#is just an empty pill bottle with sugar in it

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: some more Nicky for the girlies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Back to usual. 

You say goodbye to Joey with an especially clingy hug. She’ll be gone back to campus by the time you get home. Her short visits always leave you a bit sad.

You arrive at Nick’s place and let yourself in. The remnants of the prior day’s get together are still littered over the dining room table and throughout the front room. There’s more in the kitchen.

You gather the empty glasses and a few bottles with varying amounts of liquid still inside. You scrape plates into the pin and sweep napkins in after them. You fill the sink with warm soapy water to wash it all when you hear the soft but clumsy pad of feet on the stairs. They’re too light to be Nick.

You have the coffee brewing in anticipation of your boss’ hangover. The aroma wafts into the air as the machine clicks. A figure appears in the doorway and you turn to greet the woman in her sleek but wrinkled dress. This isn’t unexpected either.

“Good morning,” you greet her stunned eyes as she blanches.

“Um, I’m sorry, I was only–”

“Coffee?” You offer her as you open the cupboard, “look like you need it.”

“N-no, I… should go. Is there a Starbucks around here?” She croaks.

“No need, I can do lattes,” you offer, “he’s got this ridiculously expensive machine.”

“Er,” she looks down at the heels dangling from her hand then back to you, “sorry, are you… do you live…”

“I work for Mr. Fowler. Just the maid,” you assure her. Her assumption fills your chest with an unspent laugh. You’re far too old for Nick. Besides, the concept is ridiculous.

“Oh…” her single syllable dangles.

You pour her a cup and turn to offer it to her. Her mouth slants in a guilty smile. She shambles forward and accepts the mug.

“You take sugar, cream? Maybe some Advil?” You suggest.

“Oat milk? And yes please, my head is pounding.”

“Right, he has almond milk,” you open another cupboard and pluck out the ibuprofen, “or whole milk.”

“Almond is fine,” she accepts as you rattle the bottle.

“One or two, hon,” you ask as you approach her again.

“Two, please,” she inhales the scent of the coffee and sighs, rubbing her eye socket before extending her hand to take the tablet, “the whole bottle if I could.”

“Ugh, yeah, I don’t miss those days,” you hum and cap the bottle.

You put it away and go into the large fridge, taking out the carton of almond milk for the woman. You take it to her as she approaches the island to clink down the coffee. You watch as she adds the milk and takes a slender spoon from you to stir it in. She takes her first sip and moans before tossing back the pills.

“Coffee good?” You prompt proudly.

“Oh, yeah,” she looks up at you, “yeah, it’s great.”

“Took me a while to master the beast,” you point to the machine. “I finally got my ristretto down, too.”

She gives a nervous laugh and gulps again, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, “you’re nice… really nice. Why?”

You blink at her question. It makes you wonder, was Nick not nice? That’s not really any of your concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You shrug and turn to the full sink, “you’re a guest.” You plunge your hands in and scrub the porcelain, “plus, you kinda remind me of my daughter. I’d like someone to treat her nicely too.”

“Ah,” she accepts, “that’s really sweet.”

“It’s human, I hope,” you open up the dishwasher to slide in each plate.

“You really… didn’t have to make me coffee,” she murmurs.

You peek over at her as she stares into the depths. She seems sad but that might just be the hangover. You continue your work as you reply.

“It was already on. If you’re hungry–”

“Please, no, that’s okay,” she declines with a wave, “I think… I think I’ll just finish this and get an uber. Maybe go call my mom.”

“Well, you let me know if you need anything before you go,” you chime as you hook glasses into the top rack of the dishwasher.

You finish the dishes and grab a damp cloth to go wipe the table down. You stop by a few other surfaces to clear away rings from the finish and return to the kitchen. As you enter from the dining room, Nick appears in the other.

The woman faces him as she grabs her shoes, “hi.”

He growls and lumbers over to the coffee machine. He sees the mug waiting for him and peers into its empty body. You clutch the cloth in your hand as you watch his naked back tense. He wears nothing more than a pair of briefs. At most, you’ve seen him shirtless when he needs some stitches.

“More coffee?” You offer the woman.

“No, I should go,” she peeks at him nervously.

“Alright, well, you take care,” you bid her and take her cup.

“Thanks,” she says and skulks to the door, “bye, Nick.”

“Mmm,” he flicks his fingers at her as he pours himself a cup.

You narrow your eyes at his shoulder blades. That wasn’t very polite. Well, it isn’t your job to be his mother, even if it feels like it sometimes.

You put the almond milk away as he turns to lean in the corner of the counter. He presses the porcelain to his forehead and groans. You shake out the cloth over the sink and rinse it out.

“You have a daughter,” he states plainly. A question but not really.

“I do,” you answer evenly.

“I didn’t know that,” he says.

You shrug, “guess it never came up.”

"You’ve worked for me for three years…” he mutters.

“You never asked,” you say lightly, “it’s fine.”

He lowers the cup and slurps loudly. He swishes the coffee around before he swallows thickly.

“Your husband okay with you working twelves?”

You chuckle, “sir, really, it’s fine.”

His curiosity is not usual. You stick to the expected, the manageable. You don’t stray outside the lines. You’re friendly but you’re not overfamiliar. He always seemed to prefer that. He enjoyed talking about himself far more.

“You were busy yesterday,” he shifts his weight to one foot, his muscled chest rippling.

“I suppose as busy as you,” you roll in the racks of the dishwasher and add soap before closing it up.

“I… interrupted your plans?”

“Sir, it’s fine, I had a good day off and now I’m back,” you insist, “are there any other messes I need to worry about?”

He tilts his head and exhales deeply. His cheek dimples as he considers you. The cut on his head is exposed but not as bad as it was, though the bruise under his eyes has only gotten darker.

He scoffs as a smirk slants his lips, “sure. You could change my bed sheets.”

“Sure,” you accept breezily, repressing the glimmer of concern at the base of your skull. 

Something about his response seems trite, as if he means to insult you. You’re an adult, you’re less than shocked at his after hours play. By now, you’re quite used to it. He’s in his prime, he’s well off, and he’s handsome by anyone’s measure.

“You could try some witch hazel,” you touch your cheek then point at his, “for the bruising.”

“I can handle it,” he retorts and pushes himself away from the counter, “enough chattering. Get to work.”

🥃

You knock on the office door and wait for an answer. The little device you keep clipped to your belt is still buzzing with Nick’s demand. He calls to you from within and you enter.

“Sir?” You greet him.

“What took you so long?” He growls.

He’s in a foul mood. He has been all day. He can be gruff, you’re used to that, but today, he just seems prickly. His romp must not have been much fun. Come to think of it, his partner had been all too eager to flee.

You shake away the intrusive thoughts and clear your throat, “I was in the laundry room. Sorry.”

“My head is pounding,” he rubs his temples.

“Right, sir, I’ll bring you Advil and some water–”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” he snarls.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sure I’m a lot older than your daughter, so cut it out.”

“I wasn’t– sir, I’m sorry.”

“Go, get the pills,” he shoos you, “and call Rhonda.”

You nod and leave him. Wow. You don’t think he’s ever spoken to you like that. The mention of Joey also puts you off. Why is he so concerned? Most people could look at you and assume you have a kid or too. At your age, with your hips…

You go downstairs to retrieve the Advil and a tall glass of water. You climb back upstairs and follow the airy hall down to your office. As you enter, he sits with his head in his hands, his elbows on the desk. You don’t say a word as you set down the glass and pills.

He doesn’t move. You back away slowly and pull out your cell phone. You’ll call the masseuse, she should be able to work out the tension.

As you get to the door, he growls and his chair squeaks.

“You said something, about witch hazel,” he snarls.

“Uh, yes,” you face him, “it’ll take down the bruising.”

He narrows his eyes, the gesture tweaking his swollen cheek. Even battered, he isn’t unattractive. And the woman in his kitchen was just as gorgeous. So you find it hard to fathom why he’s in such a mood.

“Would you like me to get it for you, sir?” You ask, trying not to sound too pandering.

“Sure, whatever.”

You sweep away and go down the hall to the cabinet. You keep everything stocked well. Part of your job is inventory. You’ll have to go through the liquor bottles later and see what needs replenishing too.

You return to him with the witch hazel and a bag of cotton balls. You place them on his desk as he leans his head against the chairback, his eyes closed. You step back on your heel and his eyes pop open.

“Would you mind?” He motions to his face.

“Sure,” you take the cotton balls and pull one out.

You uncap the dark bottle and dampen the cotton with the liquid. His eyes close again as you sidle closer and you dab gently along his cheek. He flinches, just once, then stills. It must be cold. 

His eyes flick open again and startle you as you retract your touch. Awkwardly, you move away and gather up the bottle and bag of cotton balls. He’s quiet as he leans forward to grab the bottle of pills.

“I should’ve guessed,” he says as he shakes two tablets out, “that’s what I do. I read people. You’re a mother, for sure. She’s older, isn’t she? College? You had her young–”

“Sir,” you sniff, uncomfortable.

“Just the one. And you didn’t answer me when I talked about your husband so he must be out of the picture. Divorced. About the time you came around here, huh? You need the job after the messy break up,” he suggests as he wags his finger with a knowing grin, “probably another woman, huh?”

You blink. You’ll let him think what he wants. His opinion of your marriage isn’t important. It won’t do to correct him anyway. He doesn’t really seem to care, he just wants to wound. You just can’t figure out what you’ve done to deserve it.

#nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #blurred lines #the 355

[fleshbride]

A HOUSE IN NEBRASKA. ────── ཐི Satoru Gojo x Fem Black Reader. In which a young man and his small town lover run to a house in Nebraska to escape the traumas of their hometown. ཋྀ

♱ CW: major character deaths, suicide, angst with a happy ending, brief alcoholism, racism/microagressions, childhood best friend & country satoru, small town bullshit, a single derogatory use of ‘nigga’. fluff. pet names such as: sugar plum, doll, honey, princess, baby girl, dream girl, darling, sweet thing & sunshine. smut; unprotected sex, whiny service dom gojo, sub reader. cervix fucking, fingering, oral (f! receiving), riding, breeding, extreme amounts of praise bc satoru talks so fucking much, overstimulation, dumbification, light choking, marking, nipple play, body worship, dacryphilia, begging, pussy drunk satoru. satoru is utterly in love with you and does not try to hide it. chubby reader.

♱ this fic is inspired by a house in nebraska by ethel cain, my favorite singer <3 it’s one of my much much longer fics… this fic is actually so ouch. i’m so so so sorry guys. like yeah there’s PASSIONATE love making, but it’s so so so sad. i actually sobbed writing this. it’s not proof read so pleaseeeee excuse any any mistakes!

♱ wc: 10.1k

You didn’t think it would hurt this much. You didn’t think you’d feel them lodge in your throat, push down your esophagus with a burn. You take more gulps of water, as you gasp and choke. It helps a little bit. You swallow more. And more. And more. Until the bottle of oxycodone is empty. How many were in there? About thirty. You grasp at another bottle. Cross contamination is always the best method. Those go down your throat just as horribly as the rest.

You’re sitting on the floor now, waiting for your death to approach. The pills are burning down to your stomach, and you gulp more water. You stand on shaky legs, and stumble your way to your bed. It’s empty. Like so many other things. Like your heart.

You remember how you got to this point, in your final hours. As you collapse into your bed, eyes fluttering shut, you allow the memories to wash over you.

Two years ago, you lived in a small town in Alabama. It was your nineteenth birthday and you were intent on celebrating in a way that satisfied you. However, while legally an adult, you still weren’t old enough to do too much. And frankly, you weren’t well liked within town. Why? Well, in such a small town, even one you grew up in, that was predominantly another race… They weren’t very accepting to your differences. They weren’t very accepting to your skin, to your hair, to your body, to your personality. They weren’t accepting to you at all.

Even though you grew up there like the rest of them, played with their children, held some of their sons and daughters while they cried and helped them pass their classes, and walked the graduation stage with them. You were still an outsider.

And it was okay — because you had Satoru.

Satoru Gojo, the one of the only other people of color in the entire town — even though he was pale haired, with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen, like everyone else in the town — was your best friend. You two had been best friends since third grade when he beat up some kid that called your afro ugly, and then you kicked some kid in the balls when he made fun of Satoru’s eyes, since he was Asian. Even at a young age, you two knew that those things were wrong — and you had to stick together.

And you did. You’ve stuck together all your lives, even through middle school, when your boobs started growing, and your hips started widening, and he got taller and his voice got deeper, and all of a sudden, there was this weird feeling. You stuck together through high school, when you got your first boyfriend, and he got his first girlfriend, neither of which ended well. Stuck together even when everyone twanged out, “Are y’all fuckin’?” You stuck together.

So of course, your birthday is spent with him.

Satoru still lives with his parents, technically. They own a ranch on the outskirts of town, and Satoru has his own personal little refurbished barn house, which he got for his graduation present. You’re always there, even more than your own home. Even now, you’re waiting on the wraparound porch of your house, hand over your eyes as you squint into the distance.

You can make out Satoru, on a horse, and with another at his side. He didn’t. You feel yourself squeal at the sight of the familiar white horse; your favorite one. Her name is Jezzy, and she’s the only white horse they have. You and Jezzy had bonded when Jezzy was first born, a little calf. You’ve been her favorite, and vice versa ever since. Frankly, she likes you more than the man that takes care of her.

You don’t wait for Satoru to get to your porch. You run to him, your gladiator sandals slapping against the dirt path and making your white-painted toes dusty. The pink and green floral dress you wear flutters around your knees as you sprint, the wind whipping your neck. Satoru hops down from his caramel horse, Honesty. He’s running to meet you half way, and the smile that had made its way onto your face only grows wider.

He yells your name, and you yell his, and the two of you collide. You throw your arms around his shoulders, and his arms encircle your waist as he lifts you up into a spin. “Happy Birthday, girl,” he laughs in your ear when he finally puts you down. His familiar Southern twang bouncing in your ears. He kisses your forehead, before taking a finger to run through your newly straightened hair.

“Yer curls are gone,” he says, almost sad, his lips pulling in a familiar pout. “You’re gonna get ‘em back, right? Love it when your hair’s like that.” He leans his arm on your shoulder, a familiar habit, even though he’s much taller than you.

“Yes, Satoru,” you muse, “They’ll be back next week, no worries.” You laugh as he whoops, and jumps in the air, clicking his heels together and causing dust to rise up. When he lands, he gives you a proud grin, folding his arms. You notice what he wears. He’s wearing a black polo shirt, that’s tucked into blue jeans and his jeans are messily tucked into his boots. You chuckle. Him and those fucking boots. His wind breaker is thrown over the polo. However, your eyes linger on how his chest presses against the polo. His white locks of hair frame his face, although his cowboy hat smushes his hair, and his sapphire eyes gaze at you happily. You don’t look away and he smirks.

“How’s it feel bein’ nineteen, sugar plum?” Satoru asks as he leads you to Jezzy, who’s quick to snort at you and nuzzle your face with her huge nose. You giggle and scratch her neck, pulling away a little so she doesn’t ruin the makeup you did on your face.

“Doesn’t feel like nothin’, Satoru,” you respond, jolting as he grabs your hips and lifts you to help you onto the horse. His strong hands on your hips make you bristle a little, but you should be used to it now, shouldn’t you? “Just getting older.” He grins up at you from below, giving a little laugh. “Yeah, I get it, plum. I’ll be turnin’ twenty in December, and man… I was just a tyke, wrestlin’ in the fields yesterday.”

You laugh, watching as he boards Honesty. You two start the horses up and begin trotting down the path. There’s a few seconds of silence, before Satoru asks, “You sure y’wanna do this birthday party?”

Ah. You were so swept up by Satoru’s arrival that you forgot where he was taking you. His mother threw a party for you, and decided to invite ‘damn near everyone in town’, according to Satoru. He was very dubious, considering your treatment, but you agreed to it. At first, your mother wanted it to be a surprise party, but Satoru insistently shut that down.

“I’m sure, ‘Toru,” you say gently. The male smacks his teeth, and rolls his eyes a little, before adding, “We can tell my mama to cancel everything, y’know? She won’t be mad at’cha. She knows that the townspeople are dickheads.” You refuse the urge to laugh, because he’s right. They are dickheads. However, you have hope.

“It’s fine,” you insist, “I don’t wanna waste your mom’s hard work. Plus, I’m sure nobody’s gonna do anything on my birthday.�� Satoru sighs, but he doesn’t press any further. You’re not too worried; you know if something does happen, he’s right behind you, and he’ll come in swinging. There hasn’t been a time that he hasn’t. However, despite that, you can’t help but secretly feel jittery and nervous.

The rest of your ride to Satoru’s home is filled with jokes, and playful banter. The cool night air swirls around you two, making you shiver a little. You should’ve brought your cardigan. Satoru’s eyes quickly catch on and he chucks his windbreaker at you. He doesn’t say a word as you catch it, he just nods at you. You slide it on, and even in the cool air, your cheeks feel hot.

When you two get in sight of the house, Satoru whistles out, “Race ‘ya!” And it catches you off guard, but you’re quick to spur Jezzy on into canter, her strong legs sprinting forward as the two of you race towards the large ranch house. You and Jezzy win, making Satoru groan. As you both slow down, beginning to head to the stables, he shoots, “You only won ‘cause it’s your birthday!”

Your smug smile says enough about how you feel about that; even though Satoru has more experience with horses, you have your own little luck with racing — you win every race.

You watch as Satoru slides off Honesty. She brays at him and nudges his shoulder, and he chuckles, cooing to her, grabbing both of the horses’ saddle handles, pulling them into the stable. You know better than to try to get off horses on your own; you’re thrown off balance, every time, and end up on your ass. So you wait patiently as he puts Honesty in her stable, before coming over to you.

“Didn’t forget ‘ya, sugar plum,” he grins at you as he presses his hands to your hips. Instead of helping you crawl down, he simply just lifts you down. The stables smell of a mixture of horse, hay and dirt. Even though it’s not the best smell, you’re not focused on it. You’re focused on the way Satoru looks over you as he sets you on, eyes raking over your figure.

The dress that’s glued to your wide hips, draped over your plush figure. Your makeup, delicately painted on your face; he can tell you took your time on it. And you’re still wearing his jacket. He smiles, tucking a strand of your collarbone-length hair behind your ear. “Look at you,” comes his affectionate murmur, one that makes a fuzzy, bubbly feeling spread from your toes to your head. “Just a doll. Prettiest fuckin’ girl in this entire town.” You feel those feelings rising inside of you, and you try to push him away, embarrassed as you say, “Oh, stop, Satoru,” but he pulls you closer by your waist, craning down to you to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Nuh-uh, doll. You jus’ look so beautiful. You always do, but tonight you’re just… wow. Yer glowin’, Y/N.” Your heart is racing as he squeezes the plush of your waist, making you let out a ticklish giggle. Often, there are random times where he gets affectionate with you, extremely so — you should be used to these moments, but you aren’t. Your hands fist into his shirt as his lips press from your forehead, to down your chin. Your breath catches when they get too close to your lips.

This isn’t friendship anymore, is it?

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispers into your ear, finally pulling away. You look up at him, eyes wide, as you breathily respond, “Thank you…” Satoru looks down at you, smiling gently as he hold you. He murmurs, “I have a surprise for you, y’know. Think you’ll like it.” Before you can question him, he places a finger right above your lips. He’s considerate; doesn’t wanna ruin your lip combo. “A little into the party. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

The two of you pull away from each other hesitantly, and Satoru kicks at the hay as he grins at you. “Party time, birthday girl. Come on.” The two of you exit the stable, sides brushing as you walk to his house.

