#like it must be nice to not need the same amount of help/get the help

[neuroglitchy]

oh hello, yet another ADHD app designed to help with routines!

unfortunately I can't afford your subscription, do you know why?

BECAUSE I CAN'T MANAGE THE MOST BASIC ROUTINES WITHOUT THE HELP YOU PUT BEHIND A PAYWALL YOU PREDATORY FXCKS!

I'm open to recommendations, in case any of you found a free alternative to apps like Brili, Tiimo, Routinery or RoutineFlow...

[grotesquevi]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ GONNA TAKE MY TIME. I HAVE ALL THE TIME ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ IN THE WORLD, ‎‎‎‎‎TO MAKE YOU MINE. ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎

cw  # 18+ minors and cis-men do not interact, filth based on two nonnie requests that had me combusting, dom!camgirl-reader + sub!ellie, mutual masturbation, spit, fucking machine, reader is kinda rough and mean, mocking, degradation, slight spanks, finger fucking, use of toys (duh) tons of dirty talk, i may be forgetting things but nothing extremely weird. mutuals look away.

side note  # first of all, i'm sorry. depeche mode's ultra cd makes me do stuff. crazy nonnies you have done it- i don't know if you guys are the same person, but you both fought this war with a sword and no shield, so this 3.3k word-nasty-piece of work? all yours. i must say i changed a few things like, there's no stream in the end but home-made porn? i've fallen for the sub!ellie propaganda and i'm rotting in the pits of hell with your ideas, do i care? no, i'm living for it, hope you enjoy too x // check out the fic directory!!

"i think you're doing it wrong," cocky bitch. you're mocking at her, teasing her choices while looking at her comfortably seated on the other side of the kitchen island — "there's also sugar and lemon in a mojito, baby. not just rum, mint and sparkling water."

baby.

the word sticks with ellie for a while as her cheeks gain a subtle shade of pink in response and she has to look at the drink she's re-making for the fourth time already trying to somehow make a half-decent mojito for you: it's never too late to know about her awful bartending skills.

"that's why it's not working out, love" you say again, holding the laugh in—. "you're missing the main ingredients."

"oh that makes sense," man. it's adorable. you find it adorable when you're invading her space as you stand behind her: are you drunk? is that it? ellie's been making you try drink after drink even when you scrunch your nose in disgust and laugh it out trying to be nice about the bad taste: it's neither too strong, too sweet or too minty "should i do it again?"

"yeah, you should" you breathe out making her feel your warm breath against her naked shoulder, and for a moment, ellie struggles to concentrate when your hand finds her waist, cold-silver rings that makes her shiver for a moment, "i'll be here to help you out with your poor sense of proportions."

"so you're a professional now huh?" she's been standing down the barrel of a gun for a while. playing this game she's sure is going to get her burnt without any control of it. "okay then. help me out."

it's almost an invitation. a dare cause you've been acting up like nothing happened already a week ago, like she didn't saw you on a live stream, like you didn't asked her to come over after being friends online for like a month or two cause you live in the same city she does.

friends is an understatement surely — but how do you call the girl ellie's been masturbating to the last six months? how do you explain the insane amount of tokens she had to spend because she needed to get your attention to herself at least for a breach of seconds? that's not how you treat a friend.

things got messy when you begged her for a video call. and now that she's looking back at it while her hands work on auto-pilot, ellie should've know that the thin line of just talking was going to be fuzzy as ever.

what was she thinking about when she talked to you for the first time? that she would have it under control? it seems inevitable when ellie's sliding in your dm's like she already belonged in your life from the beginning. flirty texts, some deep conversations and all suddenly? you're giving her your personal number, video-chatting almost every day until last week when your face's popping up on her phone after a rough session of exercise, and it's all the combination to be a massive disaster.

the adrenaline rush hits hard, cause you got ellie staring at the sweat that comes down your neck, clearing her throat like she just smoked the whole pack of cigs still guarded on her black jacket — she's saying something about your hair looking good, you're blatantly flirting back, showing her your cute attire for working out before a comment about your tits fucking slips from her mouth and that's all it fucking takes. all. it. fucking. takes.

"masturbate with me on a live stream," you're the first one to surrender when things got heated, pouting for her delight as you stare at your phone screen — "don't show your face if it makes you uncomfortable, it's just- god. such a good fucking view everybody needs to see what i'm claiming f'me, ells."

so her words stumble upon each other in search of an answer, twisted fantasies since she's damn weak at this point, begging to get all of you as she's changing her video-call to her laptop, making sure you're watching when she's unbuckling the belt around her blue jeans, letting it hang between her legs as own hand slides under the white tank top — "c'mon quick before i regret it, don't be greedy. let your horny fans know who you're touching yourself to."

no. ellie's not used to it. maybe that's why she's face red when you're live streaming the whole thing, when you're putting up a show for her and suddenly she's feeling no damn shame in touching herself from over her already wet underwear, rough voice as she encourages you to masturbate too, she don't care if she's being seen by what? 12k? 15k people? let the fucking tips keep coming.

"the lemon, ellie" you're biting on her shoulder as she lets out a moan in response, dragged again back to reality. fuck — did she just got hit by a sex memory? "what was that huh? you zoomed out."

"just thinking," she replies already embarrassed. being this close to you, having your teeth biting on her skin and leaving a damn mark: she brought this upon herself.

"what are you thinking of?" you curiously ask, chin resting against her shoulder before your hand find hers, directing her to take the lemon from the fruit basket "something nice?"

"yeah" something she forgets about it seems when her ass is pressing against your front and now she gets why ghost was such a big deal in the 90's "yeah it was nice."

now, to say the truth, ellie's been out in the blue for a while cause no, she never met you in real life before. yes, you live in her city, yes, you video-chat every day or so, but when you disappear after that until damn saturday night she doesn't really know what to do exactly.

"i miss you" you texted hours before the encounter — "you live too far from my place?"

it does not matter that in reality, it's a 45-minute-drive. ellie's there anyway. the sound of the vinyl constantly spinning on the turntable spiraling like she does when you're dictating her movements, and fuck's sake it's so damn hot it should be a crime cause there's nothing sexual about it, but your hand covers her when you're using the knife to cut the lemon in a half, and your fingers blend with hers as they squeeze the lemon right over the mojito, making the juice coat your fingers, go down ellie's arm and before she can think about it, she's looking at you from over her shoulder with glassy eyes, half-lidded and that smile that just screams fucking-shatter-me.

"i'm gonna kiss you now" you reply like a fair warning, falling for the erotic sight of her needy state "can i kiss you?"

so it's an sloppy kiss when ellie's able to nod, saliva blends on itself, teeth, desperation and need, makes the girl want it all to herself. you hold her jaw tightly, making her stay in the same spot, contorted and kissing you back like it's a religious experience that gets her closer to a divine force.

your fingers smell like lemon and the mojito seems long forgotten when your hand slide down the tank top she's wearing and ellie's letting you take control — shit. she fucking wants you to take control. she knew you would do her no good when she first talked to you already, know that you're dangerous and a hazard to her well-being when you're pushing the door of your bedroom among an explosion of words that make her blood boil.

"do you have any idea of much i've been thinking about you?" you ask, but ellie's already chaotic when her top's already falling to the floor "how much i missed you the last days i've been without you? fucking hell, i tried so hard to avoid it, ellie. it's simply not fair."

"no it isn't" she agrees with you, cause it's not. cause she cannot possibly be silent about it when you're touching her, impossible to have a little self-respect when she's letting you have it, a need that goes beyond from what your hands are able to grab and feel, "god- it fucking isn't."

it's better than any fantasy ellie had before, and the greater power in the universe knows how much she's been craving this, how long she's been acting up like a damn freak: avoiding her friends cause she wants to hear your voice, entire days with the damn sounds of your moans etched on her skin, marked like a tattoo among the moth in her arm — it's better than whatever dream she's been having lately when your mouth closes on the valley of her chest, making her skin shiver cause she can physically see the traces of saliva in her skin like a trophy, the tug on her underwear when you're biting on the fabric since it only getting in the damn way. annoying you.

it goes through her soul much like the devastating shred of the guitar who's capable of trespassing her entirely. you're so in control. so damn aware of yourself when ellie's already lost in this hazy cloud of lust, always in control and pulling her back to reality.

"shit you're so needy," you breathe out as she's blushing, the speckled freckles coming in contrast with the red that pops on her face — "i'm gonna take my time with you until you have no idea on where you end, and i begin to exist."

how does simple words can turn her on to this point of no return? the tone you use to admit, out loud, how willing you are to devastate her? must have know it when the most slutty moans escape from her parted lips: fucking tease. that's what you are when your fingers slide from under her classic jeans, when you notice how her underwear sticks sinfully to the outlines of her pussy just by touching, drenched, sticky, it already covers your hand by the slightest stroke.

"can i record this?" she can tell you're wrecked too, impatient by the unevenness of your voice. "for us. don't care about the site-"

"yes-" she's gonna turn fucking purple at some point when she's repeating it multiple times, already shaking her head in approval "yes please, record it- send me a copy- just fucking do it."

"you're such a whore" you pant, and before ellie can say anything, you're taking her phone to open up the camera icon and point the lenses back to her face "what was that? say it again."

"please" it makes ellie's cunt clench in response while your lips curve in a smile, pleased as you're using just a slight amount of force to push her right over the edge of your mattress — "please record it, send me a copy m'am. please."

"begging so quick already huh?" placing yourself between her parted legs, ellie's hand roam against your sides before you're making her look up, pulling on her hair to oblige her to stare at your eyes "beg so beautiful i might have to make you do it again."

your thumb trace the confines of her lips, cold skin before ellie's biting on the finger playfully — "please- i can't deal with any more teasing."

"okay then greedy. all fours then. i want you in all fours" you reply as the camera points at her, giving you the perfect look of ellie's face, how she seemed, for the first time, pleased to follow orders without putting up a fight. "leave the panties on."

and in the camera it looks so fucking hot you forget to keep her in the frame for a second, distracted cause your eyes scan the exposed skin; cause her body's like a halo that holds some sort of holiness when she's doing what you demanded: her cheek rests against your wrinkled duvet as her backside is up like a present ready to let you take whatever you want from her.

so you're grabbing her ass, squeezing the flesh in one hand as the other seemed to remember it's job while recording, giving a good image of your viewer's body as the lenses catch every detail you're missing out as a victim of the adrenaline.

"you're always this good at submitting? or is it me who's having the pleasure of seeing this?" you question, but at this point ellie cannot find the words to say something about how she's not submitting, even when in reality the spank you gave her makes her body go stiff for a moment, an involuntary gasp leaving her parted mouth in response. she has no face to lie to you. "talk to me, dummy. or have you forgotten how to speak properly?"

"uh please," she whines "don't do this to me."

"poor baby," you pout for a moment before a smirk pulls the corners of your lips back up — "can't handle a little teasing? really are an impatient little slut."

ellie's hand grip the covers beneath her when you're finally taking care of the ache she's so bad to control in between her legs, when you mumble something about her underwear sticking to her folds like glue, the white cotton already dampened as it reveals the pink color you're quick to stare at as your fingers slide right in the middle: sticky, coats your hand like its meant to land on it, makes you follow like the moth is drawn to the fire.

"breathe," you instruct when the camera points to ellie's cunt. grimy and so good as the video catches on the transparent strands of her arousal connected to your palm, how ellie's hips move ever so slightly in search for more friction, anything at all when your fingers perpetuate the torture in keeping her hanging on a thread "you'll thank me for this. i need you loose for the fucking machine."

she would like to investigate further, ask what-the-fuck you're talking about, but the only thing that comes out of her mouth when your fingers slide filling her drenched cunt, is a loud whine that puts her damn right under your control. roughly biting on her lips to somehow stiffen the sounds of how pathetic she already is under your hands, how her hips unbuckle on her own to follow the length of your digits splitting her open.

"oh fuck-" you moan slowly falling to pieces, sounds so damn inviting at this point—. "fuck you're so tight- so warm."

"more," there's a lewd sound that your fingers make when there're sinking in deeper inside her pussy and withdrawal almost entirely before slamming back in, in her moans and incoherent words to make you go faster, take more from what ellie's already presenting to you. "more, more- more."

it makes you laugh, and ellie's face already too red to keep on blushing as you mock her words — "more, more more. is it the only word you fucking know?"

she asked for it now that she's seeing the video back in your phone with you already invading her space. soft, lazy kisses against the crook of her neck. takes it like a champ when ellie can hear the mechanic sounds filling the air, irrupting the silence and her needy moans as you position the machine right next your waist, roughly moving her where you needed her to be.

"you look so fucking hot," ellie hears as she stares at the screen, blushing again like she's not already embarrassed from her previous behavior recorded on camera "do me a favor and spread yourself out, need to see your pretty hole."

she's quick to spread her ass-cheeks for you without a second thought, making you gather a good quantity of spit on your mouth to toss against her already abused opening, lubricating the entrance.

her moans drive you crazy, how could they not? ellie tries to muffle them but failing miserably before the tip of the silicone dildo kisses her entrance, using your free hand to guide her movements and push her against the fucking machine as the toy's already moving at a constant pace.

"make room for my cock," your hand slides down her spine, following the bones of ellie's column. the phone still points to her cunt greedily swallowing the blue color until it disappears inside. makes you dizzy at the sight—. "such a good girl taking my cock."

"s'too big, ah-too much" ellie whines, pressing her cheek against the mattress as you keep the pace of the machine in the slower level, making her gasp when you're the one with enough force to move her hips against the machine for her. "mff-good fuck."

"yeah baby, that's right keep talking to me" you encourage her as your fingers slowly make the machine go faster than before — "keep telling me how good my cock's making you feel. i'm all ears."

"stretching me out s'good" she's able to say as her brain's already combusting by itself. the mechanic sounds mixing already with her drenched cunt as the phone keeps recording right against ellie's entrance, giving you a hella good view when you're able to see the white-creamy-traces of her cunt already coating the dildo "ah-you're making me feel so full."

so as she rewatches the video recorded on her own phone, she's aware of the debased stated you reduced her. how saliva's coming down her parted lips to coat the bed you sleep in every day, glassy eyes already in the verge of tears cause the pleasure's so intense ellie could cry from the stimulation she has never felt before.

it's a bomb ticking her way back to zero. your fingers play with all the levels of the machine and ellie can see that you're enjoying it too, the red imprint of your hand on her ass, the way you're pushing her face against the mattress to have her arching her back in a better angle, to allow the dildo in reaching deeper levels even when her legs shake struggling to hold her own weight.

"shh, don't whine" you say on top of her when your fingers thread against ellie's hair, pulling it roughly. "don't whine, you asked for more remember? be a good fucking slut and take it good. you're there already."

damn right she is. she wants to be good for you. please you even when the machine's so fucking loud she cannot hear her own thoughts, when her brain's malfunctioning and its fucking leaking through her ear into your sheets — you're pushing her against the dildo, impaling her balls-deep in the silicone you keep calling your cock, and suddenly her vision's fading to black, blinded momentarily since she dissolves into lust and becomes one with the pleasure, you fucking win.

it's not a competition, it's not a game anymore. not when you're switching your attitude so fast got her confused for a second when all the roughness dissipates and you're pressing soft kisses against her back as she's coming down from her high — "you okay there, beautiful? was i too rough on you?"

"fuck- i think i need a moment to breathe- hold up a second."

the video comes to an end seconds after, but its there on ellie's memory like a poor movie with bad camera anglings. you're helping to lay in bed after, praising how she's basking under the glimmer of sex, placing soft kisses in the red marks you leave on her skin like a permanent reminder.

so ellie stays that night, cause you were right when you said it before.

you took your time with her until she has no damn idea anymore. until you make her torn cause even when she's looking at the video with you sleeping on her side all over again, she still have no idea on where you ended, and she begins to exist.

man. ellie knew it was no good.

[finelinevogue]

something new

summary - you meet harry at a festival and have a bit of fun

pairing - harry styles x stranger!reader

word count - ~1.5k

“Where are you?” Your friend, Lea, shouted down the phone just so you could hear her over the loud music.

“I’m coming back with drinks now.” You shouted back, slightly tipsy from the amount of beer you had been drinking.

You and your two best friends, Lea and Hallie, had decided to come to the LIDO festival last minute.

Your outfits were as cheap as the tickets, but you were having the best time. The music was fun but you definitely needed a drink or two to get through it.

“Okay, come quick! We miss you!” Lea shouted.

“Miss you queen!” Hallie shouted too.

“Who are you missing?” Someone else shouted in the background, to which there were a bunch of inaudible screams from your friends.

“Hello?” You tried pushing through the crowds and back to your friends.

“Come back Y/N! We all miss you!” You had no idea who shouted that, but the phone call disconnected before you could find out. Hopefully your friends were okay.

It took you another ten minutes to push back through the crowds.

At least the drinks survived though.

Three beers were going to have to last you all at least another two hours, because there was no way you were going back through those crowds again anytime soon.

“Lea!” You shouted as you got closer.

You couldn’t see Hallie because she was talking ever so closely to a girl. She was cute and definitely Hallie’s type.

Lea turned to you and pulled your arm to help you through the wedges of large men.

“You’re back!” She screamed excitedly.

“Here you go.” You handed her a beer and kept ahold of Hallie’s for the moment - no need to interrupt her moment.

The music was even louder here down next to the stage, but this is somehow where you managed to grab a spot.

You checked that your bag was still across your chest and immediately got back to dancing with Lea.

The beer wasn’t great but it would do.

You danced around whilst Lea full-on belted the lyrics to whatever song was playing. You weren’t fully comprehensive in this genre of music, but you were happy to be here for the experience.

You took another sip of your drink before Hallie came over and snatched hers from your other hand, giving you a kiss on the cheek in thanks.

You winked at her as she went back to the girl.

At least one of you three were getting some excitement tonight.

To be fair, Lea had her boyfriend at home so she would no doubt be waking him up later to have fun.

That just left you.

Luckily you were broken from that self wallowing thought as someone came up to you, emerging from the crowds.

“You must be Y/N!” The guy shouted, cap pointing low on his face so you couldn’t see him entirely.

“Who’s asking?”

The guy tipped his hat back and shock washed over your face to see Harry fucking Styles standing in front of you.

“Holy shit.” You said out loud, not having meant to.

Harry laughed.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, feeling more assured that it wasn’t some creep who was calling your name.

“Harry.” He held out his hand for you and you shook it.

He had nice hands.

That wasn’t creepy to say. His fingers were rings free and they were so soft. You couldn’t help but blush and smile at the touch of him. He looked like he was having the same physical reaction.

“Nice to meet you.” You said.

“And you.”

You took another sip of your beer, not knowing where or how to steer the conversation next.

“What is it?” Harry pointed to your drink.

