#to make herself look better to those around her

[writeriguess]

Can you do Katsuki x female reader where reader's daughter (who she had with another man years ago, her ex turned out to be abusive) finally warms up to Katsuki enough to start calling him her dad? The girl has traumas about her dad so it's a big step.

author's note: never mind about the GIF library—it only seems to work with certain tags. Katsuki's tag takes 5 minutes to load before throwing me with an error. I'll try adding GIFs to posts that actually load for me.

Piece by Piece

Katsuki had always been patient, in his own rough-edged way. He knew better than to force anything, especially when it came to your daughter, Aimi. She had every reason to be wary of men, of father figures, and he never blamed her for keeping her distance. He had seen the haunted look in her eyes when she flinched at loud voices, how she hesitated before speaking, always gauging if she was safe.

At first, she barely acknowledged him, only ever referring to him as "Mom’s boyfriend" or simply "Katsuki." It stung a little, but he never let it show. Instead, he showed up—again and again. Helping her with homework, cooking meals when you were busy, staying up with her when she had nightmares, and never pushing when she needed space. He wasn’t trying to replace anyone. He just wanted her to know that he wasn’t going anywhere.

There were tough days. Days where she barely spoke a word to him, locking herself in her room, the old memories dragging her down. On those nights, he’d stay up, making sure she knew he was around if she needed anything. Some nights she had nightmares. He heard her muffled cries through the door but never forced his way in. Instead, he left a cup of tea outside her door, a small note scrawled on it: "You’re safe. We’ve got you."

Slowly, she started warming up. Small things—like watching TV in the same room as him instead of avoiding him altogether. Asking him to pass the salt at dinner instead of pretending he didn’t exist. He took every small win, knowing trust took time.

Tonight was no different. You had fallen asleep on the couch after a long day, leaving Aimi and Katsuki alone in the kitchen. She sat at the table, lazily pushing around the remains of her dinner while Katsuki stood at the sink, washing dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Aimi mumbled, staring at the soapy water. “Mom’ll do it in the morning.”

Katsuki huffed, rinsing off a plate. “Tch. Ain’t lettin’ her wake up to a mess. She does enough as it is.”

Aimi was quiet for a moment, watching him. He knew that look—like she was debating something, turning it over in her mind. “You always help,” she said finally, almost accusingly.

Katsuki dried his hands and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah. So?”

She fidgeted, picking at the edge of her sleeve. “My real dad never did.”

His chest tightened, but he didn’t say anything. Just let her talk.

“He used to yell at Mom a lot. At me, too.” Her voice was small, but steady. “I used to wish he’d just leave us alone. But when he finally did, I still felt…wrong. Like maybe I wasn’t good enough.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. The urge to track down that bastard and make him regret every word, every bruise, every scar he’d left on them—it burned hot inside him. But this moment wasn’t about his anger. It was about Aimi.

He forced himself to take a slow breath. “That asshole had nothin’ to do with your worth, kid. He was just a piece of shit who didn’t deserve you or your mom.”

Aimi looked up at him then, really looked at him. “You’re different.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his heart was hammering. “Damn right, I am.”

She gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Katsuki froze. The plate in his hand nearly slipped. He turned to her slowly, his throat tight. “What’d you just say?”

She shifted, suddenly nervous. “I mean—only if you want me to call you that—”

He was across the room before she could finish, pulling her into a hug. He felt her stiffen at first, but then she melted into him, clutching his shirt with small hands.

“You’re damn right I do,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with emotion. “You’re my kid now, got it?”

Aimi sniffled against his chest. “Okay…Dad.”

Katsuki held her tighter, pressing his chin against her head. He stayed like that, letting her feel the steady strength of his arms. After a few moments, she let out a small laugh, muffled against his chest.

“You’re squishing me.”

He grunted but loosened his grip slightly. “Tch. You’ll live.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her expression softer than he’d ever seen. “I think I’m really lucky.”

Katsuki’s throat tightened again, and he ruffled her hair roughly to hide the way his eyes burned. “Damn right you are. Best damn dad you coulda picked.”

She giggled, a sound so rare it made his heart ache. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Yeah, he’d never let her or you go. Not for anything.

[cjsmalley]

Anne Summers:

“What?” Buffy said disbelievingly, sure she had misheard.

Giles polished his glasses harder, “Travers was quite clear; if you don’t take the child, the Council will have no choice but to dispose of her permanently.”

Buffy looked out into her backyard, watching Hope and Spike play a rousing game of chase; with Dawn in the college dorms and Willow and Tara moved into their own apartment, they had the room.

With Danny paying the bills, they had the finances as well.

But another kid? A legit Potential? A half-demon Potential? Hope was only six and just showing her mutant ability consistently, copying everyone around her when allowed.

“What’s this girl’s demon half?” she asked, crossing her arms as she watched her Mate and their daughter play.

“It’s—” Giles made a phlegmy sound before shaking his head, “translates as ‘The-Ones-Who-Feed-On-Emotions’. She’s like a vampire but instead of bloods she eats—”

“Feelings,” Buffy finished shortly, “what feelings, Giles? Happiness? Sadness? Is she part Dementor?”

“Any feelings,” Giles replied, “but, from our research, positive ones directed at her are best for her development. Positive emotions in general are better than negative ones. But she also requires formula and does soil herself.”

Buffy nodded curtly before whistling; Spike left Hope to play by herself and came jogging into the house, “What’s goin’ on?”

Giles explained the situation again.

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow, “Well, Buffy, ‘m game.”

“You really think we can handle another kid?”

“Honestly, Slayer? Didn’t think we could handle one; but we’ve done alright by her, what’s another one. Hope’s in school most of the day anyway.”

“But remember those first few months?” Buffy reminded gently, “if not for our friends we would’ve fallen apart. And Anya and Xander are trying for their own.”

Spike snorted, “Not like I could forget that; demon girl’s too honest sometimes. But we still have the witches and ol’ Rupert. And the whelp needs the practice still if they’re tryin’ fer a sprog. We did alright. An’ ‘sides, could you really live with yourself if they kill a kid an’ you coulda stopped it?”

Buffy sighed; he was right. There really was no choice to be made.

“We need time, to explain this to Hope, to have a Scoobie meeting, to get the gear we need, but we’ll take her,” Buffy told Giles, “tell Travers a week. And if she comes to us injured or anything like that, there’ll be Hell to pay, several of them.”

“Of course, Buffy,” Giles agreed.

Later that night, the Scoobies all gathered around a meal. Buffy stood up, gaining their attentions,

“So, Travers contacted Giles,” Buffy began, to groans, “I know, I know. But he had a…good reason.”

“Are they paying you yet,” Anya questioned.

“No, sadly.”

And then Buffy told them what was happening.

“I thought Mommy and Daddy couldn’t have babies,” Hope spoke up, ‘cause Daddy’s penis doesn’t work right.”

Buffy had decided to be very blunt with her daughter when she asked questions about the human body; blunt but age appropriate. So Hope knew most girls had vaginas and most boys had penises and together they made babies using a special dance with the penis inside the vagina. She also knew that Spike couldn’t help make babies like most boys even though he and Buffy could do the special dance.

“We’re adoptin’, Mite,” Spike replied to her question, “do you ‘member what that means?”

Hope nodded, “It’s when a Mommy and a Daddy make a baby but can’t take care of it so they give it a new Mommy and Daddy. Like me! My original Mommy and Daddy are dead so Uncle Danny brought me to you and Mommy!”

“Very good, Hope,” Giles praised, “now, this little one your parents are adopting is extra special. She’s half demon and could be like Buffy when she grows up.”

“A Slayer?” Hope cocked her head; she knew all about her Mommy and Daddy’s night job, that they fought monsters, “how can she be half-demon and like Mommy?”

“We do not know yet,” Giles answered, “but the Council, you met them when you were younger, they needed to give this girl a new, special Mummy and Daddy so they asked Buffy and Spike. Because of you, really.”

“Me?”

“Well, yes,” Giles said, “they have proven able and willing to handle your abilities so it is hoped that they can handle the girl’s more…unique qualities.”

“Yeah, her vampire powers,” Xander snorted, “doesn’t anyone else find it suspicious that they just happen to have a half-vampire kid for Buffy and Spike?”

“She’s not half-vampire, not really,” Willow shook her head, “she’s an emotion eater. Not a blood-drinker.”

“Still, G-man explained her as an emotional vamp,” Xander argued lightly, “the Powers-that-Be must love these two or something. But, yeah, Buffy, of course we’ll help.”

“So will we.” Tara added for her and Willow.

“I’m in,” Dawn nodded.

And so, plans were made, and necessities were bought and soon a Council flunky dressed as a Social Services Worker was handing over custody of the nearly newborn girl who didn’t have a name.

She was blonde and blue eyed and could easily pass as a Summers child, lack of green eyes notwithstanding.

Spike seemed pensive as he took in the baby without a name before looking up to Buffy, “Slayer, Buffy…could we…perhaps…name her after my mum?”

“Of course,” Buffy agreed before questioning, “what was her name, Spike?”

“Anne…her name was Anne.”

Buffy smiled softly at her Mate and said, “Anne Summers…Annie…yeah, that sounds perfect. Guys,” she turned to their friends, allowing Spike a moment to compose himself, and older daughter, in Willow’s arms, “meet Anne Summers.”

The positive energy that resulted kept Anne fed for days.

Wished Away 9

Tylers meet Phantoms:

“Christ, Mum,” Rose said as she took in how Jackie, Pete, and Tony were dressed, “we’re just meetin’—”

“Royalty!” Jackie squeaked. They were all done up like they were meeting the Queen at Buckingham Palace itself!

“Honestly, Mum, they don’t care,” Rose rolled her eyes, grabbing her mother’s wrist and tugging her through the console room and to the wardrobe room, “I told ya ta dress casually. Let’s just hope the Ol’ Girl has clothes fer ya.”

It took about an hour to get everyone redressed, in things much more casual but still nice, before Rose led them back to the console room.

Jackie was clearly anxious, “Are ya—”

“’m sure, Mum. Danny an’ Sam don’t do formal unless they have ta. Unless you’re an annoying subject or someone threatenin’ war, ya don’t even have ta call ‘em by their titles. They’re just Danny an’ Sam ta family.”

“Lookie what I found,” Jenny bounded from the innards of the TARDIS, holding a tiny bike helmet.

She went to her toddler uncle and put it on him, making sure it fit right, “Landings in the Realms are worse than normal ones. The TARDIS does Her best but the Realms give her…nausea? A headache? She just doesn’t do good.”

“Oh, goody,” Jackie said lowly, hugging a strut for dear life already.

“Let me protect Anthony,” Bad Wolf came out, holding out her arms; without hesitation, Pete handed his son over.

Bad Wolf settled Tony in her arms, against her chest and shoulder, and then spread her feet and crouched slightly, clearly bracing for impact; she stayed steady even as the TARDIS began Her flight.

Everyone else was thrown about the console room, the Doctor and Jenny barely holding on to work the console, but Bad Wolf and Tony did not move an inch.

The landing was rough, just as Jenny said it would be, throwing even the Time Lords to the grated floor before the TARDIS stopped quaking.

Jenny recovered first and stood up, rubbing her shoulder, to peek out the doors, “We’re in the Palace. Uncle Danny and Aunt Sam are waiting…”

Slowly, everyone picked themselves up and Rose reemerged, straightening with some popping from her knees.

Jenny led the procession out, racing to hug a man and a woman, “Uncle Danny, Aunt Sam! How’re you?”

Danny and Sam chuckled and hugged her as one, “Good, doing good. You?”

“Perfect!”

She let go of them to drag Jackie, who was hesitant, forward, “This’s my Gran, Jackie. Mum’s side, duh. Completely human. He’s my step-granddad, Pete, and Mum’s holding my uncle, Tony.”

“Yer Majesties,” Jackie tried to curtsy even though she was in trousers, “an honor ta—”

“Oh, enough,” Sam chuckled, “didn’t they tell you? We don’t do formalities with family.”

“Family?” Jackie’s eyes were wide, “I know Rose said—but—”

“We count Clockwork as family,” Danny explained, “and he’s claimed the Doctor as family. The Doctor and Jenny. Rose’s basically married in by this point. Common-law, you understand. That makes her family our family. Welcome to the Palace, your home in the Infinite Realms.”

“My god,” Pete muttered, somewhat disbelieving.

“Not a god, not yet anyways,” Danny winked.

“Where’s Dani?” Jenny burst out, “Is she still in school?”

Sam grinned, “With Anakin, in the nursery. We let her stay home today.”

“Oh, Gran! Can I introduce Tony to Anakin? Please!” Jenny nearly begged.

“Anakin’s our youngest,” Danny explained kindly, “around Tony’s age, actually. We also have a nanny looking after them, Nanny Clara. He’d be perfectly safe.”

“Well…” Jackie looked to her husband, who nodded, “if you’re sure.”

Jenny cheered and took Tony from Rose, dashing off with him deeper into the Palace.

“Jenny knows the Palace as well as anyone,” Sam assured, “and if she gets lost, she can flag down a servant for help. She’s heading directly for the nursery. It’s the most defensible part of the Palace.

Danny stood up, helping Sam, “C’mon, we can talk over food; stay close, Tylers. Doctor?”

“Rose and I can bring up the rear,” the Doctor agreed, taking Rose’s hand as they began walking.

The Palace was a gothic masterpiece, in a very literal sense, though even Sam had wearied of all the gloom and had sought artists and artwork to fill the halls, soft, plush carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth, glassworks to fill the once barred windows. Statues and busts dotted the hallways, some classical, some avant garde

Masters had given their masterpieces, their magnum opuses; they were paid handsomely of course, in either coin or material.

Oils, watercolors, acrylics, textiles, glass, all created for Her Majesty the Ghost Queen. For His Majesty the Ghost King.

It wasn’t yet a riot of color, nor would it ever be, but it was more alive.

Jackie gasped and the group stopped, turning as one to see what had captured her attention.

“When they said the family was huge…”

Ah, it was the most recent family portrait; all the children were gathered around Danny and Sam, all in formal wear.

“We…sometimes people sell the souls of children to me,” Danny started, causing her and Pete to whip around to him in horror, “I know, it’s horrible, isn’t it? But anyways, we adopt the kids. Only Dani—Danielle—isn’t adopted.”

He pointed out each child and gave their backstory.

“Good Lord, you were young!” Pete said at Damian’s story.

“Old enough to be king,” Danny shrugged helplessly, “it…it wasn’t easy, we had help, so much help, and we made mistakes…”

“All parents do,” Jackie told him softly.

“So we’ve been told,” Sam smiled just as softly, “and we’ve learned and made new ones with each kid.”

Danny coughed and continued to point out kids and tell stories, until all had been covered and then they moved on.

As they neared the dining room, Danielle and Jenny joined them with each holding a toddler.

“Oh my,” Jackie said, taking in the Anakin Skywalker; she knew who he grew up to be, or would have if he had not been adopted.

“We’re hungry, Dad,” Danielle said.

Danny waved them into the dining room where the smaller table was already set for a meal; there were two chairs with booster seats and Jenny and Danielle put Tony and Anakin in them before sitting beside them and helping them get food.

The group chatted over the meal, Jackie and Pete slowly relaxing at how easy going the Royals were, and generally had good cheer.

After the meal was done, Jenny asked, “Do we put their photo up on the family wall now? I know you’ve got me, Dad, and Mum…”

Danny chuckled, “We can, if they’re okay with it.”

“Family wall?” Pete questioned.

“We keep walls of pictures of the extended family,” Sam explained easily, “you know, like Rose, the Doctor, and Jenny. Harry’s and Neville’s parents. Damian’s paternal birth-family. The Royal Portrait is just the immediate royal family. The walls are for everyone and everything else.”

Danny and Sam led the group out of the dining room and down another hallway; the walls were plastered with photographs. Some were professional, most were candid and amateur.

A common camera sat on a small round table; a high-end camera but nothing too expensive or professional.

Danny picked it up, saying, “If Jackie, Pete, and Tony don’t mind—”

Jackie decided it would be a family photograph and dragged the Doctor in; Rose and Jenny came without complaint.

Danny took a set of pictures.

After that was done, it was decided it was time for the Tylers to leave, taking pity on the still disgruntled TARDIS.

They were, however, invited to the next family gathering.

[urno1luv]

someone requested for this but i deleted the draft bc it was sooo bad😭anon this is for you🫰

popular girl nayeon x jock fem reader

summary: nayeon denies her feelings for you, but has feelings of jealousy after seeing a bunch of girls swarming over you over the team's latest victory. this leads to her cornering you in your locker room and making you hers🙂‍↕️

cw: smut, kinda dubcon? at first, biting, nayeon kinda talking to herself during the sex scene (this is what good pussy does to you😔)

You always thought Nayeon hated you. Every time your name came up, she'd scoff — flipping her hair and muttering something about "dumb jocks" under her breath. She barely even looked at you unless she was rolling her eyes...

