#he still wants to and she still wants to and his past isn't in the way anymore

[witherby]

If Punch line can trigger Jason easily what would happen is she ever met Harley?

Let's explore that!

Punchline: First Session

Masterlist is Here!

"I need your help."

Harley perks up, gasping, and rushes over to hug Batman tightly.

"I never thought this day would come," she says, jumping up and down and clutching a gauntleted hand. "Yes!! Yes I would love to be your therapist! We have so much to work on, starting with your parents. I really think you never internalized the event and haven't given yourself any space to grieve after —"

Her hands get squeezed gently, recapturing her attention. Blue eyes meet white lenses, and she furrows her brow.

"Okay, that's fine!" She sighs. "Can't say I'm not disappointed, but if one of your kiddos is looking for help instead, I'm still more than hap—"

"Not one of mine," Batman gently interrupts. "This is a...very delicate case, Harley."

"What's delicate mean in this context, Batsy?" She asks. "Delicate like schizophrenic? Delicate like CPTSD? Delicate like one wrong word away from explodin' and killin' everybody in a mile radius?"

"Delicate," he says, "like...this might hit too close to home for you."

"Me?"

Batman nods. Harley hums, equal parts curious and cautious.

"Any good psychologist worth her salt won't let a personal connection get in the way of providin' aid," she tells him. "If the patient isn't somebody I can help myself, I'll help ya find someone who can. When can I meet 'em?"

--

Your file lies scattered across the floor of the cave. Harley stares wide-eyed at your picture while she trembles on her hands and knees. Bruce, having changed out of his suit, kneels beside her with a steadying hand on her back.

"Oh," she whispers, "Brucie, she's so small for her age. And her age!! Sh-she's..."

Harley shakes her head. Bruce continues rubbing small circles in her back. When she leans against him for support, he holds her upright.

"How'd he keep a kid hidden for eight years?" She whispers, voice thick. "I know I fucked off to go play Happy Family with Ivy, but..."

"Nobody knew," he says. "Harleen, don't play the blame game, not for this. He kept her a secret for a reason; no one was supposed to know."

Harley lifts her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes before any tears can well up and fall. She takes deep, calming breaths, gathering her focus, then carefully collects the papers and stands with his help. She draws a pad and pen out of her pocket.

"I ain't promising anything," she says, looking up at Bruce. "This is...this is a whole different ball game, 'specially with that chucklefuck as the daddy. But I'm gonna try, okay?"

He nods. "Take your time. You were the first person I thought of, but don't force this if it's too much."

Harley gently squeezes his hand in acknowledgement. She walks past him and down the hall towards the containment cells, heels clicking quietly against the floor. She dug out her old coat with the name tag pinned to it and even threw her hair back in a low braid to appear as non-threatening as possible. The closer she gets to your door, the more the wonders if you would've been more comfortable if she showed up in her combat getup and mallet.

"Miss Punchline?" She calls, stopping in front of your cell. A cursory glance of your environment tells her immediately that you're under-stimulated. She writes that down. "I'm Doctor Quinzel. Do ya mind if I come in and chat with you a while?"

You cease all movement. You'd been sitting with your back to the door, gently stroking the head of the teddy bear Alfred gave you while muttering Mistress Mary's nursery rhyme, but when you hear her, you practically turn into a statue. Unless she actively stares at your back, Harley can't even see you draw breath.

"Miss Punchline?" She repeats calmly. "I won't come in if you don't want, but I'd really like to talk to you."

"...Popsy talks about you, sometimes," you say. Harley can't decipher your tone, but the words make her feel cold all over. "Says he used to miss his favorite gal."

"I'm sure he's mentioned me once or twice," she says, clearing her throat. "But I'm old news. Why don't you tell me about yourself? I'm gonna punch in the door code now, okay?"

You don't move. Harley unlocks your cell and walks inside, getting a better look at how sparsely decorated it is. The bed is clearly unused and half of the activities left here would cause an ordinary child to lose interest in about an hour without company. Overall, Bruce and his family are keeping you in a dreary room. If she accomplishes nothing else today, it's a guarantee that she's gonna get you better accommodations.

Harley walks around the room until she can see you face-to-face. Once she's in your periphery, your eyes snap to her and follow her every movement like a predator. She lowers herself to the ground, taking a seat a few feet away from you.

"There you are," she says kindly. Your smile is just as placid as the one in your photo. "I like ya make-up. The swirly pattern on your cheeks is very cute."

You don't respond, though your smile widens briefly. Highly receptive to praise. Your eyes don't leave hers, scanning, assessing, calculating. Harley doesn't feel like you're about to attack her, but you're clearly juggling something around in your mind.

"Bet you're thinking about mine," she continues. "Normally I like puttin' on the face paint, but sometimes my pores gotta breathe, you know? Well — the pores I got left." She glances down at her hands, paper white like the rest of her body from her dip in a vat of acid. With relief, Harley notes that your unpainted skin is a healthy color. Even though the bar's lower than Hell, it's nice to know that at least the Joker didn't immediately treat you to a dunk of your own.

"Punchline, I'm gonna be frank with you," she says.

"Nice to meetcha, Frank," you chirp, grinning mischievously. Harley lifts a brow.

"That was funny," she praises. "I know your, eh, Popsy, he places a lot of value on bein' funny. Used to say nothin' was worth the effort if it didn't amuse him at the end of the day. I'm sure you know that already."

"A giggle a day keeps the boredom away!" You say, pitch and cadence matching that of your father's. Harley knows that the grip on her pen is too tight. She breathes deep and forces herself to relax. "Ohh, hit a nerve, Frank?"

"I'm doin' just fine," she says. "What's boredom look like for you and Popsy?"

You separate your hands, fingers splayed wide, and make explosion noises.

"Do you get caught up in that explosion?"

Your smile doesn't change but your eyes get sharp. Harley makes a note.

"It's hard keepin' him entertained all day, every day," she says. "I would know. But I'm gonna tell ya somethin' your popsy probably never has."

Harley scoots a tad closer to you, reaching her hand out and gently taking one of yours. She can feel every bone in your hand and has to utilize all of her training to school her expression.

"It's not your job to make yer popsy happy. In fact, it's not your job to make any adult happy. Grown-ups shouldn't rely on their children for emotional regulation."

"Couldn't rely on you, either, could be?" You snicker. "Since you ran away."

"I left him because he was treatin' me like dirt," Harley says, a little more firm than necessary. "He's real good at drawin' you in, Punchline. Shows you an ounce of praise that makes you feel invincible, makes you wanna do anything he asks to get more of it."

Harley lets go of your hand to tuck a lock of emerald green hair behind your right ear, brushing gently against the shell. The edges are distorted, flatter than your left.

"He's also real good at draggin' you through the mud, makin' you feel like everything's your fault. Like you got no choice but to make it up t'him. Ya never wanna get on his bad side cause he really makes you feel it."

You tilt your head away from her hand, eyes dropping back down to the teddy bear Alfred gave you. You resume petting it, slightly faster and rougher than before. Harley makes a note.

"His anger's always more powerful than his joy, Punchline," she says, "but both of them are destructive. I wanna help ya break away from his cycle."

"No thanks," you say, "if I wanted to be a washed-up, third-rate party clown, I would!"

Harley feels a wave of pity for you. It's obvious you're just regurgitating your father's words back at her, and she's not surprised. Change doesn't happen overnight, especially not for you.

There's so much work to do, but Harley's not afraid. You may look and behave similarly to the Joker, but you're young and still impressionable and already starting to pull away from him without even realizing it.

"I can tell yer getting upset, and that's the last thing I want," she says, climbing to her feet, "so I think this is a good stopping point for today. But I'd really like to see you again. Would you be alright with that?"

You blow a raspberry at her, then cackle. Harley exhales sharply through her nose, giving you a fond smile, and pats your head as she steps past you and opens the cell door.

She can do this. She will do this. For you.

But, first thing's first.

"Brucie, you're kidding me with the furnishings! How's the richest man on the planet gonna put a kid in such a shitty room!? Don't look at me like that, mister. You brought me in t'do a job and I'm gonna do it right!!"

[agathasfamiliar]

hi!! I just found your blog, can I request g!p detective!agatha railing reader in a missionary position and has a bulge kink (poking the bear🤭🏃‍♀️)

thank you so much for this request it was very fun to write, i hope you enjoy it!

fuck the police:

detective agnes o'connor x fem!reader

You fucked up and finally got caught for your long-running streak of graffiti artistry. What's worse than being arrested, however? Being interrogated by the one detective in town who causes you to question your all out hatred for the profession.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, agnes is trans/intersex/has a penis, penis in vagina sex, power bottom!reader, service top!agnes (but agnes still needs a little control of course), handcuffs, breeding kink, bulge kink, agnes loves reader's tits, smut

author's note: trans butch agnes, my beloved. also i probably could've done more research into a more realistic set up/i know this isn't how someone being arrested/interrogated would work but it's porn so...hopefully you can look past that

You never thought you’d find yourself here, arrested and waiting to be questioned for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming, your graffiti art has steadily risen in popularity over the last few months, ever since one particularly evocative piece got featured on the local news and allegedly inspired a number of protests throughout the city of Westview.

Not that you had anything to do with that.

The police department has issued several requests for information on you, even offering a pretty handsome reward for the proven identity of “Hex”, the name you tag every piece with. A rumor has even reached your ears about a copycat artist getting arrested over in Eastview. Serves them right for using your signature, but it at least has kept the feds off your trail for a bit. 

Admittedly, you’d gotten cocky thinking you could get away with tagging the squad car stationed at the busiest intersection in town. In your defense, it had looked empty. How were you supposed to know the deputy on duty was napping in the back seat? You’d made it halfway through the looping pink pig face you were sprawling across the windshield before he woke up and chased you down four blocks.

If you were wearing your usual running shoes instead of having slipped on an old pair of slides in your rush out of the house, you probably would’ve outrun the middle-aged cop chasing you, another mistake you won’t make again.

  Now, you sit shivering in nothing but a sheer white tank top and sweatpants so spattered in all the vibrant colors of your, now confiscated, cans of spray paint, that you can’t even remember what color the pants originally were. You weren’t an idiot, you had a black hoodie on when you went out to do your work, but the rookie cop that booked you at the station also insisted on taking your sweatshirt for “evidence”.

You’re pretty sure he just wanted to see you suffer in the refrigerator-like temperature they keep the precinct at, clearly only recently having graduated the academy and already taking a shine to abusing his power. Pigs, indeed. 

The interrogation room they brought you to well over 30 minutes ago sits at the very back of the building, a windowless box that somehow looks and smells both musty and sterile. A large one-way mirror covers the wall opposite the door, the only noise in the confined space being the tick-tick-tick of the clock above it that reads just past midnight.

You rattle the short chain connecting your handcuffed wrists to a bar on the heavy metal table in front of you, just to disrupt the suffocating silence. Have you seriously been forgotten here?

Just as you have that thought, as if summoning another person into existence with it, the door, opposite the corner where you sit, opens briskly. 

Twin sighs of irritation drop from both your mouth and the supposed detective’s as she enters. You can’t make out too many details of her appearance at first because of the dim lighting that mostly just illuminates the table you sit at, as well as the fact that she has her head down looking over what you assume is your intake forms. 

“I want a lawyer.” Are the first words out of your mouth once the woman has turned to shut the door behind her.

“Ha!” She laughs dryly and it has you simmering with rage already, but something about it also sounds familiar.

 “Well, sweetie,” The still concealed detective continues as she finally steps into the light, “not likely to find a public defender that’s available at this hour, but if you insist on staying overnight…” She trails off amusedly, finally stepping into the light and causing your prepared reply to die in your throat as you connect the recognition of the voice with the blue eyes that meet yours.

“Detective O’Connor.” You greet, trying to keep your tone even. 

Fuck.

Of fucking course, of all the detectives in the goddamn city, this is who had to come question you. The same detective you’ve served coffee to every morning for the better part of three years at your shitty cafe day job. The same detective who barely acknowledges your existence, but when her fingers brush yours as you pass her usual over the counter, you think about it for the rest of the day. The detective you berate yourself for fantasizing about, because she’s everything you despise and your friends would never let you hear the end of it if they found out, especially with how often you’re spouting your “radical” political beliefs (not that you see them that way.)

Detective Agnes fucking O’Connor…

This is not how you imagined it would look if you ever got her in a room alone.

“Huh? Do I know you?” She questions, almost offended, and now you’re the one to let out a dry laugh.

“Here, let me help jog your memory.” You say, picking up the small, paper cup of water that had been left on the table for you in one bound hand, holding it aloft and reciting her order.

 “One large hot coffee with two sugars and half a pump of vanilla.”

She looks unaffected at your display, only raising both eyebrows once in sudden recognition before sauntering over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down casually. 

“Impressive, that how you’ve avoided custody so long? Charming Westview’s finest by memorizing their coffee orders?” Her questions are laced with condescension.

“Nope, just yours. Why? Is it working?” You smirk despite your better judgment. You hadn’t planned to try the flirting route to get out your charges, but hey, the best schemes have an element of truth to them. Plus, if this is the only chase you’ll have to speak to the detective alone, you might as well make the most of it. 

She doesn’t answer, instead leaning back in the rickety metal chair that lets out a squeal at the motion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s tied low at the base of her skull. Blue flannel sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and it’s all you can do not to think about tracing your tongue over the veins that snake over her strong forearms.

The jeans she’s wearing strain with the way she sits, legs spread apart, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from letting out a gasp when you notice how it puts the delicious outline of what’s beneath the denim on display. Fuck, you do not need to be thinking about straddling the woman where she sits and grinding down against her bulge right now, but you are anyway.

