#under the promise of them getting it back at some point

[a-mint-bear]

Comfort Object

Male Yandere x Reader

You see a really weird "job" post online, and the money seems too good to be true. But you aren't really in a position where you can turn it down...

You hope it doesn't get weird.

---

It was a very… concerning “job” posting.

But desperate times, and all that. 

It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet. 

Bedmate Needed

● 11 pm to 6 am

● $25/hour up front

● Riverside Motel

● Room 44

● Not a sex thing

The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.

You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.

You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?

Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?

You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.

But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore. 

. . .

The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options. 

Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.

Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room. 

“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”

You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit. 

“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”

You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”

Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…

He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself. 

“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”

He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.

You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?

He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.

And you really did need a hot shower. 

It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.

When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.

If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient. 

Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.

This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.

But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options. 

You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.

But…

Nothing. 

You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy. 

But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.

The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.

“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”

So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?

Your brain reminded you:

What do you really have to lose?

When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.

“If you still want to leave-”

But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.

Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.

The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment. 

“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”

A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.

And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.

His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.

Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.

Why were you here?

. . .

You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.

Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon. 

Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.

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

He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.

Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing… 

He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him. 

He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear. 

There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention. 

He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.

How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit. 

Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.

He told himself that he gave them all a chance. 

If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way. 

It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did. 

But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him. 

You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep. 

He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.

He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.

But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder. 

He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer. 

His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.

You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat. 

He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp. 

It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.

You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.

You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared. 

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

You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?

You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.

Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless. 

Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.

You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck. 

Either way, it would be best to wake him up.

Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.

You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.

“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”

He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.

He was crying.

Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part. 

Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad. 

“You… It was you…”

All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint. 

He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…

“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.

“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”

He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.

“I need you.”

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

a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out

that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy

he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?

i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them

he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him

i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:

the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around

the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious

but ive been having horrible writer's block lately, so i thought i'd finally put this one out. i need to read/play some yandere stuff and get inspired. let me know if you have any recommendations y'all ✌️

[marshemillow]

I definitely feel like there's been some kind of disconnect along the way, because as many people on this post have already pointed out, Wattpad and FFN still have "objectionable" stories all over the goddamn place, the only difference between those sites and AO3 is that everything on AO3 is accurately and meticulously tagged. The only time a fic isn't tagged thoroughly enough (in my experience anyway) is when a fic author purposely wants the story to be a surprise, which doesn't count as "undertagging" according to the rules of the site because "author chose not to warn" is still a clear warning (similar to "Viewer discretion is advised").

In fact, I support AO3 as the "objectionable" fic site specifically BECAUSE I hate upsetting fic, and it's so nice to so easily be able to avoid fic I don't want to read. I have NEVER stumbled onto something on AO3 that I wasn't expecting, and I promise you that is NOT the case with every other site I've used (aside from old DeviantArt, you know back when it didn't take a hundred years to load its shitty squarespace pages).

What I think happened was these new people who were driven from those old sites for whatever reason don't seem to recognize the reason why AO3 became so popular, but still want to pay lip service to the idea that some "content" is too morally objectionable to be allowed to exist. They somehow think there's a compromise between the old sites deleting at random, forcing authors to tag improperly so it doesn't get deleted, and AO3's approach, which is to just destroy the loopholes that allow mass deletions and censorship and allow anything and everything legal under US law.

AO3's code is open source. You can literally just copy/paste the code into a new domain and make the squeaky-clean censored fic site of your dreams! Hell, lots of people who use AO3 for its policies still make their own fic sites just in case something bad happens to the big site (which is good practice btw and is the reason why I have a special backup SSD I don't touch most of the time, so even if every website fails, I still have copies of everything I ever wrote) but these people don't want to do that because it's actually really difficult to run your own website with lots of traffic, so instead they cover their asses by proclaiming the immorality of AO3 while still using it because it is just objectively the best fandom site ever made.

Basically, they want to have their cake and eat it too. And this is me REALLY trying to give them the benefit of the doubt. 😅

It's hilarious to me when people complain about AO3 and its policies, and what they allow on the site - but it's ESPECIALLY funny when people complain like "Why can't the freaks make their own site and just go there?"

Sweetie... AO3 is the site for that. Y'all invaded our space.

Wattpad and FFN still exist. Go there. They're as shitty and G-rated as you want. You can't have the luxuries that AO3 offers if you're gonna be a little bitch about its policies. Imagine walking into a strip club and complaining about the alcohol and naked ladies when there's a god damn Dennys next door you could have gone to. Christ.

[markleessodalite]

They Can Hear Us...: n.jm

content: bf!jaemin drags you to an event you don't really want to attend, so you try to devise an escape plan... but he's not one to be fooled.

warnings: fem!reader, lots and lots of kisses, maybe a tiny bit suggestive(?) but mostly just fluff, nothing else to warn about afaik

word count: 0.5k

a/n: i had a mini hoard of drabbles that i was saving to post later, but i've read over them so much to the point where now i hate every single one :/ but n e waiz i got some extra days off work this upcoming week and i'm hoping to do NOTHING but write the whole time :3 (also if you're one of the anons who sent in requests i promise i'm gonna get to those asap!!!)

“Jaemin! Stop. I mean it!” you half-heartedly scold your boyfriend, although your soft tone and light giggles clearly indicate a message that’s opposite to the words leaving your lips.

Jaemin plants another teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, are you sure?” He kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheek, making his way down your jaw and to your exposed shoulder as he laces his fingers with yours. “Seems like you kinda like it, huh? Love this dress, by the way.” His free hand rubs gentle lines along your back, with only just enough restraint to not mess up the delicate fabric of your one-shoulder gown.

You knew he loved this dress, particularly how you look in this dress, which is exactly why you wore it to this gala. You weren’t especially excited to be here, but Jaemin was over the moon eager to take you, show you off to everyone else there, his girlfriend who looks like an absolute princess under ballroom lights with her arm linked in his. Of course, you knew that after about 5 minutes of you in this dress, he wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever charity event is going on around you two– which is how you’ve found yourself hidden in an offshoot hallway, Jaemin cornering you against the wall, planting light and playful (but very obviously needy) kisses anywhere his lips can reach.

Hey, it got you out of sitting at that boring table with those boring people listening to that boring speaker, right? All part of your coy little plan.

The only sound filling your ears now is your own soft giggles against Jaemin’s low chuckles and whispers, with him now developing a game to entertain himself with: trying to find that one particular spot that will drive you crazy.

“Here?” He plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Nope.” You bite down on your lip to stifle any noise that could possibly slip through. You may be vaguely hidden, but you’re definitely still within earshot of the rest of the gala.

“Mmm. Then… here?” He hovers around the middle of your neck before leaving another kiss.

“No…” You can’t help the giggle that slips through your teeth.

“Okay… what about… here?” He leaves a kiss in the nook between the bottom of your neck and your collarbone, before biting down teasingly, drawing a squeal from you before you can catch it.

“Jaemin!” You can’t help but laugh, amused at Jaemin’s quick victory in his own game.

“Shh! Y/n, you know they can hear us…” Jaemin buries his face further in your neck, and you look over him to see the silhouettes of the other guests, turning their attention from the monotone speaker to figure out what direction the hushed giggles are coming from.

Here it is. Exactly the opportunity you need to convince him to go home.

“Then why don’t we go somewhere they can’t hear us, Jaem?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder to look in your eyes, and you know right away he sees through your little escape plan. And he’s not falling for it.

“No. I kinda like this little game. Round two? Let’s see if you can keep quiet, babe.” He smirks proudly at your shocked face before his lips crash into your neck again, and you realize he’ll play this game he’s made up for as long as this gala lasts. Can you handle Jaemin teasing you for several more hours without making a sound?

[sxmmerberries]

ME OR THE PS5 - choi soobin x reader

✦ genre: fluff

✦ pairing: choi soobin as your boyfriend

✦ word count: 1,700

✦ summary: soobin apologises to you after ignoring the plans you guys had for a game

You sighed even louder, trying to get your boyfriend's attention off of his computer for the nth time. You were looking forward to having a cozy night in with your boyfriend, watching a movie together and then baking something together to have as a late night snack. But then, Beomgyu called and asked him to join a game immediately, saying that he needed backup.

Soobin kissed your forehead, promising he would be back in 30 minutes to watch the movie with you. However, as the minutes passed by, two hours had passed, and he was still glued to his computer, paying no attention to you as you sulked on the couch. You knew he loved gaming, but sometimes you wished he could at least spare some time for you.

You huffed in frustration and walked over to him, grabbing his soft cheeks in your hands, squishing them.

“Just 15 more minutes,” He said, removing your hands, his eyes glued to the screen.

"That's what you said two hours ago,” You frowned, grabbing his face again and placing small kisses on his cheeks.

Soobin looked a bit flustered by the sudden attack of kisses, but he still tried to resist. "Come on, babe, just a few more minutes. I'm in the middle of a really intense part of the game.” You continued pressing small kisses all over his face, determined to get his attention, making him look at you with a mixture of annoyance and affection.

"Babe, I really can't focus like this. Can you give me a few more minutes?,” Soobin tried to stay focused on the game, but he couldn't help but smile and blush at your affectionate display.

“That is the point,” You continued attacking his face with kisses, making him sigh, trying to look annoyed.

"You're being so clingy right now. We can watch the movie later too. Beomgyu is dying,” He rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the game as Beomgyu screamed in his ears through the headphones.

"I'm being clingy?, " You responded with a hurt look on your face and immediately stopped kissing his face, moving away a bit from him.

"Maybe I just want to spend some time with my boyfriend. You know, the one who promised he would watch a movie with me, but has been ignoring me for hours while he plays his stupid game?,” Soobin's expression softened as you stepped away from him, obviously hurt by his words.

“Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that……You know what? You can start the movie. I'll be there in a bit,” He paused, looking at you with a guilty look.

"I'll finish this game and then I'll come watch the movie with you, okay?,” He reached out and gently grabbed your hand, trying to soothe you with his touch only for you to smack his hand away.

"I don't want to watch it anymore," You snapped, storming out of the room, making sure to slam the door shut on your way out before he could say anything.

Soobin's eyes widened in surprise, watching as you left the room. He suddenly felt guilty and regretful for choosing the game over you.

"Damn it,” Soobin let out a frustrated sigh and muttered under his breath, turning his focus but on to the game in front of him, but his focus was somewhere else. He knew he had messed up prioritising the game over the plans you guys had.

He finally loses the game. He didn't expect his win streak to end like this. He is upset that he didn't win the game, but what bothered him more was that you were upset with him.

He gets up from his chair and walks out of his room, walking around the house in search of you before walking towards your room.

Soobin walked over to your room and quietly opened the door, peeking inside. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you sulking in the corner of the bed, wearing one of his shirts and cuddling the Yeongmong plushie he got you. You looked so adorable, despite the grumpy expression on your face.

He quietly walked over to the bed and sat down next to you, trying to reach for your hand to hold it only for you to pull your hand out of his grasp.

Soobin frowned and tried to reach out to hold your hand again, but you pulled it away once more. He looked at you with a pleading expression, not wanting this silent treatment.

He shuffled a bit closer to you on the bed, trying to get your attention. He reached out and gently placed his hand on your knee only for you to smack his hand away again.

"Can we talk, please?,” He asked softly, his voice gentle. He wanted to see your face and talk to you, but you were avoiding his gaze, still focused on the Yeongmong plushie in your arms.

"Hey Yeongmong-ie, do you hear something? Is it a ghost?,” You said in a fake-scared voice, completely ignoring Soobin, who was sitting right next to you.

Soobin couldn't help but chuckle at your antics. It was obvious that you were still upset with him, but he found your behaviour more cute than annoying.

"Please talk to me. I'm sorry for being a jerk and ignoring you for that stupid game. I won't do that ever again,” He scooted even closer to you, making you scoot further away from him.

"Yeongmong-ie, this house is haunted. There is an annoying ghost," You said, your voice laced with sarcasm as you side eyed Soobin. "Let's move out and leave your father behind. The ghost can play games with him, or maybe he'll ignore them too.”

Soobin couldn't help but chuckle again, finding it both adorable and annoying to watch you badmouth him to the plushie instead of acknowledging his presence.

He gently pried the plushie from your grip and tossed it onto the bed, making you glare at him before looking away from him again. He could see the mix of annoyance and hurt in your expression, but he was determined to talk to you.

Soobin let out an exasperated sigh and gently pulled you onto his lap, disregarding your weak protests. "I know I messed up, but please, don't keep ignoring me. Let me talk to you. I want to fix this, babe.”

"I can't stand it when you're mad at me. I'm sorry for being an idiot and prioritising that stupid game over you,” He refused to let you keep avoiding him, keeping a firm hold on you and making sure you couldn't look away.

He nuzzled his face into your neck and began to press soft kisses onto your neck, hoping that it'll lessen your anger a bit.

"Please... let me make it up to you," He murmured between kisses.

“I even gave you kisses,” You mumbled, trying to get his lips away from your neck. He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, finding your statement a little cute

"Oh honey..I know..I am so sorry,” He says as he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. He continued to caress your face gently, but you still refused to look at him.

He pulled back slightly, looking at your frowning face. "Please, won't you at least look at me? I don't like it when you're mad. I said that I was sorry.”

