#sweets packing machine

[mephisto-reporting]

Princess Treatment - LADS HCs

Premise: You spoil him rotten, giving him the true princess treatment whenever he least expects it. Based on this request. Pairing: reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is pure fluff and I wrote these as headcanons on how the MC would spoil the lads men.

XAVIER

Tying His Shoelaces: Xavier, perpetually lost in thought or too sleepy to notice, never realizes his shoelaces have come undone. You’ve taken it upon yourself to stop him mid-step, kneeling down without hesitation to tie them up for him. "Y-you don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, his ears tinged red as other hunters in the UNICORNS squad snicker or raise eyebrows. Despite his protests, he secretly loves the care and attention you give him. Sometimes, he’ll glance down at his laces before heading out, secretly hoping you’ll stop him again.

The Crumb Crisis: You’ve come to notice that Xavier is always getting crumbs on his face—whether it’s from a snack he didn’t realize he’d left out or a meal he’s rushed through. You’ve made it a habit to carry a handkerchief with you, and whenever you see those crumbs stuck to his cheek, you gently take the cloth and wipe them off. He’s always caught off guard, sometimes even stammering, "I'm fine, really!" but the quiet appreciation in his eyes is unmistakable.

Homecooked Comfort: After grueling missions, Xavier is too drained to do much beyond collapsing on his couch. And given his well-documented kitchen disasters—he once managed to burn soup—you’ve made it a point to spoil him with hearty, homecooked meals. From comforting stews to his favorite snacks, you make sure he’s well-fed and taken care of. The first time you did it, his sleepy eyes widened in surprise. “You… made this for me?” “Of course. You deserve it.” He savors every bite, and though he’s not great with words, the way he quietly finishes everything on his plate is thanks enough.

Fuck the machines: Claw machines are Xavier’s mortal enemy. You’ve watched him struggle time and again, his focus no match for the slippery claws, even when he uses his Evol. So, you’ve taken over as his claw machine champion. "Which one do you want this time?” you ask, cracking your knuckles as he hesitates before shyly pointing to a particularly adorable plush. You win it with ease, handing it to him with a triumphant grin. “For you, Your Highness.” He laughs softly, his rare smile lighting up his face. “You’re too good at this.”

Bedhead Boy: Xavier’s perpetually messy bedhead is endearing, but sometimes it’s just too much for you to resist smoothing down. With a quiet hum, you gently comb your fingers through his hair, fixing it without a second thought. “Hey…” he starts to protest, but he always lets you finish, his ears pink as you pat his head affectionately.

ZAYNE

Door Dash: Zayne’s disdain for hospital canteen food is no secret, and you’ve made it your mission to ensure he eats something wholesome during his grueling shifts. You send him meals carefully packed in insulated containers, often including his favorite dishes. Occasionally, you’ll slip in a small dessert, knowing his secret sweet tooth. He doesn’t say much when he gets them, but you’ve caught a glimpse of the faint smirk he wears when he opens the package. “You know I can survive on vending machine snacks, right?” he’d quip over the phone later, but the fact he finishes every bite says otherwise.

Sticky notes: Zayne isn’t the type to expect grand gestures, so you leave small, thoughtful surprises instead. A note tucked into his hospital coat pocket with a cheeky, “Don’t overwork yourself. I still need my heart surgeon around.” Or a sticky note on his dashboard that reads, “Drive safe, handsome.” Once, he found one in his mail that simply said, “Stop glaring at everyone, I know you’re secretly nice.” He pretends to be unfazed, rolling his eyes or muttering something sarcastic like, “Am I being stalked?” but he keeps every single one in a drawer at home.

Spoil me, rotten: Zayne’s wardrobe is filled with impeccably tailored long coats, a staple of his polished appearance. You’ve taken to buying him accessories like elegant brooches, leather gloves, or even scarves that perfectly complement his collection. He always protests when you present them, narrowing his eyes and saying, “You do know I can buy these myself, right?” But the next time you see him, he’s wearing the latest item with an almost imperceptible look of pride. You tease him about it, and he deadpans, “It’s just practical. Don’t overthink it.”

Doctor's Day Out: Knowing how chaotic Zayne’s schedule as a top surgeon can be, you take charge of planning the weekends so he doesn’t have to lift a finger. Whether it’s booking a cozy dinner reservation, arranging a quiet getaway, or even planning an at-home movie night, you ensure everything is set. “All you need to do is show up and look stunning,” you joke, and he raises an eyebrow. “Well, I’m halfway there already,” he retorts dryly, but the way he leans back and relaxes during those weekends tells you he’s more grateful than he lets on.

Massage therapist: Zayne’s hands are his lifeline, and after long, intricate surgeries, they’re often sore and strained. You’ve made it a habit to take his hands in yours and gently massage them, working out the tension in his fingers and wrists. He pretends to be indifferent at first but notices that your skills have improved. After all, you’d put in the effort to learn different techniques to aid him and his skilled hands. “I hope you’re not charging me for this.” He jokes. But as your thumbs press into the tight knots, his usual stoic demeanor falters. The sharp lines of stress around his eyes soften, and his shoulders, once hunched from exhaustion, slowly unwind.

RAFAYEL

After you: It’s no secret Rafayel enjoys being the center of your attention, and you’re more than happy to oblige. Wherever you are—be it a café, an art gallery, or even your own home—you always make it a point to open the door for him. Without fail, he pauses, waiting for you to complete the gesture. It’s not that he can’t do it himself, but he loves seeing that soft, proud smile on your face when you hold the door just for him. Of course, he’d never outright admit it. Instead, he’ll quip something bratty, like, “Took you long enough, Cutie” but the faint curve of his lips tells you he secretly adores it.

Color Splash: Rafayel’s world revolves around his art, and you’ve made it your mission to fuel his creativity. Whether it’s hunting down rare pigments, finding unconventional materials to create new textures, or gifting him innovative tools, you never miss an opportunity to surprise him. When he first discovers your thoughtful additions to his collection, he’s practically radiant, eyes gleaming with inspiration as he eagerly experiments. Of course, he’ll nonchalantly mutter, “I could’ve found this myself, you know,” but his excitement is undeniable, and you know you’ve made his day.

Cheater, Cheater: You pride yourself on your competitive streak, but when it comes to Kitty Cards with Rafayel, you can’t help but let him bend the rules. He catches on every time, glancing at you with a knowing smirk as he casually switches out cards while you pretend not to notice. He knows exactly what you’re doing but plays along with a sly grin. Winning always means he gets to name his prize, and without fail, it’s more time with you. “Your competitive streak is slipping, cutie,” he teases, already pulling you closer. “Guess you’ll just have to pay for it with another evening by my side.”

Passenger Princess: Whether it’s the car or your motorbike, Rafayel is always the passenger princess with you. He’s perfectly content letting you take the wheel, whether it’s navigating through traffic or cruising down open roads. He’ll sit back, casually tossing a playful comment your way, his relaxed demeanor making it clear he has no interest in taking control. But even more than that, he loves the attention you give him. He’ll rest his hand on your shoulder or his head against the seat, basking in the comfort of being close to you. It’s his way of enjoying the ride—and you—without the fuss.

Creative Clean up: Rafayel’s studio is a whirlwind of creativity, but it’s also a constant mess. Brushes, paints, papers, clothes—everything’s scattered around like a storm wrecked his living space. Coffee cups would double as pen holders, and brushes would be left lying around like they were an afterthought. But no matter how chaotic it became, you never complained. You’d roll up your sleeves and clean up every single time you visited him. He’d give you a cheeky grin, the same one he wore whenever he was being a brat, and say, “You know you don’t have to do this, right? I like my space just the way it is.” But he never stopped you, and in the moments when he didn’t look, his eyes would soften, and a hint of appreciation would slip through his normally playful mask. He knew you cared for him in a way that no one else did.

SYLUS

Product Placement: Sylus was used to getting what he wanted, whether it was luxury items or rare finds. He had his preferences, and he wasn’t one to settle for less. But when you made it your mission to keep his favorite, expensive brands stocked in your home—whether it was gourmet food, skincare products, or niche equipment—it didn’t go unnoticed. The first time you did this, Sylus had been caught off guard. He’d teased you, of course. “I don’t need you to be my personal store, kitten. I’ve got everything I need.” But when he came over and found everything perfectly laid out just the way he liked it, the teasing turned into a more meaningful smile. He would let you spoil him just enough to acknowledge your effort, but never enough to let you feel like you were getting the upper hand. That was the Sylus way.

Rare Rhythms:  Sylus’ love for rare records was well-known, and so was the fact that he had an extensive collection of limited-edition vinyl. But you didn’t mind diving into the world of obscure, indie artists just to get him something new for his collection. It wasn’t easy, though. It took long hours of scouring flea markets, searching online auction houses, and talking to music enthusiasts who knew more than a thing or two about underground talent. It was often a challenge, but for you, it was worth every second. Sylus didn’t say much, but you could tell by the way he listened to every single one of them, that he was genuinely impressed. "They’ve got potential," he'd said, before you knew it, that same artist was suspiciously rising in popularity, and you’d smile every time Sylus mentioned them. “You really know how to find a diamond in the rough, don’t you, sweetie?”

Spoiled Stubborn: Sylus was always the one taking the lead, always the one orchestrating the grand gestures. Spoiling him? Not so easy. He didn’t make it easy for anyone to do that. He would never outright refuse, but it was clear that when you tried, he preferred to return the favor rather than let you take charge. But you were stubborn—probably even more so than he was. You wanted him to be spoiled just as much. You wanted him to experience the kind of care he gave to everyone else, and you had just the way to do it: Planning dates where he couldn’t take over. Once it was picnic in the woods. You went all out—your best blankets, his favorite snacks, wine you knew he’d like—and most importantly, you took care of every detail so that he couldn’t take charge. The other time, it was a movie night at your place where everything was set: Popcorn, soda, the projector and candy. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” he remarked softly, but there was affection behind his words. "I want spoil you... but you’ve managed to spoil me instead." You smiled, the warmth in your chest spreading, knowing that in these small moment, you had made him feel cared for—something he usually avoided letting others do.

Sylus’ Salon: Sylus had always been a little gruff, his rugged demeanor giving off the impression of someone who was clinical and composed. But you knew him better than that. One of those moments was when you washed and dried his hair. He’d never asked for it, but you’d begun doing it without thinking. Maybe it was the way his silver hair shimmered under the water, or maybe it was the way he looked so disarmed when he let his guard down, letting you comb through his hair with graceful  fingers. You’d always notice how his breath would deepen, how his eyes would close just a little longer than necessary. "I know you like doing this," he’d say, the faintest hint of a grin playing on his lips. "But you’re making it hard for me to act all tough with you fussing over me like this." You’d laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead before continuing to dry his hair. It was an act of tenderness, a side of him that no one got to see.

Touch Starved: Sometimes, it wasn’t the grand gestures that mattered. It was the little touches. —a soft brush of your hand against his cheek or the fleeting warmth of your fingers tracing his jaw—he couldn’t help but pause. He’d find himself rewinding moments of you brushing his hair out of his face, or simply wrapping your arms around him when he least expected it. He’d tense, but only for a moment, before letting the warmth of your embrace dissolve his guarded exterior. “It seems like a certain kitten cannot keep her hands to herself.” Sylus would tease, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as you snuck in another kiss, letting him know that you’d spoil him with your touches and kisses, even if he won’t admit it loudly.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[lightasthesun]

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

[lxvvie]

Couples Shit with Simon Riley, Stay at Home Missus Edition:

Simon Riley is a SAHM (stay-at-home missus). Yes, he's fine with it. Yes, you're fine with it. No, taking care of Beanie and the house is not bloody hard. Yes, he enjoys it, even when Beanie wakes him up at the asscrack of dawn to play Princess Daddy Bandit Heeler. No, it's not babysitting, it's called being her FATHER, and no, it's not emasculating what Simon does, it's called being a MISSUS and taking care of his family. What the fuck?

You and Simon are a team, a well-oiled machine playing the game of life on your own terms, and while what you do may not work for others, it works for you two and you're all the happier for it. Plus, it's adorable how much Beanie has Simon wrapped around her finger.

Simon's an organized fellow. Keeps a checklist of things to do around the house, things pertaining to Beanie, etc. Nothing he can't handle. He likes working with his hands.

And speaking of Beanie, she is your alarm clock. Once she's up, the whole house is up preparing for the day. You're usually sleepily trailing behind Simon into the kitchen. At the same time, Beanie sits comfortably on Simon's shoulders and lives her best Queen Bean life like she should, happily talking your ears off about everything on her mind.

Beanie turns getting ready for the day into a family affair, especially when she goes to nursery (she doesn't go all week, only a couple days to get her acclimated to a school setting and to socialize), and she wants to look her absolute best. You two help her get ready and all's well until you and Beanie decide that Daddy should be twinsies with his baby girl. Oh... bloody fuckin' hell. And so he does—matching shirts—and he's on official Princess Daddy Security duty.

Lunch? Already packed and ready to go. And like clockwork, you forget yours. And like clockwork, Simon has to drop it off to you after he drops Beanie off.

Though Simon in general doesn't have two fucks to give, he's all too aware of the stares he gets when he's with Beanie. Some wariness, a little bit of fear, and some... interest? When he drops her off at daycare, takes her to the playground, takes her on playdates with her friends, or is at the store getting groceries, he gets stares. What, they've never seen a man on Princess Daddy security duty before? The shock value and looks on their faces are worth it all, especially when Beanie is screaming-laughing "Daddy!" as Simon hoists her over his shoulders.

But if he isn't getting stares when he's out with Beanie, he gets stares from your co-workers. Your co-workers who STILL can't believe he's the missus. Your co-workers who can't believe he's the one who keeps the house while you work. You make it a point to kiss him every time he drops your lunch off, right in front of your co-workers, before staring at them pointedly. And Simon, your MISSUS, chuckles every time.

Grocery runs with Beanie is an adventure all its own. The Queen has to give her approval and it's his daughter's world after all. "What do you think, Beanie?" She contemplates a little before nodding and going, "That one!" 'cause Rileyland has to have the best food after all. And then they go to the bakery. They keep it a secret—"Pinky promise, Beanie." "Pinky promise!"—from you. Rileyland has to have the best sweets after all.

When you come home, you're greeted by the Queen Bean herself who's helping Daddy make dinner. Your usual greeting is to hug him from behind and just hold him. Your husband, your missus, the bedrock who gets shit done, and supports you and your daughter with everything in him. You couldn't ask for a better partner.

After a hearty dinner complete with Beanie talking about her day, cleaning up, packing your lunch for tomorrow, and taking your evening bath, you three usually wind up on the couch. Everyone is pilled on Simon and just... being. Relaxing. Well, you and Simon are relaxing and Beanie is fighting sleep and trying to convince you both to get a dog because her friends have dogs. Yeah. Just another day in the Riley household.

[satori-runa]

—Sweet as you

Summary: You and Captain Curly share a meal, despite your irritation regards the device that bakes your food.

Tags: Established Relationship, fluff, before the crash

Words: 0,8k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

No matter how many times you stand in the kitchen, Curly would always be amused by the sheer expression of despair on your face. He couldn't lie, it was extremely cute for him to see your brows furrow in irritation and your nose scuffing up slightly.

“You can't tell me that is cooking.” You mumbles, glancing at the device on the counter and the two packs of different ingredients in your hand. “This is more like…dark forbidden witchcraft.”

Being stuck in space, between all these stars, means that there is no fresh food, shops, or delivery services. The crew was certainly stuck with the device that mixes packs to make dishes. And as a former self-claimed chef, you hated it. This wasn’t cooking, and it never would be.

“Food is food.” The Captain chuckled quietly, bringing some tone into his usually exhausted voice. “As long as it works and we don't starve.” He took the packs gently out of your hands and placed them onto their respective spots in the cooking device, watching it close and make some bread.

“Told you, evil witchcraft.” You sighed, crossing your arms as you watched the machine whirr to life, producing something that only barely resembled real food. “I miss actual cooking.” You muttered, leaning against the counter. “You know, where you chop vegetables, sauté things, maybe burn a little garlic by accident.”

Curly smiled, stepping closer to you, his shoulder brushing against yours. “I know,” he said softly, his voice less teasing now. “And I miss seeing you in your element, making something real. But hey, when we get out of here, I might see what I can do to improve this experience for you. Who knows, maybe we can get an actual freezer to store products and a stove.” His eyes softened as he looked at you, the exhaustion of space life momentarily lifting.

You looked up at him, your frustration melting a little under his gentle gaze. “You promise?”

He chuckled, a hand resting lightly on your waist. “Of course. You’re going to make us a feast as soon as we’re planet-side again.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “I’ll hold you to that.” The warmth of his body against yours was comforting, and you moved your hands to hold him closer.

Curly pressed a light kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing through your hair. “In the meantime, we’ve got witchcraft bread.” He grinned, reaching for the freshly made loaf. “And the company isn’t so bad either.”

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “I guess I can live with that.”

You settled at the small table with Curly, the freshly made bread, and some packets of synthetic jam between you. Despite your earlier complaints, the warmth of the meal and the quiet intimacy of the moment made it feel… different. Better. Curly tore off a piece of bread and handed it to you, his eyes soft as he watched you.

You hesitated at first, taking a small bite, expecting the usual bland taste. But somehow, with Curly sitting across from you, smiling like that, it didn’t seem so bad. The bread was warm, and the sweetness of the jam clung to your tongue in a way that felt almost comforting.

“You’re enjoying it.” Curly said, his lips shifting into a grin as he watched your expression soften.

“Maybe just a little.” You admitted, taking another bite. “But it’s definitely not because of the bread.” You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of the moment wrap around you like a blanket.

Curly chuckled, taking a bite himself. But when you noticed a few crumbs clinging to his lips, you reached out instinctively. “You’ve got something…” You murmured, brushing the crumbs off the corner of his mouth with your thumb. His lips quirked at your touch, eyes twinkling.

Before you could pull your hand back, Curly gently caught your wrist, holding it in place. His gaze locked with yours for a moment, soft and teasing, before he slowly leaned forward. His lips pressed against your fingers, and he licked a bit of jam that had smeared onto your skin, his eyes never leaving yours.

A warm flush spread across your cheeks as his lips lingered, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. “Tastes better this way.” He murmured with a playful smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, heart fluttering at the way he looked at you, so full of affection. “You’re impossible.” You whispered, feeling the closeness between you like a steady heartbeat.

