undressed you with her eyes and she’s still not satisfied.

“you okay?” she asks, low.

“no,” you whisper before you can stop yourself.

it's not even a lie. you're not okay. you're so far from okay you don’t even know where that version of you went. you just know she doesn’t live in this body anymore.

and then paige kisses you.

no hesitation. no awkward buildup. just mouth on mouth- hot, open, and real. she kisses you like she’s starving and you’re the thing she’s been hunting for.

your knees go soft. your hands find her shoulders, her neck, her hair- you don’t know what you’re holding onto, only that you need to hold onto something.

she walks you backward until your spine hits the wall. her hands are under your shirt, then lifting it up. she strips you slow, like she wants to remember the look on your face when each piece comes off.

and you let her.

you're not thinking. you're just feeling. and for the first time you feel free.

she pulls her shirt off, and it’s not like the movies. it's not choreographed or slow motion. it's fast and greedy and honest. her skin is warm, her mouth hotter, her breath against your throat enough to make you whimper.

you've never made that sound before.

when she drops to her knees, your heart stutters.

“wait,” you breathe, unsure if you’re trying to stop her or just catching your breath.

she looks up at you, steady. “we can stop.”

you shake your head. “that's not-.”

she just waits, still holding your hips, her thumbs brushing the bare skin there like she’s reminding you you’re real.

“i've never—” you start, then stop. you can’t finish that sentence. you don’t even know what the end of it is.

never wanted someone like this.

never needed someone like this.

never looked at another girl and thought, i want her to break me open.

paige leans in and presses a kiss to your stomach. “let me make you feel good.”

you nod.

she does.

she pulls your panties to the side, underneath four skirt that's hiked up your stomach, and she requires your entire brain.

her mouth is sin and salvation. every flick of her tongue, every slow, deliberate movement, every sound you make- she drinks it in like proof. you lose yourself in it. you stop thinking completely. you forget your own name.

and when you come- loud and shaking, thighs clenching around her- you cry out hers.

you feel wrecked. and remade. and fucking perfect.

when she finally pulls back, your chest is heaving. your hands are still in her hair, and your brain is a blur of what the fuck was that and do it again.

she climbs back up your body, her lips brushing yours again. you kiss her like you’re drowning. her hands fix your outfit without even thinking, lips not hesitating to stay against yours.

“i don’t know what just happened,” you whisper into her mouth.

she just smiles, breathless. “it's okay. you don’t have to know yet.”

you stare at her, dazed. “i didn’t think i could feel like that.”

she presses her forehead to yours. “that's ’cause no one ever wanted to make you feel like that.”

and you know she’s right.

you let out a shaky laugh, still half-drunk on the feeling. “you're dangerous.”

“i know,” she says, kissing you again, softer this time.

you don’t know what this is.

but for once, you want to find out.

you don’t say much afterward.

you slowly fix yourself up. neither of you rushes, but neither of you lingers either. there's a strange silence- not uncomfortable, just sharp. like the air between you is still hot, still buzzing, and neither of you knows what to do with it.

you glance at her while fixing your hair in the mirror by the door. she's sitting on the edge of the toilet, one leg bounced over and over, shirt rumpled, still looking at you like she knows exactly how you taste and how you look when you fall apart.

you hate how much you like that.

“i should go,” you say, not quite looking at her.

paige doesn’t move. “right. boyfriend.”

you flinch a little, but she says it without judgment. just fact.

“he's probably wondering where i am.”

paige tilts her head. “is he?”

you shoot her a look. she smirks like she knows she’s getting under your skin and doesn’t plan on stopping.

“you don’t have to explain,” she adds. “i know.”

but something in the way she says it makes your chest tighten. like maybe you both don’t know. not really.

you nod, trying to shake it off. “still. i should go.”

she walks you the extra 3 steps to the door. you're halfway through it when you hesitate- hand still on the handle, brain scrambled, heart pounding with something that feels suspiciously like regret.

“i'm going to this party next week,” you say, casual. too casual.

paige raises an eyebrow. “you are?”

“yeah. a few friends. just a small thing.”

she leans against the doorframe. “you inviting me?”

you shrug. “if you want.”

she grins, just a little. “i want.”

you look at her for a second longer than you should. you're already picturing her showing up. you're already thinking about what you’ll wear, what you’ll say, what you won’t say. you're already fucked.

“give me your number,” you say, pulling out your phone.

she taps it in without hesitation. her name appears on your screen- just Paige, no emoji, no last name. but the weight of it is enough.

“text me,” she says, voice low, right before you leave. “or don’t. but i think you’ll want to.”

you want to.

you leave anyway.

next thing you know, you're at some random apartment, the music is loud, but not too loud- someone’s shitty bluetooth speaker on the counter blaring early 2000s throwbacks, and there’s half a case of white claws on the kitchen table. you recognize maybe five people. you smile at none of them.

because paige is here.

she showed up like she wasn’t sure she would- hands in her pockets, calm, unreadable- but the second she saw you, something in her face softened. you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath until then.

and now, hours later, you’re still pressed to her side on the couch like it’s the only place in the world you want to be.

because it is.

you broke up with your boyfriend this morning. it wasn’t dramatic. it wasn’t even a fight. you just said, i'm done, and he said, figures, and that was it.

you haven’t let go of paige since she walked through the door.

she hasn’t seemed to mind.

she's got one arm draped over the back of the couch, and you’re tucked under it, knees pulled up, leaning into her like gravity decided you belong there.

“you okay?” she murmurs into your hair.

you nod. then shake your head. “no idea.”

she chuckles. her fingers brush the curve of your arm. it's a small touch, but it makes your stomach flip.

“i feel like an idiot,” you admit. “you're barely touching me and i'm already half obsessed or something.”

paige glances at you. her smile flickers. “only half?”

you groan and hide your face against her shoulder.

she smells like clean skin and something vanilla. you want to crawl inside her shirt and stay there.

“i'm being clingy,” you mutter. “you can tell me to back off.”

“i could,” she says. “but i'm not gonna.”

you lift your head, just a little. her hand brushes your thigh. not sexual, just warm. steady.

“i keep thinking about that night,” you say, voice lower now, more careful. “what you did. how i felt.”

a pause.

“and?”

you look at her fully now. her eyes are on you, wide open. she's not teasing. she's not smug. she's just waiting.

“i want to make you feel like that.”

paige's breath catches.

you sit up a little straighter, shift closer, your hand trailing along the inside of her arm. your fingers slide under the hem of her shirt. just barely.

“i want to know what your face looks like when you fall apart,” you whisper. “i want to hear how you sound when you stop pretending nothing gets to you.”

her eyes darken. Her throat bobs. “you sure?”

“no” you say. “but i still want to.”

she kisses you- hard and fast this time, like she’s surprised by it, like she couldn’t not do it. and then you’re tugging her hand, leading her down the hall into the first empty room you can find, heart pounding, skin burning.

you push her down onto the bed.

and you take your time.

you kiss every inch of her like a map you’re learning by heart. you get her shirt off and your mouth on her chest, her stomach, the soft inside of her thighs. you don’t stop until she’s gasping, arching, gripping the sheets like she’s trying to keep from flying apart.

you watch her come with wide eyes, stunned at how much it does to you.

after, she pulls you down beside her, cheeks flushed, hair messy.

“i underestimated you pretty girl,” she says, breathless.

you grin. “good.”

you're both still half-naked, half buzzed, laying on your sides, noses almost touching.

“can i ask you something?” she says.

“yeah?”

paige hesitates. then, carefully, "go out with me. like… really. not just this. not just—” she gestures vaguely to the bed, to the party beyond the door, “whatever this is.”

you blink.

“i want to take you to dinner,” she adds, quieter now. “hold your hand and take you somewhere we don't have to sneak off to. be the person you don’t have to hide.”

your heart does something weird in your chest. like it’s trying to fold into itself.

you nod before you even realize you’re doing it. “okay.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you say, and you kiss her again.

and it feels less like a mistake this time.

more like something you've been looking for your whole life and just now found.

[towasdandelion]

Hi can you make Vagastrom and Frostheim with "Someone flirts with you" Please?

Yessss of course hehehe, it was in my plans! I hope you like it (⁠◕⁠દ⁠◕⁠)

What happens when someone flirts with you while your ghoul bestie is away?

Vagastrom and Frostheim ghouls when someone else flirts with you

Leo pretends not to care, only to show up at the scene anyway. He rolls his eyes the moment he spots you from a distance. Taking out his phone, he opens the camera app as he walks over to you. "I know she's an easy target, but what the fuck? Do you really think you have a chance or something?" He absolutely humiliates the guy, calling him names before dragging you away with him. He starts whining about how you owe him now and how he always has to save you. All the while, he's holding your hand in his...

Alan’s alarms go off, and he’s by your side in an instant, towering over the other student. He doesn’t even have to say a word - the student goes pale and takes a few steps back. Just as the guy is about to speak, Alan interrupts. “Save it. I don’t want to see you around her ever again. Understood?” The student just nods quickly and walks away. Now Alan can focus on making sure you're okay and.. scolding you. A girl like you shouldn’t be wandering around Vagastrom on her own, he says. I wonder what "a girl like you" is supposed to mean.

Sho frowns when he sees a student he knows bothering you. Looked like he chose you as his next target. Sho walks up and throws an arm over your shoulder. “What, finally noticed how cute she is? Too late.” Not giving the guy a chance to react, he swiftly whisks you away from the scene. Once it's just the two of you, he starts asking questions. You didn’t seem to know who the guy was, so Sho feels obligated to warn you about him. He also asks you to call him if anyone ever bothers you again. Better safe than sorry. Not that he's just trying to get rid of the competition or anything.

Jin was about to get back to whatever he was doing, but then he pauses. There's a guy bothering his maid right now and for some reason he can't ignore that. So he shows up just in time to see the guy’s hand reach toward you. “If you reach for something that’s not yours ever again, I won’t be this gentle” Jin says, grabbing the student’s arm and twisting it. The guy yelps in pain and quickly promises it won’t happen again. Only then does Jin let him go. And don’t think he came to save you or anything. He just happened to need to tell you something. Why is he dragging you to his room now? No idea.

Tohma quickly arrives by your side, flashing his polite smile before speaking. "Is this how you think girls should be treated? Allow me to give you a lesson. Make sure to pay attention." He then proceeds to gently bring your hand to his lips and kisses it, asking if you're okay. Was it a bit theatrical? Maybe. But it demonstrated perfectly how close you and Thoma were. Doesn't matter you're not a couple, it still sent a clear sign for the the guy to back off. The student mutters an apology and leaves. Tohma swears he just wanted to teach the guy some manners, but the look in his eyes tells a different story.

Lucas was literally born to do this. He's a gentleman, so he definitely won't ignore the situation. His steps are calm and confident, and you can see the soft smile on his face as he approaches you and the student. "Excuse me but I don't think she feels very comfortable in your presence. Would you mind keeping your distance?" The student blinks in confusion - Where did this guy even come from? And why is he being so... polite? But once he notices Luca's Frostheim uniform the guy decides to just back away, leaving you alone. After making sure you're okay Luca will escort you back to your dorm, just in case someone else wants to bother you.