“Just a local beer, I think.” You said after swallowing, “Wanna try?”

You handed over the beer to him, both your hands getting the opportunity to touch again. He thanked you as he brought the drink to his lips and you couldn’t help but watch how his lips balanced on the edge of your cup.

He looked so pretty, wow.

You couldn’t believe that Harry Styles was drinking your beer at a random summer festival.

He nodded after he had finished, giving it the seal of approval.

“Good?”

“Yeah.” He smiled.

“Wanna share?” You offered as he gave it back to you.

“Okay.” He nodded.

A new song came on and you knew this one.

Lea and Hallie came over to you because they knew this was one of your favourite songs. You had such great friends.

“Here.” Harry offered to hold your drink so you could dance with your friends.

You three all held hands and then danced like there was no one else here. The kind of dancing you would usually reserve for your bedroom or cleaning the house. None of you had it in you to care how crazy you looked though, because you felt so free.

After the song was over Hallie hugged you both before returning to her new smiling girl. Lea told you she was going to attempt to face-time her boyfriend. That left you to get close to Harry again.

“Thanks.” You said as he handed your drink back, needing to take a big sip after your dancing.

“It’s alright.”

“Why aren’t you performing tonight?”

“Can’t be a singer all the time.” He shrugged.

“Shame. I would’ve loved to see you up there.” You smiled, pretty sure that you were attempting to flirt.

“Oh yeah?” He smiled, showing his pretty dimples to you.

“Mhm. Is it okay to admit I came to see Love on Tour?”

“Of course.” He nodded.

“Three times.”

He laughed at that.

“Well, I’m flattered.”

“You should be. You’re great.” You gave him your best admiring eyes, returning your gave from him to the stage so that you could give yourself a moment to reset your blush.

You felt Harry come and stand close at your back.

You turned slightly to see his hand ghosting over your back as if he wanted to keep you close but wasn’t sure where to toe the line.

You helped him out by reaching behind you to bring his hand forward and place it on your right hip, his body bumping a little into you from behind.

Harry settled nicely.

His hand immediately went firm on your hip, his fingers spreading to keep your balance against him.

Your body swayed as another song came. Harry swayed along with you.

Hallie caught your gaze from across the way and gave you an excited, silent, scream and you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at the bizarreness of it all.

You turned your head to the side so you could see Harry, “You here alone?”

“No. My friends are over there.” He nodded his head over to where Lea was speaking to some guys “They’re both married, don’t worry.”

“Lea is close to being too.”

“Ah congrats to her.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to turn back around to the stage now that you had your gaze set on Harry. Why would you want to?

Harry kept his head tilted down to watch you intensely, pursing his lips as he watched you bite the corner of yours.

“What?” You asked with a giggle.

He just shook his head with a smirk.

“No, what?”

“You’re very pretty.” He answered softly and even though the music was way louder than him, you could still hear him perfectly.

“So are you.”

“Pretty enough to kiss?”

Your jaw dropped a little over his preposition. He was so smooth, but you didn’t want to boost his potential ego by telling him.

“I suppose.”

“Oh you do, do you?” He raised his eyebrows in jest.

You simply nodded, but you turned your body so that your chest was against his now. Your hand came up to cup his cheek and you still felt his hand on your other hip now. He hadn’t let go.

Harry leant his head down to meet you half way, leaving you to finish the rest of the distance or back away if you wanted to - but you definitely didn’t want that second option. Instead, you leant up and cupped the back of his neck to guide his lips to yours.

The music blended into the background as you closed your eyes and all you could feel was Harry.

His body pulled yours to his and you felt yourself moulding your lips and body in tandem with his.

His cap got slightly in the way but neither of you minded, kissing around the obstacles.

The kiss was sweet and firm, but he pulled away before anything intense could happen. As soon as he pulled away though he realised what he was missing, so he pulled you back for one more kiss.

You both stayed close to each other, smiling like two kids in love and not two strangers who’d just met.

“You planning to stay for all the music acts?” He asked hoarsely, like he still hadn’t caught his breath back.

“Maybe. I could be persuaded otherwise.” You suggested.

“Good to know.” He pursed his lips so he could taste your lipstick again - cherry - before going in for another kiss.

Your arms reached up behind his neck to hold him closer this time, feeling his hands keep ahold of your waist. He didn’t want you slipping away from him, but neither did you want to.

Your lips pressed urgently into his, both of you tasting like the beer you’d been sharing. His moustache and beard hairs tickled your skin, but felt good.

Harry breathed into the kiss, causing you to lean further into him just to chase his lips.

Your face tilted the other way to kiss him better, but you got fed up at one point and brought a hand up to move his cap around so it was now on backwards. It was easier to kiss him without a bumping restriction.

Harry laughed at your move.

“What?” You smiled as he smiled at you.

“Nothing.” He kissed you again. “This feel alright?”

“Nothing’s felt better.” That probably sounded desperate, but at this point you didn’t care.

“Very much agree.” He laughed and kissed you once more - or twice.

Harry’s arm slunk around your waist to bring you close to his side and you wrapped your arm around his waist too. You probably looked like a couple, but you were happy to pretend for the evening.

The song changed again to something that made Harry cheer, pointing towards his friends who cheered too.

His friends and Lea came over, Lea internally screaming at you for whatever had just happened between you and Harry.

You tucked your head onto Harry’s chest to get away from her shocked stare. Harry only pulled you closer in.

Harry bounced along to the song with his friends and you laughed as you watched him enjoy himself.

The joy was overwhelming and you couldn’t help but feel like something new had just begun.

[orphicsun]

Hear me out succubus!reader x sub!ellie

warnings: succubus!reader + sub!ellie, slight mentions of inhuman body traits (tongue, claws for nails), tribbing, oral sex (e! receiving)

Ellie knows it's wrong. It's wrong physically, mentally, morally, spiritually. It's wrong in all the ways that count. The predicament she has found herself in is downright terrifying, and it should make her feel similar to how someone must feel surrounded by great, thick patches of forest in the middle of the night with nothing but a dead flashlight and prayers. She should feel each bit of hair raise in the same direction the follicle it protrudes from, and part of her cannot deny the sinister feeling of summoning something so beyond fucked.

But you've got such a grip on her, it's a helpless cause to hope that she can ever feel normal again.

It's easily the third time this week, but she needs it. The craving feels so easy, naturally attained as water soothing the body's thirst. It makes her feel extreme and she finds herself sliding one, two, three fingers into her graciously wet hole, only to whimper helplessly on the brink of an orgasm she will never reach without your help.

It's tragic, really. Walking down the aisle to the love of her life someday, and yet on their honeymoon some place far away, a hotel and soft silk sheets with a poor girl who isn't aware of the ritual a once bored 19 year old Ellie did, Ellie will be stuck in a loop. She'll never be able to cum, no matter how hard she tries. Not to her own touch, not to her wife's, and you'll be long gone by then.

It's a fate she chose for herself, really. She signed the terms and conditions agreement.

But for now, you appear when she feels the need to be stuffed and stretched rise up below her waist.

"You said you'd try to hold out longer," you greet her directly into her ear, deceivingly honey-soft laughter bellowing from your chest. It never gets old, because Ellie jolts, looking around until she finds you in her room. She isn't used to this—a demon available to her whenever she even feels the least bit horny. Not that she is complaining.

"Yeah, well, I guess I've changed my mind." You don't stop to take her in, the boy shorts that hug her hips in a cotton embrace a sight gone to waste as you immediately peel them off of her wanton body. The t-shirt is soon to follow, and Ellie doesn't need to be told to lay down nice and comfortable only to be wrecked beyond comprehension by you.

You're already naked, always are. You're impatient and all of the above, and she doesn't complain. She is ridiculously horny, and unlike you, she doesn't have all the time in the world.

You encourage her legs to part and receive no backlash; then, you find your hips fit snug between them, the fat in the back of her thighs cushioning you like a perfect fit.

Ellie knows this isn't what sex should be, never as perfect as the kind you supply and yet so painful. It reminds her of ballet, in a twisted sense. It's painful and leaves her body and soul weary, but she doesn't take the time to recover, kin to the exhaustion of the dancer whose years of cracked soles amount to an art so refined in the process, it's nearly worth it all. For a ballerina, she thinks it is worth it all. She isn't so sure with you.

She is addicted to the art of being your prey, regardless.

But she needs it like a dosage of her favorite drug, and she lets her hands greedily roam the smooth expanse of your back, drawing patterns over your shoulder blades. She takes all she can get when she is beneath you.

"I can smell how horny you are from miles away, you know." Your tongue is filthy against her neck, each stroke you draw against her jugular sending dopamine through her veins and straight down to her beating clit.

"Please," she murmurs needily, shuddering when one of your leg hitch over hers, feeling your clit easily slide against hers. "Fuck, like that, please. Just like that."

"Good girl, aren't you? Just take it." Your hips rock against hers in a familiar rhythm, just how Ellie likes it. Beneath you, the girl is a babbling mess, whining about how good you fuck her. She is delirious, so much so that she grabs your hips to keep you firmly on her lap as she grinds up against you. It's not enough and somehow too much all the same.

"Fuck, can you please just eat me out?" Ellie blurts out between her panting.

"Aw, getting selfish now?" You coo condescendingly, leaning down to shove your tongue into her mouth. She moans around it and sucks on it, feeling your spit-tanged lips slot against hers in a mockery of a loving kiss. She'll accept it, though. She'll love it.

You break the kiss to lick down her body, pausing on your favorite places. You have sex with her for selfish purposes yourself, none of them really being out of lust, but you still have appreciation for her tits and won't miss the chance to take one into your mouth, attaching your lips to her nipple so you can swirl your tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Stop teasing," Ellie grits through her teeth, voice strained and yet the desperate lilt rises even higher when you giggle against her navel, your path clear.

As if she wasn't soaked enough, you spit on her clit, watching as the saliva rushes down her folds and past her perineum. She moans at the feeling. Your saliva is always oddly cooler than it should be, and as soon as you poke your tongue into her hole just barely, the hot muscle a sensory contrast, her pillow is greeted by the back of her head, her neck raised like an arch in overwhelming pleasure.

You always like to make it painful too, so much so that she craves it when you dig your clawed nails into her thighs as you spread them impossibly apart, and in more extreme cases, she begs you to wrap your fingers around her throat and take her breath from her lungs as she cums all over your free hand or pussy.

Before, it was teasing and had her desperate for more. However, the direct stimulation now has her nearly doubling back in overstimulation before her orgasm. You hold her to her words, though. Your tongue clits against her clit, and your tongue feels unlike any human one, roughly textured. You work against her pussy as if you have found a door into her mind and know just how she imagines her pleasure, drawing it out on her body before she can even begin to describe it to you.

When her orgasm crashes over her, your grip on her thighs shifts up to her hips, pinning her quivering body to the bed. Cries of pleasure tear from her throat so loud the neighbor could hear if he were home. Thank Goddess for the community pool he frequents daily in his speedo, because he won't be hearing his neighbor get her pussy eaten by the succubus she made the mistake of summoning.

It's not art, but you look down at her as if she is—her heaving chest, nipples and both lips coated in your spit, pussy leaking down onto the sheets, clit engorged and red, and scratches marks littering her thighs. It's sends power through you just to see the state you've left her from.

But like always, you're gone before she can even think of uttering a reaction. You stay for the feeding, and you've given her her end of the deal.

Ellie is beginning to think of this as a mistake she cannot undo, however.

taglist: @femme-tobe, @sulliefimmie, @klallx, @elliescoochieeater, @mytaping, @pryncess123, @therealhexstrap, @piercedome, @violetszn, @saturnhas82moons, @myfabulousnesshasarrived, @sawaagyapong, @prettyinpink69, @usuck, @s7nburn, @hellokittyfeenie, @ssijht, @starberr1, @ruevu, @ruelezz, @littlefallenangel111, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @human-cacti, @tphmnv, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @ferxanda, @vahnilla, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @g4ys0n, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs,@vixxxen, @aceywaycy, @abbysbutch, @evoscancelled, @x0x0xkimara, @aviixol, @mysexy-anxiety want to be tagged? click here!

a/n: yeah idk how to feel about this but i'm trying to fully get over my burnout and this is a step!!

[fatecantstopme]

Spell Bound

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen...I couldn't help myself.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names. An excessive amount of heavy SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), rough sex, oral (F receiving), multiple cream pies

"I freaking hate witches," Dean mumbled as he picked the lock on the apartment door.

You chuckled softly, very used to hearing him grumble every time you were hunting a witch.

He slowly walked into the apartment and you followed in after him.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" you asked quietly.

"Big scary magic book. Sam said it's probably on or near some kind of altar."

"Big scary magic book," you muttered under your breath. "Makes perfect sense."

You sighed as you walked into the living room and noticed several bookcases lined with large books. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Dean shot you a weary smile. "Guess it might take a little longer than I thought."

"You think?"

You took one side of the room and Dean took the other. Sam had described the look of the book to the both of you, but there was really no way to be 100% certain if you found it.

About 15 minutes into your perusal, you spotted a large leather-bound book tucked under what appeared to be an altar cloth. You slowly removed the cloth, wary of what you might uncover. The book was almost exactly as Sam had described, so you had a feeling it was the right one.

"I think I found it," you said aloud.

At almost the same exact moment, a crash sounded from behind you and Dean let out a string of curses.

You spun around to see the hunter brushing off some sort of florescent pink dust from his face. "What the hell did you do?"

"I was moving some of the books and this box fell out and some powder just kinda...sprayed my face."

"Seriously?"

He looked sheepish. "I didn't even see it."

You sighed. "Great. God only knows what the hell that was."

He looked at the box carefully, but there was nothing written on it to identify the powdery substance he had inhaled. He gave you another sheepish look and shrugged. "Maybe it's not harmful."

You shot him a stony look. "Dean...it's a witch. It's not gonna be fairy dust."

He sighed, knowing you were right. He started shifting his shoulders a bit as if he was uncomfortable.

"Let's get out of here. I'll call Sam on the way back to the motel and see if he has any idea what it could be."

Dean nodded and followed you out the door. By the time you got outside the building and to the car, he was twitching like an addict in need of a fix.

"Dean?" you asked tentatively.

"My skin feels like it's on fire and--and it's like--itchy. And there's a weird feeling inside that I can't describe, but it doesn't feel nice."

"Okay...how 'bout I drive?"

He looked up at you with concerned eyes, but he handed you the keys and got into the passenger seat. You knew he must really be feeling terrible if he was letting you drive Baby.

You started the car up and pulled out of the parking spot while simultaneously calling Sam on your cell. He answered on the third ring.

"Dean got some sort of witchy powder on his face and now he's...itchy?" you said quickly in lieu of a greeting.

Sam sighed. "What are his symptoms?"

You put the phone on speaker. "Dean, what are your symptoms?"

Dean couldn't look at you and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "I feel like crawling out of my own skin, everything aches, and I'm having a hard time breathing right. Oh and I can literally smell (Y/N)'s skin, which is totally not normal!"

"You can smell my skin?"

He grumbled under his breath. "I can smell your skin and your shampoo and your goddamn body wash, and I want--fuck. What the hell is wrong with me, Sam?"

"Uh, I honestly don't know. Let me call Bobby and see if he has any ideas."

You set the phone down on the seat beside you. "Maybe you're turning into some kind of animal?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean...you can smell me...which is weird and kind of--animalistic."

"I don't think that's it," he said harshly. "My body is aching in a way I can't even begin to describe to you, but I don't think I'm morphing into anything."

You eyed him carefully, worry etched into your face. He was your closest friend and trusted hunting partner, and you hated seeing him like this. Witches scared the shit out of you...you knew what they were capable of.

"Maybe drive a little faster," he hissed.

You pressed harder on the gas and the Impala shot down the road. When your phone rang, you answered it immediately.

"So I think I might know what it is, but I have something I need to ask Dean first," Sam said.

"Okay." You looked at Dean. "Can you hold the phone? Sam wants to ask you something."

Dean took the phone from your hand, hissing as his skin made contact with yours. "What?" he grumbled.

"This is gonna be awkward, but I need to know, okay? Do you feel--umm--aroused at all?"

Dean was silent for a moment as he let his brother's question sink in. Ohhh fuuuuck, he thought to himself. He glanced down at his jeans and noticed the bulge straining against them. With the intense pain he was experiencing, he hadn't really noticed. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled. "Yeah."

"Okay, well the good news is, I know what it is. It's called sex pollen."

"It's called what?"

"Sex pollen. The name doesn't really matter, but you have all the symptoms. They're only going to get worse until--well until you die."

"Die? Is there a cure?"

You looked over at Dean in terror, your foot pressing down even further on the pedal. Dean's hand was shaking slightly as he put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

"You have to--uhh--well--shit. You have to umm...fuck it out."

"I have to what?"

"Dude, I know, okay? But you don't have a choice. If you don't you'll die a rather painful death."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said again. "Can I, umm, take care of it myself?"

"According to what Bobby read, the only option is actual intercourse with another person."

"How long do I have?"

You were acutely aware of Dean's close proximity to you, and now you understood the nature of his pain. Your own breathing was more labored, but you desperately tried to maintain control of yourself. Don't make it weird, (Y/N), you thought to yourself.

"30 minutes from the time of contact until...until death," Sam answered.

"30 minutes?" you gasped. You started doing the math in your head as Dean continued talking to his brother. "We have maybe 10 more minutes until we get back to the motel and that leaves about 10 until..."

Dean looked over at you, his normally green eyes dark with need. "I'm so fucked," he muttered.

"That doesn't really leave us time to find someone for you to--you know," you said worriedly.

"Shit."

"Might wanna make it fast," Sam said.

"Obviously," Dean snapped. "How long will it take to...get out of my system?"

"That depends," Sam began. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

"Another story?"

"It could take a lot longer."

"Great," you mumbled.

"Sam, don't be there when we get there," Dean growled at his brother before hanging up the phone.

"Dean?" you questioned softly.

"Just drive, (Y/N)."

You continued driving, but your focus was most definitely not on the road. You could hear the heavy breathing and the soft pained sounds coming from the man beside you and it made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. It certainly didn't help that you had wanted him for years and seeing him like this was making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't be feeling.

Dean flirted with you regularly, but he flirted with almost every person he came into contact with. It's just a part of his personality, so you never read into it. While Dean quite obviously adored you (and you him), you were not his type. You were a good fighter, sure, but where you really excelled was research. You were brilliant--almost as knowledgable as Bobby, though you still had plenty to learn. You were also significantly more--voluptuous than the women Dean gravitated to. Soft, chubby, more to love--whatever you wanna call it. As such, you'd never made any sort of move to announce your feelings for him. You didn't want to face his rejection.

"Sweetheart, if you don't speed up, I'm liable to die before we make it there," Dean hissed.