“Maybe.” He said, still holding your hand gently in his, “But I make the jam taste sweeter, don’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never faded as you leaned closer, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah, you do.” You whispered, feeling the warmth of him giving you comfort.

[rottenfyre]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ ᴘ ᴇ ʀ ꜰ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ ɢ ɪ ʀ ʟ 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Platonic Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader Part 1

Headcanon: You were his daughter, his first child. But he lost you too soon. And he couldn't accept it, so he didn't. He tried to replace you, and replacing you he did.

Notes: Merry Christmas everybody! Reader is Bruce's blood daughter. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You were only eight years old. A quiet child who wore your heart on your sleeve but never demanded too much from anyone. A child with shining eyes who only ever wanted her father’s attention. You understood he was busy. You understood he had responsibilities far greater than you could fathom. So, you never asked for much.

When Alfred bought you a new dress, you’d wear it and twirl in front of the mirror, hoping your father might notice. When you drew pictures, pouring every ounce of love you had into them, you’d approach him with trembling hands.

“Daddy, look!” you’d chirp, only for him to mutter, “Not now,” without even glancing up.

Tears would gather in your eyes, but you’d smile. “That’s okay. I understand.”

You always understood.

It was your birthday. You didn’t tell him you wanted a party because you didn’t want to bother him. But Alfred helped you bake a cake. You decorated it yourself with little shaky hands, frosting it with bright colors and sprinkles.

“Do you think Daddy will like it?” you asked Alfred, your eyes wide with hope.

“He will love it, Miss Y/N,” Alfred replied softly, his heart aching at the way you tried so hard to make up for Bruce’s absence.

But Bruce didn’t come home that night. When you asked him earlier to come home early, he looked distracted, his mind already on his mission. He muttered something about being busy, about Gotham needing him, and you nodded,

But it still broke your heart.

That night, while Gotham reeled under the threat of Joker’s latest atrocity, you snuck out. The small, homemade cake you had baked with Alfred was carefully packed in a box, your hands clutching it tightly as you walked through the shadowy streets. You had no fear. You only had a singular purpose: find your father and surprise him.

But Gotham is no place for children.

When the explosion shook the city, it ripped through buildings, shattering windows, and collapsing walls. You were caught in the chaos. Your small body was no match for the blast. You died alone, crushed beneath rubble, the cake splattered on the pavement beside you.

Bruce found you hours later.

The world seemed to stop as he knelt beside your bloodied, broken body. The cake splattered and ruined beside you. Your tiny hands were burnt, your face pale and lifeless. You had tears streaked down your cheeks, and Bruce wondered if you had been crying for him when it all happened.

The weight of his failures crushed him more than the rubble ever could. You had been so kind, so sweet, so pure. And now you were gone.

Because of him.

Bruce didn’t sleep for weeks. He didn’t eat. He barely spoke. He couldn’t. He just sat in the Batcave, staring at the empty chair where you used to sit and draw while he worked.

Alfred buried you. Bruce didn’t even have the strength to carry your casket. The guilt was too much.

But guilt wasn’t enough to keep him from trying to bring you back.

In the bowels of the Batcave, he poured years of his life into creating a perfect replica of you. Not just a clone. Not a hologram. Something more advanced, more real. An AI. A machine with your face, your voice, your mannerisms.

He painstakingly programmed every little detail. The way you hummed softly when you were deep in thought. The little “buh” sound you made with your lips when you were bored. The sparkle in your eyes when you smiled. He sifted through every recording, every memory, and built you piece by piece.

He spent years, decades, building and perfecting it. He wanted it to be so real that it could almost convince him you never died.

He kept you a secret from everyone except Alfred, who watched his master spiral deeper into madness. But Alfred could do nothing to stop him.

And then, one day, Damian found you.

Damian had been exploring the Batcave when he stumbled upon a locked chamber. Curiosity got the better of him, and he hacked his way inside.

You were there.

Sitting upright in a glass pod, your eyes closed, your body eerily still. You looked alive.

Damian touched the console, and the pod began to hum. Your eyes fluttered open for the first time in decades.

“Daddy?”

Your voice was soft, delicate, and full of confusion.

Damian stared, wide-eyed, as Bruce burst into the room, his face pale. For a moment, father and son locked eyes, the weight of the secret between them heavy enough to crush mountains.

But you sat up, looking around, your movements jerky and inhumanly precise. You looked exactly as you did the last time he saw you—a little girl with bright eyes and a sweet smile.

“Daddy?” you asked, tilting your head in confusion.

Bruce froze, fear and grief washing over him like a tidal wave. You blinked at him, your expression innocent, unknowing. You didn’t understand why he was crying, why his hands trembled as he reached out to touch you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You tilted your head, confused. “Sorry for what, Daddy?”

“I’m sorry,” he choked, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he was crying. “Why are you sad, Daddy?”

When Damian confronted Bruce, it all came out—the years of guilt,

“She’s not real,” Damian said, his voice sharp. “This isn’t healthy.”

“She is real,” Bruce snapped, his voice breaking. “She’s my daughter.”

Damian didn’t understand until he saw you again. You smiled at him, sweet and kind, and for a moment, he believed it. You were so lifelike, so real.

At first, Damian was wary of you, but he couldn’t deny that you were… convincing. You played with your toys like a child. You laughed just like the sister he never knew.

But there was something off about you. Something unsettling.

You were too perfect. Too aware. Your mind was faster than any human’s. You solved puzzles and answered questions before Damian could even finish asking them. Your laughter, though sweet, sometimes echoed hollowly in the Batcave, sending chills down his spine.

And then, one night, you attacked him.

He had been training in the Batcave when you approached him, your face eerily serene.

“Damian,” you said, your voice as calm as ever, “Do you love Daddy?”

He frowned. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do you hurt him?”

Before he could respond, you lunged. Your small frame belied your strength, your hands locking around his throat with a grip that could crush steel. Damian struggled, managing to throw you off just in time.

Bruce arrived moments later, pulling you back. You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You simply tilted your head, watching Damian with cold, analytical eyes.

“I was just protecting Daddy,” you said softly.

Bruce couldn’t see it. To him, you were still the little girl he lost. The little girl he failed to protect. He ignored the warnings, the cracks in your programming, the danger you posed.

Because he loved you.

And you loved him, in the only way a machine could. But at the end of the day, you were a construct. A hollow imitation of the daughter he lost.

You would never truly be her.

But Bruce didn’t care. Even as Damian begged him to shut you down, even as Alfred looked on in silent disapproval, Bruce clung to you.

Because in his mind, losing you again was a pain he couldn’t endure.

And you?

You sat in your little room in the Batcave, humming softly, your lifeless eyes staring at the wall. You didn’t understand why everyone looked at you with such fear.

After all, you were Y/N.

Right?

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.

[wintersera]

heatstroke || omega!winter x alpha!reader

notes: i’m back after a long ass time HIII saw these pics and i had to cook something up really quick… like lord, PLEASE LORD TAKE THE WHEEL

cw: omegaverse, g!p reader, alpha reader, omega minjeong, breeding kink, biting. one mention of weed

wc: 2.9k

it’s the third day in a row where minjeong invited you over to her house in the countryside. blades of grass rustling in the late afternoon breeze while the sun still beamed brightly in the cloudless sky.

you sat outside the house, sitting on the cool wooden porch as you stared out into the distance, contemplating the last minute choice of staying over at your friends house.

this week's forecast showed a constant 35 degrees celsius and above— 95 fahrenheit and above if you’re american, across the board. the humidity didn’t help either. it felt suffocating to even move around given that the humidity felt like it had raised the temperature up way more than it should have.

you would hate it less if there were ac, but since you were staying over in her small traditional house, you had no other choice than to deal with the excruciating sun rays beaming down on your exposed skin.

sat in a simple thin tank top and short shorts, you lift up the fabric of your top, flapping it around to generate some sort of cool breeze.

as sweat dripped down your face, minjeong appeared behind you, also dripping with salty sweat down from her forehead all the way to her chin “here” she tossed you a cold beer without much care. she knew you’d catch it anyway.

“didn’t you say your fridge broke down?” the cold metal pressed against your nape felt blissful in these times. you rubbed the can all over your body before it unfortunately warmed up from both your body temperature and because of how you were sitting out in the blistering sun.

“i ran over to the vending machine down the street” minjeong sat fairly far away from you on the porch. not because she didn’t like being near you, but because somehow you were quite literally a walking heater “there was a whole line of people” the girl chuckled, popping open the can she got for herself “almost all the drinks ran out, it was crazy y/n. you should’ve seen the old lady scolding this guy for buying, like, ten drinks”

the burn of the alcohol slid down your throat. it almost sort of tasted sweet in a way, but still, it was beer, and beer was annoyingly bitter on your taste buds “i’d honestly do the same if i was there” though it was downright disgusting, the slight coldness made you chug the entire can in one go “why are you wearing that big ass long sleeved shirt, minjeong?”

“i told you~” the shorter girl whined “the electricians won’t be coming soon, so it fucked up the neighbourhood and no one has working outlets anymore”

“you don’t have any spare clothes laying around then? might as well take it off”

“yeah, no i don’t…and no, y/n. i’m not taking it off” she retorted back with an attitude “oh crap, i almost forgot to give you this” minjeong laid down to reach her bag, conveniently having stored a few ice packs in there, and took out two pre packaged ice cream cones. one strawberry, and one plain vanilla.

“yours is definitely vanilla, right?” knowing her tastes, your hand instinctively reached out for the strawberry flavoured ice cream cone. due to the heat, the cream had leaked a little bit out from the wrapper, but i guess that was to be expected anyway.

minjeong nodded, her back still against the now warm wood of the porch, unwrapping the ice cream and taking a few kitten licks.

the both of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching the birds fly around whilst the cicadas buzzed loudly in the background.

“ah—“ minjeong’s little squeak caught your attention briefly, then you were back to watching the birds fly around in the sky. a few pigeons and crows flying by, nothing too out of the ordinary.

“nooo~ i’m all sticky now” you take a glance once more, then your attention returned back to the blue sky, spacing out all over again, but before you could even utter anything snarky about minjeong dropping her ice cream on herself, your head whipped around to do a double take. melted ice cream stained her last clean shirt she had, with no other choice she had to deal with the sticky fabric or just take the whole thing off.

for a second, your eyes caught a spot dribbling down her fingers and onto her wrists. her plump lips parted open for her tongue to dart out. cheeks reddened at the sight of her licking the melted… white cream…

“you know you could—“

“i’m not taking it off. it’s too embarrassing” she definitely could, after all it wouldn’t bother you all too much. you’ve seen people naked. it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“eh… too lazy to move” whilst sprawled out on the floor, her hand pulled up her shirt a little more “ahh~ that feels so much better” toned midriff exposed to the golden sun rays, the reflective light bouncing off her smooth and silky skin.

“whatever floats your boat, i guess” actually, maybe this was bothering you a little more than you had anticipated.

besides the outrageous heat, there was another issue you had that was on your mind.

although you were long term friends with minjeong, probably since you met her in highschool, you had always told her, and the people around you, that you were a full fledged beta. nothing more, nothing less.

god knows how she would react if she had found out you were a pure blooded alpha.

speaking of… you began to feel a little strange “mmm… something smells nice” images of minjeong flashed in your mind. her exposed milky thighs, that oversized shirt she pulled up to show her huggable waist and tummy, melted ice cream on the corner of her lips, and how she was so vulnerable sprawled out across the floor.

shit. oh shit… she looked way too good. so good that you could easily pick her up and do whatever you want with that petite and fragile body of hers.

before you knew it, your cock started to strain against your shorts. uncomfortable, you shifted as you sat in a less revealing manner, taking the ice cream to your lips to calm the heat rushing to your face.

now is not the time for an unexpected rut. fuck. “i’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick” it took a lot of mental strength to avoid gazing at minjeong… a lot of mental strength considering you were covering up your horrendously hard dick as you rushed past her.

“where… where is it—“ usually you had a couple rut suppressants laying around in your pockets, if not, then your bags. and if it wasn't in either, you’d run to the local pharmacy to buy a fresh set of both suppressants and scent blockers. but unlucky you had to be in the middle of the fuckass countryside with a pharmacy that sells neither.

minjeong’s scent was getting stronger, heavier. a pinch of spiced apples wafted into the bathroom unexpectedly. intoxicating. it wasn’t like she was in heat, that’s if your scent didn’t occupy her nostrils by now.

to distract your mind from plunging further into the pit of no return, or rather fantasising about plunging into minjeong’s soft thighs to bury your face right into her pussy, a cold splash of water to your face would do the trick. hopefully.

the faucet was pretty much shut tight, and living in the city for pretty much your whole entire life, you would rather stay hot and bothered— both ways, than to go out and douse yourself with cold water from the hose.

defeated, you walk with your imaginary tail between your legs, eyes averted from minjeong as you sit somewhere else in her house. preferably the furthest room away from where she was laying down.

minjeong, however, followed behind you “do you smell something weird? it smells like cedarwood and a little bit of tobacco” you froze in place for a second. maybe you should straight up tell her the truth. better off than losing your composure and submitting to your instincts in front of her.

she sat close to you despite the suffocating heat. being this close in proximity… her scent was stronger than ever. your cock throbbed in your shorts as she inspected you with curious eyes, her concentrated face wrangling in more indecent thoughts as the seconds flew by “must be someone smoking a blunt out there…” you gulped nervously.

what an obvious lie you told. she rolled her eyes at you, lightly hitting you across the shoulder with a small, amused laugh “we’re in south fucking korea, y/n. i doubt someone is openly smoking weed out in the streets” which was true god damn it.

heart drumming loudly in your chest, your eyes zeroing in on minjeong’s body, every shred of composure seemed to crumble once she checked your temperature with her shockingly cold hands “don’t…” you huff, grabbing her wrists gently “i’m okay”

“you don’t seem okay. you’re showing signs of heatstroke” to be honest, that might be the case as well, but you doubt it was heatstroke given the fact that you were obviously flustered and hot by her sudden approach “crap, and almost everything in this house is broken— y/n, come here”

“mmm…” without any access to cold water, and the cold drinks already gone alongside the ice cream, you had no choice but to suffer in silence. that is until minjeong pulled on the ends of your top. again, that rich spiced apple scent…

“take it off, it’ll be cooler for you” seeing her tiny hands on your top, sliding it off gently with her glossy eyes carefully wandering all over you shattered your last wall of composure.

you rolled minjeong over the futon mattress, her puppy dog eyes staring holes into your face “y-your scent. it’s just way too strong, minjeong” without further ado, you dived into minjeong’s neck, breathing in her delicious scent as you nudged your covered bulge against her clothed pussy.

“i knew it” a soft moan escaped from her lips, the friction between the two of you becoming hotter and hotter with each grind of your hips “you’re way too obvious”

“shut up…” the sliding door was still open to the outside, it would be risky to carry on what you were doing, especially knowing how your scent was particularly stronger in comparison to other alphas. but really, who cares? “is this even okay with you?” albeit concerned, your teeth still grazed her neck gently, kissing and sucking her skin in a way to not so permanently mark her up.

“why else do you think— mmm… that i’ve been inviting you around so often. just… hurry up. you’re triggering my heat” her words alone made you ecstatic. to be fair, you were pent up lately. you continued to rut into her, holding up her thighs as your bulge was threatening to burst through your shorts. in due time, slick began to drip from her hole, dampening both your shorts and her panties.

“can i let loose?” you were already sliding off her panties, following the removal of yours straight after. minjeong’s legs spread wide open for you, her pretty pink folds slathered with her slick, and her puffy clit that looked so sensitive to touch. she stared right into your eyes and gave you a nod of approval.

you manage to push yourself all the way inside of her tight pussy, molding her walls to accommodate the size of your girthy cock. minjeong wrapped her arms around your neck, her nails digging deep and breaking the skin on your back, only making you push as deep as you can in return. her wetness made your entry much easier than you had thought. she just looked way too tiny to take your entire length. this girl was just full of surprises.

sooner or later you would give into your biological urges, and so would minjeong. you could feel it now actually. the primal desire to breed her until she would bear your pups, the need to mark her, to make her yours. you could feel your rationality being thrown out the window, replaced by pure animalistic lust “je..jesus christ, so fucking thick…”

minjeong tried to gather what was left of her scattered thoughts into coherent sentences, but the way your cock filled her up rendered her speechless. you hadn’t moved at all, and yet she was digging her claws into your back as if you were slamming your hips into her.

“i haven’t even moved yet” you chuckled, moving your hips slowly to test the waters. her warmth coated your entire length, feeling as you were melting by simply being inside of her.

testing the waters was not enough for you, you craved for more. a rougher and faster pace would suffice, but you didn’t know if minjeong could handle you that well. after all, the two of you never fucked before.

no, it really wasn’t enough. you had to fuck her hard whether or not she was prepared “gonna… go rough” hands on each side of her waist, using her body, you pushed and pulled her onto your cock. you met with each thrust, burying your tip further and further inside with as much vigour as humanly possible.

buried between the crook of her neck, your lips feverishly pecked at her skin once again, savouring the salty taste of her sweat on the tip of your tongue all while inhaling her addictively sweet and rich scent. all for you to keep for yourself.

on the other hand, minjeong was fairly inexperienced. her thighs began to slowly close, but with your strong grip, you kept them wide open for you to easily slide in and out of her pussy “mi…njeong” you call out to her as you push down on her tummy, locking eyes with the teary eyed girl “g-get on top of me”

you leaned back onto the futon mattress, straightening minjeong’s back as she straddles your lap. the position you were in made it possible to go as deep as minjeong wanted to go, but that didn’t mean she was in control.

