#he did manage to find me run into ths room where I was watching and cheer as loud as he can in front of me

[peniswentz]

I learned a very important digital footprint lesson today (bro doesn't follow me and my insta is private)

[lvnleah]

003. | this isn’t right

word count: 2.2k

find the masterlist here!

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October 15th 2023 | 15 weeks pregnant.

Your eyes fluttered open as Leah’s alarm blared from the bedside table beside you. She lifted her arm from where it was draped over your stomach and reached over for her phone, turning the alarm off.

“Morning love,” she whispered, placing a kiss on your temple once she saw you were awake, “sorry my alarm woke you up.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, your eyes closing shut for a moment again.

As your eyes reopened, nausea hit you once again like it had done every morning for the past fifteen weeks. You tried to swallow the feeling down and let it pass but it didn’t.

You threw the duvet off of your body as quickly as you could before running into the ensuite that you and Leah had. The cool tiles of the bathroom floor met your bare feet as you stumbled in, one hand pressed against your mouth. The nausea intensified, starting to already overwhelm you.

Leah followed closely behind you and you fell in front of the toilet. You leaned over the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach until there was nothing left. Leah held your hair back, her fingers soothing against your scalp as she ran her hand up and down your back.

You thought by now the morning sickness would’ve passed like everyone said it would but it hadn’t. It was controlling your life. Your diet was plain and beige and any time you did eat or drink, you were sick soon after it.

All you felt like you were doing was constantly sleeping and being sick. You’d been to see your doctor multiple times who’d given you different anti-sickness tablets to try but none of them seemed to work.

“You’re so so well, pretty girl,” Leah encouraged you, “Can I get you anything?”

You managed a weak shake of your head, your throat raw from the repeated retching. Leah's unwavering presence was both a comfort and a burden. She needed to get ready for training, but here she was, tending to you. Guilt ate away at you.

“Le, you need to get ready,” you murmured, head resting in your hands as you finally got a break.

Leah shook her head, “No, you and our bubba our more important,” she sternly said, “Jonas knows our situation, he knows you’re struggling, if I’m late then I’ll just explain.”

Twenty minutes later, you were finally able to tear yourself away from the toilet. Leah helped you into the living room, flicking the TV on before draping the blankets over you.

Leah made you some dry toast and water, two of the few things that you could stomach. You sat on the couch together and watched some TV before Leah got ready for training.

“Right pretty girl, I’m off,” Leah smiled as she leaned down to kiss you on the sofa, “Our ultrasounds at four right?” She double-checked.

You nodded, “Yeah it is, I’m hoping I’ll be able to get something better for this morning sickness.”

“We’ll talk to the doctor,” Leah nodded. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching for yours. “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything.”

“I promise.” You pressed your lips to hers. “Have a good day, tell Beth I say hi.”

“I love you,” her hand dropped down to your bump as she leaned down to place a kiss on your stomach, “I love you little Gooner, be good for you Mummy.”

You smiled, “I love you too.”

Leah left, and you curled up under the blanket, praying the nausea would pass. But it clung to you like a shadow, refusing to let go. You closed your eyes and soon fell into a deep sleep, catching up on the sleep you’d missed out on last night.

A few hours later, you were woken up by Leah. Her hands ran up and down your legs as you laid on the sofa, your hair in a mess as it laid all over your face.

“Hey,” she whispered, brushing your hair back. “How are you feeling now?”

You sat up, and the room spun. “Better, I think. What time is it?”

Leah’s brow furrowed. “You sure? It’s three o’clock, pretty girl.”

You nodded, but your stomach still churned, “shit, I’ve been asleep all day. I’m so tired, the nausea is still there but I haven’t been sick since you left.”

“That’s good, love,” Leah smiled, sitting down beside you and placing your legs on her thighs, “and don’t feel bad about doing nothing, you’re growing a baby. That ain’t nothing.”

You rubbed the sleep away from your eyes, “I’ve slept the whole day away! The flat is a mess, Le.”

She rubbed your ankles calmly, “Hey, don’t stress, it’s fine. We’ve got an hour until we need to be at the doctors so why don’t you go get yourself ready and I’ll tidy.”

You sat up and nodded your head, “Okay, I love you so much.” Your emotions washed over you quickly and you felt tears building up in your eyes, “What did I do to deserve you?”

Leah laughed, using the pad of her thumb to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen, “Don’t cry, pretty girl! You’re doing amazing, I’m proud of you. I know how things are tough right now but I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t make me cry even more!” You warned, pointing your index finger at her. “Stupid fucking hormones!”

You leaned over and pecked Leah’s lips before wandering off into your bedroom and getting yourself ready. As you were doing your makeup, a wave of nausea washed over you.

Dropping everything, you dashed to the bathroom before throwing yourself down beside the toilet. You empty the little contents that your stomach contained, only getting a few minutes of peace before you were dry heaving.

“Woah, pretty girl,” Leah said as she entered the en-suite, she scooped your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, “sick again?”

You nodded and hummed, “I’m so sick of this, Le. I feel like it’s just dragging on now. It’s three thirty, I shouldn’t be sick!”

“I know love,” Leah nodded, “I think we should talk to the doctor about it and see what she says. I don’t want you to worry but there’s this thing, hyperemesis gravidarum, where your morning sickness lasts for longer than the usual pregnancy does. You’ve got all the symptoms, maybe we should mention it to the doctor?”

You groaned, sinking back against the cool bathroom tiles. “Hyper-what?” you mumbled, trying to focus through the haze of nausea.

“Hyperemesis gravidarum,” Leah repeated gently, keeping her voice steady. “It’s a severe form of morning sickness. I read about it last night.”

You closed your eyes, feeling tears prick at the corners. “But what if it’s something else? What if there’s something wrong with the baby?”

Leah’s hand rubbed up and down your back comfortingly. “I’m sure everything’s okay, but we need to talk to the doctor. It might mean we need to get you on some different medication or maybe even some IV fluids.”

You took a deep breath, trying to get rid of the rising panic. “I just want to feel normal again.”

Leah kissed the top of your head, her voice soothing. “We’ll get through this, I promise. One step at a time.”

You nodded, feeling the overwhelming discomfort. “Okay. I think I’m okay to get ready now.”

Leah helped you up slowly, and you leaned on her. After managing to get dressed and gather your things, you and Leah headed out to the doctor's appointment. The drive was filled with a mix of anxious silence and supportive hand squeezes from Leah as the radio played quietly in the background.

“Lovely parking, Leah.” Leah complemented herself as she reversed perfectly, “Well done.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “you did not just compliment yourself.”

“Hell yeah, I did!” Leah smiled before getting out of the car and admiring her parking, “Look at how perfect that was!”

You got out and joined her, “Amazing babe, well done. Maybe take a photo to remember it!”

“Don’t take the mick out of me!” Leah gasped as you wandered off into the doctors.

You walked into the doctor’s office, Leah’s hand securely around yours. The familiar antiseptic smell mixed with the soft murmur of conversations from the waiting room made you feel a little uneasy.

After a short wait, a nurse called your name, and you and Leah followed her into an examination room. Dr. Thompson, your doctor, entered soon after, her kind eyes scanning the room.

“So, how are we feeling today?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

You exchanged a glance with Leah before answering. “Not great. The nausea and vomiting have been really bad, worse than the usual morning sickness. Leah read about something called hyperemesis gravidarum.”

Dr. Thompson nodded, taking a seat and opening her notebook. “I’m glad you brought that up. Hyperemesis gravidarum can be quite challenging. We’ll discuss your symptoms and see what we can do to help.”

You described the relentless nausea, the constant trips to the bathroom, and the struggle to keep anything down. Dr. Thompson listened intently, making notes.

“Based on what you’ve told me, it does sound like you might be experiencing hyperemesis gravidarum,” she said thoughtfully. “We’ll need to run some tests to be sure, but in the meantime, I can prescribe some antiemetics and we might consider IV fluids to keep you hydrated.”

Leah’s grip on your hand tightened. “Will the baby be okay?”

Dr. Thompson smiled reassuringly. “With the right management, both you and the baby will be fine. It’s about finding what works best for you to manage the symptoms.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Thank you. Are there any foods I can avoid or that will help?”

Dr. Thompson nodded. “There are some dietary adjustments you can try. Eating small, frequent meals can help, and bland foods like crackers, plain rice, and toast are often easier to tolerate. Ginger tea or ginger chews might also ease the nausea. Avoid greasy, spicy, or acidic foods as they can make the symptoms worse.”

Leah gave you a supportive smile. “We’re already stocked up on all the bland foods.”

You chuckled, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. “Guess I’m going to follow your plain and beige diet!”

Dr. Thompson handed you a pamphlet. “This has more tips on managing hyperemesis. Don’t hesitate to call if your symptoms get worse or if you have trouble keeping fluids down. Are you ready to see your baby?”

You and Leah both nodded before you laid back on the examination table. You hadn’t seen your baby since your first ultrasound so you were both intrigued as to what they’d look like at 15 weeks.

Dr. Thompson dimmed the lights in the room and wheeled over the ultrasound machine. She applied a cool gel to your abdomen and began moving the transducer gently over your belly. The monitor flickered to life, revealing grainy shadows and then, suddenly, a clearer image emerged.

"There's your little one," Dr. Thompson said warmly, pointing to the screen. "And there's the heartbeat." She zoomed in, showing you the tiny flutter of movement that indicated a strong heartbeat.

Leah gasped softly, her eyes welling up with tears. "Oh wow," she whispered. "Look at them."

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a surge of emotion as you watched your baby wiggle and squirm on the screen. Their little arms and legs were just beginning to form, and it was a miraculous sight.

"They look healthy," Dr. Thompson commented, tracing a measurement on the screen. "And it seems like they're quite active already, you should start to feel some movements in the next few weeks.”

You smiled at Leah, “When can we find out the gender?” Leah asked.

“I can tell now but I’m not a hundred percent sure so it may be incorrect,” Dr. Thompson said, “I’d say around twenty weeks I’ll be able to correctly tell.”

“Sounds perfect.” You nodded, “They’ve grown so much.”

You left the clinic, clutching the ultrasound image of your baby. Leah couldn’t tear her eyes away from it once again and as soon as you were home, it was hung up on your fridge with your other ultrasound picture.

“I’m so tired,” you yawned as Leah laid down on the couch, pulling you down to lay on top of her, “I feel like I could sleep for years!”

Leah laughed as you rested your head on her chest, her hand absentmindedly falling to your small bump, “Why don’t you take a nap, pretty girl. It’s been a rough day for you.”

You nodded before leaning up and kissing Leah’s jawline. Your eyelids grew heavy and Leah draped a blanket over both of you. You felt Leah’s warmth beside you, her heartbeat like a lullaby for you. As Leah gently stroked your hair, her touch soothing and comforting, you nestled closer to her.

"I love you," you whispered softly, your words barely audible in the quiet of the room.

Leah pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too, pretty girl."

With her arms wrapped protectively around you, You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fall asleep. The steady rise and fall of Leah's chest beneath you, the comforting touch of her hand on your belly where your baby nestled, lulled you into a deep, restful slumber.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

The Man

Pairings: Colin Bridgerton + Penelope Featherington

Summary: After finding out Penelope is Lady Whistledown, Colin swears to never forgive his fiancée. A letter arriving at Bridgerton House makes him change his mind.

Main Masterlist | Polin Masterlist | Lover Album

I would be complex, I would be cool, they'd say I played the field before I found someone to commit to. And that would be okay for me to do, every conquest I had made would make me more of a boss to you.

Penelope watched with tears in her eyes and heartbreak in her chest as Colin said with no hesitation that he would never forgive her for what she had written as Lady Whistledown.

She let out a quiet sob, turning to get back into the hack she had hired, not realising Colin had turned around at the sound of her sob. Because no matter how angry at her he could be, his heart would always beat for his Pen.

I'd be a fearless leader, I'd be an alpha type. When everyone believes ya, what's that like?

Penelope knew Colin wouldn't call on her the day after he found out about her secret identity. She could easily imagine what his reaction would have been if she wasn't a woman - if she wasn't Penelope Featherington, the plump former best friend of Eloise Bridgerton.

She knew he would call off the engagement and wedding before too long. She had tried to find a moment when they were alone and nobody was listening to their conversation. Where she could sit him down and gently tell him her identity and the reason why she did what she did.

But, like Colin always did. He jumped.

Penelope knew she had been waiting for the other shoe to fall, for Colin to realise he actually wasn't as in love with her as he proclaimed. Why would he? He courted Marina, nearly married her in Gretna Green (unaware of the baby she carried), and he loudly proclaimed for anyone to hear - they would have to be mad to consider courting her.

So, she did the only thing she knew.

She went to her room, and wrote a letter to Colin, to Eloise (not that the second Bridgerton daughter would possibly read it), to the Dowager Viscountess and her mama.

She would call off the wedding herself. Give Colin his ring back and leave.

I'm so sick of running as fast as I can, wonderin' if I'd get there quicker if I was a man. And I'm so sick of them comin' at me again. 'Cause if I was a man, then I'd be the man. I'd be the man.

