#i am in the worst stomach pain i have ever been in

[ihearnocomplaints]

holy fuck the pain oh shit oh god oh fucjk

[seventeenpins]

new rules

pairing: ex!Worst!Logan Howlett x f!reader word count: 2.7k summary: You've been broken up for long enough. It shouldn't be this hard to stay away. content/warnings: smut, angst, Logan's a disaster alcoholic, suicidal ideation, unhealthy relationships, big dick a/n: I didn't expect the Logan bug to bite me, but here I am, horny for this old man, writing a songfic in the year of our lord two thousand twenty four. Dua Lipa's "New Rules" came on shuffle and I needed to make it about our big boy. Thank you to the loml @ozarkthedog for being the best human alive and also for hyping me up, reading it thru, and telling me "it made me actually want to try to fix him" 😅

You’re in your pajamas, toothbrush in hand and moisturizer shining on your face, when the screen of your phone lights up. You wince when you see the contact name.

DO NOT PICK UP

You watch as it rings out, and you exhale when the comfort of the black screen returns.

And then it lights up again.

Just ignore it. Just ignore it.

As you’re spitting your toothpaste into the sink, the screen lights up again, DO NOT PICK UP flashing across.

It’s a bad idea. It’s always a bad idea. 

But as it lights up a fourth time, you hit accept. As you bring the phone to your ear, you already know what you’re going to say; you need to stop calling like this; have you been drinking?; this isn’t going to happen again–

And then you hear his voice. It’s just a single word, and comes out more as a croak than anything else.

“Hi, baby-”

Just like the first time. The third. The five hundredth. It makes you fucking melt, makes your body heat and your stomach flip.

“Hi Logan.”

—

“It’s been too long, sweetheart-” 

“Yeah, well-” you sigh. You know how this always goes. “I told you not to call.”

“But you answered.” 

Even over the line he sounds smug. You wish you could punch him, god, if only. But you knew from past experience that his adamantium bones and entirely unfair regenerative powers would leave him perfectly unblemished, while you nursed a broken hand.

“Sooo-,” you venture, “Is there something you need?”

It was better to play clueless, you reasoned; You weren’t gonna jump the gun. You would make him spell it out.

"Just you, hon,” his voice is low and dangerous and you think you might really hate him this time.

“You know it’s nearly midnight, don’t you? Are you ever gonna call me when you’re sober?”

You hear a noncommittal grunt on the other end.

“What do you want, Logan?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I come over? I’ve just been missing you. Been a rough day.”

“No.”

“Please, baby? I need you. Please?”

You close your eyes and exhale. Ten calls ago, you might have tried to hide the frustration, but you’re well beyond that now.

It’s always a bad idea. Always makes you remember the bits of him you miss desperately. Your nights together. How you still fucking love him.

“Can take care of you, princess-“ he pleads.

“I hate when you call me that. And no, you can’t. You can’t even take care of yourself, Howlett.”

He huffs a laugh. “Been doin’ alright a couple hundred years. Keepin’ myself alive.”

You don’t want to say the question neither of you will acknowledge.

Is this really living?

“Fine. You can come over.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Motherfucker-! Have you been on your way this whole time, Lo?”

With a snort, he ends the call.

He’s on you before you can even get the door closed behind you. His hands are cradling your head as he kisses you deeply. You were right; he tastes like cheap whiskey. And cigarettes, you realize. Fucking cigarettes. And then you remember�� he’s all but abandoned his cigars, as though the pain of losing a vice was part of his penance. 

With an awkward foot you try to hook the bridge of your foot along the edge of the door, pull at it, but instead of closing it you just overbalance, tumbling further into him.

He catches you as if it was nothing, as if he were so innately steady he’d always be there to break your fall.

When he has you back on your feet, he gets right back to it, tearing at your clothing and his, pulling your top over your head, fumbling with the drawstring of your bottoms. He cups your breasts, pinching and teasing, and walks you backwards till the backs of your knees hit the foot of your bed and you tumble. 

Logan tumbles with you, his hold on you never ceasing, and now you can feel how hard he is against you.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

You’ve missed this. Fuck you’ve missed this. What kind of self-destructive dumbass judgment were you letting rule you? 

You need to gain some control back.

“Condom,” you tell him. 

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not joking, Logan. Should still be in the top drawer.”

He exhales with a chuckle, but pulls his beater over his head and lets you get an eyeful of his toned chest before leaning over and sliding the drawer open.

Then, he rummages around, pulling back with a shit-eating grin. 

In his hand is a roll of condoms, classic fit.

“You got a little boyfriend?” he asks, and you feel your face heat.

“Shut the fuck up, Logan.”

“Now I’m not seeing the Magnum’s in here. You sure you still have them? Or are you so busy fucking dumbass boys with little pricks that you can’t even bother to pick up the phone?”

“The condoms are just in case– better to be prepared– and besides it’s none of your fucking business if I’m sleeping with anyone else!”

“You know I can’t get STIs, right?”

You do know. You remember that first conversation years ago. You grit your teeth.

“And if you’re so worried,” he continues, “I’ll buy you Plan B.”

“Move,” you tell him, and he scoots back so you can look in the drawer yourself. Much to your chagrin, he’s right. Not a single gold packet in sight.

You groan, and he laughs.

You should tell him no. Should tell him that if he wants to fuck you, he needs to go out and get some. Because it’s not even the risk of any sort of transmission, or even the risk of pregnancy that gives you pause. It’s the intimacy. The way you can hardly bear it when you can feel him dripping out of you. The love you still have for him, even after everything. 

The way you know he still needs you, too. More than you need him. But after everything he’s done, everything he’s been through, everything he’s lost– you can’t bear to be another thing he loses, not fully.

But now he’s straddling you, scooting you backwards towards the head of the bed. His cock presses heavy against your thigh, and you’re so overwhelmed by the way he’s pressing kisses along your jaw and nibbling behind your ear, you barely notice as he lifts your hips to pull your panties down. His nails scrape down your back and the angry scratches start to bloom with heat. 

You don’t realize you’re both fully naked until you feel the heat from him press against you, the slick of his weeping cockhead dragging a trail just below your navel, down down down-

He strokes himself twice and lines himself up, pressing against your opening. You wait for the feeling, for the way he always slams inside you, but he surprises you. Presses the tip in and rocks himself gently, easing you open.

After a moment (and hardly a single inch) he pulls out and sits up.

For a gut-wrenching second, you think he’s changed his mind, and how fucking dare him? He’s not the one who gets to back out of this. Fuck.

But then his cock is replaced with his hand, and he pumps himself with his left, while pressing inside of you with his right, scissoring his fingers open, pulling whine and moan and gasp out of you, coaxing you along with his filthy mouth the whole way.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, letting out a groan when you squirm against him, “You’re tight as the first time I fucked you. Clearly no one’s been takin’ care of this pussy, huh?”

Two fingers become three, and you’re overwhelmed with sensation, pleasure taking over any rational thought.

“That’s it, honey, open up for me. Such a shame no one’s been fuckin’ you right. Would make you feel good every damn day if you’d let me.”

He rubs against your clit in unyielding circles and pulls you right to the edge. You feel yourself dripping, thighs trembling, and tears rolling down your face, but just as you’re about to cum he stops. He guides your arms upwards and pins you down by the wrists with one rough hand and leans over, caging you against the bed. In a second beat, he knocks your legs wide, baring you fully, and he presses himself in. You’re beyond slick and the glide is exquisite. The feeling of his bare cock pressing into you makes you shudder with arousal. The wiry hairs at the base of his cock grind against you, making you shake. 

He fucks you deep and slow. The drag is exquisite. He pulls almost the whole way out, before rocking back in again, his foreskin adding to the delicious glide. With every thrust he’s burying himself so deeply you’d swear you could feel him in your belly.

“You’re openin’ up so nice, takin’ it so good,” he growls, and you feel a thrill of pleasure bloom through your body at the praise. “Been missin’ this. Miss how soft you feel around me. Have you been missin’ your old man, too?”

You don’t even register he’s asked a question till his palm is swatting your jaw. It’s not painful, it doesn’t even sting. And it does exactly what he’d hoped; it refocuses you on him.

“Wha- What?” you ask, coming back to him, whilst feeling your peak build and build and build-

“Have you been missin’ your old man, princess? 

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“Use your words.”

“Yes-”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I’ve been missing you. Stop looking at me like that, Lo. C’mon now, fuck me like you mean it.”

You can’t deal with him being sincere right now. You need it rough and you need it mean.

It takes him a moment to pull himself away but then he does, obliging as if he can read your thoughts. He pulls out, leans back, hooks your legs over his shoulders, and makes you moan as he folds you in half. He’s pressing so much deeper now than he had only a moment ago. Any gentleness that had been there disappears immediately.

He’s panting, letting out heavy grunts as he slams into you and sweat drips down his temple. 

As he fucks you, he drives into you cruelly but you match each thrust. Every time he knocks you back, you press against him harder and heavier. Make sure it hurts, for both of you.

He’s never been a selfish lover and makes you scream on his cock, cumming three times in rapid succession, each peak that little bit higher. Each peak is a little bit harder. 

You’re boneless and spent. When he cums inside you, his claws shoot out, angrily splintering existing notches on your headboard. Blood trickles down between his knuckles. One drop lands on your lips, the perfect kiss from this mess of a man. Another drop lands on your new linen pillowcase.

At least you got those tide pens. 

You want to tell him off about the headboard–the splintered edges are ugly and ragged. But the fact you hadn’t gotten a new headboard is kind of on you. It may as well be an invitation.

You add a note to your shopping list. Plan B.

—-

You wake up alone in a dark room. The first thing you see is your bedside alarm clock, red blinking numbers telling you it’s 3:12 AM. Then, you hear a rustling in your living room.

You step out to investigate, bleary-eyed, to find Logan silhouetted in front of your liquor cabinet, bottle of amber liquid in hand. He raises the bottle and takes a swig.

Back to this-

"Go home, Logan.” You tell him, and he startles at your voice.

"Baby- I been havin’ bad dreams-” 

You cut him off. "I’ll call you a cab. You’re not staying here, trying to drink yourself to death on my sofa-”

"Sweetheart,” he cuts in, “You know it never sticks-“ 

He says it with a grin like it means nothing, and it’s mean. Makes your stomach flip.

This is the closest either of you had ever gotten to the depths of it all. You’d both been pretending for so long.

You leave the room.

A minute later, you’re back, and Logan has emptied the bottle.

"Get dressed.” You toss his shirt at him. It smacks him in the face and falls unceremoniously to the floor. “Cab’s on its way. You owe me for the whiskey.”

He nods. His movement is loose, and you can see the booze is finally affecting him. More than just making him gutsy, it’s making him sloppy. Every movement is sluggish as he redresses.

"You wanna know why?” He asks, and it comes out slurred.

You ignore him. “I’ll walk you down. Get home safe, okay?”

He nods again. Looks like he’s trying to put on a show to prove just how sincere he is.

You kick his shoes towards him, and help him with his jacket when he struggles.

A horn honks outside, and you both look to the window. When you turn your head back, though, he’s only inches away from you, whiskey-breath across your cheek, and a wearier frown than he’s ever let you see before.

"When I drink I don’t dream-,“ he tells you, “Claws don’t come out.”

Then he kisses you on the cheek, turns on his heel with an unsteady sway, and leaves your home.

You struggle for hours to fall back asleep, the bed suddenly much too big.

You ignore his calls for a week. They come through later and later. Nine PM, ten. Midnight. Two.

And then one night you get a text. 

He’s rarely one for texting, so to see the notification makes your heart speed up and your stomach flip.

DO NOT PICK UP - Attachment: 1 Video

With a single, hesitant tap, you open it.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something dramatic, maybe? Something miserable? You hope to god he’s not figured out some way to make himself an adamantium bullet. It’s a fear that’s bounced around in your head for a while now, but you’d never ask just in case he hasn’t thought of it yet himself.

Whatever it is, though, it has to be something that will make your heart ache and your head spin and–

It’s anticlimactic. Kind of.

It’s just a video of him, phone angled to show him in his steamed-up mirror.

There are dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes, but besides that, he looks as perfect as ever. You can’t see below his hips, but you know Logan and you know he’s fully naked. His body hair is slick, his skin glowing from being freshly showered.

This fucking asshole knows exactly how to get you.

You hit play. 

At first, you can barely tell it’s a video. And then you see the way his arm is moving. He’s holding his phone with one hand, his other casually stroking himself just below the frame of the video.

“You gonna stop ignoring me?” he asks, his voice a throaty purr. “Quit playing games. Get your ass over here and let me take care of you.”

AND, you realize with a twinge, you text with him so rarely, you never turned off read receipts.

Three dots appear and you know that he knows you’ve seen it. 

A moment later, the text comes through.

“Ready for you, princess.”

God, if only it would take more than that.

As if overtaken by a horny ghost, you’re already slipping your panties off and putting on your favorite skirt. 

You’re at his house an hour later. 

You let him guide you. Taste you. Fuck you. Fight with you. 

You let him devour you, and let yourself fall in with him, in with the guilt and the anger and the hate and self-pity.

And fuck, it’s the love, too. It never went away.

[leilanihours]

34🗝️ with paige

# I CAN SEE YOU'RE LONELY DOWN THERE, DON'T YOU KNOW THAT I AM RIGHT HERE?

pairing: paige bueckers x best friend!reader

word count: 715

warnings: slight angst? maybe?

prompt: "will you stay the night?"

⭑ from lani: paige is such a shy cutie in this (a bold contrast to how i write her in smuts but here we go 😝)

celly masterlist !

main masterlist !

THE WHOLE TEAM was down in the dumps. they barely spoke to anyone, and if they did it was only because they had to.

you had never seen the team so devastated before. they were always high-spirited, positive, and cheerful. but right now, they were the exact opposite.

being an intern on the coaching staff, you had tried your best to speak with all of the girls, see where their heads are at, and what you can do to help ease the pain.

but at the end of the day, you didn't want to overstep and push them to a place they weren't ready to be at, so after a couple days you eased up on them. gave them space.

they all seemed to be doing better as the days went on, especially nika and aaliyah who were preparing to go to the wnba draft. but there was one person who still struggled to even come out of their room: paige.

ever since you decided to give the team their space, you distanced yourself from everyone, including the blonde.

and you thought that's what they wanted, what paige wanted, but when she called you in the middle of the night, it was clear that she wanted something different.

"paige?" you grumble, rubbing your eyes as you sat up in bed, "what's up? are you okay?"

"um," she starts quietly, "i'm sorry for waking you up but uh...could you come over real quick?"

"yeah sure," you say with furrowed eyebrows, "i'll be there in five."

"thank you, y/n."

it sounded so sincere that it concerned you. your mind begins racing, coming up with the worst possible situations. but as you take the elevator up to paige's floor, you try to calm your nerves and put up a calm front for the girl.

after shooting a text to paige announcing that you were at her door, not ten seconds later she was taking your hand and gently pulling you into her dim-lit bedroom.

"is something wrong, paige? it's almost three in the morning," you ask softly, not wanting to seem annoyed that she woke you up. because the truth is that you would run miles to get to her if she asked you to.

"uh, kinda?" she says, not meeting your eyes as she sits down at the foot of her bed, "what have you been up to this past week?"

you pause for a second but decide not to question it as you answer, "i mean, nothing much. just a little bit of finishing final assignments and helping the coaches with schedules for summer...why?"

there's a beat of silence.

"i missed you," she whispers inaudibly.

"what was that?" you ask, taking a step closer to her.

she runs a hand through her blonde hair, "i missed you," she repeats slightly louder. this time you hear it clear as day.

"oh," you whisper, taking a seat next to her, "well i'm right here."

"i'm glad you are," she mutters as she rests her head on your shoulder, her hands drifting to your torso as she plays with the hem of your shirt.

"did you wanna talk about something?"

"not really, not right now," she replies, "just wanna hold you."

you're taken aback by her answer, not expecting for her to say something so intimate. but you weren't complaining..

"okay, sure," you nod, "just let me know when you want me to go back to my dorm, yeah?"

"actually, could you, uh..." she pauses as if she's nervous, "could you stay the night?"

now it's your turn to pause. your best friend, the girl you've developed feelings for, is asking you to sleepover. you can't help but feel butterflies in your stomach.

"of course, paige," you agree after a minute.

"you're not gonna leave before i wake up, right?" she mumbles into your shirt.

"no, i won't, i promise," you say, placing a kiss on her head, "i'll be here."

and for the rest of the night, paige was snuggled into your embrace as you two slept tangled under the covers. it was comforting, safe, secure. it was something you wish you could experience for the rest of your life.

but, of course, it would only be so healing if you experienced it with paige.

— leilani signing off ! 📁

[katiascraft]

“am I too much for you? maybe I’m too much for everyone” | CL16

parings: Charles Leclerc x insecure!reader

summary: you feel insecure and you’re struggling but Charles makes sure you know how important you are to the world (specially his world).

now playing: “If I weren’t me” by Katherine Li

warnings: not English native speaker could there be errors. None proofread. Talk about sadness and destructive inner talk. Insecure reader. Readers pov’s.

words: +1,5k words.

a/n: heyyyy I am back!!! I disappeared for a year 💀 consistency it’s not my thing I guess. I’m finally finishing university this year!! So I guess I’ll have more time to write. Hope you like it! First on Charles. New obsession: F1 drivers. Get ready I got plenty more on my plans :p. Remember to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3

MASTERLIST

The piano tiles made the sound of the soundtrack of my sadness in this moment. My fingers touched them softly like they were fragile - like me.

Today was a nightmare from the start. Since I woke up I had a knot in my stomach that became bigger and bigger as the time passed through my routine. Sometimes itʼs really hard for me to do daily tasks such as cleaning or even eating. And it was harder if I need to go to events or meetings.

I have episodes of deep sadness Iʼve been treating on therapy. Sometimes I just canʼt control it. Today was one of those days where black and grey took over everything I felt and did. One way I found by being suggested by my therapist was writing down every thought of pain to find kind of a relief. Today itʼs really hard. Iʼm struggling really hard.

Iʼve been alone the whole day. Charles had to go to the Ferrari factory and do his driver tasks as usual. When I woke up he was gone. And maybe that contributed even more to my desperate and pathetic situation. Though I shouldnʼt talk about it like that and be more gentle with myself. It always felt to me negativity has always been my best friend and worst enemy at the same time.

Playing piano helped me so much. Write a song about my pain. Try to give a little light to all of this mess I find myself emerged in. Itʼs really hard for me to open up and seek help when I need it. Specially when it comes to Charles. I donʼt wanna be a burden to him. And I donʼt wanna stress him out with all of my dark side. I always try to brush it off when heʼs around. Most times I just pretend Iʼm happy and everything itʼs alright. As if I wasnʼt feeling too much for him. Or too less. Like Iʼm not worth of his love. Of his attention. Of his smiles. Of everything he did for me.

The fact that Charles asked me out had me shocked. Iʼve never felt like I could compete with all the models and influencers and singers and every really beautiful girl in this world. Iʼve never felt beautiful nor attractive. Yes Iʼm pretty good making jokes. And I talk too much. But Iʼve always felt I cringed people out. Dating people wasnʼt a thing I was really good at. Actually I sucked. And I think I still do. Always overthinking and second guessing every move. Every promise. Everything.

Charles was so sweet to me. He said “youʼre beautiful. Iʼm sure people tell you all the time. But you really areˮ. I couldnʼt help but get really nervous and blush. The most beautiful man Iʼve ever seen was talking to me and saying all of that. I blinked a couple of times. My smile huge. I just laughed softly trying to brush it off.

Since then we became a team. Inseparable. Charles became my best friend. My rock. I donʼt know what I ever did to deserve his love. The way he loved me was so gentle. So caring and loving. At first was hard because his love language was physical touch and that was something I wasnʼt used to. But little by little I got used to and felt amazing. Iʼve never felt so comfortable with anyone but him.