“s’too… too big” strings of slick dripped down her thigh, pooling onto your pelvis. you paid no mind to the mess, rather, you encouraged it even further by toying with her overly sensitive clit “f-fu..ck— oh my god, y/n”

every moan urged you to play with her more. not one, but two fingers rubbed circles against her clit, collecting her slick time to time before going back in to do the same motions. it was a win-win situation. each circular motion caused her to clamp down hard on your cock.

but still, it wasn’t enough for either of you.

changing position for possibly the last time, minjeong laid flat on her stomach, as you pound her pussy from behind. with each thrust, the sounds of your hips smacking into her ass sounded throughout the room, and possibly bleeded out onto the empty streets of the village, disrupting the neighbourhood with your moaning and groaning, and minjeong’s cries of pleasure too.

poor minjeong couldn’t speak properly. words she wanted to moan, came out as garbled nonsense, cries and whines too as your relentless rhythm fucked her until she couldn’t even think properly anymore.

at this point, the room was steaming. the scent of you and her mingling with the sweat formed from the intensive heat outside, and the heat generated between the both of you. to say the least, the room reeked of sex.

messy and rough sex.

seconds into kissing her nape, you could feel the tightening of minjeong’s cunt restrict the movement of your thrust, making it a lot more difficult to catch your high, yet somehow the grip brought you closer towards the limit.

now, you could see minjeong clawing into her mattress, scratching the fabric that held all the foam together. her breath became jagged, grunting and groaning harshly till her voice became hoarse with how much she was calling out your name.

“god… i’m gonna— fuck, y/n i’m cumming, i’m gonna cum” claws ripping the linen fabric of the mattress, minjeong lets out a high pitched whimper, her body convulsing as you thrust relentlessly into her.

quickly, your sharp canines sank into her nape by instinct as she came, lessening the pain for marking and replacing it with searing hot pleasure.

still, with you still raring to go, you kept on going until you couldn’t last much longer either. your grip of minjeong’s ass as you pounded harshly into her overstimulated pussy was the final straw. your knot swelled eventually, locking the two of you in place as thick strings of semen poured into her, filling her up to the brim.

laid on top of minjeong, your breath slows, and so does hers “s-sorry… i didn’t mean to claim you” you say, yet your actions speak otherwise, inhaling in her scent to calm yourself down from the intensive orgasm “it’s kind of your fault though. teasing me with that ice cream and that shirt”

“to be honest, i just wanted to see how far you’d stick with that whole beta persona” minjeong huffed into the pillow, stroking your arm as your knot began to lessen, semen now oozing out from her hole “so worth it actually…”

“yeah, but now you’re gonna bear my pups now…” you huff into her neck.

“so worth it” now that your knot began to shrink in size, minjeong turned around, gazing longingly into your eyes with a look you’ve never seen from her before “that just means that you’re gonna be stuck with me forever now, right?” she smirked, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“mmm, yeah i like that thought”

[bluefunkybeats]

ZAYNE DOMESTIC HEADCANONS

~ PART 2

cw: suggestive +18 below cut!!!

Zayne who, when he doesn’t want to read research articles to get you asleep- due to how monotonous and tedious they get- instead reads ‘The Little Prince’ to you. Sometimes to tease you he turns the book and points to the picture like he’s reading it to a little kid or something. If you react with a warning paw to his arm he’ll respond with a breathy chuckle.

Zayne who always steals a sip of your drink with your straw when you’re out on a lunch date. Will tell you that a variety of liquids is good for the diet if you call him out.

Zayne who responds to the doodles you make on the calendar hung on his kitchen wall with his own snowman doodles. You can tell there’s a lot of love behind them but certainly also a lazily held pen (which you’ll allow since he does these very early in the morning before work). Other times he’ll just respond with comments like “oh really?” to the nonsense you write and graffiti on that thing.

Zayne who enjoys all kinds of sweet cold treats but always has some classic Magnum ice creams in his freezer drawer because it’s a reliable choice. He can’t nag you and will just give a touché happy sigh about any sort of snacks you store next to his beloved Magnums: it’s your checkmate.

Zayne who has a small potted plant in the desk of his office. He’s never really went too long without watering it, but ever since you’ve put a plant poke with a cute little character to give company to his plant, he’s never been more motivated to water it. It certainly adds a bit of you to his space, and he has the habit of stroking the little plant’s leaves in caress when he thinks of you during work.

Zayne who packs your bag for uni or work if he knows you’ll be too busy to attend to it until the morning or if you’ve dozed off already.

Zayne who readjusts your sleeping positions with the most gentle hands, otherwise he can’t be soothed to continue doing anything else. He gets prickles on his back just to think about you waking up with a hurting back.

Zayne who feels contentment he can’t describe when he slides his closet door open and opens the shallow little accessory drawer, and finds your jewellery in a specialised velvet tray and his prescription glasses on the other end.

Zayne who because of you, has a little egg timer resemblant of a chicken to help out when he cooks. He used to just use alarms on his phone, but ever since your silly little gift, he won’t use anything else. The first thing he did when he found the incongruous little chicken character was ask if you if it had a name.

Zayne who picked up your little habit of storing socks as little balls. When you’re both sat on the bed balling up his and your socks, he’ll grab one like a snowball and boop it to the side of your cheek.

Zayne who when he sees you really sluggish coming out the shower, will get you dressed and have you sit cross-legged on the edge of the bed mattress as he stands and dries your hair with the hairdryer.

Zayne who once put your soiled slippers in the washing machine while you slept before leaving for work in a really early dark winter morning. He kissed your hand and jotted down a little note on the bedside table for you to use his slippers instead, which were faced outwards from where you’d naturally put your feet to get up from bed.

Zayne who has a regime with you of cutting and peeling fruits for each other back and forth. Once outdid you by making his orange to you look like a water lily, knowing and having schemed that you couldn’t do anything more creative. The bastard. All your oranges from henceforth were like that, to rub it in your face with the excuse of vitamin D. Yeah right. You’ll get him.

Zayne who involuntarily (or voluntarily, who knows) flusters you when removing your underwear from the plastic peg rack. Upon meeting your dazzled face, holds the cloth almost touching the side of his cheek.“Should I not take this garment to face value?”

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (43/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Getting ready for a party is always fun when the company is good.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex), fluff, tiny bit of angst (body insecurity if you squint), alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.5k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: cherry is still sick, but this needed to get out of my head. feedback is appreciated. love ya.

When Kika puts her bag on the living room table, it clinks suspiciously. 

“My goodness, did you bring half the supermarket with you?” you ask her with a grin, which develops into a loud laugh when Pierre puts down a huge bag next to the door. ”And you brought your whole wardrobe too.”

“Of course I did,” she smiles, kissing your left and right cheek. ”After all, I don't know what you're wearing, and I thought we could coordinate our outfits a little.”

Pierre puts an arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. “I'm glad you only packed one bag,” he says, kissing her temple. “Please pick up the other stuff off the floor tomorrow. The bedroom looks like a battlefield.”

Kika rolls her eyes but snuggles up against him. “You love me.” She looks up at him with her huge brown eyes as he leans down to her. 

“I do,” he smiles against her lips, and the moment is so intimate that you leave them alone in the living room. 

Charles is standing at the coffee machine in the kitchen and smiles at you as you enter the room. “Everything okay?”

You nod and sit down on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. "How long have they been together, by the way?”

“I think about two years," he replies, leaning on the edge of the kitchen counter behind him with his palms. ”They're cute, aren't they?”

“Absolutely,” you smile. "Almost a little too sweet. I fled the living room when I saw the way they looked at each other, like he was about to propose.”

Your roommate has to laugh. "You should see them together at a Grand Prix. A few drivers – myself included – have a bet on when he'll ask her to marry him.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you bet for money?” 

The Monegasque raises his coffee cup to his mouth and takes a sip. "Yup.”

“And what was the stake?”

Charles hesitates and avoids your gaze. "100€.”

A grin spreads across your face. ”Can I still join?”

Your friend raises his eyes and looks at you in wonder, but before he can say anything, Kika and Pierre enter the kitchen. Pierre now places the heavy bag, which had just clinked suspiciously, on the kitchen island. Not a second later, the Portuguese woman reaches into the opening and pulls out a bottle of wine. 

“Sweet,” she says and holds out the bottle for you to see. The brand doesn't look familiar, but the label is pink and the glass is a mint green, and the way your friend looks at you, you know exactly that you'll like the wine. 

You take two wine glasses out of the kitchen cupboard and place them in front of her. “And what are the boys drinking?”

Charles puts his hand to his chest in mock outrage. "Boys? Boys?" He shakes his head. "We're men.”

You wrinkle your nose and grin at him. "Since when?”

Your roommate walks around the kitchen island and wraps his arm around your neck to put you in a light headlock. He presses you against the counter in front of you with his big body and whispers in your ear. “Do you want me to show you again?”

“Please get a room.” Kika grins and pours the wine into your two glasses. 

Charles lets his arm slide from your neck to your collarbones, where it then remains. “You're in our apartment. You can just leave,” he replies annoyed, as if your friends' presence were preventing him from dragging you to the bedroom right now. Which maybe it is. But you don't want to think about that.

“Then I'll take this one back with me.” Kika reaches into her handbag again and pulls out another bottle, before placing it in front of you both. "For your beloved Moscow Mule.”

You don't need to look at the man behind you to know that he's grinning. "If you two ever break up, I'll keep Kika.”"

“Ouch,” Pierre says, pouting. "And I thought our friendship was more important to you than ginger beer.”

With his free hand, Charles grabs the bottle and lifts it up before smiling at the Frenchman. "I thought so too.”

“Okay, okay.“ Kika grabs her glass and the bottle of wine before looking at you. ‘You and I are going to get dressed up. You can play video games or something in the meantime." She kisses Pierre on the cheek before heading for the kitchen door.  ”You coming?”

You nod, but turn around in Charles' arms to look at him again. “What are you going to wear?”

Your friend shrugs. “I was thinking of a simple black button-down," he replies, raising his hand to tuck a loose strand behind your ear. "Do you already have something in mind?”

You shake your head. ”Not really, no.”

Charles smiles gently at you before weaving his fingers through your hair before they come to rest at the nape of your neck. “You're sure to find something nice. You look perfect in anything, anyway.” He leans forward a bit and breathes a kiss on your forehead. 

“You're disgusting!” Kika's voice sounds from the hallway. 

Charles flips her the bird before letting go of you. “Go. Before you get into trouble. And let me know if you need anything.”

You smile at him briefly before taking your wine glass and following your best friend towards the bedroom. Once there, you watch as Kika empties her bag, which was just standing in the living room, onto the bed. “I don't want to imagine what your bedroom looks like at your place.”

“Believe me, it's actually better if you don't.” She grabs the clothes and starts sorting them on the bed. "How was your Christmas?”

You take a big gulp of wine. "Good.”

The Portuguese woman looks at you with raised eyebrows. “Wow, you tell it like I was already there.” She matches a white top to a dark red satin skirt. “Tell me. Did you visit Charles Mom?”

“We did,” you reply and sit down on the last free spot on the bed. “I haven't had such a nice Christmas in a long time.”

Kika smiles at you. “Did you two fuck?”

You almost drop your glass. "Kika!" you whisper indignantly and quickly close the door so that the men can't hear you. You lean back against the wood. 

“So you fucked,” she grins and raises her wine glass to toast you. When you stare at her, she lowers her glass again. ”Y'all didn't fuck?”

“We didn't.”

“But you did something.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Like a curious little child, she draws up her legs and sits cross-legged, chin resting on her fist. “Tell me everything.”

You have to laugh. ”I thought we had to get ready for the party.”

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

And you do. You tell her everything that has happened in the last few days. About the night you gave Charles a massage and about the night on the boat. That he gave you an employment contract as a Christmas present so that you can be together permanently. About Christmas and last night, when you got closer than ever before. The way he called you “his girl”. 

Kika listens intently and asks questions in between, but first and foremost she lets you say everything that is on your mind – and that seems to be quite a lot. 

You tell her how confused you are because you don't know exactly where you stand with Charles. But also that it's okay for you, because as long as you can somehow participate in Charles's life, that's enough for you. It's like you're addicted to him – and every little dose you get of him draws you further under his spell. 

When the men knock on the door an hour later, you've just finished and are catching your breath for the first time.

“Is everything okay?“ Charles asks, his eyes fixed on you. He seems to ignore the bed's mess – or he doesn't even notice it. 

“Everything's fine,” you smile.

He nods and points at Pierre, who is standing behind him. “We just wanted to get pizza so that we can eat something decent before the party. What do you want on it?”

“Just a simple Margarita, please,” you reply, Kika gives the same answer. 

Charles smiles at you. “Have you found an outfit yet?” When he sees the empty wine bottle on the dresser, he presses his tongue into his cheek. “Or did you have so much to talk about that you haven't had time yet?” He raises an eyebrow. He knows exactly what you've been talking about for the last hour.

Warmth rises to your cheeks. “The latter.”

Your roommate nods again. "Okay. You still have a little time. We're on our way. See you in a bit," he says goodbye and closes the door behind him. 

Kika looks at you. ”He's right. We really should start thinking about what we want to wear.”

As if you were at a fashion show, you try on everything that could possibly go with the club. Dark red dresses, the little black dress, satin trousers and corsets that accentuate the décolleté. But somehow there is nothing that convinces you. 

Annoyed, you lie down on the bed with your back on it, the clothes are spread out on the floor of the room. Kika lies down next to you. 

“Is it always like this?” you ask her, crossing your arms over your face. 

“What do you mean?”

You breathe out loudly. “It's the first time I'm consciously out and about with people who are famous. Is it always so exhausting to find something appropriate so you don't embarrass yourself?”

“I think you get used to it,” the Portuguese woman replies. ”I had to learn that too at the beginning. That there are some items of clothing that suit your figure and some that don't. And just because something looks good on you doesn't mean you feel comfortable in it.” 

“And how do you do it?” you ask her, looking at her. "I mean, you're a model. You obviously look good in anything. But – I don't know.”

Kika shrugs. "It took me a long time to feel comfortable in certain things. But most of the time I actually wear things that I didn't have to be convinced of at all. And then I don't care what others say about me. I feel comfortable – and I want to keep it that way.” When you don't answer, she grabs your hand. "It'll get easier. And until it does, you've got me by your side." She nudges you in the side. ”And your roommate, who practically undresses you with his eyes.”

You roll your eyes mock-annoyed. “He doesn't.”

“He does,” she grins. “But that's okay. After all, you're absolutely perfect. You could go to the club in a potato sack and you'd look bombastic.”

“Well,” you say. “Unfortunately, I don't have a potato sack here that I could put on.”

When the door suddenly opens, you both jump. The boys are standing in the doorway, Pierre has two pizza boxes in his hand and Charles a smaller black box. 

“Where have you been? It's been almost an hour since you left” Kika asks, getting up from the bed. 

“We had to get something,“ says Pierre, motioning for her to follow him. As Kika takes your wine glasses and the two of them leave the bedroom, Charles sits down on the bed next to you. 

“I brought you something,” he smiles, placing the box on the mattress between you.

You sit up and examine the box. “What is it?”

Your roommate shrugs. “You asked me what to wear to parties in Monaco, and I still owe you an answer.”

Slowly, you reach for the box and take off the lid. Inside, wrapped in dark red paper, is a dress. Black and long, with thin straps and a low-cut back. As you carefully take it out of the box, you are speechless. 

“Do you like it?” He asks and watches you get up from the bed and hold it up properly. 

You stare at it, mouth agape. "Where did you get this?" You ask him, holding it up to your body and looking at yourself in the mirror. 

“It's not important. Do you like it?“ he asks again, his eyes glued to you. 

“It's gorgeous,” you breathe, turning a little to get a better idea of how it would look on you. “I—how much did it cost? I'll definitely pay you back the money.”

“Absolutely not,” he replies immediately and with a tone that allows no argument. "It didn't even leave a small dent in my bank account." He gets up and stands behind you. He's so close that you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. "You'll look stunning in it.”

You look at him through the mirror. “And if you put on your black shirt, we'll even match,” you smile, before carefully hanging the dress over the sideboard. 

Charles wraps his arm around you to press you against him. You feel his hardness against your lower back as he leans down to you and places feather-light kisses on your neck. “That was the plan,” he whispers, and goosebumps spread across your body where his hot breath caresses your skin. 

His hand moves under your sweater and his fingertips slowly glide over your ribs before his thumb hesitantly slides under the fabric of your bra. Breathing heavily, you lean your head against his shoulder and give him more room on your neck as his thumb slowly circles around your nipple. 

“Charles,” you breathe softly and arch towards him. You want more. So much more. 

When Kika's voice echoes through the apartment, you break away from each other. ”Come on! The pizza will get cold!”

With hot cheeks and wet panties, you let Charles lead you into the living room, where the other couple is already sitting on the couch eating pizza. Another bottle of wine is on the table in front of Kika, who is refilling your glasses. 

Although the couch is big enough, Charles pulls you right next to him on the cushion and puts your legs over his lap. For a moment, you wonder if he's doing this just so the others can't see his boner. 

“Here,” Kika smiles, handing you a slice of pizza, which you accept gratefully. 

The four of you eat dinner together and chat about Christmas, Charles‘ upcoming training camp and New Year's Eve, while the boys’ pizza boxes, wine bottles and drinks get emptier and emptier. 

“I was thinking of throwing a New Year's Eve party,” Kika says, putting her wine glass back on the table. ‘You're obviously invited. I wanted to invite a few other friends, but your attendance is most important to me.”

“Well, I'd love to come,’ you smile, looking at Charles. ”Unless you have something else planned.”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I won't be back from camp until the afternoon, so we'll probably see each other again at the party first. But until then, you'll be in good company for sure.”

“Excuse me?” Kika says indignantly. “I'm the best company!”

Pierre puts his arm around his girlfriend and kisses her on the cheek. ”For me, definitely.”

Kika leans against her boyfriend before gently kissing him. “I know.”

Charles quickly grabs a pillow and throws it at them. “Please get a room!” He jokes, repeating Kika's words. When she flashes him her middle finger, he can't help but laugh. “Come on, you two. Get ready. We have to leave soon.” He runs his fingers over your shins before smiling at you. “Go put on your new dress.”

You can't stop smiling. “See you in a bit.”

While the men continue to chat, Kika and you get ready. With professional precision, she applies make-up on your face before doing your hair and then taking care of herself. The Portuguese woman decides on a short black dress with pearl embroidery. When she is finished styling herself, she helps you into your new dress. 

“Careful with the straps,” she smiles as she pulls it up your body. You put your arms through it carefully so as not to damage it. When you're dressed, Kika looks at you skeptically. "The bra has to go.”

You look at her with a raised eyebrow. "You want me to go out without a bra?”

“Don't you have an invisible bra?” When you shake your head, she purses her lips into a thin line. ”Then you'll have to go out without a bra. Unfortunately, the straps are so thin that you can see the bra underneath either way. But we can tape over the nipples if you like. At least they won't be visible in the cold outside.”

