#how am i supposed to pick just eleven

[bisexualobiwankenobi]

A playlist, in honour of flintcoded and his Anakin post, with songs that make me think of Anakin Skywalker // Darth Vader

// Burning Alive - 8 Graves // Malevolence - Acacia Ridge // Sweet Dreams of Otherness - Alexisonfire // Boden - Amenra // Sleep Now - Angelspit // Animals - Architects // Riot! - Arrested Youth // Show Me How To Live - Audioslave // A Dangerous Thing - AURORA // Glitter & Gold - Barns Courtney // This Night - Black Lab // Degausser - Brand New // Heavy Is The Crown - Daughtry // Day I Die - DeathbyRomy // I Feel Like A God - DeathbyRomy // The Curse - Diary of Dreams // Bring Me To Life - Evanescence // Centuries - Fall Out Boy // Soldier - Fleurie, Tommee Profitt // Drumming Song - Florence + The Machine // Blood Water - grandson // Gasoline - Halsey // Orphan - Holy Wars // Warrior - Holy Wars // Arsonist’s Lullabye - Hozier // Ready For Combat - Icon For Hire // Bones - Imagine Dragons // Half God Half Devil - In This Moment // Worldwide Torture - Jazmin Bean // The Imperial March - John Williams // Burn - King Woman // Coming Undone - Korn // Art Deco - Lana Del Rey // Dark Matter - Les Friction // By Myself - Linkin Park // In The End - Linkin Park // Breaking The Habit - Linkin Park // How Villains Are Made - Madalen Duke // Depraved - Mammals // IN NOME DEL PADRE - Maneskin // The Hearse - Matt Maeson // Tear Me To Pieces - Meg Myers // The Sharpest Lives - My Chemical Romance // Mama - My Chemical Romance // Head Like A Hole - Nine Inch Nails // Antagonist - Nova Twins // Black Sheep - Palaye Royale // Counting Bodies Like Sheep - A Perfect Circle // Devil in the Details - Placebo // Where Is My Mind - Safari Riot // Black Hole Sun - Soundgarden // Endless War - Within Temptation // Napalm - Zheani //

[tender-rosiey]

“IT’S LAUGHING?! IT’S ALIVE?!”

— gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji hearing the baby’s first laugh (f!reader)

a/n: guess who's back, back again then I will be gone again (probably)

GOJO SATORU:

your husband is, admittedly, a very funny guy.

his humor always manages to get to people one way or another, so even if he doesn’t get a laugh, he certainly gets some sort of reaction.

not with his little angel though, the one person that he would die to see her laugh.

no matter how much tickling or raspberries he blew, it was never a laugh, merely a smile or a very short giggle if he was lucky.

he would come across a ton of videos of babies having hearty laughs and simply wished to be able to get the same reaction out of his daughter.

it is the reason he is currently burying his face in your chest and whining, “I feel like she thinks I am just not that funny.”

“satoru, she is still a baby,” you hum, fingers carding through his hair, “you know that babies have different views about what is actually funny; actually, I saw baby not long ago at a photo of number eleven. it was so cute!”

“but I tried everything! even the unusual!” he huffs, standing up to retell all of his failed attempts, “I tried dropping stuff, quickly stirring a liquid, lightly touching her with a balloon—everything!”

he looks at his daughter with his best puppy eyes, “come on, d/n! isn’t there anything that would you laugh a belly laugh?”

a little idea pops into your head. giggling, you sneak off leaving your daughter trying to comfort her wailing papa the best she can.

d/n is caught up with satoru until you finally come back and she smiles, “mama!”

“hi baby!” you grin before smacking your husband—lightly but not so lightly—with a roll of newspaper.

he yelps, “y/n! why would you do that?!”

but he is cut off by his little girl laughing, and I mean laughing so hard she kind of leans back.

you wait until she is quiet again before smacking him with the roll one more time, and she, once more, starts laughing heartily with small little wheezes and a long breath in the end when she calms down.

your husband, mortified, picks his daughter up, “d/n! you’re not supposed to laugh when papa gets hit! you’re supposed to get sad!”

she starts giggling and kicking her feet, putting her hand lightly on his nose. she tilts her head confused, and satoru thinks he knows what she is waiting for him to say. he shan’t falter!

at least, that’s what he thinks.

d/n takes matter into her own hands and smacks him on the forehead, resulting in him yelping and her going into a laughing fit that lasted a minute or so.

how unfortunate that his most precious takes pleasure in him being hurt.

his head snaps towards you, but he guesses that it makes sense since you also love teasing him so much.

a bunch of devils he says! two cute devils he laments.

GETO SUGURU:

geto is convinced that he was blessed with two angels, her cute little twins from his beautiful wife, you. he is also convinced that they would do no wrong—which is like what wrong can a baby a couple months old do anyway.

he ignores how gojo screams about being bullied by the girls, how that one mean babysitter was yapping about how they most definitely threw their toys at her intentionally, and how miguel syas that the girls always hide his glasses because they love seeing his stressed face.

to geto suguru, his daughters could do no wrong.

aside from that, he also noticed that his daughters love playing with hair, sometimes eating it which makes him scream but oh well.

for the most part, they know to treat their father’s hair gently as they watch you and himself do it.

that’s why he never thought that his darling angels would get their first belly laughs by pulling on his freaking bangs.

each twin holds one of the bangs and with all their baby power, they pull and pull almost like they want to tear it off his head.

and while he adores that his daughter are laughing so much—for the first time too—that they stumble back almost turn red, but he really doesn’t want to bald before heat least reaches his 50 or something.

another problem is that you never interfere unless he straight up screams for your help.

that made him realize how much of a common occurrence it is and he finally decided that he needed to put his foot down.

so he sat his girls down—including you because you’ve tolerated the violation of your husband’s hairline so much—and took a deep breath.

“girls, we need to learn that papa’s hair is fragile and we shouldn’t pull on it so much,” he turns to you with the quirk of an eyebrow. “right, honey?”

you barely hold back your smile before nodding and loyally supporting your husband, “why, of course, my love!”

he rolls his eyes, “so, be good girls and don’t pull on my bangs, please?”

one of the twins, while the other frowns and starts fussing. you lock eyes with your husband, and you both try to telepathically figure how to handle this, until your other twin starts crying.

now, you have two crying babies.

congratulations!

so your husband concedes and kneels in front of them, bravely offering his bangs. almost instantly, they stop crying and start pulling the bangs on their respective sides.

they start laughing and squealing again, and geto starts to think that balding is a small price to pay for his angels’ happiness.

he should probably stop calling them that though.

NANAMI KENTO:

now, in constrant to nanami, his daughter came out all bubbly and smiley, and it had nanami going as soft as a marshmallow.

it also didn’t help that d/n is convinced that her dad is indeed a marshmallow in which that she could only touch him softly.

she would gently pat his cheeks, press clumsy little kisses to his forehead, and squeal in order to cuddle with you or him. she also is extremely empathetic and starts crying whenever she sees someone hurt or genuinely frowning.

that was also the reason why gojo adored her since her crying cut anyone’s session of bullying him short. though, of course, he buys her a ton of toys to make up and comfort her.

he fails to realize that the true way to comfort her is to place in your arms or nanami’s.

like that one time when she bumped her head lightly and started crying profusely, throwing punches at gojo who was supposed to be babysitting her—poor choice but who am I to judge. she screamed and squirmed, demanding she be comforted.

however, none of the toys gojo bought were working.

and the two of you were called into a mission, so he literally is rendered helpless. that is until nanami returns a tad bit early than planned, and satoru couldn’t have been more relieved.

he hurriedly places d/n in kento’s arms, and the little girl takes a few seconds to realize who is holding her now.

she looks up, smiling at her dad. he instantly smiles back, “hey there,” he hums, “did you miss me?”

anyway back to what i was saying: a very sensitive and empathetic baby, right?

so when one day, you have your girl perched on your lap and nanami is going all out with scolding gojo, no one expects your daughter to burst one laughing.

you giggle, looking at her, “d/n, you like seeing papa scold uncle gojo?”

gojo gasps, “what?!”

you usher your husband, “babe, try it again!”

nanami nods with determination and gathers everything gojo ever bothered him with and translates it into a bunch of very child-friendly insults.

with each reproach, gojo deflates and d/n starts laughing more, squealing and wheezing. your husband abandons the crushed gojo and goes to hold d/n in his hands, “you okay there?”

she squeals and reaches for her feet, eyes never leaving her father’s. you coo, “she is so cute!”

“I never imagined my daughter would laugh at the sight of me, out of all people, scolding gojo.”

a very wounded gojo screams, “well I sure did! you family of haters!”

your husband frowns, but before he can talk, d/n cups his face and starts babbling a bunch of nonsense. nonetheless, your husband hangs onto every bit of said nonsense. 

gojo takes that chance to flee to the hills.

meanwhile, you’re holding a camera and recording the lecture(?) your tiny angel is giving your husband.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your baby is the son of the all-mighty king of curses.

the man who sends terrors throughout the lands, the mere sight of his face is enough to cause someone to pee themselves.

everyone cowers in front of him, except you and more recently his son. on the contrary, in fact, your son can’t help but cackle whenever his dad puts on his “scary” face.

the first time it ever happened was when you were strolling the palace with s/n in your arms.

you know not to enter the throne room whenever sukuna has the villagers over to “hear their complains” as it almost always ended with him slicing one part of their body off.

you figured that it would be okay to at least pass by it since they always had the door closed—that started when you gave birth—but to your surprise, the door was open this time, giving you and your son a front row seat to sukuna degrading his subject.

“you’re wasting my time,” your husband states, and the villagers starts panicking.

“a-apologies my lord, pl-please grant me a-another chance!”

your husband scowls, “and now you’re ordering me around?”

the villager starts crying and kneels to the ground. on the other hand, your son couldn’t have been laughing more. his laugh echoed so loudly in the room that it drew everyone’s attention.

sukuna stares at the baby in your arms and scowls again, “y/n, why is he here?”

your son squeals and starts laughing again, hiding his face in your chest. you light up at his laughter, and sukuna finds himself livid at how the scene makes him feel content—until he notices the villager staring at you as well, what a short-lived happiness.

swiftly, sukuna slashes the villagers into cubes, and your son—who came out of his hiding spot—bursts into a fit of giggles that has you wondering just how much of sukuna’s sadism was passed to your darling son.

while you ponder over that, sukuna quickly makes his way to you, dismissing all the servants and tasking them with taking out the trash.

when your husband is right in front of you, you look up at him with a frown, “my son is laughing at torture, sukuna.”

“he is probably laughing at how pathetic the man looked,” he says as he smirks and pulls you close.

you huff and bounce s/n lightly, “shut up, old man.”

sukuna quirks an eyebrow and leans to be on your eye level. his hand is placed on your head, and he threatens, “you’re insulting your husband?”

s/n gasps lightly before harshly latching on sukuna’s face, fingers digging into his second pair of eyes. sukuna does not give any reaction except standing up to his full height.

your son, however, is relentless and is still hanging onto your husband’s face.

you don’t know how to react. sukuna doesn’t know how to react.

s/n just lets out a series of battle cries.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

if there is anything that toji is doubtful of is whether his son actually loves him or not.

why you ask? well, the only thing that gets the kid laughing—aside from you laughing or smiling—is literally any inconvenience that happens to him.

he remembers that one time when shiu was over to discuss some business, nothing out of the norm. megumi was on just sat on his high chair beside toji since you were at work.

toji was just sipping on his coffee when he burned his tongue, “gosh damn it!”

shiu was about to make fun of him, but megumi beat him to it as he started laughing heartily, even taking breaths in between to calm down but to no avail.

toji’s eyes widen as he stands up to go to his son, “no way you’re laughing at me getting—what the hell?!”

toji groans after he bumps into the table, glaring at his son who starts laughing all over again. meanwhile, shiu chuckles and teases toji, “I think your son just loves you so much, doesn’t he?”

your husband rises to his feet, quickly carrying megumi and lifting him in the air. he grumbles, “I want my wife back.”

another time was when you guys grocery shopping.

you had most of the list crossed out and the only thing left was the frozen vegetables. easy, right?

so you, your husband, and son quickly made your way to the section—since megumi wanted to go to the park later to play with yuuji.

megumi stays in your arms, while toji goes to grab them. considering how unlucky this man is, the bag slips from his hand and falls flat on his face, and it freaking stays there.

to your darling son, comedy had never reached this peak, so he lets out a guttural laugh.

you want to join in on the laughter, but you noticed that toji is standing still, with the bag on his face.

so you walk to him, gently taking off the bag and teasing him, “you okay, champ? that made quite the noise.”

“don’t even start,” he groans and buries his face in your shoulder, ignoring the wheezing megumi. he then starts complaining, “they keep whining about how he is a quiet and shy kid, but he sure ain’t with me.”

“isn’t that a good thing? It’s important for him to feel free around his dad.”

he turns his head towards you, a frown plastered on his face, “no kid laughs whenever his dad gets ridiculed by life.”

“you told me that you laughed when your dad fell down a flight of stairs,” you deadpan.

“that’s because my dad is an ass; I am not,” he pauses, “for the most part.”

apparently, megumi senses his dad’s distress and starts slowly patting his head, albeit shyly. he lowers his gaze and mumbles, “so’y.”

toji’s eyes widen and he is frozen in place for a moment. your son takes note of that and starts staring him in the eye, waiting for his reaction.

your husband doesn’t take long for a small smile to break out as he lets a small sigh, “’s okay kid,” he hums and pets his head.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone @sukun4ryomen @yumieis @hearts4itoshi @sleepyxxhead @dunixxd @sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08 @spacebaby1 @arabellatreaty @girlnamedutsu

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[totheblood]

cutty love.

pairing: ellie williams x reader

summary: ellie becomes your best friend and you stumble upon her journal

warnings: this is purely fluff, cursing, suggestive themes maybe once? idk very soft

a/n: this is because i want bff ellie and also domestic ellie and also wanted to put eleven labs to the test with their new features so please... enjoy! AI AUDIOS SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE FIC also reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses

wc: 2.2k

"all my dreams my dear they are of you."

spring came fast to jackson.

dew painted the grass on early mornings and little patches of snow began to melt into the soil. winter was finally over and you were finally back on farming duty. however, you weren’t as excited as you thought you would be.

patrol was something you would have dreaded a year ago, the idea of entering the outside world terrifying you completely. but as winter came around, and farming became obsolete, maria had warned you you needed to sign up for a new task. your dumbass, however, signed up too late and both stable and kitchen work were all filled up. patrol became your only option. 

on your first day of patrol, you were assigned with dina. she basically held your hand through it: walking into buildings first, showing you how to aim and shoot your gun, and teaching you all the best places to hide. it was an easy day with one encounter with an infected (who dina shot on sight).

your second day you were paired with jesse, who was, to your surprise, gentler. he made jokes when he could tell you were getting scared, always walked with his hand outstretched in front of you when walking into new territory, and taught you how to make a molotov cocktail.  you felt safe with them.

on your third day, you were paired with ellie who was less than kind at first. upon seeing you she rolled her eyes and scoffed, mumbling something like, “why do i always have to be paired with the newbies?” 

to avoid confrontation you simply kept your mouth shut. you were supposed to be partners and you were going to do your best to keep yourself alive. like the others, ellie walked into spaces first and after clearing the area for any infected, started a small fire in the lookout to keep the two of you warm.

you stood at a distance from her where she was placing her palms just above the fire and then rubbing them together for warmth. you watched on with a shiver, shaking as you looked out the window.

“you’re not going to get warm from all the way over there,” ellie spoke up, causing you to snap your head in her direction.

“what?”

“the fire is over here. you have to stand close to get at least a little warm,” she commented, beckoning you over with the wave of her hand, “here, come get warm.”

“oh,” you stepped closer to the fire, sitting down across from her, bathing in the warmth the fire offered.

“you’re not really talkative, huh?” ellie chuckled, taking picking at her nails as she spoke.

“uh, no, i usually am,” you laughed nervously, looking to the raised skin around her nailbeds.

“oh, so you just don’t like me?” her tone was joking, but there seemed to be an ounce of vulnerability to it. her eyes looked up to yours, scanning your face for a reaction.

“no, i just,” you took a deep breath and shrugged, “earlier you said you didn’t want to be stuck with the newbie so i didn’t want to be a bother or anything.”

“shit,” she breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose. all of the skin around her nails were raw and red, “i’m such an asshole. i didn’t mean it like that. i’ve just had a shitty week.”

“no, it’s fine,” you forced a smile, “i understand. i’m just nervous and this is all new to me.”

she paused for a moment, looking you over and taking another deep sigh. 

“i’m not usually an asshole.”

“sure.”

“no, seriously, i’m usually nice.”

“i believe you.”

“ok, i’m kind of nice, but i’m doing my best.”

“it’s fine, i’m also an asshole,” you spit out and she laughed. a full chested laugh that went on for what felt like a minute. it was the kind of laugh were all of her teeth showed and wrinkles formed by her eyes. it made your chest feel warm. 

from that moment on you and ellie became close friends. if you knew you were patrolling with her you would bring her a corn muffin wrapped in fabric. she’d say something about how good of a cook you were or mumble a ‘fuck yeah’ before stuffing half the muffin in her mouth. if she killed any infected later she would say something like, “that was only for the muffin. you’re gonna need to bring me another before i do any more of your dirty work.”

occasionally, she would bring her guitar and show you some of the music she was writing in any downtime you had. she was always so excited too, saying something along the lines of: “let’s try to clear this area as fast as we can so i can show you my new stuff.”

when you sat in front of her, legs crossed in front of you, you watched as a bright blush spread across her face before she sang. 

“this is new, so take it easy on me, okay?”

at some point towards the end of december she came to your house with something wrapped in fabric. her whole face was red, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the snow or her nervousness as she shoved the present into your hand.

“what’s this?” you asked, eyes wide ushering her in from the snow and shutting the door behind you.

“it’s a christmas gift,” she smiled, “i don’t know if you know what christmas is but people used to celebrate it back in the old days. joel told me about it and now we celebrate it every year. it’s basically just a holiday where you give your loved ones… or friends a present. they used to pretend this big fat guy with a beard came down people's chimneys and gave presents to kids who were good but i guess they gave up that idea. santa probably got infected or some shit. anyways, this is for you.”

when you peeled back the fabric, a picture of you sketched out on charcoal was on a piece of thick paper. you looked beautiful. it almost looked as if ellie had spent hours looking at your face and studying all the tiny details of it. not to your knowledge, but she had. 

a gasp fell from your lips as tears welled up in your eyes. you didn’t even have time to thank ellie before you were squeezing her tightly in your arms, causing her to cough. you were literally hugging her so tight she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t mind it. she took a deep breath and hugged you back, smelling the pine on your hair and skin. 

“i love it, ellie,” you whispered, “thank you.”

when january came around, ellie decided you didn’t know how to hold a gun. most of your shots were misses and the drawback made you stumble back. you were becoming a liability, but mostly ellie feared for your safety. all it took was one fall and you would never be the same again.

so here ellie stood giving verbal directions on how to hold a gun. you, however, were a mess who didn’t know your left from your right.

“your left foot! i said your left foot!”

“this is my left foot!”

“babe, that’s your right.”

“oh,” you switched legs but it wasn’t good enough. ellie came up behind you, placing her hands on your shoulder and fixing your posture. the heat from where her hands were on you radatied throughout your body and went straight down your legs. she stepped closer, placing a hand on your stomach and pressing it lightly. your breath hitched. 

“okay, now move your hand like this,” her free hand moved from the base of your arm to your fingertips. she adjusted your stance slowly. slow enough for it to feel like foreplay, “just like that. yeah, good girl.”

you could feel her breath on your neck where your scarf didn’t cover. it was all too sensual and then SNAP. a sound in the distance made her jump back and step in front of you, her own gun drawn in a matter of seconds.

your gun stance was never revisited after that. 

but now it was spring, and you would no longer be on patrol. as much as you liked spending time with ellie, it was still too much of a risk for you to take when you enjoyed farming so much. when you told ellie a big pout broke out on her face as she dramatically reached for you. 

“what am i going to do without you on patrol?” she whined, squeezing you so hard it made you laugh.

“we can still hang out,” you reminded her, pushing her off you, “plus maybe i’ll be back on patrol next winter.”

“yeah, but i liked having 8 hours of us time. now we will get like 4 hours a day max,” ellie leaned her head back on her couch, the dramatic pout still there. 

“how about we meet here every day after our shifts and have dinner together?” you offered, making her face light up, “i can cook and everything.”

“okay, but you have to sleep over at least once a week,” she demanded

“deal,” you smiled, teeth showing.

“if i’m not here though you can just let yourself in,” she casually commented, “i’ll give you a spare key.”

it went on like that for weeks, you coming over after your shift and making dinner and laughing with ellie about something joel or dina said until you eventually fell asleep on her couch. some nights you would watch a movie together, others you would bake something together (even though ellie usually tapped out when it came to cracking an egg). if ellie was running late or something you would make up time by cleaning up your mess from the kitchen or tidying up the living room, but by that time she would be stumbling through the door and apologizing for being late. 

this night, however, ellie was running extremely late. you had already cleaned both the kitchen and living room and there was still no sight of her. to avoid anxiously pacing around the room and waiting for her, you decided to clean her room. you swept the floors, wiped down her bedside table, and began making her bed before you noticed a notebook tucked in between her bed and it’s frame. 

you pulled it out of its place and examined it. it looked like it was frequently used, the edges of it torn and dirty. the yellow pages of the notebook were slightly hanging out and it looked like pages had been ripped out and stuffed back in. you shouldn’t read this, your mind rang clear. you wanted to respect ellie’s privacy, but curiosity got the best of you. 

you flipped to a middle page, skimming over some entry about how much joel was being an asshole before stopping at your name. your name in her notebook with hearts drawn around it. your name written in pink over and over again. below the different variations of your name was a paragraph, presumably about you. you read it in ellie’s voice.

