#i’ve tried so hard to be better like so hard

[cherrygirlfriend]

pairing: frat!rafe x tutor!reader synopsis: reader attends a frat party where the theme is to dress up as your type warnings: fluff! wc: 1.3k i got this idea from the wonderful @rafeyscurtainbangs and it had me dead because it's so funny and i can picture him wearing that… i also tried out a new kinda formatting for funsies ^_^ also i'm surprised i’ve never posted for frat!rafe? anyway first fic for 2025!

you'd never really been much into parties, your best friend constantly trying to get you to go to some of the various parties the social butterfly had gotten invited to, but you simply held up the book you were in the middle of and let out a soft hum as a way to say that you had your own plans. after some more pleading, lexi always gave up trying to convince you to come and left you in your own devices, returning in the early hours of the morning, trying to be as quiet as possible yet waking you up every time.

but this time, all the girl had to do was mention the frat party she was going to that night when you let out a sigh and told her you'd come with her. maybe there was a second reason you wanted to go, other than to just please your friend.

"we're having a party this friday."

you chuckled, turning your gaze from the book in front of you to the boy next to you, "you're in a fraternity, rafe. i'm pretty sure that happens every friday without exception."

your words caused the boy to roll his eyes, yet the small grin you'd grown to like still remained on his lips as he repositioned his backwards cap, "yeah, but it's a themed party. you should come."

"why?" you furrowed your brows in suspicion and confusion as to why he'd want you to attend, "what's the theme?"

"you're supposed to dress up as your type."

"and what are you going as? some kind of variation of jennifer from jennifer's body? or regina from mean girls?" you let out a small snort.

"guess you'll have to come if you wanna find out." the boy poked your forearm with the rubber end of his pencil, licking his lips, "i wanna see what kind of guys you are into. i bet it's some thrifty hipster dudes or some broody bad boys that secretly get hard for poetry and emily dickinson and shit."

you felt your cheeks warm from the memory as you placed the backwards cap on your head. you looked in the mirror, clad in loose jeans that hung low on your hips so it'd show off the calvin klein logo on your underwear, and a sweatshirt adorning the logo of your university. the outfit you wore looked just like something rafe would wear during one of your tutoring sessions. hell, he probably had.

lexi looked at you with raised brows, the muscular girl who usually wore dark, baggy clothes looked strange in the blue sundress she'd borrowed from you, her biceps basically protruding from the short sleeves, the girl's short black hair pulled up into a tiny attempt at a ponytail, wearing some simple makeup that you'd helped her apply.

"you're going as a frat guy? to a frat party?" she snorted, taking in your ensemble, "damn, you date so little that i had no idea that's the type of guy you were into."

you rolled your eyes, throwing her the handbag that she'd asked you if she could borrow, "and you're going as...?"

"a straight girl." lexi said, her usual shit-eating grin taking over her lips.

"in that case, you could've just worn like, a grey hoodie, those flared leggings, and a pair of white nike air force ones. most straight girls here do. i think you've failed at your assignment."

"shut up."

you were surprised by how many people actually dressed up according to the theme, especially over the number of frat boys wearing different types of skirts and dresses, some of them even sporting poorly done makeup looks on their faces.

having gotten separated from lexi almost the moment you arrived to the party, you were now leaning against the living room wall, hiding a part of your face behind a red solo cup half-full of some sort of concoction you'd found as you looked around. you'd always been better at standing aside, observing what everyone else was doing, rather than trying to join in.

you lifted the cup to your mouth and drank some of the nasty liquid, nearly spitting it out when you spot rafe chatting to his friends, just about managing to swallow it before you keel in laughter.

he stood confidently in a grey cardigan strewn over a white button-up that was so small on him it actually turned into a crop top, showing off the lower part of his abs, a faint happy trail as well as a defined v-line leading to a short black pleated skirt, his calves covered by black socks that ended just below his knees.

it seemed that your amusement had caught rafe's attention, as the moment you'd finally managed to straighten yourself up, the boy was strutting over to you, his hands on his hips in a way that almost caused you to go into another laughing fit.

"what's so funny?" rafe asked with lifted brows as he reached you, looking over your outfit with a pleased look on his face before gesturing to his own, "you don't think i look hot?"

"oh, definitely. the hottest." you snorted, bringing the drink to your lips and taking a small sip before pursing your lips in thought, "so, what's your type? britney spears?"

the boy's brows furrowed at that, "huh?"

"you look just like her in one of her music videos." you explained, your lips falling open in shock as his eyebrows continued to remain furrowed, "you don't know 'baby one more time'?"

"i haven't seen it." rafe shrugged, "what, you can't recognize who i'm trying to dress as?"

"i can't say i do. who?"

"i'm dressed as you."

you knew that if you were able to see yourself, your eyes would comically widen the moment the words left rafe's lips; and as you looked at him up and down, you realized, that his outfit was something you'd usually wear; just more lewd. "you're... dressed as me?"

"yeah. and clearly you're dressed as me."

"based- based on what?" you laughed incredulously, feeling your cheeks light up, bringing the cup to your lips and drinking just so you'd be able to hide a part of your face from the boy.

"well," rafe snatched the cap on your head, placing it on his instead, making his entire ensemble look even goofier, as he took hold of the front of your sweatshirt. "i'm pretty sure i've worn this exact same outfit."

"that doesn't mean anything… plenty of guys wear this." you mumbled from behind your cup, only to have rafe grab it from your hands, your eyes widening as you watched him finish it in one swallow, scrunching up the cup and throwing it on the floor somewhere.

cupping your chin with his finger and lifting it up so you were looking up at him, rafe brought his face closer to yours, his ice-blue eyes looking into yours in a way that made you feel like you were naked as his lips twisted into a knowing grin, "it doesn't?"

"n-"

before you could finish denying it, rafe's lips were pressed against yours; your eyes still wide open when his free hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

slowly, you felt yourself melt into the kiss, your eyes automatically closing as your lips moved against his. your hands were pressed against his chest, slowly moving down to feel his defined abs over the sheer button-up.

you could feel rafe's grin against your lips before he even pulled away, looking down at you with a knowing look on his face, the boy licking his lips causing you to bite down on your lower lip, your head spinning from just kissing him.

"so, that didn't mean anything, huh?"

[dollishmehrayan]

# “SHE A RUNNER SHE A TRACKSTAR” ── .✦ ( batboys with an athletic!reader )

a/n: this is a request by this lovely anon (here) and secondly I want to feed you guys some good stories because I’ve been ranting so I need to work too duhh and secondly omg make sure to go vote on the poll for my 1k event, we’re at like maybe 700 votes too (I’m so impressed I ahve all these supporters mwah) but yess back to story was I feel like batboys would’ve LOVED a athletic!reader or like active exercising reader like they would love you 10x tags: (batboys x athletic!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Loves working out with you. Morning runs? Gym sessions? Acrobatic training? Dick is there, grinning like a kid in a candy store. He’s not even subtle about checking you out mid-workout, smirking when he catches you noticing. (Whether you be a Pilates princess or muscle mommy, he don’t care🙄)

Turns everything into a competition. “Bet I can do more pull-ups than you.” Spoiler: you usually win because he wants you to win, and he acts mock-offended for five minutes before admitting he totally ‘held back’ just to see you smile.

Constantly impressed by your athleticism. You pull off a new move, and he’s clapping like an over-enthusiastic coach. “Okay, that was amazing. Do it again so I can record it.”

Secretly uses you as inspiration for his own training. He sees you pushing yourself and thinks, “If she can do it, so can I.” You’ve turned him into an even more disciplined athlete (even though we are gonna be REALISTIC he already was a better one but yk I mean MOTIVATION🙂‍↔️).

Always hyping you up. You’re worried about nailing a performance or event? Dick’s leaning in close, whispering, “You’re incredible. You’ve got this.” He’s the boyfriend screaming your name from the stands when you win.

JASON TODD ── .✦

Pretends he doesn’t care, but he’s obsessed. Jason will act all casual when you’re training, but you’ve caught him sneaking glances when you’re sparring or lifting. “What? I’m just making sure you’re not slacking.” “Sure jason, sure…”

Loves sparring with you. He does hold back (much), but the second you get the upper hand, he’s laughing and saying, “Okay, okay, maybe I underestimated you.”

Always has your back. If you’re dealing with an injury or overtraining, Jason’s the first to step in with tough love. “You’re not invincible. Take a break before you actually hurt yourself.” “Shut up.”

Teases you nonstop. You hit a personal best, and he’s like, “Not bad for a rookie.” But the second someone else downplays your achievements, Jason’s throwing hands.

Casual gym dates. You two will hit the gym together, but half the time, he’s too distracted by you to finish his own set. “Stop looking so good while you’re working out. It’s distracting.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tries to keep up but struggles. Tim’s more of a strategist than an athlete, so when you suggest running a marathon together, he’s immediately regretting every life choice. “Do we… really need to run this far?” (He starts limping at the beginning and then catches speed but it’s so funny to picture him limping idk??🥲) “Tim are you drunk?!” “What- no!” *cue him starting to run faster then you*

Admires your dedication. Tim doesn’t always understand why you push yourself so hard, but he respects it. “You’re incredible, you know that? I don’t think I could ever do what you do.” “Tim your literally one of the best martial artists what do you mean??”

Becomes your unofficial manager. He’s the one keeping track of your schedules, meal plans, and recovery days, making sure you don’t overwork yourself. “You’ve got a rest day tomorrow. Don’t argue.”

Loves watching you train. He’s not one to join in, but he’ll sit on the sidelines with his laptop, occasionally glancing up to watch you nail a move. When you catch him, he blushes and mutters, “I’m just… making sure you’re okay.”

Finds your athleticism insanely attractive. He’ll never admit it, but watching you take down an opponent or finish a grueling workout leaves him speechless. (He does the same but at night when your sleeping)

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Impressed but never says it outright. Damian will cross his arms and say, “Acceptable,” after you crush a workout, but the faint smirk on his face tells you he’s proud.

Pushes you to your limits. If you train together, prepare for no mercy. “You wanted to be better, didn’t you? Then stop complaining and try again.” He’s tough, but he knows you can handle it.

Secretly brags about you. Someone mentions physical skill, and Damian’s like, “My significant other is far superior to anyone here.” It’s his way of saying he’s proud without being mushy.

Enjoys sparring with you. He loves the challenge you bring, even if he won’t admit it. If you manage to land a hit, he’ll begrudgingly mutter, “Impressive. But don’t get cocky.”

Surprisingly protective. If anyone makes a snide comment about your athleticism, Damian’s glare alone is enough to make them rethink their life choices.

[nkplanet]

SHE’S ELECTRIC

dean x fem!reader cw suggestive making out, nicknames (sweetheart, his girl, darlin’), swearing, minor spoilers for s3/4? (hell) wc 746

summary to dean, you’ve never looked better than when you’re covered in blood and sweat after a hunt notes this is 100% self indulgent. i need this man like i need oxygen

dean knew, deep down, that you could handle yourself. you were a big girl with an even bigger gun - anything in its right mind would fear you.

still, that didn’t stop him pacing anxiously while he and sam waited for you to finish the hunt. it was one of the more simple hunts they’d had in a while; a witch was luring men to a house deep in the woods where they’d be put under a spell the second they stepped foot inside.

dean would honestly rather have been completely pliant under the witches thumb than let you go in alone, but you and sam were adamant.

waiting for you felt like a lifetime, and he’d lost count of how many times he’d heard sam tell him to “just sit down” but he couldn’t, not while his girl was in there alone. even sam was beginning to get a little antsy before you finally emerged.

you were panting, covered in blood splatters (dean hoped none of it was yours) and sweat.

to dean, you’d never looked hotter.

he was so entranced by you that he almost missed you recapping your fight to sam, instead watching you effortlessly clean off your blade and gun and feeling his jeans get a little tighter.

“dean,” you said, clicking in front of his face, “you good?”

he smirked. “yeah, sweetheart. i’m good.”

“you’re disgusting,” sam mumbled almost immediately, heading off to the impala.

dean looked you up and down and you raised an eyebrow. “what about me looking this gross turns you on? i’m covered in some random witches blood, my own blood, and dirt and god knows what else-” you started, but dean took a few steps towards you and your words died in your throat.

“sweetheart,” he drawled, the southern twang in his voice heavy, “you always - always - look hotter than hell. and trust me, i’ve been there.”

he moved closer, one hand hovering at your waist. “may i?” he asked, his voice low and thick.

“please,” you all but whined in return, not trusting yourself to speak more.

dean’s hand landed on your waist, and your body lit on fire. he moved impossibly closer, your lips meeting his in the middle as electricity exploded between you.

kissing dean was like nothing you’d ever felt before. his lips were soft, softer than you’d thought (and you’d definitely thought about them before). he was gentle at first, but as you deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth, he grew more passionate, rougher, almost like he couldn’t control himself, fighting you for dominance.

he pushed you against the side of the house, body flush against yours. one of his hands was still stuck to your waist while the other roamed your body, mapping out your hips, your ass, your waist in his mind.

you moaned as he tried desperately to get closer to you, deepening the kiss even more. you could feel everything - his chest, his abs, the bulge in his jeans (that made you smile into the kiss - you knew the effect you had on him, but feeling it was something else). you ran your hands up his stomach, feeling up his chest before they eventually settled at the nape of his neck. you tugged at his hair a little, eliciting a groan from the man in front of you.

“fuck, y’can’t do that to me, darlin’,” he said, breaking the kiss.

to him, you looked stunning. your pupils were blown out, lips swollen, and face flushed.

from your point of view, things didn’t look much different. dean looked positively angelic, eyes half lidded and focused only on you, hair a mess, panting hard.

you were about to lean in again, chasing more of the passion, the electricity that flowed between the two of you, when dean’s phone rang. he groaned, checking the id.

“sam,” he supplied, briefly flashing you his phone screen.

“we should head back,” you said, still breathless.

“let’s continue this later then, sweetheart.”

you made your way to the impala where sam was waiting, an impatient yet knowing look on his face. you climbed into baby, not saying a word.

sam didn’t see you on the ride back, adjusting your jeans and sitting with your legs crossed the whole time.

dean, however, did. his thoughts were already drifting to getting a second motel room before, but now it was first on his to-do list when you got back.

[daryltwdixon]

Watching from the Sidelines

Daryl x Reader angst

more pining! more angst! A continuation of the story I’ve been putting together based on songs I love. Part 1 & 2. This one is more of a drabble.

inspired by Phoebe Bridger’s Sidelines

Daryl still sits on the edge of the porch, his fingers absently twisting the strap of his crossbow. The early morning light stretches long shadows across the ground, but it does nothing to chase away the knot that has taken root in his chest. He’s been up since before dawn, unable to sleep—not with his mind running in circles, not with the thought of you still next to him. You linger, vivid and inescapable, like the sun gone from his vision but leaving behind the afterimage of the conversation you’d tried to have this morning.

He hasn’t lied outright. Not really. He was drunk last night, drunk enough to let himself slip, to kiss you, to say things he’d never let himself think about in the daylight. And now? He can’t stop replaying it. The press of your lips against his, the way your breath hitched, how your touch lit a fire in him before he pulled away like a goddamn coward.

His jaw tightens, the strap creaking under his grip. He told you he didn’t remember anything—brushed you off like it was nothing—but he remembers everything. Every second.

And he feels like a fool. For saying those things to you, for kissing you without warning or permission, for letting himself slip when he knows better.

The thing is, Daryl Dixon wasn't afraid of anything. Not walkers. Not the world going to shit. Not even the idea of dying out there, alone, just another nameless body in the dirt. He’s always figured he’s living on borrowed time anyway, so what’s the point in holding onto something? Nothing to prove, nothing to lose.

But then there’s you.

You, who look at him like he’s more than just another body. You, who have this way of making the world feel a little less cruel, a little less empty. You, who kissed him back, even for just a moment, like he’s someone worth wanting.

And now? Now he isn’t so sure anymore.

Because for the first time in his life, Daryl has something to lose. And it scares the hell out of him.

It isn’t just the kiss—it’s everything. It’s the way your laugh pulls at something deep in his chest. The way your voice softens when you say his name. The way you look at him, even now, like you haven’t given up on him, even when he’s wanted to give up on himself.

He isn’t built for this, for feelings like these. Hell, he doesn’t even know what to do with them, let alone what to say to you. All he knows is that he can’t screw this up—not when you’re the first person who’s made him feel like there’s something in this world worth holding onto.

He lets out a heavy breath, running a hand over his face. The sun is higher now, warming the porch beneath him, but it does nothing to ease the chill in his chest.

He doesn’t deserve you. He’s told himself that a hundred times. Knows it’s for the best to keep you at arm’s length. But the truth is, he doesn’t care. He wants you anyway. Wants you so bad it makes his chest ache, makes every thought feel like a battle between holding onto you and letting you go before he ruins everything.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, his eyes catching your movement through the window. You’re still padding quietly around the downstairs, your steps slow, shoulders drawn inward. You stop by the counter, leaning on it like something heavy has settled over you, your head bowed as if the weight of the world has finally found you.

He turns away quickly, swallowing hard, the knot in his chest twisting tighter. He isn’t sure how to feel about any of this—about you, about what you make him feel, about the way you’ve turned his whole damn world on its head.

Shit.

He thought pretending not to remember was the easier way out—for both of you. But now, seeing you like this, seeing how let down you are by his refusal to acknowledge last night…he realizes just how wrong he’s been.

