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sugudoe · 6 months ago

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ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ᝰ PINKISH TIP, GIRLY POP⸻ chp8

ᡴꪫ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after a nasty breakup from a long distance relationship, your needs for hookup starts to bundle up more and more, until it’s all you can think about. tired of your unusual and annoying self, your friends decide to have a little fun and stop this nonsense. it’s just a bet, you don’t even have to do it, actually, they just want you to calm down a bit. although you, a quite normal yet weird girl, never backs down from a dare, so you fully believe you can win this one — to hookup with the most amount of guys from your college’s top fraternity. all you need is booze, a party with neon lights and someone saying “doubt it”. as a future journalist, you see it as a top notch article to write.

ᡴꪫ cw: SMUT \\ protected \\ reader and gojo just…idk, they’re having a lot of fun \\ oral (fem!receiving) \\ for jokes reason, reader straightened her hair for the party \\ gojo likes cockwarming \\ they get cock-pussy!drunk \\ crack!chapter as well, reader is daydreaming and funny \\ english is not my native language \\ gojo calls her “baby”

You have no idea what does Gojo’s room look like, even if you had been inside of it for a couple minutes now. You can say with certain that his door is white, and cold. After all, you have been pressed against it, right away. Gojo managed to push you inside and dived for a kiss, as if claiming his prize. He had been searching and waiting for you all night.

He is ── breathtaking.

Gojo is a starved man. His kisses are messy and wet, but nonetheless, they make you close your fists on his shirt and pull him impossibly closer. You want so much more, and he will give all to you. You can’t help but moan when his lips connects into your neck. He sucks it, scrapping his teeth, trying hard to get more and more reactions out of you. And, of course, you comply. You moan more, sighing, pulling his hair.

Gojo halts.

Fuck sake, if he says he is a virgin, you will stop this bet right fucking now!

“Did you fuck someone?” He asks, hot breath against your skin. “You, uh, have a hickey. I didn’t give you.”

“What?” Your mind is screaming at you, get a grip, it says. “Of course you gave me, Gojo, you were feasting on my neck not even a minute ago.” He stares into your eyes, sharp glancing, trying to catch a lie. Slowly, he nods his head and go back to his previous action.

That was too fucking close, and gaslighting serves a good purpose, sometimes. You understand your ex a bit now.

You, thankfully, stop thinking about him, when Satoru ── who you recently discovered his name ── grips your thighs and hoist you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your hands guide his face back to your lips. He is more than pleased to kiss you back, having had his fun with bruising more and more of your neck, subconsciously marking over Ino’s own hickeys.

“You have condoms, right?” You whine against his lips. knowing for a fact that you will cry if he denies. Gojo smirks, pulling you from the door and walking to lay you on the bed. His weight on top of you is easily accepted.

“Yeah, baby, don’t worry about it.” He mumbles an answer, his kisses going back down, this time to your cleavage. “This is a hickey I didn’t made.” You stare down at the small purple imperfect circle on your titties ─ Takuma’s gift.

“Curling iron.” You moan, desperate.

He takes the answer with a shrug, despite your hair being clearly pin straight, thanks to Kirara earlier. You want to laugh at his stupidity, but Gojo, much like you, is fucking out of his mind. You can bet that the only thing he is thinking is the desire to get inside you, right now.

His largue hands cup your breast when his mouth move away, they squish for a bit before he begins to remove your corset. Gojo’s eyes are settled on your naked upper body the moment it is presented to him, as if staring at anything else might be a sin.

“Gojo…please.” You pleaded, calling for his gaze to yours and he cooed at you.

“You poor baby, just wait.” And, seeing no other option, wait is what you do.

Satoru leaves you for a minute to grab something on his drawer, which you smartly assume to be the condom. When he turned back, he was grinning at you, looking like the happiest person in the world.

The thing about wanting sex so much, and not having it, is that the moment you are face to face with the opportunity, you feel virgin all over again. It’s weird, isn’t it? The drop of your guts, the instant fill of butterflies on you ribcage, trying to fly all the way up to your throat. Exhilarating, scandalous.

With Ino, it was just a kiss before it turned into the sex talk, and right away he told you there were no condoms. You didn’t had the time to sprout those cold sighs on your lungs, but now you do.

Something in your face gave away your nervousness, and Satoru once more stop his advances. He looks at you, before settling down on the bed, both arms resting against your body.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t wanna.” He whispers.

“I do,” You cradle his face and he leans into it. “I’m just nervous. It’s been a while.” Your burned cheeks bring light to his eyes, and he press pecks to your lips as if, minutes ago, he wasn’t nearly ripping it off with his sharp teeth.

“It’s okay. I’ll take your nerves away, can I?” At your nod, Satoru, once more, moves down.

This time, he doesn’t stop too long on your boobs, instead he keeps going and going, leaving kisses and marks, until he is faced with your skirt. He eyes you, asking for permission, and when you mumble a desperate yes, he removes your mini skirt in a slow peace.

The fucker is teasing you. In case you haven’t noticed already by his annoying pleased face, having all the fun in the world, even when you yank his hair back.

“Ow! I ── I quite like that, actually.” You giggle and his face lights up again. He thinks you’re adorable.

When your dripping intimacy is facing him, Gojo groans out his own pleasure, just by sight he can get off. One of his fingers, cold, touch your cunt, separating the folds and smearing itself into your release of earlier ── Gojo, though, doesn’t need to know that. For all purposes, you simple are drenched from his kisses alone. Which is not a full lie, at all.

He is entranced by you. One finger turns into two, then three, then a fourth one finds your bundle of nerves right away. You gasp, and moan, and gasp again. As if following his circulatory movements.

“Got you there, baby.” That’s the last thing he says before taking the lead, and drowning himself in your pussy. Removing most fingers, except his overworking thumb.

Gojo’s kisses are of a starving man, as said. His eating is even more. He is desperate, and yet not messy. Of course, the slurping sound, and your wetness is being parade all over the room and your thigh and his face, but it’s all good. Too good, so fucking good.

Your legs close around his head, instinctively, and he moans while nodding. The fuck.

Your ex, ── who you so much wished was not plaguing your mind at this exact moment ── was not against giving head. Is just that, unlike you, he didn’t cared about knowing what to do exactly. The man thought that all was needed was tongue movements and fingering, and you might have felt pleasure, but never came to it. And many others haven’t as well, the male population was lacking in the head department.

Gojo Satoru had absolutely no part in this, whatsoever. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. You had no expectations, and he still managed to make you see starts. Unhinged breathing mixed with extraordinary moans, and so many swearing. You were a mess, his mess, to be more precise.

One of Satoru’s hands is holding your thigh, against the side of his face. He even raises you a bit, to have more space to devour. He mumbles against your core, inserts his tongue, he never stop his finger movement on your clit. Gojo is making you crazy! He is, as well.

You whimper under him, arching your back, grabbing his hair with so much strength, and he keeps his movements constant and encouraging you. You bet you could remove his scalp and he wouldn’t move an inch.

You’re coming. Wait ── what? That early? Not possible.

Buckle the fuck up, Gojo Satoru is a master of tongue.

He didn’t even fingered you.

Shut. The. Fuck. Up.

Coming back from your high and confused thoughts, with his head still implanted on your cunt was a beautiful reception. You started to wonder if it would be needed a surgical removal of him from you, when he groaned and raised his upper body. The vision of his handsome face, drenched in your release, had you nearly going off again. And again, and maybe one more for good measure.

He smiles devilish, as if he can read your most impure thoughts. And you smile back, because in all honestly, if he knows he will comply.

Gojo raises from the bed, and removes his jeans. He stares at you as he comes for the condom laying on the bed, but your eyes are entranced by his cock.

Kinji once told you that the name Mu Iota Beta was a hidden message created as a joke by Gojo ── Mommy mIlkers Bitch, because he believed most members had largue pecks (titties). As someone who had been blessed by two cocks of the members, and accidentally seeing a nude on Kirara’s phone, your first thought was definitely that MIB most likely had large everything.

Please, you begged the universe, all big for me.

Pinkish tip, girly pop! Perfectly curved, you could call yourself a mathematician, at this point. That thing was created for you, you knew that. Gojo knew that. He put the condom on himself, but all he could focus on was you. Beautiful, mesmerized, mouth gap, legs open, fingering yourself.

You didn’t even noticed when you started, but stoped right away, growing shy. You really are a slut, and you love it. But you are a timid slut.

“No, no, keep doing that ── just, fuck, just a bit more.” He whimpers, moving closer, hard cock on his hands and he moves up and down slowly. So you follow his lead and goes back to inserting your finger in yourself. With press on nails is hard, but Satoru don’t care about your speed, he just likes the view. “I’m going to fuck you so good.”

“Please, now.”

“So demanding.” He mocks you.

Gojo is pretty fast, for a boy this tall. One moment he was standing apart from you, and now, he is on top of you, again. Holding both of your hands up, with only of of his, while the other goes down to his length. He stares at you, asking for confirmation, and at you “Yes”, he fix himself to slowly get inside you.

Your moans and groans are mixed and drowned by the sound of the party.

“You’re, fuck baby, you’re wrapping me so good.” He praises fall on your deaf ears.

It’s been really fucking long since the last time you got fucked. The memory of the feeling never really goes away, but it’s a whole different aspect to be back to it. Gojo is thick, and long, and he keeps going deeper and deeper, more than you’ve ever had before.

Today is a lucky day for you!

When he stops moving, you frown and groan. Your hips instinctively move, but Gojo let go of your hands to hold it down. He, you think, is a fucking asshole. Satoru is back at sucking your neck, and his own hips are moving very, very fucking slowly. You hate him, and he knows, because he laughs against your skin, after one more of your whining.

“Sorry, baby, but you feel so good like this.”

“You can be stuck inside of me all you want, after you fuck me.”

“Is that a promise?”

You try to answer, but the words filled with sassiness and many swearing get stuck in your throat. In their place comes more moans, the desperate kind that even a hand on your mouth couldn’t muffle it. Gojo picked up his pace, he is giving you exactly what you were begging. That doesn’t mean you are relieved, you are, in fact, going mental.

Your thoughts are spiraling into this new sensation. Getting fucked this deep and this fast is not what you were used to, but you are not complaining, and never will, if this is what’s waiting for you with the others.

Your nails press against Satoru’s back, and his little gasp for air only fuels you to scratch a bit more and more. He, knowing he lost his composure, decides to strike again. Your boobs, bouncing due to his movements, receive extra attention from his salivating mouth.

Gojo and you are fighting for the control of the other. Using the tricks on your (naked) sleeves, playing dirty. It doesn’t matter, because the sensation only keeps growing, to a point where none of this is more important than the other’s body.

You wrap your legs on his waist, and Satoru gets even deeper. He raises himself, grabbing the metal headboard, and using it for his advantage. He is crazy. Mad man, mad thrusts, he is drowning himself in the feeling only your gummy warm walls can provide to his sensitive cock. He feels dizzy, and so do you. But he keeps going, trying to reach the nirvana of those feelings.

“Fuck, fuck ── good, feel so fu-fucking good.” You keep chanting, one hand against your mouth while the other press against his chest. They really are big.

“Yeah?”

“Mm, please, please.”

“What do you want, baby?” Gojo comes back to hold your hips.

You don’t know what you are begging for, and he knows that as well. But is so comically pleasing to have someone getting dumb on your cock, stuffed until you see the budge on their tummy. Eyes rolling back and mouth agape. He knows you are too far gone in the feeling he provides, yet here you stand, begging for more. And who the fuck is Gojo Satoru, if not the man to provide all your demands? You want ── need, more? Have it.

You don’t recall how it happened, because the moment it even began, you saw black points in your eyesight. When your breathing returned to its normality, and your vision cleared, you had one leg on top of Satoru’s shoulders.

And he was, as always, dutifully following his quick pace. Two outcomes could be the end of this new position, either fainting or coming. You wanted to cry, and your body did reacted to this.

“Y’trying to milk me?” Possibly, yes. “Wrapping around me, like that, yeah, just like fucking that.”

Honestly, you barely payed attention to what he was saying. Your focus was on your nerves, how it seemed all of it was being personally affected by Gojo’s aching cock, how your hands were gripping the sheets, and your heart felt like it was burning.

“Argh, I’m ── cum,” You managed to let it slip through your moaned hiccups, and Gojo closed his eyes in concentration.

He pushes your one leg resting on him down, just a bit closer to your chest, and at that you cry out of pleasure. You’re coming on his cock not even a second later, and Gojo just keep moving, thrusting, as if he won’t ever stop. You don’t want him to stop, in fact, you could end this bet and be stuck with him inside of you forever.

Unfortunately, you walls are so tight around him, that you sense his twitching. Gojo gasps and tries to not fail on top of you, when he releases your leg and rests his head on your chest. He keeps coming and coming, until he stops and Satoru is still inside of you.

“Aren’t you going to move?” You wonder, with your shaking fingers caressing his head. Gojo sighs at the feeling, and signs no with his head.

“You said I could be inside you.” Yes, you did.

Gojo reposition both of you, so he is laying down and you on top of him. You both moan at the friction, but he stay still. Having your head resting on his chest, and catching his breathing back. In silence.

Well, except that your thoughts are loud and clear. It’s starting, you think, you’re about to have a fucking great year. With emphasis on fucking.

ᡴꪫ an: well, hello. i don’t think i’ll ever get used to writing smut, but sure as hell, it’s a fucking fun ride! gojo is here, he is not a virgin, and he has condoms, reader keeps winning. so, quick analysis, reader is always talking about her ex, boring, isn’t it? no, wrong answer, we need to understand who this fucker is, what he did, might do, oh, i don’t know. he will be more explained, as the series go on. hihi. honorable mentions to: reader calculating the angle of satoru’s dick, she saying she burned herself with a curling iron, despite her hair being straight for the party, ino’s hickeys, kinji’s nudes, her ex’s small dick, gojo is a king in pussy eating, but you guys haven’t seen nothing. PLS, if you guys have any theories of who is next, who is her ex, anything, comment or send an ask, i love to talk about this series.

🏷️ 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @ducky1232 @mfcherry @minzxec @d3jecteddoll @shuuji71 @emilyywhyy @makeshiftproject @poopooindamouf @ventila98 @faithums @lvingd3adg0rl @starrnai @r0ckst4rjk @lunavelha @catobsessedlady @luvvmae @sjndvi @punkhazardlaw @lemonnotade @luvmeadow @tired-jaz @csxmxx @serenadesvt @ukiyoeangel @satoryaa @madiexuberant

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tinytennisskirt · 6 months ago

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I keep thinking about halloween and I know it's far away but my mind keeps wandering to boyfriend vampire art headcanons or a small blurb about you wanting him sucking your blood for the first time after you begged him to do it (you want to see what it was like) and he was so soft about it "Idk if it's a good idea, I don't wanna hurt you :(" if you wanna write something about that it would be sweet don't feel forced to

vampire boyfriend! art donaldson headcanons with a plot. mostly plot. 🧛🏻

this idea is so cute i did not do it justice but i liked it a lottt

warnings: all over the place, i wrote this while running errands teehee. mentions of blood, scratching, teeth!!! cute vampire boyfriend but a lot of nonsensical vampire stuff idk. SMUT.