“another successful patrol. and by successful i mean i tricked her into holding my hand. i probably sound like such a creep but all i want is to be close to her. i want to hold her hand as we walk down the streets of jackson and kiss her in a booth at the diner. when she got scared she would squeeze my hand a little. it made me dizzy. this crush feels like it’s going to ruin me. i think she may ruin me but i don’t even care. all i want is her.”

you smiled, flipping a page, heat rushing to your cheeks as you read another passage about you:

“i sang a song for her today that i wrote about her. she told me my voice was beautiful and asked who it was about. i panicked and told her it was about cat. fucking cat!!! i haven’t thought about cat in fucking forever. i just want to tell her already because this is so fucking embarrassing. she probably thinks i don’t like her but i do. what if she never knows? i’ll tell her eventually… i will.”

you sit down on her still unmade bed, reading the next page.

“i wanted to kiss her so bad today. ugh. her lips were all red and pouty from the cranberry juice and when she smiled her teeth were all red. she asked why i was smiling at her and i told her that her teeth were all red. she looked so embarrassed and got up to clean them. i felt like an asshole but that’s better than being rejected by her right?”

another one.

“we watched curtis and viper today after patrol. she cooked us chicken and then cried because it was her favorite chicken. this girl has the biggest heart in the world. when the movie was done we just talked about what life would be like if the apocalypse didn’t happen. she said she would have been a teacher or some kind of helping profession. she’s fucking sweet. i told her i’d probably be a dentist or a lawyer. something fun. i left out the part where i’d want to come home to her every night. i’m such a loser. i think i love her.”

the last part made you gasp, except the gasp wasn’t coming from your mouth, it came from the person standing in front of you. ellie.

“what are you doing with that?”

[adrienneleclerc]

Book Boyfriend Challenge

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: where Y/N has her fiancé reciting lines from her 3 book boyfriends.

Warning: 18+ lines used, spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: I’m also working on an alternative version where Y/N has no idea Charles has read her books and decides to recite the same lines to see how she reacts, let me know of you want that posted. This takes place in the same universe as The Drive Thru Test

Y/N has seen TikToks of couples doing this challenge so he has picked out three books, Throttled by Lauren Asher, Eleven Eleven by Micaela Smeltzer, and Camera Shy by Kay Cove.

“Charles, muñeco, Can you come here for a second?” Y/N called from their living room, the books lined up on the coffee table. Charles comes in from the kitchen.

“Yes, Mon ange?” Charles asked.

“I have another TikTok challenge for us to try.” Y/N said. Charles playfully rolled his eyes and sat besides her on the couch.

“What is the challenge, Mon ange?” Charles asked. Y/N smiled.

“Okay so I have 3 books here, they are my favorite book boyfriends, there’s Noah Slade, Finn Harvey, and Reid Astor Crawford, I personally love these books, but I want you to choose whatever lines from these 3 books and recite them.” Y/N asked. Charles picked up the Throttled book.

“You’ve read an F1 romance book?” Charles asked, flipping through the pages. “Is bandini supposed to be Ferrari? Have you read this thinking about me?” Charles kept asking questions.

“Okay so I’m not the only one who fan casts you as Noah Slade, I’ve seen people make TikToks casting you as Noah, Lewis Hamilton is Jax, Carlos Sainz is Santiago, I’ve seen very mixed opinions about Liam, sometimes is Sebastian Vettel, others it’s Max Verstappen…” Y/N was explaining but Charles cut her off.

“You actually like this Noah guy?!? He’s such an asshole in the beginning.” Charles said as he was reading the first few pages of the book. “I can’t believe people imagine me as Noah.” Charles mumbled. “I’m a nice guy!”

“Muñeco, just pick a line, I’ll let you read the book after we’re done.” Y/N said,

“Fine.” Charles said. It took Charles a few seconds to pick a perfect line. “Okay, I got it.” Charles cleared his throat. “I’m not like any of the guys you’ve been with before. I May not be your first fuck, but I might as well be.” Charles said and Y/N started giggling. “What’s so funny, ma Belle?”

“Nothing, it’s just you’re so cute, I can’t imagine you saying this. But I must admit, your accent makes it hot.” Y/N confessed, kissing Charles. They broke away and Charles said the other line he has chosen.

“You’re a naughty little thing.” Charles tried to say in a seductive matter and Y/N covered her face with her hands.

“Okay that was hot.” Y/N confessed and now it was Charles’s turn to giggle.

“Okay this line is so stupid. ‘But I fuck like an A-list porno.’ I don’t know what more shocking, that the author thought it was a good line, or that you actually like that, I see you blushing, Mon ange.” Charles said and Y/N just shook her head.

“I like the book! Also, lines like this work because it is fictional, if a real man tried to say this to me, I would laugh in their face. But again, I think your accent makes it acceptable.” Y/N said and Charles kissed her.

“Okay I’m keeping this book, I need to know what people imagine me act like.” Charles said, getting off the couch to place Throttled in their bedroom on his side of the dresser. He came back, sitting next to Y/N, and chose the next book, Eleven Eleven. He was skimming until… “HE JUST TURNED 21?!?” Charles asked yelling. “She’s 32, that feels illegal, Mon ange, come on.”

“If you forget about the age, the way he is considerate, sweet, yet kinda cocky is such a turn on for me.” Y/N said.

“Am I competing with your book boyfriends?” Charles asked,

“If you really had to ask…” Y/N muttered. Charles found the line he wanted to refute but first he wanted to have a heavy make out session so Y/N would have full effect of the line. He leaned in to kiss her, he slightly bites her lower lip to insert his tongue in her mouth, both tongues fighting for dominance, Y/N had her hands in his hair but Charles was the one to light pull on her hair, making her moan. They pulled away and Y/N was panting/breathing heavily. Charles had his hand on Y/N’s inner thigh, rubbing lightly.

“Don’t get shy on me now, not when my tongue has been all over this sweet pussy.” Charles said and Y/N just stared at him incredulously.

“I can’t believe you got me hot and bothered just to say that line.” Y/N pouted and Charles laughed. “But that line worked on me, can’t lie.” Charles then cupped Y/N’s face in his hands.

“No man is ever going to make you feel this good. Not the way I can.” Charles said, ending the sentence in a cute little smirk.

“I thought I was going to cringe at some of the lines, but so far so good. You’re doing great, mi vida.” Y/N said, giving Charles a quick peck before he picks up the last book. “I know a lot of people on GoodReads are not a fan but I really liked it, I related to Avery so much.” Y/N said with a pout and Charles faintly smiled while reading the first few pages.

“This Mason guy is an asshole.” Charles said.

“I know! Like who dumps someone in their birthday?” Y/N said. Charles nods in agreement and starts skimming a few pages.

“He’s a boudoir photographer?” Charles asked and Y/N nodded. “You wanna do a photo shoot like that for me?” Charles asked suggestively.

“Sure thing, muñeco, but you’re buying what you want me to wear for this photo shoot.” Y/N said and Charles kissed her temple, still skimming until he found the line.

“Okay, this is kinda long.” Charles cleared his throat and tried to make his voice sound a little deeper and raspy, and looks into Y/N’s eyes. “You’re not going to speak. I’m going to talk to you. I’m going to strip you down and point out all the things I love about your body. For 5 minutes, Lu are going to enjoy a man who you think fucks like a porn star, worshipping you.” Charles recited, not breaking eye contact. Y/N blushed and looked away.

“How the hell did Avery not melt at that. It is official, you can make all these book lines sexy as fuck.” Y/N said and Charles chuckled.

“Well I’m glad this is turning you one, Mon ange.” Charles said, he skimmed until he found another one. “I’m going to make you vocal during sex, I’m going to have you screaming when you come, trust me.” He recited.

“Mm, not as hot.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, I agree, you’re already vocal during sex.” Charles commented and Y/N swatted his shoulder. “What? You’re acting as if that’s not the truth.”

“Just pick the next line, muñeco.” Y/N said.

“I bet you’re so fucking wet for me right now my tongue could go swimming, sweet girl.” Charles said in a raspy voice and Y/N covered her face.

“You did not pick that.” Y/N said.

“But I did. Mon ange, do you real,y enjoy ready these smutty books?” Charles asked.

“Yes I do, I like a modern romance, the smut is a bonus. I find them entertaining though.” Y/N said.

“Mm, should I buy you more books like this then?” Charles asked, pulling Y/N onto his lap so she’s straddling him.

“If you want to, of course.” Y/N said. Charles smiled before kissing her.

“I’m going to read Throttled when I’m on the plane for my next race.” Charles said.

“Okay, let me know what you think.” Y/N said.

Liked by pierregasly and 3,562,924 others

charlesleclerc I discovered that Throttled by Lauren Asher is one of my fiancé’s favorite books so I’ve been reading it and I have a few questions. 1, if I’m Noah Slade despite actually being monegasque, does that mean Y/N is Maya even if she’s Latina and not a Spaniard 🤔? 2, I know I am flirty but I am definitely not as flirty, forward, and cocky as Noah. And 3, I’m a nice guys, a relationship guy, and a family guy, Noah was nothing like that in the beginning! Anyway, not finished yet but so far so good!

View all 10,352 comments

user29 OMG HE’S READING IT!!!!!

user31 Y/N is my favorite WAG and now I have another reason

yourusername muñeco, you were supposed to call me with your thoughts on the book,

charlesleclerc well I’m currently thinking we should recreate that scene in Milano, you want me to choose the restaurant.

yourusername 😳🫣

user35 LORD PERCEVAL!

pierregasly I think you broke the internet, mate

use56 PETITION TO CAST CHARLES AND Y/N AS NOAH AND MAYA FOR A THROTTLE MOVIE!

user23 yes!! They’re perfect

lewishamilton am i supposed to be this Jax guy?

carlossainz55 and me Santiago?

yourusername yes and yes, that’s what TikTok says 🤭

[thetriumphantpanda]

rainy days | frankie morales

Summary | It has never been your favourite day, but he always knows how to make it better.

Pairing | Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word Count |

Warnings | Mentions of depression and sadness, negative feelings around birthdays, Frankie makes it all better, two idiots truly in love, allusions to smut but nothing explicit.

Authors Note | To my darling Jo, @undercoverpena - whilst this is my entry to your birthday celebration (I got the colour old rose, apologies for the tenuous link to brief you're about to read), it is also my love letter to you. To the woman you are. To the friend you have become. A love letter to the fact that you can be soft and emotional and have flaws and still be worthy of all the love in the world. Because you are. I have said it many times in recent days, but it is the truth, that I love you unconditionally and I am forever grateful for your friendship and love. I am here for you. I see you. I understand you. And I love you. Happy Birthday darling woman.

He knows it isn’t your favourite day of the year. One that is usually meant to bring joy and happiness and love is instead one that fills you with dread. Worried people would forget, having to force a smile at gifts that show that they really don’t know you at all.

He knows not to push it either. He’s good at that. Knowing the battles to pick and those to leave. You suppose that’s why you love him so much. The way he’s comfortable to sit in your hurt with you, not immediately jumping into fixing it, because it’s been years and you don’t think he could truly unravel everything behind the feelings. But he’s there, with a strong arm around you and a kiss to your forehead. It doesn’t need words, just his presence to say I’m here, I see you and I love you regardless.

It rains, because of course it does, weather to match mood, drowning out any hopes of the walk he’d promised. You distract yourself, cleaning mainly, even though the kitchen counters are spotless and the vacuum has been used more times in the past week than it has in the previous two years since you bought it. Distraction mainly, but now, with nothing to do, you sit. Listen to the fat raindrops and odd rumble of thunder. You reread the same four pages of your book, hopelessly trying to stop checking your phone for missed calls or messages of glad tidings.

The doorbell rings, startling you. Clad in a big jumper, leggings and socks, hair scraped back, you open the door, roar of rain rushing in, to find him standing there. Your man. Your Frankie. He’s soaked to the bone, t-shirt wet and cap dripping, but he’s smiling, both hands behind his back.

“You’ll catch your death, Morales,” you chastise lightly, moving aside for him to step into the warmth of your house, but he makes no effort to move, “Are you coming in?”

It almost makes you laugh when he starts talking, like a scene from the old romcoms you used to watch, but you let him do it anyway. His right hand moves first, a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a dusty rose colour, which he hands to you. They remind you of the paint swatches, the way he’d patiently waited at the store for you to pick it. And then painted eleven swatches on the living room wall until you settled on one. Old rose.

“Hermosa,” he breathes, “Feliz cumpleaños.”

He bends, warm lips to your cheek, finally stepping across the threshold into your home, the place he spends more time in than his own home, his other secret revealed in the shape of a basket, woven, with a telltale red and white gingham poking out.

“Damn the rain,” he says, “and damn this misery, I know we can’t have this outside, but I know you hate eating outside anyway.”

He holds the basket up to you, lets you open the top. It’s full to the brim with food, all of your favourite things from your favourite places you’ve been with him in the past year. Pastries from the coffee shop where you had your first date, fruit from the farmer’s market you visit each Sunday, sandwiches from the shop you always stop at when you visit him at work to make sure he’s eating - it’s all there, in black and white, the moments you’ve shared, tiny, edible pieces of his love and care for you, that’s he’s the first person to ever truly see you, to ever truly know you. It makes your eyes water and your nose sniffle.

You press up on tiptoes and gently slant your lips over his, trying to tell him without words how much this means, how much you truly do love him.

You spread a blanket on the floor, unpack the food and sit for hours, eating and talking and kissing, until it goes dark outside. It still rains as he clears up, lightening now illuminating the sky, it rains as he leads you upstairs and undressed you, and thunder cracks along with your gasps and moans when he buries himself inside you.

It eases late, after he’s woken you in the dead of night with his mouth fused to your cunt. Draped across his chest, silence, save for the two of your breathing, you realise that this is all you need. One man who will do the most for you. One man who will continue, day in and day out, that he truly loves you. Maybe it won’t fix the disdain for your birthday, maybe it won’t fix anything else, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he found you and he loves you.

“Muchas gracias,” you whisper softly against his skin, “Te amo, mi amor.”

“Te amo, querida.”

[waldau]

hihi could you write a fic with the prompts

it's very rude to stare + you look better in my clothes than i do with Vernon

hey, good lookin' — chwe hansol | 1,135 words | fluff

feel free to sue me because i couldn't find any other way to write this except for f2l. thank you for requesting!!!

gender neutral reader. warnings: reader has slightly long hair.

“i think he hates me,” you say, leaning down to wash your hair in the sink for the last time. you’d almost forgotten how annoying it was to get sand out of your hair.

“no, he doesn’t,” vernon says, from where he’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet seat, watching you as you work.

“how do you know that?”

“i know what he’s like when he hates someone, and that’s not what he was like with you. it was just a mistake. you saw how he tripped before he tripped you, right?”

“that’s not good enough,” you grumble, turning off the tap. cold water runs down your neck, adding to the cold you’re already feeling from your wet clothes sticking to your skin. “he could’ve just fallen by himself. he didn’t need to pull me down, too. why did he do that?”

“i don’t know. but he doesn’t hate you, i promise.”

you stand up straight, an idea striking you. “i know why.”

“hmm?”

“he’s just jealous i’m your other best friend.”

vernon lets out an unrestrained snort at that, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “then he’d also be jealous of the fact that i have eleven other best friends, apart from you guys.”

“yeah, but we’re like your…best best friends. right?”

“right,” he says, a smile on his face. “my best best friends who hang out even without me sometimes. seungkwan definitely hates you.”

“ugh.” you hate when vernon makes sense, which is almost always. “then it’s probably because that ice cream in the fridge i ate was his.”

“maybe.”

“how am i supposed to know what belongs to who? don’t you guys label your food when you keep leftovers in the fridge?”

“nah. we’re kinda lazy.”

“i’m never going to understand how you didn’t end up killing each other over the years,” you say shaking your head.

“it's the power of friendship,” vernon says, deadpan.

you focus on not looking at him as you rub your hair with the towel he’s given you. you also try not to focus on the fact that you’re alone in the bathroom with your best friend who also happens to be your crush. even if he’s just watching you towel your hair dry. you probably look like a sad, wet puppy.

how romantic.

“okay, now what?” you ask, gesturing to yourself. your clothes are still as wet as they were twenty minutes ago. “think you can chuck me in the dryer for a while? till i get dry?”

vernon gets to his feet. “don’t worry, i have a spare set of clothes for this exact reason.”

“seungkwan pushing you into the ocean being the reason?”

“accidents,” he calls out. you wait patiently for him as he gets you a shirt and sweats, both of which are perfectly oversized.

it’s not the first time you’ve worn his clothes, thanks to your sleepovers or that one time you turned up to his house drenched in the rain, but it never fails to make you feel the same way — tingly, shy, feeling like someone you’re not.

you step out of the bathroom after giving yourself one last look to find vernon thumbing through his phone. you’re going to have to get ready for dinner now if you want to be on time.

you catch vernon’s gaze in the mirror as you comb your hair, making sure it’s not dripping into his clothes, but he doesn’t stop looking at you even when you move across the room to dry the towel on a chair. it’s only when you throw the towel at his head that he finally blinks out of his daze. it’s weird.

you know he zones out sometimes, thinking about something else while staring at nothing in particular. this is different. he’s focusing. on you. till you got him to stop, at least.

“it’s very rude to stare,” you say, picking up your towel. “don’t you know that?”

“sorry,” vernon says, licking his lips. “i didn’t mean to. you just…”

“what?”

“nothing. sorry,” he says, pocketing his phone. “think we’ll get late if we don’t leave now.”

you feel odd standing in his room, in his clothes. he’s never looked at you like that before. “do i…look weird? is that it?”

vernon turns to look up at you, a frown on his features. “no. of course not. you’ve never looked weird. if anything, you look good.”

oh. he’s never said that before, either.

“…even with my hair all weird?”

“even then. come here?” he asks, and you comply, standing in front of him where he’s sitting. he holds his hoodie up to you. “it’s still cold outside. wear this.”

there’s something…intimate about wearing his hoodie. it’s something he uses every single day, it’s one of his favourite possessions, and he doesn’t part with it so easily. still, you don’t question it as you slip it on, feeling warmer the moment you wear it.

and he’s looking at you again. it ignites a weird feeling in your stomach, like he’s looking at something you’re not aware of.

“vernon, i swear if you don’t tell me what’s up i’ll ask seungkwan to push—”

“you look better in my clothes than i do,” vernon says, not breaking eye contact. “i never realized that before.”

“i…what? don’t stay stuff like that,” you chide him, feeling your skin heat up.

“why not?”

“because it sounds like a...pickup line.”

“it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.” his eyes are fixed on the way you’re playing with the sweater paws, and it makes you want to say something completely outrageous. enough to destroy your friendship.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, instead.

“just that you look good in my clothes. nothing more.”

“that’s not something friends just…say to each other,” you mumble.

“that would be an issue if i wanted us to be just friends, wouldn’t it?”

“you…” you turn to look at him. there’s a neutral expression on his face, but you can tell he’s nervous, the way his brown eyes are looking at you. “want to be…more?”

“if i do?”

how is he so nonchalant about this?

“i won’t say no,” you say, reaching out for his hand. he gives it to you instantly. “but…i don’t want this to be a prank, either.”

“it’s not,” vernon assures you, squeezing your hand. “took me long enough to get here.” he pulls you down onto his lap. “and for the record, seungkwan told me he had a plan to help me confess,” he says, looking up at you apologetically. “i just didn’t expect him to do that.”

your heart’s racing, but you somehow manage to thread a hand through vernon’s hair. “guess we’ll have to get him all that ice cream back, then.”

“see? he doesn’t hate you.”

[hitlikehammers]

to die by your side (is such a heavenly way to die)

rating: t ♥️ cw: angst with a happy ending (which is actually kinda fluffy?), limbo/near-death experiences, post-S4/Upside Down-heavy, falling in love ♥️ tags: falling for each other in the space between life and death, happy ending

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-six: Love is a fire that never goes out (@sidekick-hero)

this is because of 1) this song being too close to the prompt for me to disengage it in my head, and the chorus therefore dictating this plot line, and 2) @hbyrde36 picked it and, again, I am very susceptible to people indicating they like a thing and would enjoy more, so @hbyrde36: I hope you enjoy what this became ♥️

“Oh fuck, not you, too.”

Steve looks up—when did he sit down, he doesn’t remember sitting down, he doesn’t remember how even got here, and hey, actually, where is here—

“What?” Steve looks toward the voice; familiar. See the wreath of curls around a pale face.

“This is death, right?” Eddie’s crossing over to him, crouching just beside; “I’m dead, like, I am very sure I’m dead, but you’re here, so—“

“I don’t,” Steve breathes in sharp—tries to get his bearings, tries to see but it’s just black in every direction, his lungs feel like they’re halved in size all of sudden, everything feels tight and painful and hard like inhaling isn’t something guaranteed, and his heartbeat feels like it’s dragging the carcass of something with it when it pumps, laborious and—

He’s is breathing, though, even if it’s kinda half-assed; he’s got a heartbeat, even if it feels like it’s about to fucking give out.

That doesn’t…that doesn’t sound like death.

“I,” Steve licks his lips; his mouth is so fucking dry but swelling kinda hurts and…he’s not as fucked up as he has a feeling he should be, he needs to think harder than he’s ready for just now to figure out what the last thing that happened between where he was, and where he is but: he thinks he should be more fucked up on, like, an instinctual level that knows he should be pretty fucked up, basically, and he’s not.

But again: he still hurts, and that…also doesn’t sound like death.

He swallows anyway; not that it helps.

“Max said there was this, black void,” Steve works through the first thing that comes to mind slowly, processes as he speaks; “with water,” and he looks down and sees the ripples in what he’s sitting in, moving around him but…but the reflections are right, and there’s no light so how are there even wrong reflections; he wasn’t good in his science classes but he feels pretty sure you need light to see anything in a mirror, plus—

“Water,” he flicks his hand from the standing pool around him up at Eddie without warning: “that wasn’t wet.”

Eddie splutters, but it dies down quick: it’s supposed to be wet. He expects it to be.

But it’s not. His eyes go so fucking big.

“It’s attached to the Upside Down,” Steve pushes on; “Eleven can like, come here, but,” he shakes his head and Eddie grimaces: she lost her powers.

“So it’s almost-death,” Eddie surmises, and drops into the not-water next to Steve.

“I guess so,” Steve shrugs, and draws his legs up; hugs his knees.

“Fucking great,” Eddie huffs, sneers, and it’s…Steve not sure why exactly, but it feels…targeted. Directed at him, because one, yes: he isthe only other thing here—as far as he can tell—but the words Eddie’d no-greeted him with float back into his consciousness:

Not you.

