#ignore his right hand I couldn't find how to change the model

[doja365]

[Unwanted Ransom (Chapter 1)]

What was I made for?

TW: Mentions of Death, PTSD, ED, SH, Neglect

Masterlist

🎵Thumbs- Sabrina Carpenter🎵 🎵What was I made for?- Billie Ellish🎵

On my first day of staying here, I was excited to see if I had brothers.

Dick the oldest, supposed to be there for me, and pose as a role model right? WRONG, he instead leaves me on read when I text him. The fucker has enough guts to ignore me, and when he notices me, it's when I either get in trouble at school, or when his teamates talk to me. He had time to look after Bludhaven.

Tim, one of the family's detectives, doesn't find me interesting, and thinks of himself too big to talk to a lowlife like me. AND WE LIVE IN THE SAME FUCKING HOUSE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. With him, I have little to no memories. All he does is twiddle his thumbs, pretending I wasn't there.

Cass, Steph, Barb. I never really cared bout' them, all they do is talk shit about others, and play daddy's little girl. I was never daddy's little girl and I never complained. Not much to really talk about with them, I even learned ASL just for some light communication.

Jason, alright, I'mma be honest here. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, but he only came to the house at night for some food and rest. The best memory with him, was him taking me to school on the first day, I joined grade 5 class because I have an IQ of 190. Everything was great until he died, a part of me died with him.

Damian, the "golden apple" of this whole shit hole. This bitch thinks that he can do anything, because he is the bastard of Bruce Wayne, and Talia Al Ghul. He gets to train with Dick, while I watch them train to become a "hero". He bullied me even when I was a year older than him. Ughh, what a bitch. He was the reason I got the name Jinx, I was the bad luck of the family

Bruce, the man had the guts to adopt me and change my true name to a wayne. I was named Xerxes because it meant warrior, my dad never thought I was one. I'm not even allowed to call him dad.

Alfred, oh sweet innocent Alfred. I considered him as my father when my mother's "sperm donor", couldn't be there for me. He was there to teach me how to bake and cook, the best part was that he never admonished me for my bad behavior at school.

For 4 years I had lived with them, every night I had prayed for a miracle to happen. At night the same dream, every morning, the same nightmare. After the first 5 months of my stay, I started to avoid eating, because of depression.

And before I go to bed I looked for any blade I could, and locked myself in my bedrooom. I cut myself below the wrist, while keeping a first aid nearby. I never felt any pain from the wounds, but I felt the scar in my heart.

It's ironic how a whore with nothing, could love a child more, than a family that has everything. I always laughed at the idea, I never allowed myself to cry or show weakness. Bruce never knew how to deal with emotions anyway, so why cry?

I never cried, when Damian slashed my arm with a knife. Not when Barbara told me to go to hell, not when Tim destroyed the birthday present I made for him. And especially when Bruce called me a mistake. I only cried when Jason was murdered by the Joker.

I always thought crying was useless, so I worked hard. I got straight A's, I made friends, I enlisted for multiple sports when I turned 10. I even took up art just for the sake of fitting in.

But I will always be the Wayne pushed from the spotlight. Not even then, could I cry.

I just went to my dilapidated bedroom, God, it was ornamented with all of my awards and certificates. I started to pack my stuff, I even took the photo of me and my mother. There wasn't much to pack, all I got were hand me downs, and the dregs of my "beloved siblings."

At night, it was the perfect time to escape, with the villains on the loose, they had to take night shifts. So I slowly climbed out of my window and placed the note I had prepared for Alfred. And I prepared to go to the abyss that awaits me...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N Hiii... I got this idea from reading @acid-ixx, and @luludeluluramblings... I'm making a seperate part for the note Jennifer gave Alfred. HOPE U LUV THIS <333

[yandere-daydreams]

Idk if Sex doll!au Alhaitham has been discussed yet…(honestly it probably has been, but it was likely during the times when I wasn’t keeping up to date with this blog. Tumblr’s shitty search function doesn’t help with finding out either.)

Anyway, I’d like to share my thoughts about it, if that’s okay.

-I think sex doll! Alhaitham would mostly be for professional and academic purposes. He’s not reccomended for younger grades, mostly just colleges.

-His general purposes are office/administrative related. Especially since he’s a “scribe”, he’s especially good at file management and documentation. I don’t think it be uncommon to see him assisting librarians alongside a Lisa model…or maybe helping archeologists/museums workers catalogue info about artifacts.

-I think his way of not doing anything more than what his job asks of him would stay even as an Android. I know that as a product, he’d probably wouldn’t be given leeway or time off like that; but the thought of someone trying to assign tasks to Alhaitham that are outside his designated role being ignored by him is funny to me.

-if Alhaitham is acting as a companion doll in someone’s home, I can only imagine that he’s incredibly annoying. Alhaitham normally chooses to ignore social etiquette, and as an android it has to be even worse.

tw - unhealthy relationships, slight infantilization, slight stalking.

i think he'd absolutely be marketed toward researchers as a sort of lab assistant who acts like you're the lab assistant, if that makes sense. he specializes in archival work and bureaucracy, but he's a bit of a jack-of-all-trades and it's not uncommon to see him alongside more outdoorsy androids like cyno and albedo when you're out doing fieldwork. he's also especially loved by students for his,,, strict attitude toward studying. you wouldn't think the ability to say 'i'm not touching your dick until you finish your thesis' would be such a popular feature in a literal sex doll, but, y'know, what does it for you does it for you, i guess.

you're not a student, though, or a researcher - just a librarian for a big enough branch to warrant writing off a helper android as a business expense. you probably could've gotten away with bringing on lisa or nahida, but you were able to find a second-hand alhaitham for a price you couldn't turn up and figured dealing with the occasional comment on your organization skills or catalog maintenance was better than wasting an extra thousand dollars on a robot that'll be reading to children twice a week. he works well enough, too, even if it does take a few days for him to get used to the idea that you won't be using him for his, uh, intended purposes. it just doesn't feel right, considering he's basically one of your employees - something he's surprisingly indifferent about, considering how judgemental he's rumored to be about, well, everything.

you do take him home at night, though, since the alternative is leaving him in a dark building alone all night and trying to live with the guilt. he's a polite enough houseguest, even if does occasionally let out a disapproving huff at your admittedly less-than-steller diet, but he does have a few... bugs, you guess, for lack of something better to call his little lapses in decorum. he's overstepped his boundaries a few times - taking pens and reports out of your hands because you 'have a tendency to mess these things up', checking on you in the middle of the night when he's supposed to be charging - but he'll never indulge your attempts to confront him, just clicking his tongue and shaking his eyes. sometimes, he brings up your stress levels, mentions off-handedly that orgasms are known to reduce overall tension, but denies that he's done anything wrong when you ask him to change his behavior. he's good at that - justifying himself, bending his protocols until he can get away with practically anything. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little worried, knowing the awful rumors that spread about second-hand andriods, about how demeaning alhaitham can be when he's supposed to be little more than a platonic assistant.

you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little worried that, one day, he'd find a way to justify disregarding your autonomy altogether.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 4

Part 4

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's probably a bad idea to post it today, but fuck it ... I'm having too much fun writing this. And don't tell me I didn't warn you - it's gonna be a ride 😅.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol, very suggestive (lowkey smut)

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other? Or will the reader decide to stay with the handsome and talented Sigtryggr?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Word Count: 4,1 K

The whispers started small—a passing comment from a mutual acquaintance here, a vague mention in the industry gossip there. Gisela had done her best to shield you, brushing off any mention of Sihtric with a casual dismissal, redirecting your attention to new projects, exciting events, or people who would, in her words, "help you look forward, not back."

But eventually, the whispers grew louder, impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t been looking for updates on Sihtric, but it was almost as though the universe itself had decided that you wouldn’t be able to escape his shadow. It started with a model at a shoot, casually mentioning that she’d seen him out one night, barely able to stand, clinging to the arm of someone you didn’t know. The words "worse than I’ve ever seen him" lingered, simmering in your mind.

At first, you ignored it. Sihtric wasn’t your concern anymore, you reminded yourself. He had made his choices, just as you had made yours. But more stories came—different people, different places, each one painting the same picture of a man who was unravelling, barely holding himself together. The Sihtric they described was a stranger to you, and yet those stories struck a painful chord deep in your chest.

One evening, as you sat across from Gisela at your favourite café, her attempts to distract you from the topic finally fell short. You’d reached your limit.

"Gisela," you said, interrupting her as she rambled on about an upcoming exhibition. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

Her eyes widened, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. "Tell you what?" she asked, feigning innocence, though you both knew exactly what you meant.

"About Sihtric." Your voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension. "About what’s happening to him."

She sighed, placing her cup down with a slight clunk. “I didn’t think it was something you needed to hear. He’s not your responsibility anymore. You deserve to live your life without his shadow looming over you.”

"But he wasn’t always like this," you replied, voice barely more than a whisper. "I know him, Gisela. Or I thought I did."

Gisela reached across the table, her hand finding yours. "You did know him. But that’s not who he is now. Whatever he’s become, it’s because of his own choices."

“Gisela,” you said, setting down your coffee and looking her in the eye. “Do you think… Maybe my refusal to speak with him made things worse?”

Her brow furrowed, concern and frustration blending in her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“All these stories about him… spiralling,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “He just wanted to talk, you know. And I just showed him away in the worst way possible. I can’t help but feel that maybe, if I’d just been willing to listen to him, he wouldn’t have ended up this way.”

Gisela shook her head, her expression firm. “You can’t think like that. You have every right to protect yourself. Talking to him wouldn’t have changed anything. He’s responsible for his actions, not you.”

You glanced away. “But our last conversation, Gisela. I can’t stop thinking about it. The way I turned him away, how angry and cold I was. Maybe I was… too harsh.”

“You weren’t harsh,” she replied, squeezing your hand. “You were clear about your boundaries. You have every right to those, especially after what he put you through. Don’t start blaming yourself.”

Despite her reassurance, the memory of that day lingered in your mind like a shadow. That look in his eyes, the desperation just beneath the surface, how he had struggled to find the words. And how you had shut him down, leaving him standing alone on that set, without a chance to explain himself. It had felt empowering then, taking control of the situation, reclaiming your peace. But now… now, you weren’t so sure.

“Maybe,” you whispered, almost to yourself, “I should’ve just listened, if only to give us both some closure.”

Gisela’s gaze softened, but her voice remained steady. “Closure doesn’t come from reopening wounds, and that’s all he’d do. He’s gone too far down this path—he’s not the person you knew.” 

Gisela squeezed your hand. “You have every right to protect yourself. You don’t owe him anything—not after what he put you through. He’s doing this to himself, and I don’t want to see you dragged down because of him again.”

You didn’t answer. Wrapping your hands around the warm coffee cup, you stared into the swirling steam rising from the dark liquid. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated? 

That night, alone in your apartment, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Every time you closed your eyes, fragments of that last encounter on set replayed in your mind: Sihtric’s hesitant steps, the way his voice had cracked when he’d asked to talk, the look of devastation as you’d turned your back on him. You’d told yourself it was for the best, but was it really?

You picked up your phone, fingers hovering over the screen.

Before you could think it through, you sent a message to Gisela.

"Do you think I should try talking to him? Just once?"

The three dots indicating her reply popped up immediately, and then her response followed, firm and direct.

"No. That chapter is over. Don’t reopen old wounds."

You put the phone down, staring at the empty space in your living room as her words echoed in your mind. Gisela was right, of course. She had been there through it all, had seen you at your lowest, helped you pick up the pieces of your life, reminding you of who you were outside of him. But this wasn’t about reopening wounds. This was about understanding. For your sake, and for his.

With a steadying breath, you made a quiet decision. Tomorrow, you would reach out, you would go to the set and talk to him—not to rekindle what was lost but to speak out, to lay the ghosts of your past to rest. Maybe it would bring peace to both of you, to let you finally close the chapter for good. 

You arrived at the set the next morning with that quiet resolve still fresh on your mind, the familiar hum of voices and equipment doing little to settle your nerves. Today, you would finally speak to Sihtric. 

Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, and maybe it would leave you feeling just as hollow as before, but at the very least, it might ease the nagging feeling that had taken root since your last conversation. There was no script in your mind, no clear sense of what you would say. Just a need for… something. Resolution, maybe. Closure. Or perhaps, deep down, a glimmer of hope. What? No, shut up! You almost slapped yourself in anger. What hope?

As you waited, you glanced at the door every few minutes, each time your heart skipping a beat, only to settle back down when he didn’t appear. The seconds stretched into minutes, each one adding another layer to the knot forming in your stomach. 

You had run through a dozen different ways to start the conversation in your mind, but none of them felt right. How do you confront someone you’d once loved but had shut out entirely? What could you even say that would bridge the distance between you after everything that had happened?

You clenched and unclenched your hands, feeling more foolish with each passing minute. A part of you cursed yourself for not following Gisela’s advice, for not simply letting it go. “Leave it in the past,” she’d said, her voice filled with quiet insistence. And yet, here you were, waiting for a man who’d hurt you, hoping he’d arrive so you could dig into the buried pain between you both.

What was it you expected to hear? A confession, an apology, an explanation? The truth was, you didn’t know. You just felt as though you couldn’t move on with this weight still hanging over you, with the sense that you had played some part in his downward spiral. Was it really closure you were looking for, or did some part of you, a part you’d never admit aloud, still care for him, still believe there was something worth salvaging?

The chatter of the crew buzzed around you, but you barely registered it. Occasionally, you caught snippets of conversation—small whispers about Sihtric, talk of his “new habits” and frequent no-shows. The makeup artist mumbled something under her breath about his inconsistency, a sigh of exasperation barely audible. 

You stayed, doing your best to keep a composed front, pretending to focus on the tasks in front of you. But beneath the calm façade, a familiar ache simmered—a sinking disappointment, perhaps even a touch of anger, that he hadn’t shown up. You tried to tell yourself it was about professionalism, about the wasted time, the disrupted shoot, but deep down, you knew it actually wasn’t. You’d finally been ready to talk, to face the unresolved tension between you, and Sihtric had left you waiting, his absence a silent answer in itself.

As the hours stretched on and the last hopes of his arrival slipped away, the emptiness grew. The loss felt oddly profound, a quiet ache that lingered, as though something vital had slipped through your fingers, even if you couldn’t name what it was.

—--------------------------------------------

Just as you finished slipping on your heels and checking your reflection one last time, a soft knock echoed from the door. You opened it to find Sigtryggr standing there, a calm, admiring smile spreading across his face as he took in your appearance. His suit was impeccably tailored, the dark fabric accentuating his tall, lean frame, and his long hair was pulled back in a way that softened his strong features.

“Wow,” he said, his voice warm as his eyes lingered on you. “You look… incredible. Absolutely stunning.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips as you glanced down, a little flustered by the way he looked at you. “Thank you,” you murmured. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

He chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, and his fingers were warm and steady around yours. As you turned to grab your purse, he tilted his head slightly, studying you with gentle curiosity.

“You sure you’re alright?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. “You seem a bit… distracted.”

You took a breath, glancing at him before looking away, feeling the weight of the day’s thoughts pressing down on you. “I’m fine,” you said, though the words felt weak even to your own ears. “It’s just… been a long day.”

Sigtryggr’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he searched your face. “If there’s anything you need to talk about, I’m here. No pressure—just… if you want.”

You felt a warm reassurance in his words, his genuine concern like a balm to your lingering unease. You managed a small smile, grateful for his presence. “Thank you. Really. I… I appreciate it.”

With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “No need to thank me,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Tonight’s about enjoying ourselves. Let’s make it a good one.”

You slipped your arm through his and offered him a small smile, feeling a comforting sense of calm settle over you. Sigtryggr’s quiet confidence grounded you, his warm presence lifting your spirits just enough to face the fashion show you’d agreed to attend with him.

The venue buzzed with energy, lights flashing as photographers captured the evening’s best-dressed attendees. You and Sigtryggr moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with designers, editors, and models. 

The night felt almost surreal, as if you were floating through it, your worries temporarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the glamorous whirlwind of conversation and clinking champagne glasses. But then you spotted him.

Across the room, Sihtric was leaning against the bar, a glass dangling from his hand, his face flushed and his eyes somewhat unfocused. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair dishevelled, and his grip on the camera strap on his shoulder was loose, like he had already forgotten that he even had it. 

You froze as he caught sight of you, his gaze narrowing before flickering over to Sigtryggr. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then he began making his way toward you, his movements slightly unsteady.

“Is that him?” Sigtryggr asked, catching your tension. His tone was gentle but alert.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away as Sihtric approached, his expression dark and unreadable. The familiar ache twisted in your chest, but you straightened, bracing yourself for whatever he was about to say or do.

“So,” Sihtric sneered as he stopped before you, eyes flicking dismissively between you and Sigtryggr. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?” His voice was laced with bitterness, words slurring slightly as he swayed on his feet.

“Sihtric, don’t do this,” you said softly, hoping to defuse the situation, but he ignored you, his focus shifting fully to Sigtryggr.

“And you…” He tilted his head, eyeing Sigtryggr with disdain. “Think you’re so much better than me, huh? Perfect little prince, sweeping in and saving the day.”

Sigtryggr’s face remained calm, though you could feel the tension in him. “I think it’s best if we all take a step back,” he replied evenly, his hand settling on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. “This isn’t the time or place.”

But Sihtric’s eyes flashed, his face twisting into a sneer. “You think you can just step in like I never meant anything?” His voice grew louder, heads turning as people began to notice the unfolding scene. “She was mine, you know. You’re just a cheap replacement.”

You felt Sigtryggr’s hand tense, but he kept his composure. “You’re drunk, Sihtric,” he said quietly. “Go home. Let’s not make this uglier than it needs to be.”

But Sihtric’s face hardened, his expression an unsettling mix of pain and fury. Before either of you could react, he lunged forward, his fist aimed clumsily at Sigtryggr’s face. His movements were sluggish, heavy with the effects of alcohol, and Sigtryggr sidestepped effortlessly, catching Sihtric’s arm and stopping him in his tracks.

“Enough.” Sigtryggr’s voice was firm, his grip on Sihtric’s arm steady as he pushed him back, keeping his own emotions in check. “Go home. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The words struck Sihtric like a slap. He staggered, his face flushing with humiliation as he looked between the two of you. For a fleeting moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath his anger—the brokenness and regret lurking behind his bloodshot eyes.

“Fine,” he muttered bitterly, wrenching his arm out of Sigtryggr’s grip. His gaze lingered on you, the weight of everything unsaid filling the space between you. “Enjoy your perfect life,” he spat, his voice cracking slightly as he turned and stumbled away, nearly knocking into a nearby table on his way out.

The crowd, still buzzing with curiosity, watched him go, a hush settling over the room as people exchanged whispers and glances. You stood there, heart pounding, torn between anger, pity, and an ache you couldn’t quite shake.

“Are you alright?” Sigtryggr asked, his voice steady, his hand gentle on your shoulder as he guided you toward a quieter corner, away from the prying eyes.

You shook your head, you were far from being alright. Sihtric’s words, his reckless behaviour, the way he’d looked at you—it was like seeing a stranger in the shell of someone you once knew. The man who had stood beside you tonight was unrecognisable, and yet, the guilt still clawed at you, lingering in the pit of your stomach.

Sigtryggr’s arm slipped around you, as he led you toward the exit. “Let’s get you out of here,” he murmured, his tone soft and protective. 

You nodded, grateful for his presence  and the two of you walked out into the cool night air, Sigtryggr’s hand lingering at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt natural. 

He turned to you with a soft smile. “It’s still early,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over your face. “Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?”

As Sigtryggr's question hung in the air, a shiver coursed through you, both from the chill of the night and the deeper question his invitation held. His face, framed by the soft glow of nearby streetlights, showed only openness, yet your mind raced. 

Your heart quickened, battling with the silent questions tumbling in your mind. What did you want this to be? Sigtryggr was unlike anyone you’d ever met—a quiet intensity wrapped in kindness, the kind of person who saw straight through you, not as if judging, but as if he truly understood. A part of you had been starving for this kind of connection, so different from what you’d known before, but was it too soon? Could you let yourself open up to someone again, let him see the parts of you you’d worked so hard to piece back together?

And then, a thought cut through the haze, sharper, clearer: What would Sihtric think if he saw you now? A pang of anger flared beneath your skin, surprising you. Why should it matter? Even more so—why would he care? But the questions lingered, twisting like thorns in your mind. Why did he keep finding his way into your thoughts, haunting you with his absence, even though he was gone from your life for good?

Admitting it hurt more than you wanted to acknowledge. He was gone. The reality pressed down like a weight you’d been struggling to lift. This was the perfect moment to close that door, to step into something new, to let someone else in… Or, you could keep waiting, letting the ghost of him drift around you, keeping everyone else at arm’s length, forever just out of reach.

With a soft, steadying breath, you looked back at Sigtryggr and found him still there, watching with a quiet patience, not pressing or urging, but simply waiting. His expression held nothing but warmth, a silent invitation in his eyes that felt as gentle as it was genuine. His presence was calming, without expectation, without judgement. In that instant, the idea of stepping forward didn’t seem so daunting.

Your heart lifted, and you found yourself nodding, a smile tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. “I’d like that.”

—--------------------------------------

Sigtryggr’s apartment was just as you’d expected—filled with art and an understated elegance that spoke to his style. Soft lights cast a warm glow over the room, and as he poured two glasses of wine, you took in the paintings lining the walls, the sketches scattered across his workspace, small glimpses into his creative world.

He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a shiver up your spine. You took a sip, the wine rich and velvety, warming you from the inside. You could feel his gaze on you, intense yet tender, and when you looked up, the air between you grew charged, a subtle current building with each passing second.

“You know,” he began softly, stepping closer, “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked tonight. Or… how beautiful you look now.”

His hand reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering, fingers grazing your cheek. You felt your breath hitch, the gentle way he was looking at you sparking something within. Without overthinking, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Sigtryggr responded instantly, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and inviting. The wine glass slipped from your hand onto the table as his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You melted into him, the heat between you building, his kisses growing hungrier, more insistent.

He led you toward the bedroom, his hands never leaving you, each touch filled with gentle urgency. When you reached the bed, he paused, his eyes searching yours, as if asking for permission, making sure this was what you wanted.

You answered by pulling him down to you, and he responded with a low, pleased hum, his mouth trailing down your neck as his hands found the zipper of your dress, sliding it down slowly, his fingers grazing your bare skin, igniting every nerve.

Clothes were shed, piece by piece, until you were both exposed, bodies pressed together, skin to skin. His touch was tender yet commanding, guiding you with an instinctive rhythm that left you breathless, each kiss and caress drawing you further into the heat of the moment.

