#in a drawer. IN a drawer??? what the fuck?

[mattslolita]

꒰shy!matt & fuckgirl!reader꒱ ⟡headcanons !

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚

꒰ SFW! ꒱

fuckgirl!reader would've . . .

✦ met matt at a party she was hosting — well, more or less she would've bumped into the poor kid; she'd never seen him around before, but from taking one look at him? it didn't take too long to have him under her arm by the end of the night.

"never seen you around here before...came with friends?"

"my brothers dragged me here, m'not sure what i'm even doin-"

"are you- you're one of those triplets, yeah?"

"yeah, i'm matt-"

"think i'm gonna like you, matt...stop fiddlin' baby, m'not gonna bite you, 'kay? unless you're into that."

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ make it a point to drag matt to every party she's either hosting, or attending — he's nervously got his arm around her waist, whilst she's combing her freshly manicured nails through his brown locs while greeting her friends and whatnot.

"y/n, who's this?"

"this is matt, cute, ain't he?"

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ not make it clear, but basically matt is hers — dating? no. whatever they were, everyone knew to steer clear of the shy, blue eyed boy, for her claws were already nestled knee deep into his heart.

"you here with someone? why don't you-"

"back the fuck up an' leave, yeah? he's with me."

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ secretly enjoy matt's constant need for physical affection — the subtle whine as he desperately tries to get her attention whether it was reaching out for her, or brushing his hand against her thigh.

"pretty girl..."

"whatcha want baby, huh? wan' me on your lap? use your words f'me."

"on my lap...please..."

"course, pretty boy, c'mere."

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ be ready to throw hands with whoever says one thing about matt's shy nature — their contrasting personalities is one of the reasons she gravitated towards him; the shy, quiet boy and the social butterfly of a girl — she wanted to preserve that much about him.

"kid doesn't even fuckin' talk half the time."

"y'know what, i'd rather him barely talk and have him say something intelligible- which is more than what i could say for you cause every time you open your mouth, it's fuckin' nonsense. fuck outta here."

"y'think i'm intelligent?"

"what kinda question is that, huh? course i think you're smart, pretty boy."

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ never admit it, but she loves it when matt does girlfriend like things for her — whether it was the casual arm resting on her hip or the shopping sprees, she loved every bit of it.

"aw, this dress is too cute! whatcha think baby?"

"put it on my card, pretty girl."

"what, no way, matt. i can pay for it myself!"

"b-but i just wan' do somethin' nice for you...can i buy it for you? please?"

✦ but it was the small things that really did it for her — she loved it when he grabbed her possessively, or when he studied with her after school. little picnics, cozy dinners, and cuddles warmed her heart the most. ( but you'd never catch her admitting to falling for him. hard. )

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ secretly steal matt's clothes if she's over his house — little by little, things like sweaters or shirts would make disappearances because she's busy taking them for herself.

"princess, have you seen my boston jersey?"

"tsk, not that i know of, baby. if i find it, i'll give it to you!"

( as the jersey sits tucked away at the top of her drawer. . . )

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ unknowingly have an affect on matt and his tendency to not speak up for himself — her unapologetic bluntness helped alot.

"i don' think she wans' me, she jus' wants to study-"

"she wants to fuck you, matt. an' there's no way that's happenin' on my watch."

"i'm serious, princess! she-"

"matt, shut the fuck up. you're not goin' to study with her, got it?"

"yes ma'am." ( oh ma'am drives her wild. )

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ do small acts of dominance if she felt like someone wanted to get at matt — she didn't care if they were around people; if she felt the need to start making out with him in a crowded room whilst people watched them, she's doing it.

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ unknowingly smile at small things matt would do, like if he started rambling about something that happened to him that — the way his brown curls fell messily across his forehead whilst his arms flailed around animatedly, and the way his blue eyes were slightly widened and his cheeks had a pink tinge to them due to his excitement. . .she wouldn't even realize she'd been admiring him the whole time, not even listening at one point.

"...hey, y'still there?"

"huh? what?"

"were you starin' at me? stop that..."

"aw, why should i, pretty boy? y'look so cute all excited an' shit. keep talkin', gorgeous."

꒰ NSFW! ꒱

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ take matt's shy nature to her advantage, and completely slut that boy out.

"p-please princess...n-need t'cum, please..."

"aw, am i ridin' you too good, can't even speak up when i ask you to?"

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ purposely mess with matt by cuddling up to other guys ( never actually fucking them ) because she loves the way matt pleases her when he shows her how much better he can make her feel then all the rest.

"oh go- fuck, so good, baby! ya such a good boy f'me, don't stop..."

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ love cowgirl with matt, always forcing him to look her in the eyes whilst she rides him.

"fuck, fillin' me up s'good, pretty boy. look at me baby, wan' see them pretty eyes..."

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ let matt suck on her breasts like the needy man he is — instead of asking to please her, he'd look up at her with sultry eyes and begin sucking on the soft mound of skin, silently asking to do more.

"whas' the matter, pretty boy, tell me what you need."

" please...jus' wan make you feel good..."

fuckgirl!reader would . . .

✦ endlessly tease matt in any way — she would grind against his clothed erection, sucking on his neck in that sweet spot that makes him weak,

"i- fuck, n-need t'feel you, princess."

"gonna be good f'me, sweet boy?"

"y-yes, always..."

✦ and she would always tease his tip before fully taking him — kitten lick on the underside, hearing the needy whimpers leave his lips as she grins up at him, seeing his flushed and exasperated expression.

"i ju- wan' cum princess, please just touch me."

"patience pretty boy, such a pretty cock...gonna make you feel s'good, yeah?"

shy!matt who . . .

✦ blindfolds you whilst he eats you out — he's too timid to have you see him grind against the bed needily while he devours you like his last meal.

shy!matt who . . .

✦ whimpers upon the smallest touches you gift him with, leaving him extremely frustrated and needy for you.

shy!matt who . . .

✦ cries during sex because the pleasure is too overwhelming for him — the feeling of being inside of you, how intimate it all was, made him emotional.

shy!matt who . . .

✦ loves giving and receiving marks — he loves to mark you up on your inner thighs and your neck, and he loves receiving them everywhere on his body.

shy!matt who . . .

✦ is a giver — he loves your praise as he pleasures you with his tongue, much for his own enjoyment as much as it is yours.

( kiwi's corner 💌 )

so so excited to introduce fuckgirl!reader & shy!matt !! they're gonna be another one of my favs, i hope you guys will like them !! muah.💌

taglist🥝 : @muwapsturniolo @thenickgirl @luverboychris @cottoncandyswisherz @chanelles-world

@sturnprime @aelinslegend @chrissturniolossidehoe @sturniqloo @chaossturns

@fairyrcts @mbbsgf @sturnsxplr-25 @moonk1ss3d @oliviasturniolo21

@wh4re4chratt @cyberdre4ms @luvleyangeldust @pvssychicken @lovesturni0l0s

@delilahsturniolo @venusxsturnio @chrissystur @sweetangelgirl7 @wovenribbons

@chrispotatos @chrissystur @jetaimevous @55sturn @yn-ws

@u-didnt-see-this @caseybennett @lowkeyobsessedwthesturniolos @sparklyskies0

@sturnsxbitvh @watercolorskyy @bagsbyclair0 @lovingregulusblack @starkeyszn

@victoryouactuallydidthis @colorthecosmos444 @elizasturn @y3sterdaysproblem @mattsfavoritestar

@78yaz @raerae1230 @slvttie-zx

[mrsstarkey1]

getting rafe hooked on dress to impress

my fav thing i’ve ever written i can’t even lie

word count: 1.2k

obx masterlist

you yawned loudly and abnoxiously as you walked into rafe’s bedroom. you kicked your shoes off, grabbing one of rafe’s t-shirts from his drawer, changing out of your uncomfortable clothes. “didn’t think you were coming back, it’s late as fuck.” rafe said, looking at you oddly as he sat up on the bed against the headboard.

“longest fucking day of my life. need to unwind.”

rafe smirked, reaching his whole body over the bed to grab your forearm. "like the sound of that," he mumbles.

you let yourself move toward him, but you groan, “not like that.” rafe momentarily pouts, but doesn’t let go of your arm. in fact, he pulls you closer onto the bed with him urging you to cuddle up into him.

he snakes his arm around you, soft fingers tracing circles into your side. "wanna talk about it?"

you yawn and shake your head, "nah, can we just watch a movie or something?"

rafe nods, grabbing the TV remote from the nightstand. "you don't wanna watch some chick-flick do you?" he asks, grimacing already.

you sigh dramatically, “i guess not. fast and furious?”

rafe obligies, satisfied with your suggestion. you get comfortable on the bed, your head rested on rafe's shoulder and your phone rested on his chest as you scroll through tiktok.

about 20 minutes later, you see a video about the new halloween update on dress to impress and gasp before you can stop yourself. rafe jumps slightly, eyes wide. “jesus christ, what’s wrong?”

"sorry, nothing," you grin apologetically, "can I borrow your laptop though?"

he looks at you like you've lost your mind, but he still grabs his macbook from the nightstand, handing it over to you. you sit up excitedly, leaning up against the headboard.

you open the laptop and sign into your roblox account, side eyeing rafe as he gives you an odd look. "the fuck are you doing?"

"playing a game," you respond innocently.

he raises his eyebrows, "roblox? wheezie used to play that shit.. when she was 8," he says, judging you hardcore.

you glare at him, "you don't understand," you sigh. "just watch me play, it's genuinely fun."

he watches you click on dress to impress, making a disgusted face. "yeah I can't defend you on this one," he says and you shove his shoulder.

"well have you ever played dress to impress?" you ask him.

"obviously not," he says, his sassy side on full display.

"well don't judge then. just watch and i'll let you play a round when i'm done," you say with a smile, patting his cheek softly.

"hell nah," he says, directing his attention back to the movie.

you shake your head, giving up on getting him to play. you start a round, looking around at all the new pieces they added. the theme is holiday for your first round, so of course you do halloween.

you notice rafe's eyes on the computer screen as his curiosity clearly starts to creep back in despite himself. he watches as you piece together combination of a witch hat, spiderweb dress, and dark boots.

“what even is this shit?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly intrigued.

you grin, not taking your eyes off the screen since you only have a minute left. “you compete with other people to make the best outfit based on a theme. you'd be pretty good at it, you've got great style," you say, trying to persuade him.

he gives you a look, shaking his head, "sounds dumb as fuck," he says, and you just laugh. he's silent for a moment before turning slightly to have a better view of the screen, "so what you just like... dress them up and shit?"

you nod, watching the time run out. "yes, then everyone votes on each outfit and the top 3 get on the podium. see," you point to the screen, "the voting's starting now."

an outfit that's completely off theme struts down the runway and you grimace, "see like that one's ugly as fuck so i give it a 1. oooh look, this ones mine," you say with a proud smile. "doesn't she look great?"

rafe shrugs, "i guess."

you ended up getting third place, losing to two terrible outfits. you curse under your breath, before turning to him. “you wanna try a round?” you smile, looking up at him.

rafe scoffs, glancing back at the movie, but curiosity gets the better of him. “alright, fine, hand it over.” he takes the laptop.

"okay the theme is beach day," you tell him.

he hums in response, looking around at the clothes aimlessly. "rafe, you gotta pick something that actually matches,” you say, stifling a laugh as he pairs a yellow bikini top with neon green shorts.

"shh, I have a vision," he says, dismissing your words. "wait why the fuck doesn't she have a face?"

"you gotta go to the makeup and hair room, over there," you point at the screen.

he scrolls through the makeup options, finally decided on one. "mhm, she bad ain't she?" you chuckle, knowing rafe is secretly loving this.

time runs out just as he adds the coconut drink, and you see him watching the screen eagerly, waiting for the voting to end. one girl dressed in long pants and a jacket walks out and he looks over at you, disgusted, "this bitch didn't even look at the theme." all you can do is laugh and nod your head in agreement.

when rafe places second, he smirks, looking way too pleased with himself. "ha," he says, "i did better than you."

you roll your eyes. "yeah you're done playing," you say, snatching the laptop back.

the next night, you texted rafe that you were gonna come over after your morning shift and you didn't get a response, which was odd. you let yourself into his house with the key he'd given you. "rafe?" you called out, walking into the living room. "you here?" no response.

you furrowed your eyebrows, walking up the stairs. maybe he was just in his room, you thought, taking a nap or something. you creak open his bedroom door, met with the scene of him sitting on his bed, looking intently at his laptop.

his eyes shoot up to look at you and he slams his laptop closed, guilty look in his eye. you raise your eyebrows, "what were you doing?" you question him, walking toward the bed.

he rubs the back of his neck with his hand, shaking his head. "nothin.'"

your eyes narrow, "were you watching porn?" you joke, sitting down next to him.

he sighs, "worse.." he trails off. he mentally debates for a minute, before pulling his laptop back into his lap, opening it slowly to reveal dress to impress on full display.

your hand shoots to cover your mouth, laugh escaping your lips anyway. all he does is glare at you, "this is your fucking fault."

you lean into him with a laugh, "I know I know, sorry. don't be embarrassed, rafe." you press a kiss to his lips.

as you kiss him, you can’t help but laugh again, glancing at his screen. "okay wait that's actually a cute outfit. you're getting good," you nudge him, "fashionista," you add quietly with a chuckle.

he looks at you straight-faced, "I'm only playing this dumbass game because you dragged me into it. i was just bored so,” he gestures to the screen.

“sure, rafe, whatever you say,” you tease, cuddling up beside him. "feel free to keep playing, don't stop at my expense."

he scoffs, but gives in and restarts the game.

you wrap your arm around his middle and watch as he puts together outfit after outfit, the grin rarely leaving your face.

you just love your little fashionista.

----

requests are OPEN 💌

[papaya-twinks]

hii!! I love your writing ! 🥹 unfortunately I suffer from endometriosis so having sex isn‘t always easy for me and it can be quite uncomfortable to give your sexual partners a heads up beforehand so I wanted to request a fic where maybe reader has endometriosis and they have sex for the first time and she asks lando to be gentle and he‘s just so soft and takes care of her during and afterwards and stuff 🫶🏼

Warnings: Smut, 18+ soft!sex, endometriosis (only putting this as a warning coz some ppl think sexual conditions should be a warnings even though I disagree), oral (f receiving), lube.

Pairing: Lando Norris x endometriosis!fem!reader

A/N - idk what someone who has endometriosis is called :(, also, I’m sorry if I got anything wrong, I tried to research it, and it says lube and foreplay are good for endometriosis, correct me if I’m wrong xx

“Have you ever tried before?” Lando asked, his fingers slowly raking through your hair, your head resting on his chest, the subtle thump thump of his heartbeat in your ear. “I-I have,” you admitted, your hand intertwined with his, his thumb rubbing small circles into your palm.

“He was such a dick, he didn’t even ask if it felt good, so I just faked it and left,” you mumbled as Lando sighed. “He sounds like a prick,” he said softly, “you’ve never had a proper orgasm before?”. You shook your head, your cheeks tinged slightly pink, almost embarrassed at the fact.

“And…you want me to give you your first?” he asked as you nodded, once again, nestling into his chest, almost hiding your face. He smiled, a soft, raspy chuckle from his lips as he slowly turned so you were on your back. You were scared, yes, of course you were. But you trusted Lando.

“Safe word’s papaya, okay?” he said, as you nodded, watching as he slowly tugged your shorts down, dragging your panties along with them with his teeth. Immediately initiating the safe word was the best thing he could’ve done in that moment. You could feel his breath on your thighs, his lashes tickling your skin as you waited.

“Lando,” you gasped, his finger coming to draw small circles round your clit, collecting the juices you’d already had from the small heat in your belly, the pad of his thumb resting between your folds. You’d expected him to just slide his finger in, or get you to suck his dick or something, but he hadn’t.

“So pretty,” he said softly, licking his fingers as he moved closer, pulling your legs gently over his shoulders so he could move his face closer to your core, his tongue licking a line up your folds, making you moan, your back arching slightly. “Oh, f-fuck,” you gasped.