But that didn't explain why she always showed up to your games.

Or why her sharp brown eyes never left you the whole match — following every movement, every flex of muscle under your jersey, every time you bit your lip and ducked your head when the crowd cheered for you.

Tonight's victory feels good — but not as good as the way everyone swarms around you after. You're still flushed from the game, head ducked low as girls crowd close — giggling, touching your arms, calling you so cool, so hot, the best player.

You don't know how to handle the attention — just smiling shyly, mumbling soft thank yous under your breath — trying not to let anyone notice how red your ears are.

But what you don't see is Nayeon watching from across the bleachers — the way her jaw clenches, fingers tightening around her drink until the plastic cup threatens to split in half😬

When you slip away to the empty locker room, you're grateful for the quiet — tugging off your jersey, trying to cool down. But the second the door slams shut behind you, you know you're not alone..

Nayeon’s perfume fills the locker room — sweet and expensive — wrapping around you before you even see her. You freeze when the door slams shut behind her.

The click of her heels echoes through the empty space — slow, deliberate — until she’s standing close enough that you can feel the heat of her body at your back.

"You really like having all those girls on you, huh?" Her voice is low, mocking — but there's something sharp underneath it. "N-No... I didn't—"

"You didn't stop them, either." Her fingers trail down your bare arm — light, teasing — making you shiver. You let them flirt with you... let them put their hands all over you..." Her fingers grip your chin — tilting your head back so you're forced to meet her eyes.

"But the whole time, you were waiting for me to come and put you in your place." Her other hand slips down — nails scratching lightly over your bare stomach — before dipping under the waistband of your shorts. Her fingers dip lower — pressing exactly where you need her — making you choke on a soft little moan.

The lockers dig into your back as she works you open — two fingers sliding deep, curling just right — like she already knows your body better than you do.

Every whimper, every little twitch just makes her smirk harder — leaning in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, before biting down on your pulse point, making you gasp.

You're already close — hips grinding against her fingers, breath hitching with every slow drag — but she stops just before you can fall apart. Her hand tightens around your throat, pinning you in place.

"Say you're mine." Your head spins — tears pricking at the corners of your eyes — but you don't even hesitate.

"I'm yours…"

Nayeon yanks her fingers out of you, leaving you trembling against the lockers — breath shallow, thighs clenching around nothing.

You barely have time to whimper before she's grabbing your wrist, pulling you over to the cold wooden bench in the middle of the room. "Sit."

Her voice is sharp, leaving no room for arguing — not that you'd ever dream of disobeying her.

Your legs feel like jelly as you sink onto her lap, thighs straddling hers, knees pressing into the hard wood on either side.

Her hands slide down your hips — nails digging in just enough to make you shiver. "You wanna act all shy and sweet out there…" she murmurs, leaning in close — breath hot against your ear. "But you're such a needy little thing when you're alone, aren't you?"

You bite your lip, cheeks burning — but she doesn't let you hide. Her fingers tilt your chin up — forcing you to look her in the eyes.

"Don't get all shy on me now, baby." She shifts underneath you — pressing her thigh between your legs — and you gasp at the pressure, hips jerking before you can stop yourself.

"Oh… there she is." Her smirk is pure sin — dark and lazy — as she grips your hips harder, guiding you into a slow grind against her thigh.

"That's it…" Her lips brush against your jaw, soft and teasing. "You're gonna make such a mess on me, baby."

She makes you work for it — keeping her hands tight on your waist, forcing you to grind slow and steady until you're soaking through your shorts, leaving a wet patch on her jeans. "Look at you," she coos, one hand sliding up to wrap lightly around your throat.

"So desperate… just like I knew you'd be."

[bellysoupset]

The Superbowl - Part III

Wendy was way in over her head.

The chill, enjoyable Superbowl sunday she had planned to have had gone downhill so quickly that she didn't quite know what to do with herself.

First and foremost there was the guilt. Doubled, as she felt guilty for omitting such a secret from Vince, but also guilty on his behalf. As if his faux pas had been done by her, or rather, was a direct result of her not telling him beforehand, even if Wendy stood her ground on the issue. Ugh.

Then there was the annoyance. At Vin for the "joke", for yelling at her in the car, as if she should prioritize him over her morals, and at Luke for how defensive he was acting, ready to kick them out. The annoyance was weak in comparison to how overwhelmingly guilty she felt, but it was there, simmering in the back of her mind.

Finally, there was the concern. About her boyfriend, who was so disastrously sick, about Bella and Luke, about Jonah whom she hadn't expected to also be sick, about Luke and Vin's clearly shaken friendship...

"Hey," Luke walked into the kitchen, where Wendy had been filling up two different glasses of water and had zoned out so badly that now it had spilled all over the sink.

"Shit!" Wen jumped, putting down the glasses and looking around for a dishcloth so she could dry the mess, "sorry, Luke, I wasn't paying attention-"

"It's alright," he shrugged, not one bit worried about the spill, "uhm-" he rubbed his face, looking and sounding exhausted, "Vince's in my room with Bell, he kinda crashed..." Lucas grimaced, crossing his arms to his chest, "I'm gonna go check on Jon, can I give him pepto if he's done throwing up too?"

"Yeah," Wendy nodded, then remembered why she was in the kitchen in the first place, "you guys don't have it, though."

"Ah," Luke sounded defeated, "I can go get-"

"Tree in the middle of the road."

"Oh yeah," he breathed out, pressing his lips into a thin line, "I guess we are all just gonna rawdog this, then."

Wendy let out a little hysterical giggle, pressing her back against the cabinets and taking him in. She hadn't really seen Luke since that day in the hospital and she fully expected him to be a mess. If Bella was a champion at compartmentalizing and ignoring her own feelings, Lucas was just emotions stacked on top of each other to form a 6'3 guy.

Nevertheless, despite how tired he seemed with the whole situation and how worried he was, he looked fine. Better than she expected.

"Are you alright?" She asked and he looked spooked at the question, eyes jumping from the medicine cabinet back to her face.

"Uh, yeah, just a little stomachache, I'm fine-" he answered, much to her surprise, because that wasn't what Wendy had meant at all.

"You're sick too?" Leo whined, walking into the kitchen and Wendy's shoulders dropped in relief. Since when did she feel this comforted by the blonde's mere presence?

"How's Jon?" Wendy and Luke asked at the same time and Leo grimaced.

"Kicked me out," he grimaced, making a thumbs down gesture, "diarrhea."

"Poor thing," Wendy said, while Luke only winced in sympathy, "can I go through your medicine kit?" she figured that while there was no pepto in the cabinet, maybe they had imodium or something in the kit.

"Sure," Luke turned around to grab it, then handed her a big brown bag, overflowing with pill bottles, "it's mostly headache medicine and birth control, though."

It really shouldn't be that big of a deal, but the second he said those words, Leo perked up as if he was a puppy who had just heard "food."

Lucas cringed at the sudden tension, arms crossed and all but curling on himself, "what?" he asked, almost against his will, while Leo bit down on his lip, curiosity consuming him. Wendy wasn't any better, she was definitely itching to get a first hand version of the facts, instead of the many miscommunications of their group for the past weeks, but she couldn't erase that haunted look in Luke's face at the hospital from her mind. He had been scared, like a little boy, so she was more than a little hesitant to ask for a retell of the facts.

"Did you know?" Leo's voice was gentle, although curious, incredibly honest, "or did Bell?...Were you two trying-"

"No," Luke interrupted, shaking his head quickly, "no. Neither of us knew and we don't want a baby now either. It was an a-" he frowned, as if the word accident offended him, "none of us knew."

Leo nodded, slowly, a frown between his brows, taking a step closer, "and you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Luke winced, palming his stomach and blowing out a little burp, ducking his chin to his chest, "Wen, we don't have anything? Not even TUMS?"

It was a clear deflection, but Wendy knew better than to press it and clearly so did Leo, as his shoulders collapsed and he pursed his lips in a frustrated, defeated manner.

"I'm not sure," Wendy said, dumping the contents of the bag on the counter and going through the medications. Like Luke had said, there were at least five different migraine meds, hardcore stuff too, several birth control blisters... "Leo," her head snapped up and the blonde jumped.

"Yeah?" he moved closer, itching to feel useful, stealing a glance at Luke from the corner of his eye as if their friend was a timebomb. If it was due to the fact he had been clearly poisoned too or not, Wen wasn't sure.

"Did you bring Jonah's medicine bag," she asked, hopeful, "he's got Zofran there as well as the benzos, right?"

"Right," Leo nodded eagerly, "yeah, it's in the car, I'll go get it- Can one of you check on Jon? Just make sure he didn't drown there?"

"I'll go," Wendy vowed, then gestured to the two glasses of water she had filled up, pointing at Luke, "can you try and get the two patients upstairs to drink? And not puke on them?"

Lucas snorted, opening a smile that was more of a wince than anything, "I'm not gonna be sick... Not yet, I don't think."

Wendy made a disbelieving face, but soon they all went different paths.

He climbed up the staircase once more, now with the glasses. Luke's whole body felt heavy and although he hadn't lied and he wasn't feeling close to puking, he did feel horribly nauseous.

He also didn't really want to be on Vin's duty, which was selfish and ugly of him, Lucas was aware of it.

Bella was sitting up as he walked inside the bedroom and promptly planted the glasses on top of one of the multiple boxes filled with clothes, so he could brace against his knees and force up a wet burp.

"Aw Luke," Bell whispered, her voice barely audible, "you too?"

He waved her off, wiping the drool from his lips and the clamminess from his face, "I brought you some water," he whispered, circling the bed. It was unnerving that Vin was able to sleep with them chatting, as he normally woke up with any and all minor noise.

Now he looked terrible and Lucas' heart squeezed with worry. Somehow he looked worse than Bell, who had been throwing up for longer and was way smaller.

His wife was sitting against the pillows, dwarfed in his deep green hoodie, her hair sticking out from inside the hood, fiery curls licking at her pale face. She was wearing a washed out, stained pair of leggings under, leg warmers pulled up, and still she shivered as the wind howled outside, the snow hitting their window.

"There's a blizzard going on," Luke mumbled, sitting down and passing her the glass of water, as well as planting Vin's on the bedside table. Bell made a face, but she did take a small sip, followed by a much bigger one as the thirst made itself known. Luke lowered her hand, moving the glass away from her lips and biting down a smile as she let out a pathetic whimper, "you'll make yourself sick, baby. Let's see if this stays down."

"Doubt it," Bella scoffed, setting down her glass and then crawling closer, hugging him as she climbed his lap, pressing her lips to his shoulder, "don't be mad," she whispered in his ear, squeezing her arms around him, "he didn't know."

Luke rolled his eyes, hugging her back, squeezing his eyes shut as Bell became an unpleasant pressure against his unsettled stomach. He muffled a burp against the excess of fabric hanging from her shoulder.

"I know," Luke turned his head, pressing a kiss to the pulled up hood, "I'm not mad."

That wasn't a lie, per se.

He had been furious the second the words came out of Vin's lips, but Bella was right and Luke couldn't deny it even if rage had blinded him. Vince didn't know. He couldn't have, no one did.

The problem wasn't the ill placed joke that Bella had already forgiven and Vin had apologized profusely for, it was deeper than that. He wasn't angry, he was... Disappointed. Enlightened. Sad.

His stomach rolled, churning up the dip and chips from before. He hadn't eaten as much as the rest of them, too busy pacing the living room and yelling at the screen, but whatever he had eaten was sitting like a brick, indigestion making him sweaty and burpy.

"Are you okay?" Lucas squeezed his hand around Bella's waist, pulling back so he could get a good look at her face. He knew they were in different pages, had known from the minute Bell had said the baby when they were in the hospital, the weeks that followed had only proved his point. Bella surely didn't plan for them to have a kid now, but she'd be happy if they did, and there lied the crux of their issue. Lucas had only felt relief once the concern about his wife's wellbeing was addressed. He was not ready to be a father and the two scares, the one she hadn't told him and the real miscarriage, had only made that abundantly clear.

Bella nodded, making a grossed out face and shuddering as her belly let out an audible whine, "I'm feeling awful," she said, bluntly, "but I'm alright..." She squeezed his arm, "you should talk with Vin. Before he throws himself off one of our balconies."

Luke rolled his eyes at her humorous tone, the knot deep in his chest loosening up just a smidge, "I will," he promised, turning to look at Vince, who was curled up as much as he could and had an arm wrapped around his stomach. He was white as spoiled milk and his curls were glued down to his face, despite the chilliness of the room.

"Is Wen downstairs?" Bella moved up, gingerly, using his shoulder as support, "Leo and Jon?"

"Jonah's sick too," Luke grabbed her hand, wordlessly asking her to stay, but Bell shook her head, squeezing his hand back, "Leo went to get Jon's antinausea meds. If you can keep them down, they might help..."

"Uhm, we'll see about that..." Bell took a deep breath, then pulled her hand from his grip, gesturing to Vin with her head, "talk."

Then she left the room, at a snail pace that was probably less dramatic than she intended. In the far distance, Luke heard Wendy's voice, lower at first, then louder as she walked up the stairs to help Bella down. Cooing.

The chatting faded, then there was the heavy silence of the room.

Vince didn't snore, sick or not, so Lucas didn't have anything to focus on but the deep ache inside his stomach. The nausea continued to prickle at him, in a steady pace, and he wasn't sure if the best option was to just ride it out or if he should pull the trigger and get whatever dip was inside of him out, before the food did that by its own volition.

He didn't have any energy to get up either, which was a weird side effect and Luke wasn't sure if he blamed that on the food poisoning or in the desolation he felt ever since leaving Vin's place, over a month before, when he had caught the flu.

His stomach churned once more and Lucas muffled a burp against his hand, this one much wetter, feeling the jeans that had been loose around lunch now cutting on his belly. A shiver went up his spine and he let out a groan, stumbling to the bathroom and pushing the door closed behind him.

He didn't even need to force it, as soon as he bent down in front of the toilet, his stomach let out a nasty growl and a sweet, rotten taste coated the back of his throat. Luke squeezed his eyes shut, planting a hand on the wall as he refused to kneel down on the cold tiles, and palmed his bloated belly, shaky fingers clumsy reaching for his jeans buttons-

A burp sent him forward and Luke gave up opening his jeans as hot vomit rushed up and splattered in the water. The taste was disgusting and once he started, it was hard to stop. His arm burned with the effort of holding most of his weight and Luke let out a groan, pressing his forehead to the inside of his arm as he tried to catch his breath.

The smell of sickness still assaulted him and he gagged, fruitlessly, spitting inside the toilet and forcefully clearing his throat. His stomach continued to ache, but the queasiness receded, giving space to a deep soreness, as if he had done a long sequence of abdominals.

Lucas flushed the toilet and braced against the sink, scoffing at his reflex. He was already pale to begin with, specially during winter, so he looked phantasmagoric. He washed his face, shuddering at the cold water and swishing it around in his mouth to get rid of the horrible taste.

He tried to take a gulp, but it sat heavily in his belly and Luke white knuckled the marble, breathing through the nausea once more. A burp snuck up, frothy and sickening and he spat inside the sink, washing his face and mouth once more.

When he opened the door, Vince nearly fell inside the bathroom.

Luke jumped back, a hand darting out instinctively to grab Vin by the shoulder and keep him from collapsing, "Whoa! Vin? Hey-"

"Are you okay?" Vince's voice was raspy, but loaded. Worried and guilty.

Luke cringed, he knew he wasn't a quiet puker, but he hadn't meant to wake his friend up.

"Better than you," he scoffed, grabbing the other man's shoulder and pushing at it so Vin would turn around, "how's your stomach, Vin? Leo got some medic-"

"I'm sorry," Vince ignored his rambling, sitting down on the edge of the bed and hunching forward, planting a hand on his face as if he was too embarrassed to even look at Lucas, "I'm sorry. I'm so- So sorry. I shouldn't- I shouldn't have said that, it was a ridiculous joke, I'm so sorry, Luke-"

"It's fine," Luke said quietly, leaning against the ancient wardrobe that faced his side of the bed, crossing his arms, "you couldn't have known."

"Doesn't justify it," Vince scoffed, glaring at him. His eyes had a glint that made Luke want to check for a fever, but he stayed put, "I'm so sorry, Luke."

"It's okay," Lucas grinded his teeth, "really, Vin, drop it-"

"No," Vince shook his head vehemently, "I should've been there for you and I wasn't. I wish I had been there-" although it was an apology, genuinely, there was a veiled accusation in his words. Why hadn't him been told anything?

Luke's stomach churned, now for an entirely different reason. He gulped down, "again, you couldn't have known," he said diplomatically, heart skipping a beat. Vince bit down his lip, looking like a kicked dog at his words.

"Can you- Can you talk with me?" He asked in a small voice, "you didn't say anything about any of this, Luke..." there it was, "what's going on with us?"

Lucas' eyes prickled and he looked away from Vince, out of his bedroom window and to the backyard. They had gotten the weeds removed and the grass trimmed, but now it was all white, until it met the dark trees in the back of the property.