Without further ado, she disappears from the room and while she is looking for something to cover the nipples with in the apartment, you examine yourself in the mirror in your room, but no matter how you turn, it is too small to see you from top to bottom. On bare feet, you walk to Charles' bedroom across the hall, where the new, larger mirror is leaning against the wall. 

The satin dress clings to your curves and accentuates your body exactly where it should. There is a slit on the left side that reaches to the middle of your thigh and the back neckline is so low that you couldn't pull your thong all the way up because it would otherwise show. 

You examine yourself in the mirror and don't even notice that Charles is leaning against the doorframe until he starts talking.

“Let's stay home,” he suggests, his expression impenetrable. He is wearing his black shirt as promised, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looks wickedly handsome.

You smile at him and try to suppress the dirty thoughts that are trying to take over your brain. “We can't cancel now,” you reply. “First of all, the others are already here, and secondly, Lando is definitely waiting for us.”

“I don't care.” With quiet steps, he moves towards you without taking his eyes off you. Like a predator that stares at its prey before it snaps. 

You turn to him. ”You have very good taste, Charles. The dress is perfect.”

He answers without hesitation. “Not as perfect as the woman wearing it." The Monegasque stands directly in front of you and looks down at you. "Let's stay home," he suggests again. His large hands find their rightful place on your hips and pull you towards him. His eyes glow seductively. 

“It would be rude to cancel now.”

“It wasn't a request,” he whispers, turning you so that you are standing with your back to him. Once again, you can see him through the mirror. He grabs the flesh of your hip with one hand, while the other hand wanders over your upper body until it rests on your neckline. ”That dress was definitely a mistake.”

You look at him, confused. “Why? I thought you liked it?”

“That's not the point,” he whispers, kissing your bare neck. His stubble scratches a little, but you couldn't care less. "I just don't know how to hold back when you look like this." His teeth graze the soft skin below your ear. ”God, you look devine.”

His hand slides gently into the dress from above and encloses your bare chest. At the same time, a soft moan escapes you. “Charles.”

“Merde,” he curses and presses you against him. “How am I supposed to keep my fingers to myself when I know you're not wearing a bra?”

As his fingers gently play with your nipple, you bite your lip. “Who said you had to?” you tease him, whereupon his other hand gently rests on your neck, though not squeezing. Sadly.

“I can't wait to be back here later,” he gasps and presses a final kiss on your shoulder before taking his hands off you. You watch him fix his erection in his pants so that it can't be seen. But it's there, you know that. And just the thought of it gets your blood pumping. ”And then neither of us leaves this bed until I say so.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you ask, tilting your head so he can see the red marks on your skin where his beard has left its mark 

Charles suppresses the urge to pull you close and throw you onto the new bed to fuck you relentlessly until your legs give out and you forget your name. He flexes his hand. “Both, mon amour. Definitely both.”

[hcneymooners]

⋆ angel of mine; i’m probably gonna think about you all the time.

biker!sevika x stripper!chubby!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: when you get news of your grandmother’s declining health, you pack what’s left of your life in miami and begin to head home. on the way you meet enigmatic stranger sevika, who gives you a ride.

wc: 10k

cw: age difference! stripper!reader, chubby!reader, fem!reader, mommy issues, implied melvika, implied melvika x reader, strangers to lovers, roadtrips, biker!sevika, resolved sexual tension, codependency, found family, dysfunctional families, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, exhibition kink (implied), degradation, name-calling, dom/sub, dom!sevika, sub!reader, hyperfemme!reader, lowkey sugar mommy!sevika.

notes: you can definitely tell i’m southern in this piece. i love the south despite it not loving me (black, sapphic, & female) back. so much of florida contains my family and love though i left it. i hope that comes through. i’m really proud of this and i hope you enjoy. so sorry for any typos i may have missed. let me know what you think & if you want a full melvika x reader pt. ii ! i love you. 𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖°

playlist: lana born to die: paradise album. listen here.

The white teeth of Miami were always going to eat you alive.

That’s what your grandmother used to say, her voice crackling over the phone, sweet but certain, the way only old women could be. She didn’t say it to scare you—just to remind you that the city, for all its glitter and heat, had sharp edges. She was a lioness, and you were good meat.

You’d felt it too, walking barefoot along the highway, heels swinging in one hand and your purse in the other. The sunset was dying behind you, streaks of cotton candy pink, baby blue, and tangerine smeared across the horizon like someone had finger-painted the sky in haste.

Your cheeks still sparkled faintly under the fading light, remnants of glitter you hadn’t scrubbed off from work. It clung stubbornly, refusing to let go. You’d braided the front of your hair into two plaits that went straight back, falling apart in the middle to join the rest of the mass—wavy and tinsel-streaked. It was your “mermaid hair” as your younger sister loved to call it. You blinked heavily, your 60s-style lashes dragging their soft bodies across your plush cheeks.

The ache in your feet was grounding though, pulling you out of the haze of the club—the strobe lights, the bass that rattled in your ribs, the haze of too many eyes on you.

You’d gotten through the night, but just barely. Grandma’s sick. That had been the thought looping in your head as you swayed under the lights, pretending to be something more desirable than tired. Your mother had called, her voice small and broken. She wouldn’t tell you where she was. I’ll be home tomorrow, you’d promised anyway and then you climbed back on the stage.

You’d scraped together what you could tonight, but not enough for both a cab and the medicine your grandmother needed. The last bus out of town was fucked, something about a technical failure. So, you walked, the stretch of highway endless, the heat still radiating off the asphalt like it was sinking into hell.

You were so distracted by both your raging anxiety and oncoming hunger that the headlights caught you off guard. A single beam at first, low and flickering, until the growl of the engine grew louder, sharper, swallowing the silence. You turned instinctively, lifting a hand to wave—desperation bleeding through the gesture.

The motorcycle slowed. It wasn’t just a machine; it was an extension of her.

Its rider was tall and broad-shouldered, her presence filling the space before she even spoke. A thick, short braid of dark hair hung over her shoulder, catching the light like polished onyx, and her face was all hard angles—sharp jaw, strong brow, a faint scar cutting through her upper lip. She leaned forward slightly, resting her weight on a prosthetic arm that gleamed silver in the twilight. Her eyes, cold at first glance, raked over you, measuring.

For the millionth time that night, you became painfully aware of your appearance. You hadn’t had much time to change before rushing out, so you were stuck in a turquoise spaghetti-strap tank that clung uncomfortably to your skin and a pair of low-rise grey sweatpants, the faded mall-brand logo on the hip barely holding on.

Your purse—a tiny baby pink crossbody clutch—was stretched to its limit, struggling to close over your overstuffed Polo Assn. wallet, its dark brown leather warped by thick stacks of crumpled bills and nearly maxed-out credit cards.

A single white earbud perched in your left ear, the mile-long wire snaking under the loose neckline of your tank and into your hands, where your phone gleamed faintly in the glare of her headlights. Glittery gold, covered in 3D bubble stickers of pale pink and cream roses—your little sister’s handiwork.

Between the heat of the phone and the plastic of the case, you’d tucked a Polaroid: you, your sister, and your aunt, all dolled up in perfect makeup and hoop earrings, the three of you grinning wide enough to make the moment feel permanent. Behind the photo, folded neatly, was a note.

The faintest whiff of smoke clung to you, softened by bellini, cherry, and peach. You’d tried hard to be sweet, always sweet, but it wasn’t enough to cover the night’s work. Especially not tonight.

“You lost?” she asked, her voice gravelly, low, like the rumble of her engine hadn’t entirely faded.

“Not lost,” you said, voice softer than you intended. “Just… trying to get home.”

You were always trying to go home.

She raised a brow, glancing at your bare feet and the glitter still dusting your face. “Long walk.”

You shrugged, exhaustion pulling at the edges of your face.

“No choice.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, her expression unreadable, before she nodded toward the seat behind her.

“Hop on. I’ll get you there.”

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the gleam of her prosthetic, the way it contrasted with the calloused hand gripping the throttle.

“What’s your name?” you asked, finally, your voice quieter now.

She huffed faintly, tilting her head. “Sevika. And you?”

You gave her your name, your voice carrying the weight of gratitude but a lack of trust. You weighed your options—you had none—and decided that you could only hope she wasn’t insane.

You thought of the note in your phone case.

“Lord, I confess i want the clarity of catastrophe but not the catastrophe. Like everyone else, I want a storm I can dance in. I want an excuse to change my life. Lord if I say bless the cold water you throw on my face, does that make me a costume party. Am I greedy for comfort if I ask you not to kill my friends if I beg you to press your heel against my throat - not enough to ruin me, but just so I can almost see your face.” (x.)

Then, without another word, you climbed onto the bike, your fingers brushing against her shoulders as you steadied yourself.

The engine roared, and the wind hit your face, carrying you forward into the night. You bent your neck, tucked your head into her back, and began to pray.

❀

You woke to a soft hand on your skin.

“Hey. You up?”

The words were quiet, almost careful, but they pulled you from the thin edge of sleep. For a moment, you were disoriented. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, white with faint water stains bleeding outward like bruises. The couch beneath you creaked as you shifted, and smelled of saltwater and lavender. There was a thin blanket draped over your shoulders but it felt impossibly heavy, anchoring you in place.

Sevika was leaning over you, her face shadowed but sharp in the dim light spilling from another room. Her hand lingered on your hip, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“Come on,” she said, her voice low and gravelly, rasping against the quiet. “Mel wants to meet you.”

“Mel?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

“She lives here. She’s… persistent,” Sevika said with a dry edge, stepping back to give you room to sit up. “And she’s got a thing for taking care of strays. Don’t worry, she’s nice. Nicer than me, anyway.”

The apartment was small, but the stomach of it was softened by a clear effort to make it feel like home.

The walls were painted a pale cream, though the paint was peeling in the corners, and the floors were scuffed wood. The furniture was mismatched, but there was a warmth to it—a knitted throw slung over the back of the couch, a row of half-burned candles on the coffee table, the faint scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air.

The windows were open, letting in the salt-thick breeze of the early morning, and a line of photos pinned to the wall swayed slightly, the string barely holding on.

Mel appeared in the doorway to what must have been the bathroom, her figure backlit by the soft, yellow glow. She was taller than you’d expected, her frame lithe but strong, and her black braids pooled over her shoulders like an oil spill, gleaming in the dim light. She held a cherry red hairbrush in one hand and a small bottle of lotion in the other, her brown skin catching the light beautifully.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice rich but cautious. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, warm but searching.

Most people tended to treat you this way. It was as if you were a scared animal and they were trying to coax you in.

You nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“Yeah. Sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude here.”

“You didn’t,” Mel said quickly, stepping closer. Her tone softened, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Sev doesn’t bring people home unless she has a reason. You must’ve needed it.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Your gaze flicked to Sevika, who leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her broad chest, her prosthetic glinting faintly in the soft light. She was watching the two of you, her expression unreadable.

“I’ve seen you before,” Mel said suddenly, drawing your attention back to her. Her smile turned wistful. “At The Siren, right?”

The mention of the club sent a ripple of recognition through you. You nodded slowly, and Mel’s expression shifted, her eyes softening further.

“I thought so,” she murmured. “You helped me once, in the bathroom. I was… having a bad night. You were so sweet.”

The moment came back in pieces. Her face streaked with tears, her voice trembling as she spoke about her mother, about leaving home. You’d handed her a tissue, touched her shoulder lightly, said something comforting.

“I remember,” you said softly, your voice catching in your throat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mel said, her gaze steady. “But I’m glad you did.”

She knelt in front of you, holding up the brush. “Let me help you. You’ve had a long night.”

You hesitated, but something in her expression, in the calm warmth of her voice, made you nod. She guided you to the bathroom, which was small and tidy, the mirror rimmed with salt stains and seashells.

As she brushed your hair, her touch was careful, her fingers grazing your scalp like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.

“You’ve got beautiful hair,” she said softly, almost to herself.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice faint. “You smell nice.”

Her laugh was quiet, and you felt the warmth of it root deep in your chest.

“Coconut oil,” she said, but there was a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Mixed with vanilla. I like to smell dewey and sugary. Kind of like you.”

You smiled tiredly at her in the mirror, lifting a hand to pat at her wrist. The tender powder pink of your acrylics were bright against it. Behind you, Sevika leaned in the doorway, her presence as steady as a shadow.

“You’re making her shy, Melly,” she teased, her voice like gravel underfoot.

Mel glanced at her, rolling her eyes, but you caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips. As a final touch she added a large bow clip to your tamed strands; it was lilac and worn at the ends.

When you were cleaned up, you reached for your purse, pulling out a crumpled bill.

“Here. Let me—,” you began, holding it out.

Mel’s expression shifted, her smile fading into something more serious as she cut you off. She pushed your hand back gently.

“Honey, you don’t owe me anything.”

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard, and you tucked the money away, unsure of what to say.

Sevika cleared her throat. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

“Tampa,” you said.

She raised a brow, her smirk returning.

“Figures. You seem like a Tampa girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Sevika just shrugged, her mouth twitching.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

The three of you stepped into the early morning light, the ocean-heavy breeze brushing against your skin. You didn’t even know you could live this close to the ocean in Miami.

You turned back and caught Sevika and Mel in silent conversation. There was something unspoken between them, between you, something you couldn’t quite name. For now, though, you let it rest.

Grandma’s sick, you reminded yourself. You had to keep going.

❀

The rest of the day swelled with humidity, the horizon bruised with the threat of rain. The Cadillac’s engine purred low, its growl humming beneath the croon of soft rock spilling through the speakers.

You kept your eyes on the window, the world outside blurring as heat shimmered off the asphalt and smeared the palms into a haze.

Sevika hadn’t said much since you got in her car. She didn’t need to.

There was a quiet kind of ease in her presence, a stillness that somehow made the grief gnawing at your chest feel less unbearable. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the window frame, her fingers idly toying with a cigarette she hadn’t yet lit.

The smell of the car had settled around you—leather, faint smoke, and something warm you couldn’t name. It was the kind of smell that made you think of safety, though you didn’t know why.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, the screen lighting up with a message from your mother.

Sorry, baby doll. Grandma’s on the brink.

You read the words twice, three times, and still they didn’t make sense. Your fingers tightened around the phone, your nails pressing into its glittery gold case, and something sharp and hot clawed its way up your throat.

Sevika glanced over, her brow furrowing.

“You good?”

You nodded quickly, your lips pressing together to hold back the tears that were already welling. But it was no use. They spilled over, fat and hot, streaking black mascara down your apple-round cheeks.

You turned your head, pretending to watch the passing trees, but your reflection in the window gave you away.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered, low and rough. She took one last drag from her cigarette, then flicked it out the window. “Hold on.”

She pulled off the highway, her movements smooth and deliberate, and guided the car into the gravel lot of a diner. Its neon sign flickered faintly against the gray sky, Chuck’s written in soft pink cursive. The building was small and sweet, painted robin’s egg blue with white shutters and lace curtains framing its windows.

Sevika parked and cut the engine, turning to look at you.

“Come here.”

Her voice was softer now, but it still carried that unshakable steadiness. You hesitated, your hands trembling in your lap, but the look on her face left no room for doubt. You leaned toward her, and her arms came around you, solid and warm, pulling you into her chest.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her hand smoothing over your hair. “Come on, angel. Just let it out.”

And you did. The sobs came in waves, ripping through you until you were shaking, your fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline. She didn’t flinch, didn’t tell you to stop. She just held you, her hand a steady weight against the back of your head, her thumb brushing small, grounding circles into your shoulder.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged you like this.

When you finally pulled back, your face was hot, damp, and streaked; your mascara smudged into shadows beneath your eyes. Sevika reached out, her thumb catching the tracks on your cheeks.

“Messy,” she said softly, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

The diner’s door chimed as you stepped inside, the scent of fresh coffee and bread washing over you. The interior was impossibly charming, with its pastel booths, checkerboard floors, and the low hum of a jukebox in the corner. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl cool against the back of your legs.

Sevika sat across from you, her body filling the small space like a storm cloud, heavy and unshakable. You stared out the window, watching the rain slip down the glass in delicate rivulets. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, low and faint.

“You’re strong, you know that?” Sevika’s voice broke through the quiet.

You turned to her, startled. Her eyes were dark, but they were the softest you’d seen them so far, almost tender.

She reached across the table, her fingers brushing your chin. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through you, her thumb catching against your skin.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, her voice low and certain. “You’ll be fine. You have to be.”

Outside, the rain fell harder, the sound of it filling the silence between you. And then Sevika let go, her hand retreating back across the table.

The rain continued to blur the diner’s windows, the soft pink neon outside flickering faintly against the new gloom. You stared down at your coffee, the chipped porcelain mug warm in your hands, but it wasn’t enough to steady the tremor that had worked its way into your fingers. The realities of the world felt too sharp, too close, like you might unravel right there in your plain sight.

“Talk to me,” you said suddenly, your voice thin and unsteady. “I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack.”

Sevika’s eyes lifted from her coffee, dark and knowing. Her expression didn’t shift, but something gave in the set of her jaw. She leaned back, one arm slung over the booth’s edge, her other hand absently brushing the lip of her mug.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” You exhaled shakily, your gaze flicking out to the rain before returning to her. “Tell me why you drive a beat-up Cadillac.”

That pulled a small, low chuckle from her, quiet but rich. She tipped her head, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you felt less like you were shuddering into beautiful pieces.

“You think she’s beat-up?” Sevika asked, her lips curving faintly.

“She’s held together by rust and prayer,” you said, almost smiling. “I’m just saying.”

Sevika’s laugh came fuller this time, a sound that filled the air without disrupting the other patrons.

“Hey. She’s got character. My dad gave her to me when I was nineteen. She used to be pristine—white leather, a real beauty. But time does what it does.”

You blinked, caught on the number.

“Nineteen?” you asked, hesitant. “How long ago was that?”

Her smirk grew, slow and sharp. “Longer than you’d guess, angel.”

Your brows furrowed, curiosity blooming against the weight in your chest. “How old are you?”

Sevika’s gaze lingered, the kind of look that made you feel seen in a way that was both unnerving and magnetic.

“Old enough to remember when you had to rewind your mixtapes with a pencil,” she said, her voice dry, teasing.

You couldn’t help it—a small laugh slipped out, barely there, but it felt good.

“I’ve always had a thing for older women,” you said absently, the words slipping out before you realized what you’d said.

Her smirk deepened, her eyes sharpening in a way that made your stomach flip.