“Makin’ pretty sounds f’me already,” he hummed, the words sending a vibration through your core, yours finger intertwining with his curls. You were wet now, almost soaking wet, your heat dripping onto his tongue, the precision of this man would be enough to send you into a fit of orgasms, fuck.

You whined as he moved away, watching as he reached into the drawer, pulling out some lube, and a towel, lifting your hips so he could slide it under you, and moving the pillows so your hes wad comfy. That was kinda surprising.

You knew Lando was a good boyfriend, but this…greenest flag ever, right? “Did my research, baby,” he smiled, almost bashfully, as he took a generous amount of the stuff into his palm, pushing his joggers down, spreading the lube onto his member.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hummed, moving his tip to rest at your entrance. “I’m gonna push in, okay? But first, you gotta tell me the safe word again,” he said, his hand moving to push your hair from your face. “Lando,” you whined, almost in a daze, your mind blank.

“Baby, we’re not doing this unless I have the safe word, and you know it,” he said firmly. And, in some ways, the tone of his voice was an even bigger turn-on. “Papaya, papaya,” you whined, your eyes wide as you stared up at him. “Good,” he said, kissing your jaw.

You hissed as he pushed in, a sharp pain settling into your uterus, his movements stopping immediately. “More lube?” he asked, as you nodded, watching him pull out so only his head hung inside of you, spreading more of the stuff over his cock.

“Better?” he asked, pushing in, watching your face go blank, lips parting silently with need. “Y-Yeah,” you nodded, his cock sitting inside of you, your tummy bulging a bit with his length. “Perfect,” he hummed, slowly moving, ever-so slowly, not enough to make you feel pleasure, but enough to make sure you knew he was there.

“I want you to tell me to speed up or slow down, okay?” he asked you nodded, hands on his shoulders. “More,” you said, your voice a little choked as he sped up, another moan on your lips. His movements sped upon your command, your stomach tightening.

“G-Gonna cum,” you gasped, your eyes rolling. “Better not be f-fake, yeah?” he groaned, his thrusts becoming sloppier, but still gentle. You nodded, closing your eyes as your first ever orgasm hit, your body shaking, Lando’s cock twitching inside of you as his cum pooled out, his seed spilling through.

“You’re so good,” he gasped, gently pulling out, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You said nothing, just panting, your chest rising and falling as he moved you softly so you were in his arms, lying on his chest as he took a towel from the side, wiping his cock and your thighs clean.

You hummed, resting in his chest, eyes drooping, tired already as he smiled. “Enjoyed that?” he asked, as you nodded, “didn’t even use the safe word, that’s how good you are,” he kissed your jaw again, moving your hair from your face, his hands rubbing small circles into your tummy.

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Best friend

Tw: female reader, emotional manipulation, jealousy, toxicity, crude language, implied parental abuse/neglect, implied drugs, non - consensual touching, i love manipulative men too much for my own good :((

Summary: Toxic, codependent friendship turns sour. But that's really no surprise.

You love Lauren's flat. You know he's renting it for cheap because his dad is friends with the landlord - and he doesn't give a fuck about the place. You know by the wrappers on the ground and the cigarettes stacked burnt inside the drawers, the stench of weed stuck to the ceiling for what feels like forever - and it's no surprise. Lauren doesn't care about all the good things in his life. And you know by the broken mirror pieces never to be swept away and the pills hidden behind the sink.

Still, you like his flat. The kitchen alone is bigger than your mom's entire house. The fridge is never empty - full from top to bottom, to the very brim, bursting with everything from your favourite chocolate candy to cheap vodka, from top shelf whiskey to pickled onions and fancy imported foreign items you have never seen before with your own two eyes. All colorful, all set in alphabetical order - he's a neat freak like that, and it's no surprise. The central heating never stops, and it's never cold. It's a land of dreams, and some days you wish you could stay forever.

***

"Haha, aw." You whisper to yourself, shoulders moving slowly up and down in sync. You try to stop the slight blush from reaching your face, but it's inevitable, truly. You barely notice when your best friend sneaks behind you, quiet as a snake ready to bite into your open vein.

"You look awfully happy." He observes with certain distaste, almost grimacing - you don't have to look up from your phone, you know him too well, he must be grimacing, and clicking his tongue. "Did the old hag kick the bucket or somethin'?" His lips twist in a cruel little smile as he wraps his arms around your frame - which never ceases to make you feel as if you have a tiny mischievous demon on your shoulder. "No, wait, don't tell me you're getting fired from the burger place. That's even better!" His eyes glow with childish joy as he teases you, and you can feel your cheeks heating up.

"N-no, it's nothing like that. It's really stupid..." You try to look anywhere but at him, fiddling with your phone nervously. "Just go back to reading your book and leave me alone, jerk." You attempt to joke back, but your anxiety gives you away. It's foolish to lie to him to begin with - he's known you for years. He's known you since your father died, since your mother stopped caring whether you're alive or not. He's known you since you broke down in his arms for the first time. He's known you in nothing but smeared mascara and torn bottomless pockets, though empty wallets; he's known you, body and soul (and lips too, all those years ago). So of course he knows that you're lying.

"What is it?" He humms playfully leaning over your shoulder, chin resting on top of your breast. You feel the sweat sticking to his neck (was he in a fight again?), the heavy colognue coming off his black shirt as he tries to read the words on your screen. You quickly turn off your phone, and Lauren pouts, pretending to be upset. "What's so damn important that you can't even tell your best friend?" His voice is light and airy, privy, overwhelmingly sweet and sticky like burnt caramel.

You open your mouth, but no speech comes out. You feel embarrassed. You don't even know where to start. Then the man raises an eyebrow expectantly, eyes prompting Well?, growls in irritation quickly after, and reaches for a new thin cigarette, all in the same breath. He's always been like this - quick to set aflame. Impossible to predict. Hard to resist. Soft, sometimes. In your arms, mostly.

"Fine." He snaps at last, brows furrowed like an angered father as he stands up to get his keys from the table, heading towards the door. "Do whatever the fuck you want. It's not like I'm the only person in this ugly, shitty world who, like, dunno, gives a fuck about yo-"

"You'll just mock me!" You squeak out, crossing your arms together - regretting even laughing in the first place. Then, even more quietly. "If I tell you."

Lauren stills completely, slowly turning back towards you. Your heartbeat speeds up even more, if possible.

"What the fuck happened?" He remains serious, although slightly less aggravated now. "You know I hate this cryptic bullshit you do. Just speak up, you're not a child anymore." He gets closer to you, pointing at your chest. "M not your mommy, ain't gonna hit ya if you say the wrong thing."

You take a deep breath, eyes focused on the cigar hanging off his mouth - together with the sport hoodie and the cheap black beanie he looks like a small fish delinquent, and you have to stop yourself from laughing. But then you remember why you even fought in the first place, and you feel flustered all over again.

"I met someone." You blurt out in a rush to get it over with, averting your eyes to the TV still playing somewhere in the background. The sound has been turned to low - he says the commercials make him want to scratch his head from the inside.

"Huh?" His cigarette falls off. Ash all over the dirty wooden tiles.

"I met someon-

"Yes, I heard you the first time." Lauren pronounces slowly, lips stretching into his oh - so characteristic smile again. "I just couldn't believe it." He stomps over the half lit cigar, burning a hole into the floor. It doesn't look out of order with all the filth. "Who would have known. Heh." He stares at you for entirely too long - until you squirm with discomfort. "Who's the lucky guy?"

You want to ask him why it's so unbelievable for you to meet someone - but it's hard to find the words to. At the same time you know he's just joking, he'd never do anything to hurt you. He's just... rough around the edges.

"You don't know him." Warm heat travels through your body as you think about your secret admirer. "We met online."

"Of course you did." Your friend scoffs, rolling his eyes at you. Then he claps sardonically, lighting up another cigarette. He must have hundreds, if not thousands lying around. "Well, congratulations, princess. You may finally get pounded like a real bitch in heat. Isn't that nice?" The more you look at him, the more crooked his smirk seems to get.

"You're fucking disgusting." You hiss, standing up - ready to collect your things and leave.

You hate when he gets like this.

"Oh, not so fast. We're still talking, baby. Tell me everything." Lauren grabs your elbow, pulling you in with ease, and if he wasn't your best friend, you'd be terrified by how strong he is despite his seemingly slim build. "Does he tell you that you're beautiful? That you're just the most precious thing in the entire world?" His voice lowers down to a whisper in your ear. "Or is he even less creative with his lies?"

You pull away, eyes widening with disbelief.

"He's not like this! How can you even say all th-" You blurt out incoherently, but he stops you in the tracks with a single sharp glare. "He's not like that?" The man snorts in a rather nasty way, pulling you back in while you're too shocked to resist. "You're even dumber that I thought." His eyes narrow to two slits bleeding bile. "Did he fuck you already? Is that why you're acting so naive? You get some mediocre dick and now you're all star - eyed." He laughs with unhinged madness, orbs mudded with pure craze.

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes. You both stare at it for what feels like eternity - but he's faster, always. Ever since you were children. And as you're jumping away, fighting with teeth and nail to get your phone back, he's reading away at your most intimate thoughts and feelings.

"I feel like I've known you for ages." He reads out loud, trying to imitate the voice of the sender. "You must be my other half. I'd love to hold you and cherish you forever." The mocking nasal tone sinks with each word, and once he reaches "forever", it's almost silent. His hands are shaking, eyes blurry. The ink drowns the screen as if trying to get under his own fingernails.

And when he smashes the phone in the ground, it's really no surprise.

"Lauren!" You gasp, falling down to collect the pieces, grabbing at the broken plastic with feral grip. But there's just too many of them, and not enough glue in the whole wide world.

"I should have known you were up to no good in that miserable house. That crack-whore mother of yours is putting these... ideas in your head." He chuckles coldly, staring at you from aboving with unreadable expression - and from so low on the ground he looks like the sun. "She made you believe someone could actually love... you."

He suddenly squats down to your level.

"News-fucking-flash, sweetheart." His fist wraps around your hair, pulling at will. It burns your scalp, but you can't look away, hypnotized by the motion of his lips, the silky cruelty of his voice teasing your ears. "Nobody loves you. Nobody will ever love you - not your poor dead bum of a father, not that bitch you call mother and certainly not this fool you think you love. How could they love you? You're a fucking mess!"

He's laughing at the tears slowly pouring down your cheeks. You're so beautiful when you cry.

"How could they love you?" He repeats softly, stroking your cold wet cheek with two slender fingers - the same fingers that always dry your tears. Then his lips touch your eyelids, slowly, torturously - the same lips that always bring you to tears. "They wouldn't know what to do with you. Such a fragile girl." His nose rubs against your collarbone and suddenly you're drowning in your sadness like a sailor lost at sea. "Such a fragile, broken little girl."

And yet you still love Lauren's apartment, it's never cold, and it's always silent. So silent you can hear your own heartbeat - and so lonely you can taste your tears on his lips.

[emmyrosee]

GIRL I GOT ANOTHER IDEA SO EXCUSE ME😝

SO u come back from work super tired from a really hard day and have no energy to take ur makeup off so sukuna offers to do it for u and LET ME TELL YOU this man does not know how to do anything without being aggressive 🙄(typical) so hes drowning the cotton pad in makeup remover and starts aggressively rubbing on ur face purposely just to make u laugh and ur giggling and laughing and slapping his chest telling him to stop cause he’s getting the remover in ur eye and he has no idea what he’s doing THEN ITS ENDS UP BEING ALL KISSY AND STUFF ANYWAY BYE❤️❤️❤️🩷

-Anon🥢

IM GOING TO- *combusts*

———

The way you haphazardly toss your keys on the table, only for them to slip and fall off is exactly the last thing you need.

After today, where one step forward was three back, where nothing went right and nothing was easy, the sight of your keys on the floor has your body tensing in annoyance and shrills of angst down your spine.

You let out a shaky sigh, “I’m home!”

No reply. Your hands ball into fists, “I SAID IM HOME!”

“DAMN I heard you, gimme three seconds!” A gruff voice calls back. You can’t fight the smirk that wants to spread on your tired features, and your hands come up to rub your exhausted eyes. Loud footsteps come down the hall and you drop your hands to blink at him. He snorts, “raccoon looking ass.”

“Oh. Right. I was wearing mascara.”

“It’s fine, not like you’ve got to impress me anyways,” he says, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “how was your day?”

“Terrible,” you whine. You angle your head to look up at him, “can’t I just be your pretty girlfriend and you provide for me?”

He snickers, “I offered, you told me that if you didn’t have independence you’d smother me with a pillow. So no. You can’t.” You groan and bury your face in his chest, and he clicks his tongue, “I can take care of you now, though. If you beg prettily enough.”

“You’re going to make your overworked, burnt out, exhausted future wife beg for your attention?”

“No. I’m going to make her beg to be babied.”

You paw at his chest, fingers fisting the collar of his shirt, “please, sukuna, take care of me for a bit. I’m so tired, and you know how much I already hate asking for your help, but I need you. Please, I just want to be loved for a bit.”

He grins and presses a kiss to your forehead, “that’s more like it. C’mon-“ he bends down to hook his massive hands under your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. You giggle and instinctively tighten your arms around his shoulders, “let’s get your clown makeup off.”

“‘S not clown makeup,” you pout, playing with the hair of his buzz cut. “Tell me I’m pretty.”

“Dawg.”

“Please?” You mewl, pulling back to look down at him, and he rolls his eyes and nudges the bathroom door open with his knee.

“Fuck, you’re really in a headspace huh?” He says, plopping you on the counter. He braces himself on either side of your legs, and he looks you up and down. “Of course you’re beautiful, baby. Taking a lot of control to not smother you right now. Especially with you all pliant, fuck you’re so pretty. Let me take care of you, yeah? Let me make ya feel better.”

“Okay,” you hum. He leans up to press a kiss to your lips before opening the drawer for a cotton square he knows he’s seen you use before. Then, he reaches just behind you to the small shelf, and grabs your makeup remover. “You know what you’re doing?” You ask.

“Babe, I’ve seen you do this more times than I care to count,” he scoffs. “Trust me. I know far too much about what I’m doing.” He pops off the cap and absolutely drenches the poor cotton in an overwhelming amount of makeup remover. He starts to bring it to your eyes, and you laugh and duck away.

“Baby, that’s too much!”

“More makeup remover, more makeup removed,” he says, and while his logic is wrong, you do giggle at the idea he’s trying to help, and while it’s amusing, you don’t want to lose this domesticity with him either.

So, you close your eyes and laugh more as he applies the wet cotton round to your eyes, pressing hard enough the juices spill over your cheeks. “Sukuna!” You titter.

“You want this done or not?” He asks, smearing the cotton around your eye and cheek to try and swipe off any makeup clinging to you. He’s rough with his wiping, pulling your eyes and making your cheeks hot from friction, and you swat at his hands to try and make some relief. “Okay, now you’re hindering.”

“It burns,” you confess, but you’re still laughing.

You practically feel the air go from goofy to panic, “what burns, what do you mean it burns, why does it burn, it doesn’t burn when you do it right?”

“Chill, you big baby,” you snort. “It’s in my eye because you used all 200% of your strength on my damn socket. Just get me a wet cloth, it’ll be fine.”

You watch him fling open the closet door and grab a small washcloth, dampening it with water before passing it to you. He clicks his tongue, “for reference, this is why I never offer to help you.”

“Because you use your brute strength and power to battle the very-easily-removable-mascara from my eyes?”

“Exactly.”

You smile up at him while he tosses the cotton round in the trash, only to then scowl down at you when he meets your gaze. “The fuck’re you looking at?”

“My boyfriend, who loves me,” you coo, and he rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to your lips, which you happily reciprocate.

“He smeared makeup all over your face,” he snickers. “You look rough.”

“That’s okay,” you shrug. “He tried his best.”

“Ew.”