"Luke?" Vince questioned and his voice wavered and fuck- Luke's couldn't speak past the knot in his throat.

"I don't- I don't-" he tried to say, but Vince glared at him, eyes sunken in his face and red rimmed.

"Don't you dare pretend everything's fine, its not," he scoffed, "can you please talk with me? Is it- Is it because of Max? Because I moved away? Why aren't you telling me anything, why didn't I know you were moving until you mentioned it in the group? Why did Leo learn about Bell being pregnant but you were in my place many times after and didn't say a thing? Fuck, Luke, if you had called me when the miscarriage happened I'd be here in a heartbeat-"

A hysterical giggle bubbled up in Luke's throat, eyes burning and hands all sweaty as he felt backed up against a wall, "you were out hiking with Max, remember? He broke his foot."

Vince looked stunned, then his cheeks turned red, angry, "so it is about Max? Lucas, how many fucking times do I need to say you're my best friend-"

"It's not," he felt exhausted, "really, Vin, it's not- It's nothing. I know you're upset you didn't know about the previous scare, but fuck, there was nothing to tell, man! Bell told Leo before she knew it wasn't real, I didn't even know then! And- And..." he was talking circles and he knew it, "and when the miscarriage happened, what did you want me to do? Call you when you're four hours away, to come hold my hand in the waiting room?!"

"YES!" Vince all but shouted, much louder than he intended and Luke jumped at the noise, before the heartbreak that had been simmering in the back of his mind for a month now roared forward with a fury.

"NO!" He yelled, just as loudly, shoving a finger on Vin's chest, "you want to be treated like a best friend? YEAH?" He shoved Vince's chest, furious now, "cool, so did I. In fact, I was a fucking good friend, Vin, I drove to your place, twice a fucking month, for over a year-" Luke took a step back, sharpness overtaking his words, "I prioritized you in everything and then-"

"Then I decided I could have more than one friend and you nearly went mad with jealousy?" Vince accused, angry, and Luke reeled, staring at him as the blood sang in his ears. He felt warm all over.

"I would never, not in a million years," he said, quietly and deadly, "end our friendship over something as small as a jab. An insult," he felt like crying, "I would be angry and I might- I might yell at you, but I wouldn't-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Vince breathed out, suddenly looking confused and Luke pressed his lips into a thin line, sniffling and nodding, because of course. He had been chewing on those words for a month and Vince didn't even remember them.

"You told me, and I quote, if I ever implied you'd ever cheat on anyone you loved, meaning it or not, you'd end our friendship in a heartbeat," he said, coldly, standing up straight now, "and I get that you were angry, but I could never say that to you. Hell, could you imagine? If I decided that what you said today was worthy of ending our friendship?"

"Luke, I wasn't- I was setting a boundary-" Vince sounded frustrated and scared, as if the gravity of his words was finally dawning on him, "I didn't mean it-"

"I could never say that to you, no matter the reason," Luke repeated, fully tearing up now, "so forgive me if you weren't the first person on my mind when my wife had a fucking miscarriage and I was terrified, Vince. I'm sorry if I thought that you'd rather sit in a room with broken foot Daniels after you did fuck all to prove me otherwise. I'm sorry if I'm having a hard time thinking of you as my best friend, when you spelled it out for me that you're not. I guess I'm a little heartbroken," the last couple words were dripping venom and Luke was panting as he spat them out, chest heaving, vision blurry with tears and hands shaking.

He blinked quickly, angrily brushing away the hot tears and looked away from the blurry spot that was Vince, trying to collect himself when he felt like openly crying, much like he had done when coming back from Vin's that day.

He should be feeling some sort of relief over having it all out in open now, spelled out for Vince, but it didn't. Hell, if anything, Vin's silence was only breaking his heart further, Luke desperately wanted an apology and to make up, even if it would take some effort to genuinely forgive his best friend-

Vince pitched forward with a gag and vomit dripped between his fingers, splashing on the runner rug and between his feet.

"Shit," Luke cursed, stepping closer and side stepping the mess so he could touch Vin's back, feeling a stab of guilt over dressing him down like that when he was so sick... Vince shook with a sob, wincing and flinching when Lucas planted a hand on his back.

"Don't-" He whimpered, hiccup-burping and another mouthful of bile and water splattered down, Vin apparently feeling too sick to bother caring about the mess.

The knot was back in his throat as Luke gulped around nothing, trying to ignore the pain irradiating in his chest and patted Vince's back regardless of his wishes, "it's okay," he said, his pats forcing up another burp and more vomit splashed down on the mess, "get it up."

Vince reached out, blindly, hand curling on Luke's shirt and squeezing it in a tight grip, "Luke-"

"Yeah, I know," Lucas sighed, squeezing his nape and pulling back Vin's curls away from his forehead, "I know, man, you didn't mean it, I know."

Too bad it really didn't make things any better.

TBC

[i-am-countess-olivia]

That little Jamie Fitzjames ficlet from earlier

Reposted now, with kind permission from MH gremlins. Francis helps Jamie pack for the hospital.

----

Francis is fussing with the hospital bag again.

"Earplugs," he says when he spots Jamie’s raised brow. "Putting them in your wash bag."

"I already packed some."

"These are loads better, we use them down below. Did you charge your headphones?"

"Yes, Francis."

"I put in a travel-sized thing of that orange toothpaste you like. Did you see?"

"Yes, Francis."

"Did you want me to go get those cashmere bed socks you got for Christmas?"

Jamie grins. "Stop it, Francis."

Francis heaves a sigh. Jamie wraps her arms around him from behind, chin on his shoulder and fingers prodding gently at his middle podge.

Crisp sunshine streams in from the garden, Monty on full alert by the sliding doors as she watches a squirrel scurry up the bare lilac. Years of anxious waiting have come to meet their end here, on the cusp of spring.

One day to go.

"I'm sorry I won't be here for you."

"You will be. You're not leaving for like three days after I'm home."

"Too soon." Francis slumps in her arms, fiddles with a zipper on the bag. "They pay top rate. I couldn't say no."

"Aye, Captain," Jamie murmurs. "I understand. The sea calls and you must obey." She kisses the soft spot under his ear. "Francis, it's only a vag. It's not like I'm coming out of there with a newborn." She smiles when she glimpses Francis' crooked grin in her periphery. "Modern medicine hasn't quite perfected that one. Anyway, Will's gonna come by every day. Dundy's on Monty duty. All will be well."

Francis nods, sighs again. He takes one of her hands from his stomach and brings it to his lips. He holds it there, doesn’t let go for a long time.

Jamie would never trivialise his worries — and yet she finds she cannot keep up with Francis’ ceaseless fretting. Her own great fears and questions have long been named, answered and tidied away. Francis is here. He will be there when she wakes. He will be here next year, reading her Wikipedia trivia off his ancient iPad or fixing the decking in the same crisp English sunshine.

With one last kiss, Francis lets go of her hand and gently eases them apart. “I’ll go get those socks.”

At the garden doors, the squirrel now gone, Monty's ears perk up at one of her favourite words. When Francis goes to leave the room, she trots over, tail wagging knowingly, to join him.

"Don't let her near the drawer," Jamie calls after. "She'll devour another pair."

When she's alone, she looks for a long moment at the golden rectangles of sunshine painted on the carpet like spectral beds. Then she steps into one, lowers herself to the ground and stretches out inside it, head to foot.

She fishes out her phone and squints up at the screen, scrolling. “OMG T-minus one day J!!!" shrieks the "Jamie's V-Day Support!!!" chat. There are fewer Fitzpussy jokes now that the day has drawn near, replaced by hearts and hugs and hints at fun surprises to help her through recovery. Will's Liz says she's making those brownies Jamie likes. Dundy texts again to check which human food Monty is allowed, if any.

Jamie closes her eyes and lets warmth seep into her toes, knees, belly, chest, chin. She feels charged and lulled all at once, shivery and serene. All will be well. The sun blankets her eyelids and behind them she sees only the blue Francis promised her: water and sky, the Aegean they said they will sail to after those first tough months are behind her.

Francis will find the perfect spot to anchor, their boat like a grain of sand on the vast polished jewel of a perfect flat sea. Jamie will dive off the boat in her brand new red bikini, kick up from the depths and emerge out of the watery murk to float on the surface, her body offered up to a brighter, warmer sun.

[wvffles]

ohhhhhhhhh goshhh 😩 the anticipation continuessss

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.” “She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

the fact that this is how he sees their story, yet he's still chosen to be a dirty lying no good scoundrel really grinds my gears. like he needed to forget his name? I could smack him with a frying pan rapunzel style for the same effect lol

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

my immediate thought was well try harder 😭 and i did feel bad for a second, then I finished the chapter…i stand by my statement 😅

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

so real lmaoo

her inner conflict tugged at my heartstrings, i'm just glad she's giving herself some grace at least <3 it’s a difficult situation all around

the flowers!!! 😩 oh dean :( and michael is truly a classic douche like sir you cannot just magically make it better with some flowers and dinner 🙂‍↔️🤚🏽

Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

i would get so violent are you kiddingg meeeee

it’s bad enough he’s sleeping with a floozy on the regular but to take his wife’s money as well to fund that is actually beyond ballsy and insane. i hate them, justice for my girl fr 🫶🏽:(

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

ngl I had to put my phone down for a moment and yell into a pillow because dean, what the hell man 😩

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

oh dean, getting stabbed would’ve probably hurt less

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

mine’s breaking too dean 😔 i’m just glad he’s trying to ‘fix it’ somewhat immediately instead of just letting her leave like that.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

yeah my heart is definitely broken 🥺 i’m glad they didn’t end things off with hostility and got to have that bittersweet moment at least 😔

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

oh they’d work on me for sure 😭

Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

…

Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

my heart aches, this chapter was so sad 😩 (not in a bad way!!🫶🏽) I feel for all three of them 😔🤍

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

ahhhhhh the cliffhanger! i’m guessing he found something illegal and/or dangerous 🤔 the preview is making me anxiousss, he better not hurt her! 😩

this was a wonderful chapter, very excited to see the drama unfold!!💗💗

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.” 

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes. 

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list. 

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.” 

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you. 

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.  

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?” 

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.  

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you. 

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.” 

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel. 

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand. 

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol 

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

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[tyrantisterror]

Bringing Up Baddie (Working Title) Character Concepts

Hey, remember a while back when I made those posts about supervillain archetypes, one of which inexplicably became derailed to talk about different doctorates people wanted to see put to use as increasingly terrible supervillain pitches? Well that was for a thing! A thing that I'm currently conceptualizing as "What if we took the premise of the famous screwball comedy Bringing Up Baby, wherein a crazy lady ruins a milquetoast guy's life in the best possible way, and did it with superheroes and stuff?" Well, supervillains, technically.

I was getting that list of archetypes together to try and make some pitches, and I basically took it and got some of the kids at the daycare to pitch power combos and motiffs for me, because who would know better what would make for a fun superhero, right? Anyway, here's some of the working character concepts so far:

Reptillion, with the enhanced powers of a million reptiles!

Just a down-on-their-luck schmuck who got roped into being a test subject for some evil super science while job hunting, Reptillion would be the Cary Grant figure in this tale. The power set was pitched by a child, I swear - for once it wasn't me who decided the protagonist should have a reptile theme! Reptillion is The Big Monstrous Guy archetype, a reluctant monster who will be forced into villainy by circumstance.

Scarlet Sidewinder, the venomous and villainous viperess!

The Kate Hepburn figure in this story was always going to be a Harley Quinn expy of some sort, and when a reptile theme was chosen for the protagonist, it felt only fitting that the deuteragonist would share it. Also, like, snake-themed Harley Quinn knockoff is very much in my wheelhouse. Figuring out her hairstyle has proved to be the biggest challenge - I tried a lot of looks that fit her punk personality, but they kept obscuring the viper eye-horns on her domino mask, which I feel are a more important detail (supervillains shouldn't downplay their motiffs!), so I ended up going with a pair of sidewinder-esque pony tails instead. As both Harley Quinn and Kate Hepburn's character in Bringing Up Baby were before her, Scarlet Sidewinder is The Wildcard archetype.

Scarlet Sidewinder is, of course, the test subject of an earlier version of the Reptillion super serum, one that only focused on snake DNA and didn't give broke shapeshifting powers to her. She initially wants the Reptillion serum for herself as a way to upgrade, but when the protagonist gets injected with it instead, she decides the next best thing is to have a partner in crime with those complementary powers instead.

Konglomerate and Dr. Gibbons, corporate apes!

I decided I want this to be the sort of comic book superhero pastiche that fully embraces how silly the genre can be, and one of the key ways to signal that is to just have, like, a LOT of apes running around. Like how The Umbrella Academy comics just have sapient/civilized chimpanzees make up around 35% of the background characters, and also one of the characters had his severed head grafted onto a space ape (both of these elements were downplayed severely in the TV show for those of you who've never read the comics). Two of the main antagonists would be Dr. Gibbons, a mad scientist who is trying to help humankind evolve into a superior species, and his boss/financier Konglomerate - they'd be The Evil Genius and A Normal Businessman archetypes, respectively, and the ones responsible for mutating both Reptillion AND Scarlet Sidewinder.

Nebulord the cosmic conqueror, Killer Rabbit the pandimensional prankster, and Lugnut Louie the professional killer robot

Just going to throw these three (well, four I suppose, but ignore the Interceptor for now) together since so much of their concept art ended up sharing the same sheets. They're all... not quite allies of Reptillion and Scarlet Sidewinder, but somewhat helpful in their own way as fellow supervillains go. Nebulord is meant to be a big cosmic threat in the vein of Galactus or Darkseid, with the caveat being that in-story we'd mostly see him off-the-clock and dealing with petty day-to-day grievances. I wanted him to feel very Jack Kirby-esque, though I think ultimately it's just a shallow imitation of Kirby's style. He would be the Foreign Tyrant archetype, with a dash of the Planet Eater thrown in.

Killer Rabbit is a Mr. Myztptlk knockoff - I had listed "Killer Rabbit" as the archetype name (i.e. a villain who looks cutesy and nonthreatening but is actually terrifyingly powerful), but my students ran with that and suggested an Alice in Wonderland theme, which I thought was actually a pretty fun theme to play with for such a character. I mean, it's not exactly new ground - there are LOTS of Alice in Wonderland themed supervillains, most of which suck ass (including you Mad Hatter!) - but the whimsical surrealism with a dark undercurrent that Alice in Wonderland embodies DOES fit well with a pan-dimensional imp who uses their godlike powers to fuck with people out of boredom. To keep from retreading the MANY other supervillains who just stole Alice in Wonderland character names, I decided to make Killer Rabbit the name of this character instead of just their archetype.

Lugnut Louie is an old pro, sometimes working as his own boss, but more often than not as a high-ranking henchman. He's the Anything But Retail archetype with a dash of the Big Monstrous Guy, since it's hard for a big ominous murder robot to get jobs that aren't villainy related.

Queen Vespidious, leader of the Hive Mind!

To fill the Mind Taker archetype, I decided to go with the whole "hive mind" bullshit and have a bee/wasp-themed villainess who inducts civillians into her Hive with mind-controlling royal jelly. She also has a loyal second-in-command who'd be a spider-themed villain named Tyrantula - of course, being a spider in a relationship with a wasp, Tyrantula is very much the sub in this relationship.

The Copycat/shapeshifter archetype would be filled by Octomime, a woman with the color changing skills of a cuttlefish and the body-morphing skills of a mimic octopus. Octomime can copy anyone's physical appearance so long as they're roughly human-sized, but her inability to speak means the disguise only works so long as no one notices she's being eerily quiet. She's a deadly supervillain despite that flaw, though, in part because her durable body and deadly tentacles make her a force to be reckoned with even when she's been discovered.

aaaand I've run out of images for this post, so I'll add the more unfinished concepts in a reblog.