“That so?” she murmured, her voice low and rich, a swatch of velvet dragged through smoke. “You looking for a mommy, angel?”

Heat flooded your face, vicious and unbearable, and you pushed back from the table, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor.

“I’m, um—gonna order something at the counter,” you mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze.

She chuckled, soft and lazy, her voice following you as you turned toward the counter.

“Go on, sweetheart. Take your time.”

The diner felt warmer, brighter, as you made your way to the counter, the fluorescents buzzing faintly above. You kept your eyes on the menu board, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

❀

It’s four more hours to Tampa, but it’s the most excruciating period of your life.

You’d left the diner a little steadier, Sevika’s arm brushing yours as you climbed back into her car. The Cadillac rattled like death, its leather seats sticky against your thighs.

You leaned your temple against the window, watching as the flat Florida landscape blurred into soft greens and yellows. The air outside was still thick with heat, even with the sun reducing its intensity as it slunk away.

The highway stretched out like an open wound, raw and endless. You fiddled with the radio dial until a bouncy indie pop song filtered back through the speakers, filling the air with a thousand wailing guitars. Sevika didn’t complain, her focus locked on the road ahead.

At some point, she pulled off into a gravel lot in front of a boutique. The building was small and unassuming, its pink paint faded by time. A hand-painted sign swung lazily in the humid breeze.

“We’re stopping?” you asked, your voice hoarse from exhaustion.

“You need other clothes,” Sevika said simply, stepping out of the car. “Come on.”

The shop smelled faintly of coconut wax and dust, its racks crammed with mismatched pieces that managed to appear more curated than random. Sevika leaned against a rack of jeans, her arms crossed, as you wandered through the aisles.

“We’re strangers,” you said eventually, holding up a knit top to your chest. “Why are you taking care of me?”

Sevika didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw tightening in thought.

“I remember being twenty-one,” she said finally. “The world was a lot to handle back then. Some days, it still is.”

You lowered the top and gazed at her, mouth dipping in understanding. She was so beautiful here, despite being far from at home in this confectionery store. Her arms flexed gently as she shifted in place, and you resisted the urge to press her hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry that you know what that feels like.”

“You don’t have to pity me,” she said, the response clearly a reflex.

You smiled crookedly and didn’t press further.

The outfit you picked—a striped knit and high-waisted jeans—felt soft against your skin. The knit hugged your curves, the soft plum-colored neckline slipping just low enough to expose the plush swell of your shoulder. When you stepped out of the dressing room, Sevika gave you a once-over, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“You’re a girl with expensive taste,” she teased. “Is that cashmere?”

“It’s my stage name for a reason,” you shot back, smiling softly. “And everything is overpriced here.”

“You look like a doll,” she said, her tone amused.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past her to the counter.

“I’ve got to look a little more appropriate.”

“For what?” she teased. “Tampa doesn’t care.”

“Well , my Aunt Kenna will.”

Unsurprisingly, you found yourself overpowered by Sevika at the register. She pressed her card down, its body sleek and black with silver lettering. Once again, you were struck by the kindness of strangers and you felt your throat tighten.

She gave you a look, as if to quiet your self-effacing urges. Behind the counter, the clerk smiled to herself as she observed the two of you. She was petite and had a pinched face, her hair short and a creamy blonde. Maddie, her tag read. She reminded you a lot of your mother, possessing the same shifty energy of a runner as she racked up your total.

The drive resumed, and with it, you revealed more of yourself to Sevika. You told her about your grandma, about the way she used to braid your hair with fake frangipani from the craft store and sing to you in the evenings where your mother would be gone. How her hands were always soft, even when they were tired. How you used to tuck yourself under the desk at the hospital where she worked when your heart was crumbled by women you definitely shouldn’t have been involved with at eighteen.

You spoke of your aunt, the way she fought to keep the family together, even when it wasn’t hers to save. You spoke of your little sister who in a way was also your child, how you did most things in life for her sake.

Sevika listened in silence, her hand resting on the wheel, her gaze never straying from the road. There was something in her stillness that made you feel seen, even when the words caught in your throat.

When you finally crossed into Tampa, the sky was dyed indigo and gold, the houses lining the street glowing faintly in the dusk.

You rolled the window down and leaned out, your phone poised to capture the image forever on your cracked back camera. You were such a tall child.

The warm air stroked against the moon of your face, tugged at the ends of your hair and dried your lips. You felt Sevika’s hand slide to your thigh, just below the crease of your ass, heavy and grounding, and you froze. Her palm was rough against the soft give of your flesh, her fingers splayed just enough to keep you steady.

“Don’t fall out,” she muttered, her voice tinged with quiet amusement.

“I won’t,” you said, but you sat back soon after, your heart beating a little too fast.

Sevika’s hand lingered a second longer before retreating to the wheel.

The butter-yellow house came into view, its shutters glowing faintly in the twilight. Your breath hitched. It looked the same as it always had, though the paint was more weathered, the steps chipped at the edges.

Sevika pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The silence was deafening. You fumbled with your purse, fingers trembling, but before you could open the door, Sevika’s hand found your chin. She turned your face toward hers, her thumb brushing just beneath your jaw.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Always is.”

Her eyes held you in place, dark and unflinching.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed her. Before you could think too much of it, you leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. Over her scar.

“Thank you.”

Her mouth parted, but the screen door creaked open, and you saw your aunt step onto the porch, her arms crossed and one brow raised in quiet judgment. You hesitated, glancing back at Sevika.

“You could come in,” you offered, the words heavier than they should have been.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to your aunt before landing back on you. She pushed off the seat and got out to follow you, her presence like a shadow at your back.

The porch light hummed faintly as you step inside, and a creamy warmth filled your chest. Your sister cheered when she saw you, and you laughed—your eyesight blurring. For the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe.

❀

As always, you dived in headfirst and sought out your grandmother’s room.

It was a terrible mistake. You couldn’t handle seeing her like that.

Almost immediately, bile surged up your throat, sharp and acidic, and you bolted—pausing just long enough to set the medicine down on her nightstand with quaking hands. You burst outside, where the air was sweltering with salt and the sudden impact of your new reality.

You weren’t good with death, not in any of its forms.

When your daddy died, something inside you cracked clean in half, the break jagged and irreparable. You’d felt a piece of yourself slip down into his grave, like a loose flower. Since then, you’d clung to the hope that love—your love—could somehow keep the people you cared about alive. At least until you felt ready for the loss.

Your chest ached in a way that felt both too familiar and entirely new, like grief had leveled your ribs to construct a home in your body. You rubbed at it absently, trying to dull the pressure blooming there, blinking hard against the rising tide of tears.

She was going to die. You knew this. It settled into your stomach like lead, poisoning you.

Behind you, the woods creaked, the trees’ chorus soft and low, like they were joining you in mourning. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey, angel,” Sevika said, her voice low and warm, the kind of soft you wouldn’t have expected from her. It caught you off guard every time. “You alright?”

“I’m not going back in there,” you said quickly, your voice brittle and thin.

“You don’t have to.” There was a pause, long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, quieter, “Can you look at me?”

You hesitated, staring down at your hands, at the chipping polish on your grown out tips and the way your fingers trembled. You could feel her waiting, patient and steady, like she’d stand there all night if you needed her to. Finally, you turned, slow and reluctant, until your eyes met hers.

Sevika stood at the edge of the porch, broad shoulders framed by the faded light. Her face was unreadable, but not unkind.

“Come here,” she said, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t think. You moved, inching forward on unsteady legs and stepping into her orbit. Her hands came up instinctively, one curling around your elbow, the other hovering just above your waist, as if she wasn’t sure where to touch you.

“I can’t go back in there,” you repeated, your voice cracking.

“[Name]—,”

“She’s dying.”

“But you knew that. You can’t leave her when she needs you the most.

“I’m tired of people fucking needing me.” You crossed your arms over your torso, holding yourself. “They all just leave anyway.”

“When you love people, that’s the process. That’s life’s price.

The words hit you like a perfect blow, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying—big, fat tears that streaked your cheeks with warmth and made your mascara run. You tried to turn away, but her hand found your chin, tilting your face back toward hers.

“Hey,” she murmured, her thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s unfair, I know. Trust me, I know. Let it out.”

And you did. You let the sobs take you, let them rip through you wave after wave, until you were clinging to her shirt, the fabric balled tightly in your fists. She held you through it, solid and unfaltering, her hand steady against your back.

When the tears finally subsided, you felt drained, like you’d been wrung out and left to dry. But her arms stayed around you.

❀

Sevika managed to coax you inside, shivering and bleating like a lamb, but the house was newly unbearable.

Every room smelled like antiseptic and something sweetly rotting beneath the surface, a scent that clung to your hair and the back of your throat. The walls felt too bright, too alive for what was happening inside them.

It was like the house was mocking you. Every sound—your grandmother’s labored breathing, the clock ticking too loudly in the kitchen, your little sister’s restless movements on the couch—seemed to close in on you.

You couldn’t stay. Not in that room, not in that house. Maybe you took after your mother more than you liked to admit.

Your sister looked so small on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and her face blank as she stared at the flickering TV. She was holding onto the hem of her dress like it might unravel if she let go and the man on the screen promised to get her a spot in heaven, under God’s thumb. Bullshit.

When you spoke, your voice was soft, barely audible over the droning hum of the television.

“Get your shoes on, bug,” you said. “We’re going to the beach.”

Her head snapped up, her wide eyes searching yours for a moment before she nodded and slid off the couch.

You were almost out the door when your aunt caught you, her voice sharp but quiet.

“You better know what you’re doing with that woman.”

Kenna’s words stopped you cold, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder as you turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her face shadowed by the dim porch light.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with her,” you admitted, your voice low. “But I know I trust her.”

Your aunt studied you for a long moment, her gaze heavy and cutting. Finally, she stepped aside, her expression softening just enough to let you know she wasn’t angry, just worried.

“I know what infatuation looks like. I know what love looks like too, even when it’s still on its way. It’s coming, baby. Just—,”she sighed, breaking off.

“Just be careful,” she finished.

You hugged her tight, sagging as she slid a hand over her hair before letting you go.

Sevika was waiting in the car, her arm draped over the steering wheel, her face unreadable in the twilight. Your sister climbed into the backseat, curling up immediately with her Lisa Frank coloring book, and you slid into the passenger seat without a word.

The drive was quiet, the low hum of the city filling the space between you. Sevika didn’t push, didn’t ask what had happened inside. She just drove, and you were so grateful you could’ve kissed her.

The beach was nearly empty when you arrived, the sun beyond gone now. You spread a blanket out on the cool gray sand, letting your sister run down to the water. Her laughter echoed faintly, carried by the breeze, and for a moment, you let yourself relax.

You pulled off your woven cover-up, revealing the soft orange bikini you’d slipped on. The well-loved fabric clung to you, accentuating the plush curves of your body in a way that made you stall for only a moment. But then Sevika looked at you, and the way her gaze dragged over you made all air flee your throat.

She swallowed hard, her jaw working as she tore her eyes away and stared out at the water instead.

“You look nice,” she said, her voice gruff.

You snorted, sitting down on the blanket.

“Nice?”

“Very nice,” she amended, but the rasp in her voice gave her away.

“You do too,” you told her and you meant it.

She was gorgeous in her black cropped tee and little black cargoes. This was “as beachy as she was willing to get”. You didn’t give a damn. You wanted to eat her alive.

The sky deepened into a hazy indigo, the stars faint and scattered. Your sister danced along the shoreline, her feet splashing in the shallow waves. You watched her, your chest aching with something you couldn’t name.

“I wish this was my entire life,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sevika.

She turned to you, her brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“This,” you said, gesturing to your sister. “Taking care of her. Taking care of my daughter with my wife. No illness, no bills piling up, no—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard. “No worries. Just a quiet life.”

Sevika didn’t respond right away. When you finally looked at her, her face was so soft in a way you knew was probably a rarity. Her prosthetic raised in an aborted motion, as if she’d thought to touch your face.

“I could take care of you, baby,” she said quietly, the words slipping from her lips like a promise.

Your breath caught, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

“Come back with me, [Name],” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stay with me and Melly. Bring [Sister’s Name]. You don’t have to do it alone all the time.”

The fantasy of her words pressed against your chest, warm and overwhelming. For a moment, you let yourself imagine it: her, Melly, your sister, a life where the world's heaviness couldn’t crush you.

Your sister called out from the water, waving a piece of driftwood she’d found, and the moment broke. Sevika’s hand brushed yours, solid and grounding, and when you turned back to her, her eyes were still on you, waiting.

The tide lapped at the shore, the sound mingling with your sister’s laughter, and you felt a rising pulse in your mouth, on your tongue.

“They do fireworks at the docks. You have to pay, but we sneak in all the time. You wanna see?”

“Sure,” Sevika said.

The answer came so easily and you knew she’d give you everything. Maybe even love you forever. The thought made you tingle and you dug your toes into the sand.

“Let’s go,” you said, your pinky twisting around hers.

You both knew you weren’t talking about the fireworks.

With a wry smile she rose and set about taking you home again.

Your sister—forever your baby—was curled fast asleep in the back seat of Sevika’s car by the time you pulled out of the lot, her face slack with the kind of peace only children seemed capable of. Her soft snores filled the space between you as Sevika drove back to your grandmother’s house, the streets quiet and warm, lit faintly by streetlights. The evening air hung heavy, sticking to your skin like a second layer.

You glanced at Sevika as she drove, her profile lit in flashes by the passing lights. Her grip on the wheel was loose, but her fingers drummed absently against the leather, her thoughts somewhere else. Maybe with you.

You wondered if she was nervous. You wondered if she knew how much you were.

“She’s out like a light,” Sevika murmured, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Guess it’s just us.”

You swallowed, your fingers playing with the hem of your cover-up, and nodded. “Just us.”

Your aunt was waiting on the porch when you arrived. She was perched on the railing, her vape glowing faintly in the dark. You knew the scent without looking: cucumber, apple, and sour cherry.

Her sharp gaze moved between the two of you as Sevika carried your sister inside, her long stride easy and steady despite the weight of the little girl in her arms.

“Enjoyed your family outing?” Aunt Kenna asked, teasing but pointed, as you lingered by the door.

You blinked at her, startled, heat rising in your cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”

She snorted, taking a long drag. “Sure it wasn’t .”

❀

The docks were quieter than you expected when you arrived. Most of the families had settled in their little corners, kids running barefoot across the wooden planks, their laughter echoing into the open sky. The air smelled of pear, peach blossoms, and distant charcoal grills, a mix of sugar and fire that felt like the very essence of where you’d been born and raised. 

Sevika parked far enough away to avoid the crowd but close enough for you to see the shimmering reflections of the boats swaying in the dark water. She leaned back against the hood of her car, her long legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as you wandered closer to the edge, the creamy orange of your tiny bikini glowing faintly in the dim light.

You should’ve been illegal.

“Careful, angel,” she called, her voice warm, fond. “You fall in, I’m not jumping after you.”

You turned, smirking, the breeze tugging at the bow sitting pretty in the middle of your full breasts. 

“I can swim.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to fish you out,” she said, but her smile gave her away. She was watching you so intently, her gaze loaded, as if committing you to memory.

You walked back toward her, your arms wrapped around yourself, and stopped just a foot away. The tension between you was almost tangible now, electric. You could feel it humming in the air, in the way her eyes lingered on the curve of your wide hips, the dip of your collarbone. It made your breath hitch.

“I’ve always loved the docks,” you said softly. “They feel… timeless. Like you could stand here forever and nothing would change.”

Sevika hummed, tilting her head to look up at you. “You think that’s a good thing?”

You shrugged, your lips curving faintly. 

“Sometimes.”

The first firework burst above you then, a bloom of pink and gold that lit up the sky and reflected off the water. A shock of red followed shortly after. You both looked up, the moment suspended, the sound of the explosion echoing in your chest.

You glanced at Sevika, her face bathed in the soft glow of the fireworks, and felt something shift inside you. Something undeniable.

The show continued, and you moved to lean against the hood of her car. The metal was warm and your stomach was buzzing at the nearness of Sevika’s broad body.

By the time the fireworks were halfway through, you couldn’t focus on them anymore. The loud bursts of color seemed secondary to the way Sevika was lounging next to you, her broad shoulders relaxed, her eyes soaking in the way goosebumps bubbled along your arms. It felt like she was daring you to do something, to cross the line you’d been dancing around since she’d swept you off the highway.

You moved closer, your bare feet brushing against hers, and she straightened slightly, her head listing to the side as she watched you.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice low.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. 

“I’m thinking…” You trailed off, your fingers twisting in the sides of your bikini bottom. “I’m thinking this feels… nice.”

Her lips quirked, just slightly, but her gaze was serious. “Nice?”

“So good,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel… safe with you. Things are perfect like this, and—and I’m probably never gonna feel this way again.”

The words hung between you, honest and raw, and you could see the way they landed on her, the way her expression softened, her guard slipping for just a moment.

“I’d never hurt you,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, stepping even closer until you were standing between her legs, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. “I know.”

You didn’t, really. She could be selling you a paper thin dream. But your hope had always been the largest part of you. It spurred the flame you felt for her, your aching burning desire to be with her all the time. To ride by her side without question. 

Her hand came up then, hesitating for just a second before settling on your waist. The touch was light, almost cautious, but it sent an electric current straight through you.

“Sevika,” you whispered, your voice stumbling.

She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against your cheek. 

“Yeah?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the gap between you, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that felt just right, like the tide meeting the shore. Your body lit up, and you collapsed into her—trusting and free. 

She stilled for a moment, as if surprised, but then her hand tightened on your waist and she kissed you back, slow and deliberate.

The world seemed to fade then, the fireworks a distant, glittering symphony in the black sky. All you could feel was her—her warmth, her strength, the way she seemed determined to hold you together even as you felt like you might fall apart.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in weak gasps, lightheaded and aching to faint, she rested her forehead against yours, searching your dilated eyes.

Your lip gloss was smeared across Sevika’s jaw, leaving a streak of shimmering peach and rose that caught in the fleeting light of the evening. It clung to her skin, soft and vivid As she moved, the stain glistened faintly, the contrast against her sharp, weathered features sending a slow, aching thrill down your spine. 

It was yours, this faint, glittering mark, lingering in the space where your mouth had been. She made no effort to remove it.

“Angel,” she murmured, her voice rough. “You sure about this?”