"Colin!" Violet called for her son, holding a letter in one hand, reading over the penmanship and the gentle words. She held out a letter for her third-born son, as well as a small brown envelope. "This has come for you."

Dear, Mr. Bridgerton,

I am sorry it has come to this. I had long hoped you would eventually return my feelings. However, I believe my being Whistledown would be too much-

Whilst he had been reading the beginnings of her letter, he had managed to open the little brown envelope with his fingers.

Sitting in the envelope? Penelope's engagement ring.

Colin blinked repeatedly, dropping her letter and pulling her ring between two fingers.

"Oh, Colin."

"She's left me."

They's say I hustled, put in the work. They wouldn't shake their heads and question how much of this I deserve. What I was wearing, if I was rude. Could all be separated from my good ideas and power moves.

Colin and Violet hurried across the square, making work of the Featherington staircase and were greeted by Varley. "We must see Lady Featherington and Penelope. Immediately," Violet said.

Varley let the pair in. "Lady Featherington is in the drawing room, but..." she never got her next sentence out, as the pair made for the reception room, seeing Lady Featherington sitting alone in a chair, her head in her hand as (surprisingly) tears ran down her face.

"Oh! Lady Bridgerton, Mr. Bridgerton! Please, forgive me. I was not expecting you."

"Where is Penelope?" Colin nearly demanded, looking around the room, not seeing his fiancée in her usual spot looking out of the window.

Portia looked from Colin to Varley, to Violet and then to Colin. Violet muttered a gentle 'oh, dear' before Portia said anything. "She is not here, Mr. Bridgerton."

"Not here? What on Earth do you mean she is not here? This is her home, is it not?"

Portia didn't say anything, simply handed the letter her third daughter had written to her so Colin could read it.

I am sorry it has led to this, mama. That me being Lady Whistledown has brought us so much disgrace. But, you must know, I could not think of any better ideas at the time - with Marina and Eloise.

I know Colin and Lady Bridgerton will come to see you in the morning, demanding to know where I am-

His Pen, the smartest woman he knows.

But, by the time they arrive. I will be long gone.

What?

I have written my final Whistledown edition, telling the ton that I was Whistledown, that Colin and I will not be getting married. Hopefully, by the time the Bridgertons come to see you, I will already be on a boat, leaving England.

"She has run away?"

"Oh, Colin."

What's it like to brag about raking in dollars, and getting bitches and models? And it's all good if you're bad, and it's okay if you're mad. If I was out flashin' my dollars, I'd be a bitch, not a baller. They'd paint me out to be bad, so it's okay that I'm mad.

Colin ran along the dock, looking for that flash of red hair and possibly one of the green dresses he loved so much. Every green dress he saw was matched with either blonde or brunette hair, every redhead had some kind of pink dress to match. One redhead was wearing a yellow dress but.. that can't have been...

He catches the lady by her elbow and spins her around. "Pen!"

"Mr. Bridgerton!"

He cups Penelope's face between his palms. "No, Pen. I am Colin to you. I always have been. But, you, my darling girl. Have sent me on the longest goose chase known to mankind."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I thought I made myself clear in my letter."

"Oh, you did. You made yourself crystal clear. But why would you think Whistledown would come between us?"

"You did say you would never forgive me after you found out."

Colin shook his head. "That was before I nearly lost you, forever. I have spent one summer longing to hear word from home. From you. But I never did. I had never felt more alone that summer than I had my entire life. The letters I got from my family did not mention you. That is all I wanted to hear, how you were."

Penelope looked up at him with a furrowed eyebrows. What on Earth was he saying? "Colin, I have to go. I am going to be late for my boat."

"Which boat? I want to know where we will be going," he tells her, eyes bouncing from boat to boat, then down at his fiancée. "Do you seriously believe I would let you go again? Do you honestly believe that I would ever let you go, now that I finally see you? How I should have seen you last year, or even the year before? Maybe even before you debuted, either way, I should have known you would be mine."

"What about Whistledown?"

He shook his head. "We shall discuss Whistledown in the carriage, just..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out Penelope's pearl engagement ring. "Will you please marry me on Thursday?"

She nodded her head, knowing with the smile on Colin's face and the sparkle in his eyes - they were going to be okay.

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @rosieathena - thanks so much!! ♡

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

Goodnight’N’Go

“God...damn, do you see that girl?” Derek commented, his eyes distracted by another woman that had captured his full attention, as per usual.

And as per usual, Spencer was unfazed by his friend and coworker being so easily distracted, and was instead focussed on continuing the investigation. Admittedly, there was very little for him and Derek to do, Hotch was leading an interview with a witness inside the house they were standing outside of, which was where they had been instructed to stay until the interview was over. Still, it wouldnt hurt for Spencer to memorise as many details about this house as he could, just in case.

“Seriously, kid, look at her!” Derek uttered, a dazed tone to his voice as he nudged his friend, causing Spencer to glance over his shoulder at whoever had mesmerised the man beside him.

He wasnt expecting to recognise the dream that Derek was entranced by, but he did, and he immediately understood his friend’s entranced state.

“Im gonna have to go talk to her...” Derek mumbled, only managing one step in her direction before Spencer placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Let me.” Was the only explanation he gave Derek for his actions, and it caused his friend to step back and raise his hands in a surrender. Not that Spencer noticed, he couldnt tear his gaze from you, nor could he continue to resist the urge to run to meet you.

An ice cream truck was the reason you had crossed that very street, not taking note of anybody or anything, completely consumed with thoughts of which ice cream you were going to order. Just as the cone was handed to you, the sound of fast footsteps approaching you was finally acknowledged by your otherwise distracted mind, and when you looked up, there he was. Giving you the same wonder-filled eyes he always gave you.

Tell me why you gotta look at me that way, you know what it does to me.

He hadnt even known you were in town, he wasnt even in the town he lived in! But that was just the way it was between you two. One perfect coincidence after another, from the day you met, to every other day you managed to find each other again, to have another perfect night together. Whether it was at your place, his, or some cheap hotel room, it didnt matter. You found each other time and time again, and every single time, it would end the same way.

“On a case?” You asked, the same question you had asked on so many occasions upon bumping into him, the same question with the same slight smirk on your face.

“Yeah. What’re you doing here?” Spencer questioned, his voice blessed with the tone of surprise and awe that never failed to expose his excitement at seeing you, every single time.

You shrugged. “There was a concert last night just down the street. Thought I’d check it out, booked a hotel room the day before. I was in such a rush that I accidentally overbooked, I’ve got the room for another night.”

And you watched as his pupils dilated, nodding as all words escaped him.

So baby, what you tryna say?

You smiled and took ahold of his hand, pulling a pen from your pocket to note down the phone number of the hotel you were staying at, as well as the room number. Of course, you could have given him the address too, but you knew Spencer was smart enough to find you based on a list of numbers alone, and his intelligence never failed to amaze you.

“Show up whenever you’re free. If Im not there, just wait for me, I wont be long.” You breathed, words so light and so void of emotion, but filled with so much context that remained an utter mystery.

Without any further words, you rose to your tiptoes and left a lasting kiss on Spencer’s cheek, before you turned and walked away from him, leaving the genius in a state of shock, and the sound of the ice cream truck fading into the distance as you drifted further away.

Sure enough, at exactly 8:31pm, there was a knock at your hotel room door. You opened the door, a small smile already on your face, which only widened upon seeing your favourite person in the world standing before you. His hands found yours, and you lifted them to your face, allowing him to hold your smile in his hands as you both stumbled into your room, your eyes never leaving his.

You already know what I'm thinkin', boy.

As soon as you heard the door click shut, you jumped on him, your legs wrapping around his waist as your arms locked around his neck, your fingers pulling at his hair as your lips found relief in his.

Some nights, that’s all it was between you. Find each other, find a room, and intertwine your souls all over again. It really depended on how long you had gone without seeing each other, because on the nights when you could be in his presence for more than a few minutes without tearing each other’s clothes off, you could experience a year’s worth of joy in a single evening.

Wherever you were, Spencer would begin planning out an evening from the moment he saw you, he’d remember every possible date destination he had seen that day, recall any reviews he had read for them online, and correlated that information with your interests. He would buy you a bouquet of a dozen roses, which would be in his hands when he showed up at wherever you were staying, and you’d go out to whatever destinations he had found. Sometimes it was a movie, sometimes it was dinner, sometimes it was a romantic walk along a city street at night. And when you both started to feel the night lay heavy on your eyes, you would stumble back to wherever you would be staying that night, order a pizza, and watch trash tv until you both fell asleep with smiles on your faces and your bodies wrapped up in each other. The way he treated you made your heart sing and sink with guilt simultaneously.

Oh, why'd you have to be so cute? It’s impossible to ignore you.

Every time you were apart, you tried to convince yourself things were fine, that you were better off on your own. You even tried to deny that your heart ached for him, but that was the most pitiful state of denial you had ever experienced. Nothing in existence had the power to divert your desperation for him.

Whenever you were together, you spent every second smiling. You’d listen to countless new facts that Spencer had memorised in the time since he last saw you, never failing to leave you thoroughly impressed. A night with him always passed in the blink of an eye, but you live out a whole other life in every blink. So many memories in one single night, so many conversations, compliments; it was for those few hours that he was your constant, like he had never been away from your side. Every night with him became the new best night of your life, filled with nerdy jokes that had you chuckling months later when you randomly remembered them, as well as the familiar ache in your heart at the memory of how much you laughed the first time you heard them, and the proud smile on his face as he watched the happiness he brought you bloom before his very eyes.

Why must you make me laugh so much?

It was those eyes, the way he looked at you, the way he smiled, talked, laughed, whispered, mumbled in his sleep. All of it. Every single thing left you swarmed with sickening guilt, because every night would end in the same way. You would be holding him, or perhaps he would be holding you, you would say goodnight, and there would always be a sadness in Spencer’s voice as he said goodnight back. But there was always a glimmer of hope in his tone too, the tiniest spark of hope that maybe this time you wouldnt disappear after saying goodnight. Maybe he would wake up and you would still be beside him, maybe you could continue the fun you had the night before, maybe you could admit the feelings you had instead of running away. But his hope that he held onto so desperately fell flat every single time.

Just say goodnight and go.

And that night you assumed would be no different. After making out for a few minutes and landing on your bed, you broke away from the kiss.

“Drink?” You asked breathlessly, staring up at Spencer with swollen lips and messy hair.

It took him a moment to reply, because he was caught up in admiring you at what he believed to be your most beautiful, but when he did, it was what you expected.

“Yeah, ok.”

He fell onto his back beside you on the bed, both of you catching your breath as you sat up and ventured over to the mini fridge a few feet away from the bed in your hotel room.

“Is it a shots kinda night or a classy slow sip kinda night?” You questioned, looking over your shoulder at the man sprawled out on your bed with an arm over his eyes.

“I think it’s a night for shots.” Spencer answered, and you made a mental note that he needed to unwind, whatever had happened on the case today had left him stressed; you didnt need to ask about that, you just needed to make sure he was alright.

“Do you wanna just split a bottle or do you want shot glasses?” You held up some shot glasses and a bottle as you turned to face him. Sometimes, he preferred shot glasses, and he was a germaphobe, but he had accepted that - considering the amount of...exchanges, the two of you had experienced - he had already contracted pretty much all the germs he could get from sharing a bottle with you.

“We can split a bottle if you’d like.” Spencer suggested, and you nodded, putting the shot glasses back down on top of the fridge before taking your place beside Spencer with a bottle of vodka in hand.

You took a swig, your face scrunching up at the bitter taste as you wiped your mouth and passed the bottle to Spencer, to watch him have the exact same reaction before passing the bottle back to you. For a minute or two, you took in turns taking gulps of vodka from the bottle in silence, until you decided to break it.

“So, what’s new in the life of Doctor Spencer Reid?”

We’ll have drinks and talk about things.

As usual, you talked for hours about anything and everything, sometimes turning on the tv until one of your drunk personalities turned it off again, but mostly just having the weirdest and funniest drunk conversations.

“What happened to that woman at your work that you said you had a crush on years ago? JJ? Do you two still talk? Is she still hot? Spill!” You poked his chest as you took another swig, and Spencer laughed, hiccuping in between some of his laughs.

“It was JJ, and we still talk, we still work together, but there’s nothing there. Hasnt been anything there for a long time. She got married and had kids. Guess I just moved on, spared my heart the pain.” Spencer explained in a drunken hurry.

You frowned “That’s a real bummer dude, Im sorry about that.”

He nodded but didnt elaborate on anything he’d said, so you lifted the bottle in the air.

“A toast! To our mostly unscheduled but always very fun cuddle and sex dates!”

That brought a smile back to Spencer’s face, and when you both realised he had nothing to toast with because you were sharing a bottle, you both burst out laughing. It wouldnt have been funny if you werent drunk, but considering you were, it was the funniest thing in existence, and you ended up rolling around the bed with tears streaming from your eyes.