Within ten minutes, you regretted insisting on going. Once you entered the ranch, carols of your name and ‘happy birthday’ echoed throughout the large common room. It was decorated in gold and white, with balloons everywhere and a little banner hung up for you. Satoru’s mother gave you a large hug, and wrapped her arms around your waist, steering you around to see the cake she baked you. You were all smiles and beams, immediately falling into her, with Satoru lumbering after, your hand outstretched backwards, clasped in his.

After you saw the cake, which was tri-tiered and your favorite flavor, you were passed around from person to person. You got many hugs, from townspeople you were sure didn’t like you very much, and to be fair; you enjoyed the kind attention. You wished it was your birthday every day.

Until, you got to a certain group of young women. You had graduated with the group, even though they were nasty as hell to you. As they approached you, you knew it wouldn’t be good. Vanessa, a tall brunette with pretty hazel eyes, gave you the fakest smile you’ve ever seen, before pulling you into a hug. “Oh, Y/N! Happy birthday, baby!” She cooed, squeezing you. You swallowed, wrapping your arms around her in turn. “…Thank you, Vanessa.” Once Vanessa pulled away, her two friends, Isabel and Megan, gave you hugs also.

“Ugh, Y/N,” Isabel began, running her fingers through your shiny silk press, “You look so much prettier with straight hair! Is this your real hair?” You give an awkward laugh as you gently remove her hand from your hair, looking around for Satoru frantically. Partygoers heard her comment and turned to tune in, furthering your discomfort.

“Yeah, it’s my real hair, please don’t touch it,” you tell her sweetly, watching as she rolls her eyes a little. “I was just complimenting you! You should wear it like that all the time, it looks so much better than your other hair.” You bristle uncomfortably. Were these bitches being racist? You swallow hard and give her a nod, and a smile.

Vanessa steps forward, eyeing you over before she’s chirping loudly, “And that dress is soooo cute! But it’s kinda tight.. Have you gained weight, or something?” Your smile almost drops, but you manage to keep it up, as you let out a delayed, fake laugh. People are starting to whisper and nudge each other, and immediately, more nosy sons of bitches turn to eye you. You’ve always been a bit thicker — that’s no secret. You didn’t have the skinny white girl genes, no. You were filled in by the time you were 13, and even as a nineteen year old, you had a bit of a plump body. You weren’t overweight or obese; you were perfectly healthy. It was just the way your body was. And the fact that these girls thought they could pick on you about it?

You refused to let it happen on your birthday.

“Oh no,” you cooed gently, mirroring Vanessa’s tone, “I haven’t! But um, are you recovering?” You blink gently at her. Fine, you think mentally, if she wants to put on a show, we can do that.

“From what?” Vanessa chirps hesitantly, eyes narrowing. She didn’t think you knew, huh?

“Those butt injections you got last month!” You answer loudly, putting a hand over your heart. Vanessa’s eyes widened as she looked around frantically, as people slowly began to whisper intently. She wasn’t used to the whispers, it seemed.

You were visiting at the local doctor’s office, when you overheard the doctor’s conversation with Vanessa, she was asking some questions about pain for it. You hurried to the bathroom before you could be seen, keeping the information in your head. From the corner of your eye, you see Satoru making his way from the kitchen. He’s obviously heard what’s going on, and doesn’t look happy.

“I didn’t get no injections!” She claims, trying to take advantage of the situation, “Y/N, how could you spread such a nasty rumor?”

“Huh,” You say, “That’s real funny. So you’re just gaining weight too, hm? We should go to the gym together, do some cardio, you know? You must be eating a lot, if it’s all going to your ass!” You giggle, pushing her shoulder and making it all seem like some joke. She has no choice but to giggle with you.

“You know who I haven’t seen here?” Megan speaks up and immediately, you’re on edge. While Vanessa may be the face of the trio, she’s the one who’s more lethal and intelligent with her words. You’ve learned this too many times from high school. “Your parents, Y/N. Typical Black parents, you know? Never there when their kid needs them.” And more publicly racist. You resist the urge to grab this girl by her throat, and show her what exactly your Black parents had taught you. It isn’t like they’re absent — your father passed when you were a teen, and your mother was a chronic workaholic, struggling to provide for you.

“Crazy,” you hear a monotonous voice go behind you. You know exactly who it is, and you couldn’t be more relieved. In typical country boy fashion, Satoru is behind you, chewing on a toothpick. “Megan, weren’t ‘ya crying to me about how your poor dear ol’ daddy beats on ‘ya? Typical Megan, y’know? Always self-projectin’.” He whistles as he presses his hand to the small of your back, steering you out the ranch, the comments of the party trailing behind him. In the faint throes, you even hear, “That nigga bitch…”

You pretend it doesn’t bother you as Satoru leads you to his barn.

Once you’re comfortably nestled in the warmth of his barn, you let out your frustrations about the racism of the town. Satoru sits next to you, his toothpick still resting in his mouth. He watches you intently, before humming out, “Ya done, doll? Don’t let those assholes ruin yer day. Matter fact…” He got up, heading to his little kitchen. You only watched, still fuming a bit.

“Close yer eyes!” The white haired man yells at you, and you do so obediently, pretty brown eyes fluttering shut. You wait for him, hands folded in your lap. You hear the couch creak a little and something set on the table.

“Open ‘em,” you hear his gravelly voice tell you, and you obey. Your eyes lock on a cupcake, with a single candle in it. You soften considerably, calming down immediately.

“Aw, Satoru..” You whisper gently, placing your hand over his, eyes flickering from his face to the cupcake. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah I did,” he retorts, squeezing your hand. “You didn’t get to eat any of the cake, even though it was yours, and we needed to be alone anyways. Make a wish, honey.”

You close your eyes, leaning to the cupcake.

I wish that Satoru and I are together as long as we live, and even in death, may we stay together.

You blow out the candle then, before sliding the candle out the middle and licking the frosting off of it.

“One more thing,” Satoru says, sliding his hand into his pockets. He pulls out a golden heart-shaped locket from his pocket, dangling it around his finger. “This is for you, birthday girl.” He cracked open the locket, showing the pictures. On one side was a picture from third grade, the first day they met matter of fact — Satoru’s mother had taken it as a memento. On the other side was your graduation picture, where Satoru had his arm wrapped around you and his lips pressed into your forehead. How far you two had come.

He waves the locket in front of your face, as you gasp at the picture. “We haven’t been able to find this picture years, how did you….?” Satoru only grins and shrugs, as if it was nothing at all. In your pure bliss, you throw your arms around him. His arms wrap around your waist in turn, hugging you tightly.

You can feel tears budding in your eyes as you whimper out, “This was so nice of you…! I appreciate it so much, thank you, I love you!” Satoru laughs as he rocks you, before responding, “Shh. It was no biggie. C’mere, let me put it on for ‘ya.”

You pull away gently from each other, and you turn so that your back faces him. He drapes the necklace over your chest, using his knuckles to push your chin up a bit. He fiddles with the hooks a little before getting it right and letting go. You skim your fingers over the locket before turning back around with a smile.

He opened the locket, looking at the picture. “Man. Can’t believe I found photographs of our school, on the day we met.” He smiles a little, as he looks between the two small pictures. His eyes flicker up to you, then back down. You only watch him with softening eyes. Your heart pumps, and that bubbly feeling spreads through you again. He makes you feel so warm. You’re not an idiot, you know exactly what the things you feel are. You weren’t dense; you knew for a long time.

But you can’t bear to say a word before he did. However, you didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Satoru takes a deep breath, his eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability. He gathers his courage before softly uttering, "I thought that you were so beautiful… it was love, I guess." His gaze remains fixed on you, his heart hanging in the balance, waiting for your response, hoping that his words have stirred something within you.

You don’t realize what he had said at first, before it registers. You double take, eyes widening as you look at him frantically. “Satoru. Satoru. It was what?” His face is pink as he looks away from you, but you were insistent, crawling closer to him as you plead, “It was what?” Your hands grab his shirt and he whistles, looking away from you.

Finally, he mumbles out, “… Was love, I guess.”

“What kind?” You press, tears bubbling in your eyes once more. It couldn’t be. He looks at you for what feels like hours. “You know what kind, darlin’. Don’t make me repeat myself. In a way I shouldn’t.”

“Say it.” You hiss, crawling into his lap. He spreads his legs immediately, making room for you as you place yourself in front of him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “Tell me.” One of his hands rests on your hip and the other trails to play with your locket.

He looks almost shy this way, his blue eyes heavy lidded as you request his words. He sucks in an inhale before he’s saying, “I love you, Y/N…. and not as your best friend. I want ‘ya to be my girl. There, said it… Please let me be yours.”

You’re silent. He wants you to be his girl. Your brain is slow to process it, slow to understand it, slow to reciprocate. However, as you reflect upon his desire for you, a wave of emotions starts to wash over you. Confusion is gradually replaced by clarity, hesitation transforms into certainty, and the realization of his affection for you fills your heart with joy. Suddenly, everything seems to make sense, like a complex jigsaw puzzle finally coming together to reveal a beautiful picture.

“Okay.” It’s all you say. Satoru’s eyes widen, as if he was expecting a rejection. Before he can answer, you’re pressing your lips to his, finally taking the initiative for fucking once. When your lips crash against him, it’s like heaven and hell have collided in a fiery, desperate match.

Satoru’s hands grasp at you, desperate, as his tongue pushes its way into your mouth, curling against your tongue. The way you two kiss is messy, and needy, saliva coats your lips, but it couldn’t be better. Satoru pants into your mouth as he runs his hands over your body feverishly.

“Fuck,” he grunts into your mouth, pulling away briefly to adjust his pants as best as possible. “So hard, you got me s’hard, doll. Shit, shit, get up, or ‘m gonna explode..” You can feel his dick, straining against his jeans beneath you. You don’t get up from your spot, and he lets out a groan into your mouth.

Your hands are sliding under his shirt, feeling the firm abs underneath, trying to touch any bit of his skin you can. His hands squeeze the swell of your ass as he nips at your bottom lip, before sliding his lips down to your throat. He begins to kiss your throat before sucking, biting, making sure your skin is covered in dark marks.

You grab his cowboy hat and throw it off, so you’re able to sink your fingers into his white locks of hair, letting out slight moans as his hands move from your ass to your tits. He caresses them through your dress, and you hiccup as he finds your nipples.

“You ain’t even wearin’ a bra?” He asks you, pulling away from the curve of your neck, to look at you. Satoru’s eyes are glazed over, and low. His face is pink, his hair is ruffled, and his lips are swollen, but he’s never looked happier.

You shake your head, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth nervously. “It didn’t look right with my dress…” Satoru only stares at you, before he’s throwing his head back, groaning. “Fuck, I can’t do this. I can’t do this, princess, I need you so bad.” His chest rises and falls so rapidly, and you can feel his bulge pressing up against you as you sit on him.

You need him just as bad as he needs you, the wetness in your panties tells you all you need to know. Satoru is looking at you with those violently blue eyes. You realize that you’ve been holding your feelings back for years, even now — your love for him, your attraction, and your pure, unadulterated desire.

“Please,” he whispers, pressing a small kiss to your lips, “Please let me put it inside you, please, just the tip.. Please, please, please, fuck, it feels like ‘m gonna fuckin’ die, please, baby girl, need your pussy s’bad….” You enjoy the way he’s acting; you’ve never been wanted like this before, and you doubt you ever will.

“Satoru, you don’t have to beg,” you murmur, draping yourself across his body, arms around his shoulders as he palms your ass and sneaks his hand down to cup your clothed heat.

“Know I don’t,” he whispers, fingers pressing against you in a way that makes you lift your hips, and whine a little. “Look at how wet you are, girl. Any more and ya just may flood your panties.” His fingers push your panties to the side and you gasp as the cold air hits your pussy. His other hand hikes up your dress, balling it up in his fist.

“Gonna make you feel good first, doll,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your jawline. “Relax, ‘nd let Satoru take care of you, mkay?” You nodded feverishly as a finger slid through your plush folds. His finger almost immediately found your clit and swirled around it, causing you to let a little mewl escape your lips. Satoru’s lips were meanwhile pulled into a smug grin at the sound you made. He maneuvered your body, so you were lying back against the couch, legs spread for him.

He tugged your panties down your legs and tossed them somewhere, before pushing the fabric of your dress up and settling between your plump thighs. Without wasting any more time, his finger circled your entrance, teasing you. You huff a little, pouting down at the white haired man, and he grins in response before sliding two fingers into you.

You moan, arching your back as pleasure seeps through you. Satoru’s long fingers reach farther than yours ever could. He smiles at you as he curls his fingers against your walls. “Such pretty moans, good girl,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your thighs, as he begins to pump his fingers inside of you. Your thighs twitch, and you grip at the couch. His fingers are skilled, scissoring and curling, as the sloppy sound of your wetness echoed through the barn. Satoru leaned forward, enclosing his lips around your clit.

The combined effort of his fingers and his mouth had you squirming and whining beneath him. He pressed a hand to your stomach, his movements halting and eyes narrowing as they snapped to you; you know what he was telling you. Stop moving or he’d stop.

You couldn’t take that. You stilled your movements, trying your best to relax as Satoru slowly resumed his ministrations, lapping at your cunt while sliding his fingers in and out of you. His fingers curled against a spot that had your toes curling as you cried out his name. He pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and had another finger pressing into your heat. You let out a squeal at the slight burn, hand flying to grip his hair. “Satoru-! Ah, that’s too much!” He gave you a silencing glare, blue eyes honeyed with lust. His fingers nudged your g-spot, and the whine that left your lips let him know exactly what he had pressed.

His movements all sped up, as you felt your stomach tightening. Between each of your moans was a pant, as you cried of his name. Everytime his fingertips pressed against your g-spot, you felt yourself get closer and closer to orgasm. Mixed with his tongue swirling your clit, you couldn’t take it. Your thinking got fuzzy as the rubber band in your core was pulled farther and farther. “Toru! I-I’m close!” You whimpered, as his quick, skilled movements brought you to your peak. Your eyes rolled back as you gushed all over his fingers, breathing hard. You didn’t even notice, in your stupor, when he replaced his fingers with his tongue, lapping up your essence.

His tongue was flat against your entrance, as he licked from hole to clit and back again. When you finally came to, you were whining all over again, sensitive as Satoru flicked his tongue across your bundle of nerves. You pushed his head, letting out a. “Hold on, ‘m sensitive!” Satoru smacked your hand away, mumbling out, “Shh, doll. Gimme another one.”

He dived back in between your thighs, mouth latched onto your pussy as he pressed his tongue against your hole, fat tongue working itself while he slurped at your essence. A mixture of his spit and your juices dripped down your ass – but he was quick to slide his tongue down, licking that right up.

He was messy with his mouth, unabashedly slurping, sucking, and licking everything you had to offer, the wet smacking noises echoing through the room. You would’ve been embarrassed if it didn’t feel so good.

Before long, you were about to cum a second time, eyes squeezing closed as you gasped and spasmed, letting out a broken cry as another orgasm claimed your body. Satoru was ecstatic, lapping up your cum and guiding you through your high without breaking a sweat.

Once you came down from your high, he pulled away gently, his intense gaze locked on you. His eyes glimmered, pale hair askew as he latched his mouth back to yours. His hands gripped at your dress, yanking at the sleeves to pull them down your arms, before the entire dress was coming down to your waist.

Your lips moved feverishly as you fiddled with the buttons of his polo, and he raised his arms to slide it off. His buff form was revealed, abs firm and his strong arms moving to cocoon you against him. There were gentle words being exchanged between your lips. “So gorgeous, Y/N. Fuuuck, honey, can’t wait to feel your pussy ‘round my dick.” Satoru mumbles as his fingers fumble with his jeans. However, before he unbuttons them, he looks at you. “You sure you want this, sunshine? We can stop here, and keep kissin’. Fuck what I want, ‘kay? What does m’girl want?”

God, you didn’t think that he could get any hotter. But his consideration of your wants and needs make you get even wetter. “Satoru, I want you,” you say gently, one hand pressing to the side of his face. He nuzzles into your touch, eyes softening. “Want you too, sunshine. So much I just might go insane..” He finally unbuttoned those stupid jeans, yanking them down and his boxers with it. His length sprung out, and your eyes popped out of your head.

Satoru was the size that those fake ass dick pills promised, his tip pressing just under his belly button. His tip was mushroom shaped and fat, as pink as his blushed cheeks, and weeping fat beads of precum. His length was a bit on the skinnier side, and although his girth wasn’t anything to fear too much, his length definitely was. His dick was something straight out of porn propaganda.

“Toru, that’s not gonna fit,” you found yourself saying, your eyes flickering from his length to his pretty face in anxiousness. Satoru only leaned down to kiss you, shutting you up. “It’s okay, princess” he whispered sweetly. Even now, as his dick pressed against your stomach, his tip landed slightly above your navel. “Don’t be scared, ‘m gonna take such good care of you,” his kisses went down your neck, to your chest. He kissed around your breasts, before his tongue flicked out to lick your right nipple, hardening it. He turns his head, lavishing the same attention on your left. His hands multitasked, grabbing a pillow and sliding it underneath your back.

His kisses moved to the valley of your breasts, before going down your stomach. He pressed kisses into your love handles, to your stomach, to your cunt, which made you giggle, to your thighs, before he was holding up your legs and kissing up your calves. He even kissed your feet. He traced your stretch marks lovingly, murmuring out, “Only God knows how I’ve waited for this. For you. Fuck, Y/N, you’re just so fucking beautiful. More beautiful than any of the women in this town. Shit, I could cum just lookin’ at you…”

You couldn’t help but simper at his words, face warming as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Please just fuck me already, Satoru.” His tip slid against your clit and you let out a soft whine. “Please, just…” You were silenced by the feeling of him rubbing his tip down your slit, collecting your juices before you felt him pressing against your hole.

You hissed, hands flying up to his shoulders as your nails dug into his skin. To distract you from the burn of him entering you, he began to lather kisses and lovebites across your throat and collarbones. Your hole stretched around his tip, as tears burned in your eyes, the slight pain making you shift uncomfortably.

“It’s okay, baby girl, I got you,” he whispered against your skin, tongue sliding across your throat as he sucked more hickeys onto the expanse of your throat. He pushed his tip in, and once the burn of it faded, he fed you inch by inch of his dick. Your pussy constricted around him, sucking him in greedily as your juices coated his length.

The feeling of him bottoming out inside of you had you letting out a high-pitched whine, eyes rolling back. Above you, Satoru let out a whine identical to yours. “Oh, f-fuck,” he stuttered, his eyes squeezing shut, “Fuck, almost came. You’re so warm, ‘nd wet— You feel so good, baby doll, oh shit.. Your pussy’s grippin’ me so nicely, fuck, I-I can’t take it.. Oh my God, tell me when I can move…”

Satoru was breathing heavily, as he looked down at you, your pretty face contorted in pleasure as his tip nudged against your cervix. Just the feeling of him stretching you out had you seeing stars, euphoria coursing through your veins. When you finally adjusted, you tapped his shoulder, telling him you were ready.

Satoru pulled out, so that only his fat tip was inside of you, before rocking his hips into yours. That first shallow thrust had you release a hiccuped moan, gripping his shoulders. He took this as a positive sign. Satoru’s thrusts were slow, yet deep, and each time his tip was pressed to your cervix.