[sgiandubh]

He was at Three Sheets yesterday night with Ashley. Check their respective stories

Dear Three Sheets Anon,

Your information is correct. What I meant by 'nothing to do with Ashley Hearn' in my post is a bit different, though. Ashley has been in London for a while already, obviously for sales & marketing purposes. She clearly posted about it and even suggested she will be in Scotland soon. But she is not the reason he is in London these days. She already successfully toured several bar outlets by herself, using her own business contacts, in New York and elsewhere: meeting her boss while in London is absolutely normal and nothing to write home about. But not the main reason he is in London right now, I think.

So it would seem they met at the Three Sheets Bar, yesterday.

S's IG story:

[Later edit]: Ashley's IG story - too bad I interrupted myself to get a delivery and then lost this thread:

S tagged both the bar and SS's IG accounts. This is a routine business meeting, especially considering the Three Sheets also deals in business consulting:

They have two outlets in London, one in Dalston and the other in Soho. Both have excellent reviews and well, the expected price range for cocktails in London (10-20 £ ):

Your ask also gives me the opportunity to come forward with several things I have been keeping in my drawers for a while, so thank you for that. Kind of.

Remember (LOOOL and then some more for that, always) my through the grapevine info that C joined S and the team at Milady's bar in New York, on October 17 2024, after the Versace Armani event she attended with Maria McManus? I also remember the Without Pix Anon:

Well, I don't have 'pix' , but I do have the next best thing (gracias a ti, siempre ❤️):

Ashley liked what C posted on October 25, 2024. One full week after the Milady's get together - why would she, if C wasn't there at all, like all the Righteous Pundits lie to you?

She also briefly followed her on IG, but not anymore (why? I will let you draw your own conclusions), along with several OL cast members (followed all of them at the same moment, after the event): Rankin, John Bell and Skeleton. Bell and Skeleton were at that get together, too (unsure about Rankin? it's Saturday, after all and I am not the Metropolitan Police, either - please correct me if I am wrong). She still follows them on IG. Clearly they met there?

The second thing I wanted to bring along is Maximum Wobbler Bullshit's recent nonsense:

This impostor and mythomaniac I have repeatedly debunked in the past still has very scant English, negligent writing skills at best and no damn idea about what marketing means. She was completely triggered by this particular post, on November 5, 2024 (while almost everyone was looking elsewhere, for obvious reasons):

Featured in the pic is Mia Kumari, a good friend of Ashley Hearn. Maximum Wobbler Bullshit conveniently forgets to explain who Mia Kumari is:

Based in London, UK and currently mixing at the Satan's Whiskers bar in Bethnal Green (after a short spell at The Savoy, hello?), she is a well-known, up-and-coming bartender with a consistent record of awards:

The press is raving about her:

[Full article, here: https://foodism.co.uk/features/long-reads/women-london-bar-scene/]

She is also a feminist bartender, with an internationally praised agenda:

[Mia was last week in Greece, as guest speaker at the very prestigious Athens' Bar Week. Too bad I left: I would have certainly bought a ticket and gladly listened to what she had to say - https://www.athensbarshow.gr/guest-speakers/mia-kumari]

Surely a trailblazer 'in London’s dynamic and globally revered bar industry', who also is 'an advocate for equality, diversity and inclusion' does not need Sassenach Spirits to promote herself. She is doing a smashing job at it, like the pro she clearly is: on trend, progressive, sought after and more than noticed. I fail to see where the fuck the alleged cronyism is, because that would simply mean Mia Kumari is a social zero, a nobody in the UK's spirits industry, taking advantage of her friendship with Ashley Hearn in order to get more attention for her sole benefit. That is a lie and that is simply wrong: if anything, it is Sassenach Spirits that needed to prominently feature someone like Mia Kumari, in order to align itself to the values she is so actively promoting (all values C is sensitive to, hmmm). We are miles away, here, from the Cutty Sark wannabe (in)famous Labour Day boat party in Marina del Rey, featuring the BBC/Blue Bikini Chick, back in September 2023 (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/727347023165145088/its-all-fake-anyway), when all the fandom trolls were on fire. So, Sassenach Spirits needed to do exactly something along these lines, in order to promote and boost the seasonal Xmas sales of their tartan scarves, SS's most expensive merch, targeting a younger, more sophisticated urban crowd.

Clever brands constantly redefine themselves, looking for the right trends and the right crowds to promote their products to. This is a clear sign that finally adults are in the room, now, at SS's Marketing and Sales respective departments. So damn glad to see this welcome shift!

[andcars]

# 𝗢𝗣𝟴𝟭 ─── I WANNA HEAR YOU MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

RACE WINNERS HAVE PRIVILEGES. those privileges don't always apply to their partners though. sometimes they have to earn things to get what they want. sometimes they're too fucking bratty to get anything ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You want me to beg? I don't think a winner should beg" PROMPTED TAGS . . . # gender neutral reader, submissive oscar piastri, praise kink, cum play ADD. TAGS . . . # light bondage, tied up, edging, mean reader for a bit, open ending WORD COUNT. . . # 1.1k

────── AO3 VERSION

Every Formula 1 win is special. You know that; the fact has settled in quite nicely when you’re dating such a great F1 driver. When Oscar wins for the first time, you know you need to make it special for him. Even if his team doesn’t think so.

Oscar is sat on the bed, hands bound tight with a red rope. The same rope follows from his hands to the rest of his limbs—forming a nice shape around his chest, wrapped around his hips and to his thighs. The rest is for pure aesthetics, and it's been done beautifully.

He's breathless as he's looking at you, cock red, and eyes glaring in need.

"Don't tease me," he grunts, more sounding like a whimper as he throws his head back.

Your hands act innocent as it's wrapped around the tearful cock—it leaks pre-cum with need. He lets out a silent moan as you play with him. Uncaring of how much pleasure you’re really relieving, you tease him as you believe he deserves.

“Fu-u-ucking~...” Oscar’s thighs shake in it's bounds. “Mmph... You're so annoying—"

"Am I?" you ask, smiling down at him. He tries so hard to fight it off but his hips are moving to your hand. Everytime he thrusts his hips, you loosen your grip. "Am I annoying, Oscar?"

"Yes," he hisses, "So annoying. I just want you- fuck."

"Then beg for it—" your hands tighten on his cock, a silent moan got his jaw to drop—"Beg for it, Oscar. I wanna hear you."

Weeks of edging him (and it's been weeks, you refuse to touch him if he doesn't score you a win again after Hungary) has his body moving feverishly. He can't stop shaking. His skin blushes red and dripping with sweat. Your boyfriend tries to keep himself still but you know all he wants is to fuck your hand.

Shaking his head, he says: "No. I w-won a race. Mmph... I don't need to beg."

Fine. "Have it your way."

You immediately pull away from him. His head flickers up to you, watching you as you stand from the bed. He's calling out to you but you're undressing yourself as you take something from the bedside drawer.

"Since my sweet boy doesn't want to co-operate, I guess I'll just have to make use of myself, hm?"

With your underwear thrown to the floor, you pull out some lube and a vibrator. You saw the moment his eyes cloud with lust; he gulped, stopping himself from drooling; his gaze fell to your sex as you position yourself on top of his face; his arms jerk in its restraints as it begged to touch you.

He calls out your name again. You ignore him. Instead, you pour lube on the toy and turn it on—the whirring of it silences Oscar. He watches as you press it against you, he watches as you moan softly at a toy pleasing you instead.

"I wanted to make you feel good tonight, baby," you say, grinding a little on the wand, "but you just don't wanna play with me."

"I do," he says, his bottom lip pouted. "Just... Don't wanna be teased anymore."

"I asked you to beg- fuck." You press it to you a little harder. He opens his mouth as he sees you drip a little. "You won't listen to me. So I guess I'll have to postpone my gift, hm? Make myself feel good instead."

Desire is etched into his expression. With his mouth agape, cheeks pink, and tongue eagerly awaiting for a single drop of your arousal, he's lost needing you.

But you keep your hands to yourself. He's forced to watch you relieve yourself. You know him. He's itching with the need to touch you. A safe word could be on the tip of his tongue but you know that this is the point where he wants to be good for you.

"Please," his voice is small and almost unheard through the loud vibrations. "I want... I want you again please."

You shake your head. "No, Oscar. You're gonna fucking watch me come all over your face before you get even anything."

He whines. "Please..! Just—If you let me go I'll be so good for you. Please..."

Though you want to hold him, use him, make him feel so special for his race win, you hold your promise. Lowering down to his face, he breathes you in and mouths just below your sex. He needs to put his mouth on you, you watch as it gets him so manic. It's getting a bit pathetic honestly.

"You look so good, baby," you say, finally giving your lost boy some attention. "I know that you can be good for me. Wait for me, okay?"

He whines. You tsk and shake your head. "None of that, baby. Be good for me and stick your tongue out—" he does immediately—"good boy. Good boy, Oscar. See? All you needed was... all you needed was to be shut up for a bit."

"I'm sorry, please, I want you so bad—"

"And you'll get me," you tell him. "Stay like that. I'm so fucking close. Stick your tongue out like a good boy and take me."

It's not long until you feel yourself approaching your end. Oscar lays so pliant beneath you. He keeps begging under his breath, just quiet enough to hope you're not listening. He knows when you're near. He's getting more twitchy—panting as if he's the one about to cum.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he moans at your words, "I'm gonna cum, baby. You wanna taste me? You wanna fucking taste it?"

He nods. He's getting dizzy as he tries to push his head up to get more of you—yet you keep pulling away. "Cum on me please," he begs, tongue out and anticipating the taste of you.

The sight drives you fucking mad. With a few strokes of the toy on you, you cum all over his awaiting mouth.

Oscar laps up your release eagerly. Your fingers go down to push some splattered cum from his cheeks and drag it down his lips. He thanks you silently as he licks your fingers. Eyes half open, he treasures your taste.

Your dirty fingers trail down his lips and to his chin. Your release makes a trail down and he's only showing you more of his skin. A laugh leaves you as he practically begs to be painted in your fluids.

"Such a good boy for me," you coo. "You wanna get your treat now?"

He's agreeing so quickly that it makes you wanna frame this moment. The moment when race winner Oscar Piastri is begging for you. You smile. "Okay, it's gonna be a long night, baby."

It's not like he would ask for anything more

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . short oscar piastri fic cuz i was out my entire bday LMAO. anyways, hope anon saw this cuz i </3 am sorry for all these late requests. my next fic is literally a request of a daniel fic during the singapore gp BEFORE it was announced he was leaving... so uh... yeah. mb. anyways, hope ya'll had fun w this cuz i literally edged ya'll too lmao ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @rtorresblog @Jamie2305

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[webbluvrsugar]

omg hii! can i be 🕯️ anon?

okay but.. ethan having digital camera just to record him and reading fucking.. but he accidentally misplaced the flash drive and chad finds it so yk..

a/n: omg! Yes of course you can (this is so exciting, it’s like my fanbase is growing), hope you like it!

proofread but I’m not that sure

﹒ ☆ 𓂂 ˚ ☆. ꙳ * ࣭ ࣭ Chad find your little tape…

Ethan was not the type of guy to do something like this but getting with you changed him. He can’t touch any other girl, he can’t look at any other girl so when he’s in… need of something, he’ll ask it from you, the problem is when you’re not there.

That’s how the proposition of filming you two came up and with a bit of reluctance… you accepted.

There were certain videos he liked the most, specially the one’s where you were visually struggling, wether you were tied up with your hands behind your back or you were just too tired of riding him — he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use those instead of his actual memory when he was alone, so he kept them hidden well, somewhere no one would find the camera.

Problem was that… this time Ethan was too busy cleaning off the blood of a victim to hide that camera before Chad came over — and at the time, he thought it was fine, Chad wouldn’t touch his personal stuff, right?

Wrong, because it’s been five minutes of Chad stepping inside Ethan’s room and he’s already peeping into Ethan’s stuff, opening a drawer next to his bed and pulling a small camera from it. Chad has a little fun with it, takes some stupid pictures before investigating what content it could have, he thought maybe some stupid plants or views that Ethan liked — and they were views alright, just not the type Chad expected.

There’s at least fifteen videos of you, and Chad doesn’t watch them, he’s not that much of a creep but he’ll for sure tease Ethan about it.

Ethan walks in the room, Chad bluntly flashes the camera at him, immediately, the curly haired boy is blushing.

“Dudee, didn’t know you had a camera, this could be useful for Tara’s project, you know, she’s been needing one.” Chad smirks, some bullshit lie to see his reaction.

“Well, uhm… she should probably find another one, that one’s really sensitive and… it’s family heirloom.” Another bullshit lie, this one not that well conceived.

Chad moves closer to him, inspecting the thing in his hands. “Really? Couldn’t tell, looks brand new.”

“Yeah.. I… take really good care of it.” Ethan mutters, takes another step closer and reaches for it. “Could you just… give it back?”

“Oh yeah, for sure, for sure…” Chad hands it to Ethan, or at least, he fakes it before taking it back. “But I don’t know what makes it so special, got something hidden in here, you’re sure Tara can’t use it?”

“Just give it back man, Tara can use one from someone else or something.” This time, when Ethan reaches for it, he grabs it tight, almost looks offended. “And uh.. I know we said we should do the project today but I think you should leave.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, just leave, we’ll do it sometime else.” Ethan swallows.

“Listen — just because I found your little camera and you have some videos of your girl there doesn’t mean we can’t work on it tod—“

“You watched them?!” It’s a yell, Ethan’s pissed, he’s protective. “You fucking watched them, how much of a creep can you be?”

“No I didn’t watch them but I mean I could tell what they were and—“

“Just get out.” Ethan points to the door. “Get out.”

Chad sighs, he shouldn’t have mentioned the content in the camera because now he’s pretty sure he did not only loose his project partner but also his best friend.

So reluctantly, he decides do what’s best — leave without saying any other word.

[cinna-stars]

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader - MDNI

18+ Trafalgar Law Ghostface SMUT - ABSOLUTE FILTH below the cut

Word Count: 3.3k

This is my first time writing in a few years. This was a self indulgent piece after seeing this art from hunnismoker on Instagram:

Trigger Warnings: 18+ MDNI, this is your last warning!

Knife play, Choking, Law has a potty mouth, Penetrative sex, Dacryphilia, Blowjob, Face fucking, Mask kink, Ghostface mask, Shachi being a little perv at the end

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

Trafalgar Law, your boyfriend and Captain of the Heart Pirates, was acting more quiet than usual. Which was somewhat concerning, given that he was already one of the most stoic people you had ever met. It had started after you had come to him with the proposition of bringing a Ghostface mask into the bedroom. "I don't want to hurt you" was his initial response. It wasn't until you noticed a white mask in his dresser drawer that you realized he had been considering your request. You gently pulled it out, running your fingers over the smooth surface. Law's eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of you holding the mask.

"I... I got it for you," he admitted quietly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "But I'm still not sure about this."

You smiled softly, touched by his thoughtfulness despite his reservations. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with, Law. I appreciate that you even considered it."

He stepped closer, taking the mask from your hands and examining it. "It's not that I'm uncomfortable," he said slowly. "I'm just concerned about losing control. The thought of potentially harming you, even in play..."

“ I trust you, Law. And if at any point either of us wants to stop, we will. No questions asked."

He brings his hand to his chin, rubbing slowly, gazing off pensively for a few moments. “Okay. Let’s try this.” He lifts the Ghostface mask to hover in front of his face.

“How do you want me to initiate this… and when?” He questions in a slightly deeper, more sultry tone than normal. Even the illusion of him wearing the mask has your heart racing and core heated, the question sending shivers of excitement through your body.

“I feel like the element of surprise adds to it, so, whenever you’re ready, Captain.” you grin. His golden eyes peer through the mask and examine the joy on your face.

He moves his free hand to ghost over your throat, pulsing his grip ever so slightly and leaning to your ear. “That’s Mr. Ghostface to you.”

A small whimper escapes from your lips and you hear a light chuckle from Law. “Something tells me this is going to be enjoyable for the both of us.”

A few days pass, and the anticipation of finding Law lurking around any corner wearing the mask that he had bought filled you with both lust and anticipation. He had teased you with it a couple of times, leaving it in places for you to find it, such as the bathroom mirror whilst you were taking a shower, and hanging from the back of his door in the dark of night. Needless to say, he had started to gain just as much excitement from the prospect of fucking you in the mask as you had seeing him in it.