“You called me clingy too,” You grumbled, sulking at his hurtful words.

He winced as you mentioned his earlier words, “Hey, I know, and I am sorry I said that. But you gotta understand, I was in the middle of the game, and you suddenly came in and started kissing me. I just got annoyed and said the first thing that came to mind without thinking.”

“But that is not an excuse. I shouldn't have called you clingy. I was being really mean," He said as he stared at you with a guilty look before deciding to press small kisses on your face like you did earlier with him.

"I promise I won't do it again, I'll pay attention to you first. I'll forget about the games for a while, and give you all the attention you want, please forgive me, honey,” He can see that you're no longer sulking that much but he still wants you to forgive him.

"Just tell me what you want me to do, just anything, and I'll do it. Just don't be mad at me, please. We can do whatever you want. I'll even let you bite my cheeks like you always wanted to. I'll let you poke my dimples as many times as you want, too. Please don't be mad at me anymore,” He moves back slightly so he can look at your face again.

He noticed the change in your expression, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He could see that his offers were starting to soften your anger, and he couldn't help but feel relieved.

"You're smiling," He noted, his voice gentle. "Are you already starting to forgive me? Or do I have to let you poke my dimples twenty times?.”

“One hundred times and I'll consider it,” You crossed your arms across your chest as you tried not to smile at him, trying to keep the sulky facade.

He let out a soft chuckle and leaned in closer, presenting one of his dimples to you. "Alright, one hundred times it is, and then will you forgive me?.”

“And bites on each cheek,” You bargained, reaching out to poke his dimples, your touch gentle despite your earlier anger towards him. He chuckled as you counted each poke.

He let out a soft laugh, fully aware that you were just teasing him at this point. "Okay, okay, one hundred pokes and bites on each cheek. Deal.”

“If you ignore me again for your games, you won't have cheeks anymore,” You threatened as you pinched his cheeks.

“Don't worry, babe. I promise I won't ignore you for games again,” He rubbed the spot you pinched as you leaned in closer to bite his cheeks as promised.

©sxmmerberries

more txt fics

networks: @moadiarynet @k-films @kstrucknet @starlit-network

[fastcardotmp3]

goodbyes in the rain.... (~700 words)

"I know you'll wanna eat 'em all while you're driving, but save some for Chris," Buck says, the fabric of his shirt going dark in speckled increments the longer they stand here. "And-- and call. When you get there."

Eddie breathes in sharply through his nose and nods, needing the beat it offers to not have all of his insides spilling out across his tongue the next time he unclenches his jaw and opens his mouth and--

"Of course."

--speaks.

"Good," Buck croaks. It's almost impossible to look directly at him. The sun isn't in the sky today in the sunshine state, but only because it's right here on the ground, blinding Eddie with the force of its unyielding loyalty. "Good. Okay. You'll drive safe?"

"I'll drive safe," Eddie agrees. It's the third time he's promised. It's the third time Buck has asked. "And I'll save some," he lifts the baggie of cookies in his hand, "for Chris."

Buck nods. Cyclical. Just passing the same mannerisms back and forth and back and forth and--

"Okay," Eddie opens his arms and swallows thickly and he doesn't have to pull or be pulled before they are caught in a firm embrace, growing deeper before it releases, going deeper than any they've shared before, if only because every subsequent hug carries more history than the last. If only because this one carries the pressure of actually, in many ways, being the last.

"You'll call," Buck murmurs into Eddie's shoulder. His curls are damp where they brush against Eddie's cheek, his jaw, his neck, a tangible presence making itself known at his temple. "If you need-- If you think of anything for the house. I'm gonna do the repairs we talked about, but if you think of-- anything."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees hoarsely as he pulls away, holds Buck by the shoulder for a lingering beat. "I'll call. About the house."

He's in his truck before he even realizes he's looked away from Buck at all. The sun is on the ground today in Los Angeles, to the point where every direction here on the pavement is filled with its glow. The sky may be dim, but Eddie doesn't realize, he doesn't recognize when he's looked away, because even as he starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt and starts to drive, he sees him.

Sees him everywhere. Sees him in the dotted yellow lines disappearing under his wheels and the cracks in the sidewalk where they went for strolls when Eddie's arm was still in a sling.

Sees him in the plastic baggie filled with homemade chocolate chip cookies sitting in the passenger seat. Sees him in the blur of his eyes as he rolls to a stall in front of the stop sign at the end of the block where he raised his son and raised himself until he failed at both.

Eddie swallows around a lump in his throat and definitively does not look in the rearview mirror just in case. Stalls longer than he has any right doing at a suburban intersection.

Grabs his phone.

Dials.

"Eddie?"

"Don't forget to water the plants," he pleads wetly, one hand still gripping the steering wheel. If he lets go... if he lets go, "you're the one that gave most of 'em to me, so you have to-- keep them alive."

"I will," Buck almost sounds stunned, something in it keeping his voice steadier than even Eddie's.

"And you can paint my bedroom," he offers. "I've always hated it and I know you do to and it's just-- a shit color, so. You can paint it. Whatever you want. It's-- yours anyway, now, so."

"I was thinking green," Buck tells him. "Something sage-y."

"That'll be good."

"Yeah."

Eddie breathes. The sun is in his rearview and if he meets its reflection he'll go blind and won't be able to drive, won't be able to make it to that house waiting for him four blocks from where he grew up.

He looked at the pictures on the listing again last night. He thought about holes in the wall. If he fucks it all up, who will help him fill them back in?

"Buck, I..."

"I know."

"I have to."

A breath. Rain patters on the windshield, growing stronger all the while. Eddie does not look back to see how dark Buck's t-shirt has gotten.

"Go," he begs, with all of his light. "I'll be here."

Eddie hangs up the phone before Buck can hear him sob.

He lifts his foot off the brake and rolls through the stop sign.

He goes.

[fookinhellcurlyy]

Louis Tomlinson's Career History Pt. 1 and 2 [Post-1D] by notastrwbrysng2

Full credits to notastrwbrysng2 from X/Twitter. Reposting screenshots and texts for archiving purposes.

While I haven't done my own personal deep dive on this topic, I think this particular thread is a very informative and transparent (backed with public articles) + beginner-friendly. Not sure if this has already been shared here before but I thought I'll make this archive post anyway.

I also saw this anon of @twopoppies asking about H & L's solo careers after 1D's hiatus, so this feels like perfect timing to share it here.

I know @hoovesandfloorpaws is also doing a separate big business/industry research soon, so this introductory thread (for Louis, at least) could be a good starting point while waiting.

Note: I will copy-paste the exact texts from the tweets. The words after the cut below are from the linked thread (source). The cited articles per tweet are hyperlinked ('x'). I might replace/combine some screenshots due to Tumblr's limitations, as well as add the links from where they were originally taken.

Again, thank you so much notastrwbrysng2 (Megs) for creating this.

———

Part 1: The "missing years" not shown in AOTV

Notice how we didn't get years 2016-early 2019 in AOTV? | x

Questions I wonder about.. Louis as first signed to RCA. THEN it was announced sometime later that he switched to Epic. What happened with the label switch here? | x

"It had previously been reported that Tomlinson would end up at RCA, but when Epic Records president Sylvia Rhone heard Tomlinson’s music — in particular the song “Back To You” featuring Bebe Rexha — she campaigned for the project." Okay, okay..

It sounded at this point like Louis was on track, had songs written, had songs recorded.. Did a charity single in 2017, Just Like You cane out as a single ep.. He chatted in Nov 2017 about releasing an album and touring in 2018! Perfect, right?

....except there were crickets the first half of 2018.

January brought Louis roasting Coachellas 2018 lineup.. Towards the end of Jan, an Ask anything video.. | x

February, he teased Habit lyrics.. we have a photo of him recording All Along... And not much else..

March, The "Miss You" singer won the Best Solo Breakout award, beating out Camila Cabello, and his former One Direction bandmates, Harry Styles, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. Oh, so 4 or 5 of them were on the radio simultaneously... | x

April, another Hey, still working on the album…

And May…he left James Grant management.

Synopsis of rest of the year: (X-Factor, a couple awards, signing with WMA). Louis and Dalton Harris stuck it to cowbell and won the season.

2019 rolls around.. Two of Us promo starts and halts in March for a few weeks due to the passing of Fizzy. Louis took some time off (as to be expected) to be with family.

As of this point, Louis had released: Dec 2016: Just Hold On (not backed by an album) 2017: Back To You (no album) 2017: Miss You (no album) 2017: Just Like You (Non-album promo single) 2018: nothing! 2019: Two of Us (unattached at the time)

Yet another label change Feb 2019 now a move to Arista… STILL under S*co/S*ny.

So, 3 years in and NO completed album still? The other unattached but soon to be on the next album Walls were: KMM, We Made It, and DLIBYH with zero promotion, just a director's cut MVs that mirror much of the story Papillon.

Finally, Walls is out in 2020 with it's 4th and final single, and very little promotion.

Flash forward to concerns in 2022/2023 of the same issue: Absolutely NO airplay in his home city and surrounding areas, very little marketing in the US.

(Not much can be found about 2016.)

Coming up next: Exploring WHY Louis has hit roadblocks and how everyone is interconnected

—

Part 2: Louis' Role in 1D thru 2016

I highlighted Louis' slow moving career that started with self released singles, two label pickups (one seeming promising!), a bunch of crickets, and some movement again in 2018. To understand what was going on, we have to go back to when the band was first created. This sounds silly, yes, but it is connections that keep continuing to recur this entire time.

First, let's discuss the US market. They did not have any active boybands and record labels saw an opportunity in Brit boybands.

Leading up to January 2020, plans were put into place and discussed by Sony how to cultivate a boyband. Hottest thing in the UK was TXF. Build a boyband, sign them at their first audition in March 2010. This is a crucial link to the UK side of what will occur later on. | x

Louis & Harry both have contract dates March 26, the same day as their initial auditions. The ones on TV are their 3rd/4th. The band was set up ahead of time and played out on the cameras. During their time in the house, Lou is The Leader by week 2 (:50 in).

To reiterate AOTV, Louis has the least amount of vocals, virtually no solos until Midnight Memories. His songwriting skills were a huge asset (after "pissing off a lot of people," according to Savan Kotecha). Savan later told Rolling Stone that LOUIS led their sound forward.

Songwriting, then suddenly music management (NOTE DATE!) became Louis's role. SC began to groom Louis, who consistently fought for the boys behind the scenes, to be his "protege" of sorts and steered him away from a future solo career as early as 2014 and was "given*" an imprint

As we all know, as Louis talked about, the label did not move forward due to micromanagement by SC and S*NY. | x

At this juncture, Louis is now done with the band as of December 2015. He does not have anything lined up but is being courted by.. S*ny head Rob Str*nger. As the article in the OP explains, they wanted him for songwriting &/or music mngmt Louis at...an industry party?

Part 3 & 4 here.

[zombaebitez]

can we get relationship hcs with abby but with a SOFT/SUB MASC??? the way that never existed is crazy

Abby Relationship Hcs Pt 2

abby anderson x sub masc reader

synopsis: modern relationships headcanons with a (sub) masculine reader in mind!

zom’s note: i wanted to write something like this so thank you for the ask.

word count: abt 750

warnings: nsfw content (own section after sfw! don’t like, don’t read), mentions of strapping, suggestive touching and/or eyeing, and suggestions of abby being mean.

SFW <3

�� Abby loves, and I mean loves sharing clothes with you. Since both of you lean into a more masculine style, you'll often find some of your stuff missing, just to see Abby wearing it later in the day.

ꕥ Carabiners. Abby likes them mainly because they are so practical. She gets hers from some random hardware section in a store, but you are adamant about getting the cooler ones, because sure practical, but also a lesbian statement.

ꕥ Whenever you and Abby go to workout, you swear some guy or girl always tries to hit on y’all, but you use this as an excuse to show off your hot as fuck girlfriend, win win.

ꕥ Whenever you and Abby go out shopping, y’all always end up finding stuff for each other. Immediately looking for the other with a few hangers, saying, “Baby, you’d look hot in this… then I can borrow”, “Abby, oh em gee, try this on”, “Baby, look look!” It just goes back and forth, love bugs literally.

ꕥ Abby is a major pouter, and you just adore it. Sad? Pouting. Mad? Pouting. She wants something? Pouting. You totally tease her about it, even if you do the same thing too.

ꕥ You love getting your nails done in those simple short natural styles with fun designs. Abby definitely pays for you, and sometimes she gets a matching design or your initial with a simple top coat.

ꕥ Abby loves to be the big spoon because she likes caging you in. Arms wrapped around you, and a leg on top of your center. She claims that you are her personal body pillow.

ꕥ Abby loves when you run your hands over a part of her body idly. Just feeling the muscle twitch, or for comfort. Y’all are both all over each other.

ꕥ You two definitely, once dating for awhile, have promise rings. Definitely some sort of matching bands that are unique for the two of you. You both are always showing them off, saying you’re married.

ꕥ Abby loves to listen to you talk and talk, doesn’t care what it’s about, she just stares at you nodding and asking simple questions. Just thinking about how much she adores you.

