#don't look behind the curtain etc

[pochapal]

once is noise twice is coincidence three times is a pattern...we're never gonna get a good look at any of these crime scenes at any point ever are we

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Show☆Time

It'll all work out

It had been a couple of weeks since you last had your first true conversation with Dick.

He ended up not being able to make it to your performance (unsurprisingly) and your hope was wavering.

Tonight, you had to perform for a bunch of Gotham prep students.

You were nervous but also excited.

You had been practicing for a while, and everything was working out!

After a couple of minutes of rehearsing, the students started making their way in

You finished getting ready, putting the finishing touches

The curtain opened and you performed.

You noticed how one of your older brothers was in the crowd.

He was technically only older by like 2 years, but he was older.

You were so happy! Someone from your family finally came!

You tried not to break character and wave to him.

After the show, you were cleaning up with your friends.

Much to your surprise, Damian came up to you.

"Damian!" your eyes lit up in joy "Did you like the show?"

"TT it was acceptable." Damian crossed his arms and looked away

"YAAAYY!☆" You hugged him and spun him around playfully much to his dismay.

"Let me down!" Damian got out of your hold and walked away.

Rui put his hand on your shoulder "How about we go out for dinner?"

You and your friends decided to get bat burger to celebrate everything going well

You and Tsukasa were talking about plans for shows, and Nene and Rui had their drinks in their hands watching you both talk loudly about whether or not you guys need another confetti canon.

"I'm telling you, we don't need one more, we already have 2!" Tsukasa says, grabbing one of Ruis's fries

"third time's the charm☆!" you take a bite of Rui's fries as well

"Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but it's getting late, we should start heading out." Nene says, taking a napkin and clearing your cheek free of ketchup.

"Okie dokie!" you get up and clear the table.

After a couple of minutes, you all headed out to the fast food joint, drinks in hand.

"Okay, so you'll accept another plushie parachute but not another confetti cannon? We already have 5 of them!" you argued

"The difference is that confetti cannons are more expensive!" Tsukasa dramatically struck his hand on his chest, making you giggle

"I can afford it!" you were right and everyone knew it. Your monthly allowance was more than some people's yearly salary.

"G-guys quiet down! It's dangerous out here-!" nene tried to quiet you both down.

"Nene's right, we are heading towards an alleyway, it's dark out, and you never know." Rui added

"oh cmon, we are fine!" Tsukasa said, turning to look at Nene, only to hear you yell out

They turned to look at you

You weren't there. You had disappeared into the dark alleyway, and the cup you were holding now spilled onto the ground.

Your friends all looked at each other for a second before running behind you.

They saw you and tried to grab onto you, only for the goons to drag you away swiftly.

Rui ran after you, much to Nene and Tsukasa's dismay.

They ran.

They ran and ran to the manor.

They hated to admit it, but they needed to tell your family.

They'd all been at the manor a couple of times, for projects, performances, just regular hangouts, etc.

And from what you told them about your family, they disliked them.

They rang the doorbell.

Alfred opened the door, preparing for the worst, only to see Nene was out of breath and lying on the floor.

"Madam Nene and Master Tsukasa? What are you both doing here?"

"It's Y/N! She got kidnapped by someone!" Tsukasa said, trying to get Nene up from the ground.

"And Rui ran after them!" Nene added, wiping her dress free of dirt.

Alfred sat them both down and called your family and told them what happened.

After a minute or two, the vigilantes came.

"Why are the heroes here?" Tsukasa asked, looking at them

"Vigilantes." Nene corrected "Plus, they probably didn't have time for Y/N, they never do."

Tsukasa and Nene started bickering, being shut up by Batman clearing his throat

"Do you know where she is now?" Red Robin asked

"Yeah, we have her and Rui's life 360, it says she's in a warehouse." Nene showed her phone to him

"Probably holding her for ransom," Tsukasa added

"You're probably right, she's like, the princess of Gotham." Nene agreed

"you guys stay here and we'll go fetch her," Robin said, grabbing his katana.

"No." Tsukasa crossed his arms.

"No?" Nightwing lifted an eyebrow, looking towards Tsukasa.

"No. We know where she is, and we want to help her. We are coming." Nene argued

After much arguing from both parties, Nene and Tsukasa were allowed to come.

They all got into the batmobile and made their way over to the warehouse.

When they finally got near the warehouse, they had to park far away to not get caught by the cameras.

Nene started slowing down immensely due to a lack of energy and had to be given a piggyback ride by Red Robin.

They all ran in, nene still being carried by Red Robin on his back.

Rui was hiding behind a giant wooden box, calling everyone over to a blindspot cameras couldn't catch.

You were up, hanging by the leg, upside down, hands crossed like a bat.

"Y/N?!" your friends exclaimed in confusion

"Hey guys!" you giggled and waved

"Y/N, we're gonna help you get down," Batman said, already scanning the room for any attackers.

"Y/N!" Rui yelled, grabbing everyone's attention

"Shut it, you going to get us caught!" Red Robin covered Ruis mouth, dropping Nene in the process.

Before Red Robin could apologize to her, Rui continued; "Try to untie the rope! Or use something around you to do it!"

"She's going to fall." Red Hood stated already preparing for the worst

"She won't." Nene states knowingly

Robin points his katana toward her chin "Are you stupid? Of course, she'll fall, she's 35 feet in the air!"

Tsukasa ignored their threats "Do it, now!"

You immediately started undoing the knot, you had no idea what the plan was, but you were gonna freeball it.

You watched as everyone started arguing, causing a commotion.

Some goons started making their way toward them, you needed to do something, fast.

You yelled "Fire! Fire! Some bad guys are coming your way!" you still fumbled around with the knot, it was hurting to be upside down.

Before you knew it, everyone was fighting.

Nene was fighting a goon using her pepper spray, while Robin fighting twogoons who were ready to attack her.

Rui was making his way toward you, ready to catch you in case anything went wrong.

And Red Hood wasn't far behind him, preparing himself as well.

After a few seconds, you managed to untie yourself and were holding on to the rope.

"Don't look down!" Rui yelled

Hearing that, you looked down out of habit.

35 feet above.

You were scared.

You were slipping.

You had to get it over with.

Red Hood held his breath and watched as you jumped, thinking you were gonna plummet down to your death

...only for you to fall like a fairytale princess

This was normal to you, you didn't believe in physics.

You aimed for Rui to catch you, and you missed and landed in Red Hood's arms.

You looked at him with a gleam in your eyes

Red hood! Your favorite vigilante!

Before you could start saying hi to him, you saw in the corner of your eye Nene was struggling.

Sure, she had Robin with her, but she was a little weaker compared to the 3 goons attacking them.

You wriggled out of Red Hood's hold and made your way to the goons.

You could hear him yelling at you to not harm yourself, but you needed to help Nene!

You pulled out a comically sized hammer from out of your performer costume, which was around 3x your height, and started hitting the goons.

Red Robin looked at you in confusion, "Where did you get that from?"

"don't worry about it!" you swung around your hammer like a baton

You heard a gunshot.

You turned to look for where it

Came from and saw the bullet had almost hit Nene.

She was frozen in fear.

You saw the goon about to shoot her again, and you tackled her to push her out of the way.

The bullet ended up hitting the side of your stomach, making Nene's eyes widen.

Tsukasa and Rui made their way toward you and kept you from passing out

You passed out as soon as Nightwing got to you.

Your friends were all ushered out by Nightwing, who was escorting them to the batmobile.

He placed you on a seat, Rui was next to you putting pressure on the wound.

You were passed out from the pain.

As soon as you all got to the manor, Nightwing tried to get them all to go home.

Fortunately, Nightwing gave up on trying to get them all to go home.

Tsukasa was well trained in wounds due to spending some time learning about medical things when he was younger due to being in the hospital a lot when he was growing up, so he helped Nightwing patch you up.

It took you around half an hour to wake up.

You were in a guest room, surrounded by the vigilantes yet again.

Your head was lying on Nene's lap, who was stroking your hair.

There was a tense silence as if everyone was scared to talk.

Nene was the first to speak; "You shouldnt've done that."

"Huh?" You questioned

"You shouldn't have taken that bullet for me, you know." Nene continued stroking your hair, looking a bit sadder

"if I didn't, you would've been hurt. I'd rather me get hurt." You fidgeted with the bracelet on her other arm.

After a while, your friends went home as soon as the vigilantes confirmed everything was okay.

After a moment you realized,

"Where's my family?" You asked, looking toward Batman

"They're, uh, busy. In a meeting." He quickly replied

"Oh, that makes sense. Well, when they get home could you tell them I'm tired? I need to go to bed." You got up and left to go to your room.

As soon as you were out of earshot, the vigilantes conversed with themselves

"..does she not know we're..?" Red Robin asked Batman

"Apparently she doesn't. I thought she did."

The next morning, you were awoken by Dick bringing you breakfast in bed.

"We heard about what happened to you from Nightwing, we are so sorry we couldn't be around to help! We were stuck in a, uh, meeting!" He placed the plate on the bed tray placed on your bed

You were still half asleep when he explained

"Please meet us downstairs when you are done." He walked out, closing the door softly on his way out.

This was unusual. It was a welcome change.

Once you were done, you grabbed your duffle bag covered in charms and pins and made your way downstairs.

You saw everyone sitting down in a circle formation as if it was an intervention.

You sat down, putting the bag next to you.

"What's in the bag?" Tim asked, slightly intimidating.

"My performer outfit! I'm so excited for rehearsal-☆" You were about to talk about your day, but you saw everyone's guilty look.

"About that," Jason put a hand on the back of his neck "you can't perform for a while."

"WHAT?!"

"it's only for a month and a half. Until your wound heals. Doing your flips and shit could reopen it and make it worse. You need to heal." Jason said, trying to comfort you

"but-but-but!" you teared up slightly, you strongly disliked this.

"it'll be a month. No more, no less. You'll be able to perform again." Your father said

"Okay.." you were excited to get that month and a half over with as soon as possible.

oh god this was bad

guys im.trying to learn how to write better trsut

if this seems rushed its causw i dornr know how ro write help

guys trust more bug like angel coming soon🙏

anyways

taglist: @shirp-collector-of-fixations @maybeethan69 @iluvcatzz @tacendxx @ninihrtss @tsxukikami @d3sperate-enuf @staarflowerr @chaoticmoontimetravel @crazycaoticsimp @sugarrush-blush @kaitense1 @ryuushou @weebbuscuit @eyeless-kun @twismare @mirou-x3

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Besotted 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You're stiff and sore. Every part of you is cramped. You open your eyes, lids as heavy as the rest of you. You groan and shift as a weight rests against you. Bucky's arm is hooked around you as he holds you close. 

"Doll," he rolls his pelvis against you. Again. 

You shield your face from the slat of sunlight leaking in around the curtains. You brush his arm and sigh, "I gotta go, Bucky." 

"Where?" He nuzzles the back of your head, rocking against you. 

"Stop!" You smack him and giggle. "I mean it. I have to work." 

"I'll put you to work," he grits. 

"No more," you reach to shove his hip. "Bucky, I can't go anymore." 

"You can't?" He tickles down to your pelvis. "Didn't you beg me for this?" 

"I did, but... " 

"You got what you want, huh?" He snickers. 

"More than," you assure him and clutch his thick fingers. "I'm sorry, but I can't miss work." 

"Baby," he drawls as you sit up, pushing past his resistance. You grip your head as dizziness swells inside. "When are you done?" 

"Oh, gosh," you stand and shake your head. "Haven't you had enough? Don't you have stuff to do?" 

"Only you," he growls. 

You stop and look at him, hands on your hips. He shamelessly scales your body with his eyes. You wave him off and gather up your clothes. You don't say anything as you dress. How do you break it to him that he's right? You did get what you want but now you have to go back to real life. You have a trip to plan for! And an Angelique to brag to. 

"You're so sweet," you grab your phone from the table and your purse. "And... that was amazing. Mind blown, back blown," you keep your thighs apart as you waddle. 

"Mm," he hums and sits up. "So you're off?" 

"I gotta shower." 

"Could do it here." 

"My clothes are at home," you argue as you cross the room, your pelvis scraped and hollow. "Oof." 

"Grab 'em and come back." 

"I don't have long," you check your cell. "I'm sorry but I need all the money I can get right now." 

"I can spot you," he insists. 

You stop with your hand on the doorknob. "No, no, I couldn't. That's... I don't want your money, Bucky. I'll see ya around." 

You smile and quickly unlock the door. You flit out and snap it shut behind you. You stumble across the porch and whimper. It's going to be a long day sitting behind the desk. Maybe you should get one of those special cushions. 

👙

"No way," Angelique sneers. "You actually did it?" 

"At least six times. I lost count," you say proudly as you suck pudding off your spoon. 

"Holy shit. You're fucking lying. Six? I'm surprised he got it up the first time," she cackles. 

"He did. I can't walk straight," you hiss and shift on your chair. 

"You have to be lying. Half the guys I'm with fall asleep the minute they blow." 

"I don't know, Ang, maybe try an old man," you sigh. "And he wouldn't keep his mouth off of me--" 

Theresa looks over her shoulder as she waits for her coffee to brew. You grin and turn away. 

"He ate you out?" 

"Mhmm," you giggle again. 

"Wow," she drones. "Maybe you should introduce us..." 

"Ew, sloppy seconds?" 

"Maybe he has a friend?" She suggests. 

"Now who's lame," you chirp. 

"Shut up." 

"And coming to the beach..." 

"Yeah, whatever," the sniffs. "You know, you were always invited. You didn't have to go fuck a geezer." 

"Jealous." 

"No," she snips. 

"It was your idea." 

"I didn't think you had the balls to do it," she retorts. "I mean, sure, your tits are huge but--" 

"Oh, fuck off, Angie," you roll your eyes. 

She laughs again, "I'll see you soon, bitch. You earned your vacation, but remember, you already spent enough time on your back." 

You make a face and hang up. God, she's such a bitch. Still, you can't wait. You just need to get through today and tomorrow, you'll be off into the sunset. What timing.  

👙

You meet up with Angie after work. You need a new bikini and she's always ready to spend money. It also gives you buffer between you and your neighbour. While your night with Bucky was everything you dreamed an more, you really can't take the awkward aftermath right now. You're too excited for your vacation. The weekend is one more work day away and you're out of here. 

You go to the mall and scowl at the hordes of fellow shoppers. You have no right to despise them but you do. Why do they need things? Can't they come at a different time? 

Angelique chooses her typical fare; strings and not much else. You find a cute red gingham tankini that isn't entirely too modest. According to your outspoken companion though, you could show a bit more skin. You roll your eyes and pay as she continues to pile purchases on at the counter. 

"You wanna come hang out?" You ask as you stop to get a soft pretzel in the food course.  

She snorts, "oh really? You're not too busy banging the old man next door?" 

"Whatever, Ang. It's a one night kinda thing. Really. There's a bit too much time between us." You shrug and thank the guy behind the counter as he hands over your pretzel. 

"I mean that sort of gap is kinda in now," she snickers as you turn down the tile. 

"Yeah, well, I don't know if I should be hanging around him. Apparently he just got out." 

"Got out? Of a dead-end marriage? Divorced men are hot. Probably why he took the time to kiss your kitty," she slithers. 

"No, prison," you lower your voice. "I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I was in the moment when he told me and..." you shrug. "Now I think about it, I'm just... I wonder what he did." 

"Probably drugs or some shit. They give you twenty for a joint in some cases," she slurps on her milkshake and hums. "Bad boy. Oof, sexy daddy." 

"Really? You said his dick wouldn't work?" 

"I've been with older guys and they are just..." she makes and O with her index and thumb. 

"They are what? Trent wasn't old. He was twenty-eight." 

"Well, how old is that criminal, then?" She snaps. 

"I don't know," you pick a piece of the pretzel away. "It's got me thinking. I don't know much about him, do I?" 

"And yet you fucked him. I pass my slut crown to you, your majesty." 

"Shut up. Okay? It's... whatever. It was good. I'm glad it's done with, I just..." you eye your sugary pretzel, "I need this vacation. Give him time to cool down. And me." 

👙

Angelique ditches you. She says she needs to pack but you saw the message from Kev on her phone. She needs something to brag about at the beach so she can drown out your own boasting. 

You yawn as you get to the duplex. It's dark. the streetlights are on. It's past nine and you're going to regret this when you have to get up for work. 

You jingle your keys lazily as your shopping bags rustle together. You pull open the screen door, shrouded in shadows, and search out the right key. Why do you have so many? 

A thump behind you makes you jump. Your keys fall to your feet. You turn to the silhouette watching you from the bottom step.  

"You're home late," Bucky says. 

You bend to get your keys and blow out a breath, "you scared me." 

"Did I? Probably shouldn't be creeping in after dark," he grits. 

You stand and narrow your eyes. You can't see him through the dark. "Right, well, I needed to grab some stuff." 

"Sure," he clucks. 

You frown. What's his problem? You turn and shove the keys in the lock. You quickly reach inside to flip on the porch light. You drop your bags inside and face him. You gasp as he's right behind you. You grip the door frame as you step back into it. 

"Bucky, hi, uh, I need to get ready for bed." 

He's quiet. The yellow bulb shines over him and pools in his eyes. You gulp. His expression is rigid. 

"Can I join you?" He speaks at last. 

"Oh, uh," you smile, "that'd be great but I had a long day," you pat his chest. "Maybe another time." 

He huffs, "sure... guess we did stay up pretty late." 

"Right. Besides, I'm sure you have lots of stuff to do." 

He tilts his head, "nothing important," he puts his hand on the frame, just above yours. "I had a really nice time with you, doll." 

"It was great," you chime. "Really, it was... super." 

"Your first time," he tuts. "Wish you'd said something." 

"I didn't want to ruin the moment," you brush his fingers. "Well, Bucky, you have a good night." 

"Hmm," he inhales, "sure you don't want me to come in and check for bugs?" 

"All good," you cover your mouth and force a yawn. "See ya around." 

His face falls again. You hold back a shiver as his pupils grow and you gulp. You gently reach for the screen door. 

He moves away and watches you. He just stands there until you snap shut the outer door. You slowly push the inner one into place and twist the lock. You hold your breath and listen. You don't hear him go. 

You shake it off and back away. You grab you bags and turn on the hallway light. You make your way down to your room. That pretzel upset your stomach. Too much sugar. 

You unpack your things from the bag, sorting it into what to take and what you might return. Angelique always talks you into the worst things. 

You fall asleep easily. You really are worn out. You drift into a slog of roiling shadows and silence. You roll over as your arm tingles from being trapped beneath you and you grumble as your head spins. You blink at your room and shift in your bed. The moonlight streams in and casts across your messy blankets. 

You open your eyes and nearly scream. There's the outline of a man right outside. You blink and sit up, heaving in horror. No, it's gone. Was it even there? You're tired. Seeing things. 

You lay back down and shudder. You brush your hands over your face and sigh. Just one more day and you can forget about it all. 

👙

Your last day of work drags. You nearly fall asleep at your desk. The hours are dull and so are you. You go through it all like riding a bike. It's all muscle memory. 

It isn't until you leave that the uneasiness stirs. You have to sneak past your neighbour who always tends to be outside. Before, you looked forward to the encounters, now you're playing hide and seek. Maybe he was right... You should have listened. 

Yet, you don't regret any of it. Just thinking of it makes you tingle. You smile just before you cross the street but quickly wipe it away. You keep your head on straight and rush down your walk. You dare a peek to his side of the property as you get to the steps. 

His bike is gone. He's not there. Or at least not that you can tell. 

You run up the stairs and quickly skirt inside. You need to get everything ready. You put a pizza in the oven and get to work. 

You pack a single duffel and your beach bag. Angelique will have at least triple that even if she won't use it all. You spend the night double-checking and re-checking as you eat nearly half the frozen thin-crust on your own. 

You fall asleep watching Golden Girls and wake as your phone buzzes beside your pillow. The morning dances between your curtains, drawn almost shut since the night before. It's not paranoia. Not at all. 

Angelique's message slowly unblurs in your groggy visions; 'up and at em, bitch'.  

The only thing she ever wakes up early for is the beach or shopping. You roll out of bed and nearly fall on your ass. Your bags are at the door. You just need to get yourself together. 

You rush around and get into your new tankini, covering it with shorts and a crochet sweater. You pop on a sunhat and step into your sandals. You check the battery on your phone and nearly forget to snatch up your solar charger. You're just about ready, Angelique just needs to step on the gas. 

You grab your tumbler full of iced coffee as the knock comes at the door. You skip to it and swing it open with a smile and a hop. You stop short as the screen door is propped open against Bucky's shoulder. You shrink down as his eyes slowly descend your figure. His brows draw together. 

"Morning, doll," his hand is on his hip. 

"Um, hi, Bucky, how's it going? Oh, did my pool blow away again?" 

He shakes his head, "you headed out?" 

You look down at yourself then at him. "The beach! Going to go get some sun." 

"The beach," he echoes. "Right." 

"I would invite you but it's Angelique's thing and... yeah," you wiggle your shoulders and look past him.  

As if she hears her name, your friend pulls up in her Barbie pink convertible and toots the horn, "come on, whore!" 

You cringe and glance at Bucky again. You clear your throat. You turn and grab your bags. 

"Sorry, I gotta get going." You manage to balance it all on your shoulders as you grip your keys and cup. "Needa be early to get a good spot." 

You step out and he backs up, still close, crowding you as you lock the door. 

"Hm, I'll... keep an eye on things then." He growls. 

"Oh thank you, Bucky," you preen and face him. "You're the sweetest." 

You twirl away and hurry across the porch. You nearly sprint down the walk and toss your bags in the back of the open top car. You get in and pop your cup into the holder near the console. Angelique giggles. 

"Aren't you in a hurry?" She cackles. 

"Shut up," you send her a cringe. "Just drive." 

[snail-day]

You Can't Just Play God

SatoSugu x Reader Inspired by a comic on Webtoon: Never Ending Darling and that one anon asking about how things would go if you were dating Geto and Gojo entered the relationship instead.

TW: No Curse AU/Modern Au, Horror? Yandere Behaviors (Obsessive, Possessive, Manipulation, Etc.), SatoSugu, Dubcon, Implied Noncon, Murder, Disturbing deaths, Blood, Gun violence, Reader Dies Multiple Times, smut, spooky lab tech (not used for smut), academic theft. MDNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

WC: 7.5k

Enjoy! I'm going to touch grass now :)

The cycle repeats.

A new age, a new era—and you had a goddamn headache.

The chimes of your alarm dragged you out of sleep, their shrill notes cutting through the haze clouding your mind. A groan slipped through your lips as you sluggishly threw an arm over your face as the sun’s obnoxiously bright rays streamed through your curtains, making everything somehow worse. Judging by the pounding in your skull, you had to assume you were hungover. Not that you could confirm it—these days, your memories were more like fragmented snapshots, and last night was no exception.

Reaching for your side table, you fumbled to silence the grating K.K. Slider alarm jingle that seemed ten times louder than usual. The sudden quiet was a relief, but only for a moment. Your groan deepened as you noticed the sweet note left behind by your boyfriend—no, fiancé. That term still felt foreign, awkward on your tongue.

“For the love of my life, please stop with your antics, sweet girl.” —Sugu.

Beside the note sat a neatly placed hangover tonic and a couple of pills, his familiar thoughtfulness easing some of the tension in your chest. You popped the pills and chased them with the tonic, grateful for his foresight, though the nagging truth lingered: you didn’t remember going out last night. At all.

The sensation wasn’t new, but it never got less unsettling. A blank space where memories should be. A creeping sense of unease settled over you as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Your head throbbed with the effort, each beat of the headache a sharp reminder of how little control you seemed to have over your own life lately.

You padded downstairs in your pajamas, still half-asleep and half-questioning your existence. The familiar scent of breakfast wafted through the house, but it did little to clear the fog in your mind. Despite Suguru’s persistent efforts, you still lived at home with your parents. You’d insisted you weren’t ready to move in with him yet. He’d even offered to kick out his roommate and business partner—your college best friend, Gojo Satoru—to make space for you. You still said no.

“You’re so lucky to have a man like him, Y/N,” your mother chimed from the kitchen, her voice cutting through your haze. She stood by the stove, spatula in hand, her words laced with just enough mom judgment to make you wince. “He carried you home, helped you shower, and got you changed. You don’t find men like that anymore.”

You don't remember any of that however -

She wasn’t wrong. Somehow, you’d managed to score Geto Suguru, the golden boy of your university days and a literal campus heartthrob. Dreamy looks, a sharp mind, and a personality that could charm even the grumpiest professor. He was, by all accounts, perfect. A goddamn dreamboat. And all because you were friends—well, “friends”—with Gojo Satoru.

The term "friends" was generous. You’d been stuck with him for every group project and PhD research assignment imaginable, his sharp intellect rivaled only by his inability to take anything seriously. Yet, through some twist of fate, that irritating partnership had landed you Suguru.

And now, here you were: hungover, disoriented, and trying to piece together just how you’d gotten so lucky. Lucky wasn’t the right word—it was a miracle. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of miracle.

As you poured yourself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to last night than just drinks and laughter. Maybe you should stop drinking.

Because while you had a doctorate, had been part of some of the most groundbreaking research in the medical field, and somehow scored a partner who now co-owned one of the biggest medical organizations in the country…

You still didn’t have a real job.

Sure, you worked at a café on weekends, but that didn’t exactly scream “career success.” The smell of burnt espresso and sugary syrups clung to your clothes, and your paycheck barely covered your expenses and crippling student debt.

Suguru had been practically begging you to come work with him. He’d pitched every possible reason, his voice honey-smooth and infuriatingly persuasive. “We’d make a great team,” he’d say, always with that easy smile. Or, “You’d finally get to put that brilliant mind to use,” followed by a soft kiss on your forehead. And, of course, the practical approach: “You could stop getting burned by scalding coffee every other Saturday.”

But your answer never wavered. It was always a firm no.

Why should you take advantage of your boyfriend’s—fiancé’s—accomplishments? It wasn’t his fault you felt like a freeloader in your own life. But working with him would only cement that feeling, wouldn’t it? And let’s be honest: there was no way you could survive the smug, self-satisfied smirks Gojo Satoru would throw your way every. Single. Day.

The thought alone made your headache throb harder.

Your mother’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts—the kind of thoughts you really should’ve been saving for your therapist. “Did you hear me, Y/N? You’re lucky he even tolerates you living here at your age,” she quipped, half-joking, half-serious.

You sighed, forcing yourself back to the present as she set a plate of breakfast in front of you. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if Suguru’s offer would ever stop looming over you.

“Can you bring Suguru his bento? Oh, and I made one for Satoru, too! You don’t bring him around anymore. I miss that cute smile of his,” your mother hummed, nodding toward the perfectly packed bento boxes lined up on the counter.

Dragging a hand down your face. At least running this errand was better than being stuck at home, drowning in wedding prep, and trying on half a million dresses your mom insisted on. “It’s the least you could do,” she always said, as if you weren’t already suffocating under the weight of your own existential dread.

“Sure,” you muttered, knowing resistance was futile. Besides, it wasn’t like you had any real plans today.

After a quick shower and throwing on something that looked presentable enough for public, you grabbed the bento boxes and headed out. The warm sunlight and cool breeze were a temporary reprieve, a small comfort as you made your way to their office—their office.

 It was better than the alternative of staying at home and listening to your mother’s words about floral centerpieces and seating arrangements. Barely.

