#nothing against kids but enough is enough

[monstersflashlight]

Day 3. Monster-kinktober: Haunted + Free

A/N: Continuation of this little short story. Enjoy!

Shadow monster x fem!reader || tentacle sex, oral sex, semi-public sex

When your friends insisted on me going into the haunted house with them you were scared, you were scared shitless. You didn’t like scary stuff, you didn’t even like that you were out on Halloween night. You liked your Halloween to be spent with candy and watching cringy scary movies that made you laugh and didn’t stop you from sleeping at night. But apparently you were “a baby” and you needed to “get over it”, or so they said. They annoyed you so much that you decided to say fuck it, the park attractions couldn’t be that bad, even kids went there… Right?

You were wrong.

And now you regretted it. You regretted it with every fiber of your body. When the lights went off and you heard high pitched screams, you joined in, screaming, too. You reached around and found somebody’s arm, thinking it was your friend. You clung to him like a baby koala, your whole body pressed against his side as he kept walking for a few steps, your face completely hidden in his shoulder. Your eyes were firmly closed as he stopped in the middle of somewhere.

"Darling, I'm really enjoying this, but I think you got your arms messed up," an unknown voice whispered against your ear, making you shiver and open your eyes widely, a scream almost escaping your lips before he covered your mouth with his dark hand, chuckling.

In front of you wasn’t one of your friends, but one of the monsters working on the attraction, looking at you with the most delicious smirk on his stupidly handsome face. His tentacles undulating behind his black form, all the shadows around his body, making him look enticing instead of scary. And you were almost salivating, he was that handsome. He looked good enough to eat.

You were two seconds away from running away far from him, completely embarrassed, when he stopped you again, one of his tentacles circling your waist to stop your movements. "Calm down, I will guide you outside, don't worry, I don't bite... At least not if you don't ask first." He winked at you, and you blushed, heavily flustered. Your body was still shivering, but this time it was not from fear.

You pulled away just enough to get your mouth free, but his hand landed on your neck, where he squeezed softly, making your heart skip a beat. “Can we... can we leave now?” You stuttered, trying to sound somewhat coherent even though you could feel the tear stains in your cheeks from earlier and your voice was trembling slightly.

His eyes softened. “No, darling, not yet. The doors are closed until this ends,” he explained, his hand still around your neck, caressing your pulse point and making your heart speed up.

“How long is that?” You asked, breathless.

He looked at the ceiling like it got the answer to that question and answered: “About… 20 more minutes.” You looked at the ceiling expecting to find a clock there, but there was nothing at all… how the fuck?

But you had more important matters to attend to. “Oh. Okay. I should try to find my friend then…” You pushed his chest softly, not really wanting to untangle yourself, but being a bit uncomfortable with the situation.

“Or you could keep me company,” he teased. “I bet I can distract you from the fear,” the innuendo in his tone was so clear you shivered, your panties getting wet. There was no way this amazing shadow monster wanted to fuck you, right?

“And how would you do that?” You asked.

He smirked again. “I don’t know if you realized… But I have tentacles.” His tentacles came around his body and touched different parts of yours, making you giggle when they tickled your sides. “Your laugh entices me like no other ever had,” he confessed as he lowered his head and claimed your mouth. You kissed him with desperation, clinging to his body until you were breaking apart, gasping for air. You forgot you had to breathe for a second, his kiss so good you forgot you even existed apart of that point of contact.

He started kissing down your neck, his hands groping your ass. You looked around frantically, almost expecting some other human or monster to appear, and let out a choked: “He- here?”

“Nobody is going to come this way anymore, darling… And you look especially good against that fake-mold wall,” he joked. Your own laugh died when one of his shadow tentacles slipped under your shirt, cupping your boob and flicking your nipple. You groaned and he looked at you like he was a predator and you were his next prey. You shivered again, your body filling with anticipation.

He touched you all over, his tentacles and hands were everywhere and you couldn’t stop moaning as you bite into his lips. You were fighting for dominance in a battle where nobody would lose. You were kissing like desperate souls finding each other again… and it was intoxicating. When you felt his tentacles lowering your pants and panties, you pulled away for a second, looking at his eyes trying to decipher what was going to happen next. He said nothing as he fell to his knees in front of you.

When he looked up at you, you felt like the most powerful woman in the world. Such a big scary monster was on his knees for you, to pleasure you. It was exhilarating and your pussy got wetter instantly. He probed it with his fingers and you cried out, moving your hips to get more friction. And when he grabbed your leg and put it over his shoulder, you almost lost yourself.

The first contact of his super long tongue against your pussy was like an electric shock, running down and making every cell in your body stand to attention. He didn’t give you time to prepare, before you knew it he was sucking and licking and rubbing and… driving you completely insane. You were almost there, so, so close you could almost feel it in the tip of your fingers. That’s when he decided to make his tentacles join in. A tentacle pressed softly against your asshole as another one pressed inside of you. The combination was too much for you, and you fell apart around him, screaming and thrashing as he held you down with his tentacles so you wouldn’t fall to the floor.

“That was… That was… wow,” you let out between heavy breaths. He chuckled, standing up and kissing you again. You could taste yourself in his lips, and that made you want to devour him even more. You reached his dick, but he batted your hand away. “But I…”

“This was for you. Also, there’s no time, I need to get you outside before your friends come looking for you,” he explained with a smile as he embraced you with his tentacles, pulling your pants and panties up your legs with the softest caress. Your legs were still weak when he guided you out of the haunted house.

He guided you outside slowly, letting you cling to his arm for balance, your knees still trembling after that earth shattering orgasm. Once you were out and you saw your friends looking around for you, at the same time they located you, he leaned down and whispered against your ear: “Hope next time I can fuck you properly, darling.” You blushed heavily and he laughed, pulling away until your friends reached you. They asked a few questions that you weren’t ready to ask and he cut them: "Can I have your phone number, then?" Without thinking too much about it, you gave it to him, ignoring your friend’s cheers and comments as you typed it on his phone.

[pricegouge]

fine i'll split it into two parts because i need instant gratification

babysitter!reader x single dad!price

cw: fem reader. implied age gap. nothing specific beyond reader being legal. alcohol. reader is a brat and john's having a lot of fun with it. inappropriate work flirting lmao. also i beefed john up cause i could. MDNI

this is in response to a prompt but i don't wanna publish the ask until it's all done and up. also, i don't think this is recognizable against what she posted, but i do remember reading @ceilidho 's musings on this exact dynamic forever ago and it poisoned my brain so any similarities are in fact her fault cause she's gotta stop being so brilliant

>Running late but the door's unlocked. Feel free to let yourself in.

You read the text again as you park your car alongside the shiniest Lexus you've ever seen in your life. It rubs you wrong, the whole thing. The triple wide garage and the perfectly manicured lawn, the lack of a formal meeting and now this - 'Come on in and meet my daughter unsupervised for the first time, the door to my aggressively lavish home is unlocked just for you.' 

It had your hackles raised, creeping up the drive with caution. Honestly, if it hadn't been for the Laswells hooking you up with this gig, you probably would've backed right back out just as soon as you'd parked, but they'd never steered you wrong before and you doubted they would start tonight. 

Kate Laswell wouldn't tolerate some kind of pervert, and she definitely wouldn't recommend your services to him. 

The door is indeed unlocked, though you have some difficulty finding it at first. The flow of the walkway leads you right to the paneled door, but it certainly doesn't look very welcoming and at first glance you mistake the recessed entryway for just another confusing design element. But then the pathway runs out, bordering up to a lawn so lush it may as well have been planted with a carpet and you chew your lip, contemplating. For a moment you think to look for a back door, but then you take one step onto the lawn and your boot kicks out from under you, the soil beneath deceptively soaked by the automatic sprinkler no doubt. The fall isn't hard, just enough to plant you on your ass and splash some soil up onto your face. You frown at your dirty hands and then frown even harder when you see the trench your trainer has dug into the beautiful lawn. Standing, you try to wipe your palms on your hips and discover yet more mud so you give up, toeing a hunk of grass back into place in an attempt to cover the divot. 

When you turn back to the house, your brain finally makes sense of the broad bands of wood, the lock, and the handle. You pull open the heavy door with a frustrated sigh, finding a moody foyer - pale flooring contrasting nicely with the glossy black wall which stood across from you, subtle inlets suggesting it hid closet space if only you were clever enough to figure out how to open it. Fucking rich people.

You remove your muddy shoes out of necessity, but you leave them in a dirty pile next to the door and head off in the direction of little kid TV noises with your jean jacket still firmly in place. You've had enough hoity toity doors for one day.

Emily is four, and you think at first that her father must be brave to leave her unsupervised while he gets ready in the other room, but you suppose needs must, and she's well enough behaved to be trusted it seems, if the pristine state of the room is anything to go by. She sits placidly on the floor, playing idly with a pile of HotWheels as she zones out to some bubbly princess show on the screen. She jumps about a foot when you call to her to make yourself known, and then watches warily as you introduce yourself. For a moment you think you'd rather face a parent's scrutiny, her dark eyes so intense on your face you briefly wonder if she's got the shining or something, if maybe she's about to tell you how you die -

And then she points at you with a boxcar accusationally. "Why are you so dirty?"

"Oh," you laugh awkwardly. It's stupid to flounder under a child's gaze but you feel a bit out of your depth already so you do, smearing more mess across your pants when you pat your dirty hands over your thighs. "Took a little tumble outside."

"You look silly. You need to clean up."

"I -. You're right, I do. Where's the bathroom, please?"

But Emily is uninterested in helping you, it seems, instead much more entertained by the vaguely rhythmic chanting of 'dirty girl' she sets into, clamoring to her feet in order to run circles around you, pointing every now and again to make it clear who she's singing about.

You sigh to yourself, hoping against hope that she's not another spoiled rotten client. You're getting real sick of rich people and their spoiled kids, honestly. But you don't bother trying to correct her behavior. You are after all a stranger who just wandered into her home covered in mud. Any adjustments made now likely wouldn't be taken seriously by a child and that's okay, you wouldn't take anyone seriously under those conditions either. So you just grumble good naturedly and break free from her little circle, wandering in the direction of a dark, recessed hall off to your left. 

"The bathroom over here?"

"Dirty girl, messy girl!"

"Good talk," you mutter to yourself, socked feet slipping on the polished floor. You were definitely going to Risky Business the hell out of this place once the little shit had gone to bed. In the privacy the hallway offers, you give it a trial run, grinning like an idiot as you overshoot the first door and sidle back, rapping your knuckles on the frame out of habit. You roll your eyes at yourself for it, knowing full well the only other person home is upstairs getting ready, and push the door open just as someone from within grumbles 'In use!'

It's like you've never seen a man before, the way you stand there and gape. Looking at him now, you're not sure you ever have.

John Price is big. And hairy. And wet. And big, meaty fist so thoroughly swallowing the razor he's pulling up his exposed throat that at first you're unsure if he's just feeling himself up, inspecting the thick cords of his neck, maybe. Shaving cream drips down his bare chest in sticky rivulets, matting the thick pelt to his pecs. Water flows into the runnel between them, chestnut hair darkened by the runoff from his task. It drips down his forearms too, at least as far as it can, the hair there so thick it dams up somewhere around his wrists. He wears a towel slung low on his hips, his muscled belly hanging over the hem. It's tied off on the hip closest to you and hanging on for dear life, the breadth of him testing its capabilities. It gapes open high on his thigh, yet more hair and dense meat on display.

In the overwhelming humidity of the room, each breath feels too heavy to take, like your chest is simply too weak. You want to stammer an apology, but your mouth is suddenly much too dry and it comes out as little more than a series of clicking noises in your throat - 

Which are completely drowned out by the litany of 'dirty girl!'s behind you.

Mr. Price huffs a laugh, razor clattering against the sink as he taps it clean. The noise is muted in the dense air but it's enough to break you of your spell and this time when you apologize, your voice is winded and thin but at least audible. You step back, attempt to duck out, but then the man is turning to face you fully, motioning you closer with the hand that still holds the razor and you've never been one to disobey the people who pay you so you do, careful not to slip on the slick tile.

"Think you need it more than I do," John rumbles, deep voice lilting around the edges as if he's in on some joke that you're not. He nods to the sink he still mostly blocks when you shoot him a confused look, clock the open interest in his gaze.

Right, the mud. Some first impression. "Sorry," you chuckle, trying to make light of it. "I took a little spill in your yard just now. Mr. Price, yes?"

John at least nods and has the decency to look concerned but his niceties end there, still standing much too close as you step forward and run the faucet, getting to work on your hands. You keep your eyes locked on your task, afraid to make eye contact with his reflection in front of you. He's only one man but between the sheer size of him and the mirror, you feel like you've been caged in.

"But you're alright, I hope? Not hurt?"

"Nothing besides my ego." Your laugh is still breathless, nodding down the hall where Emily continues singing. In the reflection, you catch John staring down at you shamelessly and you duck your head again before continuing, "Your daughter has a way with words."

John chuckles, scratches his chest absently. You try not to zero in on the sound of it. "Gets her clever tongue from her mum, I'm afraid."

And maybe it's because you're stupid, or it's because humor's never failed to get you out of a bind before - maybe you just like making things difficult for yourself - whatever the cause, the effect's the same. You're an incorrigible flirt. "Well, don't sell yourself short."

The scratching against John's chest stops. When you look up, ears on fire, you find him staring back at you through the reflection, dark eyes so heavy they're nearly a physical weight. Your pulse thrums, whole body primed for a smart retort, but then Emily is in the door, laughing at her own antics. Her voice is bubbly when she asks if you can order pizza and it's hard to stay mad at her even when she calls you 'messy girl' again.

You start to say yes and then bite your tongue, unsure. You don't care how Mr. Price feels about delivery, honestly, but it's possible Emily has a dairy allergy you don't yet know about. This is why you usually prefer to meet parents ahead of time, but Kate had said the man was much too busy for such a thing, and the way he'd been scrambling for a reliable babysitter after his live-in nanny retired had made you sympathetic (see: very open to accepting clients who could afford live-ins), bending your rules for one of the Laswells' oldest friends. It hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time but now you were being guilted into cheesy comfort food, you find yourself ill-prepared

Thankfully, John takes over. "Not until you learn some manners first, munchkin," he proposes, wetting a hand towel and turning you to face him with a big hand on your shoulder. You frown up at him in confusion but he just ignores you, wiping at your temple with his towel as he continues talking to the toddler behind you. "That's Miss Messy Girl, alright? Only polite."

When he releases you, you glare up at him, no real heat. He smirks, taking the towel to his own face now, wiping excess product off his skin without breaking eye contact. "Now ask nice."

You flounder a moment, at a loss, and then have to resist the urge to kick yourself when Emily takes up the queue instead. Of course he meant his daughter.

"Miss Messy, can we please order pizza?" 

John laughs and suddenly you don't care how Mister Price feels about delivery. And if it turns out Emily can't have it, he can deal with her ensuing meltdown. He's already running late anyway. "Of course we can, sweetie. But please, my name is -." 

"MISS MESSY'S THE BEST!" Emily crows, jumping up and down on the spot. 

***

When he gets out of the bathroom, John teases you right up until the moment he heads out the door that pizza was your idea so you'll have to pay for it. He also throws a stack of flannel and henley at you, tells you to stop tracking mud all over his house or he'll add cleaning to your job description. You tell him you charge extra for that and he gives you a look like he's famished, like you're the first slice of meat he's seen in years.

It only gets worse when you emerge from the bathroom moments later with what can only be his pajamas hanging off you, but he never says anything inappropriate and he keeps his hands to himself. You try not to think about why that disappoints you. 

Resisting the urge to take a big whiff of his thermal is far more difficult. 

(Past the scent of fresh laundry, he smells like cedar and smoke and in the crease of the seams, something muskier lingers. 

You decide you're going to steal it right then.)

He shows you to the laundry room, shuffling a load of brightly colored girl's clothes from the dryer before giving you the rundown on how to use them. You're not sure what about you gives him the idea you don't know how to operate a washer, but you decide not to comment on it when it means him standing too close, the warmth of his body seeping into your back.