Tonight, Law had advised he was going to be working until the early hours of the morning in his office. This wasn’t irregular for him, especially as of late. So, you decided to sit on the sofa in his quarters and watch a film, hoping to try and stay awake for his return. The film you chose was not particularly of interest, and your eyes started feeling heavy. Just as you lean your head back on the sofa, you hear footsteps approaching.

Your eyes snap open, suddenly alert. The footsteps are slow, deliberate. Not Law's usual confident stride. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize what's happening.

The door creaks open slowly. You hold your breath, heart pounding. A figure emerges from the shadows, tall and imposing. He still wore his normal attire, the usual black t-shirt and dark jeans, but over his face he wore the white mask. The smooth plastic gleams in the dim light from the TV screen. You also notice what you think is a small black hilt tucked into his waistband.

The footsteps continue slowly in your direction, and you lift your head up to watch his figure approaching. You swallow hard, a mix of fear and arousal flooding your system. "Mr. Ghostface," you whisper, playing along.

He stalks towards you, movements predatory. "You've been a naughty girl, waiting up for me. Don't you know it's dangerous to be alone at night?"

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-” he cuts you off, closing the distance between you. With a sudden change of speed, he straddles you where you sit. His bare hand wraps around your throat, not squeezing, but firmly holding you in place. "Shh," he hisses through the mask. "No excuses."

Your breath catches as he presses you against the sofa. Even through his jeans, you can feel the heat radiating from Law's body. His free hand trails down your side, sending shivers through you.

You remain silent, watching as he tilts his head in that eerie Ghostface manner, his curious hand finding purchase on the waist of your silk pyjama shorts.

You whimper softly, torn between playing the scared victim and showing how aroused you already are. "Please," you whisper, not even sure what you're begging for.

He chuckles darkly. "Please what? Please let you go?" You paw at his hand and nod vigorously, and he feels you swallow hard. His fingers now play with the fabric of your waistline, the hand around your throat moving round to the back of your head to grasp your hair. With one swift pull, your neck cranes back as he leans forward to whisper in your ear. “Don’t FUCK with me. You’re getting exactly what you asked for. Now be a good girl and do as I say.”

Your breath hitches at his commanding tone, a mix of fear and desire coursing through you. You nod slightly, careful not to move too much with his grip on your hair.

"Good," he purrs, the mask distorting his voice just enough to send chills down your spine. "Now, stand up slowly."

He releases your hair and moves off of you, allowing you to rise. Your legs feel shaky as you comply, standing before him. His golden eyes bore into you through the mask's eyeholes, intense and predatory.

"Strip," he orders, voice low and dangerous. "Slowly."

With trembling fingers, you begin to unbutton your silk pyjama top. You can feel his gaze burning into your skin as you reveal more and more. The top falls to the floor, revealing the black lace bra that you had kept on in anticipation of him making his move tonight. You hesitate at the waistband of your shorts.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he growls. You pause, wondering what he’d do if you disobey. Apparently you took too long thinking about this, because in one swift motion, Law grabs your arm, spinning you round so that his chest is flush with your back. You feel him manoeuvre to grab something from his person, and just as quickly you feel a cold, hard object placed against the underside of your chin.

“I told you not to fuck about. Now we do things my way.” The cold metal against your skin sends a jolt through your body. You realize it must be the small blade you had noticed earlier. Your heart races, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins.

"Y-yes, Mr. Ghostface," you play into the role, your voice barely above a whisper.

You feel his breath hot against your ear as he speaks, "Good girl. Now, finish what you started."

With shaky hands, you slowly push your shorts down your legs, stepping out of them carefully. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on your exposed skin. You stand there, clad only in your black lace underwear, hyper-aware of Law's presence behind you.

The blade trails down your neck, across your collarbone, and down between your breasts. It's not enough pressure to cut, but the threat is there, heightening every sensation. Law's chest presses harder into your back, and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. You’re relieved to know that he is enjoying this as much as you.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice husky behind the mask. "Now, on your knees." You comply, carefully turning around and sinking to the floor. The knife follows your movements, never leaving your skin. You can feel Law's presence looming over you, powerful and dominating.

"Hands behind your back," he orders. You comply swiftly, gazing up at the sight before you. Now that you were pretty much level with it, the bulge in his pants was VERY obvious. It looked painful, even. Your lips part in awe, panties absolutely soaked through already. He removed the knife from your plush skin, discarding it onto the sofa, and unzips his jeans, pushing them down to his ankles. He does the same with his boxers, but not before you can notice the significant wet patch across the front of the black fabric. His cock bounced as it was freed from the confines of Law’s pants, and you notice how flush his tip already was. You snap yourself out of the trance you found yourself in, staring and drooling.

"Open wide," he commands, his voice thick with desire. You comply eagerly, parting your lips as he guides his cock towards your mouth. He teases you at first, running the tip along your lips, smearing pre-cum across them. You whimper, and stick your tongue out, desperate to taste him.

Finally, he pushes into your mouth, groaning softly as your warm, wet tongue envelops him. You hollow your cheeks, sucking eagerly as he begins to thrust slowly. His hands tangle in your hair, guiding your movements.

"That's it," he hisses through the mask. "Take it all."

You relax your throat, allowing him to push deeper. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you gag slightly, but you don't stop. The sounds of your wet, sloppy efforts fill the room, punctuated by Law's low groans.

“That’s a good fucking girl” He breathes, picking up the pace of his thrusts. You adjust to his size, tears streaming down your face, gagging and blubbering as he lolls his head back in pleasure. You can see the fall and rise of his chest quicken, indicating how close he already is.

His breath catches in his throat, and he pulls you off his cock by your hair with a “pop”. He glares back down at you through the mask, chest still heaving. “Such a compliant little slut now, huh? Look at you. Is this what it takes for you to fucking listen?” You moan at his words. Hearing him talk like this, you could feel your pussy clench around nothing. All you wanted was him inside you. With his free hand, he holds your chin, using his thumb to wipe your saliva around your mouth. He places his index and middle finger over your lips, and you start sucking them in. He starts thrusting them across your tongue slowly, pulling your head back with the other hand still attached to your hair.

Suddenly, he shoves his fingers down your throat, causing you to gag and cough. He releases his grip on you, allowing you to catch your breath momentarily, before grabbing you underneath each arm. He pulls you up harshly, spinning you back around and pushing you onto the sofa. On instinct, you get on your knees and arch your back, giving him a perfect view of your ass.

Law's hands grip your hips firmly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. You feel the cool plastic of the mask brush against your shoulder as he leans over you, his hot breath tickling your ear.

"Look at you, presenting yourself like a bitch in heat," he growls, voice dripping with lust. "Is this what you wanted all along?"

You nod eagerly, pushing your hips back against him. "Yes, Mr. Ghostface. Please..."

He chuckles darkly, one hand leaving your hip to trail down your spine. "Please what? Use your words, slut."

You whimper, desire clouding your thoughts.

Without warning, he rips your lace panties off, the delicate fabric tearing easily. The cool air hits your dripping core, making you shiver. Law brings his hand down hard on your ass. The sharp sting makes you cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure. "Answer me when I speak to you," he demands.

“P-please fuck me, Law! Please! I need you inside me.” You wail. Another harsh smack reverberates off of your ass and echoes through the room, along with the sounds of you crying out. His hand returns to your neck and pulls you up against him. You turn your head to try and face him.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” He snarls. Your face goes as white as the one staring back at you. The few seconds of silence are deafening. The sounds from the TV dull as the room fills with overbearing silence.

“I-I-” you try to start, his grip on your throat getting firmer. More tears start to fall from your cheeks as you gaze up at him through the mask, trying to predict his next move. The pressure on your trachea is starting to overwhelm you, and black spots start to cloud your vision. Before you pass out, he lets go and you fall forward, back onto all fours, gasping for breath.

Without warning, he grabs your hips and thrusts his entire length into you. You both groan in unison from the pleasure, yours slightly more strained. He starts thrusting in and out of you at a harsh pace, the rough grip on your hips already burning. The silence that once veiled the room is replaced with the sound of his balls slapping against you with every thrust, his feral grunts and your rasped moans. He removes once hand from your hip to hook into the side of your mouth while he fucks into you from behind.

“Fuuuuuck baby, you take me so well” he drawls. This is the first time during his pursuit this evening that you can feel your Law shining through, clear as day. The use of one of your many pet names has your stomach doing flips, and you can feel your release building up fast.

“M’gonna cum” you strain. The remaining hand on your hip shifts slightly closer to your ass, as you feel his thumb probing at your back entrance, and your orgasm hits you in a wave of pleasure. Back arching even further, mouth agape and drooling, you let out a mix of a moan and a scream. Law watches as you come undone around his cock, feeling you tighten up and watching as your ass clenched around the tip of his thumb, your whole body trembling. The feeling of his own high flooding his senses.

“Thaat’s it, good girl. Gonna cum inside this tight little pussy” He breathes ruggedly, hips faltering to a stop as he releases his load deep inside you. Another drawn out moan expels from you both at the sensation.

Law reaches up and pulls the mask off of his face to help catch his breath, and you turn your head to see his beautiful, fucked out face, forehead drenched in sweat and hair a mess. You can’t help but beam from ear to ear, and he can’t help but smirk back at you. Throwing the mask to the side, he wraps his arms around you from behind and rolls you both onto your sides on the sofa.

You both lay there panting, bodies intertwined and glistening with sweat. Law's arms hold you close, his chest pressed against your back. You can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing as he catches his breath. The room is quiet now, save for your soft breathing and the muted sounds from the forgotten TV.

After a few moments, Law gently turns you to face him. His golden eyes, no longer hidden behind the mask, search your face with a mix of concern and tenderness. "Are you alright?" he asks softly, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his care. "I'm more than alright," you assure him, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. "That was... incredible."

He returns your smile, relief evident in his features. "It was," he agrees, "I have to admit, I enjoyed that more than I expected to."

You examine his face, taking in his flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. "I could tell," you tease, running a hand through his damp locks.

He smirks at you again. He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. “Next time you come up with one of these mask ideas, can you pick one that has a fucking hole to breathe out of?”

“I don’t know, the heavy breathing adds to the immersion” you giggle. He rolls his eyes playfully in response. You begin to trace the tattoos on his arm idly. He leans in again and slots his lips between yours. It was tender, soft, and epitomised the sappy side of Law that he revealed ever so rarely. He withdrew from your lips and paused for a moment, as if he was contemplating something.

“I missed kissing you, too” he admits, the innocent confession causing even more of a blush to form and his eyes to shift to the side.

“Trafalgar D. Water Law, are you going soft on me?” you tease. Your hand moving to his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Don’t ever change. You are more than I could ever ask for, and far more than I ever deserved.” You brush your thumbs across his cheek. “I love you so much, Law".

You can see his eyes go slightly glossy from the emotional confession. “I love you, too, Y/N.” He tucks another loose strand of hair behind your ear and his face contorts into a smirk. “Now who’s going soft, huh?”

The hand that you were using to caress his face pats his cheek lightly in a faux slap. “Can’t have one sincere moment without one of us being a cynical ass hat, huh?” You retort, grinning.

Slowly sitting up from the sofa and rubbing your (rather sore) neck, you can feel the mixture of your fluids leaking out of you. You both head to the bathroom to wash away the remnants of the evening, getting comfortable underneath the covers, bodies entwined with each other.

——————————————————————————————————

The Next Day

Shachi and Penguin opened the door of their Captain’s quarters, in search of Y/N’s log pose, at her request. They headed straight for the corner of the bedroom where a small makeshift living room space had been fashioned; a simple set-up including a sofa, coffee table and small TV.

Penguin fumbled through stacks of paperwork on the table, while Shachi moved around the pillows on the sofa. Y/N had instructed that her log pose may have fallen off somewhere in that vicinity.

“…holy SHIT” Shachi exclaimed, pulling out three items from betwixt the cushions. Penguin turned around and examined the items in his friends hands: a small knife with a black hilt, a ripped pair of black panties, and a plastic, white Ghostface mask.

“Oh my god” Penguin stared in awe. Shachi was particularly distracted by the panties that he gripped in his fist. “Do you think these are… Y/N’s?” he beamed.

“No, I think they’re the Captain’s... OF COURSE THEY’RE Y/N’S!” Penguin examined the other two items in Shachi’s hand. “Man, they’re into some kinky shit.” His friend nodded in agreeance.

They both continued searching for the log pose, but not before Shachi stuffed his new find into the pocket of his boiler suit.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

okayyyyy!!! bad week politically but it's chapter five! and Tash is my uwu babygirl forever.

The following morning Tash Taylor woke up in a strange bed and promptly had a panic attack.

The time and place were terrible, as these things went, but Tash had figured out a while ago that there was really no such thing as a convenient moment to completely fall apart. Her heart was beating so hard that it felt like her chest was going to cave in, breath was coming in strained and strangled gasps, and her consciousness was shrinking rapidly away from her body. God, this was fucking mortifying. 

Focus. Focus. She’d found things that helped, hadn’t she? She’d done all the research she could, trying to figure out how you put your brain back together when you would probably never be able to see a real doctor again in your life. Why had she never bothered to check out the free therapy on campus? She might have learned something, anything, that would help her now.

Think, Tash.

Breathe. Long breath in, hold that until it hurts, let it out slow. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Not all of the breaths work, sometimes it hitches and leaves her sputtering, paralyzed body jerking and twitching. Christ, she’s so cold. No, she can do this. One breath after the other. Tie everything to that, pull her mind back into her body even though it feels like an awful, shambolic place to be, like standing in a house getting ripped apart in an earthquake. Hold it together.

The five senses. That’s something, right? You’re supposed to check in, pay attention to things around you and focus on that so that your brain has something to do other than circle the drain. She can do that. All she has to do is open her eyes. Now. Now. Okay, now. 

No. Not yet. Too overwhelming, too much unknown. Start smaller. What about smell?

She buries her face deep in the pillow and inhales deeply, surprised when she’s greeted by a vanilla-ish scent that’s not unpleasant. It’s a little too sweet, reminiscent of the glittery body spray every girl used in middle school. But there are worse things to smell like than a store in the mall where shoddy ear piercings get done.

The pillowcase is nice, too, and Tash rubs it between her fingers. That feels like silk, unless she’s very much mistaken, and so do the sheets. Her hair is already a disaster, badly damaged and sorely in need of a trip to the salon that’s probably never going to come, but it’s nice to imagine that at least she won’t regret sleeping with it unwrapped last night. 

Okay. Okay. That’s two senses. What else is there? Taste?

No, that’s a mistake. The only thing to taste right now is the inside of her own mouth and that’s a bad place to be. That one’s always seemed like a mistake to her, anyway, really relying on the assumption that you happened to have something edible on hand when you started freaking out. Or maybe the point is to get you really tasting the back of your own teeth, catching a whiff of your last meal so you can ground yourself in how gross that is. It does seem to be working.

Tash rubs a little circle in the sheet, presses her face harder into the pillowcase. Her heart is slowing down, if nothing else. She thought she understood anxiety once, might have even blithely said she’d had a panic attack or two, but it turns out that all she ever had was a case of the social jitters. Oh, baby Tash, you get stressed out sometimes? You can’t handle a room full of strangers without a buddy to cling to or a drink in your hand? That’s cute. Wait until you find out what it’s like to have your own heart trying to kill you, beating so hard that it aches in your sternum. What then?

No. No, that’s not helping. Deep breath, deep breath. What can she hear, over the sound of her own mutinous body?

Movement. Not in this room, probably, but not so far away. And the sounds are right out of a commercial trying to sell you something breakfasty, somebody bustling around opening up rattling drawers and moving tinkling dishes. Fleetwood Mac is playing and whoever’s cooking is singing along with an incredible lack of self-consciousness considering that they are no Stevie Nicks. Something sizzles, and the smell of a greasy breakfast hits Tash with enough force to make her mouth water. She’s flirted with going vegetarian and even vegan in the past, opposed as is she to factory farming and the way cows fart out greenhouse gasses en masse and all that, but in this exact moment she’ll take the meat no questions asked. There’s a cold pit in her belly that doesn’t exactly hurt but never feels good; Tash can’t remember the last time she didn’t feel a little hungry. 