ꕥ She loses her mind when she sees you in the sweats and a sports bra combo, won’t care if its for lounging or working out. She can’t look away, she swears you’re gonna make her crazy.

NSFW !!

ꕥ Abby has an obsession with using you, doesn’t matter in what ways. She’ll let you strap her, because you definitely know what to do, but she is obviously the one in control. Hands on your hips, controlling how hard or soft you go, and the pace. Either way, you end up more messed up than she does, begging for her to let you take care of her, or use you and stop teasing the both of you for so long.

ꕥ On that, Abby loves when you beg. It feels like an addiction at this point. Seeing you squirm, or a dazed out expression. Just babbling about how much you want her, how much you need her. She can listen forever, sometimes laughing at how pathetic you can get at times.

ꕥ She definitely eyes your waist whenever your shirt rides up, bottoms always sitting low and showing off whatever boxers or boyshorts you’re wearing. It gets her to thinking, and then that thinking leads to her spacing; even when your shirt rides back down. Doesn’t even feel the tiniest bit of shame when you catch her, and you end up getting a little shy under her gaze.

ꕥ Gets you to lay your back against her chest as y’all watch a show or just chilling and scrolling. She can’t control when her hand slips to rub random shapes onto your lower stomach or upper thigh. Those light touches, moving further down slowly but surely to where she wants to touch you most; gentle kisses being pressed to your skin. Abby loves the small reactions she gets when you notice what her intentions are.

ꕥ She always notices when you really try your best to impress her, or show her how good you are. Letting Abby touch you as she pleases, or using you for her own gain if that's what she desires. She’ll dumb you down with sweet talk, with a tinge of meanness just so you can pout about it. You both know that pouty attitude is gonna get fucked out of you later.

[millenianthemums]

Chapter 6 of Mabel’s Guide to the Power of Friendship is up!!

Writing this one took me a while, and then the art also took a while… everything took a while. i always enjoy writing this once i get to it, though! hope you enjoy this one too.

chapter text under cut:

It was hard for Mabel to really relax, knowing that Bill was lurking just below the floorboards. But by the time the sun was low and her family was gathered around the dinner table, she’d mostly put it out of her mind. It was hard to be miserable with them around.

“You think Soos will bring more empanadas when he’s here tomorrow?” Dipper asked, picking at the strangely opalescent casserole on his plate.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were insinuating something about my cooking,” Ford said wryly.

“Whaaat? No! No, don’t be– that’s ridiculous,” Dipper said. “This is great! I mean, it’s a million times better than last time, this one didn’t even come to life and attack us–”

“Don’t jinx it,” Stan said.

“Hey, c’mon, guys,” Mabel piped up. “It’s the thought that counts, right? It’s really sweet that he tried. Besides, even Grunkle Ford can’t be perfect at everything.”

Ford chuckled. “Thank you, Mabel. As far as backhanded compliments go, that’s quite nice.”

“It’s true!” she said. “So what if you’re not a chef? You invent, like, six magical contraptions a week!”

“That’s a wild exaggeration,” Ford said with a grin. “It’s been at least a month since the last one. Although Fiddleford and I have made some real progress on our current project…”

“New project?” Dipper perked up. “What is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know if the details will interest you that much–”

“Shaaare!” Mabel demanded. Dipper immediately joined in, both of them pumping their fists and shouting “Share! Share! Share!” until Ford laughed and gave in. They all knew he didn’t really need that much encouragement, but it was fun anyway.

“Alright, alright! I’ll tell you.” Ford waved his hands to set the scene, the way he always did when he started talking about science stuff. “So, we all know that unicorn tears have remarkable healing properties, right? But we also know that unicorns aren’t generous creatures, and trying to obtain some tears by force often creates more injuries than they could ever heal.”

Stan snorted. “And how many tries did it take for that lesson to set in?”

“Not the topic, Stanley. Anyway, our goal was to synthetically recreate the healing properties of the tears, eliminating the need to seek out the real thing. This has been in the works for a long time; in fact, our biggest breakthroughs came from studying the sample Mabel and her friends obtained last year…”

Dipper extended a fist to Mabel, and she proudly bumped it.

“...And I must say, we’ve had some very promising results with the latest prototypes! There have been some hiccups here and there– we really should have fireproofed the lab sooner– but I think in the next few weeks, we might even end up with something that could surpass the healing properties of unicorn tears!”

“Nice!” Mabel held out a fist to Ford. “Take that, you overrated horses!”

Ford laughed, accepting the fist bump. Stan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Here’s hoping you get it workin’ before we set out again. It’d make things way less stressful on the boat. Heck, the coast guard medics might even have time to forget our names!”

“Wait, you’re setting out again?” Dipper asked. “When?”

“End of the summer, same as you kids!” Stan said proudly. “First thing in September, we’re headed right back out there.”

Ford nodded. “We still have a lot more to investigate. I expect we’ll be very busy once Fall comes around, which is why I’m under strict orders to ‘take it easy’ while we’re here. Otherwise, the elixir would probably be finished by now–” Stan crossed his arms, and Ford quickly added “--but I completely understand the point of it. Rest is important, kids.”

“Darn right,” Stan grunted. “Far as I’m concerned, we’re both on vacation for the summer.”

Dipper tapped his fork on his chin. “So you won’t be studying Gravity Falls for a while?”

“C’mon, brobro,” Mabel chided. “Grunkle Ford’s willingly taking a break for once, let’s not remind him of all the extra stuff he could be doing!”

“That’s not what I meant!” Dipper protested. “I’m just saying…”

“It’s a fair question,” Ford said. “There certainly are plenty of mysteries left unsolved around here. But I think Stanley and I have broadened our focus a bit too much to give special attention to Gravity Falls anymore. Just our brief stay in the Arctic Circle alone has raised so many fascinating questions, and we still have so many more places to investigate… there’s just not enough time to solve all the world’s mysteries, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, relax, Poindexter,” Stan cut in, shoving Ford’s shoulder. “We’re not the only ones working on this stuff. Something tells me Gravity Falls’ll be in good hands, even without us.” He gave Dipper a meaningful wink. Mabel couldn’t help but smile at the way her brother’s face lit up.

“Hey, guys?” Dipper asked, leaning back in his chair and trying to seem subtle. “Can we talk after dinner? I was hoping to get some feedback on this project I’m working on…”

Mabel’s smile faded. “Is it about that dumb thesis contest?” She turned to the Grunkles and pointed accusingly at Dipper. “He won’t let me help with it! He wouldn’t shut up about how cool it would be to win and get a big smarty-pants paper published, and now that he’s allowed to start working on it he won’t even tell me what it’s gonna be about! I could have done like fifty illustrations by now if—”

“I told you, there’s nothing to share yet!” Dipper protested. “I’ve… kinda been putting it off. I’ve still got a week until the topic proposal’s due…”

“Then what do you need Stan and Ford’s ‘feedback’ on?”

Dipper tugged at his shirt collar. “Uh… it’s…”

“I could help,” she said, voice a little louder than she’d wanted. “Even if it’s something I’m bad at, I could help make it look cool. If you just told me a little bit about it…”

Dipper sighed. “Look, Mabel, I promise I’ll share it with you soon, okay? I just… I want it to be a surprise.”

Mabel looked at him doubtfully over the rim of her water glass. She wanted to keep prying, but it was clear she was just making him uncomfortable. He didn’t want her help, he just didn’t know how to say it. She could tell.

“Okay,” she said, trying not to sound hurt. It was fine, really. She had high-speed bike riding; Dipper was allowed to have things just for himself too. It was normal for twins to grow apart. She drained the rest of her glass and stared down at the tablecloth.

An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. Then Stan spoke up. “Speaking of surprises. Hey Sixer, remember that thing we ran into off the coast of Greenland in March?”

Ford laughed. “How could I possibly forget? Now, kids, I don’t know about you, but nothing in my paleontology education gave me the impression that wooly mammoths were aquatic…”

Soon Mabel was too wrapped up in seafaring stories to be sad about anything.

——-

Bill must have fallen asleep at some point. He’d been lying there, in the basement, in the dark, with the Pines’ infernal voices ringing above him, but then something had happened. The voices changed. And suddenly he wasn’t in a basement anymore. He was lying on an exam table, and his arms were strapped down, and his eye wouldn’t close, and the air was thick with antiseptic. And there were voices all around him, moving around him, but he knew he couldn’t look, he just had to keep his eye focused on the stars overhead, just don’t look, just don’t look at them, just pretend they’re not there, pretend you’re among the stars and nothing’s happening, nothing hurts. So he didn’t look away, not even when the quiet voices he could hear through the pain changed again, became painfully familiar, he still didn’t look, even when they started screaming, even when their cries and pleading were drowned out by the sounds of flames, even when the heat waves twisted the air and the crunching, sizzling, tearing sounds and the smell of burning meat drowned out all his other senses he still didn’t look, he didn’t look down, he wouldn’t–

And then he was back in the basement. It was dark and still. The only sound was his own ragged breathing.

He sat up and scrubbed at his face with the blanket he’d been wrapped in. Dreams. He hadn’t been ready to deal with dreams. Other people’s dreams were a riot. Not his own.

He’d been distracted too quickly to dwell on the last one. He’d foolishly hoped that would be the last one for a while. But no, of course not. This world couldn’t allow him even a moment of peace. Every sleep was going to be like this.

In the dark, he staggered to the small bathroom in the back of the room. He ran the cold water in the sink and rinsed his mouth until he forgot the taste of the smoke. It was so vivid. So convincing. Even though none of it had made any sense, it felt real.

He stared numbly at the mirror. Their voices. He’d remembered them, of course. Despite all the worlds that had sprouted and withered between then and now, despite everything he’d tried, he’d never been able to stop remembering them. But he never thought he’d have to hear those voices again.

Someone knocked at the door.

His first thought was “thank god”. He’d been desperately hoping for anything else to think about. His second thought, as he heard the door unlock, was “that could be anybody”. So he stood just at the edge of the room and prepared to run for cover, until a small, high-pitched voice said “It’s me.”

Bill relaxed a little. Not a lot, but more than zero. He scrubbed his face dry and straightened his bowtie before she entered, trying to look as stoic as possible. She didn’t seem to notice anything amiss as she rushed in and slumped against the door to shut it. Both her hands were busy carrying an overloaded paper plate.

Trying her best to not let it fold under the weight of the food piled onto it, she glanced around for a surface to place it on. The curved lid of the wooden chest was considered, then quickly rejected when the plate started sliding. She winced before resorting to setting it down on the floor beside the beanbag. Finally, she retrieved a packet of plastic utensils from a takeout place and laid it beside the plate, trying to make it look presentable.

“We need to get a table or something in here,” she muttered as Bill drew closer to inspect the offering.

“YEAH, SOME APPLIANCES WOULD BE NICE TOO,” he joked. “I’M THINKIN’ A STUDIO APARTMENT KIND OF SETUP. WASHER AND DRYER OVER THERE, THAT CORNER’S THE KITCHEN… FULL-SIZE JACUZZI ON THAT SIDE, OBVIOUSLY…”

“I have six dollars,” Mabel piped up.

Bill laughed before he could stop himself. Encouraged, she went on: “I mean, there’s an empty fish tank and a car battery in the garage. We could make a hole in the side and stick a blowdryer in there for a jet. That’d be fine, right?”

He laughed again. “I LIKE WHERE YOUR HEAD’S AT, KID. IF WE SHUT OFF THE SPRINKLERS, WE COULD SET UP A FIRE PIT IN THE KITCHEN CORNER!”

“Perfect plan!” Mabel laughed along with him, but then seemed to think better of it. “But okay, hold on, we can start with the home renovations later. For now, you should eat.” She pointed to the plate. “It’s just some leftovers from tonight. Figured taking more snacks would look suspicious. But if it, uh… disagrees with you… then just let me know tomorrow.”

That wasn’t a glowing review. Looking dubiously at the alleged “food” on the plate, he didn’t see much reason to doubt it. Still, he tried to look grateful as he picked up a plastic fork. “WILL DO,” he said, trying not to look down.

“I’ll come back down tomorrow, before the others wake up,” she said, crossing back over to the door. “Including Grunkle Ford… ugh, that’s gonna suck. But once I’m back, we’ll figure out a plan, okay?”

Bill glanced around the room. “I THOUGHT THIS WAS THE PLAN,” he said.

“C’mon, you can’t just stay in one tiny dark room all summer! This isn’t Guacamole or something.”

Bill snorted. “GUANTANAMO?”

“Whatever,” she said, flushing. “The point is we need to get you outside once in a while. You have scales, things with scales need sunlight or they get sick. And what’s the point of all this work if you get sick and die??”

She had a point there. Bill shifted uncomfortably, realizing he wasn’t totally sure if the sun thing would apply to him or not. “YEAH, FAIR ENOUGH. KEEP FORGETTING THIS…” he gestured to the body, “…THING NEEDS ‘VITAMINS’ AND SUCHLIKE.”