The feeling of it, thought it hurt some, was extremely pleasureful to you, and a whine of, “Faster, please,” exited your lips. Satoru’s brows furrowed slightly as he grinned. “Alright, darlin’ but when you can’t walk in the mornin’, don’t blame me!” He pulled out a little before pushing his hips into yours. He delivered you those deep strokes, just at a much faster pace.

Your tits bounced, body propelled forward as he held your thighs for stability, his dick stretching you out, stirring up your guts. The angle from the pillow only heightened your pleasure, and each thrust forced out a blissful whine or a whimper of his name from you.

Satoru let out heavy groans, not scared at all to let you know just how good you felt around him. And even better, he leaned down to let husky murmurs of praise fill your ears. “Such a good girl, takin’ me s’good… Like your pussy was made for me. You feel amazing, darlin’, wanna make you cum so bad… You feel good? Please tell me ‘m making you feel good, baby girl…” His voice was breathy and desperate in your ear, as you struggled to form the words he wanted to hear. “Please, baby? S-Shit, let me know how good ‘m making you feel on your birthday.”

His words only drive you crazier, head spinning as you gasp out, “Makin’ me feel s’good, Satoru! P-Please, please, please don’t stop, oh my God!” Satoru cursed under his breath as his hands slid from your thighs to your breasts, squeezing at them. His fingers circled your nipples, before he pulled, twisted and rolled them between his fingers. It only shoved you closer to the edge, as his tip briefly pressed against your g-spot. The brief gasp you gave from it let Satoru’s perceptive ass know, and he angled his hips to hit that spot, instead of your cervix.

The sound of your hips colliding filled your ears, along with Satoru’s raspy moans. Within no time, you were alerting him, “Toru, ‘m gonna c-cum again!” The third orgasm you had in a row, and it seemed like Satoru wasn’t stopping. He chuckled, moving one of the hands on your tits to swirl your clit in rough circles. “Mhm, go ‘head, sweet thing. Let go f’me.”

It pulsed underneath his finger pad, as your third climax seized your body. Your breathing heavy and quick as you let out gasped out, long moans and wails, your pussy clenching around his length as you creamed around him. Euphoria was spreading through you, to every part of your body.

Satoru’s eyes widened as he fucked you through your orgasm; his own was catching up to him, and it had him letting out deep whimpers mixed with his moans.

“Can I cum in you?” He gasped, hands gripping your waist. His nails digging into you so hard, crescent marks were being left on your skin. “Please, baby? Fuck, need to cum s’bad, and I wanna see my cum dripping from your pretty pussy…” He shoved his face into the curve of your neck as he began to beg. “Please, Y/N, wanna feel you around me while I fuckin’ cum, I-I need it, please, you feel s’perfect and I just wanna fill you up and watch it slide out. Wanna pump you full over and over until you’re filled with my babies—“ Satoru was rambling by now as he bucked desperately into you. He let out a shaky whine against your skin as your bodies collided passionately.

Your sensitive body quaked in his hold as he pleaded to cum in you. You couldn’t deny him, not when there were tears budding in his eyes, and his swollen dick was fucking you up like this, and he looked so pretty whining out your fucking name. You gave him a nod, even though your brain was foggy and you could barely care about what you were saying yes to.

Satoru let out a sigh of relief, moaning out, “Thank you, princess, thank you, thank you, love you, I love you—“ The feeling you got when you felt that first spurt of cum fill you was unbelievable. Warmth spread through you, as Satoru’s dick twitched and bobbed inside of you, before he was releasing his thick cum into you.

Just like he said he would, Satoru stuffed you full of his cum. He collapsed against you, face in your titties as you both breathed hard. He pulled out slowly, his dick getting a little soft. In a heartbeat, he was spreading your ass so he could watch his warm cum trickle from your hole.

And just like that, he was hard again.

You watched with dazed eyes as his dick twitched, ready to go again. Satoru grinned at you, tilting his head as he said, “I’d eat my cum out of you right fuckin’ now, but I need to feel you around me one more time.” He scooped you up, maneuvering so he was laying back and you were in his lap again. “For every year you are,” he murmured, his finger trailing down your spine, “Is every round we go. Every position we swap. I can keep up… Can you?”

You knew you couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t compete with his stamina. But you nodded your head yes, and lifted your hips anyways as a mix of both of your cum slid down your thigh. “Mhm, baby,” he laughed a little, holding your hips as he guided you. “You can keep up? I’ll have you fucked dumb by round five. Maybe even this round. Hopefully ya last, birthday girl.”

Before you could even respond to his bravado, he pulled you down, spearing you on his length. You let out a squeal, as you clutched his arms. You were still sensitive, and you made sure to whine it loudly. His hands moved to grip your ass, pulling you up and dropping you back down. His tip bumped your cervix s he did so, and you mewled, pressing your face into his chest.

“Nuh uh, sugar, you can last right?” He taunted, even though his breath was shaky. “Ride me. Right now.” He wasted no time with sliding in a joke, “You ride horses so well, I’m sure you can ride mine.”

You bit your lip as you planted your feet into the couch, using your lower body strength to pull your body up. You began to bounce down on him feverishly, immediately setting a fast pace for yourself. Satoru hit all the spots you needed, and you felt your fogged brain saying that you should’ve fucked him much longer ago.

Satoru cupped your ass as you rode him, stuttered breaths leaving him. “Oh, s-shit, baby, yer goin’ so fast—!” He gasped, your pussy clamping down on him like no other. You kept going, ignoring him, as if you were using him. You had something to prove. You purposefully clenched harder around him, intent on making him cum first, to prove he was the one who couldn’t last.

Satoru, unfortunately, quickly picked up on what you were doing. His hands gripped your hips once more as he huffed, “Sweet thing’s got a vendetta. Mm, fine. I’ll bite.” His heavy lidded lapis eyes peered at you as he began to thrust upwards to meet your bounces, tip jamming against your g-spot. The only noises that left your mouth were squeals, the little bit of control you had dissipating.

Satoru quickly regained his control as he fucked up into you, watching as your tits bounced and your eyes rolled back. Your sweat covered bodies merged, and his eyes were fixed on the way his dick slid in and out of you, and the cum coating his length. The noise of him pounding into you seemed to be amplified. For another time, you felt yourself reaching a climax, stomach tightening as your jaw went slack. It was coming so fast, you couldn’t even alert Satoru.

You let out strained moans of pleasure as he continued to fuck into your sensitive pussy, bringing you to the peak of ecstasy for the fourth time. The throbbing sensation in your clit, though slightly painful, only added to the intense pleasure coursing through your body. Each orgasmic wave that washed over you was a testament to the overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing.

Finally spent, you dropped against him, whimpering pathetically as he continued to use your body like a cocksleeve. Tears filled your eyes as he pushed past your sensitivity, fucking into you like a menace. You knew he had stamina, but God, this was insanity. His hand wrapped around your neck loosely, tilting your head up to look at him.

The sight Satoru laid his eyes on was heavenly. Your hair was mussed, starting to sweat out; your makeup was becoming messy from the tears beginning to slide down your face. Your lip combo was long gone, though there were remnants on both his lips and yours. The sight of your tears only fueled him, as he kissed them away. “Thank you for letting me have your body like this, pretty. Pussy was made for me. Just divine, you’re jus’ divine.. Gonna marry you and then ‘m gonna fuck you so much that your body wouldn’t be able to escape pregnancy— You want my babies, don’t you? Say yes, tell me you want me as much as I want you…” Satoru was very obviously close, the trembling and the rambles were a tell tale sign.

You found yourself mindlessly nodding to everything he said, and it wasn’t long before he was shooting another load deep into you. You thought he was done, before he was grabbing your chubby thighs, hoisting your legs up, and locking your body into a full nelson position.

As he drilled his long cock into you once more, it was simply too much for you. You gave in, mind going blank as he slammed into you, filling you to the hilt. Your eyes were glazed over, tears still falling. Your mouth hung open as overstimulated whimpers left your lips. You came a fifth time, but you were so far gone, you didn’t even notice.

“L-Look at you,” Satoru said, his lips pressing against your shoulder, “Too much for you, yeah? Look so pretty like this, sweet girl. Fuck, fuck, fuck, ‘m cummin’ too quick—!” Satoru was overstimulated himself, but that didn’t stop him. As he came a third time, the both of your fluids slathered all over his dick as he dropped you from the nelson, and flipped you onto your hands and knees.

“Need more of you,” he rasped, spreading your ass as he messily spread his cum around your pussy and thighs, before stuffing you full once more. He pressed kisses into your spine, as he gripped your ass, fucking you from behind.

The sex was depraved, as Satoru fucked you like a man starved. You were too far gone, drooling into the couch as he fucked you like you both were dying tomorrow. But, it wasn’t long before he was finally slowing down, heavy balls squeezing as he began to have dry orgasms.

Finally, he pulled out, scooping your barely there, sex-addled body up and carrying you to his bed. He dropped down into bed, you on top of him as he threw the blankets over the two of you.

He pressed kisses to your face, and then your lips, as he whispered, “Even if we die tonight, then I’ll die yours, and you’ll die mine.” Somehow you managed to reciprocate, as exhaustion slowly claimed you. “So then, I’ll die here under you; every night, all night.”

The last thing you heard before you passed out, were Satoru’s whispered love confessions, and promises for the future.

Your honeymoon phase of the relationship seemed to be forever, although things in town got harder. People were more openly racist; vandalizing your home, your father’s grave, and your mother managed to somehow overwork herself to death. You were now alone, in an empty house, and with an empty heart. Save for Satoru.

Where darkness lingered in the corners of your life, he was the light that banished all of it. To escape, he often drove you to Nebraska, far enough but still close. The two of you found an abandoned house on the outskirts of the state. A single two-floor house. You loved it utterly.

Satoru was a bit of a criminal, stealing a bobby pin from your hair and picking the lock. Managing to get into the house, so you could see the interior. It wasn’t like anyone was there to care. When you were there, the two of you cleaned up the house, and pretended like it was your own place. It was the place where you found each other on a dirty mattress on the second floor.

Months passed. Then a year. Satoru turned twenty, then so did you. Like your last birthday, it was spent in love, and in a sex-crazed haze. You two pave your own road, feet weathering the trail to the house in Nebraska, leaving your mark. It’s in the spring, when you two are at the house, and Satoru gets on one knee, pulling out a golden ring with a bright diamond.

“When I came home after graduation, I told my mama I was gon’ marry you,” he said matter of factually, “She asked me if you knew that. I told her no, but you would eventually. So now, I’m askin’ you if you’ll bless me by being my wife.”

You screamed yes so loud, the two of you were sure you alerted others of your presence.

Your engagement angered the town. Although Satoru was a person of color too, they were sure he looked best with a white girl. It got to the point where they got violent with you. Calling you slurs, and being so racist, you became afraid to leave Satoru’s side.

But, it was okay — because you two stuck together, always.

You prepared for your wedding as best as you could in your anxious state. Satoru’s mother even bought you a wedding dress — from one of your favorite brands, Vivienne Westwood. Vivienne made the most beautiful wedding dresses.

However, your hometown was getting overwhelming. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder at any given moment. Satoru knew it was time to go.

He told his mother that he had to get you out of here — there was nothing but pain for you here. He couldn’t let you live like this. She understood, more than anything. She handed Satoru a wad of cash, telling him to visit soon.

He bought the house in Nebraska. How he found the owner, you never found out. But he bought that fucking house, and you two packed your bags and you never fucking looked back.

Nebraska was nice. You didn’t go into town often because of your anxiety, but Satoru assured you it was fine. You loved your home. You loved your future husband. You were soothed, and nothing could ruin it.

Until one day, Satoru didn’t come home from visiting his mother. You opted out that time, feeling a bit sick, and not up for the long drive. You got the call from his mother. You barely remembered anything but the words, ‘Shooting. Hospital. Coma.’ And you were catching the bus to Alabama.

You never wanted to return home, but you had to. You didn’t let them turn you away or shame you. You joined his mother in the hospital. And soon after you got there, after you held his hand, and sobbed his name, and kissed his face, and as if he was waiting for you, Satoru Gojo passed away.

The story was that Satoru got into an altercation with a group of men who said some horrible things about you. Even when they threatened him with a gun, he didn’t back down. He was always so protective when it came to you, and it killed him. And now, you were the reason that he won’t come home.

The birthday wish you made didn’t come true. Because the love of your life was gone, and you were so alone.

You stayed for his funeral. Open casket. Unlike everyone else, you didn’t wear black. You wore your wedding dress, and a veil. You were a widow, even though you hadn’t even gotten married yet. You never would. His mother held you by the waist, crying silently as she guided you to his casket. And as you leaned down to press a final kiss to his dead cold lips, nobody said a thing to you.

You disappeared soon after, with gentle words to his mother.

You retreated to your house in Nebraska, where you needed him. Months pass, and you need him still. You rot away in that house, plagued by memories. His scent still lingers on his untouched clothes, and sometimes you open the drawers to smell.

His mama calls sometimes, to see if you’re doing well. You lie to her and say that you’re doing fine. When really you’d kill yourself to hold him one more time.

You manage to force yourself to go to town, to buy things. You cry every day, and the bottles make it worse — because he was the only person you weren’t scared to tell you hurt.

And you feel so alone. You feel so alone out here. You feel so alone without him. You’re so alone out here, and you miss him more than anything. Every day, waking up without him warming you, breathing air that he does not share, it breaks you piece by piece. You feel so alone.

More months pass and you turn twenty-one alone. And you realize you can’t continue life like this.

You feel so alone.

On your twenty-first birthday, you put on your wedding dress, the one you never got to walk down the aisle in. You pick up the pills, sobbing as you whimper, “I’m so alone out here without you, baby.” You down the pills.

You remember all of this as you die, life flashing before your eyes. You’re curled up in your bed, now clutching one of his shirts to your chest. It’s like you fall asleep, despite the toxicity causing your body to fail. You finally die.

You wake up in a garden of flowers. Lillies of the valley, to be exact. You look around wildly. Cloudless blue sky, and flowers to be seen for days. You’re in your wedding dress. Is this what the afterlife is like? An endless, calming flower field? A breeze ruffles you. You begin to walk. Time doesn’t seem to pass here, because you can’t tell if it’s been seconds or days.

You know you’re dead, but why are you here?

“Y/N?”

You freeze. You know that voice. Tears fill your eyes, and you turn slowly. There he is. That ruffled white hair, bright blue eyes staring into you. You see the tears that well in his eyes, mirroring yours. “What are you doing here?” He cries, and he’s rushing to you, and he’s gathering you in his arms, cupping your face. You’re shaking your head and sobbing, because it’s him, it’s him and he’s here and you can hold him again.

“What’re you doing here, dream girl?” He sobs and he’s pressing his lips to yours, kissing you as if you’ll fade away. The kiss is salty as you two hold on to each other, tears mingling. When the two of you finally break away, he’s still holding your face, as you sob out, “I was so alone without you, Satoru! I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t live without you!”

He sobs harder and holds you against his chest, which is bloodied. “You killed yourself?” You nod ashamed, but he didn’t yell at you, or judge you. He never, ever has. He holds you, pressing kisses into your face, your hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t want to leave you — I held on, I held on until you came, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to survive,” he cried into your hair, “Leaving you hurt so much. It hurt more than getting shot did. We were supposed to have so much time. We were supposed to get married and have babies and die together when we old a-and, we didn’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whimper back, as he squeezes you tight, tighter than he ever has. If you were alive, you’d be struggling to breathe. “But I wish you would’ve let it go. Let it go and came home to me.”

Satoru doesn’t respond, instead he’s pulling away to kiss you again. “I wish I did too. I would’ve came back to our house in Nebraska, where the world was empty, save you and I. But at least we’re here. I don’t know where it is, but this is where I’ve been. Waiting for you to come. I just want expecting it so soon.” He sniffles, obviously sad.

“I had nothing left for me,” you whispered, as the two of you lace your fingers together, “I needed you still. I… I was horrible.”

“I visited you in your sleep a lot,” Satoru admitted, as the two of you began to walk. “It was the only time I could. I watched you sleep, all the time. You slept with my shirts. It made me feel good.”

You lean against him, he’s warm and he smells just as though you remember. You two walk, for a while, talking about the future you deserved.

Until you reach a house.

A house identical to your house in Nebraska.

“Well, I’ll be,” Satoru whispered, obviously shocked, turning to look at you. Tears were falling down your cheeks as you smiled, whispering, “Guess you’re stuck with me, even in death.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be stuck anywhere else,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. He pulled a bobby pin out of your hair, and just like old times, Satoru picked the lock to the door.

You two stuck together; in life and death, and you still call home that house in Nebraska.

#jjk x reader #jjk #⭒ ݁ . ໒꒱​ jazi writes #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #black fem reader #black reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x fem reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk angst #jjk x poc!reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #angst #ethel cain #🎧

[onwednesdayswewrite]

you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

chapter two of this hell is better with you

Pairing: ghostface!Tara Carpenter x ghostface!Reader  

Warnings: canon typical violence for scream, talk of murder (no details, but they do kill someone) blood, cursing, misuse of prescription drugs, dark themes. this isn’t smut...but like smut adjacent, it gets a little spicy. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SCREAM 6

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Reader and Tara are tired of fighting their urges. 