Mercifully, she leans forward again in the seat to ask another question and the view is gone. You need to focus if you’re going to get out of this without incriminating yourself.

“What were you doing tonight?” She asks flatly, getting down to business. You know better than to provide anything resembling an answer, true or false.

“This whole thing seems pretty excessive, all things considered. I mean, an interrogation? Really, Agnes?” Her first name slips out before you can catch it, but you don’t really care.

“Just answer the question. And it’s Detective.” The flare of anger in her eyes only spurs you on.

“Sorry, Detective Agnes,” you correct yourself, purposefully using her name this time, just to see that flash of heat again. 

“If you were so curious about where I was tonight you could’ve just asked me out.” Now that you’ve opened the floodgates, the suggestive remarks just keep coming out.

For Agnes’ part, she remains still and draws in an angry breath. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation at your lack of cooperation more than the intrigue you were hoping for, but that just means you’ll have to turn up the dial on this improvised plan you’ve laid out for yourself. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Listen, if you’re going to keep wasting my time I’ll just lock you up now and wait ‘til morning.” She threatens with a glowering expression, voice raising every few words in an attempt to intimidate. It’s kind of cute, actually. 

You think she might hear just how her phrasing comes out and anticipate your next response, because she almost looks remorseful. The slightest pink tone that rises to her cheeks and the way she pokes her tongue out to wet her bottom lip when her eyes flick down to your barely covered chest don’t escape your careful observations either. 

“Ooo,” you start, falsely scandalized, “now you want me to spend the night?” A slight giggle escaping you at your own words and the way you lift your handcuffed wrists in front of you playfully. 

With the action, you’re sure to press your biceps against either side of your body to even more obviously display your tits, and she can’t help but look down with the movement, eyes raking over your nipples that stand at attention beneath the thin fabric in the cold space.

Heat is practically rolling off her in waves and you can’t tell for sure if it’s arousal or fury that is threatening to boil over, or what will happen when it does, but you have always been the type to take risks. Why stop now?

“Can’t you just get me off with a warning? I mean- let me off…” You ask before she can recover from your last question, attempting a simper at the intentional slip up in your speech. 

It seems that this is what finally pushes her over the edge as she slams her hands loudly against the metal table and stands up, causing it to vibrate with the impact. Her chair goes clattering to the ground behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The satisfied expression you wear drops for a second at the forceful display, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Alright, that’s enough!” She shouts, leaning over so you can practically feel her breath on your face before she rounds the table quickly.

“Do you really wanna keep poking the bear?!” She asks, furious, now standing at your right side and heavily folding at the waist to shout into your ear. 

You have to lean away slightly at the volume that threatens to burst your eardrum and it provides just enough space to look the detective up and down where she stands. 

That’s when you see it. 

Unmistakable and pressing against the zipper of her jeans so forcefully that it’s a wonder they haven’t burst; Detective O’Connor is hard. 

You can’t drag your eyes away from the tented fabric, so obvious that it nearly casts a shadow onto the denim in the odd light of the room. As you are still seated, you’re practically at the perfect level to just lean over and mouth the length through her pants. It’s all you can do not to let your head dip where it wants to most, as if you’re a magnet being drawn by its opposite charge.

“I- uh.” You stutter, unsure of your words for the first time since she walked in. The amount of saliva that has accumulated in your mouth at the sight in front of you forces you to swallow before you speak again.

“I think I’d rather have the bear poke me.” You breathe, sounding wrecked just at the thought.

When you finally drag your gaze back up to hers, her face is burning red, but this time you can tell it is much more out of embarrassment than anger. She looks self conscious in a way you’ve never seen and it’s so, so pretty. 

“It’s okay I c-” You start, reaching out uselessly in your confines, but you’re cut off from your attempt at a rare comforting word when Agnes seizes your right shoulder and lifts you to your feet. She then immediately folds you over and presses you against the table on your stomach, handcuffed hands pinned beneath your chest. You let out a grunt at the forceful action as well as the freezing cold metal that almost stings your skin that has warmed at your flirting.

The position is much like the one you were put in a few hours ago upon your arrest, only now it causes you to ache with desire instead of seeth with fury. 

“You think this is funny?!” She questions, but it sounds strained and unsure. Your own hesitance at her intentions keeps you from muttering out that it’s actually not funny, it’s really fucking hot.

It dawns on you then that she probably turned you over like this so you aren’t able to see the blush that’s probably still spreading over her skin, or the bulge in her pants that’s no doubt only getting worse, especially with how you purposefully arch your back in her grasp.

She has you pinned beneath her hands, one still on your shoulder and the other holding your waist, the perfect placement for her to pull you back against her. Instead, a shaky breath sounds from behind you. It seems like she’s deciding what to do next and you can almost feel the heat radiating from between her hips that begs her to choose the option you’re hoping for too.

You start pressing back yourself, impatient and using any amount of leverage possible to reach your destination. To help her decide.

“Come on, detective. Let me help you out.” You nearly whisper in the most convincing and sweet voice you can muster. Her hands loosen ever so slightly at the soft sound and you use the opportunity to slide the last inch backwards, your ass just barely brushing her front, aware also that if she had wanted to stop you she would’ve easily been able to.

You feel the hardness and heat of her cock against you through both your clothing and nearly release a whimper at the sensation, at the idea of her finally being inside you like you’ve fantasized about so many times. 

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Her hands release you entirely and she steps away without a word, leaving you feeling even colder than the steel table you’re slumped against. You drop your head to the metal in defeat. That’s it, you think. Your efforts haven't worked and you’re not only going to spend the night in a cell, but you’re going to do so while very uncomfortably wet and wound up. Plus, she’s probably going to try to add attempted bribery or harassment to your charge sheet. God, this was a dumb idea. Why couldn’t you have just gotten some old guy detective whose questions you would have dodged coldly and without a second thought?

All these thoughts flash through your head in the few seconds it takes Agnes to step away from the table and turn you by the hips to face her, the chain keeping you there being just long enough to allow such movement. 

You look down immediately, as if out of instinct, to find the large bulge still present, possibly even more so somehow. A bolt of desire strikes through your core at the small dark spot you notice has formed on the crotch of the already dark jeans. The evidence of your effect threatens to turn your legs to jelly. Finally, your eyes raise to meet Agnes’ with a curiosity, who stands less than a foot from you, hands still holding your hips loosely. The thrill of not knowing what she’ll do next makes your already racing heart beat even faster.

You find that she looks as weak as you feel, drinking you in like you’re an ice cold glass of water she’s found in the middle of the sahara. It’s clear that she’s used up every last thread of restraint she has to resist your offer, and it still has proven to be insufficient. Her blue irises have nearly been swallowed by blown black pupils that bore into you as she speaks her resignation to her rapturous fate.

“If I’m gonna fuck you,” she breathes the words out like she’s just run a marathon, “it’s gonna be while looking at those pretty tits.”

You lean back into the table in favor of collapsing straight to the floor at those words. How is this actually happening?

Seeing you stumble into the table, her right hand shifts down to your thigh and lifts, helping you to sit on the ledge as she steps closer to let your knees bracket her body. She looks so much more confident in this moment, and not in the same stone-faced way she had while you prodded at her before. It brings a soft smile to your lips and she looks away, somewhat coyly, at your noticing. It’s hard to decide if you prefer her shy or assertive.  

Blunt nails graze gently over your covered thighs, to your hips, then your waist, before finally settling over your scarcely contained breasts. Your own sharp intake of breath meets your ears as you lean into the warm touch and she squeezes them with a smirk playing on her lips.

  “I might not remember your face…” she rasps, leaning to speak directly into your right ear, “but I definitely remember these.” Both thumbs move to brush over your already pebbled nipples, causing them to harden further. You roll your eyes, both at the comment and at the thread of pleasure that tugs right from where she touches you all the way down to your pulsing clit.

For all the humor in it, you can’t help but notice just how sincere her comment sounds and flashes run through your mind of every low cut top you’ve ever worn to work, wondering which one’s are her favorite.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You exhale with a chuckle against her cheek, momentarily forgetting your binds and trying to reach around her shoulders to pull her closer. The chain rattles loudly and you jerk with the reminder of your limited movement.

Agnes shakes her head and laughs at your needy but firm command as well as your inability to move.

“Here, let me.” She continues laughing gently as she reaches for the key ring you somehow hadn’t yet noticed swinging from her hip. 

“No.” You blurt before you can think better of it. 

“Leave them.” 

It’s a daring statement and you run your tongue across your teeth mischievously while the implication works its way through the woman’s mind. Her lower lip disappears into her mouth with how hard she bites into it, looking at you in disbelief and utter need. 

“Fuck,” is all she says, dropping the keys back to her side and moving instead to undo her belt with a clumsy haste. 

You would be scrambling to remove your own pants as well, not wanting to waste anymore time, but your own request has left you unable to do so. Instead, you’re left in awe as the black leather belt is unlatched and left hanging loosely open while Agnes works at her zipper. Even less is left to the imagination when denim is pulled aside to reveal cotton boxer briefs protruding with the tension of her arousal.

Her cock is pressing tautly against the soft, grey material and the way the underwear clings to her body causes you to gape at the implication of how much the secure garment is still concealing. 

The dark spot you’d noticed on her jeans is even darker and more centralized to its origin on the grey cloth. Saliva fills your mouth again at the sight, the only thing better than seeing her from beneath that last layer of clothing will be when it is finally removed.

As if reading your mind and wanting you to suffer a moment long, she pauses her motions of undressing any further. Before you can argue or make a snide remark, her hands are on your own waistband, tugging the paint-covered article down as much as she can while you’re still seated. You can’t very well lift yourself with your hands at the moment, so you slip off the table quickly to help get them the rest of the way down, hopping back up just as swiftly and letting her pull them off your legs, shoes falling to the floor one by one in the process. 

The cold table under your mostly bare ass draws the breath from you momentarily, only a black pair of boyshorts now protecting you from the metal.

“Do you ever wash these?” Agnes asks down at the rainbow vomit littering your clothing before dropping the pants to the floor, a real dry humor in her voice replacing the stern, mocking one from when she first entered the room.

“What’s the point?” You ask, because seriously, why would you wash them if you’re just going to get paint all over them again?

“Do you answer every question with a question?” She fires back, moving back between your knees from where she’d stepped back to help undress you. Her fingers play again at her own waistband, dipping into them slightly before meeting your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Do you always stall like this when a girl wants you to fill her pussy?” You ask with an exaggerated expression of curiosity, as if you are genuinely awaiting the answer and not just communicating your impatience. 

Her cheeks pink again at the response, any clever comebacks quickly forgotten. You remove your gaze from her face and shift it back to her arousal to allow her to blush in private.

In your peripheral vision, you see her eyes flick up to watch your face as she dips her left hand into her underwear and grasps herself so gently, right hand pushing the material down to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

You’re first met with a mess of dark curls that trail all the way up to her belly button, which you only catch a quick glimpse of with the way her shirt momentarily gets caught by her arm. You stifle a moan at the reveal of her thick cock; rock hard, reddened and still beading pre-cum, as you saw evidenced on the front of her jeans and underwear.

Now you slightly regret having her leave the cuffs on, as you long to reach out and take the length in your hands, or better yet, your mouth. Heat takes your face at the idea of getting on your knees before the detective and gagging on her length, and now you’re the one blushing and biting your lip.

Painfully tearing your eyes from the beautiful sight to catch Agnes’ expression, you find her still looking for your reaction. She finds exactly what she’s looking for in the way your eyes soften and you use one finger, your hands still bound at the wrists and settled in front of your chest, to beckon her forward.

Loose strands of brown hair that have escaped her messily tied back tendrils brush the side of your face as she leans in close to catch your message.

“I need your cock inside me, detective.” You husk, more than speak, into her ear, the lust dripping from the title she insisted on minutes ago causing a physical and auditory shudder through the woman. Looking back down, you see Agnes stroke herself once, as if your words have rendered her unable to resist.

Maybe she notices that you’re about to make a comment about it, because in one swift motion Agnes’ right hand flies up to your left shoulder, shifting you fully to your back on the table. You let out a gasp at the sudden movement, metal tabletop clattering at the impact and drowning out the sound. Just as quickly as you’ve adjusted to your new position, you’re being pulled by the thighs to the very edge of the table and towards exactly what you want, Agnes then guiding you to wrap your spread legs around her hips for support.

“You need this, huh?” She asks, hungrily looking over your body from her new perspective. You’re about to answer her question with your own when she slowly and teasingly drags the head of her cock from your clit to your entrance, over your underwear. Her timing is getting a little too convenient.

You groan at the feeling of your own wetness being pressed against you by her hardness. It makes you ache knowing it’s so close to being consumed by your heat, only a thin shield of fabric left between you. If you had full range of motion of your hands, you would have already ripped the rest of your clothing off, but the quick and dirty way you’re both still mostly clothed almost turns you on more. 

Desperate to maintain the dizzying contact, your hips grind upward as your legs become a vice, pulling her ever closer. The clear enthusiasm only spurs her on, gliding back up and down again, circling your clit three times with her cock on the last pass until you're squirming beneath her and hopelessly trying to contain your whimpering. You would rather wait a lifetime for your orgasm than beg a cop.

You’re so sopping wet, though, that when you look down between your bodies you can see the way her cock shines with your arousal despite not having yet made full contact. It’s almost too much to bear, your clit throbbing in time with your pounding pulse. Something has to give or you’re soon going to be a blabbering mess. 

“Just fuck me, Agnes!” You bark out, hips rising insistently and your voice verging on a whine.