MDNI 18+

- he’s so cute he’s so cute! and it’s not sooo bad the age difference. he wasn’t bitten until recently so now your favourite stanford tennis player to watch between classes when you’re bored is just a little bit paler…

- with all my love for twilight i really want to let this boy sparkle because he deserves it, but i’m going to say he’s a day-walking vampire with no sparkle just to keep appearances up.

- vampire art who can hear your heart beat just a little harder than usual when you first walk up to him. you’re pretty, he notes, too pretty. if his heart could still beat the way it used to, it would have been pounding. it’s not an off chance the two of you are finally meeting, but it feels meetcute. nervous laughter at your immediate mutual attraction fills the air. he leans against the wall behind him and you get to talking, really talking.

you start walking down the path behind the courts together. “i’m not a tennis person, but i come here between classes.”

“that’s fair. what are you in?” art asks. he wants to know everything about you.

“media stuff, boring.” you tell him. but he tells you it’s not and he has a lot to ask you about it. you get into other things. movies, music, things he likes, things you like in common. there’s so much.

- you make him forget what he is. for the most part, he hates what he is now. hates how tired it makes him look. he hates having to hide his extra strength in tennis. and now he’s met you, this delicate girl who wouldn’t be so delicate if he wasn’t who he was now. you’re gorgeous and you’re funny and he’s laughing and it slips his mind that touching you is dangerous. you have that same blood running through your veins that he is so hungry for at the end of a day.

- you ask if he wants to get coffee. he’ll be sick if he eats food like yours, but he agrees. he doesn’t know why he can’t say no to you. suddenly your number is in his phone and you have plans to meet tomorrow afternoon.

- vampire art drinks the blood of animals. he hates himself for it. he hates all of it but it’s the only way to get by now without hurting anyone. he tries to be ethical about it, tries to make it so he doesn’t feel like an animal himself, but it’s hard and it’s messy and the bathroom in his dorm is not a good place for it.

- he sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands just thinking about you. it’s not a vampire brood but it’s his own version, thinking about you and your conversation from earlier. he’s so into you. it’s bad. how is he going to date someone so human now? he can be friends with any human, he was one not too long ago, but to date you? fuck, it’s going to be rough. and hard to do. that is, if you let him date you. part of him hopes that after coffee, you’ll lose interest and he won’t have to worry about it.

- he orders a coffee and thank god it has a lid, he can pretend to drink it. it feels silly. you’re sitting across from him and your perfume is all you are. it’s all he can smell. it’s beautiful, smells expensive but he knows it’s just his senses making it smell stronger. you get to talking and he’s a good listener. he’s honed in on hearing you and only you, your words and your heartbeat.

you’re swirling the ice around in your drink. your heart is beating hard in your chest. it’s cute. “i actually texted the wrong number.” art admit to you. “i used a four instead of eight.”

“oh no,” you cover your smile when you laugh. he hates that. you’re too pretty to be doing that.

he smiles sheepishly, “so i said hi to some guy named mark. friendly guy, just… not you.”

“poor guy.” you grin. “missing out. should have invited him anyway.”

“should i have?” he laughs. “you’d be okay with third-wheeling?”

he makes you smile. it’s one of his great accomplishments. “i think i’d be okay.”

- he’s thinking about how he could ever kiss you, his mouth so close to you. it’s not like he had fangs or anything- he got away with slightly pointy canine teeth, nothing out of the regular, but how could he… he’s a little scared of it. and how badly he wants to.

- he takes in and remembers all of your interests, often making callbacks and you like how much he remembers the little things.

- you end up spending the afternoon with him. without anything to eat all day he’s getting hungry and it’s not a good thing. it starts making people feel like good options- an uncontrollable thought to his mind that wants absolutely nothing to do with what the machine that is vampirism tells him he wants. you two walk through the park and dusk and he’s trying not to smell you so much anymore because you just smell good. and it’s disgusting how he feels about doing something so vile to someone who doesn’t know anything.

- nothing scares you away. he walks you back to your dorm. he puts away his thoughts of blood to say goodnight properly- you deserved that. you thank him for paying for coffee and for the afternoon spent with you and you’d think he’d see it coming with the acceleration of your heart, but you kissed him goodnight. a firm, few second-long kiss. and it’s fucking perfect. and it’s sweet. and he finds himself not so worried about it- it wasn’t bad. maybe he could date you if he could kiss you. put the fact you’d become food out of his mind…

- so you do date. or go on more dates. getting friendlier, laughing over stupid things, watching him play tennis, you’re around and you’re this perfect beam of light. he really likes you. like really likes you.

- he kisses you again. this time it’s his doing, he’s practiced being gentle. he used to be gentle. he pulls you in with soft, almost perfect skin, and he’s cold. not ice cold, but cold like a person who had spent too much time in a basement, just a little chilled. but his hands barely touch your skin, he’s maybe too gentle, but the kiss is perfect.

- thing is, you ask him what you are. where this is going and if his mouth could go dry, his would. he’s shy about it. he doesn’t want to get into this but he doesn’t want out. he wants you. and after all he’s been through so far, he deserves to be happy and have something good and he’s sure that’s you. so he asks you what you want.

“i would like it if we… continued to date. i don’t know how you feel about dating, but me, personally… i would want a label.” you say, shy, like you’re afraid he’s going to reject you after all this. he’s not a player, he can’t afford to be.

“i want that too.” he smiles. “i’m not a casual… person.”

“me neither.” you smile back. you’re blushing and you’re so pretty. so it’s decided. you don’t even know you have yourself a vampire boyfriend!!!

- tennis player boyfriend is already one thing. he’s in your dorm room before games realizing he has to go, he has to go, he’s late for practice. he’s fast, so he’s not so worried, but you are. you’re worried for him. you’re kissing him all the way to the door and he’s grinning as you practically kick him out. he stays just an extra second to kiss you more. he’s getting better and better at being gentle. it’s easier when he’s well-fed.

- art is still art so he’s needy. he’s addicted to the way you smell, he’s addicted to how warm you are. he comes right back over after practice, still feeling chilled like he’s straight out of a walk-in fridge and he’s immediately on top of you, head laying on your chest while you stroke his hair. he wishes more than anything for the peace of falling asleep in your arms, it’s his favourite place to be. but he’s not so lucky.

- not eating gets harder to hide from you. you’re his girlfriend, you want dinner and how is he just going to sit with you and not eat? it’s a girls worst nightmare to eat alone. he knows that, you tell him that and you’re kissing his face and he’s apologizing for not eating with you, big grin on his face because it’s hard not to when you’re kissing his cheeks and eyes and nose and lips. it’s the first time he debates telling you what he is. but he won’t. not yet. you’re too busy complaining sweetly about him not eating with you.

“art, please, come on. i hate this.”

“im not judging you,” he laughs. “eat your food.”

“alone? so mean.”

“i’m not-“ you kiss him, “-mean. i just had food before you came over, that’s not-“ you kiss him again and he pushes you away gently, “-mean.”

“it’s so mean,” you tell him. he just laughs.

- when he kisses you, it’s almost like he’s both afraid to let go and afraid to keep you close, so it ends up a little more desperate and needy than a regular kiss would be. you’re a fan of it though, it makes your heart pound in your chest when he pulls you in by your waist, cold hands on your skin. you swear he needs his circulation checked. he kisses you, hand trailing up from your waist to the side of your jaw, gently holding you in place. his kiss over time becomes less gentle and for the sake of what his diet was, i won’t say he kissed hungrily. you kissed him back just the same, hands in his perfect blonde curls, pulling him from the entryway of your dorm room and over to your bed, the door shutting behind him. he crawls over your body and suddenly the kiss is deeper. more. and he’s been in this situation before but never like this. you’re kissing and you start kissing down his jaw, his neck. and in obscure vampire logic, he’s able to reproduce- let’s not get into the details, even stephanie meyer couldn’t explain it right- but he’s hard and he hates it because he can’t fuck you. he’d probably hurt you. it already took some effort to kiss you, fucking you was different. how did he know that what he needed now to get off wouldn’t hurt you? you’re hot, your skin is hot, and you tell him you want him and he wants you just as badly, just as desperately, but he tells you not today, but does ask if you’d take off your shorts for him. cold fingers do their work and he’s so fast… his fingers move so fast it’s almost unreal.

- you’re on the phone with your girlfriend talking about how good he is with his hands, saying you had to call her to ask if she got home from a concert okay. he doesn’t mind the lie- you’re excited about him and he loves it. he’s a little bit proud of himself if he’s honest. he’s glad he can please you without doing it all. it’s cute you called your friend. he chuckles to himself.

- like mentioned before, he almost forgets he’s not who he used to be. you don’t mind that he’s cold or that he never eats with you, you hold him just the same. you fall asleep and he wishes with all his might that he could sleep too. but he’s awake without rest, eyes closed, hands gently tracing over the skin of your upper arm. when you’re asleep is when he gets to think critically about this- about how he’s not going to age as you do. if you choose to stay with him past college, that is. he’s a needy little romantic and he doesn’t want anything else but that. he’s committed.

- he’s debating telling you around halloween. cliche, fucking perfect, but he can’t hide it forever. you’ve been together four months. doesn’t seem like much, but you’re so skeptical sometimes he swears you see through him.

- he’s sweet, pays for things, takes you places, treats you so well. but there’s something he’s keeping from you and you can feel it.

- it goes on. he’s still your perfect boyfriend it’s october 24th, his head is in your lap, your fingers in his hair and he says it straight up. tells you. what and who he is.

“for halloween?” you smile. he shakes his head no. “you have the perfect teeth for it, you wouldn’t even need to buy them.”

“y/n…” he trails, eyes meeting yours, looking up at you.

“i could be one too.” you’re still smiling. “could be hot. let you bite me.” as if he hasn’t thought about that. potentials. but you don’t mean it.

he doesn’t know how to say it. so he just looks at you. soft eyes, begging you to believe him. but so scared that you’ll think he’s crazy or worse, be scared if you do believe him.

- for the sake of writing and for my ease let’s just say it’s believable. so you’re a little taken aback. lose the logic here, it’s an AU. your breath catches just a little. he’s afraid you’re going to run or scream or something, the way your heart picks up. he sits up from your lap, he’s looking at you, you’re breathing a little weirdly.

“i’m sorry.” he says. he’s sorry. he’s really sorry. you’re shrinking away from him and if his heart could, it would feel like it just tightened as if it was vacuum sealed. “i’m sorry, i should have told you.”

“it’s okay,” you nod. your heart is pounding, he deducts it’s not so okay. “are you- how do you- why- how?”

“bitten. late after a game. stupid, changed my life, i don’t even- it’s hard.”

“you don’t look like you’re-“

“it’s not like the movies, i’m me just… different diet and… pale.” he’s trying to be straightforward with you but it’s hard when all he wants is for this to pass over. and it’s not easy. it won’t just pass over. you have a million questions about everything and he confesses the entire truth. he hates it. he hates every second of admitting who he is. you’ve asked the same question about four times over and your heart hasn’t stopped pounding.

- art isn’t a bad guy. he’s not going to sit there and expect you to just go with it. he looks at you with his eyes soft and understanding, “i know it’s not what you wanted. or expected. i want you to know that if you leave, i understand. i like you, i really fucking like you and i want you to have what’s best and if that’s not me, that’s the easiest thing in the world to understand.” and you blink. you like him a lot. he makes you laugh, he makes you smile, but he’s something else. something potentially dangerous. you smile at him and it’s bittersweet. you tell him you need time. and he understands. he doesn’t ask you to stay, he grabs your bag and your sweater for you and you say you’ll talk to him soon. it’s with a heavy heart that he says goodbye to you. he knows the chances of you coming back are slim. you didn’t run from his dorm, but your pace wasn’t slow.

- he wished he could sleep this off. this feeling. he wished he hadn’t said anything but on the other hand, it wasn’t fair to you to pretend he was something he wasn’t so you’d stay. he wanted good things for you. and it was completely fair that you walked away. he thinks about you day in, day out, during tennis, during classes. but he’s got forever to find someone else, he just has to let this pass over him.

- you text him, say you’re coming over. and he’s at the door before you even knock, he heard you coming. “i’m sorry- i just-“ he’s excited but he’s afraid. too excited to see you back here- why are you there? “hi.” he’s so cute, standing in his doorway. he’s wondering if it’s wrong to think of you the way he did two weeks ago. he wasn’t clear on if you’d broken up with him or not.

“hi,” you reply. “can i come in?”

he’s nodding, moving out of the way for you to come in. you sit on his bed. “i didn’t expect you to-“

“come back? neither did i…” you replied. “but i was so… empty, i just- i miss you more than i seem to care about what- who you are. and it’s been killing me.” you admit, almost a little whiny and he’s glad to hear it. “i missed you.”

“i missed you too,” he says, shutting his door behind him. “a lot.”

you tuck your hair behind your ears, “i know everything, i just… how much does this affect everything?”

“only as much as you let it,” he says candidly. “i don’t eat regular food and i can’t have children.”

“what about garlic?” you almost smiled. he missed that. god, he missed you. so fucking much.

“i can have garlic.” he chuckled, stepping closer to where you were sitting. you pat the space beside you and he sat down next to you, thigh to thigh. “i don’t want to scare you.” he says. “i don’t want to hurt you. and i don’t want to leave you.”

“i don’t want that either,” you nod, eyebrows furrowed. “if i stay- am i in danger?”

“i wouldn’t ever hurt you.” he nods back. “it’s animals only. only. strictly. and i brush my teeth fourteen times after.”

“okay.” you reply. “art, i want you. you.”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

“i’m sorry about the two weeks-“

“don’t be.”

“i really am, i just needed-“

“it’s okay.”

“i was trying to wrap my head around-“ he kissed you to shut you up. he was so glad for it. so glad you kissed him back, it was all he thought about when the nights were empty and quiet. you, how warm you were, how good you smelled.

- vampire boyfriend!!!! it’s almost ignorable. you have a reason why he doesn’t eat with you, you know why he’s cold, it’s more reason to keep your arms around him. you can’t brag about it, but it’s a fun little secret so it’s sooo worth it. and it’s hot. you don’t want to admit it, but it’s hot. you’d always admired how sharp his teeth were, it was cute, like a cat. but he had a reason for it and you were finding it hot. your search history was

biting kink

blood kink

vampire smut

that isn’t you!!! but you were curious that’s all. And you like his teeth a lot.

- he’s so pretty and he’s so skilled in making you feel good. he won’t let you do anything to him, swears to god the best thing for him is what he can do for you. you’re making out and his hand slips between your legs, down your underwear, they’re cold but they don’t feel that way after a while. he’s fast, it feels like some sort of toy, it’s too good. you are forever glad you didn’t walk away and never return. you’d miss the proud smile on his face when he makes you finish three times in a night.