Their company was part of this “new era,” the one everyone couldn’t stop raving about—and you’d been a huge part of its foundation. Back in the day, you and Satoru had cracked the code to altering DNA, finding a way to cheat death. If you could afford the astronomical price tag, mortality was no longer your concern. People who were once riddled with cancer could now return home cancer-free, spared the agony of losing limbs or enduring endless rounds of chemo.

You’d only been part of solving the formula, though. The groundwork. Satoru had the funding, the connections, and the relentless drive to take it further. Once you stepped out of the picture, you hadn’t kept track of the system or its progress. You didn’t ask, and no one offered answers.

The alteration had been applied to most of the foundational jobs—political leaders, police officers, high-ranking officials. It was a standard requirement now, a guarantee of longevity and efficiency in roles deemed too crucial to risk mortality.

These days, people were willing to go into crippling debt to get the procedure done, their desperation outweighing the staggering price. After all, what was a lifetime of debt if you couldn’t die? No risk of death meant no fear of defaulting, and for many, that trade-off was worth it.

The procedure had shifted society’s balance, turning death into a choice rather than an inevitability—but at a cost few truly understood.

The business was beginning to have a cult following after being backed by the world's leaders.

And yet, not everyone shared the world’s admiration for the scientific marvel housed within that towering, double-helix-shaped skyscraper in the heart of Tokyo. Protestors were a constant presence outside the building, their chants about ethics blending with the dramatic videos they displayed of humanity spiraling into chaos. You’d seen their demonstrations so many times it had faded into background noise.

Still, as you approached the sleek, futuristic entrance, a pang of guilt crept in. What had once been your passion now felt like a story you’d abandoned—a story that no longer felt like yours.

Maybe there was a hint of resentment buried beneath the guilt. Maybe, deep down, you wished you’d taken Satoru’s offer back then, even if you knew it wouldn’t have made things easier. But that was a door you’d slammed shut long ago, and no amount of hindsight could undo it.

Shaking your head to clear the thought, you stepped through the automatic doors. The familiar hum of the lobby enveloped you, the pristine white interior and futuristic decor unchanged since the last time you’d been here. Security nodded as you passed, their recognition swift and unquestioning.

The private elevator awaited a sleek capsule of steel and glass that carried you straight to the top floor. The ascent was smooth and silent, yet the weight in your chest grew heavier with every passing second.

There, you were greeted by Suguru’s stunning, sharp-eyed assistant. Even after countless encounters, Manami gave you that same unreadable look—like she was quietly sizing you up, or maybe judging you in some understated, professional way. It wasn’t outright rude, but it was just enough to make your skin crawl.

The treacherous thought crept into your mind, uninvited: Maybe he should be dating her instead. No—marrying her. She fit into his world so effortlessly. Polished, composed, and clearly brilliant, Manami seemed like the perfect match for someone as successful and poised as Suguru. Meanwhile, you still felt like a guest who’d overstayed their welcome, fumbling to keep up in a world that wasn’t yours.

It was a ridiculous thought, and you knew it. Late-night Reddit doom-scrolling had reassured you that insecurities like this were perfectly normal, even if they were soul-crushingly embarrassing. Deep down, you understood that your so-called “little life” wasn’t the problem. The problem was you—stuck in your own head, drowning in doubts that never seemed to let up.

But no matter how loud the voice in your head got, one thing you couldn’t ignore: Suguru would never leave you. You were sure of that. If anything, he clung to you like his life depended on it—unfortunately. And for reasons you couldn’t quite put into words, that unwavering devotion only made it harder to believe you deserved him.

You shifted awkwardly in the too-fancy armchair across from Manami’s desk, clutching the bag of bentos like it might save you from drowning. “Nice weather we’re having,” you mumbled, trying to fill the heavy silence with small talk.

Manami barely glanced up, her manicured fingers pausing just long enough to adjust the nameplate on her desk before resuming their rhythmic clatter against her keyboard.

“Hm,” she hummed, a noncommittal response that somehow managed to sound both polite and dismissive at the same time.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at her. The room, much like the rest of the building, was sleek and pristine, designed to impress. But the air felt heavy, the quiet tension between you and Manami a constant reminder that this wasn’t your world. It was theirs.

And you weren’t sure you’d ever truly belong.

You sighed, muttering a quiet “Alright,” under your breath, and returned to fidgeting with the straps of the bag. Your eyes wandered down to the weight on your left hand—the engagement ring.

It was stunning. Too stunning. The kind of ring that screamed wealth and class, the kind that seemed like it should belong to someone like her. Another insecure thought, you supposed, but brushing it off was easier said than done. The gnawing doubt settled deep in the pit of your stomach, refusing to budge. Perhaps another conversation to save for your therapist. 

The soft click of a door unlocking snapped you out of your spiral. You looked up to see Suguru stepping out, his familiar, easy smile lighting up his face as his dark eyes landed on you. The way his gaze swept over you still sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach. Even after all this time, he still had that effect on you.

“There’s my sweet girl,” he murmured warmly, his voice low and soothing as he extended a hand toward you.

You stepped forward, slipping your hand into his. His grip was firm yet tender, grounding in a way that made your chest tighten. He gave your hand a small squeeze before adding, “You could’ve waited with Satoru, you know. He misses you.”

The mention of Satoru made your skin crawl. Missed you? That was one way of putting it. You were marrying Suguru, yet Satoru still didn’t seem to grasp the concept of personal space. No matter how often you tried to address it, he always found a way to push the boundaries.

The casual hand lingering too long on your thigh. The hugs that felt tighter and lasted longer than they should. The kisses to your cheek that came far too often to be innocent.

You’d brought it up to Suguru so many times, and his response was always the same, a calm dismissal wrapped in a reassuring smile: “He’s harmless.”

But it didn’t feel harmless to you. Not even close.

Once inside Suguru’s office, you set the bag of bentos down on his desk, taking a step back to collect yourself. Before you could settle, he was already there. The door clicked shut behind him, his long, purposeful strides closing the space between you in seconds.

You barely had time to react before his lips crashed into yours, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you into his arms. The force of the kiss left you breathless, his presence overwhelming as his fingers pressed against the fabric of your shirt.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his tone softer now, the affection in his voice sending a familiar heat blooming in your chest.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him, into the comfort of his touch. He always felt safe. A fuel for comfort perhaps. 

“You were such a mess last night,” he murmured against your lips, trailing kisses down to your neck as he pushed you to sit on the edge of his desk. His hands guided your legs around his waist, holding you close as he continued his slow assault of affection. You swallowed hard against the tightness in your throat.

“You’re lucky your friend called me,” he added softly, his words brushing against your skin like a tease.

Closing your eyes, you tilted your head back as his lips moved down the column of your neck. You’d learned not to push him away when he got like this—it always left you feeling guilty afterward.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Suguru’s fingers worked at the buttons of your blouse, his hands warm and conscious as he hiked up your skirt. You shivered under his touch, the chill of the room clashing with the heat of his hands.

“Can we not do this with your assistant in the other room?” you managed to ask meekly, your voice wavering as his fingertips trailed over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“I’m having a rough day, my love,” he murmured against your throat, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t get much sleep after taking care of you last night. I need a little motivation to get through the rest of my day.”

Before you could respond, he gently eased you to lay back on his desk. It was then you realized it had been cleared—papers, files, and everything else neatly tucked away. Had he planned for this?

His lips continued their path down your body, leaving soft kisses and the occasional nip as he went. When he reached the space between your legs, he spread them carefully with his hands, his gaze lingering on you as if savoring every moment.

His tongue pressed against your clothed slit, sending a jolt of heat through your core.

“You’re not wearing the ones I bought you,” he noted, his voice low and teasing.

He was right. Instead of the delicate, expensive pieces he favored—like that itchy white G-string with the little gold charm bearing his initials “G.S”—you’d gone for the practical, cost-effective option: simple cotton underwear from a multipack.

“Wanted to be—” Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed against you, light and teasing, pulling the words from your throat before you could even finish.

“Wanted to be what?” he repeated, his voice dripping with honeyed amusement. His tone was playful, but there was an edge to it—a quiet demand. “Weren’t you taught to finish your sentences?”

The vibrations of his words sent another wave of shivers through you, and your body betrayed you, squirming under his touch. He hummed in approval, the sound low and indulgent as his hand trailed up your inner thigh, his fingers left your skin tingling in their wake.

With practiced ease, he pulled your panties to the side, his lips trailing soft, feather-light kisses along your skin. Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and began to devour you, his tongue hot and insistent, moving with volitional precision that made your back arch against the cool surface of his desk.

It was overwhelming—the way his long tongue slid inside you, the way his thumb circled your most sensitive spot with just the right amount of pressure. He moved as though he had all the time in the world, savoring every moment.

You couldn’t help the soft, pathetic moans that escaped your lips, your hands gripping the edge of the desk for some semblance of stability. Suguru had always been like this—relentless, thorough, and determined to reach every spot that made you unravel.

It wasn’t just physical. He had you memorized. Every shiver, every gasp, every sound you made only spurred him on, his movements calculated to draw out your pleasure until your mind was spinning.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “Every inch of you.”

His words made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions bubbling to the surface. Love, longing, and something you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to believe his devotion was just that—devotion. But there was a weight to his words, an intensity that sometimes felt... suffocating.

He didn’t stop until your body trembled beneath him, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. Suguru lifted his head, his lips glistening as he looked at you with a satisfied smirk. “See?” he whispered, his voice impossibly soft. “I know exactly what you need.”

And you believed him. How could you not, when he made you feel like this? Like you were the center of his world, the only thing that mattered.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmured, his voice low and velvety as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “So, so good.”

In your haze, still trembling from your last orgasm, you felt the blunt, heated tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist again, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your thighs. 

“Gotta ease up for me, sweet girl,” he groaned, his voice thick with restraint as he pushed forward, sinking into you inch by girthy inch. The stretch made your breath hitch, your body fluttering around him, still sensitive and raw.

“It’s not gonna feel good if you don’t relax,” he cooed, though his tone carried a sense of control, a reminder that he wasn’t stopping until he had all of you. Whether it hurt or not.

You did your best to loosen the tension in your body, focusing on the soft kisses he pressed against your lips, your cheeks, and the corner of your jaw. They were meant to soothe, but the way he moved—rolling his hips upward, grinding deep—made it impossible to fully relax.

His cock filled you completely, brushing against every spot that left your mind spiraling. The slow, deliberate way he moved, the way he stretched you open, had your hands scrambling for purchase on his desk. Your nails clawed at the wood, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they left permanent marks. Something you were sure he wouldn’t mind. 

“That’s it,” Suguru whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Taking me so well, sweet girl. Like you were made for this.”

Every thrust was deliberate, deep, and measured, as though he wanted to etch the feeling of him into every fiber of your being. He lifted his head to watch your face, his dark eyes locked on yours, taking in every gasp, every quiver, every plea that spilled from your lips.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, his voice dripping with affection as he cupped your cheek with one hand, the other still gripping your thigh, firm yet gentle as if he was afraid to leave a mark on you despite the harshness of his thrusts. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

Your mind was overwhelmed, the sensations blurring together as his movements became more insistent, relentless in their devotion to unraveling you. Yet, through the haze of pleasure, a small, unwelcome thought surfaced, bubbling up in the back of your mind.

When was the last time you took your pill?

The question lingered, sharp and intrusive, cutting through the heat pooling in your core. You’d been forgetting so much lately—little things, big things, all slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. But it had to be fine. It must be a safe day. Right?

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice steady and low as his hips pressed flush against yours, burying himself to the hilt. “Don’t ever forget that.”

As the words sank in, a faint voice in the back of your mind tried to warn you, tried to remind you of the way Suguru sometimes felt too much. But it was drowned out by the overwhelming mix of his touch, his words, and the way he seemed to pour his entire being into you.

You couldn’t say it back. Whether it was the overwhelming heat, the way you could only let out these broken little whines and moans as your body trembled beneath him, or the way his hot, sticky release spilled deep inside you, filling you up until you couldn’t think straight—you just couldn’t utter those three little words. Some little voice in the back of your mind urged you not to. 

After a moment’s rest, with him carefully cleaning you up, you noticed the delicate way he helped you into some fancy lingerie—pieces he apparently had stored just for moments like this. The charm with “G.S” engraved on it caught the sunlight, glinting mischievously as he slid the panties up your legs.

“Shall we eat with Satoru?” he asked, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just fucked you within an inch of your life. You could only nod mindlessly, clinging to his arm while he reached for the bag.

You didn’t miss the way Satoru hugged you when you walked into his office, Suguru trailing behind. The way his arms lingered around you just a little too long, his lips brushing your cheek in what felt like more than a friendly kiss. Suguru didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. It was Satoru, after all. His best friend. His business partner. The two were inseparable.

You also didn’t miss the way Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders while the three of you ate. Suguru and Satoru were caught up in their conversation, filling each other in on meetings and plans, while you picked at your food in silence. Your mind was elsewhere, lost in the strange mix of sensations you couldn’t shake. The cum soaking into the new underwear, the lingering fog in your head, the circles Satoru traced on your arm as he kept you close. Your gaze flickered to the photo on his desk—a snapshot of the three of you. Perfect smiles. Perfect lies.

“Did you hear me, sugar?” Satoru’s voice cut through the haze, his tone teasing. “I was asking how the job search was going. You know, we could always work together again—for old times’ sake.”

You shook your head, forcing a meek smile. “I haven’t heard anything back yet. And the answer’s still no. I’m not into... medical research anymore.”

That was a lie. You were more than capable, but you didn’t want to work with them. You didn’t want to stay stuck in their shadow, even though you’d helped lay the foundation they thrived on.

Satoru chuckled, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly confident grin. The way his bright blue eyes glimmered with a glint of mischief. “Still so stubborn. You know, you were the brains behind half of what we’ve built. You’d fit right back in.”

Suguru’s voice cut in smoothly as if to diffuse any tension. “Let her breathe, Satoru. Not everyone is as obsessed with work as you are.” Suguru’s dark eyes settled on you for a brief moment, there was warmth to them, unreadable as always. 

You glanced between them, their banter as familiar as it was unsettling. They made it look so effortless, this balance of power and charm. But you knew better. You felt it in the way Satoru’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on your arm, in the fleeting glance Suguru shot your way when he thought you weren’t looking.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze, their conversation blending into the background. You couldn’t shake the unease curling in your stomach. It wasn’t just the situation—it was them. The way they moved around you like you were something precious and fragile, seamlessly passing control back and forth, a trophy they both claimed but never outright acknowledged.

When the meal ended, Satoru stood, stretching lazily before offering you his hand. “Why don’t you come with me for a bit? I’ve got something to show you.”

You hesitated, your gaze flicking to Suguru, who had already risen and was watching you closely. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone unreadable. “I’ll clean up here.”

Caught between the two of them, you nodded and took Satoru’s hand. His grip was firm, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that sent an involuntary made your skin crawl. He led you out of the office and down a hallway you knew all too well. His space. His domain. His lab. 

The door clicked shut behind you, and Satoru turned, his impossibly blue eyes locking onto yours, as sharp as ever. “You’ve been distant,” he said softly, his words gentle but edged with something sharper. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Your gaze drifted over the room, landing on the metal tables scattered with sleek technology. Computer screens hummed with life, displaying endless rows of code, their glow casting faint shadows across the walls. This used to be your life—back in college, when the hum of processors and the thrill of breakthroughs consumed you. Now, it all felt foreign, like a distant memory you weren’t sure you wanted to revisit.

“I’d appreciate it if you kept a distance,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to betray your nerves. “I’m marrying Suguru, you know.”

The words hung in the air, a barrier you hoped he wouldn’t cross. But Satoru, being Satoru, ignored it entirely. You felt his warmth behind you before you even realized he’d moved, his tall frame enveloping yours in an embrace that felt far too intimate. His hands rested lightly on your stomach, his touch burning through the fabric of your clothes. You stiffened as his breath fanned against your neck, raising goosebumps along your skin.

“Sharing is caring,” he hummed, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. “Suguru doesn’t mind. In fact…” His fingers tightened slightly, grounding you in place. “He likes it when we get along.”

Before you could respond, you felt the wet warmth of his tongue trace along your jaw. The sensation jolted through you, a yelp escaping your lips before you could stop it. Satoru’s laugh followed, soft and boyish, a stark contrast to the tension suffocating the room.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “But you don’t need to fight it. We both know you don’t really want me to stop.”

His words left you frozen, the weight of his overwhelming presence pressing down on you, suffocating yet intoxicating. Do you want him to stop? 

A fleeting memory surfaced as you stood there, frozen in Satoru’s embrace. It was from the early days of your relationship with Suguru when you’d first brought up Satoru’s antics. You’d been hesitant, unsure how to address the way his lingering touches or overly familiar words made you feel. Suguru had only smiled, his voice calm and reassuring as always.

Suguru’s calm voice had soothed you then, his words steady and reassuring. “He’s harmless,” he’d said, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as if amused by your concern. “He knows, at the end of the day, you’re mine. Plus, the guy is ridiculously lonely. You’re his friend. He’s just comfortable around you.”

The words had settled over you like a balm back then, quelling your unease. Suguru’s confidence, his sense of control, had made it easy to brush off the way Satoru’s presence lingered in your life—always just a little closer than necessary.

But now, as Satoru’s lips brushed against your ear, as his arms anchored you in place, that memory felt distant. Suguru’s reassurance no longer felt like a safety net; it felt like permission. Permission for Satoru to blur the lines, to push boundaries that had never been as firm as you thought.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Satoru’s voice pulled you back to the present, his tone soft but knowing. His hands tightened slightly around your waist, a subtle reminder of his control of the situation. “It’s sweet, really. You always look so soft when you’re thinking about Suguru.”

You tried to pull away, but he only held you closer, his chuckle vibrating against your back. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just keeping you warm. You’re the one who’s overthinking.”

Your heart pounded as you struggled to steady your breath. “This isn’t right, Satoru,” you managed, though your voice sounded weaker than you intended. “Suguru—”

“Suguru trusts me,” he interrupted, his voice smooth, almost teasing. “And you, too. That’s what makes this work, doesn’t it?” He shifted slightly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “He said it himself—you’re mine, too.”

You wanted to believe it was just another one of Satoru’s games, another way for him to twist the truth to suit his desires. But the memory of Suguru’s calm, reassuring voice lingered as if Suguru had already told you—subtly, indirectly—that Satoru had his permission.

though as of late it seemed like memories all seemed to blur together.

Your instincts screamed at you to leave. To get out of this room. To get away from him. From the person who used to be your friend, your lab partner. The one who would sit with you for hours in the library, pretending to study while sneaking glances at your coffee-stained notes. The guy who’d playfully nudged you into Suguru’s arms, making it all seem so easy. Was this all some kind of cruel fate?

“I have to pee,” you blurted out, the excuse too loud, too sudden, and too weak to be convincing.

Satoru didn’t seem to care. He eased back slightly, leaning casually against his desk, his ever-present smirk still in place. “Need me to walk you there?” he asked, his voice light, teasing—but his eyes betrayed him. That hungry look in his gaze lingered, stripping away any illusion of innocence.

“I’ll manage,” you replied, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound calm.

You didn’t miss the look in his eyes—hungry, possessive. Like he didn’t care that Suguru had touched you first. The thought of Suguru’s “seconds” didn’t bother him at all. As if plunging his cock into the leftovers of Suguru's cum would be a delicacy. If anything, it seemed to excite him, and the realization made bile rise up to the back of your throat. Burning. Searing. 

“Alright,” he said with a lovesick grin that might’ve been charming to anyone else. “I’ll have Suguru meet us here.”

For most girls, a man like Satoru was a dream—handsome, confident, untouchable. And he knew it. So did Suguru. Yet they both clung to you, always hovering just a little too close.

Satoru and Suguru had always clung to you, hadn’t they? From the beginning, you’d been their constant. Their focus. You wondered why that was—why they always had, and why they always would.

As soon as the lab door clicked shut behind you, the words hung heavy in your mind, echoing like a haunting refrain. It’s not assault if he didn’t do anything, right? That’s what you told yourself, over and over, as your breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts. You sprinted down the endless hallways, your heels clicking against the tile, your heart pounding in your chest. But no matter how fast you ran, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen, and nausea churned with every step.

You clutched at the memory of your friendship with Satoru, desperate for solace. He wasn’t always like this. He was your study partner, your confidant, the one who nudged you toward Suguru when you doubted yourself. But now? The person you once trusted felt like a stranger—no, worse, a threat.

Your head pounded, and the memories came.

At first, they were warm, and tender. Satoru laughed as he leaned over your desk, swiping your notes and teasing you about your messy handwriting before planting a kiss on your lips. Suguru sitting beside you on some date, drinking hot cocoa together while watching the rain. The three of you tangled together on a couch, their arms around you, holding you close as you drifted off to sleep in their warmth.

Suguru brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his eyes soft as he whispered, “You’re everything to me.” Satoru, his grin wide and mischievous, spinning you in circles during a rainstorm, both of you drenched and laughing.

The sweetness eventually curdled.

Satoru’s hand tightening around your throat, his blue eyes blazing with something unreadable. “You don’t get to leave me,” he murmured, his tone eerily calm as you clawed at his arms. Suguru holding a syringe, his voice soothing even as your body betrayed you, muscles seizing as the world faded to black.

You shook your head, gasping for air, but the images continued to assault you.

These memories can't belong to you.

Satoru pressing kisses to your temple as he whispered, “I’ll always protect you, sugar bear,” the warmth of his embrace lulling you into safety. Suguru kneeling in front of you, a ring in hand, his voice trembling as he said, “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

The images were overwhelming, suffocating even, like a weight pressing down on your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. Your breaths came in ragged gasps as you sprinted down the endless halls, your heels clicking against the cold tile.

Occasionally, your legs faltered, forcing you to clutch at the nearest wall for support. Every step felt heavier, every breath harder to draw, as the haunting echoes of laughter and whispered promises mixed with screams and soft, deadly apologies. They chased you, just as real as the walls closing in around you.

Suguru standing over you, a gun in his hand, his dark eyes filled with something that looked almost like regret. “You always fight me on this” he whispered, and the shot rang out. Satoru’s voice, lilting and light, as he said, “Let’s see if you fly,” before pushing you off the rooftop, the sensation weightless and brief until impact.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as if you could banish the images. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

You stumbled into a random room, your fingers trembling as you punched in the passcode—your birthday, of course. The door clicked open with a mechanical hiss, and you collapsed inside, your knees hitting the cold, tiled floor. The sterile air burned your nose, the faint scent of chemicals making the knot in your stomach twist tighter.

The dim blue light cast eerie shadows across the walls, the occasional beep of nearby machines the only sound besides your ragged breathing. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face as you tried to push the memories away.

Were they real?

Could they be real?

The warmth of their love clashed with the cold edge of their possessiveness, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, blinking through the haze of tears. The room around you came into focus, and your breath hitched. Large test tubes lined the walls, filled with glowing blue and green liquids, their contents swirling lazily as if alive. The machines beeped rhythmically, lights flashing in a pattern you couldn’t decipher.

But the images were relentless. Suguru’s hands pinning you down, Satoru taking free use of your body, the weight of their combined presence crushing you until you could barely breathe.

Each memory was like some cruel nightmare, swinging wildly between moments too sweet to bear and others excruciatingly painful. The contrast made it all the worse, the warmth of one memory twisting into agony in the next, leaving you gasping for air as you stumbled forward. Broken sobs escaped your throat as you crumpled to the floor, grasping at the cold tiles, desperate for something—anything—real.

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, blinking through the haze of tears. The room around you slowly came into focus, and your breath hitched. Large test tubes lined the walls, their glowing blue and green contents swirling lazily, almost hypnotically, as if alive. Machines beeped rhythmically in the background, their lights flashing in a pattern you couldn’t decipher.

You stared at the tubes, your mind racing. This wasn’t a random lab. It couldn’t be. The passcode, the eerie familiarity of the room—it all felt deliberate, intentional. Like you were meant to find this.

Your headache worsened, the pounding in your skull syncing eerily with the beeping machines. You pressed your palms to your temples, desperately trying to shut out the relentless wave of memories—real or imagined—that threatened to consume you.

But as you knelt there, shaking and breathless, one question clawed its way to the forefront of your mind, sharp and insistent, refusing to be silenced.

Why had they always clung to you?

And why did it feel like the answer was hidden somewhere in this room?

You had to be going crazy. That was the only explanation.

Shakily, you pushed yourself to your feet, the sterile air thick and heavy in your lungs. Sniffling, your fingers trailed along the cold, metallic surface of the tables as you moved closer to the strange test tubes. The faint hum of machinery filled the silence, the swirling contents inside the tubes illuminated by the dim, eerie glow of blue light.

Your breath hitched as you leaned in, squinting through the glass.

They weren’t just shapes or fragments. They weren’t abstractions of human life.

They were human.

They were you.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs as you stumbled back. Your gaze darted to the screen beside the tubes, its sterile, blinking message driving the truth deeper into your chest.

"Processing."

The word repeated in steady intervals, cold and mechanical, mocking you with its efficiency.

This wasn’t a lab for curing diseases or advancing medicine. This wasn’t about saving lives.

They were cloning people.

They were cloning you.

Your knees threatened to give out again, but you gripped the edge of the table, your mind spinning wildly. Fragments of memories, half-formed and blurry, clawed their way to the surface, demanding to be seen. This had been your research once. Cloning. You’d cracked the formula—found the key.

You remembered the argument with Satoru, his icy blue eyes flashing with a rare seriousness. You’d told him it was unethical. That it wasn’t righteous. That you can’t just play god. You told him you couldn’t live with what you’d discovered. That’s why you stopped. That’s why you stopped talking to him. That’s why you left research behind.

But what happened after that?

How had they gotten here—this point, with a cult-like following and resources beyond comprehension? And more importantly—where had you been?

The questions tore at you, each one heavier than the last. Pieces of your memory felt missing, like someone had reached into your mind and carved out chunks, leaving you with only jagged fragments.

Had they done this to you?

Had he done this to you?

And then, the darkest question of all clawed its way to the surface:

How many times have they done this to you?

Your gaze snapped back to the endless row of tubes, bile rising in your throat as the enormity of it hit you. Backed-up versions of you floated in a dreamless stasis, stripped of identity, reduced to nothing but a tool for their ambitions.

The room spun, the walls closing in, as the truth pressed down on you—suffocating, undeniable.

You weren’t just a researcher who’d stumbled too close to the edge.

You were the edge.

And somehow, they’d dragged you right back into it.

The realization shattered whatever fragile control you had left. Sobs erupted from your throat, raw and unrelenting, as the pounding headache in your skull grew louder, sharper, threatening to split you in two. The sterile hum of the lab faded beneath the weight of your anguish, until—

Crack.

The sharp, deafening sound of a gunshot shattered everything.

You didn’t even have time to react.

The world went dark.

“Guess we’ll have to start all over again tomorrow,” Suguru’s voice hummed, smooth and almost tender, as though he were speaking to a wayward child. “Satoru will be disappointed, but it looks like this version of you wasn’t going as well anyway.”

His footsteps echoed in the eerie stillness, unhurried and deliberate, as he approached the bloodied mess you’d become.

He crouched down beside you, his dark eyes gleaming with an unsettling mix of pity and resolve. The gun fell from his hand with a hollow clatter, the sound reverberating through the cold room like an accusation.