The room goes still for a moment, even the clock ticking away on the wall seems to pause for dramatic effect as she quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head dangerously at your outburst. That same feeling from before washes over you, when you thought you might’ve really fucked up, but it only lasts for half a second before a hand is shoving your ruined underwear to one side and you feel the tip of her resting at your entrance.

Your eyes meet her blue ones, which are actually still mostly black, especially in this light. They burn into you like before and you don’t know whether her silence is a good or bad thing. 

You draw in your own shaky breath, waiting for her next move, and on the exhale she sheathes herself to the hilt inside of you.

Even she can’t contain her half of the guttural growl that comes from both of you at the perfect feeling. You don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about just how fucking soaked you are that she was able to slide all the way in with one thrust, because the way her cock is filling you up so completely has rendered every other thought irrelevant.

A moment passes where you both breathe, adjusting to the stretch and squeeze respectively. You feel her throb once within you and think, at this point, with enough determination, you could come just from that small amount of friction.

You don’t need that determination, though. As if mocking that passing thought, Agnes skips any unnecessary build up and starts at a positively bruising pace. Just one moment ago she was panting over you, looking like she might not even make it two thrusts in before unraveling, and now she’s slamming into you with a literally breathtaking force.

No intelligible noises are able to come out of your throat at first, only broken, reedy gasps. Your eyes roll back in your head as the glorious, slapping sounds of your joining sexes fill your ears. Her length jabs over and over again at the perfect spot inside you, just where you need her. 

Doing your best to focus your vision, you look up to see the red face of a woman clearly holding on to her composure for dear life. Her finger nails are short, but still able to bite into your hips ever so slightly as she practically slides you up and down along the table while also moving against you herself, which deepens her thrusts even more.

This also seemingly provides quite the show for Agnes, who you observe is splitting her time between watching your face contorting with pleasure, her cock sliding in and out of your pussy, and most of all, the way your tits are bouncing considerably with her every movement.

“You like these? You should fuck them.” You make out between gasping breaths, nodding down at your own chest.

Agnes takes a moment to respond, her laser focus causing her to not even register your words at first. When she does however, and notices your gesturing, her thrusting falters only for a moment, as if the idea alone has made her nearly swoon with desire. Crystal irises scan you over again and you can tell she’s thinking about it by the way her eyebrows knit together in a desperate sort of way.

“Maybe next time.” She decides, smirking down at you and ramming herself into you particularly hard once before returning to her rhythm, while her left hand comes up to grip your right breast greedily.

“Mmn- next time?” You ask around a moan, trying not to sound too hopeful, but it’s also such an unexpected sentiment from the detective you can’t help but question her further.

“I’d bet good money this won’t be your last arrest,” is all she says to satisfy your curiosity. While it’s also a subtle dig at your evading skills, your imagination still runs wild with the unspoken promise of how a future slip-up might turn out for you. It almost makes you want to get caught again.

“Right, because you’d love to f-fuck, fuck! Oh my god!” Your response turns into a moaning curse when her hand shoots down from playing with your tits so her thumb can land firmly on your clit and press down with flawless pressure, never letting up consistently filling you in the process. 

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..” The mantra spills from your lips while your orgasm mounts within you and you know you’ll be toppling over the edge any minute now.

If your hands were free you would be locking your fingers behind her neck and pulling her even closer to you to ensure you get what you want, but the burn of the metal chafing your wrists is a delicious alternative. The pain only sharpens the pleasure you’re feeling everywhere else and you throb at the idea of waking up tomorrow and seeing angry red and purple bracelets of evidence.

At your emphatic request, she doesn’t stop. You’ve never been so full before and when Agnes’ cock throbs within you after every couple of pumps, stars explode behind your eyes. There’d better be a next time because you’re pretty sure nothing and nobody has or will ever make you feel like this.

“I’m so, so close. Fuck!” You shout, unsure what possesses you to tell her, but her response only drives you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking come for me. Come on my cock, come on my c-cock…” She huffs, the exertion that you were already impressed with her maintaining finally shows in her voice, but she still never lets up. It almost sounds like she’s begging, a “please” barely contained behind her lips, and that’s what makes you really want to come for her.

Chasing your orgasm, you redouble your efforts of rocking your hips up and it makes her length press even more fully against your front wall until you’re practically screaming with pleasure. The new angle caused by your rocking coupled with the way your walls are tightening around her in anticipation of your release is also clearly doing something for Agnes.

Her breaths are coming in short puffs and she is completely unable to stifle the loud whimper that bursts out of her when you clench around her even harder, your orgasm just seconds away.

That’s what finally does it, that mewl that you were able to pull from the tough detective. It sends you flying, every muscle tenses and wave after wave of pleasure causes you to buck against the table and Agnes, but she holds you firmly in place, fucking you through it and moaning herself the whole time as she marvels at your release. The aftershocks go on for what feels like forever while you float in your euphoria, never wanting it to end.

After your release, Agnes’ thrusts quickly become short and frantic, almost rutting into you with a fervor. The throbs you’ve felt are coming on every pump and you’re content to lie back in your blissed out state and let her take whatever she wants, until she starts to pull out of you, one trembling hand releasing your hip and clearly intent on finishing herself off. 

You’re suddenly more lucid than ever, quickly locking your ankles behind her from where they’d fallen limp, and shoving her back into you until she bottoms out. A surprised breath leaves her at the action, a sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead as she stutters out her reasoning.

“I-I’m gonna-” She can’t even get the words out and it’s the second time in so many minutes that you feel your heart squeeze at just how adorable this usually grave woman is. 

“I know, I know. Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is thick with desire and you’re still lingering bliss, the pet name slipping out like water, but you need her to know just how badly you want it.

Her eyes widen slightly as a deeper blush somehow takes over her already red face, unsure but so very full of want. You feel her twitch within you despite herself and her hips roll just at the words. 

You don’t break eye contact, making clear how serious you are to quell her doubt.

Tentatively, after a beat, she starts up a slower pace, pulling almost out of you before thrusting all the way back in, like she’s giving herself time to think again.

“You can do it baby, I know you want to. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.” You gasp out the words while she fucks back into your pussy and you think you could come again just from the way she looks at you when you say them.

You repeat your cooing encouragements and it doesn’t even take three more of those slow thrusts before she falters and stays sheathed inside you, rutting weakly. 

“Come on, baby.” You repeat, and you know she’s done.

More of those beautiful whimpers fall from her lips as you feel one stronger throb and then warmth explodes into your walls. You can’t help but moan yourself at the feeling of being filled by her. Spurt after spurt of her cum coats your insides while she holds you tighter and tighter, as if you’ll float away if she lets go. Her desperate moans die down eventually and she slumps against you, still inside, and draws in one big breath before releasing it slowly. Her eyes are screwed shut and her head is now resting against your restrained hands on your chest. 

It’s probably good they're restrained, you think, because if they weren’t you’d be having a very hard time resisting running your fingers through her long hair, tenderly scratching your nails against the nape of her neck.

Another beat passes where the two of you breath against one another and come down from your respective highs. The delicious mix of your and Agnes’ cum has started to drip out of you onto the table below and it’s a hot enough thought that your sensitive clit gives a weak twitch and you clench around Agnes unintentionally, causing her to crane her neck to look up at you.

Her eyes are clear again and softer than you’ve ever seen them; you let your coursing endorphins carry you away on a cloud of imagining leaning the six inches it would take to capture her lips in yours, but you don’t dare actually do it.

She starts to shift, maybe shaking herself from some similar thought, you can’t tell. Her soft sex pulls out of you slowly as she pushes up on her hands and waits for you to release her from the grip your legs still have her in. You unsteadily unravel yourself from her, shuddering slightly at the loss and trying not to think about how empty you feel without her.

Now free, she tucks herself back into her briefs and makes quick work of finally undoing your cuffs. Her hands rub at the raw skin absently, using her hold there to pull you into a seated position. She then reaches down for the balled-up mess you call a pair of pants and slides them back onto your trembling legs easily. After you’re relatively put back together, cum still leaking out and coating your already ruined underwear, she looks you over once more with hunger along with something else you can’t place. 

She looks thoughtful, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it, instead letting a sly smile pull at her mouth and a different comment sneak through with a soft laugh.

“Consider that your warning.”

[star-41306]

How do y'all think the duffers are going to go about initiating Byler?

I've been thinking about this a lot lately and would love some thoughts on how everyone thinks Byler will progress. This is my opinion on the matter. (PS: this is a very mike centered analysis as I believe his perspective is the most beneficial to the conversation since he is at the center)

Mike is hiding his feelings for Will, but what benefit does this have for those involved? To us, the viewers, we can see the pain Will, El, and Mike experience through this situation. No party is receiving what they truly need to progress their happiness and growth.

El wants a boyfriend who will tell her that he loves her for who she is as a person, not her capabilities. At the heart of this is a need to be understood, but El herself doesn't really know who she is. Her growth is dependent on finding herself without outside influence.

Mike wants a girlfriend to seem/feel 'normal' and cool. He knows who he is but is repressing it. At the heart of this is a need to be desired. Sure, El wants him, but she does not know the truth about Mike. Mike's growth is dependent on someone finding comfort in the real him.

Will wants someone to treat him normal. He knows he's a freak and while he doesn't necessarily try to hide it, he wants the comfort of not being treated differently for it. Will's growth is dependent on the acceptance of those around him.

The existence of a romantic relationship between Mike and El goes against all of this potential growth. Mike idolizes El, never being able to see past her abilities. El is unable to find herself at the cost of being mikes cover. While doing this, he rejects his true self and affection for Will, because he believes he is doing what's right. Simultaneously, Will is left feeling dejected and alone in the disregard of his feelings.

I think Mike has very low self-esteem. It comes with the territory of being a nerdy queer teenager in the 80's. I also, however, believe that when he has enough faith in himself, or the stakes are high enough, he's good at taking charge of a situation. He is selfless, a kind of selfless where you can't always tell he cares for those around him, but he would sacrifice his own comfort and livelihood for the people he loves.

But if Mike is so selfless, why isn't he fixing the situation for everyone involved? Because of one simple fact: He is clueless. He has no idea what he's doing to El or Will.

He may know Will is upset about something while in the Van with him, but that boy has no idea what's going on in Wills head. He might not even realize the painting he got from Will is the one El was talking about in her letter. With everything going on, he probably still thinks will has a girl he likes back up in Cali and this is a completely different painting.

He senses El is upset and won't talk to him, but he thinks it's because she lost to Vecna. He has not even the slightest clue it's partially due to his conditional and untrue love confession. El believes that mike only said he loved her because she finally got her powers back.

Mike thinks he gave El and Will what they wanted. El wanted a love confession? check. Will wanted mike to move on and fix his relationship with El? check. done and done. At least that's what he thinks.

Now that we have motives and perspective out of the way, here's a general idea of how I think the Milkvan-Byler transition will pan out.

We have already established in the show that Will is too selfless to confess, thinking he's saving a perfectly healthy relationship that just so happens to involve the boy he loves and the girl who saved him. There is no way he would break them up on his own, or he would have done that already. The action relies on Mike and El. They both need to respectively decide a breakup is necessary for this to work.

The breakup cannot be prompted by one or the other, it must be prompted by both. Mike cannot be the only one desiring a breakup, because El needs to take her power back and make that decision by herself. At the same time though, El can't be the only one either, as mike needs to accept his feelings on his own and stop being someone he's not. Mike not initiating would also make Will seem like a second option and completely negate Wills growth of being accepted for simply being.

El will have distanced herself from mike tremendously. They may not have broken up officially, but she's realizing Mike is not what she needs right now. She will probably be spending time with Hopper and Joyce training to fight Vecna, and the reminder that that's the only thing mike seems to like about her will only push her more towards her own sense of self. Maybe she still has hope for her and mike, but that is not her focus right now.

While El is distanced, Mike and Will will fall into the same roles they did in season 2. Will will struggle with the supernatural aspects of the plot, while Mike takes care of him and keeps him safe. This will restore Mike and Wills friendship.

Mike simultaneously will realize how much happier he is away from El, because he can't help but act like someone he's not when he's around her. He will also realize the comfort he finds in being relied on by Will. This won't necessarily prompt him into the breakup, as he still believes dating El is the best way he can support her. He might want Will, but he still feels like he can't have him.

I Because of this, El will be the first to initiate, but it will be mutual. I think they will have a long discussion (maybe starting as a fight) about Mikes lies in his speech and the pressure he felt to conform to this relationship. El will share how his actions have not helped the relationship, but instead made them both feel miserable, trapped, and unappreciated. They will realize that the other is not what they need, and though they will both need platonic support through this journey, they just can't benefit each other this way.

While Mike and Will are reconnecting, El will finally notice... everything. The stares, soft voices, comforting, and everything will click. El might need some help understanding though, because even though she did not have a normal childhood, she is still subjected to heteronormativity even if she joined the game late. She will make the connection that that is how she should have been treated, and though they are both boys, I think a sit down with one of the other characters (Johnathan? Hopper? Joyce?) will help her connect the dots.

I think the painting and mikes feelings for Will may become an entirely different discussion later in the season, and this is what will push mike into feeling allowed to want him. The combined acceptance from El, and the implied reciprocation from Will could be the push mike needs for his own self-acceptance.

This will allow Byler to build up in a healthy way where all parties benefit and are able to build even stronger connections with each other. Through honesty, acceptance, and love, all of which have been lacking.

Thank you if you read all of this. Please let me know if you feel like this will go in an entirely different direction in ST5!!!

[k3n-dyll]

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; 18+, wlw, fem!reader, infidelity, cowgirl/southern butch!abby, set around 1800's wild west era, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), getting caught

𝐖�� - 1.2k

𝐊𝐞𝐧'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ☆ I posted this a while ago, hated it, deleted it, kept it, 'fixed it' (?) and now here we are. Still kinda hate it but writer's block is turning me every way but loose.