- it takes a while for art to do the simple task of kissing your neck. it’s not so simple, it scares him still. but the thing is, the moment his lips are on your jaw, your whole body has goosebumps and you don’t expect it to feel as good as it does. maybe you spent too much time on the internet, maybe you were developing some sort of feeling about it. he kissed gently, close-mouthed down your neck, feeling your body tense and your heart beat hard and fast in your chest. he hasn’t done anything else, he’s only kissing your neck, but what you’re into is a major turn on for him, so he continues. he likes nothing more than it as he continues.

- it gets worse. you’re together almost a year now and it’s going so well but if art touches your neck whatsoever, you’re making out against some wall in some cupboard and you’re begging him to fuck you.

“please, please, please,” you’re on top of him in your dorm room and he’s saying no, but he doesn’t want to. it’s not like your begging is a pressure on him, believe it, he wants you so fucking badly.

“i want you so badly, i can’t- i could hurt you.”

“what if i like it?” you whisper between kisses. your hand down the front of his pants, he’s groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t usually let you do what you want but it’s getting harder and harder to not.

“like it?”

“i want it.” you tell him. “please.”

“i can’t-“ he’s raising his hips to meet your hand as you move it up and down his length. “i want to, i really fucking want to, more than anything, but i can’t. i don’t- i haven’t-“

“we can go slow. i’ll go slow, let me do the work, please?”

he wants it. the imagery in his mind is already killing him. “i promised to be gentle, i could grab you too hard or i could bite, i don’t know what i’ll do, i don’t trust myself.”

“you bite?” you giggled a little, as if the idea wasn’t a little intriguing. as if it wasn’t hot.

he grinned back, kissing you again, “i’m not sure.”

“you don’t… touch… yourself?”

“no, i do, believe me, i do, but it’s different, i can’t hurt myself- fuck-“ he’s trying to get his words out but your hand is good. your hand is perfect. “i could hurt you.”

“what if i want that?”

“me to hurt you?”

“what if i don’t mind it? i don’t mind bruises, art, just don’t break my bones.”

“i wouldn’t- i don’t know if i would or not, that’s what i’m afraid of.”

“and everything you’ve been afraid of,” you pick up the pace of which you stroke him. “has it turned out okay?”

he groans into your open mouth, nodding slightly, soft eyes meeting yours. “mhm.”

“mhm.” you nod back. “you can hurt me, art.” he moans louder. loudest. “i can take it.”

- another few months go by without. he’s taken to letting you grind on him. it’s practice, he says, but really he just finds it hot. you, your little skirts, making it fun for him. but you can’t stop thinking about you fucking him and frankly neither can he. the romance continues.

- he brings you roses on a whim. it’s cute. he knows you like them. he gets the dark red ones for you.

- he’s fast, he can be to McDonalds and back in only a few minutes depending on the speed they make their food. you call him, you mention it once and he brings it to you. and every time, sweet boy, he apologizes for not being able to eat with you.

- he’s so into you. this is it for him, he’s sure. you’re the perfect mix of everything and you share so many interests. you’re kind and sweet and funny and you get him. and understand him entirely. he could not care less when other girls talk to him. usually the first words he says to anyone is something casual about his girlfriend. ‘sorry i’m late, i was at my girlfriend’s debate’, and other things of the sort. he’s cute like that, but annoying to a few other people.

- loses his mind if you hold his face in any way, it’s actually one of the things that makes him think fucking you might be something he could do. you cup his face and he looks at you with those puppy eyes and your thumb grazes over his lower lip and he’s kissing you like he’s not scared. you’re in his arms, he picks you up, crawls over you on the bed. his first instinct is to kiss your neck to drive you as crazy as he is and it’s only a matter of time before you’re begging him again.

“please, art.”

“i want you so fucking badly,” he mumbles, cold hands desperate over the skin of your waist. “i do, i’m sorry.”

“don’t be sorry. fuck me.”

“i can’t. you know i can’t-“ but your hand down his pants is wearing him down already.

“it’s been more than a year. art, it’s okay. it’s no different than grinding.”

“it’s different,” he tells you, he’d be blushing if he could. “come on.”

“come on what?” you grin, stroking him harder. his breath catches for a moment, but he grins back at you. “art. it’s okay. you don’t need to be so afraid, i promise i can take it.”

“and what if you can’t?”

“then we tried.”

“you won’t say that if i hurt you.”

“if you hurt me it’ll be my own fault.” you tell him sternly. “i’ll be in control, i’ll go my own pace, you just lay back, it’ll be good. i promise, you don’t need to be afraid.”

“baby…” his hands on your waist.

“let me.” you say. “with your consent.”

“i said i wouldn’t hurt you… there’s no guarantee-“

“it’s no different than the grinding. i promise.” you begin to slide your shorts off, eyes locking with his. “if not, that’s okay, but i just- i know you won’t hurt me.”

“if i do?”

“i’ll take it.” you tell him. he’s consumed by his own lust. his worries slowly fading out. “let me fuck you, mhm?”

his pants at his ankles, he’s turning slowly onto his back. you climb over him, kissing him hard. the sharp of his tooth grazes your lip and the violence begins. he groans as your hand slides over his own neck, kissing him.

“slow,” he says. and you nod, slowing the way you’re kissing, your hand moving to cup his face in a kiss. you’re everything, how can he resist what he wants so badly? you’re perfect and you smell good and you’re kissing him sickeningly slow and it’s almost sweet. “please.”

“you’re saying yes?”

“yes.” he swallows hard.

“i didn’t pressure you?”

“no, i want it so fucking badly, you have no idea,” he smiles, kissing you again. there’s no escape. “i want you. just… slowly.” he pushes your hair behind his ear. “you’ll tell me if i’m hurting you.”

“maybe,” you grin.

“hey-“

“i will.” you nod. “can i?”

“slowly.”

you looked at him, nodding slowly again, reaching down under him. he was trusting you, he was holding you to this. the tip of his dick slipping against your entrance. it was unreal, it was real, it was cold but it wouldn’t be for long. he inhaled sharply and you kissed you. he was a little pathetic, the way he acted as you slowly, extremely slowly, sank down on him. it was ends meeting, it was waited for. the sound he made was one he didn’t think he’d make, but you were all he’d been wanting. he could have finished right there and then, just at the feeling of you. warm, tight.

- vampire art, with vampiric tendencies, digs his fingers so hard into you that you were sure it would bruise. it hurt in the best way. you moved slowly, up and down, a pace that didn’t scare him. he felt so good, so perfect.

- he’s surprisingly melting under your touch as you slowly ride him. it’s how he is. somewhere towing the line between himself a little bit submissive. he’s letting you, he’s trying to be unafraid, letting himself get lost in how you feel. you’re close, neck kissing distance. his hand slips around the back of your neck and he kissed the exposed skin. you moaned, going slightly faster and he braced your hips, wary. too wary. but he let you continue to rock.

- he controls your hips, rocking you back and forth a little more as he gets a little less scared. and he’s kissing your neck, moaning against it. open mouth, sharp teeth grazing your neck and he isn’t even aware of it. it hurts, its natural, he’s hurting you but it’s not as bad as you thought. his lips send goosebumps over your skin, he’s not aware, he’s lost in the way you’re fucking him. he’s letting you go faster, harder, you’re both moaning. he’s close already. you don’t mind that at all.

- vampire art, poor boy, he’s coming undone already. it’s a little pathetic but in the best way. hes being fucked so good, the way he’s imagined the past year- he’s not aware of his teeth and the reality that he could bite you is too real, when it was only half a joke. he could bite you, he could, he wants to, you want him to, it hurts.

- “please,” you mumble, and he’s suddenly too aware of what he’s been doing and he’s suddenly terrified. he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s been doing it unconsciously.

“oh fuck-“ he tries to pull away, but it’s his downfall, he finishes hard, too fucking hard and he’s pathetic, melting under you, moaning and grabbing you so hard it hurts and you’re close to follow suit, your hand down between the two of you working your clit. your hand moves at his squirming and you forfeit your orgasm as he finishes so pretty. he makes the prettiest sounds, loud and the people in the dorm next to yours must fucking hate you. he was breathing hard, his lips pink, still in a state of desperation. “no- nonononono,”

you slowed to an immediate stop for him. “hey, what’s wrong?”

“your neck, my teeth, fuck- i’m sorry,” his chest still rose and fell, his cum leaking from between you both. “i’m so sorry-i-“ nervous boy. nervous vampire boyfriend!!!

- he takes to your comfort the moment you grab his face and tell him it’s fine. you like it. you want it. his scared eyes soften out again. if that was all the damage done, no blood drawn, it was successful. you liked it. it was more than good. so fucking good.

- you take care of him until he calms down entirely. you soothe him by holding him close, a wet cloth against the scratches on your neck. he’s the kind to apologize softly. he’s always apologetic, he’s good at it. you kiss his temple, stroke through his curls. you can go without finishing. the ratio of his orgasms to yours were uncountably inbalanced.

- after that you end up practicing more. calling it ‘practice’, it’s just sex. it’s good sex. he worships you like you’re the immortal being. he learns to be gentle. doesn’t help that don’t want him to be. it’s another year of being together and you throw it at him. “bite me.”

“hm?” he looks up from tying his laces, his hat on backwards, all cute.

“bite me.” you stand above him, he rises to his feet, arms wrapping gently around your waist. “it’s been two years and i’m not going anywhere. i want you to do it.”

“you don’t want it.” he tells you, swaying into the hug. “i promise.”

“i know. but it’s my choice.”

“it is your choice but it’s also mine if i choose to bite you. i want you and i know you’re not going anywhere, i dont need to make you the way i am just to say that.”

you shake your head, “bite me. or no sex.”

he just grins and shakes his head, “nice try.”

“think about it.”

he nods again, “okay. i will. i promise.”

- it’s another year before it happens. vampire boyfriend is scared of doing it, what if something goes wrong? what if you hate him for it? what if, what if… you make him nervous. you want him, he knows it. more ways than one it would be nice to not have to worry about biting you when you fuck.

- he works up the courage to take the risk and he comes to yours around 11:30pm. you’re up, you were just finishing an assignment. you greet him with a kiss and a long hug. he needs it. he’s never not in need of it. he wants to cry, he wishes he still could. he feels like it because he knows what you want isn’t good but you want it and he wants you do some part of it feels right. and okay. he tells you what he’s thinking and you take all of it in. but you nod.

“i don’t want to hurt you.” he says.

“it’s going to hurt. i’ve told you before i can take it.”

he shakes his head, “and what if i can’t?”

“i’ll heal.”

“baby… “ he almost sits at your feet the way he’s talking to you.

“it’ll be okay. you can hurt me. it’ll be worth it when you’re stuck with me forever.” you smile and he smiles back.

- he can do it. and you kiss him. which is the first step. the second is triggering his weakness, cupping his face. and suddenly he’s on you. and you’re undressing and it’s messy and it’s harsh and it’s sloppy.

- art is usually very sexually calculated he knows what is needed and he does it and he’s fucking perfect at it, but this is messy and desperate and hot and not even he wants to have any sort of control. he just knows what’s going to happen is going to happen. you’ve never been more turned on with anticipation. for the first time- even though it sounds bad, art is on top. he doesn’t need you in control at the moment, he’s fucking into you and it’s hard but not too hard that it could cause harm- it’s good. and it’s got, and you’re kissing him through harsh, sharp breaths and there’s no time to be wasted. he’s ramming into you with a force you didn’t know he possessed that is also so contained. you wished it wasn’t. And his lips graze your neck. you moan, that familiar shiver of pleasure rippling over your body. his body, thrusting, the movement making for perfect friction. he kisses your neck gently, and you feel his teeth graze your neck.

- he’s fucking you but his emotions are strong and he’s rethinking but this is it. he said he would. his hand reaches down to play with your clit as he fucks you, his attention to three places at once is enough to drive you crazy. you’re waiting, skin hot against his, and you don’t expect to like the way it hurts so fucking badly when he sinks his teeth in. pain mixes with pleasure, sharp teeth in your skin. his lips catch any blood, taking it in. it’s good, it’s too good. he keeps his teeth in long enough for him to feel whatever it is that would change you seep into your bloodstream. you’re moaning when he expected a scream and it’s hot. it’s too hot for him. his teeth slowly come out and the wound heals over near-immediately, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing your neck again a million times, new scars instantly formed. you kiss him harder than you ever had, feeling your skin start to burn pleasantly, warm like the feel of being close to an oven on a cold day. and his hand working, his dick sliding in and out, you finish simultaneously, almost.

- he rides out the high. and before cleaning anything he’s checking if you’re okay. you’re blissed out. gone. and he’s watching as you grow paler the next few hours in his arms. you’re telling him he did such a good job. so good. and you fall asleep for the last time. changed.

#challengers #art donaldson #challengers x reader #tinytennisskirt #art donaldson x reader #challengers fic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson smut #art donaldson au #vampireboyfriend!art donaldson #vampire!au #art donaldson fic

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cece693 · 5 months ago

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You're Not Crazy Pt.1 (The Mad Hatter x M! Reader)

I got an ask some time ago about writing for other Depp characters such as the Mad Hatter. I haven't seen the movies recently, so some things might not be canon, however, I do want to explore this fandom since it is relatively empty of fanfics :) I left it purposefully open-ended in case you guys want a 2nd part.

Summary: You believed your sister when she returned home and spoke of a land where magical and peculiar people roamed. You asked her to take you there, and there, you encounter the Mad Hatter.

tags: of age reader, your Alice's brother, older by a few years, you hadn't seen wonderland before, not following story or book timeline

You believed your sister from the moment she returned home, eyes wide and voice trembling with excitement. She spoke of a world hidden beyond the ordinary, a place where logic twisted into nonsense and peculiar beings roamed freely—a land called Wonderland. You listened, enraptured, as she described a realm of talking animals, living chess pieces, and the most unusual of tea parties. While others dismissed her tales as ramblings of a crazed girl with an overactive imagination, you knew better. You had always known better.

“I want to see it,” you told her one evening. “I want to go there, too.”

Your sister hesitated, her face clouding with concern. “It’s not a place for everyone,” she said softly. “It can be…overwhelming.” But you insisted. If she could brave Wonderland, then so could you. And so, with reluctance, she agreed.

The next day, you followed her through the forest behind your home, down winding paths that seemed to shift and change when you weren’t looking. Eventually, she stopped by a large oak tree, its roots sprawling like the fingers of some great, sleeping beast.

“This is where I fell through.” And before you could ask what she meant, she took your hand and jumped, pulling you into the hollow darkness beneath the tree.

The fall was long and winding, like tumbling through a kaleidoscope of colors and strange sounds. When you finally landed—rather unceremoniously—on a bed of soft grass, you found yourself surrounded by an impossible landscape. The sky was a deep lavender, the grass a brilliant shade of blue. Flowers whispered secrets as you passed, and a brook giggled like a child at play.

"Welcome to Wonderland." Your sister announced with a smile, her eyes alight with familiarity.

It was more magical and bizarre than you could have imagined. You wandered through towering mushroom fields and past chattering woodland creatures, your eyes darting in awe. But one tale from your sister’s stories captivated you most—the Mad Hatter and his eternal tea party.