“Relatable, honestly. But there’s a bunch more stuff to plan out, too! We need to be able to contact each other in emergencies. And, like, a secret knock so you know when it’s me, and a code to communicate…” as she spoke, her hands started flapping with excitement. “Oh my gosh, it’s like one of those spy games Dipper likes. We could make a guidebook with all this stuff! Like a, what, codex? For the code? We could make our own code! You can handle that part— I know that’s your thing, it’s literally your name… I get to do all the art, though. It can have a scrapbook vibe— I gotta find my craft scissors with the zig-zags—”

“KID.” Bill cut her off. “I KNOW IT’S IN YOUR NATURE NOT TO TAKE STUFF SERIOUSLY. IT’S A GOOD TRAIT! MAKES LIFE A LOT MORE BEARABLE. BUT THIS ISN’T SOME SILLY SUMMER CRAFT PROJECT. THIS IS LIFE OR DEATH, GOT IT? CAN WE TRY TO ACT LIKE IT’S IMPORTANT?”

She looked hurt. “Silly things are still important,” she muttered. “We could hide it in here. And even if someone finds it, it could be any goofy old thing I made! Dipper showed me how to do that invisible ink thing; I could act like the empty space is just unfinished parts! I dunno, I just… I thought it’d make this whole thing a little more fun.”

Bill squinted at her as she stared at the floor, arms crossed tight over her chest. Then he rolled his eye. Maybe he was being a choosing beggar here. This was Mabel Pines; of course she’d want to make some stupid game out of this. And the whole plan was to humor her. If this was what it took to keep her invested, he should probably just play along.

“OKAY, FINE. I’M IN,” he sighed. “WE CAN MAKE A BOOK OR WHATEVER.”

She lit up again. “Really?? Yes! Awesome! It’ll be so fun, I promise.” She paused and glanced at the dark window. “But we can start that later. I gotta go get at least a tiny bit of sleep first.”

Bill shrugged. “SURE. CAN’T KEEP THIS BODY ALIVE IF YOURS GIVES OUT.”

“Thanks for the concern,” she snorted. “And see you in the morning.” She gave a quick wave before shutting the door behind her.

Watching the door, he heard the heavy “clunk” of the lock clicking shut, then rapid footsteps bounding up the staircase. He sighed and pinched his forehead. That much youthful energy couldn’t be sustainable. She probably wouldn’t live past 20.

As he waited for the various noises and occupants of the house to settle, he wolfed down the food as fast as he could. The kid was right to be apologetic, but if he ate quickly, he didn’t taste it much. It was just fuel anyway.

When the plate was finally empty, he dropped it back to the floor and picked up the plastic fork. He rinsed it in the sink as well as he could, wiped it dry with the paper napkin that came with the set, then bent one of the tines away from the others. He leaned one side against the crack in the door, listening intently to the silence from above. There wasn’t a whisper of movement.

He stuck the tine of the fork into the lock.

It was more stubborn than your typical household lock, but Bill had bested much worse with much less. It only took a little finagling before he heard the “clunk” he was listening for. Slowly, cautiously, he eased the door open. The hallway was dark and empty. He stashed his impromptu lockpick in his hat, locked the door behind him, and crept up into the house.

—-

The place was as quiet and dark as he’d hoped for. He’d been right to judge by the footsteps above him that they’d all gone to bed. And thankfully, even without his usual glow, the stars outside were bright enough to see by. He crept along with his back against the wall, testing each floorboard before he stepped, scanning his surroundings.

The decor was about the same as he remembered, with a few notable changes. A lot of the ceiling and walls had been replaced; probably necessary after they turned it into a big stupid robot last year. And it seemed like someone else might have moved in. There were some new decorations that weren't anything close to the “style” he’d come to expect from the place. Lace doilies hung from the tops of chairs and sofas like dusty cobwebs, and handmade blankets and wall hangings were scattered all around. Shooting Star was crafty, sure, but these didn’t look like her handiwork. The colors were way too easy on the eye, and there wasn’t a crumb of glitter to be seen. If they were her doing, they were a big step down in quality.

But if they weren’t, it meant an extra person to deal with. Better keep his eye out.

He turned a corner and a massive shape blotted out the hallway ahead. He scrambled back, clenching his teeth tight beneath his eyelids to stop a yell from escaping.

Then his eye adjusted, and he had to stifle an irritated growl. It was just that stupid pig. He’d forgotten how huge it was now, and it looked a lot less pathetic from a low angle. It was sitting in the middle of the floor, directly in his path, staring down at him. Its eyes glittered in the moonlight like two tiny black teeth.

Bill glared up at it defiantly. Just let it try and make a move. He might not have magic, but he still had claws and teeth. A ripped throat wasn’t as flashy as immolation, but it was still perfectly fatal.

The pig returned his stare with no discernable expression. A few silent seconds crept by.

Then the pig gave a grumbly snort and laid its head on the ground. It flopped onto one side and closed its eyes with an indifferent sigh.

Bill hurried on, telling himself to thank his lucky stars instead of feeling indignant. Still, his ego stung a little. Not even livestock saw him as a threat anymore.

To his relief, he had no more surprise encounters as he cased the second floor. The layout of the rooms was about the same as before, which meant the sounds of walking from above his little home base would still be a reliable method of tracking the inhabitants. He steered well clear of all the bedrooms and kept his back to the wall, and the floorboards beneath him kept silent. He was out of practice with walking, sure, but nobody who grew up causing problems ever forgets how to sneak through a hallway.

Once he’d made mental notes of all the storage spaces that might have supplies he could use, he headed for the portal. On the way through the gift shop he snagged a small notepad and pen from behind the desk. Scanning over the portal wreckage, he made a list of the missing components and tools he’d need. In code, obviously; secret codes were literally his name, after all.

Once the darkness outside started to lift away, he cut his work short and headed back. He tore the used page from the notebook and placed it and the pen back where he’d found them, exchanging them for a single paperclip that he stashed in his hat with the paper. That was all he felt comfortable taking for now. It was much too early to start gathering supplies. Anything left out of place would definitely make the kid suspicious. For now, he’d just plan. Make sure everything went as smoothly as it possibly could. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get all the power tools and steel he’d need down to the basement without being noticed, but there was no point freaking out about it now. He’d figure out logistics later. He could pull this off. He was going to pull this off. He had no other choice.

By the time the first pink rays of light had breached the horizon, he was back in the cell. The paperclip made a perfectly serviceable lockpick to latch the door behind him. Like nothing ever happened.

He curled up in his nest of blankets, trying to hold his eye open. Hoping to ward off the dreams a little longer. But eventually his exhaustion won the battle. His eye slid shut.

Maybe the next dream would at least be over quick.

—-

Bill’s wish came true. As soon as he jolted awake, he regretted making it. It felt like he’d been yanked out of a tar pit by his eyelashes, but his brain stayed behind. His head, chest and eye socket all felt like they were stuffed with wet cotton, and his bones were shaking with this sudden painful chill. His thoughts were so slow and muffled that it took a second for him to even realize that someone was staring him right in the face. He lurched away and fell backwards off the beanbag.

Mabel poked her head over the beanbag and beamed down at where he lay on the floor in a tangle of blankets. “Morning!” she said in a bright half-whisper. “How’d you sleep?”

Bill glared up at her with silent disdain. After a moment, she seemed to take that as an answer. “Yeah, me too. Had a lot of stress dreams. Anyway, time to figure some stuff out.”

She disappeared from view for a moment, then reappeared at his side with a fuzzy pink notebook and a chunky pink pen with a glittery pom-pom topper. She leafed through the book for a minute, then looked up at Bill. “You ok?”

“I’M DYING,” Bill croaked. It was barely hyperbole. That freezing, sinking pain just kept getting worse. Every second he kept his eye open, it felt like gravity increased tenfold.

Mabel hissed through her teeth. “Hold on a second.” She vanished from view again, then popped back in with a mason jar full of what looked like the fluid from inside a neon pink glowstick. She propped him upright and shoved it into his hands. “Drink this.”

Bill ought to have been at least a little suspicious of a drink presented so vaguely. But a billion years of drinking cocktails made from substances meant to power quantum reactions, combined with the weight of sheer exhaustion muffling all his thoughts, meant that he barely hesitated before lifting the jar to his eyelids and taking a gulp.

A second later, his eye shot wide open. “WHOA!” he shouted, blinking rapidly.

“Ooh, I might’ve put too many pop rocks in that batch,” Mabel said. She grabbed the jar and shook it, sending frozen fruit shapes and plastic dinosaurs clattering around in a glittery whirlpool. “Mixing it usually helps. Dipper keeps telling me to warn people before I give them this stuff—”

Bill grabbed the jar back. He took an approving glance at the crazy-looking drink— now that his brain was working, he could fully appreciate the vibe— and then knocked back another mouthful. A rush of energy buzzed through his brain, setting his neurons alight like christmas lights hooked up to a nuclear reactor. The dangerously sugary concoction stung the inside of his mouth like acid, but this was a fun kind of pain. “OH, THIS IS PHENOMENAL.”

Mabel’s face lit up. “You like it??”

“DO I?!” One more swig and the jar was empty, and Bill was actually bouncing in place a little. “I FEEL LIKE A WHOLE NEW TRIANGLE! WHAT IS THAT?!”

“It’s Mabel Juice!” she beamed. “My own personal secret recipe! It’s so secret, not even I know what the secret is! Seriously, I hardly ever write the ingredients down.”

Bill laughed. “WELL, COLOR ME IMPRESSED, KID! I HAVEN’T HAD A DRINK THAT GOOD SINCE THAT BATTERY ACID DAQUIRI I MIXED BACK IN THE ‘30s. AND THIS ONE DIDN’T EVEN DISSOLVE MY STOMACH!”

Mabel’s smile dropped for a second, then returned. “I’ll take that as a compliment!” she said proudly. “I’ll bring more down later. I’ve got a million different brews you can try! The others don’t drink much of it, they always complain about how there’s ‘so much sugar’ and it ‘burns their mouths’ or whatever…”

“HEY, THEIR LOSS! I’LL TAKE IT OFF YOUR HANDS! EXTRA BURNING ON THE SIDE, IF YOU’VE GOT IT,” Bill offered. He had to hand it to the kid; she made pouring on the charm pretty easy. In a better world, he would’ve hired her as a barista in the Fearamid.

Mabel grinned, but then her face froze. From somewhere upstairs, the familiar sound of heavy, clomping footsteps rang through the ceiling.

Bill froze in place too, his eye locked on the ceiling. His teeth clenched tight behind his eye socket as he tried to repress his anger. Like a favorite song after you set it as your morning alarm, that sound made his blood boil on contact.

“Grunkle Ford’s up,” Mabel whispered. Bill glanced over to see her watching the ceiling too. “I thought he’d at least sleep ‘til five…”

“RISKY GAMBLE THERE,” Bill muttered. “FORD DOESN’T HAVE A SLEEP SCHEDULE, HE JUST WORKS ‘TIL HE KEELS OVER.”

“He’s working on it,” Mabel said defensively. Maybe Bill hadn’t kept all the derision out of his voice. He kept his mouth shut, just to be safe.

“Okay. Alright. This is fine.” The kid was clearly reassuring herself more than him. “He shouldn’t hear us down here. Nobody heard you screaming your head off the other day, they shouldn’t hear us just talking… we should be fine for now. As long as he doesn’t wander down here and happen to just randomly get close to this room. Or wander upstairs to his office and pass our bedroom and happen to look in and notice I’m not there. So as long as he stays on the exact floor he’s on now, we’ll be okay…”

“KID, RELAX. YOU SOUND LIKE PINETREE,” Bill laughed. “WITH HOW LOUD THOSE STEPS ARE, WE’LL HAVE A TON OF WARNING IF HE HEADS FOR ANY STAIRS. JUST CUT TO THE CHASE SO YOU DIDN’T WAKE ME UP FOR NOTHING.”

She shot another worried glance at the ceiling, then nodded. “Okay. Sure. The chase… hold on.” She grabbed her notepad and pen again, then started rooting around for something else in the backpack she’d brought. “The Chase, part one. Secret messages. Ooh, that’s good.” She opened the book and labeled the first page with that title. Bill bit his tongue to stop himself from pointing out that huge pink bubble letters weren’t the best choice for subtlety.

“Now,” she said, throwing the notebook down like a frazzled detective presenting her notes. “I would’ve loved to, like, build a two-way radio out of soda cans, or find a way to send smoke signals through the A/C system or something. But I think we should wait on that ‘til later. Right now, simplicity’s the name of the game.” With a victorious flourish, she revealed the thing she’d fished out of the bag. It took a second for Bill to parse what the battered old thing even was. A cell phone. An ancient, blocky brick of a flip-screen cell phone.

“YEESH!” he exclaimed as she shoved it into his hands. “WHAT ANCIENT BURIAL GROUND DIDJA DIG THIS THING OUT OF? IT’S OLD ENOUGH TO BE YOUR DAD!”

Mabel snorted. “Give me a break! It was the best one I could find in the closet where Grunkle Stan keeps all his burner phones.”

“WELL, I’D HATE TO SEE THE COMPETITION!” Bill remarked. “WHAT WAS THE WORST ONE, A CLAY TABLET? A BONE CARVED FLUTE TO CALL THE NEANDERTHAL TRIBE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN?”

Mabel hid a giggle behind the turtleneck of her sweater. All according to plan. Jokes were a great way of lowering a mark’s defenses, even if they didn’t land. And despite her best efforts, Shooting Star was a good audience.

