#i will learn how to drive even if i cry every fucking time i sit behind the wheel. i will get a job during the school year.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

i'm just angry a lot of the time. at any given moment. there's just rage simmering at all times but you know. it is what it is!

[visionsofmagic]

day 10: bruce wayne [car sex]

࿓ synopsis • bats fucks you in his batmobile to teach you a lesson after you disobey his order.

―❦ nsfw, autonomous driving, one has clothes on one hasn’t, suited!bats, batmobile, markings, car riding, possessiveness, jeaolusy, pet names, swearing, master kink, rude!bats, identity dilemma, inner toughts, spanking, begging, brat taming, clothes full on/off, kissing, ‘is all I guess. • 1.9k • thought comic bats while writing but you can imagine this with any version of batman as you like of course. enjoy the beginning of the second week of kinktober event, hope you will like this week too! [kinktober m.]

“bats – please –“ as the gotham’s city’s night lights pass behind the black windows of the batmobile you’re in, your own voice gets silent by the loud sound of the road, yet, they reach to his ears that are covered with his black batman mask. “it’s too much –“ 

the man under you stays still even when his actions don’t stop – fingering your clit, he seems like he doesn’t care about how you’re sitting on his lap, soaking onto his black bat suit, getting wetter each passing time – having no dress on you makes the situation more sinful, especially when he has his own armored suit on, even the mask is still covering his face and ears – his bat ears is a source of balance for you to hold onto while taking his fingers as if it’s the first time he does this.

you have no idea how this man makes you feel stranger to being fucked by him whenever he has you like this – weak yet so powerful because of the whole situation.

it should’ve been a peaceful night, a simple mission – yet, it turned into something more, and you were the one to blame the moment you began to flirt with one of the guests to distract him. you were doing what he told you to from the other line of the call, giving instructions one by one with the help of the device on your ear. it was going all right until the man got interested in you, buying you drinks, joking around, and asking if you would like to follow him to do upstairs. 

you didn’t yet you had to act close to the man to get rid of him because bats told you to leave his side immediately. your mistake was taking that decision; putting one of your hands on the man’s shoulder, raising on your feet, and whispering something into his ear before leaving. apparently, this made bruce go mad – causing him to give you a lesson that you had to learn right away.

the moment you entered the batmobile, he took you onto his lap, taking all your clothes from one to another, looking darker than ever – hands fast, lips kissing yours so passionately that you believe your lips begin to bleed, the suit remains on as he begins to finger you – he just opens the zipper of his armored pants, leaving his hardened cock visible to your eyes.

wanting to touch him, your hand goes to his cock, yet, it is stopped in mid-air. he doesn’t waste any more seconds, slapping your clit, he adds, “you had to earn it. you will not get it until you beg for it.”

now here you are; already cum for one time, its hints still on your thighs and his pants, however, he doesn’t stop – you know he waits for you to beg – you try not to beg, stubborn, believing you did nothing wrong, but, it’s too much – he knows every point to make you beg – the vigilante know your own body more than you do.

when he hits your g-spot with only his gloved fingers, again and again, you cry out loud, “bruuuce – aggh – please -!” the words go out of your parted lips on their own as your hands grip his bat ears strongly, bouncing on his fingers when he doesn’t move them. the knowledge of making a mess out of you doesn’t reach into your brain, so, you continue fucking his fingers – his dark-colored eyes look up, a smirk position on his attractive masked face, mocking you. “please! I need youu – aggh!”

“pathetic,” he remarks, “bouncing on my fingers as if they’re my dick,” a chuckle breaks the lewd sounds – the outworld out of the batmobile is long forgotten. “want it so much? want me to bend you over, fuck you in this car?”

without thinking, you nod rapidly, eyes half-closed, your second cum drips onto his fingers, high hits the body, feeling a bit exhausted yet ready to take his thick cock now. 

your mind can’t comprehend what he’s doing but in a moment you find him lowering his seat, opening enough gap between your bodies and the batmobile’s front. 

afraid of falling into the surface, you try to hold his shoulders – still can’t believe you fucked yourself on his fingers and cum onto them when he talked dirty. the power – the effect he has on you is incredible! the mind is so dizzy because of him that you realize what he has done after a moment, your widening eyes look at the front mirrors of the car, seeing the road in front of you – the scene changes faster than you think – you swear the car moves like a lightning. 

the reality hits your face similar to the feeling of cold water washing your body over on a hot day. however, you can’t focus on it when bruce’s gloved and wet hands position on your waist, highering your ass up, pulling your body closer to his face.

when you hold onto the wheel to stay still, excitement and shock blurring the last cramps of your mind, fear of going in an extremely fast batmobile makes your blood boil – yet the trust you have for bruce is there, strongly holding you. his low voice reaches your ears after a while, and his hot breaths wash your pussy and ass holes that clench around nothing, making you jump in pure pleasure. “you disappointed me,” he says, “you disobeyed a direct order from me. that man meant nothin’ to me but disobeying – oh – what a bad choice y/n.”

you couldn’t wait any longer, knowing his one step away from licking you, lust takes control of you, and you begin to say how sorry you’re – how you didn’t mean to – both you and bruce know you did mean to, to get his attention, to get this side of him, because you’re a brat of him who he will tame.

“keep your begs for forgiveness for later. you have to prove to me that you’re capable of obeying me, you pretty brat.”

“anything, I will do anything for you bru -!” a slap to the ass, a slap to the pussy – scream escapes from your lips. “bats! just give me an order, will do it – just please – please fuck me already!”

“in that case,” he says, not licking you, making you pout in disappointment but when he lowers down your body, his cock’s tip meets with your aching pussy’s folds, he clicks a button, the engine slows down a little bit, the wheel of the car gets closer to you. “hold the wheel.”

you try to understand what’s going on, “what are you doin – aggh!”

his left-hand grips your neck, holding it tightly, closing the gap between your face and his, he points to the wheel that stands right in front of you. “hold the fucking wheel if you want to be fucked, y/n.”

swearing lowly, your shaking hand finds the wheel, holding it strongly, waiting for bruce to push a button – when he does, the engine starts moving faster than before. unlike the previous situation, this time, it’s you who drives the batmobile.

“bruce – how – “ your words are cut off by his deep voice.

“don’t take your eyes off the road. you will take us to the home without an accident. if you turn even a little bit, I will stop fucking you my love.” the difference in his words and voice make you go crazy, and that craziness doubles up when he lowers your body down enough to make him thrust his thick cock into your pussy, filling you up.

screaming with sudden pain and pleasure, your eyes roll over for a second before looking right at the road in front of you – gotham city still stays under the darkness of the night, the only voice that world excepts is the powerful sound of the batmobile riding on the endless looking road, the moans coming from you and swears from bats mixing with the flesh hitting the flesh can be heard by only you and bruce – the sin you commit cannot be known by another.

the focus you put on the road gets distracted whenever bruce shoves his dick into your wet clit. back of your thighs hitting his clothed thighs sends pain through your body, leaving red marks on your flesh – the balls that meet with your ass cheeks increase the sensitivity you have, making you cry as you clean them rapidly to see the road.

his name comes out of you over and over again, the brain is too occupied to drive, the mind is too crazy to function, and the body is too full of him, the man who wants to devour you, and doing it right now – using your body as he pleases, not moving his hips greatly, instead, he makes use of your body by lifting it up, then, pulling it down until his dick fills your walls deeper, harder and rougher.

“fucking brat,” he says, a poison that his voice holds captures you – you feel so pathetic as if you’re his fucktoy now. then why do you feel so high like the most powerful drug in the whole world gets into your veins with the maximum level, you ask yourself, then the answer travels to your mind after he adds, “can’t obey her master? what a pretty yet mindless girl you are, don’t you think?” oh, right, he’s the most powerful drug on the whole world, and now, you’re at his mercy.

“u-huh – agghh – oh myy – bats! please, please, please –“ you have no idea what you’re pleasing for, but he knows – he chuckles lowly, having fuck great entertainment thanks to you that you feel a kind of pride in an instant.

“u-huh?” he mocks, fucks you still, close to the edge, just waiting for the right moment. “too cockdumbed to even understand what I’m saying. but you do good my good girl, keep going, we’re close to the cave.”

the new information makes you happy, smiling widely, and looking outside clearly, seeing the cave’s entering. with the relief, you begin to drive the car more carefully than before, hands getting stronger, losing yourself in the pleasure of being fucked by bruce in his damn batmobile.

finally reaching your destination, you slow down the engine, the cave’s front door opens, and pushing a button, bruce hugs you from behind, making you sit down on his cock with an instantaneous speed, earning the loudest moan out of you.

the mouth standing beside your ear says, “cum. cum on my cock.” and you who doesn’t know she’s waiting for him to allow her – to order, do what he tells, cum on his cock as his hot semen hit the deep inside of you in sync.

kissing your shoulder, he holds your shaking body because of both the coldness of the cave you have entered and the opposite sense of warmness that bruce gives – the smell of highness on the air, chests getting up and down, breaths rapid and low, lust ends – its place gets completed with the affection of love.

“did so good,” the car’s door opens, bruce takes your body in bridal style after wrapping it with his cape. his gentle lips put kisses on your face as he walks into the bathroom of his room, watching your soft features, eyes closed to sleep. he smiles fondly, proud of you. “let me take care of my pretty girl now.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina & @snowprincesa1 & @dookiemeshibear *lots of kisses!*

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Shotgun in his car

pairing: bakugou katsuki/f!reader summary: random thoughts about Katsuki and driving word count: ~800 words contains: slight nsfw, mostly fluff, aged-up • ao3 link a/n: I blame this song for putting the thought in my already "crying over bakugou katsuki on a daily basis" brain. before I kick myself out, as a bonus "thought": rolled-up sleeves. enjoy 🧡

Bakugou Katsuki, your boyfriend who pulls up in front of U.A after getting his driver’s license, where you’re supposed to meet up with him, and whistles at you, the sharp tune a shared secret. His proud grin widens when your head jerks up and all you manage is half a curse in his direction as you startle. He knows the words died on your tongue at the sight of him in the driver seat of a car you don’t recognize. Of course not, it was his parents’ gift for his eighteenth birthday, one he hid from you for this very moment. He melts inside when you climb in, throw your arms around his neck, and smother his face with kisses as you squeal out your congratulations. Putting up with all the dumb instructions from his driving instructor was worth it if this was his reward.

Bakugou Katsuki whose strides hold more arrogance when he returns to the dorms and waves his driver's license to everyone. He was the first to turn eighteen, and now, he’s the first with a driver's license. His chuckles resonate just right when your friends groan exasperated and complain how they have to wait, but congratulate him nonetheless and wiggle their eyebrows because Katsuki with a license means a free drive. Wrong.

Bakugou Katsuki plays taxi driver for no one except you. You—the reason why those free drives he vehemently denies become a thing. When you ask him, pretty eyes peering into his, Katsuki thinks “Hell no”, but his mouth says, “Whatever. Fine.” And there are rules. No eating or drinking. Wear a seatbelt. Don’t be obnoxiously noisy. And the strictest of them all: no one, not even his parents, is allowed to sit in the passenger seat. Hell breaks loose on anyone who tries. “That’s my girl’s seat. Get in the back”—not a statement, but an order. It’s that same seat that becomes the first thing he modifies in his car with his first paycheck. Every last yen goes into the best material, best cushion, best everything because your comfort is his. And it’s so fucking worth it when you cuddle up in your new seat with a big smile on your face and love is all he feels when you say, “God, Kat. You’re spoiling me too much” and pull him by his collar into a mind-numbing kiss.

Bakugou Katsuki and driving with one hand, a habit born out of a passing comment you made about how hot he looked when he did that. His brain rewired on your words, spoken in a nearly whiny tone. But with the rewiring came a whole lot of other things. Like his free hand resting on your thigh. Sometimes his fingers trace random patterns and innocently knead and pinch. Other times, they glide higher and tease, twitch with need when your legs instinctively spread for more of what only he can give you. It is for that reason that Katsuki memorized where in the city the secluded places were. Once his name passes your lips on a breathy moan, he knows no driving, only how to pull over and make you come all over his fingers.

Bakugou Katsuki who finds an outlet in driving late at night when stress gets to him and sleep is being a bitch. Becomes his routine, and slowly yours too. “You’re more important than my sleep, Kat. I’m right there with you,” you told him one night when he got angry at himself for daring to disturb your sleep for the third time that week. He kissed you right after, hungrier than ever, insatiable for your love and everything you meant to his world. Katsuki didn’t care that you wore only a T-shirt—one of his old ones—as he dragged you out of your shared apartment and into his car after allowing you a minute to put shoes on. That drive was a learning experience so now, among the many things crowding his calendar, are the nights promising a clear sky. Because he needs a repeat of his car parked on some random grassy field on the outskirts of the city. To watch you beam at the starry sky above and drown in your joy as you tug on the sleeve of his T-shirt, pointing at the constellations and naming what he already knows because Katsuki always listens when it’s you. Eventually, he silences you with a kiss, his love burning too bright and too hot; it overwhelms him. His head spins and spins. It’s a blur that temporarily clears when you finally ease down on him in the backseat of his car, your gaze locked with his lovesick one, hands grabbing everywhere they can. It’s the only time when Katsuki goes against your wishes of fucking you hard. Not a romantic in the literal sense of the word, but the way everything gravitates together in the moment changes his usual pace into something softer. He makes love to you. Heart wide open, soul bare.

[rosesanddecay]

Pt. 2

TW: angst/comfort, reader cries a little and is mentioned to have been in therapy

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The silence was agonizing. The air felt drowning and heavy. It didn’t help that no one could look at each other.

Soap and you have migrated to the couch after realizing that the conversation probably should be had while sitting.

How are any of you meant to address any of this?

Each of you knew just enough to fill in the blanks, but how is-

“So…” Johnny broke the silence and your train of thought. “How do you all know each other?”

“Really, Soap? That’s how you want to start this?” Gaz remarked, letting his grievance show.

“Aye! How else ye expect this to go?! How ye think I feel knowin’ ye’ve shagged my lass?”

“Jesus Christ…” you groan as you hide behind your hands.

“Not everyone-“ Simon murmured leaning back in with his arms crossed.

“Simon!” You exclaim, revealing your warmed cheeks to everyone.

“Well with the way ye look at ‘er I would’ve guessed otherwise-“

“Okay- no, that’s it-“ you stand in front of them all, pointing as you addressed each. “You- Simon, are meant to be dead, I went to your funeral. Fucks sake, I visit those graves everytime I drive past them!”

Simon couldn’t stand to defend himself, because he knew that already. He’d seen you talking to his and his family’s graves every now and then when he went to see them himself. It had torn him apart to not reveal he was alive, but he’d convinced himself it was for your sake. Even if that meant you’d shed more tears.

“You pushed me away for months before ultimately saying that you needed to move for work, that you couldn’t be with me anymore-“ your eyes still held the hurt from long ago as you gazed at Kyle.

“It wasn’t a complete lie…” Kyle scratched at his head, his poor attempt to redeem himself falling flat.