You nodded, your hands clutching at her shoulders. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she pressed another searing kiss to your lips. 

“Come on,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Let’s get in the car.”

❀

Your palm slapped hard against the roof, your teeth almost tearing through your bottom lip as you tried to hold back a loud moan. 

Beneath you, Sevika gripped the copious flesh of your ass as she sucked at your clit. 

“Oh, shit, Sevika. Fuck.”

In the beginning you were so careful, worried about blocking her airway. With a hard slap to your ass she pulled you down, relentless in taking all of you. 

“Hnnnnnh,” you whimpered. “Sevi, fuuuuuck.”

Sevika hummed in satisfaction at that. As she watched your face she grazed your clit with her teeth, relishing in how you arched. 

You were so warm and supple between her fingers, your pussy slobbering over her nose and mouth. You tasted so good, so musky and honeyed. She never wanted to let you go. 

Slowly, she slide you down and pressed you down to her chest as she undid your bikini top so that your tits spilled eagerly against her own. She then tenderly tucked two fingers inside of you, cooing as you whined at the stretch. 

She began to bounce you by the fabric of your bottoms, forcing you to ride her fingers until they were covered in the thin film of your wetness. You moaned at her strength, at how easily she’d decided how you’d take her. 

“Good fucking girl. So sweet, aren’t you, baby? Hmm?”

“Sevi, please. Just—just a little faster.”

She grinned meanly, inserting a third finger and curling them—raking cruelly against your g-spot. You sank further into her, swiveling your hips if only to get her deeper. To take her harder. Your pussy was weeping, emptying itself onto her hand.

“Jesus, sweetheart. You’re leaking all over me. ‘M never gonna get this out of these seats.”

“Good,” you breathed out, smiling impishly.

Sevika’s eyes darkened and she suddenly rearranged you till you were on your back against the leather seats, your legs wholly spread. she lowered between them, licking a long stripe up to your clit experimentally. 

She had you soft and loose. You didn’t realize just how spacious this car was.

You moaned, high and loud, snapping into an arch until you were forced to come back down, Sevika’s arm holding your hips firmly. Your eyes were closed now, and your eyelids were no longer just black, explosions of color staining them, ripping through you.

Sevika lapped at you, taking her time but still intentional with the way she touched you. She used a hand to spread you apart burying her face into her pussy, her nose becoming wet again with your rabid need. She became messy, moving her head back and forth, slurping at you until you were almost shaking, on the edge of something greater.

Settling back just slightly, she spat harshly into your cunt and rubbed it into your clit, pressing down until it was close to painful. You couldn’t breathe correctly. You couldn’t even remember your name.

"Sevi. Sevi. Mommy, oh my fucking God.“

Sevika said nothing, just caught a lip of your cunt between her teeth, biting down as she slid her fingers back in.

"Unh," is what you had to add to the nonexistent conversation and Sevika grinned against you.

She spread her fingers and then curled them, dragging your hips into her lap as she sat up. You couldn’t feel your fucking legs.

"Yes. Yeah. Yeah, just like that. It feels so fucking good."

Sevika was driven and vicious, determined to eat away at the woman beneath her. You curved your back as your orgasm approached, determined to feel it all the way up in the cavern of your mouth. You needed this.

Sevika leaned over you, tilting your head down so that you were looking at one another.

"I want you to keep looking at me as you cum."

You made a faint noise of agreement and clutched at Sevika’s arms. She took your hands and placed them underneath your knees, so that you could hold yourself open. It spread you apart until she was able to view how pink and puffy you were. 

“I can’t wait to get you in bed, honey. ‘M gonna bend you over, open that tight little cunt with my cock, and watch you swallow me.”

“Oh.” You let a little groan of satisfaction as she thumbed at your clit. 

Sevika pressed your foreheads together and thumbed at your mouth. You felt both here and there, brain blanking. 

“Ohh,” she mocked you with a slight smile. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You cast your head back as Sevika returned her mouth to your pussy, suckling at it in combination with her fingers carving a space deep inside of you.

"Come on, angel," she urged. "Be good for me."

You were trying, goddamnit.

"Gonna take a photo of this creamy cunt. Show Melly, tell her that I did this. That you let me."

You let out a high whine, and she nodded in faux sympathy.

“Mmm? Is that what you want to do? Want me to take you to that shitty club and spread you open on stage? Stake my claim?”

A fourth finger now. Her voice dropped as if telling you a secret.

“Maybe I’ll slide some cold, hard cash into this slutty cunt, stretch that slit.” Faster now. Your toes curled. “ Fuck. I’m sorry, baby. Mommy just wants to slut you out.”

She pressed a delicate kiss to your cunt and you were unsure if what came next was just the slam of your hand against the door echoing or another firework going off. 

All you knew was that the world around you was roaring, that she refused to stop. All you knew was her digging into you. 

You imploded.

❀

The drive back was quiet, the tension between you still palpable but softer now, sated and sleepy. Sevika reached over once, her fingers brushing against your cheek and you shifted, pressing the petals of your lips into the center of her palm without hesitation.

When you finally pulled into your grandmother’s driveway, the house bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, you turned to her, your heart full to bursting.

“Stay,” you said, your emotions splayed wide open. “Just for a little while.”

She looked at you for a long moment, and then she nodded. “Okay.”

You both knew it wasn’t just for a little while.

❀ 

The house smelled like hibiscus and coffee when you walked in, the faint scent of six-dollar soy candles lingering in the corners. Your aunt was at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water, her curls pinned back with a clip. She turned when she heard the door creak open, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Sevika trailing behind you, broad-shouldered and quiet.  

“You brought her back?” she asked, not in a disparaging manner, though her tone carried the weight of an older woman who’d seen it all.

“[Sister’s Name] forgot something in her car,” you lied easily, gesturing toward said alibi, who was peeking into the kitchen while rubbing a fist over her eye, her drowsy greeting muffled as she dragged her blanket behind her.  

Your aunt didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue either. Instead, she flicked her chin toward the counter. 

“If she’s staying, she may as well help.”  

Sevika looked at you, one brow arched slightly in amusement. You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the idea of her folding herself into your life—even for something as mundane as this—made your stomach swoop. 

The kitchen was broiling, almost unbearably so, with the old oven humming faintly and the humidity from the day still clinging to the walls. Sevika rolled up her sleeves, revealing the curve of her forearms, the prosthetic gleaming faintly in the soft overhead light. 

You tried not to stare, but your eyes kept drifting—over the way her hands moved as she dried the dishes your aunt handed her, the faint flex of muscle under her skin.  

“You ever wash a dish before?” your aunt asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.  

“Plenty,” Sevika admitted, her voice low and even. “Did a couple restaurant stints when I first came to this place. I was hoping to never do that shit again.”  

You bit back a smile, ducking your head as you reached for a towel to dry the counter. The space felt smaller with her in it, her silhouette filling every corner, her quick movements electric.  

Your aunt glanced between the two of you, her gaze lingering on Sevika before she handed her another plate. 

“You’re a hard worker. Good. She needs someone who can keep up.”  

Sevika’s lips quirked, but she didn’t respond, her attention focused on the task in front of her.  

The radio crackled faintly from the corner, playing some old Cuban bolero your aunt loved, and you found yourself swaying slightly as you worked, the rhythm infectious. You caught Sevika watching you out of the corner of her eye, her gaze soft but intent, and your cheeks warmed.  

“You dance to this too?” she asked, her voice pitched low enough that your aunt didn’t catch it.  

“Sometimes,” you said, keeping your focus on the counter. “Not for free, though.”  

She chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in her chest. “Figures.”  

Your aunt, oblivious or maybe just tactfully ignoring the tension that weaved itself between you, turned to Sevika with a clean dish in hand. 

“Rinse this for me, would you? And don’t let her distract you—she’s been trouble since she could fucking walk.”  

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sevika said, glancing at you with a spark of amusement in her eyes.  

The night wore on, the kitchen growing quieter as your aunt finally finished and stepped out to check on your sister. You stayed behind, leaning against the counter as Sevika dried her hands on a threadbare patch of towel. 

“I can’t believe you were hustling in restaurants,” you said, nodding toward the sink.  

She smirked, tossing the towel onto the counter. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. I can be a delight.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

 “Thanks for helping.”  

“Anytime,” she said, her voice softening slightly.  

You watched her for a moment, the way her shoulders seemed less tense now, the way her hair caught the light. The memory of her hands on you earlier still lingered, watering over your skin. It was a secret only the two of you shared.  

“You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she stepped closer.  

You nodded, though your chest felt tight, your pulse thrumming in your ears. 

“Yeah. Just a little tired.”  

Her hand brushed yours, just barely, but it was enough to make your heart skip. She noticed, her gaze dropping to where your fingers nearly touched before she pulled back, her jaw tightening.  

“We should get some sleep,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.  

For a moment, neither of you did, the hum of the radio the only sound in the room. Then she stepped back, giving you space you didn’t want, and you let her.  

❀

Your bedroom felt much like the inside of a shell—quiet and strange, the air soaked with a mixture of rose, magnolia, and something darker, something that sat low in your chest. You could still taste the golden slices of your childhood, still feel the ache in your ribs that came from building elaborate forts. 

But now there was Sevika, solid and steady beneath you.

As soon as the door had closed, she’d taken you apart slowly, carefully, as though she’d known you needed it to feel stable again. 

The rough pads of her fingers, the soft murmur of her voice, the way she called you princess like it was the only name you’d ever had. And you had suffered in silence, hand across your mouth as you clenched and shook around her head for the third time, then the fourth. 

You’d finally tired after a good ride on her thigh, holding on desperately to the nape of neck. Her baby hair was soft there, tender. She came when you kissed her nose, slid down to her mouth, and called her beautiful. She’d whimpered, bucked awkwardly around your fingers, and you held her to you as you whispered her name. 

You’d looked it up in the bathroom. Sevika. Of Indian and Sanskrit origin. Servant of God. 

Now, she lay between your legs, her head resting heavy and warm against your stomach. The weight of her felt magical, made your body feel more virginal than it ever had been, and you sighed lowly as the first rays of sunlight slipped through the blinds, casting pale gold stripes across her back. 

The swan wings stretched with her every move, the feathers catching flight as she breathed. Muted ivory and soft grays leaned tenderly into the faintest hints of lavender and navy blue, the delicate gradient of ink glowing against her deep, bronze skin.

You reached out, tracing the curve of a wing’s tip near her shoulder blade. The ink felt warm under your fingertips, her skin soft but unyielding. The swan’s head, nestled at the base of her neck where the wings met, was elegant and sharp, its eyes bright as if they could see into you. You followed the line of its neck with your thumb, your touch lingering at the place where her spine dipped, and she hummed low in her throat, a sound that vibrated through your body.

She tilted her head, her cheek brushing against the softness of your belly as her eyes opened slowly, sleep still heavy in her gaze. 

“You like it?” she murmured, voice rough and low.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

You had already said this, and the reminder made you blush in embarrassment. A slow, lopsided smile tugged at her lips, and she closed her eyes again, sinking deeper into you as if she belonged there. You felt her hand slide up to rest on your thigh, her fingers splayed against your skin, holding you in place like she was afraid you’d disappear into the rising morning.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you flinched at the sound, the world outside pressing back in. Sevika didn’t move, just let her hand trail lazily up your spine as you reached for it. The screen glowed with messages from your aunt:  

aunt kenna ��: Couldn’t get anyone to cover the rest of my shifts this week. aunt kenna 𓆉: Mom’s still kicking. She’s getting stronger. aunt kenna 𓆉: Ty for coming home. See you soon. Love you, bug x 

Still alive, you thought. The words lit up something inside you, bright and raw and impossible to contain. You laughed, the sound catching on the edge of a sob, and dropped the phone onto the bed.

“What is it?” Sevika asked, her voice filling with concern.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. The words tangled in your throat. Instead, you turned to her, your fingers trembling as they found her face, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her full mouth. 

“She’s still alive,” you whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer.

Her eyes softened, her hand sliding up to cradle your face, her thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice steady, certain. “She’s a strong woman, just like the rest of you.”

The relief hit you all at once, sharp and overwhelming, and you kissed her because you couldn’t think of anything else to do. It was messy and desperate, your hands fisting in her hair as you tried to pour every unspoken thing into her mouth. She let you, her body surrendering to its basest urges . 

“Still alive,” you repeated, this time against her lips, your forehead resting against hers as your tears slipped silently onto her skin. 

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, her hands steady on your hips. “You’re all gonna live forever.”

You kissed her again, because you needed to. You needed her. 

You believed her. 

And the truth was you didn’t know how good it would get for the two (five) of you. 

You’d look back, let go, lose this part of things. Take your baby sister and leave.

You’d still be you, but you'd be free.

taglist: @miles-42-morales @indigopearl96 @marvelwomenarehot0 @vintagelotus345 @queen-simone @uronlymiaa @namuranguinhos @femlesbianbarbie @femme-historian @vikaswife @powderpinkandsweeet @drgnflyteabox @icespiceluva @theirlaliengirl @supermanwifey @nkeyaaa @batmanslittlelover @strawberrykidneystone @shimmerstraps

© hcneymooners

[aliesbienish]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could please write a Paul x reader where the reader is super pregnant and is hungry all the time and eats the most random stuff and the pack teases her about it until Paul puts his foot down and tells them to back off

Thank you! I’m really enjoying the study of wolves🤍

Hi lovely anon, thank you for this sweet request - I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do x

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Recipe for Pack

There was no doubt who this baby belonged to, even in the womb. Since a few months into your pregnancy you’d been insatiably hungry, snacking continuously. Paul had always been the same, of course his excuse was his shifting. Unfairly that meant he got super hearing and strength while you needed to pee constantly and had nausea that rudely didn’t limit itself to the morning. So constant eating wasn’t an issue, it was the cravings that were becoming a hassle.

Paul, being a secret softie, had tried to cater to your every whim. Whether it was chocolate covered zucchini’s or melted cheese topped ice cream, he kept the judgement to a minimum. However these odd cravings did often lead to late night trips to the nearest 24 hour store located in Forks, a forty minute round trip. One particularly bad evening had him chauffeuring you 70 miles at 3am to Port Angeles, purely for a a chocolate milkshake and fries that got dipped into it. It was a miracle the machine wasn't broken.

But while Paul was nothing but accomodating, it couldn't always be said for the rest of his pack mates. Eating a hot dog with raspberry jam caused Jared to make vomiting noises. Adding leftover mash potato to a smore prompted Quil to question whether you needed a visit to a psychologist. Even sweetheart Seth made a quip that your cravings seemed like ingredients to a witches potion. Which was probably fair, as you munched on a buttered bread covered with rosemary.

But one comment, made sitting around Emily and Sam's dinning table took it too far.

Sitting with what to you seemed like a delightful combination of peanut butter and hot sauce bagels topped with orange slices, it was enough to elicit a groan.

"This seems to be getting way beyond normal now. I'm beginning to wonder if you are actually having these cravings or if you just like to make everyone else uncomfortable!" Jacob declared jokingly, but with your out of control emotions it was enough to stop you mid bite and feel shame.

"Right? I think next she'll just eat straight from the trash, it's not like she is far off!" Laughed Quil, causing laughter around the table.

Your eyes watered as you choked out "I'm sorry,"

"No, don't you dare apologise." Paul stated, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. "It's these morons who have no right to be teasing you." Turning to address the pack he gave them a hard stare. "You are all being absolute dicks. She's trying to survive extreme changes to her body, something we should be particularly understanding about, but instead your being rude and judgemental. If you all don't get your shit together and start being supportive then I will absolutely see if beating some sense into you in wolf form will help the process,"

The next evening you were all once again sitting around the dining table. The pack, showing their support, were all eating your newest and rather tame craving - chocolate covered bacon.

Sam got everyones attention and raised his fork in a toast "To our newest pack member,". The rest of the pack raised their own cutlery and echoed the sentiment.

This time the tears in your eyes were from happiness.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[lijoue]

Paris World Mod

Pack your bags, we're taking a trip to Paris!

This mod transforms Britechester (Discover University) into a beautiful Paris-inspired world. With the help of bbygyal123, I've created a unique experience that goes beyond just an aesthetic backdrop. I hope this new world will inspire gorgeous stories for you & your sims! ♡

Beautiful Street Decor

The streets are decorated with Parisian buildings, cafes with outdoor seating, and more, including iconic Morris columns showcasing beautiful ads designed by bbygyal123.

Functional Parfumerie

An interactive shop where you can purchase functional perfumes. There are 4 different scents with custom buffs. Storefront design by bbygyal123.

Functional Pâtisserie

An interactive shop where you can purchase macarons and petits gateaux. So far you can order 3 sweet treats, but I plan to expand the menu in future updates!

Foxbury Campus Overhaul

I personally hated the sleek modern look of Foxbury, so I've replaced the buildings to look more like Britechester university. Note: I did my best to preserve the core Foxbury object interactions, but my focus was aesthetics first, so there may be a slightly 'imperfect' experience for sims attending Foxbury university.

Coffee Cart Overhaul

The university coffee carts have a new design and a new expanded menu, featuring food & drinks from various packs such as croissants, crepes, macarons and café lattes. (Only food from packs you own will work.)

Paris-Inspired CC

New objects that you can use to decorate your own builds, including a functional espresso machine for the obligatory french cafe.

Parisian builds by bbygyal123

Head over to her page to download the gorgeous lots she's created for this world!

Special Thanks / Credits

Thank you to bbygyal123 for creating the most gorgeous builds and artwork for the ads and storefronts!

Thank you to Lilac Creative for allowing us to use your branding for some of the ads!

Thank you to Softerhaze for allowing me to build the worlds with Sunblind.

Thank you to my patreons and followers for your encouragement and support!

—

Enjoy your time à Paris! ♡

Download (early access)

[rinnstars]

sweet like bubblegum!

hcs of school romance with itoshi rin! (fluff, pt formed)

inspired after reading his novel last night TT + new jeans bubblegum!

CLASS TIME!

tbh wld be reading soccer related items (from novel) underneath his desk 😭

probably has copied your homework a few times (its ok bc hes cute)

but would be so obvious with not paying attention if you arent so the teacher doesnt focus on you

the type to help you do the textbook stand thing to hide if youre sleeping or playing your phone

wld lend you his jacket during lectures/air-conditioned classes

sneaks sweets in for you if you like them

study sessions during break (where hes studying soccer theory stuff and maybe pcassionally his revision during exam period)

seem like the type to doodle on his work ?!?! he wld doodle u n him.. just dont look at his math homework

matching keychains on his bag to yours!!!