She’s calming down now, which is crazy because Tash is pretty sure she knows where she is and it’s not somewhere she wanted to be. Later she’s going to have a meeting with her self-loathing that’s not going to go well for her, but for the time being at least she can be functional. The state of immediate crisis has passed.

Tash sat up, slow and achy, her body sore in ways that she’d forgotten. She’d slept pressed close to a wall, not far from a window whose blinds were hanging askew. She looked away sharply from that, before she could get any ideas; the last thing she needed was to suddenly be standing out on the sidewalk in her underwear. It had come to her attention that she wasn’t wearing much of anything, just her own boy shorts and a T-shirt that she could have been swaddled in. Upon closer inspection it bore a shitty cartoon of Ricochet and the words SUPERHERO APPRECIATION DAY, which made Tash want to hurl.

The rest of the room wasn’t much better on that front. This was a drag queen’s boudoir smashed together with a nerd convention; tucked among the sequins and stacks of magazines and an actual dress form there were countless action figures, plushies, art prints, and stickers depicting a whole host of costumed creeps that Tash didn’t know. But the ones that she did recognize were there over and over: Ricochet and Sub-Zero and Frostbite herself, rendered in every medium imaginable. It was ghoulish, to be sure, but it also brought Tash’s racing mind to a clunky, graceless stop through the power of sheer disgust.

“Jesus Christ,” she said out loud. “What is wrong with you?”

Which was when Frostbite, as if waiting for her cue, announced herself from the doorway.

“Hey! You’re awake!”

***

Tash flinched when Jessie spoke, which was fair because she had been drinking like a dog the night before and was probably hungover to hell and back, but she also jerked her head hard to stare down into her own blanket-covered lap, as if she was afraid that Jessie might be indecent. Which actually wasn’t an unreasonable concern either, on second glance.

“Whoa there, no worries,” Jessie said, hovering in the doorway of her own bedroom. “I just thought you might want some water and aspirin before breakfast. I didn’t know what you like, so there’s some of everything. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, hash browns, coffee. I even chopped up some fruit. And I could make you some toast or a bagel, if you want.”

Tash was ignoring her, instead looking with suspicion at the glass of water and the pills Jessie had left on the nightstand. 

“What? It’s just knock-off brand painkillers, it’s safe,” Jessie said. “I think I have ibuprofen too if you prefer that, and it’s only a little expired.”

“Why would I trust fucking anything you give me?” Tash asked, rough-voiced. “I take this and then what, you sell me to S.C.R.U. or the next highest bidder?”

“Jesus Christ, you think I work for the government? Seriously?” Jessie shoved down the urge to be annoyed by that. Now that Tash was sobered up and hungover she was evidently skittish all over again, which was an irritating step back but not insurmountable. “Babe, listen, you can take it or leave it. If I wanted to bag you up and raffle you off, I wouldn’t have waited for you to wake up. I’d just chloroform you while you were sleeping, you know? Work smarter, not harder.”

Which Tash looked disgusted by, but she evidently agreed with the logic since she shrugged and downed both aspirins with the entire glass of water anyway.

“Atta girl,” Jessie said. “Bathroom’s over here, if you need it. And your yoga pants are on the vanity, if you want ‘em. No worries if not, though. We encourage nudity here.”

But nudity wasn’t on the docket anymore. Tash returned from the bathroom dressed in last night’s squashed clothes, hiding in the protective hugeness of her sweatshirt as she skulked into the kitchen. Jessie was getting everything plated up at the small, rickety table by then, happy to present the heaps of food she’d made for both of them. Thank god she had bothered to get groceries yesterday; this would have been mortifying if she hadn’t had anything to offer but her freezer burned breakfast burritos. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tash said, looking over the spread. “Did you invite more people over?”

“Nope. I just like to cook, and I haven’t had an excuse to go all out in a while. Grab as much as you want.”

Tash sank into her seat slowly, moving so gingerly you’d think she expected the chair to blow up, then stared at the food like she didn’t remember how to feed herself. 

“Coffee?” Jessie asked brightly. “Orange juice?”

“Orange juice,” Tash mumbled. She blinked hard, keeping her eyes shut too long, then opened them and seemed more calm. “And coffee, black. Did we have sex last night?”

“What? No.” Jessie passed her the juice, which she’d gone to the trouble of squeezing herself because boredom and horniness were a powerful combination. “I mean, almost. You were really going for it. Didn’t quite shake out, though.”

“Jesus Christ.” Tash buried her face in her hands, shaking her head in slow despair.

“We didn’t actually get anywhere,” Jessie said. “If that helps at all. You got a little nervous.”

That was putting it mildly. By the time they had walked back to Jessie’s—not a short walk, mind you, made longer by the two of them getting into a couple fights on the way—Jessie was pretty well sobered up and feeling fine aside from a mild headache. She’d more or less abandoned the idea that anything sexy was going to happen between them; this was going to be a purely professional situation in which two colleagues shared a bed out of deeply unsensual necessity. 

Then they’d hit the apartment and Tash, who’d been drinking like the world was ending and was very much still feeling it, had pounced with an astonishing lack of subtlety or ambiguity. One moment Jessie was fighting for her life trying to fumble her earrings out, the next Tash was kissing her furiously on the mouth. Jessie’s initial reaction to that was, admittedly, horror rather than excitement, because she’d thrown up in the gutter on the way home and god only knew what was happening in her mouth by that point. But on the other hand, Tash had held her hair back for her while she yarfed, which was the sweetest thing anyone who wasn’t Jonas had ever done for her. The feeling of Tash’s hands in her hair had been shockingly intimate, and those same hands cradling her face had her heart hammering.

She mumbled something embarrassing into Tash’s mouth, something like ���Aren’t you tired?” but Tash had shoved that question aside rather forcefully with her tongue. Evidently she was as awake as she needed to be, tugging Jessie down into bed. 

That lasted for all of a couple minutes, and that was a generous estimate. The point being that Tash very suddenly went still under Jessie, limp and unresponsive as a dead fish and squeezing her eyes shut tight while her breathing got all jerky.

Jessie had rolled away immediately. “Hey. Hey hey hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Tash said, and then took a long, shaky wet breath that very much indicated that the rest of that sentence ought to be not okay even a little bit jesus christ. What she actually said was, “I’m fine. I just need a second.”

She was curling up towards the wall, holding her own head tightly in her hands. There was not much about this that suggested she was going to be fine in a second, or any time soon.

“It’s okay,” Jessie said quietly. “It’s fine, no rush. Maybe we just call it a night, okay? Do you want some water or anything?”

Tash whimpered. “No. I’m, no, I’m fine. I just think this was a mistake. Sorry. I’m really sorry, this is stupid. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“No,” Jessie said, too quickly, and then backpedaled, not wanting to scare her. “I mean, you shouldn’t do that. My couch is bad, and you said you’re already fucking up your back sleeping in your cousin’s living room, right? You take the bed, you’re a guest. I can sleep in the living room for one night.”

“That’s stupid,” Tash said weakly. Any trace of the confidence she’d rediscovered through the night was gone; she was curled in on herself whimpering and absolutely wretched now. “Just let me go, alright? I’m sorry, I fucked up.”

“Shut the fuck up. Sorry, but Jesus. You’re allowed to change your mind or whatever, okay? I’m not mad about it. Just hunker down and try to get some sleep.” 

Jessie rearranged herself, smoothing out her pajamas and wiggling herself under the comforter. Tash was laying with her face towards the wall, her back to Jessie. Her side was rising and falling in a way that suggested she was breathing hard, trembling silently. Jessie wanted badly to reach out and touch her, give her a totally sexless squeeze of reassurance, but she worried that would make Tash jump out of her skin right now. She wrapped her arms around her own body instead, holding herself back. 

She said, quietly, “I didn’t invite you over because I wanted you to fuck me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“What?” 

“I wasn’t scheming or whatever. I just thought this would be fun. So actually I should be sorry, I guess.”

There was a silence so long that she thought Tash had decided to completely ignore her, or had mercifully fallen asleep. 

Then her voice, quiet and croaky: “Can I ask you something stupid?”

“It’s probably not stupid, but sure.”

“Will you leave that light on?” Tash asked, meaning the small lamp with the sequined lampshade that sat on Jessie’s bedside table. “I can’t sleep when it’s too dark. Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. I’ve got a little sleep mask anyway, okay? It’s fine.” Jessie pulled on the mask, powder blue silk snug on her face with Princess spelled out in rhinestones. It had been a joke once, a thing that she bought because as a child she’d thought it was the most luxurious thing to have a little mask that you put on just to protect your delicate eyes while you slept. And then it turned out it was actually perfectly comfortable, and now it would let her keep the light on for Tash, which was evidently important even if Tash wasn’t going to tell her why. So it was fine, everything was working out. Like they were meant to be together.

She’d crawled out of bed earlier than she would under any other circumstances, more motivated to be awake than she had been in weeks. Ordinarily she’d beeline to the bathroom, pee, and then fling herself back beneath the covers for another hour or six. Today she was so overjoyed to find that Tash hadn’t sprinted away in the middle of the night that she immediately got to work on providing a stronger incentive to stay.

It was too much, right? All of the food, and and going so far as to leave her water and painkillers. What did Jessie think she was, some kind of 50s housewife? A little domestic debutante? Fat chance. But the whole morning while she’d been bustling around the kitchen she’d been thinking about how glad she was that Tash was sleeping in, getting the rest she so obviously needed. Jessie felt soft! Squishy and soft and it was weird, but she’d moved so far beyond wanting Tash to be her one night stand or even her partner in crime. Jessie wanted to wrap Tash up in a blanket and feed her a home-cooked meal, which was an abstract level of horniness that she hadn’t previously known existed.

Well, one out of two wasn’t bad. Tash was tight-lipped but staying, had popped a few blueberries in her mouth and nodded to herself when it turned they really hadn’t been laced with arsenic. 

“Thanks,” she said. “For all this, and for being cool last night.”

“What, for not committing fucking date rape? Yeah, no problem. Low bar.” Jessie shook herself, startled all over again at just how low her reputation had sunk. She nodded to the food, because she knew she at least had to get some credit for making a damn nice breakfast spread. “Eat up already, will you? You look like a skeleton.”

Which Tash didn’t argue with, possibly because she had no actual rebuttal. She ate with a voracious efficiency, taking some of everything and chewing through it with a stoic focus that was, frankly, a little hot. When she’d finished everything on her plate she loaded up immediately on seconds and got to work eating with the exact same force, pausing only for alternating sips of juice and coffee. Any attempt at smalltalk by Jessie was rebuffed, not harshly but with a determinedly full mouth that prevented any responses more involved than grunts of affirmation or disapproval. 

Near the end of her second serving Tash started slowing down, finally reduced to toying around with her fork on her syrup-smeared plate. She cleared her throat, awkward. “Well, it’s been real. Let’s never do this again.”

“I can give you a ride,” Jessie said immediately. “Maudie and the girls dropped my brother’s van off this morning while we were both asleep. And you said your cousin’s place is practically out in the ‘burbs, right? It’ll be way faster than taking the bus.”

Tash’s left eye was twitching, very slightly. “I told you where my cousin’s house is?”

“Not, like, the address, but you know. Approximate. You said it’s a pain in the ass getting to work, that’s the main thing. Do you seriously not remember?”

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, because it sent Tash’s lip curling up in response. “No, jackass. I’m a fucking alcoholic, okay? I don’t just do a couple drinks and then have a silly night, I binge drink until I black out and try to fuck people I don’t like. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jessie said, but it was one of the less convincing lies she’d tell that morning.

Tash groaned and turned her face downward, avoiding Jessie’s eyes. “No, that was a dick thing to say. It’s not that I don’t—I mean, no. I don’t, okay? I’m not into you like that. Last night was stupid, I shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have done the other time, either. But you’re not… you’re way cooler than I thought you were. I don’t respect the whole costumed domestic terrorist thing, but you’re not, like, you know. Somebody could do worse than you.”

“Stop, I’m blushing.”

“This is so stupid,” Tash said, in such a way that all of her frustration was obviously aimed inwards. “I mean that you’re fine, okay? You’re fine and I don’t hate you and I’m not mad at you because we almost hooked up, I’m mad at me for getting drunk and spiraling when I cannot fucking afford to do that. Okay? It’s not you and I’m sorry for acting like it was.”

“So last night, when you told me that I ruined your life…?”

Tash rolled her eyes, hard, at this interruption of her devastatingly sincere apology. “Yeah, okay, that was also a shithead move. I ruined my own life. Happy?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true,” Jessie said. Externally, she was casually spearing a strawberry on a fork to give it a nibble, totally at ease. Internally, she was poised on the edge of a tall, tall building getting ready to take a leap. To extend that metaphor, she was hoping to sprout wings on the way down, but there was an admittedly enormous chance that she would simply splatter on the sidewalk or get shot in the head instead. The move she was about to make was risky, and there would be absolutely no going back once she started, and if she was wrong then she was going to look like a huge asshole and Tash was probably never going to speak to her again.

And in the best case scenario, where she was right, she was also going to look like a huge asshole and, come to think of it, Tash might still never want to speak to her ever again. But she had to take the chance. She took a breath, toppled the first domino.

“It’s not really your fault, right? It’s Mothwoman.”

It was instantaneous: Tash, wide-eyed and bloodless, her little hands balled up into tight fists, staring at Jessie like a kicked dog winding up to bite. She hadn’t been at ease before, exactly, but she’d been relaxed enough, probably as calm as she ever got these days. God, it hurt to do that to her. Jessie inhaled through her nose, forcing her expression to stay extremely neutral.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Tash demanded. “I don’t care how drunk I got, I know I didn’t tell you anything about the Moth.”

Jessie resisted the urge to roll out that old cliche, pointing out that someone had turned guesswork into certainty by the force of their own reaction. She was, admittedly, trying to break Tash a little bit, but falling back on cliches was a level of pettiness that felt excessive even to her. Restraining herself was a sign of respect for Tash, one villain to another.

Instead she was going to, respectfully, tear Tash’s entire life apart. 

“Listen,” Jessie said, her voice sliding ever so slightly towards the icy tones of Frostbite so as to convey that she was done playing. “I know what people think about me, but I’m not dumb. And I’m kind of obsessed with you, so when you talk I fucking listen. And even when you don’t, I’m paying attention. Alright? And here’s what I’ve got: you’re supposed to be back in Crown City going to grad school, not tending bar in a shithole like Polly’s, especially if you really do want to be done with the whole crime thing. And sidebar about that real quick: there’s no way. You were good. You were brilliant. And you goddamn loved doing it. I know you did, no matter what you say about it now. You don’t just walk away from a career like that unless something catastrophic happens to you.”

“It wasn’t a career,” Tash said. She was rigid now, voice a hoarse whisper. Once again her gaze was directed forcibly down, eyes locked on her own bruised knuckles. “I was running around playing dress-up like an idiot pretending that I was accomplishing something impressive, making any kind of real difference by stealing from people I didn’t like. You don’t know anything about it.”

“Wrong. I know exactly what it’s like. The rush when you realize that you can get away with anything, as long as you’re too cool to fuck with? That feeling when you always knew the world was a little bullshit and then it turns out, yeah, you were right? The walls are all just fucking cardboard and the rules are made of tissue paper and you can knock it all over like that if you want to, as long as you have the right attitude. How do you ever go back to being a normal person after that? You don’t. You can’t, unless you don’t have any other options. And how do you lose all your options?”

It was a good thing that rhetorical questions didn’t need answers, because there certainly wouldn’t be one forthcoming from Tash. She’d turned into a furious statue, shaking ever so slightly as her indignation boiled up inside of her. God, Jessie was a monster. She swallowed down hard on the guilt rising in her gorge, reminding herself that this would be best for both of them. She just needed to be able to make her case first.