I hate my body. I feel ashamed of my personality. Most times I feel so dumb. So stupid.

I didnʼt realized I was already crying when I felt my tears dropping in my hands on the piano. I didnʼt realized I kept playing in auto-mode. When I was conscious again I started crying badly. I started shaking. I felt so bad. So guilty for even feeling this way. I didnʼt realized Charles have arrived home when I felt his deep voice from behind.

“Baby... whatʼs wrong? Youʼve been crying for a whileˮ I heard his voice and that sent shivers down my spine. I try to hold it together because I feel so embarrassed heʼs seeing me like this.

He sat next to me and hugged me. I hid my face on his neck feeling contempt. Thing is I started crying worse. I couldnʼt control it once it took on me.

“Itʼs okay baby. Itʼs okay.ˮ He whispered on my head while he stroke my hair and my arm pulling me closer. I thanked him mentally for this. I never thought I needed it so much.

Took a while until I calmed myself in his body. I part from him slowly and whipped my face with my hands. After I did he did the same. He whipped my tears so gently. He did the same looking me with bright eyes. Worry was all over his face. I licked my lips. “Iʼm sorry.ˮ I said quietly almost a whisper.

He denided with his head taking my head into his hands and stroked it softly.

“donʼt be sorry baby. Iʼm worried. Whatʼs wrong? Iʼm sorry I wasnʼt home to be with you. Why didnʼt you called me?ˮ I could feel the worry in his voice deep and cracking.

“I didnʼt want to bother to be honest. Itʼs one of those days. A really hard dayˮ my tears wanted to go out again but I holded them.

I saw his eyes turned into a sad look. He leaned on me and kissed my cheek to hugged me strongly in his arms afterwards. I buried my head in his shoulder. His smell calmed me down. I holded him pretty close to me. Strongly as him. I didnʼt want to let go.

“do you wanna talk about what you are feeling love?ˮ He whispered softly. I swallowed hard and pulled away from his so I could look into his beautiful eyes. I loved his eyes. So bright so blue sometimes. To me they felt like staring at the ocean. I stroked his face gently. He grabbed my legs on the little couch in front of the piano it our living room.

“This is one of those days where I donʼt feel enough or maybe too much to handle... all of this darkness in me that sometimes I just canʼt control it. You deserve someone confident and happy just like youˮ I told him softly and honestly. And it felt good to take it out of me for finally. I wanted to cry again but I was making my best efforts to keep it together.

“Cher... you are more than enough for me. You are the most beautiful soul Iʼve ever met. The most beautiful woman Iʼve ever seen. You are the sweetest most caring and fun person. Always there for people. You have the brightest personality. Every time you enter a room you shine. Everyone smiles. To me youʼre happiness though I know that isnʼt the whole you. Youʼre human baby. You are allowed to feel. And to not be okay. And to be okay too. You are not a burden for me. Youʼre my best friend. Mon amour. My future wife. The one whoʼs always there for me. My shoulder to cry on. The one with the greatest jokes. The life of every party I assist. You give a meaning to my life. A reason to live. You are a great daughter. The best friend someone could ask for. The greatest sister. You are a light for every single person that knows you y/n. Donʼt ever feel that you are too much to handle. And I really wanna go and kill the people who made you ever feel you were, I sware. You are amazing baby.ˮ While he was talking you couldnʼt hold it together. You just started crying. He let you do it while he whipped your tears lovingly. He seeing you like this broke his heart. You didnʼt deserve to feel like this. And he wished he could take away all of your pain. That you could see yourself the way he sees you. And feel how happy and enamoured you made him feel. “You can talk to me every time you need itˮ he continued. “you can trust me and we can figure it out together. You donʼt have to go through it alone. Okay? I love you with everything I am y/n. If I could I would take all of this pain away and just make you feel how I feel about you. I promise to me youʼre even better than Carlosˮ he said lastly jokingly making me laugh through my crying.

Now he had a huge smile on his face knowing he could make you feel better. I gave him a peck on his lips as a thank you and as an I love you.

“I donʼt know what I would do without you Charles...ˮ I said sincerely and full of love in between the lines. He gave another kiss back but now it was deeper in feelings. We kissed for a while and it felt that as the kiss continued my pain was going away feeling better every second. After the kissed I hugged him tightly. He gave kisses to my neck making me giggle a little. “I love you Charlie. Youʼre my angelˮ I whispered on his shoulder and he tightened the hug in response.

“And you are mine chérie��� he said burying his face on my shoulder.

——————————————————————————————

Charlie won COTA 🥹.

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have ideas my inbox is open for requests!

[lovifie]

Manipulative Gaz

Dark themes | Smut - 1972 words (Back to Masterlist)

CW: Psychological manipulation, toxic Gaz

Everyone has a limit, and Gaz is not an exception.

He is still made of meat and bones, and emotions can be tamed but not ignored forever.

Working in the military takes a toll on everybody, both physically and emotionally. And survivor guilt is the worst of them all.

Gaz is back from his last mission, but many of his colleagues won't. Ever again.

Too many casualties.

Too many lives lost.

Too many injured.

And he is fine.

Not even a scratch he could pick at to feel the pain he deserves.

He shouldn't be walking home so freely, dozens of families are about to find out they will never be complete again.

And he is walking home to you, happy to welcome him back as if he was a hero, dinner warm on the table and you talking to him about your day.

As if he would care about how your colleague invited you to a company dinner in a couple of days. People died today, he couldn't care less.

But it seems you cannot get the memo.

“Can you shut the fuck up for a fucking second? Shit! I have been out for months, I just want some fucking quiet time and you keep fucking going on and on about you. How can you be so selfish?! Fuck! Just shut up, for fuck sake!” He says, standing up from the table and dropping his half-eaten dinner on the sink before walking upstairs to the bathroom to shower.

He regrets it the moment the words leave his lips, the hurt look on your face as if he had just hit you. 

It had happened before, the pressure of his work gets too much, but he keeps it in, not being able to complain to anyone, until it overfills and in the end you are the one that takes the fall.

He hates himself for it, you are literary the best thing he has, his sweet girl, always willing to take him in, more ways than another, always willing to listen to him, always patient, always kind.

And this is how he repays you, with shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

He'll get out of the shower and you'll be lying on the sofa, not wanting to share the bed with him, he'll pull you apart and back together on said sofa, and once you are satisfied and pliant he'll take you to bed to sleep on his arms. 

Until it happens again. 

He gets out of the shower, towel around his hips, and goes down to the living room. But you aren't there, his brows furrow; maybe you are picking the blanket from the room. 

So he goes upstairs again, smiling when the room's light is on, but once he walks in, his smile quickly drops when he sees you. 

No. No. No. No.

His stomach sinks when he sees the suitcase open on top of the bed, clothes being thrown carelessly inside by you.

He can see the tears in your eyes, but you don't look sad, you look angry. You have never been angry at him, he can't wait to feel it.

“Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing?” He asks stepping closer, closing the suitcase so you can’t put any more clothes in. 

You huff, looking at him with hate and tears in your eyes as you try to move his hand away from the suitcase. “I'm leaving, Kyle” 

No, no, no, you can’t leave, he needs you, how can you leave him? What will he do without you?

“Why? Love, please, stop, talk to me, please?” He begs, making you throw the t-shirt on your hand to the floor.

“Talk to you?!” You shout at him. “Maybe I should talk to you the way you talk to me, Kyle! Then maybe you would get an idea of how much it hurts!”

He deserves it, he knows he does, but you have never spoken this loudly to him before, and it stirs up something inside him, something disgusting that shouldn’t get stirred up, something he should be ashamed of.. It makes him wonder if he can make you moan as loud, scream his name. 

“I know, love. I'm sorry, I really am. You know that, right? You know that I love you to bits?” He asks, manipulation at his best. But you don't fall for it, you are far too smart to be blinded by his hurt expression. He tries to cup your face, if he can touch you he knows he's got you; but so do you, and you quickly move his hands away from your face.

“If you loved me you wouldn't treat me the way you do, Kyle.” You argue, clever girl you are.

“How can I not love you, dear?” He asks, body moving closer to you. Your hand rests on the middle of his naked chest, keeping him away. It's the back of your hand that touches him, almost as if your palm was too good to touch him. 

Your touch is cold, both literally and figuratively and that makes him start to panic. What if you actually leave? What if he can't fix this before is too late? What if it is too late? 

He needs you, he needs the control he has over you. Everything in his life constantly feels out of control, his superiors barking orders at him, enemies playing with him, and comrades dying on the battlefield without him being able to do anything about it. He needs to feel he is in control of something, even if that something is a someone and even if that someone is you.

He still pushes closer, the heat from his body pooling into the coldness of your touch. He resists the urge to smile satisfied with how your body betrays you. Kyle does love you, even if it is in an unfair, distorted and macabre way. And he knows you love him, in a genuine, comforting and undeserving way. 

His hands manage to get to your face, pushing his face forward to kiss your cheek. Baby steps.

“C’mon, love. I'm sorry, please. I won't do it again, I promise. I'll work on it, I promise I never intended to hurt you. I'm sorry, it's the job, I promise. I love you, darling. I really do.” He says, as he drops kisses on your face, lowering to your jaw and the moment he reaches your neck, he smiles, hidden from your eyes, knowing he is keeping you once more. 

Shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

“Kyle…” You protest, your hand still on his chest and some fight still in you, but he can work it out of you. 

“I'm sorry, dear. I'll treat you better, I promise. As good as you deserve, I promise.” He has you against his chest now, and he feels your hand slowly turning on his chest; your palm much warmer against his skin. 

He sucks on your neck making you whimper and he needs every bit of self-restraint not to laugh at you, not to laugh at how easy it was. He shouldn't have gotten nervous, he’s got you eating out of his hand.

The part of his brain that is still human, that tells him that you are still human starts to talk to his dismay. He knows it! He perfectly knows that he is a monster for how he treats you, that you should be with someone a hundred times better, such a sweet girl stuck together with such a horrible man.

But one of the many traits that make him such a horrible man is how egoistic he is, so he will keep you, even if you don't want to. He'll keep pushing you away and locking the doors so you can't run. Tomorrow he'll burn the suitcase, he is not letting you get this far ever again. 

A glimmer of guilt sits at the bottom of his stomach, a useless feeling. It only means he needs to get inside of you soon, fill himself with the love he so little deserves and fill yourself with empty lies of eternal love.

He grips your thighs, urging you to jump on his hips. You resist for a second too long and he slaps your asscheek making you jump with a whimper.

“I'm gonna make you feel good, love. I'm sorry. I'll make it worth it, I promise.” He says, still biting your neck. The towel around his hips falls at some point, not that he cares; it would get in the way anyway. Just as much as your clothes are, he doesn't bother to let you back on the floor to take them off. He simply grabs the material and rips it on your crotch leaving your cunt exposed. 

He is still standing, he doesn't want you to be able to rely on any support, he wants you to feel that if you don't grab him you'll fall, he wants you to need him just as much as he needs you. He slips his hand behind you, getting a finger inside of you making you whimper as you hide your face on his neck; clinging onto him and he loves it. 

This is how he wants you, desperate for him. Just like he is for you. At his disposal, just for him.

He can feel the wetness dripping down his fingers, he knows he should add more fingers before sinking you on his dick, but he wants to feel you stretch around his dick, moulding yourself just for him, shaping your insides only for him.

You bite his shoulder when he does and he smiles, loving it, he needs it. He needs the pain you inflict on him when he is like this, the bites on his shoulders, the scratches on his back, the kicks on his lower back, all of it. He deserves, he deserves much more. You could sink a knife into his shoulder, cut him to his hip dragging the blade and he would still feel you need to do more.

He is so horrible to you, he knows he hurts you, and he wishes you could hurt him back, let him know what is like. But you never do, because you are too good to hurt the man you love and it only makes him want you to hurt him more. 

He grabs your hips hard, making you bounce on his dick, the room filling with your moans and the sound of skin slapping on skin. There are no more thoughts inside his head, already forgetting the faces of those men who died today, already forgetting their names. This is why he needs you, it would consume him alive if it wasn't for you. He needs you.

You cling to him, moaning his name, you mind forgetting his harsh words already only being able to focus on the way his dick is hitting so deep inside of you. 

He makes sure to go round after round, his seed spilling out of you making him grunt. He should get you pregnant, stuck with him for real that way, forever.

It's only when you can no longer talk that he gets in the bed with you, hugging you tightly, too afraid you'll think about leaving again. 

It's usually at this point he can finally relax, go to sleep and forget about the nightmares his days have been.

But a new nightmare arises when he says, “I love you” and you answer “I know”.

Tomorrow, he is burning your suitcase and he is tying you to the bed. Enough playing around with him, he is here, and you don't need to go anywhere. 

Shouts, sex and apologies. That's the cycle.

And that will remain the same.

Whether you want it or not.

[mynqzo]

this guy (me) got off their antidepressants officially baby. they were prescribed to me by a doctor at the ER I went to for stomach problems early this year because they said I 'look a bit sad' and knew I had sleeping issues. started taking them and was not informed of side effects or what would happen if i went off them cold turkey - which i did a month later!

i had the worst month of my life after that, having the worst pain ever, cluster headache, shakiness, etc, and i thought i was going crazy until i researched the reasons for this myself, and begged the doctors to help me of course lmao (thrice).

since then i have been tapering my medication for 5 to 6 months now and got to the point three days ago where the next step was to get off them entirely. and believe it or not, the withdrawal symptoms, while still awful, are not as bad as they were at the beginning of the year so yipee!

idk i just wanted to share this because i am 1. struggling and 2. proud of myself nonetheless and have my fingers crossed most of these pains will clear within a week or so!

the worst thing is that (and this is just a ramble) that this medication was misprescribed to me. i had anxiety yes, but this was not something they (the docter) asked about or i think cared for? like i said, i went there because i had a stomach virus and left with medication for something completely different because they apparently believed my vibe was too sad. this should have never happened if they didn't rush to prescribe me something to keep them out of their hair. huff. sigh even.

[munsster]

through and through

A/N: i am simply a sucker for a gorgeous, dumb blond (gif creds: @captainsamerica)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: The most stubborn man in the world has no one to blame for that gunshot but himself. And all over again, you'll clean him up. 1.5k words

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, angry but soft reader, dumb stevie, slight wound description, its okay: everybody lives, cursing, pet names (honey, baby, darlin), friends to lovers

"God, Steve, do you know how frustrating it is when you do this?" You're ruffled: wide-eyed and feverish. Upset might better describe your situation. Peeved, maybe. Because you're used to his recklessness. Always have been. Even when it was only news articles and rumored hospitalization.

Arm hooked around his waist, he slumps his weight against you while you struggle up the ramp of the jet. Labored breathing fans the nape of your neck, and you can feel his tension loosening with the grip of his consciousness. As he plops down into a hard metal seat, he deflates. Especially with you beside him, he's happy the scolding of his life is at hand.

And all he can do is laugh. Of course he's gonna be okay; he's pumped full of the purest steroids long-dead alchemists could come up with. Which is why he's not worried. So far from worried, in fact, that he's grinning. You're fingering antiseptic against the fresh gunshot wound in his abdomen, and he's sitting pleased.

"You couldn't have been a little more careful?” You grumble something about how stupid he is. That he's doing it on purpose to mess with you. Leave it to Steve to get shot just to piss you off. "Try to risk your life a little less, 'kay? God, it's so frustrating.”

He chuckles, hissing at the brief pain and slumping down in his seat. "You said that already."

"I'm not afraid to hit a dying man—"

"Hush, I'm not dying." He coughs up a wet gargle, and the panic sets in. You press a square of gauze against the shallow divot with the heel of your palm. Lazily, his head lulls to the side, and he can't stop himself from smiling at the crease between your brows.

"That's exactly what you'd say if—"

"—If I was dying, yadda yadda. Have I ever lied to you, darlin'?"

His palm cups yours on his hot skin. Each breath presses taut muscle into the gentle curve of your fingers. Your face screws inward, but he puts a little pressure on your knuckles, trapping them in place on his stomach.

"How'm I supposed to know?"

His tongue clicks behind a smirk, and he blinks his eyes shut. It's because he's exhausted, you know that. You should let him rest, but after losing all that blood, you also figure it's better if he stays conscious until you're sure he'll make it. There's no reason for this time to be different. But then again, there never really is.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't do that. Keep 'em open, please."

"Aw, come on, honey—fine"—his vibrant blue eyes startle you as he goes back to staring—"As I was saying—I'm not planning on dying anytime soon. If I was, I'd tell you so you could smack the deathwish outta me."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to trust you, huh?"

"Yes, please." He's horrible. The blood he's got left all goes to his head to fuel a stupid grin and the biggest, dumbest puppy dog eyes. No thoughts behind them, just pure nonsense and foggy desire.

"You're the worst," you huff. It kinda stings when you don't chase it with a laugh or a smile. He hates that he's forcing you to be professional. Because unprofessional, unapologetic you is his favorite. A real sweetheart, and he's the one responsible for driving that away.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. More sincere than he's been in his life. Well, this life. It's not often that he gets to open up. He's been Captain for years now. And finally someone calls him Stevie again, and he's screwing it up with his stubbornness. He wishes he could be candid. Taken with life. Unabashed life, all at the tips of his fingers. Yet grabbing on never felt so far away.

He flutters when you scowl up at him, relieved that he gets to be acknowledged by you once more. Excited, suddenly, by the hand on his new scar. Wonderfully exposed by the top of his suit folded at the waist in his lap. And you have to admit, he's handsome. Golden hair flopped into his face, bloodied up by his or someone else's, but still so charming between rattling exhales.

You sigh. "I hate it when you're headstrong."

He perks up from behind the guise of creeping pain. You pay no mind, zipping the first-aid kit up and shoving it back into your duffel.

"Can't you let someone else take the high road? You know it's okay to be the bench guy for one game. Maybe save your life." You shrug, and the guilt washes away from the surface of his skull. He's thrilled again to be here for your bloom as the jet lifts and your ears pop.

"But that's what I have you for."

He hates it because it implies that's all. But that's far from all. You are all. He doesn't know it gives you butterflies because it implies that he has you. And he does. He will.

"As much as I love being your personal nurse, don't you think I deserve a break?" You pout and settle in beside him. He thinks the closeness could make his slow heart start up again. Even with near half his blood left, he'd circulate triple as long as you stay this close.

"C'mon, honey, you know I like when you work for it."

You don't have a second to process before he shifts closer and leans his head back against the tough wall. Your neck goes all hot because he drops his hand in the small space between his thigh and yours. The length of his thumb curiously swipes the skin of your catsuit, and you stiffen.

His breath catches in the dark. Your fingers fit slowly in the spaces of his own, a subconscious squeeze soothing the warm strain built up in all the little slips and slides. And it's okay now. Close like this is good for his ache. He doesn't have to be straight-posture, strict leader in your arms, even if he hasn't been there for very long. He would still like to fold into your warmth like perfect cake batter. Vanilla and streaks of funfetti if you'll keep him in place for a while longer.

"I told you to keep your eyes open, Stevie."

So they snap open. To find you're watching him. It wrecks him wholly to know you've noticed him before. It's so stupid, but he obsesses over the times you're not subtle about it. Like now: wetting the corner of your mouth with the tip of your tongue, pressing the pad of your thumb to his forefinger's knuckle.

"And I told you I'd be okay, darlin'." He feels himself softening. Hot peaches laid delicately into the shell of a tart to bake until golden brown. You could slice through him and take a bite. It would all reassure him knowing you enjoyed the bittersweetness and buttery smooth sinking of your teeth into his flesh.

"Stevie," you coo, lips parted. The gravity of you makes him want to slink closer like a stray cat to warm milk. To dip his tongue in and savor the newness. Cool and better than ever. You could—you do fuel his strength. Every centimeter poured from your cupped palms into—finally—Man. At last. Gold and glimmering. Exposed to weathering but picturesque evermore.