Every brush of his fingers felt like fire, igniting sparks across your skin. His hands traced a path over you with a careful, reverent touch, as though he was discovering you piece by piece, memorising every curve and every reaction. His breath mingled with yours, soft and warm, as his lips explored places you hadn’t even known craved attention, gentle but unyielding.

You arched your back against the mattress and moaned loudly as he thrusted into you. Your fingers wove into his hair, pulling him closer, and he responded, his mouth tracing a path along your jaw, down your neck, igniting a trail that left you gasping, clutching him as though he were an anchor in a sea of sensation that you thought almost forgotten.

Sigtryggr moved within you with a steady, skillful rhythm, each thrust deliberate yet intense, his gaze locked on yours, simmering with a passion that left you utterly breathless. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, a loud moan escaping your lips as pleasure surged through you, erasing any lingering hesitation or self-consciousness. Whatever doubt or embarrassment you’d felt about revealing how touch-starved you were melted away, replaced by a powerful wave of heat and sensation that overwhelmed every thought, leaving you lost in the intoxicating bliss he brought with each movement.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, his hands roaming over your body, igniting every nerve he touched. His touch was confident, demanding mixed with softness and careful attentiveness, his focus solely on you, on every little reaction he coaxed from you.

The pleasure inside you coiled tightly, building with each movement, each shared breath, and the way breathless moans spilled from your lips only seemed to spur him on. He responded with a low groan, his pace quickening as he drove you both toward the edge, his presence grounding you even as he unravelled you entirely.

When the two of you finally lay together in the quiet aftermath, limbs entwined, Sigtryggr pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his hand tracing soothing patterns along your skin. The silence between you was comfortable, his warmth enveloping you as you nestled into him, feeling safe and content in his embrace. Your breathing slowed, each gentle stroke of his hand pulling you closer to sleep. 

But as your eyes grew heavy, a familiar image intruded—a vision of Sihtric, broken and desperate, his face etched with the same raw pain and bitterness you'd seen at the event. His haunted eyes, full of anger and longing, stared back at you, and his words echoed in your mind, refusing to fade: “She was mine.”

—-----------------------------------------

Morning light filtered softly through the blinds, and you blinked awake, stretching slightly before noticing Sigtryggr’s arm still draped around you, his peaceful face turned toward yours. A small smile tugged at your lips as you remembered the night before, and you let yourself relax, sinking back into the moment. But just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted you both out of the haze.

The door swung open, and a woman’s voice called out, her tone full of urgency and familiarity, sending a chill through you. “Sigtryggr?”

You froze, exchanging a startled look with Sigtryggr, who looked just as caught off guard. She called his name again, her footsteps growing closer as she moved through the apartment and toward the bedroom. Your gaze flew to Sigtryggr, wide-eyed with surprise, but before either of you could speak, a young woman appeared in the doorway, her eyes landing on you in bed with him.

With a yelp, you instinctively wrapped the blanket around yourself, heart racing as the reality of the situation hit you.

“Stiorra,” Sigtryggr started, his tone a mix of apology and guardedness as he sat up, tugging at the blanket to cover himself too.

[potassiumivy]

PLAYBOY. | jjk

❥ mdni. fic masterlist.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 003: JUICY COUTURE.

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

YUUJI COULDN'T TAKE HIS EYES OFF YOU, the pretty girl who was clinging to megumi, pressing little kisses under his jaw. his classmate was red from embarrassment, but he definitely didn't make any effort to push you away, making the pink-haired boy think you two were dating. and so, yuuji ignored the way his heart skipped a beat and asked his teacher who you were. 

unfortunately for him, gojo was too busy ogling you to pay attention to him. he couldn't believe you accepted to meet up with them at harajuku before the new student joined them. you didn't change at all, but gojo still felt like you did. 

you were standing there with one of those velvet tracksuit with the top halfway zipped, giving a peek of your lacy bra underneath. gojo vividly remembers you searching for the vintage version of the set you were wearing everywhere- sad that the company didn't make them like they used to anymore. 

you were really into fashion. it was one of your only genuine interests, a sort of defence mechanism. when he used to teach you, you didn't give a single fuck about the whole jujutsu shit, so he tried really hard to make you interested by finding examples from the fashion world to keep you interested, a habit that geto also picked up now that you became his student.

"c'mon, tell me! who is she?" yuuji tapped his arm again, too impatient to get an answer to his question.

"yuuji." he pointed to you cheerfully, "this is my favourite student! And y/n, this is itadori yuuji! he's the one i wanted you to meet!" you stopped bothering megumi, tilting your head to the side to observe the boy intensely. 

he felt exposed under your gaze, and he quickly tore off the "rook" sunglasses he bought earlier. he found them pretty cool, but fushiguro had told him otherwise. he didn't want to take any risks right now. 

then, after fully processing his teacher's words, his expression contorted to an amazed one. 

"it's the golden girl!" he gasped suddenly, making you giggle. "golden girl, huh? you've already heard of my technique then, didn't you?" you asked, yuuji nodding aggressively in response. you grinned at him, his happiness was contagious. 

"fushiguro told me that you can make golden doorknobs!" 

"no, yuuji, she-"

"and gojo-sensei said that you were his smartest student!" the said teacher just stood there awkwardly, knowing full well this wasn't exactly true.

however, gojo knew you believed it the moment he saw your eyes shining at yuuji's words, your lips slightly parting in shock. "you know, yuuji...." you took his hands in yours, bringing them to your chest, making him blush from your bold move. fluttering your eyelashes, your smile suddenly shy, you cleared your throat before continuing, "i could make you a golden doorknob too. we'll be matching." 

yuuji's shocked face rapidly changed to an excited one. "deal!"

the sweet moment ended as soon as it started by gojo's unnecessarily loud clap between you two. "pack it up, you two! the third first year is right there!" he pointed to a girl wearing the jujutsu uniform who was apparently busy harassing a model scout. 

"let's go meet her then!" you laughed, dragging megumi from his sleeve, your other hand still holding yuuji's. looking back, your eyes met gojo's, and he couldn't look at anything else other than the necklace around your neck— the same one you had on the cover of a playboy magazine. 

*✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

*✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:    *✧･ﾟ:

nobara knew what kind of girl you were the moment you two met. your whole existence screamed bimbo, and the male next to you wasn't any better. on the way to "roppongi", yuuji was walking alongside her, and you were clinging to her arm, walking on her other side. while pinkie kept babbling about you and how smart you were, you giggled at the praise, lightly squeezing nobara's bicep every once and then from amusement.

she wanted to barf in her mouth. this wasn't hell, but it was close to it. 

yuuji suddenly ran forward to catch up with his teacher and megumi, leaving you two alone. you sighed deeply, leaning more in nobara's touch. "you know, we saw the whole scene with that model scout."

"and?" she frowned. she was still foreign to the city life, and she didn't want anyone to toy with her.

"i can send you my manager's number instead." you offered sweetly.

"i'm not a charity case."

"oh! i didn't mean it like that. you're my friend now, so i thought it would be cool to model together. i always tried to get maki into it, but she's not really a fan of the idea." she was taken aback, clearly not expecting a genuine answer. 

"who's maki? your classmate?" she was slowly warming up to you without realizing it.

"nah, she's a second year. you'll probably meet her soon enough. i kinda feel like she's my best friend, but we're so different!" you rambled. "she's supposed to look up to me since i'm her upperclassman, but i feel like it's the other way around. anyways, i think it'll be pretty cool to have another girl close to our age around." you pulled her closer instinctively, clearly overjoyed by the situation. 

nobara glanced at you discreetly, eying your outfit. the corner of her lips curled up slightly. "vintage juicy couture, huh? i like your tracksuit." 

your eyes lit up at the compliment. "thank you! i stole gojo's credit card to buy it!" 

her jaw dropped. "no way."

"yes way. i'll get you a pair next time i take it!" 

with your arms still linked, you passed her some of your water, as it was getting quite exhausting to walk around tokyo.

"how come you're not wearing the school uniform anyways?", she asked before taking a sip.

"oh, that's cause i'm suspended!" you said, making her choke.

"WHY DO YOU SOUND SO HAPPY THEN?"

you laughed, wiping the tears from your eyes. "i practically got banned from school with my friends. i lowkey miss everyone else, but i'm too stubborn to come back like nothing happened, you know?"

nobara nodded to your words. she definitely related to you.

"i came back today, but it's only because gojo asked me to meet you and yuuji. he also promised me he'll do something about the whole suspension thing—"

halting your sentence, you dramatically groaned, catching the attention of a few people around. "hakari's gonna chew my ass for that stunt i pulled."

"hakari?"

"another third year. he was the one being suspended in the first place, but me and our other classmate followed him out of solidarity." you puffed out your chest proudly, making her snort.

"solidarity my ass. we both know you wanted to skip school."

"well, yes. but it's also because i didn't feel like facing the higher-ups. i prefer to postpone my problems, and avoiding clan trash is the first thing on my list." you admitted. 

there was a comfortable silence between you two.

"hey..." nobara started,"i think we'll be good friends."

she didn't mind you clinging to her arm. not anymore.

✞ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐎𝐘✞

next!!

©potassiumivy, 2024. all rights reserved. do not translate / modify / republish my works.

[rabbit-flaying]

Humanity's Collector

Genres: Fantasy and Science Fiction

Content Warnings: Dehumanization, Kidnapping, Casual Violence, Claustrophobia, Mild Cosmic Horror

Note: I want to get back to positing my writing on Tumblr. Maybe someone will recognize this. Probably not.

"Gosh you're pretty," Glade cooed, its voice sounding a bit like Harlow's mother, a bit like a brook, and a bit like paper being crumpled up and cast aside.

Harlow looked around desperately. For he had to find escape from the strange realm he had woken in. All manner of miscellany took up space in the void around him. It looked like a storage closet, if every storage closet in the world were connected together, and the possessions of kings and paupers alike were granted permission to socialize.

He ignored Glade and stood from his wicker chair, quickly overwhelmed by the sheer size of the realm and number of objects held within it.

Above him the color white stretched out into infinitum. True white, not the dirty kind found in snow and house paint. It hurt his head, making his temples throb and blood vessels contract, so he looked away from it.

"Where am I?" Harlow demanded. "Who are you?"

"My name is Glade," it answered. "You're in my home."

Harlow made the mistake of eye contact. Glade's eyes shone with the light of galaxies, a dazzling rainbow of nebulae, planets, and suns. The entirety of the universe, and many more beyond it, seemed tucked away within the perfectly spherical marbles buried in the putty-like flesh of its glowing face.

He finally broke away from the hypnotic sight, his puny brain unable to handle the visions within. How much time had passed, every one of his neurons firing at once in an attempt to process the cosmos of Glade's eyes? Seconds? Minutes? Hours, even?

He needed answers, yet he did not know the right questions. Glade didn't seem human, instead a creature from a story book. And this monolithic hoard couldn't possibly be real.

"Your home?" he asked in a strangled sort of voice, staring pointedly at the patch of ebony wood ground he stood upon.

"I'm a collector," Glade explained, running their sharp nails, painted with glitter and adorned with scraps of emeralds, through Harlow's silky hair.

"What do you collect, exactly?"

Harlow watched a glittering blue beetle crawl across the ground, finding a hiding spot underneath a red and purple feathered ball gown displayed on a copper mannequin.

"All sorts of things," Glade said, flapping its hands wildly in a mimicry of human excitement. "Your world is fascinating. I remember when your kind learned how to create fire and tame animals. You have grown so much since then. I needed to have one of you for my own. Your creations are not enough any more."

Harlow carefully took in Glade's appearance, avoiding its hypnotic eyes. Despite its alien nature- as clear to Harlow as it would have been to his ancestors as they huddled around campfires concocting stories to explain their world- it chose to appear humanoid, though not precisely human.

Glade was the kind of thing that would hide in a child's closet, and speak to them in a parental fashion, loathing the knowledge that the child would never be believed no matter how loudly they spoke of its existence.

Its iridescent skin glimmered, changing colors with every movement, no matter how slight, as stunning light produced by the void poured over its body. Its proportions sat beyond the human view of normal, uncanny like an airbrushed model, but far more monstrous. Behind its smiling lips were two rows of porcelain and copper teeth, slicing perfectly through its pale gray gums.

Delicate jewelry of book pressed flowers and dragonfly wings adorned its warped elven ears. It was clad in a fur cape, the stitched together pelts of numerous small animals, fur colors clashing and asymmetrical. Its heels, as thin as sewing needles and seemingly impossible to walk on, granted half a foot of height to their seven-foot frame.

"Don't worry," Glade continued. "I'll take care of you. I've been collecting humanity's creations for millenia. You may use what you find around you to its fullest extent."

"I want to go home," Harlow said, finally realizing that this was not a dream that could be banished away by opening his eyes and pouring himself a cup of black coffee mixed with salt. "Please let me go. I'm sure there's someone who would love to be here. But I like my life on earth."

"But I wanted you."

Glade hugged Harlow tightly, mimicking how it had observed humans comforting one another. Its skin had none of Harlow's warmth, and he found this hug as uncomfortable as cuddling with a marble statue would have been, if he had ever been bold enough to break the omnipresent rule of not touching museum exhibits.

Harlow closed his eyes. "I have to be dreaming," he said, his lie cloaked in a defeated sort of tone. "This can't be real."

"Of course this isn't real," Glade said, holding its newest acquisition out at arm's length. "But it isn't a dream either. You are within my home, far outside of your universe."

"Please send me back. I don't know why I'm here, or how, but I can't do this."

"Yes you can," Glade said. "It's easy. I will take care of you, and you will be my plaything. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Harlow broke away from Glade, and took off walking. There had to be an exit. Everything had an exit, whether it be a school or a church or a corner shop. The exits were always there, saddened as they were that so many people were afraid to break the rules and only took advantage of their ability to leave at certain appointed hours.

The void still seemed to stretch on into infinity, swelling larger and larger the farther and farther Harlow walked. But everything had an end if you traveled far enough to find it. Even the deserts that passed past any human line of sight and the mountains that seemed too high to ever climb over.

But now Harlow was applying rules from his original plane of existence to the alien one he had been so rudely whisked away to. And that was very foolish indeed.

"No, that doesn't sound nice," he said angrily, as Glade easily matched his pace, wearing a concerned expression it had stolen from a grandparent not too long ago. "I'm leaving."

"You can't leave. Because I didn't steal you. The original Harlow Finch Echowood is still in his home, playing solitaire and chatting away to his cat. You belong here with me."

Harlow stopped in his tracks, sitting down on an ancient jeweled throne. It had held countless kings before him, but he respected them not, only using their seat to keep from collapsing in shock.

Glade smiled. "We are going to have so much fun, and no one will ever know you to be here. Come now, I have food prepared for you."

"I can't eat your food," Harlow argued, remembering what he had learned from a book that lived in his elementary school library. It had worn a shiny green cover, and the name Susan Macintosh was written inside the front cover before his own. "I'd never be able to leave if I did that."

"I'm afraid you've mistaken me for some of my cousins," Glade said. "You will eat, or you will starve. And you're never leaving because you belong to me. It doesn't matter what you choose to do."

Harlow stood up, his dizziness replaced with a red-hot temper. "I hate you! Let me go! You can't keep me here!"

Glade looked deeply wounded, but Harlow knew within the depths of his very soul, that it was only mimicry of human emotion.

"I couldn't send you back, even if I wanted to. Then there would be two Harlow Finch Echowoods trying to live your singular and unique life."

"I don't believe you. I'm still me. I still remember my life."

"You are an exact duplication of the original Harlow Finch Echowood. You have the same soul and the same mind and the same DNA. Of course you still remember."

With every passing moment, Harlow's belief in Glade's words only grew. Any attempt to fight against them was snuffed out by diluted logic and the omnipresent knowledge that he was still alive. He breathed. Blood rushed through his veins. More importantly, his mind continued to produce thoughts and feelings to process the outside world.

"Just combine us again or something," Harlow begged. "I want to go home. I never asked to be brought here."

"I cannot combine nor reconstruct nor mend. I can only make copies of beautiful things, and things not quite so beautiful."

Glade spread its arms, gesturing to its hoard of human objects collected in centuries long past. The treasures of every empire ever risen and fallen was present, both the spectacular and the mundane side by side in a discordant visual melody.

"Why me?" Harlow asked. "I didn't do anything."

"You speak as though this is a punishment. I have simply added you to my collection." It flicked the tears from his face, scratching him with its nail. "Now come, I have made you good food."

Glade gripped Harlow's arm and dragged him far away, weaving throughout its collection at a brisk and even pace, avoiding falling into the gaps between pieces of floor, which only infinitum laid below.

Soon enough, they came upon a small 1950s era kitchen. Two marble counters, a dirty stove, and a teacup filled sink formed a corner tucked away between a row of unplugged televisions and a huge crooked stalagmite growing from the polished tile floor.

Glade opened the oven and pulled out a pan of fresh bread. Its hands were bare, but unburnt by the hot metal dish. It grabbed a knife from one of the many drawers and cut through the bread without displacing a single crumb, before laying the slice out on a neon green plate.

"Eat while it's still hot," Glade said with a bright smile. It was a well used expression by those of Harlow's time who prepared meals for other humans, and it planned to repeat it often.

In its time spent with Harlow, its teeth had dulled significantly, and its gums had taken on a pale shade of pink. Why it had not mimicked a perfect human before meeting Harlow was beyond him, and it seemed perfectly capable of warping its appearance to become more like him.

He reluctantly tried the seed filled bread, finding it to be heavenly and soft. Faerie food or not, he scarfed it down, suddenly famished beyond all reason.

"Thank you," he said automatically.

"I have much food. It is scattered about my home, and easy to find if you look. It never spoils, so you may feast on it as you please."

Harlow sighed, and clambered up to sit on the counter. An act of rebellion his twelve year old self would have been proud of, even if Glade didn't give him the smallest sliver of annoyance, having no understand of manners itself.

"I'm really never leaving…" he said, his voice like a half-deflated party balloon still adored by a kid who refused point blank to throw it in the trash. "If that's it then, what happens when you get bored of me?"

"I never get bored of my playthings."

"How big is this place? Is it a universe, or a realm, or a room in some alien mansion?" Harlow thought these reasonable enough questions, considering his circumstances.

"An infinite pocket dimension," Glade replied. "If you travel far enough, my collection begins to grow thin. There is a boundary of where my possessions lie, and after that is the abyss. It is nearly impossible to find one's way back from nothingness."

"I hate it here," Harlow said, as though he had not made this feeling quite clear before. "I want to be around other people. Not you."

"I will bring you some," Glade promised. "Allow me a few minutes to collect them. You shall have a companion, as all humans crave, or more than one if it suits your fancy."

Harlow froze, debating his own morality versus the loneliness soon to bloom from this isolation. How could he allow more people to be stuck in this horrible purgatory of preserved humanity, just so he could have someone to talk to? The truth? He couldn't bear it. At least, not yet.

"No," he begged, the first tears ever created in this pocket dimension blooming in his eyes. "Please, don't put anyone else through this. I'll be good. I won't complain. I promise."

"Oh, how you confuse me." Something odd bloomed over Glade's face, a poor mimicry of a half-understood human emotion. "I see… Come along then."

Harlow hopped off the counter and followed Glade as it walked under a vast canopy of safety pinned together curtains fashioned from every familiar fabric and exotic cloth created by the hands of humanity.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Glade called in a sing-song voice. "I've brought a new trinket. This one can talk, so I'm sure you'll like it."

People approached Glade and Harlow from the shadows. Well, not people, exactly. They were like Glade, monstrous and wonderful, stepping straight from a story book and into Harlow's waking nightmare. There stood more figures than Harlow could keep track of, intent on viewing the treasure Glade had discovered.

"I finally brought a human home," Glade said proudly, if such a being were capable of pride. "Isn't it just a doll?"

Harlow flinched as numerous hands and insect-like feelers crept over his body, Glade's companions examining him all too closely. He felt as though he had jumped into those foam pits he had so loved as a young child, touched in all directions yet floating in oddly empty space.

"Get off of me," he demanded, forgetting his promise not to complain as he shoved the nearest figure away. "Stop it. I said stop!"

Harlow tried to break free of them, pushing and shoving, even striking at them with closed fists and elbows. But he was pulled back, the creatures murmuring in appreciation on how bizarrely Glade's newest acquisition behaved.

"Stop touching me," Harlow cried. "Please. I hate being crowded. What are you doing?"

"What is it doing?" the specter asked. It brought its freezing yet intangible hand to Harlow's face, as though to seize his tears.

"That is so weird," another remarked, clicking its pincers in an oddly specific pattern.

The different figures murmured to each other, formulating explanations.

"Is it because we're touching it?"

"It's water… I think."

"He's crying," Glade explained, flapping its hands in mimicry of human excitement. "It means it's upset. Isn't it the most delightful thing?"

"I hate you," Harlow said thickly, as tears continued to stream down his reddened cheeks. "I want to go home."

"You are so repetitive," Glade remarked, before perfectly imitating Harlow's voice. "I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home."

Harlow finally relented. As the nightmarish figures poked and prodded him, discussing him amongst each other, he only hoped that they would soon grow bored and move on to newer shinier pursuits.

How could he stand to do this for the rest of eternity?

[itsawhumpsideblog]

Angie Has A Cold

CW: colds and associated symptoms, but nothing major. This is just good old-fashioned sickfic and fluff.

Advice from the Box Boy Liberation Movement:

Although it can be difficult to do, try to find time for yourself. Continue your hobbies if possible and take advantage of opportunities for self care. You still have needs and taking care of yourself is not only a smart choice, but also models good boundaries for rescuees.

Angie had only been away for a long weekend for her sister's wedding, but Tim found that he was looking forward to having her back. Of course, it wasn't that he couldn't handle the work of taking care of the rescuees and they were all perfectly happy to pitch in when they could, anyway. But Tim missed having someone else to talk to who saw the world the way he did, who he could interact with without having to put all his words through what he thought of as "the Pet filter".

When he heard Angie's car pull into the driveway, Tim found himself grinning ear to ear. He went to open the door for her- it was raining hard and she had a suitcase to manage. You needed to pack a lot of things to be a bridesmaid, it turned out.

Tim wasn't a moment too soon and opened the door to find Angie standing there, shifting her heavy suitcase to her left hand so that she could fumble for her key.

"Thanks!" she gasped as she ducked into the safety of the front hall. "Whew. It's really coming down! Would you believe I was dry until I got out of the car just now?"

"I might," Tim said.

"And how are the guys? And you? Did you guys do okay?" She set the suitcase down and wiped wet hair out of her face.