The spiel about Emily's schedule and needs is delivered as he shoves his feet into a brown pair of loafers. They match his belt perfectly, visible where he keeps his fitted button up tucked into pressed blue slacks. It's hard to pay attention to what he's saying but you're fairly certain you catch the gist of it. No strawberries or house parties, bed by ten at the latest and only if she's well behaved. He knows you have his number saved because he texted you about your availability this evening earlier in the week, but that doesn't stop him from standing over your shoulder to ensure he's still in there. You think you hear him snort when he sees he's saved as 'Mr. Price' with a money bag emoji but you steadfastly refuse to think too hard about it.

When everything finally meets his expectations, John scoops Emily up in a big bear hug and peppers her in kisses which leave her squealing in ticklish delight.

Emily hangs from him happily, little arms wrapped around his neck as if she'll never let go. You hear him whisper something conspiratorial directly into her ear which makes the girl giggle in delight before shooting you a wink which has your stomach fluttering with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. Likely, he's just telling her to behave for you and being cheeky about it, but he's far too handsome to be running around winking at young ladies like that and you've half a mind to tell him.

Maybe you'll pencil that in after your sock sliding. He does say you're allowed to text for any reason, after all.

"And I mean it. Don't want to waste my evening there anyway," he grumbles, setting his daughter down. 

"So stay here with me, daddy!" she implores. "I'm much cuter anyway." Little shit even strikes a pose.

John chuckles, hand heavy when he pets her hair. "The company here is much better," he hedges, and for a split second you think you see his eyes flick to you. "But unfortunately a man's gotta endure some boring business dinners from time to time if he wants to get ahead in life."

A beat passes while Emily seems to think that over. John starts his car from his fob while he lets her digest that, the very picture of placating indulgence. Vaguely, you want him to look at you - or through you - like that and then immediately decide that's a desire best left uninspected. 

"You're out every night!" Emily gripes, no real heat. It's the kind of thing you know will bug her later in life but for now she's too busy reveling in all the late night pizza parties and gifts he no doubt showers her with to mask his own guilt.

You've been there before.

"That's true," John allows, brief flick of regret across his face. "Which means you gotta be good for Ms. Messy so she'll come back."

Emily gives you a look as if she's not very excited by that prospect and you're so offended you forget to correct John about your position being regular. 

John laughs when you scoff, a harsh bark that stops your snide remark in its tracks. "Behave, you two," he says by way of farewell. "And try to get along."

Shrugging, Emily bounds away in search of better entertainment. John's big hand is on his ridiculous doorknob as he waves absently and then you're remembering so quickly there's no time to dress up your request when you call after him for pizza money.

A beat passes, Mr. Price blinks at you. You sheepishly tack on a please and he hums, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. "Suppose I can't expect you not to ruin my reputation as a good tipper," he grumbles and you gape when he hands you a crisp hundred note.

"That's way too much," you blurt, not even reaching to take it from him.

John just shrugs, tucks it into the hip pocket of his own pajama pants while you're still stiff as a board, winks as he tells you it's just a tip.

It's only after the door snicks shut on silent hinges behind him that your brain catches up enough to catch his double entendre 

***

Emily is a sweet girl, if a little catty at times but she's endlessly amusing to tease so you're honestly surprised when bedtime sneaks up on you both. Despite your chosen profession, you don't usually get along with kids as well as you do with her. She even carts herself off to bed with little complaint, an absolute unheard of when it comes to first nights with a new family. 

It's how you end up on the couch with too much time to spare, bored in a house that's smarter than you and unsure when you'll be relieved. You flick through the endless list of streaming services briefly, settling on some mindless comedy because you don't want to watch any girly romances and mess up Mr. Price's algorithm. 

Well, the messing it up part sounds endlessly entertaining, but not worth the embarrassment of him knowing the kind of stuff you blubber to at home. 

It's a fine enough distraction until you settle into the couch, the collar of John's shirt riding up until you can comfortably cover your face with it. It still smells like him, enough to deter you from going downstairs and swapping it for your own clothes. It's not a problem until the masculine scent and the boring movie have you reaching for your phone, scrolling through steamy romances until you find something to fantasize about. And even that's not a problem until the author earns their rating, the depiction of the female lead's satisfaction so explicitly rendered it has you rubbing your thighs together, head on a swivel lest you be surprised by a sleepless little girl.

By the time your face feels aflame and your panties feel soaked, you're debating texting John to see if he'd mind you crashing in a guest room when you jump a foot at a noise behind you, turning to find that very same man not two feet behind you.

That fucking door.

"Could've texted," you accuse, and Mr. Price holds up two hands in mock surrender.

"So could've you," he drawls and then smirks at your confused look, drawing in a rather pointed breath through his nose. "Told you to text if you needed help with anything."

It's just subtle enough you're not sure you would have gotten it if not for the graphic descriptions of heady scent your nose had just been stuck in. You stammer something that might be an apology, though you're not entirely sure why. Suddenly you feel like the frog being boiled alive.

He's kind enough not to let you flounder for too long, moving on like he's the picture of innocence with a heavy hand on the back of the couch, muscles of his forearm bunching when he leans over the back of it, just this side of too close. "Everything go okay, then?"

"Yes, Mr. Price," you recite, the fight to keep your legs uncrossed and neutral a conscious thing. You do not need to prove him right by overacting the blushing virgin.

"And Emily behaved?"

"Well," you hedge, voice high and humorous. You're desperate to get to familiar ground and it's the quickest path, unfolding before you well-trod and welcoming. Parents love when you can joke about their kids and John's no exception, eyes crinkling in delight as he conjures up whatever image he has of his daughter in mind.

"She can be a handful," he agrees even though you never said that. "Not so bad you'll refuse me for Wednesday though, I hope?"

You balk. "Wednesday? Day after tomorrow?"

"Aye, sorry for the late notice - again. But you'd be getting out of here a little earlier, at least."

"Mr. Price, I have…" A paper due, a social life that's slowly dying, responsibilities. "I'm busy that night. The Laswells -."

"I've already fixed it with Kate. You can bring Colin here for the evening, Gina will pick him up when she gets off work."

"But… Wait, I can bring him?"

"Well they'll need you for the morning, right? I won't need you until Emily's due back from preschool." He shrugs, the motion carrying him down until he leans both forearms on the back of the couch. "It just makes the most sense."

"But that's clear across town?"

"Oh, I'll pay for your gas, of course."

"Hang on. Am I picking up Emily, too?"

"Oh, would you? Thanks, you're such a dear."

You blink, overwhelmed. This was only supposed to be a one time favor for Kate's friend, you can't juggle school and two part time babysitting gigs. But you don't know how to tell him that in a way Kate hasn't already. "I'm not sure how I feel about watching both kids at once."

The look he gives you is borderline lecherous, though you're unsure why. "I'm sure you can handle it," he rumbles, voice suddenly much deeper. He clears his throat. "And we'd both pay you full rate, of course. Only fair."

You scoff. "Well yeah, I don't offer a group rate." 

Your jaw clicks closed audibly when his gaze turns hungry again. "Our loss."

Swallowing past the nerves in your throat, you eye him over openly. Technically, John hasn't moved any closer but the way he looms over you now feels somehow much more imminent than it had only moments ago; threatens to pin you in place lest you move out from under him. "I have to go get my clothes... I'll think on it?"

John smiles, just slightly forced. "'Course, kiddo. Need me to walk you downstairs? Basement can be a bit scary after dark."

"Um. No. Thanks."

He breaks away when you do, unfolding to his full, impressive height. "I'll be in the kitchen," he offers and then he lets you get away with no further comment.

Outside of Mr. Price's vaguely concerning influence, it's easy to see you'd be stupid not to take the job. You don't like how pushy he seems, but if you've already given up your day to work anyway, it's a no-brainer to take on the second income while you're at it. Besides, the beauty of under the table jobs like this was you could back out any time you wanted so there really wasn't much harm in taking the man who tips delivery drivers one hundred percent on for a few jobs, see how well it panned out for you. Even if you're fairly certain he's flirting.

Like, extremely certain.

But he was still annoying about it and you didn't like being taken advantage of or being teased like that, so you don't feel bad when you leave his comfy henley on under your sweatshirt, march back upstairs with your spoils well hidden.

In the kitchen, John inspects the label of a golden scotch you can't pronounce, thick fingers drumming on the counter silently. His watch catches the pendant light, a thick stripe of silver nestled in his dark hair. He's got his shirt unbuttoned like a whore, just far enough you can see a spot of the matching pelt there, your brain helpfully supplying you with memories of how he'd looked earlier, shirtless and dripping with cream. 

Shaving cream. Dripping with shaving cream.

"Are you old enough to drink?" He asks bluntly, pointing at the matching tumblers before him when all you manage is a blink in response.

"No. No, thank you!" You clarify when the man looks like he's about to choke on his tongue. It's enough to settle your nerves a bit, get your footing back underneath yourself. About time he's the one left floundering. "Sorry, I am old enough, but I gotta drive in a minute here."

John's quick to recover, pouring himself a neat glass as he shrugs. "Could spend the night."

"Well," you hedge, still worrying you're reading too far into all this. If it's too hot in here, you blame the three layers of tops you have on. "Wouldn't want to wear out my welcome. You'll see me again on Wednesday, after all."

His smile is just as honeyed and warm as his drink. "There's a good girl," he rumbles and it's a physical fight not to let your knees buckle when he comes close, another hundred note tucked into your front pocket. 

"That's way too much again, John," you breathe and his grin turns patronizing.

"John, is it?" He makes as if to snatch away the money and you take a step back, out of his range. He just grins at you over the rim of his glass, lets you keep your distance.

"S-sorry, Mr. Price." After a moment's deliberation, you ask if he'd like the money back and he snorts.

"Cute." Placing his drink on the counter with a clatter, he steps close and guides you to the door with a hand on your back. Part of you thinks your dismissal is a bit sudden, but you can't be too upset by it when you just want to hide under a pile of blankets until your nerves settle, maybe replace your pillow case with his shirt. "No, kiddo, I don't want that back. Just teasing. Over tipper, remember?"

"Right. Um. Thank you."

"My pleasure," he says magnanimously, drawing to a stop next to your shoes and pushing them toward you with socked feet. He does nothing to hide his slight distaste at the sight of so much mud and you try not to let shame make you meek again, remembering instead how annoyed you'd been about his stupid door and his stupid lawn when you'd left them there. It's hard to maintain the feeling when he offers to walk you to your car, your weak little thank you just as pathetic as the one that came before.

John's the perfect gentleman, his hand returning to the small of your back as he ushers you down the drive. He tells you to text him when you get home safe and checks for fingers before closing the door. He even watches as you pull out, waving at you happily as you drive off. You spend the whole commute wondering what you've gotten yourself into and if you'll ever be able to look Kate in the eye again if you fuck her friend.

John calls you kiddo again when you text him that you've made it home safe, tells you to sleep well.

In the morning he asks if you've stolen his shirt.

[hellsquills]

Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

[chillinglyadventurous]

Sneaking Around - Stanford Pines Part 2

Thanks @doggosnoodles12 for requesting a part 2!

Part 1

Tags: NSFW, MDNI!

You were stocking the gift shop shelves. Stan was counting the day’s earning at the cash register behind you when you heard the vending machine swing open. Ford was there with a smile on his face. ‘Bastard’ you thought ‘at least he got to finish.’

It must be so easy to be a man, a quick jerk and he’s done. No need for all the theatrics like women. You hated him for it sometimes, but the thought clouded your mind. You could picture it because you’d seen it before.

He was sitting in the lab. You had watched him so thoughtfully as he stroked himself to you. Your eyes were wide, lips parted ever so slightly as you watched his hand move up and down his length. His stare had been on you, relishing in your flushed cheeks as you sat so close to him, pulling you in for a hot kiss as he came over his hands.

You busied your hands by straighten the bobbleheads on the shelf in front of you. That memory made your hands shake. You couldn’t force the thought of the difference between when he touches himself versus when you do. He was so much more responsive when it was your hand sliding and twisting down his cock than his own. The grunts were a turn on all their own. The way he thrust his hips into you hand was enough to make you gasp.

Nothing, however, compared to how he responded to your mouth. Little whimpers would escape him. His hands would be tangled in your hair as he tried his very best not to push you further down, but it sure felt good when your choked on him, the contraction of your throat mimicking the throbs of your body, breathtaking.

“Busy day?” Ford asked as he crossed over to his brother.

Stan gave a grunt in response, “Would’ve made more money if you weren’t stealing my girl to look at that quantum destabilizer.” By his tone, you could tell Stan was trying not to get angry. He was doing his best to mend fences with his brother, “You better watch her with that thing. One wrong move and, boom, she’s in a lot of trouble.”

A bobble head clattered to the ground at his comment. Both of their gazes were on you, “Sorry.”

Ford gave a soft chuckle, “I watch her very closely. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”

Oh, he watched you. He loved watching you, studying how each flick of his tongue caused your face to contort in pleaser. He watched himself slip in and out of you with ease. He made you so wet. He watched when you became so desperate and needy when he tormented you, grinding yourself against his thigh when you could no longer hold yourself back. Yeah, he watched you.

Hurt. No. He’d never hurt you. He could be rough. His fingers often left six little bruises on each hip. You could recall a six fingered, hand-shaped bruise on your left breast a few weeks ago. But, he never hurt you. Always making sure you were alright. You had tried to get him to slap you once. He’d refused, “I couldn’t, ever hit that beautiful face.”

“Well, Shack’s closed, Stan,” you sighed. “Do you mind if I get back down there?

He shrugged, “Do whatever you want, [Y/N]. I’m taking the kids to Greasy’s for dinner.”

“When are you leaving?” Your question overlapped with Ford’s.

Stan gave you both a strange look. His eyebrows crinkled together even though the twins had bounded down the stairs. You gave Dipper and Mabel a smile after your gaze left Ford’s, “Now, I guess.”

You and Ford stood on opposite sides of the gift shop as you watched Stan and the kids leave. As the Stanmobile pulled away from the Shack and disappeared, you could already see Ford bounding to you out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop,” you whispered. You pointed toward the security camera across the room, the same one that was focused on you at that very moment. You didn’t want what you knew was about to happen to be caught on camera.

Ford’s feet stilled. His eyes were hungry. He didn’t want to wait. God, neither did you, but you kept your cool as you waltzed causally back into the house. You swayed your hips a little more than you normally would, tempting your lover to follow you.

Once you were in your bedroom, the door was slammed shut.You didn’t even have time to gasp before Ford was on you, before you were pressed flat against your duvet. Despite his desperation to shove himself into you immediately, afraid to waste a moment, his kiss was soft on your lips. His grip was crushing on your hips, but his kiss was sugary sweet.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he forced himself between your legs. “I’m sorry things are like this. You’re the one suffering.”

You carded your hands through his hair before pulling off his glasses. You moved to kiss him, but gasped as he bucked his clothed hard-on against your centre. You caught your breath, in love with that grin on his face, “You promised to make it up to me.”

“Oh,” he ghosted his lips over yours, “I’m about to.”

For sat back on his calves as he pulled your dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor. His eyes raked over you. Your panties were still missing, probably hidden in some desk drawer in the basement. He unclasped your bra expertly before tossing it away too.

You subconsciously licked your lips when he picked up your right leg. He pressed a kiss to your ankle, traveling up to your knee before picking up your left. He repeated himself there. You watched in awe. Your mind was already clouded. You wanted him to stop playing this game and to get shift a on when he started kissing and nipping at your wrists. His smile against your skin was loving and full of admiration. You just wanted him inside you.

“Ford,” you muttered as he started kissing across your clavicle, “They won’t be gone all night. We have an hour or two max.”

He withdrew his tongue from your navel, “[Y/N], I rarely get fifteen minutes with you.” He tongued your bellybutton again, hands spreading your thighs further. He kneaded that softness just below your ass, “Let me worship you. You deserve this.”

Finally, he touched you. His lips, chapped as they were, wrapped around your clit. He placed a kiss to it before circling with his tongue. The noise you made in response was undoubtedly undignified, a mix of a moan and whine.

Reflexively, you covered your mouth, but Ford was quick to take your wrist in his hand, “None of that. You don’t need to do that now.” He sucked you into his mouth as he inserted a finger. Your hips bucked against his chin when he curled it inside of you, “Let me hear you, please.”

His finger straightened as he withdrew, pushing in a second with a curl of his knuckles. He sighed when he finally heard you, a relaxed moan tumbling out of you as he repeated the movement again, his tongue flicking across your clit again.

“Atta girl,” he smiled against you.