He held down the power button and marvelled as the dusty, scuffed screen actually lit up. “WHAAAT! LOOK AT THIS LOGO! THIS COMPANY WENT UNDER IN 2002! THE CEO BURNED DOWN THE OFFICE TO HIDE TAX FRAUD AND MELTED HIS EYELIDS OFF!”

Mabel clapped her hands over her ears. “Ugh!! Why would you tell me that?”

“BECAUSE IT’S HILARIOUS! THE GUY WAS A TOTAL LOSER ANYWAY, HE WAS TOO UPTIGHT TO TAKE MY DEAL AND COULDN’T EVEN HANDLE A WEEK OF NIGHT TERRORS BEFORE HE CRACKED—”

“Anyway!” She cut him off. “This was the only phone I found in the closet that could send texts. We need to be able to keep in touch, so you can let me know if you’re hurt or need more supplies, and I can warn you if people upstairs can hear you practicing your evil laugh or something.”

“WHA— HEY! WHO EVEN— NOBODY NEEDS TO PRACTICE THEIR LAUGH, THAT’S JUST STUPID.” Bill hoped he didn’t sound too defensive. There was no way she actually knew about that, right?

She just rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. “Point is, that phone is yours. Nobody’ll recognize that number. My number’s in there already, you can text me in morse code if you need something.”

Bill looked up from the phone screen to squint at her. “MORSE? C’MON, KID.”

“What’s wrong with morse?”

“THAT’S THE MOST BASIC CODE IN EXISTENCE! YOU REALLY THINK ANYBODY IN THIS HOUSE WOULDN’T RECOGNIZE MORSE WHEN THEY SAW IT?” he said. “YOU THINK THEY’LL SEE YOU ANSWERING TEXTS IN MORSE FROM SOME RANDOM NUMBER AND HAVE ANY OTHER THOUGHT BESIDES ‘SHE’S HIDING SOMETHING’?”

Mabel sighed. “Okay, fine, Mr. Code Snob. What should we use?”

“WE SHOULDN’T ‘USE’ ANYTHING. WE JUST KEEP THINGS VAGUE AND SIMPLE,” he said. “ANYTHING THAT EVEN LOOKS LIKE IT MIGHT BE CODE WILL JUST GET PEOPLE’S ATTENTION. BESIDES, IN A HOUSE FULL OF CON ARTISTS AND MYSTERY DORKS, I DOUBT THERE’S ANY CODE WE COULD USE ON THIS THING THAT NONE OF THEM WILL RECOGNIZE. THESE TEXTS NEED TO BE AS BORING AND UN-MYSTERIOUS AS THEY CAN POSSIBLY BE. SO BORING THAT NOT EVEN PINETREE IN HIS SNOOPIEST MOOD WOULD GLANCE AT ‘EM TWICE.”

Mabel pursed her lips. “Spam!” she said after a minute. “Dipper and I get spam texts from random numbers all the time. We can make up a system where I know what you’re saying based on what you’re trying to sell me. Like a scam alphabet!”

Bill’s eye crinkled with his version of a grin. “NOW YOU’RE TALKING!”

Mabel grabbed her pen and started rattling off scams to list in her notebook. Stan had clearly taught her well, and between the both of them they soon had a massive list to work from. On the opposite page, they listed phrases to match with each scam. “NEED FOOD”, “NEED SUPPLIES”, “INJURY”, “FIRE”, “RACCOON GOT IN”, and so on. As soon as they had a workable “alphabet”, the kid insisted they start deciding on secret knocks. They’d just started to argue about whether “shave-and-a-haircut” was too uncreative, when suddenly Mabel stopped short and held out a hand. Before Bill could ask what was up, he realized what she’d heard. A voice from upstairs. A voice that was much too prepubescent to be Ford’s.

“Dipper’s up,” Mabel hissed. “Why is Dipper up? He never gets up this early on his own… Did he notice I was gone? Is he looking for me?? How am I gonna get back up without—”

“GEEZ, RELAX,” Bill said. “LOOK, THE STAIRCASE TO THE ATTIC IS RIGHT ACROSS FROM THIS ONE. JUST WAIT UNTIL HE’S IN THE KITCHEN…” he pointed to that corner of the house, from where Ford’s voice was now ringing through the ceiling, “AND YOU CAN SNEAK BACK UP WITHOUT BUMPING INTO HIM. JUST DON’T LET HIM SEE YOU LEAVING THE BASEMENT, AND WE’LL BE FINE.”

“I don’t like how much you know about our house.”

Bill pointed to his eye. “REMEMBER HOW HALF THE DECOR IN HERE USED TO BE MY EYES?”

“Yeah, duh. Doesn’t mean it’s not creepy.” She shuddered, and Bill tried not to laugh. At least the memory of his powers still inspired fear… but he didn’t want her knowing how happy that made him.

Mabel gathered up her stuff and headed for the door. “I gotta go before he notices I’m not sleeping. Soon as I get a chance, I’ll sneak back down and we’ll sort out the other stuff on my checklist.”

“FAIR ENOUGH. BE SEEING YOU, KID.” He couldn’t resist putting a little extra emphasis on that word, pointing to his eye again with a smug, half-lidded smile. Shooting Star was his ally for now, sure. But she shouldn’t forget where things really stood. He was the one who was really in control here.

“And I’ll use the We Will Rock You knock.”

“UGH, COME ON!” Bill protested. “I’M TELLING YOU, SHAVE-AND-A-HAIRCUT IS THE GO-TO FOR A REASON, IT’S PRACTICAL—“

“See ya later!” She winked and vanished through the door. The lock clicked heavily into place.

Bill glared daggers at the door until the sound of footsteps had faded away. Then he took off his hat and rifled through the lining, taking a reassuring glance at his folded-up notes. And the paper clip fastening them in place. That dumb kid put way too much trust in that lock. Did she really not realize the danger she’d let into her house? Did she really not know what she was dealing with?

His eye was drawn in by a soft gleam from deep within the hat. He brushed some fabric aside and stared at the fragment of his dimension. It caught the dim light in the room and threw it back much brighter, twisted into colors that didn’t exist anymore. It hurt to look at it with this new eye. He let his gaze rest on it longer than he should have.

Then he tore his eye away and shoved the hat back on. No, she definitely didn’t know. The fact he was still here— still alive— was proof enough of that.

[theotherrookie]

The Twins shut up right away. It didn't matter in the end whether they were forgiven. They simply wanted to distance themselves from Ratchet and Five to avoid whatever was coming their way.

Their determination only became stronger at Travis' comments. The brothers looked at each other. That couldn't be him, right?

"Wait, it's you?"

"No way!"

"It sounds like you won't have to tell it after all!" Erica chuckled, watching Smokey purr as he received the pat, "Keep an eye on him, please!"

The Twins visibly flinched as the elf started crawling up and along the wall to get ahead of the others. Something about that scene was deeply unsettling to them.

Though that was nothing compared to what was going down in the other room. Ratchet had fallen off his chair at some point and had pressed himself against the wall while Willow was crouched next to him. The cyborg watched emotionless as two tubules extended from the back of her hand and pierced the skin of Ratchet's neck, cutting off his scream as he painfully gasped for air.

"You made this inevitable." Willow stated, "The nanoprobes are already spreading through your bloodstream as we speak."

Ratchet let out a pained gurgling noise when the tubules retracted and pressed his hand against the wound. He found no blood, but the skin around it had begun mottling and was tingling. Something was being done to him, but he didn't understand, nor knew what to do about it.

Willow kept her gaze firm on him like a hawk watching its prey squirm under its talons. While the intent was to scare Ratchet to almost death, she intended for the nanites to gather relevant information on his physical condition and perhaps strengthen him just enough to keep enduring these sittings without being in need of serious medical assistance. The nanites naturally decayed after a few weeks. This procedure would cause some discomfort, but leave no permanent damage.

So she could have a little fun. The nice thing about tech enthusiasts like him was how gullible they tended to be. She could have told him she was going to turn him into a borg and he’d most certainly buy it.

Now, that was a nice idea…

"They’re taking over now. You can feel them latching onto your tissues and prodding your nerves. I know you do. It has started. They will remove your imperfections and mold you into a new being."

Ratchet clawed at his chest as that tingling feeling spread, not doubting Willow's words for a second. The nanites were crawling under his skin and taking over his body. "N-No! Stop it!"

"I have no sympathy for you. Your talent is wasted on a little freak like you. But the one who will replace you won't disappoint me. It will be a perfect little faceless slave. Circuits for the brain, a heart of steel. Our thoughts are one."

She could have left him there whimpering until he cried himself into an unconscious state. But instead, Willow placed her hand on Ratchet's shoulder.

"You have one last chance to preserve yourself. You must hold tightly onto your humanity as you've never done before." Willow added quietly, "Tell the Core who you are now. Say your name."

"My name— My name is Christopher Strutton!"

The nanites switched to stealth mode right away, leaving Ratchet curled up in fetal position in a pool of his own sweat and tears on the floor. Willow watched him for a moment, ensuring his vitals were acceptable, before looking over at her audience.

"I suppose that might be of some use." The cyborg stood up, brushed some wrinkles off her coat, then made her way over, "I left him in one piece, as promised."

Rook rolled her eyes, "You're so fucking sassy. Who did you get that from?"

"That's our trademark!" Erica replied from the ceiling.

"Christopher." Lucien whispered, his eyes widening when he felt his magic latch onto the name.

The brothers shrugged. The offer still stood and it wasn't as if they had anything better to do. If they couldn't provide information, they could always go fetch things for them– Perhaps more snacks, or an iron maiden.

They were professionals, after all. They would adapt.

"Look, we did what we could. We don't do that shit."

"Five sent us away on purpose."

And there was very little they could do about the walking wasteland that was their former boss. Refusing to do something would have only got them drugged too. Five really wouldn't have hesitated.

Though at least they could hear his footsteps. The brothers wondered why, of all people, Antonio was the scariest of the bunch. He wasn't even doing anything! He was just staring at them and they felt like their minds were about to melt right there.

While the two silently panicked, Smokey started meowing at Leofric as he rushed through the last stretch between them.

"Oh. Smokey figured out you're a ghost too." Erica translated.

"I know we can trust Willow, but you should really be more specific." Rook said, "She can do a lot to a person before going for the kill."

She had enough blades on her to do it. Right on cue, Ratchet's screams resumed, followed by the sound of something heavy being tossed around.

Rook sighed, "I'll go check on her."

"I don't want to miss this." Lucien said, following.

"Yep, that's the idea." Erica replied, "Though it depends on whether there'll be anything left to hit."

[bradleysass]

Knowledge - @moonchaser-microfic - wc: 499

Remus prided himself on knowledge. Silently. He'd never start bragging about his good grades outright, but if it would piss James off, he'd do it all the time. It was just too easy—James, the ever-confident, ever-reckless Gryffindor, absolutely hated being second-best at anything. And if Remus could get under his skin with a well-timed remark about his essay marks, well, that was just a bonus.

This time, though, he held back. Mostly because James really did need to study, and if Remus wanted to avoid another incident of James dramatically throwing his Potions textbook across the dormitory, he had to take a different approach. He bit his tongue against any smug remarks and instead tapped his quill against the open Charms textbook in front of them.

"Alright, let’s go over this again," Remus said, trying to keep his voice even. "The Wand-Lighting Charm—"

"Is incredibly dull," James interjected, chin propped on his hand, staring at Remus in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with Charms.

Remus sighed. "Yes, well, some of us actually care about passing our exams."

James hummed noncommittally. He hadn’t turned a page in fifteen minutes. He hadn't even picked up his quill. "D’you know you do this thing with your nose when you're concentrating? Sort of scrunch it up a bit? It’s adorable."

Remus blinked. Heat crept up his neck. "What?"

James grinned lazily, completely unbothered by Remus’s bewilderment. "Your nose," he repeated, gesturing vaguely at Remus’s face. "You scrunch it up like this—" He attempted to demonstrate, which just made him look utterly ridiculous.

Remus groaned, dropping his forehead onto the textbook. "Merlin, help me."

"Nah, I think you’ve got it all wrong, Moony." James leaned in, and Remus could hear the smirk in his voice. "Merlin sent me to help you."

Remus lifted his head just enough to glare at him. "You're insufferable."

"And yet, here we are," James said breezily, still looking at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Remus could feel his resolve slipping. He hated how easily James could do this—turn a study session into some kind of game, making Remus forget why he was even annoyed in the first place. He hated it even more that he didn’t really mind.

"If you actually studied, I wouldn't have to be here," Remus pointed out, though his voice had lost most of its edge.

James tilted his head. "Oh? So you don't want to be here with me?" He pouted theatrically, but there was something softer underneath it, something that made Remus’s breath catch.

He looked away, feigning exasperation. "I want to finish this session before sunrise, if that counts for anything."

James chuckled, finally—finally—picking up his quill. "Alright, alright. But only if you promise not to get too distracted staring at my beautiful face."

Remus didn’t dignify that with a response. He did, however, let James get away with brushing their knees together under the table. Just this once.

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

this body is not mine.

PAIRING — pietro maximoff x gn!reader

CONTENTS — oneshot; coarse language; angst; minimal fluff if you squint; hurt/comfort?; self-destructive tendencies; blood/injury; obviously not at all canon compliant but i honestly could not care less!