You begged her to take you there, and she obliged, leading you down a winding path that seemed to twist back on itself like a living thing. She left you at the entrance to a clearing, insisting that the rest of this adventure would be yours alone.

“Just be careful with him.” she warned softly before disappearing back down the path. Confused by her words, you approached the clearing cautiously, the sound of clinking china and cheerful, nonsensical chatter growing louder with each step. And then you saw him—the Mad Hatter, sitting at the head of a long, crooked table filled with teapots, mismatched cups, and an array of pastries that defied description.

His hair was a wild mop of orange curls and his large green eyes glimmered with a feverish brightness. Beside him sat a hare who seemed to be caught in a perpetual state of alarm, and a sleepy mouse that napped in a teapot.

“More tea?” the Hatter exclaimed, lifting a cup in your direction before noticing you. “Ah, a new guest! How splendid, how rare!”

You hesitated, taking in his erratic movements and the almost manic excitement in his voice. He seemed to be all contradictions—both welcoming and wary, kind and somehow unsettling.

“I…I’ve heard a lot about you.” You said carefully, stepping closer.

“Have you, now?” The Hatter's eyes widened, and he leaned forward as if this was the most intriguing news he'd heard all day. “And what did you hear? That I’m mad as a hatter?”

You chuckled. “Well, yes. But also that you throw the best tea parties in Wonderland.”

This seemed to please him immensely. “Then you’ve heard correctly!” he declared, standing up with a flourish. “Do sit, do sit! There’s always room for one more at my table. Unless, of course, it’s Tuesday, and we’re already three cups deep in the riddle rounds. But it’s not Tuesday, is it?”

You shook your head, finding yourself smiling despite the oddity of it all. “No, it’s not Tuesday.”

“Wonderful! Sit, sit!” He patted a chair beside him, his smile so wide it was almost infectious. As you took your seat, he poured you a cup of tea without asking if you wanted one, dropping in a few sugar cubes for good measure. “Tell me, what brings you to my humble tea party? And don't say 'a rabbit,' because that would be terribly unoriginal.”

You explained how your sister had told you stories of this place and how you wanted to see it for yourself. The Hatter listened with an almost childlike fascination, nodding and “hmming” at all the appropriate moments.

“There’s something different about you.” he said thoughtfully after a while. “Most people who come here are either lost or looking for something they don’t understand. But you—oh, you’re not like the others, are you?”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I just…wanted to see if it was real.”

The Hatter’s grin softened into something almost genuine. “And now that you’re here? What do you think?”

“I think it’s more than real,” you said. “It’s…alive.”

His eyes seemed to glow with approval. “I like you.” he declared suddenly. “You’re not afraid of madness. You might even be a bit mad yourself.”

You laughed, feeling a strange warmth spreading through your chest. For all his eccentricities, the Hatter made you feel like you belong in this topsy-turvy world. And you realized, with a start, that you liked it. You liked him.

As the days passed, you found yourself returning to the Hatter's tea party again and again. You never knew what to expect—sometimes, you’d spend hours debating the merits of invisible jam; other times, you’d sit in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the strangeness of each other’s company.

The Hatter, for his part, seemed equally drawn to you. He would light up whenever you appeared, his eyes twinkling with mischief and delight. There were moments when his wildness would soften, and you’d catch a glimpse of something deeper beneath the madness—something vulnerable and achingly sincere.

But as the weeks turned into months, a quiet conflict began to stir within you. Wonderland was a place where time didn’t matter, where rules were made to be broken, and madness was a way of life. And yet, the longer you stayed, the more you began to feel a strange pull—a yearning for the world you had left behind. Memories of home, of mornings filled with familiar scents and sunsets painting the sky in shades of gold, tugged at the edges of your mind. Then there was your sister who you dearly missed. You tried to ignore the pull, losing yourself in the Hatter's antics but the feeling persisted.

The Hatter noticed, of course. He was always watching you with those keen, almost too-bright eyes. One evening, as you sat together beneath the stars, he turned to you, his expression unusually serious.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

“Thinking about what?”

“Leaving.” he said, his voice edged with something fragile and raw. “Going back to your world. Abandoning me.”

His words cut deeper than you expected. “It’s not like that, Hatter. I just…I miss some things from home.”

“But you can’t have both.” he replied sharply. His hands trembled as he poured himself another cup of tea, spilling more than half of it onto the table. “You can’t live in two worlds at once. Sooner or later, you have to choose.”

You felt a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. “I don’t want to leave you. Not really.”

“Not really?” he repeated, his voice rising, eyes narrowing as he stared at you. “But ‘really’ enough to think about it. To dream of it.”

The words stung, and you felt a flare of frustration. “It’s not that simple, Hatter! You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?” His voice rose, and he stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. “Oh, I understand perfectly! You think you can dip in and out of Wonderland as you please, but this place changes you. It consumes you. And you think you can just walk away?”

“I don’t know what I want!” you shouted back, standing to face him. “I care about you, I do. But I can’t just—”

“Then go!” he interrupted, his face twisted in anger and heartbreak. “Leave if you must. But don’t come back. I can’t bear the thought of you dangling the possibility of forever only to snatch it away.”

“I’m sorry.” you whispered, unsure of what else to say. The Hatter’s face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw him for what he truly was—a broken soul clinging to the one bit of sanity that remained: you.

“Don’t be.” he murmured, turning away. “I’m just a madman, after all. And what would a madman know of love?”

As you stood there, watching him retreat into himself, you felt the weight of the decision pressing down on you like never before. Wonderland was a place of wonder, but it was also a place of madness. Could you stay here forever, leaving the world you knew behind in favor of Hatter's affections?

The answer wasn’t simple. It wasn’t clear. But as you watched the Hatter, his shoulders slumped and his hands trembling, you knew one thing: if you left, a part of you would always remain in Wonderland—lost among the teapots and riddles, forever searching for a madman’s love.

#x male reader #male reader #the mad hatter #alice kingsleigh #mad hatter #tweedle dum #white queen #red queen #alice in wonderland #white rabbit #cheshire cat #alice #the mad hatter x reader #the mad hatter x male reader #hatter x reader #hatter x male reader

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delulujuls · 1 year ago

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papaya nails and everything nice | op81

hi! i dont really know how to comment on that one, i just get this idea from few videos where oscar actually admitted that he has very interesting relationship with his nails

anyway, is this original? i think it is. is this wholesome? hell yes, we do be supportin in this household. enjoy!

summary: oscar is having an unusual problem but it's nothing a manicure cant fix

warnings: none, i hope that painted nails on a boy arent a trigger

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver (ft. lando)

Oscar had been struggling to get himself together for some time now. As far back as he could remember, he considered himself as organized and put-together person who kept everything in check. However, for the past few weeks he had been the complete opposite—nothing seemed to go his way, he was incredibly scattered, sleeping poorly and was always last-minute everywhere.

This day was no exception to the rule that had persistently dominated Piastri's life for the past few weeks. Hurrying, he entered the garage running late and quickly started changing, not wanting to delay the start of training. His hair was messy, clearly having just detached from the pillow a few moments ago. Y/N observed her friend from the corner of her eye, seeing him struggle with unzipping his jumpsuit. Without hesitation, she approached him and eased his suffering, helping him with the zipper.

"Thanks," he mumbled, throwing a fleeting glance at his friend. Only then did Y/N noticed that Oscar's face was marked by several red streaks.

"Something happened?" she asked, clearly concerned. The recent strange behavior of Oscar had not escaped anyone on the team and she was no exception.

"I overslept, nothing new lately," Piastri casually replied, putting on the jumpsuit and fastening it around his neck. He brushed his hair off his face and only now did Y/N have a full view of his face, where red stripes were visible on his even paler-than-usual skin.

"Yes, that too, but that's not what I meant," she said.

Y/N took her phone and showed him his reflection. He furrowed his brows in surprise but took the phone from her and looked at his face. It was a fact, there were strange red marks on it. After a moment, he figured out why he looked like so this morning.

"They're probably scratches; I must have done them in my sleep."

"Scratches?" she scrunched her eyebrows and involuntarily glanced at his nails when he handed her the phone. Indeed, Oscar's nails could make many girls envious.

Y/N still had something to ask, but she was called to take her place in the car. She didn't have the chance to exchange a single word with Oscar until lunchtime. The couple sat in the cafeteria and as Y/N was familiar with both the old Oscar, whom she had known for several years and the slowly emerging new Oscar, she had never paid much attention to his hands or, more importantly, his nails.

"Has this happened to you before?" Y/N asked when they were both eating lunch and Oscar focused all his attention on what she assumed was his first eagerly awaited meal of the day.

"That I took two portions of rice with vegetables for lunch?" he asked with his mouth full, glancing at her in the meantime "No, honestly, this is my debut."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not asking about that. I mean, have you ever looked like you've just met Wolverine?"

"Still have those marks?"

Y/N nodded in response as she continued eating.

Oscar sighed, swallowing what was in his mouth and wondering whether to tell her about the embarrassing nonsense that had haunted him for as long as he could remember. Seeing her curious gaze he decided to confess to her an unusual fact about himself.

"I can't cut my nails."

Oscar threw this statement into the air without much ado. Honestly, at this point in his life where he was and with all the things happening, most of which didn't go the way they should, thinking about things like his unfortunate nails would be total foolishness.

"Oh, really?" she was surprised, but it was the kind of surprise when you hear some fun fact you didn't know before.

"You reacted like I just told you that there are twice as many kangaroos as people in Australia."

"It's quite an unusual thing, you're probably the first person I know who can't do it."

"I don't know if it's something to feel special about, although probably yes since for the rest of the day, I look like I do."

Oscar replied, pointing to his scratched face.

"What's worse," he continued, not interrupting his eating, "Even when I manage to deal with them, it takes a moment and they look the same again. They grow terribly fast."

"If you want, I can help you with them," she offered, glancing at him.

Oscar hesitated for a moment and after that he looked at her uncertainly.

"Could you?"

"Of course!"

Shortly afterward, Y/N's hotel room turned into improvised nail salon. She took her task very seriously, pleased that Oscar allowed her to do anything extra such as cutting his cuticles or giving his hands a massage with a cookie-scented cream.

"You have nice nails," he said when she massaged his hands. Her nails had short square shapes with a matte finish. The color was no surprise; it was papaya orange. "Do PR people dip their fingers in this too?"

Y/N laughed and shook her head.

"No, I just noticed this nail polish in the drugstore and I thought I'd take it. It amused me that this color haunts me everywhere."

"Do you do your nails yourself?" Oscar looked at her with a slight shock. "It must be terribly hard and time-consuming."

"I've been doing them for a few years now and as you can see they are pretty simple, so with each time I get better at it."

She replied, taking a bit more cream. She noticed that he was silently looking at her hands; it seemed that he was particularly paying attention to her nails.

"I can paint yours too if you want."

"Mine?"

Y/N nodded and Oscar looked at her, shocked by how effortlessly she seemed to read his thoughts.

"Painted nails aren't for boys. "

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"Anyone can have painted nails, Oscar."

"Zac would be pissed at me. PR people probably too."

"Fuck Zac, fuck PR people," she looked him in the eyes. "Everyone has the right to look how they want, so if Lewis can have earrings and tattoos, Alex could have red hair, then you or any other guy can have painted nails."

Oscar hesitated for a while, looking at her uncertainly. He was silent for a moment, thinking hard. However, he decided that it was time to finally do something contrary to the norm. He has stuck to the rules and regulations all his life, so it's time to make a small concession that won't harm anyone.

"Can you make them for me with a shiny finish?"

Y/N smiled and nodded, hurriedly getting off the bed and grabbing her bag with all the supplies. The smile on Oscar's face appeared with each painted nail, pushing away his fears and insecurities.

When the girl started finishing his other hand after more than an hour, Lando came into the bedroom without any warning, complaining about his friends and the fact that none of them had replied to any of his messages for over forty minutes.

When Norris noticed what he was witnessing, he opened his mouth in shock and his eyes almost fell out of his sockets. Both Oscar and Y/N knew their friend's unfiltered chatter, so they mentally prepared themselves for some comment from him. But beside that, he hurriedly took off his shoes and all excited sat on the bed, rolling up his sleeves.

"Oh my God! Will you do mine too?"

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 oneshots #op81 #formula 1 #f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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therocketeer0501 · 20 days ago

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Emptiness Machine

Starscream X Reader (mech pilot AU)

Warnings/TW: blood, weapons, mention of torture, robot gore, human experimentation (shockwave is shockwave), language, and peril. (I’ll add more as I post)

(Author note: Before I get started I wanted to get a few things out of the way. This is my own AU and doesn’t really lend itself to much existing media. Gonna mash a few continuities together. This is in no way a professional writing by any means. I am not running it past a beta or anything so it’s going to be rough. I wanted to write this for myself and share it with y’all! This is my silly nonsense. That being said if I don’t clarify something or if something doesn’t make sense please submit an ask and I will promptly explain! Now without further ado. Here is the anticipated first chapter of Emptiness machine! Thank you all for waiting.)

Read first

Data log entry #857

Date: 003029 Time: 0700

Time since first contact: 2 years, 4 months, 7 days

What began as a national defense strategy became one of the most complex military operations in the history of the world. Project Archangel, founded by Dr. Zinovy Antonov, began under the pretense of creating the world’s first mechanized army. He started his research long before we found out we weren’t alone out here among the stars. With the arrival of the Cybertronian visitors came the fear that humanity was not only vastly outgunned, but also grossly unprepared to deal with any threat from deep space. Dr. Antonov pleaded with the government to allow him near the deactivated body of one of the Cybertronians, who was discovered after a battle had broken out between factions.

He studied their biology and created what he dubbed the perfect exoskeleton. Fueled by chemical X, also known as Energon, and operated by none other than the human soul itself. There weren’t many volunteers to undergo the rigorous training and testing that these pilots had to go through. But with the help of Cybertronian Autobot scientists, Project Archangel was finally given the green light to move forward. Only three pilots made it through the initial testing.

Pilot: Seraphim, Pilot: Uriel, and Pilot: Michael.

With their functioning mecha, these pilots were meant to assist the Autobot Cybertronians in keeping earth from being terraformed by the opposing Cybertronian facton, the Decepticons.

Which brings us to the present. We have had zero contact with the other faction known as the Decepticons until two months ago. The Autobots insisted we keep our distance and only deploy Project Archangel as a last resort. Keeping the humans out of the conflict was essential if they wanted to stay neutral in the eyes of the Decepticons. As far as we know, no Decepticon has ventured down to the planet’s surface from their airship Nemesis to interact with the population. Only sending drones to wreak havoc on areas rich in Chemical X.

However, in recent months, there have been sightings of Decepticon officers and scientists (identified by Autobot command) on the planet’s surface. It was decided that we bring Project Archangel out of the shadows and deploy them on a scouting mission alongside several Autobots. We only hope that we haven’t made a grave mistake.