If you let yourself linger on the thought for a moment—to do a bit of mental gymnastics to subside this nagging feeling of anxiety and shame—this really isn't your fault.

Truly. It isn't. It's theirs.

You weren't the one that wanted to marry, and you sure as hell wouldn't have chosen this suitor of all of them. That was your pious father. Good intentions aside, he was the one that confined you to this life.

And your sorry excuse for a husband, well, he took the other half of the blame. He's never home, and when he is the man always seems to have more important things to do. Not that you want his attention anyway, but still, it'd be nice to at least speak to the person you're forced to live with. Aside from when he wants to be inside of you, of course.

If not for them you wouldn't even be here.

If only your father hadn't mettled with your marital status - let you become a spinster instead. If your scraggly bearded husband had simply kept his shady business dealings in the back of a bar instead of inviting them to his home - her large, calloused hands wouldn't be caught so tightly around your hips. You wouldn't be sitting in the head chair of the office you weren't technically allowed to be in, eyeing the perpetually unfinished paperwork on his desk in a sad attempt to keep yourself grounded.

"You taste so fuckin' good, y'know that?"

Abby's voice and the warm, wet feeling of her tongue dragging along your slit bring you out of your own head, your hips bucking up slightly at the contact you've been all but begging for. Your lidded eyes trail down to the blonde positioned snugly between your legs with a furrowed brow, trying your best to seem disapproving through your moans. 

Who does she think she is? Popping up at your front door in the middle of the day, knowing damn well your husband wasn't home from work. This had only happened a few times before and even so, you knew exactly why she'd come over the moment you saw her and that stupid smug smirk she wears. 

She wanted to take you in his office this time. Defile the sacred workplace of the man she calls a "friend" simply to make you uncomfortable. To remind you that he couldn’t make you feel this good if he tried. 

Her piercing blues gaze right back into your own, half her face hidden by the crinkled up fabric of your skirts as she lets out a muffled laugh, the vibrations of her voice against your core making you shiver.

It's the last you see of her freckled face before your head is tossed back in pleasure, utter filth flooding past your lips as she laps at your cunt. No amount of guilt would ever make you feel low enough to tell her to stop - not when her tongue makes you squirm and twitch in ways your betrothed could only ever dream of doing.

Abby never fails to make herself seem like a woman starved, messily licking and sucking at your pulsing, puffy clit, slurping you up as if you were her first and last ever meal on this Earth.

And she'd be damned if she let you breathe for even a second.

She wants to hear you gasping, gulping for air before she allows herself to pull away and she does more even then. Pushing through a sore jaw and aching fingers without complaint for as long as you could handle it.

"A-Abby... can't take much more" You whine, your thighs squeezing onto either side of her flushed face as you gently palm at the top of her head.

A high-pitched whine escapes your throat at the curl of the two thick fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, a low, amused growl coming from Abby at the sound.

"Aw, c'mon baby. Y'got another one in there for me, don't you? You and I both know you won't get to feel this good for a long while once I'm gone" she speaks in that soft, honey-smooth tone that makes you weak in the knees. The gentle southern drawl laced within her every syllable sending jolts of pure ecstasy through your body. Looking down at her is a mistake you never fail to make in this circumstance. She knows what a simple look from her can do to you and she takes advantage of it without remorse, chuckling as she watches you nod eagerly in response.

"Atta girl" She lands a quick smack on your thigh before diving back into you, a concoction of spit and slick spilling down her chin and wetting your inner thighs, the only sound to accompany the smacking and sucking against your pussy being your whorish cries.

Your breathing becomes quicker and more shallow when you're close. Eyes glazing over as your jaw slacks, brows knitted together in desperation for another orgasm. Your tells are so predictable, yet so incredibly delicious to Abby. This is a state only she gets to see you in. Not that you've ever confirmed it aloud for her but regardless, it's clear that the pompous ass you're married to doesn't have the skill to make you cum.

"Say it, darlin'. C'mon, you know what I wanna hear" Abby growls, popping up from underneath your skirt, detaching her lips from around your clit, and replacing them with her thumb just to speak. Just to taunt you. You do know what she wants to hear, and part of you wants to roll your eyes at the thought. Maybe you would have if your brain wasn’t so fogged over - if you weren't so aware that she'd stop pumping her fingers inside of you completely if you didn't give her the satisfaction - maybe you would be so bold as to give her attitude.

"Only you - fuck! Only you can make me feel like this"

Abby chuckles “Yeah? He couldn’t make you feel this good, could he? Need me to take care of you, ain’t that right?”

You can only nod, bottom lip pinched between clenched teeth, the dam of tension resting in your abdomen readying to burst.

"I know, sweet thing. You wanna cum for me? C’mon, one more time.."

Your orgasm is blinding and loud, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead as you convulse under her touch, and your hair that had once been so neatly tied up is now a mess of frizz. You don't even hear the front door open from downstairs. Nor do you hear the footsteps that follow, too occupied with rutting yourself onto her fingers, gushing with each snap of your hips. Abby is just as oblivious, lifting up from her place between your thighs to crash her lips onto yours, too focused on wanting you to taste yourself on her tongue to even notice the jingling office door doorknob.

It's only when you both hear the old door begin slowly creaking open that your attention is snatched from one another, expressions shifting from ones of lust and satisfaction to pure horror as you both make eye contact with the twisted-up, angry face of the man you had just slandered aloud.

Shit.

Donations 4 Palestine - TLOU2 Masterlist

Taglist ; @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery , @tohoko, @rkivedpages,

@misfits-army-van, @vifilmsfilms , @dinakisser, @marsworlddd, @urbayolet

[smystermy]

𝐟𝐢𝐤𝐚

tags: geto suguru x you; canon-compliant (but it isn't important to this fic); set some time after his defection; you both co-parent nanako-mimiko; established relationship; tooth-rotting domestic fluff; birthday fic for our dearest (a bit insane) cult leader <33.

warnings: she/her pronouns have been used for the reader.

word count: 2346.

oneshot, loosely related to 'peel your heart like a pomegranate'.

A soft press of lips against his cheek stirs Geto from the edges of sleep.

It’s fleeting, barely there—like the whisper of a breeze brushing past, warm and gentle, coaxing him from the weightless quiet of slumber. He registers the sensation distantly, somewhere in the hazy space between dreaming and waking, but before he can fully grasp it, it’s gone. Then another follows, just as delicate, lingering for a heartbeat longer before retreating. And another. Slow and purposeful, mapping a path along his skin as if tracing an unspoken sentiment with every touch.

His brow, the contour of his temple, the sharp line of his jaw—each kissed with the same quiet reverence, the warmth of your lips seeping through the drowsiness that still clings to him. A featherlight press at the tip of his nose makes his breath hitch ever so slightly, and then one lands at the corner of his lips, teasing, as if daring him to chase after it.

A soft giggle breaks the quiet then, light and soft, followed by the gentle rustle of fabric as you shift beside him. The sound tugs at something in his chest—something easy and familiar, something that makes him want to keep his eyes closed just a little longer, to savor the warmth seeping into his skin. But then your voice reaches him, teasing and fond.

“Are you asleep?”

It’s a question wrapped in amusement, like you already know the answer. And maybe you do. He lets his lashes flutter, caught in the pleasant limbo between waking and dreaming, before murmuring a low, drowsy, “Maybe.”

Your breath fans against his skin, and he can feel the shape of your smile even before you speak again. “Liar.”

The quiet accusation holds no bite, only gentle affection, and a small, amused smile tugs at the corner of his lips. But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even try.

Instead, he allows the moment to stretch, lets the warmth of you settle around him like something familiar, something grounding. Then, slowly, he lets his eyes drift open, and the golden morning light seeps into his vision, casting everything in a soft, diffused glow.

He watches the sunlight filter through the sheer curtains—painting lazy patterns across the sheets, illuminating the quiet world you share—before his gaze falls on you.

You’re close—so close that everything about you comes into focus all at once. The curve of your smile, the way your hair falls in gentle disarray over your shoulders, the warmth in your gaze as you look at him, like he’s something worth waking up for. In this light, with the morning weaving its gentle touch through the room, you almost seem unreal, like something conjured from the depths of a dream. And yet, you’re here. With him.

His chest tightens—just a little, enough to make his heart flutter with something warm and enlivening.

“Happy birthday, Senpai.”

Your words—tender and sweet, laced with something fond—draw him away from his quiet admiration of you, gently pulling him back into the moment. But at the mention of "Senpai," the warmth in his chest cools, just slightly.

He exhales, unimpressed.

“I don’t like it when you call me that.” His voice is rough with sleep, deep and slightly hoarse, but the disapproval is clear beneath the drowsiness.

Your lips quirk, amusement flickering across your face. “Oh?”

“We’re much more than a mere Senpai and Kouhai.”

You tilt your head, eyes gleaming with feigned innocence, before your fingers begin tracing idle shapes against his collarbone. The touch is light, almost absentminded, but it makes his skin prickle with awareness.

“Ah, but I cannot possibly address you any other way.”

His eyes narrow, a slow, deliberate frown forming between his brows. He isn’t truly annoyed—just stubborn, just determined to have things his way.

But before he can say anything, a giggle bubbles past your lips, and the tension in his expression eases away a touch. You relent, leaning in just a little closer, close enough that he can see the mischief playing in your gaze. “Happy birthday, Geto-kun.”

Better.

But not quite enough.

He exhales again, the frown softening but not disappearing entirely. “That’s still not the name I wanted you to call me,” he mutters, voice quieter now, almost grumbling. “But I suppose it’ll do.”

Your smile remains unfazed, undeterred. If anything, it only grows more playful, as if you knew exactly what he was hoping to hear and were simply choosing to tease him instead.

You don’t say another word, though. You simply shift closer, your body pressing into his. The warmth between you deepens, wrapping around you both like something tangible, steady—your body molding against his as though you’ve always belonged here, curled into him like this, your presence slipping into the spaces between his breaths. He lets his hand settle against your back, fingers tracing slow, idle patterns against the fabric of your clothes, his eyelids growing heavy as he melts into the quiet solace of you.

For a while, the world outside remains distant.

Then, after a lingering pause, you break the silence. “How do you feel?”

His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. The question catches him off guard, though it’s light and teasing, and he’s not sure whether to take it seriously or not.

“What do you mean?” he asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Now that you’re a bit older.”

Geto hums, a low, thoughtful sound, as if giving the question serious thought. But the answer doesn’t come easily, the truth of it evasive. “I don’t know,” he admits finally, and the weight of the response feels heavier than it should.

You shift against him, propping yourself up just enough to study his face. He can feel your gaze lingering on him, warm and intent, but he keeps his eyes closed, pretending not to notice. There’s something comforting in the way you observe him, like there’s no rush for him to answer, no need for him to change, even as you watch him. Then—

“Really?” Your voice dips into something almost serious—though he knows better. “You don’t feel anything? None of the effects of old age?”

His eyes snap open, the corners of his lips twitching in disbelief. The question stirs something inside him—something between surprise and amusement.

“Hey,” he says, voice dry, “be careful who you’re calling old.”

Your laughter spills into the room, bright and unrestrained, like a song he didn’t know he wanted to hear. He feels it against his skin, feels the way your body shakes slightly with amusement. And despite himself, he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips.

His annoyance is half-hearted at best, impossible to hold onto when you're so close, when your laughter feels like a breath of fresh air against the quiet of the morning.

You shake your head, your eyes still twinkling with amusement, as you smooth a hand over his jaw. Your fingers brush against the faint roughness of stubble, the delicate touch sending a warm shiver down his spine.

“No, but really,” you say, your voice softening, deliberate and tender. “Getting older suits you.”

Geto’s brows raise, intrigued by the sudden shift in your tone. “Oh?”

You nod, your expression softening into something affectionate, and it catches him off guard in the best way. “You seem wiser. And handsomer.”

A slow grin unfurls across his face, pleased, amused, smug. He can’t help it—he’s always been a little vain when it comes to you, but hearing you say it with such sincerity makes his chest swell just a bit. “Oh?” he repeats, dragging out the sound, a playful challenge as he tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to catch the glint of your smile. “You think me to be handsome?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in the gesture—just affection, as you pull back slightly. “You’re impossible, Senpai—”

“And,” he cuts in smoothly, catching your wrist before you can retreat too far, his grip gentle but firm, “you’re cute.”

Your mouth opens—likely to argue, but before you can get a word out, he tugs you forward, pulling you back into the warmth of his embrace. And with no more words, his lips are on yours.

The kiss starts slow. Soft.

A gentle press of lips that carries the tenderness of the morning with it. It’s quiet at first, the connection subtle, but he lingers, savoring the moment, as if he could hold onto it forever. He can feel your breath against him, warm and steady, like a soft reassurance between you, and it draws him deeper into the moment.

He considers lingering even longer, not rushing, not wanting to break the spell, until he feels you sigh softly against him, melting into the kiss like you belong nowhere else but here, in this space, with him. And then, there’s the smallest sound—a breathy noise caught between contentment and desire—that makes his chest tighten, his pulse quicken.

That’s when everything shifts.

His fingers weave into your hair, gentle but insistent, his other hand finding the curve of your back and pulling you flush against him. The heat between you grows, the kiss growing bolder, more insistent, like the world outside doesn’t matter, like nothing matters except the press of your lips, the sound of your breath, the feeling of you so close.

You move against him, a subtle shift of your hips, pulling him closer as the kiss turns deeper, more desperate, as if neither of you can get enough—and for a moment, it’s just the two of you.