You shot him a look. "We're less than two minutes away, so don't die on me yet, Winchester."

He exhaled sharply and nodded. "I'm not gonna make it either way, (Y/N). Like you said, we don't have enough time to find a, uh--partner."

You took a deep breath. "I can't let you die."

He looked over at you and you felt his gaze boring right into your soul. "I can't do that to you."

"I really don't see how we have much of a choice here."

You pulled into the motel parking lot before he could respond.

"Let's go," you said quickly as you got out of the car and made your way to your room.

Dean was right behind you, so close you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. As soon as the door was unlocked, Dean was pushing you through it and locking it behind you.

"Shit," he muttered. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's okay, Dean," you said softly. "I'm not afraid."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your chin. "You should be...I'm going to lose control."

"It's alright...use me."

He let out a low growl and squeezed your chin tighter. "I--I won't be able to make this good for you."

You pressed yourself against his body, feeling the hard ridges against you. "It's not about me. You need this."

That was all it took for Dean to let go. His lips attacked yours with a hunger you were not expecting despite the intensity of the situation. He was not at all gentle as he tore your clothes from your body, ripping his own off with equal force.

He tossed you down on the bed with shocking ease. He had absolutely no difficulty manhandling you. You weren't sure if it was the sex pollen or just him.

His lips and hands were everywhere, touching every inch of your soft skin he could possibly reach. He needed to be inside of you so badly it was almost impossible to breathe. His skin burned with each touch and his instincts screamed at him to just break you.

He moves his way down your body and you're surprised as he stops just above your core. "Dean, what are you doing?" You knew he needed a release--and soon--or he wasn't gonna make it.

A voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him this was (Y/N), his (Y/N). Even in his current state, he wanted to avoid hurting you if he could. "Need to get you ready," he grunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was devouring your pussy. The sounds he made were incredible, the feeling almost electrifying. He slid two fingers in and moved them in a scissoring motion to help loosen you up.

He was only down there for a 30 seconds before he came up and locked eyes with you. "I can't hold off anymore."

You nodded. "Just let go. I'll be okay."

He knew the moment he slid inside you, he'd be a goner. Whatever tiny amount of self control he'd managed to hang onto would disappear in an instant. But he could also feel the roaring agony inside him and he needed to feed it before it devoured him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your ear a split second before he sheathed himself fully inside you.

You cried out--pain mixing with pleasure as his large member stretched you in ways you'd never before experienced.

Dean couldn't give you time to adjust--he was too far gone. His hips began to move and his sole focus was on his own pleasure--his own release.

His thrusts were powerful and fast, so much so that your body started to scoot farther up the bed. He grabbed your hips and held you in place, pace never faltering. The sensations were almost painful given his size, but you wouldn't have stopped him even if you could have.

"Fuck, baby--you feel so good," he grunted.

You were more than a little surprised when he spoke--you hadn't pegged him as a dirty talker. Then again, it could very well have been the pollen. The same could be said of the sounds coming from his mouth. You'd never heard such sinful noises and you loved them.

"So tight--squeezing me so good. Feels like heaven."

You squeezed his cock purposefully, making him groan each time you clenched down. He needed his release and you were gonna make sure he got it. Your own enjoyment was far from your mind--this was essentially a transaction--a lifesaving measure. You had to view it that way to protect your heart...at least that's what you told yourself.

"Baby," he moaned. "Imma fill you up--so close."

Despite the voice in your head telling you this wasn't real--that you shouldn't have any emotional attachments--you reached up and touched his face, caressing it lovingly. "Cum for me, Dean," you whispered.

His eyes locked on yours and he bit his lip--hearing you say his name in the heat of the moment was a bigger turn on than he'd ever imagined. It pushed him right over the edge and he spilled inside of you with a grunt.

You lay beneath him, panting despite the minimal exertion on your part. He'd had his orgasm, but he was still moving, much to your surprise. "You're not done--?"

He shook his head. "Need more."

He pulled out and quickly flipped you over with no warning. You instinctively lifted your hips to allow him access, which he took without hesitation. His cock was still throbbing and the need still burned in his veins. His mind remained singularly focused on his relief--his pleasure.

He slammed into your pussy and set a brutal pace, earning a cry of pain from your lips. This new angle allowed him better access, sending his cock deeper inside of you. His head brushed against your cervix with each thrust, a stinging pain accompanying the pleasure.

Dean's large palm came down on your ass with a hard smack, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Your pussy clamped down on his cock as he landed another slap to your round cheek.

"Fuck baby, you like that don't you?" Smack. "You like it when I slap this sexy ass?" Smack. "Fuck--squeezing me so tight, sweetheart." Smack.

He was right though, you loved it. You always had, but there was something extra enjoyable about having your ass smacked by Dean Fucking Winchester. Even if you couldn't verbally express your pleasure to him, your pussy made it well-known.

Dean's right hand gripped your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him as he continued pumping. His left hand trailed up your back until he grabbed a fist full of hair at the base of your neck and pulled. Your head snapped back and you cried out, but you didn't fight him.

"Do you know how badly I've wanted to pull this hair, pretty girl? Fuck--I think about it all the time." His pace was relentless and his hand remained entangled in your hair.

You'd never really noticed him looking at your hair in any particular way, so you assumed once again the pollen was making him say such dirty little things.

After several more thrusts, Dean let go of your hair and pushed down on your upper back, forcing you to press your upper body into the mattress. Dean gripped your hips with both of his hands and slammed into you with an intensity that was unmatched by any of his previous actions.

You had a feeling he was close to another orgasm, at least if his grunts and curses were anything to go by. You clenched down around him again, intent on pushing him past the brink.

It worked like a charm. Dean came with a cry of your name, thrusts continuing as he emptied inside of you once again.

You were exhausted and you hadn't had a single orgasm. Part of you really hoped Dean had gotten it all out of his system, but another part of you didn't want this to end. Even if it wasn't real--even if he didn't actually want to be having sex with you, you liked pretending, if only for a little while.

Dean pulled out of you slowly and rolled you over with a surprising gentleness. You assumed that meant he was satiated and the pollen was out of his system.

When you met his eyes, you were surprised by how brilliantly green they were. You'd almost gotten used to the dark forest color that had taken over as a result of the pollen. He was looking at you with an odd expression you couldn't quite place, but for some reason it made you want to scurry away and hide.

"Better?" you whispered.

He cocked his head to the side and a small smirk played on his lips. "Not even close," he murmured.

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss before you had time to respond. Unlike the previous kisses, this one was more passionate, more intense. It made your body tingle all over and a warmth spread through your veins.

Dean's brain fog had finally cleared enough that he could actually slow down and focus on what was happening--on what he was doing, or rather who. He hated that he'd cum twice without even thinking about you, let alone making you orgasm. Dean prided himself on being an excellent lover and he wasn't about to let you leave this bed unsatisfied.

His cock brushed against your pussy as he shifted to hold you closer. You both inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation. Dean's lips began to travel down your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses in his wake. He nipped at your pulse point, earning an excited moan from you. He liked hearing that sound, so he sucked on that spot until you were panting heavily beneath him.

His hands traveled over your soft curves, touching and squeezing all the parts of your body you were self-conscious about. Dean didn't seem to give a damn that your stomach wasn't flat, that your hips weren't narrow and your thighs weren't skinny--in fact, he seemed to be reveling in the feeling of softness.

His lips were so gentle as he continued his downward movements. He kissed and licked and sucked on each of your breasts, spending several minutes focusing on each one. "You have such perfect breasts," he murmured.

You were too surprised, and perhaps too lost in pleasure, to formulate any kind of response to his words. Luckily, he didn't seem to need one, and he refocused his attention on you.

Once he was satisfied your breasts had received enough love, he continued moving down your stomach, stopping to place soft kisses to every mark and scar he saw.

When he reached your sweet pussy, he spread your legs as wide as he could and settled down between them. You were surprised at his actions, especially since you knew he was still hard--that he still needed another release.

Dean was now singularly focused on one thing--and that was you. Now that his damn brain was working properly, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this--even if it was a one time thing because you didn't want him to die, he wasn't about to walk away from this without making you scream his name at least once.

He breathed in deeply, smelling your arousal mixed with his own spend, and he smirked. His eyes flicked up to yours and his mouth latched onto your clit, unleashing an overwhelming assault on your swollen mound.

You gasped as the sudden pleasure washed over you. You couldn't take your eyes off the man between your legs--nor did he take his eyes off you. Every time your hips bucked or you tried to move, his strong arms held you in place so he could continue to watch you.

You were writhing against the sheets in what felt like seconds--it was probably longer, but either way you felt embarrassed at how quickly you fell apart under his touch. Your orgasm tore through you like a hurricane, broken moans dripping from your lips.

To your shock, and perhaps concern, Dean didn't stop his assault on your pussy. Even as you tried to squirm away, he held you in place, desperate to give you another orgasm. You whimpered that it was too much, begged him to give you a break, but all of those words quickly morphed into pleas to keep going--don't stop.

"Dean," you gasped as your fingers slipped into his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks by the roots. Your nails scrapped lightly against his scalp and he let out a soft groan.

His tongue seemed to dance across your clit, creating beautiful designs and languages only he seemed to know. He paid attention to what motions made you quiver, which ones made you moan, and which ones had you tugging on his hair with an iron grip.

"Dean, please--I--so close," you moaned.

He smiled, enjoying the immense pleasure he was giving you just as much as you seemed to enjoy it. A few moments later, you were once again coming apart against his mouth and he eagerly lapped up everything you had to give him.

This time as you tugged on his hair and squirmed away, he obliged, lifting himself up from between your thighs. He licked his lips as he looked down at your blissed out face.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he murmured. "Wanna taste?"

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes widened and you nodded hesitantly. He smiled wolfishly as he leaned down to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth almost instantly, allowing you to taste yourself.

You moaned into the kiss and he held you even more tightly, lips sealed to yours like he needed your air to breathe.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to control his urges long enough to coax two orgasms from you, but he could feel that control waning. "I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips. "I need you so badly."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. You lifted your hips to brush against his cock and he groaned at the contact. You nipped at his jaw and pulled him back down to you. "Fuck me, Dean. Please."

He groaned. "Yes ma'am."

He didn't hesitate as he gripped his cock firmly and lined it up with your entrance. He slipped inside easily, having plenty of lubrication to assist him. Despite having been inside of you multiple times at this point, he was still taken aback by how fucking incredible you felt.

"God, I love this pussy," he murmured. "She was made for me."

You moaned softly at his words and the feeling of him inside you once again. As he started to move, he was much more gentle and you found yourself enjoying the sensations--perhaps more than you should.

"You're so good for me, (Y/N)," Dean mumbled, already lost in the feeling of you.

You would have given anything to hear him say that, but the words broke your heart a little. Had he had any other choice, he likely wouldn't be here right now--you wouldn't be the one he was fucking.

"Hey," he whispered, a rough, calloused hand running along your cheek as he looked at you. "Where's that pretty little head at?"

You smiled at him. "Right here, Dean."

Somewhere inside of him, he knew you were lying, but the damn pollen was still affecting his senses. He accepted your response and went back to his actions, focusing on the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock like a vise.

He wanted to feel you cum one more time...wanted to feel the way you'd squeeze his cock as you came. He wanted to watch you come undone beneath him, lost in pleasure he gave you.

He grabbed a pillow and gently lifted your hips, sliding the pillow under them. This provided him a new, improved angle, allowing him to cage you beneath him and hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Dean!" you gasped as the first thrust hit your g-spot.

He grinned and picked up his pace, slamming into it repeatedly. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge of an orgasm you knew would ruin you. Dean Winchester already made you feel things no other man ever had and his ability in bed was no exception. Damn him.

His thrusts were firm and measured, each one sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through your body. The familiar tightening in your gut was so intense you thought you might actually explode.

Dean's strong arms were on either side of your head and he was looking down at you with that same strange expression from earlier. "You're so damn beautiful, baby. I wanna watch this pretty face as you cum for me."

You gasped, unprepared for the way his words made you feel. You felt emboldened, so you asked for what you needed. "I need more, Dean."

His hand slipped between your bodies, a single finger gently massaging your clit as he continued to fuck you. "That better, baby?"

You nodded rapidly, earning a soft chuckle from his sweet lips.

"You gonna cum for me beautiful?"

You nodded again.

"Yeah? I want you to keep those pretty eyes open when you cum, okay? Wanna see you fall apart."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I know, sweet girl. I've got you."

Your brain seemed to short-circuit in that moment. All you could feel was a blinding hot pressure immediately followed by an intense euphoria. You heard someone scream "Dean!" and you belatedly realized it had been your voice.

The intensity of your orgasm sent Dean spiraling over the edge of his own. He hadn't even been prepared for it--the mixture of you screaming his name and the sensations of you squeezing him so tightly and the gorgeous way your face contorted as you came was all he needed.

He emptied into you a third and final time, his cock finally beginning to soften as he helped you ride out your high.

He pulled out and flopped down beside you on the bed, his body aching from what had to be some of the best sex of his life--sex pollen or not.

You were just as sore as Dean--probably more so given you literally couldn't move. The two of you laid there in silence, slowly coming down from the electrical highs you'd experienced, both trying to catch your breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

Dean was the first to recover. "Did I hurt you?" he asked so softly you almost didn't hear him.

You turned your head to look at him and your heart clenched at the expression on his face. He was genuinely worried, brows furrowed in concern. You contemplated lying to him, but you knew he'd see right through you.

"A little," you said honestly.

He winced and his beautiful eyes closed. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)--I would never hurt you on purpose--ever."

You offered him a small smile he couldn't see, until your hand touched his cheek and he opened his eyes again. "I know."

There were a thousand other things you wanted to say--a thousand words you wanted to string together into just the right sentences, but you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself through it.

"Shower?" he asked softly.

"I honestly don't think I can stand."

A smirk played on his lips. "That should not make me feel so damn good."

You laughed lightly, glad to hear the teasing tone in his voice that you loved so much.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "It's not ideal, but there is a bathtub..." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't mind a bath," you admitted.

He nodded and got to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, but managed to make his way to the bathroom. You heard the water running as he filled up the tub.

You laid there thinking about everything that had just happened. This was a position you'd never imagined you'd be in--with anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

You knew this wasn't something you were going to be able to forget about, but you hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you and eventually this would just be a funny story.

Suddenly, Sam's words from earlier snapped into your mind. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

One and done...one and done. This most definitely had not been a 'one and done' scenario. But didn't that mean...? No. No way. Impossible. Dean Winchester does NOT have feelings for you.

You began to rationalize your thought process. Maybe "care about" included a friendly relationship. Yeah...yeah that made the most sense. Of course Dean cares about you. You're his best friend. There couldn't possibly be anything more to it...right?

As if on cue, Dean stepped back into the room. "Bath's ready."

"Okay." You tried to pull yourself up, but you immediately fell back against the mattress, body too worn out to sustain any kind of movement.

Dean chuckled lightly and came up to the side of the bed. He pulled the pillow out from under your hips and slipped his arms under your body, hoisting you up bridal style.

"Jesus!" you yelled. "Put me down! I'm too heavy--you'll throw out your back."

Dean laughed. "Calm down, (Y/N). I just threw you around this bed repeatedly with zero issues. I promise I can carry you to the bathroom without dying."

"But--"

He glared at you and tightened his grip on you as if to prove his point. "Ain't a damn thing wrong with your body, so shut it."

Your mouth closed immediately. His words sent a jolt directly to your core and you were almost annoyed by it. As if three orgasms wasn't enough...

Dean very gently set you on your feet in the bathroom and slowly helped you into the tub. As soon as he got you into a seated position, he got into the tub as well, slipping in behind you.

"Umm...whatcha doing?"

"Taking a bath."

"Isn't the tub a bit small for both of us?"

You could feel him shrug behind you. "I think it's perfect size. Now come here." He grabbed your shoulders and gently pulled you back so you were laying against his chest. "That's better," he muttered.

Your mind began to race once again as you laid there, body tense and uncomfortable.

"Okay, (Y/N), I know you better than anyone, so don't you dare lie to me. Where's your head at?"

"I--" you sighed. "I'm not really sure how to feel."

He nodded. "I know you didn't want this--I feel like I had to literally force myself onto you and I hate that. I know you only agreed so I wouldn't die, but--"

"Woah--stop." You sat up and turned your head to face him. "That's not true at all. You didn't force me to do anything."

"Okay, maybe 'force' is the wrong word...but you did have sex with me to save my life. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I'm painfully aware," you muttered.

He ran his hand over his face. "I'm not saying any of this right."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

He bit his lip. "Remember what Sammy said? About...how long the effects would last?"

You nodded.

"Well in case you didn't notice, I had three orgasms."

"Both me and my very sore vagina noticed," you said lightly.

He sighed. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, (Y/N)?"

You turned a little more so you could see his face better. He had that same look he'd had when he was making you feel incredible. "I need to hear you say it..." you whispered.

He nodded and leaned forward so his face was mere inches from yours. "He didn't mean 'care' as in 'we're friends, so I care about you'...he meant 'care' as in 'love'."

Your lips parted and you inhaled sharply.

"So you see, I don't just care about you as a friend...and I don't just love you as a friend...I'm in love with you."

"You--you love me?"

"In love," he repeated. "For as long as I can remember."

"You're in love--with me?"

He chuckled softly. "Who else would I be talking to, baby? Yes, I'm in love with you."

"I--I don't know--" you stuttered.

"The only thing you need to know is how you feel. Do you know how you feel about me, (Y/N)?" he whispered.

You nodded slowly.

"And?"

"I'm in love with you too."

He grinned widely. "Yeah?"

You nodded, cheeks turning red.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him. He looked down at you with that expression he'd been wearing and you suddenly realized what it was...it was love--real, true, beautiful, heart aching love.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your lips, which you returned in kind. He held you tightly, loving the feeling of your body in his arms.

"We better get cleaned up before this water gets cold," he said softly, lips pressing to your hair.

"Mhmm," you hummed.

He chuckled. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, babe."

"But I'm comfortable," you whined.

He smiled against your cheek. "Give me five minutes to clean you up and then we can sleep, okay?"

You looked over at him and smiled. "Deal."

Loved this fic? Support my work by buying me a coffee 💜

[sttoru]

‘if there’s anyone in this world who loves being a girl dad the most, it must be your husband — gojo satoru.’

☀︎｜tags. girl dad!gojo x female reader. fluff. you’re married. reader gets called ‘mama, sweetheart’. wrote this at work so not beta read. fic one out of two for satoru’s birthday!

giggles fill the living room — familiar laughter that sounded like your daughters’. a more sultry and manly voice also resonates in the background. one that you could recognise from miles away.

your curiosity leads you to investigate the source of the joyful sounds and soon enough, you find your dear husband and daughters sitting on the couch. though, in a situation you hadn’t quite foreseen.

satoru was talking on the phone about important business whilst your little girls were giving him a rather sparkly makeover. the most heartwarming thing was satoru’s surrender to your daughters’ antics — allowing them to do whatever to his face and hair.