[cryingatwindermerepeaks]

Yellowjackets Agere Hcs and Moodboards

Lottie: she regresses very young 0-5 mainly, but even when she is feeling a bit older it’s harder to tell because she doesn’t talk. She likes being called “sweetheart” but also any kind of animal themed pet name like “doe” or “baby bear”. A lot of the time when she’s little the others will call her “Lots” and under no circumstances can anyone call her Charlotte. Very quiet bub, almost entirely nonverbal unless she’s alone with Nat - her primary cg. She knows a few basic signs in ASL but not enough to properly communicate and the other girls don’t really know anything but figure out what she means eventually. The only things she will say is like “mama” or the equivalent for different characters and usually she’s not even talking to them just babbling to herself. Unless she’s having a particularly bad episode of visions or thoughts she’s a very happy baby. She is giggly and smiley and just happy to play with anyone or help out with chores. She LOVES story time with Van and sometimes if she’s feeling extra brave she’ll whisper story requests in Van’s ear. She has one of those blankies with a stuffie attached from when she was growing up, it’s pink and soft on one side and floral on the other… at least it once was, now it’s very tattered and faded but she always carries it around with her. The stuffie is a cat, it’s called Daisy. That’s the one toy no one else is allowed to touch. She also has a paci which she uses pretty much constantly. She’s the queen of parallel play and is sooo happy just to sit and mind her own business next to anyone. When she is having a bad day she becomes sniffly and clingy and very panicked. She hates having scary thoughts and sometimes turns to less than helpful coping mechanisms but the others are quick to catch on and Nat can always calm her down. After a particularly bad episode she almost always regresses and spends a few days just lying around with her stuffies. Nat never ever leaves her side during this time and will give her soup and cuddles till she feels better. Nat will slowly coax her outside to sit on the porch for some fresh air and it always helps. She’s definitely still a klepto when she’s small but she only ever does it because she thinks it’s funny. Someone will notice something small (like a spoon or a cup) has gone missing and then look up to see Lottie poorly hiding a giggle and holding something behind her back. She does learn very quickly not to take anything that belongs to Shauna. She loves playing tea parties and she’ll set them up and then drag whoever is nearby over to play. I like to think they make paints out of rocks and water and Lottie loves to make paintings. She follows Laura Lee around a lot when they are both little - Laura Lee is very good at knowing what Lottie is trying to say without her having to say anything. *when she’s not little she loves taking care of Laura Lee <3*.

Laura Lee: regresses 1-5 but unlike Lottie is always very articulate. She’ll talk to herself, she’ll talk to Leonard, she’ll talk to Lottie even when she knows she won’t get a response. She loves reading and Van is always very patient and sits with her and helps her read. Leonard obviously never leaves her side. She takes him on walks and tells him what she can see. Sometimes during story time Van will put Leonard on her lap and use a silly voice to pretend he’s reading. She’s the happiest baby 99% of the time. She doesn’t get irritated when Lottie quietly follows her around all day or upset when Shauna is having a tantrum so she can’t play with the toys she wants to use. She does get upset sometimes but tries to hide it because she doesn’t want to be a bother. She’ll go off and cry into Leonard’s fur but Lottie is insanely in tune with Laura Lee’s emotions and she’ll go help her out or if Lottie’s feeling too little she’ll make sure to find someone (usually Nat) who can. Usually she gets darling, sweetheart, sweetness or flower when she’s small. Van always calls her ‘clever little one’ and it makes her feel so proud. She’s super content with all of the cgs and doesn’t really have a favourite but she does spend a lot of time around Nat because she spends so much time around Lottie.

Van: cg!!! I don’t think they have a specific little but all of the littles love Van. They love story time, they love the silly games van comes up with and van can always make everyone laugh. I think cg names vary for van - nothing really gender specific but a lot of them have taken to calling her bubby !! Will always hold a little on their lap during story time (especially if one of them has been having a particularly bad day) and rock on the rocking chair. She has the best voices for all the stuffies when she plays with littles or reads stories.

Nat: usually a cg, mainly just because regressing generally isn’t very pleasant for her. It really takes a lot for her to regress - I think in s3 e4 she’s feelin’ pretty small. when she does regress I’d say anywhere from 3-6. when she’s big she is the most patient cg in the world. everyone thinks nat is tough n everything but she’s really so gentle with the littles, especially lottie who struggles to communicate her emotions. and she’s all smiley when the babies are smiling. she can calm anyone down. mainly the littles call call her ma or mama depending on how little they are feelings. I don’t know what it is about Nat but whenever any of the littles find something super cool like a rock or leaf they run up to show her.

Misty: regresses around 4-12, she’s definitely older and loves getting to take care of the younger ones (especially if it means the cgs praise her for being helpful). Shes usually very happy when she’s small and wants to play with everyone but if some people don’t want to include her in their games *cough cough* little Shauna and Jackie *cough cough* she will throw a fit. She tends to gravitate towards Nat when she’s upset because she knows Nat won’t take sh*t from anyone and will make sure she’s included in the games. She loves to sing and dance and put on little performances for everyone. Jackie I think also LOVES starring in these performances. She has this vintage baby doll called Clarissa which she adores and treats like a real baby but it creeps out everyone else (except lottie).

Jackie: regresses 3-7. She’s the most energetic little, she always wants to play tag or climb a tree. But she’s also such a princess about it. She refuses to get her hair messy or touch mud. Her regression is very deeply connected to Shauna’s they are almost always together if one of them is regressed. She can be very headstrong and if Jackie wants to play a game then they are playing that game. Other than Shauna she is very hesitant towards any cg figure at first, eventually she eases into it though. She has definitely tried to start a bunch of clubs, most of which have required cg intervention because she was being a bit controlling. She’s literally a fairy princess who rides horses in her ballgown and has a sword and single handedly battles off armies of evil goblins. She’s a big fan of pacis, she has plenty and she uses them regardless how old she’s regressed to. Sometimes she gets a bit shy about it because not all of the littles use pacis and if so usually only the younger ones, but Nat in particular is very good at calming her down about it. She loves doing everyone’s hair!!! She tries her best to be a good friend to everyone all the time, even if she doesn’t always know how. She has a toy bunny called Peter. She HATES chores. She’ll do them, but you can bet she’s going to be whining the whole time.*if she’s big and Shauna is little she’s the biggest enabler ever and will indulge Shauna so much*

Shauna: regresses 3-7, same as Jackie. They are usually very in tune with their ages and often called ‘the twins’. She’s equally as rambunctious but couldn’t care less if she gets her hands dirty. She wants to make mud pies and make fake swords out of sticks. This is where being close with Melissa really comes in handy because Melissa is always happy to roughhouse a bit more than Jackie is. She’s a biter, obviously, and spends a lot of time in timeout for biting or taking a game too far. Shes looooves teethers and has heaps - sometimes she forgets to use them but the second someone notices her getting worked up they’ll just hand her a teether. She’s extremely jealous - especially of Tai and Jackie. If Tai is sitting curled up with Van, Shauna will wiggle her way in between to get cuddles from her Mama. If Jackie is playing with someone else Shauna will get pouty and grumpy and throw a fit. Jackie is equally as jealous so they even each other out. She loves story time with Van and sometimes she gets to help Van write new stories for the littles to read. If Shauna is getting really worked up Van will distract her by asking if she’s had any story ideas. She’s super attached to Tai. She’s always trying to hold Tai’s hand or babbling to tai about anything. Tai is the only one who can get her in trouble - she will literally just ignore the other cgs if they tell her off. She has a stuffed dog toy called Rupert. He’s a German shepherd and is best friends with Peter, Jackie’s bunny. They have a treehouse and Shauna loves to pretend she’s the guard. She gets called pup and kiddo a lot. She often gets baby from Tai but only Tai or Van can call her that. *she’s extremely good with Jackie when Jackie is little and she’s big, she’s super patient with her*

Tai: Shauna’s mama <3 she loves taking care of everyone but is especially good with Shauna. She loves making shadow puppets for the littles on the wall to act out whatever is happening in Van’s stories. Amazing for cuddles and the littles like to pile up on her. Tai gets extra scared about hurting the littles when she’s sleepwalking and gets super anxious about it. Definitely always the voice of reason and mediator for any arguments. The littles love to do drawings or paintings and show them to her because she always tells them how proud she is. Obviously they don’t have a fridge to hang the artworks on but they dedicate a small wall of the cabin to all the little’s artworks.

Travis: regresses 3-7. He doesn’t regress a lot and when he does he’s super shy about it. If Nat’s regressed and not super distressed they play a lot together. In fact, the only time Nat really regresses happily is when they go out for a hunt but end up spending the day chasing each other through the forest. He loves playing with little wood carved animals. I don’t think he regressed at all before the crash, hence why he’s extra hesitant about it.

Coach Scott: he’s everyone’s papa <3 peak girl dad. all of the littles adore him. They are always rambling to him about their games or their stories - they really want him to be proud of them. He’s amazing for hugs, they’ll curl up in his arms and he gives great bear hugs. Laura Lee sometimes begs him to go on walks with her because she gets worried about him being cramped up in the cabin and she’s super patient with how long it takes him. Jackie likes to decorate his crutches with flowers and vines she finds. He learns how to plait and in the morning the girls take it in turns to sit on the floor in front of him so he can braid their hair. He teaches them how to skip rocks and they all have competitions to see who’s can go the furthest.

Melissa: regresses around 5-8. Loves playing with Shauna and they have sword fights all the time. Loves getting called Champ or Buddy. Has a stuffed toy frog called Gregory. Gravitates towards Tai and Van as cgs. Built a rope swing out of rope and a branch hung around a tree and looooves to play with it. (idk how to explain it but I had one growing up and it was the most fun ever… also causes a lot of bashing into trees). Doesn’t like to sit still at all.

[thefriendlydragonx]

Minthara x Karlach, Minthara realising being soft doesn't make you weak and seeing how strong Karlach must be for still being capable of being soft after 10 years in the hells. Then Minthara learning to be soft with snuggles with Karlach, a bit of processing how fucked up menzoberranzan was. Mainly Minthara snuggling with Karlach when Karlach doesn't expect it.

I love this prompt so much thank you anon!!! It gave me brainworms I had so many ideas. Karlach x Minthara soft moments make me so happyyy 💜

~~~~

The party had made camp for the night, deep within the shadow cursed lands. They had just recently gained a new member, Minthara. Not many took an immediate liking to her, and the feeling was mutual. However, there was Karlach, who Minthara seemed to respect. They were sat next to each other on a log in camp, the rest of the party a noticeable distance away from the drow.

Minthara didn't say much, instead carefully eating the food that had been provided to her- she had filled her own bowl, of course, and only began to eat a few minutes after everyone else- and listened to the conversations being had. She learned much about her companions through light banter and quips, things she would never share openly around a stranger so soon. She learned of Shar worship, explosive orbs, vampiric tendencies… What caught her attention most, however, was Karlach regaling the camp with a story of her time in the Hells.

“You are strong to have faced the Hells and still come back.”

It was the first thing Minthara had said all night and everyone's gazes shifted uncomfortably to her. Well, almost everyone's. Karlach looked at her with a smile.

“Thanks, soldier! It was rough, but hey- If I didn't survive, I wouldn't have met all of you!”

This reply surprised Minthara. Even after so much time in the Hells, Karlach was still able to trust, to appreciate friendship, to feel her emotions freely. These were luxuries Minthara herself could not afford.

The companions finished their food and the chatter died down as they all retreated to their bunks for the night. Minthara sat by the fire still, feeling safe from a point where she could see anyone coming.

“You can't sleep either?” Karlach was still next to her, the only one remaining.

“I do not sleep easily around those I do not know.”

Karlach frowned. “You know us!”

“Hardly. I know you rescued me from Moonrise, and I know that you openly share information that you should not. Beyond that, I do not know your plans with me. It is likely you will leave me after the defeat of the Absolute- if not before.” This to say, she was not going to get close. Everyone in the camp would be held at arm’s length, including Tav, even though they asked so many questions about her.

“Aw, c’mon, Minthy!” Karlach moved closer. Minthara wrinkled her nose at the nickname, but the tiefling did not seem to care. She was already insisting to tell Minthara another tale from the Hells, saying it would help them get to know each other. The drow relented.

As Karlach spoke of her time in war, Minthara found her appreciation growing. She was strong, fearless in battle, and had been through things Minthara could not imagine. Yet, despite all this, she was here. Talking with Minthara as though they were old friends, regaling her with a story of killing demons. She was here, an endlessly loyal friend to people she had only met less than a month ago. A friend to Minthara, whom she had only met a few days ago. Friend… Those didn't come easily to her. What was so different about this tiefling?

“How are you so kind, after all you have been through?” Minthara questioned as Karlach finished her tale.

“I'm kind because of all I've been through. When you've seen what I have, you know it's better to have friends and people to rely on. Like this camp. We're your people now, Minthara.”

Her response made something within the drow flicker, a part of her stone-cold resolve melting away. Karlach was so formidable in battle, yet here she was, wearing her heart on her sleeve outside of it. In fact, her softness made her stronger. In the Underdark, such displays of emotion were a ticket to death.

“I do not think the others believe they can trust me.”

Before Minthara could react, Karlach pulled her into a one armed side hug. From this position, they were both vulnerable to one another. Yet something about it felt comforting. The drow told herself it was simply the warmth of the other woman against the chill of the night air.

“Well, I trust you.”

Minthara wrapped her arms around Karlach’s torso, much to the tiefling’s surprise, and rested her head against her shoulder. How one could trust so easily was not something she would pretend to understand, not yet. It meant she had a safety net, however, and she felt comfortable to rest for the first time in days. Had she been home, being this close to someone she barely knew would have meant a dagger in the back. Yet, she felt at ease here, comfortable in the knowledge that Karlach would fight for her should a problem arise. Comfortable that she would do the same for Karlach.

~~~~

I hope y'all like it!! :) I thought this one was a really cute prompt, I hope I did it justice ahah 💜

[thjsrots]

Could you do something with loser vi cuming to quick so reader punishes them? Like over her knee even tho vi is like bigger and could easily get away she stays to be a good girl 💕

uhhhmmm fuck yeah i can! thank u sm for this ask i love my subby girl vi<3

Not so big & bad after all

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ sub!loser!vi x dom!reader

There Vi was, thighs trembling between your face as your tongue circled around her clit, keeping the same pace you knew she liked. She was close, you knew that. Her breathy, high pitched moans sped up, hands tangled in your hair, sweat dripping down her chest. She was a mess, really. She wasn’t allowed to come though, not yet, not so soon. Needy thing always came so fucking early, it irritated you. So you put up one rule for her, one simple rule:

Don’t come in less than ten minutes.

Seemed easy enough, right?

Not for our sensitive girl. This was torturing her. Her eyes watered, whining about how she was right there, just so, so close. Begging, pleading, using her puppy eyes, all the works. None of that worked on you though, you knew better. Her legs began to want to clam up, squishing your cheeks together. You growled against her wetness, forcing them back open, sucking on her clit harder as your tongue swirled around it. Your eyes darted up towards her face as her nose scrunched up, eyes shut tightly, chest rising and falling quickly. You could feel her clit tensing up inside your mouth, making you swat at the inside of her thigh.

“Don’t—mmh—you dare come, Violet!” You muffled out, lips still stuck on her bud, though it was too late. She bucked her hips forward, “Mmh—I-I’m c-com-” Was all she could let out before she reached her orgasm, moaning your name out as her cum dripped along your tongue. You rolled your eyes as you watched, letting her orgasm roll out, then quickly smacked your lips off her clit.

“You lasted,” You turned to look at the clock. “Five fucking minutes. That’s the best you could do, really?” You questioned, sitting up and staring at her angrily, eyebrows furrowed. She laid there, panting, acting like she had just fucked for hours. Again, it irritated you.

“I’m sorry, okay! I just—I’m sensitive, I guess. You make me come real fast, princess.” Your eyes glared at the pet name, which didn’t quite suit the situation.

“Did you even try to hold back?” You asked. She opened one eye and looked at you, shrugging off your question. She totally fucking did not. You felt your eye twitch as you stared at her, blood boiling underneath your skin. You sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling off, then reached over to swat the side of her leg. “Get over here.”

Her eyes shot open, staring at you with her big eyes confusingly. “What? What are y—”

“I said get over here, Violet. Crawl to me.”

Vi blinked at you for a second before huffing, making her way over to your side of the bed. She held onto your shoulder as she spoke, lips meeting the side of your neck. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I’ll last longer next time, I promise—” Her sentence was cut off by your arm reaching around her back and pushing her down, landing ass up on your knees. She gasped as her face pressed against the mattress, quickly trying to push herself back up. “Hey! Princess, what the fuck?!” Your hand landed on her plump ass with a hard smack! Her whole body jerked, tensing up under your palm. “Ow! What—What are you doing?!”

“You know, I’ve had enough of you doing whatever the hell you want all day then not listening to the one very simple instruction I give you.” You squeezed the skin pressing against your hand firmly, nails digging into it. “To answer your question, I’m punishing you, Violet.”

Her head snapped back to look at you the very best she could, putting on those puppy eyes that she knew killed you inside. “But, I apologized! I won’t do it again, I swear!”

You rolled your eyes at the same words you’d already heard of time and time again. Another slap landed on her cheek, making her wince and whine out. “I don’t believe you.” She wiggled around, crying out as two more followed after. “Hey!” Your other arm pressed against her back, forcing her down the best you could. “If you be a good girl and take what I’m giving you, I’ll give you another chance to redeem yourself.”

Vi buried her face in the sheets, body melting under your skin, accepting her defeat. “Mm… O-Okay.”

You scoffed, lifting up your hand to catch air, landing it back on the red marks that were already being left on her skin. “Okay, what?”

Her back arched, face twisting up as her eyes began to water. “Okay, Mommy, okay!”

“Good girl, Vi.”