Chapter 1

You let yourself be pulled through the spiral of light emanating from the ground bridge. Traveling via the alien tech was a feeling that no one could describe. The closest thing to it was like having a magnet in your chest be pulled faster than your brain could register before spitting you back out on the other side. It had taken many practice runs for you to not throw off your stabilizers and stick the landing. Though it still made you dizzy and a bit sick.

After landing behind Bee in a heavily wooded area, you quickly scan the trees for energy signatures. Your scanners were only programmed to detect the Decepticon drones and of course the energy signatures of your comrades. Bumblebee signaled for you to fall in behind him and you promptly obeyed. You could feel the way your heart pounded against your ribcage where your body rested snug inside the metal chest of your mech. Your consciousness flawlessly divided between the two bodies. One living metal, and one flesh. Energon flowed steady through your lines as you tried to calm the slight tremor of your hand that came with the rush of adrenaline.

Ahead you could see the energon mine in the waning light. A clearing with a large metal structure in the center. The two huge metal doors at the entrance had been blown wide open to reveal the tunnel that went deep inside the earth to extract the precious ore. The human sentries, once posted outside, were nowhere to be found. Vehicles were overturned and some still smoldered where they had been hit with plasma bolts. You switch to internal comms so you can communicate with Bee without anyone on the outside hearing.

“Second wave in twenty. Nineteen….”

You slowly count down the seconds until the others arrive so you can rush the structure together. Adjusting your grip on your rifle you study entrance trying to imagine just what awaited you inside. Clearly a monster. Looking to your left you see Bumblebee gripping his null ray, an uncharacteristically stoic look on his face. You had some form of friendship with all the autobots, but you were closest to the little yellow scout. Perhaps it was shared interest or the fact that he seemed more your age. Whatever the case, you had shared so many things with each other over the two ish years that you had been a part of Project Archangel. Only once did you ask him about his home.

He looked saddened at the question and at first you thought he wouldn’t answer you. But he did. You spent the better part of a day listening to how he didn’t know Cybertron before it had been nearly obliterated by the war. It had been a planet filled with culture, music, and arts. No factions to speak of. A united Cybertron. But then came the slow divide of the classes. The divide grew until there were only the obscenely wealthy, and those who had nothing. That’s when, from the pits of Kaon, came the leader of the Decepticon faction.

Megatron.

Bumblebee described him as charismatic and well spoken. Someone bots wanted to rally behind. Many of the Autobots started out as Decepticons in the early days of the war. Taking down the government brick by brick until nothing remained. When it came time to build a new government, Megatron wasn’t satisfied. He wanted all the bots and their families who dared oppress him gone. Obliterated until nothing was left. He ended up doing exactly that. This cost him many followers and eventually after many thousands of years, his home. He didn’t stop. Blaming the Autobots for the lack of energon and destruction on Cybertron.

With a dead world and nowhere to go, the Autobots turned to the libraries in what was left of Iacon. There they found records of worlds seeded with energon by the 13 original Primes. A failsafe in case something were to happen to Cybertron. Optimus Prime lead the remaining Autobots off world to look for a suitable new home. Of course Megatron followed. They tore their way through 11 uninhabited worlds while trying to find one that suited them best. Stripping the worlds of their energon before moving on to the next. Earth was the first seeded world to have intelligent life. Optimus made it his sole mission to keep that intelligent life from having to endure the horrors of the war they brought with them.

It was nearly impossible due to the ever present evil that lurked in the sky. The Nemesis, like a dark cloud, hung overhead when you looked up. What kind of monsters would tear apart their home just to make a point? You were about to find out. A ground bridge portal appeared nearly blinding her as she adjusted her optics to its harsh blue light. Four bots landed and immediately began sprinting towards the entrance. Your peds began to automatically move. The yellow scout close on your heels as the two of you followed your comrades inside. Drones swarmed around you the instant you broke the entrance. Inside you could see Cliffjumper, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and one of your brothers in arms Michael. His mech was a heavy class. Not very good at maneuvering but excellent at breaking things. Throwing a drone into a wall with the butt of your rifle, you turn to Bee and chuckle over comms.

“I was expecting more of a fight. This is a fairly average number of drones.”

He didn’t reply right away as he tried to pull a drone off of one of the lambo twins. You couldn’t tell which one because of the sheer number of bodies trying to suffocate the bot. Using your jump jets you propel yourself forward and into the pile sending a good number of the drones flying. They broke easily, not filled with much energon either. It made you wonder just how the Decepticons managed to manufacture so many drones while the Autobots controlled the energon. With the last of the drones dispatched, you look around and regroup with the others. Slowly you start moving further into the mine. Eventually it would open up into a huge cavern. It would be beautiful if not for the dread that had settled over the group like a thick fog. Suddenly your comm crackled to life as Sideswipe replied to your earlier comment in Bumblebee’s stead.

“We’ll get a good fight eventually. These tin cans are just the appetizer for the main course. It’s confirmed, Shockwave is here. I’ve been itching to dig my fist into that lone optic of his.”

He emphasized his excitement by sending his fist into the shoulder of his brother. The golden bot gave him a sour look but didn’t retort like he normally would have. The energy of the Autobots had been stoic ever since it was confirmed that the first Decepticon on scene was Shockwave. You had no idea what to expect. You knew Shockwave was a scientist and known for his cruel and unusual experiments during the war on Cybertron. He created the most horrific weapons used in the Great War, so he must be someone to fear at the very least.

As you make your way down, you begin to hear a long drawn out noise. Almost like a squeaky door hinge but amplified, bouncing off the walls of the mine shaft. Then there was the screaming. You had wondered what happened to the sentries who were stationed outside. Now you knew. A deep voice rumbled from up ahead. It was cold, unfeeling, and filled you with dread.

“Test 8 unsuccessful. Most illogical. Send another.”

There was that horrible sound like metal rending and then another shriek cut short. Before a sigh of resignation came from nearby. It wasn’t Shockwave who made the noise of dissatisfaction. Another Decepticon. Your heart pounded as you look over at your fellow bots to see if they heard the same thing you did. If their wide optics were any indication, they had. Two Decepticons. Not just one. You listened closely as the other bot seemed to pace back and forth in front of the opening to the cavern. You and your companions were split on either side of the entrance, listening but not yet entering the space.

The other Decepticon doesn’t speak and suddenly he goes eerily silent. It made your hair stand on end and you almost felt like you were being watched. Could Decepticons see through reinforced steel? You shook your helm at the thought. No way. But after a heartbeat he said something that had your heart in your throat.

“Shockwave wrap it up. We aren’t alone.”

Cliffjumper growled into his comm in recognition of the voice.

“Spinster. He’s going to be trouble.”

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emsdevs · 28 days ago

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Bear and Bug 3: The Distance

a/n: Here is the much-awaited pt 3!! We have a feature from Jack and a glimpse into his friendship with Bug!! Enjoy :)

masterlist | bear and bug masterlist

It didn’t take Quinn long to get back in your good graces, and soon, it was like nothing had happened between you two at all, well, not exactly nothing. Calls between the two of you were significantly more lovey-dovey, and they always ended with a soft “I love you” from each of you, which would have never happened before. The biggest difference, though, was the intense longing you now had to see Quinn. He was right about you only spending time with Jack until it was basically too late, and now you feel like you wasted a lot of time that you could have spent with your new boyfriend. Quinn often assured you that it was okay. He’d promise that summer would come soon enough, and you could spend plenty of time together then.

You couldn’t really believe him, though, because that directly conflicts with the most difficult part of your relationship. Neither of you have spoken a word about it to Quinn’s family, or yours for that matter, and Jack was at the top of the “not telling” list. You and Quinn had decided it was best to keep your romance to yourselves for the moment, not wanting to cause any drama if the distance didn’t work, so you’ve been biting your tongue on every phone call with Jack, trying to keep your mouth shut about it. If you were being honest, the guilt was starting to creep in. He was already having a really tough season, what would he think if he found out his best friend was dating his older brother behind his back? How much worse will it be if he finds out months from now? You weren’t really keen on keeping this secret from Jack in the first place. You two tell each other everything, so you knew he’d be hurt when he eventually found out. However, it was that fear of hurting him that kept you from letting him in. You didn’t want to add to the emotional turmoil he was already in. He had been calling you almost nightly at this point, crying and telling you that he wasn’t even sure he enjoyed hockey anymore. People had been calling him a bust all season, and it was getting to his head, making him wonder why New Jersey would draft him in the first place. After hearing how distraught he’s been all season, you knew you couldn’t add to that.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Jack sighed into the phone one night. “Am I even right for this team? Would I be right for any team?” his voice began to break.

“Jack, no,” you let out a breath, shocked that your confident, easy-going best friend was feeling down enough to doubt his talent, his skill. “I’ve known since we were kids that you were destined for the NHL. The skill that you have is amazing, not to mention the hockey knowledge you have and the way you can read a play. You just have to get adjusted. It’s a big thing to deal with, and the people who know you, the people who matter, aren’t blaming you or getting mad at you. It’ll come. I promise.”

“I guess,” he trailed off a little, still sounding kind of broken. “Can you just get my mind off of it, please? What’s going on with you? You talked to Quinner recently?”

Your eyes widen, grateful that he can’t see your face, “Uhh, yeah, we talked a couple days ago I guess. Why, um, why do you ask?”

“You guys just seemed close at the beginning of summer, and he mentioned something last year about you guys talking quite a bit while you were both at school,” his statement almost sounded like a question, curious as to why you sounded a little panicked.

“Oh yeah,” you chuckled trying to sound more casual, “we did get kind of close then.”

“Yeah,” he dragged the word out a little, “so, um, anyway, how are your classes going?” Jack changed the topic, assuming you were acting weird because of stress or something similar. The phone carried on as they usually did, you spilling nonsense to distract Jack from his NHL stress and Jack gladly listening to whatever stories you have for him, grateful for the distraction.

Your calls with Quinn, however, weren’t always that happy anymore. It suddenly seemed like the calls weren’t enough, that neither of you could keep going on two-hour phone calls every other day.

“Bug, I know it’s difficult, but you could at least act like you’re happy to talk to me,” Quinn was trying, really he was, but he needed you to put in a little effort too.

“I am excited to talk to you. I promise, Bear. I just,” you pause, knowing you’ve had this conversation too many times to count at this point, “I just really wish I could see you.”

Quinn sighs, knowing exactly how you feel, “I get that, I swear because I’m dying to see you again too, but I have no clue when that could happen until summer.”

“What’s your schedule like in December? I could come to Vancouver on my Christmas break,” you had been thinking this for a while, too scared to bring it up until right now.

“Well, we have a home stand right before Christmas. Could that work?” you already knew it could.

“I think so, yeah,” you breathed out a sigh of relief, happy Quinn agreed so easily.

“Okay, I’ll get you a plane ticket for the 16th.”

“Bear, no, I can get my own ticket,” you argued.

“Nonsense. I finally have an excuse to spend my money on my girlfriend. I’m gonna use it. I am wondering though, how are we gonna deal with Jack?”

“I’ll just tell him I’m on a girls’ trip to Vancouver, so I won’t be able to Facetime, only call or text,” you answered, probably a little too quickly. You really already had all of this completely thought out.

“Okay yeah, and I can just keep you out of the screen if anyone Facetimes me,” Quinn agrees, already sounding happier knowing he’d get to see you in just a few weeks.

Two and a half weeks later, Quinn was picking you up from the airport in Vancouver. When you both got back to his apartment, it was like everything fell into place. After a much-needed reunion, and an even more needed nap, you helped Quinn make dinner. Before you knew it, your week with Quinn was almost up, and you’d be leaving the next day. The two of you were spending your last night together curled up on the couch watching cheesy romcoms. Halfway through “10 Things I Hate About You”, your thoughts got the better of you.

“Bear?” you question softly, awaiting Quinn’s response.

“Yeah, Bug?”

“We’ll be okay, right? Like we’ll be able to handle the distance and the secret?” you can’t help but let the doubts creep in.

“Of course we will,” Quinn starts. “We just gotta remember the times like this when we can’t be in the same place. We can’t let the distance get to us, so we have to look forward to when we can be together. If we focus too much on how sad we are when we’re apart, we’ll never be able to be happy together. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does. I don’t know why I was worried anyway. As long as I’ve got you I’m good,” you lean up to place a kiss on his jawline.

“Yeah, I’m good with you too, Bug,” he returned the action, kissing your forehead.

It would all work out, eventually.

#em's writing #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #qh43 #bear and bug au

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feminist-space · 3 months ago

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"Most of what “public health” does for Americans is taken for granted. Before the Covid pandemic, most people probably didn’t think about it at all. Yet the fact that, in most places in the United States, we can count on the water we drink to be safe, that the food we buy is not contaminated with e-coli or listeria, and that we don’t have to deal with dreaded childhood diseases that ripped through our communities only a few decades ago, is a testament to the tireless work of many, unheralded, often unknown heroes. This invisible safety net has been built up over the years, always underfunded and understaffed, always not-enough, but it’s all we’ve got.

...

By now, we’ve heard Kennedy’s views on everything from fluoride in drinking water to childhood vaccines, to threats to recreate the NIH and FDA in the image of his own quackery. Let’s be clear: Kennedy’s views are not “alternative” to orthodoxy, meant to shake up the system—they are verifiably false. They are nonsense.

Let’s take his claims on fluoride as an example. RFK Jr. wrote on X in early November: “Fluoride is an industrial waste associated with arthritis, bone fractures, bone cancer, IQ loss, neurodevelopmental disorders, and thyroid disease.” Um—no. In high doses over prolonged periods of time—as with many other substances (even water and oxygen!)—exposure to fluoride can be a problem, but not in the small concentrations we see in drinking water. Lest we forget: Fluoride has been a bugaboo of the far right since the 1950s, when fluoridation was supposed to be part of a communist plot to take over America.

And since conspiracy theories know no borders, we can also look at a natural experiment up in Calgary, Canada, for further evidence. In 2011, Calgary’s’s city council banned fluoridation, and now is set to reintroduce it next year. Why? Because since fluoridation ended, cavities in children’s teeth have become more numerous and larger, often requiring treatment under general anesthesia and/or intravenous antibiotic therapy to fight infections associated with tooth decay. As one researcher at the University of Calgary has said, the decision to ban fluoridation had a clear result: It was a source of “avoidable and potentially life-threatening disease, pain, suffering, misery and expense…especially [for] very young children and their families.”

As for vaccination, Kennedy’s views are long-standing and well-known. He has suggested that “there is no vaccine that is safe and effective,” and he still clings to the long-debunked idea that vaccines cause autism. More recently, during the Covid pandemic, he created a multimillion-dollar anti-vaccine juggernaut to dissuade people from getting vaccinated against SARS-CoV-2.

There is no person right now more vital to the anti-vaccine movement than RFK Jr., and his impact has been deadly. By convincing people to forgo routine pediatric vaccinations, he has endangered the lives of thousands of kids, stoked fear in families with autistic children, and in at least once instance was partially responsible for a devastating outbreak of measles. In 2019, 83 people, mostly children, died of the preventable disease in Samoa. While Kennedy has denied that his words and actions were responsible for the outbreak, he has supported anti-vaccination efforts on the islands, written to the nation’s prime minister about the dangers of vaccines, and visited Samoa to meet with anti-vaxxers and subsequently praised them for their work. As Derek Lowe, a columnist from the United States’ leading scientific journal, Science, has said: “Kennedy’s views on science and medicine are not only wrong, they are actively harmful and destructive. He has used them to make a great deal of money, and he has lied about them to interviewers and reporters whenever he finds it convenient.”