All he knows is that he doesn’t want to go back to watching the world from the sidelines. Not anymore. Not now that he’s met you.

Daryl stands abruptly, the crossbow forgotten as he pushes away from the porch. His boots hit the steps with purpose, his heart hammering as he crosses the short distance to the door.

He has to make this right. For you. For whatever was left between you after he nearly ruined it all.

Daryl stands in the doorway, his hand gripping the frame for a second before stepping inside. You’re still in the kitchen, your back to him as you fiddle with something on the counter. From the way your shoulders hunch, he can tell you aren’t just busying yourself—you’re trying to hold yourself together.

The thought twists something sharp in his chest. He hasn’t even given you the chance to talk about it, about what happened, and then he went and made it worse with his excuses.

He isn’t good at small talk, and he’s definitely not good at starting these kinds of hard conversations. So Daryl takes a step closer, his boots heavy against the floor. He hesitates for a moment, his hands flexing at his sides, before speaking to your turned back.

“I lied,” he says, the words rough and uneven.

That gets your attention. You jump slightly, startled by his presence, and then you slowly turn to face him, your brows furrowed in confusion as your brain tries to catch up to him. “Daryl—hey. What—what are you talking about?”

His jaw tightens, his gaze dropping to the floor before he forces himself to meet your eyes. “I remember."

Your breath hitches, your eyes widening as the words sink in.

“I remember,” he says again, his voice quieter now. “all of it. Every word, every—” He stops, swallowing hard before trying again. “I didn’t forget. Just didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know if I should.”

You stare at him, your hands gripping the edge of the counter behind you like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “Why would you lie about that?”

“’Cause I’m a damn coward,” he admits, the frustration in his voice clear. “I thought… if I pretended it didn’t happen, maybe it’d make things easier. For you. For me. But seein’ you like this? Knowin’ I hurt you by not sayin’ nothin’—that ain’t easier. That’s just me bein’ stupid.”

Your heart thuds painfully in your chest, his words hitting you harder than you’d expected. “Daryl…”

He takes another step closer, his hands twitching like he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or not. “I meant what I said last night,” he murmurs. “Every word. I know I shouldn’t feel like this, know it’d probably be better if I kept my mouth shut, but I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. Can’t stop thinkin’ about what it’d be like to… to have somethin’ with you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. His eyes search yours, raw and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before, and it makes your chest tighten all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For lyin’, for messin’ this up. But I had to make it right. Had to tell ya the truth, even if…” He trails off, his voice catching, but he doesn’t look away. “Even if it means losin’ ya.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your unsteady breathing. Then, without another thought, you close the distance between you, your hands reaching for him as you pull him into a kiss.

This time, there’s no hesitation. No uncertainty. It’s full of everything you’ve both been holding back—real and impossibly tender.

When you finally break apart, his hands stay on your arms and yours remain tangled in his shirt.

“It would take a lot more for you to get rid of me, Dare,” you whisper, your voice trembling but steady. “You never have to worry about that.”

Daryl lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tightening their grip ever so slightly as they slide to your waist, grounding himself in the feel of you. His forehead presses against yours, and for a moment, his eyes close like he’s still bracing for something to shatter.

“Scares the shit outta me—all this,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the words tumbling out like they’ve been trapped too long. “But... but I want it. I want you. Always have.”

“I want you too, Daryl,” you say softly, your hands lifting to cup his face, his stubble rough against your palms. “You don’t have to be scared. Not with me.”

His eyes open then, meeting yours, and there’s something so tender in them it makes your chest ache. Vulnerability, relief, and something warmer, deeper—a flicker of hope that hasn’t been there before.

His thumb brushes against your hip, and his voice drops even lower, almost like he doesn’t mean for you to hear it. “Don’t know if I know how to do this… but I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

Your lips curve into a small, trembling smile as you lean in, pressing your forehead to his again. “That’s all I need, Dare. Just you.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t feel the need to pull away. To retreat. He just stays there, holding you close, letting himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this is something he can hold onto. Something he deserves.

[florshedworf]

dude i wanted to talk about this but when i wanted to the “mephone is a child” shit was still ongoing so before i start i wanna preface if i see any “he was just a child/baby:(“ i will kick every joint in your body halfway across the hemisphere

anyways. i did not get much insight into this beforehand because i joined quite literally a few days before ii16 dropped, but i realized that mephone before the Reveal was always seen as this mostly put together guy who has the whole gameshow thing figured out and just has some baggage on the way. not to say there were not hints to show he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing (gestures to season 3. “yeah! for photos and stuff.” “in my defense, i never thought they’d check.”) but other than his memories in episode 13 and glimpses and hints throughout the season it really seemed like he was the host to have it All Figured Out.

and OH WHAT A MASK THAT T’WAS!!!! perhaps this is my own dumbassery showing but any hint or glimpse of his naivety or dare i say childishness was smoothed over by that reality show host persona. i mean, in episode 15 that was shown in full force when he nearly went the whole episode Almost Successfully wearing the wacky host persona until cobs had to take that mask and shatter it.

and then shoot it 56 times and beat it with a baseball bat. like the fact that he didn’t realize that he created his own contestants until cobs told him himself really just tears down the whole act. like the whole interview with box just confirming yeah. this fucker tricked you all. bro had NO clue what he was doing.

anyways. this has been my essay

[l-starsz]

a/n: i don’t actually like this but i planned to post it when i was writing it so yeah:) also i wrote this because most if not all of my inbox is smut requests (i’m not complaining) and i felt like writing some fluff

my heart was hurting. everything was hurting and i didn’t know why. i closed my eyes and tried to distract myself. i played music. i watched something. no matter what i did, my mind wandered back to one thing. her voice.

i tried watching videos to hear her voice but it was no use. i needed to call her. i knew i shouldn’t though. she was out with friends. i needed to give her space. i tried so hard to keep myself distracted. i really did try. i couldn’t though.

my mind began to wander off. back to the one thing i was trying to avoid. i couldn’t. i’d been doing so well. i had the strongest urge. but i knew i just needed to keep myself busy for a little longer. just until billie was home.

i managed to keep myself occupied for all of 10 minutes before i couldn’t anymore. it was either hurting myself, or call billie. and i know what she’d rather me do. and i know what i wouldn’t regret later. i picked up my phone, finding billies contact before deciding whether to facetime her or just call her.

i ended up calling her, i didn’t want her or her friends to see how i looked. i wasn’t sure if she’d answer. she’d answer if she were to see my call, i know that, but i was worried she wouldn’t see it since she was a little busy.

as soon as i heard the ringing, my heart dropped. what if i ruined her day? what if she got mad? i tried to push those thoughts aside as i heard billies voice down the phone after a few rings.

“hey baby! everything okay?”

i stayed silent for a second. i didn’t want her to be mad at me.

“what’s going on love? talk to me.” her tone softened slightly.

“i.. i’m having a difficult day.” i sighed.

small tears rolled down my cheeks as i sniffled, trying to keep myself calm.

“tell me about your day, i’ll try to make it better baby.” i heard her move, probably to somewhere more private where we could talk.

“i just.. i don’t know i’ve just been stressed and i feel anxious. i needed to hear your voice to distract me a bit.”

she comforted me for a little bit and made sure i’d calmed down. she ended up making me laugh and making my mood so much better.

“i’m proud of you for calling me. i’ll be home soon okay?”

“okay billie i love you. thank you.”

“i love you, see you soon pretty girl.” she blew some kisses down the phone, and i did too before ending the call.

i decided to go make some food for when she got back, i mean she just took time out of her day to comfort me when she could’ve ignored me and spent time with her friends, so i wanted to do something for her.

i put my headphones in and turned some music on, then began making the food. because i had my headphones in, i didn’t hear when billie walked in the house. i was in the middle of stirring the food when i felt two arms wrap around my waist, and one of my headphones being taken from my ear.

i flinched before i heard her voice.

“hey baby, i missed you.” she whispered to me, placing a gentle kiss on my neck.

“i missed you more bil.” i smiled, turning in her arms to hug her.

we swayed side to side for a minute before i heard her speak.

“i’m gonna go change, do you need any help?”

i shook my head and smiled, giving her a gentle kiss before she spoke again.

“are you feeling better now? did it help when you called earlier? i just wanna make sure you’re okay.” she took my hands into hers.

“i feel so much better thank you my love. i’m sorry i had to call you whilst you were spending time with your friends.” i mumbled the last part, feeling genuinely guilty.

“don’t be sorry angel. i want you to call me anytime you feel like that no matter what i’m doing. i care about you so much and i’d do anything to make sure you’re okay.”

“are you sure?” i whispered.

she pulled me closer into her embrace again.

“of course i’m sure. now i’m gonna go change and then we can talk about what was bothering you. okay?”

i nodded against her, letting her go before i finished the food.

[dulcescorderitas]

𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮

art donaldson sits on your couch, his tie hanging loose around his neck, shirt wrinkled and unkempt like he’s been wrestling with the weight of the world. he looks utterly wrecked. nothing like the confident, put-together man you’re used to. no, tonight he’s raw—exposed.

“she doesn’t love me,” he says, voice cracked and quiet. his eyes, those sharp golden-brown eyes, are dark with something that twists your stomach. “tashi—she only married me for the image. for appearances. she told me tonight.”

you lean against the wall, unsure if you should comfort him or let him drown in the silence. “she really said that?” your voice is soft, careful, not wanting to break him any further.

his laugh is bitter, hollow. “yeah. said i’m convenient. that’s all i am to her. i’m a fucking prop.” his hands scrub through his hair, tugging at it as if the pain might anchor him. “god, i’ve been so goddamn blind.”

you cross the room, sinking down beside him. the space between you is small, electric, but you don’t dare touch him yet. “art, you deserve better than that.”

his head snaps toward you, his eyes narrowing. “better? and where am i supposed to find that, huh? because i sure as hell don’t see it.”

“maybe it’s been in front of you this whole time,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

he freezes, his breath hitching as he stares at you. something shifts in his gaze, the intensity of it scorching, searching. “you’re always here for me. always,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, more raw. “why?”

you can’t meet his eyes anymore, your pulse pounding in your throat. “because i care about you. maybe more than i should.”

he leans closer, his hand hovering just inches from your cheek. “more than you should,” he repeats, his voice low, disbelieving. “jesus christ… it’s you, isn’t it? it’s always been you.”

you don’t get a chance to respond before his lips crash into yours. it’s desperate, messy, full of all the words he can’t say. his hands cup your face, holding you steady as if afraid you might pull away. but you don’t. you kiss him back, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“let me,” you whisper when you finally break apart, your voice trembling but sure.

his brows furrow as you slide off the couch and onto your knees, your hands already working at his belt. “you don’t have to—”

“shut up, art,” you murmur, freeing him from his boxers. his cock is already hard, heavy in your hand, and the way he looks down at you, torn between disbelief and hunger, sends a rush of heat straight through you.

the first lick along his length has him hissing, his head falling back against the couch. “fuck,” he breathes, his fingers threading through your hair. he doesn’t push, just holds on, letting you set the pace.

you take him into your mouth slowly, your tongue swirling over the sensitive tip before sliding down further. his breath shudders as you work him deeper, your lips stretched wide around his girth. he’s thick, the weight of him filling your mouth as you hollow your cheeks, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.

“god, you’re—shit,” he groans, his hips bucking as you take him deeper. his hands tighten in your hair, his thighs trembling under your touch. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

you hum around him, the vibrations pulling a strangled moan from his throat. drool drips from your lips, slicking his cock as you stroke what you can’t fit, your movements quickening as his breaths turn ragged.

“i’m close,” he warns, his voice wrecked, desperate. “fuck, i’m so close—”

you don’t let up, taking him as deep as you can, your throat tightening around him. he comes with a choked curse, his cock pulsing as hot, salty cum spills into your mouth. you swallow greedily, the taste of him lingering on your tongue as you pull back, your lips slick and swollen.

his eyes are glassy when he looks at you, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“tashi might not know what she’s missing,” you say, your voice low, teasing. “but i do.”

he pulls you into his lap, his hands gripping your thighs as his lips find yours again, hungry, claiming. “you’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs against your mouth. “not after this.”

[ju-nebugg]

moments from trb that make me lose my mind (pt. 2)

- “once your balls drop, that beard’ll come in great. like a fucking rug. you eat soup, it’ll filter out the potatoes. terrier style. do you have hair on your legs? i’ve never noticed.” ronan lynch i love you so much

- ronan panicking and letting the mask slip when gansey was staring down that wasp

- ronan being jealous that gansey was leaving henrietta with adam and saying “do you not want me to come” and gansey responding with “i would take all of you anywhere with me”

- “the sky as blue as death above him” like WHAT

- “i didn’t realize that ‘midget’ was the adam parrish type” ronan your yearning is showing

- gansey’s smile being “complicated” when he notices adam and blue holding hands

- “…blue’s dress had gotten hitched up and gansey could see a long, slender triangle of her thigh. adam’s hand was braced a few inches away on the seat, knuckles pale with his hatred of flying. there was nothing particularly intimate about the way they sat, but something about the scene made gansey feel strange, like he’d heard an unpleasant statement and later forgotten everything about the words but the way they had made him feel.” (long quote i know but holy fucking shit)

- obligatory “i’m always straight.” “oh, man, that’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told.”

- gansey doing his little indie film main character scream to god in a field

- gansey pointing at people. so much pointing. what a dork. i love him so much

- also his vocabulary. what a NERD <333333

- ronan pissing all over the state of virginia

- gansey calling blue “the table everyone wants at starbucks”

- “i just fed chainsaw but she’ll need it again.” “this,” gansey replied, “is precisely why i didn’t want to have a baby with you.”

- adam’s immediate thought when holding blue’s hand is to worry about crushing her fingers :(

- ronan forgetting to be “cool or surly” when translating cabeswater’s latin, and apologizing over and over again good lord and gansey only responding with “it’s okay, you’re doing really well”

- the whole “coincidence because it wasn’t” trend

- gansey being SO NERVOUS to ask blue to hang out at the church, and then sounding “fourteen shades brighter” when she accepts

- gansey’s arms being super fucking ripped from rowing and blue Noticing

- “aquamarine is a wonderful color, and i won’t be made to feel bad for wearing it”

- “gansey’s voice, when he replied, was a little rough. ‘well, if you killed adam, i’d be quite upset.’”

- “on the inside, he sort of wished he looked more like the camaro. which was to say, more like adam.”

- gansey planning out his “cunning thing to say to blue when he saw her next”

- ronan walking in on adam and blue flirting and immediately shoving chainsaw in their faces. hm.

- “no matter how hard he tried, he kept becoming a gansey”

- “out of the blue?” “i’d prefer if you didn’t use that expression.”

- BUTTERNUT

- blue being reluctantly attracted to gansey’s glasses

- ronan trying so hard to give adam an excuse not to go home, and then going absolutely apeshit when adam gets hurt

- neeve’s voice sounding like a “computerized voicemail menu” (can you tell i’m in love with maggie’s descriptors)

- “gansey was just a guy with a lot of stuff and a hole inside him that chewed away more of his heart every year.” oh god

- ronan carrying all of adam’s possessions into monmouth on his back

- gansey saying things like “excelsior” and “yee haw” for no one but himself

- gansey being miserable and blue liking him better that way

- ‘“crushed and broken,” gansey said. “just the way women like ‘em.”’ correct!

- “cabeswater was just as literal as ronan was” HMMMMMMMMM CURIOUS

- ronan writing “remembered” on the red mustang and walking away without a word shut UPPPPPP

- ganseys first question after adam sacrifices himself being “was i so awful?”

- “they didn’t even have the authority to choose an alcoholic beverage. they couldn’t be deciding who deserved to live or die.”

(pt. 1)

as soon as i can stumble my way to a bookstore, dream thieves will be annotated to hell and back. expect more yelling very soon <3

[possibilistfanfiction]

ive been in complete brainrot mode about your arcane prompts and the way you write the dynamics between cait vi and jinx. like ive just been thinking about potential scenes in this au so if its okay im just going to list down some suggestions for prompts if that’s okay?

- vi gets brought into the hospital because she spent too long in a burning building trying to rescue as many people as she could (because that’s just the kind of person she is). cait and her argue over how sometimes vi needs to put her own safety first while she treats her wounds.

(I’d actually love to read any prompts where cait just simply cares for vi emotionally/physically cause vi’s backstory too makes me froth…) i just want to put her in my pocket and keep her safe :(

- jinx/vander/vi go to the kiramman’s for that dinner party and jinx/cassandra get along super well cause they collaborate on their embarrassing childhood stories about vi and cait. a joint slay

- a cassandra pov chapter as she notices how serious cait is about vi and the little moments between them and what she thinks about vi.

- maybe a cait focused chapter about how much of an empath she is and how exhausting it is to feel so deeply and try so hard to make everything better for everyone.

Thank you so much for writing this au!