SUMMARY — your pain has made you reckless, and it's getting harder for pietro to watch you bleed.

W/C — 3.2k

✩ masterlist ✩ library blog

Like with most other things, it happened suddenly and quietly. 

One minute, you were stepping off a quinjet and onto the tarmac back at SHIELD headquarters in Washington. Your fellow agent and your best friend followed closely behind as you shared a few laughs, still high off another successful mission. The Triskelion stood tall in the near distance, the sun’s rays bouncing off its windows as you crossed the runway. You lifted a hand to shield your eyes from the blinding light for only the briefest of moments. 

The next, Steve Rogers’s voice was blaring over the PA system and you found yourself staring down the barrel of a gun. Your friend, the one who’d taken you under her wing when you first joined SHIELD, who taught you everything you needed to know about being an agent, your most trusted and respected colleague, was the one pointing it at you. 

For a moment, you thought it was all just some kind of sick joke. You told her to stop messing around and boldly pushed her hand away, your stomach dropping when the weapon fired and the bullet struck the asphalt just inches from your feet. You looked up ahead and saw the rest of your team split up, facing each other with their weapons drawn, in the exact same predicament. 

Then Steve’s speech began to register. 

SHIELD is not what we thought it was. It’s been taken over by Hydra. 

They could be standing next to you. 

If you launch those helicarriers today, Hydra will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way. 

Unless we stop them. 

And just like that, you were embroiled in a life or death struggle with the woman you’d fought side by side with for the last decade, who you would have been proud to call a sister, who turned out to be a fierce lieutenant of Hydra’s insurrection. 

You remember it all in perfect detail. The stench of gunpowder in the air, the distant sounds of explosions and falling bodies, the weight of your concealed weapon against your own hip a grim metal promise of more violence to come. 

The iron grip on your left wrist as your other hand pushed against her, trying to stop the tip of her blade from piercing your throat, her gun having been kicked out of her hands just seconds earlier. 

The desperation in your exhausted muscles as you fought back against the sharp sting of betrayal and heartbreak. 

The terrible knowledge that if you wanted to live, if you wanted the others to live, there was only one viable choice. 

Even though you ultimately emerged triumphant, the student having bested the teacher as it was always meant to be, you didn’t feel particularly victorious. 

She just looked up at you with her face split into a wide bloody smirk, like the friendly smiles and affectionate looks from your memories had been a figment of your imagination. 

And because she just had to have the last word as you raised your service weapon and aimed the muzzle at her forehead, “Hail Hydra.” 

You wake with a jolt, a scream trapped in the hollow of your throat. Your heart thunders almost painfully against your ribcage, a sheen of cold sweat clinging to your skin, and the snow beneath you stained pink with frozen blood. It takes you a few seconds to remember where you are. 

Right, the mission. 

You and your team had walked into a Hydra ambush, left with nowhere to run and facing heavy fire. In order to ensure maximum survivors, you broke away from the group despite their protests in your ear, creating a diversion long enough to allow your colleagues to pilot their jet to safety. 

You’ve managed to evade capture for now, but you didn’t escape unscathed. You feel around with trembling fingers, gasping and flinching in pain the moment they come across a wet patch on the side of your tac-suit. You lift your hand, cursing quietly when your fingers come away red, the sharp tangy smell of copper filling your nostrils. 

Your comms weren’t working. The nearest safe house, which should have a working radio, was still another two miles out, but you didn’t have the energy to get up. Your limbs felt too heavy and your head too light from the blood loss, and you’d collapsed on a frosty patch of dead grass and closed your eyes. With the trail of red droplets you’d left in the snow, it was only a matter of time before you were found. 

Whether it turned out to be friend or foe was but a flip of a coin, and, well, you’d never had much luck to begin with. 

Even as the semi-familiar contours of the surrounding forest begin to emerge from the darkness as your eyes adjust, the visceral images of your dream cling to your mind and continue to blur the lines between past and present. 

Despite a bright and full moon hanging up in the inky sky above you, a beautiful sight you hadn’t had the time or the heart to appreciate lately, something like fear courses through your veins. It’s hot and acidic, clawing its way up your throat like bile, as memories of everything you’ve lost and everything you’ve had to do that day flashes before your eyes. 

The aftershocks of your nightmare reverberate through your body, the pieces of your broken past barely held together by sheer willpower, dwindling by the day—as though a single touch could shatter you into a thousand irretrievable pieces.

Anger tears at your insides, a scorching reminder of the rage that used to fuel you through your search for order and justice. It was necessary back then, reminding you of what—and who—you were fighting for. 

Now, it impulsively propels you headfirst into whatever mission finds its path to your desk. Now, it blinds you to consequence, to remorse, to humanity as you leave no survivors in your wake. Now, that same rage leaves you feeling hollow and adrift in the aftermath. 

And despite the entire year that’s gone by since the fall of SHIELD, the spectres of your past continue to find you in the dark, waiting to drag you back into the depths of your own fears and regrets. 

What were you fighting for this whole time? 

Every single time you returned to HQ battered and bruised, every grueling hour you’d spent training your body until it screamed in protest, and every single drop of blood you’d ever spilt—whether it was your own or otherwise—what was it all for? 

You were not an agent of SHIELD, a name you used to wear like a badge of honour; it turns out you were just another unwitting, stupid puppet of Hydra. Your life’s work amounted to nothing, the name tarnished and forever disgraced. 

And now, you’re alone. 

Normally, whenever you wake up after a particularly vicious fight—something that’s been happening more and more often lately—you were at the compound, tucked away safely in a cot in the med-bay with someone sitting in the chair next to the bed, keeping moonlit vigil until you returned to the land of the living. 

A lot of times, it was Steve. He would be leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees with that all-too-familiar wrinkle between his brows, waiting for you to wake up so he could both breathe a sigh of relief and start admonishing you again without feeling too guilty. 

I have half a mind to put you on desk duty, agent. You’d long ago stopped trying to remind him that he isn’t your captain anymore, and you are no longer an agent. 

What are you, then? 

Other times it was Natasha, a painful and bright-red reminder of things that have come to pass, sporting her own bandages and bruises as she puts together her mission reports. She’s done better for herself post-SHIELD, an Avenger through and through. She has a place here, but you? You only have this job because she and Steve vouched for you, and even then there’s some constant need nagging at you in the back of your mind to prove yourself. 

Who are you? 

Every time someone’s indecipherable gaze lingers a little too long, or even so much as looks in your direction, something pricks uncomfortably at your spine. 

Whose side are you on? 

Sam. Jesus. He really has no idea just how alike he and Steve really are, does he? He would sit there with his back ramrod straight and his arms crossed over his chest, wearing Steve’s signature disapproving look as though he’d been trained to do it. But Sam would soften eventually, always, his warm eyes full of quiet worry in a way that only made it harder to face him. 

Sometimes it was Wanda, who would be tempted to use her powers to help stitch you back together. But she was still unpracticed and insecure about her magic; setting bones, staunching the free flow of blood, and suturing lacerations shut required a much more delicate touch than, say, tearing an army of robots to pieces. 

Or Pietro—

Oh. You swallow hard. That one hurts. 

Just like you, Pietro wasn’t all that intent on making friends at the compound. Wanda fared much better in that aspect, her smiles blossoming wider and wider across her gentle features the more she got to know the team. 

Her twin, however, would always brood from the sidelines, watching intently as though ready to pounce if anyone made so much as what he perceived to be a wrong move in her direction. 

He was protective, you knew; for a long time, Wanda was all he had. The two of them have been through hell and back together, but now her world was expanding to make room for things that didn’t always include him. 

The old you might have wondered if that made a part of him a little sad, but the new you—well, you couldn’t afford to worry about someone else’s sadness. His keeping to himself actually worked in your favour; you weren’t looking to be anyone’s buddy either. 

But despite the attempts at distance, being part of a team meant that he was watching your back out in the field, especially since you weren’t looking out for your own interests. One of Pietro’s strong arms would hook itself under your knees, his other wrapping around your shoulders, before he was rushing you out of the line of fire. 

He’d casually question whether you were trying to get yourself killed, not looking at you because he already knew the answer, even though you never gave him one. 

“Then do it on your own time,” he’d said as he set you back down on the ground, his voice void of emotion or warmth, but if you were to pay a bit closer attention, his brows were tightly furrowed and his mouth turned down at the corners. “The Captain is such a pain about paperwork.” 

“Was that a joke, Maximoff?” You’d rolled your eyes, not in the mood as you tried not to think about how his warmth lingered everywhere he’d touched. 

“Of course not,” he murmured as he took large strides back towards the proverbial battlefield, “is it a joke if nobody laughs?” 

And then he zipped out of sight and suddenly you were alone again, just the way you liked it. 

But the signature resentment and outrage simmering in his icy blue eyes, one you recognized all too well, didn’t seem to burn quite so hot whenever he took you back to the compound in the event your own legs wouldn’t, one warm hand on your waist and the other holding your arm around his broad shoulders. 

His calls of your name sure didn’t sound as detached and blasé as he might have liked them to, the lilt of his accent seeping into the edges of your subconscious, “Stay awake, we are almost home.” 

“Paper… Paperwork,” you muttered between laboured breaths with your eyes closed, trying so hard to keep marching in time with him. You heard him laugh—though it was more of a chuckle, so low and so brief—for the first time that night. 

His sharp edges didn’t seem quite so sharp when you searched his features for signs of deception, ones you should have recognized years ago, ones you might have ignored in the moment which ultimately cost you everything, and found none. 

Pietro would search you back, his face blank but his eyes almost like they were pleading, and you were always the first one to look away. 

Damn, it all happened so quietly. 

The tentative conversations that took place in the quiet of the med-bay—“does it not hurt?” followed by a “not at all” that really meant “all the fucking time”—him watching as you nursed your own injuries with a quiet stoicism that he couldn’t seem to understand. 

The late sleepless nights spent in each other’s silent company, sometimes staring off into space or distractedly at a series of flashing images on the TV. The closing distance between bodies, the soft brush of his fingertips over the swell of your shoulder, the lingering smell of soap as he sped back to his room without so much as a “good night”. 

The rush of joy when you boarded a quinjet and saw him already there, knowing that he was joining a mission with you. The thrill that shot up your spine when his hand closed around your wrist and he levelled you with a striking blue stare, a silent warning to be careful, a wordless plea to come back in one piece. The mildly triumphant looks exchanged after a mission successful, but only just barely—you knew he’d long ago clocked your growing reckless and wild disregard for your personal safety. 

Until you began waking up in the med-bay more and more, but Pietro was sitting in that chair less and less. He began asking Steve for reassignments whenever the two of you were grouped on missions together. He drew away, and it hurt so much more than having the pieces of you held together by nothing but strands of thread and rows of staples. 

“Some teammate you are,” you muttered sarcastically the next time you saw him for long enough to hold some semblance of a conversation. You meant for it to sound less like an accusation and more like a joke, like you did not care because that was the whole fucking point. You cared about nothing and no one now, so whatever they did couldn’t ever hurt or surprise you anymore. 

That pang in your chest as he kept his back to you? It meant nothing. 

That strike against a chord of longing stretched over your heart as he walked away? Inconsequential. 

And the heartache as the distance between you grew and grew, until it seemed so utterly insurmountable? What did that fucking matter? 

That, after all, had been ever constant since the Triskelion came down in a hailstorm of bullets and debris. 

But—fucking hell—you miss him, you realize. You close your eyes again, trying to fight the familiar sting of tears and the burn behind your eyelids. You miss him more than you miss your old life, your heart decides, the treacherous thing. What are you even supposed to do with that knowledge? You would never tell him, anyway. Not in a million years. 

But you are at the whim of the universe, because there’s the sound of an aircraft overhead. There’s a gust of warm wind that passes over you and it smells like jet fuel, recycled air, and slightly burning plastic. 

And then you feel it, a familiar warmth on your wrist as he presses two fingers gently on your pulse point. You hear it, the whisper of your name that sounds like it means something whenever he says it. 

You’re too tired, or maybe too afraid, to open your eyes. His warmth recedes as what sounds like the medical team takes over, crouching over you as they begin dressing your injuries and packing your wounds. The pain is less keen as sleep begins to pull you under, as they insert an IV drip into your arm, as they place you on a stretcher and wheel you back towards the jet. 

The warmth soon returns, however, lacing its way between your fingers and heating the skin of your palm, just before you fall back asleep. 

When you wake again hours later in the med-bay, you open your eyes and see the turbulent blues of a terrible sorrow. 

Pietro inhales sharply when your eyes meet, but he stays curled up in that chair, his lips looking painfully raw as though he’s been chewing on them all night. As always, his anger rolls off of him in quiet waves, and as always, it seems like he’s more angry with himself than with you. 

“You refuse help,” he finally says, breaking the silence. He turns away to look out the window behind him, watching as the snow continues to fall. “You disobey orders. You never listen.” 

You would scoff if you didn’t think it would hurt like a bitch. That’s a bit rich coming from him, since he fights Steve every step of the way almost as much as you do. 

“You’re scaring everyone,” he continues, but you know what he really means to say is that you’re scaring Wanda. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone else, after all. “It’s like you go out of your way to get hurt on every mission.” 