But he looks dazed. Glossed over. On the verge of emotion. And distress bubbles in your lungs.

"D'you need to rest—"

He shakes his head. "Stop thinking about me for five seconds, honey. I think kissing my girl is rest enough," he huffs, "Don't you agree?"

You squint. Smartass. "Actually, old man, it might be better if—"

In a breath, he holds the pretty swell of your chin in his shaking fingers. Mouth close enough to feel the dryness and the softness beneath it all. You gasp, going all pliant at his will. Like angels, too nervous to be impure, he's holding you in place like a statue. Keeping you on edge.

Until you grab his face and kiss him nice and slow. Enough to heal his plight. A new gunshot wound in the form of a pretty lady tearing through his well-grooved chest. Leave all the shrapnel if you'd like. With your mouth in the small of his own, he feels like a dizzy hangover in the middle of a house party. His hands grasp greedily at your waist, turning you and shifting you and pulling. Bringing. Begging.

And, like a minx, like always, like you, you push away with a laugh and wipe his spit from your mouth.

"Been waiting on that for... ever. Feelin' sealed up already, baby," he grumbles.

"Sweet on me now, Stevie?"

He shakes his head with a chuckle.

"Always have been."

marvel masterlist

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Ok, I’m a little confused on how to word this request so bear with me.

Would you be willing to write a short fic about Astarion and The Main Character, sharing a tent at camp because relationship, and the main character giving Astarion a massage because he got hurt in battle, but Astarion starts moaning too loud on purpose, and making the other people at the camp think they are having sex?

I realize how weird and specific this is, but I love the idea of Astarion being an absolute Ham, and making the others uncomfortable XD

(Bonus points if the Main Character plays along)

LOL. Yes, I am willing. CW: Actually not many? Allusions to sex I guess? Maye spoilers to be safe? Brief mention of sadboy back story? This is honestly pretty tame.

~

Astarion wasn't against adventuring. If anything he was a fan, especially when comparing it to his old life. But he was only a fan when it was him doing the bloodshed, not when he was the one being knocked around into walls by massive ogres.

It hadn't been the worst pain he'd ever felt, far from it. But it had been fairly intense. Intense enough for it to take multiple tries for him to get back on his feet. And to have you fawning over him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" You asked as the two of you entered the tent hours later, still hovering behind him, "Is there anything I can do?"

"I'm fine darling," Astarion sighed as he plopped down onto his bedroll, exhausted beyond belief, "Nothing that a good night's sleep can't fix."

The healing from Shadowheart had done wonders, even if his muscles were still screaming at him. He was sore yes, but it really was nothing dire. But that wouldn't stop you from fretting, a fact that Astarion was a fan of.

It was no secret that he liked it when you agonized over his well-being. At first he had been a bit offended at your constant worry, taking it as a lack of belief that he could take care of himself. But then he realized you just... cared. About him of all people. Deeply and intimately, in a way that Astarion had never known, but one he could certainly get used to.

"Want me to have a look?" You asked as you sat next to him, your hands already helping to do the work of taking his armor off, "Maybe a massage?"

"That would be perfect," Astarion sighed, more than happy to let you pamper him. He had been hoping that you would ask that. You did have talented hands, "Thank you darling."

After he was divested of his armor you had him lay on his stomach, his back bare as you straddled his legs. Then you got to work, kneading his sore flesh like a pro. Astarion could feel the tension seeping out of his muscles. You really were so good at this, just one more perk of accidently falling in love with you.

He was moaning before he even knew the sounds were out of his mouth. But he didn't give it much thought, not when he knew you didn't mind. If anything you liked hearing him feel so content, even if he could get a little loud.

"Tch."

Astarion blinked his eyes open at the sound. Was... was that a scoff he heard? Astarion strained his ears, listening out of curiosity as you worked wonders on his back. That was one benefit of being a spawn and elf hybrid, he had vastly superior hearing abilities.

"It's happening again," That was definitely Lae'Zel's voice, the gravely cadence instantly recognizable.

"Oh come on, it's not that bad!" He heard Halsin say quietly, only to be met by collective groaning, "Whiners, the lot of you. I would have expected better from you Karlach."

"All I'm saying is that they could pitch their tent a bit farther away, that's all!" She laughed back at him, "Can't a girl be a little jealous?"

"Or a little annoyed," Shadowheart grumbled.

"Or a lot," Gale agreed, grumbling in that very specific way that made Astarion want to slap the frown off of his face.

Astarion rolled his eyes, finding himself to be a bit annoyed as well. While it was true that the two of you could get... excited, you weren't that bad. And Astarion had made it a point to sneak you far away from camp when he really wanted to have his way with you. What more could they ask for? It just felt like envy at this point, an envy that Astarion was petty enough to resent.

"All I'm saying is if I lose one more wink of sleep because of those two, they're getting a piece of my mind," Gale continued, "I'm sure we all can agree on that."

Oh. Well in that case...

"You're so good at this my sweet," Astarion moaned loudly as you worked over a hard knot in his back, "The best I've ever had."

He could hear more groaning from the peanut gallery, but better yet he could hear the smile in your voice as you quietly answered, "I'm just happy it helps. You're so bruised sweetheart, I'm surprised you're still standing. Your pain tolerance is really something else."

That was unfortunately true, a natural consequence after decades and decades of torture. But at least it served him in his newfound freedom.

"Maybe I just like it when it hurts," Astarion groaned loudly, an obvious lie. Especially to your ears.

It was enough to have your hands pausing on him. You leaned in close, whispering a question in his ear, "Are you doing what I think you're doing?"

"Darling, I'll do anything you want me to do," Astarion murmured, hoping that the ridiculous line would get his point across. And it did, of course it did. No one understood him better than you.

Astarion glanced at you as you leaned back, pleased to see the telling smirk on your face as you got back to work.

"Do you like that baby? Should I go lower?" You asked loudly, biting your lip near the end to keep in a giggle, "Would you like that?"

"Please," Astarion moaned out, only half of the sound faked. You really were just that good at giving massages. And the show you were both putting on was having the desired effect.

"For the love of everything that is holy keep it down!" Gale yelled out into the night, doing nothing more than encouraging Astarion to get even louder, "Perfect darling, right there. Gods, I'm close."

"Mm, flip over. I wanna see your face during," You shot back. Astarion could hear it in your voice, that barely contained laughter. And he wasn't doing much better himself. If anything he was a little surprised the others hadn't caught on yet. Maybe even a little offended. The dirty talk you had together wasn't this bad, a fact that they would know if they had actually ever heard it.

But before Astarion could belt out his big finale, the flap of your tent was being pulled open, Gale's voice yelling into it, "For the love of Mystra would you two shut up- oh my gods. They aren't even naked!"

That was the end of the façade. The two of you burst out laughing, you falling down to Astarion's side as you erupted into a pair of giggling idiots.

Karlach joined Gale at the door to the tent, her voice cracking halfway through on a laugh, "I told you they were hamming it up! Wyll, you owe me ten silver!"

Gale was already turning back, a pout on his lips as he muttered, "You're both lucky it was fake. We were five seconds away from sending Lae'zel in to shut you up."

"The threats aren't going to help my desire to continue fucking with you in the future," Astarion called after him, wiping amused tears from his eyes as they both stepped away. You turned to face him, still giggling up a storm as Astarion wrapped an arm around your wasit.

He kissed your cheek, still grinning ear to ear, "I think it's safe to say that I feel much, much better now."

[mezzy-1]

Hii🤍 Hope you’re having a amazing day!!

Can you do jealousy with Iso please??(can be headcanons or fic)

Thankss💕

Withering Lilac

First time I've really been asked to write something more conflict heavy, and I was ecstatic to add in some angsty Iso. Hope you enjoy the fic/headcanons for Iso being jealous around the reader!

You and Iso hadn’t met before Valorant picked both of you for the protocol.  When you did meet, it was like oil and water

Iso was cool, reserved.  You had a habit of trying to make friends wherever you went.  It was like that for a while until Iso finally let his guard down

Hanging out with the other agents was what finally got him to open up.  Eventually you and him even spent some time together as friends, just on occasion though

Unknown to you, you had left quite an impression on Iso

A few days later, some of the younger agents had gathered for a night out.  Seeing as they could go anywhere, they settled on Barcelona

Clubbing, drinking, and a few minor felonies wrapped up a night of shot fueled fun, and you had began making your way to the hostel with Phoenix and Iso

“Hey, Y/N!” Phoenix leaned off of a street light along the path.  “You ever think about dating?”

Iso halted before you did

“Are you proposing we go on a date Jamie?  I’m open to it, but I’ll need to warm up to it.”

“Well…” he leaned forwards, “How’s this for warm.” he giggled drunkenly

He pulled up his shirt to reveal his abs, running flames over them before flexing his biceps

You moved closer and raised an eyebrow and let the anticipation build

“That was the worst pickup attempt I have ever heard.  You really are drunk!” you laughed with Phoenix.  It was harmless flirting and at most, an attempt that failed

“You’re cute Y/N.  Don’t forget it, yeah?”

“Remind me if I forget Jamie.”

Iso kept quiet, pretending not to notice while a knot tied itself in his stomach

“Why am I feeling like this?  It’s only Phoenix and Y/N flirting a bit.  I know I don’t care, I’ve never cared before so why start?”

The morning brought with it a nasty hangover and more questions than answers, but you had no time for that as you returned to the protocol

While packing, Iso came in to check up on you

“Y/N, you want any help?” he asked.  You shook your head and he rested by the door

“Hey, do you remember walking home with me and Phoenix last night?”

“Uhh…” the memory was hazy, “Sort of.  He said something stupid and we all laughed about it like usual.”

Iso cocked his head, then began to pack his own room up

“They don’t remember, but could they just be saying that?” he muttered to himself

The next couple of weeks Iso put more and more distance between you and Phoenix.  It was subtle, just declining a few events or leaving sooner

You just assumed he had other things.  He mainly just stayed away and cleaned his arsenal while repeating to himself he wasn’t feeling discarded

One day you and him were returning from a mission in Lima, and stopped for food in the Barrio Chino district.  You and him got to gossiping about the other agents 

“I will say, Omen has changed a lot in my eyes from what I expected him to be.  I thought he was without remorse, but I see him try to fit in all the time despite his past.”  Iso’s fondness for Omen was unmistakable when he spoke of him

“He’s been through a lot.  Oh!  Did you see he knitted another hat for Killjoy!  Like it’s way too wide.”

“He made Raze a scarf that was huge too.  The pink, white and orange one.  Phoenix said it looked like she got it at the ‘long bacon store.’  Bad joke, but that’s Phoenix.”  

Iso seemed to stare for a bit before coming back to the conversation

“Did I tell you that Brimstone is having him and I do some undercover work together.  We’re gonna go to New York for a bit and do some investigation!  I’m so excited.”

That knot buried in Iso strained against him, and tore at his inner calm.  Inside he was wincing at a pain he couldn’t understand

“That sounds wonderful Y/N.  How long have you been hanging out together?”

“Phoenix was the first guy to really make me feel accepted at the protocol.  We’ve been close since the first day I was there.”

When the food arrived, the conversation slowed down.  By the time you were flying back to the HQ, the air was practically dead between you and Iso

Before you left for the mission with Phoenix, you had to deal with a spike attack in Sunset

“Iso, wait for Phoenix and I!” you cried over the radio.�� He had decided to take on a squad by himself

“I don't want your help or his.” he spat back

When you arrived, he had his back turned to you and was surrounded by bodies.  You went to confront him but he brushed past you, purple hexagons shielding him

About a week later, you had enough of him ignoring you and keeping his distance from everyone and went to his room

Neon lights and charms decorated an otherwise neat room.  Guns stored in racks hung from walls like art installations, and Iso sat at a chair across from you cleaning one

“Why are you here Y/N?”  Iso’s glare felt like an insurmountable fortress

“Because you’ve been acting weird.  You were always quiet but now it’s like you hate being around me!”

“Maybe I do.”

“What did I do?”  You asked desperately.  Iso tried to dismiss it but you drilled until you hit something

“Forget this I’ve got a mission to prep for with Phoenix.”  

Iso flinched

“What you got a problem with Phoenix now too?”

“And if I do?”

“Then it makes you petty and jealous.”

Iso froze.  Suddenly a rush of feelings was untied and lashed out inside of him.  He understood clearly what he had been feeling

“You don’t think I want to be close to you too?  Phoenix can just show up and you start smiling, laughing.  I feel like I wasn’t enough to be with you!”

“Is this about something more than being friends?  You know I like being around you, well I did and then you ended up pulling away.”

“I should have thought about that, Y/N… I- I just couldn’t see that.” 

“Apologize, now.”

“I’m sorry,” he paused to look into your eyes, “I was jealous of him, and wasn’t thinking clearly.  I want to be closer than friends Y/N.” 

“Wait,” you had already registered the apology but the confession took you off guard

“Y/N, I’d like to make it up to you.  Whatever you name, it’s yours and I’ll never do this again.”

You sat in silence, Iso beginning to resign himself to the mistake he had made.  In the end, you forgave him knowing he’d keep his word

“I’ll accept your apology, but I didn’t know you were interested in me.  Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was worried you wouldn’t want to, and that it would make it awkward around everyone.  Not that what I did was any better…”

“True, but now that you know Phoenix and I aren’t a couple, what’s stopping you?  I know now so I’m kind of expecting you to ask me out.”

“You’d still consider it after all I’ve done?”

“Iso, you said you’d do anything.  Take me out then.”

“If it’s what you want Y/N, I can have dinner ready tonight.”

“It’s a date, but don’t you ever start feeling jealous like that again.  For both of us.”

[pursuitseternal]

“Persuade Me,” Ascended Astarion tells you, a sub!Astarion, all tied up for you in “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 3.9K persuasive dom/sub bdsm smut

Summary: He’s so terribly stubborn, it will take a lot of persuasion to get him to come around. All tied up, it should be easy, but no matter how *hard* it is, it will be… delicious for you both…

CW: bondage, sub!Astarion, tender confessions, possessive and stubborn Ascended behavior, persuasive bedroom techniques so effective, he tells you the reason he can’t let you out of his sight, why you are not just… some… spawn…

Based on “Just A Drop🩸”

Read on AO3 | Astarion fic Masterlist

How will you persuade him…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen Lord Astarion all morning,” you give your most convincing look of worry, of concern and confusion. Eyes wide and brows furrowed, painted lips pouting as you close your dressing gown tightly around your body. “Perhaps try the grounds? Everyone knows he enjoys a good stroll in the dawn…”

And with that you shut the door in the poor trembling servants face. A brief flash of relief on their fearful countenance that dismissing them and shutting the door on them was the worst you did. You hear their poor feet skitter away. And then, you turn with a deep, contented breath to view the sight stretched in your bed.

Yours. And his.

He’s waiting. Patiently. Spread wide and tethered to the four posts of your bed frame, and most of all, your mouth waters to see that hardened, twitching, eager cock proudly erect.

Just as you left him.

Only now, his eyes are drawn, half-lidded, his tongue licking his lips.

“They will get suspicious eventually, darling,” he croons, all the tones of confidence as you draw alongside the bed, dropping your thin, little dressing gown to reveal you pale figure again.

“Let them,” you purr right back. “They wouldn’t dare enter without my permission,” you cock your head flirtatiously, “or yours. But since you are… tied up with other matters…”

“Puns, darling,” he groans, face twisting in a sour show of distaste.

“…they will just have to take my word for it.” You laugh slowly, sitting yourself beside his hip, a single finger tracing through the ridges of his stomach. Ignoring his little taunt, savoring his submission as your willing plaything for now.

“Liar,” he croons rolling his body to press against your ass, where you are perched almost out of reach. “You said Lord Astarion isn’t here,” he’s growling. Provoking. Straining against his binds that are restraining both him and his ever-growing magic.

You give him that wide-eyed innocent look, scanning the room, a show of searching, a pantomime that only makes him sneer playfully and shake his head. “All I see is my lover, my Vampire Rogue, who is being rather stubborn about all this,” you sigh as you swiftly roll to brace yourself above him, perched on your hands and knees to hover over his taught form. Tantalizingly close.

He groans, trying to lift himself to touch any part of you. But you are clever, you’ve played enough games on the receiving end of such pleasurable punishments to know just what you wish to do.

“I am allowed to be stubborn when what you ask for is reckless… painful… dangerous…” he’s snarling below you, his chin jutting up to make his shining fangs all the more fearsome.

“It has been months since the end of our adventures,” you reply in calm and steady tones, “months of solidifying our power, of eliminating the traces of our enemies and assuring alliances, even with old friends…” you think of Wyll, new Duke Ravenguard, and the tenuous agreement to turn his literal blind eye on most of what Astarion does. Trusting you to be the one to keep him in check from anything horribly nefarious.

“You think my consort… my queen… should wander the streets of Baldur’s Gate alone? Unguarded? Like some….”

“Adventurer and hero?” you interject.

“I was going to say commoner…” he sniffs, disgruntled.. “You’re so much more than that now, my love. Let me free and I’ll show you just how special you are… how regal and unique…”

You skate your fingers down the hard lines of his stomach, barely ghosting their way towards his straining erection. “Mmmmm my love, you’re always so good at persuading with your body, I’d like to give it a try.”

“You can try, darling…” he swallows his grunt as you finally touch him, just the pads of your fingers tracing up the underside of his cock. “But you’ll find my tongue is better suited to other… pursuits… than merely trying to give you my word.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you simper, you pout, lowering your head to place a gentle kiss at the joint of his hip. “I think all you need is the correct incentive… the sweetest persuasion…”

“What you ask will certainly take a lot to persuade me, darling,” he groans. “If you think I’m about to allow you to go without an escort around the streets of Baldur’s… hngf…”

You suck him hard, taking in as much of his straining, painful erection as you can until it jabs at the back of your throat and makes you gag. But that’s it. You release him with a deafening, sloppy pop. Meeting his eyes, they are glassy, his teeth bared in a grimace of pain. Or pleasure.

“Hells,” he whines, bucking his hips erratically off the bed, even with his legs tethered and spread as they are.

“You want to rethink that assertion, my love?” you preen, crouched beside him, nested in the bedcovers.

“Never,” he growls, a playful smile on his full and pouting lips. “But I’ll join in your game all you want, darling. You’re burning for my cock as much as I am for you and all your deliciousness.”

“Is that so?” You simper, slowly lowering your mouth back down to hover above his aching erection. The closer you get, the more he betrays his anticipation as it twitches. You barely run the tip of your tongue around that ridge of its head. “Just a simple acquiescence to the little thing I ask of you… just to walk beyond our palace…”

“Not without me,” Astarion’s eyes flash, his fangs glinting in the morning light that seeps through the window. “Never alone, my pet…”

You take him in mouth lips again, loose and sloppy, just a bit of wet and warmth to tease him before you dodge away, avoiding the thrust he attempts to make for some relief. “Ah, ah,” you scold with a simpering pout, “we ask first before we start fucking faces, my love.”

“May… I…” he clenches his beautiful white teeth, forcing his words through them, “fuck… you?”

“No, but thank you for asking,” you taunt, running your tongue up that grooved underside, letting it linger along the intricate map of veins that weave around that hard, throbbing length. “Once you agree, then I’ll be more than happy to let you in… somewhere…”

He lets out a ferocious growl, a smile still playing around his lips, eyes craning above his head to inspect your bindings. Even as they tingle with a little magic, a little extra assurance against all his mighty vampiric powers now. “I swear, if I could shift into my newest form…”

“Your cute little bat?” you grin, laughing loudly as you take him deep enough into your throat to feel the vibrations of your throat. Then, you release another strong suck with a pop. “What would you do, make a nest in my hair?”