Kaito... He won't stand for someone else trying to snatch his girl!!! Doesn't matter that you don't even know that yet, he will confess one day! And until that day comes he will make sure to literally act like a guard dog, trying to shoo any potential competition away. "You know she knows Jin Kamurai right? Yeah I wouldn't risk it if I were you haha" Literally using Jin as a shield but hey, it worked! The student even thanked Kaito for warning him before walking away... Well, the blonde claims the guy was a weirdo anyways so he just saved you. No need to thank him!

[pagesfromthevoid]

Future Fest | b. f.

Bob Floyd x teacher!reader

High school recruitment isn’t usually on the short list of things to do during the day, but it is today.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

Author's Note: I don't even know what possessed me but here I am. Also, the feral things the students say in this are actual quotes from my actual students.

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

She really needs to learn how to say “no” when people ask her to do things at work.

It’s a bad habit –a combination of the incessant need to be liked by everyone and genuinely caring about what the students would want–that she just can’t seem to break. 

Today, it’s Future Fest. The very first event of the year where any student sixteen and older can ditch their regularly scheduled classes and come down to the gym to talk to different college representatives, explore career choices, and interact with military recruiters. About 75% of those students are there to actually get an idea about what they want to do after high school –that other 25% are there to get out of class.

Not that she blames them, of course. She probably would have done the same thing if this had been a thing when she was in school. 

The college and career counselor at the school had asked her to help out, since most of her students had signed up to go anyway (and unfortunately for those who didn’t, they got to go anyway because of her). It’s all hands on deck when it comes to these sorts of events, just to ensure that things go smoothly and none of the kids act like fools. Plus, she’s getting paid for “covering” a class three periods in a row –not a lot, but it’s certainly better than nothing. 

Her task is to just walk the aisles and keep an eye on things. Talk to some of the representatives, thank them for coming to the school, encourage kids to talk to them too. It’s easy enough, and she jokes with many of the representatives that she’s getting her steps in today.

“Miss!” One of her students practically screams, running up to her and grabbing her arm. A gaggle of sophomore girls are trailing behind, carrying pamphlets for the Navy. “Have you seen the military guys?”

She peers over the heads of the students, towards the back of the gym, where the recruiters are. She can sort of make out their faces, but she’s not truly all that interested.

“I haven’t made my way over there yet,” she offers, pulling her arm free from the girl. “Why?”

“They’re hot.”

“You know, normal teenagers don’t tell their teachers when they find people hot,” she points out, rolling her eyes.

She’s suddenly surrounded by teenage girls, and she wishes for a moment that the kids didn’t like her half as much as they did. Boundaries are important, and teenagers have no idea how they work. They tell her things she truly does not want or need to know –though it’s a double edged sword. For all the weird, practically feral comments they make, they tell her things that are important to know. How their lives at home are, if they need help, if they’re struggling. She reminds them that she loves them, but they need to remember they’re not friends.

“Yeah but we’re not normal and you’re our mom, so like…it’s fine.”

They call her the school mom, which is…better than being their friend, she supposes.

The girls are insisting she go and talk to the recruiters, or at least look at them, so she throws her hands up and heads over. But she tells the girls they have to talk to three college representatives if she does that –they agree quickly and hurry off, though they’re watching to make sure she actually goes over there.

Rolling her eyes, she holds her hands behind her back and strolls down the aisle until she sees the banner for the Navy –then below it, a sign advertising the United States Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program. She thinks that’s a mouthful, though also knows the program is highly sought after by many of the students at the school. Being the closest high school to the naval air base will do that, though.

As she approaches, she can hear two of her students talking to the recruiters –one tall, blonde and holding a helmet that’s labelled “Hangman.” He’s confident, and he’s cute (she’ll give him that much), but she doesn’t particularly like how he’s talking to the boys in front of him. Beside him is another pilot, she assumes, since she’s wearing her flight suit and the helmet in front of her says “Phoenix.” She’s trying to cut in, but Hangman seems to be more interested in bragging than anything else. She catches the tail end of their conversation, something about their call signs and what they are. 

Beside Phoenix, however, is someone who looks too sweet to be in the military. He’s talking to a junior, showing him something on a tablet that looks like blueprints. But he’s smiling ear to ear, seemingly enjoying whatever he’s talking about. His glasses are slipping down the bridge of his nose, but he’s too caught up talking to the student to notice. 

He, she thinks, is cute. And he’s nice to the students, which is important to her.

She steps around the student, standing to the side as she waits for them to finish up. From this angle, she catches the name on his tag –Floyd –and makes a mental note. However, it’s Hangman who finishes up first, and approaches with an award-winning (and cocky) smile.

“Well hello there,” he offers, extending his hand. “Lieutenant Jake Seresin, at your service.”

She takes his hand politely, shaking it, and introducing herself. “Nice to meet you, lieutenant. I was just stopping over to thank you guys for coming out. It means so much to the school.”

His colleague Phoenix, extends her hand next, smiling as well. “Lieutenant Natasha Trace. It’s not a problem –we love coming out and doing stuff like this.”

“So you’re all pilots?” She asks, motioning towards their helmets. 

“Me and Phoenix are –Bob over there is a Weapons System Officer,” Lieutenant Seresin explains, though he’s smirking some as Natasha –Phoenix –elbows Bob to get his attention. 

Bob looks up, as if suddenly realizing she’s not a student and she’s an adult, and he turns a bit pink in the ears as he sets down his tablet.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am,” he offers, then extends his hand to her. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd, though most people just call me Bob.”

She takes his hand and offers a real smile –not that she wasn’t smiling properly to his colleagues, but Bob seems sweet and it's hard not to offer him a proper one. She reintroduces herself one more time.

“It’s a pleasure –like I was saying, I just wanted to thank you guys for coming out and doing this. Future Fest is our big thing and the kids really love it. Having you guys join us is a big deal.”

“Oh, I love doing stuff like this,” Bob offers, and the smile on his face just hasn’t gone away.

She’s a bit distracted, caught up in just how genuinely interested he seems to be in the whole thing. Most people aren’t terribly excited to spend their day talking to high schoolers –but Bob actually seems to mean it. And she appreciates that, because she’s someone who also enjoys working with the students (though it would be a shame if she didn’t, given she’s a teacher). It helps that he’s got the prettiest blue eyes she’s ever seen, and he’s got some sort of accent that she can’t place but it’s nice to hear. 

Was it weird to flirt at school? She vaguely remembers her mom saying they used to flirt with the firemen when they came to her school, so it can’t be terribly inappropriate. It’s not like she’s doing anything lewd –she’s just talking. And smiling. 

“So what does a Weapons System Officer do, Lieutenant Floyd?” She asks, both because she’s interested and because she wants to keep hearing him talk. 

“Here we go,” Hangman says, rolling his eyes but Phoenix elbows him as they turn their attention to a student who approaches.

Bob beams at the chance to explain, taking up the tablet again and holding it out to her. “So WSO’s –that’s what I do –are responsible for manning the weapon systems of the F/A-18F Super Hornet strike fighter from that jet's aft seat. That’s just the back,” he explains, pointing to where he must be stationed when he’s in the plane. “Depending on the mission, when designated as the mission commander, I’m the one responsible for all phases of the assigned mission, especially if there are multiple aircraft involved.”

“So you’re in charge?” She asks, leaning against the table and zooming in on the inside of the plane. Though truthfully, she has no idea what she’s looking at. It’s just a lot of buttons and numbers she doesn’t quite understand. She’s certain, however, if she asked, he would explain it step by step to her.

“Like I said, it depends on the mission,” he offers, pulling the tablet back in front of him to show her something else. 

She must be staring, because from a few feet away, she hears her name being called, a handful of giggles and then,

“Ooh, miss! Get it!”

She blushes. Bob blushes. Hangman and Phoenix are paying attention suddenly and laughing.

“Savannah Johnson, you absolute menace,” she scolds, standing up straight. She turns to Bob, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry about that, Lieutenant Floyd. You’ll have to excuse me; I need to go remind the kids that they can’t be unhinged in mixed company.”

“Only in mixed company?” He jokes, but the blush has spread from his cheeks down his neck.

“I keep a running list of all the things they say in class all year,” she offers with a laugh, and she’s very aware that she’s being watched now but can’t help it.

“I’d love to see it,” he says and she really can’t help it now as she picks up a business card with his name on it.

“This your cell phone or your work phone?” She asks, holding it up in front of him. 

Bob swallows hard and shakes his head, but takes the card from her and a pen from his shirt pocket. He scribbles his number on the back and hands it back to her, almost timidly.

“I’ll send you a few when I go to lunch; then you can decide if you want the whole list.”

“Sounds great, miss.”

She turns on her heel to walk away, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks, as her students practically scream at her. She shoos them away, telling them they need to act better if they’re in public. 

The bell rings for lunch, and she’s waiting for the students to exit the gym, when he approaches her this time. She turns and smiles when she sees Bob, standing just a few inches taller than her, with a shy grin on his face. 

“Sorry to bother you, miss. I was just…,” He hesitates but she just smiles, waiting. “I was just wondering if you would like to have lunch with me? Phoenix and Hangman went off campus, but I brought my lunch.”

She bites her lip and nods some. “That sounds nice, actually. I usually eat in my classroom, if you want to go up there with me.”

She’d have to tell her velcro kids they need to go elsewhere today, but they would understand. Or they’d sit outside the door –either way. Bob nods and they make easy conversation as she leads him through the hallways of the school. She explains little things that he asks about –murals, artwork on display, awards. Everything he asks is tinged with actual interest and it makes her heart pound. 

There’s four or five kids sitting outside her door when they get upstairs, and they all look up at her in confusion as she opens the door. Bob waves at them politely.

“Sorry guys –I have a guest today,” she explains, though she still motions them inside. “Grab a snack and off you go.”

They huff and puff but grab whatever they need from a drawer at the front of the room, then leave with a flurry of goodbyes and thank you’s. Bob watches them for a moment before taking a seat at a desk. She leaves the door open –if anything because she doesn’t need anyone assuming the worst (and the kids will). Then she grabs her lunch from the mini fridge in the corner, setting it on a desk in front of him and turning it around.

“I haven’t sat in one of these in a long time,” he chuckles, taking out his very neatly organized meal. It makes her thrown together lunch look kind of sad, honestly. “I can’t imagine sitting here every day again.”

“They hate them, but I’m hoping I get some grant money to get something better next year.”

“It’s a shame you have to get grants just to have decent things in the classroom.”

“Well, all that military spending does make a dent in the education fund,” she teases, and she’s grinning at him playfully as she does it.

“Ouch,” he puts his hand over his heart, wincing some at the jab. “I don’t know what to say outside of I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” she reassures him, taking out her phone and opening her notes app. “Okay, you ready to hear some of the feral things high schoolers say when they’re way too comfortable with you?”

“I don’t know,” he laughs, leaning back in the seat. “It can’t be that bad, right?”

She gives him a look of warning, then scrolls down…and down…and down…

“That is…a long list,” he comments, peering over the top of her phone. He almost sounds concerned.