“I think 8 hours of cuddles tonight sounds reasonable, what do you think?” You started a brand new conversation the moment you calmed down.

Spencer wiped his eyes “Sounds good, are those awake or asleep cuddles?”

You roll your eyes “Awake, obviously! Sleeping cuddles dont count!”

Spencer smiled “Of course, how could I forget!?! We’d better get started then, cant have either of us falling asleep!” And with that, he opened his arms for you to fall into.

Any excuse to stay awake with you.

It wasnt until an hour and a half later that you really processed what Spencer had said.

“Who did you move onto?” You questioned.

Spencer frowned at you, you had shifted cuddle positions several times until you decided that tonight the most comfortable one included you lying on top of him, your head on his chest and his arms holding you there.

“What?” Spencer was completely lost, and you werent surprised. You were both drunk, and the words he had said that you were referring to were said a little while go.

“Earlier, you said you moved on from JJ, you saved your heart the pain. You could have moved on and gotten over it, but the way you phrased it was like you found someone that’s better for your heart. Who’s that?” You clarified.

Spencer sighed. “We both know who it is, you dont even need to ask.”

You couldnt figure out whether it was the weight behind Spencer’s confession or whether it was the alcohol in your system, but you felt dizzy all of a sudden.

“I feel the same, y’know.” You’d never said it aloud before, but you knew it to be true, and drunk you was just a little worse at keeping it a secret.

“I know.” Spencer answered, and your heart stopped.

“Sorry, just scared.” So few words, but so much explained within them, and you knew he understood, he deserved to understand.

“I know, and it’s ok, you dont need to worry. I’ve fully accepted my fate of waiting for you. Whenever you’re ready, whenever you feel safe...I’ll be waiting.”

Even when not entirely stable, his words touched your heart in a way that felt different. Part of you was always worried that this thing with Spencer would never last, because you knew of his feelings, of course you did, you shouldnt have been surprised that he knew about yours, but you were worried that he’d get sick of this. Sick of you running away, never admitting what was blindingly obvious. You thought at the very least that he’d get impatient with you, but there he was, telling you that he would wait for you, no matter how long it took.

We’d be good, we’d be great together.

There wasnt a rush, he was willing to wait. The pressure was lifted from your shoulders with that confession alone. You felt rushed to feel safe in giving your heart to him, because you wanted to, so badly, and you felt terrible that you couldnt because you knew he wanted you to. But he was prepared to wait, and to continue to wait for however long he needed to.

You lifted your head from your chest to look at his face. Spencer. Your heart sang, whimpered, and screamed his name all at once. This was the man that had been in love with you for a time that you didnt know, the man that put his heart on the line every single time he saw you, the man who continued to love you even when you left him time and time again. Those were the eyes of the one person that loved you more than anyone else ever could, and ever would. This was it. He was it.

I know how you want it, baby, just like this.

And when he stared into your eyes, he thought the same about you. You have been, continue to be, and always will be, everything. It is absolute in his head, he knows it. You are the best parts of his past, present, and future. His favourite memories, and the holder of all his favourite future memories too. You are the keeper of his heart. The eyes that can melt him with a single glance, the girl he’d do anything for without you even needing to ask. He saw the rest of his life in those eyes, even if that future consisted of just waiting for you, he would love every second of it. And you could see that, finally.

Spencer’s eyes left yours to glance down at your lips. He wanted to kiss you more than he had ever wanted anything else in existence. Prior to the confession you had just given him, the only proof he had of his feelings being reciprocated was in the way you kissed him. But now he’d heard it, you’d told him, the secret was out. He didnt need to wonder anymore. And yet, all Spencer wanted was to kiss you, still.

While you're lookin' at 'em, baby, read my lips.

“I love you.”

[bangtanhoneys]

Let Me Sleep - Yoongi & Grace

“Ya! I said don’t! I can see you Jeon Jungkook, don’t think I can’t!” yelled Jin, having caught the youngest trying to sneak away from the breakfast table. The whole table burst into laughter, watching as Jungkook sat back down with an ‘I wasn’t doing anything’ look on his face. He thought he was sneaky but hadn’t counted on the second eldest having eyes in the back of his head.

It had been left to Jin and Yoongi to cook breakfast for everyone after Jin imposed a ‘Grace cooking ban’ for the next two days. He had left her to go to bed last night when they cleaned up the kitchen after dinner and told the youngest three they weren’t to go and bother their Noona, to let her rest for once since all she had done since they got here was run after everyone - especially Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook.

“Does she want to be woken up for breakfast or are we just leaving her to sleep?” Namjoon asked, perfectly content to sit at the table and not interfere with any cooking that was currently happening.

“Leave her to sleep, she’s done nothing but care, clean and cook for us. She’s our noona, not a maid,” Yoongi’s deep voice came from where the stove was. They each had been guilty of abusing Grace’s motherly nature of doing everything for them as if they were her own children.

After plating up some food for Grace and leaving it in the fridge, Yoongi helped Jin bring all the food to the dining room table. The boys talked quietly, feeling the absence of their noona at the table and it felt odd just having the seven there without Grace bustling around, making sure Jimin ate everything on his plate, making sure Namjoon had plastic chopsticks because she was not buying another pair, that Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t distract each other, to make sure Hobi was off his phone, that Yoongi was actually awake and for Jin to help her in the kitchen.

She did a lot for them without them even realising.

With breakfast done and the boys scattered, Yoongi helped Jin and Jimin clean up. They worked quickly and quietly, letting Jimin join the other boys with whatever they were doing.

“Hyung, go and play Mario Kart. I’ll finish up in the kitchen and make sure Gigi gets her food,” Yoongi said as he took away the cloth from his hyung and gave him a slight push in the direction of the living room.

“You sure?” Jin asked, torn between going to relax and going to wake up his partner.

“I’m sure. You need to distract the golden maknae anyway, especially if he sees me. As you said, she needs her rest.”

Jin hesitated for a moment then nodded, letting go of the cloth and heading to the living room. As Yoongi put the dishes away in the cupboard, the telltale ‘Mario Kart’ came from the TV speakers which Yoongi grinned at.

Perfect timing.

He grabbed Grace’s food from the fridge and silently made his way out of the main house, managing to sneak past Namjoon and Hobi at the pool. The youngest boys were over at Jungkook’s room, well away from spotting Yoongi slipping into the building he was sharing with Jin and Grace.

Kicking off his shoes and closing the door behind him, Yoongi headed up the stairs towards his sister’s room. As quietly as he could, he opened the door just a crack and peeked in to find her still fast asleep, curled on her side with the cover tucked underneath her chin.

Slipping inside and closing the door behind him, he moved as quietly as a cat as he put the bowls on the bedside table, moving to the window to let in some fresh air.

“You’re not living up to your cat-ness,” a groggy voice came from the bed.

Well, he thought he moved quietly like a cat.

“Sorry,” Yoongi chuckled as he pushed the window open further and came to sit at the edge of the bed. “I wanted to make sure you ate something and no one bothered you. Jin caught Jungkook trying to sneak away from breakfast.”

“Of course he did,” Grace sighed as she rolled onto her back and stretched. She needed another hour or two then she would eat, get a shower and go and deal with the chaos that was her seven boys.

Since he didn’t get the chance to spend some quality one to one time with his noona, Yoongi made the quick decision to climb onto the bed and settle in the space on top of the covers. “You need another hour and I need a quick nap because cooking for that lot tired me out.”

“You and your ability to sleep anywhere,” yawned Grace but she wasn’t going to say no to another hour. She rolled onto her side and rested her head on Yoongi’s good shoulder, keeping the covers tucked up under her chin.

An hour later, an outraged Jungkook found his second set of parents fast asleep. “Suga-hyung! You’re stealing valuable noona time.”

[sarifinasnightmare]

Knife Skills

Rating: Slightly Mature? No vegans allowed.

Pairing: Sarah X Bucky

Author's Note: I wrote this because I wanted to participate in the bingo and couldn't think of anything better. Please be gentle.

Summary: Sarah is going to best her cousin at the cook out and Bucky's going to help.

July 1-7: Cook Out

“You know what you’re doing, right?” Bucky asked Sarah as he studied the challenge lying before them.

4th of July cook out was apparently serious business in the Wilson house. Family members were coming, and everyone was determined to outdo the other person with some excellent cuisine. Cousin Whitney was about the same age as Sarah so naturally they’ve been in competition since the womb. Sometimes it was friendly, sometimes it wasn’t. During Easter she was flirting heavily with Bucky and Sarah had to put her in her place, letting her know that the super soldier was her man.

“It may have been a few years since I’ve done one of these, but it’s like getting on a bike. Easy.” She reassured him as she set out the knives.

“This isn’t a bike, Sarah, it’s a gator.” He said pointing at the 28lb reptile sitting on the plastic covered dining room table.

“Work with me, sugar. I need to brine this tonight so it can be ready for smoking tomorrow. Sam said you’re good with knifes so you can help me skin this guy quick.”

“I stabbed people, I never skinned anyone.” He quickly went through his memory to double check, then nodded.

“You said you’d help!”

“Okay, I did. Just tell me what to do.”

Sarah handed him a knife, Bucky gripped the handle, finding it comfortable and studied the blade.

“I’m going to make the first incisions. What you have to do is run the knife over the top, avoiding the scutes, all the way down the middle of his tail so we can peel the skin off like a coat. Start here where I made the first cut. Work your way down the center while I do the limbs.”

Bucky didn’t know how he was going to do this, but when Sarah needed him, he like a good boyfriend rose to save the day. He would’ve preferred a burning building to this but too late to back down now. Following her instructions, he began to carefully cut down the middle of the reptile.

“Don’t dig too deep. If you rip open any organs, especially the stomach, it’s over. The meat will spoil and I’ll never get the smug look off of Whitney’s face.”

“You know I’m not interested in your cousin Whitney.” Bucky said as he effortlessly ran the knife over the gator, peeling the tough skin to reveal the nearly white flesh underneath.

“I know,” Sarah said as she worked off the skin from the gator’s limbs, leaving the claws intact. “But she don’t know when to quit and if I can beat her stuffed turkey wings with MY Cajun smoked grilled gator then that will leave her pouting. That’s step one!”

“And step two?” Bucky dared to ask.

“Step two is me getting a mani/pedi while you watch the gator for four and half hours give or take…”

“Four hours??”

“…so I can look snatched in my pink halter sun dress with you by my side.” She continued. “Whitney is going to be fouler than Titi Gina’s barbeque chicken.”

“You’re wearing the pink halter top dress?” Bucky’s gaze got heated. “You know what it does to me.”

Sarah smiled smugly. “That’s the idea. I want your eyes on me at all times.”

Carefully he continued to slice with the blade, pulling the skin from the pink and white meat with growing confidence. “You know if you wanted to mark your territory, you could just sit on my lap and have your way with me.” He waggled his brows.

“I think that’s called lewd conduct. Quite unbecoming of an Avenger.” she teased.

“I never claimed to be an Avenger.” He retorted, then added saucily. “So if you want to claim me. Claim me.”

“Boy if it wasn’t for this gator…” She growled, then checked their progress. “You’re doing great! Now, help me flip this guy over.”

After a while they managed to separate the hide from the flesh and, in probably one of the weirdest things Bucky’s ever had to do, he used his metal arm to peel the skin off the body in one go. “This is so wrong.”

“Hush, now put the skin in that bucket for salting later and let’s carefully get the guts out so we can put the body in the brine bucket. Let me do it.”

“Gladly,” Bucky said as he made a face while putting the heavy hide into the waiting container.

They carefully disposed of the innards before having a mild panic attack as they struggled to put the gator into the brine.

“Do we have to keep the head on??”

“Yes!”

“It’s weird.”

“Oh Bucky. Grow up!”

“This will be delicious, right?”

Sarah glared at him. “Do you doubt my cooking skills?”

“Sorry, stupid question.” He looked around. “Looks like a crime scene.”

“Don’t worry, the victim will be delicious tomorrow.”

Bucky chuckled and dutifully helped her clean up before they crashed together, exhausted.

The next day, Bucky babysat the gator as it smoked in the grill then drooled at how beautiful Sarah looked all dolled up, hair and nails on point in her sexy pink dress. Whitney scowled as everyone raved over the gator meat and was too busy whining to realize that the triumphant couple had snuck off somewhere private as the fireworks began. Sarah pushed Bucky onto the backseat of an abandoned truck in their garage and staked her claim on her handsome boyfriend with mingling moans of delight. Bucky didn’t mind it one bit.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess x Leto #3 “I’m a complete failure”

Sequel to righteous fury, content warning for very vague talk of assault // mid-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

The worst possible thing has happened.

The worst possible thing – there is no doubt in his mind about this, several days later. For the rest of his life he will be haunted by what he saw, and to think that he was lucky enough to only deal with the aftermath of-

Someone wanted him unstable. Mission accomplished.