“You get made,” she said, to Tash and her rapt imaginary audience. “Somebody figured out who you were under the cute little balaclava, so you had to run. Obviously it wasn’t the CCPD; they couldn’t catch you if their moms’ lives depended on it. Gotta be the Moth, right? She’s fast enough, that’s for damn sure. And if she caught your scent, that explains why you dropped out of school and decided to hide out somewhere like Rustbelt. You needed to be around other rogues, right? Seems counterintuitive, if you’re trying to lay low, but everyone knows that good bad guys don’t snitch. So you get to be safe hiding out with Maud, getting paid under the table and knowing that nobody’s going to call the cops even if they figure out who you are.”

Jessie paused here for dramatic effect, something she had learned with years of experience. People needed a moment to plead dramatically and shit themselves while they tried to convince you that they were wrong and you’d made up the whole thing, as if their overwrought reactions weren’t already confirming exactly what you’d said. Sometimes they’d try for defiant, crying or making a speech before ultimately admitting that you were right and they should do whatever the fuck you wanted.

It should have occurred to Jessie that Tash would be nothing like those goons. 

Sure, she was visibly having a terrible time. But she was also furious, and that was radiating off of her as she dragged her gaze up from the floor and straight to Jessie’s core, which she glared through with withering disdain. “Okay, BBC Sherlock. You got me. What the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

Jessie sipped her coffee to let the silence linger a little longer. Here was the thing: she was nearly half a foot taller than Tash and significantly heavier, and none of that would mean anything if it came to a fight. She’d seen Tash make mincemeat of Voltzz with no skin in the game; imagine what she’d do to Jessie if Jessie became a sufficient enough threat. Kind of hot as a hypothetical, but probably best to avoid making it a reality.

She put on her most inoffensive smile and hoped she wasn’t visibly sweating. “I want to offer you a job.”

“Declined and go fuck yourself,” Tash said immediately. “Thanks for breakfast, have a terrible day.” 

Fuck, she was heading for the door. Jessie rushed after her, heart racing.

“Wait wait wait! Listen to me for three seconds, okay? You need money, right? You’re sleeping on a couch, you’re ruining your back! You’re picking up extra shifts at the worst bar in the world! That fucking sucks, you’re better than that! We both know you’re better than this!”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“So work with me! I can protect you!”

“What?”

Got her.

“Ricochet can’t touch me. How do you think me and Sub-Zero get away with everything? We’re good, but nobody’s that good. If we didn’t have something on her, we’d have gotten thrown in the can by now like every other freak of the week.”

Tash considered that. “Honestly? I heard it was because your brother’s hooking up with her.”

“What? No! Ew! What? Why? Who told you that? I want names, I’m going to ice their tongues out. Jesus. He would never, he respects himself too much to even think about it. God. Never say that to me again. Ugh.” Jessie scrubbed at her eyes, like she could wipe that image clean out of her brain. She knew that there was a fandom for that, of course, but she avoided the corners of the internet where it flourished and blocked it out so thoroughly that it had been practically eradicated from her life. Christ. She shook her head, trying to refocus. “What was I even saying? Look, we have dirt on her. Jonas figured out her secret identity years ago, not because he was fucking her, and we’ve had an arrangement ever since.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jessie flashed her a wide, shit-eating grin, letting the cool facade finally slip a little. “She can’t ever take us in for good, or we’ll tell everyone who she is. She can try to stop us, sure, whatever, fair play; it would look bad if she never went after us at all. It’s like a game, right? Keepaway. She’s allowed to fuck with us, she can try to catch us and take back what we stole, that’s all in good fun. I mean, she hates it, but what’s she gonna do? We could ruin her entire life.”

There was Tash’s eye twitching again. “You have all that sway over her and you bargained with it? You should be having her transfer money straight into your fucking bank account! Why do you bother going through with all of this?”

“Because she’s flat fucking broke, for one. And this is more fun.” Jessie shrugged like it didn’t bother her, but the question didn’t hit quite right. Why did they do it that way? Even if Ric didn’t have a lot of cash herself, N.E.X.T. obviously did. It seemed like something Jonas should have thought of. But she kept up the smile for Tash, easy breezy. Her doubts were for her, not for other people to see. “But the most important thing is that she keeps this city locked down, alright? The director of N.E.X.T. gets really territorial about other heroes coming to Rustbelt, she doesn’t stand for that shit. Ricochet kicked Arrowhead’s ass all the way down Main Street last year when he started snooping around without her permission, it was crazy.”

“Who the fuck is Arrowhead?”

“Jesus Christ, how do you not know any of this? He’s that hotshot archery guy from out in Condor Cove, you must know him. The one with the sidekick who went off the rails and killed like three of their rogues, it was a whole thing.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Tash asked. “That thing you just said about people getting murdered, like it was a completely normal thing to say? That’s why I don’t want anything to do with this anymore. It’s not a fucking game!”

“Well, I’m not playing. I take it dead serious,” Jessie assured her. She’d had her little fangirl moment but she had to calm down, center herself again. Make the case. “But so does Ricochet, and she respects our agreement. She has for years. She’s not going to go back on it now, okay? I’m untouchable, so what do you think happens if you’re part of my crew?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Tash took a deep breath, rocking back on her heels as she weighed her options. “If I say yes, I’m not working for you, okay?”

“Oh, hell no. I’d never ask you to. It’ll be just like me and Sub-Zero, splitting everything 50/50. Partners.”

“And where is Sub-Zero in all of this?”

“Expanding our operation outside of the city. Why do you think I need some fresh blood around the joint?”

Tash squinted at that, like she smelled the bullshit and knew it. But that wasn’t her problem, was it? And she was too smart to ask questions that she didn’t want the answer to. 

“Whatever. I don’t care, as long as he’s not around and you don’t think you’re my boss. Even split from all our jobs, I’m not wearing a costume, and I leave as soon as I have what I need.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“I’m in debt. Like, unbelievable amounts of debt. I want to pay all of that off, clean my slate, and then go somewhere the people have never even heard of Night Noir. And then I’m going to disappear forever.”

“Sounds good to me, babe,” said Jessie, who thought that sounded fucking horrible, actually. She had, like, one fourth of a friend and even that friend was already trying to make plans to vanish off the face of the earth and never see her again. But it sounded like Tash was going to need a lot of money, right? That meant that Jessie would have time. All she needed to do was make sure that it was enough time to convince Tash to stay. She had a way of growing on people like mildew; she could make it work. She gave Tash another smile that was wide and benevolent, definitely not the face of a woman who was panicking, and held out her hand. “Shake on it?”

“Pass,” Tash said immediately. “But count me in, or whatever. As long as you can keep me safe, I’m there.”

Jessie said something, some vaguely cool bullshit like “Let’s go down to business” or maybe “Welcome aboard” if she was feeling a little piratical, but ultimately that part didn’t really matter. She was running on autopilot now, unable to even enjoy her success. The important thing was that she was lying through her teeth, and she knew that could only last for so long before she got caught. She was going to have to figure out Ricochet’s secret identity the hard way, and she was going to have to do it fucking fast. 

But how hard could it be, right? Jonas had done it, and Jessie was pretty sure she was at least five times as desperate as Jonas had ever been in his life. That had to count for something.

more of jessie lying wetly

chapter one

chapter two

cool art by @hamandeggbun

and brand new shiny chapter three. on god I am not allowed to post another one until I finish writing chapter ten.

The interior decor of One-Eyed Polly’s had changed precious little since the last time Jessie saw it, although the floors were a little more scratched up and the felt on the pool table had acquired some upsetting new stains. The only thing that had changed was the enormous NO SMOKING sign on the back wall, right where everyone could see it. 

The second she stepped inside of the bar the universe conspired to give her the entrance of a stranger blowing into town in an old Western, with the jukebox pausing between songs and conversation hitting a lull just as she stepped on a creaky floorboard, drawing all eyes to herself. She flashed an ice cold Frostbite smile, tossed her hair, and wished desperately that she’d worn her costume. It would make her look like a total douchebag, sure, but it would also remind everyone she was dangerous.  

Jessie strode back to the bar like it was a catwalk anyway, but the whispers and mutters that followed her were not promising.

“Still owes me twenty dollars.”

“Did I tell you she blocked me?”

“I thought she got arrested.”

“What did Sub-Zero say?”

Okay. Okay. Not awesome, but it was fine. They could say anything they wanted about her, but how many of these washouts and wannabes would actually try anything? None of them. They didn’t know that she was unarmed and floundering without her brother. She hadn’t worn her costume because she didn’t need to; her reputation was still strong enough to protect her. Not to mention she wanted all of these dweebs to see her wearing jeans that cost more than their mortgage payments and choke on the jealousy.

Maudie was behind the bar, grayer and butcher than ever. Her face was lined now, enough that it gave Jessie pause. Was her godmother getting old now? When did that happen?

Not that Maud was letting it soften her up at all. She raised a bushy brow at Jessie by way of greeting and launched right into putting her through the wringer. “Well, well. Look at that. A real-deal supervillain graces us with her presence. Thank you for deigning to descend from the gravy train, your highness.” 

“Aww, Maudie, come on. Don’t be like that, it’s my birthday.”

“As if I don’t know. Did you get your card?”

“Did you send one?”

Maud rolled her eyes, hard. “Of course I sent one. What kind of schmuck do you take me for?”

Of course she wouldn’t know; Jessie hadn’t checked her mailbox in at least a week. 

She realized, with despair, that there were tears crowding up around the edges of her eyes, little pinpricks begging to be let loose. When had she gotten so sappy? She wasn’t even most excited about the crisp fifty dollar bill that Maudie always tucked inside of her cards, although that was a relief. It was mostly that someone had even remembered she existed and wanted to do something nice for her that was really turning her into goo. 

“Well, I appreciate it,” she said, choking down her onslaught of emotions. Maudie would hate her making a scene like that; she never knew what to do when people cried. “But, hey, I’m not here to talk about me. How are you doing? Are you feeling alright?”

“The hell do you mean, do I feel alright?”

“Well, you always said that you’d only make people stop smoking in here over your dead body. And now nobody’s smoking, so I figure you must have gotten real close to having a dead body.”

Maudie snorted. “We had a scare last year. Doctor thought he had something, turned out not to be serious. But you know how the dames are. Next thing I know, nobody’s allowed to smoke in here and I’m getting yelled at if I don’t eat vegetables and go for a fuckin’ walking every morning.”

She shook her head, fondly exasperated. The dames were the two iron-tongued femmes Maudie had been in a relationship with for decades, largely considered to be the real masterminds behind One-Eyed Polly’s. According to Maudie, they only kept her around to look pretty and serve the drinks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jessie demanded. “We could have helped with the bills, or I could have brought over soup. Something.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, kid. Your brother made it pretty clear that you were busy.” And then, before Jessie could apologize or otherwise risk making things sentimental, Maudie cleared her throat sharply. “You want a drink, or what? First round’s free for the birthday girl.”

“Yeah? Let’s do a straight whiskey and a burger,” Jessie said, knowing damn well that she’d be drinking nothing but dirt cheap beer for the rest of the night. “Do the fries still come with that, or is it extra?”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I charge people extra for a side of fries. That shit comes with the burger,” Maud said gravely.

There were a lot of things that could stand to be improved about One-Eyed Polly’s, but the food was not one of them. So what if the fry cook telepathically talked with rats? He could work a grill. The basket that arrived in front of Jessie contained a beautifully constructed medium rare burger packing the exact correct amount of grease, surrounded by steak fries that had been seasoned to absolute perfection. Pardon Jessie while she drooled a little bit. 

“Hey, Maudie,” she said, half a burger later. “You still have Joney’s van?”

Her godmother raised an eyebrow a fraction of an inch, which for Maud was an expression of profound skepticism. “I’d love to know how the hell you think I could’ve lost it.”

“No no, that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to see if I could grab it from you.”

“Can’t get your car back from Voltzz, huh?”

“Hmm?” Jessie asked, playing dumb.

“Do not try the bimbo act on me, Jessica Jolene. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“God. How did you even hear about that?”

“Are you kidding? I hear about everything in here. We had a bunch of schlubs in here doing shots at noon because they thought Ricochet dragged you off for good.”

“Okay, tacky.” Jessie licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry despite an abundance of gloss. “Maudie, can I ask you a question? It seems like I’m maybe, um, not very popular around here.”

Maud stared her down with eyes like chisels. “That’s not a question.”

“You know what I mean!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, kiddo. They hate your guts.”

“Maudie!”

Jessie’s complaining was cut short by a sweaty, nervous-looking man appearing from the kitchen and hurrying to Maudie’s side. He shot Jessie a look that could really only be described as distrustful, then leaned in close to deliver his message to Maud. She shrugged him away almost before he finished speaking, peeved by his damp proximity.

“So get her shift covered. Why do you need my permission for that? Call Billy. Or, hell, see if Tash can make it in. She’s always dying for extra shifts. Tell Jordan I’ll come sort her out in a minute and then get your ass back out here to cover the bar. The dishes can wait.”

Maudie sighed and turned back to Jessie as her dishwasher departed, shaking her head. She suddenly looked about a hundred years old. “Kid, I miss the days when the worst I had to deal with was bartenders coming in drunk.”

“What happened?”

“One of my girls, Jordan. She’s got that fucking, what do they call it? Void pox? She kept going see-through when she came in but she swore she’d be fine. Except she’s not fine, she started getting these little cartoon demons popping out of her head. Pretty harmless, only about this big, but if I never have to kill another one with a broom it’ll be too soon. Anyway, I had her sitting down in the back, but now she’s starting to make things levitate and I can’t have that. I need to find her a ride home.”

“Could I come see her?” Jessie asked with, in hindsight, way too much enthusiasm.

Her godmother hit her with a look that was genuinely withering. “You can keep your ass right here and be nice to Nikesh while he tends the bar. And you can leave Jordan alone. It’s a 24-hour bug, she’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“I know that!”

“So drop it, then! For once in your life, don’t get so pushy about this superhero shit.”

Maud ducked back into the kitchen on that deeply unencouraging note, sending poor Nikesh back out to hold down the bar in her stead. He studiously avoided Jessie’s gaze when she asked him how his night was going, spitting out single syllable answers until she gave up and asked for a hard cider, which he provided without once actually turning his face in her direction. Jessie dropped a five in the tip jar anyway, because she believed very firmly that you were supposed to tip generously unless the waiter had purposefully set you on fire and maybe even then. Running through the last of your money in the entire world was no excuse to be a lousy customer.

The problem being, of course, that she had hoped this would be a case of spending money to make money. She’d shell out a little for a night at One-Eyed Polly’s, reestablish herself as a villain of the people, and announce that she was hiring to thunderous applause. Henchpeople out the door, heaps of cash secured, the money that she’d pissed away on bottom shelf booze now a worthwhile investment. 

Unfortunately, all of that had depended on there being someone, anyone, left in town who didn’t hate her guts.

“Hey, Nikesh? Do you like working here?”

“It’s a living,” he said, still looking down. 

“If I offered to pay you, like, five times what you’re making right now, would you work for me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Ten times?” 

He actually looked at her for a fleeting second, his gaze touching off hers for just a moment. Jessie was vomitously aware that there was something that looked a lot like pity in his face. “Look, lady. It’s not about the money. It’s about not wanting to get my ass kicked.”

“Jesus Christ. Am I really that bad for business?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Is that why you won’t even look at me?”

“Yeah. You understand. Can’t look like we’re getting friendly.”

“Respect. You gotta look out for number one, Nikesh. I can throw a drink on you, if you want.”

“Yeah? That might be good, actually. We could make people think I said something really nasty to you. That could actually be great for my rep.”

Jessie groaned, resting her face in her hands. This was going to be an absolute non-starter. Polly’s was the biggest rat-hole in town; everyone knew that this was a place where people would turn a blind eye to almost anything. Everyone put aside their beef here, because the place would never function if they didn’t and no one wanted to be the asshole who ruined the only functioning villain bar in town. If a bartender was too scared to even look at her directly, Jessie’s reputation must be worse than dirt.