“Why do you care?” You snap back weakly, like a wounded animal that’s been backed into a corner. Pietro turns to face you again then, his handsome features stoic as usual, which frustrates and deeply unsatisfies you. 

“You think I want to? I didn’t!” He suddenly snarls, unfolding himself from the chair to stand, to reach out and place one hand on each side of your cot, caging you in and towering over you. “You seem so intent on dying, aren’t you? Well, I’ve had enough of watching people I love die.” 

“Oh, dear,” you lament out loud—the people he loves, he says, as if it’s not the most devastating thing—closing your eyes against the ache of an affliction you didn’t think you’d ever suffer again. “How unfortunate.”

“Yes,” he concurs, and he does sound rather anguished. “There is nothing we can do about it now, is there?” 

Not strong enough to stay and watch you put yourself at risk, but not strong enough to stay away when you bleed either. And then his hands are smoothing over your forehead, brushing away some stray strands of hair from your face. 

“Look at me,” he pleads in a whisper so soft, you can’t help but comply. So carefully, he leans down and brushes his lips against your brow, then your temple, the apple of your cheek. 

Each time he pulls back, you surrender a broken shard of your heart to him. He gathers them in his hands and begins the painstaking task of putting you back together. Each kiss he places on your skin comes with a silent appeal—live, live, please live.  

At least for tonight, you yield to his desperate request. 

Your sorrow can wait.

fin.

AFTERWORD — my first fic of 2025! how'd i do? 🤭

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane.

[somecallmejohn]

Some Magnifico defenders really are the type of person to tell Ariel that she had it coming after being taken by Ursula because she had signed a deal with her, cuz fuck ethics amirite?

"The people of Rosas agreed to live in the kingdom under Magnifico's rules and to give away their wishes" OK... cool motive, that doesn't make his actions and decisions ethically right tho.

[paluding]

Hi, hope you don’t mind me entering this topic. I’ve also been doing some research on the face morphs for animations for quite some time.

The Gigantic Baby updated project (as cursed as it is) is the first thing I shared with a fully animated “custom face mesh”, which actually is a hair mesh with all the face morphs added. Not the first one I made, but this one is downloadable, so if anyone wants to poke at it a little bit, welp, there’s that. At the end of the day, it’s actually a really similar mesh to the regular Maxis faces, so there's not that much new to see.

Yet another big ramble under the cut (sorry about the long, long reblog chain):

So first of all, huge shoutouts to @myweirdslimblr for this research they did back in the day, experimenting with custom faces and making them the “default face”. It was really inspiring seeing what could be possible with Sims 2 faces.

Also, a mandatory big thanks to @applewatersugar, whose 3D eyelashes were the very first instance I personally saw of morphs exclusively made for the face, but for an accessory mesh. One of my guilty pleasures is fiddling with people’s CC and mods in SimPe and finding out what they did. There’s so much to learn! That was officially the point where I became obsessed with Sims 2 face morphs.

Turns out, adding face morphs to any mesh is actually pretty easy in Blender 2.8+. As all the people I mentioned here have figured out, each vertex can only be moved by a maximum of 4 morphs (known as shape keys in Blender), which can be a pretty big limitation for higher poly meshes. If you go over that limit, you won’t be able to export that mesh when using DjAlex88's Blender add-on.

I have plans on making a full tutorial covering everything about how to add face morphs to any mesh using Blender and said add-on, but for the time being, here’s some stuff to keep you entertained!

-Definitely check out Piper’s custom beard accessory tutorial! It covers a lot of the stuff you’d need to know about face morphs, but applied specifically to “animating” beards.

-I started making this spreadsheet some time ago, showcasing with gifs all the adult female face morphs and their names, both for Blender and Milkshape3D. I still need to add the rest of the ages and genders, but screw it, here you have an early exclusive sneak peek! It’s just a not so quick sheet I’ve been working on to check at a glance any face morph and its name.

-And as a bonus, here’s a first look of that Night Beast project with the face animated with morphs made from scratch by yours truly. This has been in my projects folder way too long. I shared that first post way back in… checking notes… over half a year ago? Yikes… I promise I’ll get back to it someday! @pirillalothario here ya go!

Now about making actual animations using the face morphs (that is, adding custom facial expressions to “body animations”?)… Yeah that’s way out of my scope.

This is the animation for the werewolf howl interaction. As you can see in the dropdown menu with all the frame data, not only does the “ANIM” file include the body animation, but also the sound effects AND the face morph values for all the facial expressions (face, teeth and eyes direction).

I really tried editing stuff there in SimPe, but the editor thingy for animations in the plug-in is pretty hard to use.

Furthermore, the stuff about face morphs seems impossible to edit? At least I couldn’t add new face morph values to an existing Sims 2 animation which didn’t already have face animations in the first place. The “editor” in SimPe is extremely limited for animations anyway. You can only edit stuff that’s already there or delete them, but not add stuff there, as far as I know. I guess we’d need external programs to create animations with face morphs included, just like we do for body animations in the first place.

Well, finishing things off:

As far as I understand, regular body (and bouncy hair) animations work with a skeleton with its joints, which have their bones assignments on the meshes and all that jazz we all know.

On the other hand, face animations are made using morphs / faceblends, the ones you guys mentioned. They’re probably animated using values for each morph, depending on what face expression you want to achieve, blending multiple morphs.

And the direction eyes look at? That’s a total mystery for me. I think they’re animated and stretched using the UV map somehow? However it is, so far I have only managed to test a working eye look animation when messing with the actual “genetic default” face, similar to what myweirdsimblr did on their tests. I haven’t been able to animate the way eyes look at stuff on custom hair-head meshes, like the Night Beast or the Gigantic Baby I’ve shown here.

And that in a nutshell is all I personally know about face morphs, I think! Sorry I rambled so long. Ever since I found out about them I’ve been a little bit obsessed. They’re so fun to make and seeing them in game is the coolest thing ever.

If there’s any mistake let me know and I’ll be glad to correct it :)

👩‍🎨 Extracting Hidden Face Morphs in The Sims 2

In The Sims 2, Sim faces contain hidden morphs that can be extracted in different ways. For a long time, only two morphs were known, but there are actually more.

1. Extracting Morphs via SimPE

What You Need:

SimPE (enable "Advanced Mode" in the settings).

Sims2Pack Clean Installer (if no ready-made files are available).

MilkShape 3D 1.8.5

Steps:

Get the Face File:

If you have a SavedSims folder, choose any file from it.

If not, extract any Sim using Sims2Pack Clean Installer and locate the Face Preset file.

Open the File in SimPE:

Open the file in SimPE.

Find the Geometric Data Container (GMDC) resource.

Select the Sim's age group.

Export the Model with Morphs:

Click Export..., save the file in SMD format.

When prompted "Do you want to export Morph Meshes??", select Yes.

View Morphs in MilkShape 3D:

Import via File → Import → Half-Life SMD....

Select a morph and uncheck Rename Bones.

What Do the Morphs Contain?

One morph shows a smiling expression.

Another shows an angry or displeased expression.

2. Extracting All Morphs via 5gd File

What You Need:

SimPE.

Blender 2.80+.

GMDC Importer/Exporter (Blender plugin).

Steps:

Export the Face Model as a 5gd File:

In SimPE, open GMDC.

Right-click → Extract....

Save the file as 5gd.

Import into Blender:

Install the GMDC Importer/Exporter plugin.

Open Blender 2.80+ (Blender 2.79 only shows 4 morphs).

Import the 5gd file.

What Do the Morphs Contain?

Importing into Blender 2.80+ reveals all hidden morphs.

Additional Information

You can replace the default face model with one of the morphs to create a new default preset.

It works correctly in BodyShop and CAS.

There may be even more hidden morphs in the game that have yet to be discovered.

If you have any additional information about these hidden morphs, feel free to share!

Source (RU):

[ruporas]

soft (and some bittersweet)

[fairy-angel222]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—in which toji is constantly fucking women and disturbing your peace. your complaints lead to you becoming one of them.

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem! college reader

cw: smut, breeding, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, toji being a cocky prick, unsafe sex, ass slapping, mentions of cervix touching

Ever since you heard about your next door neighbor Mr. Fushiguro going through a divorce, things have been hell. For you.

From the day he first moved into the apartment, constantly arguing on the phone with his ex wife about whose turn it was to watch his son, Megumi.

When Megumi is over, everything’s quiet, and you finally get a chance to rest your head and relax in peace. Doing some studying and cleaning in the quiet atmosphere.

You wished the black haired boy would stay for just a day longer, because Toji is back to his usual self hours later. Bringing in young college girls one after the other. Fucking them hard against his headboard as they let out loud cries of daddy. It was annoying. You could even stay inside anymore to get work done.

At every hour of the day he seemed to be active, fucking through all sorts of women, the shaking of your thin bedroom wall never coming to an end as high pitched moans echoed through.

It was getting to the point where you couldn’t take it. You were so fed up. Didn’t he ever get tired? Tired of promising these young desperate girls to call them back only to throw away their numbers and fuck their friends the next day.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, Megumi coming over for a silent three days then leaving again. Giving his father enough time to fuck any feelings for his ex wife out of his system.

You swore you couldn’t take it, you had barely been able to study, occasionally spending an hour or two in a nearby café between classes. When you noticed your grades slipping, your eyes having prominent bags at the lack of sleep, you groan loudly in frustration. Finding your legs moving before you could even process it.

Your fist raising to knock on the man’s door once, then twice, with no answer. You huffed, going in to knock a third time before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man towering over you with a scowl. “What?”

Your eyes widened as you scanned over his body, his perfectly sculpted face, broad shoulders, defined abs, and the very distinct outline in his sweats.

The man cleared his throat, a smirk gracing his face when he startled you out of your intense drooling. “Now, what do we have here?” he chuckled deeply, tilting his head to the side with crossed arms as he rested against the door’s frame. “Here to get your turn doll?”

You gulped, finding it harder to spit out your words as the Fushiguro man stared you down. “I.. I’m here to ask you to keep the noise down, some people have actual work to do.”

Toji whistled, “Oh? A bold one huh? I like it,” His hand reaching under your chin to make you look fully up at him. “you’re a pretty little thing you know,” he spoke, running his thumb along your bottom lip, “wonder what you’d look like ruined underneath me.”

You ignored the flutter that went off in your pussy, clenching your thighs discreetly as you glared. “Just keep the noise down okay old man? I'm trying to study.”

Toji could feel his cock grow harder, you were just what he needed. “So i’m an old man now? That’s a first, usually girls like you just call me daddy.” he shrugged, “but it’s okay, you’ll get there.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked away from him, annoyance written all over your face to mask the arousal swirling in your stomach. He’d probably fucked the entire neighborhood by now, including the campus, so you weren’t gonna fall for his sick charms. You just hoped he complied and kept the place quiet, you didn’t need that usual noise the day before your big test.

Toji had surprisingly did as you asked, and you sighed in content as you read through the pages of your notes. Your pen in your hand finding itself in between your teeth as you bit down softly. You got what you wanted, so why was your mind running wild with thoughts of the Fushiguro man’s hands on your body as he fucked you like all of those other girls.

You shifted in your seat, one leg over the other to bring stimulation to your needy clit making you whimper softly. You couldn’t let yourself give in.

Another week passed and you once again found yourself in the same noisy predicament. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the man more than twice your age. Way too old for you yet just so.. hot. Toji Fushiguro had become your fantasy.

And it was unbearable.

Hearing all these moans day and night. Hearing Toji’s loud grunts and groans as he no doubt left them with the best fuck of their lives.

It was Thursday, and Megumi would be coming tomorrow per routine, so you’d finally get a break then. But, you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted an excuse to go over there. Your face serious as you banged on his door.

You waited a minute, a shirtless Toji emerging into the door frame as it flew open. Toji smirked, “Ah, you again.” His sweatpants hung dangerously low beneath the start of his v line, black hair messy as his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”

His last fuck had left right before you came, coincidentally of course.

“N-no.” you objected sternly. “I’m here to ask you again to just be.. what are yo-“

You swallowed hard when he began stalking towards you, a sinister grin on his face as you were backed up against a wall. His breath fanned your head as he bent his neck. Hands on the walls near each side of your face. “Your face says otherwise, doll.”

“No it d-doesn’t.. you’re just a cocky old man preventing me from getting things done.”

Toji’s brow raised with a deep hearty chuckle, “Back to that nickname i see,” His hand grabbing hold of your cheeks and squeezing them together. “Gonna have to clean that mouth of yours, teach you how to be a good girl.”

You whimpered lowly, feeling wetness pool between your legs as you looked up through your lashes. Toji’s eyes trailing to your glossy lips as he inhaled sharply. “Don’t worry, this dirty old man’s lips are clean”

Pressing his lips roughly to yours, your eyes widening as you gripped the edge of your skirt with a moan. Toji smirked against your lips, his hands hooking beneath your legs as he lifted you up. Your frame so much smaller in comparison to his larger one.

Toji was quick to bring you inside. And you found yourself sitting on the man’s lap, your skirt bunched up at your hips as he hammered up into your wet cunt with brute force. His hands kneading into the flesh of your ass each time you ground your hips onto him.