He gets to deal with the outside world and protect his partner in what minimal ways he still can. Enough of the guard saw… enough, but the public statement is only that she was deeply hurt and recovers in seclusion and from that-

Skies, he doesn’t know how she runs damage-control in his favor near-constantly, he has to do it to defend her honor about once a decade and he can barely even do that let alone-

She stays in a certain guest wing until further notice. If left unsupervised and given more of a choice, he expects she’d go right back to her usual spaces and damn those already haunted walls even further with this-

He only blames himself. Whatever security protocol went wrong that will be found in the coming days was at least a piece of paper he should’ve looked at better when it crossed his desk. He is aware of the weight of his responsibilities, above all else to protect his family and if he couldn’t manage that then-

He should leave her be. He should give his wounded partner whatever space she needs. But the fear of it all is too great, and-

He is aware that the only other human contact she has is when someone brings her meals she barely tries to eat. Their son, usually the only companion she allows, is being kept away from the situation for now; Leto supposes he’s probably screwed that up too but one crisis at a time and-

“You look troubled.”

At least the sharpness of her mind is still present. If she says what she feels, that is far better than the formality he’d expected she would revert to, and the lack of coldness is at least-

“I wronged you.”

“You did no such thing.”

And there it is. He’d learned not to admit any feelings of guilt regarding her years ago; he knows she forgives too much, but they politely do not speak of it to maintain their balance, and-

“There should’ve been some way of-“

“Even you are not perfect.”

He wants to say a hundred things, every bit of the blame he has felt in these days, horror that may not be his to carry and yet-

“I’m a complete failure. If I can’t protect you-“

“Do you think for a moment that I have blamed you, even indirectly?”

In a less tense moment, he would make some comment about how she’s had no trouble blaming him for a spectacular array of things over the years, but… not now, not in this barely-lit room where she sits perfectly still on the edge of a bed while he paces, not with the tension he feels that he cannot fix as he’d like, not-

“Forgive me if I take your pain as my own, but-“

“You have shown me who you are in this time, and I-“

He knows how rarely she is overwhelmed by her emotions, and how often he has seen her sadness in these days. He could never fault her for that, but it is still strange to watch and not be sure if she would allow-

“I still-“

“Don’t.”

He can almost feel the power of her, too close to a line she swears she does not cross, and his own guilt is nothing against her fury, and-

“Give me one good reason not to.”

“Because I am still alive, and my body heals, and my mind will follow.”

The fact that she is in such condition at all has made him burn since it happened, and he has already learned to hold that back in her presence, to keep from anything that might look like he is angry at her. If anything the opposite, if anything a brutal reminder of just how deeply he loves her and-

“Tell me what you want and I will-“

“Sit by me for a moment. Let me-“

He does, and it is too easy to let her fingers wrap around his wrists and find the right pressure points to take the edge off if not… her abilities do have their limits, but-

It is strange, he thinks, that she is willing to touch him at all. It is stranger still that she leans her head against his shoulder and he can feel the worry in her skin and-

“May I hold you?”

“Please.”

Her body still feels right, curled up against his. The state of his heart has not changed for a moment, and there will be life on the other side of this, and-

“You should stay,” she murmurs. “I will feel better if you stay.”

“Anything to calm you.”

“This isn’t just about me. I know you don’t…”

“And I could not ask you for-“

“We have to go back to normal eventually.”

“I still won’t have you hurt yourself because of me.”

Her fingertips move, tracing patterns on the little strips of skin where she’s pushed his sleeves back for access, a mirror of so many times he’s tried to comfort her in similar ways and-

“I cannot see how asking you to keep me warm in the night could count as-“

“A presence out of your control-“

“And how many thousands of nights have I closed my eyes next to you and been fearless about it? I do know you. You would not-“

“Still-“

“If you do not want-“

“I would keep you safe. Above all else. And I have failed, and-“

“You have been patient with me since. I would never ask for more.”

She should, he thinks. It is not the way of her, but if ever there was a time for her to become everything she is feared to be…

And she won’t. It is brave enough for her to press her lips to his neck, and he will allow whatever she needs, and-

“Don’t lose yourself for me,” she murmurs. “Don’t let this be more than it is.”

Too late, perhaps, but-

He’ll still try.

[cat-vase]

man!!!! i see ur posts and go hm... makes me wanna think about oscar and julien more ... i dont think abt them ENOUGH and everytime i see ur posts im like well ok i shouold amend this

SO TRUE!!!!! Glad you like them too!!! :D Here's some stuff from September <3 <3 The tense might change a lot, I reread it to try and fix it but it still might be kinda wonky.

—

It's day fourteen of Julien living with Oscar at the shelter and, quite frankly, it could be going worse. 

Julien's latched onto a quarter-used notebook Oscar found him, and most days he'll be found sitting outside on the curb with it. He'd sit there for days if Oscar didn't physically drag him inside to eat and sleep. Julien mumbled something about being used to being hungry once, and immediately was grateful he couldn't be understood. 

That was the only time he was grateful for it. 

He had torn the beginning of the journal out, looping his name in big cursive letters for the new beginning. He doubted anyone would take it; it wasn't like they'd be able to get anything out of it. But he kept it close and wrote his name, his full name, all over it just in case he forgot someday. He wrote everything he could remember down: where he used to live, what he used to do, where he was now, and what that fucking room looked like. He wrote about it in excruciating, painfully long detail, so he'd never have to think about it ever again. If you looked five centimeters to the left it was blue. If you looked ten it was purple. The glow pulsed every two minutes and thirteen seconds. It was burned into his vision and he had to close his eyes a lot. It made him dizzy now that there were other things to see. 

"Hey, Julie," Oscar says from behind him. Julien jumps and tears his eyes away from the couple he was watching across the street. He thought the building might be a dentist's office. 

"Bonjour," he mumbles. Oscar liked to know he wasn't spacing out. "Hi," he tried again. It didn't sound right. 

"Come on," he said, and Julien knew he had to stop for the day.

"Allons-y," he said before standing up so Oscar knew. He had written it down ages ago. Teaching yourself a language while just becoming a person again was hard and he was sure he wasn't doing it right.

Julien balanced his notebook against his leg, flipped to the first page, and scribbled his name down again in fast, scrunched-together letters. It made him feel better. Oscar peeked from behind him while he did it, and it made Julien realize something. If he could manage to remember how to say it, that was. 

"Oscar?" he says to get the other man's attention. It works. "Comment tu t'appelles?" 

Oscar looks at him in confusion, like normal, and Julien tries to find the beginning word in his head. Why? No. Who? Kinda. 

"What, uh..." He hopes it's the right one. He doesn't want to hold them up too long. "What is your name?" 

Oscar looks at him in confusion again. Dammit. 

"It's Oscar? Are you okay?" 

Julien groans at himself and runs a hand down his face. He was blanking on the important word. 

"Name, your- The-" 

What was nom de famille in English? 

He pointed at himself. 

"Julien Beaumont." 

Pointed at Oscar. 

"Oscarrr..." 

He drags out the end of the sound and opens his hand in a "continue" gesture. 

"Oh!" Oscar says, and Julien mentally cheers. 

"Mayworth. Not as cool as yours, I know." 

He has no fucking clue what Oscar said at the end, but that wasn't an issue. 

"Mayworth," he parroted, and he pronounced the "r" way too hard and dropped the "-th" at the end. Oscar found it endearing. 

Julien opened his notebook to a page he had memorized, and scribbled Oscar's last name near the top, next to his first. Oscar had never wished to know French more than right now. 

"D'accord," he mumbled to himself, before closing the journal, and looking up at Oscar. "Merci," he spoke clearer. 

"Yeah, yeah. Figures you should know." 

Julien, again, had no idea what he said at the end. Whatever. Problems for later. His voice sounded relaxed enough. They needed to go eat. Oscar Mayworth. It... suited him.

[akfsylph]

Blizzard of ‘23

ayoo what's up crusty crew

i will give a smut warning for this chapter ;) enjoy

i have two more chapters coming out and that will complete the fic. thanks for reading and i look forward to seeing what u guys think!!!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 4

Long legs swung themselves off the bed as Kyle began pacing back and forth in front of the piece of furniture. He was a bit surprised at his continuous abruptness with the other man; first being at Tweek Bros and now he had just told Eric Cartman he would be spending the night with him.

He retrieved his phone from the end of the bed where he previously tossed it to see that Cartman had conveniently texted him his address with a winky face. Fuck that winky face, the redhead thought, tucking his phone into a pocket.

He could play this off, he continued to think as he collected a few belongings. His mind kept telling him he hated the idea of what was happening, but his body was moving hastily to take him to the brunet’s house. Slender arms brought his travel bag to his shoulder as he speedily left the room and went straight into the hallway.

Luck wasn’t on his side when Kyle hoped he wouldn’t have to explain to his brother or his parents where he was running off to. He would never be used to having to explain his whereabouts after the redhead moved out from his overprotective parents.

Perhaps he did have a bit of luck: The family member he ran into was Ike.

“Where you running off to, buddy?” Ike questioned, looking at Kyle’s bag hanging next to his waist.

“I-I,” Kyle began and thought about what he should precisely say, “Remember what happened with my car? I’m meeting up with an old friend that’s going to help me fix it up.” The redhead was pleased with what he had come up with as he successfully did not mention Cartman to his younger brother.

“That’s great, Kyle,” Ike said, “get going before mom and dad see you!” the noirette waved him off, believing that his brother was simply trying to avoid his parents.

Besides, how could Ike possibly know what was going on between him and Cartman—?

“Oh,” the younger Broflovski called quietly before the redhead bolted down the stairs, “if anything happens with You-Know-Who, let me know,” he finished with a wink.

Goddamn it, Ike. And fuck his winky face too.

~*~*~*~*~

Kyle was able to keep away from his parents, who were preoccupied drinking red wine and watching some television program, cuddled together on the couch. The drive to Cartman’s apartment wasn’t a bad trip being only fifteen minutes away. The roads also weren’t terrible; his winter tires could definitely manage.

When he arrived at the apartment complex, he parked his car in a designated guest parking space and checked his phone to see if the husky boy had sent him any more messages. Cartman simply sent him an apartment number, apartment 223, and simple directions on how to find it.

Kyle followed the instructions, making sure the main office was to his right as he walked until he saw a set on stairs, turned left, and walked up to Cartman’s door.

He waited a moment before knocking three times on the poorly painted front door and took a step back. He wondered how long the other boy would make him wait in the bitter cold, knowing how obnoxiously rude the other man could be.

To his surprise, Cartman answered the door immediately, making Kyle think he was waiting for him. That surely gave the redhead a boost to his ego. The brunet’s eyes checked Kyle, then fully opened the door to let the tall man in.

The apartment was surprisingly nice; it was small but clean with the basic essentials one would typically see in a living room. Kyle stood unmoving in the entrance, watching the brunet waltzing over to the couch. Cartman plopped himself down, crossed his legs, and patted the seat next to him, waiting for Kyle to accompany him.

The redhead dropped his bag to the floor has he sauntered over to the seated man, sitting himself on the very end of the couch rather than where Cartman had wanted him to. He rested his elbow on the arm of the couch and placed his hand underneath his chin. He then raised an eyebrow at the brunet as he waited for him to initiate conversation.

“You’re not gonna be a pussy about this now, are you?”

Kye’s face flushed for a moment before he responded, “No, I’m not gonna be a pussy, asshole! I’m never a pussy.”

Eric let out a boastful laugh before saying, “Yes, you so are! You hung up like a little bitch after I made one suggestive comment.” A smile was plastered on his fat face.

“Shut up, dude, that’s not true. I just figured it would be easier to get to Butters’s shop from here, that’s all,” Kyle defended.

“Bullshit, you and I both know why you’re here,” the pudgy man said, staring intently at the redhead who was trying to exhibit himself as someone who wasn’t absolutely flustered. Eric began scooting in closer to the taller man, leaving Kyle with little room to escape.

An arm was soon snaking itself around Kyle’s lean waist and fingers set themselves on the hip bone. The redhead’s heart was racing and he felt himself become hot, but he would rather die than let Cartman catch him sputtering or caught off guard again. The brunet had been getting the better of him since their meeting at the old coffee shop, and he refused to keep losing.

Kyle turned his head to face the man getting comfortable right next to him, and a slender arm wrapped itself around the shoulders of the Cartman, giving them a squeeze and pulling him in closer.

“Well, then why the hell am I here then?”

Cartman smirked and took this as an invitation, wasting no time to bring Kyle’s face in so their lips could glue themselves together. Pudgy hands were firmly attached to the waist of the redhead as lips moved in sync while slim fingers gripped brown locks.

The kiss became more heated, rougher, and messier. Both men didn’t care as tongues met and Cartman used the arms planted around Kyle’s waist to hoist him from his sitting position into one where the shorter man was lying on top, having the taller man on his back and long legs spread slightly.

Kyle’s hand traveled from the brunet’s hair to his neck, keeping the other man as close to him as possible. Cartman’s knee was in between the redhead’s leg, dangerously close to the hard-on forming in Kyle’s pants. He was being a bit stubborn however, as he waited for Cartman to make any further advancements from their current make out session, but not giving any indications that he wanted it to stop.