"Yeah, we were fine. We watched a lot of movies. The weather's making everyone feel a little... achy. Not quite themselves, I guess. We're just passing the ibuprofen around the room every few hours and that helps."

"Good." Angie sneezed into the crook of her arm and then straightened up and stretched. "I'll take this upstairs and change into something less... soaked. Be right back!"

She was downstairs in just a few minutes and settled onto the couch in her usual spot to watch the end of their movie before joining Tim in the kitchen to cook dinner.

"Anything in particular sound good to you?" Tim asked, standing in front of the open pantry with his arms crossed. "I didn't get to the store this weekend, so ingredients are a little scarce right now."

"It's fine," Angie assured him. "I'll go tomorrow." She peered at the shelves. "How about soup and sandwiches? We have enough for everyone and it sounds amazing." She shivered and added, "I just can't seem to get warm."

Tim peered at her. "Are you okay? You don't think you're getting sick?"

"Nah, I'm fine. It's just cold out."

Tim accepted the answer, but found himself studying her closely when, later in the evening, she sneezed again and began coughing. She swore that she had swallowed something wrong, but when she went to bed immediately after the rescuees were settled for the night, Tim had his doubts.

Sure enough, the next morning, Angie was nowhere to be seen. Tim helped Francis downstairs, saw the rescuees settled in their usual spots, and made breakfast for all five of them before he began to worry.

"No Angie this morning?" Nathan asked. "Think she's jet lagged?"

"She might be," Tim said doubtfully. "I'll go check on her after breakfast."

They ate and then Tim stood and said, in the most casual voice he could, to hide his worry, "Still no Angie- I guess I'll go knock on her door and make sure everything's okay." He tried to seem unconcerned and ignored the anxious look that Francis and Mikey exchanged.

Tim strolled out of the room, but as soon as he had rounded the corner, he picked up the pace. He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, he thought. Then he silently admonished himself for lying. He did know why- it wasn’t that he was afraid something uniquely awful had happened, only that Angie was the one person in the house he could count on to be well and normal. She was always cheerful and energetic, even when she was tired and it would just be so strange if she were to be anything else.

Then, stopping in front of her door, Tim gave himself a mental shake. Angie was not required to perform, he reminded himself. She was allowed to have an off day, too, and he would do whatever she needed. If that was even what was happening.

Tim knocked on the door and Angie's gravelly voice answered. "Come in."

He opened the door a little tentatively to find her still in bed, wrapped up in a blanket and looking thoroughly miserable. A box of tissues sat on her nightstand and some of its contents was now wadded up in and around a wastebasket.

"Morning," Tim said, entering very slowly and picking his way around the tissues to sit lightly on the edge of her bed. "Just came to see how you're doing."

"Not great," Angie admitted. She took another tissue and blew her nose, then leaned back against the pillows with a tired groan. "You were right," she admitted. "I guess I was getting sick."

"Poor you," Tim said sympathetically. He stood, left the room, and returned a moment later with a thermometer. "May I?"

"Go ahead." Angie accepted the thermometer under her tongue and held her head while they waited for it to beep. When it did, she watched him expectantly.

"Yeah, you definitely have a fever. Not bad- not, like, Francis-bad, but it's there."

"I can tell. I'm hot and cold and everything aches." Tim patted her hand and she sniffed and smiled at him.

"Think you can keep some breakfast down if I bring it to you?"

"I can come downstairs," she said, but she didn't look like she meant it and Tim shook his head.

"I'll be right back," he said and it was a sign of exactly how she felt that Angie lay quietly back against her pillows and watched him go.

Downstairs, Tim put some bread in the toaster and checked in with the rescuees. They had looked up in an almost synchronized movement when he came down the stairs and then watched him, waiting for news.

"She's sick, all right," he confirmed. To the nervous look that flashed across Mikey's face, he added, "Nothing too serious. She just has a little feverish cold. We'll take good care of her and she'll be better soon."

"Poor Ma'am," Francis murmured.

"If there's anything we can do to help, we will," Nathan told Tim, and Mikey nodded, ignoring the casts on his hands that would make it hard for him to help anyone. Tim smiled.

"Thanks, guys. I'll pass on the good wishes and start her off with some breakfast."

Angie didn't appear to have moved since Tim left. This was worrying, but he pushed it aside. She was sick; she was allowed to act unlike herself if she needed to. Besides, he noted, she pushed herself up in the bed when he came in and gave him a thin smile. He stayed and kept her company while she drank some of the juice and nibbled at the toast.

"Sorry," she said when she had put the second piece of toast back on the plate half-eaten. "I don't think I can take any more right now."

"That's okay," he replied in his most soothing voice. "You rest and I'll come back up in a little while to see if you need anything and check on your fever."

"My fever will probably be right here waiting for you," Angie said dryly. "But I'll be okay. I promise."

"I'll hold you to it."

Angie slid down again in the bed, shivering, and smiled as Tim reached over and tucked the comforter around her.

Tim tried not to be exasperated later that morning when Francis asked, for what seemed like the tenth time, "Sir, ought we not to go and see to Ma'am? Francis would be more than willing to sit with her, if she is in need..." he trailed off, unsure.

"I'm pretty sure she's fine," Tim said, also for the tenth time. He looked at the clock and shrugged. "But you know, it has been two hours. I'll go up and just see if she's even awake. Will that make you all feel better?"

Francis wasn't able to answer such a direct question, but Mikey nodded and Nathan grinned sympathetically at Tim. He had memories of being sick in a similar way and was more sure that Angie really would recover without long-term adverse effects.

Tim tried not to sigh as he went upstairs. The questions were only annoying because he was asking himself the same thing, he had to admit. And if he took another perspective, it was really a positive thing that Francis was able to ask repeatedly for something he felt was important. It was progress.

Once again, Tim tapped very lightly at the door. He half hoped Angie wouldn't answer, which would mean she was sleeping.

"Come in." No such luck, and she sounded horribly congested.

As he had suspected, the pile of tissues was noticeably higher. She had also thrown her blankets aside and was clutching a sheet to her chest as she coughed into her elbow.

"At least I got sick after the wedding," Angie managed to say. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand over them. "Sorry. My head hurts."

"And your face is bright red," Tim noted. "Your fever must be up."

"Yeah, probably. It feels worse. I'm all dizzy." Then, illogically, she swung her feet over the side of the bed. "I should get some medicine, though."

"Already brought you some." Tim was anxious to keep her from exerting herself and he held out the pills and a small cup of water.

"You're the best." She took them and laid back with a sigh. "Sorry I'm not more help around the house today. Are the guys okay?"

"They're worried about you," Tim told her. "Francis is almost being annoying about it- not that I really mind, of course. But he got very insistent that I should come check on you."

"Good for him," Angie hummed with a small smile. Tim had known she would understand. Then she sighed. "Tell them I'm fine- more or less- and I'm going back to sleep. If I get bored later, I'll come downstairs."

"I'll leave you alone," Tim agreed. "Want me to come check on you at lunchtime? You should probably try to eat again then, if you can. There's always more toast, or I can make soup. Those are classics for a reason and we have a lot of soup in the backup pantry."

"Ugh," Angie groaned. She held her stomach and looked a little green. "Don't talk to me about food. But thanks."

"Sorry. I'll see you in a few hours." She murmured some inaudible assent and Tim saw himself out.

Tim's report from the sickroom kept the rescuees' anxiety at bay almost until the agreed-upon next visit at lunch. As the hour approached, though, Tim couldn't help noticing Mikey and Francis glancing over at him every few minutes, clearly waiting for him to leave the room.

When Tim stood up, they visibly relaxed and then tensed again as he walked into the kitchen instead of upstairs. Tim, who hadn't done it on purpose, felt guilty at this.

"I'm going to put some soup on," he told them, "and then I'll go look in on her. I know you're worried, but she really will be okay and we all have to eat lunch, after all."

There was no grumbling, of course, but Tim suspected that if they hadn't once been Pets, Francis and Mikey would have protested. Everyone would be fine, Tim reminded himself, and put the soup on to warm before finally heading up the stairs.

This time, he knocked and let himself in without waiting for an answer. Angie was sitting up again, dozing against her pillows, and opened her eyes when she heard him come in.

"Welcome back."

"Thanks, I think. How are you feeling now?"

She shrugged listlessly. "About the same, but bored. Is it lunchtime already?"

"It is. Do you think you could eat something?"

She grimaced but said, "Maybe a little. It doesn't sound great, but I should eat, even if I don't want to."

"That's the spirit."

"Can I come downstairs?" Angie asked, sounding like a child who was prepared to plead for what she wanted.

"If you feel up to it," Tim said. He didn't want to pressure her, but he hoped she would come downstairs. It would help Mikey and Francis relax if they could see her, he was sure.

"Okay, great. Give me one second." Tim turned his gaze slightly aside so that he wasn't staring awkwardly at her as she climbed out of bed and made her way across the room to retrieve a flannel robe that was hung over the back of a chair. She drew it tightly around her and shivered, but headed for the door.

"You need a hand?" Tim asked in the same fake-casual voice he felt like he had been using all day.

Angie’s feverish head felt faint and she was a little unsteady on her feet. She reached one hand out to brace herself on the doorframe and pressed the other hand to her brow.

"I think so," she replied reluctantly. "My poor head's all dizzy, still."

"Well, let's get you downstairs and settled on the couch, then." Tim gave her his arm to lean on and they made their way very slowly down the stairs.

When she entered the room, all three rescuees- even Nathan, who had not been so nervous- brightened up.

"Hi guys," Angie croaked and made sure to smile at them. Mikey beamed at her and Francis smiled warmly. They both looked happy to see her and more relaxed than they had been yet that day.

"Come sit down," Nathan said in a concerned voice, gesturing to the other end of the couch. "You look like you're gonna fall over."

"I'll be okay," Angie assured him, but she kept a hold on Tim's arm and let him help her across the room. She tucked her feet under her as she eased herself down onto the couch and leaned back with a light sigh.

"I'll get everyone lunch," Tim said, not that anyone was listening, and bustled off.

"Francis is very sorry that you're ill, Ma'am," Francis said in a shy voice. "He hopes you are not suffering very much."

"Nah, it's not that bad." She made the effort to smile. "Just... not quite myself today, that's all. It happens."

Tim returned with bowls of soup for Nathan and Francis and then set up a tray in front of Angie. She found that she didn't have much stomach for food and stopped after a few spoonfuls until she felt something brush her leg.

When she looked down, it was Mikey, touching her knee lightly to get her attention. She smiled wanly at him but he looked concerned. He reached up with his heavily bandaged right hand and tapped his mouth, telling her that she should eat.

Angie almost explained that she didn't want to, but then she took another look at Mikey's wide, earnest eyes and he tapped his mouth more insistently, then gestured clumsily at her bowl.

"Okay, I'll have some more," she agreed. "You're right. It'll be good for me." For his sake, she finished most of the bowl, although the meal was heavy in her belly and made her a little sick. Mikey and Francis- and Tim, she noticed- looked satisfied, which mostly made it worth it.

After lunch, Angie sat shivering on the couch while Tim cleared away the dishes. When he returned, he was carrying the thermometer.

"Time for another temperature check," he announced cheerfully, and stuck it under her tongue.

Angie's fever had apparently become a spectator sport, and she wasn't too sick to feel awkward with all four of them watching her as the number on the thermometer climbed.

"101.7," Tim announced. "And time for the patient to take her medicine."

"Francis would like to help," Francis said. He looked nervously from Angie to Tim and clasped his hands, which were shaking slightly. It made him nervous to speak up like that, but he was desperate to do something for poor Ma'am, who had so often comforted him when he was ill.

"Sure," Tim said, putting on his casual voice again so that Francis would know he was welcome to express himself freely. "I bet Angie would appreciate that. Right?"

"Sure," she agreed. "Thank you, Francis."

Tim got the bottle of medicine and helped Francis cross the room to sit in a chair next to Angie.

"Sir, could you please bring a cool washcloth?" Francis asked. "For Ma'am," he hastened to add.

Angie almost couldn't believe the sudden change in Francis, who had actually managed to communicate an intention and was now very nearly taking charge of something. He had even made a direct request of Tim. She realized why and her heart was so full that she almost cried. The slight red tint around Tim's eyes when he returned from the kitchen suggested that he had cried. Francis, who couldn't even refer to himself in first person, had asserted himself for Angie's sake.

She knew she would be thinking about the implications of that for a long time, but for now she tried to remain in the present.

Francis poured Angie's medicine into a spoon and held it out. At first, she started to raise her hand to take it, and then realized he was holding it towards her mouth. She tried not to smile as she let him administer it to her, just the way he fed Mikey when it was his turn to do so.

When the spoon was empty, Francis lay it neatly down on a napkin and took up the damp washcloth, folding it into a long rectangle. He leaned towards Angie and pressed it to her brow.

"This is an excellent thing to do when you are feverish," he said, looking very gentle and solemn. She wondered if he knew a cold washcloth was an ordinary fever treatment, or if he thought it was something special that only Tim knew about. "Francis found it very beneficial when he had a fever." He held the cloth in place for her, as if she was too feeble to do it herself, and Angie remembered how many hours Tim had sat with Francis just like this.

"Thanks, Francis," Angie said. "It does feel good."

"Francis is very sorry to see Ma'am so poorly," he replied in that same caring tone. "He hopes you will be much better soon."

Angie smiled around the room. "With all of you to take care of me, I know I will."

Next

Master List

Notes: I've got so many ideas for the Safehouse characters, but some of them fall outside of any specific spot on the timeline. Also, to be honest, I don't want to have to worry about the passage of time for every story I do in that series. So, while I'm definitely going to continue doing longer plot arcs, those plot arcs won't always have to follow one after the other. I'm also going to start letting myself just do standalone stories or short arcs like this one. Enjoy!

Tag list: @pigeonwhumps, @cepheusgalaxy, @i-eat-worlds, @honeycollectswhump @taterswhump,

@starfields08000 @whumpsday, @fruitypinapple00, @currentlyinthesprial

[calliedion-dungeon]

𖤓Sore Kisses

Picture Kath on Pinterest

Chapter 4. Gimme Sympathy

Read on ao3 here <<<

Warnings: MDNI +18, Smoking, Heavy Drinking, Fluff and Angst (later) Swearing, Crossdressing (later), Adult Content, Eventual Smut, Blonde Mary Goore!! Everyone is a Little Shit in here, later it gets all Soft and Smutty, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Trope.

A few weeks later, you were able to exhibit your work that you have been developing throughout the year at the art school, you don't like to invite anyone to the last exhibition that happens every end of course, but Frank, as he is, upon finding out that it would be the last exhibition, he organized everyone to go see your work, there was nowhere to hide when you saw startled the group approach you as you were talking with one of your favorite teachers about a scholarship that they were offering you.

The arts school where you study has several small rooms that make up the gallery, the building is quite old, since at some point it was the first school in the history of the city, becoming its heritage, the wooden boards that they cover the floor they creaked all over the place, people had already gotten used to the sound of each creaky step, the walls of the whole school were white, that didn't make it boring because there was always something on display created by the students, these walls were adapted so that nobody had the need to paint or scratch them.

The teacher noticed you were somewhat distracted when you saw the small group enter the gallery, you mentioned that your friend brought company, they really didn't stand out that much in the art school, there were people who were the same or more alternative, but for you, it was as if they were walking with a beam of light on top, you didn't know why, you were looking for him with your eyes, with relief you found him, although a few seconds later, you consciously realized that and changed your mind.

It was unusual for your eyes to see Frank’s friends in a place at broad daylight, so illuminated, they always seemed to be nocturnal creatures in hidden bars and alleys, you could even see details on everyone's faces that you couldn't in a dark and smoky place, as it usually happened. You couldn't deny them entry, besides, if they were there it was because they wanted to, right? It was bizarre to say the least, not in a million years you would’ve asked them to come, you see Nick looking around, and of course with Cami, but Mary? Didn’t he had nothing better to do?

When they greet you they already know that it must be from afar, no one tries to kiss you on the cheek or shake your hand anymore, you appreciate that, you see carefully that they do not approach your drawings and photographs, but Frank guides his people to see them when he finds your hanging works on the walls.

They pour out praise that you don't know whether to believe or not, but you say thank you anyway, because you have no way to deny their compliments, when Mary stands next to you, you cross your arms looking away, he looks at your photographs and not in a hurry, he observes intently and that makes you nervous, because one of the photographs is a self-portrait, all this was much easier without people who knew you around.

“They are all naked, the quiet ones always have their kinky side, uh?” he teases near for you to hear, how dare he insinuate that this is something made for vulgar delight, you turn to look at him, squinting.

“It’s called study of human form, idiot” he makes that stupid smug face, because again, you fell for it.

“Are they models?” his tone doesn’t change, as if he ignored your words, walking slowly closer to you, following the path that you’re blocking ‘cause you’re covering your photo from him.

“Yeah, people volunteer to be drawn or photographed, this is my roommate, Jenn, they’re very muscular” you point to a picture of your roommate doing a push-up, to make all their muscles show you did a trick with light and shadows.

“Cool, so I can model, then?” just as he gives you a toothy grin, quickly you turn your face away knotting your brows.

“I hardly think anyone will find something worth picturing…” you couldn't finish insulting him because you feel something gently push your shoulder to get you out of front of the photo.

“You don’t know what I got… This… oh damn! Nice! Who is this?” he exclaims openly and whistles “How do we know her?” you curse inside, only letting out your grunting and frowning, your self-portrait photo is also a nude, it is your image overlaid in various poses placed inside a tub, a wet cloth covers your face and the pink water only covers your mons pubis, everything else was perfectly visible, you wouldn't mind if you hadn't noticed beforehand that he wasn't looking at your work as art.

“Read the tag, genius” As soon as he reads the tag, his face turns red, you expected that by reading he would understand that it was you and he would walk away in terror, but no, now he was looking more carefully, somehow his eyes look darker “No! Frank! tell him stop watching!”

Because of your whining, Frank appears thinking that Mary is bothering you again, when he realizes what is happening, he covers his face in the direction of your photo, incredibly uncomfortable as the shameless metalhead keeps staring at your figure, before anyone could say anything else, your phone rings.

Mary didn't even hear that your phone had rung and that's why you had left, he thought you were upset because he was looking insistently at your photograph, the white corridors of the unknown school had him confused where to go to look for you, but it didn't last too long for him to hear your yelling in a room at the end of the hall, you were alone next to a piano with the phone in hand talking angrily. Determined to make sure that you’re not angry at him, he waits outside for a bit, peering through the windows of the door.

“…The fucking landlord is throwing us out?... What did you do!?” your growing vexation sweated from all your pores, impotence overflows your voice, you don't want to cry because you know that Jenn will too as soon as you hang up the phone “Un-fucking-believable, dude! What am I supposed to do?” you hang up the phone wanting to throw it even if it gets destroyed, but it's all you have at the moment, you can't even think straight.

You let yourself fall on the bench defeated, squeezing your lips with tears in your eyes, anger invades you more than you can control, especially being alone you let it out in the form of bitter tears which you don't even bother to wipe away, you stay a moment like that in your seat.

Mary walks into the room stealthy as a cat, you jolt once you realize that he is standing next to you, he finds you crying and immediately becomes defensive, looking furiously for who knows what. You try to hide your face, you wipe your eyes with the collar of your shirt, not caring if it gets smeared with your eyeliner.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” he’s visibly upset by your grimace.

“No... it's not… My roommate…” you fail to explain, sighing and swallowing hard trying to undo the knot in your throat.

“Did they do something to you?”

“No…” as soon as you respond his body relaxes, he sits next to you rubbing his hands together not knowing what to say, he attempts to put a hand on your shoulder but pulls back from doing so, your muffled sobs made him feel anxious, it was the sudden need to ease your pain.

With a broken voice you told him roughly what had happened, Mary wasn't the first person you would have thought of telling, but he was already there. What had happened was that Jenn was doing pull-ups on a pipe of the apartment where you live, or the two of you lived, it turned out that this pipe was a water pipe and thanks to their weight it ended up breaking, causing the entire apartment to flood and consequently you can't live there anymore, the landlord knows you weren't even there when that happened so you're off the hook regarding paying for damages. Still, it meant you had nowhere to live at the moment, you were terrified that it would happen again and you didn't know what to do.

Except for a few random comments, Mary listened to you attentively, it even seemed that for once he was taking your situation seriously, but that thought escaped you when he told you that he had to do something and he just left the piano room, leaving you alone, you sigh feeling horrible for a while, taking more time than planned, before going out to face the rest of what is left of the exhibition.

Leaving the piano room Frank approaches looking for you, the news did not take long to travel, he was already aware of what happened, he wastes no time in consoling you and making you an offer that would not have occurred to you even at your worst moment, your thoughts were still slipping in his words, you couldn't find an immediate answer.

“We have a spare room, why don’t you come live with us?”