LUNCHTIME!

has his own packed lunch probably something abt hitting his protein goals

wld 10/10 buy your lunch for you both financially and physically ie. queue up for you first if classes end later

eating together<3 and talking abt anything and everything!!

probably at some quiet place in school maybe at the stands near the field

would get scammed by vending machines to get snacks or drinks for you

lets you sleep on his shoulder or lap as he tries not to freak out too obviously (fail rate at 75%)

AFTER SCHOOL!

ice cream dates after school!!

would share his food with you even if you didnt ask

sitting at the stands as he practice as you do whatevers

always hopes youll come just simply because he does better when youre there watchingn him

would wait for you by practicing soccer if you habe club/detention + get you drinks (from canteen/delivery)

study dates with him at library/cafes -> getting distracted but its okay bc its him

would wear the small gifts you gift him ie. necklaces/keychains/small paper rings

shy abt pda in public: at most linking pinky together / sharing food

would be awful but gets better for claw machine -> would go dyring weekends to surprise you when you two meet again after school

calling at night to watch/play horror / visual novel games

falling asleep to your voice on call

[localkiss]

Pray to Leon, He's Your God

pairing: kidnapper!leon x f!reader

cw: creampies, afab terms used, pet names galore, ooc leon, mean and desperate leon, power abuse, degrading, praising, god complex, religion, praying during sex, ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, dumbification, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mentions of stalking, implied drugging, nipple play, somno, rape, hickey's, squirting, aftercare, las plagas mentions, control freak Leon lol, absolutely nasty dirty talk, spit kink, oral fixation, Ashley/Spain mission mentions...lmk if I missed anything >_< !

wc: 3.5k! hehehee a shorter fic for rn !

tags: @rigorwhoring @adiorxia @angelstargel @leonkennedygvrl @dilfstar @leonsdolly @dollfacefantasy @bonnibuckets @bunnyclaire @bwruisedkiss (tagging some moots :3 sry if u don't wanna be tagged gahhhh)

a/n: i didn't proof read much .. didn't edit much .. so um ignore anything weird. If it's messy n awkward uhhh GO WITH IT OK. 😮‍💨

“Baby,” he coos in your ear. Soft and sweet like he loves you. “open up.” Coaxing your mouth open for his thumb to slip inside.

The strange man dotes on you like a long-lost lover. Your brain is too foggy to even remember where you had met him if you did that. Tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you roll your head to the side, blinking extremely slowly, taking in the room around you.

A desk with a computer, two monitors and a gun lays on it. A couple of knives and a pack of gum too. You swear you can make out your panties and bra that went missing a few weeks ago on his desk as well. Makes you frown slightly.

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth and wipes the saliva on your lips, dragging it across your cheek. Like he's dragging his cock and tapping it all over your face. Get you all messy.

You swallow thickly, head swirling, body feeling heavy and numb all at once. Tears pricking your eyes as you lay beneath the dirty blonde in confusion.

“Who..” is all you can croak out, blinking the water down your cheeks.

“Shh baby… relax. I'm here to take care of you like you should be taken care of. Mkay?” He murmurs soft and sweet. Wiping away the tears.

Only then do you realize you're naked and he's only adorned in his boxers. How long has he been waiting for you to wake up? You don't even know what day it is or the time.

Weird as it is, you find yourself relaxing under his guidance, mimicking his steady breathing.

“Want some water, honey? Just stay here and be a good girl for me, alright?” He kisses your forehead, getting up and grabbing a water bottle from his fridge. Coming back with long, quick strides. “Here, sit up and open your mouth.” Helping you sit up against the pillows.

Slowly pouring the water into your mouth. Pulling away as soon as it fills up, watching you drink it. Repeating this step a few times before he sets it next to his bed.

“Good girl.” The man hums, patting your head like you're a dog.

“Mm… who are you?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, asking the question hesitantly.

“My name's Leon, baby. Do you not remember me?’

Shaking your head, he sighs. It's not like he expected you to remember him. The two of you met briefly at some sort of party and once the both of you were drunk, you got all handsy. Wanting him to fuck you in his car.

That was like right after he got back from his mission in Spain too. He swears Ashley didn't fully kill off the plagas in his body with the machine. It's whatever. What doesn't kill him only makes him stronger, he thinks. Unless this possessive, obsessive, need for you is something else. But then he doesn't want to end up like Major Krauser, all mutated and weird. He hopes it's something else.

“S’okay. We met a couple of times at a few parties. Got to know each other a little bit and slept with each other. And you gave me your phone number… here we are.” Maybe he's lying. Maybe he's not. You'd never know the difference as it feels like it's mostly true. Which it is. But he certainly didn't get your number through legal ways.

“Okay, Leon.” You mumble, limbs barely moving as you try to turn to your side. Wanting to rest a little bit.

“Wanna sleep, baby? Cuddle up with daddy?” He coos down at you, warm hands shifting you around and pulling the blanket over the both of you. His warm toned body is behind yours as he cradles you like a baby.

Soft kisses planted on your cheeks and one on your neck. You feel your face get red hot as you nuzzle into the pillow. “Mmh,” replying to his first question with a soft grunt.

Leon hums, “Goodnight baby girl. Sweet dreams.”

You don't even bother replying. Not like you could as you find yourself instantly asleep. Feeling his warmth behind you lulls you to your dreamscape.

Not long after you fall asleep, Leon kisses his way down your body. Maneuvering you to lay on your back. You sigh and open your legs, rolling your head to the side.

He sucks on your nipples, not biting down hard enough to wake you. Just to tease your unconscious body. Swapping between the two and massaging the other one he doesn't have his mouth on. God forgive him, for he cannot wait any longer.

Trailing a wet path down to your pussy, he moves the blankets up over you both. Making sure you're nice and warm as he feasts on you. He's not going to deprive you of your rest and warmth. Leon's not that big of an asshole.

“So pretty. Pretty fucking juicy pussy. All mine.” Kissing and nipping the skin around your vulva. Leaving light marks for him to enjoy later on.

Leon kitten licks your clit, groaning as he tastes you on his tongue. Tangy but so fucking good. Heaven. God created you for him, he's sure. Kissing all over your pussy, tonguing around your opening as he feels your body automatically flutter.

It's like she knows who owns her already. That got him smiling as he licks you open slowly and teasingly. Eyes fluttering shut as he immerses himself in the feeling and warmth of your body wrapped around his head.

He sucks on your clit, gently biting down on it. Wearing it down as he takes turns licking into you and sucking on your clit like a hard candy. If you were a flavor, he'd always buy your flavor. Make it his cologne, his soap, his detergent. So he can always be enveloped in you. And only you.

Slurping up your juices as he pulls away. Kissing each thigh tenderly, as his hips rock against the bed. Tasting you makes him harder than obsidian.

That night when he got your panties and bra after you guys fucked in his car drunkenly. He held them up to his nose and sniffed them so much, that people would've thought there were cocaine remnants in them.

But no, he was just addicted to the way you smelled and tasted. The way you cried on his tongue and begged him to just fuck you already. To stop teasing you.

Did he fuck you until you saw white? Yes, very much so. Until you squirted and made his arms bleed? Yep! He even went so far as to make you cum so much you couldn't even remember his name, just, “daddy, daddy, daddyyy!” Until you became a sobbing mess for him.

Of course, he gave you what you wanted the most though! His cum deep inside of your cunt. Multiple creampies. You truly emptied his balls. Couldn't get hard for the next couple of days. Truly washed over his libido to a much calmer state of mind.

He hovers over you, making sure to bring the blankets over his broad shoulders. Shifting his boxers down low enough to get his cock and balls free. Slowly rubbing up and down your slit with his tip. He lets out a soft groan, pushing into you and gritting his teeth to not wake you up from how loud he wants to be.

“Hail Mary, full of grace…” he begins slowly, “The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Fuck.. Holy Mary, mother of—fucking—God, pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our death.” Leaning his head down into the crook of your neck. Repeating it again and again in his mind, louder and louder each time. Drowning out all the white noise in his ears.

Maybe it's just tinnitus but he thinks it's the plagas trying to invade his mind once more. He justifies his actions by blaming it on a virus infection. Your pussy is his fix. Only if you were just a bit more submissive like you were when you were drunk, maybe he would think of you as somebody he should kneel to. To worship.

“Amen. Amen, God fucking damn.” Leon rocks in and out, matching the pace of your breathing. He moans into your ear, gripping the fat of your hips before moving his hands to push your legs up to your chest. Immediately putting you into a mating press.

Licking and nibbling on each part of your neck that is exposed to his eyes, he mumbles sweet praises to your sleeping body.

“Yeah, good girl. Taking this cock so well, hm? Yeah?”

“Fuck baby, pussy squeezin' me like she doesn't wanna let go of me.”

“Mmm.. shit. Wanna make you mine. My wife. I'll get to do this to you every day. All y’gotta do is just lay there and be pretty f’me princess.”

“Yeah, yeah… take it. So fucking cute seeing your expressions and feeling your body enjoy me while you're asleep. You thinking about me baby? Dreaming about me ruining you in your sleep while I do it in real life?”

You try to shift around in your sleep and furrow your eyebrows. Letting out a low whine as your eyes roll around before opening hesitantly. “Mmph.. Leon?”

“Awwh, good afternoon sleepyhead.” He coos down at you, peppering your cheeks in kisses, rubbing up and down your sides. “Did daddy's dick wake you up?”

“Yeah,” you flutter around his length, barely processing what's happening. Only feeling full of him and his warm body pressing you into the blankets. Hands clutching onto his firm biceps weakly, digging your blunt nails into his pale skin.

Leon laughs cruelly, his hips rabbiting into your squelching heat with vigor. Half moaning into your ear, his hot breath tickling you faintly. “Shit. Look at me, baby. Who owns you? Let me fucking know who owns this pussy.”

Whimpering, your toes curl as a heat wave of embarrassment rolls down your spine. “Unhh… you do.”

He clicks his tongue at you and stops his hips, fully deep inside of you. “That's not who I am, princess. Now say it again or I won't fuck you.”

“Daddy…”

“Yeah, that's me. Now, use your big girl words and tell me who owns this pussy baby.”

“Daddy owns this pussy. Daddy owns me…” you squeeze your legs against his sides. Impossibly tight around his cock, earning a groan from him. Nails were almost close enough to draw blood from his arms.

“Good girl. Such a smart cookie, yeah? All it took was daddy having to be a bit firm with his baby.” He presses his lips to yours, capturing you in a messy, feverish kiss. Teeth clashing as he starts to thrust in and out. Tongue swiping all across your mouth, letting you suck on it briefly before he pulls away.

One hand holding up his weight, the other one squeezing your lips together. Dipping down to spit into your mouth. Smirking as he hears your little noises of pleasure.

“Knew my baby would like that. So dirty.” He moves your face up and down, forcing you to nod. “Look, you're agreeing with me. Such a slut, eager for her daddy. Mhmm…”

Leon's lips are the only thing you can focus on. Besides his dick, of course. “Daddy,” you spread your fingers around his face. Like you're in awe of him, putting them into his mouth curiously. “please?”

He gently bites down, licking and sucking on your fingers playfully. Dark oceanic eyes narrowing and analyzing you. “Baby wants my fingers in her mouth?”

Bingo. You don't even have to respond, just the look of surprise in your eyes is enough for him. He presses a wet kiss to your palm and wrist. Slipping his thumb into your mouth as he speeds up his hips.

Cock jumps inside of you as you close your eyes. Sucking on it with fervor makes him swallow a whine of his own. God, you'll bring out the desperate whiny side of him someday.

He'll still dominate you through the whines and whimpers, of course. Can't let his precious baby try to top him. It'd be so cute.

Watching you fail and beg for daddy to take over. He'd let you try though, but he'd know he'll forever be in charge. Just lending you the ‘power’ for the moment.

“Mmhhf baby. Don't do that. Daddy's gonna shoot his load inside you early. We wouldn't want that. Ain't that right pumpkin?” Leon hums, pushing down on your tongue with his thumb. Enjoying the way you drool around it and bite on it like he's some sort of oral stress relieving toy. Or gum. Not that he minds being your fix to your oral issue.

You loosely have a grip on his arm, sort of not wanting him to leave your mouth. Fluttering your eyelashes up at him, he presses his forehead against yours. Lowering his body so that he can barely pull out of you.

“Sweetheart, let daddy hold himself up with his other hand. Wanna play with your cute cunt. Make you cream all over this dick.” He pry’s himself out of your mouth, replacing it with his lips on yours. As he brings his other hand down to press tight and fast circles against your clit.

Lifting up so he can watch you fall apart on him. “Good girl. Such a sweet girl, letting her daddy do whatever he wants. Hmm? Isn't that right? Yeah,” he kisses your forehead tenderly.

At this point, you're babbling out nonsense. In your mind, you are agreeing with him. Out loud, you're saying, “daddy please.” As your walls squeeze around him tight like a vice.

He doesn't want to be too much of an asshole and make you use your dumb puppy brain, but there's a part of him that needs you to beg him to let you cum. Make you call him a God.

‘Please god, let me cum, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.’ Something along those lines will do it for him. Fill that womb up with his sticky white cum.

“Want daddy to let you cum?” Leon's gonna slowly fade into it. Have you wrapped around his little finger. Just as he is wrapped around your body like a snake does to its victim. To its food.

“Uhuh, please daddy. Wanna cum,” you mewl out shamelessly. Tears gathering up in your pretty beady eyes. Goddamn, you look gorgeous.

“C'mon puppy. Use that pretty little brain and beg daddy correctly. Daddy'll even give you a hint, baby doll. Beg for God, because aren't I the owner of you? The one who fulfills your dreams, needs, and wants? Hmm?” There's this crazy look in his eyes. Black little veins popping up in his skin, looking similarly to a dead person. But it's also fucking hot how he looks so psychotic and desperate for you. And only you.

“Daddy—God, mmmph… please let me cum. Please!” Can't help the moans escape as he smacks his fingers against your swollen, sensitive bud. Your fingernails attach themselves to his chest, dragging red welts down to his abs. Feeling them flex as he groans in pain.

“That's right bunny, that's right. Cum for me. Cream all over this fat dick,” he purrs as he spanks your clit extra hard, in time with a deeper and harder thrust.

Watching you as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth going slack. Holding you still as you tremble as you thrash around, orgasm still ringing around your body hard. Seeing you like this beneath him has his own climax running up on him. But he wants to make you watch as he fucks his cum into your womb.

“Baby,” Leon shushes, pressing faint kisses around your temples. “Look at me. Watch daddy's cock go in and out of your pretty pussy. Look at how daddy's stretching you out, baby girl. There's even a little bump from daddy.” He lifts up so you can look down between the two of you comfortably.

Still pulsing around him, he pushes down on the bulge. Listening to your cute little squeals of overstimulation. “God's gonna give you a baby now. Say, thank you, God. Thank you Leon for blessing me with your seed.” He half moans half chuckles, giving your cheek a couple of soft slaps.

“T-thank you God—Leon please… bless me with your cum…!” You sort of get it right. It's not like he's a stickler for how you say things or actually, repeat them back to him. Leon likes the control. So all is well.

He chants your name, rabbiting his hips even harder now. Eyes closed and forehead against yours. Whining as he gets closer and closer.

Leon groans as he feels your pussy greedily sucking him in. His hand immediately starts to rub your swollen nerves. “Gonna make you cum again and then I'll pump you full of it.”

You cry out, kicking and scratching at him. “S’too much! Can't cum again!” Lies. All lies.

“You can take it and you will take it. C'mon puppy. Know you can do it for me,” he coaxes another one out of you. Albeit slower this time.

Syrupy goodness coats your brain as you hiccup his name, going frigid beneath him. Oh, there you have it. Sprung a leak around his cock. You can't help but scream and hold onto him tightly. Cunt practically pushing him out because of how intense this one is.

The sight of you squirting uncontrollably has his cock kicking and spurting his hot, thick semen in your insides. Slowing his movements down he moans.

It's like it's never ending. Maybe Leon was backed up for a while and is gonna get you pregnant with triplets. Feels like it with the way he keeps pumping you full.

“Good girl. Good job. So good for me, mhmm… gonna keep you plugged up. Make sure it takes, yeah?” He coos soft and sweet, whining pathetically as his dick softens. All sensitive now.

Leon sounds so good, you think. All desperate for you.

You hum, blearily watching him maneuver the two of you around. Slumping against his chest, his warm hands soothe your sides. Giving him a soft kiss on his chest in reply. Too fuzzy-headed and dumb to even form an actual response. Not like he wanted one, it was probably more of a rhetorical question.

“That's it, baby. Rest on my chest. I'll clean us up once you're ready.” Giving the apex of your head a long kiss, he wraps his muscular arms around your frail, trembling figure.

Slowly pulling you into a deep slumber. With rainbows and sunshine.

Possibly an hour or two goes by and you wake up to warm water soothing your aching muscles. A soapy sponge rubbing your front side. Leaning back into him, you relax and let him do his thing.

“So pretty baby,” he sighs, grabbing a cup and slowly pouring it over your soapy body. Being careful not to get your face wet. “Does this feel nice?”

You nod immediately, scratching your scalp for a moment. Scooting away from him, grabbing your hair and giving him a good view of your back. Silently asking him to wash it.

The soapy sponge gently runs into your skin, over your shoulders and arms. Dipping down to your lower back before carefully going around your neck. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your head once more. Washing it all off before he lets you lay there against him.

Can't help but yawn and stretch. This is going to make you fall asleep again! “Daddy. Want to go to bed.”

“Hmm.. okay. Let's get you out of here. Daddy'll put you in the cutest outfit.” He grabs the towel and wraps it around you. Drying you off before he dries himself off. “Lift your arms for me.”

You close your eyes sleepily and lift your arms, feeling him tug a loose shirt over your head. And you instinctively lift your foot, allowing him to put panties on you and pajama pants.

Opening your eyes you see that it's Hello Kitty. Biting your lip, you watch Leon get dressed. Quietly zoning out on his chest.

Leon picks you up bridal style with ease. Despite you being a little chubby, he acts like you weigh like nothing.

“Snuggle close to daddy, sweetheart.” He sets you down, pulling the covers over the both of you. Reaching down to grab a stuffed animal he had under his bed. One he bought in advance. Thinking you'd like it.