“Oh, it is,” she promises, then stops to find her favorite so far. “‘Laws are temporary but friends are forever.’”

Bob chuckles through a bite of his sandwich. “That’s not so bad.”

She puts her finger up. “‘His parents are getting divorced. I hope neither of them want him.’”

“Oh my god.”

“‘I’m going to be a legal pot dealer after college.’”

“What does that even mean?”

“He wants to be a pharmacist,” she explains with a laugh. “I’m just happy he isn’t dropping out.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” he concedes, motioning for her to continue.

“‘I learned the other day that my dad looks up goth girl ASMR online.’”

She pauses and looks at Bob, who's trying not to choke on his sandwich. Setting her phone down, she leans back and opens up her bag of grapes with a laugh. For a few minutes, that’s it —they’re eating and laughing. When they stop laughing, she reads another and they laugh again. This goes on for most of the lunch period, up until her alarm goes off to warn her she has three minutes before the bell rings. 

“Oh shit,” she says, quickly packing up her things. “I have to actually teach now. I didn’t realize what time it was —,”

Bob quickly stands and packs his own stuff up, then flips the desk around with ease for her. She stares for a moment, watching how his arms flex as he lifts the desk without issue. Oh dear. 

“I don’t want to be too forward,” he says as students are trying to trickle in. He quickly shuts the door, looking down at her. “But I…I would really like to take you out on a date, if you’d let me.”

Kids are peering through the little window, knocking on the door. She waves them off a bit, looking up at him with a soft smile. 

“I would really like that.”

He nods, opening the door now. Kids are pushing through to get settled in, but he’s awkwardly standing in the doorway with a boyish grin and a blush. She pushes him gently out the door, but follows him out as she waits at the door for stragglers. 

“I’ll text you after school.”

“I look forward to it.”

She waves him off, smiling dreamily as she watches him walk off. He turns and walks backwards for a moment, waving at her before finally disappearing out the hallway doors. 

When she shuts the door and returns to her classroom, her students are staring at her with wide eyes. 

And then the chaos ensues.

[inabsolutions]

swallowed whole.

in short: thigh highs and caleb having to take off said thigh highs because i'm a degenerate.

based on this thought. cw for use of gege. slight nsfw toward the end

———

“Better now?”

Caleb asks as he kneels to help you take off your heels. Then he massages your ankles, and you sigh at the warm sensation of his hands through the thin socks.

“Yeah,” you sigh in relief as you flop back against the bed. “Thanks.”

After an entire day of playing outside, your feet were killing you. Heels are cute and all, but the pain from wearing them too long is definitely not. Caleb had carried you in his arms the entire way home, bumping his forehead against yours in reprimand when you tried to protest, Set me down, this is so embarrassing.

If I have to get on my knees in public to beg you to let me carry you, it’ll be even more embarrassing for you.

His eyes had twinkled with mirth, and you scowled as you laid a light punch to his shoulder. He’d do it in an instance if you keep refusing, you know. Caleb is a bully.

Because you let me, he teased.

That shut you up real well. You gave in, not wanting to kick up a fuss—and your throbbing feet thanked you for it.

Which led to Caleb carrying you to your bedroom in his house in Skyhaven. And he’s still kneeling there, massaging your foot. You sigh at the pressure of his thumbs as they knead into the arch of a sole to work out the knot of tension there.

“You’re so good at this, it’s unfair,” you say.

“Had a lot of practice,” he says. “Who always had to give a certain someone a massage after her runs before?”

You wiggle your toes, a smile playing at the corner of your lips. “That someone must not be me,” you say smartly. “You volunteered.”

“Only because you’d be whining about your muscles being too sore the next day if I didn’t.”

“I can also give you a massage if you want,” you offer.

Caleb shakes his head in amusement. “Given past experiences, you’d only be up to no good.”

You flush slightly. Well, you’d meant to help him out with a massage at the beginning, you really did. It’s not your fault that his, ahem, body was so interesting to explore. One thing led to another, and the massage was still a massage—just in an entirely different way.

It’s not like you hated it. Nor what came after, as much of a tease Caleb had been in the aftermath of your little venture in trying to discover how much you can push him. How low his voice could go.

Upon seeing your expression, Caleb chuckles. “Thinking of something naughty again?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes, as though he’d known what you were thinking.

This isn’t good. You’re losing the upper hand here. You catch the trail of his gaze up your legs and it reminds you of how the whole day, he’d been glancing at your legs. A slight bob to his throat whenever he swallowed. Every time your skirt rode up, his eyes wandered.

You don’t wear socks with your skirts often, but the weather was slightly chilly today, so the occasion seemed appropriate. And somehow, it just ended up that the pair you’d chosen ended right in the middle of your thighs, right below the skirt.

Tara had assured you they’d be cute when you went shopping together with her. You find yourself grateful for it, if only because you have more ammo now.

“Come here,” you say while you pat the spot on the bed next to you.

Caleb tilts his head—like a confused puppy, you think fondly—but does as you ask. Upon sitting next to you, you swing your legs in his direction, draping them right over his lap.

“I think these socks are a bit too tight,” you say. You scoot a little closer to him. “It’s affecting the circulation of my legs.”

Caleb clears his throat. “...Are they?”

You gaze at him meaningfully.

“They are,” you say. “So they should be taken off.”

“And I suppose it’s up to me to do it?”

“My hands,” you say dramatically, “they’re so tired.”

“From picking up chopsticks at dinner, I’m guessing,” Caleb says. You pout and he laughs as he ruffles your hair. “All right, all right, I never said I wouldn’t help you.”

Said casually, but his eyes have darkened into the indigo of a sky at dusk. The open window of your bedroom soaks the room in a blood-orange, leaving the two of you in a hazy boundary between day and night. A realm where no one would be the wiser to any misdeeds. Caleb’s fingers skim up your calves, touch landing light and delicate over the layer of fabric over your skin, and the contact leaves behind a tingle that spreads like a heatwave in July.

“Take it off carefully,” you say slowly.

“Mm. When have I ever been anything but careful with you?”

You could list a few times. More than a few, actually. Mostly in situations just like this—in bed. Him at your mercy, and you at his. Victory and defeat has always been a two way street when it comes to the two of you.

You sigh as his hand slides up and rests at the top of your socks. Fingertips pressed right against your bare skin, rough and warm. You shift in place, the blue of your skirt riding up as its hem meets his wrist.

Any higher, and his hand would be right between your legs. Knuckles brushing against more than just the skirt.

But he doesn’t reach any higher. Instead, he plucks at the cuff of a sock before hooking a finger inside. And just like you demanded, the slight friction of fabric as he drags it down is slow and intentful. Nails skimming against skin as he pulls your sock all the way down. One down, one to go; however, he seems to have gotten distracted in the process though, because he’s rubbing soothing circles into your calf muscle again.

“Your skin is so soft,” Caleb says, voice tinged in a slight awe, as though this is still the first time he’s touched you so intimately.

“It’s because gege raised me with a lot of tenderness,” you say lightly. “Though the way he’s looking at me right now… It feels like he’s about to reap what he’s sown.”

Caleb looks at you. There’s a downward slant to his mouth, and for a moment, he resembles more a guilty schoolboy caught skipping school. Your mouth dries, and the volatile heart in your chest quivers. “Not without your permission,” he says. “Never.”

“I know,” you breathe.

“Do you hate it?” he asks. “When he’s like this? When he wants so obviously.”

Caleb’s hand withdraws from your skin, but you pull it back. Your fingers are so small compared to his, but he’s weak to your wills and lets you do as you want, no resistance at all against the force of you. You settle his hand against the leg with the sock yet to be taken off. Palm pressed right against your thigh. His fingers curl up, a slight resistance there—as though he’s afraid to touch. A pilgrim enticed by a statue of a goddess, anticipating the burn of holy fire.

“I hate it,” you say, “when he thinks he’s hated. When he draws away from me. When he doesn’t listen to me because there’s still one sock left on my feet, isn’t there?”

Caleb swallows. Again, just like he’d done when you purposely swished your skirt so that it rode up your leg as you skipped ahead of him on the street, tugging him along. His gaze stuck to the slip of skin between your skirt and your socks before his eyes cut away to the side of the street, faking preoccupation in the street signs.

“You’re right,” Caleb says finally. “My job isn’t done yet.” With that, he peels the other sock off you too, fingers just as delicate as with the first one. The cool air landing over your bare legs makes you sigh. “There. Did I do well?”

“Yes,” you say, lips curling up. “But the way you put it makes it sound like you’re expecting a reward. Do you want a reward, Caleb?”

“If I say yes,” he wonders, “will I regret it?”

You’re being mean. You know you are. But Caleb just makes so fun, you couldn’t help yourself. If you knew wearing thigh high socks would be able to get him so distracted and excited, if taking them off is enough to have him so obvious with his desires, you wouldn’t have worn them—

That’s a lie. You would have worn it way earlier, if given the knowledge.

You rub your foot slightly against his lap, hiding a smile when you feel him harden. A gentle pink spreads across his cheeks, hard to tell in the dim dusk, but you know it’s there just from experience.

“Really? From just my foot?”

Caleb grunts in response as you up the ante, heel of your foot digging into the rising bulge in his pants.

“You’re a bit of a pervert, you know that, Caleb?” you say offhandedly.

“And you’re a bit of a tease,” Caleb says. His voice has dipped low and quiet, gaze following your lips. There’a a predatory hunger to him, wound up and ready to pounce. How much further could you push him before he breaks?

“There’s worse things to be,” you say. You reach for his hand and drag it over your body again, up and up and up until it reaches the apex of your thighs where you’ve dampened your underwear, and you know he feels it because he swallows and goes very, very still. You manipulate his fingers against the wet seams of your folds, rubbing his knuckles against the soaked fabric there, and he just watches you the entire time, shadows playing over his hooded eyes. You shiver as you stroke his hand up and down, grinding over him, but it’s not enough. You’re almost there, but not all the way, and trying to reach the peak without his active involvement makes it that much harder. It’s only when you’re panting, “Ge, it’s not enough”, that he finally stirs, lips pressed thin—

Then lunges.

“Hey!” You cry out in surprise as you land back against the bed, Caleb towering over you, hands caged around your head. His shadow looms like the overwhelming shade of an overgrown tree, and there it is, the snap of an elastic band stretched too thin to sustain itself.

“You asked for this,” he says, “so you can’t regret it, okay?”

Caleb shoves your underwear aside, and before you can even protest, two of his fingers have already slipped inside with ease, entry facilitated by the slick dripping from the entrance. You jolt. A pool of heat settles in the pit of your stomach, making you leak even more onto his hand. Perhaps you should have been satisfied now, having accomplished exactly what you’ve set out to do, but the indulgent tone of his voice reminds you of when he’d fucked you to the point of tears even though you’d begged and begged.

Ah. Maybe you did go a little too far.

Caleb seems to recognize your apprehension, because he smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Scared?” Caleb says.

“No, but is it too late to apologize?” you say weakly.

“Not really,” Caleb says lightly, as though he isn’t in the process of stretching you out his fingers. You arch your back, moaning as he hooks them just the right way, so casual in the knowledge of exactly where you like it best. The only other person who knows you best, next to yourself. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop though.”