The room echoed with the sounds of your hand continuously landing back on her ass, a flush of red spreading all over it. Her blubbering apologies, whines, and cries every single time your hand met her skin, and your mocking coos, telling her that it would all be over soon. Vi was a strong girl, certainly stronger than you, so she could’ve easily gotten away if she wanted to. You knew that deep down inside, she was taking it because she liked it. She enjoyed this ‘punishment’ more than she actually should, more than she’d ever admit. Seeing her smart ass, oh so big and bad self completely ruined as she bent over your knee made your heart flutter. You spread her cheeks, her wet slick glistening against the light. A smirk crept up on your face, tutting at her as she hid her face in the sheets as you did so.

“Are you enjoying this, sweet girl?” You asked, your head tilting as you lightly gripped her hair back, forcing her to look up. “Answer.”

“N-No.” She muttered out, face flushed and painted with tear streaks.

You sighed, lifting up your hand to land another blow on her ass. “You know, I hate liars.”

She gasped, shaking her head before you could even lift it up all the way. “No, no, no! I-I do like it, Mommy. I like it a lot!”

“Mm… Is that so?” You said, staring at her cute pained face. Gods, you could only punish your girl for so long, those eyes really did kill you. Plus, watching the bounce back from her ass every time you spanked it totally had you dripping wet. You pressed a digit against her hole, making her cry turn into a whiny moan. “Are you ready to redeem yourself?”

Her glossy eyes grazed towards you, biting her lip and arching her back for you before she spoke. “Gods, please. I’ll be good for you this time, I promise!”

You snickered as you slowly pushed the finger in, feeling her soft walls tightening around it, almost sucking you in. “Such a good girl.”

[kathlare]

labyrinth

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: In the aftermath of an accident, Amelie finds herself surrounded by friends who bring laughter, warmth, and distraction.

Wordcount: 2.3 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

March 23rd, 2021 - Sakhir, Bahrain

The door to the hotel suite creaked open, and in walked George, Alex, Charles, and Lando, carrying bouquets of flowers and stuffed animals. Their faces brightened when they saw Amelie sitting in a plush chair by the window, wrapped in a cozy blanket. The warm sunlight spilled into the room, casting a soft glow on her tired face.

—Hey, princess,— George greeted with a grin, making his way toward her with a playful wink. —Got you some presents.— He set the flowers on the coffee table, while Alex placed a stuffed bear next to them.

—Look at you, getting the royal treatment,— Alex teased, plopping onto the couch and stretching his legs out dramatically. —Hospital discharge and already back to lounging in five-star luxury. Must be nice.—

Amelie rolled her eyes but smiled. —Oh, absolutely. Who doesn’t love broken ribs as an excuse to be spoiled?—

Charles, lingering near the door, rubbed the back of his neck, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. He held a bouquet of white lilies and, unlike the others, looked hesitant to approach.

—Are those for me or are you setting up my funeral?— Amelie quipped, eyeing the lilies with amusement.

Charles groaned. —I deserve that.— He exhaled, stepping forward and placing the flowers next to the others. —I really am sorry, Amelie. I got too competitive, and I wasn’t thinking. If I could take it back, I would.—

Amelie studied him for a moment before sighing. —I know, Charles. I’m still gonna milk it for a while, though.—

—Fair,— Charles admitted, a small smile creeping onto his lips. —Does that mean I’m forgiven?—

—Depends. How much are you willing to suffer for redemption?—

—If you make me babysit your cats, I take back my apology.—

—Coward.—

Lando, who had been quiet until now, suddenly dropped a small bouquet of yellow tulips in her lap.

—You always remember,— Amelie murmured, fingers brushing over the petals.

Lando gave her a lopsided smile. —Of course I do.—

She didn’t miss the way the others exchanged looks. George smirked knowingly, Alex raised a brow, and Charles looked like he wanted to dissect whatever just happened between them.

—Right, well, we figured you’d be bored, so we came to entertain you,— George announced, clapping his hands together. —We’re thinking a game of cards. Lando, go get the deck.—

—Why do I have to get it?—

—Because you’re the least injured, mate. Chop chop.—

Lando grumbled but went to fetch the deck from the nightstand, while the rest of them arranged themselves around Amelie.

For the next hour, they played round after round of bullshit, each game getting more ridiculous as the competitiveness escalated. George accused Charles of cheating (which, to be fair, was probably true), Alex spent half the game laughing too hard to keep track of his cards, and Lando kept catching Amelie trying to sneak extra cards into his pile.

—You’re the worst patient ever,— Lando accused, nudging her knee with his own.

—And yet you adore me,— Amelie shot back.

The words were casual, playful even, but something flickered in Lando’s expression before he masked it with a smirk.

Eventually, Stella popped her head in, arms crossed as she surveyed the chaos.

—Alright, I think she’s had enough excitement for today. Out, all of you.—

—But we were just getting started,— George whined.

—Unless you want to be responsible for her passing out from exhaustion, I suggest you leave.—

—Fine, fine,— Alex sighed, standing up and stretching. —Feel better, Amelie. Call us if you need anything.—

Charles leaned down and squeezed her hand briefly. —I owe you a proper dinner when you’re back on your feet.—

—Damn right you do.—

They all filtered out, tossing goodbyes over their shoulders as Stella gave Amelie one last look before closing the door behind them.

Amelie sighed, leaning back against the pillows, her body still aching but lighter from the distraction. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

A few minutes passed in silence. The room felt strangely empty now, stripped of the chaotic energy of George’s bickering, Alex’s laughter, and Charles’ guilty attempts at redemption. For a moment, Amelie let herself relax, muscles unclenching as exhaustion tugged at her.

Then she heard it.

The soft click of the hotel room door unlocking.

Her eyes fluttered open just as Lando slipped back inside, moving quietly like he’d done this a million times before.

—You forgot something?— she asked, voice hoarse from the fatigue she was desperately trying to ignore.

Lando shook his head, lips twitching. —Nah. Just didn’t feel like leaving yet.—

He lifted up a hotel keycard between his fingers and wiggled it slightly before sliding it back into his pocket.

—You little shit,— Amelie muttered, shaking her head, but she didn’t mean it. Not even a little.

Lando just grinned, shameless and boyish, as he kicked off his shoes and made his way toward her. His movements were careful, more gentle than usual, like he was hyper-aware of her injuries. It made something in Amelie’s chest tighten painfully.

—You look exhausted,— he murmured, crouching beside her chair. His eyes, warm and honeyed in the soft lighting, flickered over her face like he was memorizing every detail. —Did we overdo it?—

Amelie huffed a laugh. —You? Overdoing something? Never.—

He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for the blanket pooled around her lap. With practiced ease, he adjusted it over her legs, making sure she was properly tucked in before settling beside her on the bed. He propped himself against the headboard, stretching his legs out, close but not touching. Not yet.

—How’s the pain?— he asked softly.

—Manageable.— She wasn’t lying, but the lingering ache was still there, dull and insistent.

Lando studied her for a moment, then wordlessly reached for the hotel phone.

—What are you doing?— she asked, frowning.

—Ordering room service.— He smirked, glancing at her. —You didn’t eat much earlier.—

She rolled her eyes. —You’re worse than Stella.—

—Someone has to be.— His voice was teasing, but there was an edge of something deeper beneath it. Concern.

Amelie looked away, biting the inside of her cheek. He was right—she had barely touched her lunch, too distracted by the chaos of the guys visiting. But it wasn’t just that. The stress of the past few weeks had made old habits creep back in, the familiar voice in her head whispering things she didn’t want to acknowledge.

—Lan,— she started, but the words tangled on her tongue.

He just waited, patient as ever.

She swallowed. —You don’t have to take care of me.—

Something flickered in his eyes. A quiet kind of stubbornness. —I know.—

But he still did. Every single time.

She didn’t argue when he ordered a simple meal for her, something easy and warm. When the food arrived, he didn’t push, just handed her a spoon and started talking about the most ridiculous things—how George nearly fell into a fountain earlier, how Charles was still sulking over losing at cards, how Alex kept texting him memes that made no sense.

Amelie let herself listen, let herself exist in the safety of his presence. It was easy, dangerously so.

She didn’t even notice when she finished half the bowl of soup, only realizing when Lando smirked and leaned over to tap the spoon against her lips.

—See? Not so bad,— he murmured.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the warmth spreading through her chest.

Afterward, he set the tray aside and stretched, letting out a dramatic sigh. —Alright, now that I’ve nursed you back to health, I think I deserve some kind of reward.—

—Oh? Like what?— Amelie teased, tilting her head.

Lando grinned, shifting to lie down beside her, propped up on one elbow. His curls were slightly messy, his hoodie a little too big, swallowing him in warmth.

—Head scratches,— he declared.

Amelie snorted. —You’re worse than Benny.—

—Yeah, but I don’t hate your boyfriend.— He shot her a mischievous look.

—He’s not my boyfriend.—

—Not officially, anyway.—

She opened her mouth to argue, but Lando just gave her a knowing look. Damn him.

With a sigh, she reached out, fingers threading through his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp. He hummed in satisfaction, eyes fluttering closed like a content cat.

Amelie should’ve been laughing, should’ve rolled her eyes and called him ridiculous. But she didn’t. Because the moment felt too soft, too fragile.

Because she was looking at him—really looking at him—and realizing something she had been trying to ignore for days.

Her heart clenched.

Fuck.

It was the same feeling. The same terrifying, consuming, all-encompassing feeling. The same way she had felt with Cameron—the quiet certainty, the warmth curling around her ribs, even as they ached from injury.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut.

She loved him.

Her breath caught, fingers pausing in his hair.

Lando opened his eyes, brow furrowing. —You okay?—

No.

Not even a little.

She forced a small smile. —Yeah.—

Lando studied her for a second longer, like he could sense something shifting in her, before he let it go. He reached for her hand, linking their fingers together without a second thought.

—You should sleep,— he murmured.

She should. But she didn’t want to. Because sleep meant being alone with her thoughts.

So instead, she squeezed his hand.

—Stay?—

Lando’s lips twitched, as if she had just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

—Of course.—

And just like that, he pulled the blankets up, making sure she was warm, and settled in beside her like he belonged there.

Like he always had.

[shamefilledsnzblog]

Aaand Third and Final Part! After holding in all those sneezes, Perry has given himself a nasty sinus infection. Luckily Serafina has followed through on her promise to pay him a visit. Enjoy Perry battling some stuck sneezes and being a miserable wreck!

When Serafina knocked on Perry’s door, it was with the hope that he would answer it looking somewhat recovered since last night’s dance. Her hopes were promptly dashed by the sounds she heard within.

“Just… HehhHEEhhh… SNRF! … Just a moment…”

That, at least, was what she assumed he had tried to say. She had never heard a voice so muddled with congestion in her life. She flinched at the sound of someone stumbling, cursing, and something made of glass meeting its untimely end.

When Perry finally opened the door, Serafina’s heart ached for him. His hair was coming loose from its ribbon, and he had plainly dressed with no care whatsoever. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and possibly just thrown on due to the unexpected company, his cravat hung untied around his neck, and one side of his collar had come unbuttoned. Feverish red patches contrasted the pallor of his complexion, the shadows under his eyes were a dark purple, and his nose had been rubbed to a truly miserable shade of red, practically glowing in its intensity. His lips were parted, his nose plainly allowing no air through whatsoever. Serafina had never seen an expression so heavy with congestion.

“Miss… Hehh… Miss DeVille. SnfFF! I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Then you’re even more muddled than you look. I told you I’d call on you when we bid farewell last night, remember? Now, are you going to invite me in?”

Perry hesitated, rubbing at his nose with a handkerchief that clearly needed to be exchanged for a fresh one, wincing as it touched the raw skin. His mind seemed slowed by the weight of the congestion filling his head.

“I’m not fit company for anyone right now, Miss DeVille. And things are rather a mess, and… Huhhhh… SNF! Guhh…”

“Whether or not you’re fit for company, you need it. You look miserable, Peregrine. Let me in, and let me see if I can’t make things better. You needn’t fear contagion. I spent a significant part of last night tickling your nose with a feather. I think that ship has sailed.”

Peregrine’s attempt at a reply was cut off by a twitch of his nose, and a familiar desperation in his eyes. His breath caught, and his chest expanded with an urgent hitch.

“Ghehhh… HEHHh… HhihhYEHHH…”

Serafina stepped around him as he struggled, and found herself in a flat that looked exactly as she had imagined it. Bookshelves everywhere. A dining table that appeared to serve more as a desk, with open books, maps, letters, tea long since gone cold, and discarded handkerchiefs. And a truly dazzling array of mushrooms displayed on every surface. Serafina examined one, a magnificent coral pink specimen in a glass terrarium, as she waited for Perry to sneeze and return his attention to her.

The sneeze, however, was putting up a fight. Perry held his handkerchief at the ready, his eyes closed in expectation, his lips parted, but no matter how many urgent, trembling breaths he drew in, the sneeze refused to make an appearance. At long last, after several long seconds of desperate hitching, he sighed and attempted to blow his nose, seemingly without much success.

“It’s not like you to have to fight for a sneeze. Usually you’re doing your best to fight them off.”

Peregrine’s shoulders slumped miserably as he tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. He sighed, and the sigh became a damp, rattling cough that left him panting for breath, a hand pressed to his chest.

“I’ve barely been able to sneeze all day. It’s my sinuses. I don’t think holding in all those sneezes last night did me much good. Please, erm… Make yourself comfortable? I’d offer you tea, but…”

He trailed off, coughing again, but Serafina understood. The man looked far too contagious to be handling anything to be consumed by another, even though she was almost certainly already infected. Seeing that he was at something of a loss for what to do, and clearly unused to receiving company, Serafina took control. Shrugging off her coat and hanging it by the door, she went to the table and picked up a teapot that had long since gone cold.

“I’m quite capable of brewing tea myself, and you clearly need some. Sit down and let me look after you. Something tells me it’s not just your sinuses troubling you. That cough sounds miserable.”

Perry shook his head, clearly struggling to keep up. Serafina wondered how high his fever was; his temperature plainly wasn’t normal.

“Just let me tidy up a little. SNF! Ugh, apologies, I sound revolting, and I’m sure I look a wreck as well.”

He knelt down and began collecting broken glass from what appeared to be some sort of beaker or flask, clearly what he had knocked over before answering the door. Serafina noted a pained expression as he leaned forward, and as he straightened up he rubbed a hand against his forehead and cheekbones. His sinuses were infected for sure.

“What on earth were you doing out of bed? You’re in no condition to be up and about, and I distinctly remember telling you to do all in your power to recover.”

Perry sighed gloomily as he disposed of the broken glass and took a rag to mop up whatever had been contained within.

“I was making a sterilizing solution for some substrate. Need to start a new batch of spawn, and the ideal temperature window for this one is narrow. Can’t leave… leave it too… hhhgyihhh… hyehhh… iyehhghhh…”

Serafina watched sympathetically as she filled the kettle and set in on the small stove in the area that served as a kitchen. Perry, on his knees on the floor, leaned back, raising the cloth he had been cleaning with, barely seeming to register that it wasn’t his usual handkerchief. She had never seen a man so desperate for a sneeze. His lips parted, his chest shuddered with shaky inhales, his nostrils flared, eyes closed and watering, and…

“HhHeh-HEHhhh… hmm… Guhh. I’m sorry, this is rather undignified.”

“I don’t care whether or not it’s dignified, I care that it looks terribly uncomfortable. Will you please sit down? I don’t care about the mess, and I’m sure your spawn can wait just a little longer. Really, could you not have stayed in bed for just one day?”

Perry shook his head, pulling out a seat at the table and slumping into it.

“Lying down makes it worse. My head throbs, and nothing I do can clear it. And I can’t breathe through my nose, so just when I start nodding off, I start coughing and wake myself up again. It’s all perfectly miserable.”

Leaving the kettle to boil, Serafina came to sit beside him. Reaching out, she brushed the loose hair behind his ear, and rested her hand against his brow, and then his cheek. Both burned with fever, and Perry closed his eyes with a sigh, leaning into her touch. She ran her thumb along one cheekbone, applying a little pressure, and Perry winced.

“Poor thing. You’re quite right, I think it’s your sinuses that are the trouble. You’re tender here?”

“Extremely. I feel like if I could just be allowed one sneeze, something might shift, but I can’t manage it, so my head feels full of mud.”

He looked up at her at last, looking as if he was dreading her judgement, and instead found Serfina arching an eyebrow.

“… Please don’t get the quill again?”

“Not to worry, I won’t subject you to that again. I think we can find a gentler way to clear you up. But first, you’re going to drink a cup of tea and some water. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten anything?”

Perry shook his head, eyes lowering once more. Serafina felt her heart ache for the poor man. She had seen him ill before, of course, but never so completely miserable. She rested a hand on his back, rubbing soothingly and squeezing his shoulder, trying not to be worried by the heat radiating from him.

“I haven’t had any appetite. I couldn’t taste anything even if I did.”

“Well, I must insist you eat something later, but I won’t force you for now. All I want you to do for the moment is to go and put yourself to bed, while I prepare tea and something to help you breathe. Can you do that for me?”