Cartman pulled away from the pale boy’s lips, breathing heavily with lustful eyes observing the body under him. He gave Kyle a passionate kiss on the mouth before he began to leave them down his neck and collarbone. The heavier man became frustrated with the clothes preventing him from proceeding further with his shower of wet kisses; Cartman swiftly started to lift the sweater from Kyle’s body as the redhead lifted slightly to help the removal process. He didn’t stop there—the brunet was then unbuttoning the dark pants hung around the slim man’s waist, sliding them to his ankles.

Pleased with what the scene before him and with the fact he could now sufficiently leave a trail of kisses down the redhead’s body, Cartman resumed his journey. He went fast at first, starting again at the neck and then to his hairy chest, but he slowed himself when he heard Kyle hitch his breath. Lips creeped down to his stomach at a painfully slow rate, and the redhead’s moans finally became audible when multiple kisses were being placed right above his throbbing dick.

Kyle knew the exact face the other man was wearing, and if he wasn’t so turned on right now, he probably would have smacked him across the head. He knew Cartman was so pleased with himself right now, having Kyle moaning beneath him despite his efforts not to show his pleasure.

The brunet then placed a long kiss on the length begging to be freed from Kyle’s underwear. The taller man threw his head back when he felt this, both hands moving to hold on to the sides of the other man’s head. One, two, three more kisses trailed up the length before Cartman removed the underwear, finally releasing Kyle.

A tongue soon started licking the precum off and a hand settled itself at the base. Cartman swirled his tongue around the head and mouthed it teasingly, knowing that it would frustrate the redhead.

“F-Fucking get on with it already, shithead,” Kyle demanded.

Cartman again responded with action rather than words as his mouth promptly. took the length of Kyle fully, making him gasp and moan. The brunet sucked, earning a tug of the hair in return as he soon incorporated his tongue, sucking and sucking and the tongue danced around Kyle’s dick.

Kyle’s hands continued to grip brunet locks as sweat formed around his body; he was desperate for release and with the way Cartman’s mouth played and sucked his cock, he knew he was close.

“Shit, dude, I’m gonna come,” he warned, and mismatched eyes looked at the redhead. Kyle felt the smile on Cartman’s face as both hands pinned his waist down, sucking all the way down to the base.

“F-Fuck, Eric,” Kyle mumbled as he released into the working mouth, continuing to pump until there was no more.

Both boys puffed and panted as their bodies removed themselves from each other, Kyle remaining on his back sluggishly while the brunet sat upright.

“Did you call me Eric?” he asked.

The taller man looked up at the other man, surprised and annoyed that he had heard him call him by his first name under his breath.

“No, I didn’t call you by your first name, dumbass,” Kyle retorted, “you must be hearing shit.”

Eric smiled and rolled his eyes, giving up immediately on an argument knowing that Kyle wouldn’t give up himself. He then asked, “How long are you in town for?”

“Two weeks. I leave right around Christmas time.”

“Great; that’s plenty of time to return the favor.”

[faeriekit]

*slurps ominous goo out of a coconut shell* Hello. It's me, Rob Sterling. Some weird fking stuff is going on. Let's go back to that secondary location, shall we?

Tim woke up to the sound of arguing.

He blinked. He felt…bad.

His mouth was dry. He tested his guess by running his tongue against the roof of his mouth—and yep, ouch. Dry. He was dehydrated. What, did he loose blood or something?

Tim shifted, struggling against blankets that usually had the respect to not serve as an obstacle for him, and— he jostled something. It made a very small noise.

…Tim looked to his right. Was there an animal in his bed…?

There was not.

There was a very flesh-and-blood human baby in his bed.

“…Th’ fuck?” Tim asked no one, dry and raspy and staring at a baby. There was a baby. What the—

—Where the fuck was the bean? Shit. Shit. Tim’s shaking hands went to where the bean usually was in his stomach and—the baby mewed, little pale hands reaching out to him with little pale palms.

Tim’s breath hitched. That was a baby. A baby. She was supposed to incubate until she was actually solid, and had teeth, and—and fine motor skills, and—

Tim struggled to breathe. He just. Stared.

Something went wrong. Something had gone wrong. Was…was she hurt? Would this affect her long term?

…If Tim had failed to deliver on his contract, what would happen to Bruce…?

Tim swallowed down the anxiety. It went sharply down his throat, fighting ad scratching all the way. The monarch was…nice. To Tim. He’d been attentive and considerate, and helped Tim find Bruce when he’d needed it, but…

…But if Tim had failed, would that kindness dry up?

Tim didn’t know. Tim didn’t know. People had left Tim for less before: for being inconvenient, for being a child, for failing to deliver on cases, for his role being convenient for someone else, for acting as a stopgap before someone else needed to address a problem.

He had no idea what would happen to him if Tim failed to deliver on his deal.

And, fuck, he had no idea what would happen to Bruce if Tim failed on his deal. What, would he shove his adoptive father back into the time stream??

There was. There.

It’s.

…There was nothing for it. Tim managed to wiggle an arm out from underneath the blankets and started to pull at the sheet underneath him. It ruined the bed a touch, but it got the baby close enough that he could bring her to him—and, thank fuck, someone had already put a diaper on her. It was a cloth diaper, sure, safety pin and all, but it was a diaper. So it was probably Alfred. Thank G-d for Alfred.

“This sucks,” Tim asserted to no one. The baby still growled at him. “Hey. Don’t yell at your…does this make me your mom?”

The bean-who-was-now-a-baby made some very convincing noises as to her point of view. Tim hummed to show he was listening.

She wasn’t wet—and all the things Tim should have expected about a newborn weren’t true. She had fluffy, dry hair. She could already look at him with huge, blue eyes, and followed his face when he made expressions at her. She could grasp, if not effectively, although she seemed disinclined to try to move any of her other limbs.

She gnawed on her little fist, watching Tim watch her. This was fucking nuts.

The arguing outside his door that Tim had been ignoring suddenly stopped.

Dick Grayson opened Tim’s door, and stepped sideways into his room.

…Scratch that. Teenage Dick Grayson, who Dick hadn’t been or looked like or referenced in years, walked into Tim’s room, with blue-green eyes and some of his features rearranged. Tim’s gut laugh hurt, but it was very real. “Dude, are you wearing Dick’s face??”

The King of all Ghosts grinned, sharp teeth appearing and disappearing in Dick Grayson’s mouth. “Maybe. He kept insisting that you needed him—and, well. I can do that too.”

Tim snicker almost came out as a full-blown giggle, but he was too tired to do more than puff out air—and in the ghost king’s arms came an Alfred-produced spread of cut bananas, toast with jelly in neat triangles, and a glass of water. The additional tums beside it were a nice touch.

“Thank Alfred for me?” Tim croaked, suddenly ravenous. And then: “Oh, I had your baby.”

The monarch spluttered, lowering the silver tray to Tim’s night table before it fell out of his dubiously-tangible hands. “Yeah, I noticed. Look at her.”

Tim tensed. The bean mewed plaintively, probably hearing her father reference her—but when Dick Grayson’s face and form leaned over Tim’s body to reach her, there was nothing but sheer, unadulterated affection in his face. “She’s so small. I didn’t even know that human babies could get this small. You can, like…carry her.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do with babies,” Tim added dryly. His heart pumped a mile a minute.

Dick Grayson’s shoulders rose and fell. “I wouldn’t know; I never had one before. Humans are mostly…you know. Kinda fragile?” He lifted the baby Bean into his arms, only just realizing he had to support her neck once she was a little too floppy in the air. “WHoH that was a mistake.”

“Baby necks are weak,” Tim remembered. Half-hazy memories of trainings long past danced across his long-term memory recall. The ghost wearing Dick Grayson’s form like a carnivale mask shrugged.

“See? Fragile.”

Tim only dithered between admitting possible failure on his part and his genuine concern on behalf of the baby for a moment. In the end, worry for the bean won against his selfish self-defense—not to mention his own lapse in professionalism. “Wasn’t she supposed to be…larger?” Tim finally asked, perplexed. His memories of summoning a Lord of the Dead in the upstairs bathroom at four in the morning were kind of blurred, but he had a vague memory of being laid out on a recliner in the King���s personal gaming room, embossed contract in front of him as the monarch explained the expectations of Tim’s role as a host to the soul of the unborn heir.

The Bean was distinctly supposed to age up until she was verbal. He mostly remembered that. That was the point of having a human host—he could hold her together until she had more material to form herself with, as he was made of matter, and she wasn’t there yet. He also remembered being fed Strawberry Kiwi Capri Sun pouches that tasted distinctly sour for no discernible reason.

The King of All Ghosts put the bean into his arms, and cradled the dark-haired, bug-eyed baby Tim had hosted like a football. A…baby football. A football baby.

Okay. So Maybe Tim was a little under the weather.

The monarch eyed Tim as if there was something really obvious that Tim was missing; well, whatever it was, apparently the Ghost King had missed it too, so maybe he could wipe that look off of Dick Grayson’s face, please! “Yeah. Remember when I said that ghosts were largely maintained by magic and willpower?”

Tim had a vague memory of hearing that. “…Yes…?” He slouched into his pillow.

Dick Grayson’s teenage torso twisted around until Tim could get a better glimpse of the bean, who was trying to look at both of them simultaneously and failing tremendously. “She was relying on you to build her stores up again from scratch. What do you think happened when an infant ghost started sucking on the soul of one of the strongest-willed people this side of the Mississippi?”

The thought percolated in Tim’s brain for a minute. Something clicked.

“Wait, shit.” Tim sat up—and then failed to sit upright, and landed back onto his pillows when his body failed to cooperate. The blankets shifted—and hey, was he in a sweater? “Was this my fault?”

Dick Grayson’s thin little athlete’s shoulders rose up and down. “Not any more than me picking this task for you, I guess? It was an oversight.”

“…So she’s fine?”

The bean meeped angrily, which was probably as good an answer as Tim needed.

“Sure.” The monarch let her gnaw ferociously on his fingers, perfectly content. “Just grouchy. And tiny.”

Good. Tim eased back into the pillows, trusting the bean’s father to keep an eye on her without his explicit supervision. …Good. The bean was okay. She was physical, even, if tiny and tired and bug-eyed. That’s just what babies looked like.

…Tim’s eyes closed of their own volition. Ah, shit. But he was still hungry.

“Pass m’ s’m’ cheece,” Tim demanded sleepily, forgetting to make it a question. Somewhere beside him, the king of all ghosts chuckled delightedly.

“No cheese. Just jelly toast and bananas.”

“…Banan’?”

“Sure, why not. Open up!”

Tim got in a couple of mouthfuls in before the door opened. Normally, that might have freaked him out; everyone had been weird about him since he got Bruce out of the time stream, and intrusions on his personal space had been unsettling or hostile in equal doses.

In this case, though, there was a giant ghost monarch on Tim’s legs, feeding him bites of lunch. Breakfast, he meant.

…Brunch? Actually, what time was it?

Anyway. When Tim cracked his eyes open, the person staring down a youngified imitation of Dick Grayson was Bruce Wayne, number one Dick interferer on the planet.

Tim giggled drowsily. Screw this. It was about to be naptime. “Hey. Wanna…wanna see?”

Bruce looked at the teenage-acrobat-shaped Ghost King. Bruce looked at a sleepily content Tim Drake.

Bruce looked at a very small, very human looking baby.

“Hm,” said Bruce, which was a noise often translated most lovingly to What the Actual Fuck, Robin.

“I pulled a human baby out of my abdomen,” Tim admitted. He didn’t usually try to be so transparent, but. “Well. She wasn’t human before. Now she is. Kinda.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. He just. Stared.

“It’s complicated?” Tim tried, half-awake. Something touched his lip—oh. Toast. Tim took as much into his mouth as he could. He was hungry, despite the…everything.

“…I can see that,” said Bruce, which wasn’t true. Bruce was good at a lot of things, but he’d never been too keen on looking too deeply into Tim; at Tim, perhaps, in an effort to decode the going-ons of his thoughts, but never deeper than necessary for Bruce’s own self-fulfillment.

Tim chewed woodenly on toast. It was nothing new. Tim had been conceived as a cog in the machine long before Janet’s pen had pressed her printed signature into her marriage agreement. He’d been a piece of the puzzle and a particularly expensive game piece ever since the date of his birth.

He might just have been….somewhat tired of it all. The waiting. The failure. The scramble to meet expectations. The inevitable inability to maintain equilibrium.

The constant, incessant need to reform and reshape himself to whatever form he’s needed in.

…But it wa fine. Tim eased further into the pillow behind him. It took all of his weight like a champ.

So. Bruce looked at Tim as if he could flay Tim down to his bare bones and meat and find answers written on his insides, but Tim’s been more than opaque to the man he’s been an emotional support to since he was a preteen.

For instance. Bruce had no idea that Tim’s done all of this for his sake.

If he’s lucky, Bruce never will. (It doesn’t pay to look desperate in any relationship.)

(His parents had taught him better by the time he was eight.)  