Also no one ever talks about how tiny Jenna would be as Ghostface so I felt the need to roast her a little☠️

~~~~

You watched as Samantha Carpenter’s gray Honda Civic rolled to a stop at the curb in front of you. It sat there for a few moments before the passenger door popped open. Tara appeared, an iced coffee tight in her hands, despite the freezing temperature. Her white Converses were traded for Doc Martens to give her more traction on the ice that covered most of the sidewalk. You met her eyes, and you could tell she wanted to greet you. But she wouldn’t, not with Sam so close. Sam was still ridiculously overprotective despite Tara begging for just a little freedom. You understood Sam’s worries given what they had been through. But this was all just too much, Tara needed to live her life. You shook your head, you didn’t want to look anymore. Tara was an adult, and more than capable of getting  herself to therapy. Sam needed to loosen the leash just a little. 

‘You should get rid of Sam, she will only make things harder’ the pill bottle felt light in the pocket of your winter coat. You shook the bottle but no sounds followed. Empty. ‘It's more fun this way, and you know it’ you wanted to argue back but you knew it was right. With every passing day the urges got stronger. You couldn’t fight it for much longer. You wouldn’t fight it for much longer. 

“I’ll walk back to the apartment” Tara started to close the door of the car. You could tell Sam wanted to make a comment, but the tone of Tara's voice didn’t leave much room for argument. Instead, she nodded, letting Tara shut the door with a thud. Tara stood for a moment, seeming to make sure Sam actually was leaving, before heading in the direction of the meeting hall. 

As soon as Tara was within reach, you pulled her to you. Tara let out a sigh of content when your arms settled around her smaller frame. You didn’t care if Sam was still close by. You missed Tara, and you certainly weren’t going to let her sister stop you from kissing your girlfriend. The taste of her sugar cookie iced coffee lingered on your lips when you pulled away. 

“You're gonna get us caught” Tara scolded, but hardly made any effort to move away from you. 

“Let her” Sam’s car made a left turn onto the main street, almost out of view. Her tail lights disappeared amongst the sea of red. Tara’s giggle turned into a misty cloud as it hit the cool air. You pulled her in for another kiss, and a warmth spread through your cold bones. Her ambrosial smell masked the scent of garbage and cigarettes that permeated through the city streets. Daisy by Marc Jacobs had been a popular choice, but it fit her. Tara bounced on her feet a little in your arms, visibly calmer and happier in your presence.

 The cold february wind cut through the skin, your scrubs doing little to shield you from it. A giggle vibrated against your chest, Tara squirming as you tried to zip up your coat with her inside too. When that didn’t quite work, Tara was still content with letting you hold her close. The start of spring semester brought long, cold days, and endless hours of clinicals. Tara hated it, the hours away from you. You could feel it even now by the way she clung to you, relishing the feeling of your skin on hers. You hated it too, but you knew Tara felt it more. It hurt her. 

Snow whipped around with the wind that cut through your coat like a hot knife through butter. Your gloves only made it harder to put the key in the lock, and served no real protection from the cold. A surgery ran long, leaving you stumbling through the door just after 2 am. All you wanted was your bed, and Tara. But you didn’t expect to see her still awake. 

The original Stab movie played softly, the dim light of the tv being the only thing illuminating the living room of your apartment. Tara’s favorite baby pink sherpa blanket and your old high school band hoodie were tightly wrapped around her on the sofa. Tara looked cozy, and her eyes desperately fought to stay awake to greet you. 

“Baby, what are you doing still up?” you weren’t mad, but you knew the hours tickled closer to her 6 am alarm to have her ready for classes. Your schedules didn’t often match up during the week, but you did your best to make do with what you could. 

“You know I can't sleep when you're not home safe” her voice was quiet and thick with sleep, like she was trying not to wake herself up too much. 

“Can I please take you to bed now?” you pulled off your winter clothes as you rounded the couch. You almost didn’t even wait for Tara to nod before scooping her up in your arms. She was practically dead weight in your arms as her body finally succumbed to the exhaustion. Her pink blanket still hung around her tiny body as you made your way down the hall. 

“Just one second, baby” you whispered in her ear as you set her softly on your bed. It was practically your shared bed now, with Tara using the key you gave her every night to get in once Sam went to bed. Only to get up early and sneak back in before Sam was any wiser. Tara claimed it was because the heat didn’t work right in her apartment, but you knew better. You didn’t dare question it or complain, the fleeting moments late at night and early in the morning were the only thing that kept you going on long days. A soft whine fell from Tara’s lips when you left her to change from your work clothes. 

Tara propped herself up on her elbow, watching your every move as you hurried to get ready for bed. Almost like she was terrified if she closed her eyes, you wouldn’t be there when she opened them again. Every few moments, her eyes would droop, her head following shortly after. Only for her to jerk back up, acting nonchalant as if she hadn’t just almost fallen asleep. But even when you flicked the light off, she didn’t miss a beat and had her hand ready to guide you into the bed. 

“Please don’t ever leave me” her body was warm against your cold one when you slipped under the covers. 

“I’m not ever gonna leave you, baby” you settled her against your chest. The room illuminated with every passing car headlight through a crack in the curtain. Tara’s breath evened out. “I will never, ever leave you, Tara Carpenter” you whispered into her hair, but you knew she was already asleep. 

“So I have a proposition” you leaned back against the brick of the building, rocking on your heels and pulling Tara with you. She eyed you suspiciously. 

“And what would that be?” a soft giggle followed her question. Her nose flared and dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. It was times like this where you craved sunny days to bring back her freckles. Her lip gloss glistened with the evening sun. For a moment you wondered if it was smeared across your face. But Tara’s lips were more tempting than the thought of her lip gloss. You weren’t one to have very good self control, so you didn’t push yourself when unnecessary. You pressed your lips to hers once again, then began peppering kisses along her jaw. 

“I propose that we get the hell out of this place, and do something a little more fun” your voice was barely audible against her ear.

“And what’s your definition of fun?” Tara’s voice dropped, her eyes darting from your lips, and then quickly back up to your eyes just wanting you to kiss her again. Her fingers were playing with the neckline of your scrub top. Other members of your group filtered into the building, paying no mind to the two of you. They were used to Tara being all over you until the very second group started, usually tumbling in a few minutes late. 

“Well there’s a few options” your finger hooked into the waistband of her jeans. Her skin was soft against your calloused fingertips. You tugged her close until her hips met yours. “But I have one that I think you will like the sound of most” you shrugged your backpack off of your shoulder. Tara tilted her head quizzingly, her eyes watching you pull open the zip. She peered into the backpack as you pushed away black fabric to reveal a Ghostface mask. 

“You, Tara Carpenter have stolen my heart, so let’s cut out someone else’s” you felt her shiver against you. 

“I thought you would never ask” she smiled up at you. A darkness took over in her eyes as she took your hand and tugged you down the streets of New York City. 

~~~~

Water ran over your knife. It mixed with the blood on the blade, and swirled together before running down the drain. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide sat by the faucet, your crumbled up shirt perched next to it, its blood strained edge hanging into the sink. You were annoyed to put it simply. Your favorite shirt was ruined, and Tara was taking far too long to return to the apartment. 

Your phone began to buzz, and the incessant tone followed after. It vibrated loudly against the wood where your leg rested on the cabinet door.  Liquid soaked through the sleeve of your robe, you weren’t sure if it was soaked more with water or blood. But at this point it didn’t really matter, you were covered head to toe in both. 

Tara’s picture lit up the screen of your phone. It was a picture you had taken at a local diner when you snuck her out one night when Sam was at therapy. Bloody water drops fell onto your screen as you answered, pressing on speaker mode. 

“Hello?” you answered, continuing to rinse the knife in your hands. 

“Hello, y/n” Ghostface’s voice crackled through the line. 

“Well it’s fancy speaking to you” you chuckled down the line. Tara was playing a dangerous game. Your knife hit the base of your sink with a clatter as you dropped it once it was clean.

“What was that noise? What are you doing?” Even through the voice changer you could hear the concern laced in Tara’s voice. 

“Oh I’m just doing some cleaning” You reached for the knife still coated in blood sitting on the counter. Blood pooled where it had sat. Tara’s knife had been much messier than yours, her body seeming to lose control as she used her blade to take a life. But it was all fun and games, until clean up time, and then? Well Tara wanted to play a different game. 

“Well wouldn’t you make a good little housewife, y/n?” Ghostface purred in your ear. “So do you have a girlfriend?” She quickly followed with. You set Tara’s knife down in the sink. 

“Why? Do you wanna ask me out on a date?” You chuckled darkly, Tara was gonna pay for this little game later. But if Tara wanted to play, then you would sure give her a show. You let your robe fall off your shoulders, it landed soundlessly on the mat by the sink. Goosebumps rose on your stomach and shoulders. With your shirt by the sink, it left you in nothing but a sports bra. But you knew Tara. And you knew Ghostface’s game, she was watching. 

“Maybe, I really just wanna know whose throat I have to cut for touching you” Tara growled, but you didn’t feel threatened in the slightest. 

“She would probably like that, she’s a bit of a kinky one” you tried to bite back your laughter. You knew if she had been close enough she would have smacked you around the head…if she could reach you with her height. Tara’s sigh was muffled by the voice changer. 

“Wanna play a game?” you could tell Tara was getting frustrated because this was all taking too long. Tara had no patience. You rounded the kitchen island, and made your way into the living room. You pulled the curtain drawn together, not before looking out the window. Not even a ledge or anything for her to stand on. You had been by the front door the whole time and it never opened. Where the hell was she? 

“Well what kind of game are we talking about?” and then it occurred to you, the fire escape at your bedroom window. Got you, Tara. 

“You run, I’ll find you” and with that the lights in your apartment flicked off. You staggered passed the couch and through the entryway to the hall in the pitch black. Not even the lights on the tv display guided you, the whole power to the apartment was cut. 

You kept your guard up, your ears perked up on high alert. If she was already in the house, you would hear her open your bedroom door. You rested against the wall for a moment. All you needed to do was let your eyes adjust.

“Oh please don’t kill me, Mrs. Ghostface” your voice called out into the darkness, taunting her. 

“Boo” and suddenly she was here, pushing you back against the wall, hard. Her Ghostface mask was long gone, but the robe remained, drowning her small stature. Her perfume blended with the metallic smell of blood. 

“I’m ready to discuss those other fun options you mentioned earlier” Tara’s breath was hot against your ear, her hands leaving goosebumps where they touched along your stomach.  Her lips brushed against the side of your neck but never once settled. And then you felt it. The lace of Tara’s thong tickled your side as she tucked them into the waistband of your jeans. She then took your hand, and pulled you down the dark hall.

Yep, Tara Carpenter had stolen your heart.

#tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter smut #ghostface!tara #tara carpenter

[natashaismylove]

Could I request a fluffy comfort fic where g!p Natasha takes care of reader because she’s sick? With some light smut like cockwarming to comfort reader?

A comforting hand |N. Romanoff

Summary: Natasha takes care of y/n while she’s sick.

Pairing: g!p Natasha x sick!reader

Warnings: fluff, comfort, light smut, g!p Natasha, being sick, fevers, anxiety, cockwarming. 18+ | minors DNI

Word count: 1066, just something short as I’m pretty tired, sorry.

A/N: I’m actually sick right now, so this seemed like the perfect time to write this request.

---

You sniffled as you cuddled your pillow, your legs pulled up to your chest as you laid on your side. Your body was on fire, but somehow you still felt cold, shivers constantly running up your spine. You hadn't managed to keep any actual food down for two days, your blood sugar so low that you were trembling.

You had a fight with your girlfriend a few days prior, which ended with Natasha saying she would give you some space. You felt awful about the fight, but as selfish as it might seem you felt way more awful about the lack of company now that you’ve gotten sick. You wanted Natasha to hold you, comfort you and tell you everything was gonna be fine as your dramatic self tended to feel like you were dying when you were ill, even though you knew this would pass in a few days.

You let out a small sob and pushed your face into the pillow, crying from both the absence of your girlfriend, and the exhaustion from being sick. You chose to not alert anyone as you were afraid of being a bother, thinking that they probably had better things to do. You pulled your face up and looked at the water bottle standing on your nightstand, wanting so badly to drink something, but not having the energy to move your hand.

You huffed in frustration, tears filling up in your eyes once more as you just lied there completely helpless. You wanted to move as you heard your door open, hearing footsteps come closer to you, but your body refused.

“Oh no…” you heard Natasha say before she walked around your bed, crouching in front of you and putting her hand on your forehead. “Oh my poor baby…you’re burning up.”

You sniffled as you looked at her. “I’m sorry-”

“I know, I know. I don’t want you to worry about that now, just let me help you, alright?”

You gave her a small nod, already feeling comforted from the soft smile on her lips. She leaned forward and pressed a cooling kiss to your forehead before she stood up, promising to be back in a second. You stared out into the air as you waited for her to come back, not moving an inch. Luckily she came pretty quickly, only being gone for a few minutes before she walked back through the door.

She put some stuff on the nightstand before she sat down on the bed, moving some of your hair behind your ear as she smiled down at you. “I’ll take care of you, detka.”

She grabbed a thermometer and put it in your ear, waiting for a few seconds until it beeped. She took it out and looked at the screen, her eyes moving back to you with a concerned look. “40℃. That’s not good, you must be boiling.”

She grabbed a cloth and dipped it in a bowl of cold water, gently swiping it over your forehead, cheeks and chest. You breathed out slowly and closed your eyes as you cooled down a little, finally being able to relax a bit now that Natasha was here. 

She put the cloth away and stroked your cheek with her thumb. “Can you sit up a little for me?”

You shook your head tiredly as a reply.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ll help you. You need to sit up so I can give you some medicine.” she spoke softly.

You huffed and put your palm down on the mattress, lifting yourself up while Natasha held onto you, helping you sit up against the headboard. “Good girl.” she praised as she grabbed a cup with a few pills and a new water bottle.

“Take this for me.” she handed you the items, sitting next to you while caressing your thigh.

You swallowed the pills with a sip of water, giving the empty cup and bottle back to Nat. She crawled onto the bed and sat back on her heels in front of you, grabbing the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get this off so you can cool down a bit more.”

She lifted the shirt over your arms, leaving you in your sports bra. She grabbed your shorts and pulled them down your legs before throwing them on the ground, moving to sit down next to you. She pulled your body onto her lap, moving you so you were straddling her as your head rested on her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around your frame, one hand holding your head as she stroked your hair slowly.

“Want me to help distract you until the medication kicks in?” she spoke into your ear before kissing your head as you nodded, knowing what she meant as this was a common thing for you two. “Alright…”

She pulled you up a little while she reached into her sweatpants with her other hand, pulling out her cock before moving your panties to the side, allowing her to carefully put you down on her cock. You let out a soft moan as she filled you up, nuzzling into her neck as much as you could.

“There we go…” she cooed. “That feel better, angel?”

“Yes.” you mumbled against her.

“Think you could eat some crushed ice? You’re pretty dehydrated, which is only making you more exhausted.”

You lifted your head, looking at her with tired eyes before nodding. She grabbed a cup and a spoon, handing it to you and you began to eat the ice. She held onto you comfortingly as you ate, making sure to praise you every once in a while so you knew you were doing great.

“That’s my good angel.” she kissed your nose as you finished your ice, slumping against her as soon as you were done. “Just relax now, you’re ok.”

“Thank you.” you spoke quietly, giving her shoulder a small kiss.

“Of course. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

You spent a few hours just sitting there until you grew too tired to keep yourself awake. Your body relaxed against Natasha’s, finally giving in and falling asleep. She pulled out of you and moved you to lie down on top of her, your head on her chest as she watched over you to make sure you were alright.

She gave your forehead a long kiss before whispering, “I love you.” pulling away after to look at your face, smiling to herself as you finally got some rest.

---

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[raynecos]

Sour Wine (Skk)

Authors Note: Hi hi, so you may have noticed tiny inconsistencies or just that my writing was a bit dry in the first part of this fic, but alongside me being a bit rusty THAT WAS INTENTIONAL due to Chuuya's state of mind, i'll do my best to make it all fit together well as the entirety of the story comes together! -Rayne

Credits to my wonderful boyfriend for the plot of this fic <3

TWs: Suicide, Pills

Part One: Empty Bottles, Part Two: Coffees Only As Bitter As You Let It Be

Dazai 

Fading sunlight crept through the window, casting a dark yellow filter across the room. Dazai’s eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light, looking around the room cautiously as if searching for someone. Sitting up, the view of his surroundings became more clear, glancing across the space he’d cleaned up just the night before. A random burst of energy giving him the motivation to get the dirty laundry off the tan colored floors and wipe the dust off every surface. Well not every one, it seems he’d missed the windowsill, but he couldn’t care less. Reaching over to grab a water bottle he’d left next to the ratty mattress on the floor he slept in, he knocks over a few pill bottles. One pops open and several antidepressants spill out, “Fuck”. Pulling his hand back and taking a drink of the water he retrieved, he takes a moment to think. Todays the day It’d been three years of hiding, one more and he’d be clear, but Dazai was so incredibly sick of sitting around drowning in his own regrets. He wasn’t doing anything productive with his life, and he couldn’t undo what harm he’d already done. So why do nothing for another fucking year? He was either going to fuck up what he was trying to do with the past three years, or he was going to die. Honestly he didn’t care what the outcome was, he just needed something to change. He got up and got dressed as soon as he’d woken up enough to, his white button up and black vest both being about the same as he’d usually wear, but cream colored pants rather than matching the vest's dark appearance. When he’d left the mafia he’d decided to dress brighter, that’s the best way to describe it really, throwing on a light brown jacket was enough for him to decide he was ready for the day. He stood in front of his white framed mirror, adjusting strands of his hair until he looked exactly how he wanted, not that his looks really mattered, not today anyways. He had no intention of trying to meet anybody, he wasn’t going to settle for any man that easily. His eyes drifted from examining his hair to the photo taped to the corner of his mirror. One he’d had Akutagawa take, him stealing Chuuya’s hat. He wanted to capture a memory of them together, and he’d definitely done it, but every now and then he’d find himself regretting the decision. He snapped his eyes back up to his own reflection, deciding he was satisfied and quickly turning to walk out the door, pocketing his phone on his way out. 

Dazai sat down in the same spot as always, the corner of a small cafe, surrounded by fake vines and CDs hung up on the wall. He despised coffee, but drank it anyway. Nearly every day he came here, and nearly every day he ordered the same thing. Black coffee, no sugar, no milk, just plain old black coffee. It stung everytime he took a sip, maybe it was a form of punishment for what he left behind, or maybe he was just trying to convince himself to like it, everyone else did, so why didn’t he? There are a multitude of questions only Dazai could answer, but at the same time he couldn’t. Really it could’ve been that there wasn’t anyone to stop him from drinking the horrendous, dark, bitter liquid. The cafe was quiet, it was evening after all, how many people do you know that’d go buy coffee at 7 pm? If you knew Dazai then you can add one person to that count, that’s for sure. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, searching for the number he hadn’t called in years. Would it still work? Who knows, it’s entirely possible it got exchanged for a new one the same as he’d done with his own when he’d run from the mafia. But it’s not like you know unless you try, and he was willing to try. Found it. His finger hovered over the call button, hesitant, but he’d made this plan a week ago, he knew he had to go through with it. He closed his eyes and pressed down, opening them when he felt the soft buzzing in his hand, “What do you want?” came the voice of a certain ginger on the other end. Dazai froze, he didn’t change his number, he opened his mouth but the words he wanted to say just wouldn’t come out. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t run back into his former best friend's arms after three years of not even knowing if he was still alive. Chuuya probably hated him more than anything, it wasn’t worth it. “Shit” Dazai said as he quickly hung up, dropping his phone on the floor under him and cupping his mouth with his hands, ‘I’m a fucking idiot, fuck, fuck why’d i think that could ever work.’ his mind was racing, all his thoughts screaming different things and the voices were getting louder, oh god what if Chuuya realized it was him, what if he’d report it to Mori, what if he just lost any chance he had at ever telling hi- “Sir are you alright?” Dazai’s head shot up to look at the waitress in front of him, who’d clearly caught onto his distress. Putting on a fake smile, and making an attempt to brighten his eyes he responded “Oh yes i'm okay, no worries, thank you!” “Alright then, by the way your cell phone seems to have fallen on the ground.” “Oh thank you for telling me, I'll grab it.” He leans down to pick it up and slip it back into his pocket, and once he looks up again, she’s gone. ‘Plan B then, shit’

It was basically nighttime at this point, Dazai walked along the sidewalk as a few cars occasionally rolled by, the sunset was beautiful and he couldn’t help but stop for a few moments to admire it. A few stores lined the path to his right, as he came up to the front of a liquor store he used to visit frequently on Chuuya’s behalf, he turned and crossed the street not so carefully. As he reached the other end he walked up the stone surface of the bridge crossing the stunning Yokohama river. The water sparkling below him as he reached the middle and stood at the edge, not yet moving off, just taking in the view ahead of him. A painful buzzing noise in his head grew louder and louder as his thoughts began to race, starting to second guess his decision, wondering if he should really follow through. ‘Shut up, shut up.’ but they wouldn’t, there was only one way out of the hell he’d created for himself, and only he could take that initiative. He held his breath, and lifted his foot over the barrier, exhaling as he felt himself drop.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #dazai #dazai osamu #skk #skk angst #soukoku angst #fanfic #fanfiction #bsd angst #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs fanfic

[cerebralinvasion]

yandere february event day 3

“I’m doing this for you! Why are you trying to stop me?!”

you fiddled with the white pill bottle. small, in comparison to you, but it definitely stored at least a couple hundred pills within it. well, definitely used to store that many. because now it was empty and half hazardly tossed into the kitchen’s trash can. just a few feet away from the batch of brownies ranpo was making.

it was almost funny, how ranpo didn’t even notice the way you stalled over it. perhaps even the ultimate detective gets distracted at points. you’d only walked over to throw out a water bottle. and now you’d found this. and suddenly you were worried. tylenol, extra strength. the label said it carried 500 now that you read it. you just bought these, where did they all go? no one else has visited yet. it could’ve only been you or ranpo. and you knew it wasn’t you. so you decided to approach him about it before anything happened.