“Shut it, Garrick. You-“ your finger landed on Price, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in town? I assume you’ve been back for a while, so why didn’t you say anything?”

John knew he had no excuse, so he didn’t attempt to deny his reasoning. “Though’ ye might’ve been with yer other man…”

A hefty exhale escapes you as you hold back from saying more. You could slap him, because how, after all this time, does he not see himself as enough? Instead, your gaze landed on Johnny.

“And you, Johnny, you didn’t really do anything, but still, this could’ve never happened if you or John just told me who else was on the team.”

“Or told us who ye were dating.” Kyle muttering was directed to Johnny, but it earned side eye from you.

“Moral of the story,” you continued, “all of you have been keeping things from me. And now we’re here… and I don’t know what to do or say…” your voice broke a little from the festering emotions. Everyone was quick to their feet to comfort you, John worming his way to the front.

“Aye, lass, there’s no need to cry. We just need to talk this out.” John’s hands cupped your cheeks as the tears threatened to spill. “Maybe we should take a break, take a breather. Later, we can talk one on one with you and each other.”

You nod as you try to calm yourself, doing the short breathing exercises you learned from therapy.

John placed a soft kiss to your forehead before being pushed aside by Johnny. His arms quickly envelop you and he kisses your temple.

“Common lass, let’s get ye out of here for a bit…” Johnny whispered and pulled you into the bedroom, leaving the other men standing in a circle, stuck their own thoughts…

————

Idk what to call this series so feel free to leave some suggestions!

Also didn’t want to make this series too angsty, but reader is definitely gonna need some one-on-one time with each of the boys…

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Take Care of You [9]

Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Overall Warnings: slow burn, angst/comfort, power imbalance, age gap, possessive tendencies, eventual smut, #daddyissues, independent reader learns to let go and relax, emotionally constipated Joel Miller learns to be vulnerable; (more specific warnings to be added to individual chapters if necessary)

Chapter Word Count: 9,950

Mood board and borders by @saradika

Summary: You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

[a/n: we back, baby. and we also barely edited so if you catch a typo don't hate me. also this was supposed to end in a different spot but then i got carried away in the middle so i had to split it 🥴]

Chapter Specific Warnings: angst, heartbreak, binge drinking to ease emotional turmoil, mild violence, mentions of blood and injury

09: LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

"i still haven't figured out how to sit across from you, and not be madly in love with everything you do." ⏤ william c. hannon

Three years ago, Nima tried to convince you to go skydiving with her. She begged and she pleaded, but you told her ‘no’ on account of thinking she was a crazy person for wanting to jump out of a perfectly good plane. Which was hilarious now considering you were sitting beside Joel wanting to pull open the door and dive out. The irony was not lost on you.

The only reason you hadn’t gone scrambling for the door was because Joel was forced to take a work call a few minutes into the flight. He hadn’t moved away. Joel stayed right next to you with his arm behind you as he spoke, and every few moments he’d glance at you with a silent apology and shake his head. You’d reply with a tight lipped smile and go back to mindlessly scrolling through instagram. 

Unfortunately the mindlessly scrolling was not so mindless. Since leaving Vegas, you had a high pitch ringing in the back of your mind like an endless, echoing siren. Married. A married man. Joel was⏤ Your teeth were clenched together so hard you wondered if Joel could hear them grinding against one another. Yesterday had been filled with so much anxiety, and you had managed to work through it by the end of the night. Mostly. But this was worse. This was so much worse. 

Married?

Your throat suddenly felt tight, eyes stinging with unshed tears, and you hastily undid your seatbelt and stood. Joel glanced your way and you pointed to the back of the plane and mouthed the word ‘bathroom’ to him. He nodded with a soft smile, and you spun on your heel and practically sprinted to the tiny plane bathroom. You struggled to get the folding door shut and the stewardess who sat not far away stared at you in confusion. You gave her an awkward wave and finally got it latched. 

“Fuck.” You shoved your face in your hands, leaning against the wall, and held back your tears. You were confused and frustrated, and you couldn’t even find relief in a good cry because Joel would spot it in a heartbeat no matter how much you tried to put yourself back together. The thought of confronting him about this right now was your worst nightmare. You hadn’t had the time to process any of the wild thoughts pinging around your head yet.

Your mind was at war with itself. On one hand, maybe you were being stupid and naive. For the last month and a half you’ve spent nearly every day with Joel and on the days you weren’t actively seeing him the two of you would talk either over a call or through text. You knew Yo-yo for 24 hours. Sure, she seemed nice and sincere, but what if Rosalind sent her to screw with you? For all you knew, Yo-yo had cruel intentions and was trying to drive a wedge between you and Joel. By taking her word you’d be playing right into that trap. What she said about the other sugar baby and about Joel being married? Maybe it was all fake and you’ve been stressing for no reason.

On the other hand, Joel didn’t kiss you. He didn’t kiss you because he wanted to ‘do right by you’. Joel asked for time. Was it because he needed to get a divorce? Worse. Was he married with absolutely no plans to get divorced and just buying time for something else? 

God, if you kept up this line of thought you were gonna vomit. Quickly, you turned to the sink to splash a little cold water on your face in hopes it would help you get your shit together for the next thirty minutes. Half an hour and you’d be on the ground. But then what? It would be a miracle if you kept it together for thirty minutes let alone any longer. 

You took in a long, slow breath and tried to clear your mind. When you felt steady enough, you stepped out of the bathroom. As tempting as it was to hide in there for the rest of the flight, it would probably be a red flag for Joel that something was wrong. You wandered back over to Joel and at your approach, and at the sight of you, he covered the bottom of his phone and whispered, “You alright?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded quickly and sat back down.

“I’m sorry. Jus’ another minute.” 

You waved your hands at him as nonchalantly as you could and he went back to his call. You leaned back in the seat, phone in hand, and Joel readjusted his arm on the back of the seat so he could settle his hand on your shoulder. As he always did, his thumb was tracing circles on your shoulder. An action you always loved, but now an intrusive thought slammed into you⏤ does he do this with his wife? The question was so startling, so sickening, that you couldn’t bite back the nausea that rolled through your body. You jumped up so fast you nearly stumbled over your feet, and you scrambled for the bathroom. 

Vaguely, you heard your name behind you, but you didn’t stop until you reached the toilet. You fell to your knees and threw up. The taste of acid in your mouth made you wince, but getting it all up did bring some relief. That relief was short lived though as you felt a large, warm hand settle on your back.

“Jesus, sugar.” He said in a soothing voice as he rubbed your back. “What’s goin’ on? Have you felt sick all mornin’?”

You spat into the toilet bowl, trying to get the taste of bile out of your mouth, before reaching out and flushing the toilet. You tried to stand, and Joel hooked his arm around you to help you up. He called out of the bathroom and a second later the stewardess brought in a cup of water and a ginger ale. Joel handed you the water and kept his hand rubbing up and down on your back.

“I’m⏤ I’m fine.” You shook your head and took a sip of water to swish and spit into the sink. “Really.”

“Obviously not.” Joel replied. “C’mon, let’s sit you down.”

“Joel…” You tried to argue, but he wasn’t hearing it. He kept an arm around you as he carefully led you back to the seat. He brought the bottle of ginger ale with you and the moment you finished the water he took the cup out of your hand to replace it with the soda. “I feel better now. It’s fine.”

“You’ve been off this mornin'. I was worried.” Joel lifted a hand to feel your forehead. It made sense that Joel picked up on your distress. He had always been so good at reading you. “You seemed fine when we first woke up. When exactly did you start feelin' sick?”

You took a sip of the ginger ale, “I…I don’t know. After breakfast maybe.” You lied. The sincerity in his eyes, the concern in his voice, it was both bringing you comfort and making you sick again all at once. You felt so stupid. Either you were freaking out over a lie a woman you barely knew told you or you were being tricked into feelings by a married man. Either way, you felt pathetic. “Your, um, your work call, Joel.”

Joel shook his head in response and didn’t even bother addressing the work call he stopped. He set a hand on the back of your neck and his thumb was lightly ghosting over your skin. You closed your eyes and took a slow breath in and out through your nose. “Tell me what I can do, sugar.”

“I⏤” You swallowed the lump in your throat. You forced your eyes open, finding Joel’s furrowed brow and worried gaze already on you, and it made you want to cry. You shook your head, “I, um, I think I just wanna lay down for a while. If that’s okay.”

“Course it’s okay.” He replied. 

The seat the two of you were sharing wasn’t long enough for you to lay down without laying your head on Joel’s lap. You planned on moving to the other couch seats to lay down, but Joel’s hand was still on the back of your neck and he lightly began to guide you down. Too tired to even try and move, you settled your head on his thigh and curled your body up onto the rest of the seat. 

In any other situation, this would be one of the most comfortable spots on Earth. Your head rested on his thick, firm thigh, and Joel’s hand traced where he could reach. Up and down your jawline and neck⏤ his thumb and forefinger would occasionally massage your earlobe. You tried to calm your racing thoughts. The truth was, you didn’t know the truth yet. It was a fact you kept repeating in your head in hopes it would numb the sharp pain of your worst fears, but those intrusive thoughts continued to pummel you.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl.” Joel murmured while his fingers dragged across your skin. “What a shitty way to end this weekend.” You hummed in agreement. This really was a shitty way to close out what started as one of the best weekends of your life.

Avoiding Joel made you realize how involved in your life he was. After landing in LA, Joel tried to drag you to a doctor and only conceded when you told him it was probably a 24 hour bug and you just wanted to sleep. He called you later that night to check in on you, and you managed to talk to him for a few minutes before lying about wanting to go to bed early. Come Monday morning, you went to work despite Joel texting you that you should stay home. Trying to focus at work was physically painful. Enough so that after the nightmare Monday had been, you left midway through the day today claiming to Henry that you didn’t feel well. It wasn’t even a full blown lie. You felt like shit.

Nima threw the folder of papers onto her desk and set her hands on her hips, “I’m gonna hit him with my car.”

“Please don’t.” You mumbled with your chin resting in your palm as you leaned on the other side of her desk. After leaving work, you came directly to Nima’s office. Going home and sitting on your couch, alone with your thoughts, would only make you ten times more miserable.

“No, actually, my car isn’t big enough. I’m gonna commandeer a bus and hit him with that.”

“I haven’t confirmed anything yet. For all I know, I’m being this pathetic over nothing.”

Nima snapped her hand up and pointed at you with a glare, “No. I will not have you shit talking yourself when the only person we should be shit talking is Joel Miller and his wife.”

You groaned and let your head fall to the desk. The words ‘Joel Miller and his wife’ made you viscerally ill. The time you spent not talking to Joel Monday night you spent stalking people on social media. You reached dead ends very quickly though since Joel didn’t have any social media whatsoever. The easiest solution was to just look Joel in the eyes and ask him for the truth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You wanted to know the truth, but you were scared to actually seek it out. 

If you asked Joel for the truth, if you confronted him, then he’d give it to you.

What if the truth was something you didn’t want to hear?

“Alrighty, babe, real talk.” Nima said and you lifted your head, keeping your chin resting on the wood, and saw she had dropped down into her office chair. To meet your eye line, she held her chin on the desk across from you to mirror your position. “I can threaten and plot his demise all I want, but I know I’m not allowed to kill him until this is confirmed or denied.” She twisted her lips. “You deserve the truth.”

You pouted, “How am I supposed to ask him about this, Nima??”

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, “If you did ask… How sure are you that he’d answer truthfully?”

You pushed up and leaned back in the chair. That was a good question, and with anyone else it would probably be a real concern. However, you weren’t worried about that. You truly, deep down, believed that if you confronted Joel about this he would give you the truth. 

“I really think he would.” You answered. “Is that naive of me?”

“You know him better than I do.”

This entire situation made you question that. Did you know him? You knew he grew up in Austin. He had a younger brother, Tommy, and it was just them and his mom for most of his childhood. You knew he attended one year in college when his mom passed away⏤ cancer. Joel dropped out of college to take care of his brother and picked up a job in construction. That’s where he got his start. His first boss saw he had a knack for more than just the manual labor and trusted him with more and more until Joel was running sites for the man. At 27, Joel’s girlfriend of three months got pregnant. They planned to make it work, but she left when Sarah was two weeks old. You knew he adopted Ellie three years later. That he earned his bachelor’s degree in business at home through online classes while raising two young girls and working a full time job. That he started Miller Construction shortly after earning that degree, and it blew up from there.

You knew despite being a tough guy, he didn’t like horror movies.

You knew his favorite whiskey was Lagavulin⏤ neat.

The one thing you didn’t know was if he was married or not.

“I am going to suggest something,” Nima began, “And I want you to listen before you call me crazy.” You shot her confused look and she continued on. “I have this cousin.” You groaned and Nima chastised you to listen. It seemed like she had a cousin available for every situation that arose, and half the people she called cousin weren’t even technically related to her by blood. Anytime you asked her about it all she’d say was ‘Korean moms’ love to talk’, as if that clarified anything for you. “Seriously. He’s dating a private eye. With one text, we can get some answers.”

You shook your head, “Nima, that’s insane.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, hiring a private investigator is insane.” 

“Look, it’ll get us reliable answers.” Nima argued. “The truth.”

You rolled the idea around in your head. It was literally the epitome of paranoid absurdity, but you were wondering if that’s the point you were at. Would it be better to find out this way? That way when you finally did confront Joel you wouldn’t be blind sided by the answer. Hell, if the answer turned out to be ‘no, he isn’t married’ then you can chalk up the last few days as time wasted and move on with your life. That being said, it did seem like an invasion of Joel’s privacy. 

“That feels…” You paused, “Illegal?”

“It’s not illegal to hire a PI.” Nima countered then tilted her head. “I think. I’m not a lawyer, but people do it on TV all the time, right?”

“Well, that logic is foolproof.” 

“I’m not gonna do it if you tell me you don’t want to do it.” Nima said firmly. She crossed her arms and gave a small little shrug. “But you have to do something. Either this or just call him right now and tell him the two of you need to talk.” There was a protective sincerity in her eyes that felt like a security blanket being settled on your shoulders. “I don’t want to see you get more attached to this guy just to be hurt. I don’t want him to lie to you.”

You knew Nima only had your best interests in mind. Technically, Joel had given you no reason not to trust him. Half the time you thought on this topic you convinced yourself you were overreacting and being a pathetic, paranoid mess. Yo-yo, as nice and fun as she had been, was a virtual stranger to you. Her word shouldn’t trump Joel’s. You knew all of that, and you wanted to trust him. However, it felt like some broken part of you was looking for something to be wrong. Joel Miller was too good to be true. Why would someone like him be interested in someone like you? There had to be something else going on. According to your ex, you hadn’t even been worthy of him and Joel Miller was ten times the man he was. 

“Okay, do it.” You blurted and hated yourself for doing so.

Nima held your gaze for a second, but you pushed to stand and crossed her office to her private bathroom. You took one of the paper towels, dampening it, and set it on the back of your neck in a poor attempt to ground yourself. For a while longer, you just stood there in front of the sink. Not staring at yourself, but staring forward at a singular spot as your thoughts raced. You needed a positive thought. Just one would do, and you were prepared to drag it out of your thick skull kicking and screaming if necessary. 