[notesofarichlycolorednight]

s2ep10 gorizilla

this episode was just like. so bad.

the akumatized object

hawkmoth suspecting adrien might be chat noir

hawkmoth being a villain before the butterfly miraculous was created

wayhem

emilie agreste

adrien being chased by fans

i'm going out of order bc i want to address the ones that won't take paragraphs, but what a strange set-up to have adrien suddenly become popular and well-known as if he isn't the son of one of paris' most prestigious and well-known fashion designers. like adrien has already modeled for the agreste fashion line??? okay i know that if i saw a model, i wouldn't even know except maybe thinking they'd have the looks for a model, so that's fair. but, again, it just seems weird given that marinette was able to google him on the first day of school and finds tons of photos of him. it just reasonably means that if someone were looking up gabriel, they'd stumble across his son, right?

anyway, not a huge sin. just felt really strange, given the previous set-up with adrien.

okay, going off-track here but i will say i do like that adrien was the damsel in distress this time. esp since they were referencing godzilla in this episode. that was a nice change of pace. but again, the only praise i'll give it.

can they stop referencing popular movies tho? this one wasn't as bad as the sapotis one, though. bc at least this one doesn't butcher someone's cultural folklore and mythology.

edit: i take that last paragraph back bc i just realized it's not godzilla they're referencing, it's king kong! i just thought godzilla bc of the name similarities (and how the west has done all this king kong vs gozilla bullshit). and while i guess it's clever to name him gorizilla bc he's called the gorilla by adrien, i think it's,,,insensitive, to be generous, for the creator to co-opt the name from godzilla here. bc 1) the gorilla turning into a giant gorilla has nothing to do with godzilla except for his size and, as referenced by the show itself, has more to do with king kong, but 2) it's frustrating to see the west completely miss the point of the creation of godzilla bc from my understanding, it was a direct response to the fear from radiation poisoning and effects felt after the u.s. bombed hiroshima and nagasaki in wwii. it's not malicious, but it's certainly ignorant racism.

they really couldn't think of a fun or clever pun for this one that has more to do with king kong?? not to mention, not all of their akuma names are clever or puns, so it's not a crime for them to just. not do a clever name here. in fact, it would be the exact opposite had they decided to try and reference king kong a bit better. bc what they did end up doing feels like it should be a hate crime tbh. anyway, back to the regularly scheduled post.

how did wayhem know that gorizilla was tracking adrien by scent?? when and how did he figure that out? like on one hand, i will admit, that's a clever way to resolve the issue with adrien being chat noir, but it's also weird that wayhem just knows how gorizilla works when we didn't even see how he figured it out or his thought process. it just comes out of the blue and it would've been really nice for them to spend a second longer letting us in on the secret.

the odd choice to keep concealing emilie's face was also very strange bc. we've already. seen her face??? in the first season??? so why make it mysterious mystery now?? what i really want to know is if they go into anything about who she was and what she did before she died or whatever happened to her in the remaining 3 seasons (goddd there are still 3 seasons and they didn't even get to any major arcs in them??) like right now, she's just a pretty lamp. a pretty, fridged lamp.

once again, another point in the "they created hawkmoth before the butterfly miraculous." i just realized this now, but the kwamis tell you what to say to transform. and the fact that gabriel has to say "dark wings, rise" to transform tells me he was the villain first. bc what kind of superhero would say "dark wings?" yknow?

i think this was the episode that convinced me that he like, actually cared about his son. the va for hawkmoth is very good. but i do wonder why then, when in the s3 time-travel episode they have gabriel body his son into the effiel tower after they infiltrate his underground shrine?

well, anyway. i'm glad i didn't totally make up the fact that gabriel actually loves his son in some capacity.

what i wanted to say here mostly tho was i think it's very funny how easily these characters take what they see at face value. i mean, obviously they have vested interest in doing so but it is just very funny to me. bc ladybug and chat noir no longer believe gabriel could be hawkmoth bc he was akumatized, and gabrial no long believes adrien is chat noir bc they were allegedly in the same place at the same time.

that just reminded me, jumping around here, the fact that they took a lot of short-cuts in this episode. in more ways than one. like the fact that in volpina we see ladybug extremely concerned about adrien and almost unwilling to leave him alone. but here, she just drops the concern completely and takes chat noir's word for it, even tho last time she didn't? it's just not internally consistent and that felt extremely off to me.

there was another short-cut i wanted to mention but i forgot what it was. it had something to do with character models bc i was going to use the fact that one of the little girl character models in this ep was clearly just manon with the colors changed as evidence that they take short-cuts. and there's nothing wrong with that, i understand that animation is time-consuming and hard. esp on a tight schedule, i had just wanted to point it out that it hurt its own narrative. like i'm not blaming the animation team, i just think it detracts from the show. i'm all for giving animation teams way more time to do their jobs, so we actually have something nice to look at. i don't mind waiting longer. but ceos sure do.

finally, i think the akumatized object was really badly done. how did ladybug figure out that that's what the object was when 1) it's so small compared to gorizilla and 2) it was hidden in his pockets? it's not implied that she saw adrien drop his lucky charm that she'd given him, so how could she have known? not to mention, to assume the gorilla picked it up is a huge logical leap. how could she have been so sure that the gorilla picked it up and not one of the fans/mob? esp since they would presume it belonged to adrien? how could she have been so sure it didn't fall onto the tracks, shoved by one of the fans' feet? there just a huge plot hole that i have to jump here that i can't.

i'm also a big annoyed that the object has more significance to adrien than the gorilla. like up to this point, the object is always something that the person holds dear to them in some capacity. but marinette's charm bracelet she gave to adrien? it doesn't really fit with the pattern they've been showing us for a season and a half.

also also, something i had wanted to mention in the last episode too, the fact that they don't communicate and somehow intuit or infer what the other wants is very, very annoying. like i get they're trying to fit everything into 25 minutes and i've complained about things being too fast, but that's not really an excuse when spongebob was able to fit two whole narrative arcs into a 30 min show, 15 mins for each. and none of them ever felt rushed or incomplete.

anyway, what i'm trying to say here, is that whenever ladybug has a plan, she rarely, if ever, explains it to chat noir. nor did she explain it to rena rouge in the last episode. they just suddenly knew, and that's bad writing. it also teaches kids that they shouldn't communicate when communication is actually incredibly important. no one can read minds, sometimes you have to use your words to get meaning across. but this show is really dead set on trying to convince kids that telekinesis is a thing, i guess.

[piracytheorist]

Yeah, but can your skrunkly bend himself into another dimension?

Made with Enhanced Model Viewer MOD

[belphie-core]

Asmo comforts a self-conscious MC on a night out

CONTENT WARNING(S): Anxiety, intrusive thoughts, self-deprecation, chubby/plus-sized!MC, past trauma (implied), skin disease(s), body dysmorphia.

You shouldn't have agreed to this.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, body swathed in lush, revealing fabrics that were alone probably worth more than anything you'd ever owned back in the human realm put together, you started to feel the familiar heavy weight of dread settling down deep into your chest.

You don't look right.

It had started out as a small, harmless thought at first, niggling away in the back of your mind just like an earworm, just like it always did.

But you'd tried your best to ignore it.

Asmo had assured you that everything would be fine, right? And you hadn't wanted to ruin his fun.

Though now as you stared at yourself in the mirror, eyes focusing on only the parts of your body that you found most displeasing and then disregarding the rest of it, you couldn't help but to feel like you'd made a huge mistake.

Your face, round and chubby and unflattering. Your skin, dry and flaky and splotchy. Your hands, big and clumsy and clammy. Your figure, small and wide and shapeless.

You don't look the same as everybody else.

Everybody looked different, sure.

Some demons around you had lighter skin then yours, whereas others had darker. Some demons around you had shorter heights then yours, whilst others had taller. Some demons around you had much larger figures than yours, and others had smaller.

But the difference was that their features only helped make them look even more beautiful and more unique, whereas yours only helped make you look even more unflattering and even more like a misfit.

You just knew you shouldn't have come here.

"...MC? Oh Diavolo, MC, I thought you had gotten lost!"

A familiar voice calls to you from down the corridor, and your breath hitches in your throat upon hearing it.

"There you are! Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you? I thought that you'd been stolen away out here or something; gosh!"

The demon sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes in relief now that he'd finally found you, but he falters when his gaze catches hold of yours in the mirror.

--

Asmo can tell that something isn't right with his darling from the moment that he lays eyes on them.

"MC...?" His voice is suddenly much more soft and gentle, and the smell of sweet perfume is stronger now as he steps forward to place a hand on your shoulder.

He follows your line of sight, curious to see what could be ailing you so, until slowly, he starts to put two and two together.

The way your eyes linger over the models in the background. The way your hands come up to hug around your sides and tug on the fabric to pull in your waist. The way you look down in shame the moment you notice he's been taking in your appearance.

'Oh, sweetheart...' he thinks, wishing he could rid you of those horrible, horrible thoughts and assure you that you were perfect already.

But he's not stupid, and he's also aware of the fact that issues with self-esteem aren't just something that someone can change so easily- he knows that from experience. He wants to make a start, though.

"MC, darling..." he whispers, keeping his voice low so as not embarass you as he presses a quick glossy kiss to the back of your neck. "Is something wrong?"

Asmo waits patiently for you to answer, not once making fun of you even if you get flustered as you constantly stumble over your words trying to find the best way to explain it to him.

"MC." He gently wraps his arms around your shoulders from behind, leaning into your neck and nuzzling up against your flushed cheek like a kitten. "Sweetheart, don't you think you look gorgeous?"

When you don't give him an answer, he points at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror.

"No? Then maybe I'll have to believe it enough for the both of us then..." He takes a second to pause. "Until you find how to see the beauty inside you for yourself. I know you'll find it- no matter how long it takes. Because something so precious as that is too perfect to keep all for myself."

And, oh, how he absolutely adores the way you're blushing at his words now, and he hugs you tightly as he leans in to give you a long, meaningful kiss on the cheek.

"You know... if you're not feeling up to the shoot tonight, then we could go back home?" He offers, sounding deadly serious for a few moments.

"B-but... but wouldn't that ruin your plans?"

Asmo frowns. With how quick you blurted that out, it doesn't take a genius to work out that it was practically an automatic response. And he can tell what you're thinking now just by the way you said it.

-You're thinking it's selfish of you to ruin Asmo's enjoyment of the evening by making him worry over a few stupid, stupid, thoughts.

Even just the fact that he noticed you seemed uncomfortable is making you feel guilty. Had you not hid it well enough? Were you being that much of a burden? Why did you always have to ruin things! Why did you have to be so weak and pathetic?-

Asmo can practically hear the rusted, familiar cogs of self-deprication starting to grind around in your head- and he can't have that.

He shakes his head firmly, taking his turn to frown now. "Things can be rearranged," he says calmly.

Asmo takes a second to change his position, until he's standing in front of you with your cheeks cupped gently in his hands. "You could never ruin anything for me, MC L/N. In fact, I'd be the one ruining things for myself if I knew I was doing something that made you feel unhappy."

You nodded slightly, staring to sniffle.

"Hey, hey..." Asmo wipes a stray tear away from your cheek, rubbing it slowly with his thumb. "Seeing you happy makes me happy. And I don't think I'd give that feeling up for all the fans in the world. I love you, MC- and if you can believe just one thing, then I want you to believe that. Even if you think it's selfish, even if it's just for me..."

A moment of silence passes, and Asmo's heart wrenches when he hears you suddenly taking a shaky breath in, your eyes beginning to fill with tears.

"It's okay, darling, it's okay..." he whispers, his own voice starting to break a little before he can clear his throat. Asmo wraps his arms tightly around you, his shoulders shaking slightly as he rubs circles onto your back, his other hand coming up to gently cradle your head to his chest.

He takes a deep breath in, silently prompting you to follow his breathing- and then, even for a few precious moments... everything seemed to calm down.

Then you both take another deep breath in and you think-

No, you know, that everything... everything might just be okay after all. You hope so, anyway.

As the smallest hint of a smile beings to form again on your trembling lips, Asmo feels a raw burst of warmth and love spreading through his chest- a feeling that is both very familiar, but also very strange to him at the same time. He was used to lust, but not so much love- and he was going to cherish that with everything he had.

"My beautiful sweetheart," he says, suddenly peppering kisses all over your face and giggling happily as you burst out into joyful laughter. "Now, come on, darling!" He links his arm with yours, and lowly starts to lead you away though the hall to the exit doors.

A few of the models and guests lurking in the hallway try to run after him and beg him to stay, the odd one or two even trying to get their hands all over him, but he warns them all off with an irritated hiss, throwing a nasty glare at the lower demons as he leads you safely out.

His smile returns as soon you step out.

"Where are we going?" You ask quietly.

"Somewhere better than this place. Hm... how does home sound, darling?" He asks, knowing you'd probably rather go home now and rest- especially with the way you were starting to yawn and slow your pace (even if he caught you trying to hide it)- than go somewhere else. And besides, he doesn't want to cause you any more pain or discomfort, so home was the safest place to go. "I know a very empty bed that would just loove to be snuggled up on right now. Hm?"

You nod tiredly, leaning into his shoulder. "Y-yeah... I think I'd like that," you whisper.

Asmo beams. "Good. A relaxing night at home it is then."

And with that, you both make your way home under the stars- arms linked, smiles matching, and maybe, just maybe... your confidence boosted a little.

No-one so far. Just ask if you want me to add to you to my taglist, and you'll be notified each time I post a new story/headcanon list (this also goes for character taglists, where, for example, if you ask, I'll add you to a {character} taglist and you'll only be tagged if the post features that character in some way!)

Feel free to ask any more requests you might have, peeps! Anons and asks are open, and you can also just leave your requests/feedback in the comments. Have a simply marvellous day, everyone (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)

-Star 🌠🐇

[twjournals]

So Wrong It's Right

Sequel: What's Wrong is Right

Warning: dark!Peter Parker x reader, DUB-CON, manipulation, age gap, drinking

PLEASE READ MY WARNING BEFORE CONTINUING. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Any and all negativity will be blocked.

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: You're an old troubled friend of May's. Your life consists of being a workaholic, a party animal, and bringing home the shittest of guys for a one-hit-wonder. Just when you get your life in order, you're knocked right back into your old habits. Peter has watched you suffer long enough. He can make it all better.

Your life was far from where you thought you would be. It was sad to say, but you were anything but a role model. Yet May still tolerated you, regardless of Peter. Maybe she used you as an example to show Peter what not to be or maybe she was just too good of a friend to leave you on your own. To say the least, your life was a mess but you could not be more grateful to have a friend like May.

"Peter, go get me a wet rag, please," May spoke quietly. Peter left your side once he helped May get you over to the couch. You were beyond the limits that someone should be drunk.

You were in a fit of hiccups, giggling to yourself as May bent down to take off your heels. You had far too many drinks, that much was clear.

"Maaay, you.." you hiccupped, "are suuuch a good.." you hiccupped again, "friend."

May shook her head with a sigh, taking in the drunken sight of you. She was not sure how you managed to let yourself get this far gone, but every time you would drink, this is how you ended up. Either you had zero limits or you loved to push the limits you did have.

"Pet-" May started to call over her shoulder, but Peter was already hurrying in the room with his hands full.

"I'm here, Aunt May." Peter reminded and she watched as Peter sat the trash can nearby the couch. He then placed the bottle of water on the table with some medicine for the headache he knew would come with your awake in the morning. He kneeled down beside you on the couch, pressing the rag to your forehead.

May only smiled to herself as she pulled the blanket from its spot on the back of the couch and pulled it over your figure. She didn't say anymore. Peter had seen his Aunt May take care of you many nights when you were so shit-faced it was a wonder you could still see faces.

Your head was propped up against a pillow on the couch as Peter wiped your forehead with the cool rag. Your skin was burning up. Peter could not help but wonder how you let yourself get like this. You were quite a few years younger than May, but it amazed him how different the two of you were to be the best of friends.

You were fast asleep in no time, making Peter smile as his eyes gazed over your face. He had always thought you were so beautiful. Too precious to be taken advantage of by the guys you went after. He witnessed many nights when you had told Aunt May about a new guy you had hooked up with. Everyone knew it was nothing more than a one-night stand, but Peter could not help but hate any guys that touched you only for only their benefit.

It was not until you had eventually settled down with a guy you had met from one of your nightstands that you finally stopped ending up on May's couch. You had moved on with your life, still keeping in contact with May every now and then. You were happy. Not just the sex but he was truly seemed like a guy you could see yourself spending forever with.

You had stopped drinking. You had stopped going out to parties. After the first year, you had moved into the city and got an apartment together. Another year later, you guys were engaged and everything seemed to fall into place. After 3 years, the wedding was right around the corner.

Your world moved at a quicker pace now considering all the things you needed to get done before the wedding. In between work and house chores, you were planning for your big day.

As time went by, you were so wrapped up in your own little world you did not notice the slow-burning flame in your partner slowly being put out. While your plans had been coming together, your relationship was falling apart. You had for the most part ignored all the signs and assumed he was having a bad day. It amazed you how many he was having. When you would try to talk to him, it seemed useless since you could never get him to talk about it. In reality, it all brewed into something bigger. It all hit you like a ton of bricks.

You had been working later hours than usual for extra money. It wasn't cheap, but you had told yourself it was okay to want the things you wanted. After all, this was going to be your first and hopefully wedding. You wanted everything to be perfect. You even tried to get opinions from your fiance to include his vision of it, but he insisted you were better at this sort of thing. You couldn't argue with that.

You wrapped up your work at the office fairly early so you decided to call it a night and surprise your fiance. You felt like everything was on track. One night worry-free was much needed. You had earned it.

You pushed open the front door to your apartment before walking through the living room into the kitchen. You sit your keys on the counter, placing your bag on the stool by the counter. You peered around the apartment for a moment. All the lights were off and it was quiet. Had he already gone to bed? You checked the time.

7:13pm

You were surprised you did not hear his game or at least him yelling at it. You started down the hallway to the bedroom you shared, staring at the closed door. Why was it closed when it was just him? You shook the thought a little too soon. Maybe if you had just thought a little longer, you would have prepared yourself for what was on the other side.

You pushed the door open just a little to see inside when you heard a faint moan from the other side. Your heart stopped. You stood in shock taking in the sight of the man you were in love with hovered over another girl in your bed under your covers. Your face was hot in embarrassment, anger. You were feeling so many things right now you could not think straight. You were hurt.

"Are you serious??" You blurted out, causing them both to jump to try and cover themselves.

"You're sick, Chris." She shoved his chest, pushing him off of her as she quickly got out of the bed. "He told me you guys were no longer together."

She scowled as she hurried to gather her clothes off the floor and pulling them on. If it were even possible, your eyes could have burned holes through the girl. You were in disbelief. Your jaw would have already been on the floor if it wasn't connected to your face.

"I'm so sorry." She mumbled, embarrassed as she hurried past you out of your apartment.

You were left to deal with Chris. You starred at him with tears kissing your eyes.

"I-"

You took a deep breath, shaking your head. "Don't."

"I can explain." He started to get out of the bed to dress.

"There's nothing to explain, Chris." You stared at him, trying to restrain yourself from coming across the room and punching him in the face for acting like an explanation could even justify his actions.

"She meant nothing to me." He started to walk over to you.

“You told her we weren’t together. How is that nothing?”

“It felt like we weren’t. You were so busy.” He tried to touch your arm but you shoved his hand away.

"Don't you dare think about touching me when you were just touching another woman." You looked at him with dark eyes, struggling to fight back the cry. He wasn't worth your tears. "I want you to get out."

"Get out?! Where am I gonna go?"

"I don't know." You shrugged your shoulders. "Maybe you could have thought that through."

He frowned, running his fingers through his hair frustrated. "It doesn't have to be like this. Can't we just talk this out?"

"No!" You shouted at him, making his eyes grow wide. You could tell he wasn't telling this as seriously as you. "I don't want to look at you right now." You turn to leave the room, but he grabs your arms to turn you to face him.

"Please. Look, I can- I can stay on the couch tonight. I'll give you your space and when you're ready we can talk about it. I was wrong for that. I fucked up and I'm sorry." You yanked yourself from his hold.

"You can give me space by leaving. Pack yourself a bag and go."

"I love you, Y/n. I never meant to hurt you."

You shook your head as your eyes wandered over the bed to where they once were before meeting his eyes. "You mean you never meant to get caught."

He sighed before hanging his head in defeat and walking by you to gather up some of his things. You didn't move from your spot. Only stared at the mess of a bed. The place you made love to him while he made love to another. You listened to the front door close behind him on his way out before you finally covered your face, letting the tears fall.

For days, weeks, all you could seem to do was feel sorry for yourself. You couldn't find the strength to get out of bed. No matter how many calls you received, you let them ring through to voicemail. Everything you had felt for him was in ruins. You changed for him. You let yourself grow for him and even that wasn't enough. After all the time you spent picking up after him, cooking, cleaning, planning, staying loyal for crying out loud. You didn't know what else he could of you.

You had called off the wedding in the time you stayed closed up in your apartment. Even took some time off of work to handle it all. You took that time to gather every piece of him scattered around the apartment and packed it up. You wanted to end this as painless as possible aside from the pain you were already feeling. You had thrown away the sheets and replaced them, even get a new comforter and it still didn't feel the same anymore to lay in your bed. You stared at your phone beside you as it lit up for what felt like the hundredth time. You finally sighed, lifting the phone. You knew without even looking at the name it was from him.

You canceled the wedding? It doesn't have to be like this. I still love you, Y/n. You were so busy with work and all the planning. You abandon me. Whenever I wanted your attention, you were always too tired to pay any attention to me.

It's like the girl I fell in love with was gone. Some time ago, you couldn’t keep your hands off of me now it’s like I have to beg you to touch me.

You're being selfish.

You can't be THAT mad, Y/n. I’m a man. I have needs. You were busy and she was willing to help. We can fix this. Don’t give up 3 years. Don’t give up on me.

There were loads more, but you could not care to bother reading the rest. You tossed your phone back down on the bed, rubbing your hands over your face. You didn't owe him anything, not even a response. The girl he was talking about was not gone. She was only on hold to plan a wedding by herself and it was more stressful than he knew. You wanted to forget everything that had happened. You wanted to forget you wasted 3 years of your life planning on growing old with this man.

--

You weren't sure how you had got this far and with that being said, May wasn't either. You had talked May into joining you to a night out at a club. She needed a night to herself and you needed a break from everything. Along with that, if you had stayed inside that house a moment longer, you might have gone insane.

"You're going to be hammered if you keep on like that." May reminded with a laugh, both of you clinging onto the bar and each other for the extra support. You thanked the bartender as he pushed your last round of shot glasses in front of the two of you.

You smiled, passing a glass to May before keeping one for yourself.

"We can only hope." You winked at the bartender who only chuckled before clinking your shot glass with hers and downing your shot.

Your throat was already numb from all the alcohol you had already numbed it with. May wasn't far behind you. You took your final shot, grinning and pulling May along with you to the dancefloor to get lost in the sea of people. You threw your arms around May's, moving your hips as you both danced to the music.

This was the therapy you needed. Sometimes you had longed for nights like this. You had freedom. You had no worries, aside from worrying who you might wake up beside. But you had fallen in love and even though you had grown up, you had not nearly grown out of this lifestyle. It was all too familiar.

"Hey! I'm going to the bathroom! I'll be back!" May moved closer to you, raising her voice to be heard over the loud music. You nodded, watching her pushing her way through the crowd of people to get to the ladies' bathroom before easing yourself back into your dancing.

You swayed, grinding your hips with the rest of the crowd. You weren't the slightest bit bothered to be dancing by yourself. You used to lose yourself on the dancefloor for hours days after days years ago.

"I've missed this." You heard a familiar voice speak from behind you, startling you when their hands landed on your hips with your sway. They pulled you back against them, catching you off guard. "I've missed you." He mumbled in your ear, sending chills down your spine.

You peaked over your shoulder to make sure your mind was not playing tricks on you. It wasn't. You prayed it was an old one-night stand, but of course, it was the one person you were trying to get away from.

"It doesn't work like that, Chris." You dropped your hands down to his on your hips, trying to push them off your hips but they only hold you tighter. "Get- get off of me." You gritted through your teeth as your eyes glared at him. "Get off!" You raised your voice.

"Now, now, let's not cause a scene. You've had quite a bit to drink haven't you?" He wrapped your arms around your figure, making your blood run cold as his body pressed to yours.