You understand these characters so well and i feel for them so much when i read your work. Your writing carries so much heart and bleeds love practically :’)

it’s been all I’ve been thinking about lately and it brightens up my day immensely when i get a notification that you’ve updated! :)

[is there anything so undoing as a daughter! anyway i tried to work most of these in in some way; cassandra pov for u :) ao3 if u want. (also cait is trans bc since this is my au there's no transphobia & i love her)]

//

caitlyn informs you that she's a girl three days before her tenth birthday. she cries, but she's calm, and tobias is first to take her into his arms and tell her that it's good, that it's lovely, that you'll both do everything you can to see her, to make sure she's seen the way she wants to be, the way she is. you hug her too, so tight, because it's one thing to have a son, to instruct, always, how to be thoughtful, and kind, and use all the privilege your last name carries to do good in the world.

your child is thoughtful, and kind, and determined — in spades — with the set of your brow and the blue of your eyes. you do love your child, without reservation.

caitlyn's lip trembles and you brush back her hair that you'll teach her how to take care of when it starts to grow long; she sniffles and you kiss her forehead. she will grow tall and elegant; you and tobias help her choose her great-grandmother's name and then change all of her records accordingly; you take her shopping for new clothes she picks excitedly, and a few years later she beams when she tries on a pretty, simple lace bra; you ask tobias to explain the medications she needs and help her, when she's small, to keep track of them, until she can do it herself; you hold her hand in recovery after each surgery, where she cries in relief and you wipe her tears with a gentle smile. each new stage of belonging brings with it an ease in her breath that you cherish. she grows to be fierce and funny and brave, and still always gentle.

you love her, and you see her — always, she has been yours; she had grown inside your body and you had held her first, the greatest pride and joy of your life.

but it's something you had never been able to prepare yourself for, in any circumstance: a daughter. she undoes you every day.

//

you first hear the name vi — a nickname, of all things, used formally — one sunny, cold afternoon during a late lunch after caitlyn had come over to shoot skeet, a rare day she'd finished work early.

she tells you about her weekend, how she'd climbed and it was sunny and brilliant and she felt strong.

'with jayce?' you ask.

she nods. 'we met some people we ended up climbing with, too,' she says, which is new. 'they were both really good, and very safe. vi,' she tells you, and her voice goes a little reverent, soft around the edges. 'and her sister,' she tacks on, almost an afterthought but not unkind, just not her focus. she clears her throat, a blush spreading across her cheeks, different from the flush that you're accustomed to when you shoot in the cold together. 'anyway,' she says, and you fight a smile behind a sip of tea, 'what did you and dad think of the opera?'

you laugh, but you're relieved too: no one will ever be good enough for her — not only because of the name she carries, one you had carried all your life too, but because she's a force no one can harm, as long as you have any say.

you don't ask more questions after this vi; you tell her about the opera, and then you shoot some more, one more round. she doesn't miss.

//

when caitlyn was born, you held her tight. all day long, people had been in and out to meet her, and she had been so calm. it's not what you or tobias had wanted, but she was the heir to the kiramman name and so her fortune was already set, far before you had cried in joy at the positive pregnancy test on the bathroom counter, tobias laughing delightedly, and far before she came into this world, with grey eyes that will turn electric blue and strong, tiny hands, clenched perpetually. she was so small and so new, and you handed her off to the nurse in the waning hours of the evening so you could sleep through the night.

not even two hours later, though, as the pain was really started to set in and tobias was dosing off in the chair next to you, the nurse had apologetically brought her back, bundled and screaming, her face splotched with red from crying.

'she won't stop,' the nurse said. 'we've tried everything, but she's keeping the other babies up. i'm sorry.'

you shook your head and took her back into your arms while she wailed as much as her little lungs would allow. you wondered about her, everything, because she was a person and there was so much to learn. you unbuttoned your gown and held her to your bare skin; she stopped crying, just like that. she latched onto your breast, easily, and ate a little, and then fell asleep, little sighs filling the room. tobias looks on in a very exhausted awe; you brought your lips to the crown of her head, the soft tuft of dark hair there that smelled so good, beyond anything you could have ever imaged: yours. she didn't fuss when he placed her in the bassinet a few minutes later; she slept all night, wanting just to be near you.

//

you're in your car, your driver regrettably apologizing as you get stuck in a typical rush hour traffic jam on the freeway, when caitlyn calls, a few weeks later.

'are you stuck in this traffic too?' you guess after she asks what you're doing, if you're free.

she groans. 'i was hoping to get home early, have time to decompress and shower before...'

she trails off, a pause you decide to let rest. she's always needed to tell you things in her own time.

'i have a date tonight,' she confesses, and you can hear the giddiness, the nervousness, through the phone.

you hum. 'oh?'

'yeah,' she says, and you stop yourself from chiding her about the informal word. 'i — she's amazing, mom. i just want it to go well.'

'well, you're a kiramman,' you remind her, the reminder thinly veiled under a tinge of encouragement in your tone. 'i'm sure you'll be quite impressive.'

she sighs; you know it's not the reassurance she wanted, but your family doesn't always have that luxury. she doesn't tell you anything else — instead you talk about the upcoming council vote on your latest bill, and how her meeting at work about funding cancer treatments went — and, of course, you don't ask.

//

tobias, always softer than you, especially with your daughter, asks after this vi on sunday. you meet caitlyn for brunch at your usual monthly spot, your mimosas already poured and cortados prepared as you sit down at your table.

'next month, just bring vi,' tobias says when he notices caitlyn's fire department sweatshirt underneath her peacoat. it's not too nice a restaurant for her jeans, boots, and a crew neck, but you are not normal patrons. he laughs when he says it, not disapproving in the slightest, a smirk on his face when you understand the implication: caitlyn had come from vi's home this morning, rather than her own apartment.

'it's serious, then?' you ask, and you try not to feel slighted that tobias seems to know far more about caitlyn's feelings, and vi's existence, than you: it's your own doing.

caitlyn fiddles with the corner of her napkin. 'yes,' she decides on, her smile small and tender, her shoulders soft. 'i'd like if you met her. i... well, i hope she'll be around for a long time.'

you suppose it was bound to happen: caitlyn is beautiful and smart and driven, talented and successful and, most importantly, good.

'we should meet her, then,' you decide.

//

caitlyn was in her first year of college the first time she brought home a girlfriend. you're sure she'd had girlfriends over before, a few of her friends throughout the years of secondary school giggling too much to just be interested in hanging out, as they say, but you hadn't prodded and she hadn't said. you'd always left that up to tobias, who still called her sprout and spent afternoons on long walks with her and the dogs, a daughter somehow easier to handle for him.

during winter holiday, even though university is just an hour away from your home, she brought home a girlfriend for winter holiday. this girl's family lived far away, and, for most, it's expensive to travel that distance, and so, ever generous, caitlyn invited her. you had agreed, if only because it was proper and you didn't want a fight before she even arrived.

the girl, for the most part, was uninteresting, if polite. caitlyn was enamored, but you trusted it would fade. she had been distinctly sad when she arrived home for summer break, informing you — tobias already knew, although he didn't have much of a clue about caitlyn's grades or extracurricular involvement — one day hunting that she and this girlfriend had broken things off. she'd not given you any real reason, just that it didn't work out, but you'd seen her frowning at the kiramman coat of arms engraved into a bullet. she'd loaded her gun, though, her favorite hunting rifle, when she spotted a hare, and shot perfectly without pause.

//

'and what is vi short for?' you ask, doing your best to not stare at the face tattoo caitlyn's very serious girlfriend has of her own nickname.

'oh, uh,' she responds, looks at cait and then rubs the back of her neck.

her hair is messy and asymmetrical, and the t-shirt she's wearing is quite nice, tucked into similarly nice slacks, and her belt matches the loafers you're absolutely sure are caitlyn's because you yourself had bought them for her for her last birthday — but there are more tattoos over the backs of her arms, disappearing under her shirt and emerging again on her neck. you do your best not to judge — and you don't judge people, especially your constituents — but vi is not just a person in your life. caitlyn, allegedly according to tobias, is in love with her, only a few months in.

'violet,' caitlyn says, squeezing her hand not-very-discreetly under the table, a degree of reverence in her voice that has tobias looking your way with his brows raised. 'but she prefers vi.'

you might think that vi is certainly not good enough in any way for your daughter, but you also won't force a name down someone's throat: you didn't do it with your own child, and you would never do it now. 'vi, then.'

she nods, thankful, and looks to caitlyn's hands to figure out which fork to use when your salads are delivered. unfortunately, for just a moment, it's endearing, and when caitlyn smiles, proudly, later on while vi talks about her work as a firefighter, detailing one of her latest calls where she was able to carry two children out of a burning apartment as it collapsed, nonchalant and humble about the whole thing, you see a sliver of what caitlyn does: someone brave, heroic, steadfast in her selflessness — a partner. vi eats four of the small desserts when they get placed on an elegant tray in the middle of the table; caitlyn just laughs.

//

when caitlyn turned twelve, she tried to run away. tobias, as you both frantically looked for her, hours before her party, had insisted it wasn't about her everyday life: her peers at school had been accepting and kind this year, even if she wasn't always good at making friends, and her teachers spoke highly of her performance and participation in classes; her puberty blockers had, so far, worked wonderfully, without any averse side effects.

it wasn't hard to find her, mostly because there are few places caitlyn loved more than the stables on your property; she was less interested in the horses than she was spending time with your hunting dogs. they had loved her for years, because she was always sneaking them bits of chicken from the kitchens, and also because she loved them: dogs can tell those sorts of things, you're sure.

you had found her, curled up in the hay loft, her eyes red rimmed from crying, snuggled up between the dogs, sniffling a little in her sleep. her party, an annual affair, was slated to begin in a few hours. but still, tobias had turned to you and led you out of the stables by the hand. caitlyn's presents, all kinds of gadgets she'd been interested in, and new books and toys, as well as a beautiful gown for the event, were abandoned in her room. 'just let her have a few more minutes,' he'd said, glancing back at her. you are in charge of so much, responsible for so many: caitlyn's childhood, while full of the pressures of her name and status, has been, in all the ways you deem most important, full — there are those who, certainly, have it much worse.

but still, you'd agreed, if only because she'd cried herself asleep.

//

vi is, among other things, a gifted rock climber and boxer, a very devoted older sister, a terrible shot — when caitlyn tries to teach her skeet, they end up laughing more than hitting any targets, which no amount of eye rolling on your part seems to dampen — and, you will admit, a loving girlfriend who seems, genuinely, to understand some part of your daughter that you never quite have.

it's caitlyn's birthday, and she will always have your last name, which means there is a party, all chandeliers and champagne, every year in the great room at your home in celebration of her birth. vi shows up on time, with jayce and viktor and mel, looking almost comfortable in a space like this, laughing at a joke mel says and elbowing jayce in the arm, holding viktor's drink while he situates his cane. she's handsome, in a suit you're sure caitlyn had helped her pick and get tailored: her broad shoulders fill out the jacket and her shirt underneath is unbuttoned just enough to look fashionable and not sloppy.

caitlyn is, every year, beautiful, and competent, and kisses vi quickly — still soft, still heavy with promises — before she says hello to her friends and then greets you and tobias with kisses to the cheek and then, less formally, hugs. the gown she wears this year is the same dark as her hair, hugs her hips, and is just on this side of elegant, and you know she'd worn it for one person, and one person only: vi's eyes never seem, truly, to stray from her, no matter how many rounds of boring conversation caitlyn has to wade through.

eventually, when the party is in full swing, you head back to the kitchens to check on the dessert course. you turn the corner and see caitlyn and vi sitting on the counter, in the corner of the kitchen, your head chef ignoring them fully other than a small smile directed in caitlyn's direction when she moans around a bite of grilled cheese, her favorite since she was small. vi takes a bite of her own sandwich, and then says, 'holy shit, cait, you weren't lying,' and caitlyn laughs, relaxed from the champagne she's had, sure, but also different from every other year you've celebrated her coming into the world.

caitlyn ducks her head when vi moves closer, so they're touching all along one side, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. the chef delivers a cupcake with a smile, one single candle in it, and then winks.

'happy birthday, baby,' vi says, takes out a lighter from her suit jacket, and lights the candle. caitlyn blows it out, looking younger than you remember in a long time.

//

vi's father immediately reminds you of her: his muscles fill out his dress shirt, and he's brash, laughing heartily with tobias, but a little shy at the same time, when he doesn't know whether or not it's appropriate to eat with his hands.

'it's a burger and fries,' vi's little sister says, rolling her eyes and digging into her own lunch — at a normal cafe near the water and their climbing gym, which caitlyn had insisted upon for this meeting — with no hesitation. she's... interesting, with a messy blue buzzcut and a denim jacket with neon spray paint all over it, shaky hands and big, bright eyes — she looks like vi but younger, softer, a different kind of weary: her own entity entirely. you've heard of her from caitlyn, sure, how she's fun and funny and requires a level of care that vi will always hold sacred, and also from jayce, from has spoken so highly of her studies, how creative and smart she is, how she has, in his words, the genuine potential to change the world. tobias asks after her arm; a few weeks ago she had needed some stitches, and she proudly pulls back the cuff of her jacket and shows him the neat scar. 'excellent work, dr. kiramman the original.'

it gets a laugh out of you, which both caitlyn and vi look a little surprised by, but jinx only grins.

'wanna hear about the time vi was trying to do a flip and her sweatpants ripped right off? she was ten.'

vi groans while vander lets out a hearty chuckle. 'do tell,' you encourage.

it's, perhaps, one of the easiest meals you've shared with caitlyn and vi, if only because they're so mutually mortified at the trading of embarrassing childhood stories between their families like the most precious currency.

'i have to say,' you decide as you're picking up the bill, and then point your last fry at jinx, 'i like her.'

she gives a triumphant ha! to both caitlyn and vi, and then shoots a finger gun in your direction, grinning.

//

caitlyn calls tobias, crying, in the middle of the night. he puts the phone on speaker, because you'd woken too, and because your heart had skipped a beat the moment he answered and you heard caitlyn's sniffle. she tells you that vi was in a building when it collapsed, that they were able to get her out but it took too long, and she's hurt, and unconscious, and just getting to the ER now. she tells you that she's picking up vi's younger sister on her way there, and she asks tobias to come in and she asks you to bring clothes and food tomorrow morning, once they know more of what's happening and how vi is doing.

you don't go back to sleep that night; you wait for any updates from tobias and schedule send emails for the morning, just to have something to do. vi might not be your favorite pick for your daughter, but she's been wholly devoted to caitlyn for two years now, and you know they're planning to put an offer in on a house soon — not subtle in her commitment, despite her best efforts.

eventually, tobias calls to tell you that vi has made it through surgery and, although they'd had to remove her spleen and stop some difficult bleeding in her liver, and despite some broken ribs and a sprained shoulder, she should be just fine. you won't admit it to anyone, but you cry a few tears of relief when you hang up; more than anything, vi makes caitlyn safe and happy, and caitlyn takes great joy in being able to offer the same in return, and you would never want that to be taken from either of them.

//

they have a fight, not soon after, only about a month. caitlyn calls you, furious, even though you're in the middle of preparing one of the most important referendums of the year; she's your daughter, so you answer.

'she's being ridiculous,' she grits into the phone. you give her a moment to gather herself, and then she continues, less aggravated, 'i know it's because she isn't good at letting people help her, and she's worked on it in therapy, i know because we've gone together too.'

you hum gently.

'she's still hurt; her ribs haven't fully healed and she just got her stitches out two weeks ago, and she still gets headaches all the time, and yet today i got home to her building shelves. with a drill and everything! and normally, like, that would be hot —' caitlyn pauses, seemingly carried away for a moment; you don't laugh, just to spare her, but you have to fight it. 'we don't need more shelves right now. i just need her to...'

when she doesn't say anything, seemingly stuck, you suggest, 'let you take care of her?'

she sighs, on the verge of tears. 'then we had an argument. but, yes, all i want to do is take care of her. she had — she had so many unkind, awful things done to her; i saw her films and scans, and — mom.'

'oh, sweetheart,' you say, accepting, understanding, for the first time, the depth of their love: the grief, the pain, the boredom and difficulty and miracle of it all. 'she's stubborn only because it can be scary, to let someone love you so completely. i know how it feels, with your father.'

she sniffles. 'i do, love her like that.'

'you'll show her. she'll let you. just talk to her.'

'do you promise?'

she sounds so young, so small; you've wrapped her up in your arms and promised things much more difficult than reconciliation between the two of them. 'yes, my dear. i promise.'

//

time moves: they have a housewarming and, although you think their brownstone is smaller than necessary, it is beautiful. jinx shows you her basement proudly, and introduces you to her boyfriend? best friend? partner? — you're not quite sure, and her rambling and his adoring laughter at it, hadn't provided any real clarification. you help set out the small finger foods they'd ordered from their favorite lebanese restaurant, and you meet so many of their collective friends. it's a happy day, with a lot of wine, and everyone is in socked feet, and caitlyn wraps her arm around vi's waist and kisses the side of her head during a quiet moment in the hall, just the two of them in their home.

they adopt a dog, a big black and white boy who they're both immediately in love with and who falls asleep with his blocky, soft head on your lap when you sit down one evening with them over the holidays to watch a movie. caitlyn adores him, sends you and tobias pictures of him on their trail runs often; they take him on climbing trips and he enjoys sleeping in the sun.

//

when caitlyn is fourteen, you sat down with her and pressed your grandfather's wedding band into her palm. 'this was, when you were small, supposed to be yours, one day.' it was thick and gold and decidedly more masculine than she'd ever want, but it was gorgeous all the same, with your family's coat of arms inscribed on the inside.

she looked a little troubled by it, sorting out her feelings: what things belong, and what things are just off. you and tobias had never asked for her to explain, only if she wanted to; she told you, years ago, who she was, and you had always believed her.