He laughed at that, low, dark, and rolling. “Tempting,” he hissed back, “nothing short of what you would deserve, darling.”

“To wander without needing to wait for you to be free from your rule… your duties?” you return your attention to that glistening cock with a hungry grin, “I’ll take my chances again.”

He squirms as you barely graze it with your lips again, just little nipples of that smooth, stretched skin up and down its shaft. “Please, darling, please,” his voice grows desperate, edged with need, “give me just a little of your body.”

“And in exchange?” you croon, gracing him with one last lingering suck and swirl around that blunted tip.

“I will take you where you wish to go,” he groans at the continued release, your little reward of rhythmic bobbing over his length as you take him satisfyingly deeper. “To hells with duties, if that is your wish.” Tone softening, he bucks into your mouth, his timing as always impeccable, jamming that slick hardness down your throat as you lower. You sputter and gag, your throat closing around him before you can lift away.

“Naughty,” you chide him gently, frowning with a hint of a smile as you creep to dangle your body over him, all hands and knees and swinging breasts. Breasts he’s licking his lips for as you draw nearer.

“Just a taste, darling,” he flashes those wide, pleading eyes up at you, “I swear I only need a little…”

“Mmmm, I’ve heard such beautiful lies before,” you raise yourself onto your knees, straddling those clenching muscles of his belly. A single one of your finger slips inside your own folds, and you let him hear just how wet you are. It squelches, sloppy and thick as you tease yourself. You ride over his belly, locking your half-closed eyes with his, wide and burning and dilated as they are. “Good rogues get the spoils,” you pant, letting yourself thrust those fingers into your dripping folds harder, faster. You spasm, riding your own hand, feeling his belly rise and fall against your thighs and cunt as you pleasure yourself.

You can hear the bed groaning, the wooden frame creaking loudly as he pulls at every binding. It makes you lick your lips, eyes fluttered shut to savor the way he’s writhing between your thighs, shaking as he comes undone to watch you panting. Always watching as you begin to come, trembling and moaning as you shatter, your arousal pooling over his belly. As you try to catch your breath, you let him look into your gaze, that feral, barely-bridled glow of red in his eyes. You feel his cock throbbing against your ass, twitching as you make the slightest of contact with where his is in deepest agony.

It makes you smile wickedly, leaning forward to proffer your slick and dripping fingers for his lips. You need not say a word, not when he opens, straining against his tethers to suck you clean. Every lap and lick of his tongue, he feasts on your cum, little noises of feeding in his throat, the same he has always made, lips bruising your neck in the wee hours of night.

You tug them roughly from his mouth. “Enough of that from you,” you chide, smiling. Taunting. “I give you a little, and you still have yet to give me my due, my love.”

He grins, licking the corner of his lip. “You still haven’t figured it out yet, have you, my darling… my treasure…? Have you stopped and thought, perhaps, why I won’t let you wander aimlessly into the open, outside of my protection?”

“Because you just can’t bear to be without me…” you tease him, a wicked smile on your face as you place a quick kiss on his insolent lips. He fights for you not to break away, his teeth biting into the swell of your lower lip. “Selfish lover that you are…” you mumble as he tries to devour you all the more.

“Naturally, my little love,” he pants as you raise up, a hand firmly pushed on the base of his throat. “Has it not always been so, darling? Your ferocious rogue always at your side? But now, my sweet consort, have you ever wondered why I can’t resist being just oh.. so… possessive of you?”

You pause, tilting your head, considering. You wait for an answer, but those full, smirking lips of his just press silently together.

“Oh, you wish for me to draw out your answer,” you needle him, an edge of irritation in your voice now.

“Isn’t that the point of your charming, little game?” he presses, tugging at his bonds to make them snap with tension.

“Then let’s play,” you smirk, neck taut as you cock your chin, posturing with all the dominance you can muster.

“Anything to get some wet part of you on my cock, my love…” he arches his body as you slide off his belly. “If you please,” he adds, extra silken temptation in his tone.

“You haven’t been good, but I suppose you require more persuasion,” you hum, “and perhaps you could use a more convincing sight. Until you tell me exactly why you insist on being my constant escort, at least.”

“You’re clever,” he hisses as you begin to turn your back to him, hand gripping that throbbing shaft, his pulse pounding beneath that smooth skin. “If you can defeat the Absolute, the Netherbrain, it should be easy for you to puzzle out why your vampiric lover can’t let his consort out of his sight for a moment…” He groans as you straddle those narrow hips of his, one hand sweeping his cock through your drenched folds. “No matter how powerful… or insolent she may be…” he adds, a deep-throated growl on every word, a snap as he taunts you.

You let him dip slowly inside you, barely taking more than the ridge of his tip between your thighs. Hands gripped on his knees, you feel his legs shaking, trembling to finally find some relief as you fuck him leisurely. A gentle sway, an agonizingly slow riding. And never enough to let him sheath inside you fully.

A mischievous smirk on your lips, you glance over your shoulder. His teeth are grit, his eyes darkened with lust and wide as he cranes to watch your ass, the gradual, rhythmic rise and fall as you pleasure him with total control. “Powerful, am I?” you gloat, taking him just a little deeper.

It makes him hiss, his eyes shutting as sweat begins to dampen his forehead.

“More than you realize,” he gasps, voice grating as he forces his eyes open to drink in the sight of you. “More than I have ever admitted to anyone… to you.”

“Tch,” you suck your teeth in that way he always has, “how sweet, my love. Is that why you keep me here, keep me at your side always? For my power?”

“Don’t forget your beauty that would launch nations into battles for you, my treasure…”

That makes you smile, makes your stomach flutter in expectation, and for your own sake, you take him in, all the way, until you feel the slap of his thighs between your legs.

He roars, pulling on his binds on this hands and feet to make the wood of your bed groan almost as loudly. “Please,” he spits, “do that again, darling.”

“Tell me more reasons, and I just might,” you toss over your shoulder at him, making him feel only the tip of his cock piercing you again.

“Why don’t you think, clever girl?” he hisses, trying to buck into your cunt, to reclaim that little hint of wet and pressure you gave him.

“Because I am your equal?” you grind with every thrust, letting your walls clench as you take him just a bit deeper.

“Yes…” he pants.

“Because you just can’t bear to be so far you can’t smell just how aroused you make me…” you giggle, splaying a hand behind you, over his navel, pressing against those hardened muscles of his belly as you sink all the way down.

“Gods, yes…” he’s groaning, licking his lips as you let him fill you at last.

“Because you’ve given me your power, extended your blessings…” you cant your hips slowly, still drawing him along, but he can only sigh, at last feeling the tightness, the wetness he’s sought for so long now.

“Not just my blessings and power, darling,” he cranes his head back into the bed with a sated sigh as you ride him. Even slowly.

But you pause. Clambering over his hips you spin around to face him, cock still sunk inside you, a hand gripped around the lines of his jaw, his chin, to make him look at you. “What do you mean?” you bite.

“Don’t you recall, clever girl?” He’s laughing under your hold. “That night, your final night… what more did I give you?”

Your mind races, your hips grinding, that need now built inside you too, finally feeling filled to bursting, his cock twitching as it drags right over that perfect, secret spot between your walls.

“Free me, if you please, so I may remind you…” he’s crooning, purring as you fuck him. “Please,” he adds, a little extra seductively, his face twisting in that way that makes your stomach knot as it always has. You spread your hands beside his head, eyes narrowed to see him gloating so smugly under you. His little order sends ripples of anticipation down your spine to pool even hotter where your bodies join.

Your hand shakes, your body now riding him of its own accord, even as you reach for the binding around one wrist to slip it off his pale skin. Instantly, his hand grabs your wrist, pulling it to his mouth as he sinks his fangs into your flesh. You groan, the wave of painful pleasure tearing through you hard enough to make you come. All you feel is his lips drinking you in, his cock throbbing as you spasm and ride him still through the clenches of your orgasm. You’re so full, so taken, so overwhelmed.

And he’s laughing, swirling his tongue over your dripping blood.

“Blood,” you breathe through your climax.

“Not yours,” he growls before biting into his own wrist in the same way. Then, he proffers that flow of his blood for your own lips to taste. “I gave you mine… I made you mine.”

You suck your fill, the tingle of his power, the rush of all that he is, all that he has always been, filling your belly.

“You are not some spawn, darling,” he smirks, that secret dancing over the full pout of his lips. “Your vampire lord gave you his own blood.” His words reach your ear through the euphoria of drinking him in. Suddenly, his hand pulls from your hungry mouth, fingers clawing around your throat. He presses, just enough to make your eyes wide as you swallow under his strength, his hold pulling you down so close to his handsome face. “Even a drop given to you, to turn you, it makes you mine… my consort, my bride, my vampire lover forever, beyond the touch of time itself.”

“Not spawn?” you rasp through his hold on you, a pleased, pleasured smile flickering around your lips as he stares with such longing and adoration up at you.

“No,” he purrs, “but it means I will never let you out of my sight, my power, my protection, so long as we walk this earth. I would rather burn the world to keep you with me forever than risk losing my bride for an instant….” You tremble, you gasp at the ferocity in his gaze as he pulls you down by your throat until your lips crash into his. He feasts on your mouth, groaning at the taste of how your bloods mix and mingle into an intoxicating flavor. Rich. Powerful. United.

Inseparable.

“What a good, good master,” you simper into his kiss. “You shall be rewarded…” You touch the binds again, they all go limp as he shakes them off. He growls his pleasure. He touches you everywhere, fingers sliding from your neck to claw into the hairs at the nape of your neck, nails grabbing for your hips. Legs now liberated, the muscles of his thighs bunch as he starts to fuck hard into you from beneath, feet planted firmly on the bed at last.

“Thank you, my dearest love,” he grins widely, wickedly at you. “I hope I need not persuade you to trust me. Never again forget what it means to be mine…”

“Your bride,” you simper, tasting the title on your tongue, face quirking in a slight and knowing smile. “And that makes you my hus-”

“Your master,” he lifts his head, the weight of his hand at your nape pressing your mouth back down, barely brushing his taunting smirk. “Your lover… your mate or spouse or what have you behind closed doors only.” Then he bites into your neck, fangs piercing like the razors they are. A loud moan slips from your lips as you shiver and shudder in orgasm again from the pain and pleasure. His voice cuts through just as sharply, “And you may only call me husband… three times… for all eternity…” His tongue laps the blood that spills from your veins and down your shoulder now. “Choose wisely, my dearest darling.”

You fight the pull of your pleasure, the need to go limp and just let him fuck you. Not after your hard won victory. So you pull from his mouth, pushing that controlling hand at your neck back down to the bed. “Of course, darling,” you give a naughty smirk, a defiant rake of your brows and flutter of your lips as you press to whisper against his neck instead. “Whatever you say, husband,” you hiss with pure, delightful insolence before you bite him back. Now it’s your mouth that makes him squirm, your control that makes his shudder and hitch as he chases his climax, seeking with reckless abandon the thing that you have kept just tantalizingly out of reach.

“You fuck me like this, my love, and you just might persuade me to get used to it…” he rasps, hands grasped at your hips to keep you steady so he can pummel you mercilessly.

“Ah ah,” you tut your tongue to chide him. “Remember, good masters ask before they come inside their brides,” you gloat, feeling that truth, that connection of your blood and your undead hearts beating all the stronger for it.

“Please,” he begs harshly through gritted teeth, his fucking undeterred as he waits for your word.

He slams up into you with all the more force, his face already screwing and twisting with how close he is.

“Yes, my love,” you acquiesce with a dramatic lilt. It doesn’t take long, not after he watches you smile and feels you clench your walls around him with all your strength. He roars, writhing and spasming as he empties inside you. Buried so deep you feel the tip of his cock twitching against the end of your channel.

You gasp, your sweat dripping down your temple as you watch him begin to still and relax beneath you. But you stay, cock deep and warm inside you, his thighs beneath you soaked with your mingled juices.

“So,” you pant, letting your own body respond with its own basking in the glow of your pleasure, as you slowly lower your body to blanket him. His hand strays absentmindedly through your hair, fingertips softly brushing your cheek with each pass. “You must have lots of ruling to attend to now that you’ve persuaded me,” you murmur, nestled against the hard bone of his jaw, tracing your finger through the pooling of his blood from your bite. You bring that finger to your mouth to suck it clean. “I’ll wait for you before I wish to venture out for the day.”

“Oh,” he grips into your hair, raising your head to look at him again, and your smile widens to see the intensity, the possessive glint in his crimson eyes. “I think all that can wait. Right now, you can choose, venture out and then fuck again until you’re begging me for more? Or fuck first and then venture out into the day, my love?”

You giggle, a grind of your hips to drag over his still hardened cock inside you. “Hmm, a tough choice,” you grin, scoring your own fingers through his hair, “perhaps you need to persuade me this time…”

[augustjustice]

Pretty in Pink

AO3 Link

I am still firmly on my Stevie Harrington agenda this week, so please enjoy below Eddie's thirsty-turned-sappy thoughts about his favorite girl, inspired by @getlost0p's absolutely delightful art as well @cherrycolasteve's very cute tags.

Eddie taps the pen against his front teeth absently, eyes flitting uncomprehendingly over the various multiple choice options of his practice test. With his brain already feeling fuzzy and unfocused, it’s easy to let his gaze drift away from the page over to the girl currently sprawled out beside him–Stevie Harrington, curled up reading the X-Men comic Dustin had strong-armed her into picking up. 

And, look–who could really blame him for getting a little distracted? There's a hot girl in his bed which is, admittedly, a rare enough occurrence–until shit went sideways last spring, at least–to still feel a little notable. Even if she is only there for moral support while he studies, his GED test date circling ever closer.

Stevie's wearing a striped white and pink polo with the buttons undone all the way to the bottom of the neckline and tight stonewash jeans. The absolute preppiest of prep attire, completed by the cherry-flavored chapstick shining red on her lips.

Eddie wants to kiss her stupid.

The jeans are high waisted, pulled up snug over the curve of her ass, and with Stevie rolled onto her stomach reading the comic, Eddie's getting quite the view.

Then she shifts, flopping over onto her back beside him, the movement followed by the sound of pages turning. The new position offers a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage, a further hint of what her clingy polo is doing such a great job of highlighting. 

Eddie looks. Of course he looks.

Estrogen has taken to Stevie’s figure like a duck to water. In the plush spread of her hips, making her pert ass even rounder, which Eddie would have thought was damn near impossible. And in the plumpness steadily gathering at her chest, her once defined pecs softening, giving way to the gentle swell of her breasts, which grow fuller by the day. 

It’s become something of a problem for him lately–the staring. 

That was true, to some extent, even before she started to transition. Stevie's always been gorgeous, and Eddie's always been aware of that fact, harboring a hopeless, from afar crush on her since they landed in the same impossible English class his first senior year and Eddie had become painfully aware of what all the Hawkins High girls were on about. Not that he would have admitted that, at the time, not even under threat of painful, agonizing death–no, the coming terms with it came later, during his spring break from hell spent realizing that Stevie Harrington was not only surprisingly sweet but a totally badass, bonafide hero.

…The whole ripping that bat apart with her teeth thing certainly didn't hurt, either.

The point is, he's always looked at Stevie, flirted with her. Probably been too obvious about it, too. 

It's just that since she started to transition, it feels like he's gotten so much worse, like any subtlety he was holding on to by his fingernails has been ripped from his hands. Eddie can’t stop staring at her, the heat of embarrassment prickling his face, tongue-tied like a school boy with a crush each and every time he gets caught. 

And that's the worst part of it–he does get caught, far more often than he'd like.

It’d been months, now, since the first time Stevie explicitly called him out for it–a warm Saturday in the summer when they had dragged the kids down to the arcade, trying to beat the heat with the dark, air-conditioned interior of the local nerd haunt. 

Stevie had been watching Erica beat her own high score at Duck Hunt, leaned over the machine in her Daisy Duke cutoff shorts and a cropped pink jersey, ponytail swinging against her back and the scars littering her sides unashamedly on display. That’s something they had both been working themselves up to, together–not hiding their war wounds, fighting off the anxiety that came from people’s stares.

But Eddie had been staring for an entirely different reason when Stevie caught him. 

As Erica ran off to ‘pummel’ Dustin after his latest Dig Dug win, Stevie propped an elbow on the abandoned game, shooting Eddie a knowing look.

“Like what you see, Munson?” she asked coyly.

Eddie’s entire face flamed with heat. 

“I was just–your top!” he blurted. “I was just admiring your top, my lady. It’s…it’s cute. The pink–think that might be your color, Harrington.”

Stevie’s cheeks burned her own pretty pink to match it, then, which Eddie couldn’t help but preen about. 

And if he noticed she started wearing a lot more pink around him after that, well…he tried not to read too much into it.

Just like the pretty pale pink she’s wearing today, attracting his eye and forcing Eddie to hold back a twitterpated sigh as he watches her, wrapped up in the bright primary colored pages of the X-Men

…This bullshit of his is definitely gonna get his ass kicked by Robin or Nancy, one of these days, he’s sure of it. Possibly both of them at once–Buck may just hold him down while Wheeler does what she does best.

But the truth is, it's not just about how Stevie’s figure has steadily filled out. He's not gonna lie, that's definitely part of it–but also…she just has this glow about her, now, like she's settling so happily into herself. It’s like that contentment beams out of her, radiant, in every little gesture, every giddy smile. He's drawn in by it, like Icarus with the sun, like a moth to a flame–too entranced to turn away, even if it might end up burning him in the long run.

The thing is, Stevie's beautiful, and she takes his breath away.

She’s become such an intrinsic part of his life, since everything that happened, he’s not entirely sure what he would do without her. Hell, they still share a bed, some nights–fighting back the nightmares together is always easier. And in the intervening months since that started, she's grown steadily softer beside him, curves pressing against his body where there were once hard planes and sharper angles. Her presence is no less warm and comforting than it had been from the beginning, though, her weight and smell familiar, the steady rhythm of her breathing when it finally evens out the same.

Eddie wonders if they were supposed to have stopped doing that, somewhere along the way–the sleeping together part, even though they're only doing it in the most platonic, just-friends sort of way possible. Then again, he's never put all that much stock in it, what he is and isn't supposed to be doing. Besides, how much difference could stopping really have made? Not a whole hell of a lot, in his opinion, considering they've both been bi as fuck the whole damn time.

Sharing a bed all the time doesn't really help his other problem–the staring, the thinking about Stevie's plush curves and soft skin–but that's his own shit to deal with and work out. Stevie shouldn't have to suffer through the nights alone just because Eddie can't keep his hard on for her in check.

So, yeah. He thinks she’s a knockout–of course he does–but the truth is, that’s all secondary to the way he feels about her. She’s steadily grown into one of his best friends, in the time since he’s finally gotten to actually know her. And if all he ever gets to do is look–and better yet, talk to her, bicker and joke and tease, share popcorn at movie nights crammed too close together on the Harrington’s couch and laugh at all the same stupid inside jokes–well, he considers himself honored for the privilege of it. 

“What, Munson?” Stevie laughs suddenly, drawing him out of his reverie–during which he had, of course, still been staring–by smacking him lightly on the arm with her comic book. 

That had been another secret, shared between them–Stevie liked the X-Men, she’d confessed, even if she couldn’t resist pretending otherwise to Dustin. She said the Mutants made her feel…seen, in a way she really hadn’t ever before. 

"I know exactly what you mean, sweetheart," Eddie had agreed easily when she told him. 

"Kinda figured you might, Eds,” she had shot him a soft smile, which he returned in kind.

That feeling of being seen–understood–stretched out beyond the pages of the comic book to encompass them both, the way they just fundamentally got each other.

"Mystique's got nothing on you, though," he had added with a wink, falling back on his old routine of borderline flirtation just for the pleasure of seeing her blush yet again, ducking her head as she gave his shoulder an exasperated nudge.