“Then I’m—hah—definitely not going to apologize!”

“That’s fine—I have other ways of making you say sorry,” Caleb says. “That’ll be enough for my reward.”

[janestvalentine]

I couldn't decide which tags I wanted to reblog this post with...so I decided to do all of them:

#rimi talks#like you can absolutely get into discussion of copaganda in comics and the authorial end editorial centrism, #because god knows a lot of comics (esp older ones) just absolutely REEK of performative activism or copaganda or what have you, #and there is definitely plenty to be said there, #but that's not what people saying this stuff are talking about 😭, #it's all just ''but i want the white man to kill a crowd of evil goons but it's fine bc none of their lives mattered bc they got in his way!, #and don't worry he was unquestionably right to have killed them and it was really cool and sexy of him to do so and also he was right'', #(now don't take this as me disagreeing that fictional murder can be sexy. of course it can. ive seen pamela isley.), #(but while i would call her sexy i would not call her RIGHT for being a murderous ecofascist yk), (x)

#'but you see this guy is making the world better by killing people, #bc he's only killing the really bad guys like the sex offenders and paedophiles and rapists', #buddy. please tell me which demographics are most likely to be accused of paedophilia and rape., #i cannot emphasise enough that if you go into superhero comics and then get annoyed bc the characters don't kill people, #maybe you just don't like superhero comics., #and also i don't like you., (x)

#LITERALLY, #also: ever heard of the brutalizing effect? there’s really conflicting evidence about whether execution BY THE STATE even ‘works’, #as a deterrent against crime, #(and is in practiced applied really racistly but anyway), #and ur telling me u want VIGILANTES to kill their enemies???? like now uve created a norm where superheroes can kill villains without, #due process and now both villains and goons are NAWT going to surrender peacefully to superheroes bc theyll be scared of. yk. GETTING THEIR, #HEAD CHOPPED OFF, #wait sorry that’s not even the main mechanism behind the brutalizing effect i was just also saying that would also fuck up superhero’s MAIN, #priority: um? fucking making the streets safer? if the villains are worried about their safety after getting defeated then they’re gonna go, #even more all out before going out #anyway brutalizing effect is when the people who will commit violent crimes are NOT deterred by executions of convicted felons, #bc they don’t identify with the convicted felon they identify with the executioner, #also. obvi. parallels to police brutality if superheroes killed., #but even besides that like why would superheroes want to create a norm of killing. they would not want to normalize killing., (x)

#yeah‚ this! precisely this is such a succinct and effective wording of this exact problem, #like. doing the above is/would be no different to watching every movie billed as a chick flick hoping for a bodice ripper, #yeah if you try hard enough you'll find what you're looking for a couple of times, #but you've fundamentally misunderstood what it is this genre can do for you. congrats you missed the thesis, #go read jack reacher number three hundred and four or smth, (x)

#people who act like its bad that batman realises the value in every humans life, #like be so fr, #yeah jokers awful but why do you only put the blame on batman, #what about the gcpd's role or the legal system not sentencing him the death penalty? thats the real reason jokers alive after all he's done, #but sure blame the vigilante, #why do you want your superheros to be murderers? the people that kids are supposed to look for as symbols of hope and justice?, #you want superheros... to be murderers., #think about that for a second, (x)

#it’s like going into a bakery and hating all the cakes there, #honestly i love the hardship that comes from those decisions of to spare not kill etc., #seeing how it takes a toll both physically and mentally on characters and yet they keep pushing through regardless, #it’s what made me realize i like Superman and Superboy tbh, (x)

people who go into superhero comics (the "heroes don't kill" genre, where (admittedly, often very flawed) discussion of the morality of taking a life and themes of lawfulness, vigilanteism, and redemption are like the entire foundations of the genre) and then get pissy about how they want edgier protagonists who kill their enemies. bro just go watch Generic Action Blockbuster #74821384

[charliegyrth]

Speedos - 2 of 2

The Off-Season Continues

Read Part 1 here.

“How was the pool?” Micah asked when I stepped in the door.

“Refreshing.”

He raised an eyebrow. He knew I was lying. I wasn’t gone very long, and my hair was dry. He didn’t ask me what happened, though. (If he had, I definitely wouldn't have told him about how my jiggling body had given me an embarrassing erection in front of everybody.)

I collapsed onto the couch and turned on the TV. A bag of chips was waiting on the table in front of me. I knew I shouldn’t, but I grabbed it and ripped it open.

Micah sat next to me. “Are you excited about next Thursday?”

“What’s next Thursday?” I asked. Then it hit me. “Oh. It’s Thanksgiving already!”

Last year, we went to my parents’ house, so this year we were visiting Micah’s mom. I was excited.

“I asked Mom what we should bring, and she said to surprise her. So what do you think? Out of everything I’ve cooked for us, what’s your favorite?”

“Your scalloped potatoes,” I said automatically. My sudden answer surprised me. I looked down at the potato chips in my hand. And I saw the snack cakes on the table. And I saw the curve of my belly under my shirt. Slowly, I looked back up at Micah and said, “I need to lose weight.”

“What? Where’d that come from?”

I hated how surprised he sounded. Acting all innocent, as if he had nothing to do with all this new fat. “It came from you!”

“Is that what you think?” Still playing dumb.

“You’re telling me that you haven’t noticed this?” I grabbed my stomach roll and wobbled it up and down. Never in my life would I have thought I’d be able to freaking wobble myself like that.

“I have,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “But I’m not… I mean… Do you think I’m trying to make you fat?”

“Aren’t you?”

He flinched at the accusation. “Of course not. I’m trying to make you happy. Months ago, when I saw you scarf down that speedo cake, I knew how much you’d been depriving yourself, and how much you wanted to eat. I give you food because you like it, because it makes you happy.”

“But…”

“You’re eating potato chips right now. Is that my fault?”

“No,” I admitted. I’d grabbed those myself. “But you hid my speedo!”

“What? I put it in the closet. Isn’t that where it's supposed to go?”

I breathed out a long sigh. I’d misinterpreted everything. Micah was giving me food to keep me happy, not to make me fat. “Sorry.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t be. I can see how you’d think that. I’ll stop cooking so much, if that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want.”

“Okay. But just know, I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met. And that’ll always be true, no matter what size you are.” To prove he meant it, he placed his hands on my rounded stomach and kissed me.

“I love you, Micah.”

He slid on top of me, running his fingers through my hair. The bag of potato chips fell to the ground.

“This afternoon, I’ll get rid of all your snacks. Though that might be hard, with the holiday season and all.”

Oh. He had a point.

“Actually,” I said between kisses, “maybe I can start my diet in January. What do you say?”

“If that’s what you want.” He pulled off my shirt and gave my flab a single, loving kiss.

***

I woke up at eleven, my head throbbing from all the champagne. Today was January 1, the official end to the holiday season. Classes wouldn’t resume until the 8th, so I’d have a week to really focus on my health.

The last few months had been absolutely wonderful. Thanksgiving with Micah’s family was a nonstop parade of laughter, games, and food. Tons of food. (His mom was an even better cook than Micah, and that’s saying something.) Then we did our finals (all good) and spent Christmas break in a rental house over in Solvang, this really cute tourist-trap town that transformed itself into a winter wonderland.

I was so glad that I didn’t start my diet yet, because I would’ve been miserable. Everywhere we went, I was surrounded by cookies and pastries, and each one was better than the last. Micah constantly asked if I wanted something, and I constantly said yes.

I was finally allowing myself to give in to the season, something I’d never really done before. I was just so happy all the time, and Micah was happy because I was happy. It was… It was wonderful.

But today was the day I’d start getting my life back on track. I trudged into the bathroom to take stock of my reflection (something I’d avoided for months). I wasn’t surprised by my reflection, but it did sadden me. I had a definite belly now. I had moobs. My hips were massive. I’d grown rolls along my sides, and another one just under my chest. My face was rounder (not by a lot) and I had zero muscle definition now. Literally anywhere.

I did not look like a competitive swimmer.

I trudged into the living room, where Micah was watching the news. I’d grown accustomed to waking up to another one of Micah’s delicious breakfasts, but nothing was waiting for me this time.

“Morning, babe,” he said from the couch. “There’s oatmeal in the pantry if you want.”

That used to be my go-to breakfast, but now it sounded so insubstantial. The last few months hadn’t just changed my body; they’d changed my hunger, too. It would take a while to get back to normal.

I plodded to the kitchen and microwaved a bowl of plain oatmeal. I leaned against the counter and took one bite.

Awful. No taste at all.

So I added a few sprinkles of sugar. That helped a little, but it still wasn’t enough. I added a little more. And a little more. Soon, the bowl was more sugar than oatmeal, but at least it was palatable. It took me less than a minute to eat the whole thing. I looked around for a chocolate chip cookie, but the jar was empty. Micah had cleared out all our sweets, just as I’d asked him to.

I trudged back into the living room, ignoring the loud rumbles from my stomach.

“Nate? You okay?”

I sat next to him, trying (and failing) to hide my sour expression.

He asked me another question, but I was too hungry and petulant to pay attention. That’s when he nudged me in the side, sending a wave through my belly fat. “Nate. Come on. You’re not gonna do this to me again, are you?”

“Do what?”

Instead of answering me, he grabbed his phone from the table and snapped my photo. Then he made me look at the image.

The picture made my face look even fatter than I’d realized. My double chin was on full display. “Yeah. That’s what I look like now.”

“And this is what you looked like yesterday.” He swiped to another photo, showing me at the New Year’s party grinning from ear-to-ear.

The pictures were like night and day. I was fat in both, but I looked so much happier in the second one.

“If you want to lose weight,” Micah said, “go for it. But don’t be miserable. It’s off-season.”

“Okay,” I said. I still had months to get back into shape. I could go slowly. I could still indulge a little.

Micah smiled. “Thank you. And in case you’re wondering, I didn’t get rid of our Christmas cookies. I just stuck them in the back of the pantry.”

I jumped to my feet.

***

Micah was scrolling through his phone when I waddled through the front door with a bag in my hands. It was from BXL, the plus-size clothing store. “Hey, Micah! Look what I bought!”

He ran over and dug through the bag, expecting that I’d gotten him a present. I didn’t.

“A speedo?” He held up the huge, blue fabric. “But… you said you decided not to compete this year.”

“Obviously,” I said, slapping my hanging gut. I couldn’t make it across the pool if my life depended on it. Besides, the season started months ago. “But I’d like to go swimming again. It’s time.”

“Okay?” he said, a bit confused. I hadn’t been in a pool since I broke the school record last September. I can’t even remember the last time I even mentioned swimming.

“So? What do you say? Would you like to go for a dip?”

“I’d love to.”

An hour later, we arrived at the community pool on the other side of town. (I had lost access to the university’s pool after I quit the team. And while a part of me really wanted all my old teammates to see me now, it was probably for the best.)

Micah stripped off his shirt, revealing his pale, freckled stomach. He’d softened up a little in the last few months (either from my influence or from the constant supply of snacks around the house), and I thought his starter belly looked really cute.

He sat on the pool chair next to me so I could lather him with sunscreen. “When we get in there, I think we should race.”