'i can hold onto it for you,' you told her, 'just in case there's ever anything you end up wanting to do with it. there's no pressure, sweetheart. just know that it's yours.'

she had let out a big breath, relaxed her shoulders from her ears. 'okay,' she told you. 'thanks, mom.'

//

vi and jinx are out of town, on some kind of trip with jinx's partner, and caitlyn hadn't been able to take enough time off of work to go with them. she's over at the house now, moping about, clearly missing the people who have now become her family too, but it's dramatic enough that it's funny.

you're not sure, it's a gamble, but you call her up to your closet. she slumps down on the bench, in running shorts and one of vi's fire department captain — a recent promotion that you think caitlyn had been more excited about than vi herself — sweatshirts; she props one knee up and rests her chin on it, then looks at you expectantly, confused but interested.

'i'm not sure if you remember,' you say, and find it easily in the back of one of your jewelry cases, 'but i thought now might be a good time to give this to you.'

her eyes get big, the same blue as yours, when you put the ring in her hand. you're certain they've both been thinking of it: marriage, everything at the heart of such a union. their love, certainly, is big enough.

'i'm not sure what size violet's ring finger is, but it should be easy to resize, if we need.'

'oh.'

'but —' you rush to say — 'if you had a ring already picked out for her, one she might like better, we can just put this away again.'

she looks away from the ring and up at you, and then she's standing, years of grace and strength, the surest, best shot you know, and hugging you. she's taller, and the crook of her sweatshirt smells very distinctly like vi's cologne and caitlyn's perfume, all at once. 'thank you,' she whispers, teary.

you have so much you could say to deflect, about the horrors of wedding planning or whether or not vi is going to take the kiramman name, but caitlyn is your daughter, and you hold her to you like she's still small, still yours.

//

you straightened the straps of the dress caitlyn had picked out, the first she's ever tried on. she took a deep breath and then raised her eyes to look in the mirror. her hair was still short, although it was growing fast, much to her relief, and her features were delicate already on their own.

caitlyn turned to hug you tight around your waist, bursting into tears. you fought them yourself, instead rubbing gentle circles along her back while she got it all out. eventually, you dried her tears and turned her around to look in the mirror again. 'you are so beautiful, my girl,' you told her, and shushed when she started crying again. 'stand with your back straight,' you instructed, 'and your chest proud. the kiramman women have always been a force, and you will be too.'

she nodded, seriously, and straightened her thin shoulders. even though her lip trembled, a smile made its way through.

//

it's an ordinary day, another lunch, sunny and bright, when they tell you.

'a girl?' you ask, just to make sure you've heard them correctly.

'well, for now, at least,' vi says, sending a wink caitlyn's way, who rolls her eyes and then laughs.

they tell you more details of the adoption that's happening sooner than you can fully wrap your head around; you and tobias the second in the family to know, just after jinx, who had only found out this morning. she was, apparently, immediately thrilled, and tobias echoes the sentiment.

'to the kiramman women who have come before,' you say, after you've hugged both of them tight and ordered a bottle of champagne, 'and to those who will lead us forward, even further.'

caitlyn rolls her eyes and the seriousness, but they're suspiciously wet, and vi wholeheartedly clinks her glass with yours.

later, vi goes to get the car and tobias is settling the bill while you and caitlyn wait outside in the sun. 'prepare for her to be your undoing,' you tell her, serious but with a mirth you can't contain.

caitlyn raises a brow. 'i haven't been that bad.'

you shrug.

'mom.'

you laugh, pat her cheek.

she smiles, so bright. you weren't sure, when she was young, if this would ever be in the cards for her, but her life is beautiful and big, a world any child would be lucky to be loved in.

you hug her again, because you can. 'you are going to be a wonderful mother.'

she's taller than you, much stronger, but she'll always be small; you hold her still. she'll always be yours.

[phosph-ate]

Hide Away

Dr. Phosphorus x GN!Reader

Summary: Dr. Phosphorus has you feeling things. You are sure these feelings are one-sided, but after hiding from your feelings you come to realize that is not true.

CW: Suggestive themes, 18+, dry humping, biting, you get freaky in a closet, rick refers to you as kid, you are immune to dr phosphorus but no other details of how/what you are is given, no beta.

WC: 0.8k

A/N: divider by cafekitsune. this is just a random idea; I wanted to get freaky in a closet with the skeleton thus this was born. I do plan on making maybe a little series for phosphorus x reader... And maybe a p2 for this with maybe a fem and male reader... idk I'm bouncing ideas around right now. Also, side note, I've only ever written reader inserts or character x oc, and this show has me wanting to do character x character fics... anyway, let's goooo!

You were crumbling. Fast.

You watched Dr. Phosphorus from across the room. Your eyes wandered from his face to his ribs, down to his belt. You needed to know what he was like. What he felt like. You needed him.

“Are you okay?” Nina nudged you.

“Uh,” You looked away from the man you were swooning over. You were hot. Everything was so hot. “I just need some fresh air.”

You turned away from Nina and walked down the hall. As you continued, thoughts plagued you. The glances you would share with Phosphorus, the small touches here and there. It was driving you insane. You figured you could not say anything. So you kept your thoughts to yourself.

You, on autopilot, found a closet and quickly entered it. You needed to get your mind off of him, and immediately. Once you realized you were in a fucking closet, you had to think of a gameplan to get to your room. Maybe you could handle the situation yourself.

You sat down, back against the wall, and shut your eyes tight. The only source of light coming into the room was from under the door. Other than that, you sat in the dark. You sucked in air and placed your head in your hands. Your world was spinning, leaving you to not notice the door opening.

“This is your idea of getting some fresh air?” The closet door shut and suddenly it was not completely dark in the room. You could definitely make out Dr. Phosphorus.

“Oh!” You jumped and tried to scoot further back but realized you could not get any closer to the wall. “I was just- I’m thinking!” You ended up snapping at him.

“About…-”

You could not handle it anymore. “About you!” You tried to keep your voice down. You groaned and hugged yourself. “It’s always you…” You huffed. “I want- No, I need to know what it’s like-”

“What do you need to know?” Oh, he was smug.

“Everything!” You stood up and looked at him, really looked at him. “I want to feel you; I want you to touch me! Dr. Phosphorus-”

“Call me Alex.” He corrected you.

Your face was burning now. Your eyes widened and you sucked in air. “Alex,” You were begging, “I need you.”

You thought he was smug before. He stepped towards you and his hands reached for you. “Are you sure?” He sounded like he was trying hard to compose himself. To keep himself from pouncing on you.

You nodded, “I’ve never needed anything more in my entire fucking life.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. Dr. Phosphorus grabbed you. His hands grabbed your hips, and he pulled you close to him. You were pressed against the wall, and he stared at you. At least, you were sure that was what he was doing. “Can I kiss you?” You begged.

“Please.” It was his turn to beg. You kissed him, gently on the cheek. You began to pepper kisses across his face and your eyes shut. You moved slightly, getting a better angle, and Dr. Phosphorus moaned. His grip on you tightened and you rubbed your hips into his. He let out a whine.

It was music to your ears.

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” His voice was husky. “Every time you laugh-” He continued, and you stopped kissing him and your head fell back from pleasure, “-and you lean back, I just want to-” He could not control himself anymore. His hips bucked into yours while you kept grinding against him and his teeth scraped your throat.

An airy noise escaped you and your eyes shut tight. You grabbed his coat and held on, knuckles turning colors from your grip. “Do that again. Please, Alex.” You whined. Dr. Phosphorus obliged. His teeth biting at your exposed skin, dragging from your throat to your collarbone.

Chills ran up your spine and you moaned. A little too loudly.

A fist banged on the closet door and neither of you responded. The door swung open. “What the fuck!?” Rick shouted. You ignored him. You felt too good to care.

Dr. Phosphorus kept grinding against you, his grip on you becoming bruising. And then, suddenly, there was nothing. Dr. Phosphorus was ripped from you and thrown out of the closet. You stood there, shocked and horny.

“We’ll continue this later,” Dr. Phosphorus reassured you.

Rick ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “Not in a fucking closet you won’t!” He snapped. “Come on out, kid.” He motioned for you to leave the closet.

“Can I get some fresh air now?” You looked at Rick in a daze.

“As long as you don’t get caught with him outside.” Rick glared at Dr. Phosphorus.

You nodded. You definitely needed to think. And, if Phosphorus was not pulling your leg about continuing later, you could wait for release.

[mintmatcha]

okay i’m glad you brought back fatgum and sw!reader because i’ve been thinking about them and how they have sex for the first time. in my mind the first time they get intimate they don’t even go “all the way.”

i’ve been picturing this scenario where fatgum says something that’s so sweet or so goofy or so something that it just kind of snaps and she can’t wait anymore. she moves in gently, give him time to turn her down if he wants, but it’s what fatgum wants more than anything in the world. so she kisses him, slow and searing and intense. crawls into his lap on his beat up old couch with the cushions that sag because nothing can hold up for too long under his true form and tries to pour everything she’s been feeling into his mouth.

and when he gets hard it’s so natural. it almost feels innocent, the least sexual thing she could possibly do in the situation. she takes her time again, gives him ample room to stop her if he wants when she pulls his cock out and strokes. he doesn’t last very long, how could he under such skilled hands, the hands of someone he’s loved for so long? the hands of someone he never thought would touch him so willingly?

and in my head she’s so high on the excitement, so confident for the first time in a long time. can’t help but ask how he feels, needs to know that he’s feeling the same electric effervescence under his skin. and it all turns sour, a sickness left in the pit of her stomach when he says he feels good and it’s a lie. when he won’t let her touch him again, even innocently, for months.

he's wanted this for so long. so. so long, but he cant help the guilt that creeps up in his ears. he's no better than the other men that use you for sex now-- he can't deny that he's ever paid for sex now.

you have your mouth around his cock and he's never ever told you his name. you think his a boxer, when he's a liar-- even worse, he knows you can smell it on him.

he can't bring himself to meet your eye. he's just like the other men, the ones that hurt you.

[mimiiis]

Must Be Love Pt.1 — Regency Au! Price x Fem! Reader

summary: A general looking to marry for duty and a girl looking for a love match, what could go wrong?

warnings: n/a

work count: 5.9k

a/n: this was low-key supposed to be a small series of blurbs but I couldn't help myself, full on fic/series !! hope you guys enjoy </3

I’ve been rewatching Bridgerton and got to thinking…Regency!Price.

General John Price, who has come back to London during the marriage season to find himself a wife after deciding it was about time for him to do so. It just so happens to be that you are a new debutante, foisted out onto the marriage market and ready to be wed. 😚🤭

☆☆☆

The General had just recently returned to London, ready to marry and not hesitant to announce his intentions on what brought him back into the city. It was not long until everyone got the word that he was looking for a bride. Respectable men were not entirely few and far in the ton, but to find a truly accomplished man who came from a respected family was almost rare. Where most men were seen coming in and out of brothels almost daily , John Price was hardly seen indulging in such…pleasures. But in fairness, he was away from the watchful eyes of society for many periods of time, and no one knew much about him. With his return and new step into the marriage market, it is the first ball of the season that changed everything in his life. 

The first ball was always so exciting, uncertainty of what the night may bring lurked at every corner of the room. Ladies practically flocked to him, their mamas right behind them as he struggled to fill out each dance card he was presented with. The general was more than polite, making his intentions clear and being his usually charming self. The ladies giggled and flirted, trying to impress him with their many accomplishments and the status of their families. He would simply nod and listen to them ramble with each passing dance. Though as the night drew on longer, the more he began to worry. 

He hadn’t truly realized how hard it would be to properly court a woman in his position. He knew that as general he would not be with his wife for long, that he would be away longer than he would ever be with her. He saw no point in growing an attachment, inevitable heartbreak and hate would follow if he did. Every young lady he talked to seemed too eager, practically begging to be loved and adored. He knew he would have to find a wife willing to accept the conditions that awaited, someone he can establish a decent, or even good, relationship with. It did not hurt him to turn down several young ladies, he knew it was for the better. Yet somewhere, deep inside of his heart, he ached for the same kind of fondness they did. 

☆☆☆

The ballroom erupted in a wave of applause and laughter as the dance finished, your chest heaving after performing the lively routine. The young lord you had entertained left with a bow, kissing your hand before leaving to go grab himself a cup of punch. You smiled at him, bidding him a good night before walking to your mama. Droplets of sweat formed at the corners of your hair, slowly falling down your skin as you tried to hide away behind your mother. She stood at the corner of the room, hidden away by a crowd of people who rushed by. 

“What did you think of him? Lord Langley?” She asks you, handing you her fan as you plant your back against the wall. You quickly take it, opening it and blowing air in your direction as you finally took what felt like your first breath in hours. Your cheeks burned as your feet ached from dancing for so long. You could feel the boning of the corset digging into your skin as you slouched over slightly. 

“He is kind. Rather handsy. Not an exact fit.” You breathe out, still winded as your mother placed a handkerchief against your forehead. “None of them will be, my dearest, if you keep holding them up to such an impossible standard.” She states, grabbing you by your shoulders as straightening your posture. You groan, letting her smooth out your crinkled skirts out and continue to wipe off the sweat from your brow. 

“I know what I want and I will not hesitate to find it.” You argue back, pushing her hands away from you. You step back a few paces, giving yourself more room to breathe. You hadn’t considered how stuffy a ballroom might feel with more than half of the ton packed into a tight space. It almost made your head spin, a slight ache creeping up at the back of your head. Dread began to fill you at the impending headache, but you shook your head in an attempt to ignore it. 

“You will spend a lifetime searching if you do not let it come naturally.” She tells you, shaking her head. You eye her, considering her words before you catch sight of a footman walking by. Your mother watches you reach for a glass of champagne from his tray, slapping your hands away the second you move them. You gasp, glaring at her as she dismisses the man away. 

“That is not fair-“

“You can drink to your heart's content when you are married.” She argues, locking her arm in yours as she begins to pull you back into the eyes of society. So much for a few minutes to hide away. “You really must consider and think about a second plan. What will happen if you cannot find the love match you so desperately desire, hm? What then?”

You groan once more, embarrassment heating heating your cheeks. Her speech and the way she still talked to you as if you were a child sent a wave of shame over you. You wanted to crawl back into the corner of the room, to get away from her at any cost as she continued to scold you for having “such impossible standards.” But you cannot, not after you spent so long convincing her to even allow you to have a say in who you married. She gives you an inch, might as well take a mile. 

“There is no second plan. I will get what I want, no matter how long it takes me.” You stubbornly reply, voice in a hushed whisper as you politely smile at other young ladies passing by. “What is so hard about finding a love match anyways? Is it simply not the process of meeting someone and just knowing? That is how you described what happened to you with father, I will not settle for anything less.” 

“It is…much more than just that.” She repeats the same words she always has, never elaborating further. For the woman meant to help you through the marriage season, she was certainly not helpful. You glance at her for a second, the usual disappointment filling you. You start to search the dance floor for a man to sweep you back up into the crowd. Anything to get away from her right now. You watch as all the lords and men you had previously danced with talk and laugh amongst themselves or other young ladies, your own friends being taken up with suitors or being pulled to one by their mamas. It was a never ending sea of controlled chaos, dresses swishing and feet stomping as the sea of dancing color passed you.

“Where is Johnny?” Your mother suddenly asks. The arm she had locked with your slips away and rises to your shoulder, helping her balance as she begins to stand on her tiptoes, looking over the crowd around you two. “Shall he really miss your first ball?” Her brows furrow, scanning every corner of the room before falling back onto her heels. You shake your shoulder, brushing her hand off of you as the topic of your brother sours your mood. “I do not think Jonny cares about the affairs of young ladies.”

“Do not be so negative, he is your brother-“

“And he still does not care.” You say with a bite in your tone, making your mother furrow her brows, but you only continue you scan the room for a way out of her grasp.

It took a few seconds, but you finally caught sight of a man one of your friends said was serious about his courtship this year. “Besides, he need not bother himself with my business unless a suitor is asking for my hand, yes?” You flash her a faux smile as you slowly begin to pull away from her side. “I am going to get a glass of punch, I will be back.” You told her before hurriedly walking and escaping between the cracks of the surrounding crowd to get away from her. You walked as fast as you could without raising any alarm to others, her shouts and protests falling on deaf ears as you managed a good distance between the two of you. You were able to get across the dance floor and near the table of desserts, not stopping until you found a rather hidden corner to further disappear into. 

You sigh and giggle to yourself as you look back, making sure she was not following and in fact far from you. A smile creeps up onto your lips as you watch her try to carefully push through the crowd. She excuses herself, getting stopped by other Ladies and Mamas on her way towards you. Frustrating builds on her face, eyes glancing every second back to you as she is forced to make small talk. A giggle leaves your lips as you watch the aftermath of your small victory. You straighten your shoulders and hold your head high as you walk backwards, keeping an eye and planning on disappearing from her view when she looks away once more. But the moment is short lived as you suddenly bump into someone. 

Your back crashes into an elbow, the bone hitting between your shoulder blades and causing you to groan at the sudden pain, back going stiff and straight as a slight ache begins to spread throughout. You yelp, whipping your body around and groaning at the discomfort the swift movement caused. You begin to stutter out apologies, explaining how you didn’t know where you were, how you weren’t looking and all sorts of nonsense without even looking at who you were speaking to. The words jumbled together into a string of incoherent mumbles, but your mouth stops when you finally look up. Your body freezes, mouth falling into a small ‘o’ as you look at the man before you. It's strange, you would assume to find a frown and displeased face looking at you. But to your surprise, the man seems to give you the kindest smile, and breathes out the softest of laughs. 