He blinks back to reality, finds himself looking into those same mesmerizing eyes now, big and brown and staring back at him expectantly. A smile plays at the corners of Stevie’s mouth as she puts her comic aside. Scooting closer, she reaches to give one of his test booklet pages a quick shake. 

"You're supposed to be studying, you know. Believe me, I get how hard that can be, and I wasn't exactly the best in school…but I'm still like 99% sure you at least have to look at the page before you get it,” she teases. “And I haven’t got the answers to this question secretly penciled somewhere up my sleeve, promise. So, not really sure how staring at me is gonna help you here."

Eddie studies her face–the amused pink curve of her mouth, the cute little moles that dot her cheeks and throat. 

That wistful sigh finally escapes him.

“Shit, sorry,” he apologies on autopilot, and then, the confession rolls off his tongue before he can stop it, “you’re just so…fucking pretty.”

As soon as the words have left his mouth, he cringes, preparing to blurt out yet another apology–and then Stevie’s finger presses against his lips. When he glances at her, he finds that her whole face has lit up. 

Well, fuck. If she’s gonna look at him like that, he can’t even be sorry for his big mouth.

Then, surprise of all surprises–he feels a jolt as she leans in and pecks him once on the cheek, lips smooth from her cherry chapstick. 

“Thanks. You’re sweet, Eddie,” Stevie murmurs, quietly, as she pulls back. Then, her smile turns mischievous, pretty eyes giving one of her patented, exasperated eyerolls. “And good of you to finally say something about it.”

Eddie barks out a disbelieving laugh before he can help it, hiding his face for a moment between his fingers.

“Seriously, Harrington, you know you’re a total babe.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stevie agrees, a glimmer of that overconfidence she’d carried herself with in school shining out. Eddie can’t even lie–he loves it. “But a girl still likes to hear it, now and again.”

“Shit, Stevie.” Head still ducked, Eddie reaches out slowly and takes her hand, twiddling with her fingers as he looks up from beneath the fringe of his bangs. “Now that I know you want me, too–I’ll tell you anytime you want.”

Reaching forward, Stevie tucks a tuft of hair behind Eddie’s ear, not letting him hide behind the curtain of it. Then, she leans in, and this time she presses a soft kiss to his lips. 

Eddie sucks in another sharp, surprised breath, finally tasting that cherry flavor for himself. 

“I’m totally gonna hold you to that one, Eds,” she says, leaving their foreheads pressed gently together even once she pulls back, “so just get ready for it.”  

But, then, a mere moment later, Stevie is bouncing backwards on the bed, giggling when Eddie leans in, trying to chase after her lips again. He groans as she picks up his booklet and presses it against his chest. 

“You can check me out all you want later, stud,” Stevie shoots him a wink, flipping open to the page he had left off on. “But, for now…you’ve gotta get back to work.”

When she settles down beside him this time, though, she stays close, hooking her chin over his shoulder. 

“And, I’ve got an idea. A tried and true method for studying. Works every time.” 

“That right?” Eddie tilts his head to face her, cocking an eyebrow. “Well, lay it on me, then, sweetheart. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

He taps a finger lightly against her temple. The playful twinkle in Stevie’s eyes as she grins at him makes Eddie’s heart skip a bit.

“How about…I give you a kiss for every question you get right?” she murmurs, close enough her warm breath ghosts over his skin. 

Eddie lets his eyes drop down to the red shine of her lips, and feels giddy, for once, knowing he can look his fill. After a long, loaded pause, he gives a sharp nod, clapping his hands together.

“You know what, Stevie? Studying never sounded so good.” Snatching up his pen again, he settles back with the test now spread across both their laps. “I’m in.” 

And, this time, whenever Stevie distracts Eddie from his studies–well. At least he can tell himself it’s all in the name of a good cause.

[mins-fins]

ANGEL EYES. — [L.MH] [PREVIEW]

❝ sometimes, it feels as if mark lee is your guardian angel ❞

SYNOPSIS: innocent cherub eyes, gently soft hands, a heart of gold, mark lee is the golden boy whose experienced as much love as he gives back. his grades are high, his smile is wide, and his laughter is sweet. the only reason mark lee gets embroiled in a world of trouble is because of his pairing with the 'messed up foster kid' in a school project. it would be stupid to ever let himself get involved, but mark does anyway.

PAIRING: mark lee x male!reader

GENRE: mid–2000s au, high school au, strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, humor(?), slow burn, one sided pining to mutual pining, sadness as a romantic segway, relationship study, reader is a foster kid, mark pov, happy ending.. (i suppose)

WARNINGS: swearing, explicit language, violence, drug abuse, child abuse & neglect, family issues, mentions of death, smoking, homophobia, reader simply has the worst time and mark sobs about his circumstances, an awful amount of love that isn't realized to be love

WORD COUNT: 2.7k (preview) | ..pending (full fic)

NOTES: hello everyone, this is my baby, the birth was very special, i love my baby so much 💗 listen! i started this in early august and i am STILL going, this going to be LONG.. longest mins-fins work ever long 😞 im estimating 30–40k, the power of mark lee yall 😇 it's going to go on forever, and it's definitely going to be sad in some ways, i am currently about to hit 20k words.. sooooiooooo 😊😊 i hope you like this preview bc i really dk when the real thing is coming out 😭😭 im in so much pain rn, let me nap now 😴

BEFORE IT WAS IN THE CRISP AUTUMN ATMOSPHERE, mark lee had met you at the local police station. it was only a few months prior, august of 2004 brought the prospect of donghyuck doing everything to try and get arrested, prospects that mark could only respond with under the breath swears. he loves donghyuck, he really does, but driving shouldn't have been his first choice. in all of the friendships mark has had with other people in his life, donghyuck has always brought a wave of chaos along with him, the exact opposite of who mark's mom would advise him to stay away from, but she'd always had a soft spot for him, mark can't exactly blame her.

fresh off turning seventeen and utterly clueless as to what the future would bring, mark only found himself at the police station for one reason. donghyuck had driven without a license. yep, sixteen years old and he assumed doing an illegal u-turn was the way to end his summer.

mark has always been a stand up kid. the kind who handed out his mom's cookies to the neighbors. the kind who called for stray cats in alleyways. the kind who was simply an innocent bystander to all the bullshit his friends would pull.

so when donghyuck called him from a jail phone, voice heightened in indignation as he begged for mark to come make a case for him, the older really had no choice but to do so. mark had never been to a police station before, afraid of catching sight of real criminals in the flesh by just walking past the building. he had heard too many scary stories, had terrible ideas of human beings planted in his head.

and even as a seventeen year old who had experienced life enough that such things shouldn't have terrified him anymore, there was still a small pit in his stomach as he rounded the corner in direction of the building.

"and how exactly am i supposed to bail you out?" an eyebrow raise accompanied mark's inquiry, and donghyuck scoffed as he shook his cuffed hands.

"you don't have to bail me out, my dad knows the sheriff, i'm just getting off with a warning" he whispered, sweat on his brow as he shared that familiar 'no shit' look with mark (an ironic expression really, he's the only one between the two of them that's been in cuffs).

mark snickered. "you talk so much when you're the one handcuffed".

"watch your mouth, you need me".

just as donghyuck was about to let out a swear in addition to his snappy response, said sheriff walked into the room, tight lipped smile painting his face. "don't try that again donghyuck, or next time you'll end up in a cell".

in a instant, donghyuck's blood ran cold, mark almost laughed at the sight, but he remained still, watching. the older man glanced up, catching mark's anxiety ridden eyes. "and you are?"

"this is mark, my best friend" donghyuck was quick to quip, a hand placed onto his shoulder.

mark's stomach dropped to his feet, it isn't as if he did anything wrong, it was simply on par for him to be severely anxious around law enforcement in general, he was just afraid he'd somehow get arrested for nothing at all.

"ohhh i remember you, i used to assume you two were brothers".

mark let out a breathy (and clearly faked) chuckle, trying to bury his anxiety. he could never explain it, even if you gave him all the words to, it's not like he's a bad kid, he just finds himself tensing often. "no, just friends.."

"it's good to have someone so close as support" he narrowed his eyes at donghyuck, who stifled his scoff at the clear sarcasm lacing his tone. he then scrunched his nose, watching as donghyuck placed a performative smile on his lips. "now you, sir, we need to have a talk".

donghyuck frowned, whining out complaints as he's dragged away by the sheriff. "can you wait, mark?"

mark blinked, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. he nodded, out of words. the two bantered back and forth like friends, something mark could only stare idly at. he made his way over to the seats beside the door, where, nestled in the corner of one of them, was you.

you were scribbling something into your notebook, unaware of the eyes on you. mark sat two chairs away from you, tapping his feet onto the floor as he heard the faint sounds of scoldings. safe driving, don't get into a car without a license, your future won't be any better if you continue this shit.

swearing at a child, mark found that rich. he glances beside him again, now watching you intently. you were engrossed in the manner your pen scratched against your paper, mark had figured out through endless staring that you hadn't been writing, but drawing.

you avoided his eyes for a while, ignorant to the eyes gazing you up and down. you then glanced in mark's direction, almost startling him out of his seat with the sudden stare. you blinked, puzzled out of your mind. "is there something on my face?"

mark tensed in his seat, feeling his stomach swirl, was he staring so much that you felt offended? he felt guilty immediately, his lips parting immediately and releasing a silent breath. "no.. no i'm sorry, i didn't mean to".

you shrugged your shoulders, one click to your pen. mark recognized you, but he simply couldn't conjure up an explanation as to why you were sitting in a police station at this time, drawing whatever into your notebook. "so why are you staring then?"

"i'm trying to figure out why you're here" mark muttered, fingers fiddling with his necklace as he tried to get his tone straight in fear of again offending you. "i'm sure you aren't committing crimes".

"i can say the same for you, mr golden boy".

mark's lips turned up slightly, his hands twitching from where they rested on his lips. "i got kicked out.. always come here to let dad and mom cool off for a few hours".

the words earned an eyebrow raise from mark, that was strange to hear, especially from another person in regards to their own parents. mark had never really experienced such a thing, the way you described it made his nose scrunch. "what?"

before you could respond to that one, a police officer entered the room, one you seemed to recognize by the way your eyes lit up. "come on l/n, time to go".

a frown settled onto your lips. "do i really have to go now? you know how my parents are.."

"i can't keep you here, it would technically be illegal".

"it's not like they'll care anyway.." you mumbled, slamming your notebook shut with yet another click to your pen. "just an hour longer, please?"

there was a sense of hope in your eyes, maybe he would actually take your words into account. mark simply stared, staggered by what he was witnessing. the officer watched the change of your expressions, your thumb playing at the button on your pen, continuously clicking over and over. as the clicks amplified, so did the sound of your labored breathing.

"you know i can't do that kid".

your frown deepened, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. worry, that's what mark remembered. your eyes widened, but not in the usual shock, simply in disappointment. you cursed under your breath, muttering something about your parents getting pissed at your reappearance. you stopped clicking your pen, letting the chagrin settle onto you. "yeah.."

you sucked your teeth, imitating the look of a sulky child. mark was consumed by his silence, completely confused by the situation. he didn't give a comment, simply watched the whole entire thing happen. "i'll give you a few minutes, don't worry".

you didn't respond to that one, your eyes following the police officer who strolled out the door towards his car. you bit into your lip again, hands grasping onto your notebook and thumb still pressing onto your pen. "what bullshit".

mark continued staring, his hands clutching at his thighs. you then glanced at him once more, causing for him to flinch back. you stayed silent, watching him as much as he did you a few minutes prior.

"are you alright?" he muttered, leaving his voice at a low volume. he didn't want to raise it, he wanted to keep it at a volume that kept you comfortable.

you snickered, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth. "fine, going home is just my worst nightmare".

mark's fingers found themselves sliding across his legs, teeth sliding against each other in back and forth motions. he blinked his big brown eyes, staring with an assured gaze he hoped would somehow make it's way to you. "i'm sorry".

he whispered those two words as if he was in physical pain, eyes watering for an inexplainable moment. he couldn't help it, and he had no idea why he couldn't help it. it was embarrassing how much he felt at the moment.

you stared back, lips pursuing. your expressions did at least seventy transformations, as if you were in disbelief at someone having empathy for you. you seemed distraught, why is he tearing up? that's so strange.

you chuckled, hoping it would quell his worries. "it's okay, not like it's your fault".

"still, you shouldn't have to feel that way about going home.. your parents shouldn't be kicking you out".

you grimaced, put off by the words. it isn't as if they were terrible, you just seemed.. astonished. why did he care? it was simply weird to you.

"well thank you for your concern but i'll be fine".

mark blinked away the tears threatening to escape his eyes, god what was wrong with him? why did he even tear up at that? he totally weirded you out.

"yeah um.. i'm sorry" mark bit into his inner cheek, letting out a heavy sigh. "just have a good day" a theatric smile placed itself on his lips, he was definitely trying to convince himself that it wasn't that bad of a situation.

you stared longer, seemingly itching to say something. there were words resting on the tip of your tongue, mark could practically sense it. "yeah, you too".

and when you stood up to walk out of the door, donghyuck coincidentally escaped the clutches of the sheriff, stumbling out of his office with his arms crossed over his chest. the door closed behind you, and mark watched the entire time.

"what took you so long?" mark uttered, eyes casting donghyuck's way.

the younger huffed in his usual donghyuck manner, hands on his hips. "he was giving me a big talk about safe driving" he placed heavy air quotes around the last two words, lips curled into a frown.

mark licked his teeth, his thoughts retracing back to you. "do you know him..?"

donghyuck blinked, his mouth opening to ask about who until he saw the way mark motioned his head. "y/n? oh yeah, he's around here all the time, the officers basically take him in whenever.."

"why?"

his voice scratched like sandpaper, donghyuck wincing at the tone. he then shrugged his shoulders, his attitude puzzled. "something about his parents not really caring, it's pretty shitty".

mark's lips parted in a freezing motion, his stomach pain only worsening. "that's scary.. feeling safer at the police station than your own home".

"i don't know much about his situation, just know his parents have a terrible temper".

mark swallowed the lump in his throat, his head beginning to pound at the information given. he tried to distract himself by thinking about school coming up soon, but he was snapped back into reality by donghyuck.

"why are you even asking me about y/n?"

mark glanced up at his childhood friend, a small whisper in his mind telling him to lie. "just curious that's all".

the lie laid bitter on his tongue, but he didn't allow for donghyuck to dwell on it, rising from the chair he's practically glued himself to. "promise me you'll never illegally drive again, the officers here look like they wanna kill me".

donghyuck rolled his eyes, tease evident in his attitude. "okay markie, promise".

mark pushed his shoulder in retaliation.

that? that was two months ago.

before the crisp autumn weather drifted through the atmosphere, before the leaves began falling to decorate the ground in orange and brown hues, mark lee had met you at the local police station. your legs crossed, pen clicking, and nose buried into your notebook.

september came and went rather quickly, the scorching heat of the summer air transforming into the russet autumn scenery which drifts into october. the temperature steadily dropping, sweaters becoming more and more common in his closet, mark can't exactly focus in class during the first few months of school.

when mark hears his name fall from his teacher's lips in pair with yours, he snaps out of an episode of disassociation, blinking up. "what?"

his teacher deadpanned, readjusting her glasses. she doesn't even seem surprised by his lack of focus anymore, his exhaustion is constantly evident. "project partners mark, you'll be paired with y/n".

mark only parts his lips in response, the words rendering him speechless. he glances around the classroom as he listens to the older woman's voice blurs into the background, catching sight of you in the far back, again scribbling into your notebook, your manner reminiscent of how you acted the first time you two met.

he stares for a while before again looking forward, his mouth going dry as he tries again to focus, but of course, he can't. his mind stays focused on you throughout the whole class, even after the endless words he lets blur away.

you spin your pen between your fingers, it's the same pen you had that day, maybe you have some sort of attachment to it or something, maybe it's your favorite pen, maybe someone special gifted that pen to you.

maybe mark's letting it all get to his head, why is he even making assumptions when he hasn't walked up to you yet?

while everyone else rushes to leave the class, mark rises from his seat and again glances over at you, slinging his back over his shoulder.

you're riveted by what you're doing in your notebook, so absorbed that you barely hear the shuffling footsteps making their way around the many desks towards yours. your lips turn down as you smudge the ink on the page, a small suck of the teeth adding to your frustration.

"um.. hi" mark whispers, watching as you glance up and pause, one click to your pen. you don't respond immediately, studying mark for a while, and mark tenses up under your gaze, sucking a breath between his teeth.

"hi".

"we uh— were partners for the project".

your smile is neutral. "i know".

mark began biting the skin off his lips, hands gripping at his backpack. "i don't know where you want to start, uh.. maybe we could go to the library?"

he's just saying what he's hoping will work. he doesn't exactly know you yet, he assumes your one off interaction at the police station left a sour taste in your mouth.

but unbeknownst to mark's anxious inner voice, you smile, not exactly a neutral one this time, a much better smile ('better' in terms of expression, your lips stretch into an aspect of satisfaction).

"that'd be nice".

mark nods, almost too enthusiastically he thinks. how embarrassing. you let out a silent yawn, oblivious to the battle mark is having in his head. "tomorrow maybe we can start?"

your smile again becomes neutral, but at least mark doesn't think you want to kill him. "yeah, tomorrow is fine".

tomorrow. tomorrow is fine.

"okay, have a good day y/n".

mark rushes out of the classroom much too fast, he feels a little terrified of you. maybe you don't exactly want to kill him, maybe you just look at everyone else in that way, maybe it won't be that bad to be paired with you.

still, mark isn't sure why his mind tells him he should stay away from you.

[tr4gictea]

May I request Alhaitham and Kaveh taking care of teenage reader that is sick, like, reader sees them both as older brothers so they hang out sometimes but now reader is sick so they take care of them 🥲

Kaveh & Alhaitham w/Sick!Reader

❥Masterlist

Tags: fluff, sick reader, overworking

Including: Brother Figure!Alhaitham&Kaveh

word count: 1,662 words

A/n: Second post after coming back :D idk if you wanted a headcanon or a story sooooo I wrote a story d:

The morning you woke up with a headache you had beams of sweat running down your head, and your whole body felt hot. Piercing pain went through your skull as if you had just been shot sending you to grip your head in pain.

After adjusting to the pain you hobbled over to the medicene cabinet and grabbed some headache reliving medication.

This had to be one of the worst days to get sick as this was your scheduled date to enter the restricted section in the akademiya library. They only let a few select in and you were lucky enough to get on the waitlist. you had to wait at least three months before you could enter the restricted library. If you wanted to go in a different time from your scheduled time you would have to wait another three months or more.

This was something you could not miss.

After a slow start to the morning, you arrived at the akademiya looking ghostly. The medication you took earlier helped your headache but did noting for the stomach ache you had afterward. Gripping your stomach you opened the doors of the akademiya you hobble over to the restricted libraries front desk. The woman at the desk reading the book she had on the desk and handed you a form to sign before entering the library. It was probably for the best she had he nose in a book, cuz if she looked up she would have thought the zombie apocalypse started.

Handing back the filled out form the woman at the desk pressed a button on her desk and the doors opened.

"Please no food, drinks, or other items that can damage our books. Thank you and have a good time." She said it as if she rehearsed it a million times and didn't take one eye off the book the entire time.

Entering the library you took in the sight of all the books hidden from the public eye, the ones that you had free reign to read through for exactly 2 hours. With only a small amount of time to cram information. Opening the first book you looked at the old pages and began reading through at a rapid pace. Take all the information you can in and stopping every once and a while to blow your nose or sneeze.

Thirty minutes into your time you felt a searing pain in your head. Your headache was coming back worse than ever. Rubbing your temples aggressively you kept trying to focus back in on the book but the pain of a headache, stomach, and stuffy nose combined was too much to bear.