“Sorry to rain on your parade, man,” Steve bites out and shoves his head down between his thighs, maybe to breathe, maybe to think, maybe to hide, maybe to fucking cry, maybe to…fuck, he doesn’t even know.

He thinks he’s in the middle of trying to split the difference of every possible thing when Eddie’s voice breaks the still in the dark: “I didn’t,” and honestly, Steve’s never heard that voice sound so soft, so small; “that’s not what I meant,” and it’s an apology even if they words don’t add up exact, Steve feels it clear like a blow to the solar plexus. He turns to Eddie, who’s staring out at the nothing.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Eddie whispers, and his lip trembles, Steve can see that despite the lack of light.

Steve can see tears on that face, too, despite the lack of any light.

“But I hate that you’re here,” Eddie’s voice catches on kind of a whine, and Steve maybe would startle, when a hand reaches out and covers his; Eddie still does look at him, but he flattens his hand over Steve’s like a squeeze:

“That you’re here, too.”

And, oh. Okay.

Okay.

They’re here, then. Together.

Here.

___________________

It takes a while—he thinks; he thinks it’s a while, but one of the first things that makes itself plain in this godforsaken place is how times means absolutely fucking nothing, so; he think it takes a while to remember the vines.

They were coming back for Robin, and Steve would die before he let her get hurt so: that’s the last thing he remembers.

For Eddie, it’s the bats; Steve grimaces, hates even imagining like…swarms of them. More of their bites.

He’s the one who reaches for Eddie’s hand, this time—he wants to say it’s just a little comfort for the particularly bad things that are coming up as they sit here, as they draw patterns in the not-water and blow against it to make little waves just for shits, mindless and stupid: he wants to say that when it gets too much, and then keeps going, when it’s the worst, they’ve started to reach because what else can they do? Who else can they lean on?

Who’s gonna fucking know?

Actually: no. He doesn’t want to say that.

He wants to say the truth: the truth being they touch a lot. They reach a lot. They reach because it’s quiet. They reach because it’s dark. They reach because they’re frustrated. Or they’re scared. Steve could map Eddie’s calluses blind if he was asked to. Eddie traces his veins without being able to see close enough to know that he’s right.

He wants to say the truth: that he wants to touch. He craves it. And not just from anyone.

He craves this.

He doesn’t know what that fucking means.

But he’s the one who reaches, and covers Eddie’s hand, presses down to keep him when Eddie remembers the bats.

And he’s the one who leans, who rests their shoulders together and holds his breath.

But Eddie is the one who doesn’t move away, who leans in too, he tips his head onto Steve and breathes out slow so Steve can feel the warm damp of it on his skin and…

Steve’s heart’s fucking pounding, but then also it’s kinda like fluttering, and either way:

That’s not death.

___________________

Steve likes that the not-water is…not water, because lying back in it doesn’t fuck up his hair. Which…feels cleaner than it should be he figures maybe that’s just the same as both he and Eddie not being riddled with the wounds they should be rights be covered in—he can run his hands through it and that’s really all he wants, his hands, or like, you know if other hands wanted—

Whatever; he’s not going to question the not-water. He’s happy it doesn’t make him a wet dog just for trying to lay back and pretend there are stars.

Which he’d still be doing, if a weird…flapping noise hadn’t started up over to the left.

He has to squint in the no-light to see what the fuck’s going on, something in Eddie’s hands, oh shit, flapping, is it one of those fucking bats—

“What the fuck?”

Eddie freezes, and turns. And Steve sees what’s in his hands.

Doesn’t change his question.

Eddie just blinks at him. And runs his thumbs over the desk of cards he’s holding, flicking them one by one: flapping.

“Where the hell did those come from?”

Eddie shrugs. “Pocket.”

Steve gapes a little.

“You’ve had them the whole time?” because again, even if the feeling’s shifted: what the fuck

“Lots of pockets, man,” Eddie grins cheekily as he shakes his jacket out, like Steve can see any pockets.

Then he’s walking over to Steve on his knees before dropping cross-legged and shuffling the deck before he taps them out on his thigh and leans in:

“Pick your poison.”

And Steve’s played his share of cards, is actually pretty decent at poker, but, like…

“I don’t,” he bites his lip and stares at the predictable red pattern of the face-down cards;“I don’t want to think,” he finishes, kinda fucking lame, but Eddie’s not deterred, flips a few cards off the top with a thump before balancing the rest on his knee, offering half the cards he’s still holding to Steve with a little wiggle of his eyebrows:

“Go Fish?”

And Steve, he, like—

This is not-death, right, but whatever it is, it’s probably not good, and yet here Steve sits, with five cards in his hand and…Jesus.

He feels his lips stretch and he doesn’t think he’s smiled like this in…

In a while.

___________________

“Three Musketeers,” Steve answers when they’re lounging in the not-water, heads lined up so sometimes Steve feels the tickle of Eddie’s curls.

“The fuck?” Eddie huffs a laugh; the question was just things they’d miss if they never get out of here; like, it’s a little morbid and also a little hopeful all at once.

They’ve been working deeper in the category of food for a bit now, and so it’s candy bars. And Steve does not see what’s controversial about his choice, honestly.

“I love those, shit,” Steve waves his hand in the air, dismissing Eddie’s very wrong opinion, here; “they’re just,” Steve hums, tries to figure out the best way to defend a genuinely fucking excellent snack food:

“They’re simple,” and that sounds like a weak defense but look at where they are, look at their lives, that is fucking high praise. “Not too sweet and like, light and airy and,” Steve tilts his head, imagines the mouthfeel:

“Kinda delicate when you bite into ‘em,” he feels himself grin a little: “like bubbles or something,” because…yeah.

They’re awesome, but then he looks over at Eddie, who’s already turned to look at him, his gaze…something. Weighty but not oppressive. Piercing but not painful.

“Sorry,” Steve feels himself flush and it’s no the first time, or the worst time, but he’s grateful just like he is every time that there’s no fucking light and whatever lets them see at all doesn’t give away a blush; “sorry, that’s—“

“That’s adorable,” Eddie says with something…equally undefinable in his voice as much as his eyes, but this thing makes Steve feel, like, warm and tingly, a little, under his skin, in his chest; “you’re right, they’re…” and Eddie reaches for his hand, which they do a lot, yeah, but not…not so often for good things and this feels…like a good thing.

“They’re really good,” Eddie presses his hand over Steve’s, like a blanket, all encompassing—Steve has broad hands but Eddie’s fingers are longer than he’d ever noticed and he—

Steve likes how they fit.

“Under-appreciated, I think,” Eddie’s voice has lowered, softened, and it kinda feels like he’s saying something that has nothing to do with candy bars at all: “because people aren’t looking close enough to see how amazing it is.”

Yeah, for how Eddie’s staring at him, and for how Steve’s pulse has ramped up all of a sudden: Steve doesn’t really think Eddie’s talking about chocolate at all.

___________________

“You’re really good company.”

Eddie turns and blinks Steve’s way.

“What?”

Steve swallows; he’s not sure what made him say it. Except that it’s true.

“I’d have liked it,” he starts, like, expands on the point rather than revisiting the simple part; “if we could have, y’know,” and he gestures between them; “hung out.”

Eddie tilts his head, and he doesn’t smile exactly, but it kinda feels like his whole face, maybe his whole body, is a smile.

“Well,” he huffs a little laugh, like a disbelieving sound; “we’re hanging out, now.”

And Steve smiles the normal way, which is probably lesser to look at, but he wishes really hard that Eddie could, like, slip under his skin and see how it feels on the inside. “Yeah,” Steve grins at the darkness for a second, chews his lips a little, suddenly kinda…bashful, fuck:

“Yeah we are,” and then he breathes in deep, and makes himself be brave with something he doesn’t wholly understand:

“I like it,” and that’s an understatement.

And then Eddie hums, and covers Steve’s hand as he murmurs:

“Me too, sweetheart.”

And Steve’s heartbeat catches on that word, or more, reaches for that word, that name, greedy and wild and it pounds out that same desperate mantra blood-in-blood-out unwavering:

not-dead, not-dead, not-dead, not—

___________________

Eddie’s smile is so fucking pretty.

He didn’t know what Speed was, like the card game, so they’ve each got a pile balanced on a knee as the flip and they’re pressed up tight at their crossed legs to make a little table from their limbs for the discards and Eddie’s just…

It’s not just his smile.

“My grandpa taught me to play,” Steve comments idly, mostly just for something to say when it looks like they’re stuck and need to flip from the sides.

“It’s chaotic,” Eddie looks up and meets Steve’s eyes, his own fucking glittering when the lack of light should make that impossible but Steve thinks Eddie is kinda impossible so probably it fits.

“I like it,” he proclaims, as he reaches for another card to start the momentum back up, raises an eyebrow at Steve and waits for him to follow suit like he’s the expect, like Steve didn’t fucking just show him this game—

“You would,” Steve snorts and Eddie?

Eddie just beams bigger, and that catches in Steve’s pulse, nudges it to sing something that’s more than just not-dead; that’s more…

That feels more

___________________

It’s the more-feeling that breaks him, in the end.

“You called me big boy.”

Steve doesn’t really have control over his mouth, when it happens. Or else, like, he doesn’t think before the words tumble out, and the lie in the not-water and stare at the absence of the starts in the not-sky.

His heart’s jumped up to his throat, now.

Eddie’s quiet, for a while, even if time doesn’t mean anything here; Eddie’s quiet, and Steve’s heart wants to jump out of his fucking mouth but if it does than it’s got two destinations: it can’t drown in the not-water so that’s fucking useless, and then there’s Eddie, Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s chest and—

“I,” Eddie finally speaks, and his voice is rough, far away;“I, yeah.”

Steve doesn’t know what he was expecting. He wasn’t planning on saying anything so there weren’t any expectations built in.

“You looked at me,” Steve’s whispering, but it wavers, it moves with the force of his blood; “like you…” Steve licks his lips, swallows a whimper because what is he doing, what is he doing—

“Being almost-dead is really going to take the thunder out of your backlash on this, Harrington,” Eddie cuts into his panic and Steve’s head snaps over to look, to try and read Eddie’s expression: scared. Bracing for impact. Like Steve would, like Steve could ever—

“No, no, I,” Steve raises himself up and scoots over to Eddie, grabs his hands and presses them together in his own, never once looks away from Eddie’s eyes as they stretch wide.

“What did you mean?” because Steve’s started this, and Eddie’s anxious for it and…he needs Eddie to understand he’s not upset, he’s confused, his heart’s all swollen for it, he just, he—

“With the, with calling me that, and with leaning in like you did in the woods,” his breath’s shaking on the exhale: “with all the looks,” and he tries to leave it all in his eyes, on his face, open and clear for all that he doesn’t understand, but also for all that he…that he hopes.

Eventually, Eddie sighs, and squeezes his eyes shut tight, almost like a wince.

But he doesn’t pulls his hands away.

“You’re not stupid, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head, even if Eddie can’t see it.

“I’m very stupid.”

And Eddie’s eyes fly open, look wrathful, look offended on…Steve’ behalf, what the fuck?

And yeah, yeah, he’s opening his mouth now to fight him, to fight Steve about Steve and…no. No, that’s not the point.

“I’m stupid,” Steve says again, but quick so he can get it out; “about like,” he tries to find the right words and remembers Robin’s point on it once:

“About, you know, matters of the heart.”

Eddie’s features slacken, and his mouth drops open as he blinks at Steve before he eventually chokes out:

“Heart?”

But Steve can hear it. He can hear the confusion, like his own, but also just like his own:

He thinks he can hear the hope.

“You held that bottle to my throat and all I wanted was for you to lean closer,” he confesses, and it feels amazing, like he can breathe again, or see in color even though there’s so little color, here.

“And slit it?” Eddie croaks, incredulous, still a little slack-jawed and Steve laughs, because he can breathe, and—

“And kiss me, you dick.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, and his eyes somehow get bigger, and his chest’s heaving and Steve wants that not to be for fearing, he wants Eddie to be anything but scared, he wants Eddie to be hoping—

“Stevie,” Eddie barely breathes and…it’s not scared, or else, not like it could be. It’s hesitant. It’s…full, of something Steve thinks might be incredible.

“You call me sweetheart,” Steve leans in, pushes the point, leans more until he’s close enough where he can feel Eddie’s breath on his face; “here. Now.”

Eddie nods immediately, doesn’t try to hide from it.

“Yeah, I do,” he breathes, and watches Steve so careful, unblinking.

“What does it mean,” Steve pushes, angles his lips without even thinking, without making the choice but Eddie?

Eddie makes the choice, and he kisses Steve so fucking sure and sweet and still wild somehow and Steve never wants to not be here. Never wants to not have this mouth under his, never wants to not have Eddie’s hands in his own: he doesn’t wholly understand it, where it comes from or what all it means but…his heart’s fucking dancing, the joy’s almost sore for it’s size and when Steve breathes between them, when they break for half a second to breathe and stare and marvel and Eddie looks like he’s entranced, like he’s overjoyed, and the only other thing here is Steve?

Fuck. Fuck.

If this ends up being death, that’s okay. That’s okay, as long as there’s also this.

___________________

He’s on top of Eddie’s chest, curled so so close, when it starts to feel…different. In his body. Like something pulling him.

The dark is still absolute but it almost feels like they’re on the brink of something, like dawn could come.

Steve fucking hates it.

“I don’t want to die alone,” Eddie whispers against his head, kisses at his hair.

“I don’t want you to die,” Steve grits out, almost violent, because isn’t this how it started, wasn’t that what Eddie meant, that he didn’t want Steve here, too—but Steve won’t accept that.

He cannot fucking accept that.

“I don’t want you to die at all.”

Eddie drags the tip of his nose back and forth against Steve’s hair some more as he breathes, breathes, breathes—

“To die by your side,” Eddie murmurs low; “would be my privilege,” and Steve chokes on a whine, a sob—it’s too much. It’s too much, and he needs this man, he needs him so much, he think he fucking loves hi—

“Maybe it’s not dying,” Steve tries, looks out into the abyss and he can’t see what’s on the way but he feels it; they both feel it: “maybe we’ll,” and he grabs Eddie’s hand and brings it to his lips.

“Maybe we’ll wake up.”

Maybe. Maybe.

“Kiss me,” Eddie exhales and Steve pulls back, slides up Eddie’s chest and hovers over him, makes to claim his lips but then Eddie lifts a palm, pauses Steve as he presses it over his racing heart and blinks at him, makes the tears fall from his lashes:

“Kiss me again when we wake up.”

And Steve will, he will, but.

He’s gonna kiss Eddie now, too. He’s going to kiss Eddie always.

He thinks his heart’s going too fast to beat out words but that, in itself, has to mean something that isn’t…death.

So he pours that conviction, and all the hope he’s got left, into Eddie as he devours him, breathes into him like they can melt together, like if Steve’s air lifts Eddie’s lungs they’ll be one person, one living soul and whatever happens…

Whatever happens will take them both.

___________________

Eddie splutters, clutches his chest; his heart’s racing, it feels like his blood’s on fire because every beat fucking burns, and the tear of his shirt where it’s stuck to his skin—dried blood, fucking hell—all up his side is absolutely disgusting, Jesus fuck—

“Eddie!”

He turns and that, that’s Henderson, and he squints; that’s Henderson running toward him, less than a minute away at that pace and Eddie doesn’t know if he can sit up but he’ll try, he digs his fingers into the mud and makes to lift—

And then something crashes into him, pins him right back down.

Covers his hands. Presses.

And he can’t get a word out, can barely fucking breathe before his lips are covered, before he’s being kissed so fucking desperate and giddy and all these feelings being fed straight into him, his heart leaping up in his throat to steal a taste but it doesn’t need to, it doesn’t need to because he feels…he feels it all everywhere, and he looks up and he shakes, he laughs, he’s gonna fucking cry—

“You woke up,” Eddie whispers, marvels, thinks his whole face is going to split open with, with joy and Steve, Steve is here, and he’s smiling back, and he’s breathing and they’re, it’s—

There’s light here. Steve’s eyes are like molten copper, they flicker, they shine.

“Promised,” Steve murmurs close, his lips moving Eddie’s lips with each syllable and the taste is, is…sweet and soft and light and perfect and Eddie almost doesn’t ask because it feels so right, so unquestionable but also he wants, something fierce and unwavering, and he needs to be sure where the water’s real, and the ripples mean something when you shift the whole fucking world, when you feel this big you know it’ll move the earth breathe your feet, so he has to ask:

“That the only reason?”

He still feels the hope from wherever they were, though; he feels it still, here, and he believes in it more in the light, he thinks, and he looks at Steve, takes him in, sees his chest rising and his pulse at the neck: real. Real, and so beautiful, and so, so—

Steve leans and kisses him hard, almost painful but it’s divine, Eddie will bask in the sting of it for the rest of his fucking life if he’s allowed, and then—

Then Steve pulls back and pins him with his eyes, now, fierce and on fire and they steal Eddie’s breath with feeling, with intent as Steve grabs at his shoulders, pulls them flush together and growls against his ear, like a vow almost:

“Only reason?” Steve huffs, shakes his head. “Not even close,” and he drags his lips over Eddie’s skin, catches Eddie’s hair, weaves into Eddie’s heartbeat:

not-dead, not-dead, not-dead

in-love, in-love, in-love—

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

♥️

divider credit here

[peotego]

Unconditionally | James' POV

Pairing: James Potter x fem!Black!reader

Summary: Unconditionally but from James' POV.

Warnings: some swear words, Sirius being an ass in the beginning, my English? (since it’s not my first language)

Words: 3,5k+

Masterlist

In James Potter’s life, there was only one girl.

The only girl he ever had eyes on.

Oh, how he loved to look at her smile or laugh with her friends. How he adored the way she would throw her head back when he told a really funny joke. How absolutely and utterly in love with her he was.

He sometimes looked at her as if she was the one who hung the stars and the moon herself. As if she was the ruler of an old kingdom and he was supposed to serve her night and day. She was the first person he thought about in the morning and the last one in his mind before going to sleep.

But she was also his best friend’s sister.

She was untouchable.

And James Potter was seriously fucked.

He remembered when he first thought about her in a non-friendly way. It was quite soon when she stopped being just a buddy he would hang out with and started being the girl.

It was shortly after the Christmas break in their first year. (Y/N) and Sirius were already on a train and he came in late. (Y/N) was wearing a black dress and that was the first time when James noticed she was actually a girl. Of course, the girls in Hogwarts were wearing skirts as the uniform required it but James never paid a mind to it. However on that very train at the beginning of January, he noticed that one of his mates was a beautiful girl.

He didn’t know what to do with those feelings so he tried talking to his best friend about it.

A bad idea, right? Since his best friend was also a brother of the girl he was developing feelings for.

”Sirius, we need to talk”

”What’s up, mate?” Sirius was lying on his bed mindlessly playing with some spells he read about. Remus was in the common room trying to read a book and Peter was nowhere to be found.

”I think I have a crush on this girl” confessed James. That caught Sirius’ attention as he smiled wickedly.

”Really? Who is she?”

”It’s (Y/N)”

”(Y/N)? As in my sister (Y/N)?”

”Well, yeah”

James looked at his best friend expectantly. He did expect a piece of advice on what to do with those feelings or how to act on them. What he did not expect was the outburst.

Sirius was angry, furious even.

”James, she is my sister, you can’t have a crush on her!” Sirius stood from the bed and looked at James in shock ”She is my sister!” He repeated ”She is off limits for you. If you ever try to pursue her, it will ruin our friendship! Imagine what would happen if things didn’t work out between you two. How am I supposed to pick sides? What would you expect me to do? Side with you? Because I couldn’t do that! She is my family and I would have to pick her over you! Do you really want to ruin our friendship like that? Does it really mean that little to you?”

”Sirius, calm down” James panicked ”It’s just a stupid crush, it will pass”

”It better do, James, because we’re gonna have a big problem”

For a few days, James avoided (Y/N) like a plague. He was only eleven years old and he really thought that by acting on his weird feelings he would completely ruin his friendship with Sirius. It didn't help that by saying "we're gonna have a big problem" James thought Sirius implied he would beat him up.

James would not only lose (Y/N) but also Sirius. So he tried to get over it.

*~*~*

But in their third year, he still had those feelings. He was still crushing on his best friend’s sister. And he was truly terrified.

He started to hate those butterflies that appeared whenever (Y/N) was in the same room, whenever she talked to him, laughed with him, or touched his shoulder.

It was so obvious that Sirius picked on it and started a very serious talk with his friends one night.

”Guys, gather up, we need to talk about something very important” Remus looked at James and raised his eyebrows as if James knew what it was all about. Potter only shrugged his shoulders. When all three boys gathered close to Sirius’ bed, Black started talking.

”You’re probably wondering what is this all about. So let me explain. Birds told me that one of you has unconventional feelings for my sister. Look, I get it. (Y/N) is amazing. She’s smart, funny, kind, and she’s got this incredible smile that can light up a room. Believe me, I know, I live with her. Guys, respect the boundaries. Falling in love with my sister can complicate our friendship and put my sister in a tough spot, and I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable or pressured in any way. I want you all to know that I appreciate you guys. We’ve got each other’s backs, we’re like a family. I want to trust you and I want to know that you won’t hurt my sister. Let’s keep the love we have for (Y/N) as sisterly as possible and keep our romantic interests directed somewhere else.”

”What?” Asked Peter when Sirius ended his little TED talk ”Who has a crush on (Y/N)? Is it you Remus?”

”Doesn’t matter” said Sirius quickly ”Just promise me, all of you, that you will never ever fall in love with my sister”

James stared at his best friend in disbelief. He felt betrayed, slapped in the face. What was he supposed to do other than agree to Sirius’ madness?

”Well, I can promise you that,” Remus said as the first one of the group.

”Me too” added Peter.

Sirius looked expectantly at James as the other two of their friends also looked his way. So as not to look suspicious, James shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

”Yeah, sure, I have my eyes on a different girl, I think she’ll be the future Mrs Potter” James lied. It was so easy to do so that he was surprised himself.

”Oh, yeah? Who is she?” Sirius didn’t believe him at all, he still remembered the conversation they had in their first year, and he still remembered the way James looked at his sister with lovey-dovey eyes.

”It’s… Lily Evans!” James himself was surprised when he heard what he had said. Lily Evans was one of (Y/N)’s friends, they were inseparable, always sitting together, laughing together, or whispering about some secrets during dinner. It was an obvious choice. Simple.