Why? Because of last night’s embarrassing little tantrum? Couldn’t be it. Nobody complained about the time Voltzz snorted bath salts and went on a rampage, or when Incinerator got drunk and started taking potshots at cop cars. Hell, if anything they’d both gotten more popular after that. Jonas might sneer at the lack of precision and control, but Jessie had tried to tell him a thousand times that people liked to see a supervillain go a little off the rails. It was aspirational, right? It let people imagine what they might do, if they had the power to really cut loose.

Why was she different? Sure, people hated to see a woman having fun, but that couldn’t possibly explain all of it. Maudie could probably explain it, whenever she finished mopping up the poor sap with the void pox. Maudie heard about everything. 

In the meantime, she might as well try to make the most of her evening. If she wasn’t going to be making new friends, she could at least have a little fun. Who cared about her bank account? If she was screwed, she might as well go out with a splash. 

“Nikesh? Open me up a tab. It’s my birthday and I want shots.”

***

Jessie Chilton was not a lightweight. Despite spending most of her early life watching her father get eaten alive by booze she had an exceedingly friendly relationship with alcohol, and could usually hold her drinks pretty well. Jonas had never touched the stuff, erring hard on the side of caution, but Jessie knew that she could stop any time she wanted.

Her miserable 26th birthday was not that time. That night she drank like the world was going to end, because it very possibly was. Her world, at least, and what else was she supposed to worry about? She knew damn well the scope of what she could be held responsible for, and presently it was mostly downing as much tequila as she could.

Which meant she ended up in the bathroom, eventually, because all of that liquid had to go somewhere, and in the time-honored tradition of wasted girls everywhere she got weird about it. While Jessie sat in the cramped and questionably-lit stall she started thinking about how she’d very nearly been born in this very room and what a miserably inauspicious start that was, and how perhaps she should have known that her life was always doomed to go down the toilet despite a decade or so of delusionally believing that she might be meant for something better. She wished that she had some friends to cry to, and briefly regretted the loss of Whirligig. Getting sloppy drunk and crying in club bathrooms together had been about the only thing that friendship was good for, but sometimes that was all she needed it to be. 

In the absence of anywhere else to turn Jessie called the person who had almost always been there for her, until he spectacularly wasn’t.

Hey, Joney. It’s your favorite sister. And I know what you’re thinking: ‘Jessie, you’re my only sister, why are you doing exposition like a lunatic?’ Well, it’s because you haven’t been acting like I’m your favorite sister lately, or like you even know me, so I figured maybe you needed the reminder.

Did you even notice it’s my birthday? You’ve never forgotten it in my entire life. But you know who remembered? Uncle Ray. And Maud. And that’s fucking it. And Ricochet was soooOOOOOOoooo mean to me this morning. Like, you wouldn’t believe. She’s getting way too cocky, if you ask me. You should come back and kick her ass into orbit. Remind her who’s boss around here.

You should come back in general, actually. I miss you. But I’m also mad at you. It’s, like, a real dick move to take off and not even leave me with any money. I mean, I had money. Past-tense. But it’s gone now. I could have, like, I could have definitely spent it better. Smarter? I got these really stupid expensive boots with real crystals on them and then when I tried to return them they said I couldn’t because there was a scuff on the toe, which is like… whatever. I’m wearing them right now even though they’re way too fancy for Polly’s. Might as well get my money’s worth.

But I also just don’t have anything. Like, where’s the bank account? Where is the bank account, Jonas? I earned half that money, so why can’t I… I mean, you literally never told me how to get into it. To my money. Which I guess in hindsight was, like, I should have had a problem with that way sooner, but you made it sound extremely reasonable! And now I’m this close to Uncle Ray throwing me out on my ass, because I couldn’t pay the May rent and I can’t pay the June rent, either, at the rate things are going. I opened a tab at Polly’s and I don’t have enough to pay it, so now Maudie’s going to be mad at me, I think. I don’t know, I’m not even actually sure how a tab works. Isn't that stupid? I'm, like, so mad at myself lately got how much stuff I don't know.

Everybody’s mad at me.

And you won’t even call me back, and I can’t even afford toilet paper, so that’s, like, a lot. And I’m not handling it well. And I’m drank as a skank at Polly’s, in case you couldn’t tell, so go ahead and get your panties twisted up about that. I’m fucking spiraling, buddy. I’m in my fucking up era out here.

So. You should come home.

Or at least tell me where you are or what you’re doing or why you left, okay? Because I hate no knowing that. We’re supposed to tell each other things. And I’m scared about what’s going to happen if you’re gone much longer because, like, everything is going wrong. And I think you might have really left me screwed here, okay? Which is crazy, because it was supposed to be you and me against the world, but I’m not fucking seeing it right now. 

By this point Jessie was crying and snotting pretty hard, absorbed enough in her own agonies that she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone in the bathroom until someone rapped lightly on the door of her stall and almost scared her shitless.

“Hey. You okay in there?”

It was not the voice of someone particularly warm and fuzzy or confident about checking in on a stranger, which actually made it a little sweeter that they’d bothered.

“I’m fine,” Jessie lied, wetly. “I’m just, like, I’m on the phone.”

“Yeah, I can hear that.” Whoever they were, they were sorely tempted to leave it at that and go back to minding their own business. Jessie could tell. Outside the stall, a pair of tennis shoes that had been worn damn near to dust rocked back and forth, weighing the options. “I just wanted to say that they’re not worth it. Whoever’s making you feel this bad, you shouldn't waste your time on them.”

“Okay,” Jessie said. And then, into the message she was still leaving for her brother: “I have to go, a nice girl in this bathroom says you’re not worth it. Please call me, love you, bye.”

“Great,” the stranger said dryly. “Crushed it.” Their beaten-in shoes scuffed away, back over to the sinks. Had Jessie missed an entire other person pissing next to her? God, that was embarrassing.

She wadded up some genuinely horrific single ply toilet paper and dabbed at her face, hoping she didn’t look too atrocious. All of her makeup was waterproof, which had to count for something. “Hey, thank you for that. I really needed someone to snap me out of it. I was being so pathetic.”

“Whatever,” said the voice by the sinks. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been there, I get it.”

Jessie’s heart was getting squeezed around like one of those awful tubes full of goo and glitter and little plastic animals, the kind that everyone used to make jerk off motions. Who was this? Would they still be so nice to her if they knew who she was? What were the odds she could salvage a single actual friend out of this wretched garbage fire of a day? It didn’t even have to be a lifelong bestie, just someone she could have a few drinks with. 

“My name is Jessie,” she said hesitantly.

She heard her new friend sigh. “I’m Tash.”

“Do you come here often? I’m not asking that in the pervert way, I’m just curious if you’re, like, a regular.”

“I work here,” Tash said, with as much contempt as anyone had ever had for their workplace.

“Oh. Do you like it?”

“Sucks shit. But, you know. You do what you’ve got to do.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Are you okay in there? I’m gonna get my ass reamed if I let somebody drown in the toilet.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just, you know.” Which was a fucking nothing explanation, but Jessie’s voice was still damp and wavering enough that it presumably got the point across. “I need a moment to get it together.”

“I hear that,” Tash said. “I usually use the walk-in when I need a second.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s not very big, but it’s quiet. And the cold kind of helps pull me together, I guess. Stay focused.” She cleared her throat again. “Sorry to dump that on you.”

“No, that’s okay. It makes sense,” said Jessie, noted cold enjoyer. “Do you keep anything fun in there? Maud’s never let me see it.”

“You know Maud?”

“Yeah, since I was a kid. Isn’t she the best?”

“She’s a real son of a bitch. But she's the only boss I’ve ever believed when she says she gives a shit about me, though.”

“Sounds like Maudie,” Jessie agreed fondly. “Anyway, what’s in the walk-in?”

“Fucking nothing exciting. Burger patties, mostly. I don’t know. Like I said, not a lot of room.”

“Plenty of room for you.”

“Yeah, every time I have a total breakdown at work.”

“Does that happen a lot? No judgment, obviously. Pot .”

“I don’t know.” Tash sighed. “More often than you’d hope. Which is never, obviously. We don’t have to talk about this.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color,” Jessie insisted. “I love asking people that. Nobody ever cares after you turn, like, twelve, right? But I care. And it’s a lot more chill than talking about, you know. Our favorite places to completely freak out in a shithole bar.”

“Okay. Sure,” Tash said. Everything about the strain in her voice suggested she was not naturally inclined towards whimsy, but at least she was making the effort to play along. “Will you assume I have clinical depression if I say gray?”

“Yes.”

“Well, joke’s on me, because I love gray and I do have clinical depression. But purple is also good. I like purple.”

“What shade? Eggplant? Periwinkle?”

“Just a nice, medium purple, I guess. Like, the platonic ideal of purple.”

Jessie had no idea what a platonic ideal was or why anyone would ever need to specify that they weren't trying to have sex with a color, but she was sitting on her stupid little toilet nodding like an idiot anyway because it felt so good to be making a connection with someone. “I dig that. Purple is good.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, cerulean for sure. With sparkles, ideally.”

“That’s blue, right?”

“Yeah. My jacket is actually, like, that exact color, I can show you.” Jessie sniffled tremendously, getting shakily to her feet and pleased to discover that she was feeling much more sober than when she’d wandered into the bathroom some time ago. And now look at her! Practically having a whole meet cute. What a turn around on the evening. “Okay, I’m coming out now. Don’t gag if my makeup’s a mess, I’m going to fix it.”

She tossed her hair and stepped out of the stall, at which point several things happened to her in rapid succession.

Tash was standing underneath one of the humming, flickering lights that barely managed to illuminate the dark cave of the ladies’ room. She struck a slim figure, drowning in a huge hoodie with two skinny black-clad legs sticking out like a cartoon character. She was wiping down the sinks but turned as Jessie emerged, the fuzzy light illuminating her from the back like a bargain bin halo.

The first thing Jessie noticed was that Tash was a lot shorter than she had been expecting.

The second was that Tash had beautiful eyes. 

The third was that those beautiful eyes and indeed her entire face were curdling up in horror as recognition set in.

“What the fuck,” she said. “Frostbite?”

The recognition and reaction alone weren’t surprising, given the colossal combined levels of notoriety and bad PR Jessie was currently enjoying. The part that nearly knocked her on her ass was that recognized Tash back.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, overjoyed and utterly failing to read the room. “Night Noir? Holy shit, girlie, I thought you were dead!”

[calicomarie11]

Tommy is a dumbass, but Buck loves him anyways.

Just because it seems warranted on tonight of all nights, I'm sharing a bit of my current WIP. This was all written before tonight's episode, so it doesn't match up with canon.

Subject to change before it gets posted to AO3 because I'm trying this crazy thing where I actually write the whole fic before I start posting chapters.

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

Tommy threw the strap of his duffle bag over his shoulder and wearily trudged up the front steps of his house, ready to sleep and wallow for the next two days until it was time to go back on shift. 

He went to unlock his front door and paused as the handle turned easily in his hand. He wasn’t the type to forget to lock up and it didn’t look like the door had been forced. He cautiously pushed the door open and eased into the house. He set down his bag carefully and grabbed the baseball bat he kept propped next to the door. (Look, his neighborhood was safe enough, but this was LA and weird shit happened all the time.)

Gripping the baseball bat tightly, Tommy made his way down the front hallway, ear cocked for the noise of intruders. As he approached the living room, the sounds of a baseball game on the tv got louder. 

“Goddamit, he was safe,” a familiar voice shouted, and Tommy eased up his grip on the bat. He set it down as he walked into his living room and spotted Eddie stretched out on his couch, a bottle of his beer in hand as he watched the Rangers losing to the Cubs. 

“Diaz,” he said, “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

“Kinard,” Eddie snarked back in return. “Just stopping by to see if you were going senile in your old age. See, my best friend, Buck, you remember him? Came to my house with a hilarious story about you trying to dump him. Given the fact I had to drag you past that jewelry store when you started staring at engagement rings in the window the last time we went out to catch a movie, I find it a little hard to believe.” Eddie took long drink of his beer as he cocked an eyebrow at Tommy.

Tommy huffed and stalked out of the room to go to the kitchen. If he’s going to do this, he’s at least going to have a beer.  He yanked open the door of his fridge with a little too much force, knocking a few magnets loose and sending a handful of pictures to drift to the floor. He grabs a beer and sets in on the counter before bending down to pick up the photos. 

Evan and him in a beach selfie, a shot of Tommy and Evan on either side of Christopher from the first time Tommy tagged along to the zoo, a photo of the 118 in their Halloween Fest finery and a shot of Tommy swinging Jee around in Bobby and Athena’s backyard. He stacks them neatly and places them next to his beer on the counter. 

He wants to put them back up, where they belong. But they don’t really belong there now that he told Evan goodbye.  He picks up the stack again and opens the junk drawer. He closes the drawer again and then sets the pile face down to be dealt with later. He grabs his beer and heads back to his living room and his ex-boyfriend’s best friend.

Eddie is still shouting at the tv when he returns. He waits until Tommy sits down next to him to pout, “Where’s my beer?”

“You invited yourself, you can get your own damn beer,” Tommy growls. He makes a point of relaxing back into the couch and keeps his eyes trained on the tv. “How’d you get in anyways?” Tommy would have remembered giving Eddie a key.

“Switched keys with Buck.”

Tommy turns to look at Eddie, confused. “Then how did Evan drive home?”

“Man, other then the key for your house and one for Maddie’s place, 99% of our keys are the same. I have the spare for the Jeep and he has the spare for the truck in case one of us gets locked out.”

Tommy shakes his head at this new revelation. “Anyone ever tell you how weirdly codependent you two are?”

“We are not codependent, we are practical and efficient,” Eddie said in an affronted tone.“Besides, where’s your spare key for the truck?” he asked, his smirk communicating that he already knew the answer.

“With Evan,” Tommy confirmed. “Which means you currently have it. You should give me those keys before you leave.”

“Nope. You’re going to have to talk to Buck if you want your keys back,” Eddie said. 

“We could trade, Buck’s house key for mine?” Tommy tried.

 “No deal. If Buck doesn’t want you to have a key, he’ll ask for it back. Besides, half of LA has keys to Buck’s place at this point.”

“What?” Tommy said, surprise in his voice.

“Well, dude gets hurt so often and usually doesn’t have a partner to help out so everybody pitches in. Off the top of my head there’s me, Maddie, Bobby, Hen, Chim, Albert, Ravi, May, Chris of course, Carla, and there’s a spare at the firehouse on the master key ring. Oh, and the neighbors across the hall have a key.”

“Why would the neighbors need a key?”

“Buck locked himself out one time taking out the trash on the super’s night off so he asked Rose and Ethel to keep a key just in case.  Worked out, because they don’t mind watering his plants when he’s in the hospital for more then a few days.”

“Rose and Ethel? Does he live across the hall from septuagenarians?”

Eddie huffed, “Worse, trust fund babies. But they’re harmless. I’m surprised you haven’t met them yet.”

“Wait, does one of them have a septum piercing and the other one has pink hair?”

“Ironically, Rose is the one with the piercing. Anyways, stop trying to distract me and answer the damn question. What the hell, Kinard?” Eddie speared him with a piercing stare.

“I could kick you out,” Tommy said under his breath, although apparently not quiet enough.

“You could try,” Eddie scoffed. 

Tommy side-eyed Eddie. He knew he could take the slighter man, but he also knew he didn’t want to. He wasn’t quite ready to give up on the friendships he’d made or rekindled through his connection to Evan. Sure, Eddie was acting in his role as Evan’s best friend right now, but they had their own relationship.

“Why are you here?” Tommy asked, frustration evident. He hadn’t expected that Eddie would want anything to do with him after he had broken up with Evan and he’d tried to make his peace with that.

“My friend is being a dumbass, where else would I be? Seriously, man, what’s going on?” Eddie asked, and Tommy wants to talk about it, but he can’t trust it will stay between them. 

That was always the problem with his friendship with Eddie, it included Evan. He got that they were a package deal, and when he and Evan were good that wasn’t a problem. But now, he couldn’t just unload on Eddie and not expect it to get back to Evan.

“I’m not talking to you about this. I get that you want to help, but this is between me and Evan.” He tried to resist asking, but the curiosity won out. “What did he tell you?”