Your eyes meet his, and you can't recall ever having seen someone look at you so… fondly? He was tall, a strong and fit body, shoulders stiff and broad as the deep red of his suit makes him look all the more alluring. His hair was brushed back though it still appeared as a soft mess when paired with the beard he sported. You had never put much thought into what you would think a real man would be like, but good god, if he was not it. You continue to study him, practically entranced by the way he looks, until you see his lips begin to part in question and quickly snap out your thoughts, shaking your head and closing your still slightly agape mouth. “Apologies, Sir, I truly did not see you.” You bow your head slightly and part your eyes from his. 

He smiles and replies, “It is quite alright, Miss.” His voice was deep and gruff, the sound made your knees want to buckle. “Are you hurt? I myself must apologize for not having seen you either,” he looks at you with worry, remembering how harshly you bumped into him. “Ah!” You exclaim, suddenly feeling a slight discomfort between your shoulders but quickly dismissing it. “I’m simply a bit shaken, that’s all. Though I must ask if I did not hurt you either, my lord..?” Your voice drifts off in question, waiting for the man to introduce himself. 

The sound of the title has him letting out a small huff of a laugh,“I am not a lord, Miss, but a general. General John Price, Miss. Mr.Price would do just fine if you do not mind,” He replies with a small shake of his head and a hint of amusement in his voice. Embarrassment immediately fills you as his words process in your head. Your cheeks heat and eyes widen and the urge to crawl into the deepest hole you can find consumes you as more apologies spill from your lips. “I-I’m sorry I didn't mean to-! It is just that so many of the men present here are lords and the title has become a natural response to say to any man I speak to that I-agh!” You stutter and ramble on again, but soon stop yourself from further embarrassment by placing a hand on your awfully loud mouth. “I must stop.” Your eyes look away from what you expect to be a judgemental or annoyed gaze this time, but when you glance back up, it is still neither of those.

“I must admit I had grown rather tired of not being able to get away from you young ladies this evening, but out of all I have spoken to today, you seem to be the most amusing.” He jokes, that laugh of his loud and brighter than before. The sound makes you relax and a sense of comfort washes over you. The rest of the world seems to drown in the sound and sight of him. A man with a large presence and contagious energy, how had you not seen him?  You watch the way his chest rises and falls in his chuckles and how he slightly throws his head back with each “hah”. Before you know it, your hand is falling from your mouth.

“Oh, is that so? I must say the same for the men, you all are at every corner and yet I haven’t found a single one worthy of a good conversation.” You joke back, a playful smirk making its way onto your lips. His smile widens at your comment and the same spark of mischief in your eye ignites in his.

“Truly? Have they all been so boring?”

“Terribly so, I could not even last a minute speaking to them.”

“I must apologize for my fellow men then, for they do not seem up to the challenge of courtship.” 

You giggle at his words, he chuckles in return. “Of that you are right, Sir. In fact, I do not think I’ve ever wished for interesting company to arrive so much as now.” You jest. 

“It seems we are both in luck then. For here I am with you. And you, with me.” The humorous tone of his voice drifts into one of sincerity, flirtatiousness. The hair at the back of your neck rises and your back straightens at the shift in mood. You gulp, feeling his eyes on you, looking at you– truly looking at you now. “Here we are.” 

Your eyes meet once more, only neither of you look away or speak this time. You’ve had to look into the eyes of many men this evening, and you’ve found the saying of the eyes being windows to a person's soul to be true. You could tell when a man only wanted a marriage for money or influence, how they felt about the young lady they were dancing with, who they truly wanted and set their sights on even with a glance. And the way he looked at you, oh it scared you. You can’t recall someone ever looking at you like this. It made your breath catch, heart race, and wonder if the truth in his eyes was not a lie. There was a glint of light in the blue of his eyes, and you realize the look he’s giving you. Almost as if you amuse him, as if he likes you. And you find yourself feeling the same.

It’s as if the realization dawned on both of you at the same time, the mutual attraction, for a comfortable silence soon followed. You both continue to stare, smiling as the two of you seem to breathe in time together. Waiting…Waiting to ask or be asked the same question. Will you dance with me? 

You wanted this to happen, it is what you were looking for. To feel that click, the instant gravitation to one person in a sea of people, and it was here. Standing right in front of you– only you were not prepared for how it would feel. You wanted to revel in it, shout at the top of your lungs ‘I told you I could!’ to your mother and friends who said you that what you wanted was impossible. Here, in front of you, the moment you’ve waited for. All that was left was for either of you to seal it, to grab each other's hand and spend the night talking, to form a proper and real courtship. The possibility made your heart flutter, though only off of a feeling and small conversation, you think you found what you were looking for. But you could only have peace for so long. A hand suddenly wraps itself around your arm and pulls your attention away from the man in front of you. Your damned mother. “General Price, how nice it is to see you!” The woman exclaims in surprise, her arm yanking your body behind her and away from him. ‘You were being improper’ she would later say. The General’s eyes widen at the sudden interruption, but he is quick to compose himself with a smile and nod of his head. “My lady,” he greets her.

“I see you have met my daughter, I do hope she has not been bothersome, she has a rather… colorful personality!” Your mother snides, a false laugh falling from her lips as you roll your eyes. 

“Of course not, she and I were having a rather enjoyable conversation.” He replies, eyes drifting to yours. You let out a weary smile, facial expression screaming “I am sorry!” as best as you could. His gaze softens at you in understanding before in looking back to your mother and further exchanging formalities with her. How are you, where have you been, and other such things they discuss before it is cut to a quick end by the woman. 

“It has been a pleasure to see you again, good Sir, but I am afraid it is time for my daughter and I to retire. I do hope we will see you again.” She smiles, looking your way to give you a stern look, ‘let’s go’ she seems to say. You nod lightly, watching as they exchange goodbyes before your mother leaves to fetch the carriage.

You watch her go and before long the two of you are alone again, standing in a rather awkward air after your mother had interrupted your previous conversation. Neither you say anything, trying to find the words as your feet shuffle in tune with that of the music. You play with your fingers, pulling and twisting at them, unsure of what to say before seeing the man open his mouth. 

“For how short it was, I did enjoy our talk.” He says sincerely. 

You grin, cheeks heating at the simple words. “I do hope you choose to call.” You nod your head politely, watching him do the same before walking away. Butterflies swirl in your stomach, eyes widening in shock the second your back is turned to him. Your first day, your first night and ball as a debutant, and you think you may have found a man you would like to marry. Foolish wishing, others would tell you if they knew you thought this. So you never shared it. You would not whisper it to a soul, but keep it inside a pocket of your heart only to be spoken until the wish comes true. 

It is not long until you are on your way back home, sitting across from your mother in your carriage. The street lights illuminate the carriage as you pass through town, the fabric of your dress shining as you play the flimsy material along your thighs. You yawn, sleeping creeping and taking over you from the change of chaos to quiet tranquility. You’re slouching forward, the ache in your back growing and not letting you sit straight. 

 Your mother scolded you, but laughed, when you told her why it hurt to do so. You rolled your eyes before looking out the window and thinking of Mr. Price. You wanted to ask your mother how they knew each other, why she pulled you away so quickly, what she thought of him. But you spoke not, shaking the thoughts out of your head and happy enough with the idea that you will see him again tomorrow. A love match to be made.

☆☆

General John Price tiredly makes his way to the far end of White’s furnished bar. The club had a signature smell of tobacco and thick wood polish, smoke and cups of brandy filled his vision in a stark contrast to the flowery and bright ballroom he had just made his way from. To be fair, he did not want to come here so late in the night, but an old friend invited him and the man was not one to break a promise. He approached a group of men at a far back table, all talking over a game of cards with several cups half full and empty scattered across the table. John made his way towards the chair on the farthest end, giving the man who sat in it a good strong pat. 

“Johnny boy!” He greets. The man in the chair looks back, jumping in surprise before a wide smile appears as he realizes who is in front of him. 

“Price! I dinnae think you’d come, old man.” The man, Johnny, exclaims before standing to properly shake and give the General a hug. They share a laugh and exchange pleasantries before Johnny introduces him to the other Lords who he was previously talking to. Price recognized a few from the ball, he had wondered where they had wandered off so early. 

“I assume yer awfully tired from havin’ many young girls stepping on yer toes tonight, aye?” Johnny jokes, leading Price away from the group and to the bar. He orders them a whiskey each, the glasses clinking as they share a toast to the older man’s coming back to town. Price shakes his head lightly, “I will admit that I underestimated just how…draining this prospect would be.” John sighs, downing the glass in front of him with one gulp. He plays with the rim of his glass and watches the remaining drops swirl in the dim light of the room, he thinks of how many young ladies there were and it was only the first night. Each was as pretty and delicate as a flower, bright smiles and rosy cheeks but altogether, desperate and grasping onto any man who looked their way. Though he could not blame them, it was what they were born and raised to do, it was all they knew to do.

“Exactly why I haven’t taken on the task myself. Yer stronger than I’ll ever be Cap’in,” Johnny chuckles, taking a sip from his own glass. “Did you meet a lass you might set your sights on?”  The younger man grins, nudging the elder as he notices his eyes drifting down in thought at the question. 

“I found a Miss I am to call on tomorrow. She seems agreeable, timid but with a sense of humour and not as” he pauses to find the right word, “eager as the other ladies. Though her mother stepped in before I could invite her for a dance. Does not matter, we have a whole season to talk and dance and do what people do in courtship. If all goes well, I may have a wife soon.” Price says, going back to fidgeting with his glass. As he looks at it though, he can't help but think about the girl. From the way they met, to her mannerisms, she truly did intrigue him. Only now that he looked back on their interactions does he feel as if he forgot something. He moves the glass back and forth, watching the light seep through and glimmer– trying to remember something important he has forgotten but cannot seem to place. 

“A Mrs.Price, at last!” Johnny exclaims, Price rolls his eyes. “And do tell, my dear friend, what is her name?” 

John freezes at the words. His eyes widened and head rising in a swift motion. He stares at Johnny, shock and realization written all over. That’s what he forgot. Johnny catches on immediately, eyes widening with his friends. 

“Dinnae tell me…” 

“I did not catch it.” 

The men look at each other a second longer before Johnny begins to shake his head. “Now how in the hell do ye forget to ask a lass her name, John? You’re the general, for christ sakes, aren’t ye supposed to have a strategic battle plan for everything ye do?” He lets out a dramatic sigh, brows furrowing and going to rub his temples in disappointment. Price slouches and rubs his eyes with his palms, trying to wipe away the fog of his mind. 

“I figured I did not need to ask as I knew her mother, she was an old family friend. It has just occurred to me I never knew who she married. The girl and I met in a rather odd situation as well, I didn't even have time to ask her.” 

Johnny slowly chuckles in disbelief at his words, “That poor girl is going to be truly devastated when you don’t show up tomorrow morning.”

“Mactavish,” John says his name sternly, eyeing the younger man in warning. 

Johnny holds his hands up in surrender, before grabbing his unfinished glass of whiskey and downing the remaining contents. The men sit together in silence, waiting and thinking for a kind of solution to help with the unfortunate circumstance. 

“I tell ye what,” Johnny interrupts after a few moments, “My sister, she’s in her first year as a debutante and friends with almost half of the lassies in Mayfair. Come over in the morning, and I believe we can ask for her help identifying your bonnie, aye?” 

The proposal interested John enough to consider it, to think of how it would play out. “She would not mind?” 

“Nay, all I’ve got to do is tell her yer a friend, that’ll put you off as a potential suitor and help yer little predicament.” Johnny grins, with teeth, for having thought of the idea. In all fairness, it was not the best or brightest plan, but who is John Price, a General of the British Armies to say no to a friend simply trying to help him. 

☆☆☆

You awake at the crack of dawn, a giddy and anxious feeling bubbling in the pit of your belly from the second you opened your eyes. It was with you the whole morning– as your maid helped you dress, as you ate breakfast, as you talked to your mother and brother of what bachelors you predict may come to call. 

“Lord Harding was quite taken with you last night, my dear. As well as Lord Langley and even Mr. Anderson, their mothers and I spoke of what a handsome match you would be with either of them. They are agreeable men, are they not Johnny?” Your mother says, sitting across from you on a plush settee and drinking a cup of tea. Johnny, who was sitting in the chair nearest to the window and farthest from you replies with a nod. “Aye, though Anderson’s got a taste for losing a pretty sum every time he’s at the club.” He comments, looking out the window as if waiting for something. Your mother lets out a small ‘ah’ and nods her head at the information. You roll your eyes and manage to bite your tongue. It was too exciting of a day to waste your energy bickering with him. 

“I talked to another gentleman as well last night.” You share instead. Johnny turns his head toward you, slightly tilted in questions.  

“Aye, did ye?” Johnny questions you, doubt in his voice. He looks back out the window when the noise of a carriage passes by– not even bothering to hear your answer. “Yes, I did. He was kind, kinder than the other men I talked to all night.” You reply, brows furrowing and staring daggers at him. “Oh please, darling, I hardly doubt he’d come today. You did not share a dance, or even speak for that long.” Your mother says, making you slightly frown and look to her. 

“Perhaps after your next meeting he shall come to see you. And does he not seem a bit older to you? Would you not prefer a younger man, closer to your age? Remember, we have the whole of the season to find you a match, my love. Try not to think of him and focus on the men who do come today, yes?” You sigh, fighting your frown from deepening at her words. You try to slouch in your corset (which was pulled tighter today) to help the still aching injury on your back. Your mother catches you and lets out a ‘tsk’, a reminder that she is watching your every move. You almost start to argue with her, already upset and bothered. Your mouth opens and brows furrow but are interrupted before you can get any words out. 

‘Excuse me,” Johnny suddenly coughs. “But it appears as if we already have guests.” He slowly stands from his chair and makes his way to sit next to your mother. They would be your chaperones for the evening and any other event for the season. You know that he would rather not be here, but your mother had to remind him of his duty. To you, and to the family.

“How exciting! Now remember,” Your mother exclaims before assessing you with her eyes, “smile, be kind, and do not push too hard on the whole…love match aspect. We want our guests to feel welcome and to get to know them, yes?” You nod obediently, not minding her words. Such control, the woman wanted. From your hair to your shoes and dress, she tried her best to dress and present you as a pretty doll. “Yes, mother.” You nod once more, your lip forming into a thin line of a smile as you manage to sit up straight and mentally ready yourself. 

Many suitors came to call, the room filling with men and the sound of laughter as the day went on. They brought you flowers, boxes of chocolate, and some even went as far as bringing you a pair of earrings with your favorite jewels. The room was filled with gifts and men by noon, the energy and rushing making you grow weary by the third gentleman caller. It was strange, having so many eyes on you and being the center of attention. To have men try to entertain you with their small talk and aspirations in marriage and life, hoping you’d pick and entertain them back. 

Through it all, you kept thinking of Mr.Price. In the few minutes you spoke together, it did not feel like this at all. You wondered if it would be the same in your next meeting, if you would be tense or if he would be as welcoming as before. Every time a suitor left or came, you looked toward the door for any sight of him. You wanted to sight in disappointment each time you did not see him. The ache in your back only reminded you of him furthermore which each movement you made, his presence there even if he wasn’t. 

The whole of the morning felt so unnatural. Saying all the practiced and calculated responses your mother taught you, not like you at all. Even watching her speak to the callers, seeing her smile and compliment you so kindly felt like you were a part of some grand facade and did not know your role in it. As exciting as it was, it was also quite terrifying. The mountain of expectations was a weight you could not shake off of your shoulders.

It was strange to think, but to find any kind of normality throughout it all, you looked to Johnny. He sat at the window seat again, glancing over to watch you and your mother every few seconds, just as before. His presence grounded you, even if distant. While your mother put on an act, he was still himself. Your distant, kind but irritating, brother. 

You were in the middle of speaking to your mother's preferred suitor, Lord Harding, when you saw Johnny rise from his seat and excuse himself from the room. Your eyes follow him, and you can’t help but feel a small sense of disappointment and sadness watching him go. Of course he wouldn’t stay. You thought to yourself, but quickly shake the thought from your head and continue your conversation with the man beside you. 

“The gardens in my family home are quite beautiful, each rose bush having been planted and cared for since the start of my family's lineage. My mother hopes to host a ball near the end of the season, I hope I am able to show them to you soon.” The man says to you, his voice sincere and kind.The gentleman was kind and respectful, young and handsome with a sort of boyish charm that made talking to him a bit easier than the other callers. “I would be most delighted to.” You reply with a smile, ready to ask him more about his family home when you see your brother walk back into the room from the corner of your eye. You hadn’t expected him to come back, much less with a guest. You move your body slightly, turning to see who it was he came back with. 

What you saw next, you did not expect.The sight shocks you. Your eyes widen, a gasp leaves you, and your heart almost leaps out of your chest when you realize who was with your brother. Your mother, who has been sitting across from you, follows your line of sight. Her eyes widen slightly as well, before a sigh leaves her lips. 

Johnny’s guest locked eyes on you the second he stepped in the room.

“Mr.Price.” The name leaves your mouth before you can even think. 

“Miss…Mactavish.” He looks just as shocked as you were. His eyes widen, but the same soft smile from last night makes its way upon his lips.