”My, my, James” Sirius smirked ”Then we have to ensure you go on a date with Evans soon!”

From that day forward James Potter pursued Lily Evans, even though he never liked her as more than a friend. But he wanted Sirius to stop being suspicious of him.

So he declared his love for the redhead girl the next morning to the whole school.

*~*~*

As years went by James’ feelings for (Y/N) only grew stronger. Each encounter with Sirius’ sister became an exquisite torture, a stolen sip from a well of emotions. He observed her, like a creepy stalker.

In the deepest parts of him, James harbored an affection, silent and concealed, a love he knew was not his to claim. He was a prisoner of this affection, torn between loyalty to his best friend and the magnetic pull of his heart towards his best friend’s sister.

When during one party in their 6th year Marlene suggested a game of Spin the Bottle, James was excited. That was his way to steal a kiss from the girl of his dreams without Sirius growing suspicious of him. It was only a game after all, right?

But when Remus mentioned that he shared his first real kiss with (Y/N) Black, James saw green. He sulked in his seat sending daggers into his friend’s back. If looks could kill, Remus would be long dead by now. And when he got to be the first one to kiss her in the game, years later, James’ angry fist hit the floor a little too much which made Mary look at him with a smirk.

As the game progressed James became more desperate so without his friends knowing he enchanted the bottle when (Y/N) spun it so it would definitely land on him.

He watched as her eyes went wide with the realisation of who she was supposed to kiss and James was scared for a minute that she would choose to tell the truth and drink instead of kissing him. But she didn’t. And he couldn’t be happier.

Her demeanor quickly changed and she smirked wickedly while saying ”Two out of three. Better get ready Peter”

Sirius shouted something about this whole situation being disgusting but James paid no mind to him. He was definitely too drunk to care. Slowly he got up from the place where he sat on the floor and made his way to (Y/N). When he positioned himself before her, he looked deep into her eyes and, oh Merlin, how he loved those eyes. Those eyes held the power over him. He marveled at the way they sparkled like stars in a night sky. He loved the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, how he could read her like an open book only by one look.

James put his hand on (Y/N)’s cheek and leaned into her. When his lips crushed on hers James could swear he saw fireworks. And when she kissed him back with just as much force he could only smile into the kiss. He pushed his tongue inside her mouth while she grasped his shirt trying to bring him closer. Oh, sweet Merlin, James could only dream about a moment like that. When (Y/N) bit his lower lip he couldn’t help but moan.

James tried bringing her closer to him if that was even possible, but his drunk self had too much strength and they fell to the ground, (Y/N)’s body under his.

”That’s enough, Prongs, it’s my sister” Sirius’ strong arms pulled James from (Y/N). Potter couldn’t help himself and grimaced but luckily Sirius didn’t see anything because he helped his sister get up. The only person who saw his face was Lily as she smiled at him knowingly.

*~*~*

That same night when the girls went to their dorm, Sirius started a conversation.

”How is it, Prongs, that you’re supposedly in love with Evans but couldn’t get enough of my sister while kissing her, hm? I thought you two were gonna have sex right in front of us”

”Padfoot, please, stop it already. We talked about it in our third year”

”Yeah, I remember, but I can’t shake the feeling that you lied to me”

”Padfoot…”

”He’s not wrong, James,” said Peter getting ready for bed ”You two looked very… comfortable”

”Horny, Wormtail, the word you were looking for is horny” added Sirius. ”See? I’m not the only one seeing this!”

”You’re all delusional. I’m going to bed”

So the next day during breakfast James shouted how much he loved Lily Evans even though it wasn’t true. And Evans kinda looked disappointed.

*~*~*

When the summer break between their 6th and 7th year at Hogwarts came, Sirius and (Y/N) spent it at the Potters. And while James couldn’t be more happy about it he was also angry that his best friend tried to be everywhere with them. Sirius wouldn’t leave (Y/N) and James alone even for one minute.

So when Sirius felt sick, James tried to twist the situation to his advantage and asked (Y/N) if she wanted to stargaze with him.

”Jamie, your father wants me to marry you,” she said unexpectedly and James felt shivers run down his spine. He would kill Fleamont Potter for his big mouth later.

”What?!”

”Yeah, crazy, right? He thinks I’m your mystery girl”

Because you are and he knows it, thought James to himself.

”Oh, and what did you tell him?”

”That it’s definitely not me. That I know the girl you have a crush on and he said that we’ll see”

”I have no idea why he said that, I’m very sorry” After what she said James thought that she wasn’t interested in him in any way. He needed to protect his own heart. So he distanced himself.

”No big deal, Potter”

While James was sulking and drowning in his own unrequited feelings, (Y/N) suddenly spoke again.

”James”

”(Y/N)”

”I’ve been thinking about you and Lily for a while”

What?

”Oh?”

”Yeah. I think she doesn’t deserve you”

That’s interesting, thought James.

”How so?”

”You see, Jamie, you’ve been trying to get the girl since we were thirteen years old and she’s still not even slightly interested in going on a date with you. She’s always laughing at you, turning you down. I don’t think that’s very good for you. I get that you’re in love with her but maybe you should start thinking about yourself a little bit?”

A stupid, stupid heart that started to beat faster. A glimmer of hope appeared inside of James.

”What do you mean?”

”You deserve the world, James Potter. You deserve a girl who will be madly in love with you. You deserve a girl who will love you unconditionally. You are a good guy. Sure, you have your faults. We all have them. But you should be loved the way you love other people - wholeheartedly. I don’t think Lily is the right girl for you. I'm also not saying you should do whatever I’m telling you right now. I just believe you should think about it a little bit and decide if it’s even worth it. Because you, James Potter, are definitely worth it and it’s her loss if she cannot see that”

If James Potter was confused before, imagine him in that moment. (Y/N) Black made no sense to him. She said that he should look for a girl that would give him all the love he deserved but she didn’t see that she was the girl he already loved.

So James did what he always did when he was confused. He joked.

”Wow, Black, do you have a crush on me or something?”

”You’re also an idiot” She slapped his shoulder and just like that they got back to where they started - to being just friends, which James hated by the way. "I’m your friend, I just hate to see you struggling so much."

”You are a good mate, (Y/N) Thank you for always looking out for me”

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

He didn’t mean to say it.

But what are you supposed to say to the girl you love when you’re not sure if she harbors the same feelings for you?

He gently took her hand In his and interceded their fingers. How he longed for that to mean more.

”Always”

*~*~*

After that conversation, when their 7th year began, James Potter promised himself that he would do absolutely everything in his power to convince (Y/N) Black that they were meant to be. So he stopped pursuing Lily Evans and after a long talk with her, when she advised him to just stop listening to Sirius and finally get the girl of his dreams, he began thinking about his master plan.

James Potter did everything a boy romantically interested in a girl would do, at least that's what he thought. He always sat next to her in classes, and he partnered up with her which made Sirius angry, he sat with her in the library and just watched as she was doing her homework, he walked her to her classes even when they had different ones and it meant he would be late to his.

So when the time came in October, when the Marauders’ prank was planned to happen, James was excited. He was the one who told the Ravenclaw prefect to be in that specific corridor at that time, he even paid him to be there. So when he started to chase the group and Remus suggested scattering, James paid no mind to anybody else while he grabbed (Y/N)’s hand and dragged her to the broom closet nearby.

And in that broom closet, he was finally able to confess his feelings. When (Y/N) said she reciprocated his feeling he couldn’t help himself.

But then the realisation came and James was mortified.

If he thought that the conversation with Sirius Black wasn’t going to be a big problem, he must have been an idiot. He had the girl of his dreams but he was scared to death with the thought of losing his best friend. In all of his master plan, James Potter didn’t think beyond the moment of saying ”I love you” in the broom closet. He wouldn’t dare to dream about (Y/N) reciprocating his feelings.

So now he had a problem.

(Y/N) and James dated in secret for a month while James thought about how to break the news to his best friend. (Y/N) only laughed at his imaginary scenarios because she thought her brother wouldn’t have that big of a problem.

She was right, Sirius Black grew up since they were all thirteen years old.

But James Potter was still scared.

”Padfoot,” said James looking in the direction of his best friend. Sirius was lying on the bed just like he was six years ago when they first talked about it. Remus was reading a book nearby while Peter was looking franticly for his Transfiguration essay. ”I need to talk to you”

”What’s up, Prongs? You have an idea for our next prank? Because I think (Y/N) mentioned something about invading Slytherin common room and painting it red and gold and I would love to do that”

”No, but it does concern (Y/N)”

”I'm all ears ten”

”Remember when we first talked about me having a crush on your sister when we were eleven?”

”It was you?” Shouted Peter surprised ”I literally thought it was Remus who fancied (Y/N)”

”Shut up, Wormtail. James is going to say something important. I remember. Go on, mate” Sirius tried not to smile. He knew already. (Y/N) told him but he patiently waited for his best friend to finally confess.

”And remember when you came up with that stupid rule when we were thirteen?”

”Yeah”

”And remember when I said I fancy Lily Evans then?”

”I think we all remember”

”I lied”

”I know”

”I’m madly in love with your sister, Padfoot. And I’m sorry, I really tried to get over her so as not to ruin our friendship. Merlin, I tried so hard but it’s impossible. I believe she’s the love of my life, mate. I want to make her happy, I want to be the one she smiles at, I want to tell her all the jokes just to hear her laugh, I want to marry her one day. That’s why I’m sorry, Padfoot. Because you are my best friend and I didn’t listen to you, I went behind your back, and lied to you for a month. But I'm not sorry for loving your sister. I believe (Y/N) is the one”

There was silence between the four of them for a while.

James looked as if he was about to die, Peter looked at his best friend with wide eyes, Remus tried to cover up his laugh behind a book, and Sirius… Sirius was staring at his friend without showing any emotion.

”What time is it, Wormtail?” Asked the Black heir instead.

”Um, it’s almost midnight, why?”

”And what day is it?”

”November 29th?”

”Moony, my dear, pay up”

”What?” James was surprised. He expected screaming, maybe a hex or two directed at him. But Sirius was completely calm when he grabbed a few galleons from Remus.

”You see, Prongs, I already knew. You weren’t very subtle over the years. I suspected something but you always insisted you loved Evans so I waited, patiently may I add. And finally, you broke down. I expected you would do so in our 7th year somewhere close to the end of November, Moony said that’s impossible and opted for the end of our 7th year. Prongs, I just won a bet thanks to you.”

”You’re not mad?”

”Well, you see, I would be mad if we were children. But we grew up since that time, mate. I feel weird knowing that you’re snogging my sister but as long as you’re both happy, it’s fine with me. Just don’t hurt her cause then I would be obliged to hurt you too. You know, because I’m the older brother and so on”

”I don’t intend on hurting her, Padfoot. I want to marry her”

*~*~*

Just like James Potter said, he actually did marry (Y/N) Black two years later. And Sirius gave the most hilarious best man’s speech everyone has ever heard mentioning that he always knew these two would end up together (to which Remus screamed ”NOT TRUE” so loud that Peter fell from his chair).

A year later, they all attended Sirius and Remus' wedding.

And only a few days later (Y/N) found out she was pregnant. James couldn't have been happier, and Sirius shouted something about being the best godfather on the whole planet.

When they all decorated the nursery, James could only smile. With his best friends by his side, the love of his life sleeping soundly in their shared bedroom, and the baby soon to be born, he had everything he ever dreamed of.

And all was well.

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Four

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters/Pairings: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau and Soldier Boy/ Ben (and Eric the black cat.)

Warnings: Language, mentions of divorce, mentions of manipulation, typical Soldier Boy behaviour.

A/N: If you've noticed continuity errors regarding the divorce timeline, that is entirely my fault. I write these chapters on the fly, with the bare minimum on how the chapter will end, and the scope of the story. Excuses aside, I am making amends as I go. If you see any continuity errors, please let me know. Sometimes I just forget.

W/C: 1,726

Feeling lighter, thanks to Beau, you headed down after him. Checking your phone, you almost baulked at the time. It was half eleven at night. Where were they all going to sleep?

Two spare guest bedrooms were left free. One had been your ex-husband’s gaming room, and the other you’d wanted to turn into a nursery, but your ex had shot that idea down not long into the marriage. You’d talked about having kids, and he’d agreed. You’d show him cribs and strollers, and he’d smile and comment pleasantly. He fed into your dreams only to destroy them. You’d kept the gifts from family and friends, hiding them in boxes, unable to part with them no matter his insistence.

He had decided to sleep in that room during the separation. Out of fear of him finding the items, you hid them in your room, only to return them once he had left.

Now you had two guest rooms, both with double beds. You were sure none of them would share, and why would they? They were grown men, for God’s sake. That left the couch, which would not fit any of them on. You could barely fit on it. It was more of a loveseat and not a comfortable sleep. You knew from experience. It taxed the back if slept on for too long. This left you with the final option—your bed. And you hadn’t had a man in your bed since your ex a year and a half ago.

You scratched your chin lightly and walked with purpose towards the kitchen. You stopped in your tracks when you saw Ben. He sat at your table, a half-empty bottle of rosé clamped in his fist, and the rest was quickly following down his gullet. You knew for a fact it had been full the last time you’d checked your fridge.

After finishing the wine in mere seconds, he clunked the bottle down and belched loudly, then pronounced—

“You’ve got God awful taste in wine. A nun couldn’t get pissed offa that. Don’t suppose you’ve anything stronger?”

You blinked in astonishment.

“Uh, no. Only rosé.”

His lip curled, and he huffed but stayed seated. What could you do? You didn’t have the time to go to the store. He could wait.

“I’ll pick something up tomorrow.” You said pulling open a drawer.

He replied with a grunt as you were taking out paper straws. All equal in size, you cut one in half, then tucked them into your sweater pocket when you were finished. Behind you, a chair scraped back, and when you turned, Ben was rising to his feet, shield in arm.

“C’mon, I need to figure out where you’re all sleeping.”

“Oh,” His voice perked up. “Bet you’ve never slept with three blokes at the same time, eh?”

His eyes twinkled, and a smile slipped out. God, he was an asshole, but that smile…that smile made your stomach flutter.

“Lemme guess—one for each hole, right?” You said deadpan.

“You guessed it, sugar.”

You shook your head and patted his arm, striding past him to the living room. Dean was still inspecting the box, lips moving silently as he attempted to read the inscription. Working this whole thing out without his hunter contacts would take much longer. Beau had his fingers deep in Eric’s fur, who was purring loudly on the cowboy’s lap.

Ben sauntered in, smirk on his lips. He propped his shield down and perched against the couch’s arm, crossing his arms against his broad chest. Out of the three, he was the one that intimidated you the most.

You wiped your hands along your lounge bottoms. This needed sorting. It couldn’t wait any longer. You turned slightly, pulling out the straws, making sure the tops were of equal length, before presenting them to the boys.

“Pick one. This is gonna determine your sleeping arrangements.”

Dean looked up from the box, and Beau’s brows raised in wonderment. But they both reached forward, picking a straw. Each one was long, which left—

“So, what’s the short straw? The couch?” Ben inquired as he plucked the remaining straw from your hand.

“No.”

It was damn typical of him to get the shortest. It meant bunking with you. In your bed.

“The short straw is my bed. With me.”

“Ohoh.” Ben rubbed his hands together in glee. There was that twinkle in his eye again.

Oh, brother. You took the opportunity before something else came hurling out of his mouth.

“Lemme show Beau and Dean to their rooms, and tomorrow we’ll head into town and pick up some essentials.”

“Skin mags and lotion,” Flew out of Ben’s mouth. He nudged Dean beside him. “Gotta clean those pipes out, amirite?”

You sighed and scrubbed a hand down your face. Damn that man. Dean chuckled lightly but otherwise didn’t engage.

Before Ben could say anything more, you spoke up. “Why don’t I show you to your rooms.”

All three stood up. All right then. You picked up the box sets from the coffee table, quirking your eyebrows at Dean with a smile as you held the heavy set to your chest. You turned off the light and made your way upstairs. You showed Dean and Beau to their rooms, told them where the bathroom was and if they had any problems, told them which room was yours.

Then you retired to your room with Ben following.

“Betcha never slept with a Supe before, eh?” There was that teasing tone again.

He closed the door behind him and instantly started stripping. You looked away, heat rising in your neck and cheeks.

“Whatsa matter, sweetcheeks? Never seen a specimen as fine as myself before?” He chuckled lightly.

The box sets were getting heavy in your arms, so you dropped them onto the bed. Sighing, you knelt down and pulled out a suitcase from under the bed. In one of the pockets was a TSA-approved padlock.

Ben huffed a small laugh. “You think that piddly ass of a lock is gonna keep any of us out? I’m sure if we wanted, we could get past it. Real fuckin’ easy.”

You looked up. He only had his Supersuit pants on, top stuffed in his hands. He was in peak physical form. Perfect abs and pecs you wanted to run your hands over. Hard and toned, with thick biceps that could crush heads.

Damn.

You swallowed thickly.

He smirked.

“You wanna put your eyes back inside your head unless you’re lookin’ to ride the stallion?”

You closed your mouth and resumed your task—zipping and locking the suitcase.

“It’s a matter of principle. And respect. I wouldn’t delve into your belongings, so you won’t do it with mine.”

Ben snorted. “Believe what you wanna believe.”

“Well, I’m asking you not to.”

You pushed the suitcase back under the bed.

“Why you hiding them away anyway? Afraid we’ll watch our own shows?”

You rose to your feet. Now he had his Supe pants off and stood in his boxers.

“You know what they say. Curiosity killed the cat.”

He raised his eyebrows as you snatched your pyjamas off the bed and headed for the ensuite. No way were you comfortable with changing in front of him.

“I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to.”

He laughed as you closed the door on him. Sitting on the toilet, you rested your head in your hands. Oh, why did it have to be him? He was so toxic, so destructive, but dammit, he was so fucking hot. You’d thought about him in the worst ways, and they’d always give you the hardest orgasms.

But this wasn’t you and your imagination. He was really in there, almost naked, teasing and testing you. The sight of his body conjured all kinds of things and would be used when appropriate.

You changed, did your business and brushed your teeth before heading out. Ben was sitting in bed on your side. He had his hands behind his head, wearing a smirk.

“That’s my side…but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

You dropped your clothes in the laundry basket and slipped into bed beside him. Now, how were you going to do this? Form a pillow blockade? No. He’d most likely laugh at that, and you didn’t have the pillows for it.

You shuffled your pillow down a little bit and laid down, making sure the back of your head only just touched the mattress and pulled your hair up in a pony. You turned to see Ben giving you a strange look.

“What the fuck? You special or something?”

You frowned. “No. I’m just…particular.” You had the duvet up to your chin, lying dead straight.

“You look like Dracula in his fucking coffin.”

“We all have quirks.”

He quirked his eyebrows.

“That’s saying something.”

He pushed himself from sitting to lying down, causing you to sway as he did. He leant on one arm, looking your way.

“You look like you haven’t had a shit in a week. You nervous?”

“Little bit, yeah. You’re a bit of a wild card, and it’s been a while since a man has been in the same bed as me.”

“Like how long?”

“A year and a half.”

“Wow. You must really be gagging for it, huh?”

You huffed a small laugh.

“Contrary to popular opinion, no, actually.”

“Well, despite what you may think of me, I’m not gonna jump on you. Though if I knew I’d be picking the short straw, I’d have asked you to go to the store sooner. Dry rubbin’ fuckin’ hurts.”

Huh?

Ohhh.

You pulled a face and stared up at the ceiling. Ben laughed at your reaction and turned out the light, finally putting his head on the pillow.

You laid there, staring at the ceiling and minutes later, you heard his snores. They were loud, like a bulldozer. You stuck your head under your pillow desperately trying to sleep, but, God, were they so fucking loud. In the end, you gave up. You slipped out of bed and headed for the linen closet. You grabbed extra blankets before going down to the living room. You made yourself comfortable on the sofa. Eric meowed quietly, jumped up, and you kissed his soft head. He curled up, and you closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to take over.

Tags

@deans-spinster-witch, @curlycarley, @angelbabyyy99, @sassy-pelican

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

girl on fire 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, neglect, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: neglected, you find comfort in another home.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Loki

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself

“Chardonnay, simple but classic. Versatile,” Jonathan declares as he uncorks the bottle, “a fine match for this delectable looking salmon.” 

He’s plated the meal nicely and set the patio table for the dinner. It isn’t the one you planned but better than the one you’d been about to resign yourself too. He pours you a healthy glass and you can’t help but admire his profile. He’s younger and fairer, but does he ever remind you of your husband. It’s like a cruel joke. 

He fills his own glass and sits, his elbow close to yours as he leans it on the arm rest. He reaches for his wine and raises it, awaiting your cheers. You cling the crystal and try not to show how flustered his gaze makes you. You were prepared for your unloving husband but not an intent neighbour. 

“Thanks, this is all very nice,” you smile. How long since you did that? Genuinely. “You really didn’t have to humour me.” 

“Humour you? Not at all. I have to confess, it’s rather lonely. Hattie’s great fun when she’s not in pain but I’m afraid she’s been rather lethargic with all the sedation.” 

“She is? I didn’t think she’d had her surgery yet,” you perk up and take a cautious sip. The chardonnay is oaky and bold. It must be expensive. 

“Not as yet, no, she’s due soon,” he explains as he slices into the flaky salmon, “but I’m afraid she is not handling the pain.” He hums before he tastes the fish. He tastes it very deliberately, “that is perfectly cooked. You must have training, yes?” 

You laugh, not meaning too, but it’s a compliment you don’t expect. 

“Oh no, no, I... I worked at the deli in a grocery store, a long time ago, but I wouldn’t call it culinary school.” 

“Very long ago? You don’t seem that old,” he says, “not that I’m guessing your age. I am aware it’s rather uncourteous to mention it to a woman so I suppose I’ve already said too much.” 

“Thirty-three.” 

“Spry,” he comments with a grin. “I enjoyed thirty-three. And thirty-four. It was all rather merry until forty.” 

“Now I know I have a lot to look forward to,” you kid and take a more generous mouthful, “this wine...” 

“Ah, yes, I’m a bit of an enthusiast. Hattie only had cooking sherry when I moved in. I had to stock up for my stay though I admit I’ve found it rather glum to drink alone. I opened a single bottle of merlot and couldn’t finish.” 