The world beyond this room ceases to exist—there is no past, no future, only this moment, only the way you fit together so perfectly, so effortlessly.

And then—

A knock on the door.

It’s barely more than a whisper, but it cuts through the haze of desire, its delicate tap pulling you both out of the moment. The sound is gentle yet sharp enough to pierce the stillness—a subtle reminder that the world beyond still exists.

You both freeze.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves, the space between you thick with shared breaths. The air feels suspended, fragile, as if it might shatter if you so much as blink. But then, the knock comes again, a little louder this time, pulling you both reluctantly back to reality.

“Papa? Mama?”

Nanako’s eager call is quickly followed by Mimiko’s softer but just as excited, “Papa? Mama?”

Geto exhales, long and slow, his lips pulling away from yours with a touch of reluctance before he drops his head back against the pillow, letting out a dramatic sigh. The exhale is exaggerated, though—the warmth tugging at the corner of his lips betraying him with ease. Really, how could he ever be truly exasperated with his little darlings? They’re too precious, too full of life and love to be upset with for long.

You, on the other hand, are already laughing, your giggles muffled against his shoulder before you shift off him, rolling back to your side of the bed. There’s a playful glint in your eyes as you smooth a hand over his chest, voice light with amusement. “We’ll continue this later.”

Geto shifts into a sitting position, giving you a look—the kind that says, oh, we certainly will—but before he can say anything, you’re already calling out, “Come in!”

The door swings open immediately—so fast that it’s obvious the twins had been waiting for permission.

And then, in a flurry of tiny feet and giggles, two pajama-clad figures come bounding into the room, their small bodies bouncing with energy, their faces glowing with pure joy.

Nanako and Mimiko’s little feet thump-thump-thump against the floor before they launch themselves onto the bed with delighted squeals, their oversized pajama sleeves flapping with the force of their movement. They don’t hesitate for a second before flinging themselves right into Geto’s arms, their laughter bright and infectious.

“Happy birthday, Papa!”

Their voices chime together, bright and full of excitement, as their tiny arms wrap around his chest in a tight, clumsy hug. They press their faces into his chest, squirming with happiness as if the simple act of being with him is enough to make their whole world feel right.

Geto grunts under the sudden weight but quickly bursts into laughter, his heart swelling with affection as he wraps his arms around both of them with ease. “Thanks for the birthday wishes, you two,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of their heads. Then, with a dramatically tired sigh, he adds, “But already up this early, huh? Guess your mom and I are on duty now—no rest for us today.”

The twins giggle softly, their tiny hands clutching his shirt as they wriggle even closer, their faces nestling into his chest, yawning sleepily despite their excitement. As he watches them, he can’t help but be reminded of how much they’ve grown since he first found them, yet they’re still so small, so delicate in his embrace—so incredibly precious.

And then, as if drawn by something gentle and unspoken, his gaze drifts upward—and there you are.

You’re watching the three of them with a soft, loving smile, your eyes crinkled with quiet affection. There’s something so tender in your expression, something so full of warmth that it makes his chest feel impossibly full, like it might burst. The golden morning light catches in your hair, softening the edges of everything, and for a moment, he just looks at you. He’s completely taken—so caught up in the way you look at him, at your little family, that he forgets to breathe for just a second.

And in that quiet second, something shifts in him—something deep and vulnerable. The way you’re looking at him—at him and your daughters—makes his heart tighten with an ache that’s both sweet and overwhelming, a feeling so pure he can’t quite name it. But he knows, deep down, that it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

And with a small smile, Geto thinks to himself, Yeah...

This is what a happy birthday feels like.

general masterlist || geto suguru masterlist

[suzukiblu]

Day three of February’s first weekly WIP behind the cut; “the puzzle trap sex-room”. content warnings: past grooming, past sexual abuse, past statutory rape, past dubious consent, CURRENT unhealthy coping mechanisms, immediate fallout of sex pollen/death trap-induced sexual coercion, and a POV character who does not understand what the problem with any of that is, he’s FINE, Jesus, lay off already and let him live his life. So uh, you know, just Kon’s … entire pre-YJ dating history, pretty much? Pretty much that, yeah. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Nothing even happened to him. Nobody touched him or anything, he just–he didn’t do anything he didn’t decide to do or want to do or–or–

He didn’t want Robin to yank his hair. Or to lie to him about the stupid condoms. 

. . . he didn’t really even wanna suck him off, really, but Robin had refused to settle for a handjob and, like, it wasn’t like they’d had the time to argue about it, so . . . so that’d been . . . 

Nobody touched him, though. Or, like–made him do . . . anything. He, like–it was his stupid idea to get Robin off and try to work on the puzzle with his TTK at the same time and, like . . . and . . . 

Tana’s nice to him. She likes him. She–and doesn’t Superman fucking know how few people have actually, like–have actually ever, like– 

People don’t just like him. Especially not–especially not just for being him. 

And definitely not enough to just be fucking nice to him. 

Robin sure as fuck wasn’t nice to him, drugged off his fucking rocker or not. Not like Tana is. So she’s not like that. He knows she’s not like that. She likes him. Just ‘cuz sometimes they have problems, that’s not–everybody’s relationship has problems! Who the hell’s relationship doesn’t have problems? Fuck, Superman is literally screwing Lois Lane behind her literal husband’s back and everyone in the whole goddamn world knows it except said husband, apparently, so like–so why does Superman get to judge who he messes around with? At least Tana’s not fucking married or whatever! 

She’ll take him back again, and he’ll be better, and he won’t disappoint her or piss her off anymore, and–and it’ll be better. It’ll work this time; work for good this time. 

She’s good to him. So he can–he can be good for her. He knows he can. 

He has to be, because she's–because she's the only one who ever even would be nice to him. 

And fucking Superman still won't even let go of his fucking arm. 

“Kid, just–please just talk to me,” Superman says. Superboy has literally never cared less about talking to anyone in his life. He pries apart the computer monitor and pulls all the fiddly little bits of it apart and strips the walls of all their gear in just–just a wave, and less an instant, all-over thing. Taking it apart piece by piece is–better. Just–better. 

He doesn't really know why he's thinking that, just . . . 

“We do need to talk, yes,” Batman says in that same bullshit neutral trap-voice, and Superboy doesn't even look at him; just twists the interior locking mechanisms of his stupid utility belt into a knot. Let the asshole have to cut it off later. He picks a bunch of random other locks in the cave and knots them up just as bad. A couple alarms go off. He really doesn't give a fuck. 

It's stupid. Something–something a kid would do. 

Well, they're the assholes trying to treat him like one, so that's on fucking them, isn't it. And they’re the assholes who aren’t actually talking to him, so why the fuck would he stick around to talk to them? It’s not talking, when all they’re goddamn doing is deciding they know more about his life than he does. He barely even sees Superman most of the time, and he definitely never sees fucking Batman. Neither of them know anything about HIS FUCKING LIFE! 

Superman doesn’t even bother remembering any of the shit he says to him anyway, apparently.

[cheralith]

characters ; otoya eita, karasu tabito || contains ; fem!reader, she/her pronouns

you've been otoya's longest situationship yet and even he's surprised at how long you two have lasted in this halfway-relationship, eventually thinking it over and coming to terms that its expiration date is coming soon. he's going over how to break the news to you to karasu over lunch, who listens a little more intently than usual.

otoya is describing how great of a kind-of-girlfriend you've been... how you're attentive but still give him space when needed, how you remember to pluck out his pickled vegetables when you make him a meal, how you always text him good morning and good night. but he says he can't chain himself down to one girl—he's still young after all. he wants to have fun. so he tells karasu he's planning to break the news that "this isn't really working out" to you tomorrow over dinner.

karasu raises a brow slowly at him. he asks otoya what it is about you specifically that otoya doesn't want to commit to, and otoya has to take a brief pause to think carefully, since no negative traits come to mind quickly unlike in his past relationships. one girl was too clingy. another girl did her makeup weird.

but when nothing comes up, he just merely shrugs and just repeats he wants to be a free man. he just can't see himself committing to a relationship.

so karasu takes a sip of his soda, puts it down, and stares at his best friend dead in the eye. dark indigo eyes bore into otoya, and he notices karasu's normal flicker of mischief is missing from them. a deep sincerity replaces it instead and karasu gives his usual soft smirk that he displays for his opponents on the field. but this time... it's directed towards otoya.

"so, ya don't mind if i ask her out then?" karasu asks, noticing the way that otoya immediately stiffens. "'cause if you don't want her... i'll gladly take yer place."

[fandom-susceptible]

100% agree, but addition: it's not even just that he killed Ibis.

Terry knows exactly what sort of person Claudia is. He's totally fine with letting her kill all sorts of magical creatures for her spells. He even assists her with finding them and takes an interest in how they work. I truly think his reaction to killing Ibis was because he's never killed another elf before, not because he has a moral objection to killing things for power.

Plus, the thing is . . . it goes deeper than that. Claudia was shown being perfectly honest with him about everything from the beginning - to the point that it makes her uncomfortable in Season 7 when Aaravos begins to urge her to lie to him. She's had the plot of eliminating the elves and dragons ever since season 3; that didn't go away after Viren died. She explicitly was trying to get him back so they could then go take revenge on everyone. It's not even about some twisted "defending their kingdom" anymore, she's fully just planning on vengeful genocide.

And Terry's fine with that.

He only balks when it's Aaravos doing it. As long as Claudia was acting of her own volition, he was fine with the murder, with the genocide, with the bloody vengeance she wanted on the world. Not just fine with it, actively supportive of it!

His softer side that everyone focuses on highly distracts from how dark he really is as a person. Legitimately, right up until he finally left her, I was half-convinced he wasn't even real. One of my close friends (who isn't on tumblr) came up with the theory that he's a magical figment of Claudia's imagination given form. Even the "true of heart" plot didn't disprove it to me; he's what remains of her childhood innocence, then. That theory only sort of breaks apart after he leaves her - but then again, the Season 7 "loss of innocence" meta plot was heavy handed, and we've seen with things like Ava and the shadowhawk arrows that plenty of enchantments, once cast, are just cast. The mage doesn't need to actively maintain them.

So I'm still not fully convinced Terry is even a real elf.

If he is, we can't excuse how fucked up he is underneath the nice facade. I have the same problems with him as I had with Claudia in the early seasons; their cuteness and sweetheart surface is distracting people from how truly dark they are.

Claudia was always going to surpass Viren as the villain of this show. We saw early on that Viren is a coward. Viren hesitates. Claudia doesn't. The second Aaravos got access to her instead of Viren, the old man was getting tossed aside like a dirty rag, even before we knew about Leola.

I lowkey think that Terry is a similar character. He seems like a lighthearted character now, especially since that "Zuko here" scene and attempt at a redemption arc, but I think when it comes down to it, his priority is Claudia and making her happy. I don't think he gives a flying fuck what happens to the rest of the world. Why he's so dedicated to her and cares so little about everything else, I don't really know. It could be just pent up resentment for the world that rejected his identity as a man, but he doesn't come across as projecting that particular anger at the entire world, just at his home village somewhere in the Uncharted Forest. Or it could be he has his own ulterior motives and he, like early seasons Claudia, has convinced himself he's true and right and therefore he has no guilt on his conscience, leading to spells perceiving him as having a "true heart". Most adults have something in their past they regret, even if it's small. Maybe Terry just doesn't, until for some reason Aaravos changed the game for him.

I don't know. I don't think I'll ever trust Terrestrius, but it will be interesting to see how the show takes him if Netflix lets us have a third arc.

"Terry is pure of heart, it is what allows him to see the map"

Ibis from the afterlife. A.K.A the guy he murdered:

[celtrist]

RADIOMOTH BAD END ROUTE

In these endings, it's more or less assumed Alastor has gotten out of his deal (if the route doesn't involve his owner)

In this ending, Vaggie successfully catches Alastor and marries him much like Charlie's bad end (and this one like her can have the option of Charlie also being married to them or not). Depending if you want to go the force transitioning route: Alastor either gives up once Vaggie successfully forces a transition surgery onto him or (if you don't want to go that route) he just gave up too tired to fight Vaggie and her traps.

Transition or not, Vaggie dresses him as a woman, forces him to grow his hair out, and just generally takes on a more feminine appearance. She goes as far as to rename him "Alison" and only refers to him as female in public. In private she will at times refer to him as a male but in past tense and in a degrading way. She makes it a point to make sure he doesn't have his antlers. Whenever they start growing back, Alastor panics and hurries to rip them off before Vaggie sees them. It's painful, but always less painful than when Vaggie does it as she's very violent with her approach. She will sometimes hit him for having antlers or even seeing signs that they've regrown.

Anytime Alastor remarks discomfort with himself, Vaggie gets frustrated and berates him about it. When she notices him turning to accidental self-harm to deal with his discomfort (hair pulling, claw scratches, etc.), she admonishes and at times hit him as well (like if he pulls his hair, she'll pull his hair yelling at him "isn't this what you like?").

Vaggie hides this poor behavior from Charlie (whether or not she's still in a relationship with Charlie or not in this route), and forces Alastor to keep quiet about it as well. If he gives any indication otherwise, she will punish him in private. While I'm not sure if Alastor would or would not have all his bells and whistles (I feel like it would make sense in this route if Vaggie would find a way to "depower" him to make him easier to handle, but not sure how she'd do that. Maybe have him drinking diluted holy water over time?), Alastor more or less has just given up on this route. He doesn't feel like he can do much else and is unmotivated to attack back.