“Just that you blindsided him and started talking about taking some time apart, that he needed to get out there and explore his “sexuality” and how you didn’t want to hold him back. At least, that’s what I could make out before he doom spiraled and started dissecting the past month to figure out what he had done wrong.” Eddie narrowed his eyes at him. “You know he was expecting you to ask him to move in at that dinner, right?” 

And Tommy can see how Evan might have come to that conclusion when he’d asked him over. They’d been together 8 months and Evan spent more nights at Tommy’s then at his own loft. Evan bought groceries and brought them to his house so he could try out new recipes and he’d started hinting about how the backyard was big enough for a dog and Tommy had realized that half the laundry he’d folded last week had belonged to Evan. 

And he could see it, his future with Evan. A shared home, a supportive group of family and friends, hosting Thanksgiving because Evan really wants to deep fry a turkey and no one will let him try it at their homes. Marriage and kids and pets and joy. An end to the search, an end to being alone, the beginning of the rest of his life. 

And he panicked. Because 8 months ago Evan thought he was straight, he’d never kissed a man other then Tommy and one day he was going to wake up and realize that he settled for the first guy to make a move on him. And then he’d resent Tommy and it would be the beginning of the end. 

So instead of asking Evan to move in, he’d sent him away. At least, he’d tried to. 

He’d stumbled through a standard break up speech, the kind of thing he’d heard dozens of times during his life. It’s not you, it’s me. This is moving too fast. I think we should take some time apart, explore our options. 

And Evan had frowned at him, his brow furrowed as if Tommy was speaking a foreign language. He’d stuttered out a “Wh-what the fuck are you talking about?”midway through Tommy’s speech and then as Tommy kept trying to make him understand he’d started laughing. He’d actually patted the back of Tommy’s hand and said simply “No.”

It had stopped Tommy in his tracks. “No? You can’t refuse a breakup, Evan,” Tommy had said.

“Sure I can. I’m going to go and let you have your ‘time apart’ but this is not finished between us, Kinard.” And then he’d left and apparently headed straight for Eddie.

“Earth to Kinard,” Eddie snarked at him. “You want to spill what’s going through that fat head of yours? Because I, for one, can’t believe you are fumbling this. And I thought Buck was the idiot in your relationship.” 

Tommy felt a growl in his chest at the insult to Evan, no matter how lovingly offered. Evan was not an idiot, he was brilliant. He was smart and funny and warm and so open and he was going to destroy him when he left. So Tommy left first. 

“Eddie, I mean this with love, but leave it the fuck alone. You can stay if you want, catch the rest of the game but I am not talking about this with you.” 

Eddie shrugged, “All right, bro. Just be prepared for your man to go full Buck on you.” He chuckled as he toasted Tommy with the dregs of his beer. He got up to grab another from the kitchen. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Tommy yelled after him. “What does that even mean?” he muttered under his breath. 

[unluckycryptid]

Popcorn Shrimp

Read on Ao3

Summary: Chloe didn’t know Red had a shrimp allergy. Neither did Red.

AKA My attempt at Glassheart Crackfic

—

“Hmm, that’s an interesting taste.”

Chloe looked over at Red with a confused face.

She had just grabbed the two of them some food from the dining hall in the midst of their studying session and brought it back to their shared dorm. Red hadn’t told her what to grab, just telling the blue haired girl to ‘surprise her’ and had gone back to looking over a chemistry question that had been causing Chloe some trouble. The red haired girl was still at it when Chloe had come back with a variety of different foods they had been serving in the dining hall. Red had taken one of the takeout containers—the one filled with popcorn shrimp—and immediately started snacking on it while Chloe was busy laying out the rest of the food between them.

“What do you mean?” asked Chloe.

“Is it supposed to be—I dunno—spicy?” Red shrugged as she grabbed for another popcorn shrimp.

“Huh?”

‘Was Red talking about the marinara sauce?’ Chloe wondered, but it wasn’t laid out anywhere in front of them. Looking around, she spotted the little container still in the bag she had brought all of their food in.

“It’s an itchy sort of spicy, like I can feel it in the back of my throat. Can’t say I’ve ever had food like that before. Is that unique to Auradon?”

Oh no.

In less than a heartbeat, Chloe crossed whatever distance there was between her and Red and smacked the fried shrimp appetizer out of her hand.

“Wha- Hey! Mmmhf!!” Red exclaimed mid-bite when her blue haired roommate turned and stuck her hand in Red’s mouth. Chloe retracted her hand and hurled the shrimp that she had just been eating across the room.

Red felt two hands grab her face as Chloe looked her up and down with an urgency.

“Did you swallow?”

“Excuse me?”

“Red, did you swallow the shrimp? Yes or no?”

“Yea—”

Red couldn’t even get the full word out before she found herself being thrown over the shoulder of one Chloe Charming.

“Chloe! What the actual fuck is going o—owww!”

The blue haired girl had started running and accidentally smacked Red’s head into the door frame on the way out of their dorm.

But Chloe seemed to ignore her, instead opting to scream at other people in the hallway to move out of the way.

Everyone did. It’s not everyday you’d see the usually polite and demure Princess of Cinderellasburg cussing out anyone in her way while full-sprinting down the hallway with the Crown Princess of Wonderland yelling every sort of explicative known to man on her shoulder.

Principal Uma’s office was much closer than the infirmary on the other side of campus, so Chloe opted for there instead. Chloe practically kicked the door down while shouting, “Principal Uma!! We need medical help!”

“Chloe Cordelia Grace Charming, you put me down right now!”

“Girls!” exclaimed Uma who had been enjoying a peaceful night behind her desk up until now.

Chloe basically threw Red down on one of the couches as she rushed to explain, “Shrimp! Red— s-she ate shrimp!”

“What the hell, Chloe!”

“Charming, I may be from the sea, but that does not mean you get to waste my time—”

“She’s allergic! Red’s allergic!” Chloe cried in defense as she pointed to the girl on the couch, “She said the shrimp felt itchy.”

All eyes turned on Red.

Now that she mentioned it, Red did feel like she was having some trouble breathing.

“Stick her.” The Principal grabbed an Epipen from a desk drawer and threw it at Chloe.

“Wha—”

The next thing Red knew, there was a sharp needle stuck in her thigh. Red looked up slowly at Chloe, both of their mouths open in shock.

“I’m so sorry!”

“Oh you little—!”

“No time for that. Ms. Charming, grab Ms. Hearts and follow me. We’re taking the magic carpet to Auradon hospital.”

“Chloe, don’t you dare pick me up again!”

“Sorry Red, Principal Uma’s orders!”

“Nonono—ghhhuuhh!”

——

“Oh my sweet darling rose! I’m so so sorry that I never thought of getting you checked for seafood allergies. Are you alright?” Bridget, the Queen of Wonderland, asked as she ran to her daughter’s side.

Red sat under the covers of the hospital bed, clearly not wanting to be there. The doctors were strongly encouraging her to stay and be monitored overnight. Of course, that meant she was going to stay the night at the hospital in this itchy gown.

“Yeah, mom, I’m fine,” Red grumbled before she was pulled into a bone crushing hug by Bridget. It was still so weird to Red that she had such an affectionate mother now.

“Moooommm, you’re embarrassing me.”

In the corner of the hospital room, sat her roommate and Principal Uma. The two stood up at Bridget’s arrival.

“Thank you again, Principal Uma, for bringing my daughter here as urgently as you could.”

“No need to thank me, Queen Bridget, just doing my job,” the Principal said as the two started walking towards the entrance.

Bridget turned towards the blue haired princess, “And, Chloe, thank you for calling and telling me everything.”

“Just let me choke next time.”

All three pairs of eyes rolled at the same time.

“Tell your mother I said hi for me, alright?” Bridget continued, giving Chloe a quick hug.

“Of course, Aunt Bridget,” said Chloe as she stepped away to join Uma at the doorway. She waved at Red.

“Bye, Red, and get back soon. Wouldn’t want this incident to shrimpede your studies.”

“You’ve been working on that one for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Why yes, yes I was.”

“Get out.”

“Alright.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Trying: Clinton Skye x Reader

Tagging: @caffeinatedwoman @glazzyglaz @Racheluk @kmc1989

Companion piece to:

Downtime - You receive a phone call from Clinton when a case hits a little too close to home.

Two Weeks - Two weeks is too long to be apart.

Just How Much (NSFW) - Clinton shows you just how much he's missed you.

Good To Be Home - Clinton is happy to be home.

Love Letters - Clinton finds your love letter in his bag.

It's the undercover op that’s the last straw for you. When Clinton calls you from Baltimore to explain his case has evolved, that it requires him to disappear for a few months you lose your shit entirely.

“You’ve already been away two weeks working this case, I don’t understand…”

“You know I would come home if I could.” He had sighed as he stood at the window of his hotel room staring down across the darkening sky. There’s a storm rolling in through the west, already he can feel charge in the air as he grips the phone tightly.

“If you’ve changed your mind just tell me.” You say as you sit at the kitchen table with the fertility schedule in front of you. “You promised you’d do this with me but I’ve spent months jabbing myself in the ass for no reason.”

“Sienna.” He says softly, pinching the space between his eyes. “You know that’s not…”

“And now you’re telling me that the next time I see you will be months down the line, that it could be two months, it could be six.” You say, your voice breaking. “Why the fuck am I doing this Clinton? Why am I putting my body through hell when you can’t even be bothered to show up?”

You hang up then and Clinton, he’s left staring at the phone with his heart pounding in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave things like this with you, not when he’s about to disappear.

It’s past midnight when he gets home, the house is locked up but he can see the lamp illuminating the bedroom from the outside window. He knows you’re still twisted up about the situation between the two of you, that you won’t be sleeping tonight because you’ll be worrying about him.

When he lets himself in, he heads immediately to the bedroom because he can’t let this thing sit any longer. He finds you clad in leggings and your old academy t-shirt, curled around  his pillow. Your eyes are rimmed with red and the tears still stain your cheeks. In the bin reside the fertility drugs, the ones you’ve been taking for the past couple of months.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” You tell him as he lies down beside you. “There’s no point in trying if you’re not here.”

There’s an ache in his chest, one he feels acutely as his fingers interlink with yours. He’s always wanted a family, he thought  the two of you could have that together but his job it just keeps taking him away. It’s you that’s doing all the heavy lifting, the injections, the hormonal fluctuations, you’ve handled all of that on your own because Clinton, he’s just not there.

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, his thumb brushing away the tears that stain your cheeks. “I’m sorry that this has all been on you. I always meant to be here…”

“You need to make a choice.” You tell him and his heart breaks because he always knew it would come to this.

His job or a baby, it shouldn’t be such a hard decision but it is because all Clinton can think about are those cases in his desk drawer, the ones that he’s slowly whittling away at because of the resources his current position allows him to have. You must see the indecision on his features because your lips purse together grimly.

“Think about it while your away.” You tell him before you withdraw from the bed and head towards the bathroom. “Let me know what you decide.”

Love Clinton? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[practicedvmm13fullofpotatoes]

THE NOTEBOOK I MENTIONED ONE TIME ARRIVED AND I JUST SAW IT THIS MORNING WHILE I WAS GETTING READY FOR SCHOOL

IT WAS JUST CHILLING ON TOP OF THE DRAWER AND I WAS JUST LIKE "WOAH, IT ARRIVED :0?"

MOTHER GENUINELY THOUGHT I WOULDN'T NOTICE IT. SOMETHING SOMETHING FATHER TOLD HER TO GIVE IT ALREADY, MOTHER SAID THAT IF I SEE IT IT'S MINE, IF NOT, SHE'LL WAIT TIL MY BIRTHDAY

My dumb ass immediately just. "What? What do those letters in that order mean :D?" as I looked at the Shoot From The Hip logo

It's expensive as fuck but my neurodivergency says it's worth it 🥰

[comma-tose]

Okay so I know they aren't the most popular characters, likely due to not much being known about them, but I genuinely think there was some real potential and mystery in both Felix and Vallory's backstories.

To start with we know that Felix was extremely smart, being able to bypass Hyperion's biometric security, hack into their systems and change his information, and made one of a kind things like Fiona's elemental derringer (or Sasha's healing pocket watch before it got retconned to be that stupid crystal). He was crafty, he was intelligent, and there was some mystery in his backstory teased in Tales.

The first time we find out that he had a past Fiona and Sasha didn't know about is in Hollowpoint, when Fiona finds a picture of a younger Felix with a woman that neither her nor Sasha recognise, but with Fiona remarking that they seem happy.

It's surrounded by multiple empty bottles, and since neither of the girls have ever seen the photo before it's fairly easy to assume it brings up painful memories. The photo has a crease down the middle which would probably indicate that it was something he carried around with him, folded up in his pocket instead of just being hidden away in a drawer somewhere.

Now there's a chance it could be a younger Vallory sure but considering how it's never elaborated on I don't think that's something that can be said for certain. Either way the pair are dressed in outfits that seem similar to each other, which would probably mean that they weren't just emotionally close with each other but probably worked together as well.

Now regardless of whether or not that woman in the picture is Vallory, we know that Felix and Vallory DID have prior history together. He clearly is afraid of what she can do, she's been well aware of both Fiona and Sasha for most of their lives despite them never hearing about her before which would likely indicate she'd been keeping tabs on Felix. On the contrary, Felix was completely unaware of what was going on in Vallory's life, that August was her son until the vault key deal was already in progress, which would mean he likely wanted absolutely nothing to do with Vallory and tried to stay far out of her life, potentially even trying to hide from her to protect both himself and Fiona and Sasha.

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

Now then, onto Vallory. Vallory is introduced as the Queenpin, she's a feared crime boss that has some connections at Hyperion and plenty of bandits at her disposal. She's tactical and cruel and is one of the main antagonists for the Tales crew.

Regarding her relationship to Felix, she clearly holds a grudge against him for some prior reason that isn't explained. Sure she's mad about the vault key deal but she goes out of her way to tear Felix out of the photo she finds of him, Fiona, and Sasha.

She also seems to focus far more on Fiona, directing her questions at her, taunting her, and referring to her as the leader of the Tales group. She's callous and cruel and can stab either Sasha or Vaughn to deliberately to fuck with Fiona and make her agree to her terms.

She has connections at Hyperion. At first it seems like it's just Vasquez she knows but then Finch is able to walk around Helios freely without having to blend in so it seems likely she has more. When this started it isn't clear, whether it was while Jack was alive or after his death. We know Hyperion had dealings with some criminals on Pandora before, like with turning people over for experimentation, so it's possible she had a hand in that or something similar.

But where I think it gets really interesting is when Fiona confronts her during episode 5. While talking about the Traveller she says "it's bigger than any I've ever seen" which would seemingly point to her being someone involved with vault hunting in the past or at the very least involved with someone else who was vault hunting. Sure she could have seen the Warrior from a distance when Jack awakened it but that's not really enough to mention the Traveller being bigger than any vault monster she's ever seen.

That's not to say I think she was a successful vault hunter or anything, but maybe that she was someone who was able to attempt it and get pretty far, or was allies with someone else that did.

Aside from that Athena seemingly knows her, and Vallory was more than willing to fight Athena before August stopped her. Vallory isn't stupid, she sends in her goons to do her dirty work when she doesn't want to get involved. For her to be willing to fight a literal assassin/vault hunter, even if it was impulsively, she must have some kind of confidence that she could actually get somewhere with that.

Hell she even has the ability to contact the Crimson Raiders and enlist the help of Mordecai and Brick to take out Athena, sure they needed to get her for Lilith but the fact that Vallory even knew that they were going after her and implies that she has some idea of why is impressive.

All in all I think that those two were really interesting characters and I wish we would've gotten more lore about them, why they knew each other, what they did before, and what exactly was going on between them.

[annabelle-creart]

Writer: Hey guys-

Wrath: what do you two have there?

Drawer: …

Writer: …

Drawer: a iced coffee?

Researcher: at this hour-?

Wrath: you can’t to be serious- we’re not talking about that!

Drawer: yes I made it, and I don’t know why I’m into this, but it’s 2:30 AM and fuck it, I like what I did

Good night

Close ups under the cut