“Mm, I... think I know what you mean,” you admit bittersweetly. 

“Yes, I’ve not seen the husband yet. Elusive? He must be busy.” 

“All the time. Eleven years... well, the flame gets dimmer,” you swirl the chardonnay and watch the golden cyclone, “I’m sure you don’t care. I’m boring. Tell me about you,” you put the glass down and pick up your fork, “when you’re not caring for elderly women, what do you get up to? It must be something exciting. Does your wife miss you?” 

“So many questions, I’m afraid I might disappoint,” he mulls his response as he chews. “I can’t help but repeat myself. Absolutely delicious.” 

“You’re not answering,” you goad. Your heart is fluttering. You can’t help it. He just seems so sophisticated. 

“I manage several hotels for a luxury chain. Though I am looking into slowing down. I’ve invested in the brand so I have a cushion. I tire of all this running around,” he says forlornly, “I didn’t realise it until I arrived here. Hattie, bless her, she’s helped me realise how much I’ve missed out on,” he shifts and sits straighter, “so to your point, no, I’ve not a wife to miss me.” 

You laugh, “I’m sorry. I’m so nosy. It’s just... this place, well, we have gossips but it’s always the same stories.” 

“I’m flattered, truly. I’m truly not very exciting.” 

“Look who you’re talking to,” you scoff. 

“I’d counter and say I find you rather interesting,” he insists, “I wonder how any man could keep away from you.” 

“Oh, you really know what to say,” you giggle. 

“The truth is always the best policy,” he winks, “a woman who cooks like this, she must be something special.” 

Your cheeks burn and bulb and you smile even deeper. There’s an edge to your delight. The nagging voice in the back of your head; he isn’t your husband, though not for your own negligence. You wish he was Loki. You have yearned for your husband to look at you, to speak to you like this.  

It’s fine. It’s nothing. He knows you’re married. It’s only dinner. You’re not going to do anything.  

❤️‍🔥

“I’ve some sorbet in the freezer, would you like some dessert?” Jonathan asks as you empty your glass. The third. Like everything else, he is generous with the bottle. 

“I’d love dessert,” you preen and set the glass down, cupping your chin in your hand as you lean in to marvel at him. You angle your foot to touch his leg, “but I’m not in the mood for sorbet.” 

He tilts his head and his blue eyes flash. He takes a breath and you sense his reluctance. Oh no. Why did you do that? Why did you say that? It’s the wine. 

“Ah,” he reaches to touch your knee, squeezing, “I am entirely flattered but... you are married.” 

“Oh god,” you pull back and cover your face, “please, forget that happened. I’m drunk.” 

“It’s rather fine. It is a rather strong vintage,” he removes his hand, “please do not be embarrassed.” 

“How can I not be?” You whine. 

“Truly, I... I would. I cannot say I invited you in without the whim and yet... you are married.” 

“I know,” you whimper. 

“And I wouldn’t want to put you in such a compromised position.” 

You nod and gulp, hiding still behind your fingers, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Please, I should be. I’ve been... misleading. I must admit I would leap at the chance and yet I find it difficult knowing that it would be only a fleeting deceit.” 

“Ugh, please, I’ll go,” you sit up and grip the edge of the table, about to stand. He catches your arm, and holds you there. 

“Darling, you are one of the most immaculate woman I’ve met. That man, whoever he is, is a fool. I’ve not met him and even I know it,” he trails his hand down your arm and takes yours, raising it to kiss your knuckles, “please, know I do not reject you out of repulsion, only out of consideration. I wouldn’t dare put you in that position.” 

“I...” the touch of his lips makes you tingle. You tear your hand away and get to your feet, “I have to go.” 

“Darling--” 

“No, you’re so sweet,” your voice quavers, “but I can’t... I can’t hear lies from another man. I understand, okay? Please, just forget this all.” 

You clamour around his seat and across the deck. You take the two steps to even ground and wobble to the gate. You leave it open as you barrel through and across the street. You slow as you approach your house, the moonlight high above its peak. You stop short as Loki’s car sits in the driveway. 

What timing he has. 

[roosterforme]

The Curveball Part 10 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Molly hates the feeling of each day slipping away, knowing Bob will be leaving soon. But there are cowboy hats to be worn and grandparents to talk to. And when Bob sails off into the Pacific, leaving Molly truly alone, she understands how much of her heart he's taking with him. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swears, pregnancy, smut, 18+

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story accompanies Batting Practice!)

Check my masterlist for more! The Curveball masterlist

Thank you to @mak-32 and @teacupsandtopgun for the beautiful banners!

"I had all these things planned that I wanted to do," Molly complained. "What am I supposed to do with this cowboy hat while you're deployed, huh? You expect me to just use my fingers or a vibrator for weeks on end? This is bullshit, and you know it, Lieutenant Floyd."

Bob watched Molly pace around the bedroom wearing a sports bra, a pair of his gym shorts, and the mahogany brown cowboy hat she just took out of the Amazon box that was delivered today. Her bump was so adorable, he just wanted to touch it all the time. But right now he was watching her absentmindedly running her hands along her belly as she walked back and forth in front of where he sat on the edge of the bed. 

"Why did you buy a cowboy hat in the first place, Mo?" he asked, honestly hoping he'd come home to find his girlfriend asking him for uniform time. Now that she was in her second trimester, she was practically begging for him around the clock. If he was able to get hard, then she was ready to go. 

She let out a cute little whine as her fingers grazed her tattoo. "Because you grew up on a ranch, Bobby. In Wyoming. You're a cowboy. My boyfriend is a bona fide cowboy."

"Weapons systems officer, actually," he replied as she came to stand between his spread legs. Bob placed his big hands on her little bump and kissed along her tattoo. 

She stomped her bare foot on the floor. "I want a cowboy."

Bob looked up at her pretty, pouting face as he ran his thumb along the bottom of her sports bra. "You really want a cowboy?"

"Yes." Her hands were on her hips now, and he knew he was about to give her what she asked for. He stood to his full height, brushing against her as she looked up at him with needy eyes. Then he gingerly removed the hat from her head.

"Get in bed, Honey."

With a little giggle, she jumped up and down and then crawled into bed. Bob shook his head and went to dig around in the walk-in closet for his oldest pair of jeans. He paused his search for a moment to reach behind his duffle bag and feel for the little box that was holding the ring he picked out. It was perfect, and he let himself hold it in his palm for a few seconds before tucking it away again. 

"Bobby?" Molly called, and he rolled his eyes with a laugh. She couldn't even wait two minutes for him. 

"I'll be there in a second."

He quickly stripped out of his uniform and underwear and gently pulled his jeans on. Very carefully he zipped them up and then put the cowboy hat on his head. He knew he must look ridiculous like this. He was probably the furthest thing from a rugged cowboy that ever existed. Now, if Molly wanted to fuck a nerd in his thirties who liked to play Dungeons & Dragons and was really good at math, he could probably dial that up to an eleven. 

But as soon as he walked back into the bedroom, her eyes went wide, and her lips parted. "Fuck," she whined, and Bob watched her dip her hand inside the waistband of the gym shorts. Her back arched off the bed as she moaned his name over and over, and she kept her eyes glued on him while she touched herself. Maybe he didn't look so bad after all?

He grinned and tipped the hat for her. "Well, howdy little lady."

"Jesus Christ," she gasped. Bob watched her yank down the gym shorts and kick them onto the floor as she said, "Call me little lady again, and I'll probably cum everywhere."

Bob's eyebrows quirked up as she pulled him into bed with her. He pushed her gently back until she was propped up on her elbows. What a sight. Pregnant Molly, running her smooth leg up around his waist and pulling him closer until her pussy was pressed against the denim. 

"Your cock looks huge through your jeans," she said, biting her lip. "Now call me little lady again," she demanded. Bob could practically hear the earlier stomp of her foot on the floor as he remained silent. 

Instead, he reached for her sports bra and gently pulled it up above her breasts. Those little silver barbells and her perfect tits greeted him. They were already bigger now, and as soon as Bob tipped the hat back on his head and tasted her, she was keening.

Unintelligible noises escaped her lips as she leaned back against the pillows and braced her hands on his shoulders. Bob pulled those little barbells between his lips one at a time, tugging gently, but her breasts were so sensitive now, he felt her nails digging into his skin. He sucked gently and then a little harder on her left nipple until he felt her squeezing her thighs together beneath him. 

"Oh, oh fuck," she gasped, back arching slowly as she started panting. When Bob ran his rough thumb back and forth across her right nipple, gently pulling on her piercing, she bucked against him. And then she started shaking, so he replaced his mouth with his fingers, giving her a good pinch as she came for him. 

With a satisfied smirk, he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "I barely even touched you, little lady."

"Bobby!" she shrieked, rubbing herself against him as her orgasm peaked. Next thing he knew, he was the one on his back. Molly's bra was on the pillow next to his head, and his jeans were yanked down to his thighs. And she was the one wearing the hat.

"You look adorable," he said as she adjusted the hat which was way too big for her head. And then she sank down around him, and rode him hard. The teeth of his zipper dug into his leg every time she ground down. The bite of pain mixed with the pleasure that was purely Molly, and Bob was completely lost in the moment. "Sexy cowgirl."

She bent a little closer until her bump was rubbing against his flat abs every time she rolled her hips. "I love riding you cowgirl. I love riding every which way. And I love these jeans. And I love your big cock. And I love our baby. And I love you."

Bob came almost immediately, knocking the cowboy hat off her head and pulling her down to kiss him. "I love you," he murmured, barely releasing her lips as he bucked up into her. "So much." He ran his hands along her belly and her tattoos and her barbells, and then he thought maybe he was being a little too rough. But when he released her, she took his hands in hers and kissed him until she had her fill. 

"Will you make me dinner in your snug jeans, Cowboy Bob?"

She didn't actually need to ask him that. She must already know he would.

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

Molly was now counting down the meager time left until Bob's deployment started. "Only one hundred and sixteen hours left," she said as she ate a chocolate chip pancake. It was Sunday. He was leaving on Friday morning. "I hate it here."

"I'll be back home before you know it. This is actually a short one. More of a special mission."

"This is a short one?" she asked, looking scandalized. "They can't just... like keep you away from us whenever they feel like it." She gestured to her belly as she licked chocolate from her fork. 

"Actually," he said with a sigh, "they sure can."

She started pouting, instantly angry that their son or daughter was going to have to deal with this level of bullshit. She would teach the child to pout just like her, and then Bob would have both of them to contend with. It usually worked for her. 

"Mo... I need to go out for a few hours," he said softly, drawing her attention back to him. 

"Are you going to Costco? I started a list, and it's my turn to pay for household necessities. But I wanted to watch a new murder documentary later today."

But he was shaking his head. "I need to go to San Bernardino. I need to tell my parents that you're pregnant."

Molly was silent. She hadn't really even considered this. She didn't have parents to tell anything to. If it wasn't something her sister or Bob should know about, then she generally kept it to herself. And now she felt like she was going to vomit, something she hadn't done in weeks. 

"Do you really have to tell them?" she asked, setting her fork down. 

Bob eyed her skeptically. "I think they should probably be informed that they have another grandchild on the way, Honey."

Tears stung her eyes. "But your mom really liked me," she whispered, rubbing her fingertips along her lips, trying to stay calm. "She was so warm and motherly, and now she's going to know I corrupted her sweet, only son. She'll think I'm a filthy harlot! Only after your mountains of money! You can't tell her I'm pregnant!"

Bob chuckled. "Do we have mountains of money that I'm not aware of?"

"I'm being serious right now, Cowboy Bob!"

"So am I," he said, kissing her lips softly as a tear slid down her cheek. "They aren't going to think anything bad about you. I promise. Rebecca wasn't married to Todd yet when she had Piper."

Molly sniffed and wiped at her nose. "Really? They seem to like him?"

"They do," he said, and he sounded reassuring to Molly's ears.

She took a deep breath. "I'll come with you. To see your parents."

"You don't have to, Mo."

But she reached out and straightened his glasses on his nose. If Rebecca got married later, after she had Piper, then maybe there was hope. And now Molly was thinking about that wildflower wedding. She could practically smell the flowers as she whispered, "I'm going with you."

The ride seemed to take forever, and Bob's truck was mostly quiet. Molly had changed into a snug dress that definitely didn't leave her belly up for debate. They would know she was pregnant as soon as they looked at her. That way there would be less for Bob to have to nervously string together. Molly would take the brunt of the dirty looks, and he could just hold her hand quietly.

"You ready?" he asked in a soft yet strong voice as he parked his truck. 

"Yes," she replied. She had no idea this is where she would end up today when she woke up this morning, and she'd rather be almost anywhere else. But she was ready to get this over with. 

"Well this is a surprise!" Bob's mom called as she came out onto the porch when she heard the truck door close. She looked delighted. Absolutely delighted to see them. But as Bob wrapped his arm around Molly's waist and started to lead her up to the porch, his mom's eyes dropped down to her midsection, and she gasped. 

"Oh no," Molly whispered, swallowing hard against the onslaught of fresh tears. 

"Mom," Bob said in a warning tone as Molly tripped along next to him. 

"You're pregnant." Her voice was like a gunshot to Molly's ears.

"Yes," Bob replied. Molly had promised herself she would be the strong one here, but now she was collapsing in on herself like a house of cards. 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Floyd," she whispered, hand shaking at her side. "It was an accident." But she watched as Bob's mom pulled her son in for a hug as she cried. 

"A baby!" she practically shrieked in excitement. "Just wait until I tell your dad! He's going to be overjoyed. Roger!" she screamed into the house as Bob collected Molly against him once more.

"You okay?" he asked, and she nodded against his chest as Bob's dad bounded out onto the porch. 

"I was trying to start the grill. What's wrong?"

"Bob and Molly are having a baby!" she screamed at her husband who was only five feet away. 

"Another grandchild?" he asked, and Molly was soon sandwiched in a hug between both of Bob's parents as his mom asked a list of questions. 

"When are you due? Do you need anything? Should we buy a crib for our house? I wonder if Beck still has Piper's pack n play. Are you hungry? Is Bob cleaning so you don't have to? The chemical smell of cleaning supplies might make you nauseous. Bob, are you cleaning everything?"

And then Molly burst into happy tears as she went inside to eat some grilled chicken and corn on the cob. 

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

When Bob got home from work the day before he was to leave for his deployment, Molly was already there in her scrubs. She presented him with several pairs of gray sweatpants on their bed. "What are these for?" he asked, watching the way she bit her lip in anticipation. 

"Try them on," she said, reaching for the first pair. "Without underwear."

He knew better than to argue with her, so he got undressed and pulled on the sweatpants. 

"Yes," she said, nodding and stroking her chin with her fingertips. "Absolutely."

Bob looked down his body to where her gaze was transfixed on his crotch. "What are these for?"

"My personal enjoyment. And the enjoyment of others. I can see your dick through the fabric."

"Molly," Bob groaned, reaching for the waistband, but she stopped him with both hands. 

"Please? Just wear them while we go pick up dinner! And you can take them on deployment with you."

He shook his head at her earnest expression. "Why would I take pants away with me when you can see my.... you know."

"Why not?" she asked, kissing his cheek. 

He knew he was blushing as he softly said, "You know there will be other women on the aircraft carrier, right?"

"Yep," she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sure they'll love the sweatpants, too. If you got it, flaunt it, Coach Bob."

He just gaped at her. "You wouldn't feel nervous about what might get said to me?"

Molly kissed along his bare chest, and Bob closed his eyes, relishing the feel of her bump resting against him. "Like something another woman might say? No. I trust you."

Bob let his hands rest on her lower back. "I'm going to miss you so much, Mo."

She nodded against him and whispered, "When those other women try to chat you up, you just tell them that your girlfriend is a goddamn delight. And that she was the one who bought the sweatpants to try to bring more happiness to the world."

"I will," he said with a smile, unconvinced that anyone else would look at or talk to him at all for the full duration of his deployment. But he appreciated the way Molly seemed to trust him. And he also appreciated the way her hand was gliding down the front of his new pants. 

"Let's go pick up dinner," she whispered. And then she groaned. "The fact that I can't even eat real sushi right now is absolutely ridiculous." 

"The cooked stuff is okay though," he said as she led him out of the bedroom. 

"Stop lying to try to make me feel better."

Once they were at the sushi restaurant, waiting for their pickup order, Molly was getting a little handsy again. "Mo," he warned, his voice deep and a little raspy, but that just seemed to spur her on more. She ran her hands down the front of his tee shirt and let them skim along the elastic waistband of his pants. 

"Bobby," she crooned softly. He thanked the hostess three times when she handed him their food, causing enough of a distraction to get Molly to pull her hands away from him.

But out in the parking lot, it was a different story. And at least it was dark now as Bob set the food on the passenger side floor before he held out his hand to help Molly climb in. But she just ran her hands all over his abs as she said, "You know what I was thinking? Since you're going to miss the anatomy scan ultrasound?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, barely able to pay attention to anything as Molly's hand dipped inside the front of his pants and stroked his hardening length. 

"How about I take a video of it? And then you can watch it later? Or if we get to have a facetime call, I could try to play the video for you? You'd like that?"

Bob just throbbed in her hand as she slowly jerked him off in the middle of the parking lot next to the In-N-Out like it was nothing. Her earnest gaze let him know she had asked him a question. 

"Huh?" he grunted, reaching for her pretty face with both hands.

"Would you like that, Bobby?" she asked, smiling as he leaned down to kiss her lips. 

"Mo, I have no idea what you're talking about, Honey." It was the truth. Something about the baby? An ultrasound? He wasn't sure, and he couldn't think straight with her hand on him like this. And he was absolutely startled to find how much he liked the idea and the feel of her doing this in a semi public place. 

Molly let her fingernails scratch gently down along his balls before she withdrew her hand and said, "Get in the truck." A second later, Bob was standing there outside the closed passenger side door, trying to hustle around the cab with a huge erection. When he climbed in the driver's seat, Molly had her hand on him again. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, starting the truck and pulling out of the parking lot. 

"Road head," she muttered casually. Then Molly leaned across the seat and took Bob between her lips. He had never done anything like this before. He'd never even been with a woman who liked to give head as much as Molly before. Not only that, she loved teasing him. Her breath ghosted along his skin before she took him deeper, and Bob was afraid he might drive off the road. 

"Molly," he begged, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. "Please."

She popped him out of her mouth and said, "Of course, Coach Cute Glasses. Anything you want."

But instead of stopping, she sucked and bobbed and licked him, working him up into such a frenzy that he nearly wrecked into her parked car when he got back to the condo. Mrs. Evans was out walking her poodle, and Mr. Walters was taking a brisk jog, but that didn't stop Molly. She stripped out of her scrub pants and crawled across the seat. Then she rode Bob while he held her hips and belly. 

Bob didn't care if the neighbors saw him. In less than twelve hours, he was going to have to be without the love of his life for weeks on end. So he didn't stop her from coming apart in his lap and making a mess all over his new pants. 

"I love you, Daddy," she panted, running her hands through his already messy hair and tugging on him as he came. His hands were covering her belly, and Bob felt the sting of tears in his eyes knowing how much he was going to be leaving at home.

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

Molly couldn't do it alone. She already called for backup. The morning that Bob left on the aircraft carrier, her sister was waiting a short distance away on the dock. Molly watched as she and Bob exchanged a hug, after which her sister pressed a quick kiss to Bob's cheeks like a civilized person. 

But not Molly. No, she was sobbing uncontrollably and clinging to her boyfriend like he was her lifeline. As if he was her only reason for living. "I love you," he whispered against her lips, his metal glasses cold against her cheek. "Both of you."

"I don't want you to leave," she sobbed, holding him so tight, her belly was smashed and uncomfortable. "Just stay."

Bob wiped her tears away and she looked at him in his khaki uniform, all ready to get to work on a mission she didn't even want to know about, because she was so scared. 

"I can't, Mo," he whispered, kissing her forehead in the early morning sunlight. He looked so handsome with his tidy hair and his serious expression. 

But she knew she looked like a messy little wreck, face streaked with new tears as she said, "I thought I would hold up better than this. I thought I would be okay." She didn't want to go back to the empty condo and have to figure out how to cook for herself. She didn't want to watch murder documentaries and eat gummy bears alone now that she knew what it felt like to have Bob with her. 

"You will be," he reassured her. "You'll be better than okay." And then he sank to his knees in front of her, and Molly had to brace her hands on his shoulders. He kissed her belly though his white undershirt and looked up at her. "When you find out if we're having a son or a daughter, email me right away, okay? I can't wait to know."

"I will," she promised him, closing her eyes to memorize how lovely his hands felt on her body like this. Memorize how much he loved their baby. 

And then he stood and kissed her so well and for so long, his fingertips holding her still, digging into her neck until he got his fill. So she decided to memorize how loved she felt, too. And then with a few more whispered words, Bob was walking away from her as she shook with tears. 

When an arm wrapped around her shoulders, Molly jumped, surprised to find her sister there even though she'd begged her to skip the first hour or so of work. "I can't do this," she hiccupped, accepting the warm mom hug. "I'm already too lonely."

"You're not alone," she replied, kissing Molly's hair. "If it gets too hard, you can come stay with us."

Molly scoffed and wiped her eyes on her sister's work blazer. "I'm not staying with newlyweds. That's just rude. And also kind of disgusting. Like what if I accidentally heard Bradley blowing your back out or something?"

She rolled her eyes, and Molly turned to watch Bob waving from the carrier deck. She waved back and said, "Look how perfect he is."

"He's pretty great," her sister replied, linking their fingers together. "And he loves you."

Molly stood there as the sun grew hot against her back. The carrier left the San Diego harbor as she held her head high. Bob loved her, and she was the one he'd be thinking about while he looked sexy in his gray sweatpants and when he flew his mission. Well, her and the baby of course. 

Her phone pinged with a text message as she was turning to go back to her car. 

I miss you already, Mo.

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

What are we thinking about baby Floyd? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who bugged me to make Molly and Bob a thing!