“Everything is going to be okay.” You mumbled to yourself softly. 

The whispered words did nothing for your anxiety. However, the memory of him did. You found comfort looking back at the soft moments spent with Joel and let yourself fall down that rabbit hole. The temporary peace was nice, but it didn't last. Finding strength you didn’t know you had today, you splashed your face one more time and then left the bathroom.

Your eyes immediately landed on Nima who stared back with wide eyes. Nima spoke first, “What?”

“What?” You repeated. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, I thought you said something.” Nima flipped her phone over and settled her hand on top of it. You glanced from her face to her phone and back again. A look of misery flickered across her features. You tilted your head in question. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Nima.” You crossed the room quickly. “Did they already text back??”

“No. Yes. Maybe?” Nima shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Nima.”

She twisted her lips and drummed her nails against the plastic case of her phone. You shot her another look and she blew out a sigh. “He sent me a response, but it’s like half an answer. Half a report. We should wait until he can⏤”

“What did he say?”

“Apparently, he’s working on a case for someone else right now and had a database right in front of him so all he had to do was type in⏤”

“Nima, please.” You blurted. It felt like your heart was caught in your throat. You couldn’t breathe and you didn't feel coherent enough to string together a thought. Her hesitance was an answer in and of itself. You rubbed your throat, your other arm wrapping around your torso in a poor attempt to hold yourself together, and gasped. “Just say it.”

“He’s married, babe.” Nima mumbled. You knew the words had been coming, but they still overwhelmed you. The air left your lungs as if someone had gut punched you and you fell back into the seat in front of her desk. “He said he’d send me the certificate when he could, but he has to finish this job first. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I⏤”

Nima stopped herself from speaking as she came around her desk and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You sat in her embrace for as long as your shattering mind could endure and then shook your head, “I need a drink. Drinks. Plural.”

“It’s three in the afternoon, babe.” Nima mumbled in concern. You shot her a dry look and she offered you a tight lipped smile. “Drinks it is! Let’s go. We can go back to my place and⏤”

“No.” You pushed to stand. “I wanna go out.”

“Oh… kay. Where?”

“Anywhere.” You turned and began to leave.

Nima was scrambling to gather her belongings into her strawberry shaped purse before rushing out after you. “Just one drink though. I hate being the voice of reason, but we should limit ourselves to one drink.”

One drink turned into two which turned into three which turned into twelve.

By 6 PM, you were borderline wasted. It was by no means the best decision you’ve ever made, but you couldn’t classify it as your worst considering that, for the first time since leaving Vegas, you didn’t feel sad or defeated. No, those blue emotions had turned into a burning shade of red. You had finally found your anger and all it took was copious amounts of alcohol. 

“I mean, married?” You scoffed as you stood at the bar with Nima at your side. “That’s⏤ That’s illegal.” Nima nodded in agreement as she blindly tried to find the straw in her drink with her tongue. You reached out and pushed it toward her lips. “And worse than illegal! It’s fucking rude.”

“So rude.” Nima slurped at the last of her drink and all you could hear was the rattling of ice in her glass. She pulled away to slam the cup down and pointed at you⏤ her pink hair had been let down from the braid to messily rest around her shoulders. “You should get a new sugar daddy!” You stuck your tongue out in disgust and shook your head. “No! This is such a good idea.” Nima began to look around the bar. “Let’s find you a super hot, super not married sugar daddy.”

“I don’t want a new sugar daddy. I want another drink.” You leaned on the bar and waited for the bartender to look your way. Nima and you had bounced to a few bars. The two of you, back when you were sober, decided to start drinking in an area that had multiple bars all within walking distance. The one you were in now wasn’t familiar to you⏤ it wasn’t a place you and Nima had been to before. It was a bit too upscale for your liking. Sober you would not have been a fan. Drunk you? Loving it.

Nima was tapping on your shoulder rapidly and when you looked her way she was pointing across the bar to God knows who. “He looks like he wouldn’t marry someone without your permission.”

“That’s,” You shook your head, “not my situation.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head and looked back toward the bartender who was busy with a group of women further down the bar. The sound of vibrating vaguely filled the air and you leaned closer to Nima who immediately wrapped her arms around you in a hug. “You’re vibrating.”

“You’re vibrating.”

You found her purse and opened it so you could rifle through it. It dawned on you then that somewhere around bar two and drink five you had shoved your phone in her purse for safe keeping. When you finally managed to pull it out, Joel’s face was flashing on the screen and you yelped in surprise. You tossed the phone onto the bar and held your face between your hands.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no.” You shook your head and the vibration stopped. Joel’s picture disappeared and was replaced with a notification of a missed call that joined the notification telling you that you had unread messages. Your eyes snapped to Nima who was trying to drink out of her empty cup again. “Joel.”

“Bastard man.” Nima edited.

“Dinner.” You grimaced. “At 7. I’m supposed to get dinner with Joel at 7. It’s 6:35.”

Nima shook her head and crunched the ice she had shoveled into her mouth, “Bastard man can go to dinner with his wife tonight.”

 You grimaced, “I hate all the words you just used.”

The bartender began to wander over and Nima turned to order more drinks. You picked up your phone and leaned against the bartop with your elbow. With a frown and furrowed brow, you opened your text messages. Every unread text was from Joel unsurprisingly. The first came in at 4:29 and it was a simple, ‘Hey sugar, I’m excited to see you tonight’. The next was almost exactly an hour later and it said, ‘Hope your day’s been alright. We still on for tonight?’. Finally, the most recent at 6:15, was just your name with a question mark.

You set the phone back down before the temptation to reply could overcome you. It only sat on the bartop for a second before it began to vibrate violently as another call came in. Joel’s face filled the screen and you felt a wave of sadness drag you under. The fact that you were mourning the lack of his presence to this degree was probably a sign you were doing this ‘sugar baby’ thing very wrong.

“Maybe I should answer it.” You voiced the thought aloud.

Nima caught it and gasped before slapping her hand on top of the still buzzing phone, “No, ma’am! You will not be doing that.” The bartender set two new drinks between the two of you. Nima pushed one in front of you and moved the straw to point directly at you. “Drink.”

You took a sip then spoke, “I don’t even know the whole story⏤” Nima pushed your face back to the straw so you took another long sip. “Maybe it’s a misunderstanding…” This time your lips found their way to the straw on their own accord and you took a sip that could be argued as dangerously long. “I need to talk to him. Confront him. Demand answers.”

“Yes. To all of that. Eventually.” Nima replied with a nod. She reached forward and bopped you on the nose with her finger. “But not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know one thing in life,” Nima held up the one finger she used to bop your nose, “You do not have serious conversations while drunk.”

You shook your head with a pout, “I thought you said you don’t like being the voice of reason.”

“If it means helping you, I’ll always lean toward reason, babe.” 

The two of you went back to drinking. Your vibrating phone stopped and a few seconds passed before a notification for a voicemail popped up. You turned to Nima, “Can I listen to it? That’s not talking. That’s listening.”

Nima chewed on her straw slowly before bobbing her head in an affirmative nod, “I shall allow it.”

You picked up the phone to listen to the message he left you.

‘Hey, sugar.’ Joel’s voice rumbled over the line and you felt your chest physically ache at the sound. You closed your eyes in annoyance with yourself. If you hadn’t fallen so hard, so fast for this man you wouldn’t be in this scenario to begin with. ‘Gotta say I’m a little worried. Haven’t heard from ya all day. Gimme a call when ya get this.’

You groaned and set your head down on the bar. Guilt gnawed at you. It felt childish of you to be ghosting him like this, and that wasn’t your typical go to move. You had enough respect for the people in your life to address them when needed rather than hide behind voicemail. With the guilt was a swirling vortex of anger. You were angry at Joel for not being up front with you. You were angry at Yo-Yo for being the one to plant the initial doubt that started all this. You were angry at yourself most of all. Angry that you felt guilt at all, angry that you had foolishly placed so much trust in a man you barely knew, angry that despite everything there was still a part of you that craved his presence. You missed his touch and his voice. You missed those burning brown eyes and the way his very glance could melt you into a puddle.

“You okay, babe?” Nima’s voice asked softly. You shook your head without lifting it. “I’m sorry. I can break his knee caps if you want?”

“What?” You lifted your gaze.

“What?” She replied innocently. 

The phone began to vibrate again startling you. He had just called so you didn’t expect him to call again, but then again you were supposed to be in your apartment waiting for him to pick you up for dinner. You pictured him standing at your door dressed up and holding a bouquet of flowers. Nausea rolled over you in waves, and you grabbed your mixed drink thinking it could cure your troubles.

A few minutes passed before another voicemail was left. You snatched your phone up and shoved it back into Nima’s purse so it would be out of your line of sight⏤ not even bothering to listen to the second voicemail. Tomorrow, you decided. Tomorrow you would confront Joel and have this difficult conversation. You both finished the drinks in front of you as the lively bar continued to thrive around you.

“Why is he married?” You asked suddenly. Nima must have known it wasn’t a question you expected an actual answer to as she stayed silent. You rested your face in your hands and sighed. With your eyes closed against your hands like this you began to feel dizzy. A sure sign that you should stop drinking. Nima rubbed your back soothingly and you dropped your hands to shoot her an appreciative glance. “You’re the best best friend a girl could ask for.”

“I know, babe. And you know what else I know?” Nima squished your cheeks together with a wide grin, “You deserve the universe in a gold hand basket, and any man who can’t see that or who would play games with your big, loving heart doesn’t deserve you.”

You laughed and Nima chuckled herself before letting go of your face to pick up her empty glass. Her tongue struggled to find the straw but once it did she tried to take a big gulp only to get drops and air. Nima pulled away from her straw and furrowed her brow, “Who finished my drink?”

With another laugh, you raised your hand to order two more drinks. At this point you’ve already had so much to drink, what would one more hurt? You knew the hangover tomorrow was going to be a bad one, but a part of you was looking forward to it. There would be no mourning Joel tomorrow if your head hurt too much to even think his name. 

Nima successfully managed to distract you again as she drunkenly delved into a story you weren’t quite following, but you enjoyed the way she told it. A low whistle interrupted the moment of peace the two of you had found. You glanced past Nima to see two men in business suits wandering over. Nothing about them stood out to you. One was brunet and the other blond, but they both looked like they never grew out of the frat lifestyle on a college campus.

“We saw you two pretty ladies from over there and wanted to come and offer you our company.” The blond greeted smugly.

Nima turned in her seat to face him and waved her hand at him while taking a long sip of her drink until the ice rattled in the glass. Then she pulled the straw out of her mouth to finally speak with a shake of her head, “Sorry, we don’t speak english.”

“You just said that in English.” The blond chuckled.

“Sorry, sorry.” Nima waved her hand once more. “I don’t understand your accent.”

You snickered under your breath while chewing on your straw. The brunet stepped forward to stand side by side with the other and shook his head, “No need to be a bitch. We just wanted to talk.”

“Oh, you haven’t even begun to see bitchy yet.” Nima pointed her glass in their direction⏤ a bit of ice sloshing out with the exaggerated movement. “I can show you bitchy.” She reached back to swat at your arm. “Tell them, babe.”

“She can.” You nodded in agreement.

The blond set a hand on his friend’s shoulder and tugged him back, “Let’s just go, man.”

The brunet reluctantly let himself get dragged away, but he continued to stare at you and Nima the entire time. Nima spun in her seat and scoffed, “Where was I before I was interrupted by douchebag one and douchebag two?”

“I’m not gonna lie,” You shrugged, “I have no idea.”

“I’ll pick a place then.” Nima said and jumped into the middle of her story. “So, there I was covered head to toe in honey.”

Same as before, you really couldn’t keep track of her tale but it amused you all the same. The two of you chatted for another minute or two before a new face came across the two of you again. Nima had bounced in her seat, excited, and it knocked her strawberry shaped purse to the floor. Your phone clattered out. Before you could climb off the bar stool to grab it, a man passing knelt down and scooped it up. In one tanned hand he grabbed the purse and in the other your phone. The phone’s screen lit up and you swallowed at the sight of the multiple missed messages all from the same person. 

“Oh.” The man cleared his throat and straightened his stance. He was handsome with a kind face. Dark hair, a bit on the longer side, was messily pushed back and it matched the scruff on his upper lip and chin. The man wore a pink button up shirt, all the buttons undone, over a white t-shirt. “I suppose this is yours, miss?”

You begun to reach out, “Thanks⏤”

“Hold it!” Nima pointed at the man making his dark, brown eyes widen. “State your intentions, sir!”

“To…return your purse?” He lifted up the strawberry bag.

Nima narrowed her eyes at him and snatched it away, “Likely story.”

“Thank you.” You reached out and he handed the phone over to you. A glance down revealed four missed calls, two unheard voicemails, and five texts. You winced at the sight and set your phone face down on the bar. You were surprised to see the man still standing by your stools. “You…” You narrowed your eyes at him. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

He chuckled and shook his head, “Afraid not, ma’am.”

It was sitting on the tip of your tongue, but your foggy brain just couldn’t quite grasp it. Nima snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I got it. He’s that guy.” You lifted an eyebrow at her words and she nodded frantically. “Yeah, he’s that actor! You play in that one show with, like, the zombies or whatever, right?”

“Not at all.” He laughed with a shake of his head. “I ain’t no actor.”

“Well then, I’m out of guesses.” Nima grumbled. She tilted her head, looking him up and down once more, “You seem nice enough. Got a pretty face. You rich? You wanna be a sugar daddy? She’s in the market.”

You rolled your eyes, “Nima.”

“You’re in the market for a sugar daddy?” The man asked in shock. You could hardly blame the man for his confusion and disbelief. This was hardly a normal bar conversation. “Really?”

“No. She’s just drunk.”

“Irrelevant.” Nima argued.

You chuckled then introduced yourself and Nima. The man paused for a beat before nodding and offering you his hand. “Nice to meet you both. My name is Tommy.” It took a second to click, but once the name finally wormed its way through your mind your eyes widened. Tommy chuckled and answered your unspoken question, “Yeah. I am.”

Nima glanced between you two with a frown, “Hold on, I’m not following. You are what? You’ll be her new sugar daddy?”

“No way in hell.” Tommy grinned. “If I even thought 'bout it, my brother’d skin me alive.”

The look on Nima’s face stayed confused until you swallowed the lump in your throat and finally spoke, “It’s… Nima, this is Joel’s brother.”

Her face remained frozen before morphing into one of shock. She gasped, almost comically, and pointed at him. “Oh, fuck.” Her eyebrows furrowed into a glare. “You son of a bitch, your brother is a son of a bitch!”

Tommy didn’t pay her outburst any mind, but his eyes darted back to you. “I asked my brother to come out drinkin' with me tonight, but he said ‘no’ cause he had a date with you.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “Funny I’m findin' you here without him.”

“That’s because your brother is too busy with his wife to be with my girl!”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise and he glanced back to you, “He already told you about her?”