You watched him as he continued. His nose was pressed firmly against your pelvis as his tongue continued its assault. His fingers pumped quickly. He watched your writhe, moans freely spilling past your lips. You chanted his name as you felt your muscles tighten, legs flexing.

You needed to grab onto something when you began to shake, hips rolling frantically against his mouth and hands. A wet squelch sounded with each thrust of his wrist. Finally, you found something to hold onto. Your nails scraped against your headboard. You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer as your orgasm hit you.

“Stanford!” You chanted over and over again as your rode his face. Your eyes closed because you couldn’t look into his anymore. His eyes were always too much when his face was between your thighs, “Oh my god! Ford!”

He continued to eat you through it until you finally came down, legs closing to halt his attempt at overstimulation. Now was not the time for games.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when you reached for him, “You’re even more beautiful when you’re screaming my name.”

“That’s enough chitchat,” you whispered. You were already unzipping his pants, “Fuck me.”

His boots, jacket, turtleneck, and slacks were on the floor in an instant. You stared at him for a moment. The two of you had rarely ever had the time for him to get fully undressed. Often, you had only ever pulled his cock out of its confines just to get things going, pressed for time.

Suddenly, your order for him to fuck you was abandoned as you pushed him onto the mattress. Climbing atop him, you traced a deep scar across his shoulder with your fingertips. Your touch was gentle while you studied him, all of him.

His chest was broad and so were his shoulders. The muscles of his upper body were well defined. The slight pudge of his stomach was endearing. You smiled down at him, leaning over to place a kiss to his forehead, “You’re beautiful, Stanford. Do you know that?”

His right hand cupped your face as he pulled you into him. You melded together for a moment before he pulled away, “I am so in love with you.”

You bit your lip as you straightened your back, hips rising. You pressed the head of his cock against you warmth. You suck down onto him and the moan he gave was precious. You tried to memorize it before he gave you another with each roll of your hips, moving in tight up and down circles.

You were lost in him, eyes locked as you rode him. With each roll of your hips, you two groaned in tandem. With each upward thrust into you, you both sighed the other’s name. Not a single praise was stifled by a hand for fear of someone hearing. For once, it was just the two of you.

“You’re so tight,” Ford gasped when he felt the familiar flutter of your insides. One hand gripped your hip and the other rested on your lower belly. He wanted to feel how deep he was hitting you, watching the slight bulge of him inside you wasn’t enough, “Mhmm, such a good girl.”

Your body began to shake again, shivering as your relentless pace faltered. You were frozen as you began to milk him, unable to move as the intensity of waiting for this all day was just too much, so he took over. With his feet planted firmly against your mattress, he thrust up into you. With each bounce, you repeated how much you love him until your screamed his name again.

He rode you out. Just as he was about to flip you over, allowing him the ability to pull out, you stopped him, “No, please, cum inside of me. I want to feel it. Please, Ford, please.”

With your breathless words and the clenching of your cunt, he came. The soft pressure was heaven as he fucked you through his own orgasm, “Fuck!”

The room was hot and sticky when you collapsed onto his chest. Every muscle relaxed. Your body was numb, buzzing with the endorphin flowing through your veins. The two of you stayed that way for a while until he pulled out of you. You both gave a sigh, your cheeks blushing when you felt your own release and his gush out of you.

Now, you were laid in his arms. His hands played with the little hairs at the base of your skull. You could hear his heartbeat in his chest. Time had stopped moving, “I love you so much, Ford.”

Loud clatter coming from the other side of the house startled you both. Jumping from the bed, Ford scrambled to put his clothes back on and you did the same. You could hear the twins running down the hall.

When your door opened, you froze, “What the hell is going on?”

Ford barely had time to zip up his pants, his sweater still discarded on the floor, before Stan threw a punch. You’re screamed at him to stop as soon as your dress is back over your head. You tried to put yourself between them, but Ford pushed you away, afraid you’d get caught in the crossfire of punches.

“She’s like a daughter to me, you creep!” Stan shouted as Ford dodged another punch. Stan was quickly pinned to the ground by his twin brother, “I told you to stay away from her! You ruined my life. You’re not going to ruin hers too.”

Suddenly you realized what was happening. Your face fell and so did your voice, “Stanford, let him go.”

Ford glanced in your direction before doing as you said. You stood between them to keep them from hitting each other again, “Stan, what are you talking about?”

His ego was bruised. You knew this. So did Ford, “You’re my family and I’m not going to let this jerk take you away from me too.”

You hugged him tight. You didn’t have a dad growing up. Like Soos, yours was never around. Stan had taken that role when you started working at the Shack, always guiding you in the best way he could to be better than him. He wanted the world for you. When your mom died and you had no where else to go, he took you in out of the kindness of his heart.

“I love Ford. I’m sorry we kept this from you, but,” you took Ford’s hand in yours, “I love him.”

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you and his brother, “Do you love her, sixer?”

“More than anyone could possibly comprehend,” Ford murmured as he placed a kiss against your temple.

Stan was dumbfounded as he stared at the two of you. He couldn’t decide whether or not to be happy that you found love or to kill his twin.

[winxanity-ii]

PRETTY

ship: bakugo x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 3.6k a/n: ignore me y'all, i'm going through my old prompts i made when i was 12, so if it's all fluffy mushy, and dont make sense, thats why lolollo.

★·.·´🇲‌🇾‌ 🇭‌🇪‌🇷‌🇴‌ 🇦‌🇨‌🇦‌🇩‌🇪‌🇲‌🇮‌🇦‌/🇧‌🇳‌🇭‌🇦‌/🇲‌🇭‌🇦‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You stood at the podium, the final words of your valedictorian speech echoing across the vast gymnasium, the packed audience before you nothing but a blur of faces.

The pride that had always been present in your voice remained steady, carrying each syllable with practiced precision. Yet, under the surface, exhaustion weighed you down.

Your shoulders felt tense beneath your graduation gown, and even though you wore a smile, your teeth were clenched.

You had done it—the valedictorian of your class, head coordinator of the school's event committee. The one who never seemed to stumble, who never had a moment of weakness. A shining example of high school success, a product of late nights and a will that refused to bend.

But behind that façade, you were falling apart.

"...and to my classmates, I wish you all success and fulfillment. Congratulations, Class of 2024!" you concluded, and your smile remained plastered, your hands feeling clammy as polite applause rang out.

You stepped back from the microphone as the principal approached with a nod and an encouraging clap on your shoulder. They gestured for you to move offstage. The bright lights overhead faded into the background, and the heavy red curtain drew a wall between you and everyone else.

Out of the spotlight, you allowed the mask to slip—just for a second.

No one was paying attention to you anymore. They were too caught up in celebrating the moment, applauding themselves, their friends, the ceremonial pomp of it all. Not like you had anyone out there who'd be focusing on you, anyway.

Since freshman year, you'd earned the reputation of being the "smart, cold loner kid." It wasn't completely unearned—you always stayed on top of your work, prioritizing your academics above all else.

You never pressured anyone to be like you, but you also didn't go out of your way to make connections. You had a small group of friends, but you never talked to many people outside of that circle.

When you eventually fell out with those few friends—mainly because they felt academically inferior to you—it wasn't hard for the label to stick. You didn't feel like disrupting it; you didn't want to force anything. And so, the persona of the "cold loner" settled in, unchallenged.

Your hands were trembling. It started as a small twitch, but now your fingers wouldn't keep still, and they gave way to shaking, unsteady motions.

You couldn't help the wry thought that flashed through your mind. Mom's spaghetti, huh?

You sucked in a shaky breath. Not now.

You turned your body slightly, pressing yourself back against the wall behind the curtain, trying to ground yourself away from prying eyes. Your breaths were coming in too quickly, your heart hammering away inside your chest, erratic and heavy.

You needed to get a handle on this—no one could see you like this, especially not now.

This wasn't part of the plan.

Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply through your nose.

Another deep breath, then another.

You tried to hum under your breath, an upbeat tune you made up on the spot, to drown out the awful thudding of your heart. The rhythm of the song helped—a shaky melody to fill your senses. It wasn't much, but it was something.

When was the last time I told you how (pretty you, pretty you are)

You dug your nails into your palms, pressing down in time with the humming. The small sting of pain cut through the fog in your head, enough to make you focus.

But even with your eyes squeezed shut, you failed to notice the one pair of eyes that had stayed on you—sharp, unwavering, concerned.

Minutes passed—they felt like hours—but eventually, you managed to slow your breathing.

You opened your eyes and forced that polite, practiced smile back on. You could feel the remnants of exhaustion clinging to you, but at least you weren't shaking anymore.

Good enough. You had to keep moving.

You stepped out from behind the curtain, letting the crowd's noise wash over you again, though it felt muffled, distant.

Everything around you seemed unreal—the flashes of cameras, the muffled cheers, the proud tears in parents' eyes. You moved on autopilot, your body mechanical as you walked, your head nodding politely at people congratulating you, though their words barely registered.

For now, you just kept walking, your diploma in your hands, face blank. You had done it. You were supposed to feel proud, fulfilled, happy even.

But all you felt was emptiness.

The line for the diplomas was divided by last names: A-J, K-R, S-Z. You found yourself at the front since you were on stage earlier, the first in line for your group.

You knew how chaotic things were about to get—students pushing, parents crowding in to snap pictures, the general mess of it all—so you tried to take control of at least the line you were in.

You turned around, your voice firm but not unkind as you called for everyone to stay in line. "Hey, everyone, let's try to keep it organized. It'll be faster if we all stay in line and don't bunch up," you reasoned, projecting your voice over the growing crowd. Some students looked annoyed, but a few nodded, understanding the logic.

"Yeah, makes sense," someone muttered, and the line began to straighten out. To your surprise, they listened, at least for a while.

For a few moments, there was some semblance of order, and you felt a tiny bit of relief. "Thanks, guys," you said, offering a polite nod, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction.

Then she bumped into you. Hard.

You turned, your gaze locking onto the girl who had once been your friend—Emily. Her eyes glinted with something that wasn't quite hate, but it was close. She sneered, her lips curling upward in a way that made your stomach churn.

"Still trying to be everyone's hero, huh?" she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

You clenched your jaw, exhaustion and stress bubbling up, the noise of students and parents swirling around you, the pressure pressing in on all sides. You tried to swallow it down, tried to let it go, but the overstimulation—the chaos, her voice, the day—was too much.

You didn't respond right away, your teeth grinding as you tried to stay calm. But the sneer on her face, the way she looked at you like you were nothing, like all your effort meant nothing—it pushed you over the edge.

"Maybe if you actually put in the effort, you wouldn't need someone else to keep you in line," you finally snapped, your voice low but laced with venom, your eyes narrowing. Her eyes widened, her sneer faltering for just a second, and you pressed on, unable to stop yourself. "But I guess it's easier to stand around and complain, right? Must be nice not having to try."

For a second, it looked like she might say something—her mouth opened, her cheeks flushed red. The tension between you hung heavy, the noise around you fading into the background.

You almost felt bad, almost wanted to take it back, but then she scoffed, and the glare returned. You turned away before she could say anything else, before the temptation to argue further could take hold.

You heard her scoff again, felt her glare on your back, but you didn't care. You had bigger things to deal with than her petty jabs.

You stormed away, your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you left the chaos behind. Your hands were trembling again, your heart pounding, but you kept your head high, refusing to let anyone else see just how close you were to breaking.

The stage was empty now, everyone else having moved out towards the parking lot for pictures and gifts.

You found yourself gravitating towards it, the familiarity of the space comforting in a way you couldn't quite explain. The lights were dim, the curtains drawn back, and for the first time since the ceremony began, you were truly alone.

Your composure shattered.

Tears welled up, spilling over as you pressed your hands to your face, your shoulders shaking.

You tried humming that tune again, the one that had calmed you earlier, but it felt hollow now, the melody lost in the storm of emotions crashing over you.

Your hands itched for your headphones—you had almost grabbed them earlier during your panic attack, but you hadn't wanted to draw attention.

Now, you wished you had them—something to drown out the noise in your head. Instead, you cupped your hands over your ears, trying to muffle the world around you.

It wasn't working.

You hummed louder, your voice breaking as you rocked back and forth. The tears wouldn't stop, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. "I'm okay," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay." The words were supposed to make you feel stronger, supposed to convince yourself that you could get through this. But right now, they felt empty, a fragile shield against the overwhelming weight of it all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a scent—familiar, comforting.

You froze, your humming faltering as the smell surrounded you, warm and grounding.

Slowly, cautiously, a pair of hands covered yours, warm palms pressing gently against your skin. The touch was light, giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted, but you didn't.

You took a shaky breath, the scent filling your senses, and you muttered his name. "Bakugo?"

You opened your eyes, blinking away the tears, and there he was; Bakugo Katsuki, standing in front of you, his lips quirking up into a small smirk.

It wasn't his usual cocky grin—there was something softer there, something almost gentle. His eyes, though still intense, held none of their usual edge.

For a moment, you just stared, your heart stuttering in your chest. Your crush—the one person you thought would never even notice you—was here, smiling at you, and for a second, it felt like the world had stopped.

He looked so good, the light catching in his golden hair, his eyes locked on yours, and you couldn't help the way your thoughts spun out of control. He's here. He's really here. He smells so good and—

Your brows furrowed as you realized he was speaking, his lips moving, but the words weren't registering. You blinked, your gaze dropping to his lips, trying to catch up. "Is he...?" you mumbled, still dazed.

Slowly, you dropped your hands, his following, allowing his voice to finally break through, the words matching the melody you had been humming.

"—when I first met you, I told you how pretty you... pretty you are."

The words were soft, almost a whisper, and you caught the tail end of the lyrics, your mind struggling to catch up.

For a moment, you were confused, the words echoing in your head until realization struck—you knew those lyrics.

You blinked up at Bakugo, his lips still moving to the quiet melody of your song.

The rough edges of his voice surprised you. It wasn't perfect—not in the way singers on the radio sounded—but it was real. Raw. The same notes you had hummed to yourself for years, whenever the pressure became too much to bear.

How long had he been listening? The thought made your breath catch in your throat. You were so used to thinking no one noticed you. That you were just... there. Even when you tried to stand out, it felt like people saw the success, not the person behind it.

But Bakugo—he saw you.

He must've heard you humming during those endless study sessions, maybe even in the hallways between classes. All those times you thought you were alone in your anxiety, he had been there, taking in every detail.

And now, he was standing in front of you, singing the one thing that had always grounded you.

The realization hit like a wave, crashing over the walls you'd built around yourself for so long.

He noticed. He had always noticed.

Even when you thought you were invisible to him—to everyone—he had been watching, quietly, in the background.

Your breath caught, your eyes widening as you looked at him; you really looked at him. He wasn't mocking you; he wasn't teasing. He was grounding you, just like you had tried to ground yourself.

You could hardly believe it. All this time, you thought you were the one who kept your distance, but maybe... maybe you weren't the only one afraid of being vulnerable.

Your thoughts drifted, pulling you back to the first time you had met him. It had been during your freshmen year when you transferred into the school.

Everyone else had known each other since their younger years, so they all knew Katsuki, but to you, he had been just another face in a sea of unfamiliar people.

🇫‌🇱‌🇦‌🇸‌🇭‌🇧‌🇦‌🇨‌🇰‌:

It was a free day since the teacher was sick and the substitute was late, and most of the class was empty—only a few students, including Katsuki and his friends, were there, goofing off to pass the time.

You had been sitting at your desk, nose buried in a book with your headphones on, the music drowning out the noise around you. You didn't pay much attention to their conversation until the room erupted in laughter and teasing.

One of Katsuki's friends had asked him who he thought was the prettiest girl in their year. At first, he had refused to answer, calling it a stupid and shallow question.

"Come on, Bakugo! You gotta have someone in mind!" one of them had insisted, nudging him with a smirk.

"Yeah, Katsuki! Quit being such a hardass and just tell us," another had added, the teasing relentless.

Katsuki's jaw clenched, clearly annoyed, but after a moment, he let out an irritated sigh. "If you must know..." he grumbled, his eyes doing a lazy sweep of the room before settling on you for just a second.

You hadn't noticed, too caught up in your reading, but the sudden whooping and hollering from the boys had made you look up, startled and confused.

"He said you're pretty!" one of them had called out, his voice loud and teasing, drawing even more attention to you.