PART 11

@theamuz

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@katiedid-3

@bradshawsbitch

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-magnolia

@avaleineandafryingpan

@t-nd-rfoot

@wkndwlff

@eddiemunsonreader

@wintercap89

@the-fever-of-mankind

@yanna-banana

@lovingperfectionsblog

@daisydont-lie

@sappy-seresin

@birdy-bat-writes

@cutelittlefakejourneys

@cottagecori

@fandom-princess-forevermore

@sotalife

@novastories

@xoxabs88xox

@rileyanntoinette

@mannsachds

@midnightmagpiemama

@greatszu

@zetasaturno99

@lovingrobertfloyd

@chicomonks

@taytaylala12

@captain-fandomwriter58

@grxcisxhy-wp

@hobireasns

@wolfquake23

@ohgodnotagainn

@toobouquet

@paintlavillered

@seitmai

@tigermoon3

@noonenuts

@amiets2

[harrywavycurly]

Their date? Please??🥺👉👈

Hiii babes!! So I’ll give you the end of their date that’ll still give you some details of what went on and what they did but mainly it gives you the most important thing, their first kiss so I hope you enjoy!💖

-find all things Southern Comfort here✨

A/N: Harry is as always a gentleman while you just don’t want him to have neck problems✨

Harry is anxious, he knew the evening was going to have to come to an end eventually and he can tell by the way your smile is a little softer and your eyes are beginning to get the slightest bit droopy that you’re tired. He knows you’re naturally an early riser and he has kept you out since around five this evening and when he looks at his watch and sees it’s nearly half past eleven he can understand why you’re giggling as you try and fail to hold back a little yawn as the two of you walk down the street towards your apartment. He’s been dreading the ending of this date since he picked you up and he knows exactly why and he’s just hoping you don’t pick up on his sudden change in mood as he gives your hand that’s in his a little squeeze as the stairs that lead to your door come into view.

“You know sugar I think this is the longest first date I’ve ever been on.” Your voice is soft and just the slightest bit teasing as the two of you stop at the bottom of your stairs.

“I just thought dinner alone would be too boring.” He explains as he turns so he’s fully facing you and grabs your other hand. You look up at him and smile when you see he’s already looking at you.

“Well I did enjoy that little wine bar you took us to that was very cute.” He smiles as he begins to run his thumbs over your knuckles. “And ending it with a casual stroll around town? Very nice touch.” He laughs as you shoot him a playful wink, but you know he’s grateful to hear you enjoyed the date he spent hours pacing his living room trying to plan.

“We do love a good stroll don’t we sweetheart?” He asks as he lets go of one of your hands so he can reach down and brush some hair behind your ear making you smile.

“We sure do.” You give his hand a little squeeze as he briefly looks away from you and glances around the empty street. “I really did have a great time tonight Harry.” His face lights up as you say his name and he swears it’s something he’ll never get tired of hearing you say because he loves the way it just rolls off your tongue.

“A good enough time to do it again? Maybe tomorrow morning? I can bring you breakfast and we can go look around that thrift store you told me about last week?” He doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up and a small smirk forms on your face as your free hand grips onto his bicep making him raise an eyebrow.

“Good lord sugar warn someone before you just bust out a line like that. About made me go all wobbly kneed.” Harry can’t help the laugh that escapes him as you let go of his arm and place it on his chest. “You practiced that didn’t you?” Your eyes are teasing as they look into his and he feels his cheeks get hot.

“How am I supposed to make sure my lines are up to your standards if I don’t practice?” Your laugh makes him grin as you give his chest a playful pat. He feels his heart begin to beat a little faster as he looks down at you and he knows it’s now or never. “May I kiss you?” At first he thinks you didn’t hear him because you let go of his hand and he feels the corners of his mouth drop as your hand slips off of his chest.

“Oh god is it too soon? I shouldn’t have asked I’m an idiot-” his tone is full of panic as he watches you turn around and take a step so you’re on the first step of your small staircase that leads to your door.

“I just don’t want you straining your neck honey that’s all.” Your reassuring soft tone interrupts his rambling and makes all his anxiousness wash away and he’s no longer panicking as he sees you’re now almost eye to eye with him. “But yes you may kiss me sugar plum.”

Your smile is enough to make his knees want to give out but he just takes a small step closer to you and places a hand on your face so it’s cupping your cheek and he smiles when he feels you lean into his touch. Before he can overthink it he leans down, not nearly as as much as he would have if you weren’t standing on the stairs, and presses his lips to yours in what he meant to be a sweet kiss. His eyes are closed and he feels like he’s floating when all of a sudden he feels your hands go to the back of his neck pulling him closer in an effort to deepen the kiss, so he just places his free hand on your hip giving it a squeeze.

“Sorry that wasn’t very ladylike of me.” Harry chuckles as you pull away with a smile on your face as you play with the hair at the back of his neck.

“You’re making being a gentleman very hard.” He teases as he places a kiss to your forehead before he drops his hand from your cheek.

“I’ll behave myself from now on.” He just playfully rolls his eyes as you slide your hands from the back of his neck to his chest. “See you tomorrow sugar plum.” Harry feels like his heart is actually going to explode as you reach up slightly and place a quick kiss to his lips before you turn around letting his hand drop from your hip so it falls to his side. He watches you walk up the steps and he gives you a smile and a wave when you turn to look at him after you unlock your door.

“She’s gonna be the death of me.” He mumbles to himself after you walk inside your apartment and close the door. He lets out a deep sigh of content and runs a hand over his face and he knows that even if he wanted to, which he doesn’t, there’s no getting rid of the smile on his face as he starts his walk home.

[1u11ablues]

Repentance (Phillip Graves x Fem Reader)

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: Smut(Soft), begging, slight groveling, kneeling, mild lover's argument. (Suggestive picture under see more)

Phillip comes home late, so he had to endure his punishment.

If there’s one thing Phillip won’t admit to his Shadows over team drinking nights, is that he’s just another fella smitten with his woman.

Yes, they knew he was in a relationship. And he left it at that.

Who wants to hear a man singing about his lady over what was technically a boy’s night?

But you had this rule for his night outs.

“If it’s past three and you ain’t home,” you warned him, “then sleep outside.”

See, he gets a little forgetful when he’s had a little too much in his system. And since today was one of his Shadow’s birthday, and multiple rounds were ordered along with entertainment in the form of competitive team dart session-

It slipped his mind. It really did.

He groaned as he looked at the time on his phone—a brand-new crack on the screen when he’d slipped on spilled beer and fell on his shins.

“I’m a dead man,” he whispered before entering.

Now, he knew he wasn’t supposed to be home, especially with the smell of alcohol wafting out of him. You hated that, so he would have to take the couch for the night after he showered and scrubbed himself clean. 

Thank the Lord for those two glasses of water he’d downed at the end of the night that made it even possible for him to do so.

His steps measured light. Even lighter than when he was sneaking behind an enemy.

Taking a quick glance at the sight of you on the bed while he was on the way to the bathroom, he knew just how much he’d fucked up by the looks of it.

There lay his missus with full-on pajamas, a cartoon print shirt and long pajama pants. A battle armor, if he had a say in it.

When did you even get those? He knew your wardrobe like the back of his hand. Knew the fancy silks and satins and its comfier, also equally luxurious counterparts’ cashmere and wool pajama sets. He knew, because he’d bought them for you. Strode into the store right behind you and let you pick them up yourself!

This wasn’t part of those trips, at least if memory serves him well.

So Phillip showered. Paused for a moment when he feels his guts coming up to greet the bathroom floor, but saved by his quick run to the toilet bowl.

Afterwards, he feels much, much better. Physically, only.

There’s the guilt niggling at the back of his head as he trails a longing gaze at you.

He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.

How did he get here, his lips kissing the back of your neck? Arms, pulling you in by the waist?

Some people are sad drunks. Some, happy. 

He never hid from you that he was of the horny category.

“Baby,” he opens with affection to dull the impact of his mistake, “I’m back and I need you.”

No way you’re even up past eleven to know how late he returned from his night, is there?

“What time did you come home?”

Okay, he should’ve expected that.

“Late, honey. I’m sorry. Was having too much fun, we’re celebrating a birthday-“

“I didn’t ask for details.”

He sighed. He’s surely sleeping his hangover off on the couch today.

“Five. Sorry.”

“So you broke your promise. What next? Breaking this one too?” You raise your hand up, flashing the engagement ring he’d gotten you a couple months ago.

This time, his voice was firm.

“No, no way. I’m not taking that back, nor am I breaking it. Not that. Are you serious?”

A roll of your eyes tells him you’re not.

“So you’re here, feeling me up, when I specifically told you not to bother coming home after three?”

From his position behind you, he raised your left hand up to his lips, kissing every single finger, paying extra attention to the one with the ring. 

“I’m only a man, honey. I would choose to face your anger over your absence time and time again.”

“God, you’re so lucky that I am in love with you.”

He afforded a smile hidden by the flesh of your shoulder. This was the first time in a while that he’d come home later than he was supposed to, so he’s not too worried about the consequences. He’d been good so far. For you.

“Any punishment, I’ll take it with grace.”

***

He’s starting to regret saying that now. 

How could you and your pretty little head even come up with this torture?

Phillip knelt on the floor by the edge of the bed, his cock hard on display atop the duvet while you…you-

The pink vibrator pulsed on your clit, pussy spasming at every delicious contact—and he’s only able to watch.

He’s on his knees, his hand clasped behind his body, and he can only watch!

“Please, sweetheart, at least let me touch you,” he strained, muscles tensed more so to keep his restraints as per your request.

You and your ideas. His smart girl, if only he was not on the other side of it, he would be singing his praise.

But his cock only managed to twitch uselessly, wailing for the chance to be inside you as he watches you pleasure yourself right in front of him. Painting the duvet with strands of pre-cum that he couldn’t help but leak.

“It wouldn’t be a punishment if your hands are on me, Phillip. I know how you get after even two bottles of beer. I know, because they were usually the best fucking of my life—and I know not being able to do that is enough to make sure you keep to any promises you had made. How hard is it to text me and tell me you won’t be home by the time you promised to be home? I would’ve given you leeway if you had explained before.”

How in hell is this painful, yet so fucking hot?

To hear you tell him off like some sort of head principal while your pretty pussy cries in front of him. Oh, Jesus. He had half a mind to ask for private detention then and there.

“Yes, I get it now. Honey, please. Let me kiss you, at least. On both lips.” Because he’d be damned if his mouth isn’t out there lapping up all the arousal syruping down your thighs right this moment.

“No. Stay in position and take your punishment.”

His knees started to hurt, so he spread his thighs to take on a much lower, relaxed stance to help with it.

“What’s wrong, honey? Is it too much for you?”

He shakes his head. There is no way in hell he would want this to stop. If he knew you, he knew you didn’t mean to stop like he meant it.

No, you will actually stop everything and let the heat of the moment low to a simmer until it ends.

“I can take it. I just wish there’s something I can do with my cock…” he trailed off with his most pleading tone, a request laced within it that he hoped you could read.

“Fine. You want to touch yourself so bad? Do it.”

He straightened as you gave your permission, his length notched between the double mattresses layered on top of the bed base. Once upon a time, his girlfriend complained about his firm mattress. He went out the next day to get a softer one for her, and the rest is history.

“But,” you added, deflating with a single word, “if you do, you’ll have to say goodbye to fucking me for the rest of the day.”

An annoyed groan left him on instinct.

“I have given my lady too much power for her own good,” he muttered with mock regret, dramatizing the low shake of his head.

He was just about to go back to his kneeling position when he realized the predicament his cock was in.

You weren’t the only one with brilliant ideas.

He pushed his aching cock into the slit in between the mattresses.

“Fuck,” he accidentally moaned at the tightness. It was a far cry from a woman’s warmth, but he’s a man three days into an excursion in a dry desert.

Upon your narrowed stare, he placated.

“Hey, I’m not touching myself. Hands off. The mattresses just happened to be there when I needed it.”

After a moment of pause, the vibrator in your hold came to life again. A silent permission for him to go on.

So he thrusted. God, it feels so good then, when the need for pleasure overrode any other senses of his.

“You’ll chafe your cock,” you warned, but he did not care. You’re still making no move and said nothing to let him know that you wanted him inside you, so he was making do.

And if he chafes? Well, maybe that was his punishment.

“I can’t help it, honey. I’m so fucking horny, and you won’t let me touch you. See what you’ve done to me? Reduced me to a bed fucker.”

He pumped his hips slowly, savoring the contact with his cock. Imagining it was your pussy he was in, letting your distant moans guide his pace and rhythm. When you started to breathe shallow, he quickened, when you relaxed, he slowed.

And, pretty soon, his balls started to tighten.

But he would not have his climax be wasted into stuffed fabric. It wouldn’t be a very satisfying release, would it?

“I’m close, honey. I’m so close.”

His hips stuttered, but it didn’t stop.

“And?”

“At least share my orgasm with me. My beautiful, kind, wife-to-be. Did I mention kind? Cause I can whip out the thesaurus if that doesn’t satisfy you.”

It got a giggle out of you. If anything, at least he could hear that; a replacement for your sulking mood. He’d count that as a success.

You took your time. A click of the vibrator. Its hum no longer pestered his hearing. He’d watched you come at least three times in the duration of his punishment. Will you cease now? Love him back again?

You waddled on your knees to where he is, breasts staring him right in the eyes. 

No man would stop himself from looking.

He leaned in, eyes monitoring you for rejection, and when none crossed it, took the swell of you into his mouth. Kissing it to color, nipping at the nipple perking out at the attention, smiling like a goof as if he was taking a hit of something just at the precipice of a bad withdrawal.

Of your own accord, you dangle your leg from the bed right in front of him, lying down on the pillow he’d scoot under your back.

But, no. He hadn’t apologized quite enough.

Without minding the way his cock was positioned perfectly at your entrance now, he leaned down to kiss you. Everywhere he could reach. Your eyelids, temple, earlobes and the skin underneath it. The crown of your head, in between your eyebrows.

Muttering “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” in between the kisses.

When your giggle relieved his heart enough, he pushed in. A gasp replaced your laugh.

He lets you hang on to his arms as he begins with a comfortable pace. Deep, to remind his cock of your warmth, paying attention to the sounds you make throughout it. Back, forth, the thrust back into you, a slap echoing in the room until your clit started to swell again, signaling that you’ve come down from your most recent orgasm and read for more.

“Am I forgiven?” A thrust. “Do you forgive me, baby?” Another.

You whined and nodded, facial expression carouselling between that of giddy happiness and of the bliss of pleasure, like you weren’t able to control yourself.

“Yes, you’re forgiven. If you promise not to repeat it,” your voice breathy as you replied. He could feel the sting of your nails surrounding his biceps, and God did that made him harder.

Faster. He’s already so close, but he wanted to hear it from you. How his punishment had earned him repentance. With his hands settling on your waist, he abandoned the depth of his strokes for speed, though not enough for it to not tear the little moans out from you, still.

What a gift for him to be able to hear them every day, and how it urged him to learn—and learn fast—about you, just so he would know what to pull to please you.

Maybe today wasn’t his best day. Humans make their mistakes. But, he thinks himself above average than that of the majority—his title and accomplishments so far in life are proof of it—and therefore strived to do his best in all other aspects of his life. 

The happiness of his lady wasn’t something he’s willing to compromise on.

“Promise,” his pace turned uneven. Droplets of sweat from his forehead fell onto your chest, to which he licked them off you.

He loosened his arms around your waist just to pay attention to your pretty clit, a fast rub left to right slippery enough for his thumb to stray away from it with every stroke. But he righted his position and try again.

His only tell of when you were about to come is the loud double exhale before your back arched off the bed, clamping his cock tight and fuck, amping up the sensation of fucking you.

Usually, your orgasm prompted this. Alas, he’s just an average man in this area of intimacy. The sounds, the pulsating, and damn, the hazy smile up as your hands come up to cradle your breasts up in some sort of satisfied self-hug-

“Fuck, honey-“

Phillip’s glutes tightened as it paused. He couldn’t thrust through his orgasm. Instead, he pressed deep into you and flooded you with his cum, a gush that soon wrapped back around his cock and stained it white when he eventually pulled out of you.

As soon as he slumped, head resting on your chest to take a breather, your thighs come up to hug around his waist. His eyes shut when your fingers carded through his hair to play with it. Wiping off the sweat with your palms before they could fall into his eyes.

Promise, he thought to himself. Through thickness and thin.

[zegrasdrysdale]

[ sneaking into vegas ] j. drysdale

part one !

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!!reader

summary : (Y/N) flies into Vegas to surprise Jamie for his first NHL game in nearly a year

warning(s) : none

author's note : listen, this was supposed to be a little thing but it turned out to be over 2k words so … i got a little carried away

༺═──────────────═༻

She was supposed to be across the country in New York, but when her boyfriend told her that he was going to be playing in his first NHL game since he got hurt last year, she couldn't resist getting on a plane to go watch him.

Especially after she saw who Anaheim was going to be playing for their season opener. (Y/N) knew that she needed to be in Vegas for that game. Even if that meant leaving New York a week early.

Jamie doesn't know she's coming. As a matter of fact, she tells him that she's going to be in her temporary office catching up on some work all day so he doesn't suspect anything when she doesn't reply to him all day because she has an eight-hour travel day ahead of her.

Her flight leaves at nine in the morning and she won't be getting into Vegas until two in the afternoon pacific time. That leaves her nearly five hours to check into the hotel that the Ducks are staying in while they're in Vegas for the game, get something to eat, and head to the arena without alerting Jamie to where she is.

Should be easy since she knows that Jamie will be at morning skate from eleven until two then will take a nap and eat before he heads to the arena at five. He has things that will keep him busy so she can sneak into Vegas.

On the contrary, Trevor knows that she's coming in and has a whole plan to keep Jamie busy if he decides not to take a nap after morning skate. They've been working together for the past few days so make sure the surprise goes smoothly. He's supposed to pick her up from the airport as soon as he's done practice.

(Y/N) has never watched Jamie play a game of NHL hockey. They met after he got hurt last October and started dating in February. She's very excited to be in the arena for his first regular season game back from injury. She doesn't care if she's the only Ducks fan in the place. She'll be making sure she cheers loudly for Jamie and his teammates.

At two on the dot, the plane lanes at Harry Reid International Airport. When (Y/N) gets off the plane a few minutes later, she texts Trevor and lets him know that her flight has landed. He replies and says that he's waiting for her in his rental whenever she grabs her suitcase from baggage claim.

A few notifications come through while she's waiting for her bags. All from Jamie throughout the morning.

j ♡ - 10:04 am hope you have a good day at work. will miss you. hope you can catch the game tonight if you aren't working super late

j ♡ - 10:49 am forgot to say that i love you so ... i love you 🩷 gotta go to morning skate so talk to you later

j ♡ - 2.08 pm z ditched me if you're not busy for a short call. i don't think i'll be able to sleep before the game so call me if you have a few minutes

She looks at Trevor and asks, "Do you think he'll be suspicious if I call him really quick? I think he has some pre-game nerves and I told him I'd only work until dinnertime, which is what time it is in New York."

"I don't think so," Trevor replies. "It'll be like you're calling him on your way back from work. Just don't get all cute and everything. The two of you make me sick when you get all lovey-dovey with each other. I already hear it from Jamie every day."

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at Trevor as she clicks 'call' on Jamie's contact. Trevor lowers the music so she can talk on the phone.

It rings three times before Jamie picks up. "Hi, baby," he breathes out when he answers the phone. "I've been needing to hear your voice."

"Hi, Jamie baby," (Y/N) replies. Jamie's nickname causes Trevor to make a face as he drives. She swats at his shoulder. "How was morning skate? You just got done a little bit ago, right?"

"Yeah," Jamie says. "It went good. I think it went well. I feel pretty good about playing tonight, minus the fact that we're playing Vegas and I got hurt playing against them last year. I'm just nervous about playing them after last year."

She frowns. "Hey, you'll be okay," she assures him. "You're going to play so well tonight. I know you will. No matter what happens tonight, I'm proud of you. I'm excited for you to get back on the ice, and I know your teammates are too. I'm pretty sure Z has missed having you on the ice with him."

"I've missed being on the ice with them, but what if I do something wrong?" Jamie questions. "What if I give up the puck and they score on the giveaway? What if I fall and land on my shoulder wrong? What if-"

"Jamie, stop," (Y/N) interrupts. "None of that is going to happen, okay? Not intentionally. You're working yourself up and you shouldn't be because this is what you're good at. You wouldn't be in the NHL if you weren't good at hockey, baby. There's a reason you're playing for Anaheim at the professional level. Do what you do best tonight. Your teammates are there to pick you up if you need them to until you get comfortable. Stop freaking yourself out."

They pull up to the hotel and Trevor parks his rental away from the main entrance so none of the Ducks players see (Y/N) and report to Jamie that his girlfriend is at the hotel. "You're right," Jamie sighs. "I'm sorry to bother you with this while you're at work."

"I'm actually on my way back to the apartment," (Y/N) tells him. "But even if I was still at work, bother me with this any time. I'll never be mad if you want me to call you because you're nervous for a game."

"I don't deserve you, (Y/N)," Jamie says. "I truly don't. I love you so much."

The comment brings a smile to her lips. "I love you more," she replies. "I'm pulling into the parking lot now so I'll talk to you later. Maybe you can get Z to bring you something to eat if you can't sleep."

Jamie laughs and says, "If I bug him enough then he'll definitely bring me food. I'll let you go though, get settled in for the night. I'll talk to you after the game."

"Call me after," she tells him. "I don't care that it'll be after one in the morning. Call me and tell me all about the game. I'll want to hear all about it and how it went."

"I will," Jamie replies. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The line goes dead after that and (Y/N) realizes that she has a small smile on her lips. He won't have to call her after the game. She'll be waiting outside the locker room when he gets done showering and getting dressed after the game.

Trevor gets out of the car and mumbles, "The two of you make me sick." She laughs and gets out of the car after him.

He grabs her suitcase from the trunk and hands it over to her when it's on the ground. With Trevor following close behind, (Y/N) walks into the hotel. She checks into the room that she'll only be in for about four hours total because Jamie is going to make sure they're together that night, and she doesn't want him to kick Trevor out of the room.

It’s been a few weeks since they’ve seen each other so she wanted to make sure there was a room they could stay in together.

Trevor walks her to her room, which is a floor below the Ducks’ rooms. “We’re in 504,” he tells her. He hands her the extra key to his and Jamie’s room while she hands him the extra key to her room. “I’ll let you know if he sleeps, which I doubt but I’ll let you know.”

“Make sure he stays calm and remind him that he knows what he’s doing,” (Y/N) tells him. “Don’t let him freak himself out.”