“mhm, yeah..” the white-haired sorcerer hums over the phone, not having the slightest idea about what ijichi was yapping about. probably something that has to do with the recent sighting of a special grade curse in the city.

but, that wasn’t satoru’s priority at the moment at all (even if it should have been). his focus was all on his two daughters that were enjoying their playtime with him.

“papa’s so pretty.” one of them comments with a big smile — a smile satoru wishes to protect until his last moment on earth. her fingers push and pull on a small strand of his hair, trying to tug it into another ponytail.

satoru had already lost count of how many messy and half-done ponytails his snowy hair got divided into. the same goes for the amount of stickers on his face and neck.

the two sisters work together to put another pink and glittery sticker on satoru’s chin — though were no match to their father’s playful attitude. he jerks his head forwards and teasingly nibbles on their tiny hands that came in touch with his face.

this causes almost ear deafening squeals to reverberate through his ears. not that he’s complaining — satoru loves to hear them.

“. . .gojo, are you listening?” ijichi’s shaky voice over the phone interrupts the squeals. satoru doesn’t even try giving a proper response and only mutters a quick ‘yeah’ between snickers. that was enough of a sign for ichiji to understand that he couldn't get through.

everyone knew how much satoru loved his little family. he cherished them and put them above everything, including his work. sometimes it was necessary for you to remind satoru that he's needed outside your home - that he was and will keep being the strongest sorcerer that people depend on.

"wow, you two really made papa super pretty!" satoru coos as his daughters bring him a hand mirror. his phone had already been discarded somewhere on the couch - not even bothering to hang up on ijichi first.

your husband effortlessly picks the children up and cuddles them close to his body, smothering them both in sloppy wet kisses on their cheeks and necks - making them giggle uncontrollably. "y'know, papa will give you both a nice little reward for making me so beautifu—”

a faint cough echoing from the mobile device next to them reminds satoru that he was still on call. he reaches out and grabs his phone, rolling his eyes in a sassy way before clearing his throat;

"i need to attend important business. see ya." the sorcerer declares and hangs up right after. to him, playing around and taking care of his daughters was more than necessary. even in comparison with an actual critical situation: it wasn't like there weren't any other special grade sorcerers that could take on the mission.

the second his phone plops back down on the couch, satoru's hands fly over to tickle his little girls' bellies. they wriggle and squirm around in his lap - squealing for help from their mama.

you had been watching the scene unfold from the doorway and decide to join in on the fun once you hear your daughters’ call. you gasp dramatically before scurrying over to the couch, acting like you were genuinely scolding your husband for his 'torturuos' tickles;

"oh no, my little girls!" you pout, taking in the way your daughters laugh and outstretch their tiny arms towards you, searching for an escape in your arms. you gladly help them away from their dad's grasp, though not without getting a whine out of satoru.

one of your daughters sticks out her tongue at the sulky sorcerer on the couch, the other mimicking her sister's actions. you chuckle and decide to do the same; frowning and sticking your tongue out.

"ack!" satoru clutches his chest, fingers curling around the material of his shirt like he just got shot. he topples over on the couch and acts dead with his eyes half closed, "i can't. . . believe. . . it. my girls hate me. ugh, my heart - can't take it."

you scoff at his exaggerated act. you were used to it after years of dating and marriage, but your daughters seemed to still take the bait. they writhe around in your arms and once you put them down on the floor again, they run back to their 'fallen' dad.

they shake him by his shoulders and harshly pat his cheeks in attempt to bring him back to life. a constant loop of 'papa!'s and 'wake up!'-s echo throughout the house. even some 'we're sworry!'-s thrown in-between.

satoru couldn't take it anymore and his arms move at the speed of light so he could pull both of his daughters in a big hug. he squeezes them a bit too tight to his chest, causing them to shriek and laugh.

"are you not joining us, sweetheart?" satoru asks with a shit-eating grin. it's then that you realise that he was blushing from pure joy — his cheeks rosy. well, you couldn't possibly deny his request when he was this ecstatic.

the high-pitched 'mama too! mama too!' coming from both girls mellowed your heart even more. and thus, you give in.

you happily join the pile - climbing on top of your husband and between your daughters which lay on each of his sides. your head rests on his chest, your eyes closed and your ears filled with laughter.

satoru eventually relaxes, however that genuine smile never leaves his lips. this is where he belongs. with his family - the most important thing of all.

[roll-for-gaslight]

have to talk about Sam and Evan and Jammer and K and the genius character choices made in the previous episode because it was all so good. It was so goo. Evan Kelmp fucking died. Holy shit.

We're going to start with Evan, because he's the one who died and I can't stop thinking about the image of Shadow Evan slowly collecting his things that K threw around and putting on his nice shoes. Putting his belongings back in his backpack because even if he's dead his things matter because they were the only things he had. Brennan's acting in that moment as well, stretching his arms out to mimic a shadow's distortion in a two-dimensional space and being so confused and out of it for the first several minutes due to shock. He wants to be alive, to be good, to have friends, but he can't even consider the idea that they might want him back. He can't think too hard about whether he truly belongs to them the way they belong to him.

Sam, who loved Evan so deeply that even when he is literally a shadow of himself she smiles at him like he is the whole world. Jammer is freaking out and K can't look at him at all but Sam sees him, knows him, and loves him, any amount of him she can have because Shadow Evan is better than Dead Evan. She's scared but she knows he must be even more scared then she is so when he asks if she can carry him of course she says yes. Danielle Radford I love you and your choice to have radical compassion, such a deep kindness and care within Sam that se does everything within her power to bring Evan back, being careful and risking nothing because she can't just leave her friend like that and she can't lose him. Sam builds the community around herself through that same compassion, helps everyone, loves everyone, but in this episode the full force of that love is narrowed to only focus on Evan and getting him back no matter what.

Fucking Whitney Jammer. "We'll body it." I think about that scene from s1 every single day and that is exactly what he did. Oh, Evan died? We'll fucking fix it. That's the mission now. We'll body it. He made a promise and he's going to keep it. He's furious, and I feel like while he may not have known where to direct it in the moment he may end up having conflict with K because of what happened. Also, just the image of Jammer, not facing his friends and not wanting to turn around to see what happened because if he sees it then its real, then when he does turn around just doing the only thing he knows how to do, taking care of his team.

And K. K, my beloved... Erika Ishii is a genius in every season, every campaign, every role, but I love this new version of K who just can't deal with the idea that they are not a one-man army. They can not fix the world, they can not be as isolationist as they have always wanted to be, they can not single-handedly dole out justice in every situation. They are not the secret dark chosen one who's extra special. They need their friends, their people, need their network. They can't look at Shadow Evan because they know the whole time that it's their fault. They did it again, they broke magic, they killed Evan. They always make the wrong move. I think a lot of this season for them is going to be about slowing down, being forced to take things one step at a time, accepting help, and eventually rebuilding confidence.

[mihii-i]

Hi love 💕 May I request comfort/fluff one shot Arlecchino x fem Reader who developed a terminal illness a few years back and is now often bedridden but is getting better however Arlecchino is still super overprotective of her

white light.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, terminally ill reader, angst, but there’s comfort yay I know yall love this, LOTS of mentions of death, like a ridiculous amount, dw reader doesn’t die but grim reaper bullies us every chance he gets like damn, or is the grim reaper a she, that means my friend is immortal since if death is a woman it’ll never come for them, sorry off topic, very soft arle, yes we love our soft king walskskfj, why is the shower so cold help me, not proofread.

A/N: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE AND IT TURNED OUT SO NICE HOLY also, school is starting soon so I might have to go on break in couple months but no worries I can find some time to write and it’ll be a while into the year until i actually need a break yk <3 🕯️

The fluffy layered clouds hovering in the sky slowly parted themselves to reveal illuminating gleams of sunlight pouring into the room through the window curtains situated to the right of your bed. Slow gusts of wind began to join the warmth of the gold light, brushing along your skin and causing an array of goosebumps to bloom along your arm. You were lucky. Not too long back, your immobile body was enveloped into the same bed, a sickly hue painting your face as your pale tinged lips could only part to cough out a few strained noises.

Perhaps the gods had took pity on you? You supposed you’d never figure out the answer as to how your body curved back from a terminal illness in its final stage. It was supposed to be incurable, and your body back then seemed to agree with what should have been. You were dangerously dangling right above the realm of death, only a hair apart from succumbing to your imminent demise. The doctor who noted your worsening state only had a strike of pity in her voice whenever she’d inform Arlecchino of your current condition, shaking her head as the words: “she won’t make it.” muffled through the door seperating your room from the outside.

It hurt to hear. Not for you per say, but more to hear the emptiness in Arlecchino’s voice when she attempted to dismiss the doctor’s words coldly. She didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to hear that your condition was only drawing you closer and closer to death, she wanted to hear that you atleast had a small chance of surviving. As much as she tried to choke back the bitter pain in her unwavering voice, she always clung onto that small sliver of hope deep down, internally calling out to a sea of nothingness in hopes that something would come help you.

Sudden news of your recovery, or rather your condition suddenly improving one day was nothing short of a miracle. It shouldn’t have been possible at all. You were around the final month mark, your entire body burning with an agonizing rush of soreness as you wanted to plead for death to take you away from the unbearable discomfort searing every limb of your ghastly and thin form. That night you had gone to bed, hoping to escape the aching pain of your illness eating away at you. That was when you saw it. You dreamt of a faint glow of white light—or was it a slight pale yellow? The dream was vague and confusing, and held no meaning at all. The light simply danced in circles before you as your life trajectory seared across your eyes.

However, the dream must have meant something.

The next morning you had awoken, your body feeling much lighter all of a sudden, as you had the strength to now sit up completely. Hands carefully massaging the thick blanket draped over your lap, you blinked in confusion upon realizing that you were indeed alive and able to sit up. Sure, you were still incapable of moving around or sitting up for long, but originally, you weren’t even able to raise your body a quarter of the way up, as it would simply result in your spine slamming back into the sunken, comfortable mattress.

When the doctor made her way into the room, performing her checkups which she believed to be futile and tragic, her initial expression of sorrow shifted to one of quick shock. This shouldn’t have been even the slightest bit possible. Arlecchino’s reaction was all the more endearing the moment the newly discovered news made its way to her. You’d never forget the rare smile of pure relief and happiness crossing her usually stoic front, seeming as if Arlecchino was glowing in that moment.

She had attempted to clear her throat and position herself upright, concealing the internal delight bubbling in her mind at that moment. The door had softly creaked open, the sway of the old hinges on your bedroom door being the only noise, along with the quiet howls of wind, resounding within the cell of a room that held your life by a mere thread.

You simply sat there, your scrawny form nearly engulfed by the heavy blankets cascaded onto your lap as the light livened the hue of your face. And when that sweet smile made its way onto your lips weakly upon seeing the harbinger hover before your bed, Arlecchino had to suppress every urge of hers to hem you between her arms in a tight hug and never let go. She wanted to embrace you with every drop of love and affection lingering in her heart as her blackened hands tightened into your back, like a promise to never let you go. Since then, your condition had steadily improved. Months passed, and then years. At this very moment, you now had the ability to walk around and perform minor tasks adequately, yet you still remained bedridden for the majority of your time.

A light pain slowly overtook the side of your chest abruptly, drawing out a few heavy coughs from your throat as your palm pushed against your left breast in an attempt to soothe the throb pushing and pulling against your heart. Quiet ticks of the clock seemed to inch in sync with the rugged beats of your heart, both echoing throughout the room in a sort of twisted harmony. Although your condition had gotten better, storms of weakness and coughs would still persist through, as this was quite a serious illness you suffered from.

The silk white blankets enveloped your limp frame, cascading over your body and situated slightly below your chest, while the back of your head burrowed into the pillows to bask in the favorable comfort enshrouded around every outline of your lounged body. Your chest rhythmically rose and fell as you choked out a few labored breaths, still clenching your fingers against the fabric of your loose shirt covering your chest.

Your vision suddenly started a gradual spin, objects within your range slowly drawn out of focus, and not taking long for the spin to pick up the pace as your vision suddenly shifted to a bleary mess of the room. Head tilting back, you rasped out a line of shaky breaths as the frightening episode of dizziness quickly subsided as soon as it began, causing a sense of panic to rush through you briefly while your chest rose and fell in uneven motions from your initial fright. In that very moment, a small screech of wooden hinges caught your attention, your head carefully raising as to not incite any possible negative reaction from your sensitive body.

Swift and heavy clicks of heels prodded across the room, a sound you’d recognize anywhere even if you were miles away. You raised your head barely even level to the headboard, delivering Arlecchino a feeble smile as her eyes softened upon meeting yours. Slowly, you took her hand into yours, palm resting over the top of her defined knuckles as your thumb circled along the cursed gradient of her hands gently. She could only breathe out a grateful sigh, her head dropping in a restful state as she rested herself onto your shoulder affectionately.

“Are you feeling any better?” She almost immediately questioned, her usually composed eyes having a flicker of concern dashed across them. Her eyes wandered along your frail body, the hints of worry still subtly etched onto her face as her grasp on your hand below hers grew increasingly taut and stiff as she awaited your answer. As much as you wanted to chuckle and tell her you were okay, you clearly couldn’t even say that much.

“Hm. Same as usual. Can’t move my legs well today, but I’ll live.” You casually answered, not taking in the impact your words might have placed onto Arlecchino.

Live.

She was so glad you were able to live.

Arlecchino suddenly dragged her teeth along each other, her mouth remaining closed as the grit of her teeth quietly bounced off of her cheek into her eardrums. It took everything she had to swallow back that wretched feeling boiling up to her throat, her heart wrenching and flooding with discomfort upon hearing the way you threw your life around so casually in your words. She had always been extensively protective over you ever since your condition deteriorated, yet it grew exponentially once you began to recover over the years. She’d always tend to you, sometimes never leaving your side for hours on end as she’d just sit there, head lowered and lips pushed against your frail hand.

Her grip on your hand tensed noticeably, making you shift your eyes up to her lowered dark gaze, staring off into an endless abyss as her expression just seemed…soulless and empty at the mere thought of your passing away. She was afraid. Afraid that just when she believes that her beloved would live despite being in poor condition, she’d walk into your room one day to discover your heart dead still, body completely limp and deceased.

The thought of that made her hand noticeably quiver between yours, disturbing images of your possible sudden death plaguing her mind like a broken subliminal record trying to shatter her soul by tearing away the one person she loves most in this cruel world. It was indeed cruel, as this very world had targeted the reaper to loom over the side of your bed at all times, carefully awaiting the moment to take you away from Teyvat. Arlecchino internally cursed herself at the idea that perhaps this punishment was because of her. She wanted you to be spared. You weren’t the one with blood on your hands, she was.

Despite her agonizing thoughts gnawing at the back of her mind, your sudden firm grip on her hand made her head snap back up abruptly, eyes locking onto your thin fingers cupping her shaky hand in place. If she could, Arlecchino would cry at this very moment, allow herself to shed a couple tears. Yet she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t want to worry you any further, especially in your current state.

“Arle, I’m staying. Please, don’t worry about me. I am better now, right?”

“I know. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t around.”

It was evident that Arlecchino had a difficult time a few years ago, when you were announced to die in under a couple months. She had to mentally prepare herself to lose you soon. She was used to it, you were just another person in her life that slipped away too soon, right?

But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t bear losing you. It was too much even for her.

Arlecchino needed you in her life, and she’d wipe out the entirety of the world just to keep you safe.

Your hand reached up to graze along the skin of her cheek, smiling as she instinctively leaned into your touch. Her eyes fluttered shut as she held your hand in place against her cheek, opening her eyelids once more to gaze at you lovingly with red x-marked eyes.

“Hey Arle, I’m still not feeling the best today…so do you think you could-“

You didn’t even get a chance to finish your hesitant sentence as she lowered herself onto the side of your bed, squeezing herself next to you as her arms gently circled your torso and grasped you against her. You only hummed out a content sigh as you felt your slouched back press to her upright chest, the difference in your postures just making the moment oddly romantic and sweet. Arlecchino’s face buried into your shoulder, intaking a soft inhale as if she missed your scent clouding her senses every time she was close to you.

It didn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep in Arlecchino’s arms as you curled up into the warm blankets piled over both of you. Arlecchino, still awake, quietly shifted her weight onto her side to glance down at you, smiling softly upon seeing your peaceful rested expression. Maybe finally, she rinsed the lingering blood splattered on her hands that led you to this awful fate. She’d rinse it a thousand times if it meant that you would remain safe like this for as long as you lived.

However in this very moment? Arlecchino had forgotten every sense of dread clawing at her constantly, instead focusing on your huddled up form engulfed between her protective grasp.

She swore that she would never let you go again, and she would treasure every inch of you. Not even death can do you two part.

A/N: omg I kept switching between being proud of this and being not so proud bc I had to stop midway through and I lost my train of thought AUUUSHSHDBFN anyway yayayayashshdhd I loved writing this so much AND CALM DOWN ON THE ARLE REQUESTS HOLY SH-

ok bye I’m gonna go on character ai cause I can’t sleep to bed

[merakiui]

So how would red riding hood Vil go about training wolf reader into being a good puppy

Someone totally not into pet play ur crazy

>:) so many thoughts for training!!!

Firstly, he’ll have you wear a collar. It’s a pretty thing, study and well-made, aesthetically pleasing craftsmanship. Perhaps it also functions as a shock collar as well or, if Vil is determined to use methods that are not so painful or risk ruining any part of you in some cosmetic way, then maybe the collar just emits a noise that sounds like a shock. You’ve no idea what to expect and maybe you’re already so tense with the threat of that hunter that you don’t even realize you haven’t been shocked. You still flinch all the same, your hands flying to your neck, but Vil clicks his tongue at you. You’ll be tricked into thinking so the more times you hear that crackle as it fools your brain with nonexistent shocks.

He dresses you in very nice clothes. He’s quite selective when it comes to fashion, and he has a very good eye for choosing based on what suits you best. Therefore, you’ll wear things that flatter your body type, that match your preferences and style (while also incorporating some of his as well), and that show off certain assets. You’ll wear lots of things with a low neckline so that your beautiful collar can be seen.