“ranpo, what is this?”

he looked up from the bowl of dry ingredients he was mixing together.

“pills.” his tone almost came out as a question, as if he didn’t understand why you were even concerned in the first place.

“why is it empty.”

“i took the last one earlier. had a headache.”

bullshit. and you knew it. if it was full this morning, him taking all of it would have meant he injected a lethal dosage between then and now.

“when earlier?” your eyes narrowed as you stepped towards him.

“uh 8 a.m.-ish?”

at that you quickly closed the gap between you and him, setting the bottle down on the counter and cupping his cheeks in your hand. you scanned his face for any signs of illness or poisoning. but nothing he looked perfectly fine.

“the bottle was full this morning, ranpo. and if you took them all you’d probably be dead by now. what did you do with them?” your voice was filled with genuine worry. what was he up to and why was he lying to you? ranpo may be childish at times but he never lied to you.

“ummm” ranpo racked his mind struggling for an excuse that would wrap this up cleanly. only for you to take a stray glance into the bowl of browner batter.

white specks stared back at you. much bigger in size than the granulated sugar or the flour. white chunks. crushed pills. maybe you weren’t subtle enough in your facial expression when you noticed because looking at you, ranpo’s face darkened as well, suddenly he appeared a lot more serious.

“listen…”

“ranpo, what the fuck are you doing. you- you know this could make someone really sick, i don’t have to tell you.”

“i know.”

“then… why are you-?”

“your stupid new friend keeps trying to take you away from me.” ranpo couldn’t even meet your gaze anymore, his eyes glued somewhere off to the left.

“excuse me? you got a little jealous over me hanging out with a friend so you’re gonna try to get them sick? tell me, how do you think that would even help.”

“no.” he finally met your eyes.

“no you don’t think it’s gonna help? because then why are you-”

“no i’m not going to try and make them sick. i am going to kill them.”

your heart dropped and you searched ranpo’s face for any sign of humor. he seemed dead serious.

“what the fuck. i- you can’t. you can’t just try and kill someone that- what the hell’s gotten into you?” you took a step back from your boyfriend, suddenly feeling incredibly concerned with his current mental state. after a brief second you took another step, fully prepared to run out of the house. you should definitely tell the agency. right now. only to be stopped when ranpo grabbed your arm, pulling you back.

“i’m doing this for you! why are you trying to stop me?!” he suddenly snapped, suddenly raising his voice and screaming at you.

“what are you talking about?” you tried to pull your arm away, feeling uncharastically terrified of ranpo.

“they’re trying to take you from me, why can’t you see it?! i am just trying to keep you safe and they’re trying to take that away. if you can’t stop them yourself, i have to step in. why can’t you just let me do this for you?”

you froze, how do you even react to a situation like this? was this a full blown murder attempt? over something as delusional as fear all your friends were trying to take you away from him. you’d never expected something like this from someone as harmless as ranpo. who could you even tell? would anyone even believe you?

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x you #ranpo x reader #yandere bsd #yandere ranpo #yandere bsd x reader

[charleslee-valentine]

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Fanworks Event Day 6: Music is my Life

Ship(s): Radiohead/Vietnita/Brocktop (Chop Top x Stretch)

Word Count: ~1,800

Warnings: Alcohol use, hangovers, abuse mention, mild sexual content.

@texas-chainsaw-fanworks

________

It wasn’t intentional.

Bobby was supposed to be out and back before anybody even noticed he was gone. To just grab a couple drinks and then get the hell out. Easy.

Now, nobody else knew that plan, so did it matter that much when two beers turned to three, then three to four? Probably not. He wasn’t far from home and hadn’t driven anyways. He could be there in time still.

Except he didn’t walk his goofy ass home. He woke up in a pretty girls bed.

She greeted him with a soft, close-lipped smile, “Morning. Didn’t think you’d be up before the afternoon.”

A groan slips past his lips. His head is fucked. Bobby tries to sit up and then lays right back down, rubbing at blurry eyes, “Time?”

“‘Leven thirty. You got somewhere to be, I’ll drive you.” She informs him, sitting on the side of the bed. Her bed.

Bobby should tell her he’s got to get home. But he’s barely awake, and barely able to remember what happened last night either. Speech isn’t coming to him.

He just shakes his head ‘no’.

“Your head still hurtin’ you?” The woman observes, when he nods again producing a little pain-pill bottle from somewhere, maybe the night stand, and giving it to him, “Here. Don’t leave it on an empty stomach. I can make you breakfast too.”

Really, he appreciates the offer. There’s no way in hell he’d lie and say he doesn’t like the attention from this gorgeous lady. But, one thought creeps up in his head and he has to ask, wondering if maybe she’s one of those women that take advantage that his big brother warned him about. After all, she doesn’t seem to be affected by last night in the least.

Maybe she was sober while he wasn’t.

“A-Aren’t you hungover t-too?”

“Sugar, I do that every night. If I still got as fucked up as you, I’d’ve been kicked out by now. My drunk lasts a lot less than yours.” She informs him, kind but a little humored.

That’s when Bobby remembers some. Pretty girl is the disc jockey from the bar. Stretch is her work name. Vanita is her real one. Even that part of her is beautiful.

Okay, so he might be a little pussy whooped, but he can’t help it. She played good music. Actual rock and not the radio approved shit. Alcohol in his system meant he was probably rambling about all the artists and such for hours last night, and she’d done nothing but listen contentedly. And then kiss him.

It was really pretty fun, dancing all night, sharing drinks and cool facts and kisses. Nothing like the other quick hookups he’d had in bathroom stalls and seedy motels. The kinds where they wouldn’t look him in the face or kiss him after they got their rocks off.

Those times had been better than being lonely, but not being hat he wanted. Nothing like miss Vanita.

Even now, she could kick him out. Instead of sitting here close and brushing stray hairs off his face, she could be dragging him out the door.

Not that he even should be still here. He’s a long several hours overdue to be back home. They’ll have noticed by now he ain’t there.

He looks her in her eyes, half squinting from the stubborn headache, “I-I kinda lied. M-My brothers’ll be look-lookin’ for me.”

Stretch seems understanding, putting her sweet hand in his hair like she’d done the night before and makin’ him blush like some kinda idiot, “I can take you home, hon. Promise it won’t bother me none to do it.”

“I-I don’ wanna.” Bobby doesn’t know why he’s honest. Like he’s her puppy or something.

“Mm. I hear ya.” Stretch can sense the sadness in him, the part of the truth that isn’t being told. She just misunderstands it’s meaning a little, “Bobby, are you sure you got somewhere to go? You can tell me the truth.”

“Huh? O-Oh yeah. M-My brother o-o-own’s a real big farm house. We all l-live there. All-“ He counts his siblings on his fingers, including his Sissy even though she doesn’t come home often, “Five of us.”

That doesn’t fully answer her question though. Stretch asks him slowly, “And you’re safe there?”

“S-Sure. Drayton says..says I-I’m in my r-rebellion phase.”

All he means by that is that he’s on a slightly longer leash than he used to be, not getting beat up the same as he used to either. Safe enough. He might get smacked around a little for coming home so late, but it’s nothing miss Stretch outta worry her little self about.

She sure looks like she’s worrying though, with her eyebrows all shot up high on her forehead, “Mister, you told me you were 30 something.”

“Yeh. I-I am.” Bobby tells her bluntly, even though his stutter makes him sound less sure.

“Alright then.” She relaxes quick, looking at him in this infatuated way, the kinda look nobody ever gave him before. A light laugh bounces her strong-frame shoulders, “You are a mystery, Robert Sawyer.”

It sounds nice, but he wants to be sure she isn’t trying to pull one over on him. “I-In a good way?”

“The best.” She promises.

“Cool. Gr-Groovy.” Without the whiskey and beer, he ain’t exactly some Romeo. He feels awkward and dumb, so he tries to make up for it, “Hey, c-can I kiss you?”

Stretch hums with tiniest play of a smirk on her face, “Honey, you done a lot more than that.”

Oh she knows just how to make him blush. It’s nice having someone who challenges him back.

He smiles really genuinely, even though he’s been told his overbite is gross looking, he hopes she won’t mind, “I-It’s polite to ask.”

She must like his smile.

“Then yes, baby. Anytime you like.”

Stretch even initiates the kiss, already holding him in her arms, only taking a little effort to lean in and connect their lips. Everything about her is gentle, but not her kisses. Those are hungry. Fierce.

Dominant.

Bobby makes some kind of a noise like a whimper and a mewl combined. It makes Stretch laugh softly.

Flushed as pink as a peach, he pulls away a little, for the sake of catching his breath as much as to get his bearings back, “Wh-What’s funny?”

Her soft hands never leave his face, “You just weren’t this shy last night, baby. Don’t worry though; I like my boys a little soft.”

Soft isn’t really a word he’s been called before. Or even been allowed to be. In his head, soft translates into pansy ass. To sorry excuse for a brother.

He knows his face must light up like a puppy dog when she says that. Every instinct in his body screams to kiss on her, so he does. Not that he’s usually one to deny things like that, but it seems especially right, being here with this special girl.

He lungs and kisses all over her face. Any inch of skin he can reach gets a smooch.

She’s howling with laughter by the time she gently pushes him off, “Calm down now, mister!”

But he doesn’t want to go far away from uer. The contact and the pressure and the warmth are too nice. He leans on her while his hands get tappy and a couple little noises squeak past his attempts to stop them. That happens when he gets happy. Stretch might have to get used to that.

She doesn’t seem off put at a glance. If anything, the look in her eyes is kinda fond. Loving.

Her fingers card through his long hair again, careful not to catch on any tangles, “You and me gonna party ‘gain soon, sweet thing?”

Bobby shrugs, “M-Maybe once I’m ungrounded. I-I’m gonna be in biiiiig trouble.”

“Even if I come back with ya and explain?” Stretch offers.

That makes him feel silly. People don’t really think it’s normal, him being old as he is and still being pushed around by his big brother. Living with him ‘stead of on his own.

They think that it makes him either some drooling idiot, or a spineless pushover. Like he’s just supposed to walk away from the man that raised him, and his other two brothers that need the extra help. The man feeds him for thirty years, takes care of his brothers and helps with his medicine, and that’s supposed to mean nothing?

Thankfully, Stretch ain’t most people though.

Bobby looks at her all wide eyed, “Y-You’d do that f-for me?”

She sounds real genuine as she explains her reasoning, knowing he needs to heard it to believe it, “Sure, hon. I get it, you been gone all night, but it’s better’n both of our drunk asses winding up in a ditch somewhere. They’ll understand that.”

He nods, and wraps his arms right around her, determined to look in her eyes while he declares, “I-I won’t let ‘em be mean t-to ya. Y-You’re my girl, miss Stretch.”

It was mostly a success. His eyes do that blinky twitchy thing they do, which has always annoyed him, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

For once, she’s the one between them that blushes “Am I now?”

“Y-Yeah. My..My fave.” He promises, hoping she understands what a high compliment that truly is.

But then she says something that surprises him. “Ain’t always you get to meet the folks this early. That’s gotta be a new record.. Hope I’m not comin’ off too desperate on you.”

As if. Not when Bobby’s around, he thinks. His middle name might as well be desperate (He actually doesn’t officially have one on paper.) It’s awful weird having someone who doesn’t just automatically point out that he’s annoying or blame him for everything. Stretch really thinks she could be too much?

“N-No way. Y-You and me, we c-could be s-soulmates o-or somethin’.” To prove it to her, he belts a line from a Van Morrison song about love, “I'm run into to her like a river strong-“

Music gets to a girl like her. One who knows allll about it from her nights dj-ing at the club. She interrupts him with a kiss.

Strong as all the other ones with even more tongue. There’s intention behind it, a silent but perfectly clear question. An offer to do a repeat of last night, but sober. Bobby gives her some little sounds as confirmation. Moaning little whines.

All the confirmation she needs.

Stretch throws her leg around his waist, using the added leverage to pin Bobby to the mattress and straddle his waist.

Somehow they stayed connected through all that, but she breaks the kiss to ask him, panting, “How much longer b‘fore you hafta go?”

“A-A little while more w-wouldn’t hurt nobody…” He confirms.

It’s true enough. Might get him hurt, but he’s more’n used to that.

Something tells him he ain’t never gonna get used to the feeling of a pretty girl on top of him this way. So he’s sure as hell gonna revel in it.

#tcmfanevent #chop top sawyer #bobby sawyer #vanita stretch brock #choptop x stretch #stretch tcm2 #tcm fanfic #my writing #my moodboards

[sherwees]

tomorrow (a sequel to sappoyo)

cw : stalking, literal murders, trespassing, obsession, un consented photography, reader has self harm marks!!!, yangyang has a past of juvenile detention and overall fucked up shit.

side note : PLEASEEE READ part one first because it'll just be confusing.

Yangyang's hair felt frozen, brittle as his chapped lips sighed through a brisk gust of wind, his eyes gazing from the Moon to the processing film in between his middle and index.

His teeth gnawed his bottom lip, ripping a little tear of dry skin. The pain felt numb, the only time he felt real was within the distance of you. You only knew him as a fucking juvie, not like the ones from that one movie where they dug holes in a deserted land; but a starved for days on end juvenile.

His fingers feather the back of his head, he could hear the razor buzz as his pretty brown hair fell to his feet. He basically killed it with all the bleach and hair dye he went through; the white counters covered in a mis-mash of colors, empty bottles scattered on the ground and the cone nozzles in the sink.

“Rainbow” He mouthed, the memory of his heavy eyes looking at the bizarre colored strands in between his quivering fingers in the stained mirror.

But, he wasn't him.

He was different, every dye depicted a new phase.

A new him.

Another starting point for you both.

He'll try again tomorrow.

There you were, yet again. Too immersed in the ingredients of a cooking spray, you were allergic to soy.

The time when you dropped a wine glass at your feet when you were on a fancy date with your “sugar daddy” Kun. He was too immersed talking about his business to realize your allergy, the salmon dish scattered on the ground along with the glass on the marble flooring during your struggle.

His shopping cart came to a cease, taking a moment to bask in your raspberry scent that took up the isle. Something urged and ached his soul to get his attention and he was willing to take the leap of faith.

But you took the leap before him.

Turning around, your eyes were wide with confusion and now filled with woe. A smile appeared and faded on his face once you looked back to the bottle and placed it inside your shopping cart; trying to egg some type of conversation out of this. Your lips shuddered, your eyes looking down at your shoes in shame as you walked closer.

“I'm sorry for what happened..”

He gave a hum, scrunching his nose and played with the hem of his sleeves.

You nodded your head, your hands slid inside your pocket; simultaneously gazing at him with fond eyes. But right before Yangyang fully processed it, you already turned and grabbed the handles of your shopping cart and walked away with a slower, solemn tempo.

His fist clenched, tear after tear fell until the floor was a mess of blurry lines.

Looking back up, you were gone.

His feet paced against the tiled floors, the endless shelves of cereal just became a blur of colors. His hands trembling, unsteady on the shopping carts bar as his teeth clenched and bared together in some sort of resentment.

Your sheepish voice ran through his broken head like a broken record.

Every note and every line became tiring.

But there was still time.

Try again tomorrow.

He observed the subway cart carefully, his feet tapping at the ground. There were no cameras and the area was remote besides him and the lady across from him, asleep. Her drool dribbled down the pole, her fuzz coat covering her chest.. but he mainly eyed the coffee cup in her hand.

Not just any lady. The scum from that very day. Her nasty hands groped and gripped at his body, he took about 5 hours in the shower just to get the icky feeling off of his skin. He even tried to manipulate his memories to believe that the lady's hands were yours at some point.

You were going to forget, soon.

A new path would be opened for a beginning.

His hand reached deep in his pocket for the small bag of fentanyl.

I mean one pill kills right?

He fiddles with the bag with a sigh, walking over to the lady.

An end is always a new beginning, right?

It'll work out soon.

Soon tomorrow.

“Everything's just fucking weird, why won't God just leave me alone? Am I next? That lady fucking DIED.” Your hand trembled writing the entry into your journal, totally not aware of the male in her closet.

'Did the plan work?' Yangyang wondered with a crooked smile rising at the tips of his lips. He wished he could caress your shoulder and tell you “It's ok” but it was merely impossible.

The pen scritch and scratched on the paper once more.

“It'll be me next, I know it will. I feel eyes on me every night, I feel something tingle at the back of my neck everyday.” A tear drops on the paper, dramatically. You looked over to the closet for a mere second, Yangyang's heart palpitated.

“No, No, No..” You cried in a murmur, his eyes went wide in confusion but he then realized.

The films..

His eyes scurried through the films he pulled from his pocket in a frantic rush. Looking through them with the peeking light in between the small opening between the ridges of the closet.

In one photo of you in a pretty white negligee studying for your finals, there was little burn marks that lined vertically and a little too perfectly on your forearm.

Was this all about him?

“I know you're here!” He noticed the blade you now held inside your trembling palm, your innocuous eyes were now rubbed red from the tears. The eye bags under your eyes pushed his concern even further, your face was conspicuously starved.

What all happened while he was gone?

In the tense moment, he pushed open the door in slight hesitation. His blazing red hair met your eyes before seeing his startled eyes come into your full vision, his combat boots making the height difference intimidating.

“So this is the end.. To be killed by you.” You seethed, his heart jumped at the way the word “you” was specifically said. Looking up at him, you notice his expression not even budging. His lips parted like he was about to say something but only a weak sigh came out with a long blink and a furrow to his brows.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

“No!” He grabbed at your shoulders with a broad yell, his cold fingers travelled your neck. His eyes were wide, frantic but you could still sense the hint of a lie in his retort.

“I'll never hurt you.” He coughed before tears finally breached his waterline, his eyebrows were creased in regret.

“But you did.” Your voice carried a cruel tone, your orbs seems to be filled with spite suddenly. Your warm fingers brushed against his icy forearm as you lowered his (now that you noticed) trembling hands, a chill ran through your body at the realization; your hard facade faltering.

“I haven't eaten or slept ever since that same lady fucking died! I knew that somebody was stalking all around my house like a ghost,–” You inhaled sharpily, your gut caves in at the nauseating sensation accumulating within at the memories.

“My clothes are going missing, I reported to the police about how many fucking times about YOU. They never believed me at all, you never even thought about me.–”

“Well I do–” He attempted to stand his reason but you only continued on.

“You're just fucking selfish and–” Yangyang's eyes flashed with animosity, the frustration bubbled up into his throat as his chest expanded into a heave.

“I'm selfish?”

“Yes, you fucking are–” You stepped back, hand resting on your dresser where you placed your emergency pocket knife.

“You don't ever care about my feelings, huh?”