It was quite possibly the worst string of words you could have heard all day. Only in competition with Nima’s ‘He’s married, babe’. You felt nauseous and dizzy⏤ the breath stolen from you again. Nima was arguing with Tommy, you could hear her voice, but you couldn’t concretely understand a single word that was said. When you finally managed to get a handle on reality, you looked back to see things had fallen apart and more time than you realized had passed in your mental breakdown. 

The blond and brunet from earlier, in the suits, had come back and were somehow arguing with Tommy and Nima now. You suddenly began to regret the last two drinks you had. Maybe if you had gone with a couple glasses of water instead you’d be able to puzzle out exactly what was going on right now.

“Get the hell outta here. They ain’t interested.” Tommy snapped.

“Just curious as to why we weren’t good enough for these bitches and you were.” The brunet slurred his words. Tommy stood a step in front of Nima who had slid off her bar stool to stand in front of you with her hands on her hips. “What’s so special about you, bub?”

“Ugh. How about the two of you run off to the bathroom and jack each other off, huh? Then leave us the fuck alone.” Nima sneered.

“Shut your damn mouth!” 

The blond tried to push past Tommy toward Nima, but Tommy shoved him back immediately. He grabbed the guy by the collar. “You gonna charge at a woman like that? Fuckin' coward.” Tommy’s voice came out in a gravelly growl that reminded you so much of Joel that it was staggering. “You got a problem, you take it up with me.”

The next moment happened fast. The blond tried to swing out at Tommy so Tommy blocked it with his elbow before tackling the man to the ground. The brunet grabbed Nima and wrapped his arms around her. She howled in anger and squirmed in his arms trying to find purchase to hit him. The brunet spun so his back was to you and you slid off the stool. Without pause, without thought, you picked up your empty glass and smashed it to the back of the man’s head. He released Nima, crumpling to the ground with a groan, and any shred of a fight stopped⏤as did the entire bar.

Tommy was kneeling on the ground pinning the blond while Nima stood off to the side.

“Oh my God.” Nima squealed, amused.

“Oh my God.” Tommy blurted, impressed.

“Oh my God.” You gasped, shocked at your own action.

You were panting, damn near hyperventilating, as the brunet began to rise on shaky limbs. Other patrons nearby converged on the scene to help out and before you knew it you were being ushered off to the side where a few couches and seats sat in a lounge area. 

“You’re such a badass.” Nima gushed from beside you. "How’s your hand??”

“Hurts.” You mumbled and stared down at the white cloth wrapped around your hand. Bright red was beginning to seep through. The consequences of smashing glass against the back of someone’s skull. Police had shown up and you knew Tommy was across the room talking to them. But still, your eyes stayed glued on your hand. The cuts weren’t terrible but they stung something awful.

“Babe?” You finally looked up and met Nima’s concerned eyes. She nodded, “You alright?”

You shot her a small smile, “Yeah. Are you okay? I can’t believe he grabbed you.”

“I’m fine.” Nima peeked at your hand then stood. “I’m gonna see if this bar has a real first aid kit we can use. Be right back.”

She jumped up and jogged over to the bar. You sunk in your seat with a sigh and leaned your head against the back of the couch. There had been something very sobering about smashing the glass against that guy’s head. The adrenaline and pain cleared any lingering fog from your previous drinks right out of your head. It left room for you to think about Joel. Meeting his brother certainly didn’t help. Tommy clapped one of the officer’s on the shoulder with a smile and they went separate ways. You lifted your head when you heard his footsteps draw near.

“Well, I spoke to the police.” Tommy stuck his hands into his pockets. “You’re not gonna get in trouble for the, you know, the glass. Won’t have to go downtown with ‘em.” You breathed a sigh of relief. Tommy held your gaze for a few more seconds before scrunching his nose and bobbing his head toward you. “And Joel is, uh, on his way.”

You covered your face with your good hand and groaned, “Can I please just be arrested instead?”

“Sorry, no can do.” Tommy sat down beside you. “You know, I didn’t say it earlier, but it’s nice to finally meet you. Joel never shuts up about you.”

“Please. Don’t.” You blurted. “I can’t… I can’t talk about him right now.”

Tommy nodded, “Right. I, uh, when I called him we didn’t talk much.” He laced his fingers together and rested his arms on his knees. “I mentioned you were hurt and things kind of spiraled from there. That’s probably for the best though. I don’t wanna get in between a lover’s quarrel⏤”

“I’m not his lover.” You snapped, and you hated the way your voice cracked. You shook your head, “Not if he’s married. Not…” The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and you were exhausted to your very bones. “This is so fucked up. I never should've agreed to…

Tommy didn’t immediately reply. He sighed, “I don’t know you, and I don’t got the exact details of what’s going on right now, but… I’m glad you agreed.” He turned and met your gaze with a tight smile. “Joel’s been… He’s been better. Joel was in a rut for a long time. So long that I kind of forgot he was in one. For a while, that was just Joel.” Tommy’s smile grew as he chuckled. “But ever since the two of you met, it’s like this weight has been lifted from his shoulders. We’ve all noticed it, and we’re all thankful.”

  “He’s married.” You whispered. “And he didn’t tell me.”

Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, “I know, but it’s⏤ it’s not that simple.” He nervously chewed on his lower lip. “Can you just give him a chance to explain?” You flexed your hand and sucked in a sharp breath as pain lanced up your arm. “Consider it a favor for me.”

“A favor for you?” You snorted.

“Yeah. I kept you out of prison, remember?” Tommy joked.

You cracked a smile and Tommy’s smile widened in victory. Nima skipped back over and dropped into the seat on your other side. She pulled your hand into her lap and carefully unpeeled the cloth away. As Nima rewrapped your hand while Tommy criticized her technique and the two bickered over you. You couldn’t help but flex your hand when she finished.

“Come on, pinkie.” Tommy stood. “I’ll take you home.”

“Uh, I am not leaving my girl here alone.”

“Joel will be here soon.”

“Then I’m definitely not leaving her alone!”

You reached out to squeeze her wrist and gave her a reassuring nod, “I’ll be okay. Gotta talk to him eventually, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t have to be right now.” Nima argued. You pulled her into a hug to reassure her once again. Maybe this was a bad idea, but you had just smashed a glass against a guy’s head so the degree of your bad ideas couldn't possibly get worse. Nima sighed and stood up too. “Okay. You’re sure you’re fine?”

Tommy clapped his hands. “Joel’s a few minutes away. But we can stay until he gets here if you want.”

“No.” You shook your head. The thought of being alone for a minute was kind of nice. “You guys go.” Your eyes locked onto Nima. “If you’re okay with him driving you.” You glanced at Tommy. “No offense.”

He held his hands up in surrender and shrugged nonchalantly. Nima nodded, “We survived a bar brawl together. We’re bonded.” She grinned and pulled her strawberry purse around her shoulders. “Plus, worse comes to worse, I can stab him.”

“You can what now?” Tommy questioned.

“You’ve already offered me a ride. It’s too late to back out now.”

“Fine, pinkie.” Tommy waved her to follow. 

You watched them go and sunk in your seat. The sounds of the bar was decent background noise, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the noise in your head. You picked at the edges of the gauze wrapped around your hand. Your eyes felt heavy and if you weren’t careful you were going to pass out on this bar couch surrounded by strangers. It was the sound of a crash that startled you back into the moment, and when you looked up from your hand you realized the door had been thrown open hard enough to hit the wall. Joel stood in the doorway panicked and wild eyed. He wore a suit without the tie and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

You stayed silent, sinking further into your seat, and watched as Joel’s wide eyes scanned the room. His gaze finally landed on you, doing a double take, and when he realized where you were you saw his shoulders slump in relief. Joel jogged across the room until he was able to kneel down in front of you. Joel’s warm hands found your face, cupping it softly, as he sighed, “Sugar, what the hell is goin' on? Are you okay?” Joel’s eyes studied your face then glanced down at your hand. “Jesus, your hand. Tommy called me. Sugar, I⏤”

“I’m okay.” You whispered, throat growing tight, “I just wanna go home, Joel.”

Joel tensed and he nodded, “Yeah. Alright. Let’s get you home.”

The ride in the truck beside Joel may have been the most awkward and tense ride of your entire life. It was silent. The only sound coming from the road outside. Joel’s hands were white knuckled around the steering wheel. You assumed his tension had something to do with you ghosting him this evening. His truck pulled up outside your apartment complex and your alcohol soaked brain realized not only did you not have your keys but you also no longer had your phone. Both were sitting in Nima’s purse right now.

You opened the door fully prepared to sleep outside your apartment on the welcome mat like a lost dog, but Joel grasped you by the arm cautiously to hold you in place. “You got your key?” You twisted your lips knowing he wasn’t going to fall for a lie. “Where is your key?”

“With Nima.” You mumbled. “She has my phone too.”

Joel sighed and let go of you to instead grab the truck door and shut it. He buckled you back into the seat and began to drive once more. You wanted to ask where he was taking you, but none of the words would come out. You drowned in your indecision while picking at the bandage on your hand. Joel suddenly reached over and lightly pushed your hand away from the injury.

“Stop pickin' at it, sugar.”

“Where are we going?” You blurted.

Joel shifted in his seat, “My place.”

“I don’t wanna go to your place.” You mumbled.

“Don’t care.” Joel replied gruffly and you lifted your head to glare at his side profile. 

The tone of his voice stirred something inside you, and you felt the dormant anger start to reawaken. It had gotten buried under everything that happened, but now it was back full fledged. You sat up, “Take me back. I want to go home.”

“You don’t have your key.”

“I don’t care.” You snapped. “Take me home, Joel!”

“You’re comin' to my place where I know you can safely sleep it off, 'nd then tomorrow we’ll figure out how to get ya back into your apartment. Understood?”

You scoffed, “Don’t talk down to me. I’m not a child, Joel.”

“Oh, you’re not?” Joel scoffed. His tone was angry and frustrated. “Cause you’re sure as hell actin' like one.” He shot a glare in your direction before focusing back on the road. “Are you outta your goddamn mind?! Do you know how worried I was?” You crossed your arms and stared out the passenger window. “I don’ hear from you all day long. You disappear on me with no explanation 'nd then I get a call from my baby brother that you’ve been in a bar fight? And that you’re hurt?!” You stayed silent and Joel scoffed. “And now I get the silent treatment? Very mature.”

“You don’t want to argue with me on what’s mature, Joel.” You said, head whipping back to glare at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean??”

“You’re a hypocrite!”

“Excuse me?”

You scoffed, “It’s not very mature for a married man to pay a sugar baby for attention.” Joel hit the brakes and the seat belt caught you as the truck screeched to a stop. You glanced out the window to see his truck had reached a neighborhood and the streets were mostly void of other vehicles. When you turned back to Joel, you found him staring at you in a mix of shock and horror. You shook your head, “What was I, Joel? Some kind of midlife crisis?”

Pain could be seen through the horror, and he reached out to grab your wrist again. “No. No, that’s not…” Joel’s voice was hoarse and broken. He whispered your name. “Please. That’s not what this is.”

You tugged your arm away from his grip. “I don’t wanna talk about this right now, Joel. Either start driving again or I’m gonna get out.”

Joel kept his hands to himself as he slowly went back to driving. As if the awkward silence hadn’t been painful before it was downright agonizing now. You were pressing your thumb into the wounds of your palm just to try and keep from crying. Joel pulled into the driveway a few minutes later, and you couldn’t even get your brain to collect a single feature of the house in front of you. Joel jumped out of the truck and you stayed frozen. The passenger door opened but Joel didn’t move to pull you out. He held the top of the door frame and a foot rested on the running board so he could lean in just marginally.

“Sugar…”

“Don’t, Joel.” You said firmly. “Don’t.”

“Please just let me⏤”

“Are you married?”

Joel’s face crumpled in agony and he hung his head, “It’s… It’s not that simple. Just let me⏤”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You shrugged and tried to ignore the tears welling up in your eyes.

Joel looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. His eyes were squeezed shut, but he still refused to answer. You whispered his name. Finally, he lifted his gaze back to you and opened his mouth. His jaw hung open silently for a second before he could speak. “...Yes.”

You felt the tears lingering at the waterline drip down your cheeks and hastily began to wipe them away with your hands. Joel gasped and began to reach out but when you flinched he held back. He shook his head, “You’re bleedin'.”

The bandage around your hand was soaked with blood, probably from digging your thumb into the wounds, and when you felt your cheek with your fingertips they came back tinted red. You must have smeared it across your face. 

“Sugar, let me… let me take you inside.” Joel murmured. “Please. I know you’re… upset, 'nd you have every reason to hate me right now, but… just let me get you inside.” His hand reached out for you once more, but he stopped himself. “You can leave in the mornin', but for tonight just⏤ just let me take care of you. Please.”

You gave a small nod. It felt weak of you, but you reassured yourself that you had little to no other option. Your hand hurt, your head ached, you were exhausted to your very being, and deep down you were torn between wanting to yell and scream or curl into a ball and cry. Joel took a few steps back to allow you to climb down yourself, but when you wavered his arms shot out to try and steady you. Joel herded you toward the front door without actually touching you. 

Your eyebrows furrowed when you studied his front porch. The entire front of his house didn’t look like the typical rich LA style you were accustomed to seeing. In fact, his porch and front door reminded you of a quaint farmhouse. Joel unlocked his front door and held it open for you to walk in. Right inside the house, the foyer had an open style with a set of stairs pressed against the wall just up ahead. It opened straight into a large living room that evolved into a dining room with a matching open kitchen to the side. The entire back wall by the kitchen and dining area was made of glass but the back porch lights were off so you couldn’t see the view. 

Joel tossed his keys into a bowl sitting on an accent table against the wall right by the door. You glanced over to a little bench built into the wall on the other side beneath a set of bay windows. The rest of his furniture from what you could see was modern and plain. You were drunk off alcohol and misery, but your brain was still able to take the time to note that Joel’s furniture didn’t match what you imagined him to have.

“C’mon.” Joel motioned you up the stairs. He followed after you and when you reached the top of the stairs he pointed to the left. You stepped into the master bedroom and Joel slid in past you moving straight toward the master bath. While he rooted around for something, you glanced around his room. There was a king sized bed sitting in the middle of the room covered in dark green sheets. A window sat on either side of the bed. The wall to the right was where the bathroom door and the closet door sat, but on the left was a single loveseat pushed against the wall. All the furniture was dark brown including the large dresser against the wall by the door and the smaller bedside drawers on either side of the bed under the windows. You drifted toward one of the bedside drawers where a photo was propped up. It was of Joel and two young girls. Joel had shown you enough pictures of Sarah and Ellie for you to recognize them, but in this photo all three of them were significantly younger. 

The sound of a throat clearing made you look up to see Joel standing there with a first aid kit in hand. “Sit down for me?” You sat on the side of the bed and Joel sat beside you. He opened the kit then carefully unwrapped your hand. When he saw the three lines haphazardly cut into your palm he let out a soft hiss. “You hurtin' much?”

“It stings some.” You mumbled. He hummed in response and used an alcohol swab to clean up the cuts. Joel did so with soft touches and his eyes flickered to your features every second or so to check in on your status. You locked your jaw to bite back any sounds of pain that tried to slip out. 