“You should really stop with all your antics, sweet girl,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that felt almost cruel. “It’s really heartbreaking to do this every time your brilliant mind starts to turn.”

Suguru’s hand lingered, disturbingly gentle as he smoothed your hair back, his touch so intimate it made your skin crawl—if you’d still had the strength to feel anything.

“You always fight so hard,” he said softly, almost like a lament. His gaze drifted over your still form, dark and unreadable. “But you know how this ends. You always know.”

He straightened slowly, letting his words settle in the suffocating silence.

“And yet, you never stop trying.”

Straightening, Suguru cast a glance at the tubes glowing faintly in the dim light behind him. His lips curled into a faint, almost tender smile, one that never quite reached his dark eyes. “Don’t worry,” he murmured softly, his tone as much for himself as it was for you. “We’ll put you back together again. Just like always.”

He knelt down, unhurried, his movements precise. His fingers brushed against your skin as he carefully slid the ring from your finger, the gesture deliberate, almost reverent. For a moment, he stared at the ring in his palm, his thumb tracing the smooth band. Something flickered in his gaze—regret, perhaps, or something far more calculated. He tucked the ring into his pocket with a quiet sigh.

A quick call to the “clean-up” crew followed. His voice was calm, clinical, as if he were ordering mundane office supplies rather than orchestrating the erasure of a life. The conversation ended with a sharp click, his phone slipping back into his jacket pocket.

Suguru cast another glance at the bloodied mess on the floor, his lips tugging into a sad, almost bittersweet smile.

“I love you,” he whispered, his tone heartbreakingly sincere, as though the words could absolve the horror of what had just transpired. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned, his fingers playing with the ring in his pocket, twirling it absentmindedly as if it were a trinket rather than a symbol of promises now rendered hollow. The door hissed shut behind him, the sterile room sealing itself in silence.

The hum of the machines was the only sound that remained, indifferent to the gruesome tableau they overlooked.

[narcissisticmf]

get up | bucky barnes x fem!reader

description: y/n is not a morning person and bucky tries everything in his power to ease her into the start of the day.

trigger warnings: fluff, some seductive behavior, domestic!bucky, etc. read at your own risk.

word count: <1k

The sun slipped its way through the closed curtains, shining brightly into the room. Your body was entangled within the sheets and thick blankets among your queen sized bed. You grumbled softly as the morning sun hit your eyes, causing you to slowly shield your face behind the thick blanket, no desire to get up yet.

You felt Bucky stir beside you, your back facing him. He must've been waking up. You felt his right arm slip protectively around your stomach, making you to groan softly.

You loved Bucky's affection, but receiving it early in the morning was something you were trying to get yourself used to. You hated physical affection in the morning and, of course, Bucky knew this but that didn't stop him.

"Mornin', sweetheart," Bucky mumbled into your ear with resonance. You gently moaned, clearly not ready to get up yet.

"You want some tea?" he asked, nibbling gently on your earlobe. You stayed quiet, but turned over to face him. You were so tired, and something unusual made you nestle closer to hin that morning. Your face disappeared into his chest and beneath the covers as his arms engulfed you tightly.

"Look at you.." Bucky whispered with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You released a soft huff and breathed in his scent. "What's got you so soft this morning, hm?"

"Shh," you whispered with a soft whine, no desire to speak yet.

To this, Bucky laughed. He pressed a warm kiss to your temple.

After a few moments of stillness that enveloped the room, Bucky dipped his chin down and pressed a lingering kiss to the apple of your cheek. "Cmon, sweetheart," he whispered as softly as possible. "Time to get up."

"Nooo," you dragged out softly.

"Yesss," he mimicked your tone with a smile.

"Bucky," you huffed and lifted your chin to look up at him. Your hair was matted against your forehead, your eyes glassed over the iridescent glimmer of them, and your lips were dry, slightly chapped.

"Y/N," Bucky smiled, sat up while leaning on his elbow, and cupped your face with his hands. You shivered at the cold touch of his metal arm, but relished in the light thrill.

"There's my girl," he grinned and leaned down to press a kiss to your nose. "Good morning."

"Morning," you couldn't fight your smile as Bucky leaned down to pepper kisses across your jawline and neck. You rested your head against the pillows and fluttered your eyes closed, admiring the feel of his warm lips against your cold skin.

He halted at your collarbone and seemed to question with his eyes if he should keep going. When you didn't protest, he sucked the skin over your bone.

Your body shuttered, leaving gooseflesh across your exposed arms.

"I felt that," Bucky smirked.

"Shut up," you laughed and nudged him off you.

He didn't fight you and laughed, shuffling off the bed. He turned to look down at you, still beneath the covers.

"How'd I get so lucky, hm?" Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at you with such an intense gaze, you felt your face go hot.

"Bucky," you whined softly and covered your face with the blankets.

"No, no, please.. don't cover that beautiful face," Bucky implored pathetically, leaning against the mattress to tug the sheets away.

You giggled when he clearly won the tug-o-war battle.

"There she is," Bucky grinned. "Come on, I'll make us breakfast."

This time, you happily obliged.

.

a/n: hi cuties!! i know ive been gone for a hot minute, i've just been swamped with my classes. i'm taking 4 lit classes this semester 🙄 someone tell me why i thought that was a good idea. ANYWAY ,, i hope yall liked this one! i've been seeing sm bucky content bc of thunderbults (can't wait to see that btw) so i thought to write a cute little fic this morning with him. and seeing sebastian talk shit on donald trump to the press is so sexy to me 🤭 okok i'll stop fangirling!! love yall! have a nice thanksgiving to my u.s. friends who celebrate! — angelina.

[judesprincess]

NSFW ALPHABET – Jude Bellingham

note: hii babes, how are you? look, this is my first time posting something like this and English is not my first language so i ask you to be kind and ignore any mistake pls

ps: let me know if you like this, kisses 💋

a = aftercare (how they are after sex)

he would definitely be extremely careful and gentle after sex. constantly asking if he hurt you and checking your body; he knows how rough he can be (especially when he is frustrated), so he is quick to take care of you right after you are done having sex. he cleans you up while kissing you tenderly and repeating how good you felt; he always asks if you have cramps from penetration and if you do, he makes a nice warm compress to put on you. he holds you protectively and cuddles you until you fall asleep.

b = body part (his and his partner's favorite part)

he loves every part of your body, but besides that, I feel like he's the kind of man who likes curves, so I feel like he's obsessed with your ass, like he can't stop slapping and squeezing it... he also loves kissing and biting it and the sight of it all red from his slaps drives him crazy... I bet he would love your hips, he just loves holding them while he pounds you from behind

you see, when we talk about his favorite part of him i think that this man is definitely very proud of what he carries between his legs (those celebrations and demonstrations don't tell me otherwise), he just loves how impressed you are every time you see him naked (no matter how many times you've seen him like that) and how much you fight to take him every time... i bet he also loves his biceps, especially when he catches you staring at them shamelessly

c = cum (anything to do with cum)

he definitely loves cumming inside you. for him, there is nothing better than finishing inside you and seeing his cum dripping out;  he'd never admit it out loud, but you both knew it was primal, he just loved the idea of ​​claiming you like that and he loved even more the way you trusted him to let him do something so intimate

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he secretly wants to try anal sex with you, but he'll never ask you out loud because he doesn't want to pressure you into doing something just to please him

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

let's be honest, that man is a hoe, he's definitely experienced (especially for his age), but i think he had to hold back in the beginning of the relationship to keep up with you, since you weren't experienced (let's ignore the fact that i'm basing this on my lack of experience) and he didn't want to scare you or overwhelm you with the dirty things he wanted to do to you

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

to me there are two sides to him, one dirty and naughty and the other gentle and caring; so I think there will be nights when he will put you on all fours and fuck you until you beg for mercy and other nights when he will go in the classic mommy and daddy style and make love to you softly and lovingly while whispering in your ear how beautiful and special you are to him.

g = goofy (are they more serious now? are they funny? etc.)

i think he could be the kind of guy who always wants to make you comfortable and easy, so I think he would make a joke or give you a reassuring smile when he sees you are nervous or tense.

however, of course, there are days when he is not in a good mood and maybe he will be more serious and focused.

h = hair (how well-groomed is it? does the carpet match the curtains?)

honestly, he is very clean and hygienic, but I don't think he shaves;  at most, I think he trims it a little (but he's definitely well taken care of)

i = intimacy (how are they at the moment? the romantic aspect)

like I said, for me he has two sides, so it will depend a lot on the occasion and his mood. there will be days when he'll be more naughty and maybe even verbally degrade you, but there will also be days when he'll be soft and nothing but compliments and sweet words will come out of his mouth

i think he likes to set the mood beforehand, even if it's something simple and, even if you say it's old-fashioned, you secretly love how thoughtful he is about it

j =  jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he definitely does this, always thinking about you and your body;  You are far from each other and have no time for FaceTime and Jude can't stop thinking about the nights of sex he had with you and before he can even think, his hand goes up and down his cock firmly, even though he knows that his hand doesn't even compare to anything you were capable of doing to him. Of course, when you are together, he doesn't even consider touching himself, always wanting you instead.

k = kink (one or more of your kinks)

• size kink: jude definitely has a size kink, he loves how different you are physically (in every way), how short and small you are compared to him; countless times you've caught him comparing the size of your hands and smirking at how small your hand is compared to his. let me tell you, that man definitely loves how different you are down there too, he absolutely loves how tight the fit is whenever he enters you

• praisy kink: that man loves to compliment and be complimented; he just loves saying nice things to you and letting you know how great you're doing. he also loves when you compliment him, when you let him know how good he makes you feel or how big he feels or even how gorgeous he is, it drives him crazy

• innocence kink: i might be crazy, but i think he would love the fact that you have no experience or little;  he would simply love the fact that he was your first and had to teach you everything, the idea of ​​molding you to his will would make him dizzy

l = location (favorite places to do the activity)

I think he is a reserved guy and, although he may allow himself to tease you in public sometimes, he always wants to keep his intimate moments away from anyone; the bedroom or any place in his house or yours (as long as they are alone) is perfect for him

m = motivation (what turns them on, keeps them going)

slightly anything; but something about feeling that you need him moves him in an unmatched way and makes him crazy with desire

n = no (something they wouldn't do, turns them off)

definitely nothing that would hurt you; also, i think he would definitely say a big no to sharing you with someone (no matter who it is)

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

that man seems like a spectacular pussy eater and he would definitely make you fall apart with those gorgeous lips

but he definitely loves a good blowjob, he just can't get over the image of your lips wrapped around his cock, he definitely loves to fuck your mouth

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

it all depends on his mood.  if it’s been a bad day or he’s really horny, he’ll definitely fuck you hard and rough (but always making sure the penetration isn’t hurting you), but on those days when things have gone well, he’ll go in slowly and gently, setting a pace

but I feel like no matter what the pace, he’ll always want to go deep, deep inside you so you can feel him completely

q = quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while he loves taking all the time in the world with you, he also loves quickies—anything to feel you around him—and will take you anywhere in the house

r = risk (are they willing to experiment? are they risk-takers? etc.)

he absolutely hates the idea of ​​someone catching you in such an intimate moment;  it would be the death of him to know that someone saw you as vulnerable and exposed as that must be for his eyes only

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go? how long do they last?)

let's be real, have you ever seen the way that man runs for 90 minutes on the field?? you consider yourself a warrior for trying to keep up with his stamina; no matter how intense it was, there he is, dying to have more of you

t = toys (do they have toys? do they use them? on a partner or on themselves?)

i don't think he'd be too interested in that, although he wouldn't bug you for having some (although he would secretly be a little jealous); however, if you begged him, i think he might allow himself to use something like a cock ring

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

that man is a tease for sure, he would definitely tease you by blushing around him or being extremely wet and needy for him or even while you were struggling to get him

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he's definitely not the kind of guy who's going to be like a dead man while fucking; he'll definitely moan and grunt while mumbling dirty things to you

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

jude definitely has a "hero syndrome". he loves being your hero, no matter how silly it is; if you can't open a can or something, he's there to fix it quickly. it can be the most trivial thing, he'll want to fix it for you. he just loves the fact that you depend on him in some way – even though he knows it's lame, he can't help but feel that way – he always wants to be the guy who puts a smile on your face and who makes you feel safe and protected

x = x-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

i think we have more than enough content to say that he's huge (and he's definitely thick too);  you are absolutely struggling to take it all in

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

he is literally never satisfied. he always wants more and more of you and you just love how desired he makes you feel

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he will only fall asleep after you, only after he is sure you are completely comfortable and satisfied.

well, i really hope you enjoyed it and feel free to interact with me anonymously (or not), kisses 💋

[myeyebagsaredesigner]

Tim and Damian piss Jason enough that the next week Jason is their Literature teacher in the School

HAHAHAHAHSDFSHKSD OMG YES

Tim and Damian may not be close, but they're always willing to team up and mess with Jason. They think it's funny. Jason does not. His frustration has been slowly building throughout the past few weeks until finally, he gets glitter bombed after a rough patrol. Post clean up, post shower, about to get into bed, he opens up his clothes drawer and BOOM. Glitter. He has had enough.

He sends a text to them reading 'I'm done with this. Pray for your fucking lives' and gets to work on coming up with a revenge plan. Beat them up? A classic, but too basic. Screw with their patrol routes? Nah, that would just piss Bruce off, and he's not interested in that right now. He knows a few of Black Mask's goons.. maybe he can use them to mess with them? No.. the last time he used Mask's henchmen for revenge behind his back, he was sent a very strongly worded text message. He had to apologize with freshly baked cookies.

He remembers Tim and Damian talking about a literature project. Something about having to choose a book to read for class work. Apparently, Tim is struggling with his book and Damian hasn't even started his. He can steal the books? Tear out a few pages so they don't get the full story?

Wait.

Wait just a minute.

Jason has a degree in English.

He.. he can use this.

He does end up getting help from Mask's goons (with permission, of course), and suddenly their teacher is nowhere to be found and they're stuck with a substitute. They think it's great. Damian uses that time to draw and Tim brings his switch to school for the week and it's awesome.

On Monday the next week, Tim gets a very bad feeling while walking into school. He asks Damian if he feels weird, and he admits that something feels a bit off. They wander into class and find it completely rearranged. Where there used to be a silly alphabet poster, there is now a Hamlet quote. The bright red curtains were replaced with black. On the desk, two books- are those Tim and Damian's books??- are stacked on top of each other, a skull resting on top. The sub isn't there. In fact, Damian swears he saw them walk into a different classroom.

They sit down at a desk, not their usual one, seeing as the desks were moved from groups to lines, and wait. The bell rings and the door slams open, Jason strutting in. They both sit there in shock as their brother sets his stuff down and writes 'Mr. T' on the board. He turns around and smirks at them before turning to the rest of the class.

Jason: "Hello everyone, you can call me Mr. T. I will be your new English Literature teacher for the year."

Student: "You don't look like a teacher.."

Jason, narrowing his eyes: "And you don't look like you're going to pass my class."

Student:

Jason: "That's what I thought.. everybody up. I'm assigning seats."

He switches everybody around, placing Tim and Damian in the front row on opposite sides. He claims he heard something about a project, and he will be collecting it now, seeing as the due date was that day. Tim and Damian watch as the majority of their class hands in the work in shame and slight fear. Jason calls on them for their work and they have to admit to the class that they didn't do it. They receive ten fat F's.

When Jason begins his teaching year, he uses it to torment his brothers. He makes them read aloud, calls on them to answer questions they don't know, curves the lessons to ones they struggle with, etc. Eventually though, he finds that he actually enjoys teaching. His class seems to like him too. He's a fairly young guy who doesn't try to act like he's all professional, and he teaches the lessons in a way that makes them interested. Tim and Damian hate it, and are the only ones who seem to not like the new teacher.

When he leaves at the end of the year, he receives a bunch of flowers and gifts and cards from his students. He cries.

Years later, the kids will come up to him when they see him on the street. He gets told about what new books they're reading, what they're majoring in, how they're doing. A couple kids tell him that he inspired them to study English Literature, and he feels like he's on top of the world. He gets invited to the wedding of two of his students who he assigned together for group work. He's invited to college graduations. They even have a book club that he occasionally goes to.

Tormenting his brothers is the best

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Fire & Ice 🔥🧊 | MCU!Johnny Storm Imagine

Link to my Marvel masterlist

Characters & Pairings: JosephQuinn!JohnnyStorm x enhanced!reader (romantic), the Fantastic Four (platonic), The Avengers (platonic).

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of canon violence and death, canon divergence, light angst | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 7K

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Earth-616 is no stranger to the multiverse. Since the defeat of Thanos in 2023, the Avengers have had their fair share of visitors from other worlds and know what to expect when they do. But when a man wearing the same face of their late comrade arrives, the Avengers are in for the shock of their lives when a group of heroes tailing the individual fall through the portal behind him. And for the flying, fire-wielding, and sometimes charming Johnny Storm, he meets his match in the form of a woman whose power and reputation matches that of her cold, steel, heart.

Note: Happy 2025 everyone! To kick off the year I am gifting y'all this damn idea that's been stuck in my head the past two weeks. Now if you've been following my work since I started, then you know I was pumping out Marvel fics back in the day. Phase 1-4 of Marvel have my heart, and unfortunately the disappointment of Phase 5 (with few exceptions) had me lose interest. BUT if there was one thing I absolutely loved when I was a kid, it was the OG Fantastic Four movies with Chris Evans, Jessica Alba, etc. I watched those literally every day and before the Avengers/MCU I rolled hard with the FF, Blade, & X-Men (I've got another idea involving Deadpool & Wolverine cooking). So I have a lot of expectations for FF: First Steps especially because the MCU has had so many misses the last two years. I love Pedro Pascal, Vanessa Kirby, and Joseph Quinn, I haven't watched The Bear, but I've heard great things about Ebon Moss-Bachrach and I look forward to his and the rest of the cast's portrayal of the FF.

I've been a fan of JQ since 2022 because like majority of people I discovered him by his performance as Eddie in Stranger Things. I'll admit I haven't seen much of his filmography, but I did watch A Quiet Place: Day One and he was phenomenal. And don't get me started on Gladiator II. I was pleased to hear he'd be playing my first love Johnny Storm and I know he'll do amazing, not to mention he has said that he was a fan of the OG movies and Chris' version of the character. Whenever I hear an actor is a fan of the source material, I know they're going to deliver.

The movie hasn't come out, neither has the trailer, so I don't have much to work with. But we know that FF:FS is following the origin story of the FF and will feature the Silver Surfer. AND it's rumored to be where RDJ's Doctor Doom will debut, setting up Avengers: Doomsday and he will be the big villain of the MCU. This obviously is diverging from canon and pretty much an AU story, remember that please. SO here's my treat to my fellow Johnny Storm lovers to feed y'all since we still got months until FF:FS. Enjoy.

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

The blinding light of the sun peaking through the curtains pulled Johnny from his sleep before the alarm was set to go off. Had it been any other day he’d be upset. Wishing nothing more than to curl into the comforter and get the extra minutes of sleep. But thankfully it was Sunday--the day reserved for rest. No agenda. No training. No missions. Completely free and dedicated to recoupling after a week filled with non-stop action. 

And if there was anyone who would be displeased at waking up earlier than needed, it was the woman lying beside him. Fast asleep on her back with one hand curled beneath the pillow and the other clasping his on her chest. Body cooler than the average person, which made the atmosphere of the room comfortable considering Johnny’s was hotter than the average citizen. Figuratively and literally. 

Johnny smiled, happily tucking himself further into her space, chin leaning on her shoulder as he snuggled against her side. Allowing his eyes to flutter close and accept the slumber his body itched to claim. The fresh scent of shea butter from her shampoo and body wash filled his nostrils, and he sighed in content. 

This was what life was worth living.

But just when Johnny welcomed the darkness, the annoying, blazing sound of their alarm clock echoed against the walls, disturbing the peaceful moment and making him flinch and groan. “Dammit,” he rolled onto his back, arm reaching to slap at the air until his fingers grasped the device. Snoozing it asleep with a press of a button. 

Now he was fully awake.

Flinging himself back onto the mattress, he felt her body shift before letting out a soft chuckle, “Had you turned it off when you first woke, you’d have spared yourself this torment.” Her voice was laced with tiredness, and Johnny turned his head to find her eyes still closed but clear amusement painting her visage by the smirk on her lips. 

Rolling his eyes, he moved to lay on his side and brought his arm around her waist, “Why didn’t you? Seeing as you were also awake.” 

“Too comfy.”

“Well, so was I,” he sassed, mouth hovering over her jaw before leaning down to kiss the skin, the coolness sending a chill along his spine. She hums, nuzzling into the touch, seeking it.

“The alarm is also on your side.”

Johnny smirks against her cheek, mischief coating his gaze, “you could’ve reached over me, you know. Saved us both the hassle.” His hand reached up to stoke her jaw, trailing to tangle his fingers in her hair. Soft and silky. He takes a moment to appreciate the beauty before him. From her thick eyelashes, to her lips. Her cheekbones and kissable lips. 

“Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you,” she challenged with no actual bite to her tone, one eye peeking open. “Me on top of you in the morning.” He didn’t even deny it, flashing a toothy smile

“Very much so.” 

Instead of replying, Y/n moved to push the man onto his back, throwing her leg over his waist to lay herself on top of him. Johnny’s hands immediately grabbed her, keeping her body pressed against his with one hand on her back and the other firmly on her hips. The heat radiating off his complexion clashed against the frostiness of hers. Two polar opposites coming together in an explosion of love and devotion. 

Johnny welcomed it with open arms, bringing her mouth to his in a tender kiss. Chuckling as she fought away while mumbling about morning breath to which he didn’t care. He kissed her like his life depended on it. Like they were the only two people in existence. For there was nothing sweeter on the planet than the taste of her lips on his. 

And thanks to the fire that consumed his veins, Johnny was spared from getting frostbite.

“Happy?” She asked while pulling away, but not getting far as Johnny cupped her jaw in his hand to keep her close. Kissing her once more after mumbling, “exceptionally.”

The tale of the Human Torch falling in love with the Ice Princess begins long ago, three years to be exact, when the Fantastic Four find themselves sitting across the table of Earth’s mightiest heroes, the Avengers. 

Everything leading up to the moment was still a blur to the young Johnny Storm. One moment he and his team, the Fantastic Four as they called themselves, were fighting the formidable Doctor Doom in their 60s-style futuristic Earth. And the next they are pulled into another universe while tailing the bastard to prevent him from bringing utter destruction to the world. It hadn’t even been five minutes and the Four were surrounded by armored trucks and individuals donning costumes similar to their own. 

“Hands where we can see them!”

“State your name and purpose!”

“Who are you and where did you come from!”

Johnny’s heart pounded against his chest. The anxiety piling up like a volcano ready to explode as he took in the scene before him. There were guns pointed at him and his friends. A man in a blue tunic and red cape with his hands raised in defense next to a young girl wearing a brown tunic. Another man in a red, white, and blue tactical suit with wings who landed in front of them. His shield reflecting off the light. Next to him was a man in a similar attire with wings but in grey. Then there was a woman in all purple, bow and arrow trained on the Four. A man with five golden rings on either wrist. A masked individual in a bright red and blue suit with spider webbing detail crouched on top of a car. And finally, a woman in a striking gray tactical ensemble stood closest to Johnny with a cold look in her eyes. 

Upon making a flame with his hands, ready to defend himself and his friends, Johnny watched her face shift to amusement. Raising her brow as though unimpressed by the trick, “Don’t even try, hotshot.” And without taking her eyes off his, her palm raised up to form an icicle in the shape of a dagger. Her other arm extended to show her skin turning completely into ice. 

Yeah, Johnny wasn’t sure if it was fear or arousal that consumed him. He often confused them at times. All he knows is there was a pretty woman before him with ice powers with cold eyes ready to strike him down with God knows what laid in store for him should he dare tempt her. 

But now wasn’t the time to flirt. There were more important matters at stake. Like the fact they were surrounded by highly advanced, highly enhanced, people with an army of soldiers at their command. In a place that looked like New York but lacked the 60s style he was accustomed to. 

“Cuff them and begin transport to HQ!”

“Find me Banner and clear this area at once!” 

The Four were at a loss. Outnumbered and confused, none able to process what the fuck was going on. They lost Doom. He was God knows where and they were not a match against these strangers. So they took their loss and compiled as they were restrained by agents.

“What the fuck is happening, Reed?” Johnny demanded, struggling against the cuffs on his arms and ankles. His power seemingly unable to melt the damn things which both intrigued and terrified him. 

“I don’t know?”

“Where are we?” said Sue from beside the genius, expression full of confusion and slight fear. The last thing she remembered was falling through a glowing yellow-orange light in the shape of a ring and the feeling of nausea hitting her full force. Giving her whiplash. 

But before anyone could answer, the blinding light of the sun hit them as the door whipped open and agents ushered them out of the vehicle. Clashes of voices, cameras flashing as news crews desperately tried to breach the barrier guards had formed and even a helicopter flying above. Johnny glanced up to take in the chaos, gaze falling onto the large building before him with a giant ‘A’ 

The Four are led to a large glass encased room, still cuffed, and ordered to sit and wait while armed guards post themselves outside. Expecting someone to come in and interrogate them, they take the moment to assess the area. Noting that the glass room sat perched above a large space, like a bullpen, where people were rushing to answer phones, type on computers, or stood watching the vast tv screens splayed on the wall. The news channels played footage of what transpired on the streets moments prior. The Four tense when they see an image of Doctor Doom, disappearing after falling from what appeared to be a portal in the sky. 

Just like they did. 

The sound of the glass door opening captured their attention, turning to find the man in the wingsuit and the woman in gray. Their body language showed they were on high alert, analyzing the Four for any potential threat, and they exchanged a look before the man set down his shield on a free chair while the woman placed a stack of files onto the table. 

“I’m Captain Sam Wilson, this is Agent Y/n L/n,” The man spoke first, cutting right to the chase, “You’re not from here, are you?”

“Here?” Reed repeated, perplexed.

“Earth-616,” Y/n answered, locking eyes with each of the Four, lingering on Johnny before falling onto Reed. “At first we suspected you’re with Hydra, or part of the team Fontaine has been cooking up. But ruled those possibilities out once we saw the footage of your friend who preceded you in the portal.”

The Four processed her words, unable to identify the names she spoke of. 

“Hydra?”

“We don’t know who this Fontaine person is, but we can assure you we’re not involved with them.”

“You saw Doom? We have to find him immediately!” 

“I’m sorry, did you say Earth-616?,’ Reed reeled back to her initial answer. Y/n crossed her arms over her chest with a nod.

“I did,” she then turned to Sam, lowering her voice but they were still able to hear everything, “This isn’t going to be easy, Cap. They obviously hadn’t discovered what we know and that makes them a liability.”

“We have no choice. Whoever traveled with them is still out there and they know what we’re up against. We need them.”

“And how exactly are we going to send them back to where they came from?”

“We’ll figure it out like we always do,” Sam’s tone grows stern, but Y/n holds her ground and doesn’t reveal any ounce of intimidation. “Strange and Banner can find something.”

Johnny, having had enough of them talking about them as though they weren’t right there, spoke up with annoyance, “Can you two please tell us what the fuck is going on? What do you mean “send us back where we came from,” and that we hadn’t discovered what you apparently know?”