“What?” Johnny cuts in. You both look towards him the second he speaks. Confused, and almost upset, Johnny's eyes meet yours. You open your mouth, ready to explain, but he only looks back to the man at the door. 

Now, you have seen him upset a handful of times, but in those times you knew what to do. Knew what to say, knew when to walk away.  But looking at him look at Price, all you could do was hold your breath. 

Oh hell. 

Thank you for reading </3!! Comments and reblogs are v much appreciated! If you have any insights please leave them kindly!!

A/n: This chapter was meant to be a bit silly, but im not sure if i was able to do it that well🥲 Also my first time writing a Scottish accent for Johnny! Apologies if i got anything wrong. More to come soon and I hope you all enjoyed 🩵💖!!

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Roosterwhale behind the cut; "the one where Kryptonians have omegaverse genders, but nobody told Match". (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Mm,” Superman murmurs, sitting down on the armrests and stroking his hair again. “You’re taking it hard this cycle, aren’t you. I don’t think I’ve seen you fall in it this deep so quick since the first time.” 

Match has an odd, inexplicable urge to push him away, or to just squirm away from the armrests and Superman’s hand and–hide, somehow. How is that . . . why is . . .

He doesn’t understand what’s making him want to do that. 

But–Superman smells safe, still, and that’s . . . that’s distracting. Confusing. It’s . . . 

“Mm,” Match says, mostly in echo of Superman saying it, though he forgets . . . whatever else Superman said. It didn’t sound as full in his head, so he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to, or . . . 

“Don’t worry,” Superman says gently, still stroking his hair over and over. Match doesn’t understand why he’s doing it. Doesn’t understand why he even did it the once, much less why he’s still doing it. “Your sem-zahm'll be here soon. Just a couple excuses to make first.” 

Match feels heavy and sleepy and blurred, but the only thing that sounded full in his head was . . . 

“. . . sem-zahm,” he mumbles, tightening his grip on the pillow and digging his fingers into it. That was–the thing that sounded “full”. 

“Yes. And the zehdh-voi will take care of you, same as always,” Superman says, steady and reassuring, and then the corner of his mouth quirks up wryly. “Just try not to disassemble too much of the Fortress this time, mm?” 

“. . . yessir,” Match tries, not sure why he . . . is there a reason he’d disassemble the Fortress? A reason Superboy would’ve? That seems–stranger. That Superboy would’ve. 

“Kon,” Superman says, softening again and petting his hair more heavily. Match–Match just melts. Melts into something warm and heavy and useless and–and–

Useless. He’s–he– 

Match’s stomach knots, and roils, and suddenly feels worse than the cramps ever made it. He–he can’t be–he can’t be useless, he–he can’t be useless, if he’s useless he– 

“Kid?” Superman asks, stilling the hand he has in his hair and sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

“Won't help me. Won't,” Match chokes roughly without even meaning to open his mouth, screwing his eyes shut and locking all his muscles with his TTK before he can–react. Before he can let anything else show. Superman can already tell he’s–how can Superman tell he’s wrong, what did he do, where did he–why is he–“Can't think right, m’all stupid, no use if I'm stupid, m'degrading, just gonna degrade and get scrapped and won't even be good enough to use the parts from, not–not worth anything if m'stupid–useless if I’m–if I’m–” 

“Kid,” Superman says again as he leans in a little, and the eucalyptus smell fills up the whole world, but–but it’s still– “You’re not stupid. Remember? This is normal. We'll take care of you and you'll feel better after it’s over, just like always.” 

“No,” Match croaks, and is shocked and disgusted and terrified to realize he’s this close to tearing up, and why–why can’t he shut up–“No. Not worth the investment. Not worth fixing. Results weren't good enough, experiment was a waste of resources. Stupid to indulge in the sunk-cost fallacy. I’m stupid. I can't be stupid, I have to be good enough.” 

“You’re not any of those things, Kon,” Superman says quietly, smoothing his hair back off his forehead. 

But he’s not saying that to Match. 

Superboy’s not the one who’s degrading, Superboy’s not the one who’s useless if he’s stupid, Superboy’s not here and–and Superboy–Superboy Superman might actually bother to fix, maybe. He’s done it before, for whatever reason Superman does anything. He’d even tried to get him to help him do it before. 

But Match didn’t help him, so even if Superman could fix him, he won’t. 

They’ll let him degrade ‘til he rots and then they’ll throw him away and won’t even use the scraps of him, he’ll just be nothing, nothing, nothing, he’s not a person so he’ll just be dead, gone, he isn’t going to leave anything behind, not a soul or a ghost or a single ripple in the world. There isn’t an afterlife or anything like that that’d take him even if there’d be something left to take, but–but there won’t, because there isn’t, because he’s not a person and he’s never even tried to be so he’ll just be–nothing, he’ll be nothing and it’ll never have mattered that he happened at all, nothing he’s done will ever have mattered, he was just a mistake, a waste of resources, a failed result, a bad and useless thing that never, ever mattered for anything or–or to any–anyone. 

He can’t even degrade right. 

He should’ve told his handlers he was. Should’ve told the doctors. Told a guard or–just someone. Told someone, so they could scrap the plan and adapt and schedule his–his autopsy, or necropsy, or dissection, so they could maybe build something less useless next time; something that could actually serve the Agenda’s purpose. 

Not out of any of his DNA, though. So maybe he isn’t even useful enough for that. 

Match’s eyes are burning. They’re probably rotting. Degrading. His vision’s all blurred and his eyes are burning and he can’t even breathe right, or maybe even at all, and he–he– 

Superman’s saying something, Match realizes from some small, crushed-down place inside himself where there isn’t even anywhere to go anyway, where there isn’t even really a place. There’s nothing inside him, so why would there be? He’s not–he’s– 

Superman’s–been saying something, Match realizes. 

“Kid,” Superman says tightly. “Look at me.” 

Match doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to even be here. Doesn’t want to even be anywhere.

But Superman told him to, and he does.

[takes1]

i’ve never put in a request before but i read literally all of your haikyuu stuff and i was wondering if you could do something like your asahi x feral!reader but for tsukishima? or even just more asahi or tsukishima stuff would also be cool

tsukki using toys on feral!reader

i love you. here's your present pookie <3

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / rough sex / switchy, mostly dominant!tsukki / mutual masturbation / exhibitionism / voyeurism / use of vibrator / use of dildo / mutual crushing / dirty talk / tsukki loves to tease / flirty!tsukki / friend sex / mostly clothed sex / light choking / 3.3k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3

Even the way he slid his tie off made you want to drop to your knees and beg him to fuck.

Tsukishima was an alright buddy, but you knew he'd make a much better lover. Maybe it was your delusion, built-up by years of crushing on your closest friend, but there was something about being a mean guy's favorite got you going.

More specifically: soaked, swimming in your raunchy imagination, even investing in some toys to help with the fantasy of it all, most nights.

He had no clue. You were always careful not to look at him more than you had to, to never speak to him too often. It was only thanks to being in the same class that he came over to study, and you got the chance to callous your crush-masking and Calculus III at the same unfortunate time. So fun.

"You study at all yet?" He stretched with a yawn, sore and tired from practice.

"A little," You were usually curt with him when it was just you two.

Today, Yamaguchi opted to work on his serves after practice with his mentor, instead of studying with you two. You nearly cancelled this, but you needed to go over a few concepts with somebody before the quiz tomorrow morning.

Yamaguchi was the best person to bounce off of, so the three of you had better, friendlier chemistry than just you and Tsukishima. You didn't have to fake it as much.

You set your laptop up on your desk and stood, bent at the hips to open up your class materials and take some books out of your bag.

"I didn't have time today," A weight was on the side of your hip, making you stifle a flinch. It was only the side of his leg, from the way he leaned back onto your desk right next to you, "I had to practice at lunch, too."

Another yawn.

They had been busier, lately. Both of them couldn't meet as regularly because they had extra, informal practices.

"Big match coming up?" You clicked to the website and took the soonest opportunity to get away.

You sat down in your chair and kept your eyes on the monitor. You couldn't handle his proximity. You were already wet just from the ride over, having to sit thigh-to-thigh with him on the train. It would be impossible to focus if he kept this shit up.

"Kinda."

The conversation died there. Neither of you tried too hard to keep any discussion alive without Yamaguchi.

He started getting his materials together and paused, then took another few minutes to root around. He glanced around your desk and didn't find what he was looking for.

"You got a pen I could borrow?"

You half-hummed, in the middle of copying down an equation from the screen to your paper.

"Uhh- yeah, yeah. Bedside table. Should be next to the uhhh, the lamp."

Tsukishima watched you for a moment longer, suspicious, but stretched again and pushed himself up to find the pen. To his delight, that was not what he found, when he tried looking through the drawers instead of limiting his search to the surface.

A quick glance back to you- still focused on anything but him, to a level he had grown to understand as simply overcompensation, and he knew he was clear to let his curiosity roam.

"Interesting."

"Wha'?" You mumbled, lazy against your knuckles, a dry, slow blink at your monitor filled with equations.

Long, slim fingers danced over the pink, silicone dildo in the back of your drawer. His grin grew to serious proportions when he found its smaller, surely nosier friend. He could have guessed you were a little freak, but loved this confirmation.

In your attempt to give your retinas a break, you found a spare pen behind one of your notebooks.

"Oh-, hey, I found it," You sighed.

You turned in your swivel chair to face him and see what the delay was about. A flash of pink in his hand made your blood run cold.

"Tsukki!"

You almost tripped scrambling out of your chair, the sound of your call a short and wheezy one, so he had plenty of warning before you were upon him, plastered to his front just like he wanted.

"Put that down!"

His hand flew high into the air, at a height you could never hope to reach- it angered you so quickly, and you felt your face getting hot. That tall bastard utilized his abnormal wingspan at the worst of times.

Frantic fingers clawed his sweater down, but there was no chance you could pull his entire arm down far enough.

From here, you realized he was also holding your smaller vibrator in the same hand. That just wasn't possible without freakishly large proportions.

You screamed, "You're such a fucking weirdo! Put it back!!"

Tsukishima pouted at you, making you think you might have gotten through to him, but like most of his expressions, it was sarcastic.

"Ooooh... I'm the weirdo?"

That one, especially coupled with the eye roll, pissed you off. It wasn't your fault that he was incapable of sexual attraction. You were over-active, sure, and maybe you rivalled the sex drive of a man, but that was your personal business. Up until now, it was stored safe and secret.

"Fuck you!"

You shoved him. And he actually fell back. He wasn't very heavy.

When he hit your mattress, it was a race to recapture your toys that had gotten knocked out of his hand before you could get to them.

You scrapped to get on top of him, weigh him down, and dodged his elbow to reach his wrist-- it was too late. He gripped the thing and you could only then try to pry his hand open.

"Ah-ah-ah," His smirk was so mean, how he found you, in the midst of all your panic, as cute as a button, "What's the magic word?"

"You're never coming over again, you dick," You muttered, fuming, when his fingers just wouldn't be opened.

Tsukishima didn't do much to keep his hand away from you. You held his forearm against your chest because you the most leverage there.

His unrestricted laugh was pretty; scratchy and elevated, watching you try and try again to take your belongings back from him.

Fatigue was getting in the way of your efforts. When he pulled his hand back, over his head, you got knocked off balance and caught yourself, looking down at him.

It distracted you for a moment.

There was something in his eyes you hadn't noticed before, in all your attempts to retrieve your precious toys.

"A little small..." He furrowed his brow, a purse on his lips as he angled it in the light behind you, "Don't you think?"

The hand against your other side made you pause. His thumb, starting to rub you through your uniform, made you shudder.

Why was everything so slow, all of a sudden? You could hear your elevated heart rate, acutely aware of how heavy your breathing had gotten. Tsukishima seemed as though he had always been here, in this state, because he looked you over at a glacial pace.

"Oh- god," You shivered at the realization you were sitting on him, in your skirt.

What had been such a sure reality of never getting off to him again, all at once, became the very reason to do so.

When you looked like you were gearing up to move off of him, smaller, and meeker in spirit, he spoke up through your habitual doubts.

"Stay-," His hand was firm now, gently pushing your weight onto himself, "Stay here."

Hearing something genuine come out of Tsukishima's mouth was so rare that you thought he was joking. You kept trying to rise off of him.

"Hey," He chuckled, but his smile was fleeting.

He set your toys down and used both hands to weigh you down by your thighs. Your uncomfortable expression was mostly confusion.

"Why would I do that?"

You were torn between wanting to take your stuff back and get far away, and the animalistic urge to stay and entertain whatever this was.

His scoff, the roll of his eyes, made your thighs flex, like it always did. This time, he could feel it. But it was confirmation he didn't need, at this point.

"Don't act like you're not into me."

The heaviness of being caught made you sink. It didn't appeal to you to find out why he knew. He was intelligent, after all, and made it his job to notice small things.

Now that it was out in the open, you had no need to lie. A lot less to worry about, too.

Tsukishima smirked at your tiny, defeated sigh.

You glanced to the toys, free for you to take and hide again, but found no desire to do so. You took a good, thorough feel of that soft sweater under your hands. It turned into pushing up under his shirt, and adjusting closer down, open for a kiss, if he felt so inclined.

He sucked in a breath through his nose, restraining himself only once, at that little, dirty roll you did against his cock.

A slow, unsure kiss was soon a rushed and racy battle for power.

Any drop of validation you gave him, whether in sound or feel, was drowned in a charged kind of yearning for more; More of that noise, more of your mouth, more of your body under his starving grasp.

His fingers spread over the plush of your ass, quickly between you and your underwear, spreading you from the back with so much vigor that you whined at all the intensity.

"Mm- yeahh, I know you like that shit," He nestled his kisses against the side of your face, rough and smiley.

You gasped, sharp, at his words and his nails digging lines into your skin.

"Oh my god," You moaned, eyes shutting at how his attention seemed to wrack through you like some sick wave.

In your sudden inability to kiss him back, he ripped open your uniform blouse and sucked hasty bites into your chest.

Finally. He made you feel like you could take anything.

When he sat up, you came with him, and rejoiced in the way he shoved you onto your back, all out of breath and turned on, hovering over you like you were his. That proud expression on your face deserved a few more kisses, he decided.

They were still so rough and challenging to keep up with- especially when you felt him sliding your panties off.

"M-mn," You chased after his lips for a second, not wanting him to pull away so quick.

"I want you to use this," He muttered, and handed you your vibrator- he was keeping it in his pocket, so it didn't get lost in the sheets (as it often liked to).

The sound of that was enough to make you giggle, instantly compliant. But it made you curious.

"Well- what will you do?"

Tentative, you held it without moving- but his hands guided it right where it needed to be. He smirked at your gasps, your thighs flexing hard against him.

"I'll watch," His voice was proceeded by the clang of his belt, zipping out of his belt loops and clattering onto the floor.

Your drunken eyes widened at the monster he pulled out. Yeah, it did make your dildo look small. But it looked natural in his big hand, starting to stroke himself at the view of you, under him.

There was no chance to be coy- he was doing the same thing, even the one to suggest it all. You gave a dreamy sigh, content at the chance to be his cam girl.

His head tilted, eyes lowered to watch your pussy, getting juicier by the minute- so he was a sick son of a bitch, too.

Ever the one to tease, he muttered, "How often d'you think about me?"

That made you warm. You didn't want to say it right away, because even you knew it was getting to be an addiction. It was hard not working one out every night when he was making you horny any time you spoke in class.

"Every day..." You mumbled, eyes still locked on the way he stroked himself, curious to try it for yourself.

He was busy imagining how often you had probably both been masturbating at the same time, with no idea. His hands pushed your thighs up- a nasty, preoccupied gaze on just the way it puffed up your pussy. God, he needed to feel you from the inside.

"Me, too," He admitted. Though it was a dirty thing to say, he said it so flat, in his own little way, as he searched for that dildo. He left out the fact that he jerked off multiple times a day.

"You wanna get that wet for me?"

You hummed, sweet and cute, at the opportunity in front of your face.

Getting it nice and slick in your mouth was just a way to torture him a little more, let him in on what he had been missing- you sucked the thing off a little longer than necessary.

His jaw flexed at the sight, his eyes narrow, intense, just how you liked them.

You grinned as he took it back and cleaned the string of spit from your lip. He sucked it off of his finger like cotton candy.

Tsukishima took the liberty of filling you up with it- watching every little twitch and savoring every whine with so much concentration.

The look of it had him pumping himself a little faster, a little dumb at the sight of you stuffed, already, and dripping onto your sheets. You had been getting off to him every night, then treating him like the dirt under your shoe, for three years?

"I would've been fuckin' you so good- mmnh- freshman year, if you had just been honest with me."

His words made you lose your breath, gasping at the thought of how much you could've helped yourself out, if only things had been different. But, that fixation on his face, all the anticipation leading up to now; you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

You bit your lip at how slow and patient he was, stretching you out all for himself.

"D'you want me to cum?" You asked, tone purposefully candied for him.

There was no hesitation. He looked a little staggered. It was adorable, how badly he wanted to see it happen.

"Fuck, yes."

It took you more effort to hold out, talk, and edge, than it did to give him a show.

You just fell into what you usually did when you got home from classes- this time, with little sounds falling from your lips, and your thighs up the way he liked so much.

The way his eyes clouded over, how he started to relax in the shoulders, and grew breathier at your performance stroked your ego on a deeper level.

"Ah-h!"