“They look bad, but I don’ think they’ll need stitches.” Joel thought out loud. 

“Good.” You said. Joel grabbed some fresh gauze and began to wrap it around your hand. You studied his features as he focused so intently on the task at hand. His warm gaze was burned into your skin as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You had the urge to trace your fingers through the scruff along his jawline. When he finished, he lifted his gaze and his eyes locked with yours. The two of you stared at one another in tense silence. Pain and longing filled his brown eyes, and you wondered if it could somehow just be a reflection of your own. It made no sense for you to both be so miserable right now. “Where is she?”

Joel tensed, “What?”

“Where is your wife?” You asked more firmly. 

“Are you sure you wanna get into this tonight?”

“I just want answers, Joel.” You sighed. “I need something. My mind has been a mess since we left Vegas.” Joel’s face crumpled as he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Yo-yo told me I wasn’t your first sugar baby and then she said you were married to your first sugar baby.” The words were falling out like pouring water now. “And then Nima has a cousin who has a cousin who has a friend or something that was able to find your marriage certificate⏤”

Joel murmured your name in reverence and opened his eyes. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you from the start. That way there’d be no miscommunication or confusion. I meant to. But… I kept puttin' it off 'nd it got to the point where too much time had passed…” Joel hesitantly reached out for you and when you didn’t shy away he settled his hand on your arm. “I did have a sugar baby before you. It’s a… long story, but I am not married to her.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, “You didn’t marry her?”

“No. Absolutely not. She was… Like I said, it’s a long story.” Joel squeezed your arm. “One that I promise to tell you. In the mornin', when you’re not half drunk 'nd half hungover all at once.”

“Then who the hell are you married to, Joel?”

“I… I am technically still married to Celina.” Joel finally spat the words out. You shook your head in confusion. The name was foreign to you, but Joel heaved another sigh and added, “Sarah’s mom.”

taglist (closed):

@weddingfairy @bfences @jasminedragon @biwitchy @huffle-punk @shelbyteller @anoverwhelmingdin @aheadfullofsteverogers @stagerightlauren @basicoccult @boofy1998 @farintonorth @thepascalofus @amatis-gray @casa-boiardi @northernbluess @jettia @sapphicsoie @spidey-3 @hrtsforpascal @gingersince97 @sentients17 @bigboiseason123 @lunxramour @ktheunready @heyheyheygaypay @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @adoringanakin @come-hell-or-eldren-fire @cherriebat @whitewolfstar01 @alyssa121611 @asreadbyaj @painfullyandprettypoetic @cantobightcafe @str84pedro

[previous][next]

✨J.M. Masterlist✨

[princessbrunette]

popes new gig as a driving instructor was meant to be easy money. he was a good, safe driver — and you were his first ever client. but from the smile you’d given him, all glittery and pink as you bounce over to his car and lean over to his driver seat window to greet him, giving him a direct look down your cleavage — he knew you’d do more than learn driving from him.

you preened under his praise everytime. it was distracting. he was trying to teach you how to safely drive, but everytime he’d let “you’re doing really good, keep going.” or a simple “good job.” leave his mouth you’d nearly swerve off the road. his subtle tips and adjustments would be met with flirtation, and giggly “yes sir”s to the point where he’d forget the rules of the road in an instant.

this went on for weeks, and due to his best friend jj’s constant lecturing regarding; ‘dude, you’ve got a hot ass girl in your car, practically begging for the D — you’re telling me you haven’t swooped on that yet? do better, man.’ pope decided enough was enough. this was either going to fix his problem, or make things really awkward— but it was a risk he was willing to take.

“pull up right here, in this parking lot.” he’d been extra tense that day, rather quiet the entire lesson with a stiff jaw and eyes hung low. you figured he’d been in a bad mood, and even went easy on your usual routine of finding reasons to touch his bicep at each stop light and flirting with him. you did as he said, pulling into the empty lot and finding a space somewhere in some dark corner where it would be easy for you to park.

without the humming of the engine filling the silence now, you turn and look at him in the dim lighting. pope often had two ways of going about things with women — either ultra nervous, or ultra to the point. with you, he’d started off a nervous wreck — practically jizzing in his pants every time you’d graze your manicure against his arm for the first few lessons, but due to the constant teasing he’d been driven to being directly upfront with you.

“look, i can’t take all this teasing anymore.” he stresses, brows creased. your giggly smile drops a little bit, seemingly switching on the innocent act. “every week, you hint and hint that you’re tryna get into something with me— and then at the end of the lesson, you just get out and walk away like it never happened.” he sighs hard, and you have to admit it’s rather cute.

“i’m sorry…” your brows knit together, guilt evident in your expression.

“and that’s fine — i would never pressure you to do anything like that, and believe me — i know this is completely unprofessional to be proposing on the job, and yeah — this could get me fired,” he rambles, working himself up. “but look, i’m a man okay? i am biologically programmed to have a bodily reaction to girls like you who can’t stop touching on me and being all adorable and sexy. that being said — if you wanna fuck, let’s just get it out the way, right here right now— and if not, we can drive you home, and never talk of this again. but you gotta stop acting like that, ‘cause i’m in pain.” he finishes up with his rant, sucking in a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding the entire time. you stare at pope. pope stares back.

“oh fuck, oh pope!” you mewl into his neck as the car jostles violently from the backseat beneath the dim lighting on the parking lot. you’re naked from the waist down, and his shorts sit pooled around his ankles as you bounce on his cock, dick impaled through you. “s—so big, just like i imagined!”

“you imagined?” he pants, two hands planted on your waist as he helps you fuck down on his lap, staring up at you hopefully as he lifts his hips to meet your movements.

“every night! pictured you punishing me for bein’ such a tease!” you cry out in admission, halting the bouncing technique to roll your hips instead, the two of you groaning at the sensation.

“jesus, okay… well, i can definitely make that happen. you for sure deserve to be punished.” he babbles, pulling you closer — his eyes fluttering shut as you grind on him.

“are you g’nna punish me pope? for teasin’ you in our lessons?” your voice cracks desperately as you feel him repeatedly jutting against your g-spot, making your legs shake around him.

“yes. totally. i’ll punish you real good.” he spits out. it had been a while since he’d got his dick wet, especially from such a perfect princess — so all his concentration was going into making sure he didn’t bust right there and then. he simply agreed without thinking, he probably would have agreed to anything in that moment.

[mysticheathenn]

Why Are You Ugly? Your Traits, Habits, Etc...

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card is really just for fun. Please don't take most of what is here seriously unless it resonates. This is just to show some of your features or traits that others deem unattractive. Again this is meant to be fun and not a dig at you..unless you like shit like that then by all means do you.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Pile l:

Tarot: 5 of Swords, 5 of Cups / Strength (reversed), 2 of Swords

Pile l others find you "ugly" because you are a coward who lack direction in their life. The phrase from the movie Clueless "You're a virgin who can't drive" just popped into my head. Not only that but you like to cry wolf while also not doing anything with your life. Ex. "I'm so lazy, a fatass, etc" but then you continue to scroll on TikTok and not apply yourself in areas of your life you want to change. You may also like to point fingers at other people whenever something doesn't happen the way you want it to go and blame everyone else except for the matter for what it is, sometimes yourself.

Oracle: Talent/Dreams (Reversed), Life Purpose The TikTok meme "You are looking so cute doing ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING GET YOUR ASS UP. GET YOUR ASS UP." For those who don't know the meme here is the link to the original video: http://tinyurl.com/3fa4xth2

Pile ll:

Tarot: 3 of Swords / The Magician / 6 of Swords (All Reversed), 5 of Pentacles.

The only thing you like to let go of is money pile ll. Anything else in your life you like to hold onto especially toxic people and grudges and sometimes for no dam reason. Someone could step on your 5-year-old shoes and say sorry but because they stepped on your shoe you're out for revenge...okay maybe some of you may not be that petty but you still like to hold grudges and then wonder why no one or barely anyone is in your life...it's because you let people go for breathing wrong pile ll. Someone says your name in a tone you aren't familiar with, blocked. Someone didn't bring you food even though you said you weren't hungry, block. Again maybe not this crazy for some of you but you get it. You may have also been attracted a bit to pile one because you also don't like to do sh*t with your life and when you do decide to do sh*t with your life if it doesn't happen fast enough for you, you give up as if everything is supposed to bend you to your will when, where, and how you want it.

Oracle: Prosperity/Love (reversed), Trust

There's a lyric to a song that I can't think of but the song part that is playing in my head is "That's why you believe in lies..."...I wish I knew the song but that is the only part of it that keeps playing with no melody in my head. Learn to trust...not only yourself but others and love yourself. Let love in your life without treating everything like a checklist or transaction. Also, stop overspending, pick up a Financial literacy book or course and learn how to save, plan, and budget your money properly.

Pile lll:

Tarot: Death, 8 of Wands, The Fool, Knight of Wands

Pile lll your trait that others may deem "ugly/unappealing" isn't so much of a bad thing. you were probably told when you were younger that you always were "Acting fast" or if not people as an adult tell you all the time that you are always on the move as if you are on the run. You can't sit still maybe you have or deal with ADHD. Every time you get a new idea, or opportunity, or you see something that could possibly get you ahead in life you are on it and you never think about whether this is the right move for you? Is this opportunity legit? or anything else substantial that you need to make sure that you land safely, if not safely at least have a parachute when you jump. You may also move from job to job similar to pile ll anytime you see even a milligram of bullsh*t you are out of there. "Miller when you are done running and want to make a home, make it with me." Book Quote from the book Caught Up by Liz Tomforde (love that book) it's about a female who is always on the run and she does a favor for her dad and nanny one of his teammate's son and when they start falling for each other he says that to her. I am getting this is more so from your higher self pile lll. When you are done running from your past, inner thoughts, poverty, chasing gimmicks, and temporary people go back to yourself and actually see what exactly do you want to do, what is your purpose, what is something you can build for your life that is stable and secure than these fleeting moments you keep trying to create for yourself. Some of you may be either in situationships that you hate or like to have a lot of flings only to feel lonely afterward.

Oracle: Boundaries, Life Purpose, Compassion

This goes back to the quote in your reading pile lll. Stop running from yourself and the things you really want vs the things you chase.... I may do a reading on this let me know if you want that or not. Either way show yourself more compassion and place boundaries on yourself not others. You have no problem in that department for a lot of you but others you need boundaries for yourself and others.

REMEMBER THIS IS MEANT TO BE A FUN READING AND NOT AN ATTACK.

Thank you to everyone who are subscribed to my Patreon and those who like and reblog my pick-a-card readings. I always appreciate you. I hope you enjoyed this reading.

Until next time, stay safe and blessed.

[svtskneecaps]

dude i fucking love how this server has communication as its premise and built into its fucking core. i fucking love that. bc it's one thing to be like 'this server is about multilingual communication and cultural exchange!!' bc that could present in any NUMBER of ways but like. with the federation and the eggs and a common shared goal they all decided WE ARE A TEAM. and like, ok,

when baghera was sus of jaiden because of the thing when pomme died and jaiden had been the reason baghera left her side for the only time that day, i wasn't even worried. i wasn't worried bc i was like "we just wait. because i know they will TALK TO EACH OTHER." and I WAS RIGHT. TWO DAYS LATER IT WAS ALL CLEARED UP AND BAGHERA WAS HELPING HER OUT WITH CUCURUCHO

and the ordo theoritas is functionally a secret organization. it would be SO EASY to gatekeep the lore, on grounds of "the federation is always watching and anyone could be a spy" and yet the ordo theoritas says that, like bad SAYS THAT, says OUT LOUD, "anyone could be a traitor" and then turns around and goes "hey person i've had a few days' worth of conversations with, here's a detailed rundown of everything we've learned about the island's mysteries, and the secret location of the ordo base". SOFIA was supposed to be secret from everyone, and for a little bit she was. but now like, the ordo theoritas is showing her to everyone. it would be SO EASY to hide things and to gatekeep things but they just. don't do it. here's the supercomputer!!!! don't forget to grab her waystone so you can come back anytime!!!

bad learns something. "i need to tell forever/cellbit/baghera". forever figures out a new way to protect the eggs, and he gets it to everyone within days. cucurucho tries to have a secret conversation and the entire server knows about it almost instantly and there are three people buried in the walls reading the subtitles and giving each other meaningful glances

i love it. i love it. miscommunication plotlines drive me up the fucking wall and the fact that i wasn't even SCARED when jaiden and baghera could easily have angled into an angsty tangled web of that and instead just MET WITH EACH OTHER AND EXPLAINED EVERYTHING AND CLEARED THE AIR ALMOST IMMEDIATELY was so fucking breathtaking. and this is a multilingual server. this is a MULTILINGUAL SERVER. i love it. i love it so much i want to cry. it's a server for communication and people Communicate, it would have been SO EASY to slip into monolingual factions and stick to the familiar but they DIDN'T. they DIDN'T. WE GET TO HAVE A THEORY TABLE WITH SO MANY LANGUAGES SITTING AROUND IT. we get to have conspiracy walls in every language!!!! idk sometimes i forget how fucking CRAZY all this is, like the scale of what they've accomplished

so yea thank you to quackity and the qsmp admins for this, and thank you to the streamers for hearing 'this is about connections' and taking it ENTIRELY to heart, and also thank you to whoever the fuck decided to give quackity's school class the job to look after a fucking egg to learn about parenting. bc holy shit. holy shit.

[minimoxha]

Ready, Set, Love!

Starring: Satoru Gojo, Karma Akabane, Eren Yeager, Itadori Yuji, Izuku Mydoria, Y/n L/n.

Summary: Based in a society where marriage is now a hard ask to achieve. In which you, the reader are forced by your sister to join a game show in hopes to get married while you're in it to make money.

A/n: I KNOW THIS IS A CRAZY MIX BUT HEAR ME OUT. Abandoning prior lore these boys are (Not that traumatized) And they will be the options for you to marry. However, if you feel like anyone else should be in the show to replace some of the characters let me know.

There will be different games and different endings which means you all can vote on the dates and games and outcomes and kind of choose how the story goes, YAY! This was the prolouge so tune in next episode next week! :D

Enjoy,

“I understand what you’re saying Ms.L/n, truly.” My sister's principal started, giving me a look of pure pity as I just spilled my life to her like it was truly her problem that we couldn’t afford such a prestigious school. “However, we can’t keep her here. She is disruptive and abusive to our students and staff here. She has to leave.” Just fucking great, Jada. You had to be an argument brat all the damn time. 

“Do you know our other options?” I ask quietly. When Mrs.Langsy looked down at her computer, I made sure to send Jada a death stare. I was tired of switching schools because she couldn't keep herself together. And this time, I didn’t know how I was going to send her to school when the last option was a school for snotty rich kids that I definitely couldn’t afford the tuition for. “Public schools preferably?”

Mrs.Langsy sighed and finally stopped typing on her computer, giving me and Jada a sorry look. So, that was a no. 