Reed pitches in, “Sounds like you’re suggesting the theory of the multiverse is real and that we’ve somehow breached the gap between space, time, and reality and have fallen into a parallel universe,” the genius scoffs, gaze flicking between the two as though waiting for them to say, ‘Sike!’ only for his stomach to plummet in fear as he saw how serious they were. “Oh my God.”

Reed’s reaction to the implication was enough to cause the same in his friends. Sue’s face paled, Ben froze, and Johnny felt a sudden urge to throw up. They were in another universe.

 They watch as Y/n removes a device from her utility belt, stiffening as she points it at the man, a buzzing sound emitting from its speakers causing her brows to furrow and the man leaned over to read whatever it was on the screen. “You’re human, like us, and your DNA appears to be altered with enhanced biological traits.” Glancing up from the screen, her head tilts with suspicion, “but that’s not the interesting part…..your readings indicate you obtain multiversal particles.”

The revelation sent the Four into hysterics. All denying at first the inevitable truth, speaking over each other, struggling against their cuffs--which Sam removed once they calmed down. Reed was dealing with shock and excitement, for the scientific discovery was something he always theorized was true. Meanwhile the others were more fearful of what this meant for their world and the one they were in. 

For hours after the initial shock wore off, they stayed in that room until all information was exchanged between the groups. Sam infomed the Four they were at Avengers campus, headquarters for the Avengers. A team consisting of biologically or technologically enhanced individuals responsible for the safety and order of Earth-616 against domestic, international, and intergalactic threats.

“Well now we can add multiversal to the mix,” Y/n crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly annoyed with having to deal with another damn enemy after they’d finally defeated an adversary not long ago.

Part of Johnny wanted to laugh at her irritation, but that probably would’ve made things worse on his end. So he kept his mouth shut. 

Sam and Y/n were soon joined by the man in the tunic, who introduced himself as Doctor Stephen Strange. A Master of the Mystic Arts who had experience traveling the multiverse, and had even met a variant of Reed years prior. 

He didn’t go into detail obviously of how that ended.

Not long later he was followed by a large man who’s physique rivaled Ben’s and was green. “Dr. Reed Richards, meet Dr. Bruce Banner,” Y/n did not look up from her tablet, full focus on the screen. “You two will surely get on well with figuring out what the fuck it is this Doctor Doom wants with our world.”

While they didn’t join the group, Sam explained who the other team members were that helped attain the Fantastic Four. Stephen’s protegee, America Chavez, who had the power to travel the multiverse--which had Reed’s eyes bulging from his head. He definitely wanted to have a conversation with her. There was Kate Bishop, the purple archer who trained under former Avenger, Clint Barton. Sam’s wingman, Joaquin Torres, and Shang-Chi, who possessed the Ten Rings. Lastly there was Peter Parker, the boy donning the red and blue webbed suit. 

They mentioned the Thunderbolts, another team of enhanced individuals who were more anti-heroes and had once been adversaries of the Avengers but are now allies. Then there was the Guardians of the Galaxy. A team of intergalactic heroes traveling space and protecting the galaxy from threats not on Earth. The Norse Gods of Asgard, now living on Earth. Shuri, Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne, and the Marvels. Lastly, they touched on former Avengers. Ones who retired, like Barton, and the ones who perished. 

Finally, when things seemed to settle, Johnny decided to lift the mood by saying, “So do you guys have nicknames? Or like code for when you’re on missions?” Sue shot him a look that read, “For the love of God, Johnny.”

Y/n lifted her eyes from the tablet, giving him a once over, “Are you serious right now?”

“What?”

“Aye, take it easy, L/N,” Sam pitched in, waving a hand for emphasis. “Can’t blame the kid for being curious.” All he receives is a mock scoff. 

“Okay, Captain America.”

Johnny’s ears perked up as he looked at Sam with interest. Boyish grin plastered on his face, “You’re called Captain America? That’s really cool.” He motions toward the suit and shield, “Should’ve guessed as much though with the colors of your suit and stars.”  

“I used to be the Falcon, but Torres has taken on that mantle. Strange is just strange,” Y/n snickered under her breath, causing Johnny to bite back a smile. “We call America, Miss America.”

Ben nods his head in approval, “fitting.”

Sam continued listing off the aliases of the team, finally coming to Y/n who narrowed her eyes with a frown as he said, “And she’s the Ice Princess.” 

Honestly she should be grateful for the nickname and that it sounded quite regal in comparison to other ice related names. Hell, they could’ve dubbed her Frost. Or Snowflake. Or God forbid Icicle. At least with the Ice Princess it made her sound both menacing and dauntless. Still, it was too on the nose. And it didn’t help that before the accident that granted her the powers and the Avengers, she was a socialite in America. Before they died, her parents were wealthy investors and friends with the late Tony Stark.

Johnny didn’t try to hide his grin, “The Ice Princess,” earning a glare from the woman, obviously not amused by the nickname nor his delight from it. 

“And what do they call you, hotshot? Firestarter? Flame-man?” 

He shrugs sheepishly, cheeks a tint red, “Human Torch.” Now that has Y/n’s lips curl, fighting back the smile as she hums.

Setting the Four up at campus, they were given rooms and full access to the labs and training facilities. Reed and Ben immediately joined Banner, while Johnny and Sue decided to observe the Avengers and learn from them. Their dynamics. Their history. The way they train and how they come together to develop strategy. How they are able to make a team consisting of individuals with different levels of abilities, experience, and ethics work. 

Johnny would be lying if he said he wasn’t the most curious about Y/n. Not only was she the most beautiful, and quite terrifying, woman he’d ever met, but he was drawn to her aura. The power she held, both physically and on the team. She was extremely intelligent, a mentor to the young members, witty. Unafraid to go toe-to-toe with Sam or Strange. 

And her powers….they were exact opposites. Fire and ice. Hot and cold. Where he controlled flames, she manipulated glaciers. He turned himself into a human torch, she transformed to a human icicle. 

Talk about opposites attract. 

Days passed, and the two teams merged together with the goal of locating their common enemy. By keeping up with the news and reports of suspicious activity, they were able to narrow down the search for Doom. Suspecting him to be hiding somewhere in the New England area. 

The day before planning to scour the location, the teams trained with each other, none holding back. Showing off what they were made of. An enthralling experience considering the Fantastic Four had only been a team for a couple years in comparison to the fifteen plus of the Avengers. Banner being the only founding member there, Sam and Y/n not far behind. 

“I like her,” Sue whispered to her brother when Y/n sideswiped Joaquin and put him on his ass. The group made a circle around the matts in the gym and were taking turns going against each other. Sue caught the way the man’s gaze followed the Avenger. Mesmerized by her skill and ability. And Sue always knew when her brother had a crush. “You should go next when it’s her turn again.” 

Johnny didn’t respond, but the look on his sister's face, a cheeky smirk told him he wasn’t being conspicuous as he thought he was with his feelings. “Shut up.” 

The most tense, and nearly destructible moment, came when the Four discovered a photograph of Tony Stark on the wall of a different debrief room alongside the founding Avengers. Who bore a striking resemblance, well actually he was identical, to Dr. Victor von Doom. The man they were after. 

There was screaming. Accusations thrown at each other. Of course suspicion and confusion from the Four. Up until that point the Avengers only saw Doom with his cloak and mask from the footage, and the Four hadn’t described his appearance. And while the Avengers mentioned Tony Stark, they didn’t show any pictures. 

It calmed when Strange had to remind them about the existence of variants. He met Reed’s when traveling to Earth-838. Peter Parker met two of his. It was completely possible that their Victor von Doom was a variant of their Tony Stark. Were they the same man? Not really when one thinks about it. But they shared a face. The Reed Richards Strange met looked nothing like the one standing in front of him. While in Earth-838, Strange met a young lady who worked with Christine, that world’s version of the Ice Princess, who was not Y/n. Peggy Carter was their Captain America!

Oh, and there was the big detail in the fact that Tony Stark was dead. 

When the commotion settled and the two groups lost their steam, Johnny noted the deflated appearance of the Avengers. All falling quiet with unreadable expressions. Peter excused himself, “I-I don’t feel good. I’m gonna go lay down,” but the blonde saw the way his lip trembled and eyes watered. Rushing out of the debriefing room on a mission to get away from everyone before he burst into tears. A feeling of guilt suddenly consumed Johnny, glancing at his friends who shared the same concern. 

Banner was quiet, as was Strange. The others, who didn’t know Tony personally, shuffled on their feet and quietly excused themselves as well. Sam had his back to everyone, a distant look in his eyes as he gazed down at the bullpen below. 

And then there was Y/n. Sitting in silence with her hands clenching the arms of her chair, white knuckled and jaw so tight he swore he saw a vein protruding. Her breathing was shallow, eyes staring blankly at the wall. 

Johnny felt unease, unsure of what to do. Should he say something? Should they leave the room? Nothing felt right at that moment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this new revelation changed everything. This was no longer just containing a multiversal threat, this was personal so to say. 

He was spared the ordeal when Sam finally spoke, only to be interrupted by Y/n, “You know you don’t have to--.”

“Do not finish that sentence, Sam.”

He turned away from the window to look at her, tone serious, “I’m trying to look out for you, Kid.”

“What’d I tell you about calling me that?” 

“And Peter,” Sam continues, not letting up, “No one will fault you two for wanting to pull out of this.” 

She scoffs, offended by the insinuation as she stands from her chair. The atmosphere in the room heated up again, and Johnny tensed, watching the woman step forward so she was nearly chest to chest with Sam. “There is a multiversal madman out there and you’re suggesting I stay grounded?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “What the fuck, Sam?”

“This is different, Y/n,” his voice was steady, willing her to understand. He wanted the best for his team. And their situation was unlike anything they’d ever dealt with. “You have to realize that. This Doom is--.”

“Not him, Sam! Y/n threw her hands up, yelling as the anger she had tried to contain began to unleash, “I’m not fucking stupid! For Christ’s sake, I know that’s not Tony and I’m not going to compromise this team because the man we’re up against has the same face as him!” 

“Y/n--,” Strange attempted to intervene but she shot him a look and he immediately backed down. 

“If you think Peter and I should back out, then so should Banner,” she pointed to the man who had yet to say something since the news of Tony’s variant was revealed. “Him and Tony founded this team. And let’s not forget your history with the damn Accords. Should I go call Rhodey and see what he thinks?” 

‘Accords? Rhodey?’ Johnny thought to himself, not familiar with the term as he thought back to the lessons on the Avengers. They must’ve omitted that detail, assuming it was a rather dark part of their history. A confirmation he got from the reactions of Banner and Strange, who’s expressions were complete shock and appalled. 

Sam’s demeanor shifted to that of hurt and exasperation, her words hitting him like a bullet from a gun. “That was low, even for you.” Yeah, whatever it was they were references, the Four gathered it wasn’t good. 

Y/n stepped back as though he struck her, a flash of regret in her eyes but she kept her head up, willing herself not to break. “I’m an Avenger. I took an oath, the same as you, and made a promise to Tony that I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this planet against any and all danger. I will not break that promise, and nothing you say or do will stop me.” Y/n backs away, moving toward the door, “I’ll see you on the quinjet tomorrow, Cap.”

An eerie silence remained as the door slammed shut behind Y/n. Nobody moved. Nobody made a sound. The air was thick, and full of tension. The Four glancing at each other with uncertainty. 

“Wings up at eight,” Sam announced, voice strong with authority as though the last five minutes never occurred. Or didn’t bother him, though Johnny noted the pinched look of his brows.

The Captain then departed the room, Strange and Banner following out with a nod to the Four. Left to their own devices, the Four spent the next hour in the debrief room watching footage of the Avengers. Particularly ones with Tony Stark, the Iron Man, and the several catastrophic missions he dealt with alongside the Avengers. Provided with the mountain of videos from news channels and social media of people who experienced it first hand. 

New York 2012. Ultron 2015. The Superhero Civil War of 2016. That’s where they learned of the Accords Y/n referenced and how she and Sam were involved. The two on opposite sides of the scale as Y/n pledged allegiance to Tony while Sam supported former Captain America, Steve Rogers. Witnesses flying a private plane around the airport captured the fight between the two teams. 

Johnny watched with a frown as Y/n battled against her colleagues and friends. He could tell she was holding back on using her power to the highest degree, not really wanting to hurt them, but enough to send a message. For example, when Steve and Bucky attempted to flee to the hangar, Y/n created a layer of ice on the pavement, causing them to tumble and fall. Then she made a wall of ice to contain Scott Lang in his giant form. But that was a failure, as the wall wasn’t thick enough allowing Scott to break free, sending chunks of ice toward the ground, knocking the hero unconscious when one collided with her head, blood spilling from her temple. To prevent her from being crushed, Tony flew in a record speed to gather in his arms and rush her to safety. 

Later that night when Johnny was wandering the building, he found Y/n on the balcony overlooking the main grounds. A hue of orange and pink painting the sky as the sun set on the horizon. The dark blue of nightfall taking over lurking in the background. She was out of her suit, dressed in casual clothes consisting of a hoodie and sweats. A faint expression on her visage as she stared out in the distance. 

Gathering courage, Johnny took a deep breath before gently sliding back the door, the cool breeze hitting him in the face as he closed it behind him and approached the woman. Her head tilted slightly, acknowledging that she heard him, but made no move to address. 

They stayed like that for a minute. In silence, basking in the peace they were afforded before the impending danger they were to face. 

“I’m sorry you all had to witness that,” Y/n eventually spoke, tone neutral as her expression. “That was unprofessional of me.”

Johnny shook his head with a shrug, “You don’t have to apologize. I can’t imagine what you and your friends are feeling. And I’m sorry we jumped to conclusions--accusing you guys of--.”

“Considering what you told us of Victor von Doom,” She sent a pointed look, her voice one of understanding, “you had every right to be cautious. Plus,” she sighs, gaze flickered down to the railing, “you four are still new to the Multiverse. We’ve known about it for five years, and I remember that feeling of confusion and uncertainty. America told us all about her experiences traveling through various realities.” Y/n’s frown deepened, shuffling on her feet with unease. “In one world, she met a version of me that hated the Avengers--and tried to destroy them.” Her body shudders, and not from the wind, “That stuck me for a while. I couldn’t imagine a world where I was the enemy. Whose goal was to hurt the people I cared about. Steve, Nat, Tony.” 

Johnny nodded, leaning his elbows on the railing as he pictured it. Surely there were versions of himself out there in the multiverse. He wondered what they were like. Did they have the same power? Did they get to live a normal life like he once thought he would? Was he a hero? Or was there a version of Johnny who went against all he stood for? 

He too, refused to imagine a scenario where he’d want to harm his sister and friends. It saddened him to even think about such a thing. And the way Y/n said Tony’s name, showed him she felt the same.

“Was he your father?” the question left his lips before he could stop it. Immediately regretting upon the distant look that encompassed her visage along with the glossiness of her eyes.

“He was the closest thing I had to one after my own died,” Y/n bit her lip, scoffing lightly, “actually even when mine was alive. Met the man when I was five--my father invested in Stark Industries and the two were good friends. I have fond memories of going to Stark Tower and watching Tony’s expos.” A small smile appeared, but it soon turned to a frown. “My parents profited off the sciences and technology, but didn’t really care to understand it.” There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she spoke, and Y/n was a bit surprised she was being so open with Johnny. A rare feeling, for she was hardly this vulnerable about her past with her teammates. And she’d known them for decades almost.

“I was always smart growing up but they never acknowledged or praised me for it. Told me college wasn’t necessary since we were wealthy and what good would higher education be when we were well set. Mind you,” she shoots a glance at Johnny, who was watching her intently. “My father went to business school in Chicago and my mother was a journalist before they got married.”

“The pot calling the kettle black,” he muses, tone laced with disappointment on her behalf.

“Exactly,” she sighed, shaking her head as she looked back toward the city. “My father laughed when I told them I wanted to pursue physics at MIT. Told me if I was going to go to college then I should do business where the money was at--as if I needed more fucking money,” Johnny heard the frustration and sadness in her voice, picturing a young Y/n with dreams who just wanted the support of her parents and was denied. Thinking about it made his heart strain.

“Anyways, Tony was the one who helped me get to MIT. It was my freshman year he got kidnapped and became Iron Man. Barely saw him after that because his partnership with my dad ended.” Fiddling with her rings, Y/n closes her eyes briefly while taking a breath, then shrugs nonchalantly, “My folks were among the casualties in New York, my accident happened not long after….” she straightens up with a sniff, “Tony Stark helped me find purpose. Told me there were greater things for me--and my powers could be a tool to help people. He took me under his wing when the government advised him not to. I owe everything to him.” Turning to lock their eyes, Y/n’s gaze is filled with determination. 

“As he died I promised him to continue his legacy. I intend to keep it, until my last breath.”

Defeating Doom proved itself to be the most defining moment for the Avengers and Fantastic Four. Lasting months on end, for each time Doom was in their grasps he managed to get two steps ahead of them. Thankfully the integrity of space, time, and reality didn’t seem to disintegrate with the Four in Earth-616. Something the geniuses of the team were concerned about. 

When it was finally over, Doom neutralized and the multiverse saved, the Avengers and the Four--bloodied, bruised, and covered in grime, dragged themselves to a nearby shawarma joint to pig out. Beer flowed, music sounded from the jukebox beside the round table they took claim to. 

And after months of tip-toeing around feelings, Johnny and Y/n finally said ‘fuck it,’ falling into step together as a unit they both craved. The Ice Princess seated firmly in his lap with her head tucked under his chin, eyes fluttering closed as the exhaustion kicked in. 

For Johnny, he’d been crushing on the woman since he first laid eyes on her. Keeping his affections hidden as he knew deep down it would be unwise to pursue anything with someone who 1) was from another world; and 2) he needed to focus on the task at hand. 

The same went for Y/n, who realized her fondness for the blonde about a month after he arrived. She’d be lying if she didn’t find him attractive during that first meeting. Anyone with eyes would agree. But she knew better than to be involved with him given their predicament. 

Yet, by a power greater than universe, the man of fire melted her frozen heart. He wasn’t put off by her cool attitude, unlike most people when they first meet Y/n. Yeah he got under her skin with his boyish charm and flirtations, but he never crossed any lines. Always respectful. Always mindful. 

Neither were sure when things changed between them. Maybe it was when Y/n pushed him out of the way of a line of fire from a Doombot causing her to take three bullets to her back and nearly bleed out right there in the middle of the street. Or when Johnny spent a week in a coma for exposing himself to a deadly dose of radiation to prevent Y/n from doing so. Whatever it was, the two could no longer beat around the bush. And the night before the final battle against Doom, they confessed their feelings on the balcony overlooking Avengers campus. Sealing their promise to stay alive with a kiss.

“You sleepy, darling?” Johnny murmured against her hair after finishing a conversation with Shang-Chi. Tightening his arms around the woman when she nuzzled his chest before laying a sweet kiss to her forehead. 

“Just resting my eyes.” His finger brushed her cheekbone, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, making Y/n sigh in content. 

“Rest,” he told her, not buying it at all, and by the tone of his voice she knew he was smiling. “I’ll wake you when we’re ready to leave.” All he received was a hum, the man beaming as he carded his fingers through her hair. And when Johnny lifted his gaze he met his sister’s, who’s expression was full of fondness, shooting him a wink as she gestured toward the sleeping Avenger in his lap. 

‘Told you so,’ Sue mouthed, grinning at his pink tinted cheeks. 

‘Shut up,’ he mouthed back, though he returned the smile. 

In the days following their victory, one question remained: Will the Fantastic Four return home? America was their ticket out. All she had to do was open a portal. It may take time, but eventually she’d shuffle through enough realities until she found theirs. Luckily in the months they’d been away, the fabric of reality remained intact. 

In all honesty, that fact alone is what made them contemplate leaving. 

The Fantastic Four didn’t belong in Earth-616 having landed there by mistake, but it had been almost a year. Integrating themselves into the Avengers and developing bonds. Besides the romantic feelings between Johnny and Y/n, the remaining Fantastic Four were not sure if they wanted to leave. Reed and Ben enjoyed working with Banner and Strange. Sue longed for female companionship, and found that with Y/n and the other women of the Avengers. And Johnny connected with the guys. They all became friends.

They became a team.

And since they weren’t leaving anyone behind in their world, what harm was there by staying? The Avengers could use more allies. And who knows another high level threat would appear. Threatening the existence of the universe. They needed a strong team, and defeating Doom proved they were one. 

Yeah, it was a no brainer. 

Now here they were two years later. The Ice Princess and Human Torch cuddled in their bed, in their apartment in Avengers campus, on their day off where they could enjoy the peace as no new threats had emerged in the last two months. 

Johnny groaned when Y/n pulled away from the kiss, moving to sit up so she was straddling his hips. The comforter falling behind her as she fought against his firm grip when he attempted to pull her back down. 

“Sorry, hotshot, no sleeping in for me today. I have to get ready.”

He tilted his head, partly confused, partly offended, “For what?”

“I promised your sister I’d have breakfast with her.”

“But it’s Sunday,” He sat up, hands gripping her waist as he moved to press kisses on her neck. “We don’t do anything on Sundays. Except sleep….” he trailed off, pulling away to give her a cheeky smile, “and give each other some lovin’.”

Y/n chuckled, tilting her head back as his plush lips captured her chin, trailing down her jaw until he found the place behind her ear. “Baby, I’ll give you all the loving this afternoon until the sun sets and the moon rises,” she feels him shudder against her, smirking in satisfaction. “But I’m a woman of my word.” 

Lifting herself off him, she leaned over to her side of the bed to grab her rings off the nightstand. Returning to his lap as she placed them on her fingers. Her college ring on her right hand, and the beautiful Cartier stack consisting of her engagement and wedding rings. Once all were placed on her finger, Johnny lifted her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles just below. His own wedding band shining against the sunlight peeking through the curtains. 

“Don’t keep me waiting too long now,” Johnny flirted, chocolate eyes sparkling while pressing her hand to his chest where his heart laid. Heat radiated off his body. “I might come looking for ya.” The words earned him a playful glare.

“Behave,” she scolded without any bite. “Or I’ll punish you.”

“I want you too,” Johnny challenged, winding his arm around her waist to hold her closer. 

All she did was shake her head, laughing at his behavior while he continued his assault on her neck, allowing him a few extra kisses before she really had to get up. “You are something else, Johnny Storm.” 

“And you love meeeee.”

“I do,” she breathed out, tilting her head down to meet his lips halfway, hand cupping his jaw. He sighed in victory, chasing her mouth each time she pulled away, causing her to giggle. “Johnny! The sooner you let me leave, the sooner you get to have me all to yourself.” 

He groaned again, loosening his hold but not completely letting Y/n go. “Fine,” he mumbled, pouting, but smiled when she kissed his cheek. “Bring me back a coffee, please?”

“Of course, my love.” 

With that he reluctantly let go of her waist, allowing his wife to get up from the bed. But before she could make her way to the bathroom, Johnny caught her hand, making her turn back to him with a raised brow.

“Some say the world will end in fire.” He begins to recite the famous poem by Robert Frost. What started as a joke between the two because of their abilities, transformed into something far more intimate. The poem itself was about human emotions, and their power to lead to self-destruction. Fire was fast, Ice was slow. Together they were each other's strength and weakness. And despite being complete opposites, they both played a role in dismantling humanity. 

But for Johnny and Y/n, they managed to do the impossible. They bridged the gap between fire and ice.  

Y/n smiles affectionately, lifting her free hand to the back of his neck to scratch at the nape of his hairline. “Some say in ice.”

“From what I’ve tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”

“But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate, to say that for destruction ice.”

“Is also great,” They both recite, leaning in to capture each other's lips as they whisper the final line of the poem. 

“And would suffice.”

[hopesangelsprite]

So Anxious

Summary: It's strange, the things you make Illumi feel, so strange that he keeps his distance from you almost constantly. After a long day, though, he can't help but crave that strange, inebriating feeling.

Warnings: heavy petting, whipped/needy/pervy Illumi (possibly OOC), suggested smut, no editing, mentions of death/blood/etc. (yk just normal Illumi tingz).

MINORS/AGELESS ACCS DNI

It wasn't normal for the eldest Zoldyck son to feel fickle emotions such as anxiety or stress. Hell, it was hard for him to feel anything at all, and if his father caught wind of these developing feelings there'd be Hell to pay. That didn't stop the irregular beating of Illumi's heart as he calmly drove a pin deeper into the skull of his latest unlucky target. He was an older fellow and, from what Illumi had read, a crooked politician. That didn't matter to him, of course. The only thing bothering Illumi at the moment were memories of your arms around him, memories of the softness of your skin.

A frustrated growl escaped the slender male's chest as he drove the golden pin deeper than he should've thus ending the poor old man's life. Disgust painted its way across Illumi's features as he staired at the now lifeless corpse below him. He'd meant to keep him around a little bit longer.

"Hm? Dead already? Don't tell me you're losing your touch!", came the grating voice of his killing companion, Hisoka Morrow. Usually, Illumi let his distaste for the brightly colored clown settle in the back of his mind, but today was different. Today, he was high strung and ready to brutally murder the aforementioned male. Illumi directed a particularly sharp pin in Hisoka's general vicinity. "I'll kill you. Right here, right now.", he hissed earning an unfazed stare in return. "You've used that threat too many times for it to be affective.", the clown muttered while kicking the corpse into a nearby body bag, "Seriously, what's gotten into you? You've been acting weird all day and it's creeping me out.".

Illumi glared at the back of Hisoka's head and considered how much effort it'd take to remove it completely. After a second of thought, he deemed it a waste of his time and checked the time on his phone. The numbers '1:38 am' glowed from the screen almost tauntingly. If he was going to make it to your bed tonight, he'd have to leave now.

The dark-haired male looked up and found himself face to face with his mischievous counterpart. After seeing how long he'd stared into his screen, Hisoka could just about read Illumi's mind. "Go ahead then, loverboy, I'll take care of this old geezer. Don't keep your little lady waiting! ~". A nod was all Illumi could muster as he began sprinting back toward the city. Before he was out of earshot, he could make out Hisoka yelling something about meeting you some time in the future.

"Over your dead body.", Illumi thought as he caught sight of the glittering horizon. There was no way Hisoka would ever live to see the day that Illumi would allow something of his to be tainted by his presence.

Ten minutes.

______________________________________________________________

That's how long it took for Illumi to make it to the outside of your windowsill. Now, as he sat perched on the stone ledge jutting out of the building, he wondered if he should just suffer through the night and contact you in the morning. Consideration was another new thing Illumi found himself struggling with after you'd wormed your way into his life.

Just as he prepared to drop from the sill, he caught sight of your silhouette entering the room. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you stretch from behind your silvery curtains. All previous thoughts of leaving exited Illumi's mind and other... explicit ones began to make his head swim with need. Slowly, the assassin brought a bloodied hand to your window and began tapping incessantly. It didn't take long for your figure to still and cautiously approach the window. The closer you got, the more he found himself leaning into the cold glass. If you didn't open it soon, he wouldn't mind breaking in...

To say he wasn't amused at the brief flash of fear in your eyes when you finally got the courage to open your curtains would be a lie. When you finally slowed the beating of your heart and opened the window, Illumi was in the room before the glass was fully open. "I'm home.", he breathed out into the warm, vanilla scented room. You leaned forward a little to shut the window, not missing the blood and earth littering his skin and clothes. "I can see that...", you hummed with an eyeroll, "I almost pushed your ass out of that window.". Illumi let the threat slip through one ear and out the other as he took in your smaller frame. You'd happen to wear those dainty little pajamas he'd bought you not too long ago; the ones with the thin top and shorts just barely long enough to keep you warm at night.