"That's none of your business."

"I'm your fiance. You are my business."

"Ex." You corrected him. His nose flared slightly.

"You really want to go there? You're nothing without me. You're shit-faced in the middle of the club and you can't even accept my help?" He growled and you pushed on his arms.

"I don't need your help."

"You're drunk. You don't know what you need." He spat.

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted your argument. "I think I've got it from here." You looked up to put a face to the voice, your eyes widening slightly.

"And you are?" Chris didn't budge while staring down Peter as if challenging him.

Peter was reaching his hand out for yours. "Her boyfriend." You stared up at Peter in shock at how much he had changed over the years and he smiled reassuringly.

Chris stiffed slightly and you could feel his eyes burning a hole into you. "Is that true?"

You didn't take your eyes off of Peter, taking a hold of his hand and letting him pull you out of Chris's arms. "Yes." Your voice was hushed.

Chris scowled. "Wow. I wish you luck there, man. She's a real catch." He laughed, making you look down. You couldn't believe he was really trying to ruin your night when he had already ruined everything else.

Peter only snaked his arm around your waist, letting his hand settle on your hip while his eyes never left Chris's. "She certainly is." He agreed. He gave your body a warm squeeze, grabbing you closer into his embrace. "Now, if you'll excuse us."

With that, he guided you through the crowd off of the dance floor.

"You okay?" He finally broke the silence once he got you back to the bar, sitting you down on one of the stools.

You nodded, letting your eyes wander up to him as he motioned the bartender over. "I'm just curious as to why you're here right now. Aren't you supposed to be in college?"

He smiled as he pulled out his wallet to pay your tab and you grabbed his hand, shaking your head. "No, no. I can pay for my own."

"What if I insist?"

"You don't have to, honestly. I have money."

You started to reach into your purse for some cash but Peter covered your hand, giving you another reassuring smile.

"You'll have plenty of other times to pay. I'll get it this time." He reminded you and you sighed in defeat, giving him a playful scowl. He only grinned, proceeding to pull some cash from his wallet to give to the bartender.

"You didn't answer my question." You continued as he turned back to you.

"I'm still college. I just sometimes stay with Aunt May on the weekends."

"And you just so happened to be here?"

Peter chuckled, pointing in May's direction as she stumbled over her feet returning back to the two of us. "Aunt May called."

You raised your eyebrow, looking over at May as she stood beside you now. "You called Peter?"

"Someone has to get you back home." She reminded you and you hit her arm slightly, tilting your head.

"May, I could have got a taxi or an uber. You didn't have to call him for me." You scowled at her and she shook her head in a tsking manner.

"No, no, no. I called Peter so I can rest assured you got home safely and not by some random stranger."

You rolled your eyes slightly and Peter butted in with an awkward chuckle. "I really don't mind. I don't consider this anything out of the way. I'd rather it be me than some stranger or someone." He noticed him giving the floor a swift scan around the three of you.

"Fine." You pouted your bottom lip slightly before rising from your seat at the bar. "You guys make me feel irresponsible or something." You grabbed a hold of May's arm and pulling her with you to the exit of the club while Peter followed behind the two of you.

"Are you coming?" You muttered over to May and she shook her head.

"Happy is here." Just as the words left her mouth when you started out the door, you spotted Happy parked in front of the building to pick up May. "Peter isn't too bad of a driver." You stopped in front of Happy's car.

"Oh goody, rest secured." You muttered and she laughed. Your arms looped around May's neck, hugging her tight. "I'm so glad to have you back. Message me when you get home." You told her and Happy a quick goodnight before letting her go.

Peter led you over to his car, unlocking the car and opening the passenger side for you. You settled comfortably in the front seat, leaning your head back against the headrest. You didn't like how it felt as if you couldn't take care of yourself, but you were in no position to complain when Peter Parker had yet again saved the day.

--

Peter glanced over at you in the passenger seat from time to time as he drove the distance to your apartment. He tried to keep the glances quick to keep you from noticing. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. It had been years since he had actually seen you, but you seemed like the Y/n he still remembered. Not that it was anything bad. He adored you then, and now a bit more.

He had always had the hots for you for as long as you remembered. Of course, you never minded when you ended up staying with him and Aunt May. You were always kind to Peter and he did his best to nurse you back to health to take on the hangover that awaited you the next morning.

He had never forgotten what you said to him one day while you were sick from the night before. You had been clinging onto the toilet and he had taken the opportunity to hold your hair back out of your face to keep from getting anything in it.

You sighed as he rubbed your back in soothing circles. You leaned against the toilet miserably. That was the day you learned to stay away from tequila.

"I hope I meet a guy at least half as amazing as you someday, Peter."

No doubt did the compliment find its way to his cheeks. He blushed a deep shade of red. He tried to restrain himself from making a big deal but it was a big deal to him. Though he knew he didn't stand a chance right now with his age, it meant if he had been of age, he had a chance. He thought about it even when you had stopped coming around so much. He knew this was all a coping method for you. You were hurting then and he could tell by the way you seemed toward the guy back there that there was more to that counter.

He noticed your shiver as you stared out the window. You mentally cursed yourself for wearing something this revealing. You rubbed your arms to try to warm yourself a little. Peter reached behind him in the back seat to retrieve a hoodie of his he always forgot in the car and handing it to you.

"Here." He offered before fumbling with the heat in the car. He smiled at your quiet thank you, putting your arms in the hoodie and pulling it close for warmth with putting it all the way on. He tried to control the big grin threatening to break across his face.

"I'm sorry you had to keep seeing me like this." You looked over at Peter as he kept his eyes on the road. He didn't realize how thankful you were for him in times like this. It was embarrassing how many times this had happened but you were still thankful Peter didn't think any less of you.

"You really don’t have to apologize.” He smiled at her before turning his attention back to the road.

“I really do though. I feel like you’ve taken care of me enough. I’m grown, you know? It should be the other way around.” You giggled and Peter glanced over at you.

“I’m 21.” He reminded you.

“And I’m pushing 30.”

“You’re 28. You’re still young.” He chuckled.

“Almost 29!” You huffed as he pulled into the parking lot to your apartment. “My point is- you know what my point is.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at your frustration. Your age didn’t matter to him. He could always settle for his MJ, his best friend, but seeing you tonight relit the flame to his crush for you. There was just something about you.

He parked the car in the parking lot, walking around to your side to open the door for you. You slid your arms out of his hoodie and leaving it in the seat as he helped you out of the car. You could feel the shots hitting you all at once when you stood. You stumbled out in your heels, grabbing onto Peter’s arms for support.

“Easy now.” He held onto your waist as he guided you to your apartment, asking for your keys. He took your keys when you dug them out of your pocket, letting you in your apartment.

You couldn’t help but notice all the little things he did for you. You kicked off your heels at the door, stumbling over your own two feet again as you wandered down the hallway to your bedroom. You could hear Peter in the kitchen getting you a bottle of water from the fridge along with some medicine from the medicine cabinet.

You sat on the bed when you hear his footsteps coming down the hallway toward the bedroom. You looked up at him, pouting your bottom lip out slightly when you saw him with a bottle of water and medicine for the headache to come.

He set them down on your nightstand, noticing your pout. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Peter, you’re seriously too good to me.” You sighed.

“How’s that?” He looked down at you as he towered over you.

You motioned over to the stuff he had placed on your nightstand and frowning. “All of this. You- you really didn’t have to do this for me.”

“You’re right I don’t. But I want to. I would want it done for me if I were ever in your shoes.”

You laughed slightly at the thought of Peter drunk and you smiled to yourself. “I would definitely be there anytime you needed me.”

You thought back to all the time you had ever been drunk, remembering all the time you woke up to water and medicine from him. Only from him. Even a trash can in case you were to ever get sick, but you never got that with Chris. You always took care of him, but no one ever took care of you. You shook your head with a frown. You had tried so hard to hold it together, but it felt like you were slowly falling apart. He wasn't worth your tears, yet he was always the cause of them.

He kneeled down in front of you, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Talk to me. Everything okay?”

You couldn’t stop the words from coming out. “Why am I never enough?”

His eyes widened at your words. “You are more than enough and anyone who doesn’t see that, who doesn’t appreciate you and the things you do for them doesn’t deserve you.” He corrected you, his thumb stroked over your jaw as he held your face to keep your attention.

You didn't know what to say. All you could do was stare. Your eyes scanned over his face before stopping at his lips. Don't. Don't you do it. You mentally told yourself. You couldn't control the effect the alcohol had on your mind and your actions. You tried to fight back the urge but the alcohol only pushed down the buriers you had built.

Your lips smashed against his firmly, catching him by surprise. He was frozen about your lips for a first, in shock, this was actually happening but he surely gave in the kiss. Your hands grabbed at the back of his neck and pulling him onto the bed with you without breaking the hungry desperate kiss. His body hovered over yours as your fingers curled against his shirt, gripping on it. You knew it was wrong. It was so wrong, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Your smaller hands slid underneath his shirt, brushing your hands over his defined abs. He was sculpted by a God. He knew he should stop, but he couldn't find it in him to stop. He didn't want to miss his chance to prove himself to you. He wanted to take care of you.

Your lips parted for air even though you left like you could hardly catch your breath when his lips started to kiss down your neck. Your hands tugged on his shirt until you started to pull it up and over your head.

His hands pushed your tight dress up the curves of your body, tossing it beside the bed once he peeled it from your body. Your lips still tingled from the loss of his and you whined quietly, your hand grasped the curls at the nape of his neck to bring his lips back to yours.

He kissed your lips passionately and letting your lips mold together. He could taste the alcohol on your tongue but it didn't bother him any. He had dreamed of this moment since he was a teen. Your fingers worked desperately to undo his jeans, feeling his bulge already through his pants before your hands pushed his pants off of his hips along with your boxers.

You were so desperate. You couldn't stop the whine that escaped against his lips. "Peter, please..." His cock twitched at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

He dragged your panties down your legs swiftly, placing himself back between them when he spread them open again. He peppered light kisses to your lips as he dragged the tip of precum-coated tip through your folds, not wasting any time to give you what you wanted.

You cried out as you clung to Peter's bareback, feeling his cock stretching you in all the ways you craved. You moaned out, letting him swallow them in a kiss as his hips rolled into yours again and again. He sighed in pleasure against your lips as your walls invited him in. You were even better than he could have imagined.

He couldn't believe this was actually happening. His lips covered your body in his kisses, admiring every part of your body as it sang for him. This was nothing like what you used to. He pressed small kisses against your bottom lip, nibbling on it as your core ached with a building climax. Your legs wrapped around his hips, causing you to gasp at the deeper strokes.

Your head fell back against the pillows, a loud moan drawing from your parted lips. Your fingers held onto Peter's hair as he hit that spot over and over, making your eyes roll slightly. You needed so badly for him to stop, but you couldn't bring the words to the surface.

"Oh my god..." Your core tightened with every deep thrust. His cock touched parts of you no guy had ever. You had never felt a climax so fast or so strong. "Please don't stop..." You couldn't fight the words from coming out. Your grip tightened on his dark hair, feeling yourself falling apart with an orgasm with every thrust.

"You're so pretty when you cum." He couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He was not far behind you by the way your walls sucked him in, milking him for all he was worth.

"Do it again. I want to make you cum again." He groaned against your chest as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, flicking his tongue against it teasingly before letting out a groan against your warm skin. He didn't want it to stop. He didn't want it to end. "You feel so good, Y/n..."

His hand reached between the two of you, rolling his fingers over your clit in circles. You gripped onto his wrist at the overpowering feeling. You were soaked to the core. This man made you crumble.

"I-I'm gonna cum.." His voice cracked slightly as your walls clenched around him tight In your second orgasm, pushing him over the edge into his first. His cum filled you full, marking you as he pressed delicate kisses across your neck while praising you in the process. "So beautiful, so perfect."

Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, smiling to yourself when Peter laid down on the bed behind you. He wrapped an arm around your body, pulling you back against his chest.

It only took a matter of seconds for sleep to claim you as Peter pulled a blanket over the both of you tiredly. It was only a matter of time before the morning came to rain on your parade. Bringing along the guilt and regret that followed.

[greenygreenland]

Dream A Little Dream Of Me: Norman x Reader

-MANGA SPOILERS! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! 

-NOTE: YOU’RE BOTH AGED UP SO DON’T START TELLING ME FBI’S GONNA COME TO MY DOOR 😂😂

-THE TIMELINE IS A BIT MESSED UP SO JUST IGNORE IT COMPLETELY AND DON'T ASK ME LOL

-also, is it just me or do thick eyebrows look really cute??? Norman has pretty thick brows compared everyone else and I think they're cute 

WARNINGS: Kissing lol

Summary: You finally see Norman again.

Life had to be the scariest thing you'd ever faced. It threw the bad, the good, the everything your way until you could barely stand. Until you were left broken and mangled and shattered. Life was scary. It was cruel. Yet somehow, today was different.

You thought it was a dream. After all, how could it be reality when the boy in front of you died a year and some months ago? He had been shipped out, left for dead because it was a part of his stupid escape plan.

So how was it he stood before you? Breathing? Smiling? Living?

The office door closed behind you with a soft click. It bathed the room in silence, as if for a moment, the world decided to give you a second to breathe. A second to take in the wonderous sight before you.

The boy's name stuck in your throat. He had changed, not only in height, but stature and appearance. Norman was older, and he grew up to be more handsome than any runway model could ever be.

"(Y/n)," he gently said. "I'm glad you're well."

That was all it took. One sentence and you tackled him in the tightest hug your trembling arms could muster. "Norman...!" To have his arms around you, to hear the beating of his heart--it was a relief. A miracle sent by the gods. "You’re so stupid!"

No, he was more than stupid. He had to be the dumbest boy alive to think that it was okay to sacrifice himself for the sake of your family. You all were supposed to escape together just like Emma said. No one was supposed to be left behind, yet Norman--bless his heart--acted on his own.

You hugged him as if he would disappear if you let go. "We were all supposed to leave together. But you--I thought you--shipped out--and then--!" You chocked on your words. What more could you say anyway?

You buried your face in the crook of his neck. The muffled sob that ripped through your throat was more than Norman could handle. His knees went weak and you both slowly sunk to the floor in a heap. 

"I'm here." he gently said. "I'm not going anywhere (Y/n)."

Despite the steadiness in Norman's voice, his shoulders hitched, and he sniffled. "I'm here." he repeated. "I-I'm here." It sounded like he were reassuring himself that he wouldn't leave you so soon, as if he were scared too. Not for the way you sobbed and sobbed, but for the ache in his heart that seemed to beat in sync with yours.

Slowly, your sobs turned to quiet sniffles, which then silenced into nothing but tiny hiccups. You basked in Norman's warm embrace. He didn't hold you too tightly, as if he were afraid it would shatter you to pieces. Instead, he pulled you close to his side and leaned on his desk behind.

You rested your head on his chest, taking the time to memorise his scent. Parchment, the woods, and old books. You liked that, it was comforting to know he still smelled the same. On the other hand, his voice wasn’t as smooth or rounded as it once was. It was icy. No one seemed to notice that tiny sharpness that hit the end of each note he spoke. You wondered what could've made his kind heart harden.

Sure, Norman was still the same Norman you remembered, but something about the way he acted seemed off. He was clingy, much more than he ever was. Maybe he just missed you? No, that couldn't be right. Norman acted as if he were running out of time. He held you close and gently, as if these would be the last moments you'd see each other again. As if there wouldn't be a tomorrow.

You slowly pulled away to get a good look at Norman's face. His chin was slightly pointier, his cheeks less chubby and full. His lips twitched upwards into a comforting smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes because he looked so overwhelmingly tired. Your poor boy probably worked day and night to keep the hideout on its feet. It must be hard on him, you thought. Especially since he was revered as a god.

Norman's brows raised. "What's wrong?"

You took his thin hands in your own and gave them a good squeeze. "It's nothing. What about you?"

Ah yes, small talk. The perfect way to avoid any question thrown your way. Norman knew you well, sometimes even more than himself. When you asked simple questions such as these, that meant your mind laid elsewhere in a land he could never reach. Norman took that as a hint to drop the subject.

For now.

He wondered what invisible weight laid on your shoulders. Was it something as heavy as his? Perhaps your weight was worse and it ate away at you. Norman wished he could take that weight away and relieve you of that pain. He'd carry it all if he could, and it didn't matter to him if he'd die trying. This was you he was thinking about. He'd do anything for you.

"I've been okay," Norman vaguely responded. "But I have been busy, so I find it difficult to sleep sometimes.”

Norman liked to be honest, but you knew it was because that helped him figure out what was wrong with you. It was a game of tag. In this case being 'it' meant figuring out each others' worries through a back-and-forth match.

"You haven't been sleeping enough?" Your voice came out rather quiet as you traced invisible circles over the back of his hands. "Is that because you have so much work? Or do you refuse to get help?" Norman sat in a still silence and you sighed.

Of course. 

This was your Norman after all. He always shouldered a burden too big for his shoulders to carry. It was always something so heavy, so terribly hard to balance by himself. If that burden grew any bigger, it would collapse, and that would be his downfall. But you wouldn't let that happen to your Norman. No, no, no. You'd take that burden from him, steal it if you had to, and be his crutch.

"What have you been doing here?" you quickly added. "As 'William Minerva', I mean?"

Norman looked unbearably uncomfortable. That little frown tugging at the edge of his lips was a tell-tale sign. “I’ve been getting a lot done." he carefully said. "In fact, I’ve figured out a way to end this. Once and for all.” 

Norman began by explaining the first phase of his plan. The first phase had long been in motion. It started with the indiscriminate burning of cattle facilities, then the gathering of information, and continued on to pave the way for all the other phases you didn’t care to hear about.

The first few steps weren't too bad, but the final act in Norman's plan made your skin crawl. You half-wished you hadn’t asked him anything to begin with. Maybe it would have spared your appetite. Your grip on his thin hands loosened and loosened until your hands rested on your lap.

Norman wasn't so little anymore. He had grown up just a bit, but not in the way you wished to see. How could he think of something so cold-hearted and cruel? The extermination of all demons in Neverland was an act of genocide. If you re-called correctly, it was also considered a war crime.

Norman was smarter than that. He understood the consequence he'd have to face if that were the path he walked right? He understood that there were still other options right? Maybe you heard him wrong.

No.

You had to have heard him wrong. Norman wasn't ruthless like that. He was a ball of sunshine that made you smile whenever you were together.

"I see..." You tightly smiled. "So that's your plan on freeing everyone?" Norman nodded with a seriousness that took you back to the time he left everything to you and Ray and Emma. 

You weren't mistaken then. Norman truly meant everything he said.

"Yes, that is my plan. It's been taking me a little longer than expected to set it in motion. I've decided to officially start tomorrow."

Tomorrow? 

Your breath hitched. "Don't you think that's a bit hasty? What if...what if something goes wrong?" Norman smiled. It was hollow and wry and everything that he wasn't. "Don't worry. Fortunately, I've always been pretty good at getting what I want." You didn't return the smile, and you didn't want to say why.

Norman was quick to catch on. But of course he would catch on so quickly, this was Norman. Your Norman.

"Do you have a problem with my plan?" he inquired. You shook your head. "No, it's...it's not that." Yes, it was that. Your plan is dangerous even if it is good, you thought. Innocent lives wouldn't be spared, and that would spell an unfair fate for the demons who ate to survive.

You wanted to tell Norman why his plan was wrong, and why he didn't have to be so unforgiving about it. But then what? Why would he listen when you didn't have any better ideas? He seemed to have his mind set anyway, so no half-baked ideas would make a difference. And besides, he was the smartest person you knew. Maybe that was the only way out of the terrible fate all you cattle children faced.

"If you're okay with my plan," Norman said, "then what's bothering you (Y/n)?"

"It's still a lot for me to take in," you admitted with a plastic smile. "I guess I'm just shocked that you're, well, here." Norman smiled, this time with a genuine warmth. "I understand." He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. "I'll see you at dinner."

Your cheeks burned. How bold of him. "Y-yeah, I'll see you at dinner." Norman let out a cute little chuckle that made your heart beat a little louder than it was supposed to. You hauled yourself off the floor and made your way to the door. Norman followed.

You flashed him a nervous smile, one that mixed in with your muddled worry and anxiousness. You glanced at his bright eyes. For a moment, they seemed to dim like the setting sun. It reminded you of Mama. When no one looked at her, she didn’t smile. She always looked so sad when she sat by herself, and maybe that was because she was. 

"(Y/n)?"

Your fingers brushed against the doorknob. “Hm?”

"I want nothing more than to protect you and our family. I know you don't fully agree with me," his expression darkened. "But this is the way--the only way we can save everyone without spilling a single drop of blood."

For a moment, you forgot who you were speaking to. This wasn't the same boy you begged to run away with before he got shipped out. This wasn't the same boy who gently tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and sweetly complimented you. This boy--did you truly still know him? Was he still the Norman you grew up with and fell head-over-heels for?

You blinked and that dark look washed itself off his face. He strode up to you and placed a hand on your cheek--just like the day he was supposed to be harvested. Norman’s eyes were soft, softer than any blanket, and his lips pursed into a gentle frown. With his thumb, he wiped a stray tear away. 

Why were you crying?

"Norman..." You couldn’t find the right words. There were none that could explain the suffering you endured in silence. You worried, not only for Norman, but your family and all those other people in the world you didn’t know about. Norman’s plan--oh how stupid it was--had it changed him? Had it forced him to guard his heart to keep a still mind? 

You wondered what he endured while you went on your crazy adventures. At least you had your family, and Yuugo, Lucas, and all your friends. But Norman? He didn’t have anyone but himself. He carried the whole world. Alone. Had he been scared? Worried? Angry that no one came for him? Your heart clenched at the thought. 

"Smile,” Norman said. “It’s okay, I promise. I'm here." He gathered you in his arms and you didn’t have the heart to protest. “How?” you whispered. “How were you able to do all this on your own?” Norman helplessly shrugged. “You could say I have connections, either that or I’m just lucky.”

“What will you do after this is all over?”

Norman went still again, as if he couldn’t answer your question. You heaved in a shaky breath. If Norman wasn’t going to give you a straight answer, then you’d squeeze it out of him. “Did anything else happen to you? I’m sure there’s a catch, isn’t there?” 

It was like someone flipped a switch. One moment, you were a mess of tears, sorrow, and anguish. Now, something menacing laid in your voice. It was almost threatening, as if you were indirectly telling Norman to dare avoid the question. “I don’t want you dying trying to be everything at once,” you said. “Here you’re revered as a god, and if I know you, then it’s plain that you set yourself up like that. Don’t tell me you plan to die on us again.”