You let out a loud mewl, his thick cock stretching you out and grazing against your gummy walls as he fucked you deep. Feeling him within your stomach when you cried out. “Fushiguro-san— ah, so- ngh g-ood.”

“That’s not my name doll, try again.” he growled deeply, landing his palm onto your ass in a hard slap. And you whimpered tearfully at the sting. “T-toji—” Another harsh smack burning through your flesh making you let out a cry. “Last chance.”

You moaned loudly, your back arching as Toji slammed into you. “D-daddy, ahh daddy, o-oh fuckk—,”

Toji hummed in satisfaction, “Look at you, thought i was a dirty old man hmm?” His teeth biting softly at the delicate skin of your neck, his pelvis hitting your red puffy folds relentlessly. “Moaning for me like a little slut, so fucking pretty.”

You let out a shaky cry, “Haah— F-fushiguro-san,” Your pussy clenched down on his girth, his rough hand making its way around your throat, squeezing the sides and forcing you to look at him. “Not gonna fucking tell you again.”

You mewled, “‘M sorry— nngh,” Your back arching when Toji bullied his cock deeper into you.

“Still waiting doll.” he grunted, eyes dark as his grip on your throat tightened, your moans and whimpers loud as his thighs noisily met your sticky cunt. “D-addy— ahh- so good,” you cried, feeling his angry tip forcing its way to your cervix, kissing the entrance with each harsh thrust.

“Good fucking girl, you’re getting there” he grinned with a groan. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, your pussy gushing messily onto him as loud squelching sounds filled the room. “Pussy’s so fucking tight— better be on the pill cause i’m botta cum in that pretty pussy, shit.”

“Ah— nngh daddy, ‘m close- gonna cum.” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and your lips parting in a string of incoherent babbles, Toji’s thrusts sloppy as he groaned.

“Gonna cum on this old man’s dick yeah?” He teased cockily, “Had so much talk for someone who’s falling apart on my cock.” Toji grunted, “Bet ya sat there listening like a lil perv, your hand down your panties hmm?”

You shook your head no with a cry, “Uh uh- ahh— wasn’t.”

“Sure about that? Sure you didn’t sit there and fantasize about me fucking you like a little slut?” His hand reached down to rub at your clit, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Your breathing sped up as you felt a coil buildup in your stomach. Your body shaking with pure ecstasy. You let out a high pitched scream, the stimulation to your g spot making your head go fuzzy. Vision turning white as you clenched down tightly on Toji’s cock.

“O-oh fuck— ‘m cumming— ah, cumming daddy.” Toji’s hand pressed down harder on your throat, the pressure restricting your air flow making you let out a choked mewl. Tears welling in your eyes as his heavy balls smacked against your ass.

“Nngh—” The ring of white thickened at his base as you let out whiny cries. Toji’s hand working small circles on the sensitive bud before he brought his lips to your ear. His voice deep and gruff as he groaned. “Fuck doll- squeezing me so tight, come on and scream for me.” He breathed, “make a mess on my cock.”

Toji’s mean pace became too much, a tight pull in your stomach as your mouth fell open, legs trembling with loud cries as an unfamiliar feeling washed over you.

It was heavenly, your brain going dumb and your pupils disappearing behind heavy lids as you screamed loudly, head falling back and nails digging into his shoulders as you fell off the edge.

Toji never slowing the movement of his hips, still hammering up into you despite the mess you were making on his thighs. Your pussy spraying streams after streams of clear liquid as you arched your hips, grinding back and forth to ride out your squirting orgasm.

“Even fucking louder than any of my previous fucks.” he laughed, “Wonder what the neighbors would say, went from being a whiny little bitch to being the same thing you complained about.”

You let out a whine, Toji flipping you abruptly onto your back, his hand still around your neck as the position allowing him to hit even deeper. “Fuck,” he grunted, his words in between each thrust. “gonna fucking breed that pussy so deep.” Letting out a low groan at the last thrust, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy kiss as he bottomed out.

A whimper fell past your lips into his when you felt him fill you up, his cum shooting in hot thick spurts along the walls of your cunt.

He smirked as he pulled away, watching you pant heavily. “Would make such a good breeding bunny.” Dipping his fingers past your lips and resting them on the back of your tongue. “Might have to keep you around, can’t be disturbed if you’re the one making the noise now can you?”

You shook your head tiredly, forcing your eyes to stay open as Toji pulled out of you. His sticky cum seeping out of your fluttering pussy slowly. Your brain was still so clouded, blinking in and out of blurry vision.

Toji hid the smile threatening to creep up onto his face, his face neutral as he plopped down onto the couch next to you. “Rest if you need to, then leave.” He said nonchalantly, trying to seem like his usual self despite the fact that he had not kicked you out yet. Which was something he never did, let a girl stay any longer than a second after sex.

The man would never admit it, but there was just something about you.

He wanted to make you his pretty little doll.

[bi-writes]

Okay but MOB sitting on Simon's lap, cuddling as they watch some movie Simon picked out because it was his turn. At one point she gets up and he thinks she's just going to use the restroom, hands on her hips to help stabilize her. Only instead of leaving, she turns around and sits on her knees between his legs. She bats her eyes at him but otherwise just soaking in how pretty he is. He probably makes a joke, says he loves her and when he still doesn't move figures she just wants a moment and continues to watch the screen.

When she finally works herself up to it, she starts sliding her hands up and down his thighs and just the sensation and imagery alone has him hard and he can't bring himself to ask her to stop when it feels so nice. Eventually her hands wander up further and she begins to play with the button of his jeans. Still not stopping her, even as she unbuttons and zips them down to pull out his erection. When he finally looks down, she stops and stares innocently up at him.

As soon as his attention's somewhat back up on the screen, she repositions herself and licks a stripe up his dick to bring his head into her mouth to swirl around. He doesn't even last that long and she doesn't let him pull her off when he comes.

Or something like that...

mail-order bride (18+)

simon likes action movies. they're his favorite, by far. he likes to watch the over-the-top car races in the middle of metropolitan cities, he likes big, stupid explosions and when the protagonist has their enemy at the end of their gun and says something cheesy like "you're not going anywhere now."

he told you once that he likes the simplicity. the happy endings. the key recovered, a family saved, the epic conclusion of an explosive journey that always ends in the bad guy in handcuffs and the good guy on a beach sipping a mai tai, getting the girl, saving the world.

you think maybe he likes it because it dampens reality. you have seen the aftermath of an op gone wrong; in this way, simon can fantasize just a little. he can pretend that there is nothing wrong with the world for 90 minutes or so.

what's so wrong with that?

he's so pretty.

he ran errands for you today. came back from the store with a paper bag in his hands, setting it down on the counter and unpacking it. you were sat at the kitchen counter, the orange cat wrapped up completely in a burrito of a towel so you could cut her dagger-like claws without risk of retaliation. simon was watching carefully out of the corner of his eye, but as he unpacked the bag, you had all but melted in your chair.

a refill of your favorite makeup remover (you were going to run out tonight, guaranteed). vitamins (ya look right sick, baby, drink y'r juice). your favorite brand of pads (just tell me which ones, i'll get it right, promise). sour sweets (cherry-flavored, of course, sour because he likes the face you make when you pop them into your mouth). when the last box hit the counter, you had dropped the cat, much to her relief.

condoms. fucking condoms.

no, he's not pretty. simon is so fucking hot.

he doesn't budge when you get up to put the empty popcorn bowl into the sink. when you come back in the room, simon is still staring at the television, eyes trained on the spy on screen hopping between rooftops as they dodge bullets. you bite your lip watching him, unable to stop thinking about simon, simon, simon.

he's wearing nice jeans. straight jeans, but even the extra give doesn't matter when your husband is made of pure muscle and fat. you can see his stomach through his shirt since it's tucked in, white fabric showing off that nice pudge that you love laying your head on, your palm, knowing how solid and strong he most certainly is. nghghhhh, and his arms--big, bulging, tattooed, a perfect canvas for colorful markers or glitter or maybe your tongue.

it's subconscious, really. the carpet is soft under your knees as you kneel at his feet, lowering yourself so you can blink up at him big and wide as he keeps his eyes on the movie. he does notice you, however; his big hand slides down his thigh, and your eyes flutter a little when he passes it over your head then down your face, a pretty little pet between his legs.

"not supposed to be on y'r knees f'me, baby," simon mutters, but you can't answer because his thumb slips into your mouth. you wrap your lips around it absentmindedly, running your tongue over the thick pad of it. "tha's my job."

you sit up on your knees, leaning over him, and he gives you his attention finally, a twitch of a smile as he bends his neck a little and kisses you warmly. you steady yourself by putting your hands on his thighs, gripping the meat of them firm as you slip your tongue into his mouth and draw a low grunt from deep within his chest.

"always working for me, simon," you whisper between kisses. "always..."

fuck, the blood rushes to his cock almost immediately. he has such a soft spot for you. taking care of you, doing things for you, buying you what you need--it makes him so fucking hard thinking about fulfilling every need of yours. you deserve nothing but nice dreams, good meals, happy cats, a well-loved pussy, all the love his broken heart can give. he chubs up in his pants every time you ask him for something.

can you carry this for me, simon?

oh, i need some help with this, baby, just here...

can you get me more of this? i'm about to run out.

the zipper is stuck, simon...can you get me out of this?

ugh, you're his walking wet dream. and you're kneeling in between his legs, his sweet girl pouting up at him, and--oh, fuck--

your hands are soft under his shirt. you've untucked it just enough, your warm fingers sliding along the band of his jeans. he hisses a little, his body stiffening, and you smooth a thumb over his belt before kissing him again.

"you're so pretty, simon," you whisper, and he licks over your bottom lip in response, drawing a soft whine out of you. his thighs widen just a little when he hears the clink of his belt, feeling the waistband loosen as you draw it out from the loops and toss it onto the carpet behind you. "such a handsome man you are..."

"come off it," simon growls a little, and you giggle, freeing the button and slipping your hand down. his mouth falls open in a silent moan as you cup him with a hot hand, fingers sliding under his length to fondle his balls.

"mmm..." you follow his sputtering mouth, breathing him in. "actually, simon...i really, really wanna get on it..."

"wot a brat," simon murmurs, clicking his tongue. "can't be fuckin' patient--ahh!"

you pull him out of his jeans with a firm tug before sticking your tongue out and kneeling back down to lick a curious stripe up the underside of him. simon is pulsing, radiating heat and already leaking beads of stringy pre-cum, and as you suck the tip of him into your mouth, you realize just how thick your husband really is.

you've never seen him quite this naked, quite this up close. when he fucked your thighs, he had felt big, but his cock is truly making a space for itself in your mouth--

"ah!" you gasp as he fists your hair and pulls you off, leaning down to kiss you hard.

"baby--"

"i want it--" you whimper, using your hands, letting the spit from your mouth drip down his cock as your fingers spread it wide, pumping him softly. "simon, please! please! you always say...always say i can have whatever i want, please..."

when he lets your hair go, you dive. you suck him into your mouth, practically purring as you press him back into the couch and suck. he tastes like a man should, like a husband should, musk and a little sweat and just enough soap to have you a little light-headed. with the first bob of your head, simon shudders, a big hand cupping the back of your neck as he drops his chin to his chest to watch you. he uses his other hand to push your hair back, his mouth falling open a little as he watches your eyes roll back in your head as you try to fit more of him into your mouth.

your mouth squelches with every bob. spit gathers around the edges of your mouth, little globs dripping out as you slurp and flick your tongue over every vein and soft patch of skin. you're making a mess of him, all soft mouth and wiggly tongue and gentle moans that make him seize up.

it's not even a minute of your soft sucking, and simon is caught off guard by his own release. he wants to apologize, but you look so fucking pretty, coughing a little around his wet cock.

you don't stop then either.

some of it drips down around your hands, his own cum webbing between your fingers and getting onto the front of your shirt and staining his jeans, but you keep your mouth on him. you nuzzle the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek, pull off just enough to suck so softly on the tip of him.

"baby, fuck--" simon chokes, watching you through lidded, hazy eyes. "please, fuck--"

"i want it," you whisper, smoothing a wet hand down his length. he's getting hard all over again, and he nearly cums a second time when you let your eyes find his and pepper kisses from the tip of him all the way to the base. "don't i get w-whatever i want, simon? c-can't i...can't i have more?"

simon chuckles a little. he uses his thumb to swipe a glob of cum off your chin, bringing it up to his own mouth to suck off with a snort.

"you want more, baby?" simon asks, and you sit back up on your knees, pressing your forehead to his as he eyes your lips. they're a tad swollen, kiss-bitten and wet. "wot more do ya want, hmm? wot is it my wife wants so much, huh?"

you smile, wide, those big eyes sparkling. you give him another slow stroke with your hand, and he hisses, gritting his teeth as he watches your smile get just that much bigger.

"i want you to stop playing games with me, simon," you say softly. "you'll never win. so just give me what i deserve."

"wot you deserve?"

"don't i deserve you, simon?" you ask, and when he fails to answer, you swipe your thumb over his cock, drawing a cracked groan out of him. "you won't make me beg, will you, simon?"

"no," simon pants, leaning further into you, pressing his face to yours. "never. my wife doesn't beg for anythin'."

"you promise, simon?"

"my wife gets woteva she fuckin' asks for. olways."