Your gaze had dropped to the floor, your face heating up in embarrassment. You could feel all their eyes on you; the attention almost unbearable. "Ah... thank you," you had murmured, your voice barely audible as you gave a shy smile, peeking up through your lashes.

It was the first smile they had seen from you, and it had stunned the entire group into silence; their breaths caught at the sight of it. Even Katsuki had been caught off guard, his eyes widening before a faint pink flush dusted his cheeks.

"Whoa, did she just smile?" one of them had whispered, his voice full of awe. "Dude, I think I just died a little bit."

Katsuki had quickly looked away, scowling to hide his embarrassment. "Not a big deal," he had muttered, his tone gruff, his eyes narrowing as his friends continued to cackle. "Not like I said I was in love with her, you idiots."

"But you think she's pretty, huh?" another one of his friends had teased, nudging him with an elbow.

"Shut up!" Katsuki had snapped, his face flushing even darker. His irritation only made his friends laugh harder, their voices echoing through the nearly empty classroom.

You had been unsure how to react, your fingers trembling slightly as you clutched your book tighter. You hadn't expected the attention, hadn't expected to be singled out by someone like Bakugo Katsuki.

First the teacher was late, then the substitute, and now this—a guy who was not only easy on the eyes but apparently an athlete, someone people looked up to, found you attractive? It was overwhelming, and heat flooded your face as you ducked your head, staring at the floor.

You didn't want to leave his compliment unacknowledged. Mustering whatever courage you had, you spoke up, your voice still quiet. "Thank you," you repeated, a little firmer this time, your eyes flicking up to meet his for just a second before darting away again.

Katsuki had grumbled something under his breath, his friends still teasing him, but that moment had stuck with you.

The first real connection you had made, even if it was small, even if it wasn't much. It had been enough to replay in your mind, over and over again, a memory that lingered with a warmth that surprised you.

Now, standing in front of him, his hands covering yours, that memory felt like a lifetime ago.

The warmth of his palms grounded you, his presence breaking through the haze in your mind. He watched you, his eyes searching yours, waiting for something—permission, maybe, or reassurance.

You weren't sure.

He took a deep breath, his gaze never wavering. "Look... I'm not expecting anything from you," he said, his voice gruff, almost defensive. "I just... I needed you to know. I don't want you thinking no one cares. Because I do."

Your heart skipped a beat, the sincerity in his words hitting you harder than you expected.

He wasn't asking for anything, wasn't putting pressure on you. He just wanted you to know.

It was simple, and yet it meant everything in that moment.

His hands dropped from yours, and he looked to the side, his usual scowl softening as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

Your breath caught, your eyes widening in surprise as he pulled away, his face flushed, a deep red spreading across his cheeks. He let out a small, irritated huff, as if annoyed by his own vulnerability, but he didn't pull back completely.

Instead, his thumb brushed softly over the apple of your cheek, his gaze momentarily shifting away before snapping back to meet yours. He straightened up, his hands falling to his sides, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Then, with a reluctant sigh, he gave you one last look—a mix of frustration, hope, and something softer—before turning on his heel and walking away, his steps slow, almost hesitant.

You watched him go, your heart feeling lighter, a warmth spreading through you that you hadn't felt in a long time.

For the first time, the emptiness that had weighed you down all day seemed to lift, replaced by something new.

Something that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you weren't as alone as you had thought.

A/N:  AHH, i need a bakugo in my life 😔💔

~𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚~

From the sea of graduating seniors, Bakugo stood at the back of the room, eyes narrowed as he watched you retreat behind the curtains.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen you crack under pressure, but today—your graduation day, of all days—something in you seemed different. Worse.

He gritted his teeth, fighting against the urge to step forward. The logical part of his mind told him to stay back, that it wasn't his business.

You were tough. You always had been. The "cold, untouchable" reputation didn't come from nowhere, after all. But lately... he could see it. Those small moments when your shoulders slumped, or when your eyes lost focus, staring somewhere far away.

It pissed him off more than anything. Not you, but the way no one else seemed to notice the cracks.

No one else was paying attention.

He had wanted to say something so many times, but every moment he almost did, his damn pride got in the way.

What the hell would he even say? He wasn't good at this kind of thing—comforting people, talking about feelings.

But watching you now, shaking behind the stage, he clenched his fists hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

You disappeared from the stage, moving towards the backrooms where you'd pick up your official records and diploma, and Bakugo let out a sharp exhale. He took a step forward, then stopped, clenching his jaw again.

She's gonna fall apart if nobody does something, he thought, his heart thudding in his chest. And no matter how much he hated the idea of stepping out of his comfort zone, of saying something soft and risking looking like an idiot... he hated the idea of watching you break even more. 

The mask you wore—the one you thought no one could see through—shattered right in front of him.

Bakugo had watched you hold it together for years, watched you become the best without faltering. But today, as you stood on the stage, trembling from exhaustion, he realized how close you were to breaking.

How much you had been hiding.

He couldn't just stand back and watch anymore. It wasn't like him to ignore a problem, especially one staring him dead in the face. But this—being there for you, really being there—that was new territory. He wasn't sure what the hell he was supposed to say or do, but seeing you about to crumble was enough to push him forward.

For once, it wasn't about pride.

It wasn't about looking tough or saving face.

It was about you—just you—and that was enough.

[enhasparadise]

TOKYO ON EDGE. ˒˒ ﹙ niki! ﹚

╰┈⪼ moving to Japan wasn’t really on your plan through the year, but with your specialty being Japanese you had no choice but to accept. arriving in the middle of the year you found it strangely easy enough to integrate into your well-known class but over the days everything seemed to become boring and everything looked the same, the only thing that seemed to interest you was discovering the streets of Japan and the cultural differences with your native country. but, what you hadn't imagined was coming face to face with a car race, where one of the participants was one of your classmates, Nishimura Niki.

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ street racer!niki x student!reader 𓄷 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 older brother!jay, best friend!sunoo, best friend!haerin, bully!woonhak and heeseung.

genre﹙💬﹚⸝⸝⸝ serie, street racing au, enemies to lovers, kind of bully!niki, slow burn.

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ harsh talking, mention of violence and bullying, mention of drinking and smoking, cursing, mention of mental health, niki’s really dumb sometimes.

words count ‎⸝⸝⸝ 2282 words

taglist ‎⸝⸝⸝ @r1kification @cherryrikis @moonpri @who-tf-soddhi @heeswif3y @yangjungwonnie comment to be added to the taglist !!

rain’s note ‎⸝⸝⸝ i wanna scream because i hate how this chapter is looking and i didn’t even know if it’s a good chapter or not. plus im sorry if it was so long for this chapter to be posted but i didn’t had time to write since some day so i only posted it today, and im really sorry if you didn’t like this chapter (sadly it’s really bad..) but i will do my best for the next one ! love y’all !

all feedback and reblogs are welcome! ♡

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002. OH GOD, HE’S SO ANNOYING..

"no, but you don't understand! This boy really annoys me, he gets on my nerves all day long and the worst part of all is that it amuses him!" you finally said as you held your phone to your ear.

and as soon as you had said this sentence, your brother's laughter was heard on the other side, which simply managed to annoy you even more.

"Jay I'm not kidding!"

"It's not like I can really do much about it Y/n, I'm not in Japan with you" your brother ended up responding while he seemed busy doing something else entirely. "Just be patient and he'll end up lacing it up, guys are all like that so as soon as he gets tired of annoying you he'll go see another girl to do the same thing"

Laying down on your bed, a sigh left your lips as you listened to your brother's words while trying not to get angry in the worst way against your pillow. The more you heard your brother's words, the more you had the impression that nothing was going to work out with Niki over the next few days. But on the other hand he wasn't wrong, maybe he would end up getting tired of behaving like that with you and would therefore go somewhere else.

But at the same time with everything that had happened since you arrived at high school you weren't really sure. The first day only you had to be there at the wrong time, and bump into Niki's chest for him to see a certain hatred against you, simply because his uniform had ended up being stained by his coffee. And this, despite the number of excuses you had said to him, he in no way seemed to listen to you and had simply pushed you, making you fall to the ground before he left without no glance to see if you were okay. And just when you thought it was all over, everyone around you started laughing at the situation.

Then it came to the next day. And the day after that. And then so on until today.

Even thinking about it you never understood why Niki hated you so much, because the coffee spilled on her uniform was a total accident that you wouldn't have wanted if you knew it was going to happen.

"I don't think Niki will end up lacing up Jay... he's unbearable and he does everything to get on my nerves. Just yesterday he made fun of me on purpose in mathematics because I hadn't answered just to the professor's question and, right after, he managed to get a good answer."

"Y/n.. the school is full of idiots, so obviously Niki must be one of them if he behaves like that with you, but try to ignore him for the rest of the week okay? Then it's not as if you were all alone, Sunoo is with you and from what I understood there is also Haerin so don't be unhappy just because of a boy.."

A sigh left your lips as you listened to your big brother's words because deep down, well, he spent most of the time lecturing you to prove to you that you were dramatizing the events that were happening in your family a little too much. life and that, on the other hand, Niki's behavior was nothing.

"Besides by bewitching you will talk I have the impression of being back at the time when you were still at home complaining that Jake hadn't spoken to you all day while he was at home with Me.."

Hearing Jake's name, your cheeks quickly turned red from embarrassment.

"Jake and Niki are not the same people!" you ended up responding to defend yourself. "Niki is a complete idiot who thinks he's the bad boy at school and annoys me. Jake is adorable to me and much nicer and more attentive than Niki will be to me."

"You're just saying that because you had feelings for Jake."

"That's not even true!" You answered almost immediately, sitting up, your phone still against your ear and you weren't surprised to hear your brother's laugh.

"Oh stop... I know when my little sister is in love..." he replied, knowing perfectly well that he was right about what he said. "Especially if she's in love with my best friend... and you're not at all discreet, you know?"

"I hate you."

"I love you too, little sister."

But you didn't even give him time to finish his sentence before you hung up directly, showing your big brother that you didn't appreciate it when he made fun of you like that and your phone ended up landing on your mattress.

The screen lit up a few seconds later to display a message from your brother but you didn't bother to read it, getting up from your bed to sit at your desk, since even though classes were over , you had no other choice but to do all the homework you had during the day, even if deep down you didn't want to.

you had barely finished settling down on your desk when a sigh left your lips as you realized the number of notebooks on your desk, realizing then that unfortunately you were probably going to have to spend several hours sitting down having to work on all of this then that you didn't even want to.

deep down, you had never been one of those people who spent all night working or even studying for any reason, just because they were good at class, their parents put pressure on them or that it was simply their future that worried them and they wanted at all costs to have one of the best futures. But knowing that one of your classmates was bound to make fun or brag about having a better grade than you, you couldn't let yourself go and not work.

except that the more the days pass, the more you find your situation truly ridiculous. Niki did everything to drive you crazy and unfortunately the school aspect seemed to be her favorite part. whether it was just for simple homework that didn't count or for very big exams during the year and he knew perfectly well that, if he had even a single grade higher than you, you would be completely crazy. However Niki wasn't the type to work, it didn't fit with his behavior in any way so how could he get such good grades if he never worked?

Just trying to understand how, you realized that at no point had you started working, your pencil still in your hands while none of your homework had progressed. even when he wasn't with you he managed to drive you completely crazy and you couldn't stand it. did he use some sort of magic to even remotely annoy you when you weren't in high school.

The next day, when you had just crossed the high school premises, you couldn't really stay awake. Because of all that work you had last night you had slept very little and you weren't even surprised to find yourself sleeping on your math books, letting you understand that you had finally fallen asleep in the middle of a revision session.

Crossing the corridor, the noise present all around because of all the girls screaming even though it was only eight o'clock in the morning and you had slept poorly during the night, you had broken your ears and you had regret not having simply returned to your bed when you woke up again in the morning. And just with this thought a sigh left your lips as you really wanted to find yourself lying warm under your covers so you could sleep right away. Your eyes had closed at the mere thought of it, but upon opening them almost seconds later, you weren't particularly surprised to notice that unfortunately you weren't there but, instead, you had been forced to join your class in deepest discontent.

“Oh my god, you’re making one of those faces..” Sunoo said as he put his bag down right next to you, coming back to his place next to you. “You have huge dark circles, did you sleep last night?”

“Please don't talk to me about sleeping Sunoo..” you moaned almost immediately upon hearing the words of your best friend, who at the same time seemed to be making fun of the way you were acting while the rest class was arriving and class was going to start soon. "I barely slept because I spent most of my time studying for classes and making sure my homework was finished perfectly."

“So focused that you forgot to answer my calls for the presentation, right?” Sunoo asked, knowing full well that it wasn't your fault, but even with your tiredness you picked up on the annoyance in his voice.

"Oh no.. Sunoo I'm so sorry..! I was so focused on all this that I totally forgot.. then I had to call my brother and he just bothered me so that I explain to him how annoying Niki was.." you replied almost immediately, knowing that Sunoo didn't blame you, even if he would have preferred not to expose him alone.

“So this is how we’re talking about me?” A voice came from behind you, and as soon as you heard you froze in place. “It’s cute to know that even though you say you hate me, you talk about me outside of school.”

despite your tiredness, hearing his voice made you aware of everything that was happening around you and almost immediately you turned towards him, seeing him sitting in the office right behind you while his legs were stretched out. 'to under your own chair. he once again had this air of self-confidence and too full of himself to realize that he was the stupidest person in the room. well... that was simply what you thought, seeing it that way.

“Niki she didn’t ask you absolutely anything you know..”

“You, the little blond, we didn’t talk..” Niki replied without even bothering to look at Sunoo and he slowly stood up, his arms coming to rest on his desk while all his attention was on you. “So like I said, are we talking about me? It’s all interesting.”

"Interesting to hear me say that I'm complaining about your behavior towards me? Seriously, even my brother would be capable of hating you.." you replied almost immediately, not wanting to spend more time talking to him. “Now just leave me alone, I don’t want to waste my time talking to you when the teacher will be here soon.”

Following your words, the silence in the room proved that the teacher had just entered, and after giving Niki one last look you returned to your chair, not wanting the day to be horrible in any way. simply because of him.

except that, bad luck for you, while the class had just started and you tried as best you could to concentrate on what your teacher was saying and pray not to fall asleep, Niki had decided that, the fact of Being behind you in class was going to be very useful in getting you worked up.

so it was only after ten minutes of class that you had received a blow to the bottom of your chair, and you had not taken the time to think to know that it was simply that idiot who was behind you who had nothing else to do than bang your foot on the bottom of your chair to get angry.

and, while he was having fun letting his foot knock against your chair, he noticed your head turn towards him and a smile appeared on his lips seeing the expression you had on your face. and you took it upon yourself not to create a scandal in the middle of the class, already because you were extremely tired, but also because you knew to what extent, no matter what you were going to say, nothing was going to be enough seriously to make your teacher react. but on the other hand, all the girls in your class would have started to hate you simply because you spoke badly about their favorite boy.

It was almost completely pathetic the way all his daughters were blind simply because Niki had a pretty face.. very fortunately you had never fallen under the influence of her beauty and you will never be under her influence because you hated him. and then you could never imagine that because it would totally make you want to throw up just from that.

unfortunately for you, Niki didn't seem to stop there since you felt your chair being pushed forward simply because Niki was still having fun hitting the back of your chair, knowing perfectly well that it irritated you . and that amused him. It was definitely one of the things he loved doing, getting on your nerves and annoying you until you finally broke down.

and today was definitely going to be one of his days because he didn't stop at hitting the back of the chair. oh no, far from it. since, as soon as you thought that he had realized what he was doing and that he had finished annoying you, you started to receive little balls of paper. Niki was really proud to know that he could annoy you by doing the simplest things, and he used any way to do it every time, which was truly horrible for you. especially today since you barely slept or at least slept very poorly.

[formulapookie]

💛💛

Under the cut to read on Tumblr, here to read on Ao3 ch1; ch2; ch3; ch4; ch5

Les fleurs du mal ch.6 rosquez, 1.9k words

He listens to Marc’s voice note before doing anything else, he needs to hear his voice, the thrill it has.

Only the voice coming through his speaker seems the furthest from Marc’s he ever heard.

It’s drained, dry, lifeless.