He stiffened.

“I know you Norman, don’t forget that. And because I love you, I don’t want to see you destroy yourself. I admit, I don’t know why you act like you’re going to leave again, but I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.” You pulled away and took his hands in yours. A small smile of reassurance made its way up your lips, but Norman didn’t return it. 

No, he couldn’t. And despite all he did, he couldn’t lie straight to your face. Not like this.

Dinner cheered you up. The smiles and laughter that your family shared with Norman made you feel just a little bit better. But how long would it last? And how long would those smiles stay present? All the questions swarming in your mind made you feel sick to your stomach. There was too much to think about, and too little time to answer them.

You forced down the last of your food with a sigh and brought the plate to its respectful place. Everyone was too busy chatting and catching up to notice, but that was fine. It was better that way. 

You made your way to a secluded walkway. It was in one of the calmer areas of the hideout that overlooked the lower levels. It was quiet, save for the distant chatter of Hayato and his friends. He let out a bright laugh that echoed through the vacant walkways. What a shame it would be to hear that disappear.

“So this is where you went.” 

“I told you she’d be here.”

You whipped around in alarm. “Ray, Emma!” 

Ray sharply looked you up and down. He raised a brow and you squirmed under his gaze. He gently bumped shoulders with you. “What’s wrong with you?” 

You absentmindedly shrugged. “Nothing.” 

“That’s what someone who’s not okay would say.” Emma noted. She settled by your side on the railing and flashed a bright smile. “You were so quiet at dinner today.” 

You shook your head. Que another absentminded shrug and plastic smile. “I guess I just wanted to make sure everyone was okay.” 

Ray sighed. “Everyone but you?” He leaned against the railing next to you. “Did you and Norman talk at all?”

You froze. ‘Yes’, was what you wanted to say, but no sound came out. The image of Norman’s matured face, the way his his soft lips hit your own, and his stupidly tall build crossed your mind. 

Emma let out a gasp and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Ah!” she cried. “You’re all red!” You covered your hands with your face, ignoring Ray’s curious stare.

“What did you two talk about in his office anyway? Or should I say, do?” The glint in Ray’s eyes had subtext you didn’t want to recite out loud. “Rayyyyy,” you grumbled, “shut up.” He sent you a teasing grin as Emma frowned in confusion. “I don’t get it.” 

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Yeah, it’s grown up stuff.”

You ignored the warmth spreading to your cheeks and elbowed Ray. “Don’t say it like ‘that’! Now you make it sound like something else!” 

He daringly raised a brow. “Like what?” You ran a hand over your scorching face. It was a miracle you weren’t on fire. “No, no, I’m not answering you!” 

You shared a good laugh and a comfortable silence began to settle, blanketing your shoulders in a lightness that you hadn’t felt in a while. 

Emma softly smiled. “I’m glad we found you.” she admitted. “You looked really sad all by yourself out here.” Ray nodded with a small snort. “Yeah, talk about depressing. But seriously though, did something..?”

Of course these two would see through your façade. Of course they’d understand something was wrong. They were your family, and they didn’t deserve your silence. Your smile shattered. “I don’t know if Norman told you about his plan yet, but it’s...it’s bad. Sure, the demons have done some terrible things to us, but that doesn’t mean all of them are guilty. I want to stop him, but I don’t know how.” 

Emma nodded in agreement. “He told us earlier and I don’t like it either.” she firmly said. “Ray and I talked it over and we have a plan, but it’s risky. Like, really risky. It has to do with the Seven Walls and...” 

You held on to every word Emma and Ray spoke. Risky was your middle name. Well, not actually, but it was something that became your friend. You and your family looked death in the face too many times to count. What would be another?

By the end of it, you were sure this new plan would change Norman’s mind, or at least convince him to give up the whole ‘genocide’ thing. It was decided by Ray that tomorrow, you’d all talk to Norman. Things seemed to be looking up. No, they had to be.

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

The halls were empty and you were alone. How was it you got lost in the first place? You made sure to have every twist and turn memorised, so why did you end up in the wrong corridor twice? Ray would surely tease you for getting lost. What an absolute--

You slammed into someone’s chest. A yelp escaped your throat as the person in question lost his footing. He sucked in a sharp breath and went tumbling straight into you. Your back hit the ground as the boy threw out his arms on either side of your head to brace himself. You didn’t need a name to know who you had tumbled into. Light hair, soft eyes, fancy waistcoat and suit. 

“Norman?”

He hovered over you with wide eyes. His lips were inches from yours and he was just so, so close. 

Thump, thump, thump.

Your heartbeat was so gosh dang loud. Could he hear it? Could he see the way your face burned red? 

“Uhm--I--I--uh--” 

Why wasn’t he moving? Why weren’t you moving? Why was it so hard to look him in the eyes? A nervous smile broke out across Norman’s lips. He pushed himself off of you and offered out a hand. You gingerly took it.

“Sorry.” Norman said, helping you to your feet. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you okay?” Your gaze darted from his lips to his dazzling eyes and then to his cheeks dusted in red. Your heart wouldn’t stop slamming against your chest. It kept going, and going until you felt like you were about to burst. 

“Sh-shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you retorted. “I’m not the one who--you know...gets sick all the time.” You weren’t sure why you said it like that, or why that made Norman smile so cutely, but he was smiling. That made your heart flutter. You glanced around the corridor a few times, and somehow, you kept finding focus on his lips. 

What was wrong with you?

Norman caught on fast--like he always did. “Oh I see,” he said with a low chuckle. You swallowed. His voice really did deepen (but you kind of liked it). For a moment, you thought he caught onto your staring, but instead of commenting on it, he intertwined his hand with yours and led you through the winding halls. 

“Don’t tell Ray I got lost.” you muttered. Norman laughed and it was like the sound of happiness itself. “I won’t.” 

The halls all looked the exact same: cream coloured paint, nature-like decorations, and numbered wooden doors. You forgot what number your room was, so that was probably why you got lost. Norman took a sharp left where you recalled should be a right instead. “Wait isn’t it that way?”

“I have something to give you, so we’re going to make a quick detour.” Norman’s cheeks dusted pink and he looked the slightest bit nervous. “What is it you want to show me?” He flashed you a contagious smile. “It’s a surprise.” 

“What kind of surprise?”

“I can’t tell you,” he said with a chuckle, “that’s why it’s called a surprise.”

When you got to his office, you were nervous. Surprises were fun, yes, but in a world where nearly getting eaten by wild demons fell into the category of ‘surprise’, you learned not to like them very much.

Norman closed the door behind you and it softly clicked shut. Okay, you thought. So he was locking the door and making his way over to his desk. Okay, that’s fine. Norman shuffled through a cabinet, that nervous look still on his face. Okay, okay, nothing wrong here. He gently shut the drawer, and as he walked out from behind his desk, you took note of the small little box he fiddled with. 

Okay. Okay. Box. Nervous. Locked door. Did he not want anyone to interrupt whatever he was about to do? 

Norman heaved in a deep breath. A really, really, really deep breath. “(Y/n), I have never met anyone else like you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and you’re beautiful and kind.” He sunk to one knee and opened the little box. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

---------

You jolted awake with a start. 

“Sorry,” Norman said. He scribbled a few words down in his notebook. “Did I wake you?” 

Ah, that’s right. After you talked with Emma and Ray, you all met up with Norman and hung out for a bit. But when had you gotten to his office? Much less, fallen asleep? You rubbed your eyes with a shake of your head. Judging by the tired look on Norman’s face, it was way past bedtime.

The heavy cloak around your shoulders offered a welcoming warmth. It smelled like books. It smelled like parchment and ink. It smelled like Norman and it was comforting. 

He glanced up from his notebook and curiously met your gaze. “What are you smiling at?” The dream popped up in your mind and your smile grew. “I had a good dream.” 

“What was it about?” he inquired without looking up.

“You.” 

The scratch of the pencil froze and he met your gaze. “You had a dream about me?” Your cheeks flushed. “Yeah, and you proposed.” Norman’s back went rigid and he turned as red as an apple. “I-I pro--proposed to you?” he stammered. You snickered, a smug smile tugging on your lips. “It was really sweet. And if you’re wondering, I said yes. I was going to kiss you, but then I woke up.” You stood up with a sigh. “It was disappointing, but that’s okay.” 

You let out a small laugh and neatly folded Norman’s cloak. You left it on the couch and made your way across the room. “That’s a nice notebook.” you said. “What’re you writing about?”

Norman stilled and closed the book with a smile. “It’s nothing special.” He put the pencil down ever so quietly and stood. “Do you seek my affections?” he inquired. You settled on the wall. “Don’t you have work to do?” Norman looked down at you. His fringe brushed across his eyelashes, and he loosened his tie. Slowly.

Your heart steadily drummed against your chest. “What are you doing?” The false innocence in your voice caused Norman to chuckle lowly. He caressed your cheek with a feather-light touch. “Well, you did say you were disappointed right? Why don’t I make it up to you?” 

He rested an arm on the wall with a sly smirk. Your lips connected and it made your stomach flip-flop. The kiss was slow, it was sweet. You found yourself pulling him closer, running your hands through his hair and yanking him over. "Norman?" He met your gaze with half-lidded eyes. "Yes (N/n)?"

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

He smirked and it was hot. The fact that he kept his arm braced against the wall didn’t help either. "Why?" he lowly inquired. "Do you like it?" Your breath caught in your throat and you found yourself wanting more. 

Knock, knock!

Norman didn't look too happy about that. He ran a hand over your cheek and gently tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, that half-lidded look of his melting into warmth and love. He made his way to the door, tightening his tie and smoothing out his hair with a quick touch.

"Hello--?" Norman fell short mid-sentence. As soon as your gaze locked with the person on the other side, you understood why. Ray stood in the threshold, just as red-faced as you and Norman, with a sheepish look on his face. “I’ll come back later.” he muttered. 

Oh great. Had he been eavesdropping? You glanced at Norman and he glanced at you, then Ray, and back to you. Ray sucked his teeth and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Don’t have too much fun.” he said, a smirk twitching onto his lips.

You made your way to the threshold with a groan. “Rayyyy!” 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” he coolly replied. “Do whatever, I didn’t see anything.”

PART 2 <--- READ PART 2

NOTE: I spent a WHOLE WEEK writing this. Please reblog so I know you guys like it :)

TIP JAR

[in-superbloom]

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen? (a.i.)

right where you left me: prologue

pairing: ashton irwin x olivia jones (oc)

warnings: uhh a kinda grieving theme i guess? but no deaths. it has a sad tone overall, but nothing major (in this chapter hehe). foul language because i can't help myself. the tiniest mention of alcohol, but as a memory. think i should probably warn you that this contains a very sad ash. also not much dialogues. this is mainly for explanation and introduction, but very important for the story. if you find anything else that might be triggering, please let me know so i can add it here !!

author's note: oof okay. so. this is the prologue of a series very very dear to my heart that i've been working on for what it feels like my whole life but really it's been just a few months. but i'm in love with the story (which rarely happens with my own writing) so i hope you can enjoy it too !! this is also my very first time posting a fic since 2013 so pls keep that in mind <3 no i am not shaking as type this ofc not also: although i have the full story ready in my head, this is the only chapter that's written. i wanted to wait until i had at least a few ready before posting this but i'm too anxious for that lmao just saying this bc it will take a good while until i have any more chapters, so <3 (p.s.: i went over this thing a million times since may so if you find any errors pls look away, i'm not fixing this thing anymore. thanks <3)

another note: anna from the future here to say that i completely forgot about the playlist i made for the story lmao here it is in case you're interested k thanks bye <3

credits: title is from taylor swift's song right where you left me. model in the picture: paola locatelli. banner by me.

i also wanted to take a minute to thank some really nice friends that i've made here over these past few months & that i'm extremely grateful for @wastelandcth @suchalonelysunflower @littledrummerangie i cannot thank you babes enough for inspiring me the way that you do & for letting me yell about this to you && for encouraging me so much 🥺 i'll never be able to explain just how much this means to me, so i'll have to settle for saying thank you at any change that i can get <3 i love you all 💜 also gem my baby, thank you for the inspo with the banner 💚

@bluesdelis look babe i did it 😌 you know how grateful i am for you & for you letting me have a breakdown every week about my writing for the past 8 years so let's not dive into that or else i will write something bigger than this prologue jsjsjdjd love you 🖤

i hope you all have a good reading and a nice day ♡

let me know what are your thoughts about the fic ! ♡

word count: 4.1k

☆☆☆

Cold. That was the first thing that Olivia’s brain processed.

Still with her eyes closed, she buried herself more into the duvet, while her arm blindly reached for the furnace in human form that she calls boyfriend. However, as soon as her arm was only met with cold sheets, her eyes shot open.

Blinking the sleep away, she sat up on the bed, searching for the infamous red clock resting on Ashton’s bedside table that was supposed to look like a vintage alarm clock. Olivia had ordered it online at an auction website a couple of years back, as a gift for his 23rd birthday, since it was something he had mentioned multiple times prior that he was looking for, but still hadn't found. But when it finally came in (two weeks after the due date), it looked nothing like the picture she saw on the website. Feeling beyond frustrated, she wanted to send it back immediately and ask for a refund and maybe leave a not so polite review on the seller's page. But Ashton stopped her right away, laughing like the situation was absolutely hilarious to him, while saying, 'I like it, it’s quirky'. So, the clock stayed and found a home right next to him in their room.

Some days, however, she would wake up at some ungodly hour because of the blaring noise of the only ringtone the clock had. But whatever annoyance she could feel towards the object, it always vanished as soon as she felt Ashton's lips gently touching her face in a good morning kiss before he would get up to start his day, leaving her to catch some more hours of well deserved sleep.

As the furthest from a morning person as a touring musician could possibly be, Olivia had always feared that living under the same roof as Ashton would turn her into an early bird like him, but she's thankful that it never happened (not that he needs to know about that).

When she sees the red clock, she smiles at the sudden but welcome memories of them flooding her foggy brain, but frowns slightly when she realizes it reads 12:13 pm. Ashton rarely lets her sleep past 10 am.

Gathering all her strength and will, she rises up from the bed, smoothly picking up a grey wool sweatshirt from the chair (way too baggy on her slim body, but it smells like him), pulling it over her head and relishing on the soft material warming up her body. Making her way to the door and calmly going down the stairs, she can’t help but stop for a minute to admire the picture frames on their walls, one in particular catches her attention – probably one of the most prized pictures and memories they had. It felt older than it actually is, but it was around 4 years ago, she's sure – a little while after the two of them met. The picture was of their group of friends that still remains the same: Ashton and his best friend, Luke; Olivia, her best friend, Calum and their old hometown friend, turned into Calum’s new friend at college, turned into everyone’s friend, Michael; and her then newly band members, Suki, Eli and Ravi. Together, their group was the life of the party through all their college years, and it showed by the big smiles and drinks in hands they all had in the picture. It was a very special night, the first time Olivia’s little band played for the public – for a small audience sure, but it was a wonderful night nonetheless. What a long road it had been since that night.

Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a shiver that went through her whole body, and it made her realize how oddly cold the whole house was, not only their bedroom. Which, granted, it was November in New York and the weather was just getting colder, but that’s exactly why Ashton always made sure to keep the house warm enough. As much as she loved the chilly season, the warm weather always reminded him of his hometown, and who was she to deny him that?

The smell of fresh made coffee could be sensed even before she reached the kitchen. Arriving there, the curly haired woman still found no signs of her boyfriend, so she went straight after the coffee maker pot sitting on the far left corner of the cream marble counter. Smiling softly at the tons of memories of Ashton's sleepy figure making their favorite beverage, she reached for a coffee mug on the cupboard on top of the counter and poured the remainder of the hot liquid on it (it's her favorite mug, if she must choose – it was a gift from a fan, and it had printed on it a collage of the pictures of her and Ashton that were posted on social media through their first year of relationship).

Moving to the glass doors that lead to the mini garden they cultivate, she didn't have to open them to spot the 6-feet-tall man sitting on a bench outside, looking oddly small in his oversized clothes, coffee mug tightly held between strong hands. Something about his figure made Olivia frown, however: he was staring with an unwavering look at her small but eye-catching pot of yellow daffodils that were almost as much of a pet to them as Stitch at this point. Sensing that there’s something definitely off about his semblance, she made a mental note to talk to him and find out what’s wrong later. So she goes back to the kitchen, knowing that he might need this quiet and private moment for himself.

She lost count of the minutes that went by (couldn't have been more than five) before she hears the garden's door opening and closing, and then his bare feet are dragging his brawny body to her. Except, he goes over to the sink, walking right through her, not showing any sign that he even saw her hunched figure over the counter table in the middle of the room.

Alright, someone's in a mood.

Olivia tries to swallow the annoyance already bubbling inside her – he knows how much she hates to be ignored, no matter how mad he might be – by trying to think of what she can say that won't piss him off. This is always a hard feat to accomplish when Ashton gets in these moods, but there’s a reason for them to work so well together.

“I missed my favorite body heater when I woke up,” she says in her best sweet voice, knowing how quickly his resolve crumbles when he hears that voice.

Still, no reaction.

That settles a worry at the pit of her stomach, because Ashton is never like this. Even when he's not in the mood to talk, he always gives some kind of reaction to her words; it doesn't matter how small, just enough to make her feel acknowledged.

When he's finished washing his mug and the few scattered dishes across the sink – she noticed that he already had lunch, if the lone plate in the drying rack is anything to go by –, he dries his hand in a towel, turns around and throws it on top of the same counter Olivia was leaning up against. Once again, he walks away not even sparing her a look.

Indignant, she leaves the now empty coffee mug on top of the table and follows him as he walks up the stairs, any determination to not aggravate his mood now well gone.

“Hey! In case you didn't notice, I'm right here. Whatever got you in this sour mood, I'm certainly not to blame, so can you stop being a child now and talk to me?!”

Ashton just keeps walking – more like sluggishly dragging his body – until he reaches their bedroom and suddenly stops just merely two feet inside the room, looking around with vacant eyes; like he was expecting to see something that wasn't there.

“Okay, that's really mature of you. Are you planning on ignoring me all day then?” Olivia questions exasperated, staring angrily at the back of his neck, where the condor tattoo lives – her favorite of his, but that sight doesn't bring her any peace today like it usually does.

Her glare only breaks when she hears the familiar sound of dog tags swaying on her right side. Shifting her gaze to the direction of the sound, Olivia notices Stitch, their small, black & white French bulldog – who she thought was outside in the garden – slowly trudging his way from around the bed until he stops at Ashton's feet, looking up at one of his humans with sad eyes. That realization only makes the worry in her stomach grow uncomfortably.

“Hi buddy,” Ashton's voice cracks a bit from the lack of use, but he smiles softly at the sweet dog, and crouches down to pet him.

Olivia can't help but gasp as she notices three things all at once that leave her overwhelmed: first, how she didn't even notice Stitch was in the room when she woke up – which never ever happens, in fact, most days he wakes her up whenever he deems her bedtime as finished and can't ever contain his excitement when she finally gets up; second, how the windows blinds are closed, which, again, rarely occurs under their roof, not if Ashton can help it. And third, how sad and melancholic the whole scene in front of her is – how sad and melancholic Ashton is. Pointless to say by now – that's also a very rare occasion.

A chill creeps up Olivia's spine, putting her body into high alert and also serving as a reminder of how everything looks out of place today. Trying to keep her head from spiraling down way too soon, she wraps her arms around herself and crouches down beside her two favorite boys, trying once more.

“Ash? Can you hear me?” even with her throat closing, she softly asks, purposefully putting her face in Ashton's point of view. Her only answer is the low whispers he's letting out to Stitch, while cradling the tiny dog in his arms, spreading gentle kisses on his head.

“I know, bud, I know. I miss her too,” is the only whisper she could understand and immediately wishes she hadn't. The weak wail that comes from Stitch's throat seems to fit perfectly with how the three of them feel.

Ashton then looks up and for a couple of seconds, and Olivia can swear he’s staring right into her eyes. But when he shows no reaction, she knows he’s just staring ahead and not at her, with that look that says there’s too much going on inside his head. She feels the urge to embrace him and get him to talk about whatever is on his mind, so they can share that weight like they always do, but when Ashton gets up from the ground and settles on the bed with Stitch, Olivia can physically feel the crack in her heart caused by the feeling she’s left with.

While Ashton is pulling the duvet over him and the dog, with clearly no intentions of getting up anytime soon, Olivia stands up on her feet with a new-found determination – she needs to figure out what the hell is going on.

This nightmare had to be just that, right? Nothing but a very vivid dream – she's had those before. Scary sure, but they always go away, and soon enough she's back into Ashton's arms, with Stitch jumping on the bed ready to lick their faces off. She just needs to wake herself up from whatever fucked up dream this is – right?

She's running down the stairs this time, frantically in search of something, of what exactly, she doesn’t know – but she knows she needs an answer. The more she looks for something, the more desperate she gets, not knowing what to look for. Then suddenly, something catches her eyes.

The white and blue calendar that's held up by magnets on the side of the fridge. She knows their calendar is red and yellow. They got it from their favorite flower market. Slowly, as if scared of what it might be there – “It's just a calendar, for fucks sake” – she approaches the damn thing. Upon inspection, she deems it as a normal calendar – she really doesn't know what she was expecting – until.

She knows what's wrong with it now.

It's November. She knows it, because the Asian and last leg of her first world tour is about to begin November 21st, eleven days from today. Right after Mike's birthday, she knows this.

Then why does the calendar say today is January 14th?

☆ ☆ ☆

Ashton woke up with a jolt. He quickly sat up, frightening the little Frenchie that was asleep right next to him on the bed. Trying to make sense of his surroundings, he roughly rubbed his face to get some sleep off of it and soon reached for the dog that was staring at him with sleepy but sad eyes. Ashton is sure Stitch understands far more than a dog is supposed to understand about their current situation.

The room is covered in shadows, almost pitch black, but he can see the sunlight even through the thick dark grey blinds covering up the windows. Ashton knows he won't be able to sleep again at that moment, so he gets up from the bed – much slower than he used to. His heartbeat is still out of control because of the nightmare that woke him up, but he can't bother to pay attention to it when Stitch is softly wailing beside him. Ashton lets out a ghost of a smile when the dog rests his head on his right upper thigh, looking up at him with an expression Ashton knows all too well.

“C'mon you little ravenous creature, let's feed you,” the bulldog excitedly jumps to the ground, already running his way down the stairs, not even waiting for Ashton to get up.