Unnoticed passing by you was the acting grand sage. You had often had talks with the man as he was like a mentor to you. He had gone down to the restricted section to find a topic that wouldn't typically be found in the normal library. But on his way, he stumbled upon you hunched over your book with your head in your hands.

Approaching you from behind intending to see what you were doing he was met with a ghastly sight of you with your eyes closed rubbing your temple, face hot with beads of sweat rolling down your face, and teeth clenched. Around you was a hoard of crumpled tissue paper.

Alhaitham leaned down to your level and called out your name. "(Y/n)?"

Opening your eyes you jump back in surprise to see your mentor in front of you looking at you with a straight face. Though most can't see it, the expression looked concerned to you.

"Alhaitham!" You exclaim "Sorry I didn't see you,"

"I can tell, it seems as you were busy with other things."

Thinking he's referring to your research you pick up the book to show him the cover "Ah, yes I am doing a paper on-,"

"No (Y/n), that's not what I mean." he cuts you off "You look unwell, I believe that you should go home and take time to rest."

"I will after my time is up, I still have about an hour and thirty minutes left to finish my work and go home."

His expression remains unchanging and he reaches out to close the book. "Yes, but that is time you could use to rest and get better. This is how your body fights infections."

You let out a sigh "You sound like an old man right now," laying your head on the desk and burying in your hands and try to stop the pain in your head.

"I do not. I am just informing you on how to help yourself get better faster since you obviously aren't taking the initiative on your health right now." He retorted back in a matter-of-fact tone.

"See the words 'informing' and 'initiative' make you sound old,"

"That's not the point (Y/n)," he says sighing at your comeback. "You are acting so immature right now," he says under his breath, you let out a small chuckle.

"Look Alhaitham," you call out to him as you reopen the book Alhaitham closed. "I'm well enough to stay for a little longer unt... til... ACHOOO until my sniff time is up."

Unconvinced, the acting sage stands up straight and rests a hand on your forehead. "Your temperature is well over a hundred and ten, from your facial expression I can tell you're in a lot of pain but are trying to hide it, even though it is freezing cold in here and yet you still managed to break a sweat. From these signs and a few others, I can tell you are in a lot of pain right now."

He was right, as much as you hate to admit it he was right. the pain in your head was still searing your brain, your stomach ache got worse and you felt like you needed to throw up. But you waited 3 months for this spot you can't just walk out thirty minutes in.

"I have some medicine that I can grab you from my house." hesitant to follow his instructions your eyes dart between the books on the desk and the doors leading outside.

Probably sensing your hesitancy he says "If you need to I can schedule another time for you to come to the restricted library two days after you make a full recovery."

"Really?" You say perking up slightly.

"Yes if that is what it takes for you to start your recovery process."

"Thank you Haitham." He smiles slightly at the nickname.

"Please come with me, i need to go grab some medicinal supplies from my house."

Having been to his house many times for tutoring, you knew it was only a long 15-minute walk. Entering his house you were greeted with warm-colored furniture and books and blueprints scattered all across the floor. In the middle of all this mess, you see a blonde-haired man peek out from behind a couch.

Kaveh was Alhaitham's roommate and biggest hater. He probably complains more about the man than he sees his own family.

"(Y/n)!" he jumps up from his spot on the ground and rushes to your side. "You look terrible! Are you sick?"

"ACHOO, no," you say sarcastically

He scoffs at your answer. "(Y/n) lay down I'm going to get you some tea." he looks around the room til his eyes land on Alhaitham slowly taking his shoes and coat off. "ALHAITHAM! What are you doing go make them some tea immediately and get them some medicine"

"If you would give me a second I was going to get them some medicine but the walk here was a little long-,"

"WALK?!? DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU MADE HER WALK HERE SICK!?!"

"Yes, what else am I supposed to do? Pick her up?"

"YES YOU IDIOT SHE'S SICK!" Kaveh storms off into the kitchen. "And I thought the scribe was supposed to be the smartest!"

Alhaitham sighs shaking his head "Here, take this in case you get cold." and hands you a blanket "And feel free to grab any book off the shelf as long as you don't spill or ruin it in anyways."

"I know," he has stated this rule to you one too many times. You learned that it was a big rule for him when you accidentally split juice on one of his books. He gave you the book that you spilled juice on and when you came back the next day he had three more copies of that same book.

While waiting on the couch and checking out the building blueprint, Kaveh comes out of the kitchen with two teas.

"This one has herbs that help with stomach aches and headaches," He says while giving you the cup. He takes a sip of his own cup and rests it on the table.

"Don't I get a cup?" Alhaitham questions Kaveh.

"Make your own." the architect stats plainly.

"I like your new designs Kaveh," you say point to the big one on the ground. "Who's it for?"

"Oh yeah this one is for a client out of in Fontaine. He wanted an 'exotic style' for his house." He said putting air quotes on 'exotic style'.

"But it looks like a city house style?"

"Yes but the client insisted that it made him feel like he was in a jungle," Kaveh said rolling his eyes.

"The stone outer walls are not helping him prove his point," you chuckle

"hehe, the stones he wanted for that aren't even from Sumeru hehe, they're from Liyue." he chuckled with you "You feeling any better?"

"not really.."

"Well, you'll feel better after you rest up." Alhaitham suddenly speaks up.

"Rest, we will wake you up later but for now sleep."

"Ok, yawn." Pulling the blanket that Alhaitham gave me over me. Resting your head on the pillow you immediately drift to sleep, while the acting grand sage and the light of kshahrewar watch over you.

[glorismorningstar]

THE LION CHRONICLES

Pairings: girlfriend!Lute x f!reader, fatherfigure!Alastor x f!reader, motherfigure!Rosie x f!reader, siblings!Emily and Sera x f!reader

Summary: Y/N, older sister of Emily and younger sister of Sera, mysteriously disappears from Heaven. She is found by two quirky overlords, who give her a fresh new start. Meanwhile, those close to her mistake her for dead.

A/N: this is just many thoughts put together, this would be the first time I'm making a serious project with fanfiction, so it could take me a while to get the hang of it :3

Warnings: mentions of sex, grief, canon-typical violence, WLW, eventual smut (probably), angst, daddy issues, mommy issues, approval seeking

| OPENING // PART 1 |

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

They said I'm a traitor.

Maybe I am. All I know is that I did what I had to do.

I was raised to know that falling from grace was the worst thing that could ever happen to an angel. In my eyes, that was another of the multitude of lies I'd been told. The worst thing that happened to me wasn't falling, it was never seeing my sisters, my love or my home again. To never walk on the fluffy clouds. To be unable to protect Emily. To leave Sera to deal with responsibilities on her own. To never feel Lute's skin against my own.

What was true, however, was that falling was the most painful thing an angel could experience. The excruciating pain of my wings being torn off my back, the horror of seeing the six feathery stumps on the ground, golden blood spattered everywhere I turned my gaze, the agony of my halo being snapped, the tumble through the portal and the crash with the stony street of wherever I had stumbled upon.

Two people approached me as I laid stranded on the ground. Their shoes were right in front of my nose: one pair was black, red at the toes and above the ankles, the shape accommodated to hoof-like feet; the other pair was all black, a black and red striped gown draped over them. My blurry vision could just make out spots of colour and the lady's feminine appearance, while the one with hooves was more difficult to distinguish in the moment, but it was at best an effeminate man.

"A fallen angel?" A radio-filtered voice spoke right before I blacked out.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"Look who's up!"

I opened my eyes, finally seeing more clearly than before. I was lying on my stomach on a red-pink couch and weakly lifted my head to look at what I could: the room was of hues of red, pink and boysenberry, a somewhat pleasing palette for Hell. I rolled on my back to get a better look around but the pain that radiated from my shoulder blades stabbed me again, making me cry out and sit up, leaning my shoulder on the couch. I could feel that the tiny stumps that were left of my wings were bandaged with gauze, the difficult tying of the material limiting the movement of my arms.

"Be careful with those, darling, don't push yourself." The lady from before spoke, seated on the bed in front of the couch.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Miss...?" I trailed off.

"Rosie, darling. Welcome to Cannibal Town." She introduced herself with a smile. She seemed quite lovely, almost motherly with the way she spoke.

"Cannibal Town?" The notion made me a little uncomfortable, but if she wanted to hurt me, she'd have done so already.

"Don't worry, dear, no one's out to eat you," the voice from before spoke, the man with the hooves, I guessed. "Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!"

This Alastor seemed like a quirky fellow: his never-ending smile, his moxie, his mannerisms and his radio-like voice, to name a few, were quite charming, but at the same time off-putting. I didn't know whether he was to be trusted or not, but he did save my life along with Rosie.

"The pleasure is all mine, sir." I replied with a weak smile and a small nod.

"Now, tell us, however did we stumble upon Sera and Emily's kindred in such an unbelievably unpleasant condition?" Alastor asked. The names of my sisters sent chills down my spine. I wondered what they were even thinking of me, their own sister, vanishing like that. What if they thought I died? Or worse... what if they thought I left them? That I didn't love them anymore and found a better way to live? And what if Lute thought that?

My breathing quivered and my eyes brimmed with tears at the mere thought. I sniffed quietly and began telling them what happened, voice thick with tears. "Sera approved the extermination. It's disgusting, it's inhumane, it's hypocritical... I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let Emily find out about such a thing. I couldn't let Lute get involved in such danger... and for what? I know she can handle herself, but I couldn't risk losing her... and Emily's far too innocent know. I- I tried to stop it, I tried to make peace, but what I got instead..."

"Oh, you poor darling..." Rosie frowned and sat beside me, patting my head with affection, and I couldn't help but lean into her touch.

"Say, let's keep your... old titles a secret, dear Y/N, hmm?" Alastor said with an exaggerated tilt of the head, his neck emitting a loud crack with the motion. The noise made me flinch, but the fact that he seemed to be perfectly fine only added to my wonder and curiosity about him.

"Yes, sir." I agreed, looking down at my torn-up gown littered with clumps of feathers.

"To do that, you need a new look, darling." Rosie smiled, to which Alastor agreed with enthusiasm.

"Indeed you do, my dear!" He said and paced back and forth in front of the couch, examining my figure. He seemed to disapprove of the tousled hair, ripped angelic gown, gashes and stumps. "You need new clothes, a fresh new start, and- oh! Animal ears!"

"Animal ears?" I ask with a confused tilt of my head.

"Yes, darling. It's already hard to hide your glow, dim as it may be, and your wings are still a little visible on your back. You need a little something to redirect focus," Rosie explained, resting her chin on her hand. "I bet a nice purple will look great on you."

"Hmm, agreed." Alastor quipped and snapped his fingers. In a heartbeat, the gauze and wounds were gone, replaced by a bright purple striped dress suit, a white shirt, a black and purple bow tie and a darker cloak draped over my shoulders. I was still weak from the fall, but the pain was gone and the look made me feel a little better.

I got up and looked at my reflection in the mirror, a small smile spreading on my lips at the sight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad here. "You look stunning, darling."

"Thank you, Rosie." I smiled.

"We're not done yet, my dear," Alastor snapped his fingers again, another beam of light flashing around me. "There we are. Perfect."

I opened my eyes and gasped softly at the reflection in the mirror: fluffy golden lion ears twitched atop my head, the tiniest rebellious mane sprouting from between them; a long tail curled and swayed back and forth from under my spine, fuzzy brown tip flicking idly. "A lion?"

"Indeed, dear child. The lion has been a symbol of courage, dignity and nobility for centuries. All qualities that fit you like a puzzle." Alastor encouraged, tapping my back with the back of his cane to correct my posture.

"What about me says courage, dignity and nobility?" I asked, ears drooping with sadness as I gazed up at him with a small frown. A fallen Seraphim, alone and damned forever could never be worthy of such appellations.

"Ha, ha, my dear child, you attempted to stop the extermination-" he began.

"And failed..." I interrupted with a soft sigh.

"Failure is the greatest teacher, Y/N. However much it hurts, what you can do is run from the consequences or face them and learn from them." Rosie spoke with a gentle smile. The feeling of approval, of being guided was so foreign, yet so warm and incredibly welcome. What she said made me think, I had never looked at it that way.

"Nevertheless, you stood up against something you deemed incorrect and you bore the title of Second High Seraphim with class," Alastor continued, tapping the bottom of my chin with his cane. "Walk with your head high, as if you still own your title."

I look at my reflection in the mirror and smile, my new fangs sparkling with cleanliness. Whereas before I saw a broken princess, a gangrenous limb that had been deemed infectious and severed from the organism, now I saw a woman with elegance and panache, the feline traits accentuating the good of my character. There was my new philosophy.

Courage, dignity, nobility.

˚₊‧ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Lute had spent the entire afternoon combing through the denizens of Heaven to look for you. Her and Adam had split up to find you, and had had no luck. She hadn't tried asking your sisters yet, they must know where you are better than her, surely. Ever since Lute had made her relationship with you official, she had become a part of the family, treated like your consort.

"Your Highnesses, forgive me, but have you heard from Y/N?" She asked the two sisters.

"No. She was supposed to be here hours ago." Sera said, anxiously placing back and forth, throwing an occasional glance out the window for news.

"We were hoping you had." Emily spoke, approaching the taller soldier. She was trying to keep up morale for Sera, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so.

"No, I wish," Lute ran a hand through her hair, letting out a small sigh. If something were to happen to you, she didn't know what she'd do. "She spent the night before she left, she only told me she'd be back by noon."

"We'll find her. Don't worry." Emily offered with a  soft, reassuring smile.

Before Lute could say anything else, a frantic knock on the door brought the women's attention to the matter at hand. Sera and Emily scrambled forward while Lute rushed to open the door, met with Adam's solemn gaze. When she saw the look on his face, she felt something eating her stomach from the inside. In all the time the three of them had known Adam, they had never seen him out of his obnoxious, conceited character.

"Sir? News?" Lute asked, the suspense so thick it could be cut with a knife.

Adam opened his mouth to speak, debating how to say the words, then closed it and sighed, handing a piece of a broken object to Lute and one to Sera.

Y/N's halo.

Sera cried out, the anguish in her sobs palpable as she dropped to her knees and buried her face in her hands. "No!"

"Adam, it can't be true...! She- she has to be out there somewhere!" Emily pleaded, trying to convince herself of what she was saying rather that everyone else.

"We found this outside the gates. It was in a pool of angelic blood with a clump of her feathers," he sighed, looking at the ground and closing his eyes. "I'm really sorry."

The eldest Seraphim felt her stomach dropping to her feet. She had failed to protect her own sister from this. Her gut-wrenching cries were difficult to hear, especially for Emily. The young Seraphim gently pried the halo from Sera's hand and held it in her own, trembling as her sister's blood stained her fingertips. The sobs racked her body as she clung to her older sister, the only one she had left.

Lute's airway felt like it was closing up. Whatever could you have done to deserve such a fate? The last time she had seen you was when you left her place to go to the meeting. The night before she had laid with you, spent feverish hours making passionate love to you. If only she had known, she never would have stopped. She never would have let go.

When Adam noticed her hyperventilating, he tentatively rested a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. However, Lute shrugged off his touch and slammed the doors open, flying away with a choked sob while holding the chunk of bloodstained halo in her hand.

Her black and white wings flapped with reckless abandon, carrying her to a quiet, isolated corner where she could think. Sobs of agony racked through her during the flight, bloodshot eyes blurring with ugly tears as she reached a lonely building and landed on the rooftop. Lute dropped to her knees and held the piece of you in her hand, resting her forehead against the object while her breath trembled and stuttered. Her other hand buried itself in her pristine white hair and she screamed her throat raw. She screamed for the love of her life, for her grief, for her anger. For never getting to see your face again, to kiss you, to hold you, to feel you. Because she'd lost who she was fighting for.

And all because of sinners.

Filthy demon scum had taken away her reason to live.

A low growl rumbled from her burning throat as her grip tightened around the halo, knuckles going white with the force. The thought of some disgusting unholy creature even breathing the same air as you made her blood boil.

In that moment, she vowed to do whatever it took to avenge you.

Starting with the extermination.

[taesancult]

bf!beomgyu 18+ thoughts

warnings: that vmas performance got me fucked up real bad… anyways- kinda feel like i went overboard (?) but warnings include fem!reader, biting, lovebites, sub!beomie, dirty talk, heavy degradation, he’s a little shit, reader gets on top of him, oral (fem receiving), mommy kink, reader is a real meanie to him, beomgyu is referred to as baby boy/good boy/pain slut, lots of hair pulling, and aftercare bc it’s important!

SMUT UNDER THE CUT! MDNI!

bf!beomgyu, who loves a good fight for who will dom the other. you could pin him down on the bed, thinking you have him in the palm of your hand, and he would just laugh at you. “aren’t you cute?” he’d say while smirking at you, and you’d just raise an eyebrow at him. you would immediately start attacking his neck, knowing it’s erogenous zone for him, and he’d try so hard to not lose his composure, but would ultimately fail. he’d start whining with how good your lips feel on his neck, you would stop and look at him with a sly smile. “stop looking at me like that. am i supposed to pretend it doesn’t feel good?” he’s such a little shit. “right. so, you enjoy it when i kiss your neck then?” you smile because you already know the answer, but you just want to instigate. “huh? i’m not enjoying any of this, i’m only letting you because i think it’s cute.” he says with a shrug and a fake look of confidence, and you see right through him. “okay, guess i’ll stop then. do you want to do something else?” you start to get off him, attempting to trap him. “wait!” he’d say so desperately that you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing. “don’t laugh at me! i just.. i know you like this, so i don’t want you to stop for me.” he’d lie as if you couldn’t see right through him. “beomie, you do realize that makes no sense right?” “ugh just stop talking and come kiss me.” he’d say with a pout, gesturing to his empty lap as you shake your head and laugh again while climbing back on top.

bf!beomgyu, who is so mouthy when he subs, it’s actually the worst. in the best way possible though, because it’s hot hearing him so determined to not give in. you would be decorating his body with pretty lovebites, taking in every whine and moan from him with pride. “feeling good, baby boy?” you’d look up from his torso with a genuine smile. “it’s okay, i guess, but stop calling me that stupid name!” he’d roll his eyes. he actually loves that name, and has said so many times when he’s been intoxicated with pleasure. he loves being called good boy or baby boy, he finds those names to be so endearing, but obviously he can’t admit that. “i’m hurt! thought you liked it.” you’d say with a fake pout as his eyes would widen. “i uh- i do, i’m sorry.” you would smile at him as your fingers caressed down his chest to his stomach, making him giggle a bit in the process. “baby boy, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in to me. let me take control, i promise you’ll feel so good.” you would pout at him. he’d sigh in defeat then let out a small “okay.” and it would be game over for him. you would spend the night making him feel the best he’s ever felt.

bf!beomgyu, who is so fun to ruin. he’s so bratty, tending to resist you when you admit you want to dom him. it’s not that he doesn’t want you to. actually, the thought of you taking control, making his mind fuzzy with only thoughts of you and your pussy, makes his heart race. he thinks it’s more exciting to fight you, though. he enjoys seeing your efforts and the way you cheat to get him on his knees for you. no matter how much he fights you and jokes that you will never see him beg for you, you both know that it’s all a game.

bf!beomgyu, who has a mommy kink when he’s in a sub headspace. when he finally does break, he’s such a sweet good boy. he’s so obedient that you could ask him to be on his knees for hours eating you out, and he would. he also just loves eating you out in general, to the point where you have to pull him away. “baby, fuck- no more!” you’d wince at the overstimulation that his tongue brought you. “you sure, mommy? taste so good, don’t wanna stop.” he’d say as he stares at you with stars in his eyes, and lightly licks at your pretty pussy. you would have to physically pull at his hair to get him away from your core. “yes, angel. you did so well, too well.” you’d praise him out of breath, still pulling at his locks, knowing it makes his cock twitch. you’d pull him up towards you by his hair, he’d whine in pain and pleasure with his eyes tightly shut. you knew it hurt, but that’s what really turned him on. “my little pain slut, how should i reward you?” you coo at him and smirk devilishly. he’d wince at the name, knowing he was in for a long night.

bf!beomgyu, who melts for praise but also gets weak at the knees for degradation. there’s just something about seeing his girlfriend say mean things to him that just really gets his mind, his heart, and his cock going. you had been palming him through his underwear, finally taking it off as you had enough teasing and wanted to see his pretty cock. he softly moaned at the feeling of being free. you didn’t give him a chance to breathe, though, immediately starting to stroke his sensitive cock causing him to throw his head back and moan again. “mommy wait- oh fuck-” he stutters out, not being able to control his own moans as he had been so desperate to feel your touch. as you observed how deeply he was reacting to you, the sadistic urge in you took over. you stopped your hand’s movements all together, looking at him with a sinister smile. “oh my god, you were such an annoying little brat and now look at you? moaning so loud for me and i’ve barely given your stupid cock any attention.” you’d say to him and watch as his cock twitches in anticipation for what you’ll do next. “oh, you’re twitching? are you seriously so pathetic that you get off to me degrading you?” he would moan out, not thinking you were expecting an answer, until you grabbed onto his soft locks, lightly pulling on them so he’s staring directly into your eyes. “i’m talking to you, pain slut. answer me when i speak to you.” you’d tighten your grip on his hair and watch the poor boy spill out apology after apology.

bf!beomgyu, who needs lots of love, attention, and affection after the two of you play together. if you leave to clean yourself up, he’d follow along like a little puppy dog and want to help you. usually after one of your harder session, more degradation heavy ones, you would take a bubble bath together. the warm water feeling so good, you would face him and wrap your arms around his neck. “you did so well beomie, i love you!” he’d smile so big as you’d kiss all along his face, as well as the bruises along his neck and collarbones, then give him a much needed head massage. he’d tell you how he loves you too and appreciates how you always do such a good job of taking care of him while reveling in the feeling of your comforting, gentle touch. you two would finish the night off in each other’s arms with him lying on your chest sound asleep.