“I’m s’eepy,” Tim admitted quietly. The baby grumbled in agreement. Bruce’s eyes snap to her, but she was placed gently on top of Tim—big, blue eyes roaming all around, failing to see anything outside of her short infant range of vision. “Are you stayin’?”

“Mmmm,” the Ghost King agreed. He leaned down low, and Tim was slightly surprised to see his features shift and morph—not into a new face, but into something immaterial. In-between. Not quite a face, but not quite…not? Either?

Out of focus, Tim decided sleepily. Like…trying on Alfred’s reading glasses.

Anyway. Tim was almost awake by the time the Ghost King kissed the barest edge of Tim’s lips—too afraid of taking too much, but not afraid enough to resist the barest touch of comfort.

It was so nice. It was so nice to be touched because someone wanted to, not just to defend himself from attacks or to attack himself. To not worry about whether or not a gesture was in earnest or meant to bruise.

“Tim,” the King of all Ghosts murmured, fingers teasing lightly up and down Tim’s sweatered arms. Tim’s eyes drooped shut. “Did you ever think of a name for the bean?”

Tim felt the yawn in his lungs before he felt the air whistle through his airways. A name? For the bean?

…Well, he had, even if he hadn’t thought he’d get the right to name her. She was still someone else’s kid, even if Tim had played parasitic host.

“…Janice,” Tim muttered. “Like my…mother. And you said she had…a name that was like yours. Already. So. Janice M’dle Name.”

“…Janice Danielle, then,” the Ghost King murmured somewhere above him. Tim didn’t know exactly where, since. Tired.

His breathing evened out. Something touched his face, and his arm, and then Tim was gone entirely to the sweet seduction of sick naps.

*

The entity cradled Bruce’s son with a delicacy that felt new to him.

Tim was—well. He rarely possessed weak moments. His upbringing had made him remarkably resilient to insults, immodest states of affairs and unexpected breaks in comportment, and Bruce’s training had shored up the remaining holes in physical combat training.

And here Tim was, softer than Bruce had ever seen. In Bruce’s own Alfred-knitted sweater, actually—the one Alfred had sent him off to college in, and the one Dick used to steal incessantly when he lived at home, eager to feel comfortable and safe and to annoy Bruce simultaneously.

Tim, seventeen, and fragile as a feather, was completely still with relaxation. Not illness. Not injury.

Peace.

…Bruce wasn’t sure he’d ever seen this look from his son. Perhaps he simply hadn’t found the correct environment to pull the reaction out of the teenager, he supposed.

And a creature of a hundred unfixed faces held Bruce’s son soft—without an excuse for distance or hesitation. He pulled Tim to his chest and tucked the…offspring…between them. They made a picture-perfect image of a doting father and an ailing mother.

Bruce swallowed down his sickness.

Now was not the time for apprehension or anger. Now was the time to negotiate Tim’s release from the unknown entity in his bed.

The entity looked at him.

Bruce looked back.

The entity looked back with Bruce’s own childhood face, black lashes brushing against Gotham-pale cheeks. Bruce had grown out of that look so quickly that it had hardly made a mark on his psyche, but here, with his own form on the bed and Timothy lax in his arms…

Bruce burned. Bruce burned like coal in a fireplace: too hot to touch, but not warm enough to ward off the chill.

There was an infant Tim had borne with his body. Bruce needed to know how. And why.

Bruce carefully wrapped his attention around Tim. “You must be the father, then,” he asked, and stepped forward—curious, nonthreatening. Why would Bruce be threatening? This creature had, in all likelihood, only done the worst things imaginable to his son. “Aren’t you?”

The entity blinked black lashes again—this time, the blue of his eyes swam around his sclera and refused to settle. Bruce didn’t know where to look at the entity’s face to maintain eye contact. He picked a point on the bridge of his own adolescent nose and hoped for the best.

“Dan—Janice’s?” the entity asks, brighter than Bruce ever would have at that age. He sounds almost…chipped. “Yes, I suppose so. I’m her genetic template, anyway. It’s how we look so alike.”

Bruce nodded. He supposed that there would be less of Tim inside the infant, then—if Tim knew and understood, perhaps he would be more willing to untether himself from this…being…and his offspring for the future.

“You must be very proud.”

“I’m mostly relieved,” it says, and if the relief shifting across Bruce’s childhood face is to be believed, he truly feels that way. “Her previous form was so fragile; she couldn’t grow old, she couldn’t go to school, she couldn’t eat human food…now she has a chance to live. I’ll always be grateful for Tim for helping her.”

An opening. Good. Bruce eased his way closer to Tim’s bedside—close enough to see the thin wavering of Tim’s chest as he breathed, uncomfortable and ill. “How did Tim come to agree, anyway?”

The entity leans back onto his haunches, pulling his legs underneath him. His head tilts, and the hair Alfred still cuts falls artfully over his cheek, half-obscuring one marbled eye. “Tim didn’t tell you?”

Bruce would be dead in the ground before Tim voluntarily told him anything he considered ‘too personal’.

…Bruce had been dead in the ground, and Tim was still hiding things from him. Maybe this was Bruce’s fault. He’d have to eventually tackle whatever emotional hurdle between Tim and himself at some point, but…there was something that always stopped Bruce from breaking it down once and for all.

Always.

(The last boy Bruce had loved before Tim had been—)

“No,” Bruce said, and affected something careful, but scared. It was easy. Bruce was scared. “He…he hates to tell me anything, but if it would help him…”

The facsimile of Bruce’s childhood form brushed neatly groomed fingernails through Tim’s sweaty hair. “Well, it would help you more than anything,” the creature mused, eyeing Tim to ensure he didn’t wake. “He tends to do that, doesn’t he? Take the blows meant for you?”

Bruce’s blood stilled. The implication—

“He’d been willing to trade anything for your return from the place between times when I met him. I imagine he would have tried to wiggle out of it later, but he’d escalated to offering his immortal soul to anyone who could reach you,” the monster in Bruce’s long-gone form said, eying Tim and the infant with concern and fondness in equal parts. “He’s lucky I was faster to offer than the other royalty between worlds—under my godfather, he would have been slated for eternal servitude as a courier. Under Nocturn, he never would have awoken again. A year of my daughter suckling excess magic off his soul is nothing in comparison.”

Bruce’s fingers curled into the bedspread as his world tipped to the side and started sliding into place.  

Of course, Bruce thought faintly to himself. Of course Tim would leap in to take the heat off of him. Of course Tim would leap after the impossible, and find a way to Bruce through insurmountable, inhuman odds. Of course Tim would chase after him long after everyone had given up, and in too deep for anyone else to reach.

Robin always chose to leap after Batman—and had ever since thirteen-year-old Timothy Drake had appeared on Wayne Manor’s front step.

“Of course,” The entity said, eyes swirling with matte blue and stars of foreign galaxies staring out of a face Bruce used to ignore in the mirror. “Of course, I’m not sure it was worth it, with the way everyone here treats him. How many more times will you demand he prove himself before someone cuts him some slack?”

Bruce breathed in. Bruce breathed out. “I have tried to make my sons take breaks before.” It has never, not once, worked. “They consider it to be a sign of mistrust on my part.”

The creature didn’t even look away from its child. The baby itself slept quietly, undisturbed, held by the two beings who brought it into creation. “When have you assured your children that you can still love them? Beyond obligation? Beyond duty?”

…This is also something Bruce had never succeeded in.

The being used Bruce’s face to press a gentle kiss to the infant’s brow. The baby gurgled quietly to itself. Her eyes were closed. “If you never built any sense security in them, how else will they trust you to stay?”

Security. Bruce could never make his children feel secure—could never let them; not when there were so many things that could go wrong in the world. There was simply too much danger in releasing his grip.

There was no point in creating a weakness like a false sense of safety.

…There would be no way in getting his children to trust him, would there be? The realization was one Bruce had been confronted by before and tucked away for future dissection. There was never any time for dissection when there were lives at stake right now in Gotham.

There was no solution, was there.

“…Maybe I can convince Tim to take off for maternity leave,” Bruce finally said, worn beyond measure.

The entity grinned through Bruce’s mouth with rows of sharp teeth, and, awfully, they didn’t even look all that unfamiliar in his face.

“It would be the least you could do.”

Just a little idea

What if when Tim went off to look for Batman when he was lost in time he bumped into Phantom.

They made a Deal

Phantom knowing CW helped him find Bruce and how to get him back safely, Phantom in return for reasons (hurt badly & recovering, or evolving in power) needed someone very ecto-contaminated (Ra's fault) like Tim, to be contained in.

From a magic user point of view, knowing very little of the GZ and how they work, Tim made a very powerful Deal with a powerful death being (High Ghost King Phantom: Hello!) and is now somehow pregnant (not really but they don't know that)

Danny while inside Tim inside his core can still hear the world outside normally and can share his emotions with Tim to communicate. Which looks a lot like Tim is speaking to his belly just like expecting parents do.

This could be angst or crack

or

my personal favourite, different genres for different pov's

Tim's would be happy, just regular getting his life back together being a total BAMF, coming of age type of vibe

The rest of the Batfam and other heroes pov would be angst, paranormal, psychological horror.

Misunderstandings galore

Dick regretting heavily his decisions which caused Tim to run away because he did not believe him and he has many Regrets.

Bruce feeling guilty that Tim felt the need to make such a decision as to make a Deal and end up pregnant just to bring him back.

Meanwhile the magic users have told the other heroes about Tim's situation and now think that he's going to give birth to the child of a very powerful death being and if something happens to Tim to risk the baby it would cause all of their worlds destruction.

so pretty much-

Tim-Girl Boss, Gatekeep, Gaslight

Batfam- Much Angst

Others- *panicked chicken noises*

~

Just an Idea

[asexual-hugger]

*There is a loud boom, before the old building that Rapunzel and Eugene are in suddenly bursts into flames, trapping the two of them inside. The art thieves have gotten out with Rapunzel’s stolen painting*

Eugene: No!

Rapunzel: Get back here with my painting! *A wall of fire bursts up in her face as she tries to chase after the crooks* Ugh!

Eugene: What do we do? This place is gonna come down!

Rapunzel: I don’t know! We have to find an exit!

Eugene: I’ll head towards the front!

Rapunzel: I’ll check the back!

*Parts of the ceiling crumble and fall to the floor, creating a barrier between them. Rapunzel shrieks and jumps back*

Eugene: Rapunzel! Rapunzel, are you all right??

Rapunzel: Eugene! *coughs on smoke* Eugene, where are you?

Eugene: Rapunzel! *He moves towards the fallen pieces in an attempt to move them* Rapunzel, are you hurt??

Rapunzel: Eugene! I…I can’t see! There’s too much smoke!

Eugene: Hang on, Rapunzel! I’m coming! *He groans in protest as he tries to lift a beam* It’s too heavy!

Rapunzel: I’m…trying…to break through! *She strains, sweat running down her face* It’s…too hot…! *She feels her strength slowly leaving her*

Eugene: Rapunzel! *He shouts, desperate* Hold on, Rapunzel…please!

*Rapunzel coughs, wheezing, covering her mouth to keep the smoke out. Her eyes are watering. Everything is blurry. She can hear faint shouts of her name, scared, worried. She fights to stay conscious, although the mix of smoke and fire is quickly becoming too much. She chokes*

Rapunzel: *wheezing whisper* Eugene…

*Another loud boom. The pile is blown aside. Blurry shapes. A form is moving towards her. Frantic shouts. She feels tired, her body heavy. She can’t distinguish anything clearly. The last thing she remembers is Eugene kneeling next to her, the look on his face full of the utmost terror*

Eugene: Rapunzel?? Rapunzel! No, no, no, no, don’t give up on me, Rapunzel! Stay with me! Stay with me! RAPUNZEL!

*The darkness takes her*

“Rapunzel?? Rapunzel! No, no, no, no, don’t give up on me, Rapunzel! Stay with me!”

*Loud wailing. Booming noises. Flashing and flickering orange. Blurry images. Beeping. Quiet. White walls. Bright lights. Rapunzel asleep on her back in a wide bed. Next to her, Eugene sits in a chair, grasping her hand in both his own. His eyes are filled with tears as he watches her, hoping, begging, for her to awaken. He gently sweeps her hair back from her face, revealing her soot-covered cheeks and forehead*

Rapunzel: *slowly stirring* Hm?

*Eugene quickly straightens in the chair, his expression brightening*

Eugene: R-Rapunzel??

Rapunzel: *eyes fluttering open* Eugene. *smiles* Hey, handsome.

Eugene: Rapunzel! Oh, my God, I was so worried! *He wraps his arms around her in a loving embrace, the tears flowing freely from his eyes* I sat here at your bedside all night, hoping you would wake up!

Rapunzel: *coughs* What happened? *Gazes around the room in confusion* Where am I?

Eugene: *pulling out of the embrace* You’re in the hospital. You inhaled a lot of smoke in that fire.

Rapunzel: The hospital? I-I don’t understand. The last thing I remember is being in a burning building.