“BECAUSE THEY DON'T FUCKING MATTER.” Your breath became hot and irregular with fury, your frustration bore from your eyes into his own. He knew that you wanted him dead, your body language showed it all.. your fingers inching for the knife and just everything.

“I got sent off for you! I wrapped my cold fingers around that pillow and suffocated that fucking scum because he was planning to kill you if you said no to his fucking prom invitation! You don't even remember me, huh?!” His hands clasped your jaw, he inched closer. His orbs searched yours as if he trying to rerun your memory like a psychic.

Oh...

“Liu Yangyang?” You mumbled at the familiarity that rushed through your mind. Yangyang tried to ignore the warmth in his gut at your remembrance but it quickly died down once he noticed that you stepped away in alert.

The one that got sentenced to 3 years during your junior year for being involved with the smothering of Xiao Dejun.. Your ex? All those notes he sent to you, ending with “Your savior” or “My 爱” creeped you out bad. You responded with a vile letter filled with threats and it ended there.

An uneasy silence settled in, you unconsciously counted the tempo of your heart beat as your hand slid for the knife; slowly and steadily.

“Yangyang, tell me this now..” The knifes edge slid against the wood now fully grasped in your trembling hand, the steel gleamed in your lamp's light. You look down for a second and notice his fist tighten, palms turning white.

Yangyang's love and glory for you now faded into pure resentment.

Maybe he did want to kill you.

Your evil was nothing different of the officer's that handcuffed him that very day ignoring his pleads, his mother that never believed in him like his father did, the lady on the subway and Xiaojun himself.

You were both meant each other.

Meant to be dead and cold.

Before he even knows it, he grabs the knife right from your very hands.

He remembers everything.

Your gurgled scream from the first plunge.

Your final pleads.

Your hands flying everywhere on his coat, neck, shoulders as you cried and cried,

The final puncture to your rib with the blade.

“I don't wanna–”

Another plunge, crimson stained the grey of your shirt.

“just let go!”

Your chest coming to a stop for the final time.

Your eyes stopping mid blink, never blinking again.

No more writing in your journal, no more talking with your friends on the phone, no more listening to music, no more parties, no more dates.

There was nothing for him but so much for you.

Now, there's no time for you both.

He doesn't even register the banging at the bedroom door, your still head in his lap. His nimble fingers trail your jaw to your still warm silver heart pendant, your frozen skin against his warm own, he sighed. You didn't deserve this.

Looking deep into your still eyes, moving a strand that fell down from the force of the door swinging open. There was some sort of command yelled in his ear but he only continued looking at your dead beauty.

There was then a kick to his torso, he looked up at the pistol aimed at his forehead.

He leaned towards his killer.

The cold tip meeting his forehead.

There will be no future for you two.

What was the point of all this then?

There won't be a tomorrow, or a day after.

Try again, maybe another time. .

#wayv x reader #nct imagines #nct x reader #yangyang x reader #xiaojun x reader #nct dream angst #nct angst #nct scenarios #nct drabbles #wayv smut #nct smut #kun x reader

[smileyerim]

feeling brand new

rave boyfriend!yutaxreader. suggestive. 1.3k. he shows you something new. 18+ ONLY (as always, but i really really REALLY insist. dni under 18.) warnings: taking molly impulsively and making out

the song (listen to when prompted by “now”)

It’s hot in the pit during this set, and you’re having a hard time trying to convince yourself this is fun. It’s sweaty, the music is choppy and loud, and the $6 bottle of water you bought is empty now.

You’re eyes are trained on a woman dressed in barely a bikini dance and shuffle around to the music nearby you when your attention is taken away by Yuta’s hand leaving your exposed waist.

You turn around and you’re not so surprised to see him dap up a shirtless guy wearing rainbow aviators and what looks like a billion beaded bracelets on his wrist. Yuta’s friends with everyone, he’s well known in the scene and generally in the community. Even you knew his name long before you met him at a concert much more mellow than this music festivals a year ago. No sooner that the man comes by you, he leaves.

“Who was that?” You stand on your tippy toes to speak into Yuta’s ear. You’re practically yelling, the music is loud. It comes with the territory, of course.

“He’s a friend of mine. He’s at every rave.” He yells back into your ear. You lean back to give your boyfriend a frown before leaning back into his ear.

“Why did he leave so fast then if he’s your friend?”

Yuta’s face turns into a sly smirk as he opens his palm and notches his head down to move your attention to show you what was inside.

Now, you’ve been with your boyfriend for a couple months now, and he’s told you everything about his habits and activities every time he goes to a rave. This just happens to be the first time he convinced you to come with him. You knew about the drugs and the partying, but it didn’t necessarily hit you until right now as you stared at the little pink pills in a baggie in his hand.

“Now we wait.” He speaks again into your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek and leaning back to give you his signature smirk.

You don’t know what possessed you in that moment to say what you said next. Maybe it was the boredom, maybe it was the fact that you’ve always been curious but never had the opportunity to try such a thing, or maybe you just simply wanted to join your boyfriend in on the fun.

“Can I have one?” And he gives you an absolutely shocked look before smiling a bit.

“You sure?” But he’s already opening the baggy again, placing one in your hand. You nod and before you have the time to think too hard about it, you’re placing the pink tablet on your tongue.

It takes a while for things to kick in, you’re half convinced Yuta had bought sugar pills until it hit you. Hard.

Night has fallen over the fair grounds, but it’s just as bright as morning with all of the colorful accessories people are wearing and the lights from the stage in front of you. Things are brighter, prettier even, and you’re having a difficult time remembering why you were so upset to be here in the first place.

Yuta’s hands on your waist feel electric as you dance to the beat, slightly grinding on him. You hear him giggle and it’s the greatest sound you’ve ever heard.

He leans down to whisper in your ears and it sends another shock of electricity and warmth through you, a flush rising on your cheeks.

“Feeling good?” That makes you giggle, turning and kissing him on the cheek. You really like him. Like really, really, really like him. He smiles at you and you stare into his wide eyes, the color barely visible with his pupils so blown out.

now

You didn’t even realize the artist had changed until the crowd started to cheer. In pure adrenaline you joined in, jumping up and down forcing Yuta to jump with you. The song starts with a fast and easy beat, the blue lights entrancing you as Yuta grabs you by your hips and pulls your ass up against his front, squeezing tighter. You begin to move your hips slightly and close your eyes, enjoying the new beat.

As the trumpet begins to play the crowd is blanketed in pink and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from the beautiful lights as the beat picks up and Yuta holds you somehow closer. You feel warm, far too warm for the environment but you can’t seem to care.

Soon but not soon enough your racing heartbeat urges you to make a move on the man with the firey hands behind you. You slip, turning around to face him. He’s smirking down at you once you finally make eye contact. Your eyes roll back into your head as you close them to lean in, your lips making contact with his right as the bass drops. It’s a slightly sexy song, the beat thrumming up through your feet and into your heart. You feel euphoric, absolutely in love with the moment and with the man in front of you. You don’t even know how you went so long in your life without him.

Yuta’s hands pull you closer as you move your own arms up to rest on his shoulders. With your eyes closed, the brightest colors dance on the inside of your eyelids and his kisses feel like fireworks. He’s so warm and his kiss is so soft, sensual, and perfect. You can’t explain it, but it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before and you want to rest here forever with your lips against his.

As you move your lips against his, you open up to allow his tongue to slip in. He tastes bitter, just like your own mouth does. You figure that’s due to your little pink friend you both indulged in. His hands leave a warm trail as they move down to your ass, grabbing a tight handful. You moan into his mouth and you can feel him smirk against you. You want him. More than you’ve ever wanted him, you think. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. You feel both lazy and like you have the entire world at your disposal. You want to run a mile, or spend that same energy fucking Yuta into the first surface you can find to push him up against. Either or, you’d be happy either way.

He leans back when he feels your arms tighten around his neck a little more, he can read you like a book. He knows you want him but for now, you can’t have him. Not when there’s so many things he’s yet to show you while you’re in this state. You want to frown at the loss of contact but you can’t find it in you to be disappointed at much of anything, you’re just so happy.

He leans back and gives you a kiss on your forehead. You look absolutely gone. Your pupils are wide and your smile is permanent. He gives you another kiss and that leaves you to giggle as the song ends.

Even though you know this won’t last forever, you can feel it in your bones that everything will be alright as long as you have Yuta to kiss you again.

note: I’ve never done molly or gone to a rave (I don’t like edm and I had one bad shrooms experience I will never explain in detail) so don’t get mad at me for realism ok! love and light besties

#neowritingsnet #yuta fluff #yuta imagines #yuta smut #yuta suggestive #yuta drabble #yuta scenarios #nct 127 #nct 127 imagines #nct imagines #yuta nakamoto x reader #yutaxreader #yuta x you #yuta x y/n #nakamoto yuta #kpop #nct #nct fluff #nct fics

[thermitetermite]

Prompt #14 - Tech Supervillain x Civilian

Tldr: After a successful heist Supervillain lands at a pharmacy to refill a prescription among other errands. But what happens when a robber holds up the store they're in? Can be viewed as romantic or platonic.

CW: Robbery/hostage situation, threatening with a knife, needles, pill taking

Author's note: It's never explicitly stated but Supervillain has Type 1 diabetes.

Supervillain's plan started without a hitch.

Their gadgets easily cracked the combination to the safe, overrode the security feed and locked down the exit. They strode through all security measures with pride knowing that no one else could complete a heist this flawless. They had accounted for all possible outcomes and when they picked up that flashdrive and clicked it onto their keychain their smirk practically radiated how superior they felt. Now all Supervillain needed to do was escape off the roof in their mini-hovership and they'd be home free.

Everything went according to plan.

Well... Almost everything.

Halfway through Supervillain's escape flight back to their luxurious remote mountain base (that they loved more than anything else) they started to feel their headache worsen. They took their eyes off the controls for a second to look at their insulin pump.

They ate prior to the heist but they knew they properly dosed their bolus. Additionally their pump should have been giving them a basal dose of insulin every hour. As they looked at the pump their heart sank.

Insulin flow blocked, replace tubing.

Shit.

They clicked the center button again to get a read on their sugar. Once again they were not pleased. 350 on the dot, yikes. No wonder their head was killing them.

They always kept extra tubing, pens and pods on them in case of an emergency but this was absolutely the worst timing in the history of ever. Supervillain was having trouble turning their head without hearing their heartbeat in their ears. They grabbed their clutch (which matched perfectly with their outfit) and fished out their pen.

Nearly empty. Of course. Still, some was better than nothing. They screwed on the needle on and injected themselves with the 8 units left in the pen.

They knew they'd be fine for the rest of the ride home but they figured landing at a pharmacy to get a refill on their prescription wouldn't hurt. They opted to stop mainly so they could also pick up something for their headache. They were never more glad to have autopilot on their ship until now.

"Roto, land in the parking lot of the nearest pharmacy."

"Confirmed location, landing in two minutes."

Supervillain winced before clicking the volume down on their AI pilot. Despite the headache they tried planning what exactly they'd do when they landed. Would the police be there? Should they just go home? No, they were already out and figured they'd kill two birds with one stone. Besides, they also needed to prepare for their movie marathon tonight! That reminded them to pick up some popcorn as well.

The hovership landed outside of an empty pharmacy parking lot. Supervillain was slightly worried that it was closed but was reassured by the lights on inside. They put on a mask just in case before walking in.

The store itself was pretty run of the mill. Convince store in the front prescription filling in the back. They couldn't take their headache anymore so they speed walked as fast as they could to the pain relief aisle, grabbed a bottle and walked back to the counter.

The Cashier at the counter quickly scanned the bottle and handed it back, visibly shocked when Supervillain instantly popped the cap to dry swallow a couple pills. Cashier opened their mouth to say something when Supervillain gave them a 20.

"Keep the change." Supervillain responded while pointing at the tip jar.

"Thank you!" Cashier whisper spoke to Supervillain, which they appreciated. "I like your mask" they then commented in a voice somehow softer than the last.

Supervillain hadn't noticed which mask they grabbed from their ship but knew that the only interesting one they had featured their favorite character from the show they wanted to binge.

"Thank you. I hope you have a good night." Supervillain wished before bidding them goodbye. They then realized that they didn't get the popcorn yet so they'd have to see them again.

Why where they like this.

Regardless, they figured they'd go to the back to get their prescription which was turned out to be a quick and easy process when you're the last person of the night.

As Supervillain walked to the popcorn aisle they thought to themselves about how Cashier had a great voice.

Totally not in a weird way just in a "I want to program my ai pilot to have your voice because it's much smoother and nicer than pixelated static".

Ok maybe it was weird no matter how you look at it. Like how do you even bring that up in a conversation casually.

They snapped from their thoughts at the sound of shouting from the front. A voice screaming for everyone to get on the ground and for the Cashier to put the money in the bag.

Was someone really robbing the store right now?

Was someone really threatening the Cashier they wanted to copy the voice of?

Was someone really yelling when they still had a headache?

When Supervillain walked to the front of the store they saw some run of the mill masked stranger holding up their Cashier. Cashier was shaking like a leaf as the robber barked orders, threateningly pointing a knife at them.

"Pathetic." Supervillain said while glaring at the robber, catching the attention of both them and the Cashier. Cashier flinched and motioned for Supervillain to get down while the robber got in their face.

"What did you say to me!?!" The robber screamed while holding the blade to Supervillain side. Spit got on their mask disgusting Supervillain to no end. They cooly held eye contact before continuing.

"I said you're pathetic. You're also loud and crude. The longer you're around me the more terrible traits I see." Cashier panicked in the background trying to grab the robbers attention.

The robber grabbed Supervillain's shirt collar and brought the knife to their throat. Supervillain didn't even flinch.

"Who the hell do you think you are!?!" The robber screeched before feeling the taser hit them in the side. They unceremoniously fell to the floor as Supervillain smirked under their mask. Supervillain then looked up to see Cashier shaking and freaking out.

They casually stepped over the incapacitated robber and strode up to the counter before placing the popcorn on it.

They expected a few different responses from Cashier. Endless thank you's. A complete breakdown. Screaming in fear while dialing the police. Supervillain didn't know what to say when Cashier started to cry silently while asking if they were ok.

"Um-" Supervillain started before Cashier wiped their eyes to look at their neck.

"Why would you do that? You could have been hurt." Cashier stated despite the crack in their voice. It was honestly amazing that they stayed soft spoken after everything that just happened.

Supervillain just sighed before lowering the mask. "Because I can. Think of it as me claiming my turf. Nothing more nothing less. You'd swat a fly if it was buzzing in your face, would you not?"

They weren't surprised by the small gasp that left Cashier's mouth, most people reacted that way when they recognized Supervillain. However they were once again caught off guard when Cashier was ushering them out the door. They'd be a bit offended if it wasn't for the fact that Cashier gave them the popcorn back as well.

When finally out Supervillain thought Cashier would say something like 'never return' or scamper back inside after locking the door. They didn't expect Cashier to hug them.

"I'm sorry. I turned on the silent alarm when they started waving the knife. I don't want you to get caught so please hurry. The cameras in the store don't work so you don't have to worry about that." Cashier said into Supervillain's chest before pulling away. Supervillain felt stupid when their reaction after the hug was to hold up the bag of popcorn.

"Take it. It's on the house. Just get home safe, ok?" Cashier assured. Supervillain didn't fully accept that answer.

"When do you get off?"

"I'll probably get to leave after giving a police report."

"So like 15 minutes?"

"Maybe?"

"Do you want to watch that show tonight?"

"I don't know, are you inviting me to watch it with you?"

"If you want to. I stole the original copy along with all the behind the scenes extended features." Supervillain held up the flashdrive, enjoying the look on Cashier's face as they looked back and forth between the flashdrive and Supervillain.

"Deal, swing by in 20 minutes if the coast is clear. Good choice of popcorn by the way. Now get going!" Cashier said while pushing Supervillain towards their hovership.

As Supervillain got in the ship, started it up, and gave themselves the rest of their dose they only grinned ear to ear.

Maybe inconveniences lead to opportunities in the strangest places.

#writing prompt #hero #hero x villain #heroxvillain #supervillain #villain #villian x hero #writing #super villians #romantic or platonic #villain x civilian #supervillain x civilian #supervillain's main crime is trying to get national health insurance #writing dialogue #writblr #diabetic supervillain

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 4/58

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

When she leaves the guest room, she hears the voices of Cal and the children downstairs in the kitchen. She creeps into the master bedroom and notices that Cal’s side of the bed is rumpled and slept in, while her side remains neatly made. It makes her feel sad in a way she can’t quite understand, like she’s missing something on his behalf. 

She goes into the closet and quickly dresses in jeans and a T-shirt, then heads downstairs. When she enters the kitchen, Cal is standing near the fridge in a suit and tie, and Abby and Peter are sitting at the island eating cheerios. Cal looks up at her and a smile immediately stretches across his mouth, but it falls just as quickly. He’s remembering, she can tell, that she’s not quite his wife anymore. Not the one he might cross the room and kiss good morning. 

“Hi,” she says hesitantly, and he nods in response. 

“Coffee is here,” he says, pointing to the pot. “Sugar is in that yellow canister, and there’s creamer in the fridge.”

She’s equally grateful and embarrassed that he has to tell her where to find such basics in her own house. 

“Thank you,” she says, moving toward the coffee pot. 

She grabs the handle of the carafe and then freezes. Wordlessly, Cal flips open the cupboard to her left to reveal coffee mugs. His shoulder pops and his neck jerks, and guilt twists in her belly. 

“I’ll take Pete to daycare on my way to work,” he says as he moves about the kitchen, clearing dishes and wiping down counters. “Abby usually goes over to the neighbor’s house and catches the bus with their daughter, but I guess she doesn’t need to since you’re home.” He opens a cupboard beside the sink and extracts two prescription bottles. He swallows a pill with his coffee and then turns and hands the other bottle to her. “This was prescribed by your memory care therapist,” he says as she accepts the bottle and reads over the label. “You’re supposed to take it every day.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, feeling useless. 

The bottle is labeled “Numerol” and directs her to take one pill at the same time each day on an empty stomach. She opens the bottle and takes one, then returns the rest to the cupboard where Cal keeps his own medication. A quick glance at his prescription bottle reveals it to be Haloperidol, which she knows is often prescribed for the treatment of Schizophrenia, but can also help lessen the symptoms of Tourette Syndrome. 

“This is my phone number at work,” Cal says, pushing the pad of legal paper from last night across the counter towards her and tapping his finger against a number at the bottom. “You can call me anytime if you need to. Should I check on you during my lunch break?”

“Oh—” Dana says, surprised by the question. “I don’t think so…unless you want to.”

Cal bobs his head noncommittally. 

“Okay, Pete, time to get a move on,” he says as he scoops Peter off the bar stool and sets him on the floor. “Abby, Mommy can walk you to the bus stop at 8:00, okay?”

“Daddy,” Abby whines, and when Dana looks at her face she finds it twisted up in an expression of agony. 

“What, Abby?” Cal asks, annoyed. Abby gestures for him to come closer and he brings his ear to her mouth. She whispers to him behind her hand, though her childish attempt at discretion is ineffective and it’s perfectly clear that she isn’t comfortable being left alone with Dana. Cal sighs and closes his eyes briefly. “Fine, get your backpack and go over to Daisy’s,” he says curtly, and Abby scrambles out of her chair. “The bus drops her off at 3:10,” he directs to Dana as he ushers the children towards the door. “She can go over to the neighbors or she can come home, either is fine.”