“Vale. It’s me. I - please Vale it hurts so much, I can’t breathe I need you to come here quick I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry for what I did, all of it, I’m sorry I didn’t want you to lose, I didn’t want to do anything against you. I never - I never went to him, I would never cheat on you, I only ever had you please believe me Vale. Vale I love you. I’m home and, and it hurts so much. Please, I need to see you. Please. I need to feel your hugs again. I’m cold Vale so cold”

He listens to it only once, and can't bring himself to hear the broken desperation coming from the boy’s tone more than that.

He tries to call back, but there’s no response. Twice, thrice, but no one is there to answer his shameless calls.

He remembers about the message from Lorenzo when he’s already in his car, the navigator leading him to Cervera, to Marc.

He wants this to be a surprise, something to cheer for.

When he picks up the phone at a red light and reads the text from his teammate it’s like the world stops spinning.

Lorenzo: I got a call from Alex Marquez. I don’t think the kid wanted me to tell you but I honestly don’t give a fuck.  You deserve to know how much of a scum you are. Marc is dead. His own mother found him this morning dead in his room, surrounded by stupid yellow petals. You killed him, Valentino.

Vale somehow has enough blood and oxygen in his brain to drive back home the short distance he drove and climb down from the car.

He gets back inside, his house a huge contrast with Marc’s neat and tidy one he remembers.

There’s a moment, one long interminable moment where he doesn’t believe what he read.

Because Marc can’t be dead.

It’s impossible.

Marc is - he’s terrified of death they talked about it - he has to be alive.

Then it strikes him, the terrible image it must have been, when his mother walked in his room and found him - God he can’t think of associating the words “Marc” and “dead”.

The petals, the lifeless corpse of the boy who brought such warmth in his life, laying cold in his room.

Marc sounded so lonely in the voice note he sent, he was asking for forgiveness, a forgiveness Vale had to be asking for, he was asking for him to be there with him, even after how he treated him, after what he said to him, calling Marc - no he can’t think about it, of what he did.

That night, in Sepang, when Marc had begged him for a reconciliation and he had used him.

Like he was nothing more than a momentary fling, a one night stand he could brush off as just that.

That had been their last prolonged interaction. He used that kid, for what? A fucking blowjob.

Marc had - he died thinking Vale despised him, thinking Vale viewed him as nothing more than a body.

And Vale wants to go back in time, stop himself from ever saying that shit to the press, even wants to go back and stop himself from thinking Marc came to his Ranch just to humiliate him.

He wants to save Marc.

But death can’t be reversed, there is nothing in this world or in another that can get Marc back to life, back to him.

And he’s angry, so angry with the world for taking the life of the little sun Marc was.

was 

it doesn’t sound right, to be talking about Marc with past tense, a kid cannot go through such a horrible thing.

But the fault is not the world’s. It’s his.  He believed others over Marc, and that killed him.

He thinks about what it must’ve been for Alex, to hold in his hands an unresponsive Marc, trying to wake him from an eternal sleep.

Tries to think about how he would’ve reacted, if he ever got there. What could he have said?

A blind rage directed towards himself eats him whole, and Vale, the everlasting control freak, loses himself completely.

He’s taking things and throwing them to the ground, against the walls, he doesn’t even know what hits what anymore.

There’s a cut on his palm, probably coming from the shattered bottle laying on the ground next to his feet, another smaller cut on his leg.

There’s plates and glasses and tons of papers scattered all over the floor, a horrible smell of iron and spilled wine in the air.

“I’m sorry Marc I’m sorry. I left you alone. I'm sorry, please forgive me. I was so wrong about you, I can’t even tell you how much I am sorry”

He’s sitting in the middle on his kitchen floor, surrounded by shattered pieces of his home and nothingness.

There is nothing in his heart right now beside infinite hollowness and pain.

“Marc please come back”

When Luca goes to pay him a visit, the day after, he finds the house in such a state he thinks Vale’s been robbed.

Everything is as messy as Vale made it when he got into his rage explosion, the sour smell hunting every surface of the house.

Luca looks for his brother, worried out of his mind.

He finds him sitting on the floor of his bedroom, asleep, a few empty bottles of whatever next to him and a disgusting smell of alcohol surrounding the man.

He must’ve gotten the news about Marc. It’s on every fucking News site right now.

Luca is not dumb, he knows Vale and Marc had something. Knows Vale must’ve done something bad.

He tries to wake him, it takes him almost an hour, and the miserable man looking back in his eyes once he manages his task is not his brother.

It’s a shell, an empty body with his brother’s face.

There’s no soul in his eyes, no life in his words.

The only thing Vale says before running to the bathroom and throwing up is “sorry”.

Sorry for what, not even Vale knows.

But he finds himself being sorry for many things now.

Luca tries to convince him to go to the hospital for that cut on his palm, it stopped bleeding but it’s obviously dirty and filled with little splinters of plates and glass.

He doesn’t listen because of course he doesn’t.

“I - I need to go” “Vale you can’t go anywhere like this” “I don’t care, I have to go” “Go where? Vale fuck sake you can’t even walk” “Need to go”

Luca tries to get an answer out of his brother, but he’s even less readable than usual.

He can’t stop him from getting into a Taxi and watching him go to the mysterious destination he didn’t have the courage to tell.

“Where to, Mr Rossi?” Because of fucking course the taxi driver knows him.

“The Airport” “Have you got the news?” “Wha-“ oh. The news. “Yes” “Poor kid, don’t get me wrong I’m a fan of yours but hell, 22 years old and dying from cancer it’s horrible”

So this is the officially given cause of death. Cancer.

It’s not far from the truth, not too much. Vale does feel like a cancer right now. He attacked Marc’s mind instead of his body, but his body took the hit.

The disease had grown because of his words and his actions, it had corrupted every cell of Marc’s body.

“Yeah it’s. It’s terrible” “Lung cancer they said” “Terrible”

He can’t say anything else, not to this stranger anyway.

When they arrive at the airport his private jet is waiting there for him. He pays the driver, and doesn't even know how much. As he climbs the jet the captain asks for the destination.

There’s five seconds where Vale thinks about not doing this, but the guilt drives him forward.

“Barcelona. I’m going to Barcelona”

It’s the closest city to Cervera that’s got an airport. And he needs to go there. He needs to be close to him.

Convincing Alex not to take a plane to Italy to go and kill Valentino might have been the hardest task Roser and Julia ever had to go through.

Of course they are angry at the man as well, they are furious, disgusted, but what could they do?

Seeing him, insulting him, that wouldn’t bring Marc back.

Nothing will.  Not praying, not hoping, not believing.

Revenge isn’t even something they could muster in their head.

Because whatever they may do, it wouldn’t change the fact Marc is not there anymore.

None of them will ever hear the sweet sound of his voice or his contagious laugh spreading in the house, his presence won’t be a normality ever again.

Alex accused himself of not paying enough attention, accused himself of not realizing what was happening and not talking to Marc about it.

And Roser has to remind him to be kind to himself, just like his brother would be, because not even Alex could’ve made Marc change idea on what he had to do.

“Marc I don’t like this you’re doing”

Marc wasn’t listening, was busy staring at his phone with a dumb smile on his face.

“Oi! Don’t ignore me!” he threw a pillow at his brother, hitting him. “Alex, stop, come on! I’m talking with Vale let me be” “That’s exactly what I need to talk to you about” “Ugh ok talk”

Alex had taken a deep breath, gathered all the words he built the past week to tell him what he thought.

“This thing you’ve got with him, it needs to stop. It’s not healthy like at all! You’re 20 and he’s what? 40? That’s basically illegal! And plus he’s never had a stable relationship, what makes you think he doesn’t want just to fuck?”

“Ok so first thing he’s not 40 he’s 34, and it’s healthy. And secondly what? You think someone can’t love me for me? That people only want me for my body? Wow Alex thanks I thought I could trust you”

“34,40 same shit, he’s too old for you Marc! And no obviously I don’t think that you’re only wanted for your body but he - I don’t trust him”

“I told you already Alex, once you’ll fall in love you’ll understand, me and Vale are in love, you just can’t see it cause you’re jealous”

“You know what? Fuck you I was trying to help”

“Well there’s no need to help, ok? We’re fine”

They bickered for half an hour, then they hadn’t talked for a whole day, both much too angry to keep on the conversation.

Right now, looking at the list of things to do for the funeral Alex wishes he had insisted more, that time.

That he had actually driven Marc away from Vale, even if he would’ve hated him, at least he’d be alive now.

He would be laughing alongside him, racing and waiting for Alex to reach him in MotoGP.

He wouldn’t be laying in a casket waiting to be buried, his skin wouldn’t be so pale, his heart would still be beating.

[kurokoros]

wip wednesday

Steve’s hand slips under the sweater you shrugged on earlier, palm warm and solid where it presses against your lower back, anchoring you to him. “What did the kids name this one, again?” he asks as he absentmindedly traces shapes along your spine with his thumb. Your lips twitch. The “kids” are practically adults themselves now. Far from the troublesome group of middle schoolers the two of you were just trying to keep alive all those years ago. They’re only a few years younger than you and Steve, but you’re pretty sure he’ll never stop thinking of them as young teens with too much attitude and not enough common sense. “Well, it was Max’s turn to choose, and you know she’s still not really into Dungeons and Dragons, so it’s nothing fancy like ‘Demogorgon.’” The tips of his fingers drag against the outside of your thigh, feather light, and you shiver under the ticklish sensation. “Yeah? What’d she pick?” “‘Codename Lycanthrope.’” A familiar wrinkle forms between his brows as he frowns. You howl teasingly, then bite your lip to keep from laughing as his eyes light up. “Werewolf? Jesus.” Reluctantly, he pries his hand off of your back, rubbing it over his face before raking his fingers through his hair as a groan rises in his throat. The look of irritation on his face makes you giggle. “Not a big fan of Teen Wolf?” you ask, rolling onto the bed beside him. He grabs your thigh before you can go far, keeping it draped over his hips. You press your lips to his bare shoulder and curl into his side, sighing as he goes back to rubbing circles onto your skin. Eyes rolling, he lolls his head to the side to look at you. “Michael J. Fox was better in Back to the Future.” “I don’t know,” you argue, sliding your hand up to his chest, “I thought he was kind of hot with all that hair.” He snorts as you run teasing fingers through his chest hair. “Oh, I bet you did.”

━ prey drive | part one coming October 5, 2024

[streetlamp-amber]

the common cold

batfamily x batmom!reader

word count: 2.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

REQUEST: “hi I love your writing so much. You can totally ignore this but id like to request batmom/batfam where maybe Dick and Jason get sick and batmom takes care of them and then she gets sick and Bruce has to take care of her this can be before or after the baby is born. And b obviously doesn't want to get sick so he wears a mask and gloves when he has to be around her.” NOTES: this is set less than a year after first kicks but you don’t need to read it first to read this one. also this is your reminder that the covid pandemic is not over and to please start wearing a mask again in public spaces to protect yourself and others from catching a very disabling and very deadly virus!!

It all started in Dick’s classroom.

It also didn’t help that a common cold was not considered serious enough for the kids to miss out on school. So, naturally, the virus spread through the students and Dick ended up bringing it back home to the Manor. It didn’t take more than two days for Jason to catch it too.

You refused to send your boys off to school no matter what the rules were. You were still on maternity leave – being Bruce Wayne’s wife had many perks, one of them being a one year long maternity leave with no complaints from your boss and the guarantee that you would have your job back once it’s over – so you spent the entirety of your days nursing your boys back to health. Your four month old baby girl Alice had been moved to Alfred’s wing where he was taking great care of her until the virus was no longer a threat. Bruce, ever so protective of those he loves most, didn’t want to risk the two most vulnerable people in the house to catch the boys’ cold and so you reluctantly agreed that, for the time being, it was better to have your baby quarantined away from you. You still made sure to visit the two every day, once you had showered and changed your clothes, but you couldn't wait for this to be over and have your baby back in your wing of the Manor.

Dick and Jason were two different people when sick. Where your oldest had no problem with remaining in bed, doing nothing but reading or watching television series on the iPad, the other one absolutely hated being confined to his room and being forced to rest.

“But Ma! I’m fine-d!” Jason nasally cried out exasperatedly, all dressed up for school and with his backpack hoisted on his shoulders.

You tried your hardest not to chuckle at the fact this was straight out of an episode of Friends. “When you put a ‘d’ at the end of ‘fine’, you're not fine,” you told your son, leaning on his doorway with your arms crossed over your chest.

“But staying in bed is sooo boring!” He continued complaining. He would've said more but a series of cute little sneezes interrupted him.

“You know, kids usually would kill to have days off from school and here you are, actually wanting to go back to school,” you laughed as you walked in his bedroom and sat down at the foot of his bed.

“I’m missing the big dodgeball tournament,” Jason pouted, crossing his small arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry Jaybird, but you’re in no shape to play dodgeball,” you told him, moving his dark hair away from his forehead and putting the back of your hand against it. “At least you don't seem to have a fever, which is better than your brother.”

Jason deepened his little pout on his lips and you sighed. “Tell you what, I’m gonna go check on Dick and then you and I can play board games once you’re back in bed and dressed in clean pajamas, how's that sound?” You suggested, hoping to lift his mood a little bit.

He reluctantly nodded his head and that was a good enough answer for you.

You left his room and went across the hall to Dick’s bedroom. “Hey bubs, how are you feeling?” You asked him from the door.

Dick looked over at you with his glazed eyes from his iPad and lifted his right arm, making a thumbs up but lowering his hand so that the thumb was laying horizontally in the air, halfway up and halfway down. A pitiful sigh blew out of your lips as you walked in his room and you sat next to where his body was curled in his bed to check his temperature. You handed him the thermometer from his bedside drawer and after holding the stick under his tongue for a few seconds, he gave it back to you.

“Well at least your fever has gone down a little,” you told him as you put back the device on the bedside drawer. “Keep on resting and continue drinking lots of water, I’ll be in Jay’s room trying to keep him occupied until lunch so knock on the wall if you need anything and I’ll be able to hear you,” you said while softly running your fingers in his hair, making him close his eyes as he appreciated the soothing feeling.

“Thanks Mom,” he groggily said and pressed play on whatever show he was watching on his iPad to pass time.

It wasn’t until a week later that the boys had fought off the cold and were good to go back to school, much to your contentment. You loved them with all of your heart, but you missed having your baby girl around you.

You woke up on Saturday, feeling off. You had a pounding headache, your throat was scratchy and your nose was clogged. “No. No, no, no,” you whined nasally. It was established yesterday that Dick and Jason were no longer sick, Alice was supposed to come back in your side of the manor today, but it looked like you had caught the boys’ virus.

A soft knock at your bedroom door drew you out of your sorrow. It wasn’t until your husband, still in his pajamas and holding your daughter in his arms, that you realised his side of the bed was unoccupied. “Someone couldn’t wait to see her Mommy,” he sang, wiggling Alice around in slow movements and making her giggle loudly.

Expecting you to smile and hold out your arms for the baby, Bruce was surprised that you burst out in tears instead.

“Don’t come closer, I caught the boys’ cold,” you hurriedly said before he walked further in your bedroom. You grabbed a tissue from your bedside table and dried your tears then blew your nose.

Bruce’s face morphed into a sad frown. “I’m sorry sweetheart. You just stay in bed, I’ll bring this missy back to Alfred and I’ll take care of you,” your husband told you, taking control of the situation like he so easily did as Batman.

You nodded your head and more tears fell out of your eyes as Bruce left with Alice. You just wanted your daughter by your side and it pained you that not only were you gonna be separated from her for longer, but this time you could not go see her throughout the day like you did for the week prior.

About five minutes later, Bruce was opening the door to your shared bedroom again, this time with an N95 mask wrapped around his head and latex gloves on his hands. Your eyes were round with surprise when Dick and Jason followed behind him, KN95 masks on their faces as they weren’t big fans of the head strap.

“What are you two doing here?” You asked your sons before a short coughing fit rattled you.

“Dad told us you’re sick and we want to help him take care of you like you took care of us,” Dick answered as he stopped next to Bruce at your bedside while Jason climbed on the bed and sat crossed legs next to you.

Tears blurred your vision once again and you grabbed both of your boys’ hands. You wanted to hug them and press kisses all over their heads, to shower them with all the love and affection you held for them, but you settled for hand holding to not reinfect them. “I’m so lucky to have the sweetest, most caring boys in all of Gotham,” you told them, your emotions bleeding through your voice.