The only thing that should be keeping your warm at night was him.

His eyes followed your figure as you rummaged through your closet for a second. "Here, take these.", you started while throwing him a pair of his joggers and underwear he'd left and directed him toward your bathroom, "I'll be here when you're finished". Illumi stood there for a moment and let his eyes trace your form before stalking off toward the bathroom. The quicker he was clean, the faster he could indulge himself in your presence. He wanted to lie and say that he was using you for some sort of personal gain, wanted to say you were a pawn in one of his many games. He couldn't though... not when he could feel the ice thawing in his chest when you held him close, not when your hands made him as weak as they did.

As the warm water washed the filth from his skin, any traces of the strength his father had instilled in him washed away with it. All thoughts left his mind as he breathed in your scent through clouds of steam.

When he finally finished showering and dressing, he crept toward your room door silently. He watched as you scrolled through your phone unaware of his prying eyes. Suddenly, your eyes met his and you sat up with a smile, curls falling into your face. "Don't just stand there, idiot! Come here and let me take care of you.", you beckoned. One second Illumi was at the edge of your doorframe and the next he was settled between your plush thighs. His eyes closed as you whispered sweet nothings into air while drying his hair with the towel he'd subconsciously brought to you. If you were to kill him now, he wouldn't mind in the slightest. It'd only be fitting considering how weak you'd managed to make him by simply existing.

"I've killed for you... and I'll do it again.", he whispered into your skin. It was a truth he would usually leave unspoken, a truth you'd suspected long before its uttering. "I know, pretty boy, I know.", you hummed softly while tossing the towel into an unknown corner.

"I want to consume you. All of you will be mine and there's nothing you can do to stop me.", he purred as you held his face close to yours and peppered it with cocoa butter scented kisses. "I know, pretty boy, I know.", you breathed just before your lips locked with his.

The kiss lasted a lot longer than the ones he'd dealt you in the past. This one was filled with unsatiable hunger, it was filled with greed. Illumi rose to cage you underneath him and let his lips roam every inch of your skin available to him. He listened to your breathing change, and he knew he had you where he wanted you. Carefully, with lips and teeth etching praises into your neck, he pressed your thighs against your chest and your ankles on his shoulders. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the tinkling sound of the anklets he'd had designed specifically for you and his sweats became too tight for comfort.

Illumi broke away from the intoxicating taste of your skin and sat back to assess the damage he'd caused. You were a sight to behold; brown skin littered with hickeys, unshed tears prickling at your lash line, and clothes barely covering your body. Illumi wanted nothing more than to make those tears fall from your eyes and rid your body of the fabric separating your skin from his. Still, consideration nipped at the back of his mind as he observed the tiredness in your eyes as well. He'd been thinking too long, apparently, because your hands were back on his face pulling him in for another long kiss.

Illumi decided that he'd send you off to sleep with a treat.

A muffled gasp fell from your lips onto his as he snaked a hand between your bodies and began toying with you through your shorts. To his surprise, and delight, they were the only thing between his hand and that sensitive spot he liked to abuse. Illumi drank in the broken whimpers and moans you offered him with unabashed fervor. Soon, his lips wandered blessing his ears with the sweet sounds of your pleas. He found himself licking a long stripe up from the base of your neck to a sensitive spot he'd discovered not too long ago.

Illumi practically purred at the feeling of your nails drawing patterns into the skin of his back that would undoubtedly be left for him to see in the morning. "If anyone ever tries to take you from me, I'll kill them. Mine... all mine.. only mine.", he whispered into ear as he felt your thighs quiver on either side of him, "That's it, sweet thing. Come for me, I know you can do it. Make me proud.". As you came, tears slipping down your cheeks, Illumi almost came undone at the sight.

Curtains of long, raven-colored hair surrounded you, allowing your eyes to be trained on the dark ones peering down at you with a twisted look of love and warmth. As your consciousness slowly ebbed away, the comforting weight of Illumi's body on top of yours lulled you into a sense of security. Illumi watched you fall asleep as he removed his hand from between your thighs and shut his own eyes. He ignored the twitching in his pants as he too lost consciousness. It didn't bother him that he was falling asleep unsatisfied.

He'd simply have his fill of you in the morning.

[obae-me]

I have been asked to expand on the MC with trauma scenarios, and you know what, I need the comfort, so let's do it! (No these are not based on myself, I don't know what you're talking about....)

Also I've seen a ton of people's responses to the last one and just know that I am spiritually patting you all on the head and wrapping a soft blanket around your shoulders.

--

MC with ~Trauma~ PT 2!

Imagine an MC who has been mocked, berated, or criticized for their joys and hobbies. They don't do those things anymore or go to great lengths to hide them.

They never share their writing or their art with anyone. They are surrounded by demons and angels much more talented than them. The thing that they felt they were moderately talented in is below average compared to these beings... Everything they create is hidden in secret digital folders or kept in notebooks under their mattress or tucked in secret spots on their bookshelves.

They never sing or dance or play their instruments. They almost avoid the music room altogether. It's almost too painful for them to think about. If they attend a dance they just stand off to the sides... They don't participate in karaoke. They don't hum to their favorite songs.

They hardly cook, or garden, or read, or edit, or color, or knit, or crochet, or embroider, or anything else that they might enjoy.

Imagine some of the nosier brothers not realizing the pain that hides behind their passions and either playfully spying on them or digging up their secrets. Their hearts are fully destroyed when their human breaks down in tears. Now, every single day, every character encourages them to do what they love and giving them private time and space to do it in a place where they feel safe. They all hope that maybe one day MC will feel comfortable enough to share what they love with them but they will never pry it out of them, and all the while giving them the support they need behind the curtain.

Imagine Satan, Levi, and Mammon grouping together and creating a PowerPoint presentation. With Satan's organizing skills, Levi's technological know-how, and Mammon's morally grey skills of espionage, they gather all the characters together and teach a class on what to do and not to do around MC. Things like having a clear voice in text messages to keep them from having anxiety. Or not slamming doors, not entering their room without knocking, reminding them to drink water, knowing when to give them time to breathe etc. Everyone takes it seriously (some might say too seriously), including Belphie who didn't even sleep for a second during the whole thing.

What about an MC who takes on too much and never says anything about it? At first, Lucifer, Barbatos, and to a lesser degree Diavolo, are pleased that they've found a human with a strong work ethic and a love for responsibility. Little do they know that while part of that might be true, they are doing it because they are non-confrontational, a people pleaser, or try to prove their worth through success (or all of the above). They burn themselves out and forgo their other needs to conserve all their energy for the work that's been given to them, and it's not until it becomes a serious health issue that anyone really notices. They all take a blow when they come to know how much they had been pushing a human beyond their capabilities. So they tell MC to do less, not expecting the human to try and convince them that it wasn't an issue, maybe even apologizing for failing. Now they all have to keep an eye on MC and make sure they don't take things too far, and make sure that MC knows that their worth isn't tied to how much gets done in a day and they don't think of them any less for taking breaks or time for themselves. And maybe they all learn to take care of themselves a little more for it too. Especially one work-a-holic demon known as Pride.

How about an MC that hates the way they look? No matter what that might be. Body size, shape, height, skin-tone, skin-color, scars, blemishes, freckles, etc. What if it was drilled into their head since they were a child that they were not beautiful? What if they can't look into the mirror or take any photos of themselves without feeling sick? How about being around a demon like Asmo? Maybe resenting him, maybe avoiding him, maybe wishing they were like him. It probably would hurt Asmo to see someone hating themselves and their body so intently. Maybe it's because it reminds him of himself. Maybe they both have to sit down and rethink what beauty really means? It's a long process for both of them.

All of them work with the human with their image and not in a shallow way like trying to deny the things they have and who they are. They find ways around pictures, because there are more ways to keep memories rather than selfies and commemorative photos.

Or what if:

Beel: *In MC's room.* Alright, we'll just do some basic stretches.

MC: Okay, just tell me what to do.

Beel: Well, if you want, you can put on some music to make it more relaxing.

MC: Music? *Looks a little nervous.* If you want...

*MC then turns some music on their phone on the lowest setting and sets it on their bed.*

Beel: Um...you can turn it up more than that if you want.

MC: Louder? Really?

Beel: Don't you think it's a little quiet?

MC: Oh...um...okay... *turns it up by one more click.* Is- Is that okay? I can turn it down again.

Beel: *Opens his mouth, confused for a moment before shutting it again. In the quickest second, he's in his demon form.* Who do I need to find?

MC: B-Beel?!

[satellite-evans]

Hi! I saw that you’re taking requests..I wholeheartedly believe that Benedict is one of those ppl who are always warm like a human furnace sooo do you think you could write something about him keeping the reader warm when it’s cold outside (i.e, holding hands, hugging, etc.)

Much love😇💜

Warm Embrace

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: You find solace in the warm and comforting presence of your husband <3

Word count: 874

Warnings: just pure fluff

A/N:

Thank you so much for your request nonnie, You guys make me the happiest girl in the world when you sent in not only request, but also asks or questions, it honestly and truly makes my day🥹🥹🥹

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The chill of the early winter morning seeped through the cracks of the old country house, the wind howling softly outside. You shivered, wrapping your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you looked out the window, watching the first snowflakes of the season dance gracefully to the ground. The room was dimly lit, the pale morning light filtering through the heavy curtains, casting a serene, almost magical glow over everything.

"You're awake early," came a familiar, warm voice from behind you. You turned to see Benedict, his hair tousled from sleep, standing in the doorway of your bedroom. He wore a simple nightshirt, the soft fabric clinging to his well-built frame, his presence comforting and reassuring.

"I couldn't sleep," you admitted, smiling at him. "The cold woke me."

Benedict's eyes softened as he walked over to you, his presence immediately warming the room. "Come here," he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His body radiated heat, and you sighed contentedly as you nestled against his chest, feeling his warmth envelop you. His embrace was familiar and secure, the perfect refuge from the biting cold.

He led you back to the bed, pulling the covers up as you both slipped underneath. Benedict wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. His body radiated heat like a human furnace, and you felt the chill melt away as he held you tight. The sensation of his warm skin against yours was incredibly comforting, a stark contrast to the cold air outside the bed.

"Better?" he asked, his lips brushing against your temple.

"Much better," you replied, resting your head against his shoulder. "You always know how to keep me warm."

Benedict chuckled softly, his hand gently rubbing your back. "It's a husband's duty to ensure his wife is comfortable," he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Especially on such a cold morning."

You smiled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your ear. "Well, you're certainly excelling at it," you teased, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. You felt the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, each exhale a soft whisper of warmth against your hair.

Benedict shifted slightly, pulling you even closer, his hands roaming your back in soothing circles. "Stay here with me," he whispered, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We don't have to get up just yet. Let's just enjoy the warmth and the quiet."

You nodded, closing your eyes as you relaxed into his embrace. "There is no place in the world that I would rather at than to be here with you."

The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in your cozy cocoon. The wind continued to howl outside, but you felt safe and warm within Benedict's arms. His fingers trailed up and down your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

After a while, Benedict began to hum softly, the deep, rich sound vibrating through his chest. You recognized the tune – a lullaby his mother sang to him and his siblings when they were children. Violet told you that it was the only way her children slept, especially Benedict, who always found it difficult to fall asleep. The melody was soothing, and you felt yourself drifting off, lulled by the warmth of his body and the gentle sound of his voice. You couldn't help but wonder if Benedict would sing it later to his own children too.

Benedict continued to hum, his hands never ceasing their gentle movements on your back. He was like a living, breathing source of warmth and comfort, and you felt incredibly grateful to have him by your side. His warmth seemed to seep into your very bones, driving away any lingering chill.

As the morning light slowly brightened the room, you opened your eyes to find Benedict watching you, a tender smile on his lips. "Good morning again," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The look in his eyes was one of pure adoration, making your heart swell with love.

"Good morning," you replied, leaning in to kiss him. His lips were warm and soft, and you felt a rush of love and contentment wash over you. The kiss was slow and tender and felt like a warm lasting hug that you never wanted to break.

"Shall we get up and start the day?" Benedict asked after a moment, his forehead resting against yours.

You shook your head, a playful smile on your lips. "Not just yet. Let's stay like this a little longer."

Benedict chuckled, his arms tightening around you. "As you wish, my love," he said, settling back against the pillows with you still in his embrace. The sound of his laughter was like a warm breeze, filling you with happiness.

And so you stayed, wrapped in each other's warmth, savoring the quiet moments before the day began. Outside, the snow continued to fall, but inside, all you felt was the heat of Benedict's love, keeping the cold at bay. The world outside could wait; for now, there was only the two of you, nestled together in your own private haven of warmth and love.

[misfits-in-motion]

bleed me dry (vampire!frank iero x reader)

i fear i should js make it known i dont proofread. i dont word count. i write until it feels right and just GO so... yah ^^ anyways ermmm thats all i have 2 say OH and lowercase this time. feels more... good. if you guys hate it i can change it back to proper grammar n shiz

summary: you're aware of vampires. you know they exist. everyone in your town does, but they pretend like they don't. they know how to handle a vampire. they know how to get rid of one. vampires basically became part of the town like any other animal, person, or landmark. but it was a bit odder when your boyfriend of a month had been turned.

tw/cw: erm,,, lots of symbolism. a lot of it. gore/blood/biting/bleeding etc. and a lot of vampric tendencies used as symbolism/metaphors for love and smeggs,,, perhaps slight slight tensions. not smut, probably just'll get a liiiitle steamy,,, mostly fluff and a bit of silliness, too ^^

⠀in your town, vampires were like another day to day thing. curfew was advised, but not enforced. mostly because vampire related deaths had decreased significantly when townsfolk actually began carrying around holy water and crosses and stakes. things leveled out, and it became commonplace to kill vampires and call the exterminators to get rid of the body. and even then, vampires learned to stay away from people. once vampires stopped killing people, they became sort of... okay. people weren't fond of them, and occasionally you had people who befriended vampires or remained close with vampires post-turning. it was just normal.

⠀no-one really questioned or spoke about it, either. if you saw someone speaking with a vampire, you looked the other way. there were vampire-only bars. you could donate blood to a number of places to feed vampires because that was seen as a way to tamp down human deaths. you had even donated a few times. long story short, the townsfolk and vampires coexisted. a close yet distant relationship, parallel.

⠀as per usual, you went through the routine of doing your usual home lock-up. you remember doing it when you were little, walking around your house and checking every window and door after everyone else as if inspecting it to make sure it was up to par. you had just recently moved into your own place, and thus were keeping up the usual routine. at the end of the day, the last thing you wanted was death by bloody violation.

⠀with everything secure, you headed to your bedroom with a yawn. you finished up the last of your routine, getting a few things set up for the next day so that future you wasn't too pissed and past you for making you rush against the clock. you pulled yourself into bed, rubbing your eyes and yawning again when it dawned on you. you hadn't heard from your boyfriend, frank, for a few hours. usually, he would at least text you to let you know he was okay. he was childish and and asshole in that endearing sort of way, but not to the point of ignoring you. maybe he just got caught up in band practice. that wasn't too far off. frank's relationship with music was intense, and you could admire it. brushing it off as best as you could, you rolled over and attempted to let sleep overtake you.

☾•☾•☾

⠀when your body jolted awake, you initally assumed you came out of some nightmare that you'd begin to remember momentarily. but the moment never came. you were just awake. eyelids wide and staring up at your ceiling. was this sleep paralysis? you tried to move your head. well, certainly not sleep paralysis. you looked at your clock which read 2:23. good. you could at least go back to sleep. that was, until you caught the faintest bit of movement behind your curtains. a small creaking sound, almost as if something was being scraped at. picked at. great. mice. rats. something. that's what you wanted to believe, anyway.

⠀everything in your body told you to go lay back down. pretend you never heard anything and that it was some weird case of being out of it that caused you to hear such noises. that was easy enough to do, at least before you seized open your curtains and laid eyes on frank, your boyfriend, sticking a pocket knife between your window and the windowsill.

⠀bewildered, you unlocked the window and slid it open. "i have a front door. more importantly, i have a phone, and what exactly are you doing outside my window!?" you whisper-shouted. frank stopped, eyes a bit wide and face laid into an expression of realization.

"ohhh.... yeah, that would have made a lot more sense to do, huh?" he let out an apologetic, almost forgiveness seeking, giggle.

"just get your ass inside."

⠀frank complied, and squished himself into your room through the window. a slight chill followed him, and once he was inside, he shut the window and locked it just as you had. assuming nothing was really wrong, you headed back for your bed. it wasn't uncommon for frank to crash at your place just because he wanted to be with you.

"wait- wait, wait. i actually had a reason to come here, and i think the adrenaline and urgency is part of what made me... choose your window."

⠀confused, you turned and sat on the edge of your bed. frank, almost pleadingly without words, got to his knees in front of you and took your hands in his. you reserved anything to say, because quite frankly, you didn't know what to say. his behavior was strange. there was usually only one reason he liked to be on his knees in front of you. considering his expression and the tone of his voice, you didn't think this was that sort of thing.

"something... happened."

"...what?" instantly, your mind went for the wort, and it seemed like frank could tell, because he began shaking his head quickly.

"no-! no, no, no, nothing like that, no- never... i... i was... okay," he took a breath and wet his lips, seemingly trying to find the words, "i was out with the guys. fucking around like usual... and they- they fucking- they told me they got turned. like willingly, i guess. mikey's girlfriend, and then one of gerard's friends did him and ray... it's- it's a whole fucked thing but- but i- they- i did it, too."

⠀instantly, you wanted to pull away. not entirely out of fear for him, but perhaps fear of change. of the new. you had never been in close quarters with a vampire before. frank felt the slight tug of your hands, and squeezed them tighter in his own. "please, don't be scared of me. i'll loose it if you're scared of me, baby, please... just... just... just listen to me. i don't want to turn you, too, or anything- unless you want me to- but.. i... i just needed you. i needed you because no one else would understand and i just knew you would understand..."

"... what now..?"

⠀frank's eyes were shifty. glancing around to different parts of you. your throat. your wrists. your thighs. you weren't stupid. you knew what he was thinking.

"frank." your voice was soft, yet direct. "ask."

⠀instantly, it seemed like a weight fell from his shoulders. he relaxed visibly, and his eyelids slid half-way over his eyes. "i'm just so hungry, and i don't know where the blood banks are, and i'm so scared, and this is all so new, and-" you pressed a hand to his cheek, turning his face up toward yours.

"you're only going to take what you need, right? i- i don't want to die, if that's alright with you." you laughed lightly.

⠀frank nodded eagerly, and you pulled your hands back away from him. you shifted back on your bed, frank following you as if you were magnetic and drawing him in. as you leaned back, he leaned in. you were now only rested up on your elbows, frank hovering over you with one leg slotted between yours and the other over the outside of your thigh. he lifted his hand to smooth your hair back, then leaned in to press his lips to yours tenderly.

"i'll be careful. promise." he murmured.

⠀you tried your best to relax under his touch, one hand bracing your side while his other hand held to the back of your neck. you stared up at him, his features barely illuminated by the faint moonlight spilling into your room. he leaned down, and you felt your heart pound faster. his breath hitched as if he felt your blood rushing in your veins. with every inch he got closer, your heart beat even faster. then, he sank his teeth into your throat.

⠀the pain was unexpected, causing you to gasp. once you familiarized yourself with the feeling of his teeth piercing your skin, it became less painful and moreso uncomfortable. your blood being drained from your throat, the feeling of his teeth slotted deep into your neck. it hurt less than you thought, and part of you felt as if you could get used to this.

⠀what brought you out of your trance was the sound of frank moaning. whining. small noises that came from his throat as he tasted you. as your blood coated his tongue and throat and seeped into his tastebuds and filled his stomach. he moaned like he never tasted something so good before, and good didn't even begin to explain it. his fingers dug into your side, balling up your pajamas in his fist while his other hand gripped your neck.

⠀he was taking you in a brand new way. you kind of liked it. he sounded so pretty, and he was still warm, still pressed close to you, holding you as if he'd never hold anything else so dear to him. you could feel the slight sting of his nails dug into your neck, his hand breaking free just enough to grip into your hair and hold the roots in a tight fist. you whined, and instantly he pulled back. his lips were stained at their epicenter, a small trickle of blood coming from his bottom lip down his chin. shakily, you reached up to swipe away the bead. then, as if he knew what you had in mind, he opened his mouth a bit to allow you to swipe your thumb against his tongue. his grip tightened again for a moment, just at the sheer taste of you.

"are you okay..? did i hurt you?"

⠀you then realized he must have thought you whined in pain, which caused your face to flush slightly. "no.. no, you're okay. it wasn't that."

⠀his face lit up into an impish grin. and it was that exact moment you realized he hadn't really changed. physically, maybe. but he was the same frank. that shit-eating asshole, but at heart so beautifully emotional and himself. "you liked it, huh? when i pulled your hair?"

⠀you hesitated, then nodded slightly

he only gave a snide chuckle in turn. frank leaned down, dragging his tongue over the fresh puncture holes in your throat. cleaning you. he then pulled away, wetting his lips. you could tell he was still hungry. you moved your hand to pull your sleeve down your shoulder a bit, and upon realizing what this meant, frank leaned in with a fervor. again, you felt the sting of his teeth sinking into you, draining more of your blood second by second.

⠀you were now pinned by his weight, his hands pinning your wrists against the mattress by lacing his fingers with yours. he still made sure to tenderly rub the side of your hand with his thumb. frank was breathing intensely, his breath hot and heavy enough to create a thin film of sweat over your shoulder and throat. only now was a slight delirious feeling beginning to make itself known

⠀somehow, it made everything that much more intense. you could feel the way his fingertips traced down your forearm, moving one hand to brace the other side of your throat. still drinking, he began to slowly rut his hips. a subtle movement, but a movement nontheless. grinding against your thigh just because of the taste of your sweat, skin, and blood. he groaned lowly, his hand squeezing yours every once and while. you lazily lifted your hips, eager to meet his in some way, and he matched this by slotting his thigh firmly between your legs. you didn't know if he even knew he was grinding against you.

⠀seconds felt longer as they passed, and eventually you realized the room was spinning ever so slightly. you lifted your free hand, gently tugging at frank's sleeve. you hummed, trying to catch his attention in some way. and, though delayed, it worked. frank pulled away, panting as he licked at your fresh wound again and again as if it would spout any more new blood. you were his new addiction. he wasn't going to let you go any time soon.

⠀ finally, frank rolled onto his back, catching his breath most likely out of habit. "fuck... that was so good. you're so fucking good..." he giggled breathily, then turned his head to glance at you. "oh shit," he sat up, quickly taking you into his arms and helping you sit up. "are you good? are you okay? fuck, did i take too much? i'm so sorry, i wasn't fuckin' thinking and i was just tasting you-"

⠀lazily, you raised a thumbs up. he stopped his rambling and smiled.

"right. let's get you some band-aids and water."

AHHH this was so fun ^^ hope u guys likeeee comments and critiques in the notes plss !!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: I really gotta finish my paper (don't worry I'm like 3/4 done).

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The light is there again. Bright, green, searing into your vision as it shines against the wall, weaving in perfectly between the curtains. Every night. Taunting you. And in the morning, gone. 

Can you call it a pattern after only three days?  

You don’t know what to call it. You don’t know what he wants from you. If he wanted to hurt you, he would by now, wouldn’t he? Or is this a sick game he’s playing? Whatever it is, it’s madness.  

You sit up and grab your pillow. You cross the room to the door and close it behind you. You put the pillow on the couch and pull down the folded throw across the back. You don’t expect to sleep out here either but you won’t have to stare at the insufferable dot. 

You lay down on your back and sigh at the ceiling. You stare up at the plaster until your eyes close on their own. Your shoulders are tense, your back too, every muscle in you has been knotted for days. You tried a hot shower, even a bath, but both just made you feel vulnerable. You’ve never been overly comfortable being naked but now you feel as if he can see your every movement. 

You tried some exercises in an effort to loosen up too. Those only made you dizzy due to your lack of sleep and rationing. Those should be a sign for you to rethink your strategy but your only other option is to face the danger. You know better than that. 

You huff as the last gray days pile on you. You open your eyes and bring your hand up to your forehead, trying to rub away the stress. You pause as a gleam flashes over your flesh. You drop your arm back down and raise yourself on your elbows. 

Jeez. 

Right there in the middle of your chest is the dot, rather a sliver of it. You look up as it glints in between the verticle blinds. You drop back down. Fine, whatever, if he’s going to shoot, he should just get it over with. You hate this limbo. It’s easy when you know what you’re waiting for. This is just torture. 

A sudden jarring jingle cuts through the din. You sit up, heart beating. It isn’t the deafening gunshot you expected. The green laser ripples through the darkness as you stagger up to your feet and cover your ears. You follow the blaring noise into the bedroom. 

Your phone lights up on your nightstand, flashing as you cross the space. You grab it and quickly silence it, staring at the screen in confusion. You keep your phone on silent, always. You never really use it for more than your banking and emails. On the screen, you see a map of your neighbourhood and a speck pulsing at the centre; your apartment. Huh. 

You remember dismissing that feature before. Several times when you got the phone it kept offering to set up the ‘find your phone’ app but you figured you wouldn’t need it. Yet, here it is, chiming and chirping at you. It isn’t a coincidence. It’s him. 

You peer over at the window and the green glare pours through. You look down again and find the dot right there. You shake your head and back away, hugging yourself as you flee back into the living room. It’s all so messed up and confusing. You don’t get how this can be happening. 

You go into the kitchen. No windows to haunt you there. You put your phone down and lean on the counter as you hold your head. You blow out a breath and you close your eyes. 

You try not to let yourself ask the questions but you’re so tired, you can’t keep fighting this hard. Who is he? How did he find you? Was that day at the cafe the first? Were you so obtuse that you never noticed him before? Does any of it matter? 

The silence shatters again as your phone erupts in a cacophony once more. You back away and cup your ears. You’ve never done well with noise, especially loud noise, or too much at once. It’s a sort of dissonance that makes your head spin. 

You scramble to grasp the phone, eardrums pulsing, and you hit the button again to hush it. You close out of the app and a notification pops up at the top of the screen. For a moment, you’re confused. The only messages you get are obvious scammers or stupid adverts you need to unsubscribe from. 

‘Get some beauty sleep.’ 

You scowl as you stare at the text. What does that even mean? Even if the number is private, you don’t need to guess. You know it’s him. He’s messing with you. You won’t respond, not even in writing. You delete the conversation entirely and shut the phone off. 

You leave it on the counter and go back to the couch. The laser awaits you. You lay down under it and resign yourself to your fate. The only comfort is he’s still out there and you’re in here. A ripple of fear courses through you as you wonder how long that can last. 

👄

Your mail doesn’t come to your door. It’s left in one of the dozens of metal boxes near the front door. Typically you go down to grab it twice a week. You haven’t gone once in the last six days. You don’t plan on it either. You get digital statements for everything anyhow. 

Yet, that doesn’t stop the special delivery from sliding underneath the door. You’re in your kitchen when you hear the soft whoosh. You go to the doorway and stare at the envelope on your floor as you lazily stir your instant coffee. You’re too tired to react with more than a yawn. 

You think it could be a notice from the building. They usually leave one when they have to do an inspection. Yet, there’s not sign of the rental companies logo and the envelope is black. You doubt they’ve rebranded. 