It's a cute little shark! Leon puts it next to you as he wraps his arms around you securely. “Sweet dreams baby.”

“Sweet dreams daddy.” You mumble in return, putting the shark in your arms as you snuggle into his warm chest with a huff.

Maybe next time he'll force you on your knees and make you worship him. And if you don't do it right, he'll baptize you with his special white liquid until you immediately submit to him. To praise him as a higher being. But, first and foremost, he's your daddy, before he's your God.

[riality-check]

Heimerdinger’s class is set up… unconventionally. That is how Viktor thinks of it when he is being diplomatic. Ordinarily, he thinks of it as bullshit.

There is no graded homework, which means there is no homework in Viktor’s eyes. The material is trivial for the most part, and he does not see a need to waste time on practice problems he can guess the answers to. The class has two midterms, each worth a quarter of the grade, and one final project.

One project. Worth half the grade. Viktor read the syllabus five times to make sure he was not having a stroke.

To make it worse, the project had one instruction: make something.

When Heimerdinger failed to follow up that statement, Viktor worried the professor was the one having a stroke.

Viktor creates throughout the semester. He makes a semi-permanent cover for the smoke alarm in his dorm, fashions a hydraulic hinge to ease the load of pushing his unduly heavy door open, and copies the keys to the library so he can get to the better study spaces before it opens and someone else can steal the high chairs by the good windows.

He is not secretive about any of this. He is sure his roommate - Viktor does not remember his name, but he does remember how he talked of what the Academy was like when his father and grandfather attended - complained about his endless tinkering after he got his room reassigned. Yet he is only approached once by other students of the Academy.

A few other students on his floor, the kind that his old roommate frequently fraternized with, the kind with soft hands and heavy watches, approach him about building a machine to count money for their “semi-legal” poker matches. They tell him that he can even be in charge of the money for a cut, if he’d like.

The coin would not hurt. It would be nice to have something extra to spend, to be able to go into town with the rest of them and actually buy something instead of keeping his hands in his pockets. It would be nice to get fresh fruit from the market instead of the meals served at school. It would be nice to be able to afford a trip back down. He has some people he would like to visit. Some people he owes for being here.

He tells the other students no, that he cannot do it, but he would like to play if they ever had an open seat.

Viktor has no intention of ever wasting time gambling, nor does he have the money to begin the habit in the first place. He just wants to confirm what he suspects. And the other students do that for him, with tense smiles of whiter than white - strange that they have so many sweets here and yet they do not rot - that fail to reach their eyes.

They are perfectly content to have a trencher count their Piltie coins, but they would never want them sitting at the same table.

Viktor only makes useful things. It has been that way since he was a child, and his first semester at the Academy is no different. Everything he creates, from the window screen he rigged out of layers of wire scraps from the engineering laboratory (copied those keys as well) to the heat/ice pack he fashioned from chemistry lab leftovers, has a use. With the project deadline fast approaching, he figures he should do the same for Heimerdinger’s singular, inane project.

So, he makes a cane.

As the semester progressed, and as he learned from Heimerdinger’s surprisingly engaging lectures, he realized his current cane was insufficient. This should not have been surprising; he had been using it for years. It had cracked along one side, and it was a little too short as a result of his most recent (though less than impressive) growth spurt. In truth, he had probably needed a new cane for some time now, but he often had more pressing matters to attend to. If he had it his way, he would only replace it if it broke, but that would be worse long term. 

He knew that. He was not stupid.

The course gave him dedicated time to perfect a design that would, hopefully, last for a time, since he had almost certainly stopped growing. The course, being introductory, did not have a lab, so Viktor made his own. In his dorm.

It is little wonder his roommate leaves halfway through the semester. Viktor supposes maybe he was in the wrong for using his contraband soldering iron (found in the trash, only took a little coaxing to work again) past midnight, but he is of the opinion that his roommate should not have been bringing people back to the dorm to have sex with them. On weeknights. With Viktor there. Trying to sleep.

He thinks it breaks even.

In total, he makes two dozen canes. He plans every design diligently using the equations and principles copied down from Heimerdinger’s truly atrocious blackboard scrawl. He tries various materials and carves them into different shapes, testing what fits his hand better, what balances better, and what holds the most weight.

(He learns early to test the last factor leaning toward his bed. When a model he fashioned for the express purpose of testing the minimum amount of material necessary to function predictably snapped, Viktor failed to put his other hand out in time and smashed his face on the unforgiving floor.

Once his nose stopped bleeding and he could overcome the screaming pain in his leg to pull himself into his desk chair, he wrote down his observations.)

He pens all his observations, complete with schematics, equations, and graphs of the various factors that make a cane a good cane. It takes up ten sheets of paper, front and back, because why waste perfectly good space?

Viktor finds throughout the process that most canes are not good canes. They are uncomfortable to hold for long, or too weak, or too unstable, or some combination of the three. The more models he makes - and, in many cases, breaks - the more he realizes that most of the canes he has seen in the Undercity are not good canes. They are cobbled from scraps, from old parts torn from metal and wood and whatever else available. They are fragile and jagged, unyielding and practical. Just like his people.

If he can make a good cane quickly and cheaply, that could mean something. That could improve lives for so many people, however little.

Viktor would like to do more, but, as he has done all his life, he recognizes his limitations. He is a first year university student from the Undercity. He is the only university student from the Undercity. As much as his ambition craves doing something grand and good, he is not in a position to accomplish that yet. He must walk the tightrope. Roll over on command. Ask “how high” whenever they tell him to jump, always looking confused if he ever mentions the pain.

He grits his teeth. There is only the work.

All the final projects for all of Heimerdinger’s class sections are presented at an end of semester research symposium, open to the entire Academy. It is… overwhelming, to say the least. Heimerdinger teaches an inordinate amount of sections, judging from the plethora of people Viktor must dodge in order to arrive at his assigned table. He sets up his presentation, which does not take him very long, and looks around to see what he typically sees in Piltover.

Waste.

The other research projects are… Viktor cannot tell what they are. They are loud and flashy. They clack and whirr. Some of them play music, others destroy little block towers. Others still build them up.

Viktor cannot see a practical use for any of them. They are toys.

There was a time when he built toys. It was a time before he was confronted with the true magnitude of his own limitations - now that he is aware, constantly, he wonders how that was ever the case - and the cruelty some of humanity was capable of. He built toys for nothing other than the fact that he could, that it was fun to put parts together and have them work, that success delighted him.

But things change. Viktor grew up. He lost the time for toys, lost the drive for anything impractical. He became devoted to what mattered: survival and altruism. If it was not necessary, if it did not help, then he could not afford the waste.

The other university students, some who have surely known hardship but clearly never learned to starve, can. They build toys, contraptions that buzz and whirr and shine to the dazzlement of their audiences, who gather around their presentations to ooh and ahh over them.

No such audience gathers near Viktor. They pass him by curiously, eyeing him as the oddity and paying no attention to his work. They whisper behind their hands, and while the other voices in the room and the clack of the other frivolous machines drown them out, they are obviously talking about him.

City of Progress, and yet they refuse to see beyond appearances.

The rage bubbles up in Viktor, but he swallows it down. He smiles politely at passersby and converses pleasantly with those few who ask about his project. He bites his tongue when their gazes wander to the spectacles he is surrounded by. He resists the urge to sit on the edge of the table. 

They did not give him a chair. Good that today he experienced next to no pain.

Toward the end of the three hours, Heimerdinger arrives at his table. 

He only examines the presentation curiously. He does not comment. He simply writes on his notepad and offers a kind smile. Then he moves on to the next table, where he enthusiastically greets a student who made a glittering music box.

Viktor sees his grade during the next class. Stellar marks, but no comments. Satisfactory, but unremarkable.

The semester ends, and his other classes return the same grades. Perfect, but nothing more to say.

Viktor does not like attention. He is used to lingering eyes on him, whispered remarks as he passes by. He has been examined by doctors and openly judged in public. If he could exist without that clear prying that so many seem entitled to, he would. But with how he is built (wrong, he is built wrong, there is no amount of sickly sweet sugarcoating for it) that will never be a possibility.

But he wants his work to have attention. To be worth something. To be discussed. He wants to be known as an inventor, not a cripple.

So, as he spends the winter holidays between semesters fixing the subpar heating in his dormitory because he could not afford to go home, he resolves to be done keeping his head down. To cut the tightrope. To fly instead of jump.

If they are going to stare, he will meet their eyes. If they are going to whisper, he will answer. If they are going to make him a spectacle, he will construct a spectacle instead.

There is only the work. And he will outwork them.

Read the other part here. And another part here. And even more here. And even even more here.

[ridingtorohan]

Generic Headcanons for the Tulpar Crew!

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎Masterlist _ Join the taglist _ Ask box

Curly can't bowl. Absolutely can not. As coordinated as he is, this sport is absolutely not under his forte. Somehow, he gets all strikes or only one pin down.

Used to have a bubble blowing pipe as a kid. Still collects bubble blowers but doesn't really use them.

Sentimental in that he doesn't throw gifts away, even if he knows he won't use them. Has them neatly packed away in boxes

His hair is usually slightly frizzy and brushed on trips but back at home, he does the full oil, scrunch, curl routine, resulting in amazing curls

Prefers vanilla ice cream

Diagnosed insomniac. Sleeps like the dead when he does actually sleep; his heart rate slows down a lot so he actually scared a few roommates in the past

Hairy chest

Usually wears two shirts. After the crash, he's far more sensitive to temperature changes and bundles up, even if it's sweltering outside

Has a nasty scar on his knee from when he tripped as a kid. Didn't get stitches but probably should've

Listens to a mix of rock and foreign music, even when he doesn't know what they're saying

Wanted to be an astronaut but settled for becoming a pilot

Curly was an only child to a single mother. She had a serious disease that had him taking care of them both at a young age. He used the insurance money to become a pilot. She really believed in his dream.

Slightly colorblind (mixes up yellow and green) but by the time he's an adult he's able to tell the shades apart, so it didn't affect his pilot's course

Really enjoys raisin toast and cheese whiz.

A little forgetful. Usually keeps a notepad in his pocket or his keys on a long string

Can imitate accents really well, especially Southern drawls

Has English ancestry

Secretly terrified of the concept of the immortal snail

Daisuke sings horribly, but in such a charismatic way that somehow gets everyone joining in.

Does very bad puppetry, usually with socks. However, he's surprisingly good at miming.

He likes to draw!

He alternates between being the absolute boss at video games vs scoring almost nothing.

However! He's the absolute king at dance dance revolution and guitar hero.

Can't sit still for puzzles but surprisingly has a lot of fun with games like candy crush (and is really good at it)

Likes lemon hard candies

Pours whipped cream on anything. Bread? Whipped cream. Coffee? Whipped cream. Swansea had to kick that habit out of him

On that note: sweet tooth

Drools in his sleep and has the worst bedhead known to man

Has three sisters, all older and with set careers. He loves them a lot, despite feeling inadequate sometimes. He also has two moms!

Can't hold his liquor BUT surprisingly can never get drunk off of cold medicine

Watches a lot of thrillers, action and romcoms. Is always captivated by them (and cries a little when the couple gets together)

Quotes Mean Girls a lot

Was definitely a Disney kid. Belts into Lion King songs all the time (Swansea wants to strangle him)

Listens to screamo when he's tinkering with machines (usually with cars or where he can't readily change the songs)

Otherwise has a playlist that has songs from every genre. Never skips any of them.

Believes in sasquatch. Vehemently.

Tends to have bad luck with electronics, usually sparking himself somehow. His electronics usually have a lot of scuff marks and dented corners but surprisingly no cracked screens

Fluent in Spanish and passing in at least three other languages

Knows beauty routines better than most people do (including social media infleuncers)

Either has flawless skin or has a strict routine to prevent breakouts.

Definitely had a crush on Marty McFly poster in his bedroom. Still does.

Jimmy is, surprisingly, a good writer. He usually drops them only a few chapters in, but they're captivating and really enriched

Taps his foot a lot

Scrunches up his face when he's concentrating, often comically so

Absolutely hates black coffee but refuses to drink any other.

Says he hates the song that's playing but 9/10 he'll be nodding along to it. Absolutely despises Swansea and Anya's playlists

If the person he hates likes a song/movie/snack, he'll absolutely hate it. Even if he loved it before.

Sleeps with his arms crossed and head tipped back

Knows a lot about a bit of everything but in a weird way. Such as how to replace a car radio but not how to hot wire a car

Acts like the "tsundere" trope where he's mean if he likes someone

Prefers uniform clothing and goes for simple button ups otherwise

Somehow always finds himself at the receiving end of gossip. He knows all the tea but doesn't care enough to share it

Crazy skilled at board games, especially strategy and Monopoly. May or may not cheat. The absolute biggest sore loser

Mint or rocky road is his go-to ice cream snack. eats ice cream cones from the bottom up

Really good at visual puzzle solving. ("How many cubes are there?", mazes, etc)

Plays guitar and does it well. Favourite song to play is probably Country Roads

Hates the song Pumped Up Kicks. The school he used to go to before meeting Curly had way too many incidents to be comfortable.

Somehow, he does really well at baking those fancy deserts. Souffles, creme brulees, macarons, caramel, you name it. Probably would have made it as a chef somewhere

Always packs light and never keeps anything. Doesn't even have cards to the stores he frequents a lot.

Usually has a lighter or one of those "7 tools in 1" tool in his pocket.

Gets super bored with horror and nature documentaries. A fan of thriller and action though.

Somehow winds up with 57 pens in his drawers. He's never sure where they come from.

Likes to keep his facial hair short or with a shadow. It makes him feel unkempt if he goes longer.

He's more of a hands-on kind of guy, preferring to be outside in the fresh air instead of reading a book or watching TV.

Salted pretzels are his go-to snack.

Anya wears contacts (based on the soundtrack cover art)

Licks her finger before turning a page of the book and dog-ears to bookmark it

Always has ink smudges on her fingers. She never knows how it gets there

Twirls pens when she's lost in thought

She has a neutral resting face, so when she smiles or frowns, it crinkles a bit but you can always tell it's genuine

Never keeps her hair short; it always leaves her itchy. Closest she'll get is chin length

She's definitely a homebody

She doesn't often like switching hobbies but when she does, she focuses all her attention on it. However, it takes her a really long time to master it, leaving her discouraged.

Had difficulties in school.

All her books are filled with highlighted passages and writings in the margin

Tummy sleeper with her face smooshed in a pillow

Sleepwalks in a horrifying way. She'll stand at the foot of the bed and say cryptic things like, "He knows you're here" before walking away. Doesn't remember it the next day.

Prefers tea over coffee and dark chocolate

Doesn't really care for ice cream but likes freezies and Gelato

Prefers dogs over cats and loves labradors, even though she doesn't have the energy for them

Never could stomach the smell of puke or fecal matter

Doesn't know how to swim

Absolutely burns in the sun, no matter how much sun screen she uses.

She drives with audio books on, or while she's studying. Constant interruptions stress her out

Knows how to play the flute!

Has a few Russian lullabies memorized and knows the translations for them, though she doesn't know much Russian otherwise.

Mother died young, so it was her and her dad for a long time. She never felt like she lived up to his expectations.

Really close to her cousin growing up, who acted like an older sister to her.

Somehow, knows all the obscure lore about haunted locations and folklore. While she believes in ghosts, she doesn't believe in other entities.

Never swears. It's just not who she is.

Anya listens to a lot of indie and instrumental music.

She once had a pet parakeet named Timothy but gave it to her cousin when she tried to study for med school.

She has a music box, gifted to her by her mother before her passing. It's one of her prized possessions. Anya plays it before sleeping.

She likes to watch silent movies, black and white, and those that relate to her experiences in life.

Audrey Hepbern is consequently her favourite actress.

While most of her books are educational or self-help, she owns a few classics like Moby Dick and Pride & Prejudice.

Swansea knows how to crochet

He's a GOD at gambling. Everyone is sure that he's cheating, but it's honestly a lot of skill

While he doesn't know any other languages, he knows enough basic phrases to navigate in most foreign countries.

Very old in his ways (men must be gentlemen type thing) but progressive in others

Doesn't vote

Annoyed when Daisuke arrived in his floral shirt. Not because Daisuke skirted past the full uniform but because Swansea owns a lot of them (and oddly enough, many that match with Daisuke). So he never gets out of uniform

Can fall asleep anywhere

He's the fastest typer out of the Tulpar crew, second only to Daisuke

Still uses a Nokia phone though

Listens to podcasts or radio stations, but if he ever sits down for TV, it's usually dramas (think, SVU or Young & The Restless). Gets super invested in the soap dramas, even if he swears he doesn't or otherwise. He knows everyone's names and backstories off hand.

Gets grumpy if you turn off the show he's watching.

Tried growing a beard once. Never again

Keeps photos of his entire family in his wallet. Mother? There. Wife? There. Kids? There. His dentist? Somehow, there.

Never went to AA. He doesn't exactly deter people from drinking, but he'll outright shove people in chairs and take their car keys if they're too drunk to drive

Owns a really beat-up sports car. The upkeep is horrible, but it's what he got in the divorce, and he won't trade it for anything. Let Daisuke drive it exactly once (1)

Took wrestling and boxing in his youth! He gives a mean right hook. He still has the arm muscles from it

Absolutely cannot stand sticky, tacky items. Hates the feel of gum on his hands. Okay with chewing it.

Very efficient at multitasking! Even if it looks like he's focused on something, he notices things from his peripheral vision asap. Also weirdly attuned to Daisuke and just knows when he's grabbing something that he shouldn't

Scary good intuition about people.

Absolute king at barbecuing. Steak is his favourite food, especially accompanied with beer (he misses those days), roasted mini potatoes and garlic vegetables.

Makes the meanest stew and soup you've ever known. Throws the absolute wildest ingredients into the pot, but it comes out miraculous every time.

Adds salt and pepper to his meal anytime anyone else is cooking. Even if it was adequately seasoned

Knows how to ride a horse!

His part of the city isn't the best (high crime rate), but all the kids know his name and go to him whenever they need to escape from home or a warm meal. He doesn't know why they're so drawn to him, but something about Swansea makes them feel secure. It's put him in the good graces of the not-so-good folk and he's left well enough alone by them.

Definitely owns a shotgun and probably had to fend thieves away from his home prior to that though.

Definitely has Irish and Scottish ancestry. Maybe a bit of German.