“I’ll just distract him,” Trevor replies. “With food or with an activity that he likes to do. Maybe I’ll take him to a casino for a bit, I don’t know. I’ve got him though. Until you take over after the game.”

She nods and Trevor walks up to his and Jamie’s room. With a sigh, she opens the door and lets herself into the room.

Her suitcase with the jersey she’s wearing to the game is left right by the door and she goes right to the bed. She sets an alarm for five so she wakes up after the Ducks leave for the arena. She’ll leave a half an hour later so she doesn’t run into Jamie when he’s on his way out the door.

After a long day of traveling for the surprise tonight, (Y/N) is fast asleep almost right after she puts her phone on the table to charge.

༺═──────────────═༻

T-Mobile Arena is one of the nicest arenas that (Y/N) has ever gone to. Most of the people are nice. She gets a few looks from Golden Knights fans because she’s in the Drysdale jersey that Jamie gave to her. She loves the jersey, and she promised him that she’d wear it to the first game he plays in after his injury.

That game is tonight.

She makes her way down to her seat with the other Duck wives and girlfriends, and they’re all excited to see her. Some of them meet her for the first time, but they’re all super nice.

The puck drops a little after seven, and (Y/N) spots number 6 almost immediately. He glides around the ice like he’s flying, and she’s mesmerized by it.

(Y/N) has watched practices and Jamie work with Trevor throughout the past few months while he recovered from his injury. That is nothing compared to what she’s watching right now.

Vegas gets on the board first with two seconds left in the first period, and the fans erupt around her and the other wives and girlfriends.

Then they score again with five minutes left in the second period.

Then they score again six minutes into the third period. It’s not looking very good for the Ducks at this point. (Y/N) finds herself frowning because she knows that they wanted to be a better team this season.

About thirty seconds later, the Ducks get themselves on the board with a goal from Mason. Their little group celebrates the goal.

(Y/N) knows that Jamie had the puck before Mason put it in the net. His first point in over a year in his first game back from injury. It causes her to scream a little louder in celebration. Her mouth hurts from smiling. She swears the smile doesn’t drop until the final horn blares through the arena, signaling a 4-1 Vegas win.

Not the best first game, but it’s only game one of 82.

After the game, (Y/N) finds her way down to the locker room where the Ducks are. She leans against the wall right outside and waits.

She can hear Greg Cronin on the other side of the door talking to his team about the game. She didn’t think they did terrible, but they’re in there getting lectured like they gave up ten goals.

Yeah, Jamie might be really excited to see (Y/N) when he leaves the locker room. Especially after getting a long lecture from his coach.

He played a good game, and she’s proud of him. She’s happy that she decided to hop on a plane and come out to Vegas to watch Jamie play. She’ll be even happier when he comes out of that locker room in a little bit.

Cronin leaves the room with a heavy sigh and doesn’t even acknowledge (Y/N) standing in the hallway. She doesn’t even care.

A few minutes after Cronin leaves, Trevor sticks his head out into the hallway. “He’ll be right out,” he tells her. “He’s hitting the showers really quick before he leaves. I don’t think he’s in a good mood but when he sees you, that’ll change.”

She nods and Trevor disappears back into the room.

Just to mess with Jamie a bit, she takes a picture on her Instagram story of the giant Vegas logo and geotags T-Mobile Arena. Jamie has her notifications on so he’ll see that as soon as he checks his phone.

Ten minutes pass and (Y/N) is getting antsy. She knows that he doesn’t take very long showers so he’ll be coming out of that locker room any minute.

Several Ducks leave and greet her as they pass while she waits for Jamie. Troy pops his head back into the locker room when he sees her and says, “Hey, Jimmy. Someone’s here to see you.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.”

(Y/N) shoots Troy a smile as he walks down the hall to get on the bus.

The door opens and a very confused Jamie Drysdale walks out of the locker room. His eyes land on (Y/N) and he runs up to her. She smiles as Jamie hugs her around her torso and lifts her off her feet.

She giggles and wraps herself around Jamie. Her legs are around his waist and her arms are around his neck. He buries his face into her neck and she puts her nose in his wet hair.

“When did you-”

“Earlier today,” she says into his hair. “Worked with Z to make sure you didn’t see me when I got in. When I saw you were playing Vegas in your first regular season game back after injury, I had to come out and watch.”

Jamie sets her down but doesn’t let her go. She looks up at him and he looks genuinely surprised to see her. Good to know Trevor didn’t blab and ruin the surprise.

“I can’t believe you’re here in Vegas,” Jamie breathes out. “You saw my assist in person?”

She smiles and nods. “I saw your assist in person,” she replies. “I’m very proud of you, Jamie baby. First point in a while. I told you that you had nothing to freak out about. You’re a talented player. I had no doubt that you would be amazing tonight. Maybe even pick up a point or two.”

The smile that Jamie gives her makes her heart flutter. This is the smile she has missed and wanted to see after this game ended no matter the result.

Jamie pulls her against him by her waist and presses a feather soft kiss against her lips. “All I could think about after that assist was how I wish you were here to see it,” he admits to her. “You were actually here to see it.”

“Mhm,” she hums. “I made the right choice. I’ve really missed you. I wanted to surprise you today.”

“Consider me surprised.”

She gets on her toes and instigates a deeper, more frantic kiss when she presses her lips to his. She kisses him the way she’s wanted to kiss him in the three weeks since they last saw each other.

Her fingers curl into the hair on the back of his neck, not caring that it’s wet. Jamie has a grip of his jersey on her waist that’s keeping her from going anywhere. As if she would go anywhere right now.

This is where she wants to be. She doesn’t want to go anywhere else.

“Ew, can’t the two of you wait until we’re back at the hotel to suck faces?” Trevor voice asks. It pulls them apart. “You’re away from each other for a few weeks and all of a sudden you’re both a fan of PDA. It’s gross.”

Jamie turns his head and (Y/N) looks over his shoulder to see both Trevor and Mason standing in front of the locker room door. “It’s not my fault you have no one to suck faces with, Z,” Jamie retorts. “Imagine being across the country from your girlfriend then tell me you wouldn’t suddenly be a fan of PDA.”

She buries her face in Jamie’s shoulder to hide a smile. Trevor rolls his eyes and says, “You’re sleeping in her room tonight. I am not giving up ours.”

“Don’t worry,” Jamie says. “I was already planning on it.” He turns his attention back to (Y/N). “I wouldn’t want my teammates to hear the things that I’m going to do to (Y/N) tonight.”

Yeah, sneaking into Vegas was the best idea she’s ever had.

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST | part two

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

[ckret2]

Chapter 21 of honestly everyone's just sorta used to Bill being the shack's prisoner now (title tbd): Stan & Ford have a birthday party! Bill is not invited. He still manages to find a way to be fiendishly evil.

Also featuring: Wendy deciding what she thinks about "Goldie," the shack's mysterious secret "guest."

####

Mabel slid a piece of paper across the gas station front counter, listing a dozen scratch card serial numbers spread across three different games. "I'd like these numbers in these cards, please!"

The cashier gave the paper a dubious look, then looked at Wendy. "We're not supposed to sell the scratch cards outta order."

"Please?" Wendy asked. "Just a little exception? For us?"

"We really wanna play our lucky numbers," Mabel said. "Plus, I had a vision. In my sleep."

She and Wendy gave him their best big-eyed hopeful pouty looks.

The cashier shrank back. "Well..." He averted his gaze from the adorableness that was Mabel, and sighed. "Just this once. But I don't want to see you two in here with your nonsense again." He started unrolling one of the spools of scratch cards, inspecting the numbers. "These'll be over a hundred dollars."

Wendy winced. "Ooh. Mabel?"

Mabel offered three dollars and a quarter. "That's fine! Can we start with 177 from the beach cards?"

She received the card, depicting a pastel beachy scene next to five miniature bingo boards. She confidently scratched off the card to reveal its winning numbers, pointed at the fourth bingo board where she'd just gotten bingo, and said, "That's $200! Our payout, please."

The cashier took the card, inspected the numbers, and stared at Mabel in amazement. She grinned at him. Wordlessly, he opened his cash register, pulled out several twenties, and offered them over.

"Thank you!" Mabel accepted the money and pointed at the paper. "The rest of our cards, please?"

As they left with eleven scratch cards, Mabel handed Wendy three twenties—"Here! For helping!"—and stuck the rest of the change in her pocket.

"Dude. That was awesome. You were so cool in there, like—" Wendy put on her coolest, most unruffled expression. "'Our payout, please.'"

"That's just the kind of rock star I am." Mabel put the scratch cards in her bike's basket. "Thanks for the help, Wendy!"

"Sure, any time." Especially if she got a surprise $60 out of it. "Heading back to the shack?"

"Yeah! I've gotta finish decorating for the party!"  Mabel waved as she took off down the road. "See you then!"

"See you." She guessed that meant she wasn't invited to hang until the party started. Given the touchy situation inside the shack, no surprises there.

She wondered what Goldie had to do with Mabel's interesting trick with the scratch cards. She was sure there was something.

####

Bill leaned into the kitchen. "Hey! How's that cake coming along?"

Mabel stopped arranging dozens of candles in the frosting to point at the door. "Out, Bill! Nobody's getting cake until the party!"

Dipper said, "You don't even deserve a slice."

"Agree to disagree!" Bill said. "But if you don't give me one anyway, I'll annoy you about it for weeks."

"He can have a slice at the party," Mabel said. "The cake's big enough." A couple of overcrowded candles spilled off the edge of the cake. Mabel picked them up and carefully stuck them back in.

Bill fought back a laugh. "Are you sure about all those candles? If you light 'em all up at once, you'll burn off everyone's eyebrows," he said. "But unfortunately, you'd also melt the frosting."

"The frosting's already a mess," Mabel said, peering at the barely-visible HAPPY BIRTHDAY STAN & FORD hidden beneath the forest of candles. "But Soos doesn't have any of those number-shaped candles, so..." 

"Roman numerals," Bill said.

"Oooh." Mabel looked at the cake thoughtfully, and started pulling out candles. "How do you make 62?"

"LXII. Fifty-ten-one-one," Bill said, then shot a grin at Dipper—who was glaring at Bill for answering before he could. "Isn't that right, smart guy?"

"Yeah," Dipper grumbled.

"You kids take the credit if they ask about the candles," Bill said. "They'll just get grumpy if they know I had any influence on the decorations."

Mabel carefully tilted the bottom leg of the L just enough to keep the tip out of the frosting, and started smoothing out the rest of the candle-pockmarked surface. "Now I've got enough empty frosting to add some decorations!" Mabel said. "I don't have enough time to draw something complicated. Maybe rainbows?"

Dipper shook his head. "I don't think either of them would be into that."

"Draw gold bars," Bill said.

Mabel blew a raspberry. "That's what you'd want on a cake!"

"No, I'd want me on a cake. Stanley likes gold! Stanford should like gold more, you could help him develop a taste for it."

"No."

Dipper suggested, "Maybe you could draw gambling stuff on Stan's side of the cake? Since they couldn't have their birthday party in Vegas like he wanted." Dipper shot a sideways glance at the reason they had to stay in Gravity Falls. (Bill shrugged. It wasn't like he'd asked the Stan twins to stay in town.) "You could do poker chips or playing cards or—"

"Dice!" Mabel said. "Dipper that's perfect, they both like dice! We can put normal dice on Grunkle Stan's side and nerdy dice on Grunkle Ford's—"

"Oh, that's great! I've got my DD&MD dice bag in the attic!"

"I'll look in the board game closet!"

Dipper and Mabel took off. 

Bill waited until he was sure they were gone.

He checked out the kitchen window for witnesses, then picked up a dozen abandoned birthday candles, licked off the frosting, and hid the candles in his hoodie's hood. Too bad they hadn't left a matchbook out, but Bill knew a fun little trick with an empty aluminum can and a tube of toothpaste that would work just fine.

When the kids returned and Mabel stuffed the remaining forty-odd candles back in their box, they never noticed any were missing.

####

Mabel had put herself in charge of the guest list. Which explained why, along with Stan and Ford's actual friends, all Mabel's friends had been invited; as well as—among other people—the mayor ("he's like the Mystery Shack's best customer, Grunkle Stan!"), Shmebulock ("Jeff said Shmebulock stole the Journal 4 you started last fall, I was hoping he might gift it back"), and the Hand Witch and her boyfriend. ("Whaaat, Grunkle Ford you met her TOO?! What a coincidence! Dipper, did you know he met—oh, you did. I didn't read those pages!") It would have been a lot more awkward if not for the fact that the birthday boys were awed and humbled that so many people had attended knowing they were coming to a birthday party for Stan and Ford Pines, and none of the guests had even been bribed.

When Soos and Melody helped Mabel carry out the birthday cake, Ford laughed at the sight of it. "Did you make Roman numerals out of candles? How clever! Stanley, do you know what Roman—"

"Yeah, yeah. I watch the Football Bowl, you know," Stan said. "Honestly, I was expecting this thing to be covered in candles."

"I almost went that route," Mabel said. "But I thought I'd save that kind of firepower for the Fourth of July."

"Hah! That's my girl."

"Happy Birthday" was sung, candles were blown out, and the party lined up to get their cake. Mabel cut a slice, loaded it on a paper plate, then glanced toward the attic window. "I'll be right back! I've gotta use the bathroom. Don't open my presents until I'm back!"

She trotted into the house, taking the cake, a napkin, and a plastic spoon with her.

####

Bill met Mabel at the top of the stairs and scooped the cake out of her hands. "You're my hero, star girl." He carried it halfway back to his window seat, stopped mid-step, and asked, "You got a piece with my name on it?"

"I got the slice with the 'Birt' and took off the extra frosting!"

"Oh," Bill said. "Heh. That's—cute." And he looked so much like he was trying to pretend he wasn't genuinely touched by the gesture, that Mabel didn't have the heart to tell him she'd only thought of it halfway up the stairs.

He flopped back in his usual window seat post—where, Mabel couldn't help but notice, he had a perfect view of the party happening outside without him. She grimaced. "I'm sorry you can't come to the party," she said. "But you did torture and try to murder the birthday boys... and most of the party guests... and left half of them with lingering trauma..."

"Speaking of, how's your therapist doing?"

"Oh, good, she's good. I think she's gonna write a paper about Mabeland."

Bill fell silent, staring out the window. Mabel almost went downstairs—when he said, "You know, I was the only person who gave Stanford a gift on his thirtieth birthday."

Mabel turned back around so fast she almost tripped on the top step. It wasn't often she got a double dose of Bill lore and Grunkle lore. "You were?"

"He didn't make new friends in Oregon and he didn't keep up with his old friends from college. His parents mailed him a gift, but it got here a week late. So I taught him a couple spells to see the stars during the day and keep rain from landing on him, and told him where to be in Portland that afternoon if he wanted to pick up a free cake from a fancy bakery."

"Aww. That was... nice of you." But Mabel had to hesitate before saying it, automatically wondering what Bill's motives had been for giving the gifts and what his motive now was for sharing this. 

Bill waved a hand dismissively. "Ahh, they were parlor tricks. They're easy, flashy cantrips that impress humans but don't do any harm," he said. "Not much harm, anyway. That night he told me all about how he was the only human to see his zodiac constellation on his birthday. The genius spent all day staring at the sun so he could see the stars!" He laughed.

But it quickly petered out. "And now I'm personally banned from his birthday party. Funny, huh?"

Maybe Bill was trying to get Mabel to pity him; but she kinda thought he was just pitying himself. She patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Losing friends is tough," she said. She paused. "And that's why we should be nice to them."

Bill cracked up so loudly Mabel half expected the party outside to hear him. "Okay, Glory Unicorn! I've learned today's moral about friendship. Get outta here. See if I ever tell you anything again." But he was grinning as he shooed her off.

####

When Mabel came back cakeless, Dipper gave her a dark look, but said nothing.

"Are we opening gifts yet?" Mabel picked up a box and flung an arm around Dipper's shoulder. "You've gotta open this one first! It's from both of us to both of you!" She waved it at Stan and Ford until they took it together.

Ford pointed at the card that said, "To our Grunkles, from your gniece and gnephew!" "That isn't how you spell niece and nephew?" Stan elbowed him.

"Nope!" Mabel said. "But it's how you abbreviate great-niece and great-nephew."

"Ah, I see! Very creative."

"Nice recovery," Stan muttered. Ford elbowed him back. Together they tore off the wrapping paper and opened their box.

Inside were two more boxes, each small enough to hold in one hand—a square one labeled "Stan" and a long narrow one labeled "Ford."

Stan opened his box and pulled out a thick gold chain with a coin dangling from it. Engraved on the coin in sloppy text were the words "#1 Grunkle."

Soos held up a hand. "I did the engraving! First try."

Mabel pointed at the coin. "We made it out of pirate treasure that we have for reasons that we can't talk about! There's a skull on the back!"

They'd hung it from his favorite gold chain. He'd been missing it for a week—and he'd never even suspected the kids. How about that. Choked up, Stan said, "It's—it's great." He took off the chain he was currently wearing, chucked it into the bushes, and put on his gift. "C'mere, you two." He wrapped his arms around Dipper and Mabel.

Soos held his arms out hopefully. Stan rolled his eyes, but waved him over for a hug too.

Ford opened his box. "A pen?"

Dipper said, "It has an ergonomic grip, can take standard ink refills, writes super smoothly—I tested it out myself—makes a very satisfying click, and it's red with gold trim to match your journals."

Mabel said, "I helped pick out the design!"

"... And that's why it's also sparkly."

"I didn't do the engraving on that one," Soos said. "We had a lotta spare pirate coins but only one pen, so. They got it done at the mall."

Ford rotated the pen in his hand until he spotted the (more professional-looking) engraving on the barrel, filled in with gold. "Mine says #1 Grunkle too?"

Dipper said, "C'mon, we're not gonna choose between you two."

Stan said, "Oh, I see how it is! Trying to butter us both up, are you?" He reached under Dipper's hat to ruffle his hair. Smiling, Ford carefully slid his gift into his coat's breast pocket next to his usual pen.

####

When Bill saw that Mabel was back outside, he got up, left the rest of his cake on the window seat, scooted aside a storage box sitting forgotten in a corner of the attic, and pried a loose board from the wall.

He took his stolen candles out of his hood, wrapped them in the party napkin Mabel had given him, and stashed them in a plastic sandwich bag where he'd already stowed a crushed cider can, its edges torn and sharp.

Then he re-hid the bag, fixed the wall, replaced the storage box, gently brushed some cobwebs over the floor to hide the trail in the dust where he'd scooted the box, and turned away from his hiding spot.

To see a gnome wearing a journal like a backpack.

They stared at each other.

"You didn't see anything," said Bill.

"Shmebulock," said Shmebulock.

Bill eyed Shmebulock, the staircase, the window—and then dropped into a crouch, knees and feet spread apart like a sumo wrestler, teeth bared.

Shmebulock cracked his knuckles.

Five minutes later, Bill added Journal 4 to his hiding spot, with a mental note to find a new hiding spot the gnomes didn't know about later.

Unfortunately, Shmebulock escaped with Bill's cake.

####

Wendy squinted up at the blonde shape in the attic window. "You know—all this last week, I kept thinking I saw someone up there. I just assumed it was my imagination," she said. "Guess Goldie didn't get invited to the birthday party, huh?"

"Nope," Dipper said. "And for good reason."

Wendy laughed. "Yeah, sounds it."

Dipper glanced toward his grunkles. At the moment, Ford was opening a cheap set of watercolor paints and giving Mabel an exasperated look. ("I thought we could try them out together! And hate them together!" "All right, that might be fun.") He lowered his voice and picked at his cake. "So. You found out the big secret, huh?"

"Yup," Wendy said. She lightly punched Dipper's shoulder. "Hey—don't look so glum, man. I'm not mad you didn't tell me. There's some kind of family drama and a missing person case involved. I get it—you don't talk about that kind of stuff outside the family."

"Yeah, hah. Right," Dipper said. "So, what do you think of... Goldie?"

Wendy glanced up at the figure in the window. "We didn't talk a whole bunch before Goldie and Stan started arguing about plagiarism," she said, "but I got that she's some kind of wildcard paranormal investigator who gives off insane grifter energy. And seems really mentally messed up from being trapped in another dimension, but like, the kind of messed up that probably makes you fun at parties?" She was already mentally playing Goldie off of her friend group, trying to figure out how well she'd mesh with them. She seemed like the kind of person who'd be into some harmless trespassing and recreational vandalism. "How old is Goldie? She was working on a Ph.D., so that's what, mid-20s? Mid-20s but actually mid-50s after not aging for thirty years? Honestly, if I just met her on the street I would've thought she was like, 15. She does not look her age." Maybe it was the lack of makeup?

Under his breath, Dipper muttered, "You have no idea." He glanced away from Wendy, stuffed a large forkful of cake in his mouth, and mumbled to himself, "How much should I say? Sharing too much could be dangerous, but if I don't say anything..." Mumble, mumble.

Wendy would never tell Dipper how funny it was that he monologued to himself and hoped nobody would notice. Usually she'd politely ignore him, but if there was something dangerous... She lightly elbowed him. "Dipper. Come on," she said. "I can tell something's eating you. You can trust me."

"Ugh, I know, but..." Dipper glanced again at the rest of the birthday party—just far enough to be out of earshot, currently entranced by some thingamajig Fiddleford had gifted the Stans—and let out a heavy sigh. Voice low, he said, "Okay, Wendy, listen. For your own safety, you need to know that Goldie is way worse than whatever you heard about him last night. And I can't tell you why, because of reasons I also can't tell you—believe me, I wish I could tell you, but—don't trust him, okay?" Dipper gave her an earnest, pleading look. "Just don't. He's dangerous. That's all I can say."

It figured that even after Wendy learned the big secret, she'd just find another, smaller secret hidden underneath. Like a matryoshka doll. (She quietly made note of the "he" and wondered if Goldie had been part of the queer scene in the 80s, or if he'd only figured himself out while he was in ghost land.) "I'm assuming he's dangerous for Weird Spooky Paranormal reasons?"

"Yeah," Dipper said, teeth grit. "Yeah, basically."

He wanted to tell her more, she wanted to know more, and she was ready to play 20 questions on Goldie's backstory. Picking through what she'd learned last night for clues, Wendy asked, "Is it connected to Ford's research? All the weird magic stuff he got into?"