Pery gave a miserable snuffle, and winced as it seemed to hurt his head even more.

“I suspect you’re not going to give me a choice.”

“You suspect quite right. To bed with you, at once, and leave everything else to me.”

Perry nodded wearily and got to his feet. Judging by those grimaces, he was aching from the fever. Serafina kept her hand on his shoulder as she guided him to the bedroom. Unsurprisingly, it too was filled with various fungal specimens, and a remarkable quantity of books.

“Extraordinary. The air in here must be full of spores, and you still can’t manage a single sneeze?”

Perry’s nose twitched at the mere mention, his eyes fluttering closed and his lips parting. Worried he might lose the sneeze under too much scrutiny, Serafina turned her attention to a particularly attractive mushroom blooming from a suspended piece of wood. Delicate, fan-like structures, the purest white… Once upon a time it would never have occurred to her to even look at such a thing. Now, she was beginning to see what Perry found so fascinating.

“Hiehhh… Hgyiihhhh… Hmm… HehhhHEH! HEHH! Hhhh…”

Serafina turned to see Perry teetering on the very edge of a sneeze. Mouth open, lip curled in an agonized snarl, eyes squeezed shut in desperation, nostrils flared wide and shining with leaking congestion… And just as it seemed he would be granted relief, the breath escaped him in a frustrated sigh, and he slumped in defeat. Nose running, he attempted to sniffle, his shoulders rising with the effort of it.

“Damn. I thought I had it.”

“I thought so too. Poor thing, it must be maddening. Now, you get changed and put yourself to bed at once, while I see what I have that might help.”

Closing the door to give Perry some privacy, Serafina went to retrieve the bag she had hung up along with her coat. Not sure Perry would have what was required to hand, she had stopped to buy some things along the way. She took a jar of salve and a bottle of medicine, and went to attend to the whistling kettle. Perry’s kitchen was sparse, and she suspected he rarely cooked anything substantial for himself. Making a note to return later with soup, she found a tin of tea leaves and set to work brewing them.

Finally, with medicines, tea with lemon and honey, and water on a tray, she knocked on the bedroom door.

“Are you decent, Peregrine?”

“I’m dying, but please, come in.”

Perry was tucked up in bed, somehow looking even more ill now that his hair was loose and he was dressed in a nightshirt. He had propped himself up on what looked like every pillow and cushion he had been able to lay hands on, and was busy dabbing at his raw nose, trying to stem the relentless dripping. Every touch looked terribly uncomfortable.

Serafina set down the tray, and passed Perry a cup of tea.

“Drink that first, and try to breathe in some of the steam. Now, where are your spare handkerchiefs?  That one’s starting to do more harm than good.”

Taking a sip of tea and seeming surprised by the honey it contained, Perry indicated a drawer on the nightstand. Serafina opened it, and found it filled with handkerchiefs. Each was embroidered in one corner with a mushroom of some variety, each in intricate detail. Serafina had seen the embroidery before, and thought it an endearing quirk. To her surprise, next to the handkerchiefs, she found a small box of embroidery supplies, with another handkerchief half finished.

“Peregrine! I never knew you embroidered these yourself!”

Perry blushed, taking another sip of tea to hide his embarrassment.

“Oh. Well, yes. My mother taught me. I was ill so often as a child, and couldn’t stand staying in bed. She taught me to embroider to keep me occupied, and so we would have a hobby in common. These days, whenever I’m bedridden, I find myself returning to it. Keeps my hands busy. And it’s a way to remember her.”

Serafina selected a handkerchief with a cheerfully coloured toadstool in the corner and ran a finger carefully across the delicate embroidery. She found herself smiling, imagining the young Perry being instructed in the art of needle and thread, and pressed the handkerchief into his hand.

“How thoroughly sweet! You do keep finding ways to surprise me. Now, I’m afraid I have to ask you to take a dose of this. Vile-tasting stuff, I know, but it might loosen up that dreadful cough.”

Perry grimaced as she poured a dose of the thick, dark syrup.

“I’d really rather not. Medicines always seem to make me so sleepy.”

“Good. Sleep is precisely what you need. Sleep, and some relief from that pressure in your head. Go on, swallow it down.”

Perry looked dubious, but broke out into another painful bout of coughing that nearly spilled his tea with the force of it. Seemingly convinced, he accepted the medicine cup and downed it with a look of revulsion.

“Ugh. How is it I can’t taste food, but I can still taste that?”

“It’s cruel, I know. Finish your tea, and then I’ve something else that might make you more comfortable.”

As Perry swallowed down the last of his tea, eager to chase away the taste of the medicine, Serafina opened up the jar of salve. It released a sharp, pungent menthol aroma, and even before it was brought near him, Perry twitched his nose in response. Even Serafina found herself momentarily overwhelmed, and quickly turned away with a carefully controlled sneeze.

“H’tshew! I do beg your pardon.”

Not quite the unrestrained, indulgent sneeze she would have preferred to allow herself, but it seemed cruel to enjoy such satisfaction when Perry was fighting so very hard for it. Smiling gently, she settled herself on the side of Perry’s bed and reached for the collar of his nightshirt. He flinched back, eyes wide.

“I can put it on, Miss DeVille. Really, I ought to. It’s likely to make a mess of me, and you doing so, when it’s just the two of us here, doesn’t seem entirely proper.”

There was something so endearing in his wide, nervous eyes, and the way he pulled the blanket up to his chest a little defensively. Serafina reached out and took his hands, stroking the back of one with her thumb as she gently lowered them.

“I know you can do it yourself. But I want to take care of you. Look at yourself, Peregrine. How many times have you been ill here, all alone, and just had to do your best by yourself?”

“I… erm… Snff-SNRF!... Well, Janessa usually looks in for a chat, and sometimes brings something to eat…”

“I want to care for you. I mean it. And as for propriety… Peregrine, last night I concealed you in my bedroom, hid you from my father, used my quill to make you sneeze until you were spent, and powdered your nose for you. I think we’re a little past propriety, don’t you?”

Perry seemed lost for words. It was hard to tell if those bright red spots on his cheeks were from being flustered or fevered. He looked down at Serafina’s hands, gently holding his own, attempting to sniffle and crinkling his nose as doing so made it threaten to drip.  He looked back up, meeting her eyes.

“I don’t understand. Why?”

Unable to help herself, Serafina leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to one flushed cheek.

“Does that help you understand?”

Perry flushed even redder than before, stammering and avoiding her eyes. Just as he was finally able to meet her gaze and attempt a reply, his expression grew distant, and his nose twitched.

“I think… I… Ihhghyiehhh… Ehh… SNRF!”

As he fought a losing battle to bring the sneeze to a satisfying conclusion, Serafina reached for his nightshirt again, unlacing it and exposing his chest. Perry shivered, though whether from the cold air touching his fevered skin, or from Serafina’s touch, she couldn’t say.

“That’s it. Now, this might feel a little cold, but it’s what you need.”

Scooping some of the salve onto her fingers, Serafina dabbed it onto Perry’s chest and began to spread it, working in slow, gentle strokes. The pungent scent grew stronger as it contacted the overheated skin, and before long, began to have the desired effect. Perry’s sniffling became more frequent, more damp, more urgent… He tried to raise his handkerchief, but Serafina caught his wrist, gently pushing it back down.

“Don’t try to rub the itch away. We want it all out, remember?”

“Hh… SNF-SNRFF! T-tihh-tickles…”

“I know it does. Let it happen.”

With her hand massaging Perry’s chest, she could feel every unsteady breath. The salve was doing its work, but hadn’t quite breached Perry’s defenses yet. Serafina watched as he wrinkled and twitched his nose, sniffling with increasing urgency, his eyelids constantly fluttering closed. He let out a low whimper, raising his handkerchief and holding it at the ready. Serafina let her hand still, feeling his chest expand, breathing deeper, deeper…

“Hehhh… Yhhieehhhh… Hh… Hm… Hff!.. Hmm… Hhhyehhh…”

He was on the verge of losing it again. She could tease him, Serafina found herself realizing once more. Let him keep coming to the edge, growing increasingly desperate each time he failed to bring the maddening urge to its conclusion. She could keep rubbing at his chest, perhaps gently, carefully running her claws over his skin, watching to see if doing so raised goosebumps. She could let that poor, tormented nose quiver and twitch and drip.

It would be an appealing idea any other day, but it was quickly replaced by a desperate need to free the poor dear man from his misery. Serafina dipped a finger in the salve, and before Perry could once more let out a final disappointed groan and lose the tickle entirely, she rubbed a smudge just beneath those leaking nostrils, and gave them the lightest flick with her claw for good measure.

The intense aroma, directly beneath his nose, breached the barrier at last. Perry’s eyes opened, wide and desperate, then squeezed abruptly shut. His mouth yawned wide open, the bridge of his nose crinkling, nostrils twitching wider and wider, hitching in one last, desperate breath, and…

“GHHHYIESHHHIEWW!”

The force of it flung him forward, throwing his hair into disarray, leaving him clutching his handkerchief to his nose with both hands, as if he feared one alone could not contain the sneeze. Serafina rested a hand on his back, rubbing soothingly.

“Well done. That was a struggle, wasn’t it? More?”

Perry nodded, face hidden by hair and handkerchief. Serafina felt the muscles in his back move as his chest began to expand once more.

“Hgyehh… Guhhh… Hehhh… HeeEHHGHSHIEWW!”

It was as violent as the first, and by the sounds of things, as wet. Perry attempted to draw in enough breath for a blow, but after being denied so many sneezes, his nose was not going to be satisfied with two. Serafina turned and took another handkerchief from the drawer in readiness. Then, hearing a desperately liquid snort, took another as well just to be sure.

“You’re doing well. Let them all out.”

“Hff… Hheffhhh… Hyiehhh… Hm… EhhhESHYIEWW! HGSHIEWW! Guhhh…”

Perry shook his head slightly, as if trying to shake loose further tickles, or to shift the congestion that sounded as if it was coming loose at last. Another wet, snorting attempt at a blow, and Serafina pressed a new handkerchief into his hand. Perry accepted it with a distracted nod, dropping the other at his side, plainly trying not to let her see the state of it.

“HeeHEGHHSShieww… Ugh… HhhGHSHIEW… H’SHIEW!”

Another blow, and this one sounded tremendously productive. Serafina heard damp squelching as Perry blew and blew, urgently seeking dry spots on his handkerchief after each soaking blow. And with more air finally reaching his inflamed passages, it only fueled the fire burning within.

“IIhhhIEYSHEW! YISHIEW!”

Serafina stopped counting each sneeze that burst forth, simply rubbing Perry’s back, murmuring soothing encouragements, passing the new handkerchief as the last was left soaked. Perry was unable to speak, all his attention focused on sneezing and blowing out the congestion that had been plaguing him. At long last, he drew a final, trembling breath, and let out a sneeze that seemed to scratch the itch at last.

“Hehh-hihhehhSHIEW!”

Panting from the effort, Perry let out a final, draining blow, and slumped back against his pillows, utterly spent. Smiling tenderly, Serafina brushed the golden hair from his face and, taking one of her own handkerchiefs from her pocket, gently dabbed away the sweat now shining on his face. Perry, looking both relieved and dazed, blinked up at her.

“I’m sorry. You must think me…”

“Peregrine. If you say one more unkind thing about yourself, I am going to be truly upset with you.”

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t seem to be feeling quite myself.”

Serafina rested the back of her hand on his brow, finding it warmer than before. Whether from the fever rising, or the sheer exertion of the sneezing fit, she couldn’t say. She stroked her fingers gently through his hair, and his eyes closed at the touch.

“Of course you don’t feel quite yourself. You’re exhausted, and running a fever. But you’re quite as lovely as ever, and I’ll not have you saying otherwise.”

Perry managed a sleepy smile, and a feeble attempt at a laugh that dissolved into a weak cough.

“You have a strange definition of lovely.”

“This coming from a man who sings the praises of mushrooms that look as if they sprung up from the hells. There’s a thing on the wall over there that looks like a section of brain, yet you chose it to adorn your bedroom. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I happen to find the sight before me quite beautiful.”

Perry’s cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink. He opened his mouth to reply, but his words were lost to a yawn.

“Apologies, Miss DeVille. I don’t find your company boring, I promise.”

“Of course you don’t. But you’ve not slept, and you said the medicine makes you sleepy. I suggest you take full advantage of that side effect, and get some rest. I’m going to go out for a little while, alright?”

Perry frowned, weariness claiming him as he considered her words.

“You’re coming back?”

“Naturally. There’s not enough in your kitchen to sustain you in fighting off whatever you’ve contracted, and our cook does a wonderful chicken soup. I’ll bring you some, you will eat it or answer to me, and you’ll let me care for you until I’m satisfied you can rest for the night. If that’s quite alright with you?”

Perry smiled sleepily, leaning further back into the pillows and allowing his eyes to close.

“Once again, I don’t think you’re going to allow me a choice in the matter.”

“Once again, you’re quite correct.”

A Desperate Cover-Up

So, this was meant to be for @lostatsneeze 's Sick at a Ball prompt game (linked here), but it ended up being nearly 4000 words and I never even got these poor fools to the ball! That might need to be Part Two...

Characters are my DnD OCs: Perry, a human of minor nobility, a self-styled Gentlman Druid with a fascination for all things fungal and a terrible immune system. And Serafina, a purple tiefling, the bastard (but beloved) daughter of an immensely wealthy lord, who happens to have the kink.

Perry has an utterly miserable cold, but Serafina is still determined for him to make a good impression. Featuring some inducing, some mess, some sneezing while hiding.

“Again? And now? Peregrine, I really do feel awful for you, but this is the third time in as many months, and your timing couldn’t be worse!”

“Believe me, I’m distressingly well-aware. But surely it’s not too.. t-hhiieehh… HIESshhHYIEEW! Snf… Too obvious?”

Serafina refused to dignify that with a reply.

She had come to meet Perry at the gate of her father’s townhouse, all excitement. For months, she had been urging her father to finance Perry’s Underdark expedition. Months of carefully explaining to him how the discovery of newer, safer trade routes and outposts could be invaluable to his business (and, of course, he would be aiding in the advancement of science via enabling Perry and his companion Janessa’s studies, but as she had repeatedly stressed to Perry, that was not an aspect likely to win her father’s interest). Months of sitting with Perry, watching with increasing endearment as he plotted routes and consulted notes of prior expeditions.

Her father had grown increasingly interested, and multiple meetings with Perry had convinced him of the young man’s intelligence and enthusiasm. Unfortunately, they had not convinced him of Perry’s resilience. Between his numerous allergies, asthma, and two truly brutal head colds, he had sneezed, snuffled, coughed, and wheezed his way through nearly every meeting. Each time, as soon as Perry left, Serafina’s father turned to her, shaking his head.

“I’m not doubting that his heart is in it, and he’s got the brains. But surely he’s too frail for such a dangerous journey?”

Tonight, at a small, formal dance, her father had agreed to give Perry one chance to make his case. And Perry had shown up with the most glaringly obvious head cold Serafina had ever seen.

“I… I’m sorry. We could say I was kept away by some emergency?”

“Which he’ll expect you to explain next time, and we both know you’re an utterly miserable liar. Oh, Peregrine…”

Perry’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and he dabbed at his red, raw nose with a handkerchief, wriggling it and sniffling wetly in irritation. His sinuses sounded full to the brim with congestion, and by the looks of that twitching nose, he was just desperate to sneeze it all out. His voice was hoarse, and he muffled constant ticklish coughs into his handkerchief. Pronouncing any word with an ‘n’ or ‘m’ sounded utterly pitiful. His skin, always pale, was chalky white, dark, bruise-like shadows lurked beneath his eyes, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his brow. He had no hope whatsoever of convincing anyone that he was well.

Well, not without help.

Serafina turned to her shy elf maid, Mayna, keeping her voice low.

“Mayna, go and check that there’s no one around the back door, and let me know when the coast is clear. I’m taking Peregrine to my bedroom to see if I can’t work a little of my magic on him. You’re to give me a warning should you see anyone coming. Understood?”

“Yes, Miss. Good luck, and feel better, Sir Peregrine.”

Perry’s reply was lost in a miserably wet sneeze. Mayna hurried around the side of the house. Serafina grabbed Perry while he was still in the process of blowing his nose, dragging him out of sight.

“We’re going to make this work.”

“I… IiieESHIEEW! Guhh… I’ll do my best, Miss DeVille.”

Mayna returned shortly, her eyes wide and nervous, gesturing for Serafina and Perry to follow. Dragging the snuffling, coughing Perry behind her, and hiding from a few servants on the way, Serafina finally reached her bedroom and shoved Perry inside. With one last look at Mayna, who nodded with timid determination, she shut the door and turned to look at her project.

“We have a lot of work to do. Starting with that voice.”