Dana nods, moving to stand in the door to the garage as Cal loads Peter into a black SUV and Abby walks down the driveway and across the street. She feels the weight of her lack of active parenting, but she doesn’t know what her place is here, which parts of the morning routine belong to her. Cal opens the driver’s side door and looks back at her for a brief moment before he disappears behind the tinted windows, and within a few minutes she is alone in the house. 

-

The bath is full and steaming, a cloud of lavender drifting around the bathroom. Dana sets her coffee on the ledge that runs around the tub and turns to face herself in the mirror. 

She looks older, but not in the unkind way that aging will eventually affect her. She looks slimmer, darker, sharper. She looks like all the experiences she can’t remember, but knows her body keeps record of. So far, she’s been careful to avoid her reflection when changing her clothes, but that will no longer be possible if she has any intention of enjoying this bath. She turns her back to the mirror and strips off the clothes she put on just a short time ago. After promising herself that she will love and accept whatever she sees, she slowly turns around. 

The first thing that her eye is drawn to is a dark pink raised scar on her belly. She touches it, feeling the smooth ridges of the long-healed tissue. Whatever it was, it was a serious injury, one that likely required surgery. All over her torso are smaller, less significant, scars. Scratches, scrapes, cuts, burns. She’s littered with them, and if not for the fact that they are in various stages of healing, she might think that she partook in nude weed whacking and fell on an active campfire. Her skin is slightly less elastic, her belly not quite as firm, but for the most part her shape is the same. She turns, craning her neck to see the back of her body. 

“Oh my god,” she says out loud, moving closer to the mirror. 

On her lower back, off-center of her spine, there is a circular tattoo, and closer inspection reveals it to be a snake eating its own tail. She’s never considered herself the type to get a tattoo at all, much less something so…edgy. Just above it there is another large pink scar that matches the one on the front. She turns back and forth, connecting them as having resulted from the same injury, something that went completely through her body. The rest of her back tells a similar story as her front: a network of small blemishes that she doesn’t recall acquiring. On the whole, she finds her weathered body confusing, but not unpleasant. Satisfied that she’s seen all there is to see, she slips under the water in the bath. 

As she soaks, she lets her mind drift. She did not note a scar along her lower belly that would indicate a cesarean section, which suggests that she birthed Abby and Peter vaginally. She reaches down between her legs and touches her vulva. It does feel different, but she’s not sure how to articulate in what way. She imagines herself in the delivery room, her feet up in stirrups and sweat pouring down her forehead as Cal holds her hand. Was her mother there? Was Missy? Missy was still alive when Abby was born. Dana’s throat tightens and she decides not to try and stop it. She’s alone, and she has to allow herself to feel these things eventually. 

She barks out a sob and lets it overtake her. Hot tears roll down her cheeks and drip off her chin to combine with the bath water, and she thinks about Missy and her father. She doesn’t even know what her last words to them were, whether she and Missy were fighting or on good terms. She can’t remember their funerals, or whether she was able to see them once more before they were laid to rest. How could she forget these things? The birth of her children, the death of her family, her marriage to Cal? Her mind feels like a half-erased black board, and all she can discern from the cloud of missing information is Him. He. Someone she misses so acutely it hurts. It all hurts, the blank spots and the information she is slowly learning about what should fill them. She feels so, so lost, like the most intense homesickness imaginable, except she doesn’t know where the home that she’s missing is. 

She stays in the tub until her fingers and toes begin to prune and the water turns tepid. During that time, she comes to the conclusion that the only way forward is back. She needs to try and fill it all in as many of the blanks as possible, so she has something to stand on. She has to be the mother her children know and love, the one they deserve. And if she really did fall in love with Cal once, perhaps she can do it again. Just like Michelle said: a blind date that you can be sure is a perfect match. 

Just as she’s re-dressing, she hears the phone ringing. It rings half a dozen times before it stops, then starts up again. She wanders out into the hallway, following the ringing to a desk in the children’s play area where an old rotary phone is trilling away. She picks up the receiver and brings it to her ear, reminding herself that this is her home and she has every right to answer the phone. 

“Hello?”

“Dana?” her mother asks in a worried tone. 

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, you scared me for a moment there. You weren’t picking up.”

“I was just getting out of the bath.”

“Oh!” Maggie exclaims happily. “That’s wonderful, Dana. You’ve always loved that bath. How are you feeling today?”

“I’m okay,” she answers, then quickly adds, “No new memories or anything.”

“Well, it’s still early,” Maggie says reassuringly. 

“Abby is having a hard time,” Dana admits, sitting in the chair at the desk. “I feel terrible, but I don’t know how I normally am, or what I’m doing differently than I normally would.”

“You and Abby are very close,” Maggie says somberly. “She’s been mommy’s girl from the day she was born.”

“What do I normally call her?” Dana asks, remembering what she overheard Abby say to Cal the night before. 

“Sweetpea,” Maggie says fondly. “Almost exclusively. I think you only call her Abby when she’s in trouble, to be honest.”

“Sweetpea,” Dana repeats.

“Is there anything else you need to know?” Maggie asks, and Dana sighs. 

“I don’t know, Mom. I don’t know what I don’t know,” she says, feeling frustrated. 

“Be kind to yourself, sweetheart. Beating yourself up over it won’t help anything, it will only make you miserable.”

“I know,” Dana agrees, but it doesn’t change how awful she feels. 

“Call me anytime, okay?” Maggie says, encouraging the phone call to its end. 

“Okay, thanks. Oh—Mom?”

“Hm?”

Dana swallows. 

“Was Missy there when Abby was born?”

“Oh, Dana, yes,” Maggie says emphatically, her voice heavy with emotion. “I was sick so I couldn’t be there, but Missy was right by your side the whole time, and Cal of course. She was the proudest auntie you could imagine.”

Fresh tears well in Dana’s eyes and she bites her lip. 

“Thanks, Mom. Bye.”

-

Rose Family Basics

Calvin Michael Rose DOB 05/29/62

Abigail Margaret Rose DOB 12/12/93

Peter Calvin Rose DOB 03/29/96

Dana Katherine Rose DOB 2/23/64

Cal is a Software Engineer at SymbolTech

Abby is in first grade at Centennial Lane Elementary (Ms. Gibbs)

Peter goes to daycare at The Young School (Pre-K)

Morning:

Kids wake at 6 (Abby on her own, Pete needs a little help)

Cal & Pete leave the house at 7:30 for work/daycare

Abby catches the bus at 8:05

(Dana usually leaves for work at 7:45)

Evening:

Abby’s bus drops her off at 3:10 (goes to neighbors)

Cal is off work at 5:30, picks up Pete and home at 6:15

(Dana usually home from work at 6, gets Abby from the neighbors)

Dinner at 7, kids in bed by 8 or 8:30

Neighbors across the street are the Warners. Parents are Amanda and Jared, kids are Daisy and Eric (close in age to A & P). We swap childcare with them a lot. We don’t really like hanging out with them socially, because you think Amanda is a gossip and “vapid.”

Random things:

You almost always call Abby “Sweetpea,” never her name

Pete is allergic to strawberries

Garbage gets picked up on Wednesday

When Pete says he wants pancakes, he means Eggo waffles

Abby is afraid of dogs

We love you

[phone] (Cal work number)

-

She spends hours on the floor in the sitting room combing through documents and pictures. She finds files in Cal’s desk, dozens of photo albums on the book shelf, and a shoebox full of keepsakes in the master closet. At first it felt like an invasion of privacy to go through the house, but her hesitance over snooping fell to the wayside the moment she landed on a picture of Missy with a smiling, drool-soaked Abby propped up in her lap. She pieces it together with little bits of information, answering some questions and coming up with others that she’ll need to ask her mother or Cal about. 

She and Cal were married in the Summer of 1993, and Abby was born in December of that year, though Dana’s belly is barely detectable beneath her billowing wedding dress in the photos. Her father died just a few weeks after Abby was born, and there is only a handful of photos of the two of them together. In them, Ahab’s expression is stoic, but she can see the glimmer in his eye, the pride of a grandfather. On the back “Abby and Papa” is written in her own hand, and she longs to hear him respond to that name. 

Missy died in September of 1995, less than two years after Ahab. In the keepsake box from the closet, there is a newspaper clipping about the seven car pileup that was caused by a jack knifed semi truck, and she learns that Missy was one of four casualties. Her obituary describes her as a free spirit, a world traveler, and a doting aunt to Abby. 

She learns that Cal is half Salvadorian, and an orphan since the age of thirteen. He is an only child, and a former ward of the state who enrolled in the military in order to get the education that eventually led him to a career in tech. In the keepsake box are dozens of cards and letters full of romantic and heartfelt messages to her on her birthdays and their anniversary. In them, he calls her Mija and consistently signs off “good times never seemed so good.”

In the end, she has a small stack of photographs that she brings to the guest room and props up along the top of the dresser. They are the ones that she had some kind of emotional reaction to, whether good or bad. The photo of Missy and Abby. One of Ahab, Maggie and newborn Abby standing beside Ahab’s Cadillac. One of she and Cal next to a “sold” sign in front of the house with toddler Abby sitting at their feet, elated smiles on their faces. One of her in a hospital bed, her face swollen but her mouth beaming and a wailing Peter lying on her chest. 

Emotionally exhausted, she crawls into the bed and considers having another good cry. By all accounts, the life she can’t remember was a happy one. There is no trace of the man—Him. If he really existed, she did not allow any evidence of him into this home. She manufactures memories from the photographs, imagining Ahab taking his newborn granddaughter from her arms and making a joke about men of his era not holding babies. She tries to picture Missy beside her in the delivery room, placing crystals on the bedside table while she was too exhausted to care. She sees herself at the altar with Cal, Abby kicking to make her presence known as her parents say their vows. She drifts off to images of two year old Abby meeting her little brother and immediately demanding that they send him back. 

-

A warm, solid body is pressed to her cheek, and they are dancing. She feels the vibration of his voice against her ear, and the steady thump of his heartbeat. One of his arms is wrapped around her waist, the other hand clasped tightly with hers. His lips press against the crown of her head, and she feels his breath flutter over her scalp as he speaks. He drops her hand, then touches her chin. She looks at his face, his mossy green eyes and full mouth, and she is flooded with want and excitement and love. She pushes up onto her tiptoes, and he bends down to meet her—

“Dana!” 

She startles, her eyes snapping open to find the room dim. She looks to the bedside clock and sees that it’s almost 6:30 pm. 

“Mommy!” Peter calls, and she scrambles out of bed and down the stairs. 

She finds them in the great room, Abby and Peter watching cartoons on the couch and Cal digging around in the fridge, his suit jacket hanging over the back of a bar stool and his tie loosened.  

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” she says, feeling sheepish. She should have had dinner ready, given that she had nothing else to do all day. Her stomach growls loudly at the thought. 

“It’s fine,” Cal says, casting her a sidelong glance. “You should get your rest, you’re still recovering. I’m just going to throw together some tacos or something really quick.”

“Anything I can do to help?” she asks, and he looks to the children. 

“No, I’ve got it. Why don’t you go say hi to the kids?”

Dana pads over to the living room and sits on one end of the sectional. Abby and Peter are both staring vacantly at the TV, on which a purple dog looks continuously terrified.

“Hey, guys, how was school today?” she tries, but neither child responds. “What did you do at daycare today, Pete?” she asks more specifically. 

“Liam taked my truck so I hitted him with a block,” Pete relays. 

“Oh no,” Dana replies, not feeling quite ready to offer discipline. “That’s not good.”

“Nope,” Pete agrees, his eyes still on the TV. “We don’t fix problems with violence.”

Dana smiles and asks, “Who taught you that?”

Pete shoots her a questioning look like he thinks she might be pulling his leg. 

“You did, Mommy!” he says, laughing. 

“Oh,” she says, pleasantly surprised by her own parenting. She turns to look at Abby, who is sullen and pouty. “Hey, Sweetpea,” she says gently, and Abby’s eyes flash over to her briefly before they return to the TV. “What did you learn at school today?”

Abby shrugs. 

“Would it be okay if I walk you to the bus stop tomorrow?” she asks. 

Another shrug. 

“Okay. Well, think about it and let me know, okay?”

Another shrug. 

-

She listens from down the hall as Cal puts the children to bed. There are intermittent giggles and songs, and she feels like an outcast. 

Tomorrow will be a new day. Tomorrow she will be their mother. She will be Cal’s co-parent, if not his wife. She will try, really try, to fit back into the vacancy she left. Maybe her memories will return, and maybe they won’t, but with or without them she has to find her place. She has to find a way home. 

-

She’s draped over him, her body covering his like a blanket. Skin to skin, her face tucked against his neck, her heart racing. There is music, there’s always music, floating and drifting though she can’t quite make it out. She brings her lips to his ear. 

“I love you too.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic

[bellaramseysgf]

Some HC for my fav ST boys

Nsfw under the cut you’ve been warned!! <3

Eddie Munson <3

I feel like falling in love with eddie would be one of 3 tropes.

Enemies to lovers

She fell then he fell harder

Friends to lovers

He gives off ‘I’m only gonna be nice to you’ vibes…(not including Dustin and the hellfire club obvi)

He’d definitely be a Clueless little baby

Not realizing when girls or even guys flirt with him and just playing along because he thinks they’re being nice.

Definitely Bi or Pan AINT no way that boy is straight<3

He’d give you his jackets or tie his bandanna around your wrist like a bracelet when you’re out in public <3

Definitely definitely DEFINITELY into PDA wants everyone to know that ‘the freak’ is dating someone as hot as you

Calls you; Darling,Babygirl,babydoll,sweetheart,my love.

Nsfw

This boy is a massive switch.

I feel like he can definitely go from dom to sub really quick and vice versa.

He will definitely love it when you tie him up or pull his hair.

Has a huge pain kink

Absolutely lost it when you used his guitar pick necklace to tug his face to yours.

I imagine he has good stamina but can cum Very easily

Definitely touch starved

Will degrade you but also praises you

He’d love to be degraded and a few ‘good boys’ couldn’t hurt but doesn’t like too much praise.

CRIES DURING SEX REGARDLESS OF BEING DOM OR SUB HE CRIES

Steve Harrington <3

So when I look at Steve the two tropes that fit him in my opinion.

Playboy until he met you

Love at first sight

He’s definitely a soft boy for you regardless of who’s around.

Let’s you touch his hair without complaining

Robin knows more about your relationship then you do

Definitely tries to impress you and fails a lot

Pouts when you want cuddle or sit on his lap around his friends

Dustin becomes like a little brother to you

He loves making you flushed for literal no reason.

Kisses your temple,ear,neck,shoulder, anywhere he can when you’re near him.

Nsfw

He’s definitely a dom, maybe a switch with a dom lean.

I feel like he hates not being in control when it comes to sex

Only rough if you’ve done something to piss him off flirting with Billy right in front of him

Giver more then a reviver

Lives for eating you out and can’t get enough of how good you taste

Breeding kink

Absolutely refuses to use condoms unless he knows you aren’t on the pill

Fucks you regardless of where you are. Pulls you into a empty room or bathroom just to make sure you’re filled up.

Definitely has a daddy kink and looses his shit when you use it in a non sexual sense

Saying “please daddy!” When you want something from the mall.

Sweet n gentle especially if you’re a virgin the first time.

Doesn’t rush you for sex and absolutely hates if you feel like he’ll loose interest if you aren’t ready.

Billy Hargrove

Billy’s tropes are kinda complicated

FWB to lovers

Definitely enemies to lovers

Caught in the act trope (he finds you getting off to him)

Definitely sweeter to you then anyone else

Doesn’t let you come over if his dads home

He’d say I love you first (I just know this)

Isn’t that into PDA but definitely isn’t for keeping it a secret he’s with you

Loves when you call him “my pretty boy”

Let’s you steal his jackets

Definitely catches you spraying his cologne on your pillows

After that he’d give you a small spray bottle of it so you could always smell like him

Definite alpha energy

Calls you; babydoll,doll,sugar,sweetling,pretty girl,calls you a minx once of twice.

Will literally not smile unless you’re around.

Nsfw

Dom. Definitely a dom.

Loves and I mean LOVES making you cry during sex.

Corruption kink

Pulls your hair

He’s easy to piss of if you want to be punished

Is the kinda guy to blow cig smoke into you mouth

Kissing. Sloppy,desperate,needy make out sessions in his car or your room.

Your dad absolutely hates him but you don’t care

Your dad catches you having sex so he bans him but he just sneaks in your room.

Has no shame about fucking you in front of anyone friends or not

Will tell you not to cum but won’t slow down until you cum so he can spank you

Spit kink (don’t fight me on this)

Loves degrading you

Rarely calls you a ‘good girl’ but he still will

Prefers receiving rather then giving

If you want something you can get it by giving him head.

#eddie munson #fem reader #billy hargrove #steve harrington #eddie munson smut #billy hargrove smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson headcanons #billy hargrove headcanon #Steve Harrington headcanon

[princess-of-the-corner]

Oversharing moment: my origin for Lila's lying :) (In this fic she had faked a blood sugar condition to get Adrien's attention. When he called her on it she dug a medicine bottle out of he purse, dumping the pills back in, and threw it at him, and ran off in tears. Later, he apologizes with flowers(not roses, just apology flowers)

Lila turned the flowers over in her hands, seeing them again for the first time.  They gave off a light scent, she didn’t even need to bury her nose in them like in the movies.  She discovered her empty medicine bottle tied with a little ribbon to the stems.

Mustard.  The color always came so vividly when she looked at those bottles.  The color of the yellow shag carpeting on the floor of her room in their apartment six years ago.  Little Lila sitting with a bag of sugar in her lap, diligently spooning it into her mouth and down her throat.  It stopped tasting sweet somewhere along the line.  She still couldn’t stomach sweets anymore.  She had read on the internet, she knew what she was doing.  Too fast the first time, she made herself throw up and had to start over.  The second time she paced herself though.  The jittery energy turning sluggish and making her head spin even as she sat.  That was it.  Little Lila stashed the sugar with tingling fingers then stumbled down the stairs to collapse in front of her mother.

She normalized in the emergency room.  Her numbers were off, but the doctors wanted to observe her.  Her mother couldn’t leave her, so they packed the girl home.  It happened again.  The third time they gave her these and explained she should be watched while taking them.  Her mother would have to stay home now.

Only she wouldn’t.  Her mother would have to take on more shifts.  Lila was introduced to the kindly neighbors who lived upstairs.  She would stay with them to be observed until her mother came home.  They made sure she did her homework, and paid her no mind beyond that.  They didn't let her watch her movies, only the news for endless hours.  Lila had made her first miracle recovery.

She kept the bottles, and with careful use of a razor blade the date came off, leaving the rest intact to be filled with sugar pills that made her gag but at least did not make her sick.  Now they’d caught Adrien.  What was it about the best lies having a kernel of truth?

Lila pulled the bottle off the bouquet and stuffed it in her purse.  That would have to continue at least until she could make another recovery.  She set the flowers on her desk and traced one long petal of a Black Eyed Susan.  Maybe it would be the last recovery?

MM YEAH

Lila lying for attention and going to extreme measures because smaller lies didn't work absoultely VIBES

[julien5-malfunction]

13022023 Thoughts about inprisonment, the end of the world and a game called Pathologic.

I think the main reason I sort of miss being locked up in the mental ward are the boredom and the lack of things.