“Jada has been banned from every public school in this part of the city. The other option would be to move or go to private school..” Mrs.Langsy whispered to me. I could feel my left eye twitching in anger She just had to do this now. “This is the brochure for the private school closest, Jularod, I send my own daughter there it is an amazing school.” I took the brochure and flipped though it before stopping and abruptly closing it when I saw the tuition price; 20 thousand a year? Was I paying for her college or was I paying for her to attend middle school?

“Thank you, Ms. Langsy. Have a good day.” I smiled to the principal even though I clearly have an attitude. I dragged jada out of the office before laying into her.

“How did you get suspended again? I thought we said no fighting?”

“She fucked around and found out! I don’t know what you want me to do.” Jada argued back as we walked to the car. “Just take me out of school, I’ll teach myself.” Jada was always stubborn, just like dad was. This however, was not the time to have an attitude. 

“Watch your mouth, Jada. You’ll learn when you're older than fighting wont just get you suspended but next time, It’ll get you in Jail.” I argue back. I sound like my mom. She would’ve been yelling at me for skipping class or something just as rebellious as Jada was doing years ago when I was her age. Years ago when she was alive. 

“Jada please, I work hard to make sure we have a roof and food. I just need you to behave for once. Can you do that?” My voice cracked at the end, I was trying my best to not cry while driving and crashing the car. If she had a better role model than me…maybe she would’ve been better behaved. 

Jada turned to me, worry coating her beautiful babydoll eyes. “I’ll do better, Y/n.” 

That was all I needed. 

Some type of Closure that she would be trying to end her nasty streak of fighting and being sneaky. I would do all that I could to trust that she would make the right decision. I just had to sit and trust her for once. 

“Let’s go out to dinner this time.”

“Yeah!”

                              —

Jada and I walked side by side, Ice cream in hand staying in sight of the huge tv located in the main part of (insert city in japan later).The broadcast of Ready, Set, Love, was starting to play; announcing all 100 contestants in a very slow, very painful manner. 

I had never been interested in shows like these, Reality tv mixed with dating and finding the true love of your life. Jada was though. 

In our house she had ran her allowance almost dry buying various merch from the many ads the boys had to advertise them

for them for the new season. My ears almost bled with how much she would tell me about these men she barely knew. And every night, without a doubt she’d be in one of their lives watching these men talk about their lives for no apparent reason. 

They were handsome, I couldn’t lie. But Couldn’t imagine being one of the girls to be on that show competing for a man. Had we really lost all decorum as women that we were so eager to be married that we’d do competitions for the chance to have one we wanted? 

“I hope you win.” Jada mumbled from beside me. I turned to her, confusion written all over my face.

“I didn’t enter, why would I win?”

“I entered you.” She confessed. My face was more confused than ever now.

It was nothing new that Jada was one of the sneakiest people I knew. If she wanted to hide something  and lie about something, she was going to do it. Gracefully, might I add. “Why would you do that? You know I don't like these stupid shows.” I ask her, finishing my ice cream with my mouth full of the dessert. “Its like a 0.1 chance that I’ll be picked out of 1 million girls.”

Jada turns to me, her face more serious than I had ever seen it. “I want to see you married, Y/n. I don’t want you to sit around and put your life to the side even when you deserve to live your life.” Tears filled her eyes as she took hold of my hand. Her palms were sweaty, she was nervous. 

My mouth opened so I could say something, something that would attempt to convince her that she was not a burden to me no matter what. I was cut off by the rather loud announcement of my full name coming from the direction of one of the screens that hung from the side of the building. As if on its own, my head flips back towards the tv seeing a horrible picture plastered on the screen, directly next to my name in big green letters. My mouth falls in shock. There  was absolutely no way I actually won. I didn’t even want to win but somehow out of millions of girls I was one of the starting 100? My head flips back to Jada who looked at me with a huge smile gaping her face.

“You won! You actually won” She shouts, voice like a kid in a candy store would be.

Yeah, I won. Holy shit.

[sherrendipities]

some things i've learned abt myself since i gave Daddy control of my orgasms 💕

#1: the tiniest things make me feel subby n horny

when i started this, i definitely expected that my fantasies would get more raunchy and perverted the longer the denial went on. and while i have developed some new kinks (thanks to Daddy being so hot n perfect n addictive n sooo fun to please 🥺🥺🥺), the bigger surprise was how easily i get turned on. counterintuitively, some of my fantasies have gotten more innocent and yet they get me unfathomably horny lol. i genuinely could make a series about it. just small little things that make me melt and get me stupidly wet.

at its core, it's because denial makes me feel more submissive. trust me there's nothing i love more than the thought of submitting to him in bed and him fucking my brains out, lord knows i can neeever get enough of it 🥴 but that desire just bleeds into everything, all the time. when i don't get to cum, that feeling of needing to be beneath him never shuts off. it's not exactly that i feel horny 24/7, but i feel submissive 24/7. the desire to please him, to worship him, to be good for him, is so constant.

or maybe it's just that Daddy brings out my submissive side even more n submitting to him is just right and natural hehe 🩷 either way, it's so so so fun n addictive !! i want him to feel the power n control he has over me all the time.

#2: edging is always about pleasing him <3

edging is soooo addictive, it's a problem lol. it's definitely made touching myself infinitely more fun, bc i used to just have one or two orgasms and then settle down and that's it. but edging can go on and on and on and aaaaaa i never wanna stop!!!! usually i'm forced to when my vibrator dies on me lol. does it drive me insane n make me wanna cry every time i have to pull away to stop myself from going over the edge? yes but that's part of the fun 🤭

that said, no matter how much i love it, the most fun (and important!) thing is remembering that i'm doing it for Daddy's pleasure. and i've found that the best way of doing that, and the best way to make sure Daddy gets the most enjoyment out of my edging, is to make something for him while doing it! i adooore recording myself edging for him, or writing something smutty for him to read (yes, including this post~).

definitely nothing compares to sexting him while i edge, bc his words will always have a bigger effect on me than any porn or erotica in the world ever could because it's 💖 him 💖 hehe. but !! if ever we can't talk directly while i edge, making something for him to enjoy is such a lovely way to feel closer to him. it makes me feel like he's right there, stroking his cock to my words and my voice, and it just makes me louder and needier and closer.

there's just so much to enjoy about it! it makes the edging so much more effective at turning me into a needy, slutty mess for Daddy to play with whenever his heart desires. it reminds me that my body belongs to him, and that i'm being given permission to cum so he can enjoy it, so i better make sure he enjoys it.

#3: no touch is indescribably fun

there are days that are noticeably much more intense. like... beyond overwhelming, my whole body is tingling, horniness at a 12 out of 10. i don't really know why. maybe it's hormones. maybe it's just that some days i get to spend more time with Daddy and i feel closer to him and it drives me crazy. but what i do know is that i really love not touching myself on those days.

it's partly bc i would definitely lose my edge if i did lol. but for the most part, it's because it feels so good to just sit in that feeling. when my body craves him so badly that just the thought of him sends waves of pleasure throughout my body. even without touching myself at all, just reading his words makes me whine and moan and shake.

i've honestly never even asked to touch myself on days like that. they don't happen too often, and when they have, i was so overwhelmed by it that i just needed to process it. i didn't know i could feel that way from just talking to someone. over text, too!! it's mindblowing. and i've said as much to him, "how do you do this to me?"

on a slightly funny note, on days like that, i genuinely can't bring myself to do the whole ooo sexy dirty talk thing. i just feel so overwhelmed by it, both the emotional connection i feel to him as well as the physical sensations, that i immediately default to therapy-mode and start just... describing it. which i think he definitely enjoyed regardless. but i was doing a body scan mid sexting lol, no joke. it's kinda meditative, literally! just sitting there and feeling it, every bit of it. really letting his every word wash over me and noticing how it makes my heart feel so light, my head feel so wonderfully fuzzy, my cunt so so wet. those are some of the moments when i've felt closest to him and ugh, it's so wonderful <3

it's honestly a very big part of why i want to keep going with the denial. i genuinely didn't know it was possible to feel this way. it's all mental, and yet the physical effect it has on me is so real. i want to see how much further it can go, because i know it can go so much further. the closer Daddy and i get, the more i understand how my mind and body react to his dominance, the more intense it'll get.

i don't know what would be more fun... begging to touch myself on one these days and being told no? or explicitly being ordered to touch myself and record myself trying desperately not to go over the edge? either way, i can't wait for the many more wonderful experiences i'll have with Daddy 🩷

[soft-for-them]

Palm readings and tulips - Roman Godfrey x plus size reader

Summary: You and Roman are close, best friends even. You think he doesn't love you despite everything pointing to him loving you.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Before writing this I hadn't watched Hemlock Grove since I was like fourteen so at this point in time I've only re-watched the first few episodes so the characters are probably way ooc. Not proof read.

-

Since turning eighteen, aka a legal adult, you’ve realised that you still don’t have the power to do much at all. You’re still learning to drive despite knowing that you won’t be able to afford the cost of a car on your own. You’re working part time and you’re still somehow waking up every morning to go to school which seems to never end.

Then there’s Roman.

Best friends since your family moved to Hemlock Grove when you were twelve, the promise of a job at the steel mill shattered as soon as you arrived leaving you to play outside alone whilst your parent(s) worked over jobs. Roman's always been generous with his disposable wealth when it comes to you because of your family situation.

Roman Godfrey with his fancy little red car always filled with fuel, his house always open to you when you don’t feel safe at home, his disregard for the price of anything, him choosing to always pay for your shopping the rare time he stalks around a shop with you when he’s not busy bedding other people. With a flick of a wrist he can get anything he wants no fake ID or drop of his prestigious name needed, though he does the latter one regardless, Roman Godfrey has the world at his feet.

Maybe that’s why you’re forever thinking up reasons why he’s still friends with you.

As you bang you head on your dull green locker, no one around the hallways to stop you doing so for most if not all the students have been killed in gruesome bloody ways only leaving the younger students and the less than savoury upper-classmen left. To think, if you didn’t have someone like Roman following you around like a shadow then you’d probably be mauled to death and left in a ditch somewhere.

What a lovely thought indeed.

Raising your head you look down the hall, only small clumps of people mulling around, a larger group of tall teens clad in baggy clothes huddled around some lockers probably looking at something indecent catching you attention.

“I am an adult for crying out loud.” you mutter to yourself as you check you book bag filled with heavy textbooks and your large novelty pencil case, “I should be out of this fucking town.”

Then a loud obnoxious laugh, one that sounds more like some exclaiming ‘HA!’ rather than a proper laugh echoes down the hallway reminding you that nothing good ever comes from such fake sound.

So with a reluctant sigh you mosey over to the group of boys, not caring that you look half dead in your oversized baseball jersey and baggy mom jeans, your bag clutched in your hands ready to use it as a weapon if need be.

“Alright fuckers what you looking at now?” you holler as you squish in between two towering boys who smell like B.O and dress like nul metal band rejects.

The best outcome is that they’re all ogling at a magazine of scantily clad women or huddled around a small screen of a phone looking at social media but no, sitting against a locker looking horrified is none other than Shelley Godfrey.

Her long faux hair droops over her entire face as she tries to look as small as possible, her long grey cardigan pooling on the dirtied checked floor of the hallway, her arms holding onto her speaking tablet with an inhuman clutch.

Your face turns stern, tired eyes showing how pissed off you are, the very small amount of power you have in this supernatural town bubbling up.

Most all the boys huddled around you both are way taller, a couple of the shorter ones plus size like you, so really you are outnumbered in every way including size. However, somehow the remaining gaggle of teenage boys who roam the school have an odd resect for you. Much like how Roman, when he’s not fucking someone or completely gone like he was never alive, they follow you around school like lost puppies finding you entertaining, your straightforward and sarcastic wit making you ‘one of the boys’.

That and you’re one of the very few teens who Roman hasn’t bedded, some of your classmates almost seeing you like a challenge for surely soon enough Roman will fuck you too. You’ve overheard them talk about you like this many times, too many for your liking and you have mixed feeling about how they see you. On one hand some people see this pretty young woman who must be next on Roman’s conquest whilst others see you as just ‘the fat girl’ and nothing else.

For once in your life you’d like to be seen as more than a piece of meat but you digress, you’d much rather have the respect of these teenagers than have their ogling eyes look you up and down like your either their next fuck or next bullying target.

 “What? Her wig was falling off, it’s funny (y/n).” one smiles thinking that you’re going to happily chuckle alone with them.

Honestly you feel too much like a mother goose sometimes, these greasy teenagers your rebellious goslings who think you’d laugh along with them at such cruelty.

“Oh! FUNNY LIKE BREAKING YOUR DICK!” you shout at the top of your lungs, everyone is a five mile radius knowing it’s you shouting out your secret knowledge.

No one other than you and the gaggle of lanky teens surrounding you know who you’re exactly talking about however everyone else will have a fun time trying to guess who ‘broke’ their dick and hopefully the humiliation will hammer it into their head not to mess with Shelley Godfrey again.

“Come on (y/n)!” one scoffs whilst another gives you a “not cool bro.” to no avail.

“Where’s your brother?” you ask in you softest voice as you crouch down to Shelley’s height ignoring the scattering boys who try to do damage control now that everyone, which isn’t a lot compared to the beginning of the year, has heard what you shouted.

Speak of the devil Roman appears out of nowhere crouching down beside you as you talk softly to Shelley.

“Where the fuck have you been rich boy?” you scoff as you turn your head to look at your childhood befriend.

“How did you know Tyler broke his dick?” Roman retorts back with a handsome smile.

You ignore him, instead you help Shelley up.

“I’m not a blushing virgin Rom-“ you smile up to Shelley silently nodding asking is she’s ok which gets you a smile back before looking back to Roman, “- me and his brother was in the middle of some things when that idiot fell in the shower screaming bloody murder ‘My dick’s broken, my dick’s broken!’.”

You were having fun too, it’s not that often that a hot guy genuinely takes an interest in you let alone a hot college type who can take your wondering mind off Roman Godfrey, but then his idiot younger brother had slipped whilst belting out pop tunes in the shower making everyone in the house hold privy to the fact he hurt his member.

It was quite easy sneaking out whilst his family crowded around the bathroom, though your thoughts where quickly back of Roman.

As of late all you’ve been thinking about is Roman, that and escaping Pennsylvania but mostly of Roman’s stupidly handsome face.

Him looking at you now with eyes so filled with emotion, most of which you can’t decipher makes you almost blush and fumble. However before you can blurt out your feelings for the guy who used to follow you around town whilst you caught bugs or explored the library instead of going home you offer your arm to Shelley stating you’re going to take her to her class.

Shelley takes your arm with a small smile, a faint glow of blue like a firefly radiating from under her fringe. Roman follows closely behind you protectively, his heart filling up with an emotion he hasn’t properly felt in his life.

Love.

Roman Godfrey, the most powerful person in school, the man who is your shadow, in love with you.

“He’s not happy with you (y/n).” Peter says between puffs of his cigarette the two of you sat at the front of his static home.

He offers the cigarette to you but you refuse it.

“He’s never happy with me lately.” you say not believing a word that comes from your lips, you don’t think Roman has ever be properly angry or disappointed in you, not really.