As for training, I think he starts with the house first. Teaching you proper etiquette and whatnot. You must never eat so sloppily. He’ll teach you what each utensil is for and where to arrange them on your plate once you’ve finished. These lessons are so tedious, but they’re simple enough to follow. If you’re smart enough to simply abide by his teachings, you’ll breeze through any and all of his house training. There’s just two things you loathe: the fact that Vil insists he be the one to dress you and the fact that Rook is always the one to help you bathe. Apparently, Vil has yet to see any indication from you that you’re trustworthy, so until he can trust you you’ll be supervised by either him or Rook. Or both if you’re unlucky.

You’re not sure which is worse: this demanding Red Riding Hood or that creepy hunter. >_<

If you happen to fail or refuse to comply, Vil is very simple with his punishments. You’re cut into with harsh criticisms, and they’re all the truth. Vil does not go out of his way to lie or sugarcoat when he offers his criticism. This is all meant to help you for the better. Also, he’s no fool. He’s tailored his lessons to help work on your weaknesses. He knows you’re very intelligent, perhaps too much for your own good when you try and fail to outwit and charm him or Rook into letting you go. You’re very clever. He’s merely assisting you where his assistance is needed most.

Usually, you’re given x-amount of spankings for however many minutes you refuse to cooperate. So if you remain locked in your room for fifteen minutes, to the point where Rook needs to break in to get you, you’ll be bent over the knee and spanked fifteen times. One for every minute of disobedience.

Sometimes Vil will take you outside his house in the woods and allow you to roam, but not beyond the boundaries he’s set. It’s all a test. You fell for it the first time and took off running, and Rook captured you within minutes. When it’s Rook, he’s not exactly one for punishments like Vil. He recognizes the abstract beauty in that, but he prefers to praise you for your efforts, failed though they were, instead. Scrubbing you clean from the tussle he had with you in the woods, calloused hands running down your soft skin, fingertips pressing into your shoulders to massage you, reaching to pet your ears or admire your tail. All while he rambles about how beautiful the chase you gave him was. It’s not your intention to cry out when he brushes over a bruise, nor do you mean to sound so erotic. What happens in that bath remains an easily uncovered secret, but Rook will come out of it with scratches and bites littering his forearms and throat and you’ll have a hole stuffed full of cum. >_< your every bite is like a addictive, disastrous kiss, he tells you, so it really doesn’t faze him. ;;;;

The only reason you’re not muzzled and treated more like a mutt than a person (wolf) is because Rook insists upon otherwise. And Vil agrees because, troublesome you may be, you are full of potential that he couldn’t dare stifle by demeaning you anymore than he already has.

[springgirlshowers]

Sweet Nights

Summary: After a long night at the club, Joost happily carries you home, and is convinced to stay the night with you.

WC: 1.2k

CW: none! just tooth rotting fluff!

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

It was a little after one in the morning and you were finally leaving the club.

You and Joost had about the same amount of drinks, but due to you being new to the Netherlands and the strong liquor, you definitely drank more than you should’ve.

You stumbled a bit as you walked, holding Joosts hand while he, however, seemed completely fine. Walking and standing straight. His tall stature made him able to hold his liquor more than you.

Your apartment being a few blocks down from the club came in handy. Many drunken nights and being able to walk home with friends rather than struggle to find a ride.

“Jooooost,” You drawled out, Joosts arm being pulled a bit as you stopped on the sidewalk, “my feet hurt.” You frowned at him.

“I’ll hold your heels.” He let out a little laugh, making a grabbing motion with his other hand.

You smiled and took them off clumsily, letting them drop from your feet onto the concrete, picking them up and handing them to Joost.

“Better?” He asked sweetly, holding both your heels in one hand as you leaned against him.

“Mmm, my legs hurt.” You looked up at him, your chin poking into his chest and pouting. Joost smiled and shook his head as he crouched down.

“Alright, hop on.” He chuckled, knowing exactly what you were asking for.

Piggybacks were a common thing in your relationship. You’d hitch a ride on Joosts back anytime you were too sleepy to move in the early mornings, or really whenever you wanted to.

Or for nights like this. Drunk and feet hurting from dancing and moving around in your heels all night.

You happily wrapped your arms around his neck, legs going around his torso as he hooked his arms underneath them. Standing up and continuing on to walk down the street with ease.

Imagining how silly you two would look from someone else’s point of view, you began to giggle a bit.

“What’s so funny?” Joost grinned as he felt your laughs vibrate against him.

“We must look like a turtle.” You snickered, Joost let out a confused laugh. “Your the turtle, I'm the shell on your back. A…what’s the word in the Dutch?” You mumbled, bringing your head up a bit to ask.

“A schildpad?”

“Yes! A schillllldpad.” You slurred out the word, slumping your head on his shoulder. Joost just grinned and shook his head.

As you reached the door to your apartment, you thanked the universe your door had a keypad, you really didn’t feel like searching through your bags for your keys, or having to get off Joost to search for them.

He used his foot to close the door behind him, the moonlight peaking through the curtains was enough light to help him see where he was going as he walked down the hallway and into your bedroom.

You giggled as you both let go of each other and fell back first onto the bed. He placed your heels nicely on the floor next to your wooden nightstand.

“Want to change into more comfortable clothes?” He asked as he stood up in front of you, you let out a barely audible “mhm.”

“Can you help me?” You whined, he let out an amused breath through his nose.

“I need you to sit up for me liefje.” You let out an annoyed groan, you wanted nothing more to sleep

“Arms up.” He told you, you lazily threw them in the air, he removed your shirt, throwing it on top of your skirt on the floor.

Though Joost had already seen every inch of your body before, he still felt flustered as you took off your bra. Looking away and letting you throw on an old oversized shirt by yourself. Not caring to put any shorts on

“Hey hey hey, you gotta take off your makeup too.” He rubbed your arm as you began to crawl over to the pillows on the bed.

“I just wanna sleeeeeep.” You rolled your eyes.

“You won’t be happy about sleeping in your makeup in the morning.” He looked at you with raised brows, hands on his hips.

He did have a good point, the last time you slept in your makeup you left mascara and lipstick stains and smudges on your pillow. And began to break out in the days following.

“Fine.” You murmured getting up and shuffling to the bathroom, Joost followed behind, you knew he was gonna remove it for you without you having to ask.

You happily sat on the counter of the sink. Joost stood in front of you, chest touching yours when he leaned over to grab the cleanser and makeup wipes behind you. You rested your chin on his shoulder, keeping it there even when he leaned back.

“I can’t clean your face with you hiding, schat.” He spoke sweetly, giggling at the feeling of your breath hitting his neck.

You groaned again, removing your chin from his shoulder and sat up with closed eyes. Surely you felt like you would fall asleep any second now, with the way he held your face with such gentleness, removing your makeup with such care.

“All done. Better?” You opened your eyes, nodding and giving a sweet smile. Joost cupped your face and gave you a little kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Now let’s get you into bed, ja?” He gave the side of your face a gentle pat.

“Carry me? Please?” You pouted, he gave an amused sigh, how could he say no to your sweet eyes?

“Alright,” He scooped you up, bridal style. "Mijn prinses.” He whispered, carefully exiting the bathroom with you in his arms.

He laid you down softly on the bed, pulling the sheets and comforter back, letting you slide your legs under and pulling it back over, draping your body with the blankets.

You smushed your face into the pillows, letting out a comfortable breath. Joost smiled, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face.

He gave you a soft kiss on the cheek. Turning off the bedside lamp and getting ready to walk out.

“Stay.” You whined, grabbing onto his hand. Looking at him with drooping eyelids. He sighed sadly.

“I have to get up early, I need to get to the studio-“

“I don’t care. Get up early in the morning. Just stay with me for tonight.” You pulled the blankets next to you down, making room for him.

He slid off his shoes, walking around the bed, stripping down to his boxers and laying down next to you. His back hit the mattress, then moved the blanket over him as well.

You flipped over on your other side, facing him, pressing your cheek to his chest, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his, holding both of your hands right over his Rayquaza tattoo.

“Welterusten, Joost.” You murmured. Joost almost let out a noise of adoration at you speaking Dutch. Though you lived in the Netherlands now, most of the time you talked in English to him.

“Welterusten, mijn liefje.” He whispered, giving a kind kiss to your forehead.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

[janeyseymour]

I Hate You, I Love You- part 3

Summary: you spend the early hours of Christmas Eve preparing dinner with your family and Melissa.

WC: ~2.8k

“Come in, come in!” your mother greets you. She pulls you in for a tight hug.

“You saw me at the beginning of this month, Mom,” you roll your eyes.

Then she moves onto Melissa, who has rolled both of your suitcases in. You see the redhead stiffen just slightly before relaxing and patting your mom’s back.

“You must be Melissa!”

Where you expect your tough coworker to reply with sass, she smiles warmly- that smile that she reserves for Barbara and, on the rare occasion, Janine. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Nora.” Then she turns to your aunt. “You must be Aunt Jo.”

Jo’s face brightens considerably, and you didn’t think that was possible. You can practically feel the excitement radiating off of her.

Then your father is standing from his chair and outstretching a hand. “Al,” is all he says, but the smile on his face tells you that he’s just as excited as the other two. He’s just better at concealing it.

“Melissa,” your ‘girlfriend’ shakes your father’s hand firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” At least that isn’t a lie- the two of you had gone over family history on the car ride over.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” your dad huffs as he looks to you. “Our girl didn’t even tell us you existed until a few weeks ago when she came over for dinner.”

“It just never came up!” you protest as you interlace your fingers with the redhead again. “Come on, we don’t have time to interrogate my girlfriend. We have to put our stuff away upstairs.”

The three adults relent, but your mother tells you, “Be quick! We have a lot of things to make!”

You go to grab your bag from next to Melissa, but her hand is on your suitcase handle before you can stop her. “I got it, hun.” She winks at you before gesturing for you to lead the way.

“Thanks, babe,” you reply, and you hope it sounds convincing. “Come on, my room is the attic, so…”

The redhead follows you up the steps, lugging your bags behind her. As soon as the door is closed behind the two of you, you scowl.

“Way to lay it on thick,” you hiss.

“I’m trying to be convincing! Do you want me to blow it for you before we even get through Christmas Eve?”

You huff. “No.”

“Then let me do my thing. You told me how you act in a relationship, and I took acting classes when I was younger. I can do this if you can.”

“Fine. I sleep on the left side of the bed.”

“Of course you do,” the redhead laughs. “I sleep on the right. It’s almost like we were made for this.”

“Shut up.”

“Just remember you love me,” Melissa teases you as she sets your things on your side of the room.

“I absolutely do not,” you roll your eyes. “C’mon. We have to go downstairs before my mom comes up here and yells at us for not coming to help her. And I need a glass of wine.”

“It’s eleven in the morning,” your colleague says, and there’s only a hint of judgement in her voice.

“And when you see the amount of work she’s going to give us, on top of having to pretend I love you, I’m going to need all the booze I can get.”

Melissa takes your hand gently in her own before leading you down the steps. You take a seat at the counter, and the redhead immediately makes her way over to the cabinets. She gives you a questioning look, and you point to the one that has the wine glasses in it. She grabs two before walking over to the refrigerator and pouring out a glass of your favorite wine and one for herself- one that your parents always keep for you when you’re here. She saunters over to you with a smile and offers the poured glass to you. You take it from her with a kiss to the cheek, and then she’s standing behind you with an arm draped around your shoulder.

“So, Y/N told me it’s always a cooking extravaganza, and I hate to brag, but I’m a great cook,” Melissa chuckles as she takes a small sip from her own glass.

Your mother immediately gives the two of you direction in terms of what you’re in charge of, and the redhead is all grins. “That sounds easy enough.”

“Mom, that’s way more than you usually give me.”

“Well, there’s two of you now,” your mother shrugs.

You roll your eyes. “This is a ridiculous amount of-”

“I can do it, babe,” Melissa cuts in. “You know how I usually cook anyway, and this ain’t nothin. Just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah?”

You look to her, and damn is she a good actress. For as rough and as tough as she is, she can really be warm- or at least fake warmth.

“I can help,” you sigh.

Making portions of the meal starts out incredibly stilted and awkward, but as time goes on and the alcohol is flowing through your blood, you actually find yourself enjoying being in Melissa’s presence. She’s a great cook. She’s a great teacher when there are a few things that you’re a little confused about in terms of preparing the food.

As you’re mashing the potatoes, her arms find their way around your waist, and her chin rests gently on your shoulder. She kisses your cheek softly, and you can’t help the blush that tints your cheeks. It’s all for appearances, at least in front of your parents and aunt- that’s what you tell yourself. You have no idea that this is how Melissa has wanted to be with you for a while now.

Unbeknownst to you, Aunt Jo takes your picture, the two of you looking incredibly in love despite the fact that you hate the redhead with you. It almost makes you hate her more now that you know she isn’t the hard ass she always plays- she can be incredibly soft and warm. 

When you’ve finished mashing the potatoes, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom- you need a bit of space. Having the redhead pressed up against you and kissing your cheek and the nape of your neck has you more bothered than you had expecting. You splash a few droplets of water on your face. 

Melissa moves onto begin making the last batch of cookies needed for tonight’s meal. But when she goes to reach for the nutmeg, she can’t find any. She grabs her purse and lets your father know she’s heading to the store, asking if they need anything else while she’s out. Your father shakes his head no.

“Hun?” your colleague calls up the steps. “I’m heading to the store for a few last minute items. Are you coming with me, or am I going by myself?”

You sigh. You like this warm side of Melissa, but you know as soon as the two of you are out of the house, it won’t be like that anymore. “I’ll stay here and help Mom.”

“Sounds good,” she yells back. “I’ll be back soon. I love you!”

You return the sentiment, but only because you know Aunt Jo had come upstairs to change from her sweatshirt to a tee. And then Melissa is off.

When you return back down the steps, Melissa has taken your car- you hope she doesn’t crash it just to spite you. Your father groans.

“What, Dad?”

“I’m an idiot. I told Melissa we didn’t need nothin’, but it turns out we need stuff to make the Christmas sangria.”

“I’ll text her.” 

You do, and she just gives the message a thumbs up in return. You go back to your station in the kitchen and continue on preparing. Unfortunately for you, Melissa calls as you’re in the middle of glazing the ham, and you can’t answer.

“Would you mind getting that, Aunt Jo?”

Your aunt does, but her brows furrow as she looks at the contact name that pops up. It only reads ‘Schemmenti’.

“It’s your girlfriend.” She answers the phone and places the cell between your cheek and shoulder. You’re able to hold it there. "Although I’m confused why you only have her in your phone with just her last name… no silly nickname, no heart? There isn’t even a picture of the two of you together?”

“Just haven’t had time,” you sigh. Damn. You should’ve thought about that. “I’m in her phone as Y/N, and that’s it.” You hope your fake girlfriend can hear the bite in your voice to tell her that you may have just been caught.

“Babe, you haven’t changed my name in your phone yet?” Melissa chuckles out. “I’m wounded.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes. “I’ll change it when we get off the phone. What’s up; what do you need?”

“There’s a shit ton of cranberries,” the redhead tells you. “Is there a particular brand you and your family prefer?”

You walk her through the preferred brands of everything on the list your dad gave you, and then she’s checking out.

She’s very aware that your entire family is still in the room with you, and if they can hear her, she wants to stay convincing. “Okay, thank you for your help hun. I’ll be back home in a few minutes.”

“Sounds good,” you mutter. “Don’t crash my car.”

“I wouldn’t,” the redhead chuckles, although she knows you’re being quite serious. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Bye,” you sigh, and then you let your aunt take the phone back. She’s frowning at you though. “What?”

“No ‘I love you’?”

You look to your aunt, somewhat annoyed. “She’s literally five minutes away, and we said it when she left earlier.”

Jo just gives you a look before returning back to her own place in the kitchen.

Melissa enters about ten minutes later, and she comes in with a few bags in her hands. “Hey babe.”

“Thank you for going out,” you kiss her cheek. “You’re the best.”

Melissa just smirks. “I know.” She turns your head gently and plants a short, sweet kiss on your lips. “Make the cookies with me?”

You’re in a daze for a second. Your colleague is a… really good kisser. 

“Honey?” she prompts.

Your cheeks tint red. “Uh, yeah. I’m gonna grab another glass of wine. You want one?”

“I would love that,” Melissa smiles.

You grab her empty glass of wine and fill it with a blush. When you make your way over, you have to resist the urge to kiss her again. “Here you go, Lis.”

Your ‘girlfriend’ lifts a brow at the spur of the moment nickname, but she smiles at you regardless. “Lis,” she mumbles as she pulls you in so close you can feel her breath on your neck.

You pick up your phone with a smile and pull up her contact. Her name in your phone goes from ‘Schemmenti’ to ‘Lis’, adorned with a red heart.

Her hand goes to her back pocket with a smile before pulling out her own phone and changing your contact name from just your last name, to a nickname for your first. You just give her a smile before turning your attention to the cookies that need baking.

Before you know it, your parents’ house smells delicious, and you’re just a little tipsy. Your cheeks have a glow that just won’t quit, and Melissa’s hands are all over you. She makes sure to throw in a few ‘I love you’s here and there, along with quite a few kisses dotted along your temple and hairline, cheek, lips, and she dares to press on to the nape of your neck as you roll out the dough for the sugar cookies. You can’t help the delightfully tipsy giggle that you let out.

The cookies end up in the oven, the two of you begin to toss in the ingredients for your family’s sangria, and then you’re asking Aunt Jo for a time check.

She taps your phone that’s sitting out on the counter, and she purses her lips.

“Is it getting too late?” you ask, a pout on your face.

She shakes her head. “It’s only about three, and you know the family doesn’t start trickling their way in until five, but where’s the cute picture of the two of you as your lock screen?”

Melissa just chuckles that easy laugh that you find yourself beginning to enjoy more and more. It’s the laugh that you only hear her elicit when she’s in the presence of Barbara Howard. “Because our coworkers don’t know,” she reminds Jo.

“Well, are you around them right now?” Aunt Jo challenges. Then her eyes light up. “I took an adorable photo of the two of you while you were making the potatoes. Give me a second.”

About a minute later, an image appears on your phone, and at one glance, you can see how anybody would genuinely think that the two of you are in love. It’s… it’s a really sweet picture. Melissa’s arms are around you, and while your hands are working on the food in front of you, the look in your eyes is one of pure happiness- at least that’s what it looks like. And the way that your coworker is looking at you? You haven’t seen that look from somebody in a long time.

With a roll of your eyes, you change your background to that picture, as does your grade partner.

“That’s better, huh?” Melissa pecks your lips again.

You give her a smirk. “Sure, hun. C’mon. We should go upstairs to start getting ready for dinner.”

“I’ll be up in a minute,” she promises. “You want another glass of wine?”

“Maybe some sangria,” you shrug as you . “Have to make sure it tastes good.”

She gives you a nod, and her eyes linger on your body as you head out of the kitchen and up the steps to your room.