GRRRR ARRF ARRF RAWR MEOW ~arisa

author’s note: arisa wrote those animal noises at the very end when i made this draft and it made me laugh so hard i had to keep it in! anyways uh.. i am just going to leave this here bye u never saw me - kisa <3

[finniestoncrane]

Farrell!Penguin x Plus Size!Fem!Reader, word count: 8.5k commission: i am an oswald cobblepot fat girl lover truther, and i am always so so so so overjoyed when i get to write him loving on a big girl!! this is a sweet commission i got for a slightly shy and maybe a bit insecure and nervous plus size reader going on a date with oswald and then having some dessert afterwards... 💜🐧 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: weight/insecurities mentioned, passing up food, awkward dinner date, penetrative sex, there's a magnum condom for my monster dong moment in here so you better at least giggle and blush for him

It was a fairly typical Saturday for you, with the exception of the evening’s plans. The minute that five o’clock had hit, you were rushing up off the sofa to start getting ready. Not that you had been doing anything except sitting in silence and waiting all day. Every time you tried to read or work on your latest craft project, or even turn on the TV for some mindless, numbing background noise, you had been immediately distracted by your nerves. And worst of all, those nerves had now made you ever so slightly behind your own schedule.

You ran quickly from the bathroom of your small apartment to the bedroom, abandoning the towel as it fell from you, but catching it in your hand to drag it along behind, and hoping none of your neighbours happened to peer in through the blinds at that moment. Standing in the corner of your room, you wicked away at the droplets of water on your body, watching your thighs jiggle as you rubbed them down. If you spent too long on this, the painful ritual of doting on your body, you might not want to go out at all, and you couldn’t risk any kind of delay-inducing breakdown. This was too important. How often was it that people were invited out on a date with Oswald Cobblepot? 

A lot, actually, you imagined. He was handsome, charismatic, powerful, and of course, rich. A fact which you didn’t find important, but which he had flaunted anyway by sending you an outfit to wear for your dinner with him. You didn’t even recognise the name of the boutique on the packaging it arrived in, that’s how fancy it must have been. And you had immediately felt out of your depth, knowing that Oswald was more fashionable, more in the know than you. About everything, it seemed. 

Well, maybe not everything. You weren’t quite sure how certain he’d be that he’d made the right move in asking you out once you had the dress actually on. It felt too tight, and like it highlighted every part of you that you were entirely self-conscious about. Every lump, every bump, every asymmetrical curve that you found on the sides of your body, the way your stomach and back both protruded somehow. This dress found a way to highlight it, like it was set out to disappoint you. An enemy. But you were already running dangerously behind schedule, and while that of course would usually send you over the edge and into a pit of nerves, this was only amplified by a thousand, made exponentially worse by the fact that you were potentially going to be late for a date. A date with none other, and you hated to repeat yourself, Oswald Fucking Cobblepot. There really was no time for you to let in the nagging self-doubt, not tonight. If you didn’t look directly at it, then you could pretend it wasn’t happening. 

You quickly tidied up your hair, letting it fall into a slightly neater version of your usual style, and added what little makeup you were willing to wear, knowing that your nervous sweating was liable to have it all sloughing off within minutes anyway. Your concerns about looking absolutely perfect for Oswald were no longer a priority, or even a possibility. All you needed to be at this moment was presentable and on-time. And those concrete needs were slipping out of your grasp with every minute you spent panicking in your apartment. With a final deep breath and a quick check of your bag to make sure you had everything, you gripped the door handle and headed out.

Surprisingly, the forecast had been relatively pleasant for the day, and you found this to be accurate when you were out in the mild, thick air of Gotham. No rain, no wind, just a grey sky and an above average temperature for what seemed like the perpetually dismal and gloomy place you called home. Still, you carried your umbrella in your bag anyway, not trusting anything about the city. Umbrella, pepper spray, spare cell phone battery, mini first aid kit. The essentials. As you walked down the steps to the subway station a block away from your home, you wondered how many other cities necessitated this level of preparation and protection from its citizens. Surely, any other city, any normal city, even those without their own vigilante figures of justice, would maybe, at a push, carry some pepper spray. But, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Without the risk, there was no reward. And if the risk was a cavalcade of gimmicky, but dangerous, villains, the reward was Oswald Cobblepot. He was very much worth it, in the grand scheme of things.

As you waited on the platform among the throngs of other commuters, you tried to soothe your nerves by reliving the moment Oswald had approached you. Out alone, stood up by a blind date, filled with nerves about whether or not he had seen you and decided he wasn’t into ‘big girls’ and then left without a single word.And just as you had decided that the drink in your hand would be your last, your senses were overwhelmed by a presence that made your heartbeat quicken. There was a distinct warmth, a deep, almost sweet scent, and a feeling of safety that enveloped you as a figure sidled up beside you at the bar. They asked you a question, a simple one, almost cliche. 

“How’s someone like you drinking alone, sweetheart?”

When you turned to answer, you felt yourself wobble on the bar stool, body threatening to faint as you recognised Oswald Cobblepot, smiling at you, his gold tooth glinting in the dim lights of the bar. 

Initially, you thought it was a mistake, and had turned to see if there was someone prettier sitting behind you that had caught his eye. But he had placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, turning you back around to meet his eye. A confident move that, had it been executed by anyone else, you would have been quick to beat them off and leave angrily. But this was Oswald. Fucking. Cobblepot. His charisma and reputation let him get away with a lot of things in Gotham, a bit of forceful flirting was definitely one of them.

He had asked your name, placed his hand high on your thigh as you spoke, and then apologised for having to leave so quickly. But he took your number, gave you his, and told you to be ready on Saturday, because he was taking you out to make up for whatever ‘dumb, rat bastard’ had stood you up. You had expected it to be an empty gesture, one meant to placate a damsel in distress. So when the text came in the next morning, you were giddy beyond belief, and then had to sit down and practice your deep breathing to prevent a panic attack. Then the call came, and you worked out the details together. Or at least, you agreed with every aspect of the plan that Oswald told you. 

And then yesterday, the dress had arrived. 

The box it came in was itself more extravagant and beautiful than anything you’d ever even treated yourself to after a long time saving up. One of those boxes you knew you were saving, because it would definitely come in handy somehow. And the ribbons it was tied up in, the bow on top so perfect, the tissue paper the dress was carefully nestled within, all of it was too good to toss away. Plus, it had been hand-delivered by the courier of whatever high end store Oswald had purchased it from, the logo of which you didn’t recognise even, so it was all pristine. Your excitement was only dulled when you finally dared to open the box, very carefully, and found within it that the dress was definitely far more revealing than anything you had ever owned or even considered owning. 

The low, scoop neck, the thigh high slit on the side, the tight, silk material, the thin straps, the sleeveless and backless style. None of it was your preference. And you’d known from the moment you tried it on that you’d be uncomfortable in it all evening. But it didn’t seem like there was any validity to the option of not wearing it. You might as well have spat in the box and sent it back to Oswald. No, you had to wear this dress. For him. 

The next problem, once you had accepted the fate of having each one of your curves and rolls, your arms exposed, your breasts and cleavage, albeit sagging with weight, on display, was that you had nothing to wear with the dress. You had no spare cash, and not even anything in your savings, that you could part with in order to procure some accessories or a pair of shoes or a handbag that did the dress justice. And it was winter, which meant that you would have to wear your same old coat over the top on the journey to the restaurant where you were meeting Oswald. 

“Like slapping makeup on a… yeah.” You thought it to yourself, cringing at how cruel your own words could be, but frowning at the truth. The nicest things you owned would have to do, and luckily, they were neutral enough, in silver and black, that they complemented, or at least didn’t clash with, the deep, shimmering and almost pearlescent purple of the silk fabric that made up the dress. All in all, you didn’t hate how the look had come together, but you were happy to wrap your body up in your almost ankle length puffer jacket as you thought about being viewed in public. Beneath the thick coat, no one would know, and that suited you perfectly. 

As you grimaced at the harsh wind that bit at your cheeks, oddly grateful for the way it had distracted you from your almost forlorn thought spiral, you noticed the slight rumbling of the train that signalled its arrival at the station. Jostled from side to side by other commuters desperate, for some reason, to be the first on the train, you finally found your way inside and scoped out the carriage for a seat.

Looking to your left, you caught the eye of a woman with a seat next to her, who looked down to your shoes and back up to your head with a look of vague disgust, one you were familiar with from some people. She looked to be making herself as small as possible in her seat, as if she thought you might crush her when you sat down. You decided you’d rather stand quite happily than let her judge you so extremely, and karma served her quickly as a kid wearing headphones which were blasting tinny music sat down beside her and spread his legs apart, taking up the space she had so graciously provided him, much to her chagrin.

Smiling a little, trying to keep it to yourself, you saw there was now a seat to your right, and when you looked, the man beside the empty spot smiled and shifted his bag onto his lap. With gratitude, you smiled at him as you sat down, holding your own bag in front of you and keeping yourself busy by watching your reflection in the window opposite you. It was there that you spotted the man at your side stretching his neck, trying to gaze down the front of your jacket, which had come unzipped slightly, exposing your bare neck and the deep cleavage the dress provided. Just as you prepared yourself to cough or make it known that you were well aware of what he was doing, you felt his body lean into you, far too close for comfort, and he whispered in your ear.

“Y’know, I like a big girl.”

That was enough to have you standing up and walking away to the door of the carriage. You were only one stop early, you could walk to the restaurant. Anything was better than sitting there being judged or ogled. Usually, you could shrug these gazes off, the cruelty, the fetishisation of your body, but today everything just seemed to weigh that much heavier on your mind, with no pun intended.

Once out of the station, you looked at your phone and began pounding the pavement, realising that because you had gotten off a stop earlier, you might be a few minutes later. The world felt like it was closing in on you, a catastrophe of epic proportions which would set the entire date off on the wrong foot.

“Hey, gorgeous. You rushin’ to see someone special?” 

You were in no mood now, and what little bravery you could muster was quick to come out as you turned to scold the sleaze who was trying to hit on someone who was so obviously busy. Luckily, before the tirade of venom spilled over your plump, pouting lips, you recognised the face, the smile, leaning out of the extravagant, deep purple and gold car’s window. 

“If you’re goin’ my way, I could give you a ride?”

Oswald winked, leaning over to the passenger side and pushing open the door. The restaurant was minutes away, but you got in anyway, not wanting to make things awkward by refusing a ride. With his hands on the wheel, thick fingers, gold rings on them curled around it, he took off for the short journey. As he drove, you could feel your upper lip sweating, unsure about what to do or say now, but you managed to spew some words out.

“Mr Cobblepot, it’s nice to see you again! At least I don’t have to worry about how to find you when I walk in the restaurant.”

“Oswald, doll. We’re on a date, it’s not a formal affair.”

Cursing yourself, feeling your cheeks flush a little, you let out a soft laugh.

“Oswald, thank you for the ride.”

“No problem, glad I could be of service.”

Within a few minutes you were pulling into the parking space at the front of the restaurant, one you were sure had been kept empty by the poor waiter standing out in the rain. They really rolled out the red carpet for Oswald Cobblepot around here, evidently, and the thought made you nervous. What if they were shocked by his choice of date? Confused, enough to whisper about you, to mention it to him when he got up to go to the bar alone for drinks. Maybe he’d change his mind about you if someone told him he could do better? You had to toss those thoughts to the side for now. You were on a date with him, and that was enough. If this ended horribly, if he never wanted to see you again, at the very least you could be grateful that you got this sweet taste of the good life for one evening. 

You smiled towards Oswald as he held the door open for you, trying your best to look confident, and to pretend that you weren’t terrified to enter into the building first. Already, you could feel eyes on you. These kinds of people could smell on you that you didn’t belong there. It was obvious to them. But when Oswald stepped up behind you, every lingering stare was quickly averted, no one daring to make any judgements while you were on the arm of someone so powerful. It was an interesting feeling. Safety, for one of the first times in your life. Even standing next to him felt like you were being held in a warm embrace of comfort. He just exuded a confidence you couldn’t quite find, and he seemed to have plenty to share.

Pushing ahead of you, Oswald followed the waiter to your table and pulled your seat out for you, taking the seat opposite and moving it around to sit closer. With a snap of his fingers, the wait staff rushed to move his place setting around in front of him, murmuring quiet, sincere apologies as they did so. And before you could let that inherent egoism of that power move to settle uncomfortably on your mind, he opened his wallet and passed each of them a crisp, hundred dollar bill, patting them on the back and offering his deepest gratitude. He was generous, a gentlemen, and he was kind to everyone on every rung of the ladder, it seemed. He really was absolutely perfect. 

Lifting the menu, hiding your blushing smile behind it, you studied the plentiful options and felt the drool collect against your cheeks before you reminded yourself of who you were, where you were, and who your company was, at which point you flitted your eyes to the lighter options and settled on a bland salad. 

“What’re ya havin’, kid? Remember, this is my treat.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr Co- Oswald. I was actually looking at the garden salad, it looks very nice.”

“Huh… sure thing.”

He seemed disappointed in your request, and you wondered at what point you’d gone wrong. There were a multitude of possible answers to that question though, of course, so instead you tried to steer the conversation on to another topic.

“So, do you come here often? The staff seem to know you.”

Lowering his menu, Oswald flashed you a grin, his tooth glinting as he winked. 

“They know me everywhere, doll.”

As you tried to struggle out of the whole it felt you were digging, he laughed heartily, placing his hand on your knee for a brief moment before removing it again.

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m just joking. I mean, they do know me everywhere, and I mean everywhere, but I’ve been comin’ here since I was a young man, just making my way in the world. This food’ll keep you right, keep you good on the path to success, ya hear?”

“And I ordered a garden salad. Fuck.”

“It sounds wonderful, Oswald. What are you going to have?” 

Before he could answer, an old man, who you assumed was the owner, approached the table with a notepad, slapping Oswald on the back before greeting him.

“Mr Cobblepot! Nice to see you again, and with a date this time! Lucky you!”

You smiled, unsure if he meant either you or Oswald were the lucky ones.

“What can I get you, big guy? The usual?”

Raising his hands, Oswald shook his head.

“Uh, no, not tonight friend. We’re gonna have the nicest bottle of red you’ve got, and two garden salads, thanks, chief.”

“If you say so, Mr Cobblepot.”

With that, the ticket was put in, and your meal was prepared. There was a surge of disappointment coursing through you, but considering what other limited options you had, you felt you had done the right thing. Although, you couldn’t help but feel horrendously guilty about the fact that Oswald had felt as though he couldn’t eat what he wanted. You supposed there was some unreconciled double standard there, one that was enforced by society but ultimately upheld by your own self-doubt. But you had to commit now. That was at least a concrete plan while you got through the rest of the meal.

You tried to keep your eyes on Oswald, focusing on him as he spoke. As much as you didn’t really want this date to be something you had to “get through” that was, unfortunately, how it felt. To you, this was a chore for Oswald. Something he had committed to, and had to carry on with until he was done and could say goodbye to you. An embarrassment, in the dress he hadn’t yet commented on, which of course meant he hated it. Ordering a stupid salad and making him feel bad about whatever it was that he wanted. The sooner it was over, the better, at least for him. And it meant you could stop trying to pretend like you couldn’t see the prying eyes of the other tables, looking over at you, judging your clothes, your looks, the food you might eat, the company you were keeping. 

Still, you managed to find some energy to maintain a conversation. It would have been impossible not to. Everything Oswald said, every polite, interesting question he asked you, every kind word he had commanded your attention. So much so that the time it took you both to place your forks down felt like it had gone in miraculously quick. Which it likely had. You didn’t want to look at your watch, but you imagined that given the fact you were both picking at what you would usually have considered a pretty small appetiser, that barely any time had passed at all. Not exactly value for his money, you cursed inwardly. 

Looking to your plate, you were pleased, in a cruel and self-hating way, to see that you had managed to even leave some of the salad uneaten. The fear of eating in front of people not conquered, but at least bypassed, skillfully sidestepped for another evening.

And then your stomach rumbled. 

You might have gotten away with it if you hadn’t also looked straight up and into his eyes to make sure he didn’t notice, but he did. Completely embarrassed, you made a move to excuse yourself, but he raised his hand and shook it, sighing as he spoke.

“Listen, kid… you gotta tell me. Why didn’t you just order what you wanted?”

“I… uh, I did, Oswald.”

“Look, either you’re lying to me, because I don’t think you did. Or, you’re not the kinda gal I thought you were. I can’t tell which is more disappointing.”

“Well, I’ve fucked this up. I might as well be completely honest.”

You took a deep breath, emotions running high enough to give you not a boost of confidence, but a complete lack of ability to hold your tongue.

“Ok, fine. That’s not what I wanted. I wanted the burger. The big, fat, greasy burger. With everything on it. And a side of the truffle fries. And the garlic bread. I don’t know why that was all on the menu, this place seems too fancy. I guess they have it on there for people like me. People with an unrefined palate. People who are greedy. People who are f…”

You trailed off on the last word, very aware that not only were you dangerously close to insulting yourself, but Oswald also. 

“I’m really sorry, Oswald. It’s… I should have been honest. It’s difficult for me to… I don’t like eating in front of people, usually. Not in public, and not anything that isn’t… y’know… healthy.”

Oswald wiped at his face with a napkin, and sat still for a few seconds, scrutinising you, looking to see if your words were truthful, although your shuddering breath and wet eyes suggested they were.

“Thank god for that, baby. I was worried I’d picked wrong. You shoulda just told me! You think I ain’t got a lil bit of that no good self-confidence block sometimes? I ain’t exactly the picture of a slender physique, y’know?”

He patted his stomach, smiling wide enough to pull a grin from you in return.

“I figured we’d eat together, keep each other company. I don’t date anyone I think can’t match me. You have no idea how worried I was when you were picking at that salad! You still hungry?”