Vaggie doesn't touch him if he says "no" or gives a strong indication of "no". But she will touch if he bare minimum doesn't give an answer. She'll start slow and build up to more as it goes on (given the situation of course. She's not doing more in the middle of the hotel with others). It's not uncommon in the private sensual moments for her to get violent and belittle Alastor and how she's the only one who would love a woman like him. In the case of a transitioning route, Vaggie will taunt him about having used to be a man. And if Alastor gives an indication that he wishes he never transitioned, she will taunt him more and abuse him further until he says he's happy to be a woman. These more violent times occur when Alastor begins to show distress, typically for either the sex or his forced gender but not exclusive to those. She will lightly degrade him when she's not angry too, but it's mixed with sweet words as well. Afterwards of any sort of serious abuse, Vaggie will give Alastor a lot of aftercare. She'll stop touching him a little bit if he tells her to, but generally makes it a point that she has to at leat help him clean up either with a cloth or in the bath at least.

Most sensual times Vaggie does genuinely try to be nice and try to find what Alastor likes (whether he likes it or not). It's when Vaggie is already angry or frustrated with Alastor that she gets into the more abusive sensual moments. Vaggie isn't really abusing Alastor 24/7 (well, other than enforcing an unwanted gender identity and relationship I suppose). Anything nice she would do for Charlie she'd do for Alastor. Surprising him with things that he doesn't expect (like sinner meat or masculine clothing) is one of her favorite ways to show affection to see the brief light in his eyes from the gift.

Vaggie is as protective of Alastor as she is of Charlie, and she is also as very loving of him as she is of her. Vaggie will shower Alastor with genuine compliments, even in private sometimes she just wants to shower Alastor with love rather than any sort of abuse. Whenever Alastor does something particularly good (like introducing himself as Alison the first couple of times and holding her hand out of his own volition), she'll praise him and reward him for it. Vaggie takes more into consideration of attire for Alastor rather than what she just wants to see. While she still puts Alastor in "less than Alastor styled" outfits from time to time, those clothes are mainly for private or special occasions. For the most part, Vaggie gives (and allows) Alastor clothes more up his alley, even suits as long as he still looks feminine enough. While Vaggie will get violent with Alastor for showing discomfort with his forced gender, she normally first tries to comfort Alastor about his body and self. It's when Alastor begins getting more upset that she'll go into the abuse as described above. Even when the circumstance isn't sensual, however, she will always follow up her abuse with comfort for Alastor. This would, I can imagine, grow into a stockholm syndrome situation, especially if Alastor wanted to deny the situation he's in.

[weird-an]

For the wonderful @ihni <3 Sorry I'm late.

Jim's a petty motherfucker and he knows it. He has been putting Callahan on the lamest jobs and made him all the reports ever since the guy accidentally dented his car.

Now, because Joyce somehow became his conscience and told him to be a better both, he finally caved and offered to take a shift himself.

He already regretted it when he drove to work. He's regretting it even more now.

"Can I help you, officer? Billy Hargrove asks, batting his eye lashes like Jim's a lonely housewife. His lip is split and his car smells like hairspray and booze.

"It's Chief," Jim grits out. That little shit. "You've been loitering here for the third time this month and you're too young to drink. "

Billy raises his hands, giving him a boyish smile and wink, which makes him seem even younger. "Just a bit of fun, what's wrong with that, Chief?"

Billy's idea of fun is getting in trouble, Hopper knows that. The kid has been in Hawkins for half a year, but already has a fucking file.

"Licence, please." Jim stretches out his hand.

"You know who I am," Billy states.

Jim rolls his eyes. Fuck being a good boss, next time it's the other's turn again. "I still need your licence."

"Callahan has seen it many times." Billy argues. The word's are slightly slurred. The kid is drunker than Jim thought. Great. More paperwork.

"I don't give a shit."

At least the boy seems to notice that Jim's patience is running out. He hands the licence over.

Oh.

Jim's stomach sinks a little. He thought finding Billy here was annoying. It's actually sad.

"Happy birthday, Billy," Jim hears himself say - and he can't think of anything else, because asking "why aren't you home with your family?" is a question Billy's split lip probably answers.

Billy blinks. "What?"

"Happy birthday," Jim repeats.

"Thanks," he mumbles, face a little flushed.

Jim's got an idea. "There's muffins at the station."

Blueberry muffins and chocolate chip, because El wanted to bake both.

"So, I'm arrested?" Billy's shoulders slump like he was sure he could've charmed his way out of it.

"Well I should." Jim shrugs. "But I'm getting you muffins instead."

Billy squints his eyes like he isn't sure it's a joke.

"I don't need pity," he scoffs.

"I'm not offering you any," Jim grumbles. "Get in the wagon." He points at the station wagon behind him.

Billy slightly sways on the way to the car. Jim puts him on the passenger seat and lights himself a cigarette.

"Can I get one?" Billy asks, fumbling with his seatbelt. Maybe Jim should give him some Advil for the hangover instead of fucking muffins.

"Not offering that, too."

"It's my birthday," Billy argues.

Kids these days. "You're not gettin' arrested, that's your present, don't get pushy."

"My lucky day." Billy purses his bottom lip, not unlike El when she doesn't get her way.

Later, when the kid's face lights up when he stuffs himself with way too many muffins, Jim catches himself thinking that he needs to drive past Cherry Lane more often to check on Billy.

[macknshift]

sophia jean "junior" lawrence . . . cobra kai.

THERE ARE SEVERAL UNIVERSAL TRUTHS. ONE IS THAT JUNIOR LAWRENCE IS UNLUCKY.

if she was lucky, she wouldn’t be living her life stressed out of her tiny little mind. she would be living life like sam larusso. she would be happy and functional and normal. instead, her dad is trying to live out his karate dreams with this guy that she met at school, (that she may or may not have a crush on,) and she feels this unease about all of it. she knows she’s not a fighter, but her dad really, really wants her to be. she’s a runner, and she’s damn good at it. it’s almost like it’s her dad’s fault.

2 YEARS LATER . . . and she’s still running. she hasn't picked up a lick of courage in her two years training in karate, and now her dad’s weirdo old sensei is back, and she feels like she’s literally spinning every time she sees miguel diaz. she’s not cobra kai. she never was, even with the championship title, and now she doesn’t feel like an ‘eagle fang’ either. it leaves her with a pain in her gut knowing that she’s not what anyone around her wants. she knows what she is, and her dad won't like it. noone will.

cobra kai → eagle fang → miyagi do. born 02/04/02. 5 foot 9. high school senior. twin of robby keene, daughter of johnny lawrence. 2019 all-valley girls champ. aquarius, infp, 6w5. best friend of demetri alexopoulos, "rival" of sam larusso.

soundtrack of my life . . . orange juice , noah kahan. nobody's soldier , hozier. idfc , blackbear. honest , the neighbourhood. come back for me , jaymes young. i bet on losing dogs , mitski.

SOME HOUSEKEEPING!

⤿ johnny is not an alcoholic idc. he took one look at himself when he started to drink and knew he didn't want to be like that for me. so u know. he was at one point (around the time i was born) but he got his shit in check when he remembered he had a kid to feed.

⤿ shannon took robby & johnny took me in this weird, fucked-up little "well we have two kids so one of us gets one and one gets the other" agreement. robby & i are aware of the others' existence but don't know any actual details about each other (like name, where they live, etc.)

⤿ i have to be very aware when i say that i made this dr when i was 18. i still choose to shift to it now as a 21 year old bc i want to, and i know ppl might have strong opinions on that, esp bc i do have miguel as my love interest, but i've been watching the show since i was 17, almost wrote a fanfic before discovering shifting (i might still write that fanfic!!) but you are open to feel any way about this. so. yeah. rlly only writing this bc shifttok has had fits w me in the past but whatever.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ posting this today bc it is robby and i's 23rd (crazy work) birthday!!! this is one of like. 4 drs my birthday isn't 1/29 so. had to post this in honor 😁😁 i looove this dr so dearly (and miguel, he's been my man since 2021...xolo maridueña HMU!!!!!) even though it's lowkey the most . . . complicated of my drs (aka i deal with a lot of shit & happen to be lowkey v unhappy for a bit of it LMFAOOOO) but i made it at 18 and i was not in a good place but i'm too attached to change anything ab it lol 😭😭 also i am lowkey serving lizzie young but that's beside the point

[anomaliex]

I think Riz Gukgak is someone who worries a lot.

I think he locks the door, unlocks it, then locks it again just to be sure that it works and he isn't accidentally locking himself in. I think he goes inside and kicks off his shoes and loosens his tie and then comes back to the door just to make sure he really did lock it. He unlocks it then he locks it again. The lock is still working.

I think when he gets dressed he readjusts his watch one, two, three times to make sure it's secure. I think he does and undoes his tie twice not even because he thinks it isn't right the first time, but because that's what he always does. I think he starts avoiding eye contact with his mirror image but still makes sure to walk past any mirror four separate times just to make sure Baron isn't watching.

I think he double, triple, quadruple checks every text message before he sends it, two more times if it's an email. He doesn't want to include a typo, or accidentally send the wrong message, or reply to the wrong thing, or have clicked the wrong emoji. What if he looks stupid, or rude, or accidentally sent gore, or accidentally said something sexual without realising, or accidentally said something threatening without realising, or accidentally revealed private information, or did something else that is equally likely and not ridiculous and also would be unfixable and horrible if it did happen.

I think Riz knows where every piece of furniture and decoration in the apartment or his office is, I think he notices if anything's been moved even an inch and then he gets worried because someone was there and he did not see and his skin itches and the nausea crawls up his throat and he knows so deeply that something is wrong. Maybe all his paranoia is just an excuse and he just doesn't like that something is different now, he doesn't know, it feels wrong. I think his mum can tell him that she just moved the coffee maker because she had to un- and replug it and now it's a few inches to the left of what it was before, she didn't notice but she knows that it bothers him, she's sorry. I think it doesn't help.

I think that despite the fact any of his workspaces look cramped and unorganised he shuffles and re-shuffles and re-reshuffles everything until it's exactly where he wants it and if someone moves even a thing he has to do it all over again. I think it frustrates him but he does it anyway.

I think that Riz can see a clue in everything. I think the Night Yorb is an extreme example of something that happens to him very often. I think that he's so obsessed with finding the truth that he forgets himself, sometimes. I think that sometimes he makes up things to be worried about and then spirals because of them and creates bad situations for himself that wouldn't have existed were it not for him convincing himself that he realised some kind of truth. I think it's scary to be Riz, sometimes.

I think Riz counts the days, hours, minutes, seconds until something bad happens. I think he believes no moment in time to be safe unless he makes it safe. I think that doesn't even particularly distress him, I think that's just a base thought he operates on and never really questions. I think the second his ability to "make sure" is disrupted the panic sets in and his skin crawls and he feels like he'll vomit. He might vomit. Then he's distressed.

I think Riz counts the seconds when someone he's spending time with excuses themselves to the bathroom, I think he takes note of it when they take longer than they usually do. I think he worries that something horrible will happen to them the second they leave his sight. I think he doesn't know what that horrible thing is. I think he knows how often someone chews a sandwich because he watches, and that he worries they might be sick if they divert from their average too much. I think he knows the passwords to their phones not because they told him but because he memorised the patterns their fingers moved, I think he doesn't want to be invasive but he needs to know in case of an emergency. I think he doesn't know what the hypothetical emergency could be, but it might happen and he'll know when it's there.

I think that Riz worries, and watches, and counts, and checks, and worries, and I don't think he can stop. He doesn't want to, but if he did then he couldn't.

I think that sometimes he talks to his mother and he sees teeth ripping her throat open, and he doesn't say a thing about it but he figures there has to be something deeply wrong with him, and he fears the reality that keeps forcing itself into his mind at random.

I think that he talks to his friends, sometimes, and then he sees them having sex with a partner and his whole body shudders and he feels himself vomit in his mouth a little. I think he sees a lot of things for just a few moments at a time that are so abhorrent to him and they're the last thing he wants but they keep popping up in his brain as if the Gods decided he needs to be kept in line with a healthy dose of silent shame and a constant reminder of everything that could be if he doesn't make sure that everything is safe and good and fine.

I think that Riz thinks, and worries, and thinks, and worries, and checks, and counts, and watches, and worries, and sometimes he forgets to breathe.

Anyway completely unrelated here's a link about obsessive compulsive disorder!

Yeah idk I think I made my point. Riz ocd real.

[sylus-little-meow-meow]

The Sleepover: Part 3

She's back with Sylus again.

But it's that day. 

The day she finally decided to end things. 

He's standing in “their” room, his gaze distant, like always and that's something she could never change no matter how many times she tried.

She could wear the most gorgeous gowns or a potato sack and he'd simply give her a once over and a non committal “you look lovely” before he went back to whatever he was doing, his gaze never lingering. 

He's changing out of his robe and into something more befitting of a leader. 

She's never even seen him in casual wear. 

Sylvia: Sylus?

Sylus: Yes, kitten?

He doesn't look in her direction, doesn't note the shift in her tone.

Sylvia looks at her fingers.

Sylvia: You're never going to love me in the way I do you, are you?

The man freezes on the spot, his fingertips hovering over a black button down before he withdraws his hand.

Sylus: Where is this coming from all of a sudden?

Sylvia gives a laugh, but it's hollow just like this entire relationship.

Sylvia: You're dancing around the question. You don't want to answer it, do you?

Sylus: Kitten—

He turns around but she slips off of the bed, fighting back tears as she yanks off the shit she tried using to impress Sylus in the bedroom, the see through nightgown about as appetizing to him as a box  of  stale crackers. 

She's biting her lip so hard it's almost bleeding.

What's worse?

Having an ex so obsessed with you to the point they'd kill one of the most precious people in your life?

Or one who doesn't care at all?

Granted, at least with Sylus she'd still have her older sister. 