Eugene: You were. We both were. You collapsed. I managed to blow apart that pile of debris that was separating us, but by the time I got to you, you were out cold. I was terrified. I thought I had lost you. When I carried you out and brought you outside, I tried to revive you. Nothing worked. That’s when I contacted the hospital team. You were almost lifeless. I was panicking. Only after you were brought in here did I remember the healing ritual.

Rapunzel: Healing ritual? *She gasps* You mean…??

Eugene: Yeah. That song that makes your hair glow. I memorized it from hearing you sing it that time you healed me. I was desperate, Rapunzel. I had to bring you back. I sang the song only as a last resort. You’ve been out for two days!

Rapunzel: Two days… *She sits up abruptly* Oh, no! My painting! Those art thieves, they took my painting, and…! No. This is my fault! This is all my fault! I am so sorry, Eugene!

Eugene: What do you have to be sorry for? This is not your fault! Okay? This is not your fault! Those guys fooled both of us. We thought they were going to bid on the painting at that auction. No one saw it coming. You have nothing to apologize for, do you hear me? *He takes her dirty face in his hands firmly and forces her to look at him* You. Have nothing. To apologize for.

[steamishot]

pre-bday week

for my birthday this year, we stayed at the equinox hotel for two nights. one night was booked via expedia and the other was using the FHR on amex. this was my favorite hotel stay to date. everything at the equinox gym was so impressive, with the latest equipment, the classes that are offered throughout the day. the hotel room in the first night had a see through shower. the hotel has the best shampoo/conditioner/lotion, nice hooded robes, black out curtains so we had a movie night theater experience watching princess and the frog (to recap on our NOLA trip). we took 4 classes total: restorative yoga, precision run, cycling, and hot yoga. we showered twice a day and UTILIZED their fancy grown alchemist items. the views were incredible. we got to use the barrel saunas that had a direct view to the vessel and hudson river. hudson yards/the vessel in the night time with the winter decorations and lightings was totally a sight. 

the restaurant where we had $100 credit and an included breakfast was also impressive. the whole hotel centers around health and wellness which i vibe with. the food was tasty yet healthy and fresh. we did uber eats twice during our stay - one thai food and one vietnamese food. they gave us fancy water bottles with a higher pH level for workouts. the equinox teas (”power up”, “power down”, “regenerate” i.e. all centered around workouts) were also very impressive and good tasting. out of curiosity, we inquired about the pricing of the clubs. because we mentioned that we were newly considering equinox membership (on that day) she tried to rip us off in retrospect. the price she quote us was $350/mo for access to all clubs, which was with employer discount, and she asked us twice if we wanted to sign up. hell nooo.

we decided to stay there once again during valentines day weekend for one night (just because the price is the lowest from what we researched). the next time we go, we have more of a game plan how to best manage our time. as it is the most expensive hotel that we’ve ever stayed in to date, we had to find ways to justify the price haha. we termed the equinox hotel our “theme park” of choice. it’s like going to disneyland for us. we are again using amex FHR perk for this upcoming stay, so to be fair, the price upfront is basically all-inclusive (i.e. all our activities and food would be covered).

post equinox, we ate at semma - the fanciest/best indian food “pre-bday” dinner and the best prawns i’ve had

therapy: this week, matt had his first two therapy sessions (each from a different provider). after the first session, he noted that he felt calm and that it was nice to have a space to talk and reflect. the second session which was the day afterwards was a bit rushed due to his schedule and overload in general. that same night, we had our first couples counseling session. the next day, i had my first initial therapy session call. 

the equinox/staying in town and relaxing really benefitted matt and his GAD, but i hope that therapy will help him too. the initial call was only an assessment and the person he spoke to will not be his long-term therapist. i was lucky to match with a therapist (who reminds me of luisa from encanto) that i find empowering and helpful. 

i talked to her about my struggles of being a partner to someone with a demanding healthcare career and subsequently who suffers from anxiety and OCD. i described having the “burden” of carrying on his emotions. she reminded me to be mindful of what words i am using to ascribe to things. instead of calling it a burden, i have to be aware of my own agency that i choose to take action because my partner’s wellbeing is important to me; i do these things for me because i care about him and i want our relationship to thrive. when i use the word burden, it expands resentment and turns into annoyance and a short temper. 

definition of happiness from my therapist: happiness is being content and joyful most of the day, more days than not. it is not all the time. life is not always joyful. what we can control is our mindsets and actions to reap the most positive emotions and “shorten the loop” when we catch ourselves in cognitive distortions or negativity. 

welp, that concludes this week of wellness and therapy! 

[enha-doodles]

Hi

Can I request Yandere sadistic Jay when his s/o tries to kill herself to escape from him, like instead of treating her sweeter it can be worse, not treating her cuts or wounds, punishing her for trying to leave.

IDK i feel like Jay may be the type of literally dress her s/o like a princess and spoiling her buying her expensive things just to show her like a doll, but I feel he's really sadist with her during punishment, also the type of not giving a shit about her feelings

“ MISTER SADIST ”

Pairing : jayxreader! Genre : yandere and a bit of fluff? Warning : yandere behaviour , su3ide attempt, sadist Jay , not proofread

A/n : heyy anon , here is your request. Hope you like it and tbh I get where you are coming from . I think he is mostly likely to be the sadist out of all 7 members .

Disclaimer : I don't support any yandere behaviours . This is all a work of fiction and my imagination . Credits of the GIFs to the owners . None of the members have the same personality or resonate the traits mentioned below .

This is not how you wanted your escape to be , neither did you wanted to be get caught one feet away from the balcony . Just a feet away from freedom . It had been 2 months .... 2 months since he kept you in his house , 2 months away from your family , 2 months away from your friends, 2 whole months you have been locked in that shitty room which some would call a heaven but it was simply a prison for you . You were sick of this , so so sick that you had came up with a plan to finally escape . It was more risky than the ones you tried before but you weren't sure if you would stay sane if you continued to live like this . Jay loved you yeah but that jerk was a complete sadist . He loved punishing you , any minor inconvenience and the guy would be angry. The tears on your face were diamonds for him to collect and keep , it satisfied him knowing how you know your place or what consequences you would have to go through if you disobeyed him . You somehow managed to find a sleeping pill by rummaging through his room when he was in the shower . You weren't sure if it was expired or not but even if it was , it wasn't like you cared . It will do the job . You quickly went and added the crushed up pill into his drink . When he came out of the shower he saw you walking up to your room with a tense expression and it seemed as if you didn't notice him . He wasn't stupid , he knew you did something but watching you so tense was doing something to him , he wanted to see your oh so happy expression crush right down Infront of him . So he pretended to faint after he saw the smoky substance in his drink . You checked up on him and relief washed over you when you saw the monster himself knocked out on the dining table . You went up to the balcony , you weren't going to run . NO . It was too much complicated and you knew he would find you , you just wanted freedom so you decided to end your life by jumping from the 5 floored hell . While breaking the lock you managed to get a few cuts here and then but your body will soon be filled with a lot of bruises so it didn't matter . But just a step away from jumping you felt a hand grab your hair from behind and you knew you were fucked , it could be none other than Jay . Hell yeah you were right , you were face to face with an evily grinning Jay , the sight only causing extreme fear in you which caused a waterfall right down your eyes . "Aww why are crying ? Didn't you know what will happen if you try to leave me ?" "Jay hear me out-" he just laughed "you are so stupid , god it's adorable . But you aren't getting out of this just bcoz you are cute hmm?" With this he dragged you down to your room harshly , his grip only making more bruises. You would think he would bandage you first, just to take care of his love but no , he was enjoying you whimpering in pain . "Get ready to scream because I give no mercy sweetheart " he gave you the charming smile while his hand held a knife . "After this you will know not to run or jump away anywhere" .

Taglist : @axartia @nikipedia07 @lovesickxmina

[rayshippouuchiha]

Yamada: so how did you and izuku start dating

Aizawa: I saw him crush a watermelon with his thighs and I accidentally said out loud “oh god I wish that were me right now” and here we are now

~The way this immediately and completely ate my entire brain~

Of three things Aizawa Shouta is absolutely sure:

One, he simply was not built for operating during the daylight hours. Nighttime really is where it's at in his opinion. The general lack of crowds and eye-searing sunlight just can't be beaten. (Dusk and dawn hours also get a pass but they're both on thin ice.)

Two, the beach is a sandy hell-scape whose only redeeming factor is the convenient access it provides to the eldritch horror that is the ocean aka the place he'll doubtlessly end up drowning himself when he finally, and according to Hizashi inevitably, snaps and runs gibbering mad into the abyss.

And three, he's absolutely and irrevocably cursed. He's being singled out and punished from on high by the gods themselves. His name is writ large across the cosmos in mockery. There is a cosmic "kick me" sign taped to his spiritual back and Shouta's going to hunt his former student Sero down and give him detention for life for encouraging his family's patron god to put it there.

By this point it's really the only logical explanation.

Which, as a card-carrying atheist, he's pretty sure is saying something about the depth of his feelings regarding his current circumstances.

Because there's no other explanation for why or how he's managed to find himself in this current situation.

The situation being, of course, Shouta, in full hero gear, standing in the hot sun on a pristine sandy beach, surrounded by screaming fans as he provides extra security and crowd control for the 20th Annual Heroic Sukiwari Charity Drive.

Shouta has seen hell and it is both Ms. Joke's open mic night and this exact moment right here.

Because, again, he's absolutely 100% cursed.

And the avatar of said curse is, obviously, his soon-to-be ex-best friend who somehow roped him into this entire thing.

Because some people say divine retribution when talking about cosmic revenge plots but Shouta tends to just says Yamada Hizashi. The two are, in many ways, interchangeable.

Shouta's going to put purify salts in all of Hizashi's hair products and also his sugar jar and possibly his energy drinks the next chance he gets.

Because if he never sees another shirtless pro-hero or another watermelon again in his life it'll be too soon.

He's pretty sure he has permanent hearing damage from all of the screaming and screeching the crowd's been doing since this thing started.

And if, after all these years of friendship with the personification of a megaphone, watching a bunch of pro's crush watermelons with nothing but their personal strength on a beach to raise money for various charities is what finally destroys his hearing Shouta is going to shave Hizashi bald before he finally embraces sweet death.

Or enacts Nezu's birthday plans and becomes a supervillain.

The jury's honestly still out at this point.

Shouta does his best to shut out the screaming behind him as one of the cameramen slides up beside him, getting a better angle on the stage as Hizashi, who's currently screeching about Miruko's performance, practically dances across the sand in front of where Shouta's standing.

"Wow, wow, wow," Present Mic chants as he dramatically fans himself, "that was one on heart-stopping, hare-raising show. Let's give it up for everyone's favorite bad, bad, bunny, Miruko!"

For her part, Miruko just struts off the small stage with a nonchalant wave to the crowd, her tiny white bikini in place and the pulverized remains of the half dozen watermelons she'd dropped kicked into soup left behind her.

"But don't lose that rhythm yet listeners," Mic announces gleefully. "Because we've got one more hero set to take the stage! So, without further ado, it's the moment I know a lot of you have been waiting for, myself included if we're being honest. The pièce de résistance of our little shindig, the showstopper himself, the one, the only, the #1 Can Do Hero Dekiru."

The crowd is absolutely deafening.

And, for once, Shouta has to grudgingly admit that he can't actually blame them.

Shirtless, sculpted shoulders and tight abs on display thanks to his low sitting and almost criminally short green swim shorts, and with his trademark bashful smile in place, Dekiru trots out from behind the curtained-off area with a crate of watermelons resting on his shoulder like it's no big deal.

Shouta's pretty sure someone to his immediate right faints but considering they're not currently a trample risk he ignores it.

But the casual show of strength with no quirk use in sight is more than a bit impressive.

For all that people, romance specifically, and attraction in general, have all been things to be considered on a firm case-by-case basis for Shouta, even he has to admit that Dekiru is ... captivating.

Rather drastically so for Shouta considering he's never actually met the man before in person.

Though Shouta does feel like he almost knows him on some level considering the fact that it really would take an act of the actual gods to get Yagi to shut up about his erstwhile protege during staff meetings.

Dekiru waves his free hand at the crowd as he sets his crate of watermelons down on the stage.

"Show us what you've got!" Mic demands from a few feet to Shouta's left. "And let's give him some encouragement listeners!"

The crowd starts up a loud and steady chant of "De~ki~ru!" as the hero pulls his first watermelon out and begins his set.

With an effortless flex of muscles, Dekiru digs his fingers into the watermelon and wrenches it completely in two.

Shouta reaches up to tug at the top of his uniform, relishing the small sip of cool air it grants him.

Shoulders and biceps flexing, another watermelon meets its end between Dekiru's palms.

Shouta really needs to add a water bottle to his utility belt because hydration is important. Or so he's been repeatedly told.

"Those hands, those muscles," Mic groans dramatically. "He really is the Can Do Hero!"

Cheeks noticeably flushed, Dekiru sits down on the stage and fits a watermelon between thick, toned thighs.