You sip from your coffee and sit at your desk. You login to the portal and open up a task. You don’t need to worry about all that. You muster all you have left for your daily toil. It’s the one thing you can’t forego; the one thing you share in common with other people, you need money to survive. 

You empty the coffee with careless gulps as you key through several tasks. The hours drag by, the clock ticking in the corner of the screen, second by second, minute by grueling minute. The days don’t matter, they all blend together in this hazy purgatory. 

You’re drawn from your mindless typing by the agonising growl of your stomach. You’re starving. Those times when you do let yourself eat, it isn’t much. Finally, your humanly needs have overcome your lack of appetite. You can’t deny it any longer. 

You return to the kitchen with your empty mug. You go to rinse it and water spurts forth, for just a second, then the pipes grind and run dry. You put the cup in the sink and cross your arm. You march out to the bathroom and try the sink in there with the same result. The faucet in the tub runs a little longer but peters out to a single drip. 

Hm, maybe that’s what the letter’s about. 

You sweep back out and scoop up the envelope. Just bending down makes you see stars. You put it on the counter and go to the cupboard to take out the salted crackers. You unfurl the top of the sleeve and wiggle one out. You munch on the stale square and slip your thumb under the flap of the envelop and tear. 

You put down the crackers and rip open one end of the envelope. You shake out the contents. It isn’t a letter. Just a folded pamphlet with something smaller inside. You unfold the spa booklet to uncover the all-inclusive pass within. You drop both and grip your head. 

Is this some sort of bribe? Bait? He’s trying to draw you out and with what? The worst experience you could think of? The smells, the touching, the people... 

You put it all back in the envelope. You don’t want it. You don’t even want it in your apartment. Your safe space. He’s invading it little by little. He can’t have it.  

You go to the door and shove it back under the bottom. You push it as far as you can and fall back, catching yourself on the wall. Your head hurts, you’re tired, you’re stressed, you’re afraid. You just want everything to go back the way it was. You want to be alone. That’s all you ever wanted. 

👄

You use your phone to authorise the two-factor sign-in to your bank account. You set it aside after confirming and wait for the screen to load. Your heart nearly stops as you see the balance. A few times you came too close to the red but this is not what you’re expecting. There’s about fifty thousand dollars extra. It has to be an error. 

You click on your chequing and bring up the next screen. There is is ‘50,000’ in bold green letters but it doesn’t say where it’s come from, just ‘authorised payment’ next to it. What the heck does that mean?  

Right below it you see your work deposit. That appears as usual. Company name, amount, account number. So what happened? 

You click the chat icon at the bottom of the page and wait for an agent to connect. You go through the typical automated questions; what is your issue? Account number? All of that. When you finally have a representative and explain the extra zeros in your account, the response is only three dots. 

You shake your head. You don’t need this. You have enough going on. Your water’s still out, you’re almost out of coffee, and you haven’t even started work. Halfway through and it feels like you’ve only just started a new week. You frame your face as you await the response. 

‘Hello, miss. Thank you for your patience. We have found no error in this transfer.’ 

You lean back and whine. That doesn’t make sense.  

‘Can I know where the money came from?’ You type. 

‘The payee is listed as London Fog LLC. It appears to be a business payment.’ 

You close your eyes. What? That makes no sense. It... can’t be. 

‘Can you reverse the payment, please?’ You input. 

‘We can attempt to reverse this. This might take a few days to process. We will keep the ticket open until this is done.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

You close out the chat. That’s as best as you can do. It’s all so weird and you can’t deny the nagging truth. It’s not an error or a coincidence. It’s that stranger. He is playing a very confusing game. 

Your phone lights up and your eyes flit down. You lean in to glimpse the notification before it minimises. ‘Happy hump day <3’. You quickly black out the screen and flip it over. Leave me alone! 

👄

You almost expect the knock on your door. Deep down, you knew it was coming. Noon, on the dot. It’s Wednesday. 

“London Fog express!” He calls through. “Ew, this one’s gone a bit bad.” 

You hear him shifting around before the handle turns without give. He wiggles it and sighs. He huffs and you can tell by his shadow he’s leaning on the door. 

“Look, jellybean, I came all the way here, even burnt myself on this thing,” he says through the door, “you know, I’ve had some late nights...” he pauses as you sit silent, unmoving at your desk. “You don’t have to do more than open the door and take the cup. Promise, I won’t try nothing. I mean, I’ve been pretty patient, haven’t I?” 

You press your fingers to the edge of your desk to keep from shaking. 

“Right, I guess... I haven’t even introduced myself. How forgetful. Name’s Lloyd, but you could call me like L or love bear or... snookums. Something sweet like that.” 

You can’t. You’re going to pass out from absurdity. This man is psychotic. 

“You know, I’m a pretty handsy—handy guy. I could fix that water issue you got going on--” 

Holy cow. How does he know—how could he? He wouldn’t be able to just shut off your water. Right? 

“See, I get you, baby face, you’re the quiet type. You like to keep to yourself. That’s fair but everyone needs someone. I see that now,” he rambles through the door as it groans against his lean, “I didn’t before. Then I saw you and everything changed. It’s me and you, cupcake.” 

You stand and shudder, walking stiffly around the corner and towards the door. You step up and try to see through the peep hole. It’s still black. You exhale and sniff. 

“What do you want?” You croak. 

Silence. The door shifts as he takes his weight off of it. He soles scuff on the other side. 

“Hi,” his voice softens, “how are you, jellybean?” 

You close your eyes. You just want an answer. You cross your arms and rocks, a soothing gesture as your nerves bubble up. 

“Yeah, that’s okay, I know you’re not much of a talker. We balance each other out like that. I’m doing okay, you know? Cafe was a bit crowded but I got your latte. Foam shouldn’t have fallen yet so if you just want to open--” 

“What do you want?” You step closer to the door and raise your voice. 

He scoffs into a hum, “isn’t it obvious, babes?” 

You open your eyes and bit your upper lip. 

“You, baby cakes. Simple as that,” he drawls, “so why don’t you grab your tea and we can have a little sit down.” 

“Go away.” 

He huffs and clicks his tongue, “don’t be like that, sweetie.” 

“I don’t know you--” 

“I’m Lloyd, your love bear--” 

“Stop. I want you to leave me alone.” 

Another sharp exhale from the other side. A lull that prickles across your skin. 

“I can’t do that.” 

You wince, “please...” 

“All you have to do is open the door, jellybean. You know I’m a good guy. I’ve been looking out for you. Every night,” something drags down the door. “You can’t lock yourself away forever.” 

You step back and lean on the wall weakly. He’s delusional and you’re so tired. You’re almost tempted to open the door just to get it over with. You sink down onto your butt and hug your knees. 

“No.” 

That’s all you say. It’s all you can eke out.  

He taps on the door lightly and sucks his teeth. “Well, guess I gotta amp up my game.” 

[crazydestinymilkshake]

Caitlin Clark x Paige Bueckers Ch9 P2

I obviously don't own any of the rights to these characters etc.

TW: internalized homophobia, explicit language. Smut. f!ngering, paige receiving, dom/sub (power play tones / dynamics) def at play, dom!paige, praise k!nk, consensually as always, religious trauma, f!ckboy paige, panic attacks

NSFW: 18+, f/f all the other previous warnings apply etc.

Paige sat up, fluid and quiet, and swung her legs to the floor. Without a glance back, she pushed the bathroom door open. The water started hard, loud against tile, then dulled as steam poured out.

She came back a minute later, towel slung low, hair wet down her back, shirtless, but her fingers couldn’t stay still. 

“Could you, just give me a minute?” she said. Voice quieter now. Not sharp. Not asking for obedience. Just a bit of space.

Caitlin nodded. No question. No push.

Paige disappeared into the water, ducking the heat clawing up her ribs. Her feet hit slick tiles harder than she wanted. She gripped the edge of the shower wall like it might anchor her. Water hit the small of her back, scalding. She let it.

Fuck. Her hands braced harder. Her stomach stayed tight. This wasn’t casual. Wasn’t her usual control. Hadn’t been since the first fucking kiss, had it? 

She could still stop this. One breath. One no.

But Caitlin’s voice lived under her skin now. I want to learn you. I’ll follow every word.

This wasn’t about sex anymore. Not really. Not for her. Not with this girl.

She sucked in a breath sharp enough to hurt, opened her eyes, and called out anyway: “Cait? Come in.” 

The door opened. The curtain slid back. Caitlin’s remaining clothes hit the floor. Steam curled around her. Then Caitlin stepped through, braid loose, bare, her eyes wide but sure. No hesitation.

Paige reached before she could think. One hand caught Caitlin’s waist, the other on her back. She pulled her in, skin to skin: not for show, not for play, just need. A need that burned behind her ribs and scared the shit out of her.

Caitlin came willingly. Her arms slid around Paige’s ribs. Her face tucked close.

Paige kissed her. Held her tight. Her fingers pressed hard into Caitlin’s back. Her breath stuttered. She bent her head. Mouth brushed Caitlin’s temple. 

No edge. No act. Just this is me, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with it.

Jaw locked, throat raw, her hand rose, thumb brushing Caitlin’s cheek. “I don’t do this,” Paige whispered. Voice stripped now. “Not like this.”

Caitlin’s eyes stayed on hers. Soft. Steady. “I know.”

Paige’s chest cracked tighter. She pressed her forehead to Caitlin’s, voice catching against her skin. “You scare the shit out of me.” The words came quiet. “You keep looking at me like you see something worth staying for. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

Caitlin swallowed, but didn’t look away. “Because I do.”

Paige shut her eyes. Her ribs felt like they might split. “I’ve never been intimate in this way with anyone,” she said.  “But you’re still fucking here.” Her forehead pressed harder to Caitlin’s. “You ask for more. And I want to give it to you. That scares me worse than anything.”

She swallowed, teeth catching her lip. “You’re not supposed to get this close.”

Caitlin’s voice came soft, “I don’t want to take anything from you. Just share what you’re willing to give me.”

Paige exhaled, sharp and fast. “You look at me like I’m worth trusting. No one’s ever done that. No one.”

The silence pressed thick between them. “I don’t know how the hell this happened but you’re the one I want seeing all of me. Even the parts I don’t know how to give.”

Caitlin’s pulse pounded so loud it almost drowned out the water.  The Paige standing in front of her was breathing hard, voice stripped down to something Caitlin had never heard.

Not from her. Not from anyone.

Paige sucked in one more breath. “You can touch me,” she said. Voice quieter now. Almost a plea. “But slow. You listen to me. You hold what I give you. Nothing more.”

Her eyes burned. But her hand never left Caitlin’s face.

Caitlin’s chest cracked wide. She swallowed hard. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

Paige exhaled sharp through her nose, like she’d been holding it in. She leaned back a fraction. Just enough to study Caitlin’s face.

“You said you wanted to learn me,” Paige said. Her voice stayed low, steady. “Start here.”

She reached for the soap, pressed it into Caitlin’s hand. Warm. Solid. No teasing. “I want to feel you on me.”

Caitlin’s fingers closed around the soap. Her hands shook once, then stilled.

She could’ve said yes. Could’ve asked what Paige wanted next. But the words didn’t come out because what Paige had just given her wasn’t a test or a dare. It was a choice.

And that fucked her up more than the rest of it.

Six weeks ago, she’d been a virgin. Scared of her own body. Scared of anyone seeing that she had wants. Now she was standing in a motel shower with Paige Bueckers handing her this: her body, her trust, her pride, and asking her to take it.

“I’ll go slow,” Cailin offered.

Paige didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just nodded once.

Caitlin stepped in. Closer than before. The water hit her back, hot and steady. Paige’s body stayed loose. Open. Waiting.

Caitlin set the soap to Paige’s shoulder first. A small circle. Careful. Measured. She wanted her to feel it. Wanted her to know she wasn’t here to take. She dragged the lather down her arm, over her bicep, her forearm.

Paige’s breath stayed even, but Caitlin could feel it under her skin now. A thrum just beneath the surface.

“You’re shaking,” Caitlin said, voice soft, almost without meaning to, kissing her cheek. Her temple. Her ear.

Paige’s mouth twitched. Half a grin, half a grimace. “No shit.”

Caitlin swallowed a laugh. Kept moving. Switched arms. Shoulder to wrist, slow and steady. She finished the second arm, kept layering kisses. Didn’t pull back.

Her mouth found the inside of Paige’s wrist next. A kiss first. Then a bite. Slow, teeth dragging up her arm.

A breath snapped out of Paige, sharp and ragged. "Mmm," she hissed. Her hands twitched at her sides. Her stomach locked tight.

Caitlin smiled against her skin. Shifted higher. Kissed the inside of Paige’s forearm. Bit again, deeper. Paige’s hips tilted forward, breath catching harder. A low groan hit wet and broken against the tile.

Another gasp broke Paige’s voice. "You trying to fuck me up already?"

Caitlin licked the bite slowly. "Looks like it’s working."

Paige’s hips shifted forward, hard now. Her breath came faster. Caitlin pressed in. Chest brushing Paige’s ribs. Shoulder. Collarbone next. She bit harder this time, tongue lapping at the sting.

Paige’s breath hitched. "God."

Caitlin dragged her mouth lower. Paige’s chest rose fast beneath her. Nipples tight now, flushed pink and slick under the water. She caught one with her mouth. Let her breath fan heat across it. Paige shuddered. A soft choked sound caught in her throat.

"You want me here?" Caitlin asked.

"Yes." Paige groaned. "Fuck yes."

Caitlin bit. Not sharp. Deep enough to hold her there. She sucked hard, tongue working Paige until a loud, broken moan snapped loose.

Paige’s hips jolted forward. "Shit… don’t stop."

Caitlin moved to the other nipple, hand groping the right one, lips tight around the left. No mercy. Bit harder. Drew it deep. Sucked wet and rough. Paige choked on a gasp that broke straight from her throat.

Caitlin dragged her tongue slow over the bite. Her own breath shuddered. "You sound so good," she whispered. "Do you like this?"

Paige’s head hit the tile with a thud. "Fuck, Cait, yes," she gasped. "You… fuck, you feel too good."

"You want more?" Caitlin asked. Barely a whisper now. Throat tight.

Paige’s hand shot to the back of her neck. Gripped hard. "Yes," Paige groaned. "I want more. Don’t stop. Please."

She lifted her mouth just enough to speak. Voice burned in her throat. "I know what you like."

Paige tipped her head back. A wrecked noise tore loose. Her hips rocked helpless against Caitlin’s hands. "Yeah," she rasped. "You fucking do."

Caitlin smiled, mouth wet against her stomach. Kissed her again, lower this time. Slow and open.

Paige’s whole body shook. One hand slid down, tangled in Caitlin’s hair. Not pushing. Holding. Needing.

Her chest rose sharp against the steam. Her mind scrambled.

It wasn’t the bite that broke her. Not the sucking. It was the way Caitlin’s hands stilled on her hips between each kiss. Grounding her. Holding her like she wasn’t just something to take, but something to keep.

This wasn’t about fucking anymore. Not with Caitlin. Not with the way her hands steadied her.

Her voice ripped free before she could stop it. "Cait… this isn’t just sex for me. Not with you."

Paige felt her whole body too hot. Too exposed. This wasn’t controlled anymore. Not really. It was trust so deep it scraped her raw. And Caitlin was still here. Still steady. Still seeing her.

Caitlin looked up. Breath shaking. Eyes wide. Open. Steady. "I know. Me too, P." A beat. "You trust me." Another breath. "Let me prove you’re right to."

She’s already too far in. And Caitlin was going to see all of it.

Paige’s voice thinned again. No performance left. "Take care of me," she said. "If you want this, fucking mean it."

"I’m not built to half-ass anything." Caitlin pressed in, steady. "And I want to be the best you’ve ever had."

Paige let go of Caitlin’s hair. Pulled back just a fraction. Her hands shook.

Her cunt ached. Deep and sharp. A pulse climbing behind her ribs. Slick ran down her thighs now. The hunger had crawled too high to fight. Hot. Ugly. Unbearable.

Her voice broke loose before she could stop it. She caught Caitlin’s face. Pulled her in, tight. Mouth pressed to her ear.

“Cait, listen to me.” Her voice shredded. “I need to come... Baby. I’m so fucking wired up.” Her chest heaved against Caitlin’s. “You get me so hot. So tense. I can’t take it.”

“I want to.” Caitlin’s fingers dug into her hips, hard. “I want to give you everything. I want to be the one you can lose it with.”

The words knocked the breath from Paige’s chest. This girl wanted to ruin her. And Christ, she wanted to let her.

“Okay.” The word caught. Her voice steadied only after it left her mouth. “You wanna learn how?” She caught her breath, forced it out again. “Then listen. We do this my way.”

Caitlin nodded once. Her voice shook. “Yes.”

Paige’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. Something barely held together.

“Good girl.” The words dragged rough from her throat. The only thing keeping her upright.

She sucked in a breath that scraped her ribs. Her chest ached with it. “Don’t guess what I need. Don’t make me chase it alone. Take me there the way I tell you.”

Caitlin’s heart hammered so loud Paige could feel it between them. “I’ll listen.”

Paige’s mouth flickered. “That’s my girl.”

She caught Caitlin’s wrist. Guided it down.

“Start here.” Her voice steady. She dragged Caitlin’s hand to her waist. Skin flushed hot, muscles jumping beneath her touch. “Hold me. Firm.”

Caitlin’s hand settled. Her thumb flexed instinctively.

Paige gritted her teeth. “Good. Don’t move unless I tell you.”

“I won't.” Caitlin’s whole body locked in.

Paige fought the quake building in her ribs. She dragged Caitlin’s hand across her waist. Over each hip bone. Barely breathing. “Feel me,” she said. “Every inch, you stay with me.”

She dragged Caitlin’s hand lower. Over her thigh. Slow enough to feel her shake. Slick coated her skin. Her stomach locked. Her teeth caught her lip.

Paige’s thighs tensed. Her body begged to close off. She forced them apart.

You stay open. You hold this.

“Good girl.” The words tore loose. “Keep that hand where I put it. Grip my thigh. Hold steady.”

“You feel that?” Her voice came hoarse now. Strained. “That’s what you do to me.”

Paige’s breath hitched. She forced control back down her spine. “Don’t stop.”

A whimper caught in Caitlin’s throat. “I want more. Tell me.”

Caitlin’s palm flattened harder against her. Paige’s breath broke on a moan.

She tipped her head back. Body shaking. Caught Caitlin’s wrist. Guided it higher. To the juncture of her thigh. Slow. Careful. Tension so sharp it threatened to split her open.

“You’re gonna rub me now.” Her voice was rough. Tight. “Press your fingers right here. Circle slow. Stay with me.”

Her cunt was soaked. She didn’t care. Couldn’t. Not with Caitlin looking at her like that.

Paige swallowed. Her throat worked against it. "Bare. Stripped. “Here.”

She pressed two of Caitlin’s fingers over her clit. Paige’s hips jolted. A broken sound slipped from her throat. “You feel that?”

“You’re soaked.”

“For you.” Paige barely breathed the words. “You did that.” She dragged in another breath. “Now listen.”

Caitlin’s eyes locked on hers. Bright. Waiting.

“Two fingers. Just the pads. Circles. Don’t slide off.” Her voice dropped darker. “I want your focus right here. You don’t stop unless I say.”

“Yes.” Caitlin’s voice came wrecked.

Paige’s stomach clenched hard. “Press in.” A beat. “More pressure. You won’t hurt me.”

Caitlin obeyed. Fingers firm now. Circling slow. Tight.

Paige jolted. A guttural sound snapped loose from her throat. “Good girl.” Her voice cracked. “Keep it steady. Stay on me.”

Caitlin’s circles smoothed out. Paige’s legs shook. She forced them to hold. Forced herself to stay open.

“Watch me.”

Caitlin’s gaze snapped to hers. Wide. Lit.

“Good.” Paige’s voice frayed thinner. “Now a little faster. Same pressure.”

Caitlin adjusted. Her hand moved smoother now. Controlled. Focused.

Paige moaned. Her hips jolted once. “Fuck.” The word dragged out. “That’s it. Just like that.”

Her body begged to close off. To run. She fought it. Breath burning. Jaw locked. Her ribs split wide.

And Caitlin saw it. Paige knew she saw it. The flicker in her eyes. The cost of holding this open. The cost of giving it.

Paige’s hand shot to Caitlin’s wrist. Froze her mid-circle. "Stop."

Caitlin gasped. Froze. Eyes wide. “Did I do something?”

Paige shook her head. Chest heaving. “You’re perfect.” A beat. “But I want you to know what you do to me.”

She dragged Caitlin’s hand up. Slow. Pressed her fingers between their faces. Slick shined on them.

“Taste it.” Caitlin’s eyes widened. Her breath locked.

“Right now.” Paige’s jaw clenched. “I want to watch you.”

Caitlin didn’t hesitate. Brought her fingers to her mouth. Sucked them deep.

Paige groaned. Low. “Fuck. Baby.”

Caitlin’s eyes stayed on hers. Cheeks flushed. She pulled her fingers out, wet and shining. Paige sucked in a brutal breath. Reset. Voice steadying only barely.

“Don’t stop.” Her voice dropped rough. “I’m still with you. Keep going.”

Caitlin’s fingers returned. Small, tight circles. Her eyes stayed locked on Paige’s face.

“Faster,” Paige rasped. “Not bigger, just quicker. Stay on me.”

Caitlin adjusted. Her hand moved smoother now. Controlled. Focused.

Paige groaned. Her body surged forward. Her hips rocked once, hard. Her thighs shook. “Fuck. Yeah. Just like that.”

Caitlin swallowed. "You’re so wet."

A ragged laugh broke out of Paige. “You don’t even know what you do to me.” Her ribs heaved. Her muscles locked so tight it hurt to keep herself open.

Every instinct told her to grab Caitlin’s wrist, clamp her legs shut, stop the spiral before it dragged her under. She forced the breath through her teeth. Made herself sink into it. Held her thighs apart.

“Keep me open,” she ordered. Voice rough, steady now only by force. “No matter what. You hear me?”

Caitlin’s eyes burned into hers. “I hear you. I won’t stop.”

Paige tipped her head back. A low moan dragged out of her throat. Her hips rolled harder now. Fucked into Caitlin’s fingers. Wet. Helpless. Raw. The ache in her cunt throbbed sharp behind her ribs.

It hit fast. Too close. Too sharp. She needed more. Needed to feel filled. Needed to be fucked. Her chest cracked open. The words broke loose before she could stop them.

“Inside.” Her voice came wrecked. “You can... take me inside.”

Caitlin’s pulse slammed so loud Paige swore she could hear it.

She wants me inside her.

Her voice shook. “Show me how.”

Paige gritted her teeth. Chest heaving. “Slow.” She caught Caitlin’s wrist. Guided her lower. Over soaked folds. Down to her entrance. The slick throbbed under Caitlin’s touch.

Paige’s hips jolted once. A sharp sound broke from her throat. “Right there.” Her breath caught again. “Now, push in.”

“Okay,” Caitlin whispered. Breathless. “Okay, P.”

She pressed one finger in. Careful. Paige’s body fought it. Her walls clenched tight. Her head hit back against the tile.

A guttural sound tore out of her throat. Her hand flew to Caitlin’s shoulder. Gripped hard.

She’s inside me. Don’t close off. Let her in.

“Don’t stop,” Paige gasped. “I want it. I want you in me.”

Caitlin’s heart nearly burst. She pushed deeper. Inch by inch. Paige’s cunt gripped her, tight and fluttering.

“Good girl.” Paige’s voice shredded. “Go deeper. All the way.”

Caitlin obeyed. Pressed in until her knuckle brushed Paige’s skin.

A broken sob tore from Paige’s throat. “Fuck. Stay there. Feel how tight I am for you?"

“I feel it,” Caitlin whispered. Her voice wrecked. “You feel so, so good.”

Paige’s thighs shook. Her head pressed back to the tile. She held on, barely. “Move your finger.” she gasped. “Pull halfway out. Push back in.”

Caitlin followed. Drew her finger out halfway. Pressed back in, deep. 

Don’t fuck this up. Just keep her there.

Paige’s hips rocked hard. Her cunt clutched tight. A ragged sound tore loose. "Fuck. That’s it. Just like that."

Her ribs heaved. Sweat mixed with steam and water. "Again," Paige groaned. "Don’t stop. Just like that. Fuck me."

Caitlin moved steady now. Pumped her finger with care, control in every inch of her. Her free hand gripped Paige’s hip. Held her open. She could feel her losing it. Could feel the pulsing, the hunger rising.

Paige nearly sobbed. "Jesus Christ. You’re fucking me so good."

Caitlin pumped her finger harder. Paige’s praise sharpened her focus. Her confidence surged under it. Wet sounds filled the space between them. Paige’s hips fucked down onto her hand.

“Second finger,” Paige gasped. Her voice came raw. “Now. Stretch me out.”

Caitlin’s mouth parted. “Yes.” She pressed a second finger in. Slow. Careful.

Paige’s walls clutched down. A sharp cry broke loose. "Fuck. Fuck, baby, yes." Her hips bucked. Slick poured out around Caitlin’s hand. The stretch burned, perfect and brutal.

“Move faster,” Paige gasped. “Fuck me. Harder.”

Caitlin pumped deeper. Her fingers steady now. Paige’s hips chased her down, desperate for it.

But Paige caught her wrist. Froze her. Her voice shook. “Listen.”

Caitlin stilled. Her chest rose fast. “I'm here.”

Paige drew in a jagged breath. Her thighs trembled. “You want to know how to take me apart?”

“Yes.” Caitlin’s voice broke. “Tell me, please.”

Paige pulled her closer. Her forehead pressed against Caitlin’s. Her breath came shallow. “Curl your fingers. Up. Toward my belly.”

Caitlin obeyed. Careful. She curled her fingers inside her. Paige’s walls clenched harder. A rough groan tore free.

“There.” Paige’s voice cracked. “That spot. Feel it?”

Caitlin’s heart slammed against her ribs. She felt the heat there, the sharp pulse. “I feel it.”

Paige dragged her nails down Caitlin’s arm. Her voice dropped. “Press there. Don’t lose it.”

Caitlin swallowed. “How?”

“Not fast.” Paige’s breath caught. “I want every second of it. Stroke me there. Small pulls. Keep me open.”

Caitlin pressed in. Fingers curled. Moved slow and deep. Paige’s hips began to shake. Her voice broke sharper. “That’s my spot, baby. That’s where I fucking lose it.”

Caitlin locked her rhythm. Felt her pulse build under her hand. She’s getting closer. I can take her there.

She kept the motion steady. Paige’s hips chased her now. Her breath hitched harder. “Don’t rush,” Paige rasped. Her voice came thin. “Feel me build. You’ll know when I start to lose it.”

“I will.” Caitlin’s voice held steady.

Paige’s hips jolted again. Her thighs shook. Her breath broke in ragged pulls. “No one’s ever touched me like this.”

Caitlin’s chest burned. She kept the pressure right where Paige needed it. Slow, deep thrusts. Her eyes locked on Paige’s face.

“God. Princess. You’re so fucking good at this.” The words landed sharp. Caitlin’s confidence surged under them. She pressed deeper. Faster.

“Just like that,” Paige groaned. “You’ve got me. You’re going to make me come.”

“I want to,” Caitlin whispered. “I want to.”