She pulled up a seat at her dressing table and gestured for Perry to sit, which he did with some relief. Poor thing, if he was running a fever, as she suspected he was, he must be awfully achy. Not to mention, he would usually be immensely flustered at finding himself somewhere so intimate as her bedroom. Instead, he just seemed exhausted. Serafina squeezed his shoulder encouragingly before going to her bedside table.

Sure enough, there was a packet of lozenges in the top drawer. An enthusiastic singer, proud of her voice, Serafina always tended to keep some on hand. Taking the packet and pouring a glass of water from the bedside carafe, she passed both to Perry.

“Drink that. All of it. And suck on one of those. Right now, you sound as if you’ve gargled broken glass. We’ve half an hour before you’re expected to arrive, so let’s make it count. How many handkerchiefs do you have with you?”

Perry, drinking the water and grimacing with every swallow, stopped and tried to catch his breath. He seemed to be having a hard time drinking with his nose so badly blocked.

“Four.”

“And how many are left in a usable condition?”

“Two.”

“That won’t be enough. I’ll fetch some of mine; don’t worry, I’ll make sure they’re unscented.”

Perry tried to respond, but the even with the lozenge and water, the tickle in his throat became too much. He doubled over, coughing until he was red in the face. Already Serafina could hear a damp rattle that suggested this cold would be going to his chest, and probably making its home there for a good long while.

“Deep breaths, Peregrine. Finish that water, then I want you to have another glass. How’s your head?”

“Aching t-terribly. HhhHIESHOO!”

“Probably even worse after that. Poor thing, they do seem to sneak up on you when you’ve got the sniffles, don’t they?”

Retreating into her ensuite, she opened the medicine cabinet, rifling through the contents. Headache powders. Cough syrup. Balm for chapped lips. She grabbed all three, soaked a flannel in water, and returned to find Perry blowing his nose. It sounded as if there was no end to what he needed to clear out.

“I think that’s that handkerchief spent. Sounds as if you’re still awfully stuffed. Say something for me, let’s see how you sound.”

Giving his nose one final wipe and wrinkling it with a damp snuffle, Perry sighed.

“I’m so terribly sorry. Even if I do manage to pass myself off as healthy, I’ll still no doubt get you sick, and probably poor Mayna as a result.”

“You may pay me back by naming a new discovery after me when you get to the Underdark. Not some foul slimy toadstool, either. Ideally something purple and magnificent. As for Mayna, I’ll see that she’s given all the time off she needs, and is thoroughly pampered. We need to clear you out a bit more, though, if we’re to convince Papa. You still sound miserably stuffy. Take a new handkerchief. Blow again.”

Obedient as ever, Perry took another handkerchief from his pocket and began another weary series of blows. As he did so, Serafina mixed one of the powders with water, and poured a dose of cough syrup.

“Both of these down, quick as you can. We still need to get to work on covering all that red.”

Perry grimaced as he looked at both medicines, but obediently downed the cough syrup, spent a few moments grimacing at the taste, and set to work sipping at the medicine-laced water.

“Speak for me again?”

“You deserve more than just a fungus named after you, Miss DeVille. But of any I discover, I promise, I’ll name the loveliest after you.”

“I’m not sure I trust your judgement on that. I’ve seen you go misty-eyed over something that looks like a cauliflower with a skin condition. I shall expect full illustrations and descriptions first. Unfortunately, I think we’ve got more work to do on those sinuses first.”

Perry turned to see her going to her writing desk, and taking up a delicate feather quill. His nose twitched at the mere sight.

“Please, no.”

“You know a good sneeze tends to clear you up when all that congestion is being stubborn, and even as sensitive as you are, I don’t believe you can do it on command. I know it’s unpleasant, but we’re running low on time, and all that blowing is just giving me a redder nose to fix.”

Perry let out a slight whimper, but sighed and nodded, allowing Serafina to draw close. She came to stand before him, cupping his cheek and tilting his head so that he was looking up at her. Unable to resist, she gently stroked his cheek with her thumb. It really was unhealthily hot.

“Poor thing. That’s quite the temperature. I know you must be feeling so unwell. You just need to do your best a little longer, and we’ll try to make your excuses early so you can go home and rest. Now, close your eyes.”

Perry did so, leaning slightly into Serafina’s hand, seemingly seeking out the relative coolness of her skin. How wonderful it would be, Serafina mused, to lead him to her bed, and join him there, letting him seek the touch of as much of her as he wanted.

Those thoughts would have to wait. With her free hand, she set the very tip of the quill to that poor, long-suffering nose. The reaction was immediate.

“HeEhHH! IehehHEH! Hm.. hff… Iehh-hihh… HEH!”

“That’s right. Sensitive, aren’t you? Relax. Let it happen.”

Perry couldn’t reply even if he wanted to. His lips parted, revealing a slightly curling tongue. His eyes squeezed shut, a tear of irritation rolling down his cheek. And that poor nose… Serafina kept gently brushing beneath those delicate nostrils, watching them flare in torment. Almost as if inviting her to go deeper, begging for release from the tickling.

Another time, she might have teased. Let the quill linger, just enough to tickle, not enough to bring him satisfaction. Let him hitch and gasp and squirm, let him plead for release. Another time she would enjoy drawing things out, letting that nose grow redder and redder, letting it sniffle and twitch and leak, before finally enveloping it in a handkerchief and letting the poor man sneeze until he was satisfied.

Tonight was not the night for teasing. With a deft twist, she inserted the point of the quill deeper into a flaring nostril, drawing forth a gasp of irritation, a great, flustered snort, and…

“HhhHGYIESHIEW!”

Perry barely got his handkerchief up in time, sneezing wetly into its folds. Serafina rested a hand on his shoulder, gently stroking with her thumb.

“Well done. You’re not finished, are you?”

“GHHIYIESHOO! SHIEEWW! Guh… Pardon me… SNRFff!”

“Don’t sniffle it back. We want it all out, remember? Nice gentle blow, that’s it. Good, I can hear things loosening up. Now, there’s a few more sneezes in there, I think.”

Perry nodded, finding a clean spot in his handkerchief to nuzzle into, his nose plainly tormenting him. Her hand still on his shoulder, Serafina felt him breathe in great unsteady gasps, plainly trying to bring on another sneeze. Taking his hands, gentle but firm, she pushed them down, removing the handkerchief barrier hiding his face.

“There. Don’t fuss at it, just let that poor sore nose do what it must.”

Perry nodded, eyes closed, crinkling his nose, lips parted, plainly battling a truly torturous tickle. Even after emptying a good quantity of in into his handkerchief, moisture still pooled beneath his raw nostrils, clearly irritating them further. He sniffled desperately against the irritation, and tried to raise his handkerchief again.

“Hhyiehh… Hehhh… SNF! Hfff… Ghhihhhehhh… Hyehhh…”

Serafina pushed his hands back down once more, and raised the quill to his nose.

“It’s teasing you, isn’t it? Not to worry, we’ll soon have it out.”

This time he let out a strangled whimper as the feather touched his sore nose. Serafina could feel his breath, hot and urgent against her hand, and once again cupped his cheek, tilting his head up to face her. She flicked the quill back into place, seeking the sensitive spot in those inflamed nostrils, while Perry snorted in irritation again, another tear spilling over his cheek as he began another round of desperate hitching.

“Ghhyieehh… Hhihhh… HYiehhh… HEHhhh… SNRF!”

The feather was becoming too damp to do its job. Serafina twitched it more insistently, scratching against the raw, sensitive walls of Perry’s nose, while he plainly struggled not to pull away. When she withdrew it and set to work on the other nostril, a string of mess came with it.

“HhH-Hhh… Hhyieehhh… I… I can’t… Hghhyyiehhhh…”

“You can, and you will. A little deeper…”

Another deft flick of the quill, and Serafina seemed to have found the spot at last. Perry’s face contorted in ticklish agony, and though he pulled away and raised his handkerchief as quickly as he could, Serafina still felt the mist of the resultant sneeze on her wrist. A slight shiver ran through her, and warmth stirred in her belly.

“HhHGYIESHHEWW!”

It was the wettest yet, and Perry seemed spent. Breathing heavily, avoiding Serafina’s eyes, he once again began soaking his handkerchief with the newly loosened congestion. When he could at last speak again, his handkerchief was rendered useless, but his voice was noticeably less congested.

“I’m so very sorry. You must find this utterly repulsive.”

You poor man, if only you knew.

Serafina fondly brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. The relentless sneezing had caused a few to come loose from his ponytail, framing his face rather nicely.

“You aren’t repulsive in the slightest. You’re just miserably ill. Sounds as if you’re a little cleared up, though. Let’s get to work repairing the damage.”

Taking the damp flannel, she carefully wiped Perry’s face, being careful of his raw nose and chapped lips. Perry leaned into the cool cloth, and Serafina held it in place for a moment, allowing him a moment’s relief after his efforts.

“Poor Peregrine. No dancing for you tonight, I think. Your partner would feel you burning up immediately.”

Opening her cosmetic drawer, Serafina began to go through the contents. Perry looked on with weary eyes, taking the flannel himself and holding it to his overheated brow.

“I don’t know much about cosmetics, but surely yours are some shade of purple, to match you? I don’t know that it’s going to help me.”

“Most of them are. But I ‘borrowed’ this one from Delia one day when she was being especially unpleasant. She hides from the sun at all costs for fear of developing freckles, so she’s almost as pale as you.”

Removing the ‘borrowed’ powder, and a jar of moisturizing lotion, Serafina opened both, and swatted Perry’s hand away when he reached for them.

“Oh no you don’t. You said yourself, you know nothing about cosmetics. You’ll leave this to me, thank you.”

“You’re having entirely too much contact with this wretched nose of mine. I’m sure you’re going to catch this.”

“Then you shall have to find a way to make it up to me. I’m sure between us we can think of something. Now, hold still, please.”

Perry flinched as Serafina dabbed a little lotion on his nose, beginning to gently rub it in. It felt even warmer than the rest of him, and twitched charmingly. Once again Serafina had to remind herself that now was not the time to tease.

“It feels odd. Is it having an effect?”

“Not on the colour, I’m afraid, but it might soothe you a little, and it will make it easier for the powder to stick.”

At the mere mention of powder, Perry gave a nervous sniffle. He watched and swallowed hard as Serafina picked up the powderpuff, disturbing a fine cloud of the cosmetic.

“I know. You need to try not to breathe in while I apply this. Close your eyes, and try not to think about it.”

Perry did as he was told, holding his breath and refusing to look. Even so, his nose scrunched and wriggled as Serafina applied powder in deft, careful dabs. It was going to require more powder than she had imagined.

“Alright. Take a breath now, then we’ll try some more.”

Perry let out the breath he had been holding, together with a few ticklish coughs that made him wince and press a hand to his chest. His nose twitched again. And again, more desperately. His eyes began to develop that familiar, distant look.

Serafina pressed a finger beneath his nose, giving him a stern look.

“No. If you sneeze, your handkerchief is going to undo my work.”

Perry sniffled. Serafina gave his nostrils a firm rub, feeling them twitch and flare. A tentative hitch. Another.

“Peregrine. No.”

At last, Perry’s breathing settled, and he opened his eyes. It was hard to tell if the flush on his cheeks was from fever or embarrassment.

“I think it’s under control.”

“Good. You need some more powder. Hold your breath again.”

The second application seemed even more irritating than the first. Perry’s tormented nose scrunched and wriggled, and his chest shuddered with the urge to take in a great hitching breath. Serafina finished the second coat, and once again pressed a finger beneath his nose.

“You’re doing well. Deep breaths. Try not to think about it.”

“I-ihh… it won’t le-hehhh-t me think of much… much else…”

Before Serafina could reply, Mayna’s timid voice sounded from outside the room.

“Good evening, Lord DeVille! Miss DeVille is just getting ready!”

Perry froze in horror. No matter how innocent the circumstances, being caught in the bedroom of Lord DeVille’s beloved daughter would be a disaster, even if he was in perfect health. Seizing him by the arm, with no time to hide him anywhere safer, Serafina dragged him to his feet and shoved him behind her bed, hissing in his ear.

“Not a word from you, and for the gods’ sake, not a sneeze!”

Serafina seated herself at her dressing table just as her father knocked on the door.

“Are you decent, my dear?”

“Just putting on some finishing touches, Papa. I’ll join you shortly.”

The door opened, and Serafina forced herself not to glance nervously at Perry. She didn’t need to see him to know that he was struggling. Her father, elegantly dressed in his evening attire, entered, greeting her with a fond smile.

“I don’t know why you fuss about with all that makeup. You look perfectly lovely to me.”

“A lady is always on display. One must attend to the details. Did you need something, Papa?”

Maddeningly, Lord DeVille seemed in a mood to linger.

“Your young man hasn’t arrived yet. Odd, given he’s usually early. I hope he’s well this time.”

While her father looked over her array of cosmetics with fond amusement, Serafina chanced a glance at Perry. Her heart sank. He was huddled as far out of view as he could, but from what she could see of the part of his face not buried in his handkerchief, he was on the verge of giving himself away. His shoulders shuddered with desperate hitches, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sure he’s perfectly well. He’s been most enthusiastic about this evening.”

Lord DeVille gave a huff of amusement.

“I’m not sure what he’s more interested in. My finances, or my daughter.”

“Peregrine’s always perfectly respectful on both subjects.”

Lord DeVille frowned, nodding to the open powder sachet and bottle of cough syrup on the dressing table.

“You’re not unwell yourself, are you?”

He reached out and felt her forehead. Ordinarily Serafina would have been touched by his concern. Right now, she struggled not to squirm in frustration.

Hold on, Peregrine. No matter how it tickles!

From behind the bed, she heard the desperate “hmp!” of a painfully stifled sneeze, and she coughed slightly to cover the noise.

“A slight sore throat, Papa, nothing more. Given I’ll likely be asked to sing tonight, I thought I ought to take some precautions.”

That, at least, would take the blame off Perry when she inevitably caught his cold.

Lord DeVille looked unconvinced, but he patted her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I’ll not have you pressured into singing if you’re not up to it. And early to bed for you tonight! No lingering to discuss toadstools with that poor besotted fungal fellow!”

“As you wish. Was there anything else?”

While her father looked elsewhere, she chanced another glance at Perry, and her heart began to race. He stifled another sneeze into his handkerchief, managing to keep it perfectly silent, but that would not be the case for long. Even pinching his nose harshly and forcing his mouth closed, he was on the verge of coming undone.

Lord DeVille picked up the jar of powder, giving a hum of amusement.

“This wouldn’t be the powder Delia was throwing a tantrum about, would it, my darling?”

Another muffled “hnk!” from behind the bed. Serafina suspected she had moments to act.

“Is it? Oh dear, I must have picked it up by mistake! Here, I’ll see that it’s returned to her!”

She reached for the powder, and in doing so, allowed her sleeve to catch the glass of water she had poured for Perry, deliberately knocking it into her lap. She leapt up with a cry of alarm, her voice covering up a muffled “HM-ph!”.

“Oh! My dress!”

“There now, my dear, it’s just a little water, I’m sure there’s no damage done!”

“Perhaps not, but I can’t wear this now! Better let me change, Papa, if you want me downstairs by the time guests arrive!”

Lord DeVille nodded, turning back to the door.

“I’ll leave you to it. Not to worry if you’re a little late, I’ll make your excuses for you.”

The moment the door closed, Serafina dived behind the bed, dropping to her knees. Perry did not even seem to notice her. He was lost to the build-up of a sneeze that had no hope of being silenced. Serafina hurriedly seized a pillow from the bed and pressed it over his face, praying that between the muffling effect and the closed door, her father would not hear.

Perry lurched forward, delivering a flurry of violent sneezes into the pillow.

“HHIEMMMPHHH! MMPHH! HHhuHMMPH!”

Serafina rested a hand on his back, rubbing soothingly as he sneezed again and again, the explosions gradually growing weaker until he was left panting, raising his head from the pillow at last. His eyes streamed, as did his nose, and all traces of powder were thoroughly removed. The cool silk of her pillow had been left damp and darkened from the results of his sneezes.

“Miss DeVille, I’m so very…”

“No apologies, please. Bless you.”

The stifling had undone her efforts in making him sound less ill. He sounded just as congested as he had when he arrived, and looked utterly defeated, as well as humiliated, as he took out his handkerchief and gave his nose an exhausted blow.

“Truly, though, I am sorry. I really think I ought to go home.”

Serafina helped him to his feet, and guided him determinedly back to the dressing table, where she picked up her quill once more.

“We’ve come this far, and I’m not one for admitting defeat. Let’s try this again, shall we?”