His breath stalled at the sudden tension, the gasp on your lips. He was watching you, completely captivated, at your rigid brow and crescendoing sounds.

"Mnn-H-Aahh!" You wished he would touch you, so bad, but it didn't happen. He was too busy studying you.

"Damn," He sighed.

He was taken by the way you came completely undone for him- it made his face soften, made him want to kiss you through it, but he loved watching from right here. It was unbelievably hot.

Though he pulled out that pink obstruction to his real plan, he didn't let you move your vibrator away. He grinned at your reaction, as you were still coming down.

You squirmed at the discomfort, a little panic in your eyes, all to find him enjoying it more.

"A-ahh-! Tsukki--,"

"Ohh- sorry, you thought you were getting a break?" His voice was so sweet, so amused.

He lined himself up with you, sure to lube up in all that extra slickness. It was so deranged and bold that it made you relax, watching in quiet, but whiny captivation, despite needing more time.

"Fuuck," He sighed, a huffy laugh on his lips at how perfect you took him, "God- mmnh-!"

It shouldn't have surprised you, but he wasn't slow, and he wasn't gentle. You supposed you weren't, either. You were both one in the same, too excited and caught up in the rare chance to let loose with a likeminded pervert.

The intensity in his twitchy brow gave way to a narrowed focus on your face.

"Feels so good, (Y/n)."

"Mmnh- call me anything but my- na-me," You sighed, a clip at the end of your phrase as he started using you like his own toy, fast.

He stretched you so good- nothing like your pitiful replacement for him. You couldn't believe he was packing so much, for such a skinny guy.

Though you half-expected him to keep using your name as a means to tease you; he smirked, instead.

"You can- ahh, be my dirty little slut, then-,"

You did say 'anything.' And, to your pleasant surprise, you didn't hate that as much as you thought you would. You still laughed at him, though, because he deserved it. He grinned, unable to take it too seriously, too.

Your recovery period was laughably short. The newness of his cock, the hungry look in his mean face over you, his attitude completely transformed by your body, had you short of breath all over again, wanting more, taking him better with less discomfort.

You welcomed his intensity. This time, all of it, finally wasn't fabricated in your head.

It began to spiral, tightening like a spring in your tummy, into the fundamental need to be railed to another orgasm.

"Harder- please," Your begging couldn't go unrewarded.

It was like he was waiting for confirmation to fuck you as hard as he wanted-- his hand naturally squeezed around your throat, a struggle playing out in his eyes, now, at the way you gripped his arm to keep it there.

He got raspy, breathy, sweat rolling down the side of his face.

Your volume was intense- elation and indulgence all at your liberty, since you were the only people home. Your family trusted Tsukishima, and you were only just now learning that they probably shouldn't.

"F-uck!"

The pretty shock taking your face, coupled with the spasm of your cunt as you actually came twice was all too much for a guy as nasty as him.

That shit was too raw- your gasps, wavering cries, too good for his filthy mind. He was gonna throw all of his porn away as soon as he got home. Next time he needed to cum, he'd take the train here.

He pulled out and absolutely ruined that cute uniform. You were twitchy, panting at all the overstimulation, drenched in sweat, and unable to care right now. He pried his own fingers, slowly, from your neck and lowered to kiss you. It was slower, now, as you both caught your breath.

Coming down with somebody wasn't nearly as sobering as coming down by yourself.

His forehead was slippery against yours, "I'll pay for- ah, your uniform, if I need to."

It was a sweet gesture. You pressed a kiss against his cheek with a laugh, "Just throw it all in the washer."

"Hm," He smirked, an idea taking form behind his eyes as you were carefully stripped of your clothes.

"Let's go again. One more time."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Sonny Carisi NSFW Alphabet  

I’ve been thinking about doing this for months. I waited because it takes so long for me to do. But I thought you guys desrved a New Years present- let's start it off with a smutty bang! 

A big thank you to @polkadotpenguin16 for reading it over for me and giving feedback. 

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

Sonny’s aftercare is exceptional. He takes care of you and has you settled before he even thinks about himself. He is all about intimacy, cuddles, and attention. Sometimes it’s just curling up together and falling asleep- his favorite is when you shower first. He wants to take care of you, washing your body, sliding over your curves. And if you decide you want to go another round he is more than willing to fulfill your every desire.   

Other times it's pillow talk, laughs. Telling each other secrets and funny stories from your past. Baring yourself to each other- the pain and hurt you both have experienced. Talking about family and the future and what it might be- the promises he whispers against your skin. One day he was brushing your hair back and pleasure drunk you told him that one of your favorite things was having your hair played with. Now he always does it after sex, his talented fingers running through your tresses usually until you fall asleep. It was a habit you noticed that had bled over to whenever you were curled up together.  

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) 

Sonny’s favorite part of himself is his arms and shoulders. While Sonny might not look it with his leaner build, he is strong. He climbed that fire escape using only his upper body strength to rescue that girl from falling. It doesn’t hurt that it is one of the areas you pay the most attention to. Often stroking and massaging him letting your hands linger.  

No matter how much Sonny assures you he loves your entire body- he is very obviously an ass man. He tries not to make his staring obvious but you have practically worn through a pair of snug-fitting jeans that are Sonny’s favorite. They tightly hug your ass just right. It has gotten Sonny to stop and stare more times than you can count. You are almost positive they were the reason you got pregnant the first time. You could see his disappointment all over his face when you finally had to throw them out.   

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) 

Sonny loves to come inside of you. The mix of your arousal with his seed, especially watching it drips down from your well fucked cunt to the inside of your thighs. A beautiful sticky mess that marks you as his. Your chest rising and faling rapidly as you try to catch your breath a satisfied smile on your lips. He knows one day when you’re ready, he will fuck his seed inside of you so deep it will take, permanently mixing your DNA.    

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

Sonny loves anal sex. The first time he ever did it was at the request of his partner. He was a bit reluctant but willing to try it for his partner who raved about how amazing it made her feel. Between how tight it held his cock and the obvious pleasure it brought her Sonny was instantly hooked.  

Sonny had a hard time broaching the subject with you and when he found out you had never done it before he instantly clammed up. You had been the one to catch his drift and ask if it was something he enjoyed. When he just stood there clearly weighing the pros and cons you had shrugged saying you were willing to try it. He couldn’t hide the way his eyes lit up even while asking you if you were sure. You had nodded easily simply saying “You try all the stuff I want. Let’s see if it's as good as you are making it seem.” 

It was even better. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

Sonny isn’t a fan of hookups or one-night stands. He has partaken from time to time but it has always left him not quite satisfied. He craves the intimacy of knowing and loving the person you are with. He has learned from his various partners but he doesn’t know as much as men who have long Casanova phases.  

What he lacks in experience he makes up for in personalization of pleasure for his partners. He is more than willing to spend hours figuring out just what you like, enjoy, and love. He is also ready and willing to try pretty much anything you are interested in. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) 

Sonny loves it when you ride him. Your breasts bouncing in his face as your needy cunt takes all of him. He can kiss down your chest, finding a hard nipple to suck and nibble on. He can thread his fingers through your hair and pull encouraging you to look in his eyes. His hands are free to caress your curves, grab your ass, or sneak his hand between you and rub your clit until you come on his cock. He has the option to sit back and enjoy what you are doing, hands busy with your body or he can grab your hips forcing you into stillness as he ruts up into you while pulling you down onto him.   

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) 

Sonny can be goofy but generally is more intense and focused on your pleasure. There are definitely times when he is more lighthearted. I think this would happen more in the morning when the two of you are waking up or lazing in bed. The teasing would ensue and lead to playful sex.   

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

Sonny isn’t vain but he does know that presentation matters and he likes to look his best, especially when it comes to you. Sonny keeps himself clean and his hair neatly trimmed no matter how tired and busy his life is. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) 

Sonny's intimacy is off the charts. He is a hopeless romantic- his parents have been together for over two decades. He wants to do the flowers and candles. The sweet words whispered in your ear, lingering kisses, fingertips dragging across your skin not leaving an inch untouched. Sonny plans an all-out night at least every other month though he tries to do it monthly. He lights candles, dims the lights, gets massage oil, and plans a hot bath with essential oils and bubbles for the two of you to soak in after.  

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) 

Sonny masturbates quite a bit. He grew up Catholic and the guilt that came along with it. The push of abstinence and to stay free of sexual desire. It had Sonny finding release in his own hand for years. He hates feeling like he is pressuring anyone for sex and would rather get himself off than make you feel obliged to take care of him.  

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) 

Sonny has a breeding kink. Everyone who grows up Catholic has a bit of one. He wants to knock you up. He wants to see you round with his baby, breast heavy, skin glowing. Sonny has a praise kink and likes sensation and impact play. He wants to spank your ass leaving it a pretty shade of pink. And anything else that can overstimulate you and leave you sensitive to his touch. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) 

Sonny’s favorite place to have sex is in the dining room with you bent over the kitchen table. Sonny is always dominant and rough when you guys have sex there. You’ve been left with bruises on your hips and a pink ass from him spanking you more times than you can count. There are scratches on the floor that you try to cover from the table sliding back and forth. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) 

It doesn’t take much to get Sonny turned on. He loves you and your body but you have noticed that Sonny gets particularly handsy when you wear sundresses. Seeing you in one can make him go from “we are late” to “we have a few minutes” with one glance. When you started to notice the pattern and have sex in more risqué spots- his car, bar bathroom- you stopped wearing panties. Now he has to “check” to make sure you have all of your proper clothes when you go to see family or fancy events. He strangely never seems to make you put them on when he notices you aren’t wearing them before you leave the apartment but has left you soaked with arousal and shaking after he ate you out with the few spare minutes you had before leaving. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) 

Sonny is never going to be okay with bringing anyone else into the bedroom. Sonny wants all of your attention and is much too jealous to share you with anyone else. He is also uncomfortable with role-playing in any scenario where consent is forced or not given. He has worked in SVU too long and it makes his skin crawl. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 

Sonny loves to receive oral sex but not nearly as much as he likes to give it. He has to taste you and was raised to eat his entire meal so you will just have to wait until he is done. If your legs are shaking and are almost overwhelmed by your third- or was it fourth- orgasm your arousal drenching his face and fingers he is sure you can still handle “Just one more baby, you taste so sweet, I just need one more.” You have to push him back or pull him up for a kiss to make him stop before he’s ready, sighing into his skin and telling him you’ve really had all you can take. 

As much as Sonny likes to get head, he doesn’t ask for it often. Mostly because you give it so often he doesn’t have to. But when he does it's usually because he is overwhelmed and beyond stressed out. You always take your time and drag it out purposely teasing him, getting him worked up enough to not only pull your hair but to start thrusting his hips up desperately needing the relief of your mouth on his throbbing cock. You revel in his loss of control urging him to continue nails raking at the back of his hips and side of his thighs.   

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

Sonny can be either. There is a time and a place for different types of sex and he knows it. It keeps things interesting. When you first got together with Sonny you were surprised by just how different the sex could be. Your first time was intimate and slow. He wanted you to know it meant more than just getting his dick wet. It stayed that way for a couple weeks with the added bonus of some playful lighthearted sex.  

Then Sonny had been busy with a big case and you hadn’t seen him in weeks. It had ended badly and was in desperate need of salvation and a way to work off his frustration and anger. He was on you like a starved man. Urgent and demanding. He held you just a little too tight, his kisses hot forceful, his movements dominant and possessive, and downright pantie-wetting sinful. When it’s over your body is pleasantly sore and thrumming with leftover pleasure you let out a giddy laugh running a hand through your sex hair and tell him “Next time I want you to pin my hands behind my back and take full advantage of me while you fuck me in front of that mirror.” Sonny's blue eyes blaze with heat and next time is as soon as Sonny can go another round. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) 

Sonny likes quickies! He is busy with work and after you have kids your time is pretty limited. If you guys can sneak in a quick roll in the sheets his answer is always yes. There is some adrenaline to knowing you are on a time crunch making it a more intense experience. The thought of you walking around in underwear soaked with your arousal and his come is erotic to Sonny.  

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) 

Sonny is okay with experimenting for his partner but he isn’t usually the one to suggest trying new things. He does end up enjoying things you guys do together and incorporates them into your sex life. Sonny isn’t a huge risk-taker. He doesn’t want to cross lines where you could potentially get seriously hurt but he is a little risky on the location where you have sex. The riskiest location was in the backyard of his mother's house. 

 You had been in one of your horny moods and had been teasing him endlessly. You had a bad habit of winding him up when he couldn't do anything about it. When he was doing the dishes, you had hugged him from behind letting your hands wander to grab his cock through his jeans. He grabbed your arm and dragged you outside to the side of the house. He had spun you around forcing your hands on the siding of the house half bent over. He spanked your ass with enough force that it had its desired sting. His hand slid up your dress and rubbed you through your panties until they were soaked as he ground his cock against you. He had only undone his pants and slid your underwear to the side to fuck you quick and hard. He was just zipping up when his mother called for him out the backdoor. He had smacked your ass one more time and left you to catch your breath and gather yourself as he went inside telling his mom that he would mow her grass the next day because it was getting overgrown.  

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 

Sonny plays the long game when it comes to sex. He can be gentle and teasing and drag out the sex for hours. Sonny's refractory period is about twenty minutes to a half hour. If he is horny or has been a while without you, he could very well go all night. He always seems particularly needy when you are around your ovulation- even though he swears he doesn’t know when that is claiming that you just look damn sexy and you smell intoxicating. If you are in the mood for multiple rounds and he isn’t he just focuses on getting you off with his fingers and mouth. With his job, there is no surprise that certain cases make his sex drive tank. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

I don’t think Sonny is against toys but they aren’t his first choice either.  He doesn’t use them on himself but will use them if you ask him to but he would prefer to bring you that pleasure himself. The only toys he ever bought you were anal plugs when you had agreed to try anal sex and had thoroughly enjoyed it. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)  

Sonny isn’t a big tease. That is something you are more likely to do and he loves it. When Sonny does attempt to hold off and make you wait, he is very easily persuaded to give you the attention you want. Your whimpers and grinding against him, one “Sonny please” and his willpower is gone.  

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) 

Sonny is pretty vocal. One of his love languages is words of affirmation and he loves hearing the sounds you make. He wants you to know how good you are making him feel too. He is Italian too, and they are generally loud-all of the time. 

There are certain times when Sonny just wants to talk through sex. It’s not all dirty, especially during playful sex. It can be about how beautiful he finds you- body and soul. Whispering how much he loves you, how he misses you. Then there is the filth where he tells you how bad he wants to be inside you, how good you make him feel, how intoxicating you look spread out for him, how much he wants a taste but a taste will never be enough.  

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) 

Sonny used to be super insecure about his size. He heard the locker room talk at school and with the way that the other guys boasted he was sure that he was average-sized at best. Sonny never watched porn as a teenager because his mom was a helicopter parent and there was nothing in her household that she didn’t know. Sonny's first time was his senior year with a girl from another school. So, Sonny never heard what went through her school like wildfire after-

Sonny Carisi was hung. 

It wasn’t until after he graduated high school and started a relationship with a more adventurous and experience girl did he find out how above average he really was- “Fuck, baby your huge.” At first, he thought she was just trying to stroke his ego. He was still learning and getting more comfortable with sex. When she shook her head baffled and showed him a Google search his eyebrows had shot up and with a simple “Huh,” his insecurity dissipated.  

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

Sonny has a tall, toned athletic body. He has a light dusting of chest hair and a happy trail under his belly button. Sonny is above average in size. He has big dick energy and the evidence doesn’t lie. He is well above average in length and pretty standard in thickness. He is a shower, not a grower.  

The first time you had felt Sonny up it was a happy accident while you guys were on the couch together watching a movie. His gray sweatpants did nothing to cover his size even when he was (mostly) soft. You had tried to make it seem like you hadn’t got a good feel and Sonny had graciously let you. All the while your mind was racing with the possibilities of how big he really was and how tight of a fit it would be when you finally had sex. Your thighs had unconsciously squeezed together imagining the pleasant stretch and how deep he would be seated in your needy pussy. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) 

Sonny has a very high sex drive. He keeps it on wraps because he doesn’t want to be viewed as a horn dog and has masterful control of it. If it was up to him, you would have sex pretty much daily, sometimes multiple times a day.

Sonny loves and takes full advantage of when you go through horny phases. He will gladly give up sleep and anything else to have all-nighters. He will keep going until the room is overwhelmed with the smell of sex and you are both sweaty, sticky, satisfied messes. He will go until you're so exhausted you don’t even want to move to clean up. He will go until you are so sensitive and overstimulated that you have to push him back unable to take anymore. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Sonny falls asleep pretty quickly after he makes sure that you get the aftercare you want and need. If he is wrapped around you or you are draped across him, he can sleep. Sonny is a pretty deep sleeper too. It is still a struggle to get out of bed with him though because he tightens his grip in his sleep when you try to get up or move around too much.  

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 ; 𝚜𝚒𝚡 - 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; a lighthearted arcade trip takes a strange turn, leaving behind a lingering unease. as new bonds form and tensions simmer, the quiet hum of hawkins hints at deeper mysteries waiting to surface.

⚠️ warnings; none

➝ series masterlist, moodboard

➝ previous chapter ; next chapter

Eddie was in a mood.

As he drove you home—a habit that had started to feel suspiciously routine—he drummed his ringed fingers against the steering wheel, his brows furrowed and lips pursed in what could only be described as a full-on pout.  