Paige let out a sound closer to a sob. “Harder. Keep pressing. Don’t stop.”

Caitlin drove in tighter. Watched Paige’s body begin to break against her hand. “I won’t,” Caitlin whispered. Her heart pounded. She felt Paige trembling around her. The pressure building to the edge.

Paige’s legs shook. Her ribs locked. Every breath dragged sharp through her throat. Her hips rocked down, harder with each thrust. The rhythm started to fray.

“Fuck. Caitlin.” Her voice broke. “I’m going to come all over your hand.”

Caitlin pressed deeper. Her strokes stayed locked. Paige’s hips chased every thrust now. Caitlin felt her unraveling under her touch.

I can’t stop now. I’m going to take her all the way.

Paige let out a broken moan. Her hips drove down harder. “I’m close. Stay on me.” Her head slammed back to the tile. Her hands clawed useless at Caitlin’s shoulders. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

Caitlin felt Paige clench tighter. The rhythm climbed fast. 

For a second, Caitlin’s heart felt like it might break through her chest. Paige was about to lose it. For her. Because of her. Because she had done this right.

Then Paige’s voice broke. “I’m coming,” she gasped. “Fuck. I’m coming.”

The words ripped out. Paige’s body seized. Her hips jolted around Caitlin’s hand.

She knew Caitlin could feel every second of it.

Her walls clamped down hard. Slick poured out around Caitlin’s fingers. She shattered against it. Too far gone to pull back.

Don’t close off. Stay open. Let her feel all of it.

A scream tore from her throat. Her cunt locked around Caitlin’s fingers. Wet. Pulsing. Slick running down her thighs.

Caitlin held steady. Kept her fingers right there. Felt every pulse of it.

Paige rocked through the aftershocks. Sobs broke out of her chest. “Baby. Fuck. Baby.”

Her hips jerked. Her hands clutched at Caitlin’s shoulders, helpless.

She couldn’t believe how much she needed her.

Only when Paige’s hips twitched, too sensitive now, did Caitlin ease her fingers out. Slowed them. Held her steady.

“You’re so beautiful,” Caitlin whispered. The words slipped out. “My pretty girl.”

Paige stayed pressed there. Her breath slowed. Then her hands slid around Caitlin’s waist. Pulled her in. No force. No claim. Just need. “I need you close,” she whispered. Her voice broke on it. “I need to feel you.”

Caitlin pressed in tighter. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

The water had run cold. Sharp against their skin. Neither of them moved.

Paige’s arms stayed locked around her. Her head tucked in close. She breathed her in, slow. Deep. Said nothing.

And Caitlin stayed with her. Quiet. Let her have it.

Paige breathed her in deeper. Pressed her closer. Her arms locked around Caitlin’s back. Not soft. Not loosening. Holding what they had just given each other.

“You did so fucking good for me,” she whispered. Her voice came rough but steady. “You held me. You listened.”

Caitlin’s throat tightened. She stayed silent. Let Paige keep her. Let Paige hold the moment however she needed.

Paige didn’t let go. She wasn’t ready. Her arms stayed firm. Her breath came steady now. Her hands sure.

The water ran cold now. Paige kept her arms around her until she turned off the faucet. The room went quiet.

“Come here.”

She reached for a towel, wrapped it around Caitlin’s shoulders first. Hands sure. Tucked it firm around her ribs.

“Arms up.”

Caitlin obeyed. Paige pulled the towel higher. Brushed her thumbs once down Caitlin’s sides.

“Sit.”

She guided her to the counter edge. Another towel came around her shoulders.

Paige knelt. Dried her legs. Slow. Steady. Not soft, not hurried.

“You okay?” Her voice stayed low.

Caitlin nodded. “Yeah.”

Paige searched her face. Held her eyes.

“You did good.”

Another breath. Paige stood. Dried her own skin fast, towel wrapped low on her hips.

She glanced once back at Caitlin. She was so beautiful. So patient. “Bed?”

Caitlin’s voice caught. “Only if you’re coming.”

Paige reached a hand out. “Let’s go.” She didn’t let go of her again.

Paige pulled the covers back. Guided Caitlin in, towel still wrapped. Let her settle. Then slid in behind her. Shirtless. Warm. One arm hooked tight around Caitlin’s waist. The other under her head.

Caitlin tipped her head back just enough to look at her. “You’re really good at that,” she whispered.

Paige arched a brow. “At what? Making you question your entire college decision in the shower?”

Caitlin huffed a laugh. “At making me feel safe, actually.”

Paige’s jaw locked for half a second. She kissed her nose to cover it her shyness. “That’s easy”

Caitlin grinned, loose now. “You’re so soft after you come.”

Paige groaned. Dropped her forehead to Caitlin’s. “I’m not. You just caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“You were literally whimpering into my neck.”

Paige tried to glare. The grin cracked through anyway. “Yeah, well. You didn’t exactly look composed either, princess.”

Caitlin flushed. Buried her face in Paige’s shoulder. “Stop.”

Paige laughed, low and wrecked. “Not a chance. You’re gonna be cocky as hell after this, aren’t you?”

“No,” Caitlin said, muffled. Then, quieter, “Maybe a little.”

Paige smiled. Pulled her closer. “Good. You earned it.”

They lay there, tangled up, breathing each other in. “You okay?” Paige asked after a minute. Voice softer now.

Caitlin nodded against her chest. “Better than okay.”

Paige kissed her temple. “Me too.”

Caitlin’s fingers traced slow patterns on Paige’s ribs. Then, voice light, teasing, “Tell me a secret.”

Paige snorted. “What are we, in eighth grade?”

“C’mon,” Caitlin grinned against her skin. “I just had you begging me not to stop. You owe me.”

Paige tilted her head back against the tile. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I watch slime videos.”

Caitlin blinked. Then giggled. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Caitlin laughed harder now, chest shaking against hers. “That’s your secret? You’re a twelve-year-old?”

Paige grinned despite herself. “It’s relaxing.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You asked.”

Caitlin lifted her head, eyes dancing. “You’re so hot and so weird.”

Paige smirked. “You didn’t seem to mind five minutes ago.” She got up briefly to toss Caitlin a shirt, her oversized UConn tee, and Caitlin pulled it on, drowning in it, legs bare and damp.

“Unfair,” Paige muttered.

“What?” Caitlin grinned, tugging the hem lower.

“You. In that.” 

Caitlin crawled toward her on the bed, loose and smug now. “Maybe.”

Paige caught her around the waist, pulled her in. Caitlin landed half on top of her, laughing.

“Princess,” Paige warned, though her voice had no bite. “Careful. You’re gonna start something you can’t finish.”

Caitlin nuzzled into her neck, soft. “That’s your job.”

Paige groaned, pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re trouble.”

“You love it.”

Paige smiled against her skin. “Yeah. I do.”

For a minute, neither moved. The air hummed warm around them, the sheets soft beneath bare legs. Caitlin traced slow circles over Paige’s ribs again, quiet now.

Then her voice came smaller, softer. “I keep thinking about Notre Dame.”

Paige stilled, but didn’t pull back. Just kept her arm wrapped around her. “I sat through this speech,” Caitlin whispered. “All about leadership. Role models. Who we’re supposed to be.” Her breath caught. “It didn’t sound like someone who’d be welcome walking out of a motel room with you.”

Paige’s grip tightened, just a little. “That’s their problem. Not yours.”

“I know.” Caitlin’s voice shook. “But I can’t pretend anymore. Not after this. Not after you.”

Paige swallowed hard. She tipped Caitlin’s chin up, made her meet her eyes. “You’re not supposed to pretend.” Her voice stayed low. Steady. “And you don’t have to pick a place that asks you to.”

It took time. Long enough that Paige could feel her body slowly loosen again. Then Caitlin spoke. “I want to be somewhere I can feel like this.” Paige stayed still. Held her tighter. “I want this. All of it. I can’t go somewhere that would shut that down.”

Paige’s hand flattened at her ribs. Steady. No rush. “You won’t,” she said. “Not if you choose right.”

Caitlin’s breath caught. Then she turned into Paige’s chest, face tucked in. “I need to.”

For a moment, the room stayed quiet. Caitlin’s breath evened out against her chest. Paige could feel her settle. Heavy. Warm. Still hers.

Caitlin’s legs were tangled with hers now, bare and warm under the covers. Her fingers still traced lazy patterns against Paige’s ribs. Slower now. Fading.

It should have felt too much. Paige wasn’t built for this part. Holding after. Letting it stretch out. Letting someone stay. But she didn’t move. 

Paige pressed her mouth to Caitlin’s hair, just once. Breathed her in.

She felt soft lips brush her collarbone next. Not urgent. Not teasing. Just a touch. Paige didn’t say a word, just stroked her palm down Caitlin’s back, slow and steady, over the thin cotton of her shirt.

Caitlin let out a small hum. Content. Paige felt her body sink heavier against her.

Caitlin’s head turned, cheek pressed to Paige’s chest. Her breath slowed. Her body went quiet.

Paige stayed frozen for a beat, like if she moved, the whole thing might crack open. Then her hand found Caitlin’s hair again. Brushed it back. Gentle now. Careful not to wake her.

She lay there like that, holding her. Feeling every breath against her chest. Every small shift. Every reminder that this girl trusted her enough to fall apart for her, and to fall asleep here, wrapped in her arms.

Paige stared up at the ceiling. Swallowed hard. Her throat burned.

She had never let anyone this close.

She could feel the thought starting to creep in. The one she didn’t want to name. Didn’t want to face.

That maybe. Just maybe. She was falling for this girl.

Her chest squeezed tight. She looked down. Caitlin breathed soft against her skin, lashes resting dark against flushed cheeks.

God help her.

She might already be gone.

Paige shut her eyes. Pulled her closer. Held her through the rest of the night.

And didn’t let go.

==

Light bled pale through the edges of the motel curtains. Faint. Gray. Enough to wake Caitlin, but not enough to pull her from the warmth she was wrapped in.

She shifted, breath slow against skin. Paige’s arms were still locked around her. One draped low at her waist, the other cradling her head. Bare legs tangled under the covers.

Caitlin blinked once. Memory poured in slow. The night. The shower. The bed. The way Paige had held her.

The ache behind her ribs already started.

Iowa.

She had to drive back today. Make this decision. Eventually see her parents. Pretend she wasn’t walking around with Paige’s voice still in her head, Paige’s body still on her skin.

She shifted once, breath shaky. Paige’s arm tightened. No words yet. Just the grip of someone who knew what today meant.

Caitlin whispered, “I have to go soon.”

Paige pressed a slow kiss to her neck. Another. Then her voice came rough, low from sleep. “Stay ten more minutes.”

Her voice was softer than Caitlin had ever heard it. Warm. Unsteady. Not pulling, not teasing. Wanting.

So Caitlin settled again without meaning to. Paige shifted in behind her, pressed a slow kiss to her neck.

“You feel too good like this,” Paige whispered.

Caitlin’s chest cracked wide. “You’re dangerous in the mornings,” she breathed.

Paige smiled against her skin. “You're making it impossible to let go.” Silence stretched. Paige’s thumb traced lazy circles at her hip. Her breath stayed soft against Caitlin’s neck.

Then Paige’s voice came low. Real. “You’re gonna be okay today.”

Caitlin’s throat tightened. “You think?”

“I know.” Another kiss, just beneath her ear. “You already know what you want. Just trust it.”

Caitlin nodded. Pressed back into Paige’s chest.

She didn’t want to go yet. Didn’t want to walk out of this room back into the weight waiting for her.

Neither of them said it out loud. Not yet.

But Paige kept her wrapped close, like it was the only way she knew how to let her walk out the door.

“Drive safe,” Paige whispered. “And if the rain gets bad… pull over. Call me.”

Caitlin swallowed hard. “Okay.”

They lay there one more beat, breath synced. Caitlin burned the feel of it into her skin.

Then she turned. Met Paige’s eyes, soft and wrecked.

“Come here,” Paige whispered.

She pulled her in. Kissed her slow. Not hungry. Not sharp. Just soft and full of morning breathing and terrifyingly close to three words neither one of them was ready or able to say.

When Caitlin finally sat up, Paige moved with her. No push. No rush. Just helped her grab her clothes. Her keys. Walked her to the door, fingers looped at Caitlin’s wrist.

Outside, the sky hung low. The air smelled like cold rain. Paige opened the door. Caitlin’s car waited in the lot.

“You'll text me when you get there,” Paige said. Voice steady. Barely.

Caitlin nodded. Couldn’t trust her own words.

She kissed Paige once. Firm. Slow. Pulled back just enough.

Paige’s eyes flickered. “Bye, Cait.”

It caught her.

Last time, it had been Clark.

Bueckers.

Easier to pretend it didn’t mean anything then.

“Bye, P.”

Then Caitlin turned. Keys shaking in her hand. Made herself walk to the car.

Paige stayed in the doorway. Arms crossed tight, like it was the only way to keep herself there.

Caitlin slid behind the wheel. Heart racing. Breath thin.

She looked back once. Paige hadn’t moved.

Not until the taillights disappeared.

==

Caitlin drove the first ten miles too fast. Hands locked at ten and two. The car smelled like Paige’s shirt. Like sex. She couldn’t get the air cold enough.

Her body ached everywhere. Every shift in her seat reminded her. The scrape of her thighs. The pulse was still low between her legs. The way her chest caught if she breathed too deep.

She gritted her teeth. Shifted again. It didn’t help.

Rain dotted the windshield. She clicked the wipers higher. The sound grated.

She should’ve been thinking about Iowa. The visit. What to ask. How to show her face. What to say to her mom tomorrow. 

But the only thing in her head was Paige.

Paige’s mouth at her throat. Paige’s voice breaking when she came.

Her stomach turned. Heat flooded behind her ribs. She gripped the wheel harder.

You can’t tell them. You can’t tell anyone. You can’t walk into the locker room like this. You can’t.

She blinked hard. Focused on the road. Swallowed fast.

The part that scared her most wasn’t the shame. It was how badly she still wanted it. 

Wanted Paige’s hands back on her. Wanted to be dragged into bed all over again. Wanted to forget the world outside the motel walls.

She hated this part. How deep her self-disgust ran.

Her phone buzzed once on the console. Drive safe. Text me when you stop. Please. 

Caitlin’s throat closed. Her fingers hovered over the screen. I miss you, nearly slipped out. She forced it back down.

I will, she typed. Thanks.

She dropped the phone back down. Kept going.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. But her body didn’t know that. Her chest didn’t feel that.

Paige’s voice came back, soft and steady: You already know what you want. Just trust it.

Caitlin blinked hard. Choked back something sharp in her throat.

I do. I just don’t know how to choose it.

At the next gas station, she’d stop. Text Paige. Try to breathe.

But for now, all she could do was keep driving.

==

By the time Caitlin pulled off the highway into Iowa City, the rain had thinned to a slow mist. Her head throbbed.

She cracked the window, let in the sharp wet air.

Almost there. Just hold it together.

The last stretch of road curved around low brick buildings, familiar now in a way that made her chest ache. She could feel it already. The shift in her body. The way her breath moved easier here.

At the first red light, she pulled her braid loose. Ran her fingers through the tangles.

The campus signs blurred past. The gym. The field house. The old brick dorms.

By the time she parked by the arena, her hands had steadied.

She sat for one minute, palms on the wheel. Let herself breathe.

It’s just a visit. You’re here because you love this place. Because it could be yours.

Her phone buzzed again. You there?

She stared at the screen. Heart tight. Just got in, she typed. I’m okay. You?

All good. Gonna start driving in a little.

Will text later. Thanks for checking on me. She slipped the phone away. Squared her shoulders.

Inside, the gym lights burned bright. A few players moved through drills. A ball hit the rim. Sneakers squeaked on the floor.

"Clark!”

Kate Martin.

They’d played together one summer at an AAU camp, few years back. Scrappy, smart. The kind of player who never let you sulk for long.

They hadn’t talked much since. But now, Kate was beaming like they’d never skipped a beat.

"Look who snuck in early."

Caitlin’s throat caught. She forced a smile. "Figured I’d get a few shots up."

Kate grabbed a ball from the rack. "Gym’s yours today. Everybody else is still in class." She bounced once, caught the pass. "Mind some company?"

Caitlin hesitated. Then shook her head. "No. Come on."

They fell into an easy drill. Swing passes. Spot threes.

Caitlin’s hands worked faster than her voice. Safer that way. But Kate didn’t push. Just smiled at each swish, nodded through the clangs.

After one long make, Kate caught her eye. "You look different," she said. Not teasing. Not pushing. Just noticing. "Lighter."

Caitlin’s breath caught. She wasn’t sure if it was true. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be.  "Trying to be," she managed.

Kate just smiled, tossed her the ball again. No more questions.

Another voice carried from the sideline. "Don’t wear her out before I get to say hello."

Coach Bluder. She crossed the court with a soft smile, hands in her pockets.

"Morning, Caitlin."

"Coach."

Bluder’s eyes held hers for a beat. Steady. Open. "We’re glad you’re here." Something eased in Caitlin’s chest.

Bluder glanced toward Kate. "You pulling her into drills already?"

Kate grinned. "Just keeping her warm."

Bluder laughed, then looked back to Caitlin. "If you want to move, move. If you want to shoot, shoot. If you want to just be in the gym, do that too."

Caitlin nodded, throat tight again. "Thank you."

They worked through light drills. Shooting. Cuts. Nothing hard. No show. Kate’s passes came crisp and easy. Her voice stayed light. 

"Still got that jumper," she said after one deep make. Caitlin felt her shoulders drop. A little more each time.

Bluder called from the sideline, voice calm. "You look good in this gym." Caitlin swallowed. She wanted to believe that.

When they broke for water, Kate bumped her arm. "You okay?"

Caitlin nodded. Breath slow. "Yeah."

Kate tilted her head. Grinned. "Good. You fit here more than you think." That landed deeper than Caitlin meant to let it.

She glanced toward Bluder, who watched them without pressure. Just... there.

"I’m thinking about it," Caitlin said softly.

==

The rest of the day went fast, lunches, meetings with Bluder and Jan, learning more about Iowa's offense. Their vision.

But their team stood above it all.

Kate asked on the walk back, voice light. "You wanna just hang with the girls tonight? No pressure. Not a show thing. Just us."

Caitlin had said yes, even though her stomach tightened.

Now she stood barefoot in Gabby’s kitchen. A stack of pizza dough rounds sat on the counter. Cans of sauce, tubs of cheese, too many toppings.

Monika tossed her an apron. "You know how to roll these out, Iowa?"

Caitlin caught it one-handed. "I’m not helpless."

"Good." Gabby smirked. "We haze the helpless ones."

Monika leaned in. "She’s lying. We haze everyone."

Caitlin smiled, shoulders easing. The jokes came easy here. Not sharp, not cruel, not a test.

McKenna slid a jar of olives toward her. "But seriously, this one's a team rule. If you put pineapple on that thing, we disown you."

Kate bumped Caitlin’s hip with hers. "She’s not wrong."

Someone put music on. Loud enough to fill the space, not loud enough to drown it. They let Caitlin queue Taylor Swift and debated the best bridges for what felt like hours.

Caitlin rolled dough. Spread sauce. The table around her buzzed with half-told stories. The Minnesota blowout. A freshman who once locked herself in the locker room. Jan’s reaction when Gabby wore Crocs to media day last year.

Caitlin listened. Laughed. Found herself adding stories to the thread before she meant to.

"So then my brother tried to sneak into the student section. Wearing my jersey. Two sizes too big."

Gabby snorted. "No way."

"Swear to God." Caitlin grinned. "He got caught in the tunnel."

Kate leaned against the counter, watching her. Something knowing in her smile. Like she could see it happening. Like she could see Caitlin settling, inch by inch.

And Caitlin felt it. The shift.

This wasn’t about how many points she could score. Or who she’d be on TV.

This was about whether she could walk into a kitchen like this and know the names. The stories. The stupid jokes.

She wanted that. Wanted it bad.

McKenna slid a finished pizza onto the stone. "We’re feeding you first," she said. "Gotta keep the recruit happy."

Caitlin laughed. "You don’t have to bribe me."

Kate’s voice came quiet, near her ear. "We’re not. We just like having you here."

==

Kate’s room was dark except for a desk lamp.

She'd been watching film for a bit, but now she was mostly scrolling on tiktok independently. Caitlin half-curled on Kate’s extra twin bed, hoodie bunched at her ribs, legs bare and tucked.

Her phone buzzed once beside her. Paige.

How’s Iowa? You breathing okay?

It’s… good. I think. Just weird.

Weird how?

Caitlin bit her lip. Typed.

I like it. Too much maybe. Makes it harder.

Good. You should like it. Pick what feels right for you. Not for anyone else.

Her throat burned. She didn’t answer right away. A minute passed. Then Paige again.

I miss you. Sleeping soon. You got this Cait. 

Caitlin stared at the screen. The words sat there. Heavy. Too much. Too soon. Too true. 

But she couldn’t lie. Couldn’t pretend. Fingers hovered, then typed:

I miss you too. Sleep well PB.

Before she could think too hard, she hit send.

The second it left, her chest clenched. She shoved the phone under the pillow. Breath stuck high in her throat. Caitlin’s mind wouldn’t stop spinning. She kept checking her phone. Kept glancing at the door. Her legs jittered beneath the blanket. 

Across the room, Kate glanced up. One earbud out now. "You good?"

Caitlin hesitated. Swallowed. "Yeah."

Kate tipped her head. "Night spiral?”

Caitlin snorted. “Is that a thing?”

“Absolutely. You get in your own head, can’t sleep, start imagining the next four years like a hell loop. Very normal.”

But when Caitlin’s fingers curled hard into the blanket, Kate stood. Stretched slow. "You wanna go shoot? Sometimes it helps me when my head won’t quit."

Caitlin blinked up at her. "Now?"

Kate’s mouth quirked. "The gym’s always open for us."

Caitlin hesitated. But the thought of sitting here one more minute, wired and stuck, felt worse.

She pushed the blanket off. "Yeah. Okay."

Kate grabbed an extra practice jersey. Tossed one to her. No pressure. No questions.

They walked down the hall. Silent. The air cool and sharp after the heat of the room. The gym lights buzzed on as they walked in and Kate swiped her key card. One row lit first. Then the rest.

Kate grabbed a ball from the rack. Bounced it once. "Take your time," she said. Voice easy. "I’ll just rebound."

Caitlin stepped onto the court. Hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows now. Chest still tight, but her feet moved. Her hands moved. A ball in her palms felt better than her phone.

For a minute she shot in silence. One. Two. Three. Barely felt the arc. Kate chased rebounds. Passed back clean. Didn’t say a word.

When the ball clattered once off the rim, Caitlin caught it, but didn’t shoot.

Kate tilted her head. “Want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “It’s dumb.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

Caitlin bounced the ball once. "It’s just hard... college stuff. Big choice. Pressure."

Kate caught the tone, didn’t push. "Yeah. That’ll mess you up."

Caitlin kept her eyes on the floor. Her fingers curled tight on the ball. Her breath came shallow. The words clawed up anyway. She forced a smile. "And, you know, Catholic guilt. That’s always a blast."

Kate arched a brow. "Yeah?"

Caitlin laughed, too sharp. "I mean. How could you not choose Notre Dame? God might smite you..."

Kate stayed quiet. Stayed open. One slow nod. "Got it."

Another beat passed. Caitlin gripped the ball tighter. Her chest felt like it might split.

Then it broke loose, fast and thin, like if she didn’t say it now she’d never say it: “Can I ask you something?” She took a breath. “Personal?”

“Yeah, sure, what’s up Clark?”

There was a beat of silence. Then Caitlin blurted, too fast, like if she waited a second longer she might choke on it: “You’re gay, right?”

Kate didn’t flinch. "Yeah."

Caitlin nodded too fast. "Cool. Okay. That’s good. That’s... great."

Kate tilted her head. Steady. "Caitlin?" 

Caitlin’s fingers drummed once on the ball. She looked everywhere but at Kate. Then dropped to the bleachers like her knees had given out. Hands threaded in her hair. "Sorry," she said, voice breaking thin. "I’m having a very specific kind of crisis."

Kate stayed where she was. Didn’t sit. Didn’t crowd her. Just let the air stay easy. "You’re okay," she said, voice even.

Caitlin let out a breath that shook. Hands still buried in her hair. "I haven’t said it out loud before."

Kate waited.

"I keep thinking..." Caitlin swallowed. "If I pick wrong, I’m gonna lose it. This part of me that’s barely here yet."

Kate’s voice stayed low. "What part?"

Caitlin’s throat closed. She dug her nails into her scalp, hard. Then forced the words out. "The part that’s... gay." It came rough, thin, but it came. "I’m gay."

Kate nodded. Steady as ever. "Yeah. Okay."

Caitlin’s eyes burned. "I don’t want to disappear," she said. "I’m scared that if I go to the wrong place, I’ll forget how this feels. I’ll go back to being someone who never even says it."

Kate moved then. Came to sit beside her. Not close enough to trap her. Close enough to be there.

Caitlin let out a shaky breath. "I haven’t told anyone," she said, raking her hands through her hair. "None of my friends. Not even myself, really, until like... thirty-six hours ago." A sharp, thin laugh. "And now I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like a fire in my brain."

Kate didn’t speak. Just stayed steady, let Caitlin speak.

Caitlin’s fingers twisted tighter in her sleeves. "Notre Dame," she said. "My parents. My whole life. This version of myself that’s been, like, carefully edited to be admirable and talented and deeply, deeply heterosexual." She let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. "And I’m scared that if I go there, I’ll never actually..." Her voice caught. "I’ll never actually be anything."

It was unraveling faster now.

Caitlin’s voice came rougher now. Breaking open. "I’m scared I’ll never touch someone. That no one will ever touch me. That I’ll go to a school where I can’t say anything out loud and I’ll spend four years being this incredible player everyone’s proud of who never actually fucking lives."

Her hands shook. She clasped them together hard. "I want to want things. I want to have sex. I want to make bad choices and learn from them. I want to get it wrong and laugh about it the next day with friends who actually know the truth about who I am."

They sat there for a minute, letting it settle.

Then Caitlin spoke again, sheepish. “I’m sorry if that was a lot.”

Kate shook her head. “It wasn’t.”

Caitlin hesitated. Then, dead serious: “Is it crazy to partly choose a school because I want to feel like I might get laid at some point?”

Kate grinned. “I picked this place because the assistant coach had a buzz cut and a wife. You’re fine.”

That made Caitlin laugh. Full-bodied, forehead-down, shoulder-shaking laughter. The kind that didn’t feel performative. The kind that cracked something open. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Be honest,” she said, still catching her breath. “Is it possible?”

Kate blinked. “What is?”

Caitlin turned to her, wide-eyed, earnest. “That I could have sex and win a Big Ten title.”

Kate fell back onto the bleachers, laughing so hard she almost dropped the ball.

Caitlin threw her hands in the air. “I’m serious! I need to know it’s not over for me!”

Kate wheezed. “Jesus Christ, Clark.”

Caitlin grinned. “You’re not denying it.”

“I want to win, we all do. I can't promise anything, but Caitlin, you could probably take a mid-major team to the Final Four if you set your mind to it... So yeah, I believe it's possible... Not that we'll win everything, but if you come here, you’ll be okay. Maybe not overnight. But eventually. You’ll find people who get it. People who won’t flinch.”

Caitlin looked at her. Really looked.

And believed her.

For the first time in days, something in her chest settled.