Jason couldn’t help himself and hugged you with his small arms wrapped around your middle, nuzzling his head to your body. “Don’t cry Ma,” he said and it took everything in you not to sob at the sound of his small voice.

Jason was a Mama’s boy through and through. You were the first person he warmed up to when he joined your family, you were the only one he listened to whenever he was having a tantrum, you were the one he would wake up in the night to soothe him after he had a nightmare. He hated to see you in pain, he hated being away from you (the thirty hours you spent in labour were Alfred’s thirty longest hours of his life, even as Dick tried to help him entertain Jason while they waited for you at home) and he would burn down anyone who dared make you cry.

“Alright boys, let's give Mom some room so I can get a few tests done and make sure it’s nothing too serious,” Bruce gently ordered your sons, who complied without protest.

“Bruce, it’s just a cold,” you whined at your overprotective husband. “I didn’t protect myself while taking care of the boys and caught their bug, it’s nothing serious.”

“Like you always tell me darling, mieux vaut prévenir que guérir,” Bruce replied and you grumpily huffed, knowing he was right.

“What does that mean?” Jason asked curiously. It fascinated him that both you and Bruce could speak more than just English and he was oh so eager to learn all the languages you spoke.

“It's the french equivalent of better safe than sorry,” your husband explained as he got out a thermometer from the medical bag he brought with him from the Batcave.

Bruce got to work, running down a series of few tests to make sure you really only had a cold, as your sons observed him. You then came to a realisation that made you chuckle, prompting all three boys to look at you with interrogation points in their eyes.

“It’s just funny how, usually, I’m the one with the medical bag, cleaning your bruises and stitching you up after patrol,” you explained and you saw the corners of Bruce’s eyes narrow, knowing there was a small smile behind his N95 mask.

“Well, it's good to get out of the routine every once in a while,” he said as he started putting away all the material he had gotten out of the medical bag, “but let’s not make this a habit.”

You scoffed, or more like managed to scoff as a coughing fit took over your body at the same time. “That’s rich coming from the guy I’ve been stitching up every night for the last ten years.”

Bruce glared at you, unamused by your comment, as the boys giggled behind their masks.

“Mom might be sick but she’s sound enough to still be sassy to Dad,” Dick remarked to his brother.

Your husband rolled his eyes, exasperated, and decided to ignore what had just happened. “You’ve only got a cold, so just drink–”

“Drink lots of water, keep myself warm, chicken broth, chicken broth, chicken broth,” you interrupted him. “I know what to do Bruce, I’m a mother who spent the last week taking care of her sick kids,” you told him, slightly annoyed.

“Except that now I don’t want you to do anything. I’m the one taking care of you darling,” Bruce softly said, not affected by your mood. “I’m gonna go start a pot of chicken broth. Boys, help your mother get comfortable and stack some pillows behind her,” he ordered around your sons as he slipped out of your bedroom, medical bag in hand.

You stayed silent and unmoving for a few seconds, waiting for the creak of the second stair from the top (that you refused to get fixed) under Bruce’s weight, to spring into action. “Dick, I need you to go to Alfred’s wing and ask him to make some chicken broth,” you quickly whispered, making your now thirteen year old pause in his action of retrieving some pillows for you. “I love your dad, but that man can not cook. At all,” you explained. “So I need you to go wash yourself quickly, change your clothes, run to Alfred’s wing and ask him to make some chicken broth that you will bring to me incognito. Capiche?”

Dick nodded his head, taking your request as seriously as a Robin mission.

“Oh and while you’re over there, play a little with your sister, make sure she hasn’t forgotten who you are,” you tried to joke although your heart twisted a little. You really hated flu season and you hated being separated from your daughter even more.

“Don’t worry Mom, I was already planning to,” Dick told you, the corner of his blue eyes narrowing as he smiled behind his mask. “We’ll even facetime you so you can talk to her,” he added as he opened the door.

Your eyes filled with tears, you hadn’t even thought of doing that in the first place. “Thank you bubs,” you smiled tearily at him before he left the room.

“Mama, do you want me to put some of the sticky cream on your chest?” Jason asked you when he judged the stack of pillows behind you was good enough.

“The VapoRub?” You clarified and your son nodded his head. “Yeah, it’ll help clear my airways. Do you know where it is?”

Jason shook his head ‘no’ so you instructed him which drawer in the bathroom he needed to rummage through to find the little jar and he left your room with determination to complete his own mission.

Now that you were alone, you laid down a little lower under the duvet, leaning your head back on the mountain of pillows behind you as you let out an exhausted sigh. You just hoped to get through this cold as fast as possible.

To your surprise, Bruce walking back in your shared bedroom interrupted your little moment.

“Oh darling, don’t cry. What is it?” He asked you in a coo as he came to sit next to you on the edge of the mattress. 

“I’m not crying,” you quickly denied even though you knew your eyes were filled with unshed tears.

“But you were about to,” he countered and you couldn’t argue with that. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be making chicken broth?” You avoided his question with one of your own.

“Saw Dick in fresh new clothes walking in the direction of Alfred’s wing,” he explained, “and you and I both know cooking is not my forte,” he finished with a light joke.

“It’s the thought that matters, honey,” you placed your hand over his that rested on your bed, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“Yeah but now I’m feeling pretty useless,” Bruce sighed out, staring at your hands.

“Well, you can make yourself useful by checking in on Jason who was supposed to be back with the jar of VapoRub by now,” you said.

“That’s because you keep one billion things in those drawers,” he chuckled and you hit his shoulder with a soft punch.

“Mieux vaut prévenir que guérir,” you argued, repeating what he told you earlier.

Bruce shook his head from left to right. “Alright, I’ll go check on our little bird,” he said and stood up. “Anything else you want me to bring?” He asked you as he neared the door.

“A cup of the Cold 911 tea blend please and thank you,” you answered while reaching for a tissue to blow your nose with.

“A warm cup of tea for my sick wife, coming right up,” he confirmed and disappeared in the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar.

“When you say it like that, it sounds like I’m terminally ill!” You retorted loud enough for him to hear you, judging by Bruce’s laugh that echoed along the wood panelled walls of the second floor.

You ended up being sick for no more than three days, much to your enjoyment and relief, and spent the next two weeks glued to your daughter Alice, refusing to let her go after spending that much time away from her. Alfred loved to joke about your boys’ love being the secret remedy to your speedy recovery, and he wasn’t entirely wrong when he said that, but Bruce staying at home for those three days to take care of you, even taking a break from his Batman patrols to be by your side at night, was the mystery ingredient to cure your common cold.

[blckbrrybasket]

3. “Bite her Hip”

Nancy Wheeler x Fem!Reader

꒰Caught + Hate Sex꒱ - 1.8k

• enemies, some plot, getting caught masturbating, mutual fingering, cursing each other out while fucking, mean!Nancy, mean!Reader

kinktober m.list

The assumption that Nancy Wheeler was a priss was not wrong, not in your eyes at least. She was self centered, stuck up, and generally unlikeable with how she treated your friends. They always eventually warmed back up to her even after she treated them horribly. The catch with you is that you did not. You had no need or want to be her friend and you made that known.

Sure, when Vecna tries to cross into your world you help save each other, but that means nothing. You only spoke to each other when you needed to and that was precisely the only reason why you two were currently talking. Being the sharpshooters of the group you two often were paired together to stop whatever monster was hunting you down this time.

Now, with the end of the world, you were forced to hole up in a dilapidated cabin on the outskirts of Hawkins. Calling it a cabin was a stretch of the word. You would have preferred Hopper’s cabin with the man made, mind flayer made, skylight. However, this was on the other side of town where the two of you stayed, communicating with the group over walkies and keeping an eye out of your own. God knew you couldn’t trust the military, so why not guard the town on your own?

The kids went to school, hell, you should have been in college now, but this was a joint effort. No matter how much you hated Nancy, the pair of you were in it together. Once a week you got visits from the others, switching visitors out to keep them in low numbers to not to draw attention. It made things…interesting. 

By now the loud arguments had mostly died out, but the petty arguments stayed. Things were still escalated by the quiet, an everlasting tension between the two of you though. You would be lying if part of the anger didn’t come out of horniness. Could you blame yourself? You had been stuck here for months without so much as being able to masturbate.

To say you were backed up wouldn’t be an understatement. Yes, Nancy had a boyfriend for a bit but Jonathan was…Jonathan, so yeah she was backed up in the sex department now too. Both of you were at odds, so worked up yet never daring to tell the other person. So what else did you do but calculate how many minutes Nancy took on patrol so you could finally get off?

It was a short amount of time, but you had been so worked up that you were sure you could also finish just as quickly. The moment Nancy was out the door you were stripping yourself of your pants and underwear. Rationally, you should have at least kept them near you, but you were deliriously horny, only thinking clearly enough to put a towel under your hips. The mere thought of being able to finger yourself had you wet all morning, not wanting to leave evidence behind.

As you sat back on the bed two of your fingers sweeping through your folds to gather the arousal that had long pooled there, coating them in your warm slick. You didn’t have to work yourself up to easily push your fingers into your pussy. The relief was immediate, a huff leaving your lips when you crooked your two fingers up, petting the warmth of your walls. Your other hand slid down your stomach to part your folds, rubbing at them as you slid your fingers out.

Strings of arousal kept them connected when you spread your ring and middle finger apart. Pressing them together again, you thrust the tips back in quicker this time, the middle finger of your other hand finding your clit. You pressed down, drawing tight circles on the bud as you started to thrust your fingers in and out.

Your moan bounced off the room, drawing the attention of Nancy who had just made it back home. Her patrol hadn’t even begun when she could barely make it off the property due to leaving her jacket back in the cabin. Nancy’s brows furrowed, pressing against the wall of the open door. The slick sounds of your cunt let her know what you were doing.

Her eyebrows met together as she whirled around the corner, seeing your legs spread, fingers deep in your cunt. “Are you kidding me!?” Nancy’s shrill voice shattered your pleasure. “On the bed!” You groaned out of annoyance, dropping your head back onto the flat pillows. “Why aren’t you on patrol?” Your legs fell down from having your feet planted on the bed, knees knocking together.

Nancy circled the bed, folding her arms. “I needed my jacket,” she stated bluntly. Rolling your head to the side, you smiled sarcastically. “Then get it and leave.” Stubbornly, Nancy wanted to stay. “No.”

“No?” You snorted, pressing on. “Are you going to stand there and watch me?” Nancy scrunched her nose up, looking at you down the bridge of it. “What? No!” She insisted, while she stood over the side of the bed. “It’s not my fault you’re using our bed to..to…” A laugh answered her, your grin getting under her skin.

“To finger myself? Hey, I have needs.” The feeling of you leaking over your fingers became harder to ignore, the smell of your arousal filling the air. “So do I.” Nancy shot back. You tilted your head, mocking her. “So do something about it.” The words settled in her brain and she jerked back. “Right here?”

“Right here, right now.” The urge to fight her swiftly blurred into the urge to fuck her. Nancy’s brows raised in shock, subconsciously taking a step closer to the mattress. Her knees pressed into the plush of it, her eyes trained on your face. “Really?” You nodded, leaning back as you spread your legs again.

Her eyes instantly flicked to your hand nestled between your legs. On shaky feet, Nancy stepped out of her shoes, working her skirt down before crawling onto the bed. “I can’t believe you did this on our bed,” she grumbled, sitting next to you. You pulled your sticky fingers out of your cunt turning to sit up. Wrapping your fingers around the hem of her underwear, you unceremoniously pulled them down.

Nancy huffed, “No insults?” You looked up at her, arms wrapping around her waist to hoist her onto your lap. “Shut up, I’m not going to insult your cunt.” Nancy’s nose wrinkled once more at your vulgar words, but she couldn’t hide the way she throbbed, not with your eyes trained on her mound. A familiar heartbeat appeared in her pussy when your thighs moved apart, prying hers apart in the process. 

“I’m honored,” she snarked. “You should be,” you bit back, hand sliding over her hip and ass. Using the angle, you pulled her up your lap till she was toppling into you. “Careful.” Nancy scoffed in response to you, straightening herself out. 

“Oh shut up, you’re the one who yanked me forward.” You shrugged, using the closeness to slide your hand the rest of the way to her pussy. Your fingers rubbed up and down, barely dipping between her flushed lips as she shuddered. “Are you going to get to work?”

Propping your other elbow to the side, you tilted your head, looking up at her sardonically. “Give me a second.” Her grumbles only amused you as she slipped her hand between your legs, laying her palm on your cunt. “Come on.” You grunted, hips moving forward as you hooked a fingertip on her entrance.

Nancy sighed shakily, curling two fingers to press into your velvety walls. You sighed, fingers pressing into her as well. For a beat silence fell between you two, your fingers starting to scissor in her cunt. Nancy moaned, leaning forward as you fingered her.

“Shit..” Nancy exhaled. Your lips parted in surprise, “Did miss priss just curse?” Her fingers hooked suddenly to the side causing you to jolt with a sharp moan. “Careful.” She threw your words back in your face, her fingers relaxing to follow your movements. Each time your fingers swirled in her cunt or rubbed against her sensitive walls she would copy the movement with her own fingers.

You learned her pattern, starting to quickly thrust your fingers in and out. The heel of your palm smacked against the end of her slit, cream making her pussy obscenely loud. Nancy moaned, head rolling back as she sped up, mouth perpetually open.

Your chuckle was suddenly easy on her ears as your fingers were buried knuckle deep in her. “Is that all you needed? To get fingered so you’d chill the fuck out. Guess you aren’t a prude, just a horny, frigid bitch.” Nancy’s hips hit your thighs as she started to bounce, her fingers giving you punishing curls. “Guess you aren’t so much a bitch but a slut,” she argued.

The argument didn’t even make sense but you had to fill the silence with something else than the squelches of your cunt drooling over her fingers. “At least I’m a thoughtful one. I put a towel under me.” You grinned up at her as she finally looked down at you.

Without dignifying you with a response, Nancy leaned down and smashed your lips together. Taking your surprise in stride, she bit your bottom lip desperately. You whined, walls clenching around her. “Oh fuck.” You grunted, surging forward to tug her lower lip into your mouth.

You sucked on it harshly when her thumb found your clit. As she stimulated it, you haphazardly continued ramming your fingers up, hitting her sweet spot with every thrust. “Such a bitch,” you huffed, hurtling towards the edge.

The vitriol energy filled the room again as you both neared finishing. “Slut,” she responded. “Cunt.” “Tramp.” A second later your free hand was gripping into her hip. “I’m going to-“ “Me too,” she whined. Both of your pussies tensed, spasming as you came at the same time.

Your open mouths bumped into each other, breaths being exchanged as you moaned in tandem. “Ohmygosh!” Her voice cracked, lips seeking yours out. You pressed your lips to hers, slowing down, gently rubbing inside of her. Compared to you, Nancy’s fingers stilled entirely allowing you to lay down and roll onto your sides.

Nancy panted, cunt fluttering around your finally still fingers. “That was…” You closed your eyes, “Don’t talk.” It was half-joking, earning a sharp glare from Nancy. “Average,” she snipped out a lie. The corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “Could say the same.”

The two of you laid there, drowning in the feeling of finally cumming after months of deprivation. “Want to go again?” Nancy nodded, “You’re on top this time.” You shifted your hips, clenching your walls around her fingers as you moved to sit on her lap. 

“So fucking bossy.”

tags: @babybatlover, @starrgurl46, @wowzers-07, @nenukkjhj, @morgan0lw21, @kinokomoonshine, @slut4ddn, @adventures-of-impala, @shesadilema13

[marshmellowfluff221]

May I request Levi with a younger cadet where he thinks he’s too old for her but she likes that a lot? Love your fics!

A/N: Of C O U R S E! This is so cute :) I'm glad you like them!!

-

It took a long, long time. Levi was stubborn and so were you. It started when you transfered over to help him after finding out Eren was a titan. Your job was mostly to survey the kid but you had a second job in studying the way titans are. You were young, but brilliant and that's why you had the title you did. Not as young as the kids you helped, but younger than Levi, enough for him to judge your ways. He likes old school, you like to change his ways.

Of course you and Hange immediately clicked. Sharing notes and research papers, it was a full on party every time you two were alone together. Levi broke that party up every time, complaining that you two should be working and not gossiping. It was the day Hange asked if he was jealous and the blush crept onto his cheeks that you fell for him. He always had a stern attitude but in that moment you saw how kind he was, how vunerable he could be.