“Can’t believe you invited Harrington to The Hideout,” he muttered for the third time since leaving the tight and noisy bar.  

You sighed, leaning your head against the window and watching the dark streets of Hawkins blur by. “I didn’t invite him. I just told him he should drop by if he wanted. Big difference.”  

“Same thing,” Eddie huffed, gripping the wheel tighter. “The Hideout supposed to be for the misunderstood, the black sheep, the... the different, not Hawkins’ ex-royalty!”  

You rolled your eyes. “You're such a baby.”  

Eddie ignored your comment, instead glaring at the road like it had personally offended him. “You even missed the best set we’ve ever done because you were too busy playing babysitter.”  

You sighed. “I was taking my break, Eddie. And—”  

“Oh, sure, yeah” His tone dripped with mockery as he glanced at you again. “Likely excuse. You’ve got no idea how hard I worked on that setlist. I poured my soul into it, and you didn’t even care to stay!”  

As the van pulled into the trailer park, he slowed to a stop near your trailer but didn’t put it in park. Instead, he turned to you, his pout intensifying. “It’s fine, though. Really. Who needs support from their friends? Not me.”  

Fed up with his theatrics, you unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door. “Stay here,” you said sternly, pointing a finger at him as you climbed out.  

Eddie blinked, surprised by the sudden command. “What—wait, what are you—”  

You didn’t answer, instead stomping up to your trailer, yanking the door open, and disappearing inside.  

Eddie leaned out the van window, calling after you. “If you’re getting a granola bar, you’d better grab one for me!”  

Ignoring him, you rummaged through your things until you found what you were looking for: your sketchbook. Your stomach churned with a mix of determination and embarrassment as you flipped to the right pages and headed back outside.  

Eddie was still hanging halfway out of the van window when you approached, your sketchbook clutched tightly in your hands.  

“Here,” you said, shoving it toward him.  

He took the sketchbook, raising an eyebrow at you before flipping it open. The first few drawings were a mix of landscapes and fantasy-like creatures—dragons, castles, armoured knights. His eyes lit up immediately, his earlier grumpiness melting away.  

“This is...” He paused, flipping through more pages. “Holy shit, this is good.”  

You shifted on your feet, crossing your arms tightly over your chest “Keep flipping.”  

When he turned to the last page, he froze. There, in a mix of soft pencil strokes and intricate detail, was a drawing of him—clad in long robes, a staff in hand, and wild curls framing his face. You’d tried to capture him as a wizard, complete with rings glinting on his fingers and a mischievous grin that felt unmistakably Eddie.  

For a moment, he didn’t move. His mouth hung open slightly as he stared at the sketch, his eyes wide.  

Then he squealed.  

Not a small, subtle squeak, but a full-blown, high-pitched squeal that startled you so much you took a step back.  

Before you could react, Eddie jumped out of the van, still clutching the sketchbook. “Are you kidding me?!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with excitement. “This is the most metal thing I’ve ever seen!”  

You flushed, taking a step back as he advanced on you, practically vibrating with energy. “It’s not a big deal,” you muttered. “I was just messing around—”  

But Eddie cut you off by wrapping you in a sudden, tight hug, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in a blur of wild curls and laughter.  

“You made me a wizard!” he yelled, his voice gleeful. “I’m a goddamn wizard!”  

“Eddie—put me down!” you yelped, smacking his shoulder as your feet dangled in the air.  

He finally set you down, clutching your sketchbook to his chest like it was his most prized possession. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, his earlier grumpiness completely forgotten.  

“You’re incredible,” he said earnestly, his grin so wide it almost hurt to look at.  

You groaned, hiding your burning face in your hands. “Don’t make it weird, Eddie.”  

“Too late!” he shot back, holding the sketchbook up like a trophy. 

“Eddie,” you warned, but the laugh in your voice betrayed your amusement.  

He turned toward the van, sketchbook clutched tightly to his chest like a dragon with its hoard. "This is going in a frame!" he declared, his grin wide and gleeful. "I’m telling everyone—"  

“Not so fast,” you interrupted, grabbing the back of his jacket like you were wrangling an overexcited child.  

He stumbled to a halt, spinning to face you with wide, confused eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”  

You snatched the sketchbook out of his hands, flipping it open while he squawked in protest. “Hey! That’s my treasure!”  

Ignoring him, you carefully tore the pages with the fantasy drawings out of the sketchbook. Your movements were precise, making sure not to damage them as you handed the loose pages back to him.  

“Here,” you said, thrusting the stack into his hands. “Take these. But the sketchbook stays with me.”  

Eddie blinked down at the drawings, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then his face lit up all over again, his earlier distress forgotten. “You’re the best,” he said, grasping the pages to his chest like they were the Holy Grail.  

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, tucking your sketchbook safely under your arm. “Just don’t get carried away.”  

He beamed at you, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “No promises!”  

You watched as he climbed back into the van, still cradling the drawings like priceless artefacts. Before he drove off, he leaned out the window, waving the pages in the air.  

“Dungeon Master Eddie lives on, thanks to you!” he shouted dramatically.  

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as he disappeared down the path. Eddie Munson was exhausting—but in moments like this, it was hard to stay mad at him. 

.

.

.

Wednesday 5, March 1986, Hawkins, Indiana

The next morning, you woke up later than usual. The faint sunlight filtered through the cracks in your blinds, painting warm streaks across the walls of your cramped trailer. Stretching lazily, you pulled yourself out of bed and shuffled into the tiny kitchenette to make your favourite morning drink.  

Still in what you slept in—an old, oversized shirt and some ratty old pyjama pants—you stepped outside with your cup, savouring the quiet of the morning. The cool air was refreshing, and you raised the mug to your lips, ready for your first sip—  

But then you spotted Max.  

She was getting out of her own trailer, backpack slung over one shoulder, her skateboard under the other arm. The way she glanced around made it clear she wasn’t heading to school.  

You raised your cup and called out, “Skipping?”  

Max jumped, her head whipping toward you, her cheeks instantly flushing red.  

“Shhh!” she hissed, holding a finger to her lips. “Be quiet!”  

You arched an eyebrow, lowering your cup as you leaned against the side of your trailer. “Why? You worried someone’s gonna report you to the truancy police?”  

Max scowled, shifting her backpack nervously. “I don’t need everyone in this place knowing my business, okay?”  

You smirked, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Fair enough. So, where are you sneaking off to, then? Doesn’t look like school.”  

Her blush deepened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “None of your business.”  

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. “Relax, I’m not gonna narc on you.”  

She seemed to consider this for a moment, her shoulders relaxing slightly, though she still eyed you warily. “You better not,” she muttered.  

“Promise,” you said with a faint grin, holding up your mug like a toast. “Scout’s honour.”  

Max rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath as she adjusted her backpack. “Whatever.”  

You watched her for a moment, the guarded way she clutched her skateboard and backpack, like she was bracing herself for something. There was something familiar about it, something that struck a chord deep inside you. You weren’t one to push, but this time, you couldn’t help it.  

“Hey, Max,” you called, stopping her in her tracks again.  

She turned back, her expression wary. “What now?”  

You took another sip of your drink, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Wanna go to the arcade?”  

Max blinked, caught completely off guard. “The arcade?”  

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging casually. “I’m buying. Could use some competition. Plus, I still haven’t decided if beating your score was beginner’s luck or actual skill.”  

Her cheeks flushed again, though this time it was more from indignation than embarrassment. “You’re joking, right?”  

“Do I look like I’m joking?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.  

She hesitated, her eyes darting to the ground as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Aren’t you, like... busy or something?”  

You snorted, holding up your mug. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is about the most productive thing I’ve done all morning. I’ve got time.”  

Max shifted her weight, clearly debating whether to take you up on the offer. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “Okay, fine. But only if you don’t get all weird about it.”  

“Weird?” you echoed, smirking. “Define weird.”  

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”  

“Noted,” you said, draining the rest of your drink before setting the mug on the railing of your trailer steps. “Give me five minutes to change, and we’ll go.”  

Max stared at you, still slightly suspicious but also visibly curious. “You’re serious?”  

“Dead serious,” you replied as you stepped back inside your trailer. “Be ready when I’m done!”  

True to your word, five minutes later, you emerged in something more presentable, grabbing your keys and wallet as Max waited awkwardly by your trailer.  

“Let’s go,” you said, motioning for her to follow as you started toward the arcade.  

She fell into step beside you, her usual frown softening just a little. “You’re really treating me?”  

You nodded, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. “Yup. But if you lose to me, you’re never living it down.”  

Max snorted, finally cracking a small, genuine smile. “You wish.”  

The walk to the arcade was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Max eventually got into her skateboard, rolling slowly along beside you, her wheels crunching softly against the uneven sidewalk. You kept your gaze forward, hands in your pockets, perfectly content with the silence.

Max, on the other hand, kept sneaking glances at you, clearly trying to figure out why you weren’t trying to fill the quiet with small talk or questions. Most adults—or anyone older than her, really—always felt the need to talk. But you didn’t.

She studied your relaxed expression, her brow furrowing slightly, like she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Eventually, she stopped looking and just rolled along beside you, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as if in approval.

When you finally reached the arcade, the faint hum of machines and game soundtracks spilled out from inside.

“Ready to lose?” Max asked, her voice laced with competitive fire.

You smirked, pushing open the door and stepping aside to let her in first. “Let’s see if you’re still as good as you think you are.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin as she stepped inside, immediately making a beeline for her favourite machine.

For the next hour, the two of you threw yourselves into game after game. Max dominated most rounds with her lightning-quick reflexes and uncanny ability to memorise patterns, but you managed to sneak in a few wins here and there, much to her annoyance—and your smug satisfaction.

“You’re cheating,” she accused after one particularly close round, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Setting traps isn’t cheating,” you said with a shrug, leaning against the machine as she selected the next game. “It's strategy. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

She scoffed, but her grin widened as she hopped back into the game, determined to win.

As the games went on, you noticed the tension in her posture ease. Her frown had all but disappeared, replaced by small, fleeting smiles, and her laughter—rare and genuine—came more freely now.

But you didn’t comment on it. The last thing Max needed was someone pointing out her improved mood like it was a prize to be celebrated. You let her be, letting the games and the competition speak for themselves.

After a particularly close game where Max won by a narrow margin, she leaned casually on the machine, looking up at you with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction.

“Where’d you learn to play?” she asked, her tone light but genuinely interested.

The question caught you off guard. Something about the simplicity of it—it shouldn’t have been difficult to answer, but it was.

“Back home,” you started, the words feeling hollow the moment they left your mouth. You frowned slightly, the edges of your memories blurring as you tried to focus. “I... I think I used to play with some friends.”

“You think?” Max asked, her brow furrowing as she studied your expression.

You straightened, your hands tightening slightly on the edge of the machine. “Yeah, I think,” you said, frustration creeping into your tone. “I just... I don’t remember exactly.”

Max tilted her head, her gaze sharpening as she watched you. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You didn’t answer, your chest tightening as you tried and failed to piece together the details. You knew you’d played. You remembered the laughter and cursing, the feeling of the buttons beneath your fingers, but the names and places—it was all just out of reach.

Before you could say more, a loud banging sound broke through your thoughts.

Your head snapped to the left, where the exit door stood. The sound came again, sharp and persistent, like someone pounding their fists against the metal.

Each knock reverberated through you. It wasn’t just loud—it was desperate, frantic, as if whoever was on the other side was trying to push their way in.

“Hello?” you called out instinctively, stepping back from the machine.

Max looked at you, confused. “What are you talking about?”

The banging grew louder, more erratic, and you couldn’t look away. Your heart pounded in your chest as the sound filled the arcade, drowning out everything else.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

The silence that followed was deafening, but your head felt like it was swimming. The metallic taste of blood hit your tongue, and you instinctively reached up to your nose, feeling the warm, sticky trickle.

“Hey!” Max’s voice broke through the fog, sharp and concerned. She stepped in front of you and as she grabbed your arm, as if to steady you. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at her, trying to ground yourself. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said, pointing at your nose, her tone carefully neutral.

You touched your face again, this time pulling your hand away to see the blood on your fingers. “It’s fine,” you muttered, but your voice sounded distant, even to yourself.

“Fine? Seriously?” Max shot back, her scepticism cutting through the haze in your mind.

For a moment, it looked like she might say something else, something important, but she clamped her mouth shut. Instead, she dug into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled tissue.

“Here,” she said, handing it to you.

When you didn’t take it right away, she rolled her eyes and stepped closer, using the tissue to gently wipe at the blood trailing down your face.

“Hold still,” she muttered, her touch surprisingly careful.

You let her clean you up, too dazed to protest. When she was done, she handed you the tissue. 

“What were you even looking at?” she asked finally, her voice quieter now.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to shake it off. “Nothing,” you said quickly, stepping away from the machine. 

Max frowned, her concern not fading. “You should sit down or something. You don’t look too  great.”

You nodded numbly, letting her guide you to one of the benches near the corner of the arcade. As you sat down, wiping at your nose with the tissue, your thoughts raced.

The banging. The desperation. It was like a distant echo of something familiar—a dream perhaps. 

Max sat heavily next to you. “Seriously, what happened back there?” she asked, her voice softer now.

You shook your head, trying to muster a small smile. “Probably just tired,” you said, though the unease curling in your chest told a different story. Max didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. For that, you were grateful.

Deciding you’d had enough of the arcade—and enough strange occurrences for one day—you both opted to leave. Your stomach rumbled faintly, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten much yet, and grabbing something to eat felt like a good plan.  

As you stepped outside, the bright midday sun momentarily blinded you. Blinking against the glare, you spotted a familiar car pulling into the parking lot. None other than Steve and Robin climbed out, both dressed in the unmistakable green vests of Family Video.  

Robin was the first to spot you, her face lighting up as she waved enthusiastically. “Hey! It’s my favourite bartender!” she called out, striding across the parking lot toward you with Steve trailing behind, his expression strangely less than thrilled.  

“Hey, Robin,” you said, giving her a small wave as she stopped in front of you.  

Steve, however, wasn’t looking at you—his eyes had zeroed in on Max, who was still standing nearby with her skateboard.  

“Max,” Steve said, his tone sharp and familiar.  

You look between the two. Ah, so they knew each other.

Max froze mid-motion, her mood souring instantly. “What now?”  

“What do you mean, ‘what now’?” he shot back, crossing his arms. “You’re supposed to be in school. You know, that place where kids go during the day?”  

Max scowled, her earlier guardedness slamming back into place. “Whatever, it’s not like you’re my dad.”  

“No, but I care!” he said, throwing his arms up. 

Max huffed, clearly done with the conversation. She turned to you, her lips pressed into a tight line. “Thanks for the games,” she muttered, giving you a quick wave before hopping onto her skateboard.  

You watched her push off down the sidewalk, her posture stiff and her movements clipped.  

Robin sighed loudly, throwing Steve a pointed look as she crossed her arms. “Nice going, Dad,” she said sarcastically.  

You raised an eyebrow at him, silently echoing her sentiment.  

“What?” Steve exclaimed, crossing his arms defensively. “She should be in school!”  

Robin groaned, shaking her head. “You’ve got the subtlety of a sledgehammer, Harrington.”  

Steve turned to you for backup, his brows furrowing. “Come on, back me up here. She shouldn’t be skipping school, right?”  

You gave him a flat look, taking a step past him. “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at your lips.  

Robin snorted, clearly enjoying your response, and Steve let out an exaggerated groan.  

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered, adjusting his vest. “You two are impossible.”  

Robin patted his arm with mock sympathy before turning back to you. “You sticking around, or do you have a shift later?”  

“I’ve got work tonight,” you said, glancing down the street where Max had disappeared. “I was just about to grab something to eat first.”  

“Well, don’t let Captain Buzzkill here ruin your day,” Robin said, shooting a playful glare at Steve. “Catch you around?”  

“Sure,” you replied with a small smile, shoving your hands into your pockets.  

Robin waved cheerfully as she headed toward the video store, while Steve lingered for a moment longer, still looking vaguely disgruntled. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing in the direction Max had disappeared on her skateboard.  

“She hasn’t been doing great lately,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you.  

You paused, studying his face. His exasperation was gone, replaced by genuine concern.

“Max, I mean,” he continued, shoving his hands into his vest pockets. “It’s been rough for her, you know? And she’s not exactly the type to let anyone in, even when she really should.”  

You nodded, not sure what to say. It wasn’t like Max had poured her heart out to you either, but you’d noticed her walls, her guardedness.  

Steve glanced at you, his brows furrowed slightly. “So... thanks. For whatever you did to make her, I don’t know, laugh or smile or whatever. It helps.”  

“Wasn’t much,” you said, shrugging. “We just played some games.”  

“Still,” he said, his voice almost begrudging. “She seemed happy when I saw her with you. So, yeah. Thanks.”  

For a moment, the air between you was quiet. Steve looked thoughtful, and then, as if realising he’d let himself be too earnest, he cleared his throat and straightened up.  

“Anyway,” he said, his tone a little too casual now, “I’d better get inside before Robin starts rearranging the horror section again.”  

You smirked faintly, watching him retreat toward the store. “See you around, Steve.”  

He gave you a small wave over his shoulder before stepping inside, leaving you alone on the sidewalk. His words stayed with you, though, as you continued on your way, your thoughts swirling with questions about Max, her walls, and the glimpses of vulnerability you’d seen in both her and Steve.  

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