That gets a real smile out of him, but it vanishes as soon as he glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It reads 5:13 am, nothing out of the ordinary for him. But that small and inoffensive clock, with its red paint peeling off, holds a lot of memories for him. Memories that two months ago would bring joy to his heart, but now he almost wants to throw the object across the room.

It was a stupid thing, really. He had been wanting a vintage alarm clock and Olivia got one for his birthday. But the product they received was definitely not the one she bought, and if he's being honest, he didn't like it as much as he made out to. But seeing her so excited in the weeks before it arrived, and how disappointed she was when it did, he couldn't help but try his best to make her smile that luminous smile again. It's part of his nature by now.

That's also the reason why he lets her think that he doesn't notice when she wakes up at some ungodly hour (her words, not his) along with him, because of the annoying and only sound the alarm clock is able to produce. He always leaves soft kisses in every inch of bare skin he can find on her sleeping figure, so she goes back to the dream land and doesn't wake up before 10 am. No one wants to deal with that kind of bad humor, not even him.

As much as he likes being a morning person and absolutely enjoys her company in the mornings, he knows she'll take any and every extra hour of sleep she can get before starting the day. And that's why he loves that she's so stubborn that his early bird tendencies never got to her – he knows she feared that this would happen when they moved in together, but he met her like this, fell for her like this. He wouldn't change a single thing about her.

Ashton drags himself out of the bed, wincing slightly at how cold the wooden floors are under his bare feet. He doesn't bother putting some socks on, or a sweater – the cold weather in the house is uncharacteristically comforting to him. Nothing feels warm without her anyway.

While descending the stairs, he mentally curses himself for not being strong enough to look past the picture frames on the wall. One in particular catches his eyes – a picture from the night of Olivia's first concert with her band. The memories of that night are still painfully vivid in his mind: the laughter among their group that eventually infected everyone at the pub, Suki and Luke's first kiss and the silly smile that didn't leave his best friend's face all night, the standing ovation Olivia got after her three-songs set, and her captivating and breathtaking smile that made him realize right then and there, while watching her sway to the music, that he was definitely falling in love with her and there was nothing he could do to stop it – not that he wanted to.

So many memories held up on that wall, in the relatively short time since they met, that he can't help but wonder if that's all they'll get in this lifetime.

Ashton is abruptly taken out of his thoughts by Stitch's barks coming from the bottom of the stairs. He quickly jogs down the few steps left and goes straight after the dog's food in the kitchen's cabinet. After Stitch starts to happily devour his breakfast, Ashton goes to make his coffee, doing enough for two people like he always does, since Calum drops by most days for a chat or to drop Duke before going to work. Although all three of them know he just can't bother to make food for himself in the morning, while Ashton is the group's elected chef. Ashton always says he just needs a boyfriend – Olivia says Calum already has one who makes him breakfast every day.

He grabs an apple from the fridge and makes his way outside to their garden. Even though a lot of their memories took place there, the garden is the only space in the house where he doesn't feel like suffocating all the time. At least here, he can breathe some fresh air and look at the sky when he's feeling overwhelmed – which is basically all he's been doing for about a month now.

Yet, a lot of the garden has Olivia's name written all over.

He remembers vividly the day she came home after spending two weeks in LA doing some pocket shows, with a pack of daffodil seeds and the largest smile. She excitedly told him that a friend gifted it to her when she mentioned the little garden they were planning to build together at their new house. The friend told Olivia that daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings, so as the good lover of symbolism that she is, Olivia loved the idea of having those flowers to symbolize their new beginning.

Ashton, on the other hand, wasn't a fan of the flowers at first – he just didn't see the appeal to them. But nonetheless, he indulged her, letting Olivia plant the seeds near the bench they used to sit during the quiet and unrushed afternoons, so they could admire the sunset, and she could happily look at the daffodils.

Pointless to say – the damn flowers grew on him.

Now, however, looking at them without Olivia and her contagious joy next to him, they were back to be as dull as they were before, if not more so.

Still lost inside his head without any sense of how much time went by since he sat down, Ashton doesn't hear the front door closing, and doesn't notice that he's no longer the only person inside the house until someone sits next to him on the bench. Yet, he doesn't show any sign of acknowledgement to them.

A few minutes go by before either of them speaks up.

“Luke said you didn't go to see her yesterday,” Calum starts softly, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the morning.

Ashton takes a few seconds to respond, “No point in doing that.” The black haired man licks his lips while thinking carefully about his next words.

“You know staying inside this house all day by yourself won't help either,” Calum turns his head to his left and takes a good look at Ashton's uncharacteristically hunched over figure, and immediately thinks that anyone can tell this man is not himself anymore. His second thought is that Olivia would hate seeing him like this.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do? Move on with my life like nothing happened? Like I'm not slowly and painfully losing the love of my life? Just because it’s easy for you doesn't mean it's easy for me.”

Calum closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He knows Ashton doesn't mean it, it's the anger and frustration talking. He knows it. Doesn't make it sting any less.

“I'm not telling you to move on with your life, because that's far from what I'm doing, and I certainly don't expect you to do it. I'm just saying you need to occupy your mind or else–”

“I'll go insane? Think it's a bit too late for that,” Ashton interrupts with a bitter tone that doesn't belong to his usual chirpy voice.

“You know it's not,” Calum sighs and drinks the rest of his coffee, moving his body slightly, so he's facing the blonde man, “I got a job interview for you at that school you talked about so much last summer, the principal said you can go any day this week. I went ahead and sent her your resume as well as explained everything that she needs to know about Olivia, so you don't have to. You just gotta put on some decent clothes and show up.” he sees Ashton's face softening a little and takes it as a victory. A few beats go by and then, “Maybe take a shower too. That's gonna make you feel better.” Calum leans in closer to his friend's personal space and takes a sniff, causing Ashton to deflect from him slightly, but not to push him away – another small win.

“Definitely take a shower, you stink. When was the last time your hair saw shampoo?”

“Fuck off,” is Ashton's only reply to the younger man's inquest. But Calum can see a smile creeping up on the blonde's face, which brings out a smile of his own.

“I'll send you all the details later today,” he checks the hour on the watch on his wrist and gets up, “Just please, Ash, go. I can't lose you too.”

Calum gently lays a hand on Ashton's shoulder and squeezes a little. The man doesn't look up, but gives a curt nod to his friend, who's satisfied enough. Calum stops on the threshold of the garden glass doors to give some kisses to Stitch – who came to make Ashton company as soon as he finished his food –, and then he puts the coffee mug on the dishwater. And soon enough, he's on his way out of the door. But not before snatching a tangerine from the fridge.

Ashton is left by himself once again. As he hears the sound of the front door closing, he thinks that this might be his life from now on. Just him and Stitch, trying their hardest to make it through another miserable day without the love of their lives. While everyone else comes by just to make sure he's still breathing. Breathing, maybe, but alive?

Swallowing the tears, he looks up at the sky. It's a deep, beautiful mix of orange, pink and blue, but he knows that it won't last long and soon the rain will be pouring down. He thinks about how much Olivia loves the rain.

God, he needs to pull himself together. She would hate to see him like this. Maybe he should take Calum's offer after all, he really needs to occupy his mind.

Making a mental note to thank Calum later, and also to apologize for how rude he was to him this morning, Ashton slowly gets up from the bench to put his mug on the sink and makes his way to the living room, with the small dog loyally following his every step. He puts on some cartoon that for once doesn't remind him of her (she always lovingly made fun of him for still watching those) and cuddles with Stitch on the couch. He can take a shower later.

Not half an hour goes by, he falls asleep and has a good dream for a change. He dreams of the days he spent with Olivia in the Philippines last February, right before her first world tour started. Some of the most magical days of their lives – surrounded by delicious food, a whole new culture to learn about and the warmth of the sun. Infinite counted days full of love and passion, where they were the only people in the world.

Even his subconscious knows to hold on to that brief moment of happiness, because he might never live that again.

[xneens]

love me, hate me - part two

Warnings: explicit sexual content, swearing

Word count: 3.3k

Summary: Christmas comes around and Ransom wants you more than ever.

part one

"You're telling me you actually want to date this guy? The one who can't even make you cum?" you asked, licking the remaining frosting from your finger. You placed the messy bowl in the sink, watching your best friend trying—and failing—to get the egg shells out of the mixture.

Meg gave up, dumping the brownie batter down the sink with the water running, fed up with the shells. "Yeah, but sex isn't everything, you know. I don't know—it's just this guy isn't like my exes. He genuinely cares about my feelings, and doesn't control me. Besides, he made me cum a few times. He's nice."

With Mariah Carey's Christmas music playing in the background, the miniature Christmas tree on the table, and the snow falling, the Thrombey household felt festive. Although, the people bundled up and arguing in the next room—not so much. Yet, neither of you cared while you continued to work, helping Martha out, on the desserts. It wasn't going as well as planned, but you took it as a positive considering you hadn't started a fire. Yet.

"Ah, yes, nice. Can't relate. I'm currently attracted to assholes who have anger issues." you commented, passing Meg the flour once again. Your creation was in the oven, and all you hoped was that no one got food poisoning because of it. Even you couldn't live with the guilt of Ransom, or his touchy father, throwing up Christmas morning.

"Currently?" Meg asked, raising an eyebrow, getting eggs out of the fridge for the hundredth time. She glanced at the direction of the door, the sound of it opening drawing both of your attention. "I'm pretty sure your daddy issues didn't just happen recently. Speaking of which, you may be the main reason Ransom decided to come back for Christmas instead chasing a model around."

You rolled your eyes, sitting back in your chair while contemplating whether or not it's too late to ditch. While Ransom was hot, his spoiled attitude wasn't worth tolerating for a quick fuck. With sarcasm dripping, you sighed. "Oh, how wonderful. 'Cause, that's exactly what I need right now."

Meg chuckled, focusing on the task at hand, trying not get shells in the mixture again. She had held off on mixing the dry stuff, much to your dismay, but to her it made sense to get the hard part out of the way so it wouldn't fuck everything up. Your best friend had just finished cracking her last egg when Harlan walked into the kitchen, Ransom trailing a few feet behind him. The playboy's eyes immediately landed on you, yet you didn't meet his, too preoccupied with the phone in your hands.

Harlan's slight frown lifted into a smile, surveying how messy the kitchen had gotten. "My, my, I wasn't aware a cake had exploded in my kitchen."

Looking up, you grinned at the old man, the smile reaching your eyes until you saw who was behind him. Ignoring Ransom, you giggled at Harlan's remark. "You call it a mess, we call it baking."

"As long as you ladies are having fun." Harlan replied, patting your shoulder before heading off towards his office, too tired to deal with his dysfunctional family at the moment.

Ransom lingered, walking up to you, a smirk impended on his face. Yet, you refocused you're attention back on your phone while Meg left the room, her apron still attached to her. You didn't question her sudden disappearance, knowing she was just as annoyed at Ransom's presence. The man in question peeked over you shoulder to see your screen showing off another man's dick, the words right below it explicit.

His jaw clenched in jealousy. Much to his chagrin, the man's dick was just as big as his own. But, he kept the icy exterior up. "Would it be offensive to ask whether or not your baking will make me sick this evening?"

You scoffed without looking up, tapping out of the dick pic your previous hook up had sent. "Since when do you care if you're offensive or not? Who are you, and what have you done to Ransom Drysdale?"

Ransom shrugged, leaning against the kitchen island while facing your annoyed expression. His smug behavior got under your skin, and the bastard was well aware. "Maybe all this Christmas spirit got into me. Or maybe I'm trying to be nice."

You raised an eyebrow, getting off your chair, rushing to the window, pretending to be looking for something. After a few seconds, Ransom's curiosity got the best of him and he joined you, looking for anything unusual outside. The snow-covered land showed nothing out of the ordinary, furthering Ransom's confusion.

"What are you looking at? I can't see anything." he said, squinting at the general direction you had look at.

Shrugging, you moved back to your seat, propping your elbows on the back of the chair, allowing a smug smirk lift your lips. "I thought pigs were flying. Ransom Drysdale isn't capable of being nice, yet alone say the word. I'm shocked hell hadn't freeze over. Yet."

The playboy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he took your body in, wrapped in his favorite color, the dress hugging your curves. "What's a guy have to do to be taken seriously with you? You and I both know I can give you everything you want, and more."

"Are you trying to buy me right now?" you asked, half teasing, half annoyed. Ransom could not take a hint, and you hated the fact that he didn't back off despite the sarcasm and insults you threw his way.

"I'm trying to be nice but you're making it really hard." Ransom answered, his cockiness wearing off. He was growing frustrated the more you looked at him like he was a piece of trash. All you wanted him to be was nice, now that he was trying to be, you wouldn't believe his intentions, despite wanting to prove it to you.

Pursing your lips, you tapped your finger against the table, the acrylic nail making a clicking noise. "You wanna prove it? Fine. You've got til midnight tonight. If you're unable to change my mind, you have to buy me my spring break vacation, all the fees and expenses."

"And if I do change your mind..." Ransom smirked, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, earning a half-hearted glare. "... you have to go on a date with me."

Ransom nearly burst out laughing from your shocked expression, the genuine look of surprised slapped on your face with the words. You shut your hanging jaw, still not processing what he was saying. "Excuse me?"

"You have to go on a date with me if I convince you that I'm willing to change my, and I quote, 'bratty and douchebag ways.' An actual date where we sit down, eat dinner, talk about our feelings, and get drunk. Whatever happens, happens." Ransom purred, placing a finger on your bottom lip. You slapped his hand away, and his smirked grew. "Are you going to back out of this already, princess?"

It was your stubborn side that made agree, pressing your lips into a thin line, you grabbed Ransom's hand, shaking it. He raised an eyebrow while you sighed. "You're on. Hope you have enough money to pay for a lengthy trip. I plan on drinking every bottle of wine in Italy."

Despite your baking debacle, you left the kitchen, leaving Meg's monstrous creation on the counter along with Ransom. You went into the living room, trying to find the girl in question when you happened to stumble upon Richard. He barely got to say a word before you turned around, and left the pervert behind. It was always a puzzle how Ransom turned out so hot with Richard and Linda as parents.

Climbing the stairs, you heard the family arguing growing quieter with each step. The second floor was almost a safe haven considering Harlan didn't let anyone raise their voice in the upper level, making it the only quiet place in the house, safe from any Thrombey fights. It was a wonder how the family hadn't murdered each other yet; it was only a matter of time.

Unable to find Meg in your shared room, you sighed, patting your body to find your phone only to realize you left it in the kitchen. With Ransom.

"Looking for this?" Ransom held out your phone, coming up behind you. His usual smirk was gone, a small, genuine smile in its place. It made him look less arrogant.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

You took your phone back, half expecting him to take it back just as you wrapped your fingers around it. But he didn't. You realized he was pulling out all the stops, all the little things that you found annoying was gone. He was acting. Eyes narrowing, you unlocked your phone, studying him. "Thanks. I think."

"Meg is helping the Brazilian maid." Ransom answered your silent question. Your thumb hovered her contact, going back to the home screen. Your eyebrows had risen by his mis-categorization of Martha's race and employment. "Pretty sure they went to the grocery store or something."

"Oh, okay." you replied lamely, putting your phone in your back pocket, the tight jeans making it nearly impossible. Opening the door to your room, you stepped in, not giving Ransom another look. But he followed inside, making you turn around. "Do you need something?"

Ransom stuffed his hands in his pockets, the cream-colored sweater shifting with the gesture. "You didn't exactly give me much time to prove myself. And looking around, we're all alone. I can't think of a better time."

As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. The bet was a bit unfair considering how stubborn you were, and the amount of time he had to convince you. But it was a bit unsettling seeing Ransom try so hard, let alone being nice. You nodded, agreeing. "Fine, but can I change first? I'd rather not be covered in flour while you try to seduce me."

"You and I both know I wouldn't seduce you before dinner. There's no way in hell I'd treat you like the others." he mumbled to himself, but you heard it. Clearing his throat, he stepped out of the room. "Yeah, I'll be outside. Waiting. Take your time."

As soon as the door closed, you looked around the room to check if you were being pranked, expecting Ashton Kutcher to burst out of the closet along with a bunch of cameramen. After a few seconds, you came to the conclusion that Supernatural was in this universe, deciding "Ransom" was a shapeshifter or a demon possessed him. It was the only reasonable explanation.

Reaching for the hem of your top, pulling it off in one swift move, dropping it on the bed. Your jeans piling on top, allowing your legs to breathe. Despite Joni's hippie side, she had let Meg sneak in a few joints, the smell becoming stronger as you neared both your suitcases. You didn't think Harlan would be too please to have weed in his house, no matter how lenient he is.

You took your time, a little baffled by what to wear. Ransom hadn't exactly given you an agenda on his plans, leaving you to grab a clean pair of black jeans, and a classy, yet simple, red top. You looked decent enough to fit in a nice restaurant, but casual in case Ransom decided he wanted McDonald's, and most importantly: warm. If he wanted to take you to the North Pole, then he'd have to give you his cozy-looking sweater.

You opened the door, the sight of Ransom rocking on his heels greeting you. His back was to you, his hands inside his pockets as he looked out the window, frost crawling along the edges. It genuinely concerned you how much this man was acting; if you didn't know better, you'd think it was real.

Clearing your throat, you watched him jump in surprise, quickly turning to you. Raising an eyebrow, you tucked your phone in your pocket, meeting his warm, blue eyes. "I'm ready."

"Okay." said Ransom, motioning for you to follow him. You walked down the stairs without a word, the air becoming thick as you walked behind him. The sweater did little to no good disguising his broad shoulders, the muscles somehow still visible under the clothing.

As soon as you reached the bottom, you glanced around, the Thrombey fighting becoming louder with each second. It wouldn't be long before one of them stormed out of the room, muttering a curse under their breath. You'd seen all of them do it at least once. You crossed your arms, wary of whatever Ransom was planning. "Be honest, you're not just going to drive me off to the middle of the woods and murder me, are you?"

Ransom chuckled, giving you a wink as he held his hand out. Without hesitation, you took it. "If I was planning to murder you, I wouldn't do it in the woods. If you're going to die, it's going to be epic."

"Oh, well, that makes me feel better." you sneered sarcastically, instantly rolling your eyes. In the back of your mind, you pondered how long it would take for your eyes to get stuck in your brain with the amount of times you rolled them at Ransom.

He led you towards the door, smirking. "You ready?"

"No. Let's go."

—

"Fuck, baby."

He spent a few moments just staring at your spread pussy, amazed and aching for you more than he ever ached for anything.

"Don't you know why I want you to see it, Ransom?"

Ransom just shook his head without taking his eyes off the your pneumatic body.

"Because it's yours," you sighed. "All yours, baby. You're the one I've been keeping it nice and fresh for."

"Fuck," he muttered.

He kept staring at you, waiting for you to rub you pussy again, but you didn't. You just kept holding it spread.

"Don't you wanna taste me, Ransom?" you purred, barely above a whisper. "C'mon, baby, please. I want you to lick it so bad. I love you so much and I want to give you everything that belongs to you."

The playboy was all but paralyzed by your words. He finally dragged his eyes off your open pussy and looked at your face. You were staring back at him with a glazed look in your eyes. His solid cock was pulsing hard in the tight grip of his fist. No girl had ever looked at him the way you were at that very moment, yet at the same time, he knew you were playing with the hottest kind of fire there was.

"Sweetheart, you know this wasn't the deal." he whispered, distracted.

You smirked. "But you still won."

He finished the thought by leaning down and sliding his tongue up and over your generously offered pussy. You pulled in a sharp gasp when Ransom's tongue lit up your heavily tingling pussy. Your hips rolled instantly in response, your gasps turning to moans while Ransom eagerly slathered his tongue all around your creamily delicious slit. He soon focused his attention on your clit and slipped a finger up inside your hole at the same time.

The man's finger curled and twisted inside you, searching for you g spot while he suckled and lapped at your fully swollen clit. You could barely form words as you gasped and moaned, your luscious body now writhing with desire.

Your pussy oozed heavily the more he licked and fingered you. Your cream was sweet, tangy and intensely intoxicating. Ransom probed at your hole with his finger and the tip of his tongue at the same time, but he soon drew his soaking wet finger out of your hole and wedged it between your ass cheeks, searching for your puckered rimhole.

You gasped deeply and lifted your legs up higher, giving Ransom better access to your asshole. He massaged your tight bud with his honey-coated finger and made deep, hungry love to your pussy with his mouth.

"God god god god, Ransom!" you cried, your hips rolling harder and harder against the man's mouth and finger.

Your body went tense for a few moments and then relaxed. Ransom backed off and watched you languish after your orgasm, pausing briefly to catch your breath. Then you shifted your body and took the hem of your outfit into your hands and peeled it off over your head. Ransom pulled off his T shirt and slid over on top of your luscious body, grinding his rock-hard cock against your pussy as he lowered himself to kiss you.

You whimpered while Ransom's chest mashed down against your heavy, naked tits. They felt amazing against his body, and he was beyond reason when the your mouth opened and set your tongue into motion against his.

Ransom had never kissed any girl so hard or hungrily in his life. Nor had any kissed him back the way you had. At the same time, you were grinding your slick, wet pussy against his cock as hard as he was grinding against you. Then he squeezed his hands in between them and grasped at your tits, kneading them eagerly with his strong hands.

He released your mouth and said," Baby girl, reach down there and put my cock inside you for me. I need that pussy bad, but I can't bring myself to let go of these fantastic tits now that I finally have my hands on them."

You giggled happily and kissed him again while you worked your hands down between your naked bodies. Finally, you got one hand on your pussy and spreading yourself open while you wrapped the other around Ransom's thick cock.

"Oh geezus, fuck, Ransom, you're so fucking hard," you cooed. "Oh god fuck me deep."

You tucked Ransom's cock head into your wet maw and he began grinding his shaft deeper into your sheath. Your pussy felt so tight and creamy, and you both groaned as his rock-hard flesh gradually filled your body. You looked at each other in disbelief, even though nothing had ever felt more right or natural.

Ransom growled as he began to pump his cock in and out of your spectacular body with long strokes. His grip on your tits went tighter and he lowered his head to suck and lick on your swollen nipples.

You whimpered with pleasure, wrapping your legs around his hips and grinding your pussy hard against his thrusting cock. It wasn't long before he was straining to hold on and keep fucking you deep and hard. You didn't make it any easier because of the way you were moaning and your cunt squeezed his pounding cock every time you came.

Finally, Ransom raised himself up on his hands while he pumped your succulent pussy hole as hard and fast as he could, watching your pretty face twist with pleasure while your tits heaved with the force of his lunging body.

"Gimme your cum, baby. I want it in me...fuck!"

With a final, frenzied volley of full body thrusts, Ransom's pulsing cock exploded in your pussy, filling you with a hot flow of jetting spunk.