“You know I’m a champion swimmer, right? I’ll beat you hands down.”

That made us both laugh.

Then, after I rubbed him down, he turned around and stripped off my shirt. All my new rolls flopped out.

“Good thing you bought the extra-large bottle of sunscreen,” I joked.

He took special care to reach into all my creases. When he got to my moobs, he looked me in the eyes and asked, “Do you miss it?”

“Do I miss being hungry and moody for half the year? Not at all.”

It took him a while to rub down all my extra flesh. I think he was just savoring the moment. When he was done, he gave me an encouraging pat on my gut and said, “Okay, big guy. Let’s swim.”

I stood up and peeled off my shorts, revealing my new speedo. There weren’t a lot of people at the pool, but everyone who was there glanced over at me. I tried to ignore their judgmental looks, because I didn’t want to get hard. Besides, it didn’t matter what they thought. The only person I cared about was standing right in front of me.

“How do I look?” I stepped back so he could get a better view of my 260-pound body.

“You know how hot you are. Do I even need to say it?”

He was right. I knew I was beautiful. I knew that this was the body that made me happy. Sure, I would’ve preferred a more solid gut instead of the hanging apron I’d grown, but whatever. More softness meant more parts for Micah to play with. And yeah, the stretchmarks on my love handles weren’t my favorite, but they were already starting to fade.

I used to be a gorgeous swimmer. I used to be lean, and sleek, and powerful. Now, I was so much more.

“Is the speedo okay?”

He laughed. “Nate, I can barely see it.”

I guess that was for the best. Now, if all my jiggling got me hard again, people were less likely to notice.

Micah and I walked to the pool, and together, we jumped into the deep end.

The End

Thanks so much to Anonymous for the suggestion. There's nothing hotter than a fat swimmer bulging out of his clothes.

[chaifootsteps]

I feel like I could fix the apology tour conversation with a few tweaks (the anti blitz party has to go though) because it’s so blatantly black and white (pro stolas, anti blitz) it makes Viv look biased and that she secretly despises her main character and blames him for his own abuse at the hands of her favourite character.

For example:

Blitz: I always come running when you need help! And don’t bring up that striker thing, you know I had to take Loona and MnM helped you!

Stolas: Fine, but you couldn’t even be bothered to come visit me in the hospital! And I’ve helped you before as well.

Blitz: I’ve always hated hospitals alright?! At least I wanted you to get better. If it weren’t for you not having proper bodyguards—

Stolas: If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have been targeted anyway!! My lunatic ex wife Stella has been after me ever since what you did! And my daughter can barely look at me. Don’t you care about that?!

Blitz: It’s not my job to solve all your problems, and you’re just as guilty as I am. Quit blaming me for what that bitch does, and stand up to her already.

Stolas: you’ll never understand how difficult that is. You’re just a thief.

Blitz: I did a bad thing, stealing from you. But I did it for my family , I put up with your shit every month so they can have a normal life. And you used it all as an opportunity to get sex from me constantly. You still ruined your own family and I’m done feeling guilty.

Stolas: “Guilty”? You’ve been lying and giving me mixed messages this whole time, I thought you came to visit me because you missed me. I thought you really liked me, really cared. I knew it was a lie when I saw the book missing, I just didn’t want to believe it. So yes I used you, because I wanted that feeling to maybe, if possible, become real. But I..I don’t think I ever loved you. I didn’t even know you. And now that I do know you, I don’t think you’re right for me at all.

Blitz: Then I guess we both used each other.

Stolas: I….suppose we did….

And something like this is actually conflicting, heart breaking, does show that both of them have done wrong. This is far more equal than vivzie giving stolas every W imaginable, having him cry and sing over and over and over and over for sympathy, and using irrelevant third parties to make blitz look evil so that stolas can win the argument.

See, Viv? That's how you have the show paint them as both being in the wrong. It's just that easy.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

if they were able to kill him, who would try delivering the final blow to nightmare? (in your opinion)

I suppose anyone who wanted to kill him or be rid of him and was willing to try. Either out of fear, desperation, hatred, justice, a sense of responsibility, etc.

Delta, with the influence of the bravery soul, definitely would try.

Color definitely would seriously consider it I feel, driven by bravery, justice, and just intense hatred and disgust for Nightmare. As well as a desire to stop him from hurting anyone else, especially Killer and his friends.

But we also see from the Something New comics that Color avoids fighting Killer when he’s in Stage 2 as much as possible whenever Nightmare is present, as he doesn’t want his emotions and negativity to strengthen Nightmare.

He gives me the vibes that, when it comes to handling Nightmare, he’d try to consider what Nightmare’s victims would want. Even though Color himself more than likely wants him dead and gone. In his eye, Nightmare deserves no mercy.

Dream, I’m 50/50, because he likely still struggles with viewing Corrupted as his brother—and Corrupted definitely is willing to pretend to be. There’s also the matter of the balance, which he understands better than the other characters.

He knows how the loss of negativity could potentially effect the multiverse, but also how the loss of his brother—for what likely feels like twice, maybe even three times depending on how their reunion went when Dream was freed from his stone—would effect him.

I do think Dust would likely be willing to try, even if he knows he won’t succeed. Perhaps as a desperate attempt to get away, he’d try to go for killing blows.

I doubt he’d get anywhere, though, unfortunately. I doubt that’s really a new experience with him, given his fights against the human, but unfortunately there is no Resetting this time and therefore no attempts to make Nightmare give up. Unless maybe he somehow convinced Killer to turn against Nightmare and support him?

I think that’d take a lot though. Potentially a chance that, if Killer were to ever agree to helping Dust with this, he may not actually have any actual hope in either of their escapes.

He may say it’s just a game, or something new, even if he may have a sliver of hope deep down. Either way, he’d probably expect to be punished for his betrayal regardless.

Killer may not even not be quite sure what to do if it were to succeed, may even trigger an intense dissociative (particularly derealization) or psychotic episode. And by psychotic, I mean hallucinations, delusions.

Potentially vivid flashbacks if something pushes a specific trauma trigger. Que the bouts of inappropriate uncontrollable laughter just like in the Something New comics.

Maybe viewing it all as some sort of game where he’s just unlocking new routes and paths is how he attempts to cope with it. Viewing his life as a Player would.

I don’t think Horror would try. I’m not an expert, but from what I’ve seen and heard, people seem to agree that he has the most..self preservation(?) out of the Murder Time Trio.

[tacitusk1llwhore]

So, let’s just get a few things out of the way first. You know the “Charles is manipulative. Calls real indigenous people red skins” person? This is them! They’re trying (and failing) to distance themselves from their past and past faults. But this post pissed me off so much, especially with random people agreeing with it, that I just had to make a response.

Let’s start from the top, shall we? Number one: “Abigail at her age should know.” When we get to the story of RDR2, Abigail is (I believe) 21 years old. She has a 4-year-old son, and if you don’t have a brain the size of a walnut, counting back from 21 to 4 is 17. Abigail was 17 when she was purchased by Uncle for sex and then exploited by other grown men who sold and bought her for sex in exchange for protection and a place to live. Abigail didn’t know any better; she was a 17-year-old girl being exploited, who just so happened to get pregnant. It’s not like they had sex ed back then; it’s not like she knew when her fertile days were or maybe even how to have safe sex. It’s 1895; they knew less back then about a woman’s body and cycles than we do now. So no. She didn’t know better. She was a teenager.

This next part really pisses me off because it’s kind of in the same range of telling a homeless person to just buy a house. “Why does she continue to raise her son in that environment?” What else is she supposed to do? At this point, she is at most 18 years old, with an infant and little to no money. What’s your best bet in this situation? Set off to god knows where to do god knows what or stay in camp, where there are people who will feed you, protect you, offer a semblance of safety, and shelter.

I’ll also point out the flaw in “she’d sell her body to feed herself but not her child?” Who exactly is going to care for that child while she’s gone? His deadbeat absent father? The men who are off doing jobs or manual labor around camp? The girls who also have chores and responsibilities?? Do you want her to drop him off at the non-existent 1899 daycare before her shifts? She could do sex work reasonably without a child because her only responsibility is herself; she doesn’t have a little one who needs to be looked after. Jack has access to food and water; they have meals in camp and a whole provisions wagon. She was asked to sell herself again by Grimshaw to make money for the CAMP, not for her son. She had every right to refuse.

“There were few jobs.” Not for a woman with a young child who cannot reasonably care for herself. Again, this is 1899. There’s no daycare or babysitters; she cannot, as a woman, own her own land or open her own bank account. So, again, where is she supposed to go? What is she supposed to do? She doesn’t hand her child off to Angelo Bronte, he’s kidnapped, and Tilly getting a job. I’m unsure where you got this from unless you’re speaking about the epilogue, in which the same still applies: she doesn’t have a young child. Asking why Abigail never learns to read or cook is also ridiculously ignorant. She’s an adult who is illiterate because of a lack of education; many were back then. Asking why she just doesn’t learn how to read as a teen or adult with an infant to take care of is just absolutely tone-deaf and ignorant.

Jacks childhood isn’t perfect, far from it. But that’s a deep dive for another day. However, blaming Abigail and only Abigail for their situation when she was a teenager with no support and even less life experience is insane, and the rest of your posts encouraging people to call sex workers whores and inciting others to dehumanize them shows you have no idea the historical contexts of being a woman in that day and age. Just like every other fucking post you make, it’s tone-deaf and harmful. Nice try with trying to distance yourself from your controversies though! Would’ve worked if you weren’t fucking brain-dead! xoxo

Abigail from RDR2

She gives me such mixed feelings. Judgment. Respect. Hatred. Admiration.

Probably the most controversial and complex character for me.

Let’s start with the cons:

A terrible mother.

2. A completely unremarkable person.

1. ⚘️ Mother.🤱

Let’s start with this: when you bring a person into this world, give them life — you carry responsibility. (Many might judge me for criticizing a beloved character, but I speak as a mother of two biological and two adopted children.)

I won’t criticize Abigail for her early “job,” where she serviced men. That’s her business. But the fact that she willingly slept with anyone — knowing it could lead to pregnancy — and still got pregnant and gave birth… There’s no excuse for that. Not her age. Not life circumstances. It was completely her responsibility, her choice. (I’m not talking about John here — this post isn’t about him. But yes, I have no fewer complaints about him either — and no excuses.)

It’s terrifying to think that with the number of men she was with, literally anyone could’ve been the father.

And then, when she realizes she’s pregnant, she’s already in the gang, and she tells the potential father — and he refuses to take responsibility.

Okay. So what does Abigail do next? She stays in a gang full of criminals and killers with a child. She raises her son in that environment.

The first thing that surprised me when I played Chapter 1 and got to camp was: “What’s a kid doing here?” I thought maybe he was an orphan they took in or something like that. Because he stayed on the sidelines, didn’t hang around anyone, was always on his own through so many chapters…

And then I realized — this child has a mother. And a father. A father who doesn’t even acknowledge him.

And in my head, I immediately thought: What are you even doing here, woman???

Why would you drag a 4-year-old, dressed in rags and light clothing (while you’re dressed warmly), into the mountains, into snow and a blizzard, where all of you could’ve starved to death if not for Arthur and Charles?