“You know that’s a lie.” Peter says nudging your arm as you stare off into the distance to the house upon the hill.

“Peter, don’t contradict yourself.” you hit his arm back.

Ever since Peter Rumancek moved here you’ve been spending more and more time with him, well not as much as Roman has but you’ve been spending more time with the shaggy haired man then at home.

“What I mean is that he's annoyed at you.” as Peter talks you lean you head down on his shoulder, the late afternoon slowly fading into sunset, the air around going cold.

“How so?” you ask looking up at him.

“Something about a brother and you helping his sister.”

“Ah, that.”

Sighing, nuzzling your face into Peter’s bicep you try to figure out how to explain to him the situation that you hadn’t even realised was a situation until now.

So you explain it to him. In as little words as possible you recount the story of having a one night stand with a classmate’s older brother and the ensuing hilarity that you used as leverage to help Shelley.

“He really likes you.” Peter says bringing his hand up to pat your head as you slump down more into his arm like it was a pillow on your bed.

“Of course he does Peter, we’ve been friends since we were twelve.”

You don’t want to really explain anything more to Peter because you know exactly what he’s trying to get out of you.

Surely someone like Roman can’t like you back, right?

And from that conversation sometime later the next week you find yourself sat awkwardly on a throw covered blue sofa, a decorative pillow on your lap and Peter by your side fully relaxed.

Destiny has been kind to you the half an hour you’ve been here, she’s offered you tea, told you embarrassing stories about Peter and genuinely been hospitable and nice however as she breaches the subject of why you’re here you start to feel nervous.

It was Peter’s idea, he had been the one to bring up Destiny’s palm readings and curtsey of Peter you’re getting the palm reading for free. You’re not some naive little girl any more so you can take whatever Destiny gives you. Unlike the bigots of the town who think Destiny is scamming people out of their money because she is Romani you’re hopeful that she can give you a good reading and get Peter off you back to boot for he has been trying to tell you that Roman like likes you all week.

But still you’re nervous and jittery.

Destiny asks for your hands which you reluctantly hold out.

“I know you’re probably really good at this-“ you begin as she cradles your hands, your palm upward facing, Destiny leaning over to look at them, “-but I don’t need you tell me if I’m going to have kids or if I’m going to rich.”

Your eyes flicker between her and Peter.

“That’s no entirely how this works.” Destiny grins as Peter touches your arms to try to calm you down, “Anyway from what Peter has told me we may only need to look at your heart line.”

“Heart line?”

“Love.”

“Oh! Yeah, love…” your face scrunches up in worry, “Sorry, I’m not saying you’re a fake or anything but I, well, I already know who I love already, I just haven’t done anything about it so I don’t need a reading for that.”

She smiles, the dimpled lines either side of her mouth appearing as she does, her eye sparkling with curiosity.

“Peter you should have brought her over sooner.” she says eyes trained on you, “Shall we begin then?”

You nod a quick yes.

She begins tracing your palms, her fingers light but slow as she figures out both your past and your future form just the curved line of your hands.

“This hand-” Destiny begins cradling your non dominant hand, “- this one show your past.”

Her manicured finger traces a long line slightly jagged and curved.

“You’ve been through a lot.” she states, not trying to get anything out of you but allowing you to speak if you want to, “I assume it’s to do with your family.”

Two hours later Peter's leading you out of Destiny’s flat, a promise to visit again as a friend promised to her, tear soaked tissues stuffed up your sleeves and Peter holding your hand as he leads you onto the street now bathed in yellowing streetlamp light.

“That was a lot.” you try to upbeat but all that comes from you lips is a solemn exhale, “Promise you won’t tell anyone about all that?”

He bumps his shoulder into yours, his hand squeezing yours in a silent ‘yes’.

“Not even the bit about twelve year old you falling in love with Roman?”

“Shut up.” you laugh as you knock your shoulder into his back playfully, “Now walk me home.”

The next day after Destiny’s palm reading you’re overthinking too much so much so you get a headache that can only be cured by taking a long mid-morning nap.

Thankfully it’s the weekend and you don’t have work but unthankfully as you groggily wake up from your impromptu nap you hear the tell tell signs of one Roman Godfrey lowering himself down on top of your crowded double bed, his nicely dressed frame clashing with the teddy bears and old granny floral sheets of the bed.

“You climb through my window or something?” you ask as you drag yourself up into a sitting position, ignoring the fact your face comes dangerously close to Roman’s.

“No one’s here (y/n) so I used the key underneath the front door mat.”

“Liar-” you joke as your rearrange your twisted t-shirt on your plush body, “-the key is under the pot Rom, you know, the one with the dead tulips.”

You both maybe siting side by side, you under the covers and him fully clothed, but you can see his growing smile on his smug face from the side of his face, mischief soon to come.

“What, stop smiling like that and spit it out.”

His smile grows into a clown like grin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He bends down to the side to pick something off the floor. On hand latches onto your leg anchoring him down as he bends down hanging his other arm off the bed, warmth rising in your face at the rather forward action.

He rises bringing, what at first you think is a wad of paper, up but as you look closer you see the paper is combined with translucent pink plastic in a cone shape holding flowers in place.

Flowers.

Not just any flowers but blood red tulips, much more vivid and alive than the ones that used to live by your front door. And they’re not some supermarket type flowers either, there’s no barcode stuck to the plastic or creasing on the paper from where they’ve been sitting in a pot with other bouquets of flowers. No, they’re big, new and most certainly handmade, so perfectly arranged that they must have cost too much, well too much for you anyway.

For Roman it probably was nothing at all, his wallet still filled with too much money.

You must be frozen in place for Roman, one hand still on your leg, passes over the bouquet of tulips.

“Who you got these for?” you ask.

“I don’t like seeing you sad.” he says leaning closer so your noses almost touch.

“I’m not sad.” you try to smile, your eyes flickering between the blood petals and his sharp mesmerising eyes.

“I saw you yesterday with Peter, you were crying.”

Despite there being a thin blanket separating your bare legs from his hands you can feel him stroke patterns near your knee.

“Then why didn’t you come over then? You know I’ll always have you.”

Your words come out wrong for you were trying to say that he’s always welcome in your home though you guess the growing bubbling feeling of love has impaired your mind just a bit.

As your eyes look at the flowers you miss the hungry, almost monstrous look flash in Roman’s eyes, his pupils going large. It takes all his strength not to grab you and kiss you all over making you his.

He won’t even tell you either that last night another classmate died, that he was trying to investigate it.

“I’m taking you out.” he demands.

“Ok.” you say feeling that you can't decline, the thought of it being a date pushed out your mind for Roman always seems to be spending money on you, “Let me get dressed first Rom.”

[metal-mouse]

Dad!Ominis is the best fucking thing ever.

Crying, screaming rolling on the floor

What about Seb?

You know what, I have a lot of opinions about this one.

Under the cut because mentions of pregnancy and childbirth <3

I want to start this off by saying that Sebastian Sallow would be an amazing father.

When MC reveals they are pregnant, he goes on a roller coaster of emotions.

At first Sebastian would be over the damn moon that he's going to be a father. Like, MC has never seen him this happy in the entire time knowing him. He's excited, he gets started on a nursery right away, he tells the neighbours before you even have a chance to tell any family.

However, as the weeks go by the doubt starts to settle in.

Perhaps Sebastian doesn't deserve to be a father. Not with his past. Not with the things he has learned and the things he has done.

How could hands that have taken life hold new life? It seemed wrong. Sebastian was certain his touch would taint someone so new, innocent, and pure.

MC notices that Sebastian withdraws a little bit. He goes from constantly touching her belly and talking to his child, to just straight up avoiding her and avoiding talking about the baby.

Sebastian starts working more, taking on more cases and staying longer at the office in some attempt to buy his redemption. He had become an Auror to try and make up for what he'd done, and to try and prevent others from doing the same thing he did - why not try a little harder.

MC sits him down one night when he gets back from work very late and finally coaxes him into confessing his fears. MC reminds him that she too has killed, and she asks him if that would make her a bad mother. Sebastian is appalled at the notion, insistent that MC will be an amazing mother.

MC reminds him that the past is the past - it's not possible to undo what had been done - all she and Sebastian can do is learn from their mistakes and become the best people they possibly can. Sebastian is crying. He loves MC so freaking much.

Anne is happy for Sebastian. Five years after Solomon's death, the twins had spent a long time talking and had formed a tentative relationship again. Despite a lingering rift, the two were quite close again.

Or, if Anne has passed away, Sebastian visits her grave and lets her know she's going to be an Aunt.

He visits Solomon's grave as well.

Sebastian is convinced it's a girl. MC thinks it's a boy. They're both right. It's twins.

He reads to MC's belly, and MC is amazed that the baby always seems more active whenever Sebastian does so.

Cries the first time he feels the baby kick. It embarrasses him so much, but he's just so so so happy.

He'd be so obnoxious during the pregnancy, insistent that he'll do everything and MC should just sit there and look pretty and make their child. It drives MC insane, and it takes some sharp hexes to get him to relax a little bit.

Pre-parental panics like he's a sim in the Sims 4 when MC goes into labour.

Obviously they have twins. I'll play into that cliche so hard. A boy and a girl. Sebastian has a mini crisis over this. They name the twins after Sebastian's parents and Eleazar and Miriam Fig.

As they grow, the girl looks exactly like MC just with Sebastian's eyes and freckles. The boy is literally just Sebastian. MC wants to know where the hell her genetics went - until he gets an attitude and she understands that the poor boy has her temperament.

Sebastian is literally the most fun dad. He helps the twins play pranks on their unsuspecting mother. He takes them to Quidditch games all the time. He teaches them to fly on those mini-brooms.

He continues reading to them, this is something he does well into their early adulthood. The twins find it very relaxing.

Still has his doubts. Still has his bad days. Still is uncertain every step of the way, but he tries as best as he can - and to be honest, he's a wonderfully supportive and patient father.

I'm sorry but he's the stereotypical introduces himself to any of his daughter's male friends with a threat and always asks their intentions with his daughter.

Splits discipline with MC evenly, neither of them are the good parent/bad parent. Also helps with EVERYTHING. Often takes over and tells MC to go sleep because raising twins is a lot of work.

They're such a happy little family.

[questionableratatouille00]

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ ᴄʜ. 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The problem? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, talks of nightmares, eating and food, mentions of Bucky not doing so well, mentions of Bucky's trauma in general, and Bucky is probably written wrong. (Trying my best lmao)

A/n: Hi! So sorry that this came out later than expected, life is kinda kicking my ass right now. This chapter’s shorter than usual, but I wanted to at least put something out. I hope you enjoy!

||Part 4|| Part 5 || Part 6 (Coming soon!)

[Series Masterlist]

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

𝑴𝒆𝒎��𝒓𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒆

🄳🄰🅈 3

You slept in the next morning, and Bucky didn't have the heart to wake you. Well, he did, but he felt bad for last night. He knew you were right. God, he knew. He regretted it. It was a stupid argument to even get into in the first place.

The two of you had a habit of getting into stupid arguments. Over little things, like you sitting in the chair he always sat in at the dinner table, or him eating the snack you were waiting to eat. Sometimes it was over bigger things, like who fucked up the mission, or who's fault something was.

He couldn't even remember half of them. He just remembered that he'd had them with you, and that you pissed him off. A lot. But even just for three short minutes last night, he thought otherwise.

"Who gives a shit?" Your voice echoed through his brain, and it felt like every other thought he could hear you again. As he got ready for the day, he heard it over and over again.

When you woke up, he waited patiently for you to pack up your things and get ready. Once you did, he took down both of the room keys as you loaded the truck. He let you drive this time, thinking that it was only fair.

“Remember when you first came to the tower?" You asked, eyes never leaving the road.

Bucky did remember. He remembered it clearly. He remembered Steve's reassurance every five seconds, he remembered the fear. He remembered staying holed up in his standard Compound bedroom. Nothing unique or special, no extra decorations. Cold and unwelcoming. He'd slept on the floor. He deserved it, he knew. The bed made him feel like he was sinking, anyway. Beds always made him feel like that. Even now.

He gave a simple nod as you continued.

"How long had it been? Since..HYDRA?"

"Two years." He'd been getting better, during those years. Kind of. He learned to make decisions again. He figured out an easy way to live. He didn't have very many memories back then. Newer, more recent HYDRA stuff. But then the whole Zemo thing happened, and it had basically reset the entire process. And then the memories hit. He knew for a fact that he didn't have them all, and he wasn't exactly sure if he wanted them.

You nodded in the driver's seat.

The car drive felt long. There wasn't much talking, which meant Bucky was left alone with his thoughts.

He remembered what it felt like, after Zemo had triggered the Winter Soldier. His mind was so used to operating knowing that those times had passed that once he was back, when he was Bucky again, his brain seemed stuck in that mindset.

Steve hated it when he said it that way. "You were always Bucky. You've always been Bucky. You're not a machine, Buck," he'd say.

He'd isolated himself from the team, terrified both of them and for them. He couldn't prove to himself that he wasn't some kind of monster, he couldn't prove that he wasn't a danger to the team.

Steve had treated him like he was made of glass, always being cautious and quiet and polite. Steve had introduced him to the others, who either quietly avoided him or pretended like he didn't exist past a simple 'hello'. Bucky didn't mind.

But you weren't like that. You treated him like he was just another guy, arguing and bickering with him. Sometimes he'd leave annoyed, other times he was glad that you didn't treat him like a glass vase.

Bucky didn’t mind that either.

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

You said nothing as you checked into two motel rooms. You couldn't get conjoined ones, so Bucky was just across the hall. The drive had been quiet. It was different, but a somewhat good kind of different. You hadn't argued, or bickered. You listened to your favorite playlist, and Bucky sat quietly.

Sleep came easily that night. You wondered if it was the same for Bucky.

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

🄳🄰🅈 4

It was not the same for Bucky. He'd been up half of the night trying to fall asleep. He hated nights like these. He had them quite often. Sure, they were annoying as hell, but he'd take them over a nightmare any day.

It was day four of the trip. That meant thirteen days left, and then the two of you didn't have to share a truck ever again.

“Let’s play a game. Or something.” You suggested. You were driving again, because you’d made it to the left side of the truck first.

“Like what?” Bucky questioned.

“Ever played twenty questions?”

Bucky shook his head. He hadn’t.

“The way Kate and I play it is that you just take turns asking questions until twenty questions have been asked. You can’t lie and you have to answer it no matter what.” You explained. Bucky nodded. It seemed simple enough.

“Okay. I’ll go first.” You decided. “Hm..are you left handed or right handed?”

This was an easy question. “I’m right-handed.” Bucky answered.

“That’s one question. Now it’s your turn.”

Bucky couldn’t think of a question. There were so many things he could ask, but he wasn’t sure what qualified as a good question. He could ask your favorite color, but would that be too basic? He could ask where you would want to live if you weren’t an Avenger, but would that be too personal?

“C’mon, it’s easy. First thing off the top of your head.” You encouraged.

“How did you meet Kate?” He decided on an easier question, at least to start the game.