Melissa enters a few minutes later as you’re in the midst of changing. She sets your drink on your nightstand before looking to you.

Immediately, you blush. You’re standing there without pants on. “Jesus, Melissa. Don’t you knock?”

She shrugs, and her eyes rake up and down your body.

“Oh, quit it,” you roll your eyes. “We aren’t in front of them anymore, so you don’t have to keep pretending you’re in love with me. I do have to say though, you’re quite the actress. You’re good at this.”

“Wait ’til you see what else I’m good at.” She winks at you before making her way over to her own suitcase.

“I still hate you.”

“I know,” is all the redhead sighs. She won’t say she hates you back, because she doesn’t. She never has.

“I can’t wait for this weekend to be over,” you tell her outwardly as you pull your slacks on.

Internally though, there’s something about this weekend that feels easy; it feels almost natural. Melissa has this warm, soft side to her that you don’t hate. You actually quite like it. You can almost see why Barbara has taken quite a shining to- no. Melissa Schemmenti is still the same stuck-up bitch you work with, and she’s doing this for the money.

You spend a bit of time on your makeup before turning to her. She’s sitting on the bed scrolling through her phone, glasses on the tip of her nose. When you clear your throat she looks up to you, and her jaw opens just slightly.

“What?”

She’s at a loss for words. It takes a few seconds for her mind to catch up to her body. “You look nice. Clean up well.”

“Save it for when we’re downstairs,” you sneer out. You gesture for her to go in front of you, and when she does, you can’t help but notice the way this sweater that she’s chosen hugs her in all the right places, and her pants only make her curves stand out more.

Before the two of you make your way down the steps fully, she laces your fingers together with ease. You can’t deny the way that her hand fits into your own almost perfectly. She smiles at you, one of those real, genuine smiles that almost has you melting.

“You ready?”

“Are you?”

“Of course I am,” Melissa smirks at you, and then she licks her lips subconsciously as she gets a good look at your face.

“Let’s get this over with.”

TAGS (and lmk if you wanna be added): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch

[livelaughloveluffy]

comfort - black leg sanji

a/n: happy halloween!!! here's a treat for you! 💗 this will be a new fic series, and who else would i write for first but my dearly beloved sanji 😭 (i cant remember if i used this picture before but i literally love it so much i cant be bothered 😭😭 his hair just looks so fluffy and soft 😭😭😭😭😭)

a/n: guys... i know i said i wasn't going to do the whole songs paired with fics thing.... but like..... in honor of a new ethel cain single being out tomorrow i feel like i absolutely must pair this fic with this song 😭😭😭

nothing but fluff here 💗

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

when he comforts you:

-sanji's first instinct when it comes to comforting you, is to pull you tight into his arms, your face buried into his chest, one arm wrapped around your waist, rubbing soft circles into the smalls of your back, and the other hand placed on your head, gently stroking your hair. it's his secret to getting you to take deeper breaths because he knows you'll be utterly consumed in the scent of his cologne, now wrapped around you like a warm blanket

-he'll softly murmur in your ear phrases like ; "i'm right here, mon amour", "everything will be okay", "i'll stay here for as long as you like mon cheri. i'm not going anywhere."

-when the two of you can't be alone, he'll always have a reassuring hand on you, whether his hand is on your thigh with his thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin or placed on your back. or when he's trying to be more subtle he'll hold pinky's with you.... he'll always find some way to touch you, its nice to have a physical reminder that he's right there and not going anywhere

-when you don't really want to talk, he'll softly hum... the same way he does when he's concentrated on the meal he's preparing, or when he's just content and happy.... a song only the two of you know, since you're the only one ever close enough to him to hear it

-this man gives literally the best advice.. however, he only does so when you explicitly ask for it. his advice and perspective is really pragmatic and understanding, he always considers every possible point of view and takes lots of time to consider your dilemma before he offers an opinion

-if you're sick, injured, or on your period; he's catering to your every need. comfort foods and cravings are made without you even mentioning them (he totally tracks your whole cycle to stay ahead of the game, even if your irregular he somehow always knows) cuddles are frequent and necessary, he's on top of meds always giving them to you at the same time, making sure you take them, even when you say you don't need them or want them, his soft gentle voice is oozing with affection as the words "you'll feel better if you take them, mon amour". you're never alone, ever. when he can't be in your room or in bed with you, he'll carry you to the kitchen, make you wrap your legs around his waist and put arms around his neck, and he'll hold you while he cooks, taking extra care to make sure he's not bumping you against the counters. sanji's 100% an acts of service type man, so he'll do anything and everything, and no amount of protesting will change that.

when he needs comforting:

-he finds a great deal of comfort in cuddling, just the physical closeness of you; your warmth, your soft perfume, everything about you really eases his mind. sanji prefers cuddling while facing each other, he'll bury his face in the crook of your neck with your hand gently tangled into his soft blonde locks. his hair is his ultimate reminder of safety and comfort, so with your fingers softly playing and intertwined in it, he can breathe a bit easier.

-my baby absolutely melts with words of affirmation, this man thrives off of praise, so when he's feeling down gentle reminders of everything you love about him, how much you love him, how amazing he is, helps him remember exactly how lucky he is to have you

-quality time is an absolute must. the last thing sanji wants when he's upset is to be alone, so even if he doesn't really want to talk, just having you by his side is more than enough. the absolute farthest you could be away from him is 10 feet, anything more than that, and he'll just come and get you, wrapping his arms around one of yours and gently cling to you

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

a/n: god, i love sanji more than life itself 😭😭😭

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[junedenim]

baby, it's been nice

so many words in one glance

warnings: smut, blowie, piv, angstish, some affairing...

word count: 4k

You got on the bus and the skies grew dark. When the bus had stalled between the Dockhead and Boss stops, the storm broke and showered down against the bus’s windows, adding a jolt to the ride. Passengers pressed in from the rain, forcing you into the middle of the bus. You felt for a handle before the bus took off again and that’s when you first spotted him.

He stood out amongst the flurry of people because he was the only one who wasn’t wet. He must have hopped on before the rain fully broke. You feel down at your wet shirt, the nice white shirt not made for the early summer rain. 

His eyes found yours and engaged in a duel. He broke it to look down at your hands turning to pat away the wetness on your shirt. He couldn’t escape the way you touched yourself against the slight sheerness unveiling what lies underneath.

Outside, the veritable downpour clashed on. As you approached the Tower stop, you pushed yourself closer to the door, hoping the crowd wouldn’t swallow you up. You exited out and stood under the overpass to wait out the rain. 

He too had gotten off and was standing there. You looked. And he was looking too. 

The air was cold and you pulled on your jacket. You saw him smiling and you smiled back at him. Then, you noticed you pulled on your jacket over your bag and he was smiling at that, not you. You felt stupid and straightened yourself out to wait some more.

And then the rain halted, but before you could move, you looked over at him again, and he was looking back. 

He responded by setting off in the same direction as you. He kept in step and joined you in smiling at the ground. “Shall we get a coffee?” He asked.

“Yes,” you told him. There was no other possibility. 

He questioned how people would look at the two of you. How young you were compared to him. How old were you anyway?

You took your coffee black because it felt childish to ask for heaping amounts of sugar, even if he had milk in his coffee. You felt heavy under his eyes. You wanted to impress him and be deemed worthy by him.

He thought to himself, it’ll be a simple chat and go situation, there’s no need to go deeper. 

But nothing can ever be simple like that. The sun shines through the window onto your face and you lean forward, cupping your face in your hands, staring at him so delicately he’s almost afraid to move, to breathe. Your gaze is light and pure and he’s terrified to be the one to rupture it by pulling away. You’re the rainbow after the storm. Now, he’s just getting cheesy.

He leans closer, his elbows on the table, the only thing other than your cups of coffee separating you two. “Were you heading home from work?”

“School,” you correct. “I’m getting my MA in cultural history, specifically contemporary history.” Your voice is smooth. Will you be smooth all over? “You?”

“A writer.” Even he feels pretentious when he says it.

“Anything I would know?”

He shakes his head.

You’re convinced he thinks you’re dumb.

He’s been sitting too tall on his horse. He didn’t even go to university and yet he’s been looking down upon you for appearing to be younger. “How old are you?”

You giggle. “You aren’t supposed to ask a lady her age.”

*

You walk out onto the street together. He tells himself to leave it there and to be left with the taste of a nice cup of coffee and the memory of that beaming smile. “It was nice talking with you,” he tells you.

He nods and you walk off one way and he walks off the other. You walk to the streetlight before stopping. You feel the pain in the tips of your fingers and you can’t help but feel like you said something wrong. Cars splash in puddles, the hiss of wet tires on asphalt, and street lights change for pedestrians to cross but you hesitate. You don’t want to go anywhere without him. He nodded his head and had said that it was nice talking to you but clearly it wasn’t that nice or else you would’ve stayed.

Then, behind you, you heard him, “Or do you, maybe, want to spend the night together?”

You walk toward his place. It’s funny, he doesn’t live far from you and you’ve probably rode the same bus together before, but before today you had never noticed one another. You cross under a weeping beech and he comments, “Funny hairdo on that one.” And you’re grinning violently, grinning constantly with no change.

You hike up the stairs to his place and stand back while he unlocks the door. His keyring is organized with only a few keys on it and one keychain. You’ve never seen anyone else’s like that. It’s so stark and plain. You almost say something, but then he opens the door.

“I’ve been living here for a while,” he says. He’s just up the road from you and yet you’ve never seen him before. That can’t be right.

The place is clustered with paintings and photographs, although none seem personal. He leads you through to the kitchen. In the sink, there’s a saucepan. The breakfast fixtures are still lying out on the counters. Eggshells, the dirtied plates, and a glass. There’s a window behind the sink that shows the backyard. “There’s no trees out there but I swear every day a bird comes by and sings away. I don’t know what possesses her.” He believes wholeheartedly that this bird sings just for him.

He points down the hallway. “Bedroom is back there.” He has no reason to tell you this or guide you to where everything is. Maybe it’s the polite thing to do, but it also feels explicit like he’s suggesting something by pointing his finger there.

Through a wide archway, he walks you into the living room. There’s a grey rug on the floor to match the dark couch that sits on top of it. You’re standing in the archway, leaning up against it. He will remember exactly how you look there. 

There’s a stack of books on the floor beside his bookshelf. They’re the ones that don’t fit, forcing him to either get rid of some books or get a new shelf. You walk over and bend down to examine them. He wonders if this is research for a school project. “Do you want some wine?”

You look back at him, your hair tossing behind your shoulder. “Sure.” You say it in such a cutesy way. You lift a shoulder like you're doing a dance for him. One shift of your shoulder and you’re sending him back into the stratosphere. 

While he’s in the kitchen, you look at the spines on the bookshelf. You trace your finger over his collection. He’s got postcards leaning against the books and photographs pinned to the shelving. Some he is in, but most he isn’t. They’re of what you assume are friends. There’s one of George Harrison winking, tapped to the side of the shelf. There’s one of a woman smiling. It seems likely that Alex took this photo and this woman was smiling at him but now, through the immortal ability of a photograph, the smile is now toward you.

Behind you, there’s the clashing of two glasses against one another, two in one of his hands, a bottle in the other. “Some music?” He asks while crossing the living room. 

“Yes,” you say, following him.

The sound of the needle in the grooves of the disc sounds through the room. He turns the knob on the player to make sure the sound is perfect. All this time gives you a chance to take him in. His shoulders are narrow, almost curving in. His moves are gangly, and from behind, he could almost give the appearance of a teenager if not for the way he dressed. His slacks and fabric of his shirt are too proper and fancy for any teenage boy. His hair is too fluffy and trimmed for any careless young boy.

When he turns and walks toward you, he is grown once more. The lines that have been traced on him by age. The modest amount of stubble that barely appears. The gleam from the chain around his neck catches your eyes and he sits on the armchair beside the couch.

He waits for the music to start before touching his glass. He nods toward you and lifts his glass as if to cheers you, although you’ve already taken a sip from yours. He smiles slowly as you avert your eyes, too prone to blushing.

*

He’s been to this restaurant before. The waiter knows him and set you two up at a table in the back. You’re face to face with Alex now and a great happiness—the feeling of the unknown and whatever is on the horizon—overcomes you. 

He thinks you look lovely even with your mouth full. 

*

Without consulting you, he directs you back to his home. Perhaps the only reason he went out with you was to come home. To have the illusion that what is familiar to him is unexceptional for you too. You make your way almost automatically to the living room while he fetches another bottle of wine from the kitchen. When he walks in, you're standing by the window. The sill is so low that it would be easy to tip out. "Look, someone else is still awake," you say, pointing across the street.

"Oh, that's Chuck. He's a painter. Up at all these crazy hours of the night. Just painting away." You turn to face him. He is holding a record in one hand, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“That’s not very appropriate for now.” You’re referring to the music playing. It’s some classic rock record but it has a children’s choir singing.

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “Good music is always appropriate,” he argues.

“What about a funeral march?” You retort. 

He chuckles. “Alright,” he caves. He walks over and takes the needle off the record. 

When he walks back over, he for the first time enfolds you in his arms. You take his face in both hands and kiss him very gently like it’s second nature. There is nothing daring him to perform any differently in response.

He brushes the strap of your top and dares to move further by pulling the bra strap down too. The way your bare shoulder feels in his cupping hand is something he won't forget as long as he lives. He moves down and traces his lips on the soft skin. You're looking up at him and smiling before sinking your teeth into his flesh, biting a piece out of him. You pull him even closer to you, turning two bodies into one, where one may not run away only toward one another.

His hands discover your bottom fits neatly into them, a peach to each. You are still both standing there, on the grey living room rug, on your island, barefoot, with interlocking arms and legs, only at rare intervals, opening your eyes and emerging from your blindness to look at one another. He wonders where you get your certainty from. Then he shuts his eyes again, and it is better to see with his hands and mouth.

"We better not make each other miserable," he says. 

"Isn't it too late already?" You smile briefly before insisting, “Sleep with me.” He’s unsure if you mean the whole word. Not just fuck you, but sleep side-by-side with interlocking bodies sharing such unwilling vulnerability with one another. 

Alex takes you by the hand and leads you out of the room, through the kitchen, down the hallways, into the room, the one he pointed at earlier, suggesting to you that you'd spend your night in there. "I might have some trouble," he tells you, "I've had too much to drink. Too much excitement." 

"I don't mind," you say, lying back on the bed, stretched out on the sheets with a halo by your head, your hair shining bright from the bedside lamp. That grin reaches out to him, taking him completely, pulling the light from the whole room, and reflecting it back to him. 

You unbuckle him and take his softness into your hand. He stands still and watches the alchemy as you move him. You pucker your lips out, sitting the tip of him on the edge of your lip. It’s a teasing prospect and he waits eagerly, so close to pushing himself straight in, not being able to resist temptation. 

But he says a prayer and waits, swears to the heavens as you wrap your lips around him, and take bits of him. He feels faint, like his knees might buckle, and he’ll fall straight through the floor. He pushes back on you, making you relinquish your grip. 

“I’ve got to sit down.” He blinks and relaxes onto the bed. “You’re too clothed.” Only the straps he pushed off earlier are bearing your skin to him.

“Isn’t it more tempting?” You taunt, standing on your knees, towering over his laid-out body. You straddle over him, the core of you hovering over the center of him. “You can imagine whatever you want.”

His hands grab your hips, his thumbs dig into the bone. “The real thing is better than anything my brain could put together.” He pulls at the waistband of your skirt, yanking down, down, down.

When the fabric is wiped clean from your surface, his finger fiddles with your nipple, much like he did with the knobs on his record player. (The same amount of noise comes out too.) He runs his fingers through you just to get a taste of the wetness. He puts fingers on your bottom lip, tapping until he has gained entry. Your mouth sucks on the two fingers and the way your tongue moves on them might get him harder than it did when you did it to his dick.

You sit on him, sinking like he is the bottom of the ocean. You sway like the waves and he tries his best to not have them pull him under, tries surfing them. He places his hand on his head before grabbing your waist, ebbing and flowing with you.

He leans up to capture your mouth. In the midst of the kiss, which is rabid and ruinous, he loses all sense of time, of space, of self. He feels you up and down, relishing in that soft, smooth skin, in your curves, in your perked breasts and the ridges in your spine. 

You rake your teeth along his shoulder, kissing with a lightness then a roughness, sucking and scraping, pulling him under. He closes his eyes, head falling to rest against the stack of pillows. He feels high when he’s inside you, and you’re so warm and so wet he could cry. 

You ride him with a purpose, eyes on his, your hand fisted in his hair as you carve your hips into his body like you’ve done this a hundred times before. Alex can’t help but match your rhythm and gets you moaning desperately, so he’s not alone in this. “You feel so goddamn good,” he whispers, right into your ear, just to drive you crazy. 

You pull his head back as if to get even, quickening your pace as you ravage his neck, but he doesn’t want this to end yet. He wants it to last, wants you in other ways. “Hang on,” he rasps, trying to slow you. “Stop.” You make a frustrated noise, but do. He grins. “Something the matter?” 

“Shut up,” you gasp. “What?” 

“Get on your stomach,” he says, soft but firm. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you counter, but do it anyway, and when he pushes in from behind, you cry out, muffled into the pillows that you hold onto in a white-knuckled grip. 

“You like that?” He asks, and you don’t want to satisfy him with a nod because you’re stubborn, but when he reaches between your legs to stroke your clit you can’t help but let a whine escape. 

“Fuck, you sound so pretty.” He’s relentless and doesn’t allow a break, he doesn’t believe they exist. He’s chasing after like a dog going after a car, not letting up until he reaches the bumper. Skin slapping and panting are the only sounds being made. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come after all that, and he falls over the edge with you. You end up out of breath, you shaking and him hot-blooded. You grab his hand suddenly, bringing it to your lips to lick dry and then kiss, one on his palm, another on his wrist, his knuckles, his thumb. He nuzzles your ear. You stroke the height of his cheek. You end up burrowed under the blankets, beat to hell. You sprawl out on top of him, playing with his hair. His lip quirks up because it’s impossible for it not to.

*

He recognizes you right away. You're swinging your handbag as you walk, dressed in all black, and as you come closer, he can see you've put your hair up and tied it with a black velvet ribbon. He thinks of how exposed your face is. He knows he has to be straight with you.

He deliberately chose one of the larger tables, telling the hostess a table for three. You both look up from time to time to see what's keeping your third. He's brought you one of his books so that you can see the things he writes about—his first present to you. You shouldn't read the dedication. Time to look across to the entrance and shake your heads—what's keeping our unpunctual friend? You're in cahoots, you have your first secret to keep from the world, and he knows what you're thinking as you share a look, and that's why it's important to set conditions.