Are you a wanted criminal? No. Do you need to hide? No. Is your child a wanted criminal? No!

Then why the hell are you dragging him into this?

Because of a man who’s ignored you and your child for four years? Because of some fake sense of family with people you used to partially service?

So what’s more important… Your own child, who didn’t ask to be born and was your decision? Or a group of murderers you hang around with, who put your child at risk?

HE DIDN’T ASK TO BE BORN!!! HE DIDN’T ASK TO BE PART OF THIS LIFE!!! HE DIDN’T ASK TO SEE DEATH, STARVATION, THREATS, CRIME, SHOOTOUTS, OR THE ITALIAN MOB!!! HE JUST WANTED TO BE A CHILD — WITH A MOM, A HOME, AND BOOKS!!! 🤬🤬🤬

GIVE HIM A LIFE, NOT JUST SURVIVAL!!!

I was furious at the moment when Abigail told Jack he was wearing rags — then asked Arthur for $5 to buy him clothes…

But then she talks with Grimshaw. Susan says they need money, hints that Abigail should go back to her old job.

And what does Abigail say?

“I don’t do that anymore.”

She refuses. Wants to be better.

Okay… WHAT??? 🤨

Woman, your personal values — that’s admirable. But you have little Jack. He’s hungry. He needs clothes. Not torn boots. BOOKS!

You used to sell yourself when you were hungry — But when your child says, “Mommy, I’m hungry,” you suddenly become moral and above all that?!

Any mother should be willing to do anything for her child — You should go above and beyond, but he shouldn’t have to cry from hunger!!!

And then this moment…

When Jack says he’ll grow up to be a gunslinger — and she tells him he’ll be a lawyer…

…Oh sure, growing up in a gang hideout, of course he’ll be a lawyer…

The only truly selfless, right decision she could’ve made then — Was to leave the gang. Cut ties. Escape. Try — at any cost — to give Jack a better life.

No matter what people say about how hard life was for women back then, about how “there were no jobs” — There WERE jobs. !!! Yes, they were few. Yes, hard. But they existed.

Take Tilly as an example — she got a job as a governess with rich people. You could work in the fields, on a farm, or even still be a prostitute, for all I care — But it would be safer than handing your child over to a mob boss like Angelo Bronte, And after getting him back — doing NOTHING. Not even saying, “That’s it! We’re done here!” No, you go on — keeping him in that nightmare.

2. ⚘️ Wife and Person. 🧘‍♀️

Let’s skip to the epilogue. Abigail, John, and Jack. No more gang. Years have passed.

If in the first half of this post I was completely judging her — Here I’m just… confused.

Why doesn’t she grow as a person? Why doesn’t she learn to read? Why doesn’t she learn to cook? Why is she still making Pearson’s stew eight years later, and still doing it badly?

She knew Pearson way less time than she’s been cooking his damn stew after the gang fell apart!

I never saw any ambition in her. No drive to grow in any area. To become better, to be a role model for her son… Even when she had the chance.

But now — the Pros. Admiration.

Yes, despite everything, Abigail has strong qualities, and I want to highlight them:

1. Even if it took eight years — she goes out and gets a job.

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

And she works! It makes her happy, and it makes me, as a player, happy. Because I am proud of her choice. She starts small, but she earns an honest living, she tries to leave the past behind. She grew up. It’s like watching a messed-up kid finally decide to get their act together. And you think: “Now you’re doing it right. Now — good job.”

2. She chose her child over a man.

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

That was the moment I truly respected her. She leaves. She doesn’t want Jack to see death. She doesn’t want that fate for him. Yes, it’s late, but she realized it. She left John, clearly stating what she wants. She didn’t choose herself, or John — she chose Jack. And finally — she acted like a mother.

3. The Ranch.

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

She set a goal. She realized she deserved more than to be a whore or a camp maid. She wanted stability. And she was ready to fight for it. She’s strong. She can do it.

100% respect.

4. She loved John.

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

Madly loved him. This woman was ready to do anything for him. And she did everything she could. Loyalty. Courage. Patience. And the ability to look past flaws for the sake of love. It’s crazy. It’s foolish. But in our cruel world — it’s also precious.

5. The dialogue before “American Venom.”

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

I wanted to punch John. Seriously. When he ignored his woman, when she was begging him through tears, and he still walked away to do his thing.

Revenge? Settling scores? The past? I understand John — the need for justice, closure to old pain…

BUT I UNDERSTAND HER TOO.

Anyone who judges Abigail for “throwing a fit” in that moment — Are you serious?! That was a tiny meltdown!

WOMAN, YOU SHOULD’VE KICKED HIM IN THE BALLS.

What kind of man hears his wife cry and still walks off for revenge, risking EVERYTHING? EVERYTHING they built together. Risking making her a widow, and Jack — an orphan.

MIKA COULD’VE WON!!!

Conclusion.

If you compare Abigail Roberts and Abigail Marston — they are two completely different people.

Yes, at the start she fills me with rage and horror. But by the end — I see growth. I see a woman who — late, but still — tried to give Jack the best she could.

She’s not perfect. She’s — just like the rest of us.

And that’s exactly why her character is — beautiful.

I love her. 🩷🩷🩷

(This analysis is only about RDR2, without considering RDR1 events.)

[camydoesstuff]

Just Practice (Itadori x Reader)

“So, uh, how are we supposed to start?” Yuji asked with averted eyes and rose colored cheeks. 

Your heart was pounding, beating so hard in your chest that he could probably hear it. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It was just…practice. Kissing practice... So why were you so nervous? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A cute little Itadori x reader fluffy drabble. First kisses, kissing practice, unestablished relationship. Almost 1k of pure, self indulgent fluff. Enjoy~

“So, uh, how are we supposed to start?” Yuji asked with averted eyes and rose colored cheeks. 

Your heart was pounding, beating so hard in your chest that he could probably hear it. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It was just…practice. Kissing practice. Neither of you had kissed anyone before, and what better than to practice with your best friend with whom you’d trust your life to? It was an easy, logical decision. An answer to the silent craving. Not to mention the opportunity to prepare for the future. So why were you so nervous? 

Yuji cleared his throat, hand combing through his hair. “I know you agreed, but we don’t have to. If you don’t want to.” 

“No, no, I do,” you clarified. And you did. You were curious, and you were tired of feeling behind compared to everyone else. But your heart was beating so loud it was ringing in your ears and your stomach was so full of butterflies you could hardly breathe..

“I’m just really nervous,” you admitted quietly, squeezing your eyes shut as if it’d help calm the buzzing emotions rushing through you. You knew that once you start, as soon as you clear the hurdle of having never done this before, your nerves would dissipate quickly. But that hurdle felt monstrously tall.

A few beats passed, pure silence save from the light rumble of your fan on the bedside table. 

What if you were bad at it? 

What if you embarrass yourself?

What if—

A warmth against your cheek halted your thoughts in their tracks and your eyes flew open. Yuji was close, so close, inches from you as his kind, honey eyes flicked back and forth between yours. Then his lips were on yours. 

It lasted maybe a second, his hand pulling you in with too much force, giving you little time to react as he pecked your lips. Stunned enough to process nothing, you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in you as soon as he pulled away. 

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me!” Yuji pouted, retreating. You tried to stifle your laugh with your hand as you shook your head. 

“I’m not!” You promised, even if you were laughing at him a little bit. By the time you collected yourself, Yuji was pouting with arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, come on. Let’s try again, I wasn’t ready.” 

Yuji nodded and you tried again.

This one was more awkward than anything, you both leaning in an awkwardly long distance and puckering up far too much for another quick peck. 

“We’re doing something wrong,” you said as you pulled back, noticing there was a significant amount of space between you where you sat on the edge of the bed. You shifted over, thigh bumping into Yuji’s. “Maybe we need to be closer?” 

You tried a third time. 

Soft; that’s the first word that crossed your mind. His lips were so soft. Warm was the second, his warm palm reaching to caress your cheek again, holding you there a moment longer. His skin had a slightly sweet and clean smell, nearly overpowered by the gentle cologne he often wore. A soft sigh escaped you as your body relaxed, soothed as if your heart was pulled into a warm hug. 

The feeling was cut short when Yuji pulled away. 

His eyes almost dazed as he stayed near, solely focused on your lips before coming back to his senses. 

“That was…a lot better,” you said, feeling heat rush to your cheeks beneath his palm. 

“Y-yeah,” Yuji agreed, a bit breathless. His thumb gently brushed your cheek as his eyes landed on your lips once more. “Can I do it again?” 

You couldn’t even get a word out before he was on you again, kissing harder than before. It wasn’t like the pecks; his lips were still soft and pliant, but there was something else behind it which made your head spin. Your heart leapt in your chest when his hand moved, brushing back to cradle the side of your neck to pull you in further. Your hands somehow landed on his arm, just holding. Needing something to touch. Just when your lungs began to burn, he pulled away long enough to breathe before going back in. 

It was dizzying and electrifying at the same time, your nerves on fire but your body equally relaxed. You didn’t want it to stop. But the awkward crane in your neck from the way you two were sitting, side to side on the edge of the bed, started to demand attention. 

You pulled back, lingering long enough to notice Yuji’s eyes half-hooded and dazed again, and how his lips were slightly more red than they’d been before. 

“You’re, ah…” you start as you turn away slightly, straightening out your neck and rubbing at the sore spot that’d developed. “...Good at that.” 

Yuji smiled, soft and pleased, but it faded as slight concern washed over his features. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, my neck is just sore from being turned like that,” you explained, the tension slowly easing away. Heat blossomed in your cheeks again as an idea formed.

“Here, move back a little?” You asked, Yuji following without hesitation. A mix of newfound confidence and slight desperation to have the feeling back helped encourage you as you moved to straddle him. He looked up to you with an equal mix of shock and awe. 

“Maybe we could try it like this?” 

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

would anyone want a part 2?

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Crimson Ties ~ 22

CRIMSON TIES MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,665ish

Summary: Weeks pass and you're getting better... Then it all caves in around you.

Warning(s): talk of rape, talk of abuse, death, mental health, violence

Note(s): I just cannot stop. Honestly, at this point, the series will probably wrap up in the next week or two.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

You nervously played with the hem of your sweatshirt as your therapist studied you. It had been a few weeks since you started therapy now and things were looking up, though you were waiting for the next bomb to drop.

“Is there something else on your mind today, Y/N?” Your therapist asked, reading you easily.

“I… I’m struggling with what I’m feeling towards Tony,” you admitted softly.

“Oh? Tell me more.”

You kept your gaze on the thread you were pulling. “I don’t really understand it. It’s not what I expected… And I don’t know what to do with it.”

“What exactly is it that you’re feeling?”

You hesitated. “It started small… Like before everything that happened. He was attentive and asked questions and tried to get to know me… No one has ever done that. I thought that would go away after the attacked but it’s only multiplied… He reads me to sleep almost every night because it helps the nightmares. He always is careful when he moves around me, not to spook me… He never makes me talk… But I want to talk to him because no one has ever listened to me like he does… And he listens to not just what I’m saying, but what I’m meaning. Even when I struggling to get it right… I catch myself looking for him, hovering near his office. I feel like I can fully take breaths when he’s around… I think I’m starting to care about him. Like… really care… and it’s terrifying.”