Being so bored, I would start to do things that I normally wouln't, just to entertain myself. Inventing shit out of whatever little resources I could find. I didn't feel bad for wasting so much time on such 'non-productive things' after all, with no knowlige of my release date, I had nothing to do but to kill time. I read books and solve puzzles, hunt down the newspaper of the day and try to solve a crossword or a sudoku. Draw the landscape I could see from the windows of my captivity. Keep track of things in my diary. The most fun was stealing pens and other small items, like a loose playing card, maybe some beads or other craft supplies if I had access to such. Collecting empty pill cups. Dead bugs. Evaluate and mock the painting in the hall. Snatch tea bags and sugar cubes from the caffeteria...

Normal life is so 'pretend to be busy' all the time. Fuck this multitasking bs, it's killing my attention span and focus. I used to be so much better than this... I'm a disappointment to myself, in the way I've lost all that capacity I had. I had endless ideas and a parrion to create, even when I had no materials, no resources, no money as a kid/as a teenager. I stole stuff from school, things that they had an aboundage of but I had way more use for than they would ever have. Collecting scraps and things I found on the streets... I miss that.

I just watched a video about this game called Pathologic. The video was over 2 hours long, no ads, I was planning on multitasking but I'm glad I didn't. I sat trough it fairly calmly, I didn't worry about 'running out of time, I should be sleeping'. I feel more calm than usual... The game also makes a great deal about resource scarecity and -management. The athmosphere feels, to me at least, cut off from the rest of the world. There is this inpending doom, this illness spreading. There is just something about that, that scrathes an itch. The game is really long too, and most of the time you're stuck with your thoughts while walking around to take care of tasks. One of the main characters is able to brew medicine out of herbs and you can find and trade around shit like needles and bottles, ammo, food and flowers or whatever... There is just something about that...

Like why...am I making this so complicated to myself? Can I just keep life simple like that? I have a lot of things I most likely do not need. I know I have an issue of getting too sentimental over all sorts of misc items. Can they just be items. Things I can 'trade', for money. Not things with feelings attached. I'm not sure why it's so hard to let go of things, material or mental.

I get some kind of kicks out of the thought of being doomed. Like, I feel fine now but something is coming for me and it's bad. I know I'm not strong or smart in a way that is too useful in today's society, but resourceful is something I would like to be. Independent, as in 'know how to fix your own car if it breaks'. (car as an example. I don't own a car)

Like it's so fascinating, to think of a life as a survival game... Where you can collect things and craft other thing from those things. Living alone is resource management. Money can be used to purchase things from stores. I wish I knew more ways to make money, my comissions are kind of an underground thing but reciving a few hard earned euros feels about as good if not better than the next big hit of dopamine from doom scrolling. Really makes you think carefully about how you're gonna spend those few euros. I even keep seperate the money I've actually earned and the benefits I live off of. Since I don't actually have any other income. I wish I knew how to earn some more underground credit...

I was thinking that, since I 'owe myself a loan' and I'm really struggling to scrape any extra savings to pay it off, maybe I should have like a super low budget for anything else than food and necessities and bills. Like a rediculously low amount. 10€ a week? I didn't even have weekly allowance as a kid, that sounds like a lot in a way but yeah... but how do I define nessecities?... are, for example, plastic bags a nessecity or not? Or clothes?

Probably better idea to stick to the goal of ~60€ a week for food and necessities, add the 10€ to that but the 10€ can be spent on treats and other, not-absolutely-necessary, most likely seacond hand shop stuff and art supplies, even tho I have enough and more than I have use for currently....

I'll need to think about it in action.

#prison inventions #resource scarcity #act busy #gamification #survival #thoughts

[growingpains876]

Jared and Max

Part 5: Max

Max wished he could stop feeling guilty. This was never supposed to happen. Jared wasn’t meant to…

It started 5 weeks ago.

Max liked bigger guys. He discovered this as he watched his high school football teammates who hadn’t made any college teams slowly put on weight as they became less active and busier with school or work. This got him searching for like minded individuals, and he quickly found all of the gainer websites. He couldn’t believe how many people that were out there who were just like him. He thought he was probably an encourager, but the idea of gaining also intrigued him.

One day, as he surfed his usual sites a peculiar ad popped up on his laptop. It was for a drug called MAX 3.0. It claimed it would increase a person appetite, and testosterone, helping them gain weight and muscle faster, as well as other things. Which was a little vague, but didn’t stop Max’s curiosity from being peeked.

He knew he would most certainly get a virus if he clicked on the link, but the ad was so specific. It played into every single one of his fantasies as an encourager and more. Before he knew it, he had placed an order for three of the magic pills. It had cost $150 dollars per pill. It was money he didn’t have to be honest. “I guess I’ll just have to find a Summer job.” He mumbled as he clicked the purchase button.

Now he barely had enough money for food for the rest of the semester. He instantly regretted his decision. Then the day came, and he got a package in the mail. It was the MAX 3.0! It came! It was real! Well, at least they sent him sugar pills or something.

He was impressed with the wrapping though, he went over to the couch to open the package. The MAX 3.0 had come in a small metal box. The inside of the box was wrapped in red felt, like a jewelry box, and the three pills thatwere beautifully displayed. They had a certain air about them, almost as if they were glowing. Maybe they were real. He really hoped so. Reading the instructions he saw that he was supposed to mix them with water. He promptly took a pill and plopped it into his water bottle. Just then Jared came home from class.

“Hey Max! You ready to go to the gym?” Startled, Max hid the box of pills under a pillow on the couch.

“Jared! You’re back early!”

“Yeah, I skipped my last class of the day. I need sometime to look over my lines tonight.” Jared was so nervous about his first professional gig to play Romeo. It was sort of cute to see him work so hard on it ever since he got the job a week ago.

“Oh, right. Yeah, I can go to the gym now!”

“Perfect! I just need to change, and then let’s go.” Jared and Max made eye contact. Max had always found Jared a little attractive. Who wouldn’t? He was one of the most objectively attractive people Max had ever seen. He had always been just casually interested, but knowing that Jared would almost certainly maintain his gym rat status for the rest of his life turned Max off a little. The guy was dedicated to staying fit.

“Hey Max, do me a favor and mix my pre-workout?”

“Sure, no problem.” With Jared out of the room, Max had time to put the pills in a safe spot. He opened the cupboard where he kept his junk food. Jared never looks in here, he thought, as he tucked the box of pills behind a bag of chips. Then he started to pull out the pre workout for Jared, and mixing it for him.

“Thanks for making the pre work out for me. You ready to go?” Jared asked, walking into the kitchen. In his hand was the water bottle Max had put the pill into, and it was already half empty. Jared was bringing it up to his lips again, and Max was going to stop him, but what was he going to say? Stop, I put a drug that is probably not FDA certified in there? That would not go well. Max froze up, and watched almost in slow motion as Jared brought the water bottle to his lips and quickly gulped down the rest.

“Uh, Max? You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m just mixing some up for myself now.” Max hoped he didn’t sound too obviously nervous.

“Okay, I was just asking.

That was the moment Max vowed to never tell him.

—————————

That all felt so long ago. Max had since tried to convince himself that the pills were fake. But then, Jared had relaxed a bit at the gym and put on a little weight, which excited Max to no end. Jared had told Max himself that he was trying to enjoy his last semester by hanging out with friends, which often led to partying, drinking, and eating out, so of course he would put on a little weight, that was natural. But Max couldn’t get the pill out of his mind. Every time Jared ate more than usual Max would be reminded of what he had done, when he saw Jared for the first time shirtless in weeks and his six pack had disappeared behind a thin layer of fat, Max had to go to the bathroom to jerk off, and when Jared’s belly began to be noticeable through some of his t-shirts heavy guilt began to settle in.

The deed weighed on him, and only got worse after Jared had left. In Max’s mind there was only one way to settle this once and for all. He would just have to take the pill himself to prove that it was fake. He popped it in and swallowed. “I feel better already.” And he went off to his new job at Pizza universe.

————

Max hadn’t realized how excited he was to start working at Pizza Universe. One of his friends, Julie, had helped him get the job, and if nothing else they would have a good time when they worked the same shift. Besides that, getting free pizza wasn’t a huge downside either. Maybe he was just hungry, but pizza sounded really good right now.

“Welcome to…” Julie stopped mid sentence, “Max!”

“Hey! You gonna show me the ropes on your first day?”

“That’s right! and we’re super under staffed so I’m glad your here.”

Julie wasted no time, she gave Max his work uniform, a black polo that fit him well, clinging to his impressive chest and thick arms, and immediately starting to train Max on everything he needed to know. It was a lot. He hadn’t realized there would be so much to learn. He had a 5 hour shift that day, and towards the end he was beginning to feel starved. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this hungry, but it had been a stressful day, and smelling and seeing the steaming pizza didn’t help either. Max didn’t realize it, but he had stopped moving and was staring at the pizza he was packing up.

“Don’t drool on the pizza.”

Max broke out of his stupor. He laughed, “Sorry, I’m just starving. I think I need to eat something soon.”

“No worries, there is one part of training that almost everyone enjoys.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, pizza tasting. Every employee has to try each pizza on the menu at least once, so at the end of the day, we make one pizza just for us to try.” It was music to Max’s ears.

“Thank God, because I don’t think I could go on much longer.”

“Actually, you can have that pizza, I think you drooled on it anyway. I’ll finish up closing and you go eat, the first day is hard I know.”

Max wasn’t going to argue, even though he was pretty sure he hadn’t drooled on it, probably. The pizza was just a plain cheese pizza, but it was fresh, and Pizza Universe used high quality ingredients. He eagerly took a bite. It was amazing! He swore he’d never eaten anything this good in his life. It was the perfect pizza. The crust light and flakey, the sauce fresh and full of flavor, and it had a generous helping of cheese on top. He quickly finished the slice.

“This is amazing!”

“I liked it at first too, but you’ll get tired of it. After your third week of eating pizza everyday, you’ll want to eat anything but pizza.”

“We’ll see about that. Can I get a drink?”

“Of course, working here would be unbearable if we didn’t at least have a few perks.”

Max got a large root beer. It was a crime to eat pizza without a soda.

He surprised himself by nearly finishing the pizza. There were only two slices left by the time he had his fill.

“Wow, you were hungry.” Julie said as she wiped off a table near Max. Max patted his stomach.

“I feel so good! Is this heaven? Did you put something in this?” Julie laughed.

“Just sauce and cheese. But you better be careful, if you do that everyday your uniform won’t last long.”

Max thought that didn’t sound too bad actually.

“What do we do with the left over pizza at the end of the day?”

“We usually throw it out. You can take it home though. There’s no rule against it. When I started I took every pizza home. In a week my fridge was completely full, and I ended up needing to throw it out anyway.” Max thought it was a shame to waste perfectly good pizza.

“I’m trying to save up for a trip actually. So I wouldn’t mind the free food.”

“Help yourself, those are just going in the trash any way.” There were 3 partial pizzas still in the display case, totaling about two pizzas all together. He was going to save so much money.

When Max got home, he was already starting to feel munchy again, and finished the last two slices of his cheese pizza. It was a big eating day for him. He had a big appetite, but usually he ate pretty lean meals. He stomach felt tight. He might have over done it, but he regretted nothing. He had thoroughly enjoyed every bite. He took his clothes off and laid on the couch. There was one good thing from Jared being gone, he could wear his birthday suit around the house as much as he wanted.

He flopped on the couch and his 7’’ erect dick slapped against his stomach. The tightness of his stomach was arousing him. He began to jack off rubbing his bloated belly. He was going to like this job.

—————

To Max’s dismay, his round stomach from the night before had completely disappeared the next morning . His bloat had gone down, and he was left with the same old mostly flat stomach he’d always had. Since high school he had been thick with muscle, but also a fair helping of fat which made his muscles look even more big and juicy. His pecs were huge and pillowy, his back flared out, giving him a v shape despite carrying a little extra weight on his midsection, making his abs visible only when he flexed.

Max started the next day with a hearty breakfast of cold pizza, which he enjoyed just as much if not more than the pizza he’d had the day before. He didn’t have anything until work at 4. So he went to the gym. He felt stronger than he had in a while. Must have been all those carbs he’d had that morning. The workout made him hungry though so before he left for work he finished off another round of pizza. His pizza stash was already looking low. Only four slices left.

That meant he’d had twelve slices already. That was a pizza and a half. He shouldn’t have been able to put away that much pizza without feeling completely stuffed and sluggish. He was normally a 3-4 slices of pizza kind of guy. Six was a lot for him to casually finish, and if he was honest with himself, he could eat more. It was time for work though. What kind of pizza would he have today, he wondered. He grabbed his keys, which were right next to the MAX 3.0.

All this couldn’t be a coincidence. MAX 3.0 must have been doing this to him. It had all felt so subtle that he hadn’t even realized it. He had occasionally day dreamed of being a gainer himself, but making other people grow had always been his preference. Now he wasn’t sure. Getting bigger really appealed to him at this moment.

The shift in perspective must have been because of the pill. Maybe because he was already somewhat interested in gaining himself the drug took effect much faster. Jared was a total fitness nut, if the MAX 3.0 had made him want to start gaining weight over night, maybe his mind would have rejected it. Max was shocked. He wasn’t sure if he ever would have noticed a change if he’d been given the pill without him knowing. That gave him a demented comfort that maybe Jared wouldn’t have realized something strange was happening either.

Part 1: https://growingpains876.tumblr.com/post/690315808323387392/growing-pains-jaredmax

Part 2: https://growingpains876.tumblr.com/post/690507567697412096/growing-pains-jaredmax

Part 3: https://growingpains876.tumblr.com/post/690977868213354496/jaredmax

Part 4: https://growingpains876.tumblr.com/post/691266302474600448/jared-max

#bear #beefcake #beefy #belly #big pecs #bulk #bulking #growing belly #growing gut #hairy belly

[fagpulp]

starting an o.ff fic teehee a little bit of it below haha

Excerpt from Sugar Cats News, circa 1961:

“Last night, West Bismark, known baseball protege and model, Valentin Vader aka “The Batter”, was arrested after bludgeoning and  beating small-time crook, Everett Smirk. Mr.Smirk was presumably caught trespassing by Vader, and subsequently beaten as a result. Local police had little to comment, but our reporters managed to grab the excerpt listed below:

“”It’s sadistic is what it is, playing judge and jury like that. Noone should extend the hand of the law with their own. Mr.Smirk should be alive tonight.””

Mrs.Vader, otherwise known as Eloha Vader, and her son Hugo were seen cowering in the doorway as Valentin was taken away. Readers, I can only imagine how shaken they must be, how frightening it is to know your own husband and father turned out to be a bloodthirsty killer. My condolences for this broken family. May justice come down on Mr.Vader the same way he did on his victim(s?).”

Damn ‘em, damn them to shit and fire and hell-

“I’d stop yanking on those cuffs of yours, Mr. Vader. You’re supposed to have calmed down by now. Imagine what the bosses will say.” Says that therapist who’s been so goddamned coy from the start. Valentin yanks again, then goes into a slouch.

“They hurt my wrists.” 

“They’re cuffs, what did you expect? Take the medicine, act happy, no more cuffs; Just like promised.” He slides the accursed bottle to the front of his desk and gestures at it. “They aren’t going to let you just do what you want, you know?” He says. Valentin thinks he’s fighting off a smile, but if he says that he’ll just… get the drugs doubled, or something. 

“They hurt my head.” 

“You barely take them, of course-”

“They make me dizzy and they make me tired. I can’t take ‘em.” He retorts.

 They’ve had this argument before, and they’ll have it again if no one understands that they hurt him-

“ We aren’t changing them, Mr.Vader. Not until there is improvement-” The therapist is cut off as Valentin yanks on the cuffs hard and loud. “-and until you can get it together.” He leans back in his stuffy chair and crosses his stuffy arms. 

“That’s the deal, that’s the situation. Like it, or no more stardom; nothing.” He spits some on the ‘th’. “Now, I’m going to give you these, and you’re going to get-”

Valentin rubs his wrists as he strolls down the desolate sidewalk. Why couldn’t he be sent somewhere nice… maybe Joas. Joas would have hedges and at the least, street lamps that didn’t flicker. 

But no.

He’s in Vesper and he’s being thrown around by Enoch’s men like cats do a bird, and he’s going to keep being thrown around until he can’t stand. 

Damn ‘em to shit and fire and whatever else they’d hate.

Valentin turns the bottle around in his hand, over and over. Maybe the next time he read the label it’d be different and the pills inside wouldn’t make his stomach turn sour… maybe the next corner he turned would be to his house, to his wife and kid. 

But no.

His kid is sick in some high quality hospital and his wife is in a different house that she won’t tell him about. Few months makes a hell of a difference; press isn't on his tail, his wife and child are off places unknown, and he’s getting on a train to an empty house. 

“Hey, I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” 

Valentin grits his teeth and shifts his head towards the voice. If it’s another brown nosing reporter, he swears he’ll lose it. 

“Zacharie?” Relief. A friend in this hell.

Valentin met Zacharie at agame of his in ‘57. He was leaving through the back and Zacharie was selling half priced, off brand baseball cards to eager spectators. They must’ve gotten along because of their propensity for illegality.

“One and the same. How’s life? I’m gonna pretend your face hasn’t been plastered on every wall and crevice there is.” He says. 

“Anyone normal wouldn’t say that.” He quips. 

“Luckily for you and I,” Zacharie grabs the handrail, hand just below Valentin’s. “I’m not.” 

“Luckily.” He replies. The tram shakes. “So what are you doing, talking to a murderer.” 

“Alleged, dear Valentin, alleged.”

“Alleged.” He won’t disagree now, Zacharie’s the only friendly… well mask he’s seen in some time. Zacharie wore a strange mask for as long as Valentin could remember. Maybe he should think about wearing one too; it’d help with the ‘paparazzi’ at least.

“I happen to be on my way home. You know how the wife gets, not home by sundown and I'll come home to a walloping.” He says, shrugging. “I just thought you could use some company, since it's some time to Bismark, friend. If you’ll let me leave here alive, that is.” He breathes a laugh, and looks at Valentin for any reaction. Valentin remains stoic, but his tone turns icy cold. 

“It’s best that we don’t talk too much. Leave the air some space.” He replies, his jaw tensing along with his grip on the rail. Zacharie raises his hand in apology.

“Too soon.” He says.

They stand in silence, the only noise coming from the tracks and the jingling jangling of Zacharies bag on his back. A small vanilla card drops to the floor, Valentin does not alert him and Zacharie does not seem to be aware of his loss.. They are friends, Valentin thinks, but they are not friendly. Not now. 

The train slows, stops, and sits impatiently for its two passengers. Zacharie walks away and Valentin follows. He stops to pick up the card and pockets it, Zacharie probably wanted him to take it. 

Probably. Most Likely. 

They’ve stepped off, shaken hands, and separated before he reads the card. 

SUGAR CATS NEWS

News for keeps.

He sneers and rips it. Of course Zacharie reads that crap. Of course he was there for giggles and shits. He’s huffing and puffing all the way to his house before he’s calmed down enough to realize that everyone’s read Hip Cats schlock. It’s the only news source the, damn them to hell and whatnot, guardians hadn’t shut down. Forlorn now, he walks up to the darkened doorway. 

Here’s to tomorrow. 

Yesterday was better. His head ached and his limbs felt funny. He knew this was all he got to expect for the next forever; no one was going to listen to him complain. 

#read at own risk #teehee this is not v in character but also. extremely first draft so. #kissing the batter with tongue