"We will only see each other occasionally," he says, "but each will be like our first time. A celebration." You listen to him attentively and nod. "I can only be a luxury for you because, you know, I have someone else."

“I know.” You’ve always known this. It’s clearly shown on his left hand.

"Perhaps that won't be enough for you and I understand that." You look straight at him, directly in the face. He notices things about you that he didn't before. The way your pupil shines in this light.

"If you had a hundred women, all that matters is the time that we spend together." How can he ever refuse you anything if you don't demand anything? The black velvet ribbon moves him, it makes you look like a schoolgirl. He feels sick.

"You can't expect any sort of public declaration. We both know and that will have to do." "That's fine," you say and then you smile. It terrifies him how comfortable you are. How comfortable this all feels.

He pours you more wine to go with your food. You see his pack of cigarettes on the table and think you don't ever want to sit at a table that doesn't have his cigarettes on it. 

He can't forget that one day he will have to hand you on. He can't forget that he knows this better than you do. He has to remember this no matter how long or short your time together is. This jagged thought must shine through all other thoughts of happiness, love, and desire, through all your shared experiences and any memories you may have; he must endure it when the crash happens. If it isn't to destroy him. The funny thought is that he doesn't think he would mind you destroying him.

"We can be as long as you want us to be," Alex says. 

You nod. So long as you can see him, as long and as often as possible, you wouldn't mind anything else.

He tells the waiter, "It looks like our friend hasn't made it." He pays and pockets his pack of cigarettes. Your jacket hangs beside his coat in his cloakroom, the two rubbing shoulders with one another. "That couple," he tells the attendant while pointing to them. The attendant hands Alex the items, and he holds your jacket out for you to slip into.

While walking, you stand apart because touching is too much. He takes you to his office. It's dusty with shelves of tapes and records you wouldn't know what to do with. There are piles of papers on the desk and windows with blinds covering the outside world. You imagine a person would go mad in a room like this. 

"It isn't much of a view," he says. He lifts the blinds and you peek out to the alleyway with trash cans and let out a giggle.

He offers you a chair and slips a pair of headphones onto your head without saying a word. He leans over you, pressing his body into your shoulders, and hits play on the deck. 

You've never heard anything like it before. It makes you sit upright as if it was his personal version of an electric chair. He stands by the window and lets the moonlight shine on him. He watches you as you listen and lights a cigarette. He likes how concentrated you look, as if he might quiz you after the song is done.

He hears the click and you place the headphones on top of the player. “It’s old recordings I recovered. They’re from some guy in the ‘50s. We’re trying to find the originator.” You get the feeling he likes talking about his work, but people aren’t usually interested in waiting for his sentences to find their way out. 

Before you head out again, you see a photo of Alex on the desk. "Can I have this?"

Alex asks back, "For your imagination?" 

"No," you say, "so that when I'm on the train tomorrow, I won't think all this was just a dream." 

"Are you going so soon?" You’re going away on a trip with a friend tomorrow. You told him that on the first night you spent together. When the hour was so late that it felt like the rapture had occurred and you were the only two people left on Earth.

"Yes." While you hold the photo in your hands, he comes up behind you and holds you. He kisses your neck. You keep your eyes shut throughout, only opening them when he lets go of you, and then you stow the photo away in your bag, between the pages of a book. "Oh no! I left your book at the restaurant."

"Will you walk me home?" 

So now he walks you back the way he saw you come earlier, swinging your bag the exact same, rounding a corner, and then another one, and another one until you've reached your apartment building. It’s down the road from the Moose Cafe. "My room is on the third floor, two windows from the left." He stands next to you and looks up."

Every time he went to the cafe, he came this way, never knowing you were in that building. "What's that in the window?"

"A Basquiat postcard." You put it there after seeing the way he placed postcards around his house. 

"Nice," he says, trying to imagine your room. 

"It's only a week," you say, even if it feels so pathetically long to you.

And to him. "Think of me," Alex says. At certain times, he thinks, Why should she? He's in no way certain it wouldn't be better to forget you in a hurry. There's no kiss on the public street, just an exchange of glances.

*

a/n: i don't mean for everything i write to be somewhat related to cheating. it just turns out that way. this is inspired by a book i'm reading and i'm only 30 pages into said book so they're will probably be some form of a part two or some other fic inspired by this book. (i read 1 book i want per year and it inspires everything i write for the next 12 months.) praying there are no errors in this.

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part three.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

there is angst in this part !!!

summary: you and spencer have an absolute blast doing the livestream, but then you open your mouth. oh no.

word count: 3286

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

You had two days until the livestream, which means you and Ang would be conspiring nonstop for the next 48-or-so hours. That FaceTime call lasted much longer than necessary, and when you both came into the office today you were both clearly exhausted. But that’s okay, because you were not only going to get your friend back, but hopefully gain a partner in the process.

“Jeez, Peach, you’re looking rough today.” Spencer greeted you in the kitchen, and you immediately glanced up and around to make sure no one else was in the kitchen to hear that. Just last night you were wishing he would call you Peach at work, but now it felt… strange. To actually have it happen. That must have been Angela’s doing.

“Yeah, I was up pretty late. I think I finally went to sleep around four just to turn around and wake up at eight. Plus, I was tossing and turning all night, so the sleep I did get wasn’t even restful.” You put a small amount of concealer on because your eyebags were so dark today, and it was still shoot week. Next week it wouldn’t matter all that much because you’d be in your pod locking in on other things, but since you still have three days of shooting to be done, you had to at least try and cover it up. You usually didn’t venture into the comments for your own mental, but you knew if you didn’t put something over them, someone would inevitably comment ‘wow y/n looks like shit today’. And of course, that would be the one comment out of all of them that you would end up seeing.

Spencer rubbed your upper arm lightly, offering more comfort than you expected from him as of late. It was nice. You let a smile spill across your face, but broke eye contact to stare at your shoes. 

“You want one of my Kickstarts? I know they make your stomach upset but maybe the energy might help?” He held an unopened can out to you, and you took it. He was right, you usually had a stomach ache after drinking a Kickstart, but you felt so dead it just might be worth it.

You popped the tab and took a sip, thanking him for his generosity. Angela had definitely talked to him more in depth than she let on, meaning she definitely knew more than she let on. So now you had to worry if she was conspiring with him as well. Not that she would do anything to sabotage you behind your back, but what if she coaxed both of you into a silly plan that will end up falling through?

//

The two shoot days before the livestream were both pretty much the same as always. You and Angela stayed up well into the night hatching a plan, Spencer let you drink his Kickstart and brought you coffee and Red Bull Thursday morning, the day of the stream. You picked up your energy for the shoots, and did your best to keep up with conversations and plans off-camera as well. Spencer was back to his usual physically affectionate self, and he had no trouble saying ‘I love you’ back when you said it first, if you said it first. Whatever Angela was doing behind the scenes on his side was working, because it almost felt like you didn’t need to do some big thing on the stream now. You had what you wanted: your best friend back. Sure, you want more than that, and as far as you knew, so did Spencer. But why introduce the potential of a severe falling out when this was working just fine? You’d been best friends with Spencer for nearly eight years now, that was all you had ever known. Friendship. Was it worth the possibility of losing all of this? Just to—what, gain a different label?

You said as much to Angela while you two were eating. The kitchen and eating area were fairly empty while everyone was setting up for the stream. Spencer, luckily, was needed on set so you knew he wasn’t around to hear you wax poetic about him. Again. As you seemed entirely incapable of doing anything else, lately.

“I don’t know, I’m just starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. Like, sure, I gain the new label of ‘partner,’ but what else is going to change? We already act like a couple anyway, according to you and Erin.”

Angela put her hand on your shoulder and looked into your eyes, piercing through to your very soul. “Y/N, I’m going to hold your hand when I say this, but you don’t just gain the label. You gain all the benefits and happiness of a relationship and you also don’t have to keep hurting yourself. You want to be with Spencer, and he wants to be with you. Instead of not allowing yourself that happiness, and pushing it down constantly to try and come off as ‘normal’, you can just be normal. Also, as far as I know, you and Spence haven’t kissed or gone on any dates and I do believe that’s a perk that comes with dating someone. Especially someone who already knows everything about you. Instead of you two having to tread the murky beginnings of a relationship, you can hop right into it because you both already know so much about each other. Sure it might not feel entirely different at first, but imagine how relieved you’ll be when you don’t have to stop yourself from complimenting him, or staring at him, or blushing whenever he so much as breathes in your direction.” Angela pushed her food around on her plate, pondering if she should keep talking. She was working hard to make this happen, because she loved you both and knew you both deserved to be happy with each other. But Y/N was stubborn, and Spencer was just… hard-headed sometimes.

You held your breath for a moment, letting her words sink in again. Angela wasn’t always so verbose but when she was, it was serious, and you had to really listen. And, of course, she was right. You keep hurting yourself by pushing these feelings away, and you know that they’re reciprocated, so why keep pushing? “You’re right, as always.” You beamed at your best friend, feeling hopeful that this would work.

You knew the stream was set to be starting in about thirty minutes, so you stood up to throw your trash away and get ready. But before you could walk away, Angela grabbed your wrist. “Just so you know, and you didn’t hear this from me, but everyone here wants you two to start dating. Erin sent those memes in thinking it would kick your asses into gear but it didn’t work as well as she thought it would, I guess. Also, a lot of Smosh fans ship you. There’s a few compilations on YouTube if you’re curious. Just some food for thought.” She smiled brightly before leaving you to ponder on that.

You decided to pop your headphones in and do a quick check on that “compilation” comment. You weren’t due to set for twenty more minutes, so you clicked on a five minute compilation titled “Y/N and Spencer being soulmates for 5 minutes and 28 seconds”. Soulmates. It was accurate, to you, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach. You only got a few clips into the compilation before you started to get a little too warm. You freshened up your face and deodorant in the bathroom, and set off for the stream.

//

Everything was off to a good start. You fiddled around with a few songs, and Spencer, of course, was holding perfect conversation with you while also getting a 96% on Expert mode. It was time to start executing your plan, and you knew Angela was right off to the side watching.

“Okay, so, I didn’t tell you this,” you started, glancing at Spencer, “but I did some extra training without you.” You smiled nervously, hoping he wouldn’t be mad at you.

“No way! Cheater.” Your best friend was gleaming at you, and despite his words, he seemed a bit proud. “You just wanted to impress me, didn’t you, Peach?” 

He definitely expected you to falter at the mention of your nickname while on stream, but you held strong. If you blushed, then you blushed. You didn't really have a say in that.

“Well, of course I did. Anyway, I made sure we added one of my favorite songs to the game while you were busy running around setting up, but it’s only mapped on Expert mode. You think I can do it?”

“I believe in you wholeheartedly.” You could tell from the smile on his face that he wasn’t joking. Well, here goes nothing.

“Okay, close your eyes because I have to scroll and find it and I don’t want you to see which song it is.”

“You said it was one of your favorites, right? Can I guess?” Spencer had both hands over his eyes, under his glasses, which made him look quite silly. And while he did know a lot of your favorite songs, you were pretty sure you hadn’t mentioned this one to him.

“Go ahead,” you urged, scrolling through the menus for a few seconds before asking Alex the best way to get to the song.

“Okay, let’s see here. Is it Andria by La Dispute?”

“Nope.”

“Avocado, Baby by Los Campesinos!?”

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ this time.

“Change by Djo?”

“Ah, there it is!” You had finally found the song, after a few too many minutes of scrolling around. The chat didn’t seem to be bothered by the current lack of commentary because they all still seemed to be reeling about Spencer calling you Peach. Which was fair, because mentally you were also freaking out a little bit. But you had more important things to worry about than the blush that was definitely painting your neck and face.

“I was right?” Spencer moved his hands, “Oh, no I wasn’t. I didn’t know you liked The Corrs?” He looked back at you now, and you thought you heard him comment on your blush. But you could rewatch later. For now, you needed to slay this song.

“Spencer, of course I like The Corrs.” You locked in on the song, hitting every single note with ease. You found yourself singing the song too, and Spencer joined in not long after you started.

“Can’t hide it! Can’t fight it! So, go on, go on! Come on, leave me breathless. Tempt me, tease me! Till I can’t deny this loving feelin’! Make me long for your kiss!” You were both singing your hearts out, and you were simultaneously shredding on the fancy guitar controller Spence had secured for Smosh. The chat was going wild, but neither of you thought to even ask about it. The song ended and you managed to get a 92% on Expert mode, while singing and conversing. That was the best you’d ever done on a song, and you had no doubt it was because your best friend was next to you singing with you. 

//

The stream ended after about an hour and a half, your voice hoarse from singing and cheering and yelling. You had picked Breathless by The Corrs because you knew you had never mentioned liking them to Spencer, but the lyrics of the song were just too accurate for how you felt. And you and Angela both knew you wouldn’t be able to actually get a confession out, so you were hoping the song was enough to give Spencer the push to say something himself. And him singing the song with you certainly did something to your insides, but these days everything that man did made your stomach flip. And you were okay with that. You could get used to that. Maybe you even wanted that. You wanted Spencer, unabashedly.

Angela pulled you down the hall away from your other coworkers to ask how you felt. “I don’t know how I feel, to be honest. It was nerve-wracking and stressful at some points, but I don’t know, singing one of my favorite love songs with the man I’m currently in love with was an incredible feeling.” You were so happy and so bubbly you didn’t even realize your wording.

Until you noticed Angela was staring at you.

“What? Oh, fuck. Okay, yeah, I didn’t mean to say that. Um, Just... I’m really high on energy right now, is all.” You let out a soft chuckle, trying to walk back your statement. But she had heard it, and Angela wasn’t exactly one to let things go. “Angela, please do not mention this until we have both clocked out and left the building. Then you can go crazy, but just wait until then. Please,” you quietly begged. It was going to come up again – no doubt about that. But you couldn’t do it while you were still here. You didn’t have anything left to shoot today but you did have some paperwork to do and some marketing stuff to work on, and Tommy asked you to be in a TikTok earlier in the week so that still needed to be done too.

“Okay, okay. I’ll wait. But you will be hearing from me as soon as I park my ass on my couch at home,” Angela whispered back, attempting to meet your volume level but mostly failing.

“What’re y’all whispering about over here?” Spencer had come down the hallway, a Kickstart in one hand and your favorite flavor of Red Bull in the other.

“We’re conspiring on how to break YouTube's streaming rules on a livestream and get away with it, why?” You supplied, knowing he would appreciate a little joke after a somewhat-tense livestream. Maybe the livestream was only tense for you, though. You graciously accepted the Red Bull as he handed it to you.

He did laugh, luckily, and turned towards Angela, “I think Arasha would be a better co-conspirator for that. Y/N is too nice to break internet law.” He smiled at you now, and put his hand on your shoulder, his warmth spreading through your body.

He was always so warm, and you religiously ran cold. It was one of many ways you two fit together so well. You both balanced each other out in all the best ways, Spencer giving more where you had to give less, and vice versa. He always knew just what you needed, and just when you needed it. In so many ways, your friends were right. You were already a couple, basically, without the main perks of being together. You weren’t able to cash in on the parts of the relationship that you really craved – you wanted to kiss him, you wanted to fall asleep in his arms, you wanted to spend lazy Sunday mornings in bed with him and let him teach you all the video games you didn’t understand. You wanted Spencer in a way you couldn’t put into words. It was a visceral need deep inside your bones; an almost bothersome, unending ache. Your want for him outweighed any other emotion you could possibly feel.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could take it.

“Hey, Ang, can I talk to Spence alone for a second?” You smiled innocently, knowing she’d see through it.

“Oh, of course. I’ll talk to you later! Love you both!” She yelled, speed-walking away like her life depended on it. She was halfway down the hallway before she even finished her sentence.

Spencer and you turned to face each other, and suddenly your throat was quite dry. You remembered, gratefully, that he had brought you a Red Bull. You held a finger up to communicate that you needed a second, and then downed half the can in one go. You burped quite loudly afterwards, apologizing for the loud noise.

“You good, brother?” Your best friend inquired, his hand finding his favorite place on your wrist. He always touched your wrist when he was worried about you, a small gesture that always made you light up inside. Despite his overall relaxed demeanor, you could tell he was a bit anxious. His other hand started fidgeting not long after you asked Angela to leave.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Okay, so I’m going to word vomit right now. I know you’re going to want to tell me to shut the fuck up, but please let me just puke it out and then I promise you can have the floor afterwards. Okay?” He nodded, and you started again. “I love you, Spence. You know that, right?” 

Spencer’s fidgeting picked up speed and you grabbed both of his hands in yours, hoping to quell any anxious thoughts forming. You rubbed your thumbs on the back of his hands, realizing once again how warm he was. “You know that, right?” You reiterated, needing the confirmation before you moved forward.

“Yes, Y/N. I love you, too. You also know that, right?” You could hear his voice shake a little, tempting you to try and hurry this up so as not to stress him out. You still wanted it to come out coherent and somewhat romantic, but you weren’t sure if you could handle him being so anxious. 

You smiled, intertwining your fingers with his before continuing on. “Yes, I do. But I’m also lying to you every time I tell you that.” Spencer’s face very quickly dropped at this, prompting you to remind him to let you word vomit and that everything was okay. After you two shared some deep breaths, you continued on.  “I say I love you, and I mean it, because I do, but… honestly for years and years now, I’ve meant it differently than you might mean it. I do love you, but not as a friend. Spencer, I’m so head over ass in love with you. I’m tired of fighting it, I’m tired of hiding it, I’m tired of everyone making jokes at our expense. If you don’t reciprocate, trust me, I understand. I won’t be upset. I just hope you can forgive me for potentially ruining this friendship. But, I need to be honest with myself and most of all, with you. I love you, Spence, and not as a friend. And I’m hoping you can be okay with that.”

You took a deep breath, letting your words wash over him while you tried to quickly recuperate from the intense reeling in your brain. If everyone else at the Smoffice was right, he did reciprocate. But now you weren’t so sure. He had been silent far longer than you expected. You pulled yourself out of your head to look at Spencer, finally, having been looking at his hands in yours to try and center yourself.

But, he was crying. “Oh, god, Spencer. I’m sorry, that was not cool of me, we’re at work. I’m sorry, I’m... I’ll go.” You disconnected your hands and ran for the office doors, not bothering to grab your bag or keys or phone. You just really needed to be away from everything right now. If he called after you, or if anyone did for that matter, you didn’t hear it. You needed to get out. And you needed to get out now.

You made your best friend cry.

After telling him you loved him and wanted him in a way he couldn’t give to you.

How badly did you just fuck everything up?

✧˖°.⁺‧˚ ♡ ˚‧⁺ ✧˖°.