Safe. Unjudged.

Maybe, possibly, probably…

Definitely. 

Gay.

They didn’t say much after that. The gym lights hummed overhead. The ball sat between them, forgotten.

Finally Kate stood. Stretched. “C’mon. It’s late.”

Caitlin pushed up, legs stiff. Followed her to the doors.

In the hall, the air felt cooler, lighter somehow. Caitlin pulled her hoodie back up, still flushed from the spiral but steadier now. Almost herself again.

They walked a few quiet steps. Then Kate glanced over. Casual. A little crooked smile at the corner of her mouth. “Clark. By the way.”

Caitlin looked up.

Kate’s grin widened, not unkind. “I knew, I could spot that repressed energy halfway down the hall.”

Caitlin blinked. Then laughed, for real this time. Sharp, breathless, but real. Shoved Kate’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

Kate let the shove land. Just smiled. Gave it a beat. Then, easy, warm: “Hey. We’ve all been there. And you don’t have to worry. This stays between us.”

Behind her, Caitlin smiled. Small. Private. Hers.

==

The drive home felt longer than it was. Caitlin sat with her hood up, headphones in, whole body loose from Iowa, still warm from that gym. Paige’s name burned bright in her texts.

But the second she stepped through the front door, it started to close in again.

“Hi honey!” Her mom called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready, come tell us everything!”

Caitlin tried to smile. Shrugged off her coat. “Okay.”

Her dad looked up from the table. “How was it?”

“It was good,” Caitlin said. Too fast. “Really good.”

She slid into her chair. Folded her hands under the table.

Her mom beamed. “I mean, how could you not choose Notre Dame, right? The academics. The values. And they love you there.”

Caitlin’s throat caught. She kept her smile small. “Yeah.”

Her mom turned to her dad. “And of course, with the way the program is structured, she won’t be around all that… party culture nonsense you hear about at some schools.”

Her dad nodded. “Right. More focused.”

Caitlin opened her mouth. "Actually, at Iowa… there wasn’t really any drinking. The girls just…"

Her mom waved a hand. "Honey, they were putting on their best face for a recruit. We know how it is."

Caitlin’s jaw tightened. "But at Notre Dame they wanted to take me out."

Her dad chuckled. "Well, that’s college for you. But at least there, it’s the right kind of coaches. The right kind of people."

The words scraped. The right kind of coaches.

Caitlin picked at her napkin.

Across the table, her brother caught her eye. Raised one brow, barely a twitch. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

The rest of dinner blurred. Caitlin heard herself answer questions. Smile at the right moments. Nod when they said Notre Dame just fits who you are.

But under it all, her chest stayed locked. Like Iowa had been some dream she’d wake up from.

==

Later that night she lay on her bed in the dark, a blanket pulled to her chin. Phone pressed to her chest.

Finally, she unlocked it.

Tapped on Paige's contact.

It’s hard. Being home.

The typing bubble popped up. Then stopped. Started again.

I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could make it easier.

Just needed to tell you. Exhausted. Falling asleep. 

I’m glad you did. Sleep well, Cait. I’m here if you need.

Caitlin held the phone one more beat. Pressed it to her chest.

Thanks P. ❤️

She closed her eyes.

And tried to breathe.

Paige lay on her side, bedroom dark except for the phone screen lighting her pillow. The text sat there. The emoji.

And the faint ache of knowing Caitlin was probably asleep, or trying to be.

Paige set the phone down. Let her arm fall heavy across the mattress.

It wasn’t enough. None of it was enough. Not a text. Not the night. Not the way she’d kissed Caitlin into her neck and still had to watch her drive away.

Now Caitlin was back in that house. Paige could almost see it, too-bright kitchen, tight family talk, some perfect version of Caitlin none of them knew how to see past.

She dragged a hand through her hair. Let it fall across her face. Turned her face into the pillow. Whispered it there, where no one could hear.

“Sleep good, Cait.”

Stayed like that. Awake. Waiting for nothing.

==

At school on Monday, the anxiety started low. Curled into Caitlin's stomach. Stayed there.

She felt it all through first period. Then second. Third.

By lunch, it had her in a chokehold.

It wasn’t just being back. Wasn’t just the weight of what she’d said out loud to Kate, but no one else. 

It was the whispers. The stares. The way her mom’s picture in the church group chat had already made its way through half the school. Look at our girl! Big visit! Big dreams!

Her phone had buzzed all night. Messages. Notre Dame girl now? Go Irish! She wanted to throw it across the room.

By the time she hit fourth period, Abby and Maren were already on her.

“He’s gonna ask you out,” Abby said, leaning across the desk. Her ponytail swung high.

Caitlin blinked. “Who?”

“Graham,” Maren hissed. “We overheard the football team talking about it in chem. I swear. He said he’s been wanting to all term.”

Caitlin’s stomach twisted.

Lizzie grinned. “Finally. It’s about time you let a guy take you out.”

Caitlin forced a smile. Bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt. “You guys are ridiculous.”

But her heart wouldn’t stop racing. By the time the bell rang, her legs felt shaky.

She was sliding books into her locker when he showed up.

“Hey.” Football jacket on. Letter patched clean across his chest. One hand braced high on the locker next to hers. The other shoved deep in his pocket.

Too close. Too easy. Too much.

Caitlin blinked up. “Hey.”

Graham grinned. “How was the big visit?”

She swallowed. “Good.”

“Figured.” His smile widened. “You looked happy. That post your mom put up?

My mom was like she’s such a good girl, gonna do big things.”

Caitlin’s chest burned. The words caught sharp behind her ribs.

Good girl.

Paige’s voice, not his. In her ear. In the motel. In the shower. Soft. Wrecking.

Good girl.

Her knees nearly buckled.

She blinked hard. Swallowed it down. Gripped the locker edge tighter.

Graham kept talking, but it blurred, something about coming to her game next month, their history paper...

He shifted. “Anyway. My mom saw yours at church. Said you’d be home this week. And I thought I could take you to dinner?

He lingered. Voice lower now. “We could… you know. Hang out after.” Her stomach flipped. Heat crawled up her throat.

“Thursday maybe?” he added, like it was done. Decided.

Across the hall, Abby and Maren watched from their lockers. Abby mouthed say yes.

Lizzie shot her a thumbs-up.

But her mouth moved first. “Yeah,” she heard herself say. Thin. Not hers. “Okay.”

Graham grinned. “Cool. I’ll text you.”  He brushed past, shoulder grazing hers.

She stood frozen. Locker cold under her palm. The air too thick. The yes already out in the world.

Paige’s voice still echoing.

Good girl.

The second Graham disappeared down the hall, they all darted over.

Abby grabbed her arm. “I told you!”

Maren clapped. “Literally heard him in chem last week. They were plotting, Cait.”

Lizzie laughed. “And you just said yes like it was nothing. Queen.”

Caitlin forced a smile. Her skin felt too tight.

Abby bumped her shoulder. “You’re gonna go, right? He’s so into you.”

Maren grinned. “And not just dinner. You know what he meant.”

Lizzie fake-fanned herself. “Graham and Caitlin, power couple. It’s happening.”

Her throat closed. Paige’s voice still echoed under her ribs. Her own yes ringing sharp in her ears.

She tucked her books tighter to her chest. Managed a laugh. “Yeah. We’ll see.”

Abby looped their arms. “No backing out now. You said yes. You’re going.”

The hallway buzzed around them. The lights too bright. The walls too close. And Caitlin walked with them, breath locked high, knowing exactly how trapped she’d just made herself.

==

She got through the next two periods on muscle memory. Couldn’t tell you what the lectures were. Couldn’t tell you what she wrote down.

Her chest was too tight. Skin hot, buzzing. Her mouth tasted like metal. Every sound was too loud. Every breath drew too fast.

She ducked into the bathroom between classes. Locked the farthest stall. Sat down hard. The tile felt freezing through her leggings.

Her hands shook so bad she dropped her phone. Scrambled for it. Knees drawn tight to her chest. Her ribs wouldn’t move. Like her lungs forgot how to work.

She shoved her AirPods in with shaking fingers. Locked them tight. No one could hear. No one could know.

Phone in her lap. Paige’s name. She didn’t think. Just hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then Paige’s voice came, low. “Cait?”

Caitlin couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. A thin sound caught in her throat. Air wheezed in too fast, out too sharp.

“Cait.” Paige’s voice dropped steady. A shift. A knowing. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I need you to breathe for me.”

The words barely landed. Caitlin’s vision swam. The stall spun slow. Her breath kept catching, ragged and loud in her ears.

“AirPods in?” Paige asked, voice firm but soft.

Caitlin made a small sound. A quiet yes.

“Good. Just me and you then. No one else. You’re safe. You hear me?”

A wet gasp broke out of Caitlin’s throat. Knees pressed harder to her ribs. Fingernails bit into her sleeves.

“Listen to me.” Paige’s voice stayed even. “Match me, okay? In… two… three. Out… two… three.”

Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut. Tried. The breath caught. Hitched. Flew out too fast.

“Good,” Paige said. Soft but certain. “That’s it. Again. In… two… three. Hold. Out… two… three.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her mouth tasted wrong. But her breath slowed one beat. Then another.

“That’s it, Cait. I’m right here. Keep going.”

Another sob clawed free. She couldn’t stop it.

“Good,” Paige said. Voice caught now, but steady. “Proud of you. Keep breathing. Slowly.”

Her chest shook. But the air came easier. Not clean. Not calm. But enough.

“You’re okay,” Paige whispered.

Another breath in. Another out. Caitlin’s grip on her sleeves eased, just barely.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” Paige said. Fierce now. “Don’t ever say sorry for this.”

Caitlin let her head drop to her knees. The tile was cold. The air still burned her throat. But the edges weren’t spinning anymore.

“Keep breathing with me,” Paige said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Caitlin believed her.

For the next few minutes, that was enough. Paige’s voice in her ear.

==

Halfway through practice, Caitlin’s phone buzzed under her warmups on the bench. She glanced.

You okay? thinking about you.

Her stomach flipped. She pressed the ball between her knees. No. Not even close.

She wiped her palms on her shorts. Typing felt impossible. She stared at the screen. Breath too shallow again.

Finally: Practicing. Trying. It’s hard.

Paige’s reply came fast. I know. You’re doing so good. I’m proud of you.

Caitlin bit her lip. Wanted to crawl into her phone. Wanted to hear that voice again. Wanted to be anywhere but here.

The whistle blew. She shoved the phone back down. Stood.

Legs leaden. Ball slick in her grip. Paige’s words echoed behind her ribs.

You’re doing so good.

She didn’t feel good. Didn’t feel anything at all.

But she made herself move.

==

The next two days weren’t any easier. But Caitlin found ways to manage. She poured herself into basketball. Woke up early, shot before class. Stayed late, ran drills until her arms ached. The sound of the ball was safer than her thoughts.

At school, she kept her head down. Smiled when she had to. Answered questions about the visit when she debrief with coach with words that didn’t sound like her. Good. Loved it. Great culture.

She lost herself in the intermediary check-ins from Paige. Just small hellos. Memes. Tiktoks. Selfies. Once, a song she liked.

But her friends kept talking about the date. Thursday’s perfect. You’ll look so good. Abby already planned her outfit. Maren offered to help with hair. Lizzie grinned and whispered in chem that Graham was definitely still interested.

Caitlin smiled back. Nodded. Played along.

But under it all, her stomach stayed in knots.

By Wednesday night, the ache in her chest had barely let up. And the more she tried to shove it down, the sharper it came clawing back.

Her room was dark except for her phone screen. She’d been staring at it too long. Flipping through nothing. A meme Paige sent her a few hours ago was staring at her in the face.

She rolled onto her side. Opened Paige’s thread. 

Can’t sleep.

You okay?

Hate this place, P.

What's going on?

She hesitated. Her chest already tight. But her fingers moved.

Tomorrow’s the date. I feel sick.

She had told her on the phone after practice. Quick. Embarrassed. Couldn’t stop herself. The words rushed out: “I said yes. I didn’t know what else to say.” 

Paige hadn’t pushed. Just gone quiet, and said something like "I don’t like it, but I get it. I’m here"

She fucking hated this.

Hated that Caitlin was gonna go on a date with someone else. With a guy of all people.

Hated that she was sick over something she didn’t want. Hated that she couldn’t fix it. Hated herself for letting her want to.

Her fingers twitched. Picked the phone back up. Stared at the thread.

Wish you’d said no. That wasn’t fair. Backspaced it.

Wish I could be there. Too soft. She didn’t want Caitlin thinking this was about her. This wasn’t a rescue. Paige couldn’t be that person.

Except.

She closed her eyes. Saw Caitlin at the gym. Body hunched, voice cracking. I didn’t know what else to say.

Paige knew exactly what else she wanted her to say. Knew exactly what she’d say if Caitlin were in front of her now. Voice low. Steady. Hands planted so Caitlin couldn’t look away.

You don’t owe them shit. You know that, right? You don’t owe them this. Not your time. Not your body. Not your smile. Not the fucking performance they want. You say no when you want to. You pull out if you want to. And if they don’t like it, they can fuck off.

But she wasn’t there. Just a phone. Just words.

Paige exhaled. Fingers moved.

Don’t go. You don’t owe him shit.

It’s not that easy.

I know. But I hate that you’re making yourself do this.

Caitlin's eyes stung. The words blurred. She bit her lip. Typed: Wish I could be with you instead.

Fuck. Me too.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. You hear me?

I know. I just… want to feel like me. With you. Not like this.

In her room, alone, Paige stared at the screen.

Her throat burned. She could see it too clearly: Caitlin in that house, in that bed, typing this with trembling fingers while everyone around her pushed her toward some boy she didn’t want. Some boy who got to take her out. Touch her. Be seen with her.

And Paige - what the fuck was she? A voice in Caitlin’s ear. A secret. Her lover?

The thought gutted her. She pressed her phone tighter to her chest. Breath caught sharp.

No. Not like this. Not tonight.

If Caitlin needed her, she’d take her. Right now. In the only way she still could.

Her fingers moved. Fast now. 

You’re mine. Only mine. You listening?

Heat rose sharp and fast. Caitlin swallowed. 

Yes. Listening.

Good girl. Just us. No one else. You want me to tell you what I’d do?

Caitlin’s whole body ached for Paige. Thighs pressed tight. Fingers hovered. Please.

What are you wearing right now?

Heat shot down her spine. The good kind. The dangerous kind.

Sports bra. Underwear. Hoodie. Bed.

The read receipt hit in a blink. Then: I’d have you on your back first. Hoodie off. Hands over your head. Slow. Just for me.

A sharp breath punched out of her. Heart pounding. Hands shaking. She fumbled for the camera. Quick shot: stomach, thighs, hips tilted just enough. Not too much. Just enough to say I want this.

She sent it. Barely breathing.

The read popped fast. Then: Fuck. You’re killing me.

You wet for me right now?

Caitlin's whole body burned. She typed: Yes. So wet.  

God. If I were there, I'd have you begging. On your hands and knees. Remember when I fucked you from behind Cait? You were so open. Needing it. So good for me. Dripping.

Caitlin whimpered out loud. Thighs pressed tight. Her fingers hovered, shaking. Breath ragged.

Want you so bad. Just like that.

My fucking princess. You're so responsive to me.

Caitlin chest thudded. She barely managed: I'm all worked up.

Good. Show me. Now.

Caitlin's heart raced. Fingers trembling. She sat up. Couldn’t do this flat on her back. Shoved the blanket off. Crossed to her desk. One light, dim. The the phone screen burning too bright.

The mirror caught her. Flushed. Legs bare.

She reached under her sports bra. Hesitated. Breath shaking. Then yanked it up just enough. One breast bared, peaked hard. The rest covered.

Held the phone up. Stared at herself - wide eyes, parted mouth, shaking. Wrong. But needing.

Send it now. Before you lose it. Before you remember where you are.

Clicked. One photo.

Breath hitched. Thumb hovered. Then, send.

She stared at the screen. Watched the read hit. Paige’s bubble appeared.

Fuck. You look so good. You wanna play?

A sob punched her chest. Heat and shame crashing in.

“Yes,” she whispered out loud. Couldn’t even type it.

She reached to pull the rest of her sports bra over her head. To show Paige more. 

Then, suddenly, the door cracked.

“Hey, Cait, do you have a charger I broke…” Colin’s voice. Mid-sentence. 

She gasped. Spun. One arm yanked across her chest.

Phone dropped with a sharp clatter to the desk.

“Fuck, sorry!” Colin froze. Eyes wide. Face going red. “Didn’t - shit - sorry!”

“GET OUT!” Her voice cracked. “Colin! Out!”

“Okay, okay, sorry, sorry!” He stumbled back, door half-slamming behind him.

She stood there, chest heaving. Arm locked tight across her. Legs trembling.

For a second she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

She lay there shaking. Breath stuck high. Blanket clutched hard to her chest.

The phone buzzed once. Then again. She forced herself up. Reached for it with trembling fingers. Unlocked.

Baby. You’re so hot. I wanna be inside you.

A sob caught in her throat. She couldn’t. Couldn’t even read it. Couldn’t breathe.

But her fingers moved anyway. Desperate now. Hit call.

It rang once.  

“Baby. Fuck. I missed you.”

“I can’t,” Caitlin gasped. Voice ragged. “Paige. I can’t. I’m sorry. I - ”

“Hey. Hey. Shh.” Paige’s voice shifted instantly. No dominance. Just there. Sharp. Fierce. “It’s okay. You’re okay. What happened?”

A sob clawed out. “Colin. He - he walked in. I, I…”

“Okay. Okay. You’re safe now. You hear me? Nothing happened. You’re safe.”

“I’m sorry.” Caitlin’s voice cracked hard. “I’m so sorry. I can’t…”

“Stop. No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing. You hear me?”

Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut. Fisted the blanket tighter. Couldn’t stop shaking.

“Breathe with me,” Paige said. Voice steady. Grounded. “Just breathe. That’s all. I’ve got you.”

Caitlin dragged in a shuddering breath. Out slow. Tried again.

“There you go,” Paige whispered. “That’s it. Good. Just keep doing that.”

They stayed there like that. No words. Just breath. Paige in her ear. Steady. Unmoving.

Finally, voice cracked: “I can’t do more right now.”

“That’s okay,” Paige said. Soft but sure. “I’ll stay on if you want,” Paige said. Quieter. “Or I’ll hang up if you need space. You tell me.”

Silence. Breath catching. Then, voice small, wrecked: “I think… I just need some time. To collect myself. Not space from you. Just, need to think.”

Paige’s voice softened. Fierce and gentle all at once. “Okay. I get that. I’ll hang up. But I’m here. Whenever you want me.”

Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut. Fisted the blanket tighter. “Okay.”

Another breath. No words. Just the line going dead.

She stared at the ceiling, every thought spinning. He saw.

Not all of it. But enough. Bra yanked up. Phone on the desk.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he thinks it was just… something else. Something normal. Something allowed.

Still, it was something Caitlin wasn't supposed to do here.

Not in this house. Not in a room where Jesus hung on the wall and purity talks lived under the paint. Her stomach twisted.

She could still see Colin’s face - red, frozen in the doorway. The words fuck, sorry burned behind her ribs.

What if he tells them? What if they look at her and know?

Her breath spiked. Too fast. Too shallow.

She shoved the blanket off. Sat up hard. Couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t sit in it.

Fuck it. Go down. See. Face it. Whatever happens happens.

Barefoot, she padded down the stairs. Hoodie yanked tight. Sleeves over her hands.

Kitchen lights too bright. Air too sharp.

Water glass cold in her grip. Fingers trembling.

Then - Colin. Stepping in. Freezing when he saw her.

“Hey. Um.” He scratched the back of his head. Awkward. Careful. “Sorry about earlier.”

Her throat closed. The room spun faint around the edges.

She shook her head. Voice rough. “It’s fine.”

“I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything. Just… needed a charger.”

She swallowed. Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t look anywhere. Fingers locked white around the glass.

Silence. Then softer. Halting. Careful like he was stepping through glass:

“Look… I don’t care if you’ve got a boyfriend or whatever.” He scratched his neck. Fidgeted. Voice lower now. “I know Mom and Dad are weird about, like. Sex and stuff. I dunno. I’m not gonna say anything.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Not a boyfriend. Not even close.

But the words stuck hard in her throat. Wouldn’t move.

She forced a nod. “Thanks.”

Back in her room, though, her chest still heaved.

Phone buzzed again. Paige. She couldn’t look.

Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Couldn’t believe this had happened.

Not here. Not in this house.

Not where sex lived in the walls like something dirty. Not where her body wasn’t supposed to want.

She curled tighter. Breath caught high.

You can’t have both lives.

You can’t have this and stay safe here.

The phone buzzed once more.

She shoved it under the blanket.

And stayed there.

Shaking.

Alone.

[zorlok-if]

would love to hear more about your process! i also have insane adhd brain but i Hate coding and im always like how do i unlock the forbidden enjoyable coding experience..

Well then, welcome behind the curtain! (Sorry, it's a fucking mess back here.) Can't promise that this is a magical coding panacea, but it's what helps/works for me. 😊

An Exploration of How Albie Codes:

So, for my particular flavor of ADHD brain, my biggest issue when coding is keeping track of my variables. Gods, I love a variable, but I'll quickly and easily lose track of what I called my variables, where I called them, why I called them, and what I intended to do with them after calling them. My brain also tends to jump between hobbies/special interests/projects. Between that and a busy job, I might leave code unattended for a while. When I come back, I have to make sense of what schemes my brain concocted.

So, to help with these things, I have one spreadsheet per game where I track every variable that I set. That isn't hyperbole. For every single variable I track what I called it, where I set it (especially if it can be in multiple places), every value it can have, and what I intended to do/signify with it. I'll go into detail about this spreadsheet below and share a template version later. First, I'll explain my usage of objects and arrays (because they feature heavily in my spreadsheets).

When I started coding IF, I'd just set a bunch of unique variables. To cut down on variable/system bloat and keep myself more organized, I devised a system reliant upon objects and arrays.

Object variables—if you don't know—are variables that can have numerous properties (so, in effect, it's variable inception). Each main character and section of the story gets its own object variable ($dev, $dog, $har, $pro, $ep1, etc.). The rest of the cast's info is held in one object ($x, which breaks down into properties like $x.elena, $x.jin, $x.sally, etc.). This means that almost all non-object variables are temporary. So, when I'm testing, if I see that a temp variable is active, I know it needs to be unset or that data needs stored in an object. Like, if $brokeArm is true, I'll do $pro.mem.push("brokeArm"), unset $brokeArm. This stores a memory of the fact that Z broke their arm in the prologue-memory object and eliminates that unique variable.

To demonstrate, in Zorlok the MC's data is all stored in the $z object. Tommy's is stored in the $tom object. This is what they look like in the StoryInit passage (notably, with extensive notes in the Tommy one, I leave a lot of notes for myself in my code):

So, when I'm writing about Zorlok, I'll type $z.they and that will print Zorlok's subject pronoun. If I want to know if Tommy believes in God or not, I can say <<if $tom.thinks.includes("realGod")>>God's real, folks.<<else>>God is a lie.<</if>>

This gets into my next main strategy: Arrays. I use arrays to store collections of data instead of having a bunch of unique variables.

The hellhound's unique stats? $dog.tags (values can include: mammal, fly, teeth, bite, scary, cute, fluffy, etc.)

The things that happened in the prologue? $pro.mem (values can include: tomPassive, claraHair, noTea, believedHar, gotSlimed, demonAttack, etc.)

The information that Zorlok has unlocked? $unlock.info (values can include: vesselTerm, noEatSleep, hellBroken, cannotDie, susDemManip, susKilledVessel, etc.)

This is a lot to keep track of, and it would be impossible to keep track of without my spreadsheet (aka, my beloved). Forewarning, these are a real chore to setup if you are trying to create one for a story you're already working on, but they are so helpful! I genuinely don't know what I'd do without it. If you are working on a big Twine game, you don't have to follow my method, but I promise that keeping track of your variables in some way will make your life so much easier when coding.

This is what my spreadsheet looks like:

This is the sheet tracking my StoryInit values. You'll see that I have a column for what the variable is called, what type of variable it is (not really necessary, but I do it anyway), all the values it can have, and the purpose of that variable. For variables with really expansive values, you'll see that I have links to other sheets within this spreadsheet that go into further detail. Now this is the sheet that tracks all of my prologue variables:

Here I track the variable, the type of variable, whether it's permanent of temporary (with temporary ones highlighted in yellow), the values it can have, the meaning, where it first appears, and where it's unset. In this sheet you can also see one of my favorite temp variables, $react, make an appearance. $react is quite simply for temporary reactions. It can hold any number of values but it normally doesn't last or stay the same over multiple passages. This is how I do a lot of flavor text/minor choices (though sometimes the link that will set which reaction the game shows on the next passage will also push a memory into the prologue array, in those cases it's cause not all of the choices have lasting consequences/impressions).

Now, what you may have been waiting for, how do I do character customization? Objects and arrays, you are correct. Let's take a look.

Oh, do my eyes deceive me, $z.hair? Is that an object within an object? Indeed, it is. The chaos grows (as it always must). It isn't really necessary for me to do objects within objects (within objects, in some cases). I could use individual properties like $z.hairStyle instead of $z.hair.style, but having the $z.hair object helps me keep it more organized in my head.

Anyways, you can see just how minutely I have tracked every value, and (in the cases of integers) what the integer values indicate. By doing them as integers, it allows me to do things like <<if $z.height gt 3>>You duck as you enter the room. <</if>> or <<if $z.str gte 1>>The door gives way.<<else>>The door holds fast.<</if>>

By having multiple arrays for things like prosthetics and gender affirming procedures, it allows me to easily check what prosthetics or procedures the vessel has, <<if $z.prost.includes('ra') or $z.prost.includes('la')>>, but then I can print the prosthetic without having to write it out or do extra coding. <<print $z.prosthetic[0]>>.

Now, remember how I mentioned the $dog.tags? Let me show you how I keep track of something like that (this is stored in the Hellhound Information sheet):

So, if I want to know if the Hellhound can fly, I can just go <<if $dog.tags.includes("fly")>>. If I want to know if people are gonna react to it in a significant way, I can go <<if $dog.tags.includes("cute")>>"Aw, $dog.name is adorable! I love <<print $dog.breedName>>s."<<elseif $dog.tags.includes("scary")>>"Shit, seriously?! That's your //pet?// You have a pet //$dog.breedName?"//<<else>>"Oh. Cool."<</if>>

The way I see it, this is the simplest way to do all this stuff. It's just a matter of keeping track of it and keeping my records up to date (which has become habit at this point, I never have Twine up without having my spreadsheet up).

Here are some other notable sheets:

With the $pro.mem values in that third screenshot, this is the main way that I keep track of what happens in the prologue. If I want to know how Tommy reacted to Harlow and entered the summoning scene, I just go <<if $pro.mem.includes("leftSure")>>Tommy believed Harlow and knows that the ritual is going to work.<<elseif $pro.mem.includes("leftUnsure")>>Tommy isn't sure whether this ritual is going to work.<<else>>Tommy and Harlow didn't part on good terms, but he's going to give this nonsensical "ritual" a try.<</if>>

That's all I can think to say right now. I hope all of this makes sense. If you'd like to know more/if I haven't explained something well, let me know. Like I said, I'll share a template version of my variable tracking spreadsheet in a reblog, so look out for that! 😊