His hips twist, those thighs flex, and the watermelon cracks, spilling juice and sweet pink flesh all over Dekiru's lap.

"Oh god," Shouta can't help but say, "I wish that was me right now."

On stage Dekiru's eyes go wide as his attention somehow abruptly zero's in on Shouta.

It's at that moment that Shouta becomes aware of the deafening silence that's fallen over the beach.

Head-turning agonizingly slowly to the left, Shouta's confronted with the sight of Mic, microphone in hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

His sunglasses are askew and he's staring at Shouta with a look on his face that's one part horror and one part unholy glee.

As a matter of fact, the entire beach is staring at him in much the same way.

For a moment Shouta just freezes, body going still at having so much attention turned in his direction.

This ... was not the turn he was expecting the day to take by far.

His first instinct is to, honestly, use his scarf to slingshot himself directly into the sun so his soul can be cleansed with cosmic fire.

But then ...

"Ah," Dekiru speaks up from on the stage, one hand ruffling the back of his hair and cheeks darker than before, "maybe we could go on a date first though? If you'd like?"

There's suddenly a part of Shouta that doesn't actually want to delete himself from existence via self-immolation.

And there's an even large part that doesn't want to outright reject Dekiru's seemingly sincere offer.

Because, when it all comes down to it, Dekiru seems to be, by all accounts, what passes for exactly Shouta's type.

Whip-smart if his very public arrest record and tendency to argue online and on the air with people he disagrees with is anything to go by.

Cute, with that dark green hair and sharp undercut, matching wide eyes, and a face sprinkled liberally with freckles.

Leanly built and small enough that Shouta's sure he could move him around easily but obviously muscular enough to be able to put up just the right amount of resistance in the right situation.

And, above all else, if the stories are to be believed, obviously some degree of batshit insane.

More than one story Yagi had told during breaks had Shouta questioning if the man had imported special American demons back to Japan and then stuffed them all into the deceptively charming and approachable-looking hero that is Dekiru.

So there's really only one logical way to proceed forward in this situation.

Shouta grins.

Several people in the crowd around him step back.

He's pretty sure he hears someone start reciting a prayer.

But Dekiru just blushes, eyes locked on Shouta's and teeth tugging at his lower lip.

"Hope you like coffee," Shouta finally says into the breathless silence that's fallen over them, "and cats."

Dekiru lights up, a smile brighter than the sun and twice as deadly blossoming across his face.

Just off of Shouta's side, Hizashi's busy having some kind of hysterical seizure.

Around them the crowd is going absolutely feral.

Yagi's going to birth actual kittens in the middle of the staff room when he finds out about this.

Shouta can't wait.

[lolita-lollipop]

Hizashi and Aizawa kidnapping a young teenage girl, and her bonding and quickly finding comfort with Hizashi, leaving Aizawa to awkwardly attempt at being super soft and all the more gentle to his sensitive little girl, his heart panging with pain every time she flinches or cowers away from him. “You don’t need to be scared of me, kitten.. please”

your little acts of favoritism weren’t necessarily intentional, you hated both of them. they were your brothers teachers, and whoop dee doo, they kidnapped you. but... you liked hizashi more.

it was just something about him that made you believe he was some form of comfort item, probably because he wasnt brooding, and didnt have a mean face, and he was the first human yud ever seen in this place, that all combined into one and he became your rock, your shoulder to cry on. he was just... so nice, although his quirk was loud, somehow he managed to speak softly with you. it was such a bright contrast to at home where two firey blondes always scream at each other, and your father tries to calm it down.

on your first night ever here, you had tried to jump out the window, and were captured by the thick scarves you once admired, hed lectured you, yelled at yiuu even, all you could see were those red eyes of his, and hear his voice. and he scared you, he scared you so much. i guess it justtranslates to now, first impressions are everything, and to you, he looked like a big scary man who would yell at you.

eventually, you stopped caring about how you hated him, or how you wanted to leave, as you clearly never were. so, instead of glaring at them, or crying, you accepted the fact that he was taking care of you. hizashi, hizashi was taking care of you... aizawa though? no way in hell, he was just so... you'd never seen him with a smile, he never tried to talk to you, he just kinda watched you, and it freaked you out, at some point you started believing he was trying to kill you, don't even ask how you came up with that conclusion.

you just couldn't manage to warm up to hi as you'd done so quickly with hizashi, and it showed. you were always tense when alone with him, like he was going to jump out at you any second and stab you, you didnt talk to him , sometimes you felt so anxious around him that you would outright start crying, shaking in some form of fear, or hide yourself under a blanket. although hizashi was proud that you loved him so much, he knew that this was hurting his husband, that his own little girl was scared of him.

so he would always try to coax you into doing things with him, saying things like "can your papa come and help" or "how about we have papa do this with you while I make lunch?", just trying to get him included so you would feel just as comfortable around him as you were with his own self. Sometimes he just left the room to let you have alone time with him. He’d even lectured his husband about how he always looked angry, and that he has to smile form time to time, and not the creepy “I’m gonna kill a villain” smile.

And so Aizawa started trying, not trying to be like hizashi, even that was too much for him, but trying to be nicer, he was a gentle person when he wanted to be, so this came with ease for him, he would tuck you in at night, read you stories, hold you if you cried, feed you, help you bathe (which you usually liked hizashi to do, and in general, inserted himself as a gentle roger in your life. You would expect taht this would work, that because he was so nice to you, because he was so sweet like hizashi, you would accept him as your father.

But nope! Again, first impressions are everything to you, and now, he was written off as the villain of you story, now, you jsut ran off to papa whenever he was around, and didn’t even give him the chance to hang around you, it just made it worse honestly, because now, not only did he look scary, but he also looked fake, which is never good. Every time he would try to if you, you would clutch onto hizashi for dear life, acting like his hand would do nothing but burn you.

Tears would cloud your vision, and he would pulle back, not wanting to cause you any more pain, and jsut stare in. Pure jealousy at his husband, who cooed and gave you a hug.and guess what? You hugged him back, and hid yourself in his chest, willingly, without a fight, without a tear, instead with a smile, most of the times mic wouldn’t interfere, wbatigg ns this to everyone a safe space for you, a place where you should naturally do things, but sometimes, he would give you little bushes int he right direction. Like disappearing completely for my he house so you’ll be forced to talk to Aizawa.

This is one of those times.

Yo been wandering the house for about ten minutes now, waking up form a nap, to find mic absent from his usual place in the rocking chair at your bedside. It was a little after lunchtime, and they’d only given you a small cup of fruit for breakfast (intentional, from mic), you were fairly hungry, and usually he was there to give you food, but you had no idea where he was, you had heard the… other one on the phone in their shared office, but you did not want to talk to him right now.

Aizawa could tell you were awake by the fact that all of the cats were meowing like crazy, and little pattering footsteps had followed his hearing around, mic had left abruptly, probably some little plan of mischief again, he was hizashi after all. He was just waiting for you to either 1: go back to bed, or 2: come to him for help. Mic had specifically told him to follow these rules for after nap time, so he did. And grew progressively more worried as over twenty minutes, trying to read through his students grading work, too distracted by the urge to go find you to accomplish anything.

His worries dissipated though when he saw your little head poking through the door, cat in hand, confused and tired looking, small tears beginning to prick th corners of your eyes, little sniffling sounds left you. His wha specked up form the desk, you’d given up walking around the whole house, your restarting had slowly pent up, you couldn’t manage to find him, and you were so hungry.

“Oh- hey honey, I didn’t know you were up. Do you need something?” He questioned, smiling intently at you, you just inched back into the door frame, breathing heavier by the moment, your hands shook and your head felt like it was going to explode at any point. Youbcontenoajted runnign back to your room and waiting till mic came out where you could hear him, but your stomach grumbled, reminding you how hungry you really are.

“I’m- im looking for daddy. Where is he.” You spoke, a very hushed tone overtook your words, making them almost inaudible for him. His face sunk slowly, he tougher you were actually gonna come for him, but the he remembered taht patience is key, and that he shouldn’t get mad, because it is t your fault taht you’re just a little sensitive, too fragile to handle more than one attachment, he gets it. He jsut at least wanted you to look at him, instead did your little feet, I’m Ayer if you could meet his eyes the. You would see how much he loves you.

“Oh, he left a. Little while ago. Is there something you need from him? Your papa can give him a call if you want, you could even talk to him!” He exclaimed excitedly, plastering that happy smile across his face to seem more inviting, liek mic had told him to do. He stood out of his chair, rounding up the papers and putting them in his file folders.you tried to sink back furthers, almost disappearing behind the doorway, you shook your head aggressively, almost running off, then yet again, your stomach made another noise, and forced you to stay.

“I- no. I’m- im hungry-“ you spluttered, not caring if it was embarrassing that you were stuttering so much, you just wanted food. And calling mic would just get you a lecture on how you could’ve just asked your papa, the same thing would happen whenever you went to uncnecesary lengths to avoid the man, your daddy would make sure you knew that it made him feel bad, while you’d at there bored. Not caring, at all.

“Oh- well you should’ve told me sooner kitten, if I’d known I would be up already. Cmon, let’s go to the kitchen, your daddy made you some food earlier” he spoke, rising from his chair slowly, you cowered slightly as he walked over, clutching the little kitten right to you for comfort, he mewed and snuggled closer, completely asleep. The man sighed when he saw you backing away from his grasp, he knew you were still scared. But he was just so impatient… he was tired of waiting, he wanted to hold you, even if it was jsut foena few minutes. He needed it feel you there with him.

Is he acted quickly, moving in a matter of seconds, he swooped his arm under your leg, and hooked his other around your torso, pulling you straight up into his grasp. Youu huh froze, his hands felt cold as ice on your skin, like they were burning you, immediately after he started walking, it snapped you out of it and you threw a fit. You dig your fingernails into his skin, and kicked and flailed in a panic, still trying to keep the little kitten in your lap safe. A full blown panic washed over you, clogging all your senses.

The dam holding back tears form your eyes crashed, and immediately you were sobbing, biting at his shoulder to let you go, he tried to rub your back to calm you down a bit, but just made it worse, as his hands felt like living anxiety creeping up and down your spine. He didn’t know what to do, let you ride it out, andkk no possibly have you get sick because of how much your crying in an empty stomach? Or let you down and go straight back to square one.

Your veined felt like pure ice had flooded in them, and it felt liek someone was repeatedly jabbing you in the head with tiny needes, fear was jsut so prominent in your sense, it overcame you, and made you whimper and scream.

“Whoah, breath for me alright? I just want to hold you. I’m not going to hurt you okay? I would never hurt you. Kitten… you don’t have to be scared of me” he spoke, trying to keep a proper computers, he wanted to cry with you, he wasn’t a very soft or emotional man but honestly, he was so upset with himself already, this was jsut pushing him for the edge. You cried, and cried, at some point you weren’t even crying and screaming at him, more with him. He held you close, you’d stopped the struggle almost five minutes ago, letting him hold you. It was odd. It almost felt… nice.

“I-I’m sorry. I’m being stupid again” You alien through your remaining little hiccups, shove my your face into his shirt, smelling the woody scent he carried around with him. He cooed, letting you hide yourself from him, savouring this soft moment was of top priorirty in his head… you jsut looked so sweet, so different from those harsh cries that would sound usually whenever he came around.

Who would think, shouts aizawas hand couldn’t feel nice? The same ones that had just been burning you, the ones that made you scream, felt like a breeze on a spring day, he actually felt warm, he felt like happiness, like contentment.

“No hon, it’s not stupid. Your scared. I know that, we all get scared and it’s not a bad thing, I love you, I really, really love you kitten. Just know that” he continued on with his little speech, leaving down to kiss you in the forehead, Jsut to be suprised when you didn’t flinfh, you were too tired to be scared; and too hungry, plus, he was really warm, the cat had pretty much snuggled up to him already, who says you shouldn’t.

“I- um- I love you… to?” You spoke, more of a question than anything, you’d spent so long Harding him that you didn’t know if you even could love him, it didn’t even feel possible, then again, you litterally cling to hizashi like a koala, and your mental state has relaly said “swoopity swoop” and scattered itself everywhere. Maybe having two comfort items was actually better than one… huh.

“Well, let’s go eat then. All taht crying probably made you tired, I’ll let you watch a movie in my office, you can watch pinto again, I know you love taht one. Cmon, let’s go” he spoke, and started walking again, you cuddled closer to him as he did, smiling slightly at the warmth. Hizashi was very extravagant, exiting, and hyper, this man felt very cool, calm, it was such a dark contrast, but it worked so well. You jsut… you Jsut liked it.

Well… now we’ll just have to wait and see who’s the favorite

———————————————————————————————————

Thank you for requesting! It was super fun to write and had me feeling super happy when I finished :)

I’m thinking about doing yandere todoroki family asks, because I’m litterally in love with @i-cant-sing one… so, requests are open for those if you want to put them in (please do I’m begging)

Anywho, have the most wonderful to days today! Goodbye!

[avintagekiss24]

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics​, gif by @evansensations​

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced—  oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”