“What do you think it’s so scary?”

Your eyes begin to sting as you bite your lip, the words rushing around in your head. “Because… what if this is him just doing his duty? Like… what if he’s just doing this because he thinks he’s supposed to? If that’s true, them I’m setting myself up to get hurt… Again… And this time, it won’t just be my body and mind… my heart would be involved too… I’m not used to someone like him… Someone who doesn’t expect anything from em, who just… stays. Even when I’m drowning.”

“It sounds like he’s become a safe place for you.”

“Yeah… He is… Sometimes, I catch him looking at me like… Like I’m not broken. Like I mater… I don’t know how to trust that. And he thinks that I haven’t noticed, but he calls me sweetheart and honey. Like it’s so natural… I like it.”

“You’re allowed to want that, Y/N. You’re allowed to feel something good. And you don’t have to apologize for it.”

“But what if this is all because emotions are running high?”

“If this all started before the incident, then trust it, Y/N. Trust yourself. You are allowed to.”

~~~

You stepped out of therapy feeling like a heavy weight was lifted off of you. Tony was there in the waiting room, another bouquet in his hand as he still tried to find you your favorite flower. He stood immediately, soft smile on his face. You smiled back.

“How’d today’s session go?” He asked.

“Good,” you nodded. “Really good.”

“That’s great, sweetheart. Should we go to lunch to celebrate?”

“Can we go somewhere close? I— I want to walk.”

“Of course.”

He held the door open for you and the two of you were soon walking down the street. Tony still had your bouquet in his arms, wanting to carry it for you. You kept stealing glances at Tony. You wanted to reach out to him, but didn’t know how. Tony caught sight of your fingers nervously tapping against your leg.

“Is everything alright?” He wondered.

“What? Yes,” you quickly responded.

He lifted a brow, unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“There’s a diner just another two blocks from here. Is that okay?”

“Mhm.” 

You let out a long breath before you slipped your arm through Tony’s. He tensed for a brief moment before stepping closer to you to make sure there wasn’t much strain on your arm. The two of you walked in silence the rest of the way to the diner. Happy, Natasha, and Bucky were following in the cars while Steve and Yelena were close behind you.

The bell above the door jingled as you and Tony stepped inside the little diner. The place was quiet— just a few booths filled, the scent of coffee and fried food hanging in the warm air. Tony glanced around before guiding you to a booth in the corner. His arm slipped from yours, his hand moving to hover near you back, not touching you, as you sat down. He sat across from you, resting the flowers off to the side. A waitress brought by two menus for you and you began looking it over.

“What are you thinking?” Tony asked, focused more on you than his own open menu.

“I… I don’t know,” you whispered. 

“Take your time, honey. No pressure. Order the whole menu if you want. I don’t care.”

The waitress checked in two times before you felt somewhat comfortable with making a choice. Tony silently urged you on as the waitress waited patiently for you two tell her your order. You didn’t even register Tony’s order, too busy processing what you had just done. Once it was just the two of you again, you risked looking at Tony. He was smiling— not in a smug or surprised way. It was soft, like you had just done something so monumental and changed the world. And maybe, in some way, you had.

~~~

“And your sure it was her?” Tony asked, staring at the documents in front of him.

“Yes,” Rhodey responded. “Pepper was the one who put the video footage on the screen.”

“And there’s still no sign of her?”

“No.”

Tony’s jaw clenched. “And Obadiah?”

“No movement.”

“He’s planning something again. We cannot be unprepared like we were last time.”

“We’re trying.”

“I need better than trying. Are all the safe houses renovated and ready to go?”

“Yes,” Peggy answered. “And they’re stocked with food and clothes.”

Tony nodded, fingers tapping on the desk as he turned to look at two photos framed on his desk. One of his parents and a candid one of you that he snuck a week ago while you had your hands deep in clay.

“I want this over,” he mumbled. 

“We all do,” Rhodey agreed.

A hand ran down Tony’s face as he sighed. “She’s doing better but I can tell she doesn’t trust it fully. She’s still looking over the shoulder for the next shoe to drop.”

“We’re trying our best, Tony.”

“I know… I just wish that was enough.”

~~~

You often left your new studio door open, mostly for comfort. In the weeks since Tony gifted it to you, you hadn’t finished many projects but you were content with that. You focused more on feeling the clay in your hands and how it seemed to cause all your troubles to go away. Tony leaned against the open door, watching as you worked the clay on the wheel, pushing it up and down. You could feel eyes on you, but you were scared. Tony’s stare had become something you could sense and allowed you to feel safe. You glanced up with a small smile.

“Hey, Tones,” you greeted. “You done for the day?”

“Unfortunately, not,” he pushed himself off the door and began walking towards you. “But I came to check on you. You working on something?”

“No. Just feeling the clay.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes. Yelena had the cook put something together. I think there’s leftovers in the fridge if you want any.”

“I’ll check it out. Do you need anything before I’m busy again?”

“No,” you shook your head. “Do you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything Tony?”

He could have melted right there. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll let you know if it’s anything different.”

“Yeah?”

“I promise.” Silence grew between you two for a bit. “I’ll let you continue working.”

“Okay… Please don’t work too hard, Tony. You need to rest too.”

“I’ll head to bed soon, as long as you do the same.”

“Come get me when you’re done and I will.”

~~~

Tony quickly took care of things within the hour as to make sure that you don’t stay up too late. He came back to your studio to find you cleaning up. He helped you with what was leftover before walking you to the bedroom just a few steps down the hall.

“Are you going to be alright?” Tony asked softly. “Do you need anything before bed?”

You shook your head. “I’m tired, so I think I’ll fall asleep easily.”

“Good… good. I’ll just be down the hall if you need anything.”

“Thank you and… goodnight, Tones.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

~~~

You knew that a storm was coming, there was still a tension in the air and Tony was busier than ever. But you were feeling better about things and everyone was doing their best to let you focus on your healing. 

Another two weeks passed and you were in your therapist’s office again for another session. The session had gone well so far.

“You’re doing much better than you give yourself credit for,” your therapist said with a small, encouraging smile. “Like, have you noticed how much calmer your body is today? You’re holding yourself differently.”

“I feel it,” you responded. “It’s… It’s easier to breathe lately… Especially when he’s nearby.”

Your therapist nodded. “You’re trusting more. That’s good.”

~~~

Outside in the waiting room, Tony already had your flowers sitting beside him as he read a book you recommended. Happy was outside with the car while Yelena, Natasha, Bucky, and Steve were stationed around the office. Bucky was closest to the door when he heard a thud outside. His brows furrowed.

“Something’s wrong,” he mumbled.

Before anyone can move, the windows in the waiting room crashed open, small explosions activating. Smoke filled the room as objects and debris went flying. Before any of them could get their bearings together, armed men came filing through the door and immediately began fighting your bodyguards and Tony. Guns began firing.

“Get to Y/N!” Steve shouted.

~~~

You jumped from the couch when you heard the windows break. Your therapist stood up as well.

“Get behind the desk,” your therapist ordered.

You couldn’t move as the sound of guns firing and shouts filtered through the door. Your heart was pounding. Your therapist grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the other side of her desk. She shoved you under.

“Stay here,” she ordered.

~~~

“Someone get Y/N out of here!” Tony shouted.

But no one could focus on getting to you. There were too many men. Before anyone knew it, Natasha was knocked out, Yelena was shot on the side, and Bucky had a knife through his arm. Yelena and Bucky were still fighting, but their movements were slower now. Steve and Tony were trying their best, but they were coming up short. 

Tony’s focus was you. He needed to get to you. To make sure that you were safe and okay. But as he turned, he was whacked in the head with a thick baton. He fell to the ground, knocked out cold.

“Tony!” Steve shouted as Tony was tied up and began to be dragged out of the office.

~~~

Your heart stopped when you heard Steve shout Tony’s name. You curled under the desk further, shaking. Tears were sliding down your cheeks. Was Tony okay? Were any of them okay?

Steve burst through the door, frantically scanning the room for you. Your therapist motioned to under the desk as she took in the ruined waiting room. Steve’s long strides made it possible for him to quickly get in front of you.

“Y/N?” He softly called your name. There was blood splattered across his face. “I need to get you out of here. Rhodey and Peggy and others are on their way. But I need to get you to a safe house.

“Where’s— Where’s To—Tony?” You stammered. You couldn’t quite figure out the look on Steve’s face. “Steve… Where is he?”

“I promise that will will get him back, Y/N.”

“No.” You shook your head, curling into yourself further. “No!” Sobs wracked your body. “He’s gone! He’s gone!”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. But we have to go.”

Steve didn’t waste another second. He grabbed you and picked you up. You were crying and shouting for Tony as he carried you through the fight scene. Bucky, Natasha, and Yelena had helped each other into one of the cars. You gasped when you saw Happy’s body, bleeding out into the streets. You began to cry and shout more, thrashing in Steve’s hold. He stuffed you into the back of the car and rushed around to the driver’s seat and took off. The others stayed close to the therapists office, waiting for Rhodey to arrive.

“No! No!” You cried. “Tony! Tony!”

Steve gripped the steering wheel tight as he sped towards one of the safe house. Your cries where making it hard for him not to just pull over and hold you. But he had to get you somewhere safe. Tony would never forgive him if he didn’t.

~~~

Tony stirred awake with a groan, every bone in his body protesting. His vision swam, a dull throb in his head where he had been hit. His arms were cuffed behind him, now shackled to a metal chair bolted to the floor. The room was dim, concrete walls cold and dripping. 

The heavy door creaked open before Obadiah stepped in. His presence filled the space like a poison. His hands were tucked behind his back.

“You could’ve just called,” Tony couldn’t help but tease. 

Obadiah didn’t respond right away. He circled the chair, like a vulture, finally stopping behind Tony. “I always wondered what would finally bring you to your knees. Turns out it wasn’t business. Wasn’t power. Wasn’t even the death of your parents.” Obadiah moved around, a smug look on his face. “Turns out, it was my daughter.” Tony’s jaw clenched. “She’s made you soft.”

“She’s made me human.”

“Human,” Obadiah repeated, like the word offended him. “She was supposed to a burden. She was also supposed to be a snake in your midst. But she’s weaker than I ever realized. You somehow gained her trust. Made her believe that she’s matters.”

“She does matter. Far more than you ever deserve to understand.”

“Do you know what weakness looks like, Stark? It’s loving someone who can be taken from you. Who can be broken, again and again. It’s why I’ve never loved her.”

Obadiah crossed the room to a small table. He picked up a tablet and turned it on. He faced the screen towards Tony. A paused security feed filled the screen: you under the desk, sobbing with Steve crouched in front of of you. Tony’s whole body tensed.

“You see that?” Obadiah taunted. “She’s already unraveling.”

“If you dare go near her again—“

“Oh, Stark, I already have. And I will again and again. You think you’re protecting her? All you’ve done is make her more important. Now she’s not just my pawn. She’s yours. Because what I’ve learned is that if I kept her broken, I keep you weak. And you feed into that.”