But she doesn't have either because her love life is a mess and every man she chooses is just…

She shouldn't feel hurt towards Sylus. 

This is nothing in comparison to what she went through, but the frustration of him agreeing to date her despite the fact he probably knew he'd never love her is too much.

Because she loves him.

Right down to her core she knows she's fallen in love with him.

And that's why she needs to let him go.

This will always be one sided and it's become clear there's someone else out there he's looking for.

She can see it in the way his gaze sweeps over every destination, like some part of him is missing and maybe he thought it was her once upon a time, but now they both know better.

It isn't her.

So she goes to the closet, moving him out of the way as she begins to collect her things.

Her jaw is clenched and her eyes are hard. 

Outwardly she'll show anger, yet on the inside she's crying for him to stop her.

For some small part of him to care.

Sylus: What are you doing, kitten?

Sylvia: Nothing you need to worry about. I'm done here. This was fun, but I think it's time we cut things off. 

Sylus looks down at her.

She internally pleads for him to hold her back, to lightly grab her wrist, to ask her to stop what she's doing but he doesn't.

Instead he steps back.

Sylus: If that's what you truly want, kitten.

Her hand pauses.

Sylvia: If you really think this is what I want you should go fuck yourself. 

She yanks the last piece of clothing off the hanger and spins towards him, the tears threatening to spill over, but she won't allow them to because Sylus doesn't deserve her vulnerability.

Sylvia: I wanted love and I wanted a partner. You've made it clear you don't want to act as either of those for me. You're not even present in this relationship.

Sylus stares at her, the quiet expanding between them and her outburst.

There's not even a flair or hint of emotion in his eyes. 

She wants to cry. 

She wants to scream.

She wants to throw something just to get him to react to her presence at all. 

But she doesn't.

Instead she stalks past him, her gaze trained forward, eyes on a door that will open and shut for the very last time.

Sylvia: Send me the rest of my things when you get the chance. Try not to forget because I know half the time you forgot I was even your girlfriend. Have a nice life, Sylus.

She says and then slams the door behind her.

When she sees Mephisto, she ducks her head to hide oncoming tears.

It's over.

They're done. 

The memory turned dream fades as a cool hand brushes against her forehead. 

Sylvia: Sylus…?

She murmurs, nuzzling her face into that same hand, pressing it more into her cheek with her own.

Sylvia: Did you come back for me…?

Her voice cracks, tears seeping through her closed eyes.

She buries her face into his palm. Did he finally see her after all this time?

The voice doesn't say anything, but the hand tries pulling away and Sylvia clings tighter, not wanting to let go of this one small gesture. 

Sylvia: Don't go. 

Sylvia: Please. 

She sounds pathetic, pleading like this, but she can't help it. 

If he's here now, even if this is a dream, she doesn't want to let him go. She wants him to stay.

She's completely forgotten that Sylus already moved on with another.

All she knows is that one small gesture from Sylus proving that their time meant something to him would mean everything to her. 

Sylvia: Don't go.

She says again and feels the hand shift, no longer trying to pull away and her body relaxes as a second one brushes the hair out of her face.

They're surprisingly gentle. 

Caring. 

She manages to slip into a peaceful sleep, feeling the hands of someone who cares about her.

                        ************************************

Felix awoke to the sounds of Sylvia calling out in her sleep.

He got up off the couch and found her tangled up in her bedsheets, her face flushed and beads of sweat trickling into her hairline.

Did she feel sick?

Did she need to throw up?

He approached her and gently touched her cheek.

Then he heard a name.

Sylvia: Sylus…?

She said it so quietly, her voice cracking at the last syllable.

Felix stiffened and attempted to pull away, not wanting to confuse her if she fully woke up.

But she held fast.

She asked Sylus to stay.

And it killed Felix that it wasn't him she was asking, but some other man.

He swallowed his pride, ducking his head as he warred with himself, wondering if there was even a right choice.

In the end, the hopeful expression on Sylvia's face—her eyes still closed—made him shift closer and brush the strands of hair off of her forehead with gentle finger tips. 

She relaxed then, a content smile finding its way to her lips. 

Felix didn't leave until he knew she was fully asleep.

She didn't need to wake up and have her dreams crushed when she realized it was him.

Felix goes to leave, but pauses at the doorway, looking back at Sylvia, her silver hair mussed, her face clear of makeup which softens her features.

It's looking at her that Felix realizes Sylvia wasn't the only one in this room with an unrequited love, wondering what it would be like if Sylvia looked at him like she did with Sylus.

He'll probably never know.

He won't ask that of her.

She's got more on her plate than just a man who didn't return her feelings.

So he gently shuts the door behind him and pads over to the couch, lying in wake for the rest of the night.

[whenlifegivesticks-blog]

The long overdue, extremely lengthy Heroes in Crisis Review. Put on your reading glasses because this is long. I just want to give a little summary, The entire comic is the definition of disrespecting existing characters as well as real people and their problems. I seen better writing from 13 year old wattpad kids who are just getting started on their writing journey. It's hard for me to believe professional writers wrote this. Now onto the detailed review.

Brain rot enjoyment meter (how much I enjoyed it without actually analyzing it) : 7/10

Actual rating: 3/10

I'll go on with the analysis part by part.

first of all characters: Half of them are out of character and the other half are random characters that dc hasn't used in over a decade, we don't care about. Only to kill them off and it has no impact whatsoever as we don't know who these people are plus bunch of one panel cameos of characters for absolute no reason and adds absolutely nothing to the actual plot or story. For example, Red Devil, Tattooed man, Hotspot (i later recognized him from teen titans). I am pretty young person so I absolutely did not know half the characters. And they didn't introduce or reintroduce in this case any of these characters. We barely know what their issues are or why they are at sanctuary.

All characters are out of character or completely dumbed down. Wally's entire character is massacred and even by the end I barely understood what was up with him. I'll expand on this later.

Batgirl, Barbara was just frustrating and felt really empty. Like she was just there and really didn't seem to add anything to the story. At least as a character she doesn't. She felt more like a plot device.

Batman was just ??? but he wasn't that bad but suffers from same thing as Babs. Felt like he was just there as a plot device and character wise he added nothing whatsoever. We don't even see him investigating properly.

superman was downright foul And made no sense. Ok so you're working on the investigation with Diana and Bruce, so what's with the tension and secrecy??? Like Clark is that really you?

and louis lane was just evil, will be explained later.

Hal Jordan made one of the one panel appearances and that one panel was enough to show that the writer knew absolutely nothing about him. I been reading old GL comics and that one panel was just... wow.

the bat kids made cameos and they just copy pasted dialogue for them with little differences.

The comic is only 9 issues and is short so it just doesn't really show off a lot of personality from characters that aren't Harley or booster. And even then these two were just... not very satisfactory.

Second of all, plot: Made absolutely no sense whatsoever, I read the ending twice and still don't know what happened or what's the message.

obvious spoilers:

So, in a heroes mental institute called sanctuary, everyone was found dead other than Harley Quinn and booster gold. Booster saw Harley kill everyone. Harley saw booster kill everyone. So its a murder mystery.

Except the comic is all over the place and does not give any needed or required context so it doesn't really feel anything. Like it immediately pulls you in with no context whatsoever, with characters you aren't allowed to build a connection with.

There's this ridiculous segment where Harley Quinn defeats the trinity like what???? Harley Quinn defeating superman , wonder woman and batman is impossible. Ya telling me Harley is stronger than darksied??? Better plot armor than batman...

and superman comments saying how Harley is just as good as Bruce... I call BS. The writers really trynna convince us Harley is stronger than batman.

like what?

she went toe to toe with booster gold and I'm like??? even with half his powers, booster gold wipes the floor with Harley.

And here's the thing, Barry Allen thinks booster killed everyone. Ya telling me he chose to believe Harley Quinn a known dangerous criminal over booster gold?? Booster gold isn't even a anti hero. he doesn't kill. Plus someone pointed out to me Booster probably experienced all this after he watched a version of batman kill himself in front of Booster. Which explains Booster talking about how he sees the blood on his visor despite nothing being there.

Barbara helps Harley and takes down blue beetle (whose helping booster) like even she chose the psycho Harley to protect over booster??

what they smoking!

Now if you take actual culprit. it was wally. Now the story shows a pretty okish segment of wally's downward spiral to a mental breakdown. Except it still was more tell than show. And the plot made no sense.

Wally had a mental breakdown because he believed everyone at sanctuary was faking their mental illness to make him feel better. That he alone was the crazy one. So he "hacked" the system in place and found recordings for everyone's sessions and lost control of his powers accidentally killing everyone.

Ok I can believe he accidentally killed everyone. He was insane and not in the right mind.

but then the writers make him make a plan to frame Harley and booster so he can have time to release all the footage he found as a way to do good for the world what??? people anonymous confidential therapy sessions to louis lane as a way to do good in exchange for his murders and framing others. He also time traveled to kill himself and get a body??

Wally has a segment where everyone tells him he's hope or something. Plus him reliving his Titan days. Him using the stupid mask. But I can't make a sense of it. Because mentally ill people are more likely to hurt themselves than others. The comic perpetuates harmful stereotypes even if Wally killed by accident.

worst part is the writer make it a good thing showing bunch of cameo characters who came to therapy because they realized they weren't alone due to the released recordings???

so Wally was insane enough to lose control and kill and yet still manage to make a supervillain ass plan to frame and kill himself. the story's point is lost in this nonsense.

Plus Clark didn't tell Bruce or Diana about louis having the recordings and only told them after releasing them to the public. What happened to patient confidentiality??? Do superheroes not have rights? Clark went on a spiel about being a reporter- So being a reporter means stomping other peoples rights and outing their private info. The time travel nonsense didn't make sense even with my drawn diagrams to make sense of it. So I'm just left confused. The conclusion is this vague shit where its ok to get help and hope something.

third thing the premise: The premise is mental health institute yet, the writer shown they know nothing about mental health Sanctuary isn't run by people. its run by an AI. The place has chambers where heroes can go in and make anything they want. Any scenario. Now imagine mentally ill people with no guidance and just using the chambers for whatever they want. Wally was using it to relive his dead family in fantasy lala land. Lagoon boy was reliving his ptsd again and again and again Gnarrk was the only one who it helped and that's because he wasn't mentally ill in the way wally or lagoon were. He was just lost and used it as a guidance because he already knew his own issues. Yet dc tries to frame the chambers as a helpful thing and heroes are getting better You cant expect me to believe that after watching wally ignore the AI's questions and pretend has back with his family in a fantasy. The comic is an insult to mental health.

Again, we don't know why 90% of the heroes are at sanctuary. They are just killed off after one appearance. Plus, Jason canonically never went to therapy. Roy was killed off for shock factor. Green lantern apparently doesn't know what "WILL" is... Harley Quinn's word is taken more than Boosters-

I have so many more things I could say but if I have to list everything wrong in this comic this review would be longer than my future. I DO NOT recommend this comic. It's trash and save your sanity. Not even the retcon of this comic salvaged it. Over all, The only good thing in this was Harley and booster interactions because it was funny. That's it.

[ozwriterchick]

Back to Us - Epilogue

Summary: Y/n wakes after an accident to her Avengers team-mates. But something isn't quite right and only Steve and Tony can see it

This part starts with a time skip and there are a couple more time skips in it as well.

Characters/Relationships: Steve Rogers x Reader; Tony Stark; Natasha Romanoff; Other Avengers Characters

Content warnings: Mentions of an accident (no details yet); Infertility; If I missed any, let me know

A/N: If you want to be tagged, let me know.

Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own. I don't write smut, but there are allusions to smut in my stories.

Back to Us Masterlist

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Word count: 2555 (approx.)

6 months later

The team is gathered once more, this time for your and Steve’s wedding.  Nat is your maid of honour and Bucky is Steve’s best man.  Noah is the ring bearer and he’s super excited to see his Mum and Dad get married, even though he doesn’t really understand what it is all about.

Your nerves are present, given everything you, Steve and Noah have been through the last 12 or so months, you are constantly feeling on edge about it slipping away at a moment’s notice.  Steve has been nothing but amazing in reassuring you that the past is in the past and that nothing is going to stop you and he being together and maybe even giving Noah a sibling or 2.

Nat walked into the room and offered to help you into your dress and zip you up, so you could get onto the main event of the day.  “Nat, I don’t know why I’m so nervous” you say to her.

“Oh babe, it’s totally normal to be nervous on one of the biggest days of your life.  But trust me, that man can’t wait to start his life with you.  When you were unconscious, before we knew your memories had gone, he was beside himself thinking he had lost you forever.”

“Then, when you woke up and didn’t remember him, he was inconsolable.  He even talked at one stage about taking Noah and disappearing and having no contact with this life any more because it was so painful for him to see you and not have you know who he was and how much you meant to him.  And don’t get me started on Noah, he wouldn’t separate the 2 of you for anything, but he damn near did because he knew how much it hurt him and he didn’t want to see Noah go through it as well.”

“We all had to tell him that taking Noah away would hurt him even more because he already didn’t have you in his life, and if he thought you’d gone forever it would just break his little heart.”

Just then, you were both interrupted by a light knock on the door to your room.  Nat walked over and slowly opened the door, to ensure it wasn’t Steve trying to get a pre-emptive look at you before the ceremony.

Instead, she found a little man in a little tux who was looking for his Mama.  She opened the door wide enough for him to come into the room and he stopped when he saw Yn.

“Oh Mama, you look so booful.  I telled Daddy that you would, I just knowed it. He aksed me to give this to you.” With that he presented her with a small wrapped gift and an envelope.

Yn knelt down and opened her arms for her son to walk into.  He stepped forward and threw his arms around her neck and just held on for dear life.  He still remembered the few months when his mum wasn’t around and he took every opportunity to let her know he loved her and to make sure she really was here with him again.