“When Clint brought her to the Compound. She made a Shrek joke, and then it just kinda happened.” You explained. Bucky had no idea what a ‘Shrek’ was, but he just went along with it.

“What’s your favorite color?”

Before the war, before HYDRA, Bucky would’ve said blue. Sergeant James B. Barnes would’ve said blue. Blue like the sky on a sunny day, blue like the ocean on a tropical island far away. Blue like Steve’s eyes, blue like his sister’s favorite and nicest dress.

He still is that Bucky. Just..different, now.

“Pink.” He answered simply.

“Pink?” The way you echoed it wasn’t mocking, nor disbelieving. Bucky didn’t really know what it meant.

“Pink.” He nodded. Pink like the sweatshirts in the men’s section in stores, pink like the sky when the sun’s setting. Pink like Natasha’s old ballet outfit from the time where he trained Widows in the Red Room. There was no pink in HYDRA. He was sure of that.

The game continued, but parts of Bucky’s mind lingered on the subject. He had a favorite color. He was free enough and in control to have a favorite of something. And his favorite color was pink.

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

(My apologies if your blog couldn't be tagged- I have no idea why it won't work.)

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @laughterafter @cjand10 @kandis-mom @emmsybucky @mrsnotfeelingsogood @matchat3a @identity2212

[just-rogi]

“I DO NOT DREAM OF LABOR” this “LATE STAGE CAPITALIST BRAINROT” that- well I do. I do dream of labor. Idleness makes my hands buzz and my eyes glaze over. Of course I enjoy rest (what little of it I get with my job) but ultimately, yes, I do dream of labor. Labor is what I dream of most in fact-

I dream of creating : of having time to knit and sew and embroider my own garments, rather than let my yarn collect dust in my closet. I dream of creating poetry and art and spending hours illustrating something beautiful and having the time and energy to focus only on that.

I dream of biking the back roads of my town with my brother again collecting litter that we see and filling up plastic bags to sort into recycling and trash (two summers ago was the last time we biked together- the litter is building up now in the ditches).

I dream of tilling the soil in my mothers garden and watering the tomatoes and peppers and zucchini and Persian squash in the garden until I can harvest it. I dream of watering my neighbors garden and feeding her chickens every morning and every evening while they are away on vacation for a week. I dream of driving to my grandmothers house twice a week and bringing her fresh fruit bread and vegetables and cooking for her while she sits in the sun eating tomato salad I made.

I dream of mowing my mothers lawn and making my brother lunch and baking treats for the teachers room at work.

I dream of academia and dedicating hours to research to archaeology and anthropology and spending long hours on dig sites and in the lab as that was when I was the happiest in college.

I am one of the few people who can say that I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart, love my job and come home from work feeling a sense of fulfillment and pride in my work. I am a teacher and I dream of spending hours teaching children to read, teaching ancient civ and history, of reading texts on effecting teaching methods and finding interesting assignments for them. I dream of teaching them to draw during their free periods. I dream of taking them to the library to practice reading and language comprehension skills- of taking the time to sit with middle schoolers with learning disabilities and dedicate my time and energy to teaching them how to be functional adults and making their lives better. I dream of labor, yes, and I would bet that most of the tiktok communists who say “I do not dream of labor” fucking do to.

Labor is fulfilling. Humans dream to create and do something worthwhile- otherwise we lose our minds! But we are at such a late stage capitalism here in the west (specifically America) that we associate labor with exploitative labor.

I love my job- but I do not dream of skipping my lunch break. I do not dream of working 8:45-4:00. I do not dream of staying after work until 4:35 unpaid. I do not dream of small classrooms with little supplies. I do not dream of understaffed schools and overstuffed classrooms forcing teachers to stretch themselves too to pick up the slack. I do not dream of sending emails after working hours. I do not dream of forty minute unpaid commute due to dysfunctional public transport. I do not dream of coming home and crying from stress every night. I do not dream of my feet and ankles swelling and hurting so badly after a full day of work that all I can do when I get home is shower and sleep with my feet elevated to lessen the pain enough to slip my shoes on the next day. I do not dream of the pay being such that I have to live with four roomates in the city I live in, AS A CITY EMPLOYEE!!! IM A FUCKING PUBLIC SERVANT!! I WORK FOR THE CITY BUT DONT GET PAID ENOUGH TO LIVE IN THE CITY!!

I do dream of labor fuck I love labor but exploitation has made me resent work which I should love, and has taken up so much of my time that I have no energy to garden or to clean the roads or to knit gifts for friends and family anymore. I know that there are people who dream of being truck drivers and baristas and grocery store employees. I know that there are people who would feel fulfilled by being garbage men and construction workers and dishwashers, but who can’t because the abuse would kill them and the hours are too long.

I dream of labor I’m a world where I am not abused and where all my basic needs are met - I dream of labor in a world where labor isn’t the price of being alive, but rather one of the many joys of it.

[welldonebeca]

it's a Bad Idea, right? (27)

WC: 1.4k words Warnings: Mafia AU. Tension. Angst. Police..  Light violence. Special appearence: Jennifer Walters, Attourney of Law.

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If any of the waitresses had heard and understood Betty and Pietro’s prayers, then they didn’t show it. Maybe they were too busy being shoved into the big police van with their hands cuffed.

ICE had come for everyone the FBI hadn’t arrested, and Betty was too scared and in a mental blur to tell them she was a legal immigrant and they were wasting their time arresting her and getting her stuff when they tore her from Pietro. So all she could do was comply.

She was still shaking when they pushed her into the van, but she wasn’t the worst one in the stupidly tiny and suffocating metal box.

Martina had been caught in her escape and had a big cut on her forehead that seemed to be actively bleeding while she sobbed desperately, and Anna looked so terrified she was frozen.

Their car only had the women women, and Betty thought Natalia was being dragged inside it when she saw her being taken from inside, but no. The waitresses were going with ICE, but Nat was going with the FBI.

When they took Pietro, he outrightly fought the policeman holding him to come after her, but he was stopped and kicked, and then dragged away right before the doors were closed.

The girls started all crying and Betty’s mind came back to place.

She was fine. She was safe, at least now. Betty, Pietro and Wanda were all legally permitted to work and live in America - and Flip was an American.

When working in Mama Stefka the first thing one learns is to  mind their own business. She didn’t know how many of the girls were legal, she only knew about herself and her roommates. Ruby was born in America, so that was probably why she wasn’t in the van.

Or maybe she had run off.

Hydra had eyes in the restaurant, and she was German. Who could guarantee she wasn’t it?

And then the weight of it fell on her.

What if they had caught Steffan?

Shit.

Betty was safe, but he was deeply involved with them, it was not even possible for him to not be found guilty if he was arrested!

There were no windows near her, the car was too secure, and all she could do was wait for the drive to be over.

Betty could hear people and gates when they arrived, and she was the last to leave the back of the van. Pietro was nowhere in sight, nor any man – or masculine presenting people. There were just women around.

They shoved her into a room and took her cuffs off, and Elena ran to the door to knock and slap on it, but Betty just tuned out her voice, covering her face with her hands.

Fuck.

Fuck, shit, dammit.

And then the other girls started screaming too, and she just wanted to shut them up.

But they left them there for a whole hour, with no right to call anyone or do anything else. And they started taking them one by one, until the room was empty and Betty was the last one inside.

A tall woman came in, and she stood up like she had done every other time.

“Last one, come on,” she called. “I’m Officer Borges, we have a few questions to ask you, and some information to verify.”

Betty followed after her, and Officer Borges took her to a room that looked like an interrogation room.

“Your name?” she asked, sitting down.

“Elżbieta Marie Dąbrowska,” she answered back.

The officer raised her eyes to her, as if she was waiting for her name to be said, and touched the radio attached to her shirt.

“Officer Williams, we got Dąbrowska with us,” she announced. “Elżbieta Dąbrowska.”

Betty frowned. What was going on?

“My partner will be here with your belongings soon, and we can go through them together,” Officer Borges told her. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions,” she listed monotonically, as if reciting something she was reading on a paper. “You have the right to have a lawyer with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. If you decide to answer questions now without a lawyer present, you have the right to stop answering at any time.”

She swallowed down.

A lawyer.

Did she need one? But why would she need a lawyer?

“Knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”

Betty swallowed down.

The TV shows always acted as if calling a lawyer for yourself is a thing only bad guys do.

And she was innocent! She hadn’t done anything wrong, she was a legal worker.

“Yes,” she spoke out.

The door opened before Officer Borges could ask anything else of her, and another woman – shorter, with fading dyed red hair – walked in with her backpack.

“This was labelled Elżbieta Dąbrowska when we collected it from the employee’s locker, is it yours?” she asked.

Betty looked down at the bag, feeling her heart

“Yes, I put it in the waitress’s locker when I arrived at work.”

The short woman -  Officer Williams, she presumed – pushed it in her direction.

“Open it, please,” she requested. “Contents on the table.”

Betty exhaled, but complied.

She didn’t have a lot of things inside – a change of shirt, an extra pair of shoes, keys, deodorant, wet wipes and her wallet – and they barely occupied much space on the table.

And, of course, the fucking papers she took nearly everywhere – her permit, passport, visa card...

“I’m a legal immigrant,” she told them. “I have the permission to live and work in the US.”

The women looked over it, and Officer Williams took it aside and out the door.

They waited quietly for her to come back.

“She checks out,” Williams affirmed.

Betty relaxed.

“Can I go now?” she asked.

That was what they wanted, right?

“Actually,” Office Borges corrected her. “We have a few questions to ask you. We plan to be quick.”

She rubbed her hands together, nervous.

“You’re from Poland?”

Betty shifted a little on her seat.

“French and Polish, ma’am,” she told her. “I was born and raised in France to Polish parents, so I have two nationalities.”

The woman squinted.

“But you use your Polish passport?” she asked. “Why?”

Betty breathed in deep.

“Convenience?” she shrugged, not wanting to explain a whole lot of shit that didn’t matter anymore. “Does it matter?”

Officer Borges shook her head.

“No, not really,” she decided. “And how did you end up so far from home?”

“College,” she told her. “I wanted to study in the FIT, and I got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees there. It was just natural to try and stay here.”

“Instead of France?” she asked, sounding very surprised.

Betty chuckled sadly.

“Yeah, I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately,” she agreed.

Officer Borges didn’t react, she just leaned a little bit in her direction.

“Do you have many friends in the restaurant?” she asked. “Anyone you’re close with?”

Betty nodded slowly.

“One,” she told her. “The dishwasher. We share a place.”

The woman hummed slowly, and Officer Williams finally spoke.

“Are you seeing someone?” she asked. “A boyfriend, a girlfriend? A romantic relationship in general.”

Oh.

Betty swallowed down, not knowing what to say.

Why did they want to know about Steffan? Were they the FBI?

“I don’t know why that would be relevant,” she decided.

The women exchanged looks, and she could see the flash of something crossing their faces before they hid it.

“Amuse us,” Officer Borges requested. “Some of the girls spoke of you having a relationship with someone important?”

That made her freeze, and her heart thundered in her ears. She didn’t answer, though. It was part of her rights, right? To stop talking whenever she wanted?

The door of the interrogation room opened, and a woman stepped inside.

“Miss Dąbrowska’s lawyer is here,” she informed them.

Betty turned to the door, confused.

Her lawyer?

She hadn’t called for a lawyer. She hadn’t called anyone.

But still, a tall woman walked inside, with a brief case and a serious look on her face.

“Miss Dąbrowska, if you would allow me, I’d like to take over this, please?” she requested, taking a seat next to her.

Betty watched her with wide eyes.

Oh.

“Of course,” she mumbled.

Well, whoever this was she had to know what she was doing, right?

“I’m Jennifer Walters, I’m your lawyer,” she introduced herself very politely. “Officer Borges and Officer Williams.”

The two policewomen nodded back to her.

“We are just asking a few questions,” Office Borges told her. “And your client agreed to answer to them.”

“Respectfully, any questions unrelated to Miss Dąbrowska’s immigration status are beyond the scope of this interrogation,” she reminded them. “And I see you are past that.”

The officers didn’t seem to like that.

“We believe your client has information that might pertinent to our investigation,” Officer Williams added.

“Is there any evidence linking my client to any criminal activity?” she questioned.

“No,” Officer Borges exhaled.

“Then there are no questions to entertain here,” Jennifer said simply. “Now, if there are no further immigration-related matters to discuss, I request her immediate release.”

The officers exhaled, and Williams stood up.

“You’re free to go now, Elżbieta,” she told them. “Thank you for your collaboration. We’ll keep in contact.”

“No, you won’t,” Jennifer stood up. “My client has no legal obligation to answer any questions about anything she isn’t associated with.”

Betty followed her out quietly until she caught sight of Pietro in the car park, and he rushed to her quickly, and she wrapped her arms around him quickly, feeling relief washing over her body.

He was alright!

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at her, worried. “Did they do anything?”

She shook her head.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I really wanna go home now.”

He nodded, kissing her forehead.

“Yeah,” he told her. “Let’s go home.”

He rubbed her back, and she looked back at the lawyer.

“I’ll drive you two,” she offered. “Come on.”

…

“it’s a Bad Idea, right?” was posted on my Patreon in September 2023. To have early access to it (and lots of other stories), consider subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month, and I know you won’t regret it!

…

Bad Idea: @peaceloveancolor

[unseasonedrat]

12h mars

observations (i have this placement)

disclaimer: these are just observations, every placement manifests differently based on one’s chart.

this gif ^ is ironic because this placement really tries it best to bury its demons

the 12h deals with the unknown, when a personal placement such as mars is placed here it may make it difficult to feel your emotions, especially anger.

you may crave this need for a drive. sometimes it’s hard to understand how some people are so motivated to reach their goals because we don’t feel that. #timetojournal

may deal with hidden enemies or jealousy

you may have a tendency to repress your emotions

you may not know how to display your anger

it may take a lot to rile you up, you’re a very calm person until you aren’t

anger may come in bursts

you can remember things that angered you years ago (maybe because we didn’t truly process it)

it’s okay to feel anger

it’s utmost important to understand that anger on a deeper level is just masked pain

RAGE

workout, do something physical as a way to process emotions. you can even do yoga. remember trauma is stored in the body. working with your physical body can help you spiritually. everything is connected.

envision yourself screaming in a vast field or just scream because i feel you.

now honestly what the fuck [you may feel like this at times ;)]

allow yourself to feel your emotions, sit with it, meditate. just feel. otherwise you repress & it riles you up. write it down. go to a rage room. just feel.

it’s okay to want things in life. let yourself dream.

cry, you know it makes you feel better

it’s also okay to not know what you want in life, to not know what you truly desire. to be a wanderer. you’ll find your way.

your motivation may come in bursts.

mars in the 12th house brings forth hidden pleasures, #scenarios

you may channel other’s energy easily, i’ve noticed that i get angry for others? it’s easy to feel for others than yourself.

spiritually inclined, once you learn how to deal with your emotions, the manifestations keep coming. especially as a 12th houser.

with this placement, i believe it is essential to understand where your emotions come from, that way you can find a way to work through/with them.

*these are just my personal observations*

© unseasonedrat 2023-2024