...

RFK Jr. is the poster boy for the new Trump administration, a rich man who never has had to worry about a thing in his life, putting the lives of ordinary Americans in jeopardy because he thinks he knows better than scientists. In fact, the man who thought it was a good idea to stage a hit-and-run with a dead baby bear and a bicycle in Central Park has shown a lack of judgment across the board for a long while. But he is part of an emerging kakistocracy-in-waiting that will be run by plutocrats and zealots. Our public health system in America is fragile and shouldn’t be a plaything. Once he’s done with his games, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men may not be able to put our public health infrastructure back together again. The damage may be lasting and profound.

But we are not powerless. So much of public health happens locally—and we can protect this precious national resource by speaking up and speaking out, at our city or town council meetings, calling and writing our state representatives, our mayors and our governors. This is going to be necessary work. As my Yale colleague Timothy Snyder has said: “Defend institutions.… Institutions do not protect themselves. So choose an institution you care about and take its side.” This may be your local public health department or Planned Parenthood clinic, a mental health clinic or needle exchange program, or services for LGBTQ+ or immigrant populations in your neighborhood.

These are all part of what makes public health happen day in and day out in our communities. Deprive RFK Jr. and Donald Trump of their power; take it away from them with focus and tenacity. Chip away at their campaign to destroy public health in America. These kinds of small acts will add up and will make a difference. If these men are the disease, let us be the cure."

#fuck rfk jr #rfkjr #public health #clean water #vaccines save lives #rfk

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ladykettlechips · 4 months ago

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Beautiful Mess - Ficlet

This idea came randomly, with the initial thought that sparked this idea being the very end of this little oneshot. In short, Kate realises she likes Anthony upon opening the door to him wearing badly done make-up and ribbons in his hair, courtesy of Hyacinth. Here, Kate realises she likes him because of how much he dotes on his family, especially Hyacinth. This was never intended to be long. It's just a cute little ficlet about Kate meeting Anthony and realising she likes someone she initially disliked. The other mini-scenes are essentially how that happens, I guess. Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ When Kate first came into contact with Anthony Bridgerton in a pub, she remembered calling him a haughty prick before throwing a drink over him and his obscenely expensive shirt.

She had initially thought he was handsome. In fact, he was the type of man she was usually attracted to; well-dressed, confident, perhaps a little too cocky for his own good. A pretty smile that had probably gotten him into a few people’s beds when he flashed it. Yes, he was beautiful, annoyingly so, and Kate had actually considered talking to him at one point that night.

That was until he opened his mouth, of course.

He had been spouting some nonsense about love being a con and only finding women suitable for bedding to his mates. They had laughed in return, all cocky grins and eager agreement at this rich pricks mantra. So she had taken her glass – a large wine with an eye-watering price tag attached – said her piece and proceeded to throw the contents in his face.

“You’re disgusting,” she managed to hiss after the fact, her face hot and her body trembling as the man stared at her agape, beads of Merlot dripping from his chin and streaks staining his once crisp blue shirt.

“Excuse me-” he started, but Kate did not wait to find out what he wanted to say; she simply turned on her heel and left.

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

The second time Kate met Anthony was at an art gallery.

“Kate, Kate, you must come to meet my brother,” Benedict proclaimed excitedly. Grabbing her arm, he practically dragged Kate towards one of many paintings. “You two will get along swimmingly!”

Swallowing a groan, Kate followed Benedict to his most recent creation, a piece entitled ‘Midnight in Silver’ where a man stood. He had his back turned to them, ramrod straight while he looked up at the painting, his head partially tilted to the side.

“Anthony,” Benedict panted, his smile wide and eyes glinting with glee. “Anthony, this is Kate Sharma. Brilliant watercolourist, amazing photographer. Kate, this is…”

“You,” Anthony hissed, just as Kate groaned “You,” the moment he turned around; she would recognise the prick from the bar just two weeks ago anywhere.

“Oh?” Benedict blinked, his mouth forming in a perfect ‘o’. “You already know each other? Well, that’s fantastic!”

Kate turned to glare at her fiend, mere seconds before Anthony speared his brother with a searing glance.

“No, it’s not bloody fantastic,” the prick snarled, jabbing a finger in Kate’s direction. “She’s the reason my shirt is ruined!”

Folding her arms across her chest, Kate threw the prick a pointed look. “Maybe if you didn’t run your mouth about women only being good for bedding, maybe you’d stay dry.”

At this, Benedict’s eyes lit up while Anthony started to sputter.

“Oh! So you’re the haughty prick!” Benedict giggled, clapping his brother on the back while Anthony’s ears began to turn a dangerous sort of pink.

“I-I am not a haughty prick!” he cried and, if he hadn’t contained himself, Kate was almost certain Anthony would have stomped his foot, much like a toddler. “Besides, she shouldn’t have been listening in on another persons conversation!”

“If you hadn’t been so loud, then perhaps the whole pub wouldn’t have heard,” she returned, tilting her head as she appraised the man before her. “For such a pretty man, it really is a shame that you have the misfortune of being an uptight prick who speaks before he thinks.”

Benedict’s head whipped around to stare at Kate, his mouth slightly agape. Beside him, Anthony’s eyes only seemed to grow wider before the corners of his lips tugged upwards, a cocky, knowing grin beginning to grace his face.

“You think I’m pretty?” he asked, almost as if her were amused. Annoyingly, Kate could feel the beginnings of a blush forming on her cheeks. She would not let him win.

“As pretty as a painting hung on a wall,” she snapped, unable to keep her voice even. “And hanging you sounds mighty appealing, right now.”

Before either Benedict or Anthony could retort, Kate gave them both one final glare and turned on her heel to flee the gallery.

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

The prick seemed to pop up in her life intermittently after that. Invites to Benedict’s family home often meant enduring Anthony’s presence, be it in silence or some much-needed bickering for them both. Cheeky nights out that should have just been between friends would often include the rogue older brother, too, always at Benedict’s insistence.

It usually ended in Anthony and Kate ignoring each other, moments before trying to pry Benedict away from his phone before he could drunk-dial one of his exes in a fit of tears.

Though it brought Kate little pleasure to spend a great deal of time with the elder Bridgerton, she had learned to tolerate him against her will, at the very least.

She had also learned that, despite her initial impression of him, Anthony Bridgerton was not that bad.

He was still a prick of the highest degree, of course, but he had his moments. Like when he smiled; he did have a lovely smile, one that made his face crinkle and his eyes light up as if the person he was talking to had hung the sun. And he really was quite pretty, as much as it pained Kate to admit it.

Then there was his laugh. Anthony had a lovely laugh, one that sent the butterflies in her tummy into a frenzy. He had only ever laughed when he was with his family though, she realised one day. He had never truly laughed in public, nor did his smile ever reach his eyes unless he was with the people who so dearly loved.

But he was also competitive and over-protective and stubborn. He was constantly hovering while he looked for perfection in everything he and his siblings did. Anthony was stifling, far too much for his family who seemed to enjoy freedom away from his clutches. Except he was also stupidly loyal and caring and, more often than not, she had found him seeking approval from his family. Kate wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it, but she had.

And try as she might, she just couldn’t stop looking.

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

The next time Kate saw Anthony Bridgerton was when he opened the door to Bridgerton house, his eyes wide when he saw her standing on the step as she looked back up at him curiously.

His hair, usually perfectly coiffed, was instead stuck at odd angles, a variety of coloured ribbons adorning each tuft. Then there was his face, usually clear but this time covered in make-up, splotches of blue, yellow and pink marking his eyelids, cheeks and lips.

Anthony looked ridiculous and, for the first since Kate had thrown wine at his face, in complete disarray.

“Ah, Kate,” he breathed, the beginnings of a lopsided grin forming on his lips. “Bad timing, I’m afraid; Hyacinth’s on a makeover rampage She has left no survivors.”

Blinking back up at him, Kate was dimly aware that she had opened her mouth to speak, only no words seemed to come out. Instead she just stared at Anthony in all his ridiculous glory, her reason for being at the house since forgotten.

Thankfully, Anthony had already turned his back to her, the door swinging open as he walked down the hall.

“Come in if you want,” he said, glancing at her from over his shoulder. “But be warned; you will leave this house looking a tad less presentable than when you arrived.” And with that he turned a corner, leaving Kate on the steps as she stared after him, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.

What is happening? she thought, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. What the hell is happening to me?

Taking a deep breath, Kate looked up to the sky as she took a moment for herself. Finally, when enough time had passed, she stepped inside the house and closed the door. She waited another moment, willing the rush of heat in her cheeks to quell before making her way towards the living room.

Except when Anthony popped his head out of the doorway, that disarming grin now painted in letterbox red lipstick, Kate felt her heart hammer against her chest and her cheeks burst into flames at the ridiculous sight of him.

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the living room. “Your make-up artist awaits.” And all too quickly he disappeared again, leaving Kate to stare at the spot he had just been in, her heart still hammering wildly against her chest.

Even when he looked a mess, Anthony Bridgerton was still annoyingly beautiful.

Oh, crap. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I really need to compile these oneshots I do on tumblr and put them onto AO3.

#kanthony #kathony #anthony x kate #kanthony fic #bridgerton fanfic #kathony fic #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton x kate sharma #Kanthony ficlet #Kathony ficlet #Kanthony oneshot #Kathony Oneshot #Tumblr Oneshot Bridgerton

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sapphic-coded · 2 years ago

Text

I Swear That I Don't Have A Gun

You grew up in Ohio with your father, brother, and sister. Your family was small and strange. Because of that, you were picked on relentlessly at school. Until another weird kid showed up. Her family moved in across the street from you. It wasn't long until the two of you became friends. Your friendship became the light in your life. Until it ended suddenly. Rumors followed your friend's disappearance. Russian spies. You didn't see her again until you crossed paths at work.

Natasha Romanoff x fem Reader

Warnings: Violence. Some gore. Language that Cap wouldn't approve of. Reader is a messed up assassin. Minors DNI

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: Welp. Here's my first fanfic on tumblr. I only have one chapter written, but I'm hoping my muse will stick with me so I can turn this into a series. This is lightly edited. I apologize in advance for any mistakes you come across (and you most likely will). Minors, please do not interact. Please do not copy/steal my work. Enjoy!

Chapter One: I Thought You Died Alone A Long, Long Time Ago

Mount Vernon, Ohio – 1992

The silence that filled the car wielded a tension you were all too familiar with. Your father’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel he gripped. A deep frown pulled at his lips while his cold, steel gray eyes stared straight ahead behind a pair of thick, dark framed glasses. His usual tamed black hair was a mess with strands of hair shooting out in random directions.

Sitting next to your father, up in the front passenger’s seat, was your older brother. He was a tall, skinny boy who had just embarked into his teens. His blonde hair was parted down the middle of his head and reached the tips of his ears. His navy blue eyes stared out the passenger’s window. His lips were pressed tight. There was so much he wanted to say. If you guys were anywhere else, perhaps he wouldn’t hold back.

Sitting next to you in the backseat of your father’s station wagon was your older sister. She was a year younger than your brother with her long brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her head was bowed, and her brown eyes were glued to the pages of her book. She was skinny like your brother, but her body was already beginning to shift into adulthood. She had started growing breasts last summer.

You were the youngest. You had recently celebrated your tenth birthday. You were skinny like your siblings, but still very much a child. Your green camo jacket felt heavy. You were all dressed alike: green camo jackets, dark green shirts, green hunting fatigues, and heavy brown boots. It was the outfit you always wore during your hunting trips with your father.

Your brother reached toward the car’s radio. Your father’s hand released its vice-like grip on the steering wheel and slapped down on your brother’s hand. You heard the loud smack, and your brother quickly snatched his hand back.

“I’ve had enough of your nonsense.” Your father’s voice rode a current of anger that popped the tense bubble of silence.

“I just wanted to listen to music,” your brother shot back. “Sitting here in silence is boring.”

Just like that another argument between your father and brother started up. You looked over at your sister. She was very much focused on her book. Your attention drifted over to your window. You did your best to tune out the argument happening up front while you watched the scenery of trees roll by. Eventually your gaze dropped to your lap. You stared at the dried blood caked around your fingernails.

“...pointless and–”

“You are cowardly and weak!”

You can’t believe the weekend is almost over. You had spent the whole weekend out hunting with your family. Your father had parked his station wagon in a lot and marched you all out into the woods. You all had spent the whole weekend laying in the cold mud. It was your brother’s hunt. You were all following his lead. Which meant mostly laying in the mud and following tracks every so often. This weekend was supposed to end with your brother’s first kill. Instead, it ended differently.

The engine of your father’s car stopped as you reached your house. The argument between your brother and father had ended, but you cannot recall when. You undid your seatbelt and opened the car door. The moment you stepped out onto your driveway, your attention landed on a moving truck parked across the street. A man and a woman were busy unloading boxes out of the truck and carrying them into the house.

You noticed something else. A girl around your age with blue hair came out of the house and walked down the driveway towards the moving truck. Her pace slowed as she noticed you. You lifted your hand in a small, friendly wave. A smile had started to curl at your lips when your father’s voice called out to you. You turned away from your new neighbors and found your father standing in the garage with his hunting rifle hanging from his shoulder. You made your way up into the garage where you felt your father’s hand fall gently onto your shoulder.

Amsterdam – 2010

You hate these jobs. Long relentless days spent circling your target. Never able to strike just yet. You had to put on a show first. Pretend to be their friend, or a business partner, or their lover. You had to act as if your target was important in some flimsy life you threw together. Your kills were always messy at the end of these jobs. You can’t help it. You just want the stupid job to be over.

And it almost is. You have spent the past four days pretending to be your target’s bodyguard. Four days spent following your target around. You dealt with their problems and waited for the day all your targets would be together in the same room. Because the job wasn't just to kill the target you were pretending to protect. Your target and their friends had messed up. They had pissed off the wrong people. You were there to clean up the mess.

Your target had set the long awaited meeting to take place in a fancy hotel in the middle of the day. The guest list for this meeting would be short. It included your target and you, his business partners, and their private security. The meeting wasn’t scheduled to take long. It was supposed to be a simple transaction. An easy exchange of goods and money. The details of that particular transaction did not interest you. Your interest lingers on your plan to take out all your targets.

The dark brown shoulder holster that you wore over your white, button-up, collared shirt held one of your favorite guns. There was nothing overly special about it. It was a standard, black 9mm Beretta handgun. It was reliable in nearly all your jobs. It was your favorite because it had been your first gun. A present from your father. It marked the end of your training and the beginning of the rest of your life. If your job was to take out just the one target you had been following around, then the choice would have been easy. But the job required the elimination of all your targets. Since the other targets were bringing their own private security, once you made your move you would need to finish the job quickly.