“Thank you my little man,  Are you being good for Daddy and Uncle Bucky?”

“Yes ma’am” came his little soldier response.  His father had trained him very well.

“Good boy, then you run along back to Daddy so you can help him finish getting ready because Mama will be done soon and then we are going to have a big party, ok?”

“K, Mama.  I lub you bery much.”

“I love you too Noah, you have no idea how much.  Tell Daddy I love him too and I will see you both soon.”

With that, he ran out of the room and down the hall to where Steve and Bucky were getting ready in their own room.

Nat looked at her through misty eyes.  “I know I shouldn’t get like this Yn, but I really wish I’d be able to have what you have, but just having Noah in my life makes it a bit better.  He’s such a precious little soul.  You and Cap did well.”

“Yeah, I think we did.  Maybe we might do well again – who knows what could happen” Yn winks at Natasha.

Natasha side-eyes Yn. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“No, I’m not pregnant, not yet anyway, but I’m just saying, it might be something we work on during our honeymoon.”

12 months later

Yns pov

Well, we have worked on a sibling for Noah for longer than we expected to.  I’m not sure what is wrong and why my body can’t conceive the 2nd child we so desperately want.  It happened so effortlessly with Noah, we weren’t even technically trying when we fell pregnant with him and so this has been a big struggle.

We have an appointment with a specialist doctor today to get some testing done to see if there’s a reason why this is not happening for us.    I’m very nervous because I feel like the issues I had after my accident and the subsequent memory loss and the other falls I had might have something to do with it.  After all, my husband has super sperm so it couldn’t be that, right?  It has to be a me problem.

Sitting in the doctor’s office we heard the words Secondary infertility and my whole world just shattered.  “But doctor, I don’t understand, we’ve already had a child, how can we be infertile?”

The doctor explained that it sometimes happens after a couple has a child that they have a harder time conceiving and if they’ve tried for 6-12 months, they can diagnose it as this at that time.  He did assure us that there were things we could try and referred us to a fertility specialist to see what options we could have.

Steve pov

As we left the doctors office and got into our car, Yn was very quiet.  I know she’s struggling with this and thinking it is her fault, and now the doctor has used the word infertility I’m sure she’s even more in her head about this somehow being all on her.

“Babe, can you please talk to me.  We can work through this, it will be ok.”

“That’s easy for you to say Steve, this has nothing to do with you.  Your super sperm will work no matter what.”

“Hey, we don’t know that, maybe the serum has finally taken a toll on my sperm production and maybe this is all on me.  Point is, we won’t know until we see the fertility specialist and get some more testing done.  So, let’s call them and make an appointment for as soon as possible, that way we know where we stand and what our next steps should, or can, be.”  I move my hand off the steering wheel and onto her thigh, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“Yeah, I suppose, but if it turns out it’s me then maybe we should re-think this whole thing.” She sounded so dejected, I wasn’t sure what she meant.

“Ummm, re-think what whole situation my love?”

“Oh, you know.  Us.  Marriage. You should be with someone who can give you more children and not some washed up, barren old cow.”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say about my wife and mother of my son?  About the love of my life?  About the woman that I can’t live without?  Because if you’re even slightly implying what I think you are, then you’re crazy delusional to think that I would ever leave you just because we can’t have any more children.?

“If all we get is Noah, then I’m the happiest man on the face of the earth Yn.  You and Noah, you’re all I need.  Would it be nice to have another baby, of course, but it’s not a deal breaker for me you know.”

“Oh Steve, you always know the right thing to say, how are you so perfect?”

“I’m not perfect baby, I’m just perfect for you.” I smiled at her and hoped she got the dumb idea of us separating out of her head.

5 weeks later

Today was the day Yn and Steve were finally seeing the fertility specialist to get their test results.  Yn didn’t realise so many people were in a similar boat to them and where she had though they would get in to see the specialist within a week, they had to wait 3, then they took samples from both Yn and Steve to send away for the comprehensive testing needed to determine their next step.

Yns leg was bouncing all over the place with nerves as they sat in the waiting room, waiting for their turn with the doctor.

Steve placed his hand on her leg and squeezed, which seemed to calm her down a bit and mostly stopped the bouncing.  “Relax babe, whatever is meant to be will be, we can’t change it right now.”

“I know Steve, but I just wish we already knew and that I could hold a new baby in my arms who would be another mix of you and I, just like Noah.”

“Yeah, but…”  As he started to reply, the nurse called Yns name and they stood up to go into the consultation room.

Steve turned and put his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead as he said “We’re going to be ok Yn, no matter what happens in this appointment.”

They walked into the consultation room and the nurse closed the door behind them.  “Now, before the doctor comes to see you, we just need a little more blood from you Yn.”

“Oh, ok, why is that, is everything ok?”

“Oh yes, there’s just a note on your file that we need to do one more quick test today on you.”

“Ok, do you need me to go to another room or can you take the blood you need here?”

“Here is fine” the nurse said and proceeded to take the blood sample from you.  “The doctor will be in with you shortly.

Both Yn and Steve were nervous now.  They were under the impression that all the testing they needed had been done so they weren’t sure what this extra test that needed to be run was or what it meant.  They held hands as they waited for the doctor to come tell them what was going on.  Steve rubbed his thumb over the back of Yns hand to help calm her down.

“Steve, I feel like this is bad, very bad.”

“It’s going to be ok my love.  Whatever it is, we will face it together, just like everything else.” He once again kissed her on her forehead to try and reassure her and hoped she couldn’t feel his heart beating a million miles an hour and the nerves exuding from his body.

After about 10 minutes the doctor entered the room and greeted them.  “Hello Captain & Mrs Rogers, it’s good to see you both again.  So, we got the results of all your tests and everything looks good I have to say.”

“So, there’s no issue you can see that is stopping us from conceiving?” Steve asked the doctor incredulously.

“Nothing I can see at all.  Captain, your sperm are definitely super, there’s more than normal and they’re fast little buggers.  And Yn, your egg production is still right on track and they look very healthy as well.”

“Well, that’s good to hear Doctor” Yn said “But why can’t we conceive.  And what is this extra test they took blood from me for today – we thought we’d submitted everything for ever test under the sun.”

“Well, that’s where it gets a little tricky, because something did show up on your test that we weren’t quite expecting” the doctor began. “So we wanted to grab a little more blood just to quickly run another test to make sure the results were accurate.”

“And…” Steve was staring to get impatient. “Is my wife ok?  Is there something wrong that we need to see another doctor for?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with her technically.  At least, nothing that won’t get better in about 8 months.  Congratulations you are pregnant.  Sometimes these things resolve themselves and it looks like it was just a matter of time for you two, and now you are about 4 weeks pregnant.”

Steve and Yn just looked at the doctor in absolute shock, they were totally not expecting this news.

“Are you sure Doctor?  I don’t feel pregnant.” Yn asked.

“Well, it’s still early, luckily we have sophisticated tests that can pick up the HCG changes very early, otherwise we might have missed it.  But the blood we took from you today has confirmed that you are indeed pregnant.  Now, I would recommend scheduling an appointment with your regular doctor and also an ultrasound for sometime in the next couple of weeks.”

“Thank you Doctor” Steve stood up and shook his hand.

Yn stood up in complete silence as if she was still having a hard time taking in this news, even though it was everything they wanted.

Steve moved her towards the door of the Doctors office, dealt with the paperwork with the receptionist and then led her towards their car for the drive home.

Time skip – 8 months later (approx.)

“On more big push Yn, you can do this, you’re about to meet your new baby.” The midwife encouraged her to keep going.

“I can’t.  They’ll just have to stay there.  I’m too tired.” She looked up at Steve who was holding her hand.

“Yn, you can absolutely do this my darling.  I know you can.  You did it with Noah, now you will bring our new baby into the world.  You want to meet him or her, don’t you?  We’ll be able to give them a name and see their little eyes and nose and fingers and toes.”

“Yes I want to meet them, but I’m soooo tired Steve, why can’t you push this baby out for me??” she asked.

“Believe me Yn, if I could, I would but you have to do this.  Now, when the doctor tells you to, just give one more big push and we’ll meet Noah’s sibling for the first time.”

“Okay, Yn, give it all you’ve got.”

Yn rolled her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed with all her might.

“Here they are” the nurse exclaimed.  “Dad, did you want to come cut the cord and give Mama the good news?”

Steve nodded, tears in his eyes as he stepped forward to cut the umbilical cord.  Hearing their baby’s first cry as he did so made the moment even more special.

Once he’d done the deed, he grabbed the baby and moved up to where you could see.  Placing the baby on your chest he said “Congratulations Yn, we have a beautiful baby boy”

Yn could not believe this day was finally here.  She kissed the baby’s head and said “Welcome to our family, little one.  We love you so much already, we’ve been looking forward to meeting you for so long.  We can’t wait for you to meet your big brother, he’s going to be so excited.”

Tag List: @wolfbeanpotion @vioplay19 @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @crazyunsexycool @zaraomarrogers @bitchy-bi-trash @mrsnikstan @harrysnovia @salemslostwitch

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

A race for love p.21

Hii guyss, I hope you enjoy this part. If you've missed part 20 or the other parts you can find them on my masterlist :)

Formula 1 is all about speed, but in this story, the real race isn't just on the track. Read on to find out who will win the ultimate race-for your heart

- Monza 2023 -

The race day unfolds in a blur of excitement, tension, and noise. You spend most of it in the McLaren motorhome, surrounded by the buzz of engineers, strategists, and mechanics. Lando and Oscar pass through occasionally, their moods fluctuating with the highs and lows of the day. You manage to laugh at their banter, but your mind keeps circling back to the message. Every time your phone vibrates, your heart skips a beat, half-expecting another cryptic text.

The hours drag on, and though you try to immerse yourself in the race, it's impossible to ignore the weight sitting heavily on your chest. The noise of the paddock fades into the background as you replay the events of the past two days—the call, the voice, the message. They're all connected. They have to be. And you're certain Franco knows something.

By the time the race is over and the motorhome starts to clear out, you know you can't avoid confronting him any longer. You leave the McLaren motorhome, weaving through the bustling paddock with determination. The evening air is cooler now, carrying with it the scent of tires and fuel. It does little to calm your nerves.

When you reach your hotel room, your hand hesitates on the doorknob. You take a deep breath and step inside, not sure what you'll find.

Franco is there, lounging on the bed like nothing is wrong. He's scrolling through his phone, his hair still slightly damp from a shower. When he sees you, his face lights up with a smile, but you can't return it.

"We need to talk," you say, closing the door behind you.

His smile falters as he sits up, the casualness in his demeanor fading. "What's wrong?"

You cross the room, setting your phone down on the desk before turning to face him. "It's about the messages. The ones I got before and I got a new one today. They're all connected, Franco. And I think they're tied to the call from last night."

His expression shifts, and for a moment, he looks away, as though searching for something in the air around him. "It's nothing, cariño," he says softly, standing to approach you. "You're worrying too much. Let's just forget about it—"

"No." Your voice is firmer than you expected, cutting him off. "I can't forget about it. Not when someone's texting me warnings, calling you in the middle of the night, and leaving threats. Franco, I need to know what's going on."

He hesitates, his hand reaching for yours, but you pull back, frustration bubbling beneath your calm exterior. "Please, don't try to brush this off. I deserve the truth."

Franco sighs, running a hand through his hair as he steps back. His face softens, and his shoulders slump slightly, as though he's carrying a weight he's been avoiding for far too long. "I didn't want to tell you because it's in the past," he starts quietly, his voice tinged with guilt. "I didn't think it mattered anymore. I didn't want it to affect what we have."

You cross your arms, your heart pounding. "What didn't matter, Franco?"

He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "Before we started dating, there was this girl.... We were talking for a while, but it was never serious. Then I met you."

He pauses, stepping closer as though to reassure you. "When things got serious between us, I broke it off with her. Completely. I blocked her everywhere, stopped answering her calls—everything. I thought that was the end of it."

You blink, processing his words. "But she hasn't stopped trying to contact you?"

He shakes his head, guilt etched across his face. "No. She's been calling me from different numbers, sending messages. I didn't know how to make it stop. And I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Of losing you," he says simply, his eyes pleading. "I didn't want you to think I was still involved with her, because I'm not. You're the only one I care about."

His words hang in the air, heavy with emotion, but they do little to ease the knot in your stomach. "Franco, I would have understood if you'd told me earlier. But now..." You trail off, taking a deep breath. "Now it feels like you've been keeping this from me. And she's dragging me into it, too. Do you know how terrifying it is to get messages like that? To hear her voice and not know what she means or what she might do?"

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "I didn't know it had gone this far. I thought ignoring her would make it stop."

You stare at him, the mixture of fear and frustration churning inside you. But as much as you want to be angry, you can see the regret in his eyes, the vulnerability he's trying to hide.

After a long pause, you take a deep breath and close the distance between you, placing a hand on his arm. "We'll get through this," you say softly. "But we have to face it together. No more secrets, Franco."

He exhales shakily, his hand covering yours. "You're right. I'll handle this. I'll find a way to make it stop. But I need you to know, te amo, and I'd never let anyone come between us."

You nod, your chest tightening at his words. "I love you too, but this has to end. No more running from it."

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours, the kiss lingering longer than usual. It's sweet and filled with unspoken promises, but there's still a shadow hanging over you both.

As the kiss ends, he rests his forehead against yours. "Thank you for believing in me."

You manage a small smile, but your mind is already racing with thoughts of what comes next. Whatever this is, you'll face it together.

For now, that's enough.

Tag list: @hs2016, @a-beaverhausen