So, you began to hang around him more. Eventually, you confessed. He stared at you for a solid minute and each second that passed you wondered if you had broken him. Eventually he gave the excuse that you were too young and needed to grow up. He flicked your forehead on the way out. But that didn't really stop you. You didn't bug him about it and he didn't seem to mind when you hung around him. The two of you became close. The crush you had on him didn't make it awkward and about a month into your friendship you had even made him laugh.

Levi found you attractive the second you appeared at the training camps. He found you even more attractive when he noticed how passionate you were about your work. But he couldn't bring himself to confess to you or do anything about it. Afterall, he figured you wouldn't like someone as old as him. However, when you confessed he had been so shocked he gave out his excuse. He knew it would be a problem in the future, the age gap. Levi beat himself up for it when he made it back to his room.

Regardless of the long time it took, the two of you ended up dating. It happened after he flat out kissed you in the middle of the woods on a mission. A month into dating, Levi's fears began to come true.

Your friend, Gerald, had been sent to accompany your studies. He had grew up with you and was your age. That's exactly what Levi feared. He watched from afar as the two of you laughed together and worked together. A week of it was torture already.

"So, Y/n." Gerald leaned forward, you looked up from the sketch of the titan you were drawing. A label sat on each of the important parts of the anatomy of the titan. "Do you think we should go out into the woods? Maybe look at the wildlife and how they react when Eren transforms?"

"Hm." You hummed, tapping your pencil on your cheek. "That might be a good idea. I should ask Levi if Eren is available this afternoon." You smiled at him, getting up from your seat and tapping him on the shoulder as you stepped over to the table that Levi was working on.

"Hey-"

"What do you want." Levi's voice was cold, emotionless. You furrowed your brows, taken back by his tone.

"Are you okay?" You asked, worried something might have happened.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Levi sighed. This wasn't like him. He was never this snappy towards you of all people. You shook your head and grabbed his arm tightly. He looked up at you, an emotionless expression.

"Outside. Now." You yanked on his arm and began walking outside, Levi following. Once out of the room you let go of his arm, turning on your heel to face him. "What is wrong with you? Why are you talking to me like that?"

"Nothing is wrong. This is how I always talk." Levi shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "If you have a problem why don't you ask Gerald."

The moment he said his name the gears began turning in your mind. "Are you jealous?" You blurted out the conclusion you came to. He had to be.

He was. His silence said it all.

"Levi...I'm dating you, and Gerald is just a work buddy."

"Yeah but he's your age." Levi muttered lowly. You almost laughed, but held it in once you realized he was serious.

"Wait- you think I want to date Gerald just because he's my age?" You asked. "Levi. I'm dating you. I know we have a gap in our age but that doesn't make me love you any less."

Levi looked up at you at your words. His eyes a little wider than before. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something but no words came out.

"What?" You grew confused at his reaction.

"You said you love me?" He asked. There it was, his vunerable side that you fell in love with. You nodded slowly. He smiled that small smile of his. "I do too. I'm sorry about earlier, I just figured if I was rude you'd be okay with leaving me for him."

You smiled back shaking your head at him.

"Oh, and Eren is free, go ahead." Levi said, pushing himself off the wall.

"How'd you know? Were you ease dropping?"

"No, you just talk loud."

He was definitely ease dropping.

[withlove-xixi]

— PATIENCE AND PUNISHMENT: chilchuck x f!reader x chilchuck's wife

KINKTOBER DAY FIVE: CUCKHOLDING ᥫ cw: nsfw, cuckholding, threesome f/f/m, bondage, dom/sub, mommy + daddy kink ᥫ wc: 1378 ★ hmmm personally, to me chilchuck is too stressed out already for me to use as a plaything/punching bag so i try not to torture him too much when i write fics. this is an exemption. cross posted on ao3 — MINORS DNI! —

— CHILCHUCK AND HIS WIFE KNEW THE BALANCE OF SWEET AND SOUR.

[♡]: practically masters at it the way they're both able to coddle you with praise and kisses and sweets while being able to bite at you with unbridled lust. it was a dizzying juxtaposition at first, and most of the time it still was. though you didn't realize how much more unfamiliar it was to be caught only on one side of praise and punishment.

CHILCHUCK DIDN’T PLAN FOR HIS NIGHT to end up the way it did. Really, he didn’t even think his wife had it in her. She was such a sweet woman after all, she helped younger kids cross roads, she always made you your favorite meals when you came over, she would buy Chilchuck some fancy booze on a random Tuesday. His wife was sweet, so sweet and so kind.

Then again he didn’t expect to piss her off this much.

Honestly he can’t even fully remember what he did, something about forgetting something maybe? Whatever it was, he already forgot. And whatever it was, it was enough for his wife to so cruelly torture him.

He huffs, frustrated, cheeks glowing a light pink tint as he watches with furrowed brows, almost a glare. But really, it would only be a greater loss on Chilchuck if his wife sees the sour look on his face. And while there wasn’t really much left to lose, he’s already lost too much.

Being tied up to a chair, fine. Sure. He deserves that for that thing he did. But being forced to watch? Being forced to see the way your face contorts in pleasure as his wife bites at your neck? Forced to see the way your tits bounce at the slightest shift in movement? Forced to watch your pussy clench around nothing as his wife draws circles around your clit? This was torture. It was cruel— no, beyond that, it was hellish. Absolutely devious.

And his wife knew that. He could tell by the way her eyes would occasionally glance up at Chilchuck’s sorry state, arms tied behind his back and his feet tied to the legs of the chair, cheeks puffed up in a look of annoyance, hard cock strained against the fabric of his undergarments. She could almost laugh at how pathetic he looked, though really with the way she eyed him so convincingly, it felt like she already had.

A soft whimper from you draws the pair of arguing lovers back to reality, that is that you’re bucking your hips into the air, whining at the lack of friction. In an instant, his wife softens, giggling as she kisses over an already purplish bite mark she had previously left.

“What’s wrong, baby?” She coos, voice is soft and sweet it pissed Chilchuck off even more. “You can tell mommy.”

You whimper again as her delicate fingers press against your clit, causing you to arch your back. She chuckles at the reaction and glances up at Chilchuck as if to make sure he saw. God, what was wrong with that woman?

“I—” You start, but quickly stop when her fingers gently slide down your slit. You draw in a deep, shaky breath before you try again. “W-why is… Why is daddy tied up?”

Chilchuck made a soft strangled noise, one he was sure his wife caught because he swears he saw her lips slightly twitch into a smile. Otherwise he makes no other noise. Hell, he hasn’t even said a word since his wife had sat him on the chair and tied him up, leading with the false hope of some nice sex with the rope and the blindfold and everything. The moment the blindfold was removed and his eyes fell on your naked form, shyly covered up by their blanket, he knew he wasn’t going to enjoy this.

His wife hums, pausing in faux thought, complete with a stupidly cute head tilt and a finger to her chin. “Daddy’s been mean to mommy,” she decides is the best explanation as she goes back to her ministrations, pulling you closer to her until your back is fully against her chest and returning her lips on your neck. “Gotta teach him a lesson.”

Chilchuck’s eye twitches, which unfortunately doesn’t go unnoticed. His wife gives him a shrug, smiling at him innocently. God, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he just got to sit and watch as you two screwed around while he was sat tied up with his dick aching against his undergarments. Hell, he wasn’t even near you two. Maybe if the chair were at the edge of the bed, he could find some excuse to forgive him wife for being so mean, but God, against the wall? It was close enough that he could still see what was happening, he could tell your chest was heaving, he could see the drool on the corners of your mouth. But it was far enough he felt like he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t breathe you. It pissed him off.

What’s worse was you didn’t seem too inclined to help him. Chilchuck was sure that if you had asked his wife sweetly enough she would’ve released him of his agonizing prison, but she had you wrapped around her finger, far too distracted by the way she left marks on your neck, the way her fingers pinched your nipple while the other hand ran up and down your slick. You were too focused on the pleasure, too clouded by lust and need to even notice the pleading face Chilchuck threw at you every time your eyes accidentally met.

"You're so good, darling. So good for mommy," she praised into your ear and your pur with gratitude. 

Chilchuck could only watch as her fingers finally dip inside you, slowly filling you up. He draws in a sharp inhale at the slight, suddenly stilling from his futile attempts at wriggling out of his restraints. His eyes stare hungrily at the way her fingers disappear into your wet cunt, engulfed by the velvet gumminess of your walls. He's entranced by the way you surround her fingers, and entranced only further when she moved them at a slow pace, filling the room with slick wet sounds and your whiny moans.

A playful chuckle brings him back to reality as he finally glances up again, only to be pissed off all over again at the sight before him.

There's this face you make when he fucks you, the one where you brows are furrowed and your lips are pouting, and you're eyes look like you're lost in some far away place. It was the same one you wear as his wife's gentle hand tilts your chin up to look directly at him. His body goes rigid at the sight, especially when he notices the proud smirk on his wife's face. God, truly what is wrong with that woman?

While the rest of him remains still, his hands involuntarily struggle against the rope as he stares at your pathetic expression. He watches as you moan, his wife's fingers still steadily pumping in and out of you in slow, deliberate strokes.

"So good for me, darling." She praises though her gaze is fixed on her husband. "Not like daddy here. 'S why you gotta be good, okay, baby? Don't wanna be tied up like poor mean daddy right?"

You shake your head in such a trance-like manner it was almost instinctive. Oh, you little traitor.

There's a soft grunt from Chilchuck as he continues to struggle against his binds, the chair lifting up slightly and falling back down at each attempt. His wife outright laughs at him now, a sexy sounding laugh that only fuels Chilchuck's frustration and desperation. How would she look so hot when she's pulling a stunt like this? How could she laugh while her darling husband cycled through Hell?

"A-ah!" You cry out, body tensing as his wife increases her pace.

"That feel good? You like that, baby?" She asks with a fond smile, her lips quickly returning to trail kisses all over your neck after.

Chilchuck's jaw clenches at the outright sinful way you react, the way your moans fill their ample bedroom, the way your hips roll against her palm. He tells himself to bare with it just a bit longer, convincing himself that once you've cum, his wife would free him, maybe whack him at the back of his head then kiss him tenderly then you all can have the typical sex you had.

"How about you tell daddy how good you feel?"

For his first time being punished he learned one thing, that was to never piss off his wife again.

[gaybananabread]

••@hexalianrebel-blackfeathers - I'm thinking #4 (Hide and Seek) with either Miguel or Doc Ock as the ler and our favorite Spider-Gang as lees.••

TickleTober Day 4 - Hide and Seek

~Okay, I’ve been so excited to write this one! I need to show the Ocks some more love, and I absolutely adore these two! This is stupidly long. I have no regrets. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!~

Lees: Miles, Pavitr, Gwen, Hobie

Lers: Otto Octavious (Alfred Molina), Olivia Octavious

Summary: When stranded in another alternate dimension, Otto is recruited by an unexpected variant of himself. Things get complicated when the Spider-Gang tries to stop their heist. Finding a heart, Otto offers an ulterior method to win against their young adversaries.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

Otto's life had been…well, interesting was a word for it. Just when he thought he was done being tossed from universe to universe, a random portal opened and yoinked him out of the current wrong dimension, leaving him lost once again.

The new world seemed…animated, in a sense. Otto definitely didn't fit the style, what with everyone’s 3D animationesque appearances. There was no way he could get around without being recognized as an anomaly, but he couldn’t very well stay where he was…

Before he could slip further into his thoughts, a small band bounced off his head and fell into an open robotic tentacle; he didn’t know it, but it was a Spider Society day pass. A woman’s voice called from above him, sounding eerily smug and conniving.

“Come with me, Octavious 96283. We have some pests to exterminate.”

-

“So…you built all of this alone? Without funding?” Otto looked around the small lab, wondering how on Earth the woman managed to construct such high-tech equipment by herself. It was in an abandoned office building, sure, but it was still a solid facility.

“Yes. It was a hindrance to use purely damaged technology and scrapped fragments from Alchemax sites, but I think I’ve created an adequate workspace.”

Otto would hardly stop at “adequate” to describe the place. There were monitors, a small dissection area, multiple glass test tubes with various liquids, and a research station; it’s a lab his teenage self would undoubtedly be envious of.

“You mentioned pests?” He tried to steer the conversation in a more manageable direction; maybe she’d help him get home if he fed into her plot.

“I did, yes. There have been more and more of these spider pests popping up since the creation of their little Society. After their mistake ruined my research, I figured I’d refocus my efforts on eliminating them all together, starting with unlocking the mechanics of their interdimensional travel.”

Olivia didn’t stop for a single second, flitting around her lab while she spoke. “I need your help with acquiring a few parts for my newest portal prototype. Just a simple heist, nothing too flashy.”

-

He should’ve known that was bullshit.

I mean, who actually told the truth when they said “just a simple” anything? Running through the bustling, animated city with thousands of dollars of technological advances in his arms. Olivia was a version of him, after all; he never told anyone the entirety of his plans.

Things went from bad to worse when he heard the tell-tale sound of web shooters firing.

“Damn those brats!” Olivia’s hiss put him more on edge than the possibility of being arrested. The spider he was most recently with was quite nice and empathetic, but he wasn’t sure how this universe’s protector carried themselves. Wait…did she say brats, plural?

“Drop the tech, tentacle heads!” A younger-sounding voice called out right before a ball of web fluid came flying at Otto’s face. He used a tentacle to catch it, but the mechanics of the triceps were immediately clogged.

The man got a closer look as the boy – probably, he wasn’t sure – approached: black suit, red details, thin frame, wide eye mask. Yeah, that kid definitely wasn’t old enough to be risking his life like that.

To his surprise, three more costumed teens – again, not a known fact, but they definitely seemed young – backed the black-clad spider up. The varying styles shocked him: ornate reds and blues, black and white with pops of color, and all-out punk outfit with the classic colors beneath. Yeah, they were definitely from different dimensions.

Olivia, on the other hand, sprang into action. She snapped a few lines of web that were shot her way, obviously used to fending off all four of them at once. Otto couldn’t help but wince as the ornate teen was whacked into the brick alley wall by one of her tentacles.

The one in white called out and ran to him – he assumed she was a girl, given her costume and intonation – while the punk charged Olivia. Otto was playing defense against the boy in black and red, trying not to hurt him.

While the man was putting up a pretty good fight, the black-and-red Spider-Man still managed to grab his duffle bag of stolen tech. Olivia started to shout at him to get it back before a small web smacked her in the face, covering her mouth. That enraged the woman to a new extent he hadn’t thought possible.

A lot of things fell into place for the man when Olivia lobbed a steel trash can at the lanky punk; they were fighting children, or at most very young adults.The rage in the woman’s eyes… Yeah, no.

Were the teens trying to arrest them and foil Olivia’s plan? Yes. Did that stop Otto from caring that they were probably minors who definitely shouldn’t be taking that many hard hits? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Otto reached for the bag, hoping to get it away from the boy so they could just retreat. One of his tentacle claws managed to grab the boy's side, meaning to hold him still; what he hadn’t expected, however, was the boyish squeal that ripped from the black-clad spider’s throat.

In the midst of Otto’s surprise, the teen managed to slip out of the mechanical grip and…disappear? An invisibility power would have been incredibly helpful for the boy – that is, if the duffle he was carrying wasn’t still visible.

God, these kids need some proper training…

Despite his associate’s murderous rage, the punk seemed to have grabbed Olivia’s duffle as well. Behind him, Otto caught a glimpse of the ornate boy and white-clad spiders zipping up to a rooftop. Sensing that they were fighting a losing battle, the other two followed them up, duffles in hand.

“Damn it! I need those parts, or all of this will have been for nothing!” Olivia moved to charge after them, but the man held out a mechanical arm to stop her; her fiery glare was hard to ignore, but he did his best.

“Wait. I know they’ve been pains in the asses, but we can’t… Is there really a reason to truly harm them? You have to know that they’re hardly old enough to even consider doing what they do.” Otto spoke from his heart, hoping at least a fraction of his words would hit something human within the woman.

“What do you suggest we do then? Let them get away with hours of careful preparations and the keys to my plans?”

“I have a better idea. One that involves less…aggressive tactics. You’ll still get your revenge, of course.”

Olivia quirked a brow, eyes still trained on the rooftop the young heroes fled towards. The anger was still burning on her features, but a slight tweak of contemplation tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I’m listening, 96283. Make it fast.”