But the job didn’t specify that the kills had to be quiet.

You pull on your gray suit coat. Your shoulder holster disappears from view as you stand before the mirror and button the coat. Matching gray trousers cover your legs and the black flats you wear bring a smile to your face. This job was almost over and soon you would be busy getting yourself as far away from here as possible. Hence why you chose the flats over heels. You run your hands down the length of your suit coat to smooth out any wrinkles. Your hair is pulled back into a professional, tight bun. Your right hand dips into one of the suit pockets. The pad of your finger brushes against the small, round marble nestled within.

When your target is ready, you follow him out of the hotel room he rented and down into the hotel lobby. You follow him across the spacious lobby and into a large boardroom. As the door clicks shut behind you, your eyes survey the room. A long mahogany table commands most of the space within the room. Situated around the table were identical black office chairs. Far more than necessary for this meeting. Sitting in four of the chairs were your four other targets. Standing behind each of your targets were their own bodyguards. Sunlight poured into the room from the floor to ceiling glass windows that ran along one side of the room.

You follow your target over to one of the chairs. He takes a seat and you stand behind him. Your gaze briefly returns to the other bodyguards. All tall, imposing looking men. They stand as still as statues, and you wonder how they do it. Do they enjoy following around power addicted fools? You spent four days with your target, and you can’t wait to kill him.

“Where’s Tyler?” your target asks as he settles into his seat.

“Running late,” your other target answers.

You tune out the insults your targets direct towards the currently absent Tyler. Instead, you wonder what this peaceful boardroom will look like in the next ten minutes. Or however long it takes for Tyler to show up. There will definitely be blood. Broken glass was also a given. You doubt the chairs will make it. The hotel will definitely need to buy a new table. But you wonder if you’ll get a chance to see their faces. Just one. It’s the part that fascinates you the most. Your target’s last moment etched across their face. It reveals so much.

The door to the boardroom opens and the conversation shared between your targets dies into an awkward silence. You turn in time with everyone else as Tyler steps into the room alone. The first thing you notice is that he is sweating. A lot. In his shaking hand he holds the handle of a briefcase. His free hand raises up and he runs his fingers through a disheveled mop of dark hair.

“Sorry about the wait,” Tyler says.

“Jesus, Tyler,” your original target replies. “You look like shit. Let’s just get this over with so we can all go home.”

Tyler nods and hurries over to the table. He sets the briefcase down and opens it. One of your other targets reaches into their coat pocket and pulls out a brown wrapped parcel. The size and shape of the parcel is clearly money. With everyone’s attention on Tyler and his suitcase, you causally unbutton your gray suit jacket.

“Just so everything is clear,” your original target addresses the others. “You give us that.” He gestures to the suitcase. “You take the money, and we don’t hear from you ever again. You don’t mention us and we don’t know you. You don’t come looking for this because it doesn’t exist.”

Tyler nods.

“We still haven’t discussed how we are dividing our profits,” another target says.

“We’ll discuss it later,” your original target replies.

As the conversation shifts into another argument, you decide that this is as good a time as any to wrap things up. All your targets are in place with a few bonus players. It is time to put these boring four days behind you. As your hand moves towards your pocket, you spot one of the other bodyguards quickly lowering his head. His hand lifts up to press against his ear. You still your movements as you watch the other bodyguard.

“We just lost our comms,” the bodyguard’s voice cuts through the argument.

Your hand abandons its journey towards your pocket as your original target turns around in their seat to look at you. The question written plain across their face is one you can’t answer. Maybe if you had any comms to worry about then you could make a solid guess as to why they are suddenly down. But you don’t. And while you have no interest in who the new mysterious player is, you do get the sense that maybe you really should wrap this up. Quickly.

You mimic the other bodyguards as you reach for your gun. Your fingers manage to brush against the holster’s leather before a faint beeping sound pulls your attention over towards the door. Something small and metallic rolls out from underneath the door. It rolls across the floor towards you and your gathered targets. You can barely make out what it is from where you are standing, but the quickening frequency of the faint beeping causes you to turn away from it.

The white light that explodes from the weird object swallows up the entire boardroom. You close your eyes as the explosion drowns out the shouts from the other bodyguards. Your ears are ringing when you open your eyes. The shouts from your targets are muffled as they all scramble from their seats. The wall of glass windows shatters as men in black tactical gear attached to wires swing into the boardroom. The bodyguards who had managed to pull out their guns immediately exchange gunfire with the uninvited tactical team while your targets scramble to avoid getting hit.

Well, you hadn’t planned to end this job on a neat and tidy note. Things were about to get really messy.

You pull your gun from its holster and aim it at the first tactical newcomer that pointed their gun at you. Your finger squeezes the trigger, and you watch with satisfaction as their head snaps back from the bullet barreling through their forehead. Their body goes limp and drops. You spy one bodyguard already dead with their chest riddled with bullet holes.

A second tactically geared newcomer turns their attention to you and is quick to fire. You quickly duck underneath the fancy boardroom table. Bullets from your enemy’s gun rips through the wood above you. You take aim at the guy’s leg and fire. The guy’s cry comes through crystal clear as he drops to his knee. You can’t fight back the smile that curls your lips as you maneuver your way out from underneath the table and fire off another round where you’re almost certain his mouth is.

Another bodyguard has joined the other dead one on the floor while the others corral your targets behind them as they continue to exchange gunfire with the uninvited guests. Except, Tyler darts out from behind the weakening wall of bodyguards and rushes towards the bullet ridden table. He snatches up the briefcase and hurries towards the door. The other targets hurl curses his way as you lift your gun and aim at the back of his head. You are about to pull the trigger when the door Tyler reaches flies open into him. Tyler stumbles backwards, trips over his clumsy feet, and falls backwards. The briefcase slips from his grasp and slides across the floor and stops at your feet.

Your attention, however, is not on the briefcase. It’s not even on Tyler who is groaning and still alive. Your eyes are glued to the person who steps through the doorway and into the room. You recognise her face immediately despite her red hair. It’s long and tied back away from her face in an intricate braid. The black catsuit she wears bears the symbol of SHIELD on her shoulders. The identity of the tactical newcomers pales in comparison to the way her olive green eyes widen slightly in recognition. Old memories, so long buried that you are shocked you can even remember them, creep in. The gun in your hand never wavers as you find your old friend at the business end of it.

“Y/N.”

If there were any doubts, her voice banished them. It’s her.

“Put down the gun.”

It’s as if a floodgate has opened. The memories are countless despite the fact that it had only been three years. So old and forgotten that they feel new. They smother the job that has taken up residence within your mind. You’re here to kill your targets, but all you can think about is the last time you saw her. How abrupt her departure had been. You remember your father’s rants about her family.

Slowly, you lower your gun. She takes a step forward. Tyler’s groans stop, and he lifts his head up. He reaches for the briefcase at your feet. You point your lowered gun down towards Tyler’s head and pull the trigger. Your friend’s advance stops as blood and pieces of Tyler’s brain paint the floor and the briefcase red. One target down.

The smoke pours from your gun as you gauge her reaction. The recognition you saw earlier is gone. Her face is a mask, and the frustration you feel is so familiar.

The last of the bodyguards drop and your remaining targets are completely exposed. The remaining tactical guests close in on your targets except for one who breaks off and starts towards you. You ignore the orders the man shouts at you. Instead, you kick the blood and brain matter stained briefcase underneath the ruined table. You start to raise your gun, but the tactical guest already has his finger on the trigger. He fires and you are quick to dodge out of the way. The bullets dig holes into the wall behind you. You kick one of the office chairs at the man. It collides into him and he stumbles back. You raise your gun again but the moment you squeeze the trigger, your legs are swept out from underneath you. The bullet you fired finds a home in the ceiling as your back collides with the ground.

Before you can move, a weight settles on you. Hands pin down yours. Strong legs straddle you as your friend’s face fills your vision.

“Stop, Y/N.” There’s more force behind her words this time. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

You almost laugh. Almost. Maybe if your job was done then you could have spared a moment or two to revel in your friend’s joke. But you were dangerously close to losing control of this job. You pull your legs up and manage to throw your friend off of you. You roll onto your knees and go to stand when the man you had kicked the chair at slams the butt of his gun into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side and blood fills your mouth.

The childhood memories that have been distracting you vanish as you spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. The man turns his gun back around to point the barrel at you. Your hold on your own gun remains firm as you look over your shoulder towards your friend. She’s on her knees as well, but that is all you are able to make out as you quickly drop back down towards the floor. A small, short bluish bolt flies barely an inch over your head and lands on the guy who hit you. Blue strings of electricity wrap around his chest as he drops with a shout.

You scramble to your feet and head for the door. Your hand digs into your suit pocket and your fingers close around the small marble. You can hear your friend catching up to you as you pull the marble from your pocket. Your thumb presses down on the miniscule button barely noticeable to the eye. As you quickly near the door, you drop the marble. It rolls towards your remaining targets. The moment you make it out of the boardroom and into the lobby, you feel her hand close around yours. You yank your hand hard from her grip and turn quickly while raising your gun.

You find yourself staring down the barrel of her gun. A smile creeps onto your face as you hold your gun steady. Unfortunately, your friend doesn’t find this amusing.

“Put down the gun.”

“You first, Nat,” you reply.

Her gun stays pointed at you when it finally happens. The boardroom explodes into a hot, blazing ball of destruction. The force of the explosion sends both of you flying further into the spacious lobby. You both hit a fancy looking pillar before dropping with a hard thud to the ground. Despite your body’s screams of protest, you are the first to climb back onto your feet. You look down as your friend starts to move. Still alive. Your gun feels heavy in your hand as that single thought runs laps through your mind. For the first time in a long time, you feel excited.

“Sorry, Nat,” you say as you slide your gun back into its holster. “Gotta run.”

You leave her there and make your escape. Slipping away from the scene that has now drawn a crowd is as easy as breathing. You hardly think about it. And with nobody chasing you, it’s almost painfully easy. But the further away you get, you know that’s not entirely true. She isn’t chasing after you now, but she will. You hope so. You miss your only friend.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow fanfiction #natasha romanoff fanfic #my fanfic #fic: i swear that i don't have a gun

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hotgirlbedtimescenarios · 8 months ago

Text

Before the Sun Rises // Chapter 4

Fresh Start

Pairing: dbf!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

Summary: Time with a special friend has you and Joel eager to clear the air of tension that has been causing a rift between the two of you recently.

Words: 4.3k+

Warnings: fluff, some family turmoil, and a brief/vague mention of potential SA ( nothing happened )

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“You look like crap,” your sister teases when she spots you laid out on the couch, nursing a cold glass of water and force-feeding yourself a cold pancake from the breakfast your mom had cooked hours ago.

“Shut up, Izzy,” you groan, angry at yourself for being so hungover.

“I guess you aren’t coming to town with us today?” she asks.

“No thanks,” you say, taking another nibble of your pancake.

Your mom walks around the corner, digging in her massive, cluttered purse for her keys while she speaks to you, “Izzy and I will be in town for most of the day. I have a lot of errands to run, and she needs some supplies for summer camp.”

You grunt an acknowledgment, still too nauseous to form many words.

“And your father’s gone golfing with Richard; who knows how long they’ll be gone today,” she finishes as she motions Izzy toward the door to leave. Finally, the door closes behind them, and the house is washed in sweet, beautiful silence.

You finish choking down your pancake and chugging a glass of water before walking into the kitchen to search for aid. Thankfully, you find a bottle of ibuprofen and swallow two before trudging back upstairs for a shower.

You’d still be in bed, but you’d made plans to visit Mrs. Mildred way before you had the bright idea to have a girl's night out.

---

Mrs. Mildred was quite the character. When you were younger, you used to view her as the crabbiest old lady on the block.

Once, you accidentally hit a baseball into her yard, which shattered her car’s side mirror. She scolded you for days afterward. The incident made you steer clear of her, only exchanging forced hellos when necessary.

Fast forward to sophomore year of high school, when your parents volunteered for you to help Mrs. Mildred with gardening. She needed someone to plant hydrangeas in her yard, and your parents graciously offered your services without consulting you. Begrudgingly, you went over, expecting a grumpy older woman.

Mrs. Mildred was stern and precise in her instructions, but as you worked together, you noticed her wit and humor peeking through her no-nonsense façade. She knew exactly what she wanted and how to do it. You imagined that if her aging back were up to snuff, she’d never stoop low enough to ask some child for gardening help.

After the plants were in the ground, she invited you inside for refreshments. “Come on inside, honey,” she directed you. She walked inside without looking back to see if you obeyed. You did.

Once inside, she ushered you to her small, round, wooden kitchen table. “Thank you for your help today, dear; I know it’s no fun, but my back is too damn old to bend over like that anymore.”

You were surprised at her crass language, a smile ticking up the sides of your mouth. As you sat at the kitchen table together, sipping homemade lemonade and munching on sandwiches and snacks, you engaged in conversation, chatting away like old friends.

It dawned on you that Mrs. Mildred wasn’t just a grumpy old lady but a girl. A lonely one, especially after her husband’s passing many years ago. Beneath her tough exterior was a woman with many stories and experiences to share with whoever would listen.

From that day on, you started to see Mrs. Mildred in a new light. You greeted her more often and joined her on her porch for afternoon chats. Before you knew it, you had formed an unlikely friendship with the firecracker of a woman, Mrs. Mildred, who turned out to be a great companion and confidante.

---

After a cool shower, you feel much more alive, no longer teetering on the verge of nausea and cringing away from every bright light in your eyes. You dry your hair, letting it fall loosely down your back, and then get dressed for the day.

You choose a delicate, white sun dress that flows loosely across your body, ties into a bow at your back, and has a hem that falls right above your knee—a perfect, relaxed fit to keep you cool and comfortable. Then, you slip into a pair of sandals and head across the street.

As you approach her home across from yours, you smile at the hydrangea bushes blooming with colorful petals, reminding you of your first afternoon here many years ago.

When you reach her door, you can hear the faint sound of old jazz music drifting through her cracked windows. You knock, and a moment later, Mrs. Mildred opens the door, a bright smile spreading across her face at the sight of you.

“Well, look who finally decided to pay this old bird a visit,” she teases, “didn’t think I’d see you again before I kick the bucket.”

You laugh, “You know I’d be pissed if you croak before I got to see you again!” you tease right back, pulling her small frame into a hug.

Mildred was even older now, probably teetering around 80 years old. Her petite frame was bent with age as she’d shrunk since the last time you saw her. Her hair, still white as snow, was curled on the top of her head with a pair of reading glasses tucked into it.

“Come on in, dear; I was just putting on another pot of coffee.”

You follow her inside, taking in the familiar surroundings of her cozy living room. The air was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and fresh linen.

Settling into one of her worn armchairs, you feel a sense of ease wash over you as Mrs. Mildred bustled about, prepping the coffee. Once everything was ready, she joined you and handed you a steaming cup. You took a sip, two sugars, and a whole lot of cream, just how you like it. You smile at the fact that she still remembers after all this time.