Swallowing your nerves, you nodded gently, averting your eyes from him. 

“C’mon then, lemme take you out for dessert.”

Oswald stood up from the table, offering you his hand to help you out of your seat. As he led you to the door he called out behind him.

“Thank you fellas, charge it to the card!”

You stayed mostly silent in the car, worried that Oswald was still wrestling with his opinion of you. Lying, pretending to be someone you weren’t, making him think he was wrong. Those all felt like cardinal sins of dating someone as amazing as he was, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he bought you dessert and then took you home. In fact, you expected it at this point. Though you weren’t sure what you thought would happen. It seemed unlikely that you’d get anything more out of him, he had been a complete gentleman the whole evening. No overkill on the flirting, kept his hands, and his eyes, to himself. Maybe, if you had been lucky, or hadn’t messed everything up, he would have given you a goodnight kiss. But now, you felt like it was a miracle he would even give you a ride home. 

“Wait here, sweetheart, I’ll be right back.”

The car was stopped by the curb next to a little bakery you had walked by maybe once or twice on your way into the nicer side of town. You’d been so wrapped up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even noticed. From the window, you could see Oswald, laughing and talking to the woman behind the counter. He seemed to know everyone. Or, he was so personable that everyone he met instantly liked him and felt like they had a rapport. You wondered why it was so difficult for you to feel like that, though you did feel comforted by his presence. You chalked it up to your own insecurities, convinced you’d never be good enough for someone like him. 

As he exited the building, he smiled, holding up two small, white paper bags and handing them to you as he got in the car.

“What’s this?”

“Cream donuts. Best in town. Best on this coast. Best in the world maybe. They’re my favourite, and I thought you’d like to try them, since you’re sweet, and round yourself.”

Blushing, you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress the high pitched squeal that threatened to ruin the cool exterior you were clinging onto. 

“Thank you, Ozzie.”

“Ozzie?”

“Sorry! Oswald! I didn-”

“No, no, I like that. Sweetheart, you can call me whatever you like, I ain’t complaining.”

With that, he pulled out into the road and headed to your apartment, following your directions as he made the quick journey through the dark streets. When the car was stopped, he got out and opened the door for you, walking you up the steps and stopping at the front door. He was standing too far away for you to lean in and kiss him, as you were so desperate to do. It felt awkward, but you persevered. You had to speak. Without risk, there was no reward.

“Well, this is me. Would you… like to come in? I can make us coffee and we can eat our cream donuts?”

“Nothing has ever sounded better, toots.”

You smiled, unlocking the heavy front door and considering what that meant. Did he really want to spend more time with you, or was he just being polite? You couldn’t tell with him, he seemed so nice, so sweet. It wouldn’t surprise you if he agreed to marry you, and have kids with you, and retire to the Italian coast with you just out of his desire to be polite. Alternatively, it meant that he was coming into your apartment, fully aware of the implications behind that as an after date activity. So it really seemed, even though your brain fought against it, that he was into you.

Stepping in through the door, you held it open and stepped to the side against the wall to make room for Oswald. As you walked away, you tripped, feeling yourself being tugged back at your ankle by something that had latched onto your shoe. Stumbling forwards, you saw everything happen in slow motion, preparing to fall flat on your face, but instead found yourself limping into Oswald’s arms as he caught you. Looking up to him, his charming smile and breath of relief made your heart flutter more than the anticipation of the pain of thudding against the floor had. Looking down as you steadied yourself, you muttered your annoyance.

“Oh, shit…”

Oswald had caught you in time, making sure you didn’t fall and make a complete ass of yourself as you entered the building, but when you looked down to see what you had caught yourself on, you noticed that the little clasp on the strap of your shoe had bent backwards, snagging on a loose nail in the wall.

“Aw, I really liked these.”

“Wait there, sweetheart, lemme get that.”

It took you by complete surprise as Oswald knelt on one knee on the filthy ground, tarnishing the suit pants that you were sure cost more than a month of your rent plus utilities, just to help you out. It was incredibly chivalrous, dauntingly romantic, and yet managed to be so endearing and adorable. His fingers betrayed his cool, confident exterior as they trembled when they made contact with your skin. With one hand on your ankle and the other lifting the toe of your shoe, he lifted your leg up, balancing the sole on his other knee, and began working on the buckle.

“Musta got bent when you got knocked into the wall, toots. I can fix it though, gimme a sec.”

Still shaking, with what you could only assume were nerves, Oswald bent the little piece of metal back into shape and pulled the ankle strap back through the buckle. He gazed up at you, a question on his lips, but was stopped by his inability to form a coherent sentence. From this angle, you looked… he couldn’t really find the words, not even in his own mind. There was a noise akin to a pained groan filling his head, a desperate need to scream out, which he was sure would only translate to a pitiful whine if he dared try to say anything. You stared down at him, eyes wide as you waited for him to finish, or to speak. His hands held your lower leg, palm holding onto your soft skin as he stared back up to you. From down here, you looked angelic. The ceiling lights of the dingy entrance of your building, irritating and far too bright usually, seemed like a halo, an aura of beauty surrounding you. Your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, all of them more pronounced as your leg was hitched up into them. When you smiled, a look of slight concern, he watched as your cheeks pushed into your eyes, your double chin more pronounced as you leaned back. It had him struck completely dumb. 

Trying to maintain his gentlemanly approach that he’d upheld the entire evening, he averted his eyes from your body, trying to push the thoughts of how each of those curves and soft protrusions would feel weighing down on him as he held you in bed, but for his efforts, he was only punished further. Out of the corner of his eye, and pulling his gaze in like a trap, he noticed that the way your leg was balanced on his mean that the slit of your dress was pulled wide. And from that exact angle, he could make out the front of your underwear. They covered everything, but that didn’t stop him from indulging in thoughts of a more carnal nature. How those thick, plump lips would feel around him, how soft your chubby mound would be against his nose as he dove in for a taste. 

Clearing his throat and wobbling slightly, he lowered your leg to the floor and steadied himself, cheeks red as he chastised himself for taking such a long look at what was below your dress. 

“There you go, doll. Good as new. But lemme get your size and I’ll have a new pair at your door by tomorrow, ok?”

You giggled, knowing there was no point in refusing his gesture, and took his hand as you guided him towards the stairs to your apartment. Taking it slow, so as not to rush Oswald given that his leg brace meant he was at a slightly slower natural pace than you, was actually pleasant. It meant you weren’t having to rush to pretend you could keep pace with ‘fitter’ people, and you didn’t have to hold your breath for fear of sounding like you were struggling. Everything felt right, like you were at the pace you should be at with Oswald. 

Oswald, though, was more than happy to trail behind you as you made your way up the four flights of stairs to your apartment. Sure, his leg was getting a bit sore, his knees stiffening up, but it was worth it for the view. All evening, he had managed to steal glances, sneak a little peek at your body as you leaned in to speak to him, or shifted in your chair, or leaned back in the passenger seat of his car. How your lips had closed around your fork, how your eyes instantly shot to his as he spoke to you, how your cheeks puffed up when you smiled. The way your breasts spilled ever so slightly up over the top of the dress, the way your thighs spread out on a surface, the way your stomach hung and moved as you bent over. Only brief glimpses, but he had seen so much. And now, he had a free show. 

Holding your coat in your arm, since it wasn’t needed for the brief ride home, you made your way up the steps in just your dress. The fabric clung to every curve, every protrusion of your soft form. Each stair you climbed, each move of your legs, your thighs jiggling, brushing against each other. The way your ass bounced, tightening and loosening as you stretched the muscles to carry you. By the time you both had reached your floor, he was having to try and picture some of the more horrific crime scenes he’d been a part of just to keep himself from going over the edge. If he got any stiffer, he wouldn’t be able to walk to your door.  

With great effort, and with all of the strength he could muster, he managed to suppress his cruder instincts and desires and shuffled to your door, following you through it and sitting down on the sofa when you offered him a seat. 

“Thanks, sweetheart. Beautiful place you got here, you got it lookin’ nice, real nice.”

You were hanging up both of your coats, but you turned to question his sanity, knowing that he likely had storage closets in his home that were bigger and better decorated, when you noticed that he looked a little flushed.

“You ok, Oswald? You look a little-”

“Nah, nah, I’m fine sweetheart! Just came up those stairs a little too quick is all, I’m not no spring chicken remember! And it’s hot! Or is it hot in here?”

“I haven’t had heat in here for a week, landlord is putting it off. But… I can open a window?”

Oswald nodded silently. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was making him nervous, the looming threat of having to kiss you. Or… the anticipation of kissing you? He’d come all the way up here, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes fell on your body, flitting away when he thought you were about to catch him, not realising you already had. The thought alone made you blush, so you turned from him quickly, opening the window above the sink and picking up the bags from the bakery as you took a quiet breath to calm yourself.

“Dessert?”

“Thank you sweetheart, you’re a doll.”

Oswald took his donut with a smile and a gleeful sigh, and you giggled as you pulled yours from the bag. It looked amazing. He’d definitely picked right. And the way he tore into it, devouring almost half of it in one bite with a soft moan, eyes rolling back in his head, you realised how silly you had been earlier to be embarrassed in front of him. You’d only made him feel worse, clearly. Oswald had no issue making a mess of himself in front of you, and he waved his hand, encouraging you to eat, which suggested he had no issue with you making a mess either.

Having been given the permission to do so, you indulged yourself, taking a large bite of donut and with a full mouth, moaning a note of satisfaction. You savoured it on your tongue, and without intending to do so, ran your tongue seductively across your lips to ensure that nothing went to waste. But you were quick to pop it back into your mouth when you noticed Oswald gazing at you intently, his eyes unblinking. 

“It could mean anything… it could…”

But you could sense something behind the gaze, something definitely in tune with how you found yourself looking towards him over the course of the evening. Enamoured, potentially even filled with lustful thoughts as he watched you. But the intensity of his stare slowly dissipated, his lips curling up slowly into a gentle smile. The change in expression concerned you, but not enough that you didn’t smile back, finding the bravery to try and ascertain what, exactly, was on his mind.

“What’s up?”

Oswald let out a soft chuckle as he looked to you, covering his mouth as he finished the bite of donut he was working on. The laughter worried you, more than putting you at ease, and you only got more flustered as he reached for you.

“Hang, on sweetheart, you got a little something…”

“What? Oh, shoot, have I made a mess?”

You attempted to wipe at the corners of your mouth, worrying that you were making more of a fool out of yourself the longer it stayed. Taking his thumb, a sweet, mischievous smile on his face, Oswald stroked your cheek, removing the dollop of cream that had found itself there. He held his thumb out, displaying the offending smear to you. Without thinking, and in a move that still confused you even afterwards, when you had time to consider what possessed you to follow through with the action, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his thumb, licking the cream from it and sitting back. As soon as you had swallowed the sweet flavour on your tongue, you realised what you had done. Your cheeks flushed a bright pink almost immediately, and your eyes widened, threatening to prickle with tears as you watched Oswald stare back at you in the same silent shock. 

“Jesus christ, sweetheart.”

His face was still, mouth straight, eyes wide with disbelief. You couldn’t quite read his tone. You had to say something, anything, to fill the silence. It was too quiet, and the longer it went on, the worst it would be. So you conjured up some words of apology.

“Oh my god, Oswald, I am so sorry! It’s just…”

You weighed up the options before you, and decided to cut all your losses and try making a joke. Be yourself, be goofy, be ‘unrefined’. Be. Yourself.

“... it’s a good donut.”

He laughed, his eyes bright and his smile wide and sincere, soft and gentle, filled with genuine happiness. You were finally getting comfortable around him, and as arousing as it was to have you sucking on his finger, he found it even more tantalising knowing you were finally opening up to him.

“You got more, toots. Hold on, lemme get that. Just a second…”

He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, pulling out a purple cotton handkerchief, monogrammed in gold, and wiping his brow on it. Sitting down on the sofa, he took a deep breath as he wiped the streak of cream from your cheek, not really listening to you as you spoke.

“Oh, you dropped something, Oswald. Let me get it.”

Bending down to reach for the small, glinting square just below the sofa, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. 

“... lemme get that…”

You’d been so hopeful that he was going to lean in to kiss you, or, if you could really imagine something so bold, to lick the sweet, sticky mark from your flushed skin. It was beginning to feel like the intentions were never there. He might be attracted to you, you could concede to that by now, but he seemed to be far too much of a gentleman to take things further, especially on the first date.

But just as you silently prayed that there would be a second date, and a third, and, dare you dream, a fourth, your fingers tapped on the metallic wrapper under the chair, picking it up and turning it around as you brought it closer to you.

“Oh, sweetheart, I am… so sorry. You can just give that here.”

Your heart skipped a beat, enough that you found yourself struggling for a breath. Between your fingers, with Oswald reaching for it desperately, you held a condom. It wasn’t exactly a definitive symbol of intent, but it was enough to give you hope. You never imagined that the glint of the golden wrapper could have aroused you so quickly, but it had. And as Oswald took it from you, you found yourself smiling slightly in return to his nervous grin. 

“I didn’t mean anything by that, toots… I am so sorry, really.”

“You didn’t mean anything by that?”

Stuttering, letting you see him truly nervous for the first time that evening, he tried to respond.

“Well, uh… n-not nothin’, kid. I mean, it’s there, isn’t it. It was in my pocket. I’m not exactly the kind of guy who walks around with one ‘just in case’.”

“So there was… intent?”

So bold, but so nervous, and yet you kept prodding him for more information. The way his cheeks and nose had begun to turn pink let you feel an ounce of control, like you were finally able to take charge. 

“So… a gentleman like you doesn’t carry them around for nothing, but he’s smart enough to be prepared on the off chance…?”

You spoke so softly, so slowly, sultry and sweet, enough that Oswald’s smile began to spread out, realising that you weren’t put off by his little faux pas. Regaining his composure, he returned to his usual, composed self and shuffled forward on the sofa towards you. 

“I do like to plan for every eventuality. I go out on a date with a beautiful dame, I don’t expect anything in return. But I’d be damned if I showed up to your place and had to turn down any opportunity.”

Your own confidence was dwindling, if only slightly, and you broke the facade of the flirtatious tease to beg for some reassurance, as subtly as you could.

“And… you hoped for an opportunity… with me?”

You hadn’t known Oswald for very long, but it felt like he could read you like a book. He clapped his hand over his mouth and drew it down, shaking his head as he looked over your body.

“Are you kidding, toots?”

“I guess… I just wasn’t sure if I’d be what you… expected… or wanted…”

“We lookin’ at the same thing here? You think I wasn’t hoping for even just a chance? With that face? And those legs?And that ass? And that sweet, cushiony stomach you got? All wrapped in that fuckin’ dress? Oh, ho, ho, don’t ven get me started on the dress.”

Finally believing that Oswald had consciously and willingly chosen you, you decided to take what you wanted, or at least, ask for it nicely. 

“Actually… I think I would like to get you started.”

With a coy smile, you batted your eyelashes at him, and he moved forward to the edge of the sofa, his hands lifting yours from your sides and kissing the knuckles. 

“I’m glad you wore it. I didn’t wanna make a big deal outta it, felt like I was being controlling or something… And I knew if I told you how good it looked on you, I just wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t have been right for me to spend an hour of our date telling you how I liked the way the fabric hung on you…”

He pulled you closer, tugging on your hands, lifting them again and turning them over to kiss your wrists. One placed on each one, a shiver coursing through your veins.

“... how each little curve, each bit of you is highlighted, teasing me, begging me to run my hands over them and feel them…”

Oswald’s hands skimmed over the ridges and curves of your sides, palms pressing into each of the outward bulges of soft flesh as he moaned in appreciation. The sounds he made were muffled by your neck, where his lips were held in a flurry of passionate kisses, his tongue lapping over your skin as he tasted you, savoured you. Each pause to catch his breath he spent whispering his intentions and desires for the evening.

“... how warm you look, how you would feel…”

His hands moved around to your lower back, fingers hovering there before he let them slip down, palms over your cheeks, cupping at your rear. He pulled you slightly, knocking you off balance, stumbling and almost falling onto him, your breasts making contact with his face before you steadied yourself. But Ozzie leant forward, placing his prominent, distinct nose between your breasts, then his cheeks, moaning and sighing as the soft, gentle and ample tissue that comforted him. 

The haze of arousal came over you, your body no longer being controlled by your overthinking brain, your desires free to rule, and your hands found his thick thighs, travelling up them until your fingers struck the metal of his belt buckle, quickly, but not effectively. Taking his hands from you, Oswald lifted yours from him, unbuckling the belt on his own. His eyes flitted up to meet yours as he unzipped his fly, eyebrows raising in a question. You answered with a smile and a subtle nod, trying to decide whether it would be polite to watch or look away, but found your eyes trained to the spot. Breath hitching. Mouth falling open ever so slightly as he took his cock out, average in length, but thick, already stiff in his hand. 

Ozzie’s hands were back on you, his fingers tickling at the back of your thigh, gently edging you closer to him, pushing up the skirt of your dress, exposing more of your skin. Under the fabric, his thumb hooked onto the waistband of your underwear, teasing your panties down as he chuckled, lustfully. 

“You wanna take a seat, let me see if you feel how I thought?”

Usually, you’d worry about the position, the weight, the worry that you wouldn’t look good in position, that having someone look up at you would only highlight your double chin. But, strangely enough, not only did you not care when those thoughts quickly entered your conscience, you got excited over them, the notion that your body would be there, viewed, and worshipped by Oswald Cobblepot, of all people. 

As you began to lower yourself down, he motioned for you to pause for a moment, reaching to the other side of the sofa and picking up the condom. He pursed his lips as he rolled it down over his thick length, leaning back as you eased down onto it. The moment it touched against your lips, filling you, inch by inch, until your thighs were settled against his. 

Straddling him, you felt his hands cupping at your thighs, caressing down your back, gently grabbing at you to pull you closer and assist in your movements. He couldn’t settle on a place to touch you, his hands taking in every inch of your body, fingers digging into your thighs and moving to your hips to cling to you, moving you back and forth as you rocked yourself on his cock. Each motion felt better than anything had before, each soft groan he made, the way his lips curled into a snarling grin with pleasure sending you further into ecstasy. 

His hands travelled to the nape of your neck, curving round your shoulders and peeling at the thin straps of the dress, watching the silk fabric slip down over your chest, eventually exposing your breasts to him. With no effort to hold back his boyish glee, he threw his head back and moaned.

“Mother of god you look fuckin’ fantastic!”

While you rolled your hips forwards and backwards, relishing in the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you, Oswald’s large fingers pinched each of your nipples, teasing at them as he licked his lips, delighting in the way it made you whine, biting down on your lower lip, your smile still visible.

The movements between you were frantic, reaching the apex of the heated moment you were sharing. As the climax approached, you felt Oswald move his hand from you, bringing it down in a swift, sharp cracking motion against your upper thigh, his fingers settling on your rear as he gripped and winked.

“You think you can get a little bit faster, toots? A bit dirtier to see me through?”

By the time he was finished speaking you were already rutting into him, animalistic as you determined to give him what he wanted. He was hardly a gentleman now, as he smacked your ass, jutting his hips upwards, pumping his length inside of you as he wailed out.

“That’s it, baby… good girl, good girl, god, you’re such a good girl for me, huh? Oh yeah… fuck… fuck!”

He pulled you onto his chest, still inside of you as he thrust his hips up, firmly, but slowly, letting your top half rest against him as you felt him cumming, then relaxing, holding you on him, still inside of you. You had no intentions of moving, until he decided it was uncomfortable. You were content to be balanced precariously on his body, your toes pushing you up from the floor, face resting against his still clothed chest, listening to him hum in satisfaction as he caught his breath. 

Letting out a soft chuckle, he leaned down to kiss your head, stroking your hair as he settled back down flat. 

“Every eventuality, kid. As if this wasn’t what I wanted all along.”