"Um." Dipper shrugged uncertainly. "Y...yeah? But... bigger than that?"

"Is it portal stuff." What was the most dangerous thing she knew of that was connected to the portal. "Is it Bill stuff."

Dipper let out an anguished groan, pulled off his hat, and buried his face in it. "I can't tell you more than I already have!"

"Oh my god it's Bill stuff."

Dipper eloquently said, "MRRGHF."

"Okay got it, so Goldie was some kind of Bill groupie or discovered how to summon him or something. Something like that. I don't need to know the details! But he's totally Bill-adjacent."

"Yeah. Yeah. Yep." Dipper nodded emphatically. "Bill-adjacent is... the best way to describe Goldie."

"But Bill's gone, right? So Goldie's like a cultist without a cult leader. Doesn't that mean he's harmless now?" Wendy asked. "Or do you think he's gonna try to cause the apocalypse in honor of his boss or whatever."

Dipper tugged his hat back on his head and straightened it out. "I'm sure he'd try to end the world again if he could, but... we're all still trying to figure out what he can do."

"So, domestic terrorism risk. Cool," Wendy said. "Y'know, I sorta expected to run into a guy like that in the shack eventually, but I always thought they'd be here because of Stan, not Ford." She rolled her eyes. "I'll warn you if he starts talking about ending the world or anything."

"Thanks, Wendy." Dipper glanced uneasily toward the birthday party. (They were still distracted, currently trying to douse the flamethrower on Fiddleford's birthday gift. It was trying to eliminate the competitor gifts.) "Just... don't tell anybody else, okay? If the town finds out that Goldie is—you know—Bill-adjacent..."

"Relax." She pantomimed zipping her mouth. "I'm not gonna organize an angry mob."

She glanced up at the attic window. Goldie was still up there, staring down at the party. He noticed Wendy staring and made a face at her.

She made the same face back, and saw him silently laughing. Okay, he had bad taste in friends, obviously; but Goldie seemed kinda cool in an unhinged way. From what Wendy had gathered, Bill had conned and then betrayed half the people she knew—and if the Pines had only just managed to get Goldie back on this plane of reality, months after Weirdmageddon, that meant Bill hadn't bothered to rescue him when he could, so Goldie was just another victim. Maybe he just needed to be reintegrated into society.

Dipper said, "Hey, Stan just poured punch on the robot and it made the fire worse. Do you think we should help?"

Wendy looked at the fire—and looked up at the fire. She was moving before she spoke. "Yeah, let's do something about that."

They rejoined the rest of the party, and Wendy put Goldie out of her mind.

####

Ford stared at the ring on his left sixth finger.

Welcome back, the Hand Witch had said.

Thirty years ago, he'd met her at a carnival. She'd told him that he'd chosen the wrong allies and would doom himself for it. She'd given him a ring with a blue cabochon and told him that if it ever turned black, there was no hope for him.

He'd dismissed her as a phony palm reader; and, the night he'd decided Bill was right about Fiddleford not being bold enough to follow through with the portal project, the ring had turned black, and he'd thrown it in the lake.

Now here it was on his finger again.

He didn't think her a phony now. Everything she'd told him had been true. And anyway, it was hard to doubt she had real magic when she spent half the party trying to stop two small disembodied hands from escaping her pockets to visit Mabel. 

"Why are you giving this back to me?"

"It's your birthday! And I thought it might be useful."

"For what? Am I in danger?"

"I don't know, I'd have to give you another reading to see." She had pulled a cartomancy deck from her pocket. "Do you want me to?" The card on the bottom of the deck had been a triangle with a snake slithering through its eye socket.

Ford hadn't wanted a reading. He knew now that what he'd called superstition back at that carnival might be a legitimate form of prophecy he simply didn't understand; but he was tired of living his life by signs and portends.

All the same, it was comforting to see that his ring was blue.

Ford's view of the ring was blocked by Stan shoving over the "Get Out Of One Misdemeanor Free" coupon Mayor Cutebiker had given as his birthday gift. "Hey, do you think I'd get in trouble if I made a buncha copies of this?"

Ford took the coupon and inspected it thoughtfully. "If you do get in trouble... a coupon counterfeiting charge couldn't possibly be worse than a misdemeanor, could it?"

"That's what I like to hear!"

It had been a surprisingly long day—and, by far, the best birthday either of them had had in well over forty years. (Was it really that long?) Now they were retired to the parlor Soos and Abuelita had converted into a double guest room, sitting on their beds facing each other as they got ready for sleep.

There was a knock at the door. Ford stood. "Coming—" He opened the door to see Bill's grinning face, a foot from his own. "Oh. You." Ford resisted the urge to step back, in case Bill interpreted as an invitation to come in.

"Hiya, birthday boy!" Bill's gaze immediately drifted down to Ford's coat pocket. "Hey—new pen? I like the sparkle, adds a little pizazz."

"What do you want, Cipher."

"Just to hand this over." Bill pressed a couple of envelopes into Ford's chest, and kept them pinned there with a fingertip until Ford reluctantly took them. "I knew you'd hate getting something from me at your party, so just for you I waited until all the festivities were over. You're welcome."

Ford studied the envelopes. They were two pieces of yellow construction paper that had been folded into envelope shape, and written on each one, in lurching crayon text that drifted up and down, was "Stanford" and "Stanley". "You made cards?"

"You're flattered."

"I most certainly am not."

"'The lady doth protest too much, methinks.'" Bill shrugged. "Hey, they're your birthday gifts. Toss them in the fire if that makes you happiest. You just might wanna open them first—you know, to make sure I didn't write a fire-activated explosion spell on the inside."

Stan grabbed his envelope out of Ford's hand and eyed it in deep suspicion. "And why did you make these?"

"Because it's your birthday. Come on! Why am I explaining this, it's your species's ritual."

"I mean why are you doing it? We all hate each other. We're planning your execution, here," Stan said. "So what's your angle?"

"What do you need my measurements for, you pervert."

"ALL right—" Stan stepped toward Bill, cracking his knuckles, and was only stopped by Ford's hand across his chest.

Bill leaned back against the hallway's opposite wall. "Whoa! Consider this a peace offering! You know—'no hard feelings for all the murder, attempted or planned'! I can be a polite house guest, even if I'm not a voluntary one." Bill smiled wryly, "I'm trapped on an alien planet where I know less than a dozen people and all of them hate me. It gets boring." He looked directly in Ford's eyes. "And we've got history. Is it so hard to believe I might want to be friends again?"

This time, Stan had to put a hand across Ford's chest.

Ford said, "You're up to something."

"Is that a statement or a question?"

"Statement."

"Then you don't want an answer. Enjoy your gifts! Or don't, I'm not your boss." Bill waved, and slunk around the corner back toward the living room.

Ford shut the door. He sat on his bed, examined the envelope, and glanced at Stan, who was sitting on his bed doing the same thing.

They grimaced at each other.

"Okay," Stan said. "Is this more dangerous if we do open it or don't open it?" He hefted his envelope in his hand. "This thing's pretty heavy for just a card."

"Is it?" Ford's wasn't very heavy. He turned on a lamp on a bedside table and held the envelope up in front of it, trying to see through the construction paper. "I think he's counting on us to open these. I doubt he set a trap that will activate if we leave it closed—it's not his style."

"So, what do we think. Some kinda hypnotic mind-control magic that's activated by reading it? Or is he just trying to bribe us into liking him better?"

"He probably doesn't have hypnotic mind-control magic. If he did, why would he have spent so long trying to manipulate humans into doing his bidding?"

"I dunno, maybe he's stupid."

Testily, Ford said, "He's not stupid."

"No—listen, I've been thinking about this for months," Stan said. "You spent thirty years hopping between a zillion different dimension, right? If there's already safe portals out there, why'd he spend so long tricking someone into building a crummy one that'd destroy the universe, instead of using one of those? He's gotta be stupid!"

"I've... wondered the same thing about the portal," Ford admitted grudgingly. "But, no—I've seen him use so many roundabout tricks to manipulate minds that if he were capable of overt mind control, I'm sure he'd have used it by now."

"Fine, so mind control's off the table. But we're probably safer if we leave these alone. If we open them, they might be an annoying attempt to kiss up to us, or they might be dangerous." Stan waved his envelope like a fan. "And, we're gonna open them anyway, because not knowing will kill us, right?"

In his youth, Ford had arrogantly looked down on Pandora. "Of course we're going to open them."

They opened their envelopes.

They both contained a sheet of type paper folded in half with nothing on the front and messages written inside. Ford's read, "Stanford– I'd tell you to go to hell, but you'd barely be there long enough for it to be worth the trip. Happy birthday! –Δέος" Charming. Particularly out of the heel who'd just claimed he wanted to be friends.

"Hey, what is this?" Stan held his letter out for Ford to see: "Stanley– You were only the accomplice. I won't hold a grudge. Happy birthday! –Δέος" Stan pointed at the last word, "Is this some kind of curse?"

"A signature. Bill's real name isn't 'Bill Cipher'—it's just one of many nicknames he uses when communicating with humans. And, when writing to people who know him well, he prefers to sign with that nickname. It's pronounced déos." It meant awe—whether manifested in the form of fear or reverence. And it probably was no coincidence that Bill had picked a word that, to the untrained ear, sounded so much like the Latin deus—god.

Once, long ago, waking up to find his own hand had written a letter signed by "Awe" in a foreign alphabet had filled Ford with awe. Now... well, now it looked a little try-hard, didn't it. "Between you and me, I think Bill likes that signature best because it starts with a triangle." In Bill's handwriting, the delta looked unusually equilateral.

"Really fond of his own face, isn't he," Stan said, digging in the envelope for the rest of his "gift"—and he pulled out a handful of scratch cards. "What the...?"

How the heck had Bill gotten his hands on those? Ford checked to see if his envelope had the same—and came out with five pieces of notebook paper instead, still tattered on the edge from being torn out of a spiral notebook, covered front and back with writing—multiple languages, some inhuman, with a smattering of complex sigils and symbols. The first line on the first page read "Spell to Resurrect Fowl (chicken, turkey, duck, etc.—funny at dinner parties!)" Ford slapped the pages face down on his nightstand without reading the next line.

"What is it?" Stan asked.

"Magic," Ford said, voice flat with irritation.

"A trap—?"

"No. Magic for me. Spells I don't know. The kind of knowledge I'd—document in my journals."

Stan processed that. He tossed his scratch cards down on his own nightstand. "Lemme get this straight," he said. "Less than two weeks since he tried to kill us, with no access to the outside world and no resources at his disposal but his stupid wits—without even getting his hands on a freaking envelope—he somehow managed to get us both thoughtful, considerate gifts that are deeply relevant to our personal interests and passions! Is that about right?"

"It seems to be, yes."

"That jerk! I oughta wring his neck!"

Ford nodded in agreement. "I didn't know you're into scratch cards." He tamped down the urge to lecture Stan on the statistical improbability of making a profit.

"See, if even you didn't know, now I'm even madder that he does!" Stan groaned in frustration. "I kicked the habit. Still like playing 'em if I get them as a gift."

"Hmm." That was all right, then. Couldn't lose money on scratch cards if somebody else had spent the money.

They glared together at their thoughtful, relevant, deeply unwanted gifts, trying to decide what to do about them. Stan was the first to let out a resigned sigh and snatch his up. "What the heck. They're already paid for, I'm not gonna throw away potential free money just because it came from him." He fished around in his discarded pants pockets for a quarter. "But I'm not gonna enjoy myself!" He flipped through the cards, noting they were each labeled in a corner from 1/11 to 11/11, and muttered, "Why'd he draw triangles on some of the numbers?"

Well, if Stan had caved into his curiosity... Back into the box, Pandora, and perhaps we'll find hope at the bottom.

"Mabel must've helped him get these," Stan said. "It's the only way. And these cards have glitter and unicorns all over them." He scratched off his first card, and said, "Hey, three bunny faces—how 'bout that? I made thirty bucks already."

"At least it's not a total waste," Ford muttered, skimming the pages before him.

It was a treasure trove.

A spell to uncook food. The cipher to decrypt the Voynich manuscript. A potion to change eye color. A river stone submerged not five miles away that, when dry, hovered. A ritual involving five hours of meditation and a lot of mushrooms that opened up psychic communication with Earth's nearest alien neighbors. An illusion to make the floor look like lava. ("Good for games if you're very bored and oppressed by gravity.") The names of five hitherto-unknown demon nobles, the sigils to summon and bind them, the fields of knowledge and political influence in which they were most helpful, and a few personal tips on how to best to twist their arms into doing a favor. A complicated way to grind glasses that let one see, depending on prescription strength, anywhere from several seconds to several minutes into the future. And on and on.

And Bill didn't just toss down a few mystical-sounding words and move on: in a few terse sentences after each spell, he hinted at the principles that made them work (freely mixing magic, physics, and metaphysics), the people who'd created or discovered the trick (whether human, inhuman, unearthly, or transdimensional), where Ford could go digging to independently verify the information if he didn't want to take Bill's word for it—and what other, greater things someone might use these tricks to do, if only they fully understood how they worked, if only they had the right teacher. Bill had filled the margins, scribbled extra info in red pen in between the rows of black to double the amount of text he could cram on each line. Ford could fill an entire journal just by copying, disentangling, and expanding on everything Bill had packed into this dense five-page grimoire.

Bill had given Ford more in this letter than he had in all the years he'd been posing as Ford's friend—excluding those accursed portal blueprints. He'd shared the kinds of things Ford had always dreamed his Muse might show him. He gave it away like a free sample to entice a new customer. Five pages of deep secrets meant nothing to Bill and his infinite knowledge. He could have done this all along. He only did it now to try to bribe Ford into sparing his life: see what you could miss out on?

As Ford read the pages, his hands trembled in rage.

"—two hundred dollars, two hundred fifty dollars," Stan muttered. "Those are the biggest yet." He waved the scratch cards at Ford. "I don't understand it! That's eight winners in a row! I've made almost a thousand bucks just by scratching these off—that's not luck! How's he do it? What kinda weird alien magic gives you scratch card telepathy?"

"I don't know. I had no idea he could identify winning scratch cards," Ford said. "But I'm not surprised."

Stan shook his head in amazement, and scratched the next card.

Ford crushed the notepaper pages into a ball.

And he smoothed them back out. Bill was a monster, but this knowledge was precious. 

He looked at the Hand Witch's ring like it might tell him the correct course; but no matter which way his thoughts swayed, the gem remained a steady blue.

"This card's a thousand bucks all by itself," Stan said. "I've never won a thousand in my life. There's no way..." He scratched furiously at the last card, revealing symbols patterned after an array of gems and jewelry. "Five hundred!" Scratch scratch scratch— "Times five?! That's—!" He seized up all his cards and quickly tallied his winnings. "That's a total of nearly five thousand dollars!" He let out a disbelieving laugh. "Who needs Vegas? This monster's been better to me than she ever has!"

"Stanley, that's exactly what he wants you to think," Ford snapped. "He's giving us everything we want so we'll be more reluctant to kill him. This is less than chump change to him! Don't forget that his goal—"

"I know! I'm not stupid, I know what he's doing. Lotto numbers aren't worth the safety of the universe. But sh—shoot, Stanford, he handed me five grand for free and I'm keeping it."

"Fine," Ford said. "Fine. I suppose there's no point in throwing it away on principle."

"Darn straight!"

Ford glowered down at his underhanded "gift"—this little glimpse behind the veil into the mysteries of the universe. His whole chest bubbled and burned with rage; but beneath it—twinkling like a lonely star, twinkling like hope at the bottom of Pandora's box—was something he hadn't felt since Bill betrayed him.

Awe.

It was like waking up to a letter from his Muse.

This was who Bill could be—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—and he chose not to be. Why?! When this was so easy for him—why did he have to be what he was instead?

This charitable act only made the true Bill look even worse by contrast.

Ford re-smoothed the pages, carefully folded them in half, and stored them back in their construction paper envelope. He'd leave them there until he'd independently researched every one of these spells and ensured they did what Bill said they did and that there weren't any hidden side-effects.

And then he'd see about adding this information to his current journal.

No point throwing it away on principle.

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd deeply appreciate hearing your thoughts! Thanks!)

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

Splatoon 3 Version 6.0 Patch Notes Breakdown

Been a little bit since I did one of these, but Nintendo released the Chill Season 2023 patch notes about three hour ago, and while in terms of balance changes this is one of the smallest patches ever, it's got a ton of quality-of-life changes, so let's dig in, shall we?

So let's start from the top. In terms of new content, this patch includes a new catalog, two new stages (Robo ROM-en and Bluefin Depot), two new Specials (Splattercolor Screen and Triple Splashdown), nine new weapons, two new multiplayer songs, the new King Salmonid Megalodontia, and eleven new Tableturf cards.

Additionally, you'll note that they're including a line about giving you one Sheldon License at the end of each season. This is actually really relevant to a change coming down in line, so tuck that in the back of your mind for later.

The balance changes are all buffs, but they're relatively minor, and only six Main weapons and one Special are seeing any changes this time around.

Starting off, .96 Gal is having its ink efficiency buffed by 8%. It currently gets 40 shots on a full ink tank, so I wager this increases that number by about 5-10, but it's 5 AM my time at time of writing and I am bad at math, so I don't know for sure.

Ranged Blaster's explosions get a 15% paint buff. Note that this applies only to the final explosion and not the trail, so it's not a straight 15% paint buff.

Dread Wringer gets a 10% ink efficiency buff, and since it currently has ten sloshes on a full tank, that increases that number to eleven.

And finally, for Main Weapon changes the Heavy Edit Splatling now paints more. Unlike the Ranged Blaster's paint buff this is a lot harder to gauge, but Heavy Edit's paint can be kind of spotty and inefficient, so this is undoubtedly a good thing for it.

After that, we've got only two points-for-Special changes.

Jet Squelcher and L-3 Nozzlenose both get some points shaved off their Specials, taking their Ink Vac and Crab Tank to 180p and 190p respectively. On one hand, I am biased and hate the Jet Squelcher, and I think this buff was completely unwarranted and unnecessary, but on the other hand I love the L-3 and want only good things in life for it, so they balance each other out, in my book.

And, for the final balance change of the entire patch, we've got a Reefslider buff, as it now makes you invulnerable during its startup 13 frames faster. The thing about this change is that like, it's a buff, and that is good, but the problem Reefslider has is not getting the Special off, it's that you very rarely survive the aftermath of using it, and this does nothing to solve that. With Triple Splashdown on the horizon I think things might be rough for this Special in the future.

And that's all of the balance changes! There being so few of them indicate two things to me: That Nintendo is overall happy with the the state of the game, and that they are wary of touching anything unless they have to. And one hand I get it, after all, competitive players are currently saying that there really isn't a meta at the moment, just picking weapons you're good at and playing well, and that's probably not an environment you want to shake up too much. But on the other hand, there are a lot of things like Line Marker, Undercover Brella, and Reefslider to name a few, that could really do with some sprucing up to help them keep up with the just the middle of the pack. I think raising the bottom bar a bit higher would be to everyone's benefit.

But we've got two Specials being added, so I suppose now's not the time to rock the boat too much. We'll see how things have shaken out come the mid-season patch in January.

But the balance changes are a very small part of these patch notes, and nowhere near the most interesting, so let's keep moving on.

Anarchy Series and X Battles are receiving a whole slew of changes, the most prominent of which are some new badge rewards for win streaks and attaining high X Rankings. Additionally, matchmaking in X Battles is being changed to more strictly separate people with high and low X Ranks, as well as allowing more team compositions. To cut a long story short, weapons have a set of internal values that the game uses during matchmaking to try and balance the team compositions. Matchmaking in high-power X Rank infamously takes a very long time, so I have to imagine that this change aims to speed things up by making the matchmaking more lenient on that front.

Salmon Run, in addition to the new King Salmonid, is getting some significant changes, starting with some changes to the Specials:

Kraken Royale and Triple Splashdown are being added to the pool of available Specials. Additionally, Mr. Grizz has finally agreed to always provide at least two workers on every team with a long-range Special to handle all the pesky Stingers and Flyfish. Be sure to thank your local union representative the next chance you get.

This change is particularly spicy. Your Salmon Run stage badges will now boost your starting difficulty on their respective stages, adding more incentive to play beyond the two superbonuses, as well as making the grind for future badges easier. This certainly gives me more motivation to go for those VP 400+ badges.

You'll now be able to tell what King Salmonid is present during each Shift, and the Salmometer will change to match it, as well. Can you believe they didn't change that when they added Horrorboros?

Also I am curious what this means for those Shifts where the King Salmonid was random. Will the Salmometer become a question mark? Are they not gonna do those anymore? We'll have to wait and see.

But this next change, is a big one, and it's for, what else, Big Run:

Big Run trophy requirements will now be set in advance, and no longer scale off top 50%, 20% and 5% player results.

I am in two minds about this change. On one hand, I always thought that people complaining about overfishers in Big Run were kind of petulant and entitled, especially when the rewards were as minor as locker decorations and badges. Maybe that's mean-spirited of me, but there was never a way for me to read it as anything but people demanding to be given the same reward as the people working the hardest without putting in the effort themselves.

But on the other hand, the 5% cutoff has been steadily rising as overall Big Run participation decreased, which is just a natural result of time passing and casual players falling off the game, nothing weird there, but this means that the top becomes more stacked, further disincentivizing casual players as getting even the bronze trophies becomes harder and harder for them. Giving the players much clearer and more achievable goals will likely serve to pull a lot of people back into Big Runs, and that is undoubtedly a good thing.

And hey, I said the rewards weren't worth getting upset over, and by that same metric, I don't think it's worth getting upset over more people getting them, either. All the better, if it makes more folks happy. And as for the people who do want to grind their hearts out, well:

There's still some recognition for that, too.

So that's the gist of the Salmon Run changes, so let's finish up with some miscellaneous changes.

Remember how I told you to keep that bonus Sheldon's License in mind for later?

Players who own every currently available weapon will now be able to trade extra licenses in for Shell-Out Tokens. In other words, that extra license serves as a failsafe so you don't lock yourself out of buying future weapons by spending all your licenses on gacha rolls.

The Splatfest Battle Pro queue is receiving the same matchmaking changes as X, presumably for much the same reasons.

And finally, the most important change of all:

WANDERCRUST IS BACK!!! YEAH BABY!!!! WOO!!!