After, they spent a long time kissing while Ransom caressed the your beautiful tits. He kept his cock buried inside you until his flesh finally started to relax.

You fell asleep in each other's arms, and Ransom knew he had the girl he always needed right there with him. He had been right, all the sarcastic comments and stupid fights had been worth it.

In the morning, Ransom awoke from a haze of dreams to look down and find you lying between his legs with your lips sliding up and down his swollen cock. When you realized he was awake and watching you, you released his big cock from your mouth, giving his shaft a long lick before greeting him.

"Merry Christmas, Ransom."

[starkermeup]

Be a Good Boy for Mr. Stark

Peter shows Tony how appreciative he is of him.

Or what should of happened in the car ride home in Homecoming.

Cross-Posted on AO3

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Peter smiled warmly as Mr. Stark talked to him, trying hard to focus on his words, while also attempting to convince himself that this was really happening. His role model and idol The Tony Stark, thinks he's special and deserving of his attention, to be even a future avenger, it was still a lot to take in. But he was loving every minute of it.

"Are you listening kid?" Mr. Stark asks, frowning at the prospect of being ignored and it takes Peter right out of his stupor. He nods his head shyly and blushes when he looks into Tony's dark chocolate eyes. That was going to take some getting used to he decides. "Because I don't like repeating myself."

"Y-yes, Mr. Stark. I heard you loud and clear. I was just thinking about everything you're doing for me and I feel so lucky and thankful that you'd take a chance on me." Peter finishes rather lamely and looks down nervously as he fumbles with his phone.

Tony stares at him with a raised eyebrow and it is then that Peter realizes the limo had stopped moving. Mr. Stark smiles at him then, but in a way Peter had yet to witness prior. He suddenly leans over Peter and Peter's confused but hugs the man regardless. If Mr. Stark wanted to hug him, there was no way he would deny him.

Tony waves his hand dismissively at the window and the figure on the other side walks away. Peter shivers when he feels Mr. Stark's hot breath on his ear.

"There is one way you can show your gratitude for my kindness Peter." Tony says and Peter feels chills run up his body. "You want to show me how grateful you are?"

The teenager blushes harder and clutches his mentor's expensive jacket. Mr. Stark couldn't be serious could he? There's no way he's talking about...

Tony guides Peter's hand down from his shoulder, down his suit until he stops on something hard and Peter audibly gasps when he realizes it’s his mentor's cock. He was aroused and it was for Peter of all people. He felt dizzy with realization and something hotter as Mr. Stark rubbed Peter's hand over his own crotch.

"Well? What will it be Mr. Parker? Are you thankful? Are you going to be a good boy and show me how thankful you are?" Tony asks smoothly, like he's completely unaffected by the movements of Peter's hand. Peter wants to change that. He whimpers at the good boy comment, feeling himself get harder by the second.

"Y-yes Sir I want to. I w-wanna show you how much I appreciate you." Peter says and he's not sure what he wants or what Mr. Stark wants from him but he's more than onboard for whatever because Mr. Stark wants him.

Tony smiles against his neck and brushes a fleeting kiss there. "Good boy. Now get on your knees." Mr. Stark says the last part with an edge and Peter finds himself dropping to the flooring of the limo before he really knows what he's doing. "Take it out, show me how grateful you are Peter." Mr. Stark motioned towards his crotch and Peter's mouth goes dry as he carefully takes out his mentor's cock with shaky fingers. Before he knows it, Tony's cock comes into view, much thicker and longer than his own. Peter's breathe hitches at the sight and his mouth waters. Mr. Stark was huge. The girth of it alone was making Peter anxious with the fear of letting his mentor down. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Sir, I-I don't know what to do..." Peter hesitates. Instead of frowning like the teenager anticipated, Tony smiled at him again and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair.

"That's okay, I'll help you through it. Wrap your hand around the base and lick the tip." Mr. Stark says easy like he was explaining bio-tech and not teaching his mentee to give him head. Peter nodded and did as he was told, gapping at the way his hand couldn't fully wrap around the sheer girth of the cock. He leans down, shyly licking the head a few times feeling the taste of salt and pre-cum on his tongue. Tony hums pleased at his efforts but tugs on Peter's curls edging him further down his length. "Don't be shy, I wanna see just how appreciative you are." Mr. Stark says and Peter can read between the lines to what he means. "Breathe through your nose." The man above him adds.

Peter closed his eyes and sucked hard as he allows his mouth to take the whole head in his mouth. Mr. Stark groans at the sensation and Peter wanted to smile that he's getting The Tony Stark off. It motivates him to take the man deeper, feeling his jaw start to ache from the thick cock.

"Hmm, yeah that's so good, Peter. You really are such a good boy, aren’t you? Showing me how grateful you are, how much you want it. Such a good boy..." Tony praises him and it makes Peter moan around him. He wants to be Tony's good boy, wants to make him feel good.

He's nearly to the base when his gag reflex kicks in and he pulls off embarrassed, coughing a little.

"I-I'm sorry Sir. I-I don't think I can take it all in my mouth." He resisted the urge to add yet because Mr. Stark probably won't want him to show his appreciation again after this. His heart sinks at the thought. He couldn't have that. "Can I try again please?"

Mr. Stark stared at his mentee, hair disheveled, eyes blown and lips puffy. All this from a little dicksucking. Amazing. He pondered. "Of course baby." Tony said, petting Peter's already messy hair.

Peter's heart fluttered and his cock twitched at the word. Mr. Stark just called him baby. Baby of all things and Peter felt hot all over as he sucked his mentor back into his mouth. Peter closed his eyes again and rolled his tongue, going up and down on the cock, thinking of all the best porn he'd seen, trying to imitate what they did. It seems to be working as Tony's groaning nonstop with his hand securely in Peter's hair, not yanking but simply guiding the boy down.

"Fuck. You're doing so good baby. Keep it up, let me see your eyes. I want you to remember who you're thanking accordingly. Remember who this mouth belongs to from now on." Tony says, thrusting his hips up in time with Peter opening his eyes. Tony seeing Peter's big orbs widen as he gags on his cock. Tony groans at the sinfulness of the act in front of him.

Peter whines but doesn't pull off, instead focuses on breathing through his nose and rutting his hips against the floor desperate for some friction. As his mentor gently fucked his mouth, praising him, Peter couldn't believe his fate, his role model and crush since he was a kid wanting him like this. It was almost too much. Mr. Stark had said his mouth belongs to him now. Peter whimpers at the idea as he hollowed his cheeks. That would be nice he thinks, to be owned by Tony Stark. He wants it. Craves it even.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum baby. Gonna bust my load in your mouth and you're gonna swallow every last drop. You're going to show me just how grateful you are." Tony utters and stares at Peter as he comes hard down the boy's throat.

Buried to the hilt of his mentor's cock, Peter had no choice but to gulp down the waves of warm cum the best he could, eyes not leaving his mentor. Despite the act they just committed, somehow staring at one another like this, felt like the most intimate thing they had done. Peter pulls off when he thinks he got it all and suddenly feeling very exposed.

"M-Mr. Stark..." Peter says and a small string of cum on his bottom lip, connected to the tip of the man's softening cock. He isn't sure where he's going with this. Although he isn't given a chance to finish because Tony groans as he grabs him up and planting the boy in his lap. Peter blushed at the sitting arrangement. Even though, Tony was soft now, he was still big and Peter could feel it on his thigh. It made him moan desperately. "Please, S-Sir I need to-" Tony hushes him with a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I'll take care of you baby," The older man says and he looks even better up close like this, so handsome and god, did he smell good. Peter tried to close the small distance between their lips but Mr. Stark beats him to it, tugging Peter forward by the curls at the back of his head. Peter gaps, immediately clinging to Tony. He moaned as his mentor worked his mouth open, feeling like jelly in his embrace. His first kiss, going to Mr. Stark, he whines with realization, unintentionally grinding down, which made him whine more from the friction.

Peter must have got caught up in the rolling of their tongues because he doesn't even notice Mr. Stark's hand traveling down his back and around until he lets out a high pitch moan in the kiss. Tony presses hard on the teen's confined hard-on.

"Look at you, so hard just from cock sucking. You just aim to please, don't you Peter? Always being such a good boy...I think you deserve a reward." Tony says against the boy's mouth. He slides his hand into Peter's jeans and wraps it around his throbbing cock, Peter leans forward from the friction, resting his forehead against the older man's shoulder. Noises he can't contain slip out as Tony works his cock up and now.

"G-god, M-Mr. Stark I-I" Peter can't even finish his sentence, too focused on the heat of his mentor's hand on him. It felt incredible, another first taken by Mr. Stark and he was getting off on it. He couldn't help the way his hips move on their own, only moaning more when Tony lets him.

"That's it Peter. Fuck my fist like the needy little thing you are. I want you to cum like this. Good boys do as they're told so be a good boy and cum baby." Tony whispers into the boy's ear, jerking him faster.

Peter isn't sure exactly what takes him overboard, he'd bet it was the 'good boy' or 'baby' comment. Either way, Peter was coming and whining as Tony worked his cock completely, milking it of every drop until he was soft and sensitive. Peter collapsed on top of his mentor, completed sedated, trying to catch his breath as the latter pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket.

"Hm, you made a mess of my suit jacket." Tony clicked his tongue and Peter blushes with embarrassment.

"I-I I'm sorry sir. I didn't mean to. It just felt so g-good..." Peter says and he's staring down at the man's chest. Tony tips his head up, so they're eye level and presses a kiss against the boy's lips. He pulls away shortly afterwards (much to Peter's disappointment) and smirks at him.

"Since you were getting your reward, it's alright this time but-" Mr. Stark stops as he holds Peter's jaw in place, looking at him with dark orbs. "If you do it again, I'm gonna make you clean it up with your tongue, understand? Good boys don't make messes."

"Y-yes Mr. Stark, I'll be more careful next time." Peter says, still floating from the best orgasm he ever had. Again. Mr. Stark wanted to do it again with him and that was definitely something Peter could get behind.

"I know you will," Mr. Stark says accordingly and puts himself back into his slacks, Peter can't help but watch, still in disbelief the cock was just in his mouth. "You're a good boy."

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Better Than Fiction

Summary - What happens when Dean catches you reading a very inappropriate piece of writing?

Pairing - Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)

Warning - Fluff, Angst, Crack, Smut (the four horsemen are in this fic), unprotected sex 18+, kissing, swearing, fanfiction, a bit of ogling Dean.

Word count - 2.6k

Square filled - Smut ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - This is my submission to @evilskank-inthemegacoven's Bingo challenge. This is also my second submission to @supernatural-jackles' Biweekly challenge. Prompts are in bold (2 prompts used)

I wrote this crack fic because I was going through a terrible writer's block and I had to write something different from what I usually write. Hope you like this!

Thanks to @miss-nerd95 for beta'ing this! <3

You gasped loudly as he threw you over the bed, pupils blown with lust as he drank you in. You had never seen such hunger in his eyes. He was hungry and he made that clear as he ripped off your blouse in one swift motion leaving you just in your shorts.

All of your rational thoughts flew out of the window as he started leaving kisses down your body. His hands massaged one of your breasts as his mouth latched onto another, eliciting a deep moan from your mouth as his tongue flicked your hardened nipple.

You knew this was bad but you were taken by the piece of writing like a moth drawn towards the flame. You had put your hands in the fire, willingly, and now you were going to get burned by it, but you couldn't stop yourself from reading the next lines.

“De-” you whimpered as he let go of your nipples and started to work on your pants. His hands brushed your clothed core as he murmured, “Mhm, so wet for me already. How long have you been thinkin’ ‘bout me, sweetheart?” Dean ripped your panties and let out a low growl, making you shiver in anticipation.

“Long enough.” You purred. He pulled at your panties as he captured your lips in a passionate kiss. His teeth grazed your lower lips, drawing out a low moan out of you.

A small whimper left your lips as you looked around the empty bunker, thanking your luck that Sam and Dean were both out to pick up some supplies. You contemplated whether to move your reading to your bedroom or stay at the War Room table surrounded by piles of lore books.

You didn't even know how you ended up on this fansite because all this time you clearly had no idea that fans from all over the world were writing certain stories involving the Winchester based on the books by Carver Edlund. You were supposed to be researching for new cases, not read some erotic piece of writing about Dean Winchester, your best friend, but you somehow opened this site and you did come across a really sensual story, and ever since you started reading it, you couldn't stop. So there was no turning back now.

You let out a little sigh as you read on, knowing very well your panties were now ruined.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered into your ears. He licked his lips, his eyes raking over your naked form.

“And you're overdressed,” you whined tugging at his jeans.

“Someone's a little too eager,” he smirked and pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor. You could see his growing excitement strain against the material of his jeans. Your hands reached out to palm the very noticeable bulge but he quickly swatted your hand away.

“Tonight is not about me, it's about you, sweetheart.” He smirked.

“Mhm,” you nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence. You threw your head back as you cried out in ecstasy when Dean put a finger inside you. He pumped twice before adding another. Your eyes fluttered shut as he curled his fingers in you, the tips brushing against your g-spot repeatedly, the action drawing out a loud moan from you. You could feel yourself edging towards the climax as Dean kept on repeating the motion.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop your own moan that was threatening to leave your mouth. Your free hand gripped your thigh tightly, nails digging into your skin through your jeans as you felt your face on fire.

“Fuck,” you cursed as he pulled out his fingers just before you could come. He had a devilish smirk on his face and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. He quickly opened the button on his jeans before pushing it down along with his boxers, his hard length springing free. You watched him as he took his cock in his hands, pumping himself twice before rubbing up and down his length, the tip of his length beaded with precum.

“Are you going to fuck me tonight?” You were getting annoyed with his teasing.

“Such a needy little thing, aren't you?” Dean pressed his lips onto yours in a chaste kiss before lining himself in front of your entrance. You sucked in a deep breath as he pushed himself in you. He-

You slammed your laptop shut as you heard the boys coming down the stairs. So lost in the story, you didn't even hear the boys closing the door of the bunker.

“Honey, we're home!” Dean teased, as he rounded the corner of the stairs and stood across the table. “You okay?” He narrowed his eyes at you as he placed the pack of beer on the table.

“Y-yeah. I'm great. Awesome. Amazing. Fantastic,” you blurted out and mentally slapped yourself - like that was totally going to help you and not raise any suspicion.

You looked at Dean with hooded eyes, feeling like you were seeing him in a new light. Were his eyes always this beautiful shade of green? Your eyes travelled downwards as you gulped at the sight of his jeans hanging low on his hips.

“Y/N?” You jumped at the voice of Sam.

“W-what?”

“Are you okay? You look a little flushed,” he asked with worries in his eyes.

“Stop asking me if I'm okay!” You exclaimed.

“Okay,” Dean raised up his hands in defence. Grabbing your laptop from the table, you stood up and turned on your heels to go to your room.

It had been three days since you had read the story about Dean, which you had eventually completed reading once you were alone in your bedroom. Three days since you had spent every spare minute you had to look up more of those writings about Dean. But now, you regretted it because every time you crossed paths with him, you wanted nothing but to rip his clothes off and jump his bones. You cursed Chuck for writing about the lives of the Winchesters and publishing it, giving way to the inspirations for these fanfictions. Your feelings toward him had intensified and you couldn't even form a complete sentence without stuttering while talking to him.

Even though Dean was indifferent to the change in your actions, Sam had quickly caught on to it but you had kept your mouth tightly shut, though you didn't know how long you would be able to control yourself around him - especially after tonight.

As you laid in the bed of a rundown motel room, you picked up a pillow to cover your ears, trying to drown out the voices coming from Dean's room. The banging of the headboard against the paper thin wall and the loud moans of the girl made you wonder if sex with Dean was really as good as you read in the stories. You looked over to the other bed in the room and saw Sam’s chest rise and fall accompanied by heavy breathing, indicating he was in deep sleep but Dean's low grunts and moans from the other room made it impossible for you to get any sleep that night.

“Morning,” Dean strolled into your room the next morning, with a stupid ‘I got laid’ look on his face. You glanced at him while sipping your coffee but refrained from saying anything.

“Next time, stay at another motel if you decide to bring home a girl,” Sam grumbled at his brother.

“So this is what it is all about? I swear you both are so uptight. You just need to get laid,” he smirked, taking a seat at the table across you.

You looked at him again but didn't say anything. You knew it was stupid to be angry at him. He was a man with needs and it was not like you had said anything to him about your crush.

“What's the matter with you?” Dean asked. You ignored his question as you grabbed your FBI clothes before marching off into the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, you let out a sigh of relief. You couldn't think straight with Dean Winchester looking like a freaking Vogue model in a suit. You took your sweet time to put on your clothes before leaving the bathroom.

“Y/N,” Dean said the moment you entered the room. You didn't even bother to look at him. “You can't ignore me forever.”

“I'm not ignoring you,” you finally spoke, “I'm just not talking to you.”

“Why? What did I do, sweetheart?”

“I'm not your sweetheart, Dean Winchester,” you snapped, surprising him.

“Easy there tiger,” he joked before slipping into his work persona, “So what do we have?” Dean picked up your laptop and logged into it before you could say anything. Your eyes widened in horror and embarrassment as you saw Dean’s face scrunch up, his eyes moving swiftly over the laptop screen.

“I had no idea you were into fifty shades, Y/N,” he chuckled.

“What?”

“This. You were reading porn.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Oh Y/N. I was so wrong abo-” He suddenly stopped mid sentence as the playfulness left his face. “What is this?” Dean frowned.

“I….I don't-” You stammered. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to find out.

“Dean?” Sam called out to his brother, noticing his change in expression. The older Winchester shoved the laptop towards his brother, all the while glaring at the electronic device.

“What the hell?” Sam exclaimed as he took a look at the screen. “Y/N. Tell me you weren't-”

“She clearly was.” You winced at how Dean spit out those words.

“I can explain. I just came across-”

“Don't.” Dean snapped and stormed out of the room.

The hunt was a success and right now you and the Winchesters were celebrating the success in a bar. You rolled your eyes as you saw Dean flirting with a blonde so you knew you weren't going to get any sleep tonight either but what bothered you the most was that Dean had barely spoken any words to you since he found out about the stories.

“Hey are you okay?” Sam asked as you sat there at the counter nursing a glass of drink.

“Y-yeah I'm fine,” you whispered.

“Talk to me. You know your secrets are always safe with me,” he smiled.

“What's left to say? I came across a story. It was an erotic piece of writing with, uh-Dean, and I read it. Now I can't look at him without thinking that I invaded his privacy. I know it's all fiction but I read porn about my best friend. Everytime I see him, I am reminded of how he flicks his tongue-”

“Y/N! Too much information,” Sam groaned.

“Sorry.”

“What you did is wrong but you can't turn back time, can you?”

“No but what am I supposed to do?”

“Get laid. Relieve some of that tension.” Sam shrugged, making you glare at him.

“I love your brother, Sam who is over there flirting with that blonde, not talking to me. I-I can't do this. It's better if I just pack up my bags and permanently move to Antarctica.” You muttered.

“Y/N, be realistic. Talk to him or find someone to scratch your itch.” Sam said, getting out of his seat before walking away from you. You flagged the bartender for another round when you noticed a man slide into the seat next to you.

“Hey gorgeous. What is a pretty little thing like you doing all alone here?” You wanted to puke as soon as you heard the man speak. He placed a hand on yours, making your shudder.

“Hey,” you said, trying to use some of Sam’s advice and it was only for one night.

“Want to get out of here?” You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the man’s straightforwardness, he could have at least bought you a drink.

“Uhm-” you played along.

“Come on baby. You and I are gonna have an amazing night with your pussy wrapped around my cock-” and that was the final strike. You were ready to get out of the bar but not with that man.

“No thanks, I have a boyfriend,” you mumbled before finishing your drink and storming out of the bar, unbeknownst to the fact that Dean was watching the whole interaction, the woman beside him long forgotten.

Seeing you storm out of the bar, peaked his curiosity. He was never good with feelings so when he caught you fantasizing about him, it took him entirely by surprise. He had stormed out of that room because if he had stayed one more second, he would have taken you right then and there. After that incident, he couldn't get you out of his mind and that was making him uncomfortable because it was getting impossible for him to continue walking around with a hard on.

Three harsh knocks on the door of the motel room interrupted your solo drinking session. Annoyed, you went to the door only for Dean to push it open and get in quickly

“Dean? What are-” your words were cut off by him loudly closing the door behind him. “Look I'm sorry, Dean. I know you can't even probably look at me. I am so sorry-”

“Why did you read about me?”

“What?”

“Why did you read about me? Why not read about Sam?” He raised his eyebrows at you.

“I-I….well. It's-I don't exactly have a reason-”

“Y/N.” He cocked his head.

“Fine. I like you. I like Sam too but he is like a brother to me and you're you. I-” you stopped rambling when you heard him scoff lightly.

“Then what's the matter with you?”

“Huh?” Now you were utterly confused.

“One moment you say that you like me and the next you are flirting with a sleazy bastard at the bar,” he huffed.

“You saw that?”

“Of course I did.”

“I thought you were angry at me because I literally read porn about you. You stormed out of that room.” You fiddled with the hem of your shirt as you whispered the words to him.

“I was angry but not at you. I don't like Chuck’s books but I kinda feel proud that you read porn about me,” you looked up at Dean and saw him smirking, “I was angry at myself because all this goddamn time I kept thinking you didn't feel the same.”

“What?”

“You have read about what fake-me can do, wanna see what the real me can?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“W-what?” At this question, Dean leaned in, cupping your cheek as he captured your lips in a kiss. Your hands travelled all the way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue swept across your lips, making you whimper. You both stumbled back to the bed, his lips still on yours. You only separated for a few seconds when you two quickly undressed.

“Dean!” You cried out as you felt yourself coming undone, followed by a guttural groan from Dean as he spilled inside you, coating your walls with his seed. He panted, dropping his head in the crook of your neck as you both came down from the high. Raising his head, Dean looked at you with a fond expression on his face as he pulled out of you, rolling to the other side of the bed.

“Whoever said it was very wrong. Reality is so much better than fiction,” you giggled, looking at the man lying beside you. He turned his body to pull you closer, pecking your lips.

“I can't argue with you on that. Now no more reading about me, okay?” You nodded a stupid grin on your face.

“I got the real deal.”

“So you're not moving to Antarctica, are you? ‘Cause I would love to call you mine and I'm not good at long distance stuff,” Dean smirked.

“No, Winchester. I am not going anywhere because I would love to be called yours. Also remind me to kill Sam in the morning.” You huffed, making Dean burst out in fits of laughter.

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