“I would never use her like you have!”

“Clearly. Or she would already be with your child.”

“If you touch her—“

“You’ll what? You’re bleeding. Cuffed. Kidnapped.”

“They will find me.”

“Not in time.”

Obadiah slammed the door shut as he left. Tony leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He pictured your face. The way you looked at him before you went into your session. The way your eyes lit up as you worked with the clay. You had become his anchor. And if you were out there, still breathing, he would survive. Not because he had an empire to return to run. But because you needed him to.

next chapter >

[wistericallhystericall]

forever ruined oat milk | theodore nott

theodore nott | crack treated seriously | wc: 2091

summary: more of writer!reader dating serial killer!theodore nottwarnings: kinda references murder and torture, nothing really explicit more than that (if it helps, all the people theodore kills are evil evil death eaters so it's more so just vigilante shit); also reader knows about theo's hobby in this one and helps him out sometimes (couple goals)

“You have about two seconds to explain exactly what is going on here.”

Theodore looked at what was inside of the fridge with a blue tint washing over his face—fear and dread running through his veins at the sight. He hadn’t wanted to keep the head away from their home, away from the fridge and disposed of somewhere else. Yet he had to bring it home last night—where it now rested beside the oat milk jug.

Would this mean that you and him were done? Were you going to pack your bags—expose him to the Aurors and turn him in? Theo’s heart was pounded against his chest in dread, not wanting you to leave him ever. His mind was racing at the ways that he would have to keep you with him. 

“I can explain—” he stuttered out.

“I don’t care about how you got the head, I already know about that—” you said, waving your hands around before pointing at the milk jug. “I’m asking you to explain why you brought it here. Into our kitchen fridge—I mean, do you know how dangerous that is?”

Theo’s mouth opened to continue his explanation, going to spit out word after word to convince you to stay, before it shut right after. “You—” he murmured quietly. “You know?”

“Of course I know,” you said to him. “You keep your journal near the couch all the time—your handwriting is very pretty by the way—but I needed some research for my writing.” you said to him. “I’m not sure how I didn’t see it earlier to be honest, especially with how much you know about killing.”

“Well—” he stuttered out, “Wait, do you not care?”

“You kill Death Eaters, I really don’t care about them much. What I do care about is the fact that there’s a decapitated head sitting next to my oat milk!” you whined out, waving your hands dramatically to gesture at the head once more. “My oat milk is going to be forever ruined because of this—and I really wanted to make tea. You have five seconds to explain this.”

Theodore looked at you with a look one could only consider religious—though a religious man might consider him blasphemous with the way he wanted to worship you instead of God. “You are the best woman I have ever met in my life.” he murmured in awe.

“This isn’t helping your case, Teddy.” you said, poking his stomach. “Speak.”

He chuckled quietly, wrapping his arms around his chest as he looked over at the head in the fridge. “I was going to dispose of it earlier—there’s something specific in there that I think might help me find more Death Eaters.” he explained quietly, hands squeezing his arms in anxiety. “Though I suppose sleep deprivation causes you to confuse fridges.”

“You better get me new oat milk.” you said, shaking your head. 

“I feel like we’re brushing past the whole ‘I’m a murderer’ part of this conversation.” Theodore muttered out confusedly. “How are you not bothered by this?”

You shrugged confusedly—and Theodore was positive that you probably didn’t know yourself. “I mean, you kill Death Eaters. Really one could define it as self-defense if they’re delusional.” you explained to him. “Plus, it helps with my writing. How else would I get accurate descriptions if it weren’t for you.”

“Ah, so I’m becoming your scientific journal.” he chuckled quietly to you.

You giggled and nodded. “Course you are.”

“I wanted to try something new for date night,” Theodore called out to you—walking into the living room with a black shirt and black slacks dressing his body. “If you would indulge me.”

You looked up at him with an exasperated expression, not even started on getting ready for what he had planned. “I would really love to, really—” you murmured quietly, hands pointing down to your computer screen. “But I really have to get this chapter done. My publisher is on my ass about it, I have to finish this portion of the book by the end of the week.”

“Well what are you struggling with?” he asked you curiously.

You sighed dramatically, handing him the laptop. “I hate action scenes, Teddy.” you murmured out quietly. “This scene especially, it sucks so much.”

“Would it help if I told you that my date idea had to do with this scene?” he asked.

You looked up at him confusedly—chuckling softly and putting your laptop down. “How did you know I was going to do this scene in the first place?” you asked him.

“You’re not the only one who journals.” he winked teasingly. “I placed an outfit on the bed for you, go get dressed.”

You looked up at him before giggling softly, and Theodore watched you walk over to the bedroom and get ready. He grabbed your hand and held it when the both of you walked out—walking through the city streets and moving closer and closer to the more rural area. Theodore’s butchery shop was near this area, a small forest, one that he had gotten quite used to the terrain of as of recently. 

“What’re we gonna do?” you asked him confusedly. 

Theodore chuckled quietly as they stumbled upon an abandoned building, his hand reaching for the doorknob and twisting it open. Inside was a Death Eater that was bound to the wall—outfit slightly torn just like the character in your book was meant to be. “Creative release!”

You blinked at the scene in front of you, more so confused than disgusted. 

“Are you sure about this?” you asked him confusedly, one of your notebooks in his hands as he handed it over to you. “I don’t know if I can do that to someone.”

“Can you watch?” he asked you.

You looked up at him before over at the Death Eater. “I mean, I could watch. For scientific purposes.”

He chuckled quietly at that and grabbed a knife, holding it up to the unconscious Death Eater’s necks. “Well, cutting here would just kill them automatically. So you need to either do something rather shallow or something somewhere else. I prefer to cut here—”

Your hands moved your pen against the paper before your mind could truly catch up, drawing diagrams and writing words for your manuscript.

“I’m going to kill him.” Theodore grumbled out. 

You were currently hanging out with Theodore and some of his friends—Mattheo, Lorenzo and Pansy—with Theodore currently pacing around the room in anger.

Pansy had decided to invite you out for a fun drinking game that they often did in their childhood. You had quite a bit of fun with the game, talking about your book and exes that the five of you all had. Mattheo had talked about his secret rendezvous with various women while Pansy talked about her issues with men in the dating scene—which eventually had started a conversation about your toxic ex.

Suffice to say, Theodore did not like him after this.

“It’s okay, my love.” you murmured out, watching as Theodore paced around the couches. Pansy and Lorenzo seemed to be looking a bit fearful of his pacing. Mattheo was sitting next to you, a large smirk on his face as he watched Theo pace. 

“It is not okay!” he exclaimed—his voice cursing out in Italian like a bow running sharply against the strings of a viola. “I swear, I’m going to strangle him.”

You sighed dramatically. “Well, I was going to use him for a part of my book.” you murmured quietly. 

“Can I choke him?” he asked you, walking over to you with an almost pleading look in your eyes. “Please principessa? I promise to make it poetic.”

You rolled your eyes. “Something clean.”

“He doesn’t deserve clean.” he grumbled, sitting down next to you much like a petulant child might. You weren’t quite sure why Pansy or Lorenzo were scared of him—you knew that Theodore wouldn’t do anything to hurt people that he loved. “He deserves to be in pain.”

You sighed quietly and shook your head. “What are you thinking, Teddy?”

“I’m thinking something torturous.” he murmured quietly, kissing your cheek and wrapping you into a cuddle on the couch. His body rested between your legs as his head rested on your chest—while you rested your journal on top of his back to write on it. “Maybe something involving bleach or fire.”

“Bleach?” Lorenzo murmured quietly, both him and Pansy sitting in shock still.

You scoffed quietly. “You’d have to buy quite a bit of bleach and matches. Wouldn’t be good on a receipt if he was looked for.”

“Okay, then I’ll dismember and drown him.” he said to you.

“That’ll bloat him.” you murmured quietly to Theo, writing something else down in your notebook. “Plus the body parts might float upstream. They might find him.”

Theo scoffed quietly. “What do you suggest then?” he asked.

“Acid?” you suggested quietly. “I could use it as a metaphor.”

“That sounds—” he murmured quietly before sitting up a bit straighter. There was a look of awe in his face that he had almost always been showing you recently—ever since you had figured out that he was a serial killer and helped him with his processes. It was more prominent now than before though, a small smile growing on his face. “Where does he live?”

“Near that bakery.” you mumbled non-committedly, flipping to the next page of your journal.

He laughed quietly and pulled you in for a kiss—lips caressing yours for a moment before he stood up and rushed out of the house. 

“What the fuck was that?” Pansy asked you incredulously. Lorenzo was following close behind her, though his friend Mattheo had been bursting out in laughter the entire conversation. 

You shrugged quietly. “Nothing serious.”

“How the fuck does a serial killer have more game than us?” Lorenzo asked incredulously, sighing dramatically and sinking into the couch. “God, I hate my life.”

“Would you ever kill me?” you asked Theodore curiously.

Theodore dropped the ceramic mug that he was holding, the glass shattering on the floor as he looked over at him. “Would I what?”

“Well, Pansy and Enzo seem rather scared of you—and I was wondering if I should be scared of you too.” you explained to him, though you seemed way too calm to be asking that kind of question. “I’d rather know up front than having to figure it out later.”

Theodore scoffed as he walked over to you. “I would never, are you insane?” 

You looked over at him before bursting out into laughter for some reason that Theo did not yet know. “Oh, your face is hilarious!” you chuckled.

“Don’t even begin to suggest something like that.” he said to you, sighing as he sat down next to you. His head was resting on your lap now—no doubt affected by the question that you had asked. 

The truth was that he could kill you—that he might snap one day and confuse you for someone else, that he might run his knife into your stomach and have to do nothing but cry as he watched you bleed to death. Yet, despite those thoughts, you looked down at him with nothing but love and admiration. 

“I know you wouldn’t,” you chuckled quietly. “I write your alibis after all.”

“I wouldn’t kill you because I love you.” he said sternly as he looked up at you. “Not because of that.”

You smiled softly and leaned down to kiss him—albeit with a slight groan from the angling of your back. “I know, lover.” you chuckled quietly. “Though you need to work on your alibis more often.”

“I—” he murmured quietly before furrowing his eyebrows confusedly. “Wait, what?”

“Your timeline was messy—when you killed my ex.” you murmured quietly as you pulled your notebook out. “The cameras were messed up, not to mention that the times were completely messed up when you tried to hack through them.” you explained to him.

Theo blinked up at you once, twice, before sighing quietly. “Do you think that they’re gonna catch me?”

“Who says that I would allow that?” you chuckled quietly, running your hand through his hair as you wrote something else inside of your notebook. “I fixed the cameras for you, don’t worry.”

Theodore looked up at you, blinking once and twice yet again. His brain had shut off for a moment before restarting itself—a soft groan coming out of his mouth as he leaned his head back. By God, this woman was going to be the death of him. 

thank you so much for reading! i wanted to write more about serial killer theo x writer reader who actually knows about theo's whole hobby—because why not—and i think that this turned out really funny! if you want to read the first part, you can click here, and if you want more fluffy content as well, you can check out my main writing blog over here <3

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