Settling into her armchair with a cup, she starts, “Now spill. Tell me something that’ll keep this old woman from dying of boredom. What have you been up to?”

You launch into your spiel about finally graduating but not knowing what you want to do next, about how your parents are pushing you to reach out and accept a job at Richard’s law firm.

She stops you, “Enough about all that; I don’t give a rat's ass about that man. Tell me what’s on your mind, really.”

You laugh, grateful she doesn’t amount your worth to your post-college plans like most people seem to do. So, you dive into a tale of college stories and your time abroad. Only pausing when she interjects her own commentary or asks If the boys you mentioned were “anything to write home about.”

“Definitely not,” you respond. You sip your coffee, considering what you want to ask her.

“Millie, how’d you know when you’d found your husband?” A genuine question, now turning the conversation more serious.

Mildred’s eyes sparkle with something mischievous momentarily before she barks a laugh, a crass joke probably on the tip of her tongue. But then she pauses, her laughter fading into a smile tinged with nostalgia.

“Well, honey,” she begins gently, “I’ll spare you the dirty joke this time. When I met my Donald, it wasn’t something remarkable like what you see in those sappy romance movies. He was just a regular guy, rough around the edges, but with a heart of gold.”

She leaned back in her chair, lost in the memories of days gone by. “I knew he was the one for me when he stood by me through thick and thin. He loved me for me, and I never held any part of myself back from him. He saw everything, even the ugly parts, and never once wavered in his love and support. He made me laugh when I wanted to cry and held me close when life got tough. Even put up with my foul-mouthed humor without a single chide. He was my best friend.”

A wistful smile played on her lips as she continued, “You’ll know you found the one when they accept you for who you are, flaws and all. It won’t always be easy, but it's worth it. Real love is messy and imperfect. They might never fully understand you, but they must be with you through anything and everything. Always there when you need them and vice versa.”

You listened intently, touched by the sincerity of her words. Remembering again that her wisdom extended far beyond her crass jokes and witty remarks. “Were you ever worried about whether or not he’d like you for you?”

“Well,” she considers it for a moment, “If he didn’t, that just meant he wasn’t the one for me. So, I said to hell with it and showed him exactly who I was from the start.”

You smile, happy to hear that she’d found someone to love uniquely her, just as she is.

Just as you two are about to launch another conversation, a knock at her door rattles you. “I’ll get it,” she says, groaning as she pushes herself out of her armchair and shuffles toward the door.

“Joel! There you are, come on in,” she waves him inside.

Shocked, your head whips toward the door, and you watch Joel's burly figure enter the room. His shoulders stretch against a worn-looking t-shirt above a pair of loose-fitted jeans and signature work boots that thump loudly against the floor wherever he goes.

“What is it you needed help with this afternoon?” he asks, wiping his feet on the doormat before following her into the living room where you sit.

When he notices you, his strides halt. “Oh, sorry to interrupt,” he says, at a loss for words. “Didn’t know you had company; I can come back later.”

“Nonsense,” the old woman waves him off, “Sit down and visit with us. I’ll go grab you a cup of coffee.”

Mildred shuffles into the kitchen, rattling around, while Joels sits on the couch.

“Feeling alright after last night?” He asks you, thankfully not giving you the silent treatment.

“Yeah, it was rough getting up this morning but I'm fine now,” you answer, sipping your coffee. “What about you and Tommy?”

Mildred reemerges from the kitchen, handing Joel a large mug of fresh black coffee, and settles back into her original chair.

“Had to drag him back home by the night's end.” He says before taking a sip from his mug. “By the time I drove him home and handed him off to Maria, I think he’d already passed out.”

“Sounds like he did his bachelor party right then,” Mildred chimes in with a laugh.

You look at her, confused about how she knew what they were up to last night.

She meets you with a satisfied look, “Don’t be surprised. You’re not my only friend in the neighborhood.” She nods toward Joel, “Joel’s been coming around to keep me company ever since you went off and left me.”

You look to Joel now, eager for an explanation. He looks down at his feet, almost shy and embarrassed. “I remembered you spent afternoons over here before you left. Figured she’d need some company, so I stopped by one day.”

He looks at Mildred now with a half smile on his face. “Ever since then, she’s been exploiting my kindness for free work and rides to doctors' visits.”

The old woman cackles, “It’s the least you can do in exchange for my charming company.”

You smile, and your heart grows warm, knowing that Joel has been here to care for your dear friend in your absence.

Silence fills the air now, the tension between you and Joel still ever present, though lighter now than it has been. You avoid looking at each other too much, and Mildred seems to pick up on the awkward energy.

She breaks the silence, eyeing the two of you. “What’s going on with you two?”

Your eyes dart to hers, and Joel follows suit. “What do you mean?” you ask nervously.

There’s no way she’d know about whatever was happening between you and Joel. Whatever the growing tension was between the two of you, putting a block in your friendship, or whatever it was you had with him.

“I mean what I said. What have the two of you been up to lately? It’s summer break. I’m sure Sarah has been keeping you busy,” she says, looking at Joel before turning to you, “and you're free to do whatever now, too.”

“Right,” Joel says, relaxing, “Sarah’s been jumping at the bit to do something daily. She’s mostly excited about finally being allowed to go to summer camp this year with Izzy.”

“That’s right,” you chime in. “I heard about that. My sister won't stop talking about how excited they are. She’s actually out shopping for supplies with my mom today.”

“You finally gave in?” Mildred teases, “Took you long enough. Poor girl has been begging for years, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Joel concedes, “I just worry about her too much. A whole week away in a camp in the woods? That can’t be a good idea for a bunch of little girls. What if som-“

You cut him off, “She’ll be fine, Joel,” you reassure him. “I went when I was younger, and I’d hardly call it camp. It’s a bunch of air-conditioned cabins right off the interstate where they do arts and crafts for a week and learn how to start fires with flint.”

He grumbles something unintelligible. Millie smiles to herself across the room, sensing the tension ease.

“Oh!” she jumps up out of her chair. “Let me show you something, dear,” Mildred says as she shuffles over to a bookshelf and grabs an old, worn leather photo album. “Speaking of my dear Donald, let me show you this.”

Mildred brings the photo album with her as she sits on the couch next to Joel, who looks confused about what she’s talking about, having not been present for the earlier conversation.

Mildred waves you over. “Come have a look,” she says, patting the spot next to her on the couch.

Rising from your seat, you join her and Joel on the couch. Mildred in the middle as a nice buffer between the two of you.

She opens the book to display a collage of age-tinted pictures, some with frayed and yellowed edges. The first picture shows a small woman with a tenacious-looking expression, obviously a younger Mildred, and a tall, sturdy-looking man who you assume is her late husband.

You and Joel both lean in to get a better look.

“This was me and my Don right after we moved into this house.”

“Wow, Mildred, you’re a bombshell!” you compliment her.

“I sure used to be,” she agrees, “nothing but a bag of old bones now,” she chuckles.

She flips to the next page; the photo now depicts a younger Mildred in a beautiful satin wedding dress, a long sweeping veil, and some interestingly oversized puffy sleeves that must have been all the fashion back then. Her husband was dressed in a suit with his arms wrapped around her.

“What a dress,” you comment.

“Sure is somethin’,” Joel adds, failing to hide his distaste for the gaudy fashion choices.

“Don’t judge me too harshly; it was all the craze back in my day. This was the day we were married nearly 60 years ago.”

“I’m sure that was an amazing day,” you offer.

“It was, well, for the most part.” Mildred flips the page, showing a picture of the newlywed couple sharing their first dance in a nearly empty reception hall. “Marrying him was one of the best days of my life, no doubt, but we didn’t have that many guests. My parents were dead set against me marrying him.”

“Why?” you ask, intrigued. You see Joel raise an eyebrow across from you, also interested in the story.

“Well, there are many reasons they came up with to try not to like him. He was older, though many people didn’t care about that much back then. His parents came from nothing: seamstresses for a mother and factory worker for a father. My parents raised hell when they found out I was seeing him. They thought their daughter deserved someone in the same tax bracket, like a lawyer or doctor.”

She flips the page again, displaying a picture of her and her husband holding a baby girl, her oldest daughter, you assume.

“When they found out we were engaged, they stopped talking to me, cut off my funds, and tried to blackmail me into leaving him. But they didn’t know the wealth I saw in him,” she continues lovingly. “He was a good man and cared for me like no one else. He laughed with me, cried with me, and fought like hell with me, too, but loved me regardless. I felt the happiest I’d ever been every day I spent with him. They never completely came around; we were always the family's black sheep after that, but it was all worth it.”

“It seems like you made the right decision. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard someone talk about their spouse that way.” You said, and it was true.

“You two listen up now,” she instructs, nodding to you and Joel. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned all these years, you need to live life for yourself. Don’t give a damn what anybody else has to say. I was shunned by my family and many of my so-called friends, too, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t more important than spending my life with the man I loved. In the beginning, I was scared of the backlash. All the external pressure got to me, and I broke things off with Donald briefly before realizing it was a colossal mistake. We lost precious time together before I came to my senses and ran back to him. I’d give anything to go back and get even just a few days more with him now.”

It was as if Mildred knew what was happening between you and Joel. She didn’t realize just how applicable this conversation was to you.

The three of you spend the rest of the afternoon chatting in Mildred's living room.

Joel shares how well his contracting business is going, especially with several new big-time clients in the city practically throwing money at him to take on all their projects.

Before he can get into much detail, Mildred interjects, “And what about Tommy and Maria? Engagement party soon, right? Do they need help organizing?”

“Yes, mam, it is,” Joel replies, “and no, I think Maria is doing a fine job with everything. Tommy is actually pretty excited; he was going on about color schemes and ambiance last week.” Joel chuckles, “Didn’t think I'd see the day he cared about party planning details other than what drinks he’d be bringing, but the boy is in deep with Maria. Several of her friends have agreed to help with setup and hosting, so there's nothing left to do now but wait.”

“ I look forward to it,” Mildred says. “Finally, giving this old bird a chance to dress up and socialize. Your folks coming too?” she says, looking at you now.

“Yeah, we’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it.”

Mildred yawns before getting up from the couch to stretch. “I hate to run y'all off, but I think I need a bit of a nap.”

Joel stands, offering his arm to Mildred if she needs help shuffling to the bedroom, but she swats him away.

“Need anything before we go, Millie? What was it you called me over here for anyways?” Joel questions.

“Oh, don’t worry about it; we’ll get to that next time. Can you walk her home for me, dear?”

You protest, “Millie, I live right across the street. I don’t need –“

She cuts you off. “I’m not senile yet, dear; I know that. But he’s going to do what I asked him to anyways, won't you, Joel,” she finishes, giving him a firm look that leaves no room for arguing.

“Yes, Mam.”

Without further discussion, you all say goodbye. With a click of the front door closing behind you, you find yourself alone with Joel.

Not waiting to be led home by him like a child, you begin walking toward your house. Over your shoulder, you call back to him, “You really don’t have to walk me home, Joel.”

“I’m scared of what she will do to me if I don’t,” he jokes before his much longer strides allow him to catch up to you and walk side by side. After a beat of silence, he continues, “I, uh, I actually wanted to talk to you anyways.”

You cut your eyes in his direction, surprised by his words. “Oh,” you say, “about what?”

He doesn’t look at you; he looks straight ahead as he walks with one hand by his side and the other rubbing the back of his neck, his telltale sign of discomfort.

“’ Bout last night. And uh, about everything, really. I didn’t mean to cause a scene last night; I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Sure, you had been annoyed with him last night, insinuating you were a drunk mess who couldn’t take care of herself. But after you got home and heard his voice on the phone, clearly worried about whether or not you made it home, it chilled the brewing anger you'd had toward him.

“It’s alright. I actually was going to thank you. If today's hangover is an indication of how drunk I was last night, then I get why you would have been worried about how I was getting home. Lucas, got me back safe, no problem.”

“Lucas,” Joel repeats his name, his voice a bit drier than before, and you think you see him roll his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t think you're capable of taking care of yourself, but I don’t know if I trust him.”

A beat of silence follows as the two of you continue to walk. You wrack your brain, trying to figure out Joel’s disdain for Lucas before it clicks. Prom night.

The night that should’ve been the best night of your high school life ended with you in tears over how Lucas treated you. It had left you crying in the arms of Joel Miller, who promised he'd deal with Lucas if he ever bothered you again.

“Oh,” you say, pausing as the memory floods your thoughts. You’re surprised Joel even remembers that from so many years ago.

Your eyes are on the ground, and your face is warm with embarrassment because he clearly remembers that emotional moment.

Joel halts his stride as well, coming to a stop beside you. “The last time I’d heard you say anything about him, it wasn’t good. Then I saw him there, leading you to his truck without your friends. I thought.. well, I couldn’t let you go with him without knowing if you were too drunk or if you were comfortable leaving with him.”

Guilt comes crashing down on you. You’d been so pissed at Joel but hearing things from his point of view, the way things must have looked, and given his background knowledge of Lucas, it all makes sense now.

You finally glance up, meeting his warm brown eyes in the light of day. “I know what It must've looked like. My friends and I had caught up with Lucas earlier in the night, and he seemed to have changed, so I took him up on his offer to drive me home. That’s it.” You let a small smile appear on your face, “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Any time.” He smiles back, “I mean it.”

The sincerity in his voice sends another wave of emotion through you. Having been in such a weird place with Joel lately, you’ve forgotten the kind of man he is. He’d always looked out for you, always been there when you didn’t know who else to turn to.

Maybe it clouded your vision and led you to believe you were seeing signs of something more between the two of you when, in reality, it was just wishful thinking.

You've built up one-sided affection and snapped at him the other night outside of your house when the way he’d been acting around you didn’t fit that narrative.

Breaking eye contact, you take a deep breath and exhale. “Listen, I’m sorry for snapping at you the other night after dinner. It’s weird being back home. I was a kid when I left, but I’ve come back as an adult. I’ve been away for years and feel like a new person now, but my parents don’t see that. They treat me like they always have like I'm too young and inexperienced to know what's good for me.”

Joel opens his mouth to say something, but you keep going.

“But you’ve never treated me that way; you never made me feel less than, and I guess I got confused and.-“

“Hey,” Joel finally interjects, saving you from rambling into how you may have misconstrued his attention and embarrassed yourself by assuming it was something more.

You feel his palm land on your shoulder, rubbing a soothing thumb back and forth as he steps closer. Despite the heat of the summer sun, chills prickle up your spine.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were right; I was being an asshole. You’re not a kid no more, hell anyone who spends any time with you should know that by now. I don’t know what I was thinking, acting the way I did. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Can we just start over?” You ask. “Be friends again, for real this time?”

“I’d like that.” A smile lifts the edge of his lips and crinkles the skin around his eyes.

You and Joel finally finish the walk back to your house in comfortable silence, where he leaves you at the door.

“Welcome home,” he says in that signature smooth rasp.

“Good to be back,” you answer with a smile, and this time it's true, as you slip inside.

With the air cleared and things between you and Joel back to normal, the weight has been lifted, and you are eager for what's to come this summer.

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