[yume-no-miya]

look i love making sae be the one who's so in love and showering hajun with so much love and affection but it's much more fun to think that HE fell harder than her

[rafesangelita]

♡ it’s that time of year again, and kook!sweetheart!reader is here and ready to kiss for charity in her annual kissing booth! however, rafe is first in line.. and a peck on the cheek is not the only thing he’s interested in

warnings: s1!rafe, flirty banter, dirty talk, heavy petting, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), hair pulling, multiple orgasms

a/n: now presenting… ‘KISSING BOOTH’ 🤍 i was so obsessed with this idea, i had came up with it last year but decided i should wait for valentine’s day to write it, so to say it’s been a long time coming is an understatement! i’m so excited for this valentine’s day celebration, i hope you all will love it <3

link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

wc: 1.5k

“wow, it looks like cupid threw up in here.” you smiled at the familiar voice, your best friend rolling her eyes when she saw the way your cheeks heated at rafe’s teasing words. while she thought rafe was annoying and insufferable, you absolutely adored him, always laughing at his lame jokes and letting him hold you close at parties as if to let everyone know that you were off limits. “you don’t like the way i decorated the booth?” you pouted up at him as he leaned over the front counter, a smug grin gracing his features. “yeah, it’s cute..” he trailed off, “but are you really gonna kiss some random assholes for a fuckin’ dollar?”

you sighed, pointing towards the tip jar. “it’s for charity, rafe.. and i’m not really ‘kissing’ anyone, i’m barely grazing their cheek!” rafe scoffed before studying you for a moment. you were such a pretty thing, the idea of some losers waiting in line to get something as little as a peck from you made his blood boil. “how much money do you have to make today?” he was fishing in his pocket for his wallet before you even answered. “i would like to make at least three hundred dollars.” you watched him curiously as he managed to get some crisp bills out of the expensive leather.

“i’ll do you one better, and give you five hundred dollars to ditch this joint right now.” you blinked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “are you serious?” he dropped the money in the jar that you decorated with pink heart-shaped stickers and red rhinestones. “yeah, but i don’t just want a kiss..” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “i’d rather see those pretty, sparkly lips wrapped around my cock instead, yeah?” you felt butterflies flutter in your tummy, your needy gaze meeting his own. “come on, baby.” he took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing into your skin.

swallowing thickly, you glanced over at your bestie. “i can’t leave her to do this all by herself..” just as you were going to apologize and tell him maybe another time, she took the money out of the jar and placed it into an envelope. “i’m gonna go turn this money in to the charity organizers and close up shop, ‘looks like the boys of kildare will have to be kissed by someone else today.” you giggled, motioning for rafe to come inside once your friend left. he wasted no time, locking the wooden door shut as you closed the window, moving the silky red curtain over the glass.

rafe’s hands were palming the soft flesh of your ass in an instant, his large hands shamelessly flipping up your skirt to get a better grip on your skin. despite the small amount of pain he drew from squeezing you so hard, you still moaned blissfully when he took you in a sloppy kiss, his tongue wetting your bottom lip in the process. “you’re so sweet, y’know that? letting me have my way with you like this.” without warning, rafe took ahold of your thighs before hiking you up onto the counter. “i’ve been wanting to know how you taste for so long..” he groaned, both of you moaning as he rubbed you through your panties.

moving your hands to run down his chest, you and rafe shared a look before he slowly peeled back the pink lace. “all i gotta do is chat you up, and you’re already soaked like this?” he laughed incredulously, “fuck, you’re just dying for it.” you couldn’t help but whimper when he gathered the pool of slick between your folds, circling your clit slow and hard before popping his digits into his mouth. “rafe!” you’re shocked but so turned on at the same time, the look of pure disbelief on your face making him smile in amusement. “as much as i’d love to eat this sweet pussy, i need to feel you wrapped around me even more.”

fingertips hooking in the waistband of your panties, rafe slid the material down your legs before placing them in his pocket. “i’m keeping these for later, ‘that alright?” you nodded frantically, spreading your thighs open for him before he stroked your glossy slit. “m’gonna stretch you out just right..” you gasped, your eyebrows knitting together as he slowly inserted his middle finger. “shit, you’re so tight.” he smiled down at you, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “if you think this is a stretch, just wait til’ i have my cock inside of you.”

rafe was knuckle deep at this point, your pretty moans giving him all the encouragement he needed to insert another finger. “oh, god!” your heel clad feet began shaking when his palm met your swollen clit, the pressure making you keen. rafe fisted your ponytail, pulling your head down so you could watch him curl his digits in order to hit that soft, gummy spot inside of you. your top was out of place, your tits threatening to spill out of your bra as rafe used his free hand to keep your chin pointed down. the closer you got to your orgasm, the more you tried to pull away from him, the intensity of your climax already coiling tight in your tummy.

rafe let go of your hair and pinned you down by your hip as he pushed you over the edge, the band in your stomach finally snapping as you came undone. you cried out, your nails raking down his forearm as he hissed at the stinging sensation. “you’re doing so fucking good, holy shit!” he cursed, the sound of your slick juices making your cheeks heat. you shook and writhed beneath him, your heart beating in your ears as you felt the pure unadulterated pleasure wrack through your system. surely, it couldn’t get better than this.. right?

wrong.

rafe wasn’t lying when he said the stretch from his fingers was nothing compared to the stretch of his cock, the tip of his length now kissing your poor cervix with each thrust. “t-too much! rafe, slow down!” he ignored your pleas, instead taking your arms and pinning them to your back so you couldn’t push against his abs anymore. you swore if it wasn’t for him holding your leg up, you would’ve fallen to the ground already. “ah, nah you got it, pretty girl.” he leaned down, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “this is all you, sweetheart, you’re sucking me in like a fucking vice.” he panted.

rafe was close, but he meant what he said earlier— he needed to see you on your knees for him, he needed to see those swollen lips wrapped around his cock just like how he’s imagined for so long. just when rafe felt like he was going to fill up your cunt, he pulled out, quickly pushing you to the floor so he could use your throat instead. you’ve given him complete control, and the power to throw you around as he got you on your knees, kicking your thighs apart so he could see the mess you made between your legs. rafe nearly came when he saw you open your mouth so willingly for him, almost like it was your instinct to take him whole.

taking the hem of his shirt between his teeth, rafe kept the cotton material out of the way as he slid between your lips with ease. you were so warm and so wet, and just so, so, so pretty with your mouth full, he took a breath before tugging at the roots of your hair. “make me fuckin’ cum,” your eyes widened slightly when he whimpered, the sound making you take him even further until your nose was nudging at his base, “oh, what the fuck, what the fuck—” he was done for as soon as you swallowed around him, your eyes watering with tears as you felt the warm ropes of his seed paint your throat.

rafe kept your head in place, his jaw slack as he emptied himself inside of you. it wasn’t until you tapped on his leg that he pulled you off, a strangled gasp leaving your lips as you finally sucked in a breath. he felt dazed, just the same way you did. “damn, sweetheart, should i bribe you more often?” you laughed, accepting the hand he held out for you. standing up on shaky legs, rafe got his shorts on, helping you readjust your clothing shortly after. “you don’t have to bribe me..” despite just doing the most filthiest things you’ve ever done, you still couldn’t help but feel shy underneath the intensity of his stare.

rafe kissed you, taking your hand in his before placing another kiss to your knuckles. “come on,” he poked his head out of the booth to make sure no one was around, “let’s get you back to my place, i need to get my head between those thighs like asap.”

[cowgirlvi]

mdni. sub-bottom vi. fem-top reader. vaginal sex. strap-on usage. rough sex. filthy.

wc; 1,256

thinking about being ex-girlfriends with vi. since the breakup, you’ve heard numerous rumors about her getting around campus, taking girls out on sweet little dates and then fucking them stupid afterwards. it would normally bother you, except you know vi’s pent up, you know she’s not fully satisfied with the sex she’s having, because you know none of these other girls have put in the effort to fuck vi. 

you’ve yet to hear any rumors about these girls stuffing vi’s hole with their cocks, and you know it must be killing her. she’s always had a greedy hole, one that needs constant attention— whether it’s from your tongue, your fingers, or your strap. 

after seeing the types of girls vi has been taking out on dates, you know for a fact that they’re not fucking her—and even if they wanted to, they wouldn’t be able to fuck her right, they wouldn’t be able to fuck her like you do.

so you honestly find this whole situation funny, the way vi is so clearly trying to rub these girls in your face. you’re not falling for her bait, you’re not going to give her a reaction, because there’s nothing to even react to.

which is why you aren’t surprised when vi shows up at your doorstep a week later. her cheeks are flushed and her puppy-dog eyes are round and filled with a mix of conflicting emotions. you almost laugh in her face, but you’re quick to school your emotions.

clearing your throat, you say, “can i help you, vi?”

”i just—i feel bad about the way things ended between us,” vi replies. god, her eyes are so blue, so full of hope and desperation. she longs for you to fuck her, that you’ll finally make the ache go away, the one that’s been tormenting her little pussy.

”mmm, you do?” you tap your manicured nails against your front door, appearing bored and uninterested. “will that be all, vi?” you ask, already beginning to shut your door.

vi is quick to shove her hand against your door with a loud thud, pushing it open and then peering at you with eyes suddenly full of shame. “baby, i—fuck, i miss you, okay?” she finally admits.

you smile. you already knew that.

which explains how vi ended up in your bed, the pink sheets a ruffled mess, her clothes flung across the room, and her muscular frame a trembling mess on your mattress. she’s laying on her back, holding her legs up to her chest, her cute pussy on full display, and your strap is pressed inside her to the hilt.

you can reach so deep inside her in this position, you can hit all the spots that make her shake, that make her cry and scream. not to mention, the view of her cunt swallowing you whole, her fluttering hole drowning your cock in her tangy juices. 

you can see the desperation in every line of her body, the way she’s aching to be used. it’s a sight that would have once filled you with jealousy and possessiveness if anyone else were to see it, but now as you stare down at vi, all you want to do is laugh at her, to coo at how pathetic she looks.

”you missed me, huh?” you say, driving your hips forward with a rough thrust. “that’s funny, baby. i heard you’ve been keeping pretty busy.”

vi goes crosseyed when you slam against her cunt, a strangled moan escaping her pouty lips. “mmffuck!”

you run a finger along vi’s slit while keeping a steady pace with your strap, feeling the slick, warm heat of her arousal. vi shudders at the touch, her hips twitching forward slightly, seeking more contact. you giggle, knowing that no matter how many girls vi brought home, no matter how many times she tried to replace you... nothing could compare to this.

”fuck, baby, your pussy’s a mess. none of those girls knew how to take care of this greedy cunt, did they?”

vi immediately shakes her head, mindlessly moaning. “ahh, only y-you—it’s only ever been you—unhh—i swear!“

you know vi too well, you know her body better than vi knows it herself. you know that vi needs to be stretched, to be filled, to be used hard and fast and without mercy. and judging by the desperate—borderline anguished—look on vi’s face, you were right to assume that none of those other girls could give her what she craved.

vi’s feet bob aimlessly in the air, her legs spread as wide as her flexibility allows her to, and she looks like an easy whore— she looks like the type of dumb slut that would be desperate enough to beg some rando on the street to fill her up.

”poor baby,” you coo down at her. “you just needed me to take care of you all this time.”

”yes, yes, fuck! need you, uuuh—“

you relish in the desperation in vi’s voice. you know you have vi right where you want her, trembling and needy, craving the one thing no one else can give her.

the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by vi’s high, breathy moans and grunts. you know you’re hitting all the right spots, know that you’re fucking vi in a way no one else will ever be able to replicate. she’s stuck with you forever.

"fuck, baby... you're so tight," you groan, your hips never faltering in their relentless rhythm. “your pussy is sucking on me so hard—mmf—can’t get enough, can you?”

her creamy pussy is hugging your strap like a vise and you relish in the way her body spasms around you. you know vi is addicted to this feeling, to the delicious mix of pleasure and pain that only you can give her, to the way you stir up her guts. it’s a high she can’t find anywhere else, a blissful oblivion that vi has been desperately chasing ever since your breakup.

you watch in dark satisfaction as vi’s tough, muscular body goes pliant and soft underneath you, all because she’s filled with cock. vi’s a fucked-out disaster; her abs twitching and flexing, her arms trembling as she tries to hold her legs back for you, her thick thighs quivering.

”ohh—hnnnggff! fuck, fuck, i’m gonna come!” vi sobs, her back arching harshly, her tits bouncing obscenely with every slam of your hips. her voice is raspy and she looks sinful.

you grip vi’s waist hard enough to leave bruises as you piston your hips impossibly faster, her wetness splashing between the two of you. vi’s eyes roll back in her head, her tongue hanging out stupidly as she surrenders to the intense pleasure radiating from her core. 

“come for me, vi. who knows, ahh, if i’ll ever wanna fuck you again after this, so you better come right fucking now,” you threaten.

it’s like a flip switches within her because suddenly vi’s body seizes beneath you, as if she has no choice but to obey. she’s squealing and gasping as her body tenses and shakes at the same time, her thighs trying to close around you, but you’re quick to shove her legs back open; you’re determined to wring out every last drop of pleasure.

“mmffagh! holy fuuck—ahhh! yes, yes, please!”

it’s the most devastating orgasm of her life.

(2/3/25)

[syoddeye]

you scurry into the bookshop from the cold, the door slamming shut behind you with the breeze.

the warmth inside feels like a slap after the bitter chill, and your glasses immediately fog over, clouding your vision in a steamy blur. you pause, fumbling with your mittens, distracted by your own breath bouncing back at you behind your scarf, making it worse. you step forward without thinking.

and immediately regret it. your shoulder slams into something hard and solid, like a wall. except the wall shifts, and a deep voice hisses down at you.

“fuckin’—we in a rush? watch where you’re—”

“sorry!” you blurt out, flinching back.

the voice halts. just stops, snipped mid-sentence. you’re scrabbling to pull your mittens off now, fingers clumsy and frantic. the fog persists, blinding, smothering, your breath quickening and making the condensation worse.

“shit, shit, sorry—”

then a hand settles on your shoulder.

a low, rasping hehehe rattles from above. “can’t see a thing, can ya? ‘old still.”

you freeze, mittens half-off, mouth hanging open in protest as something dark moves toward your face.

“uh, what are you—oh, you don’t have to…”

a thumb drags black fabric gently over one of the lenses. the fog clears in a small oval, revealing part of the stranger’s face, his deep brown eyes. you try to crane your neck for a better look, but the hand on your shoulder shifts to your chin, steadying it.

“keep still.”

your mouth shuts and your pulse stutters. his thumb and forefinger pinch just firmly enough to hold your head in place. he clears the second lens, and when he withdraws the fabric, you finally see him.

he wears a thick, cloth mask, the loops disappearing beneath the edges of a matching hat. though most of his face is hidden, you notice the faint scar cutting across the end of one blond eyebrow, a few faded freckles dusting his forehead. the scarf around his neck hangs loose, one end caught in his hand, which he drops once he seems satisfied with his work.

“there,” he says, leaning back a fraction to examine you. his eyes crinkle at the edges, amused. he must be smiling. “look at those eyes.”

you blink up at him, and you’re hyper-aware of your own breathing. careful not to exhale too hard, in case you fog everything up again.

“thanks.”

his thumb, still resting lightly on your chin, moves in a small, absent circle. he hums, low in his throat, and then lets go.

“of course, sweet’eart.”

for a second, you just stand there. five seconds, maybe. you’re the one who breaks the silence by awkwardly stepping away.

“okay, yep, thanks again.” you say, words knocking into each other like you knocked into him.

you retreat further into the shop, yanking at your mittens until they’re off and stuffed into your pockets. your scarf is next, practically ripped from your neck, the heat of your own embarrassment prickling at your skin all over.

what just happened? should you have said something? made a point of how weird that was? because it was weird. right?

you circle the horror section three times before your heart rate evens out, but even then, you’re not really seeing the shelves. the titles run together, and your mind drifts back to him—his hand on your chin, the soft way he said sweetheart.

your glasses are clear, but you’re stuck in a haze.

simon was just supposed to kill time, having arrived arrived early to meet price. except now he’s going to be late, for the first time in ages, to a meeting with his captain.

it’s difficult to hide in a shop where he’s taller than most of the shelves, but he’s careful. doesn’t take much of an effort anyway, she’s preoccupied by the shelves of the horror section. not his preference, but he likes the twist. likes the view, too. the profile of her face, her hair, the way her jeans fit snugly over her arse.

smitten. that’s the word, he thinks. charmed, maybe. pretty, sweet four-eyes all dressed up in knitwear. she probably made them herself. seems the type. he wonders, absurdly, if she’d make him something. a sweater, maybe. something that actually fits his shoulders.

then she suddenly moved, pulling out her phone, and he buries his face in the cookbook he’s been pretending to read. thai recipes, apparently. he flips a page, wondering if she likes thai food. he could try making it.

his phone buzzes and for a second, one irrational second, he thinks it’s her. like she’s sent a message telepathically from across the shop. but no. it’s price, blunt as ever, asking where the fuck he is.

he looks up again, and she’s gone. just like that. his stomach drops, and he straightens instinctively, scanning the aisles. he can’t help it, he turns—

“so…you like thai food?”

he looks down and finds her at the next shelf over, smiling shyly. something about it. it slips through his ribs and gets comfortable.