I'M SORRY aaaaaaaa

taglist: @lokidokieokie <3

[heyaheiya]

Will you write something about single dad bakugo falling in love with his child’s daycare teacher and her or them feeling the same 🥺🥺 -🦕

Sorry this took so long 😭😭

— — — — — —

Katsuki didn’t plan on ever getting into a relationship again; just him and his darling daughter was enough for him. That was until your stupid face somehow wormed its way into his mind.

His girl, Bakugou Chiyo, had been going to daycare for a few months now, but he’d never met you officially.

As much as Mitsuki loved having the little one over most weekdays, she didn’t have all the time in the world to spend babysitting. Eijirou encouraged Katsuki to enroll Chiyo and had recommended the daycare he used for his kids. Despite Katsuki’s hesitation towards it, Eijirou wouldn’t stop pestering the man to give it a chance. Something about ‘socialisation’ or whatever. Still, Katsuki put up a good fight.

“Fuck no, you know how disgusting other people’s kids are?? I don’t want Chiyo catching rabies from those things.”

“It’s expensive, I’m not exactly rich right now you know!”

“How do I know those teachers are qualified?”

“I’m sure Chiyo’s gonna hate it so what’s the bother.”

Unfortunately, Chiyo loved it, waking up early and being pretty self sufficient for a 4 and a half year old. She even packed her bag herself before bed so it was ready the next morning. Yes it was filled with just stuffed animals, and what.

“Baby, do you seriously need all of your friends? Why not pick one?”

“But they’ll be lonely :(“

Katsuki had to write out a whole schedule of which plush goes to daycare on which day. This rotation made sure the toys all got an equal amount of days.

Chiyo had been getting chattier in the recent days. Perhaps shitty hair was right about the socialisation bit… However, at dinner that night, a new name kept coming up.

“-and I was really sad. But then, Smiley came over and made it better!”

“Who’s ’Smiley’, princess?”

“Silly daddy, you see her every day at pickup!”

That was helpful. One out of the army of children he has no time to notice.

“Tell me about Smiley. She nice to you?”

“Mhm! Today she secretly gave me a chocolate from the teacher desk :D”

Alarms went off in Katsuki’s head. Chiyo’s friends with a thief. Chiyo’s gonna turn into a criminal. Chiyo’s gonna get arrested in the future. Chiyo needs to stop being friends with this ‘Smiley’ kid!!

“What??”

“Yeah. She told me not to tell anyone or she’ll get in trouble… But you won’t tell, right daddy l?”

The next day and drop off, Katsuki stomped in, all geared up in his hero suit, with a massive scowl decorating his face. Usually Mitsuki and Masaru drop the sweetheart off in the mornings, and by the end of a long work day, Katsuki doesn’t have time to chat. So other parents and teachers had basically never had a proper conversation with the man. That sure was gonna change.

“Who is this ‘Smiley’ kid??”

The receptionist looked befuddled.

“Oh no.. what did she do?”

“Nunya goddamn business. Point me to ‘er”

A shaken older hand pointed towards a young and surprisingly pretty face across the room. Must be the kids mother.

Katsuki stomped his way over to the woman. Either she shrunk back in fear of the pro hero, or his anger made him grow a few inches.

“Oi! Who do you think you are? Letting your kids behave like that? I swear, don’t give me some shi- stupid excuse!”

“I’m so sorry! Has someone been picking on Chi-Chi?”

“Chi-Chi? Seriously nicknaming a kid that doesn’t belong to you? That’s so fuc- freaking creepy.”

Chiyo yanked at her father’s pant leg a bit.

“Don’t yell at Smiley like that >:(“

Huh. Smiley.. is the teacher. Oh. A normal person would instantly apologise, but Katsuki? Pro hero Dynamight?

“What kind of relationship do you have with my daughter??”

He made you look like a child predator in front of your entire classroom, their parents, and your boss +coworkers..To say he felt bad was an understatement, the look of your terrified and embarrassed face scarring his mind for days.

Then, Chiyo came home balling her eyes out.

“Miss Smiley wasn’t there! She left me!”

Fuck. He knew what he had to do.

+81 XXX XXX XXX: Meet me at the restaurant down the street in 10.

Y/N: What the freak

When he saw you walk in, his jaw dropped. Unfortunately, you were beautiful, like the girls on the covers of magazines. However, your cute and almost squishable face quickly turned to a glare, eyes shooting lasers through his face.

It’s silent for a long time.

“This is the part where you apologise for getting me fired.”

“Right, I’m really sorry.”

…

“Look, I love Chiyo so so much. She’s a good kid and I’m sure you can tell she’s grown an attachment to me. If it’s because you or her mother feels jealous-“

“I’m single, the mother is out of the picture.”

“Oh so you just felt like being a dick?”

“Mind your language, Sensei. Wouldn’t want any kids to develop a fowl tongue.”

“I’m the reason Chiyo doesn’t have some of your key vocabulary. Watch it, Dynamight.”

“Oh I’m so scared😒”

You instantly stood up and grabbed your purse. “If you’re just here to rub salt in the wound, I think we’re done.” Fuck. Katsuki yanked you back down into your seat, eyes begging.

“No, fuck- I can’t stop fucking this up. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Wanna add another f-bomb to that statement?”

“Fuck off.”

“There we go.”

Katsuki groaned to himself, wanting to kill himself right there and then.

“I came here to apologise and fix things, but I’m stupid and can’t fucking communicate!”

“There are other swear words y’know?”

“Take me seriously.”

Your face softened slightly. You seriously thought he might cry in the middle of some random ramen restaurant.

“How do I fix this??”

“Well..”

You didn’t ask for too much really. Shopping spree (clothes, jewellery, cosmetics, skincare, shoes, hair pins, the works), official apology to everyone who was in the room at the time, get job back, and a bunch of tiramisu.

After all that, you were nothing but smiles. Then it clicked. Always smiling. Miss Smiley. Damn, that was a lazy nickname.

“Chiyo was the one who came up with ‘Miss Smiley’.”

It’s the best goddamn nickname anyone has ever made.

“Is there anything else you wanna add to that long ass list of yers???”

“Perchance..”

“Well??”

“A second date?”

— — — — — — — — — — —

This is not my best, I’m sorry 😭😭 hope you enjoyed! And requests are still open. Please, I need inspiration 🙏🙏

[schrijverr]

A Birthday Crisis

Roy has a crisis about his behavior as a captain towards the team after a conversation with Jamie confronts him with how much older he is than his teammate.

AKA, I make Georgie a teen mom and have Roy realize they’re the same age

On ao3.

Ships: minor Keeley/Jamie bc s1

Warnings: referenced teen pregnancy

~~~

Roy knows the day is going to be bad when before they even get to training, he finds Jamie Tartt in front of him. He is not in the mood to deal with whatever Prince Prick has decided to make his business today, so he bites out: “Piss off, Tartt.”

However, Jamie does not piss off, instead he squares his shoulders, a determined look coming over his face that Roy only ever sees on the pitch. He doesn’t know what could be so important that Jamie is choosing to be stubborn in the face of Roy’s foul mood and he doesn’t care to either. By the looks of it, he’s unfortunately going to find out anyway.

“You shagged one of Spice Girls, right? Like a hundred years ago. Were you gentleman enough she’d text you back?” is not what he expected Jamie to say.

“What?”

“Fucking ‘ell, are you going deaf in your old age?” Jamie rolls his eyes. “The Spice Girl, do you have her number and would she text you back? Keep up, old man.”

“Why the fuck to you care?” Roy grunts annoyed. He doesn’t like being called old, he’s not even fucking forty, he’s just in a career where people retire young. And he definitely doesn’t want to do anything for Jamie Fucking Tartt, especially not this. “I’m not going to set you up with a fucking Spice Girl.”

Jamie makes a face at that. “I don’t need you to set me up with a Spice Girl.”

“Then why the fuck are you bothering me about one?” Roy growls, getting fed up.

“Because I need you to ask her to sign something!” Jamie explodes, a silence falling over the locker room after his outburst and an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. It’s splotchy and Roy takes a small amount of pleasure in Tartt being an ugly blusher.

The rest of the sentence processes and he blinks: “Why the fuck do you need me to do that? You can still get something signed yourself. You got enough fucking money. Or send a fucking message online, isn’t that the only thing you do on your fucking phone?”

“Already tried that, didn’t I,” Jamie complains, looking more embarrassed. “I want to have a specific message signed on it, it’s important. Can you just ask?”

“What is so important?” Roy asks, just taking the piss at this point since Jamie looks mortified to be having this conversation and he can’t help but poke at the lad.

“’s for me mummy’s birthday,” Jamie mumbles, not meeting his eyes as the blush gets brighter. “They were her favorite when I were growing up. Still are.”

“Was she a teen girl or some shit,” Roy scoffs, not necessarily meaning to judge the music taste of Jamie’s mum, but also unable to take him seriously, even if it is kind of sweet that he’s trying to do something nice for his mum’s birthday. Still, Jamie and sweet just don’t go together in Roy’s brain.

“Yes, what off it?” Jamie snaps, embarrassment fading for anger. Roy has never seen him angry like this, like he actually meant it. Jamie’s more for taunting cockily than actual anger.

Instantly he feels bad, Jamie being raised by a teenager explains a whole fucking lot about him, Roy thinks and he honestly truly didn’t mean to come off as insulting. Taking the piss of one of the lads or talking shit is one thing, insulting someone’s mother a whole other thing.

“Alright, didn’t mean anything by it,” he backs off, deciding to be nice. “What message do you want them to sign?”

Jamie eyes him suspiciously, which is probably his right, since Roy himself doesn’t even know why he’d help the prick with this either. However, he does want to help. Maybe that Lasso shit is rubbing off on him. Helping. Being a captain. That sort of shit.

There must be something on his face that makes Jamie believe him – or he’s just fucking stupid, which could very well also be the case – because he says: “Okay, you gonna write it down?”

“Cheeky twat,” Roy grumbles, “do you want them to write a fucking novel or some shit?”

“No, just don’t trust your old person brain to remember,” Jamie sticks his tongue out at him. Roy is about to take his help back when Jamie quietly adds: “I just want it to be perfect.”

And Roy hates that when Jamie is not being a massive prick to anything that moves for once, he is quite endearing. He reminds him a little of Phoebe right now and he has to banish that thought immediately, which he does by clearing his throat and gruffly going: “Fine, whatever, I’ll fucking write it down,” and fishing his phone out of his bag. “Spit it, Tartt.”

With a final suspicious look, Jamie dictates: “Dear Georgie, thank you for always being our superfan, happy 39th birthday. And then can you get all of them to sign it? Oi, are you even typing it all? Do you need help fucking spelling?”

Roy is pretty sure Jamie continues to talk, but he stopped hearing anything Jamie says after the word thirty-nine left his lips. Blood is rushing past his ears and he feels like his world is spinning. Needing to make sure he heard that right, he asks: “Your mum is tuning thirty-nine this year?”

Annoyed, Jamie says: “Yeah, I just said that didn’t I? She had me young, shut the fuck up about it.”

He realizes that Jamie thinks he’s judging her again and he can’t blame his defensiveness, because when he does the maths, fifteen is way too young to be a mom and he can’t imagine Jamie hasn’t heard it all before. All the judgment and vitriol people have for teen parents… for the children of said teen parents.

So, he quickly says: “No, no… uhm,” Fuck, he can’t believe this is a real sentence that is about to come out of his mouth, the shock still fresh in his mind, making it almost feel unreal. “I’m turning thirty-nine this year.”

“Oh,” Jamie blinks.

“Yeah,” Roy answers.

They just stare at each other for a moment, the rest of the locker room suddenly quiet around them.

It’s not that Roy is new to being confronted with being older than the lads around him. It started when he was twenty-nine and one of the new bench warmers at Chelsea mentioned being eleven and watching Roy debut, then it became more common and common to hear childhood ages being referenced in relation to big career milestones for him.

He stopped doing the maths on how old teammates were when he debuted when he hit thirty-two and it became depressing. Hell, he’s pretty sure Sam wasn’t even born yet when he debuted, a fact he tries not to think about.

However, this one is new. He’s never been old enough to be a teammates parent before. And that- that is very different.

Of course he knows that Jamie’s mum had him really young and he really shouldn’t compare, because it’s not like that. This is not a thing. He’s not that old yet. Still… there is something very visceral about looking at a teammate and knowing you are the same age as their mother. It makes him feel old and like a giant knob. He and Jamie have had a lot of friction during his loan here thus far, but now he just feels like he’s been bullying a fucking child.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.”

As he storms out of the locker room, he hears Jamie call out: “I didn’t even do nothing! Hey. Hey! Are you still going to help me? Fucking wanker,” but he ignores it.

Roy needs to be alone for a moment. Needs to fucking… process. Or punch something. Could go either fucking way at this point, sooner the latter than the former with him, but whatever. Fucking emotions making him feel all fucking fucked and weird like this.

Fucked and weird is the best he has right now, if he’s shit at dealing with emotions, he’s even shitter at figuring out what the fuck he’s even feeling. The only he knows that whatever he’s feeling is bad, but he doesn’t even know if the bad is directed at Jamie, himself or even the fucking universe. All he has is just that. Bad. Fucking great.

At this point, he’s just roaming the halls with spinning thoughts, glad that his reputation keeps everyone the fuck away from him. He knows he’s supposed to be in training right now and everyone else knows it too, but he doesn’t give a fuck, let them fine him.

He ends up stumbling into the carpark where Keeley is still there, talking on the phone as she leans against Jamie’s car, because he needs to driven around like a child…. “Fuck!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Keeley frowns, hanging up the phone. She’s probably the only person there unimpressed with his anger. She dated too many footballers in his orbit when he was still young and stupid… instead of old and stupid. Fuck.

“Your stupid fucking child of a boyfriend,” he curses. “Who is an immature little prick, who acts like a immature twat and I fucking hate him, but he’s just a fucking child and I’m a grown fucking man, who’s been fucking pushing him around, like an arsehole… Fuck!”

Keeley stares at him with wide eyes as he goes through the realization. “Whoa…” she breathes out, watching him stand there like a knob.

“Are you having a midlife crisis or some shit?” she asks with those wide eyes of hers, her voice disbelieving as she adds: “Over Jamie?”

Roy hates that that was basically what is happening. Can’t even deny it. With his rant, the anger has faded somewhat and he feels tired again. Embarrassed. He nods.

“Wow, what- what happened?” Keeley asks, a mix between gossip-y curiosity and genuine concern that only she can pull off and make it sound trustworthy.

Sounding a bit strangled, he says: “I’m the same age as Jamie’s mum.”

At the revelation, Keeley’s eyes nearly fall out of her sockets, mouth agape. It makes him feel even more self conscious and he regrets telling her immediately. Shocked she goes: “Wait, how old are you then? I can’t imagine you being that-”

“That what?” he snaps, teeth gritted and fist clenched.

“Uhm, that old?” Keeley squeaks, having the decency to be apologetic about it. She quickly tries to cover up her blunder by saying: “I thought you were thirty-eight? That doesn’t sound right with being old enough to be Jamie’s dad.”

Fucking hell, she didn’t have to phrase it like that. However, she’s also right. “I am. So is his mum. She was teen parent, so I know it’s not like… a thing, but it’s also a fucking thing. Like what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I- I- The same age as a teammate’s parent?”

“Yeah, no, that- that fucking sucks, babe,” Keeley winces in sympathy. Then she kind of ruins it by going: “I can see how that’s all confronting like, how many years you’ve been doing it, how much time is between you and the others. That’ll probably make you feel old.”

“I don’t feel old,” Roy growls defensively, before realizing he actually means it. Well, a little, he does feel fucking old, but that’s not new. What is new is feeling responsible for the fact he’s acting like a twat while being old. For being immature right back when he should know better. He feels embarrassed about his behavior. Guilty. “Fuuuuuuuck.”

“What? What’s happening right now?” Keeley asks, slightly panicked, because she’s Keeley and she’s probably invested in this now. Fucking, fuck.

Despairing and slightly incoherent, Roy exclaims: “I don’t fucking want to fucking adopt Jamie Fucking Tartt!”

Keeley’s eyebrows shoot to the top of her forehead and she chokes on a noise that Roy doesn’t have the brain capacity to decipher. Almost cautious, she asks: “Why… why do you think you need to adopt Jamie now?”

“Because he’s an immature little prick, who needs to grow up, but he is a little fucking child and I am a grown man, who is the same age as his mum. So I should fucking know better and be a fucking role model or some shit, because I’m Lasso’s fucking little girl. I need to set an example and be a good captain and shit, take the players under my fucking wing instead of being a sad old fuck,” Roy rants, leaving himself breathing heavily.

Throughout his rant Keeley just stares at him, continuing after he’s done, so they’re just looking at each other for a moment.

Slowly, she says: “So… it’s less a ‘fuck, I’m old crisis’ and more a ‘fuck, I need to be a responsible adult crisis’ that was brought on by the being as old as Jamie’s mum revelation? And it’s really that you’re only now realizing that you never grew up either and you’re nearly forty and you really should have done that earlier, so now you’re kind of floundering?”

“… Yeah,” Roy swallows, feeling hollow and uncomfortably seen by Keeley’s observation.

“Sorry,” Keeley winces.

Roy sighs, it’s not her fault that she’s right. He tries a lot with Phoebe, but that’s only with her and maybe he should have brought more of that into his captaincy earlier instead of doing this angry sad sack shit and he hates fucking Lasso for bringing it to his attention with that stupid fucking book, because now he’s going have to fucking try to be a better fucking person instead of wallowing until he’s irrelevant.

He snarls, because he doesn’t have many other expressions to pull from and truly doesn’t feel like doing this, even if he has to. “G-d fucking shit, I’m gonna have to be fucking nice to Tartt.”

Keeley chokes on a laugh, which is fucking rude and she giggles: “Oh my god, if you do that, Jamie will explode. I can’t wait for the end of this day.” She is still snorting to herself as she gets into the car, probably having to run to whatever gig she has, before coming back here to pick up Jamie… to whom Roy has to be nice to… which she will hear about… because Jamie is her boyfriend. Fuck.

With a heavy dread, he stands there in the parking lot, knowing what he has to do, but hating it anyway. In his mind, he can hear those two lines from the book ringing: ‘That it has to be me. It can’t be anyone else.’

Fucking Lasso, he seethes as he turns on his heel to stalk back into the Dogtrack. He has a Spice Girl to text and a training to attend.

~~

A/N:

Anyway, Roy will proceed to begrudgingly yet aggressively befriend a very confused Jamie lmao

Idk why I headcanon Georgie as like a teen-teen mum, but I do and then this realization wouldn’t leave me alone, so I had to give Roy a crisis about it.

Also I don’t know about you, but I love Keeley’s horrible attempt at comfort in Mom City, like as much as I love emotionally competent Keeley, she also has her moments and I love her dearly for that <3