-

Welp, Miles was dead. Or rather, he was going to be dead very, very soon.

One Doc Ock was already hard enough to handle, but two? Even with his fellow spiders’ help, the teen doubted they’d be able to do much against the two forces. Retreat was one of their only smart options, but he could hear the thudding of mechanical claws behind him. The duffle bag in his arms seemed to weigh more by the second, burning with the knowledge that they’d be on his tail until he either forked it over or somehow managed to find enough time to portal out.

His friends scattered around him, fanning out in their practiced formation. They’d meet up behind a small bakery before portaling back to the Society. Unfortunately for Miles, that meant he had to find a way there by himself.

As Miles swung by an alley opening, a robotic tentacle shot out at him from the darkness. He managed to keep the duffle bag out of its grip, but the four synthetic claws closed around his chest in its tight grasp.

“GYAH- get off!” Miles’s heart sank as he watched the owner of the tentacle emerge, her cold eyes gleaming behind iridescent green lenses.

“Hello, little spider. I believe you have something of mine~” Olivia grabbed the duffle with her other tentacles, but Miles held strong; he did have super strength, after all.

“Fine. I’ll get that bag one way or another, you pest.”

Before he could wonder what kind of painful torture he’d endure, Miles felt the synthetic claws dig into his stomach. Caught off guard, he couldn’t help the giggly squeak that escaped him.

“GYEEhehe! Wh-whahahat?!” Miles wriggled and squirmed in the tentacle’s grip, the lenses on his mask wide and confused. It was almost cute, though Liv shoved that thought as far back in her mind as it would go; weakness wasn’t going to get her that tech.

“What? It’s pretty obvious: give me the bag, or I make this a lot worse for you. I don’t have anywhere to be, sweetie~” Liv teased him as she worked, trying to tug the bag out of his iron-like grip. She could’ve just ripped the bottom and taken the parts…but where’s the fun in that?

“D-dohohon’t cahall me thahahat!” Beneath his mask, Miles’s cheeks warmed with red. She was just trying to kill him a moment ago; why’d she switch to doing that?! He didn’t really want her trying to kill him either, but it was an insane jump!

“Thihis ihis stuhuhuhupid!”

“On the contrary, Spider-Man, I’d say this is quite informative. I get to learn all of your weak points in just a few minutes; I’d hardly call that stupid.”

As if to prove her point, Olivia dragged two of her free claws up the red marking on his suit, stopping right below his underarms. The shrill squeal the action received was utterly adorable.

Ugh, Otto got to me, didn’t he?

“NOHOHohohooo! Lehemme gohoho!” The teen clamped his arms to his sides, still somehow managing to hold on to the duffle. He was starting to wonder if it was even worth it… No, it was; the parts still needed to be returned, even if it meant sacrificing his dignity.

“As soon as you let go of my technology, Spider-Brat.” Okay, enough games; Liv wanted that duffle bag. Forcing his arms above his head, she sent two tentacles to claw at his armpits.

Miles was not proud of the sounds he made after that.

“NAHAHAHAHA! NOHOT THEHEHERE!” Miles’s mind nearly went blank from the intense sensations shooting through his nervous system. He released his hold on the duffle bag, trying to slam his arms down.

Olivia snatched up the bag, stopping her assault to securely wrap her tentacles around it. Miles was sort-of gently put down, curling into a ball on the alleyway pavement. What the hell…?

“Was that so hard?” She dangled the bag in front of his face, taunting him. Miles tried to get back up, but he was utterly exhausted; the best he could do was shoot a web, which missed Liv by around two feet.

“As much as I’d love to rub this in, I have places to be. Try to stay out of my way, little spider~” With that, she used her tentacles to scale the side of the alleyway, taking off on the rooftops. She had an annoyingly truthful variant to find.

Miles wanted to go after the woman, but he was spent; it would’ve endangered both himself and his team if he tried fighting in that state. Shakily getting to his feet, Miles made his way to the bakery.

Hopefully the others would fare better than he did.

-

Otto almost felt bad for the spider kid he was holding. It had barely been a minute, but the guy was absolutely losing it, snorting and laughing so loudly that Otto wondered if the one he was trying to bait had gone deaf. Where was that punk?

“Stop it! Let him go, tentacle head!” Gwen shouted and squirmed in the metal tentacle’s grasp, trying to get to Pav. He wasn’t injured when he got thrown, but she still didn’t want him to be getting…tortured? She had no idea what the villain was trying to accomplish, but she wasn’t about to watch her friend struggle without a fight.

“Tentacle head? Really?” Otto smiled slightly, turning his focus on Gwen. Pav was still getting his stomach attacked, of course, but the claw on his neck left to go toy with her. “Here I thought you spiders were supposed to be funny.”

Gwen squirmed as she saw the tentacle coming towards her, but didn’t back down. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Pavitr’s stomach was just stupidly ticklish; she could tough it out until either Miles or Hobie arrived to help. Probably…

“N-NOHOHOHOT HEHER! PLEHEHEASE!” Pav did his best to try and save Gwen from his fate, but it really only made the older man chuckle. The kids were ridiculous; it was kind of adorable.

“Sorry kids, but your friend has something I need. Don’t worry; I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

With that, the claw began squeezing at Gwen’s sides, her laughter soon joining Pavitr’s in the alley. Otto severely doubted the punk had gone very far; he just needed the boy to take the bait.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“OI! Drop ‘em, ya big sashimi!” Hobie swung into the mix, the second duffle bag hanging securely off his back. He slammed his boots into the tentacle holding Pav, causing it to drop the tired boy onto the ground. He holds up a shaky thumb before being waved away by Hobie.

“You kids and your octopus jokes.” Otto chuckled, watching his hostage stumble to his feet and swing away. The trust the kids had in each other was sweet, albeit a little optimistic.

“H-HOHOHOBIE! WHEHERE’S MIHILES?” Gwen continued to try and escape the tickly tentacle, but it was a lot harder than it looked; those things were strong. Hobie couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. She’s being held hostage, and Miles is the thing she’s worried about?

“Ge’ your priorities straight, Gwendy!” Coming back around, Hobie fired off a barrage of webs, trying to jam the claws grabbing at him. It’s three against one, though; a claw managed to catch him by the wrist, yanking him up and into the air in front of Otto.

Hobie struggled in the tentacle’s grip as Gwen continued to laugh and kick at the one holding her. Otto knew his objective; he was just gonna goof off a bit before completing it.

“Now, I’m gonna need that duffle bag, kid.” Otto sent one of the tentacles out to try and grab the bag off his shoulders, but Hobie kicked at the biotech the moment it was in range. Fine by him; the hard way was so much more fun.

“Alright then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kiddo.” With that, he stepped forwards, squeezing the boy’s sides. Hobie tried to punch him, but one of his free tentacles came to hold the teen’s other wrist.

Hobue refused to giggle at first, just kicking his feet and trying to escape. When Otto reached his underarms, however, that dam practically exploded.

“GEHEHE’ OHOHOFFA MEHEHE!” Hobie thrashed about in the claws’ hold, his cheeks quickly heating up. Damn it, why’d he have to be so ticklish?!

“Wow. I mean, I wasn’t expecting my plan to fail, but you kids really are ticklish. It’s kinda adorable.” Otto teased them, willing the claw on Gwen’s sides to take things a little easier; he was mainly focused on Hobie.

“Shuhut uhuhup!” Gwen’s squeaky voice rang out beside him as she struggled. While she was grateful for the slight reprieve, Otto was still a villain. She was gonna escape and haul his strangely non-violent ass back to whatever dimension he came from.

It was at that inconvenient moment that Liv found Otto. I mean, it wasn’t hard; the sound of Hobie’s laughter and Gwen’s squeaks could be heard for at least half a mile.

“Seriously, 96283? Just keep him still.” Rolling her eyes, she went behind the squirmy teen and unbuckled the strap on the bag. It easily slipped off his back, falling straight into Liv’s arms. “Don’t mess around for too long. Those little menaces multiply.”

With that, she left Otto to his devices, getting away with the stolen goods. Hobie groaned, struggling against the claws to try and follow her. That struggle quickly changed focus when one of the wiggling claws moved behind his knees. He snorted, nose scrunching as a red hue burned on his face.

Okay, that was embarrassing. For once, he hoped Miles and Pav disregarded team protocol; they could really use some back-up.

Thankfully, those two could almost never listen.

A chunk of rubble slammed into the tentacle holding Gwen, causing it to reel back and drop her. A flash of red and blue scooped her up before she could hit the concrete.

Before Otto can react, a web ball smacks him in the face. He stumbles, the tentacles holding Hobie dropping him in favor of protecting their master. A black streak catches the tall teen, setting him down a safe distance away.

“T-toohok you lohohong enouhuhugh!” Hobie shouted after the other teen, struggling to recover from his rather silly predicament. Miles just stuck his tongue out at him before whirling on Otto.

Once Gwen was set safely aside to recover, Pavitr got back into the fray. He used his bangles and webs to sling-shot himself at the man, catching him in the chest and knocking him off balance. Miles followed suit, weaving around the tentacles to try and get as many shots in as possible.

Otto groaned, staggering as he tried to at least block the kids’ hits. He didn’t want to fight them, but…well, he did need to get back to his dimension.

“WAIT! Just- surrendering! I surrender!” Otto staggered backwards, holding his hands up defensively. Miles went to lunge again, but Pavitr grabbed his shoulder to stop him.

“Hey, hold on. He’s done.” For safety, the two webbed otto up, restraining his arms–organic and metal–before checking on the others.

Hobie, while winded, was okay; he didn’t seem too happy, though. “Whahat the fuck, Octavious? Seriously? Ticklin’?”

“Would you rather I have fought you by swinging hundred-pound metals at your heads?” Otto just smiled, apparently not that upset that he’d been caught.

“No, but…why?” Gwen walked over as well, still holding her sides; she played it off as crossing her arms. She scanned Otto with her watch, locating his universe; it was the newer, much more humane way they were returning the criminals to their dimensions.

“You’re all children, are you not? I figured it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary.”

All four of them froze at that, sharing one quick “oh shit” look. How did he know? It was literally the first time any of them had seen him; what tipped him off?

“Hey, calm down. I’m ready to go home, not guess at secret identities.” Otto’s tone was strangely paternal, though the group chose to ignore that fact.

“I…whatever. C’mon, guys.” Gwen ushered the villain forward, dissolving the webs right as he stepped through the glowing orange portal.

After a moment of healthy silence to process whatever the hell just happened, Pav broke the silence.

“Well…that was eventful.” He chuckled as Hobie shoved his shoulder, happy to break the tension. Hobie used his watch to make a portal to his universe, tugging the joyful boy in to go watch bad movies and forget about the silly mission.

Miles took a few tentative side-steps towards Gwen, hoping to dissolve some of the awkwardness around her as well.

“Ya know…I don’t need to be home for a good few hours. We could go check out that new record shop in my universe, if you’re up for it…?”

“...alright. Can we get shakes afterwards too?”

“Yeah, no problem. Vinyl and peanut butter fudge await us.”

“Await us?”

“We’re doin’ a Shakespeare analysis, gimme a break!”

-

Oliva set down her duffles of parts, satisfied with how the day went. Sure, her variant was captured and relocated, but she got what she needed out of him. With the tech they’d managed to scrounge up, her plans were perfectly viable.

While getting the pieces organized, Liv couldn’t help but think back on the heist. One of her tentacles had a small glitch; she’d need to run a few diagnostics to see what went wrong.

She also thought about the hellions that tried to ruin her plans yet again. The method Otto implemented to subdue them, while ridiculous, had been surprisingly effective. The supposed teens’ laughter had been rather…well, adorable, for a lack of better words.

When he caught her reflection in the screen, she saw a smile, of all things, greeting her. It was a weakness, finding joy in such frivolous matters. Damn that variant and his infectious ideals!

Still, he was right; it was much easier to tickle them instead of fight.

She’d have to try it again in the future…

[rivilu]

I'm still genuinely so pissed. Three choices. THREE. 3!!!!

And not a single one of them would I qualify as fucking important in any way.

Who did your inq sleep with is more important than who is on the thrones of ferelden and orleis.

"Did your inquisitor want vengeance against Solas or did they want to redeem him"- NEWSFLASH- that was already a dumbass question IN inquisition because it entirely dismisses the third possible option of not giving a flying fuck about him!!!! Wow!!! But no of course whether I think of the writers pet as a woobie is more important to the plot than whether the wardens are banned from an entire country or if the crows have been getting sabotaged for the past 20 years!!!!

Even the one choice that I would consider the most 'important'- whether the inquisition disbanded- FUNNILY ENOUGH THAT'S THE MOST REGIONAL ISSUE IN THE WHOLE GAME. BUT WHO IS THE HEAD OF AN ENTIRE CHURCH DOESN'T MATTER????

Between Cassandra Vivienne and the two versions of Leliana you already could say they chose to do wildly different things regardless of inq input because!!! That's the fucking pope!!! Cassandra can restart an inquisition if she damn wants etc- but NoOoOO adding two extra lines would be far too much effort.

Genuinely I'm expecting the only way this choice will even apply will be on justifying the quiz being here. "Had to take a break from paperwork" Vs "had nothing better to be doing anyway" type of thing. WOOOOOW. Revolutionary.

But who is Arishok when we're dealing with the Antaam doesn't matter. Wether the warden is alive doesn't matter- even if Morrigan has a whole ass kid with them doesn't matter.

IF HAWKE IS DEAD OR ALIVE DOESN'T MATTER EVEN THOUGH VARRIC IS THERE.

fuck off. Fuck off

[smalltownfae]

Why are so many adult wlw contemporary romances involving a kid in some way? It's great that it shows that moms can get involved in queer relationships and all, but where are the ones not like that???

I am trying to find good ones to add to my list and it's the 5th one today that is like "and there is her kid"... damn it. That is not what I'm looking for. And people wonder why some stuck to mlm romances instead?

Anyway, I found 2 potentially interesting wlw ones so far. If there is a surprise kid not mentioned in the synopsis I swear I will not pick another one again.

[artiststarme]

After the events of Spring Break and long before either of them even consider dating, Steve and Eddie become friends. Eddie shares his weed and buys them alcohol, Steve provides food and a place for Wayne and Eddie to crash for awhile, and Robin kind of freeloads on everything (although she considers her witty one-liners and company payment enough). Even still though, it takes more than just friendship to force Steve to join a DnD campaign. 

With the departure of Grant, Jeff, and Gareth from the Hellfire club, the Party is woefully short on manpower. Will joins and Eleven tries too but even with the addition of their two characters, the Party isn’t strong enough to survive Eddie’s devious campaigns. So they target Steve. Between Eddie’s pleading puppy dog eyes and the endless pestering of the kids, Steve joins. Initially, he’s hesitant. He thinks he’s only going to play a handful of games to get the kids back on their feet before parting with them. But then he discovers that he’s good at it. He discovers that he enjoys flirting with the NPCs and annoying the shit out of his fellow characters. He likes saving the kids and watching their backs in fights all too reminiscent of the Upside Down. It makes him feel useful, needed, wanted. 

Most of all though, he likes seeing how his words affect Eddie. He starts looking forward to  seeing the blank look on Eddie’s face when he does something he’s not expecting, forcing Eddie to dive into the very depths of his imagination. Steve likes seeing Eddie’s lips quirk into a smirk when his flirts land their mark. He imagines kissing the quirk away until those very same lips are bruised red with burst capillaries. He wants to see Eddie’s smile directed at him for every moment of everyday, not just from behind the Dungeon Master’s partition or on a dinner date with Robin. Steve wants to hear Eddie’s husky voice explain his plans for DnD while they cuddle in bed hiding from the cold Indiana winter (although he would never admit something so nerdy to anyone). His thoughts and Eddie’s reactions to his admittedly mediocre flirting only makes Steve like playing DnD with him more. 

He especially enjoys the day when all the flirting finally leads Eddie to corner him once the kids leave to ask him out on a proper date (or in their case, Cheetos and strawberry milkshakes on the roof of Eddie’s van while watching snowflakes fall from frozen clouds). In hindsight, it only made him wish he’d joined the nerdy dragon club sooner. Maybe then he could’ve been kissing Eddie Munson for years by then. Steve guesses he’d just have to keep Eddie around for years to come.